Sorry we haven’t been able to get to these messages right away. Real life beckons =P But thank you all! <333

Chapter 2 Part 3

Further musings, however, were interrupted by a swift knock at the door. Myka had just time to turn around when the brass knob twisted. A spike of adrenaline shot through the agent’s chest.

The door swung open.

Myka blinked.

Helena stood in Myka’s doorway. Her hair was still coiled into an elaborate hairstyle, but the smaller woman had changed since tea. She now wore a button-down shirt, fitted pin-striped vest and trousers. It was not the almost criminal attractiveness of the attire that made Myka freeze however. Wells had made one more rather noticeable addition to her wardrobe.

She now held a weapon, which happened to be pointed directly at Myka’s head.

The hand that held the odd looking Tesla – for Myka could only assume that despite the unfamiliar  design, the weapon was at least the predecessor to the one she herself now carried – was perfectly steady and the other woman’s expression was decidedly unruffled. Even amused. Dark eyes pinned Myka to the spot with an intensity that reminded the agent all too well of a predator who had just set its sights on its favored prey.

Of all the thoughts that raced chaotically through Myka’s brain in that moment, the one that chose to make itself heard was the realization that even a century out of time, she and Helena really did seem to be forever destined to meet at gunpoint.

Part 2 |

Chapter 2 Part 2

Myka felt trapped; standing on the doorstep, unable to take her eyes off Helena. The tension stretched between them like a fine filament, needing only the least bit of energy to light something. But whatever possibilities hung suspended in that second were shattered by the heavy footsteps and delighted exclamation of an intruder.

“Helena my darling! You didn’t tell me you were expecting guests. How marvelous. Please, afternoon tea is nearly ready, come, both of you and stop standing in the doorway like heathens.”

~*~

Thus had been Myka’s introduction to Charles Wells. Helena’s younger brother and the man who would become famous for the worlds still taking shape in his sister’s mind.

Myka really hadn’t expected to like him.

Yet as Charles – after only the merest glance at her odd clothing – directed a servant to take her coat and bag and ushered Helena and “her guest” into a well-appointed sitting room to eat, the agent found herself hard-pressed not to smile at the younger  man’s enthusiasm.  In some ways, Myka realized, Charles reminded her of Pete. They had the same puppy-like enthusiasm for everything (though Charles had a streak of arrogance and a tendency to take himself and his position too seriously in a way Pete never would). Still, this was a different century. Charles was the head of the household, no matter that it was clear within moments of talking to him that his intelligence was far outstripped by his sibling.  And yet he was gracious and a good conversationalist – if frankly a bit of an airhead – and seemed to know instinctively just how to flirt without truly breaking social boundaries.  

It must be genetic, Myka found herself thinking at one point during the meal. Then her gaze flicked to Helena and she found herself the recipient of that familiar, calculating stare. It was gone in a flash, however, as the smaller woman smiled indulgently at something Charles said.

Fortunately for Myka, Charles’ love of his own voice gave her plenty of time to think of a cover story. She settled on saying she was the daughter of an American businessman, recently arrived in England to further her education and perhaps find a suitable husband after the recent passing of her mother. (Myka didn’t mention her age but sent a brief silent ‘thank you’ to twenty-first century moisturizers and good genes. They married a good deal sooner in this time period but she still looked young enough to pass as her cover). As for her strange clothing, the explanation was simple. Her luggage had been stolen and she had been forced to trade for men’s attire. Never having been to London, she’d meant to stop and merely ask for directions when Charles had ever so graciously invited her in for dinner.

Myka could tell that Helena didn’t buy it for a second, but the other woman kept silent, apparently content for the moment to let events play out.

Charles made all the appropriate noises of horror and instantly offered her a room for the night.

Myka - for once having cause to be grateful to the prevailing cultural perception of women as delicate, fragile creatures - accepted with thanks, fighting and losing the brief argument that this was likely to lead to all sorts of complications with her mission.

To hell with it. I passed ‘complicated’ a long time ago.  

And that was how the agent found herself washing her face in the porcelain basin of a guest bedroom in the house of Helena and Charles Wells.

In 1889. Nope… still not over that.

Part 1 | Part 3

Chapter 2 Part 1

With a graceless slump, Myka sat on the edge of the giant four poster bed in the guest room of H. G. Wells’ house.

H.G. Wells’ house. In London. In 1889.

Yeah, that’s not sinking in any time soon, came the darkly amused thought.

With a groan the agent let herself fall backward onto the bed. If someone had told her that it was possible for the human body to be this tired and yet not only still functioning but wound tight as a cheap clock…well Myka wasn’t sure what she would have done, but she was moderately confident she had never wanted to find her limits in this way.  Not even the grueling pace of life as a Secret Service trainee had left her feeling this battered.

At least not emotionally.

Probably because traveling over a century back in time and meeting the woman you love before she even knows you exist isn’t covered in the Service training procedures, she mused with a bitter humor that bordered on exhausted hysterics.

Rolling her shoulders, Myka tried to ease some of the tension from her upper body, working through some of the exercises Leena had once shown her when she’d had trouble sleeping.

Before Helena came.

The connection formed like electricity arcing to a conductor and it brought the memories boiling to the surface of Myka’s mind before she could stem them: Memories of the nights Helena slept next to her; memories of Helena’s hands on her shoulders, slender fingers kneading away the tension of a case or just easing the strain accumulated from leaning over her paperwork for too long. Memories of other times, some as gentle as a smile or vivid as the fevered press of lips and bodies. 

It seemed now like their time together had been so short, and yet Myka remembered coming home from a case, walking into the B & B to be greeted by the gentle sparkle in Helena’s eyes, and the even more gentle intoxication of her lips as the older woman welcomed her back. It might have happened this morning and not nearly a year ago.

But memories tinged with laughter and excitement inevitably darkened and turned to ash; tainted by betrayal and loss, fleeting hope, and eventual agony. 

With a disgusted noise that came out far more plaintive than intended, Myka levered herself up. This was getting her nowhere. If she was going to wallow in the past - well her past anyway - she might as well get into bed.

The bed in the guest room of the house that would be a historical landmark in a century or so…

Nope. Still not sinking in.  

Myka swallowed the urge to giggle somewhat madly. Instead, she forced herself to stand up and move to the sink (late 19th century plumbing - or general lack thereof - was another thing Myka had simply decided to not deal with for the moment). Splashing cold water from the basin on her face, the agent allowed her memory to replay the ‘safe’ part of the day’s events.

Charles certainly hadn’t been what she expected.

Introduction | Part 2

fuckyeahpikacha | xohbee | racethewind10
are proud to present
Warehouse 13: season 3.5

Chapter 2
 Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Previously on Warehouse 13:

As Myka watched Claudia’s feverish movements, the agent felt a brief stab of guilt at using her friend this way. And yet, when she’d walked onto the porch of the B & B to find the younger woman staring listlessly into the distance, she’d known Claudia needed to believe as much as Myka did.

With a last silent prayer to whatever benevolent force watched over fools who tried to alter the fabric of time to save their loved ones, Myka programmed the controller and hit the button.

The lights flickered and dimmed and the room hummed with electricity. A web of energy arched over the dull grey walls of the storage space and suddenly Myka was looking at a swirling maelstrom of red and gold energy.

She landed hard on the ground.

Sprawled in an untidy heap, the agent groaned and pressed one hand to her head.

Cobblestones.

Of all the things Myka had failed to prepare for, this might have been the greatest blow. Before her stood a Helena whose soul wasn’t scarred with loss and failure and the disappointment of a century.

“Helena,” she whispered, unable to stop the yearning in her voice even as she was faced with the cruel fact. The Helena who had once named Myka the one person who knew her better than anyone simply did not exist.

“I beg your pardon, are we acquainted?”

Click here to read the prologue.

Click here to read chapter 1.
 

special participation by:
deversum (uploading videos)
muppetmanda (story editing)
boomwizard (intro manip)

racethewind10:

fuckyeahpikacha:

HEY GUYS!

there’s going to be a delay on chapter 2! we’re going to post it on January 2 at 4pm PST… I KNOW I KNOW WE SUCK! we’re sorry! we’ll make it worth your while though!

again, we’re sorry. sorry sorry sorry… we love you =,(

^ All of this. :( SORRY! 

Really sorry guys, it’s mainly my fault. So to answer some of the asks I received today, we’ll be posting chapter 2 on January 2, 4pm PST.

Sorry these took a while to get to! I’ve been a bit busy lately, so I’m sorry if I don’t get back to you asap.

@braceyourselfitsgonnagetbumpy: The latter, unfortunately =( We’re three people living in three different states in three different time zones, so sometimes planning gets all over the place and we confuse ourselves. Although! We are planning on posting Chapter 2 up on January 1st =)

@dreammaker-heartbreaker:

@anon1: After Effects, Photoshop, and racethewind10’s brain is just plain magic

@sarahjanethegirlwhowaited: (Before I go on, all the creys in the world for your name T_T)
a) if racethewind10 wrote for the show, the finale wouldn’t have happened and we’d be getting what we want #justsaying
b) I don’t know when, sorry! New seasons usually start in July, though.
c) Thank you!

@toy-panda: You, talented madam, are too sweet. We’re ready to meet the ‘rents.

@anon2: Imagine Myka/HG shippers running the world….

 @rhyfeddu-partyofone: We’ve been rendered speechless from this message, to be honest. Your kind words, and everyone else’s, are what give us that drive to make more. Thank you so much <3 (and we cannot wait to show you all more)

Thank you! That is why we call fuckyeahpikacha the Manipamon. She’s a magical pokemon, y’all.

AHMAHGAHD

CHAPTER 1 PART 5

Having no idea what to expect from walking into a giant glowing wall, Myka couldn’t help the instinctual response to hold her breath as she stepped close to the energy barrier. In the end, however, it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as she’d feared. There was a moment of heat; of electricity not shocking her, but dancing across her skin, then utter disorientation and just when Myka began to feel fear…

She landed hard on the ground.

Sprawled in an untidy heap, the agent groaned and pressed one hand to her head.

And I thought my hangover the other day was bad. 

Slowly, however, the pounding in her skull receded as the agent gathered her bearings. She seemed to be in one piece, in no pain but her head. Her hands and knees felt scraped but it was minor.  Blinking carefully, prepared for light sensitivity, Myka was pleased to find her eyes did, in fact work and the cobblestones in front of her face were quite clear.

Cobblestones.

And that was when the things her senses were trying to tell her finally made it to her brain.

Instead of leaves and dirt and the expected tree trunks of the forest, the brunette was sprawled across damp cobblestones, surrounded by buildings and people dressed in…

Reeling, Myka Bering staggered to her feet and looked around her, wanting desperately not to believe her eyes as they beheld not an empty wooded copse, but - unless she was greatly mistaken – London, England.

And if her judgment of people’s clothing was any indication – circa late 1800’s.

“Oh boy…”

                                                            ~*~     

The world tilted and Myka stumbled out of the street. Sitting heavily on the sidewalk the agent put her head between her knees and focused on breathing, willing her training to overcome the physiological response to what had just happened.

Get a grip Bering. You are uninjured, in a – relatively – secure location. You are a member of the United States Secret Service and a Warehouse Agent. Ending up a century in the past is just another day in the office.  Now get your ass up and assess the situation…

Forcing herself to take one last slow breath, Myka straightened and stood.  Unfortunately, the tiny part of her that had been clinging to the sliver of hope that this might be nothing more than her eyes playing tricks on her was severely disappointed. From the clothes people wore (she made a mental note to try and find something to blend in better soon), the number of horse drawn conveyances, the gas lamps and the architecture, Myka Bering was not in the twenty first century any more.

It was early afternoon, the sky a murky grey  through the dust of an industrial city and the streets were uncrowded. Not quite sure of her exact location, Myka nonetheless seemed to be in an upscale district judging by the obvious wealth of the passersby.

A thousand contingency plans and possibilities…and this sure as heck wasn’t one of the ones you actually planned for, came the thought in a mental voice that was straddling the line between amusement and utter panic. Knowing deep down that it was futile but unable to control the impulse, Myka punched at the time machine’s control. Nothing. No lights, nothing to even indicate that it was functional. Digging through her bag, the agent found a pack of brand new batteries underneath her ammo and quickly switched them out - just in case.

Her actions were in vain. Whatever was preventing the controller’s connection with the time machine, it wasn’t the power supply, and the controller itself appeared undamaged.  Which meant…

Welcome to the 1800’s. 

Myka figured that left her with two choices. She could give into the temptation to have a nervous breakdown – an urge she felt she could be forgiven for. After all, time travel actually wasn’t covered in the Warehouse agent’s handbook. She’d checked. Twice.

Or she could do what she always did: Assess, analyze, plan.

In the end, it really wasn’t a choice.

                                                                        ~*~

An hour later, Myka had acquired a slightly stained cloak to hide her out of date clothing, discovered that she had, in fact, managed to get sent all the way back to the year 1890, and fixed her position.

Which left only one thing to do.

I have to find Helena. 

Vibes and gut feelings were Pete’s thing, but Myka could admit that there was more than a desire to see a familiar, beloved face driving her.  Whatever the reasons for what had just happened, for why she had been thrown into this time and not the one she’d programed, somehow Myka knew it all had to do with the author.

So checking that her 9mm rested easy in its holster, the agent shrugged her cloak around her shoulders and set off across London. It wasn’t a long journey, but it left Myka silently blessing the anal retentive urge she’d given into when H.G. first came to the Warehouse that had led the younger agent to read (and therefore memorize) all of Wells’ case files, several of which included period maps of the sprawling, bustling English city.

Her mind divided between navigating an unfamiliar city and its decidedly unfamiliar obstacles, (horses were significantly less predictable than taxis) and chewing on the possible reasons for the situation she now found herself in, it seemed no time passed before Myka was standing in front of a familiar wrought iron gate.
 
In the softening, slightly murky light of a London afternoon, the house that would become a historical landmark a century later looked at once wholly similar and utterly different. It looked lived in, for one. Lights could be seen in the windows and the yard and hedges were trimmed, the walk spotless. There was no sign welded to the gate proclaiming that a famous author had lived here a hundred years ago, and yet there was not a single doubt in Myka’s mind that even now, H.G. Wells (and the man history would know as “H.G. Wells”) were inside.

That knowledge pulled at her as inexorably as gravity, leading her through the gate and up the walk. Myka moved as if watching herself from the outside, her hand pale in the weak sunlight as she raised it to the ornate brass knocker. The metal was cool beneath fingers that trembled suddenly with a fear that had no true origin, but they sounded the knocker just the same. Myka’s pulse was suddenly loud in her ears and the damp air seemed thick, making it a struggle to drag into her lungs. She nearly turned away but for the realization she literally had nowhere else to go. And then a voice she would have known anywhere drifted from the other side of the door and the agent could no more move than she could stop her heart from hammering in her chest.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous John, I’m already here. I am quite capable of answering my own door.”

There was a clicking of a latch and then the rich, reddish oak door swung open and Myka was staring once again at the woman she’d watched die.

Like her home, Helena was at once instantly recognizable and subtly different. The bold, mildly curious look was the same; the mass of raven hair still framing the same beautiful face. The smaller woman still held herself with the same unabashed confidence. But this Helena was dressed in the clothing of her time, and most telling, she was younger. Of all the things Myka had failed to prepare for, this might have been the greatest blow. Before her stood a Helena whose soul wasn’t scarred with loss and failure and the disappointment of a century. This Helena stared back at Myka with an open, almost challenging gaze and there were no shadows lurking in the familiar dark eyes.

All this passed through Myka’s mind in the long seconds that stretched between the two women while the agent fought to keep her knees from shaking.

“Helena,” she whispered, unable to stop the yearning in her voice even as she managed to clamp down on the desire to simply take the other woman into her arms.  Because even as the agent saw that there was no pain, nor grief, nor secrets shading the familiar features in front of her, Myka was faced with the cruel fact that nor was there recognition. The Helena who had once named Myka the one person who knew her better than anyone simply did not exist, and the realization that Myka was an utter stranger to the woman who had – would – stolen her heart was worse than any physical blow.

“I beg your pardon, are we acquainted?” The tone was imperious, arch and managed to be both mildly offended and curious at the same time. Myka nearly laughed bitterly. To be so close and yet so far from the person she had literally attempted to rewrite history for was much more difficult than she could possibly – even with her overactive imagination – have foreseen.

So while her mind was whirling, seeking desperately for solid ground, her heart answered. “It’s, uh, kind of a long story. May I come in?”

 

Part 4 |