Is it just temporary insanity...?

Fic: An (Un)Natural Disaster (Myka/HG, Warehouse 13)

mysensitiveside — Sat, 25 Jan 2014 21:01:17 GMT

Title: An (Un)Natural Disaster
Pairing: Myka/HG
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Rating: PG
Word Count: 570
Summary: AU. What if Myka were never part of the Warehouse? What if she hadn't been there to stop HG from using the Minoan Trident?
A/N: Written for an AU challenge at femslashverse. Prompt is "natural disaster."

Myka has forgotten what it feels like to be warm.

She dreams of it sometimes; dreams of lifting her face up towards the sun and basking in the pleasant comfort of its rays. She’s come to hate those dreams, though. Because she always wakes up, and as the dream slips away, the sting of icy air feels all the more cruel.

***

It’s been over a year since Myka saw another human being, when a woman, half frozen to death, stumbles into her camp. Later, the thought will occur to Myka that maybe she should have been more cautious towards the newcomer, but other than the cold and the hunger, the only real threats that Myka faces nowadays are polar bears, rather than something as rare as another person.

So Myka can do nothing but stare, awestruck.

Even after the woman stumbles and falls, lying immobile in the snow, it takes several moments before Myka can even think to try to help. She lurches into motion, then, walking forward and sinking down onto her knees before the prone form. She turns the woman onto her back, and hazy brown eyes blink up at her, very slowly. Myka had almost expected her to be dead, but no. Not yet.

For the first time in a very long time, Myka feels something that she thinks could be described as hope.

***

It’s been eight months since Helena arrived, when she brings it up for the first time.

“I wish I’d known you back then.”

Helena’s whispered breath barely reaches Myka’s ears, and Myka – almost asleep, with her arms wrapped tightly around the body pressed up along her front – needs a moment to process the words.

“Back when?” she murmurs into the back of Helena’s neck.

“Before,” Helena replies. “Before all this. Before it happened.” Her tone is soft and solemn, but Myka is too tired to think anything of it.

Myka offers a vague agreement. “Mm. Would’ve been nice,” she says. The corners of her mouth turn upwards as a thought occurs to her. “Could’ve taken you out for a real date.”

Helena remains silent.

Minutes pass, and again, Myka is almost asleep when Helena speaks, even quieter this time.

“Maybe you could have stopped me.”

Myka means to ask what Helena is talking about. But her eyelids feel so heavy; her mind feels so sluggish; and, lying beneath the bearskin blanket and with Helena enveloped within her arms, she’s as close to warmth as she can ever remember feeling.

Before she can say anything, sleep comes up and claims her.

The next morning, Myka forgets the brief conversation entirely.

***

Helena hasn’t forgotten what it feels like to end the world.

Every morning, she wakes up and thinks again about trying to confess her many sins. But with each new dawn, the sight of Myka’s bright green eyes – bone-tired but somehow content; maybe even happy – causes all of Helena’s courage to slip away.

“Good morning, love,” she says instead, pressing a kiss to the corner of Myka’s lips.

The fires of hell will be a relief after such endless cold, Helena tells herself. There’s no escaping that fate, as far as Helena is concerned, so there can’t be all that much harm in keeping Myka in blissful ignorance for now.

Just one more day, she keeps telling herself. She’ll tell Myka tomorrow. Maybe. For now, she has one more day to savor Myka’s warmth.

AU Bingo - Various AU graphics for femslashverse

mysensitiveside — Sat, 25 Jan 2014 20:49:09 GMT

A challenge at femslashverse involved making graphics or writing a fic for 9 randomly chosen AU genres. Here's my bingo card

I wrote a short fic for my wild card, so that will be posted separately, but all the graphics are below the cut.

Mirror Verse - Bo/Lauren (Lost Girl)

Librarian/Bookshop - Cara/Kahlan (Legend of the Seeker)

Fantasy - Beca/Chloe (Pitch Perfect)

Note: source for the background image is http://allbackgrounds.com/magic-castle

The 1920s/1930s - Sam/Brooke (Popular)

The 1980s - Mulan/Aurora (Once Upon A Time)

Western - Myka/HG (Warehouse 13)

News Anchors - Myka/HG (Warehouse 13)

Coffee Shop - Emily/Paige (Pretty Little Liars)

Wild Card (Natural Disaster) - Myka/HG (Warehouse 13)
Fic posted here

Fic: Making Time (Myka/HG, Warehouse 13)

mysensitiveside — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 14:31:21 GMT

Title: Making Time
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Pairing: Myka/HG
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,134
Summary: There's never enough time.
A/N: The quote in italics is from an interview with Jack Kenny, which inspired this little fic.

“They’re just very close and they’re great, great friends and could it be more? Yes sure, in another world where they were doing other things, sure possibly. But frankly neither of them have time for a relationship, you know, with anybody.”

- Jack Kenny

Life goes on.

Myka wasn’t sure that things could ever go back to normal – and they don’t, not really – but artifacts just keep on causing trouble, without giving any heed to pain or grief, so the time for healing will simply have to wait.

They each deal with things in their own way, once things settle down a bit. Pete jokes; Claudia tinkers with everything she can get her hands on; Steve worries over Claudia; Artie alternates between his usual crotchety self and trying to hide away from them all; and Myka throws herself into her work.

It’s a veneer of normality to mask the pain. A band-aid trying desperately to hold everything together. But maybe if they all pretend that things are fine for long enough, then eventually things actually will be.

Myka has always found solace this way, keeping her mind busy with details or lost within the world of a book, and now is no different. She knows that if she wanted to talk about things, then she could easily find a welcome ear, but she’s never been one for really talking about her feelings all that much.

Besides, the only person she really has any inclination to talk to is… Well, it’s proven hard enough to find themselves in the same state, lately, let alone the same room.

All this work that Helena is doing for the Regents – Myka knows that it’s important, she really does, but she still can’t help but alternate between resentment and resignation. The former because, really, would it be so hard to just let Helena go back to being a regular agent like the rest of them? The latter because it feels like the universe just seems to have it out for the two of them, and there’s nothing that Myka can do about it.

Helena does come home every once in a while, a short respite between missions, but inevitably it’s either when Pete and Myka are out in the field somewhere or else are about to leave.

There’s always just enough time for a hug and a meal and a bit of a chat to catch up, and then one of them or the other is once again rushing out the door.

There’s never nearly enough time.

Not for what Myka wants; not for what she needs.

She has yet to voice it out loud, yet even to admit it to herself, but there’s this niggling thought in the back of Myka’s mind about what it is, exactly, that she really wants and needs. But there’s no time for that either.

Helena is Myka’s friend, and that’s all there is to it. There’s no time, and no point, to even think about anything else.

There’s a ping in Spencer, Iowa – something is making all the cats in town act up – and Artie has just finished briefing them on the situation when Helena walks in the front door of the B&B. Well, drags herself in, more like. Helena looks utterly exhausted.

But as she looks over and catches sight of Myka – their eyes are always drawn to each other, like magnets – Helena’s eyes light up and her mouth lifts into a warm smile, and Myka can feel her heart thump in her chest in response. Helena’s whole face – her whole demeanor, really – is transformed, just because Myka is there, and the curly-haired agent knows that she always reacts the same way.

There are bags under Helena’s eyes, and she looks to be in need of a nap, a shower, and a warm plate of food, but in that moment, Myka can find no other word to describe her but ‘beautiful.’

There’s still that artifact in Spencer, waiting to get snagged, bagged, and tagged, but suddenly, for what feels like the first time ever, Myka doesn’t want to drown herself in work anymore. She truly loves working for the Warehouse, but it’s these people, these wonderful people, who make it all worth it.

“Welcome home, H to the G!” Pete calls out, breaking the spell between them. Helena turns her smile towards the others, but it’s not quite the same one she offered Myka.

“I’ll join you all in a moment,” she says, “after I put my things upstairs.”

Her eyes meet Myka’s once more, before she turns to head up to her room. Myka can’t even wait a full minute, though, before she’s up and out of her chair with a mumbled, “Be right back.”

When Myka quietly opens Helena’s door, the other woman is facing away from her, her forehead resting heavily on the cold windowpane, her shoulders slumped. She jumps and turns, startled, when the door clicks shut once again.

For several long moments, they simply stare at one another from across the room, drinking each other in.

“How was your trip?” Myka begins lamely.

“Too long,” Helena replies with a shrug. “And now I suppose you’re on your way somewhere else?”

Myka nods, chewing lightly on her bottom lip.

There’s never enough time… Unless they choose to make time.

With a surge of false bravado, Myka strides across the room, stopping just inches in front of Helena, who instinctively straightens her posture, but does not move away.

“Helena, I…” Myka doesn’t really know what she wants to say. “Come with me?” she asks, before her brain can even catch up with her mouth. “I mean. Well. Assuming you can be allowed a few days off. I just. It’ll be a long drive, and…”

She takes a deep breath before forging on, but she takes half a step back so that she can stare down at the floor, too much of a coward to meet Helena’s steady gaze. “And I’m tired of empty hotel rooms, and I’m tired of you not being here, and I’m tired of pretending, even to – no, especially to – myself, that you’re nothing but a friend to me, and I’m just so damn tired of there never being enough ti-”

Myka squeaks in surprise as she’s cut off by the urgent press of Helena’s lips against her own. There’s a moment of stunned paralysis, before Myka sinks into the kiss, one hand landing on Helena’s hip as the other reaches to softly cup Helena’s jaw.
“Of course I’ll come with you,” Helena whispers against Myka’s lips, as if it’s as simple as that.

And Myka can’t help but laugh, then, because maybe it is as simple as that. She tilts her head forward to close that tiny bit of space between them, reclaiming Helena’s mouth.

Life goes on. And if they don’t do anything about this, then there will never be enough time.

But time is not the boss of them – certainly not of Helena G. Wells, time traveler – and they will make all the time they need.

Fic: The Night Circus 3/? (Myka/HG, Warehouse 13)

mysensitiveside — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 03:25:12 GMT

Title: The Night Circus (3/?)
Fandom: Warehouse 13/The Night Circus
Pairing: Myka/H.G.
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~5,000
Spoilers: None for Warehouse 13. Definitely quite a few for the book.
Summary: The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. It is called Le Cirque des Rêves, and it is only open at night. But behind the scenes, a competition is underway: a duel between two young magicians, Helena and Myka.
A/N: I'm really sorry for taking so long to update this! Real life has been crazy busy lately.
A/N2: For those of you who have read the book... You should know that I'm changing the way the ending works (partly to make it somewhat more of a surprise, partly to make it more Warehouse-y). So if you don't recognize what's going on, that's why!

Part 1 | Part 2

~London; October 13 to 14, 1891~

The cauldron sits in the middle of the courtyard, cold, empty, and waiting. It is made of wrought iron, and long, thin strands of it rise from the edges of the cauldron, lifting into a twirling, twisted snarl of metal. People walk around it, thinking it nothing more than an interesting piece of sculpture.

It is almost time.

Myka hurries forward and drops the heavy book – a perfect copy of which remains locked in her office – into the base of the cauldron and then moves to the edge of the courtyard. She looks around at the circus patrons; some walk around still in a daze over some sight or another, some talk animatedly with their companions. No one has noticed Myka and her book.

Sam has volunteered to be Myka’s eyes and ears while she is stuck in London, but, if this works, the book and the bonfire will serve as a much stronger link between Myka and the circus. She’s never done something like this before, nothing on quite this large a scale. But with all these moving parts – with all these people being pulled along on the coattails of this challenge – it seemed wise to set a few safety measures into place.

One minute before midnight, twelve figures silently enter the courtyard and arrange themselves around the perimeter. Though they’ve never officially met, Myka recognizes Pete Lattimer, standing at 9 o’clock. She isn’t sure of the identities of the rest.

As one, all twelve lift their bows and take aim towards the cauldron. In the next instant, the tip of each one of their arrows lights with a small dancing flame. Now people are starting to pay attention, with whispers and nudges and fingers pointing towards the twelve glowing points.

The first archer releases her bowstring, just as the clock by the gates begins to toll.

With the first deep chime, the first arrow reaches the well of iron, igniting the bonfire with an eruption of yellow flame and sparks falling all around.

The second archer lets his arrow loose just a few moments after the first, and as the second bell chimes, the next arrow arches into its target, and the flames turn instantly into a clear sky blue.

The crowd oohs and ahs, as the color of the cauldron’s fire changes with each successive toll of the clock, each successive flaming arrow. A warm bright pink turns into the color of a ripe pumpkin; then scarlet-red; a deeper, sparkling crimson; a color like incandescent wine; shimmering violet; indigo; the deepest midnight blue...

On the penultimate chime, the flames shift into an inky black, and for a moment, it is hard to tell the flames from the cauldron.

Until finally, on the twelfth and final chime of the clock, the flames burst into blinding white, a shower of sparks falling like snowflakes around the cauldron. Huge curls of white smoke float up towards the sky.

The archers melt back into the shadows, as the crowd erupts into applause.

It is opening night, and so far, at least, everything is going perfectly.

***

~Glasgow; January 19 through 31, 1897~

The first time that Myka meets Pete Lattimer, she really doesn’t like him at all.

She’s not sure who has appointed him as her ‘tour guide,’ but it is quite unnecessary, seeing how she has spent a remarkably large percentage of her time over the last nearly six years organizing, studying, and working on the circus. And in any case, he is certainly the wrong man for the job.

Pete is loud, obnoxious, and infantile, and Myka would far rather be alone working than being led from tent to tent, each of which she already knows perfectly well. Still, when it was decided that Myka would start traveling with the circus more often, Mr. Kosan determined that she should have an escort of sorts to, as he explained, “show her the ropes.”

“You know, I have been here before,” Myka protests, as Pete begins telling her of Irene Frederic, the wild cat tamer. “I was even there when the Regents first got together and started designing the circus.”

Pete rolls his eyes; he is clearly not a fan of Myka’s either.

“Well excuse me,” he says, sarcasm dripping. “I’m not doing this for you because it’s my idea of a good time. But I was told to show you around, so that’s what I’m doing.”

Myka is irritable – Sam’s description did not even come close to doing Miss Wells’ remarkable new carousel justice, and having now seen it for herself and sensed the level of skill that must have gone into its construction, Myka is feeling a tad too far out of her depth. She knows fully well that she’s taking it out on poor Mr. Lattimer, but knowing is not enough to get her to stop.

“Yes, and who told you to do so? Your mother? Do you always do whatever she asks?” Myka taunts.

Pete clenches his jaw. Having been present during many of Mrs. Lattimer’s meetings with Mr. Kosan, Myka knows that his mother’s association with the circus is a bit of a sore spot for Pete. He had no idea that she was one of the Regents – the founding members of the circus – until after he had been hired.

“Fine,” Pete spits out, raising his arms in surrender. “You’re on your own.”

With that, he turns and stalks off towards the performers’ living quarters.

They don’t see each other again until the following evening. Myka is fixing herself some dinner, when Pete strolls into the kitchen area. He freezes for a moment when he sees her, but merely shakes his head before rummaging for a snack and departing again without a word.

As the week goes on, Myka begins to wish that she hadn’t been so brusque. Although she certainly keeps quite busy, her life remains a lonely one. Loneliness is practically all that Myka has ever known, but the thought that she might have been able to change that, had she not already begun burning bridges, is a difficult one. She has Sam, it is true, but much to his chagrin, she has decided that their relationship should be kept secret.

A week to the day after their first meeting, Pete finds Myka scribbling in her notebook, jotting down ideas for her own next move in the game. He clears his throat, startling her.

Pete smiles, and though he would never admit to such, he finds the smudge of black ink that stretches across Myka’s cheek quite charming. The woman’s an undeniable pain, but he has a good feeling about her nonetheless, and he’s learned to trust his gut feelings.

“All right,” he begins, “I’ve had enough time to get over my wounded pride, and you’ve had enough time on your own. Have you even left the circus once since you got here?”

Myka blinks, surprised that he is here, that he is talking to her, and that he noticed anything about her behavior at all.

“Um, well...” She thinks back, scratching the back of her head. “I guess I haven’t, no.”

Pete nods, as if he knew as much. “Glasgow’s a pretty nice place, once you get past the rain, and the cold, and the bad food.” He winks. “So come on; some friends and I are going out for a bite before the circus opens, and you’re coming with us.”

Myka smiles tentatively. “I am?”

“You bet you are, whether you like it or not,” Pete replies with conviction.

It’s how their tradition of eating together begins – well, eating for some meals, at least; Myka swears that Pete could eat ten meals per day and be perfectly happy – and how Myka begins to meet some other members of the circus.

Though Myka is grateful for Pete’s overture, she is still no fan at all of his childish antics, and things are fairly stilted between them at first.

That changes, however, on their last night in Glasgow.

Pete and Myka are just departing what has become Pete’s favorite pub, when a small group of men are entering. Myka has seen them at the pub before, often talking loudly about their favorite football club. She nods politely, but is taken by surprise when one of them, the apparent leader, reaches out and grabs a tight hold of her hand, spinning her around to face him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he greets with what he must think is a charming smile. “Leaving so early? Surely you could be persuaded to come in for a drink. And you can leave your boy,” he says with a derisive jerk of his head towards Pete. “I’ll be sure to take very good care of you.”

Myka’s smile is tight-lipped and forced. She lightly pulls her hand back, but the man maintains his grip. “Thank you, but no,” she responds. “I really have to be going.”

“Oh, don’t be like that-” the man begins, before Pete steps forward, glowering protectively.

“The lady said she wasn’t interested,” he murmurs, the warning evident in his voice.

Myka rolls her eyes. “Yes, Pete, thank you, but ‘the lady’ can speak for herself,” she insists. With that, she tugs back hard so that her hand slips loose from the unwanted hold, and catching the man wholly off guard, she shoves him backwards with both hands to his chest.

Myka had really only meant to get him to back off, and show that she isn’t cowed by him, but as the rain earlier that morning has left the ground slippery with mud, the man completely loses his balance, falling right to the ground.

For a moment, time seems to stand still, as everyone turns to stare at Myka, shocked. Then one of the man’s friends snaps out of it and rushes towards Pete, who manages just in time to come to his senses and punch the oncoming threat square in the jaw.

Myka trips the next goon, as Pete ducks out of the way. There’s a moment of hesitation from the few men who remain on their feet, and Myka quickly turns and pulls Pete along with her as she begins to run back in the direction of the circus.

The others briefly give chase, but soon give up as Pete and Myka turn a corner and continue sprinting down the street.

The circus is within sight when Pete starts to laugh. Myka joins in when his foot catches on a slick patch of the dirt road, his arms going round like windmills as he tries to keep his balance. The fight against gravity is a losing one, however. Pete grabs hold of Myka’s jacket in a last-ditch effort, but he succeeds only in pulling her down into the mud with him.

Almost out of breath, Myka finds that instead of being angry, she can only laugh, even as he playfully flicks some mud towards her. She returns the favor, and a handful of mud glances off his shoulder, splashing up to hit the edge of his chin.

“Myka Bering,” he pronounces, caught between laughing and catching his breath, “I have officially never met a woman anything like you.”

Myka grins proudly.

***

~Chicago; September 21, 1903~

Having successfully made it inside the Night Circus, Claudia isn’t sure what she should do next.

There are no signs of anyone; no performers, crew members, or workers. Where they’ve all gone, Claudia has no idea. There must be a circus train somewhere, but no one’s ever seen one, as far as she knows.

At first glance, there’s nothing obvious for her to take back as proof of having completed the dare. There are the signs still hanging outside the entrance to each tent, but she doesn’t quite have the nerve to steal one of those.

So, given no other plan of action, she simply wanders. Before long, she’s no real sense of where she is, or how to get back to the spot where she first entered.

Regardless, Claudia isn’t scared. The feelings of intimidation she experienced as she approached the circus are fading now, replaced by a guarded sense of excitement. Although there’s an eeriness to the circus, permeating the air, she feels at home here, to an extent that doesn’t make any sense.

Claudia stops as she winds her way around yet another corner, finding herself at the edge of the central courtyard. The bonfire burns brightly as ever, but in the pale light of day, the contrast between the white flames and their surroundings is not nearly as stark as it had been at night. She approaches the cauldron, getting close enough that she can feel the heat of the flames.

“Hello.”

Claudia startles noticeably, whirling around towards the unexpected voice which has suddenly appeared behind her.

A girl stands there, alone, dressed all in white. She appears to be older than Claudia, though perhaps not by much.

Claudia opens her mouth to speak, but finds that nothing comes out. Having no idea where to go, her distinct urge to run yields nothing but a quick search with her eyes for anything resembling an exit.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the girl says. “Not yet.”

In spite of her words of warning, the girl’s smile is kind. Claudia takes a moment to look her over. She is clearly a member of the circus, though Claudia doesn’t recall seeing her the night before. She wears a lacy white dress, white boots, and white gloves, a pleasing contrast to her toffee-colored skin. Her hair hangs loose, with tight curls cascading down to her shoulders.

“Yeah, I know.” Claudia finally responds, sheepishly digging her toe into the sand at her feet. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s all right. We just should get you out of here before anyone else sees you. Which way did you come in?” she asks.

“Uhhh…” Claudia looks around, lost.

The girl smiles again, and Claudia can’t help but smile back.

“Come on, then.” The girl nods her head back towards one of several walkways extending out from the courtyard.

They walk side by side, a relatively comfortable silence filling up the air between them.

Claudia has never been known to stay quiet for long, however, and now is no exception.

“What does ‘exsanguinated’ mean?” she asks curiously.

The curly-haired girl laughs, a soft, sweet sound. Her words, however, make Claudia pale and swallow audibly. “It means to get drained of all your blood,” she replies, a twinkle in her eye. “Don’t worry, they wouldn’t actually do that. I don’t think.”

Still, if Claudia felt a desire to stick around and get to know this quiet girl, it’s gone now. The girl leads her to a break between the tents, where she can once again squeeze between the bars of the fence.

The girl smiles one more time, then turns to leave.

“Wait!” Claudia calls out. Clear brown eyes turn back to face her, and Claudia finds herself blushing as she stumbles through an admission. “I… It was a dare. That’s why I’m here. And, to show that I really did it, well, I need something. Something from the circus. To bring back.”

The girl nods in understanding, walking back to the fence as she peels a glove off her left hand. She holds it out through the bars of the fence, but Claudia shakes her head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t take that.”

“It’s no problem, really,” the girl responds. “I have a whole box of them.”

Reaching up, Claudia shyly takes the proffered glove. “Thank you,” she says earnestly.

“You’re welcome.”

Claudia smiles brightly, and then turns to head back towards her house.

“Good bye, Claudia,” the girl calls out.

“Bye!” The redhead twists and waves happily, before bursting into a run. It’s later than she’d realized, and none of her foster siblings are in the large oak tree any longer. She can only hope that she won’t get in trouble for being gone this long.

Claudia is half-way across the field when she realizes that she never told the curly-haired girl her name.

***

~Helsinki; March 2, 1910~

Myka takes a deep breath. She’s never managed to do anything like this before, but theoretically, it should work. If she can’t stop Helena, then at least she can work around what the other woman is planning. She can work around all of them; change their stupid rules.

So far, she’s managed to slow time down, but not turn it backwards. She goes over the runes and symbols in her notebook one more time, making sure she’s done everything right up to this point.

Satisfied, she knows that the next step is making some kind of marking on herself, so that she’ll know if it worked or not. She studies the scar around her ring finger, running her thumb over the old wound. She’s not quite willing to do anything that drastic if it’s not necessary, however.

Myka has just decided that she’ll make a small cut in the tip of her pinky finger when a stray bit of wind comes in through the open window and flips to the next page in her notebook. She’s surprised to see the final step to the incantation already written out – they’re the same symbols from the previous page, but now drawn to represent the figure of a clock, with the hands set to nine minutes before the current time – along with a short note, written in her own handwriting.

You've already cut your finger, and you've already tried the spell. So if you don’t remember doing so, and if there’s no cut, then that means it didn't work.

With a growl of frustration, Myka takes her notebook and tosses it across the room.

***

~London; November 1, 1908~

Helena quietly shuts the door to the flat and leans up against it with a sigh. She holds Myka’s leather book – a “safeguard,” she had called it – underneath her arm. She has only glanced through it, enough to see that it is full of scraps of paper, each bearing the signature of a member of the circus. Helena can admit to herself that she has absolutely no idea how it works, or what its purpose is, but maybe if she can learn… If she can figure out how to use the book, then she can take some of this tremendous weight off of herself, and make the circus more independent.

She doesn’t know what to feel right now, what to think. She can still feel the warmth of Myka’s arms wrapped around herself; but so too can she still feel the warmth of blood on her hands. She wants to forget, and though she was able to manage it for a little while, the reality of what has happened has come crashing back into her psyche, leaving her trembling and cold.

Helena is seriously thinking of forgetting everything else and returning back into the safe haven behind her, just for a little longer, but before she can make her decision, a harsh voice rings out.

“You deceitful little slut.”

Helena starts at the sound. She had not noticed the man standing, waiting in the shadows. Then again, his nearly translucent nature makes noticing him quite difficult even under the most normal of circumstances, never mind her current emotional state.

She lets her head fall back against the door. “Hello, James. I’m surprised you waited this long to say that to me,” Helena says with a contemptuous sneer.

MacPherson begins to pace across the hall, flickering in and out of visibility, as he steps from shadow to light and back again. “Oh believe me,” he assures, “if I could, I would have marched in there and dragged you out here by force. But this place is so well protected it’s absurd. Nothing can get in without that girl explicitly wanting it there.”

“Good.” Helena nods to herself. “Obviously it’s not so absurd, given that it stopped you. So now you can leave her alone. And me as well, while you’re at it.”

“You should follow your own damn advice. You need it much more than I,” MacPherson argues. He gestures towards the book under her arm and asks, “What are you doing with that? You cannot interfere with her work.”

Helena sighs, pushing off from the door and taking a few steps towards the stairs which lead out of the building. “It is none of your business, but you needn’t worry. I have no intention of interfering. I merely wish to understand her system, so that I can stop having to constantly manage so much of the circus myself.”

MacPherson stops pacing, coming to stand right in front of her. Helena has not seen him look quite this angry in a very long time.

“Her system – Arthur’s system – is of no concern to you.” He shakes his head in derision. “You are so much weaker than I thought. I have overestimated you and your ability to handle this challenge.”

“It’s not about skill at all, is it?” Helena asks. Beneath her simmering anger, she is genuinely curious. “The game is about how we handle the repercussions of our magic, out there in the real, public world. A world that doesn’t believe. It’s a crude test of stamina and control, not ability.”

“It is a test of strength,” MacPherson practically spits out, “and you are weak.”

“So then I’ll lose!” Helena can only shrug resignedly. “I am as competitive as they come, but I am just so exhausted. I no longer care about your stupid game, so go on and do whatever it is you need to do, and just declare a winner already! Win or lose, I have no reason to be ashamed, and neither does Myka.”

MacPherson actually laughs, barking out a harsh sound that contains no amusement. “A winner is not declared, you foolish girl. The game continues until it is over. It cannot be stopped. You used to be somewhat clever; I’d thought you would have figured this out by now.”

Helena opens her mouth to bite back, but the gears in her mind are working, churning through all the vague, obscure words he’s chosen to say to her over the years. It only takes a few moments before something clicks in a way that it never has before.

Helena feels like the air’s been sucked out of her lungs, and she takes a step backward, reaching behind her until she feels the solid form of the door behind her. She spreads her hand wide, as though she were trying to feel the beating of Myka’s heart straight through the wood.

Suddenly, the shape of it all is clear, as everything falls into place.

“The victor is the one left standing after the other can no longer endure,” Helena says, her voice a hushed whisper, the scope of the whole thing finally making a kind of devastating sense.

For just a fraction of a moment, MacPherson almost looks as though he feels sorry for her. But then the expression is gone, replaced with a neutral mask. “That’s one way to put it, I suppose,” he acknowledges.

Helena turns to gaze longingly at the door behind her, her hand still pressed up against it.

MacPherson scoffs. “Oh, stop behaving as though you love that girl. I raised you to be better than this.”

Helena appears dazed as she turns back to face MacPherson. “Yes, you raised me. And yet you’re willing to sacrifice me.” She looks to him, waiting for him to tell her that she’s wrong; that this is all just one, big, horrible joke. “And for what? To make a point? You’ve played this game so many times before; have either of you proven anything yet?”

MacPherson clenches his jaw, staring at her dispassionately. “Don’t look at me like that; as if you think me inhuman.”

“I can see right through you,” Helena snaps. “Your humanity is most certainly up for debate.”

He offers a one-shouldered shrug, as though to concede the point, but says nothing more.

“And what of the circus? What happens after the game is over?”

“The circus is nothing but a venue,” MacPherson replies. “If you like, you can keep it going after you win. It serves no purpose beyond the game, however.”

“I suppose all the people involved serve no purpose as well, then?” Helena runs a disbelieving hand through her hair. “Their fates are of no consequence?”

The questions are fairly rhetorical, and they both know it. Helena doesn’t know how old MacPherson is – undoubtedly he is very much older than he seems – but she finds herself thinking that he has been a part of this world for far too long. He has lost all sense of responsibility, all sense of human connection to those around him.

He frowns, nonchalant. “All actions have repercussions. That is part of the challenge.”

Helena turns, disgusted. She cannot stand to look at him. “Why are you telling me all this? Up until now, you’ve refused to tell me much of anything.”

“Up until now, it never occurred to me that you might actually be the one to lose,” he says, disappointment coating his words.

“The one to die, you mean,” she amends.

“Death is merely a technicality. A game is completed only when there is a single player left. There is no other way to end it.” He reaches for her, and although his hand is not material enough to grab hold of her, the odd feeling of his hand going through her arm is enough to set her attention back on him. “So I highly suggest that you put an end to your little dalliance with Miss Bering, and quickly.”

Helena’s shoulders slump, all the fight leaking out of her like a deflating balloon. She looks down to the ground, only remembering the previous night’s events when she sees the rust-colored smear of dried blood that coats the bottom of her gown and rises up towards her waist. She thinks of making the stain disappear, but decides to let it stay.

She wants nothing more in this moment than to return to her room, get into bed, and not emerge for at least a month. Before she gives in to her utter exhaustion, however, she has one more question.

“What happens to the one who is left, then? Mr. Nielsen’s student won last time; what has become of him?”

MacPherson offers a derisive laugh. “She is currently playing with the lions and tigers in your precious little circus.”

***

~London; October 13 to 14, 1891~

Helena had expected to feel like a cheap imitation of MacPherson during her first performances.

From the very first moment that she emerges into the ring in a cloud of white smoke, however, her nerves simply evaporate, and the experience is vastly different than the one she witnessed from the wings of endless theaters as a child. Her performance space is small and intimate, and she finds that she can make each performance unique, letting the response of the audience inform what she chooses to do next. It is exhilarating.

Nonetheless, she still very much appreciates the stretches of time to herself in between performances. She removes her top hat, covers her costume in a large overcoat, and emerges to wander around the circus.

As midnight approaches, she decides to see if she can find a good spot to watch the lighting of the bonfire. It is then, however, that she learns that both Mrs. Frederic and Mrs. Jinks have gone into labor.

The area that is already being referred to as backstage, in spite of the lack of stage, per se, is one of somewhat ordered chaos. Evelyn’s baby was due a week prior, and Emma’s isn’t due for another week yet; afterward, people will joke that both children wanted to experience opening night with a friend. Helena does what she can to help, which mainly consists of making tea and assuring people that everything will be fine.

Unlike almost everyone else, Irene Frederic, the matriarch of the cat tamers, is conspicuously calm. She simply stands to the side, keeping an eye on her son, who paces back and forth like one of his cats.

Helena pauses next to the regal woman to catch her breath. “I feel like I’m more anxious than you are,” she comments with a laugh. “Although I suppose one must have a special talent for tranquility when one deals with wild animals every day.”

“Evelyn is strong,” Irene responds simply. “I have no need to worry.”

Helena smiles warmly, before returning to check on the Jinks family.

A few minutes before midnight, the first cry of Leena Frederic is met with sighs of relief and cheers of excitement.

And then something else almost immediately follows.

Helena feels it even before she hears the applause echoing from the courtyard; a wave of energy that spreads through the circus like a stone dropped into a still pond. It flows through her body, hitting her with such force that she almost loses her balance.

“Are you all right?”

Helena turns to see Irene coming up beside her and placing a warm hand beneath her elbow to steady her. There’s a knowing gleam in Irene’s eyes that Helena can’t quite understand.

She takes a deep breath, flustered. “Yes, thank you. I’m fine,” she says, placing her hand to her chest in an effort to calm her racing heart.

Just then, another baby’s cry erupts from the adjoining chamber, as Steven Jinks enters the world.

“They have remarkable timing,” Irene comments. Helena can only nod in agreement.

With that, Irene offers her a cool smile, and then goes to be with her family.

Whatever move Helena’s opponent has just made, it has shaken her. She feels the entirety of the circus radiating around her, as though a net has been thrown over it, trapping everything within the iron fence, fluttering like a butterfly.

She wonders how she is supposed to retaliate.

Fic: The Night Circus 2/? (Myka/HG, Warehouse 13)

mysensitiveside — Fri, 21 Dec 2012 04:47:25 GMT

Title: The Night Circus (2/?)
Fandom: Warehouse 13/The Night Circus
Pairing: Myka/H.G.
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~5,000
Spoilers: None for Warehouse 13. Definitely quite a few for the book.
Summary: The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. It is called Le Cirque des Rêves, and it is only open at night. But behind the scenes, a competition is underway: a duel between two young magicians, Helena and Myka.
A/N: This is a fusion (I think that's the right term) with the novel The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern. The general premise of the novel (which I highly recommend!) is the same here, though I've certainly changed quite a few aspects. Some scenes are lifted right from the book (with changes), but others are not.
A/N2: Make note of the date listed at the start of each section. The story will not move ahead linearly.

Part 1

~Chicago; September 21, 1903~

“Truth or dare?”

The question, directed towards Claudia, is immediately followed by three acorns being thrown at her, each one sent by one of her foster siblings.

Claudia glares up at them through the tree’s branches, sticking out her tongue.

“Well, which is it?” Margaret impatiently asks. “We haven’t got all day, you know.”

Claudia usually asks for truth – though whether she actually says the full truth is another question entirely – but something about the small sting on her cheek where an acorn hit makes her feel defiant.

“Dare,” she calls out loudly, sticking her chin out.

The silence that follows shows that Margaret certainly hadn’t been expecting that one. Claudia smiles to herself.

The quiet is only broken by Alice’s giggles as Frank manages to catch Claudia right on the top of her head with another acorn.

Clearly needing the attention back on her, Margaret finally speaks, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Claudia’s dare is to break into the Night Circus.”

Alice gasps, and Claudia feels herself pale just slightly.

Margaret practically preens, as she commands, “And you have to bring something back, so we know you really did it.”

It’s an impossible dare, and all of them know it.

Before she can talk herself out of it, though, Claudia jumps down out of the tree. “Alright, I’ll do it,” she calls back up at them, before taking off across the field.

It’s been about half a week since the mysterious black-and-white-striped tents appeared from out of nowhere. The last time the circus was here, six years earlier, Claudia was deemed too young to go, and was forced to listen jealously as the others chattered on about it.

Just the previous night, however, Claudia had finally been allowed to go.

It was nothing like Claudia had thought it would be. The Night Circus is something to be explored, something to be experienced, rather than something to be watched. She had only had time to visit a small fraction of the tents, each with a sign proclaiming just the slightest hint of what wonders would be found inside.

There was the carousel – with its gryphons, dragons, unicorns, and other strange creatures – taking a far more complicated course than a mere circle.

The elaborate garden, made entirely out of ice.

The seemingly endless labyrinth, where one room might be made entirely out of playing cards, while in another, it is snowing.

The acrobats, who fearlessly throw themselves through the air, even without a safety net.

When Claudia was forced to leave, she immediately couldn’t wait until the following day, when she would be able to return once again.

Granted, she thinks now as she walks through the field between her house and the circus grounds, her return trip is coming a bit earlier than anticipated.

Although Claudia had set out from the tree full of brave thoughts and imagined admiration from the others, she finds herself growing more intimidated as the tent tops loom higher and higher.

Everything looks different in the daylight. It is completely silent, not even the smallest suggestion of the bustling activity from the night before. There are no lights, no people, no sounds... Nothing but a faint hint of the smell of caramel and smoke in the air.

She stops in front of the wrought iron gate, now closed shut with a complicated-looking lock. A small sign reads:

Gates Open at Nightfall & Close at Dawn
Trespassers Will Be Exsanguinated

Claudia gulps. She isn’t sure what “exsanguinated” means, but it doesn’t sound like a good thing.

She takes a quick look back over her shoulder; she can see the others, three small specks sitting up in the tree, and she just knows that they’re watching her carefully.

Wanting to be out of sight, Claudia turns and slowly walks around to the other side of the fence.

As for actually getting inside the circus, however... Climbing over the fence is unthinkable, as it looks to be well over three times Claudia’s height.

She smiles, though, as she realizes that there are some advantages to being a “pipsqueak,” as Frank often calls her. The fence, though intimidating, wasn’t exactly designed with small-for-their-age-eleven-year-old-girls-on-a-dare in mind.

It’s a bit of a tight squeeze, but Claudia manages to slip through the space between the bars.

She holds her breath and shuts her eyes, half-expecting to be “exsanguinated” on the spot, but nothing happens.

***

~Vienna; June 27, 1907~

It has been a fair number of years since Leena and Steve required a chaperone whenever they chose to wander through the circus. Nonetheless, there are still times when, in between sets of their own act, their winding promenades take them in search of their favorite companion.

Tonight, they manage to time it just so, going to get some snacks and then wandering aimlessly until they find themselves outside Helena’s tent right as the older woman finishes one of her performances.

“Hello, darlings!” she greets happily when she sees them, her cheeks pleasantly flushed after the usual round of thunderous applause.

“Care for a stroll?” Steve asks, offering his arm.

Helena grins at him. “My, what a gentleman,” she comments. “And to think, just a few short years ago, I was helping to change your diapers.”

Steve blushes, while Leena rolls her eyes. “We’re going to be sixteen this year, Helena. It’s been quite a bit more than a ‘few’ years,” Leena corrects.

“Indeed,” the illusionist acknowledges with a wink. Her expression turns wistful as she adds, “You are growing up far too quickly.”

ldquo;Not quickly enough,” Steve counters, leading the way towards the central courtyard.

Helena nudges him in the side, teasing, “Oh, don’t worry. Before you know it, the two of you will both have plenty of boys flocking to your side.”

Steve chokes on the mouthful of popcorn he’d been eating, earning a delighted laugh from Helena, as well as a smirk and thump on the back from Leena.

“You know, she’ll only get worse if you keep reacting to her like that,” Leena remarks, one eyebrow raised. “You’ve got to learn to ignore her, and then it won’t be any fun anymore.”

Helena winks.

Steve has to clear his throat several times before he can reply. “Easy for you to say,” he eventually declares. “She doesn’t tease you nearly as much as she does me!”

“Darling, I believe that’s her point,” Helena says with a grin. Her smile shifts to one of a purer happiness as she catches sight of a man walking towards them, wearing a black suit with a red rose tucked into the buttonhole.

“Miss Wells,” he greets. “Always a pleasure to see you. I have not yet had the chance to visit your tent, so this is a pleasant surprise.” He turns towards Leena and Steve with a kind smile. “Oh, and how lovely. You are the ones with the kittens, yes? Training those small bundles of fur to jump through hoops and do back flips must take an incredible amount of patience, I would imagine. Exceptionally impressive.”

“Um, yes,” Leena replies after a moment of surprised silence. In all the time since they earned their own act, not once has a single one of the circus patrons recognized them when they were out mingling, without their costumes.

Steve doesn’t appear to share her surprise, however. He grins. “And you’re the man who made our clock!” He sticks out his hand for the stranger to shake. “It’s an honor, sir.”

The man looks pleased at the recognition. “Indeed, yes,” he says. “Has Miss Wells told you about me?”

At that, Steve becomes flustered. “Um. Well... No...” He shoots a sheepish glance towards Helena.

“Mr. Jinks, here, has a particular talent for reading people,” she supplies with a fond smile.

“I see,” the man says, though he clearly does not. “Well, allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Mr. Caturanga. As Mr. Jinks deduced, I am a clockmaker, and general tinkerer.”

He reaches to shake Steve’s hand a second time, and Leena’s a first, as Helena introduces, “And this is Mr. Steven Jinks and Miss Leena Frederic, circus performers extraordinaire!”

Leena gasps quietly as Mr. Caturanga takes hold of her hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Steve turns to look at her in concern, but she simply shakes her head minutely at him.

Her gift doesn’t always work like this, but at the very moment when their skin touched, Leena was immediately flooded with sensation. It will take her some time to make any sense of what she experienced, if any sense is there to be made, but in the moment she is simply overwhelmed with color.

A deep, dark red clings to Caturanga, even as the rest of the impression begins to fade. Leena closes her eyes, glad that the man’s attention has shifted back to Helena, and tries to hold on to as much as she can before it is gone altogether. She has gotten better at this, with Helena’s help, but it is still far from easy.

Satisfied that she has retained all that she can, Leena allows her focus to return to the present. Steve and Helena remain engaged in conversation with Mr. Caturanga, but Leena can sense their worry, as they each keep a concerned eye on her.

Leena smiles to assuage their anxiety, but even so, she cannot quite shake a disquieting feeling that niggles at the back of her mind. The emotion feels entirely incongruous with this joyful, polite man who stands before her, but there is no denying that he is at the center of whatever it is that she just saw.

Without a word, Steve reaches to squeeze her hand, and immediately, Leena feels a sense of balance return to her. She squeezes back. There is no point trying to hide anything from Steve, as he will always see the truth on her, but the emotion is genuine when she turns to him with a small, grateful smile.

Even now, however, when Leena glances once more at Mr. Caturanga, that deep red silhouette lingers behind.

***

~Philadelphia; December 15, 1899~

Myka is in a room with pure white sand beneath her feet and an endless stretch of nighttime sky all around her. The sensation of being out of doors, in a vast and open space, is so complete that it is somewhat of a surprise when Myka puts her hand before her and eventually finds the wall hidden amongst the stars.

She leans back against the wall, content to simply stand still for a moment, before trying to find the door that will take her to yet another room. In order to get to this spot, she went through a plain room with seven doors, a room where it felt like she was swimming, an evergreen forest, a room where it was snowing, and a hedge maze.

She hears a door open, but the sound of footsteps is muffled by the shifting sand underfoot.

Mr. Nielsen comes to stand stiffly next to her. He does not say anything right away, but Myka can sense his disapproval regardless.

Sure enough, he can only manage to stay quiet for a minute before he declares, “This is abhorrent.”

Myka smiles at his predictability. “It’s good to see you too, Artie. It’s been quite a while.”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles.

They return to silence for a moment, before Myka gives in and asks, “Which half is abhorrent, mine or hers?”

Arthur bristles. “Don’t you see? The very fact that you can even ask that question is abhorrent! You are not meant to collaborate. I have told you so, many times. You are meant to be working separately.”

“First of all,” Myka sighs, “you can’t punish me for breaking the rules, when you insisted all along on refusing to tell me any rules. Second of all, it can hardly be called collaborating when she still doesn’t even know who I am. And third of all, what better way to compare and judge our own individual skills, than when we are forced to share the same tent?”

“And what about this Caturanga fellow? He now knows who you are,” Arthur replies, managing to ignore all three of Myka’s points. “He isn’t even a member of the circus, and you have him helping you?!”

“Technically,” Myka offers, “I am not a member of the circus either. Mr. Caturanga simply serves as a consultant, to both of us. He helped to advise Helena on the workings of her carousel; he helps advise me when it comes to the engineering logistics of my own rooms in the Labyrinth. This is supposed to be a test of magical skill, isn’t it? It hardly seems fair to hold me at a disadvantage just because Helena happens to be gifted with engineering, and I’m not.”

“So it’s Helena, now?” Arthur asks pointedly. “You cannot trust her!”

Myka is grateful for the darkness, as she feels her cheeks flush. “Miss Wells, then. I apologize,” she murmurs sarcastically.

Arthur grumbles something unintelligible, which Myka doesn’t bother asking him to repeat.

“So is she better than I am? Can you even tell which rooms are mine, and which are hers?” Myka challenges. “We’ve been playing at this ‘game’ for eight years, Mr. Nielsen. Surely by now everyone can tell that our skills are comparable. How will a winner even be determined at this point?”

“That is not your concern,” Arthur practically spits out. “You need only focus on your own work. No more of this debauched juxtaposition. I expected so much more from you. This is highly disappointing.”

Myka doesn’t so much as blink, but there is no denying the sting of hurt that Arthur’s words cause in her. She swallows thickly, but it takes several long moments before Myka can trust her own voice not to break. Her words come out low and harsh as she replies, “Well clearly, when you were looking for lonely, vulnerable young children, you should have chosen someone else. I am sorry that my entire life thus far has amounted to nothing but a disappointment. I have always done my best for you.”

Arthur sighs, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. He looks as though he means to say something, but then closes his mouth again. Myka says nothing more, even as the silence that envelopes them weighs heavily on her shoulders.

Finally, Arthur speaks. “Just... Keep working. And stay away from Miss Wells.”

With that, he turns and goes back the way he came, leaving Myka to sink down and lie in the sand beneath the stars.

***

~London; September 2, 1899~

Mr. Caturanga looks up from his work at the sound of a polite cough. He hadn’t noticed that someone had entered his shop.

“Ah, it’s you again!” he exclaims happily as he catches sight of the woman who served as the catalyst to his relationship with the Night Circus. “Forgive me, but I’ve forgotten your name. It has been quite a few years, now, and I must admit that my memory is not fully what it once was.”

The young woman, looking just about exactly as she did eight years prior, right down to the pinstripe suit and bowler hat, takes a step forward with a kind smile. “Myka Bering, sir. I am the assistant to-”

“Yes, yes, I remember that much, you can be sure,” he interrupts, waving a hand as though to wipe the rest of her explanation away. “How could I possibly forget the woman who commissioned me to make the clock that would lead me to Le Cirque des Rêves? I must tell you, that wonderful circus has inspired me like nothing else has in a very long time.”

“I am happy to hear it,” she says with a smile. “Your clock is certainly a marvel. I can’t seem to imagine either the clock without the circus, or the circus without the clock.”

Caturanga beams proudly. “Well, now what can I do for you?” he asks.

Myka’s expression turns a bit shy, turning to look down at the floor, as she considers her words.

“This may sound a bit strange, but I was wondering...” she begins. “How much do you know, about the circus?”

Caturanga tilts his head to the side, puzzled. “Pardon?”

Myka worries her bottom lip between her teeth, before she tries again. “How much has Miss Wells told you? About how the circus works.”

Something clicks, and Caturanga smiles broadly. “You are her opponent!” Myka inclines her head in agreement. “I never would have guessed,” he continues. “No wonder she hasn’t figured it out yet. I think she suspects the fortune teller.”

ldquo;So she’s told you about our... competition?” Myka asks.

“Only in the vaguest terms,” he explains with a shrug. “When she told me that everything she does is real, I had no choice but to either take her at her word, or consider her a liar. Though I am sure the lovely lady is no saint – the gleam in her eye is far too mischievous for that to be so – I most certainly do not consider her to be a liar. With that understanding, we turned to a discussion of what one might create if things such as gravity need not be a concern. All the credit undoubtedly goes to Miss Wells, but I assisted somewhat with the creation of the carousel, as I imagine you’ve guessed.”

“My assumptions ran along similar lines, yes,” Myka agrees. “Now, I have an idea, but I’m not the architect that either of you two are. I was hoping to ask for a bit of your assistance as well.”

Caturanga’s smile only widens. “Miss Bering, I would be delighted. I had wondered, whether you – although at the time, I had no idea that it was you, per se – would approach me. The way I see it, magicians employ engineers all the time to make their tricks seem real. I can help do the opposite, making actual magic appear to be nothing but clever construction.”

“I know that you are friends with Miss Wells...” Myka hesitates. “I can make you forget this entire conversation, if necessary.”

“I am indeed exceedingly fond of her,” Caturanga allows, “but I assure you, no memory modification shall be necessary. I would never dream of betraying either your confidence or your identity.”

Myka’s smile is equal parts grateful, relieved, and excited. “Thank you. I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy working with you.”

“The feeling is quite mutual, my dear,” Caturanga says. “Now, tell me about this idea of yours.”

***

A month later, when Caturanga receives a letter from Helena, he worries briefly about her reaction. Will she be upset that he is working with her opponent? Will she ask him for Miss Bering’s identity?

He can only smile, then, when he reads her note, which gets right to the point. Really, he should have known better than to doubt her.

May I make additions to it?
- H.G.W.

Caturanga decides on the spot that he will have to plan another visit to the circus sometime soon. He cannot wait to see what these two remarkable women will come up with next.

***

~London; October 30, 1908~

Helena stands alone in the middle of the lobby of the Midland Grand Hotel. She has made no inquiries at the front desk; she has not spoken to anyone at all. Guests and staff walk by her, seeming to unconsciously take steps to avoid crashing into her, even as they appear to take no notice of her at all.

She knows that this is where he stays when they are in London. She knows that he will come to her eventually, as long as she is patient enough to wait. Patience is not one of Helena’s strong suits, but this is important. It is time for things to move forward, one way or another.

It is more than an hour, before a man in a rumpled gray suit approaches her.

Other than his expression of mild distaste, Arthur Nielsen displays no reaction and makes no comment while Helena speaks to him. When she is done, he simply nods.

Helena bows to him formally, and then turns on her heel and leaves without a backward glance.

Across the room, Adwin Kosan remains in the shadows, unnoticed and watching. A ghostly figure stands by his side, whispering something into his ear.

***

~Rome; May 10, 1902~

Myka almost gets lost trying to find the café at which Helena has requested her presence. It’s a tiny place, and though it actually appears to be closed when Myka first walks by – blinds closed, no lights visible from the street – it’s fairly crowded inside.

Waiting at a table towards the back, Helena smiles when Myka enters, beckoning with a slight upwards nod of her head.

“So you found the place?” Helena greets.

“Barely,” is the response, as Myka takes her seat. “You’ve certainly taken us off the beaten path.”

Helena seems to take the comment as a compliment. “I’m much more partial to local watering holes, rather than the larger establishments. I hope you don’t mind. I assure you, the food and drink are very good.”

Myka smiles. “Cheers, then,” she says. It is then that she realizes that her own wine glass is quite different from Helena’s, and from every other glass she can see at the surrounding tables. The stem is designed as a column of the composite order; the bowl is round, with grape vines intricately etched around the top of the glass, just below the rim.

With a curious tilt of her head, Myka asks, “Is there a reason why I get such a lovely glass, and no one else does?”

Helena’s grin turns a shade mischievous. “It’s an artifact,” she replies simply, causing Myka to laugh. “Did you think I’d forgotten that it was my turn?”

“I’d wondered,” Myka admits, after they pause to order their meal. “We’ve already been here for a week and a half, and I imagine we’ll be moving on soon.”

“Yes, well,” Helena declares seriously, “it is a very old artifact, you know. Took me an incredible effort to track it down.”

Myka chuckles. “Is that so?”

“Quite.” After another moment of taking in Myka’s happy grin, Helena breaks, her somber expression lightening. “Well really, we’re in Rome! There is so much history here, so much culture! The task of choosing just one thing to give you proved to be quite daunting, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, how very dreadful for you,” Myka sympathizes mockingly. “That must be why you took the circus to an unnamed unincorporated settlement in South Dakota when you knew it was my turn. I understand now, it was obviously so that I wouldn’t be overwhelmed with too much history or culture to deal with. That was incredibly kind of you, Helena.”

Helena laughs in delight, and Myka finds her throat going dry at the light sound. She rubs the back of her neck and takes a rather large gulp of the wine Helena had ordered for them. Their food arrives, and Myka gladly shifts her attention to the waiter for the moment.

“I do apologize for that,” Helena says after the waiter has left again, managing to sound at least slightly sincere. “I was growing frustrated with the fact that I still had not yet identified you. Besides, now that I know you’re a bloody Yank, it only seems appropriate that you get the American locations. And in any case, you did very well! I very much like my Sioux arrowhead.”

Myka, who had been continuing to idly sip on her wine, opens her mouth to respond, but stops when she looks back down at her glass. She frowns. She certainly remembers drinking from the glass, and she doesn’t remember anyone refilling it, but...

Helena laughs again. “So you’ve discovered the artifact’s effects.”

A hesitant smile begins to edge over Myka’s face. “Okay, you got me a bottomless glass of wine?”

“Well surely, Bacchus’ wine goblet can never be allowed to go empty, wouldn’t you agree?” Helena asks in return.

“Ah.” Myka smiles with understanding. “A very old artifact, indeed. So, of all Rome’s endless possibilities, why this?”

Helena smirks. “Oh, have I been too subtle?” she asks with faux innocence. “Surely, my dear, it should be fairly obvious that I’d like to get you intoxicated. You hold your cards very close to the chest, Miss Bering, and I’d very much like to...” She pauses, searching for the right word. “...disentangle you a bit. I thought wine might help,” Helena concludes with a wink.

Myka blushes and finds herself staring down into her glass and idly picking at her food.

She’s not quite sure how to take Helena’s comments. The outright flirting is not at all something for which she had prepared herself, when Helena finally discovered who she was. She enjoys their banter – most of the time, at least, as long as Myka can hold her own reasonably well – but Myka can’t help but wonder what it really means.

Is it nothing more than lighthearted teasing? A genuine expression of friendship? A tactical effort to throw Myka off balance...? Too many possibilities run through Myka’s mind, with no real sense of which one might actually be true. She’s certainly off balance, however, so if that is Helena’s aim, she is succeeding quite well.

Helena, meanwhile, studies Myka’s face as a series of emotions flit rapidly by, too rapidly for Helena to properly identify them, before she schools her face back into a relatively neutral expression. Helena certainly enjoys pushing Myka’s buttons, but there is real truth in her words. It’s been a good amount of time, now, since Helena learned her opponent’s identity at long last, but she still finds herself both fascinated and bemused by the beguiling woman sitting across from her.

Myka jumps slightly in her seat at the sudden feel of Helena’s warm hand covering her own. She looks up and is drawn immediately to Helena’s gaze. Those deep, captivating brown eyes lure her in; Myka knows that she couldn’t have looked away in that moment, even if she’d wanted to.

“You needn’t be afraid of me,” Helena says softly. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. Truly, I thought only to supplement the good company I knew I would have this evening with some good wine.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Myka utters, her eyebrows briefly knitting in confusion. “I’m not fully sure what I am,” she admits with a soft smile, “but I’m not afraid.”

“Good,” Helena responds, lightly soothing her thumb over the back of Myka’s hand before letting go and leaning back in her seat.

The light outside begins to grow darker, and soon it will be time for both women to return for another night of the circus. But for now, their conversation turns to safer topics – the city; the twins; the food – even as their thoughts continue to circle around each other.

***

~Moscow; February 19, 1910~

Helena closes her eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. She can hear footsteps rapidly approaching her, and the corner of her mouth ticks upward for just a moment as a picture of Myka pops into her mind.

Pasting a composed smile on her face, she turns to face the oncoming storm.

“Hello, Myka,” she greets with an inclination of her head.

The unruffled welcome brings Myka up short. “Hello. I-” She shakes her head, flustered. She’d been preparing for a fight; been readying herself to argue and bluster and rant her way to what she wants. The unexpectedness of Helena’s tranquil charm, however, leaves Myka entirely disarmed.

Myka sighs, shoulders lowering, and all her righteous indignation suddenly deflates, leaving her feeling lost and alone.

“I know what you’re planning to do, Helena,” she says softly. She makes as if to take Helena’s hand, but then thinks better of it. Instead, her hand clenches into a fist as she continues, “I won’t let you go through with it.”

Helena has the audacity to smirk. “Is that so, darling? You won’t let me?”

“I... I know that-” Myka tries, but stops before completing her thought. She looks down to the floor and runs both hands through her hair.

Helena betrays no emotion, but allows her gaze to follow the paths of Myka’s fingertips, her own fingers itching to reach out and stroke through those tousled locks. It is so rare that Myka allows her hair down, both literally and figuratively.

Myka grits her teeth, looking up abruptly to stare Helena squarely in the eye. “I know that I hold no sway over you, but you are everything to me, and I am not too proud to beg for your mercy.”

Something inside of Helena cracks, and, no longer able to maintain the illusion of indifference, she steps forward into Myka’s personal space, reaching out to grab desperate hold of Myka’s hand.

“You hold so much more than you know,” Helena counters softly. Her free hand seems to move of its own accord and rises to cup Myka’s cheek. Myka’s eyes flutter closed at the contact, and she turns to softly press her lips to the palm of Helena’s hand.

Helena tries to remove her hand, but Myka reaches quickly to hold it in place.

“Myka.” The name comes out as an exhalation of breath. “My Myka. This is the only way I can think to save you.”

A few solitary tears fall down each woman’s face; neither one makes any move to wipe them away.

“But don’t you understand?” Myka entreats. “Helena, I don’t want to be saved, I just want to be with you!”

Helena looks down to the floor, but says nothing in return.

Part 3

Fic: The Night Circus 1/? (Myka/HG, Warehouse 13)

mysensitiveside — Tue, 04 Dec 2012 20:44:31 GMT

Title: The Night Circus
Fandom: Warehouse 13/The Night Circus
Pairing: Myka/H.G.
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~5,000
Spoilers: None for Warehouse 13. Definitely quite a few for the book.
Summary: The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. It is called Le Cirque des Rêves, and it is only open at night. But behind the scenes, a competition is underway: a duel between two young magicians, Helena and Myka.
A/N: This is a fusion (I think that's the right term) with the novel, The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern. The general premise of the novel (which I highly recommend!) is the same here, though I've certainly changed quite a few aspects. Some scenes are lifted right from the book (with changes), but others are not.
A/N2: Make note of the year listed at the start of each section. The story will not move ahead linearly.
A/N3: The top part in italics is taken word-for-word from the book. It sets the scene quite well, so I decided to quote it directly. Credit to Erin Morgenstern.

The circus arrives without warning.

No announcements precede it, no paper notices on downtown posts and billboards, no mentions or advertisements in local newspapers. It is simply there, where yesterday it was not.

The towering tents are striped in white and black, no golds and crimsons to be seen. No color at all, save for the neighboring trees and the grass of the surrounding fields. Black-and-white stripes on grey sky; countless tents of varying shapes and sizes, with an elaborate wrought-iron fence encasing them in a colorless world. Even what little ground is visible from outside is black or white, painted or powdered, or treated with some other circus trick.

But it is not open for business. Not just yet.

Within hours everyone in town has heard about it. By afternoon the news has spread several towns over. Word of mouth is a more effective method of advertisement than typeset words and exclamation points on paper pamphlets or posters. It is impressive and unusual news, the sudden appearance of a mysterious circus. People marvel at the staggering height of the tallest tents. They stare at the clock that sits just inside the gates that no one can properly describe.

And the black sign painted in white letters that hangs upon the gates, the one that reads:

Opens at Nightfall

Closes at Dawn

“What kind of circus only opens at night?” people ask. No one has a proper answer, yet as dusk approaches there is a substantial crowd of spectators gathering outside the gates.

You are amongst them, of course. Your curiosity got the better of you, as curiosity is wont to do. You stand in the fading light, the scarf around your neck pulled up against the chilly evening breeze, waiting to see for yourself exactly what kind of circus only opens as the sun sets.

The ticket booth clearly visible behind the gates is closed and barred. The tents are still, save for when they ripple ever so slightly in the wind. The only movement within the circus is the clock that ticks by the passing minutes, if such a wonder of sculpture can even be called a clock.

The circus looks abandoned and empty. But you think perhaps you can smell caramel wafting through the evening breeze, beneath the crisp scent of the autumn leaves. A subtle sweetness at the edges of the cold.

The sun disappears completely beyond the horizon, and the remaining luminosity shifts from dusk to twilight. The people around you are growing restless from waiting, a sea of shuffling feet, murmuring about abandoning the endeavor in search of someplace warmer to pass the evening. You yourself are debating departing when it happens.

First, there is a popping sound. It is barely audible over the wind and conversation. A soft noise like a kettle about to boil for tea. Then comes the light.

All over the tents, small lights begin to flicker, as though the entirety of the circus is covered in particularly bright fireflies. The waiting crowd quiets as it watches this display of illumination. Someone near you gasps. A small child claps his hands with glee at the sight.

When the tents are all aglow, sparkling against the night sky, the sign appears.

Stretched across the top of the gates, hidden in curls of iron, more firefly-like lights flicker to life. They pop as they brighten, some accompanied by a shower of glowing white sparks and a bit of smoke. The people nearest the gates take a few steps back.

At first, it is only a random pattern of lights. But as more of them ignite, it becomes clear that they are aligned in scripted letters. First, a C is distinguishable, followed by more letters. A q, oddly, and several e’s. When the final bulb pops alight, and the smoke and sparks dissipate, it is finally legible, this elaborate incandescent sign. Leaning to your left to gain a better view, you can see that it reads:

Le Cirque des Rêves

Some in the crowd smile knowingly, while others frown and look questioningly at their neighbors. A child near you tugs on her mother’s sleeve, begging to know what it says.

“The Circus of Dreams,” comes the reply. The girl smiles delightedly.

Then the iron gates shudder and unlock, seemingly by their own volition. They swing outward, inviting the crowd inside.

Now the circus is open.

Now you may enter.

~London; April 12, 1891~

The slow, deliberate sound of heels clacking across the floor echoes throughout the theater. The twenty-third auditionee walks to the very center of the stage, a serene smile resting upon her face. Though the proprietor makes a brief fuss at the idea of a female illusionist, after a few basic questions – the most interesting answer being that she is the adopted protégée of the one and only James MacPherson – she is allowed to audition.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and for the very first time in her life, Helena Wells begins to perform for an audience.

***

As soon as Helena does her first trick, removing her jacket and effortlessly turning it into a raven, the color drains from Myka’s face.

Growing up, she had spent so much time wondering who her opponent in this mysterious game would be. Imagining what he or she might be like; where her opponent was; whether he or she was also thinking of Myka.

And now, Myka finally knows. It’s her. Myka’s opponent in the game, set in motion when Myka was just eight years old, is Helena Wells.

The other members of their small audition committee – Mr. Kosan, the proprietor, and Mrs. Lattimer, the costume designer – watch in delight as Helena manipulates her surroundings and even turns Myka’s notepad into a dove and back again. As the others turn to watch the raven above their heads before it flies straight into Helena and turns back into a jacket, Myka cannot take her eyes off of the woman herself. She is quite impressive, but Myka is the only one who fully knows why.

Helena’s tricks are real. There is no illusion, no tricks of the eye. Myka can feel the magic deep in her bones. Other than a few demonstrations by Mr. Nielsen, Myka has only ever seen true magic one other time in her life; when she was twelve years old, sitting alone in a packed theater to watch MacPherson the Magnificent. Helena’s adopted father.

Color rushes back into Myka’s face as Helena catches her eye, clearly loving Myka’s shocked expression, and winks.

So much time spent wondering, and yet Myka now feels completely unprepared. How can she possibly match, let alone beat, Helena’s obviously advanced skills. Not to mention her beauty and charm, which she exudes with ease. Watching her, Myka slowly sinks lower into her seat.

At least Myka still maintains the element of surprise. She now knows about Helena, but as far as the other woman is concerned, Myka is nothing more than a simple assistant.

Helena will be hired, of course. There is no doubt of that. And somehow, the circus will be their chess board.

Myka still doesn’t really understand the point of the whole thing – Mr. Nielsen has never been clear about that, nor about the exact rules of the game – but regardless, Myka feels a small thrill of excitement in her chest.

After more than sixteen years of preparation, it is finally time for the game to begin.

***
~Marseille; May 27, 1879~

Before this little holiday – Myka is not sure whether that is the appropriate description for her current trip, as Mr. Nielsen talks about it as if it is homework, but she uses the word nonetheless – Myka had never been to any kind of performance. Mr. Nielsen calls them frivolous and foolish. And yet here she is, at her second show in two nights.

The previous night, Myka had been disappointed. She couldn’t understand the awe of those in the audience around her. True, the alleged “magician” had strung together a few decent tricks, but the mechanics behind the illusions – sleights of hand, misdirections of attention, a few well-placed mirrors – were so obvious to Myka, that she spent a good deal of time watching those around her, rather than the man on stage. Why couldn’t they see what she did?

Tonight, however, is a completely different experience.

There is a buzz in the air even before the performance begins. And from the moment that MacPherson the Magnificent steps on stage, Myka is enraptured. The illusionist makes a few cleverly clumsy moves, in order to disguise the true as false, but Myka sees through the deception. The man is truly magnificent, for there is no pretense to his tricks.

The thrill inside her is undeniable. This is what she’s been working towards so tirelessly for the past five and a half years. All those books she’s spent days and weeks poring over, copying notes and passages and cryptic symbols into her journals... It’s all meant to lead to this.

Myka runs her fingertip over the scar at the base of her ring finger. If this “game” for which Mr. Nielsen is preparing her were held today, Myka is the first to admit that she probably wouldn’t stand a chance. But someday, she tells herself, she’ll be able to do what he does.

“How can no one else tell?” Myka asks Mr. Nielsen later. “How can they not tell real from fake when the difference is so clear?”

“People see what they expect to see; what they want to see,” he replies without looking up from his newspaper. “They need to be able to make sense of their world, and that leaves no room for the unexplainable.”

Myka opens her mouth to question him further, but he goes on, “Now you see what you’re up against. You have a lot of work to do, so get back to it.”

“Is he my opponent?” Myka asks incredulously. It hardly seems fair.

“No,” is all she gets by way of reply.

***
~New York City; September 2, 1873~

The first time that Helena meets Arthur Nielsen, she is six-almost-seven years old.

“I thought it was about time for another game,” Mr. MacPherson announces as he enters his dressing room, where Helena has been left to wait.

Helena looks up in surprise; he never plays games with her. But he isn’t talking to her, anyway. There’s another man standing in the doorway. He adjusts his glasses, taking a minute to glance all around the room. His gaze stops only briefly on Helena before moving on.

“I thought you had given up, after the last one,” the man in the rumpled gray suit idly comments.

“Ha! Never!” MacPherson retorts genially.

Helena looks back and forth between the two men, unsure whether she should be there. Mr. MacPherson usually ignores her presence most of the time, especially on performance nights. Suddenly, however, he turns his attention to her, takes two large strides over to her chair, and yanks her to her feet. Helena scowls at him, but doesn’t voice her displeasure.

“Helena, this is Mr. Nielsen, a very old friend of mine,” he says, holding her tightly, almost painfully, by the shoulders and thrusting her out in front of him. He says the word “friend” in such a way that Helena is fairly sure that he doesn’t mean it.

Remaining silent, Mr. Nielsen nods his head slightly and regards her seriously for a moment, but then his eyes return to face her guardian.

Helena can easily hear the smirk in MacPherson’s voice as he continues, “Now, do be a dear, child, and show Arthur what you can do.”

She twists her head around to look at him in surprise – he has always been emphatic that she must never share her ‘skills’ with anyone – but he only pinches her shoulders harder. He isn’t even looking at her as he says, “Arthur is an important exception to the rule. The only exception.”

There have been times when Helena was itching to show off, but knew that she had to restrain herself. Now that she has been given permission, though, she suddenly has no idea what she should do.

Impatient, MacPherson makes a small huff of annoyance before he steps away from her, takes a teacup from a table in the corner, and quite deliberately drops it.

Just before it hits the floor, the teacup stops in mid-air, hovering for a moment before it fights back against gravity and lands back on the table with only a slight wobble.

Mr. Nielsen’s bushy eyebrows draw together just slightly. “Impressive,” he allows, “though quite basic.”

Helena frowns, and although she doesn’t mean for it to happen, the teacup breaks as though it had smashed upon the floor after all. She flinches minutely at the sound, but then still without a word, she focuses her attention on the shattered fragments of porcelain, watching as the pieces quickly fit themselves back together until the teacup sits whole once again, none the worse for wear.

MacPherson grins triumphantly, taking the cup and nonchalantly tossing it in the other gentleman’s direction.

“There you go, old boy!” he calls out as Mr. Nielsen fumbles with the cup for a moment. He just barely manages to not break it a second time, but Helena has no doubt he could fix it himself if it came to that.

Mr. Nielsen clears his throat. “She’s got a temper,” is his only comment this time.

MacPherson winks. “All the best ones do. She’ll learn to control it. I’ve only been working with her for a few months, and already, she can do all that. She’s the most natural talent I’ve seen in quite a very long time.” Helena lifts her eyebrows in surprise. This is the first she’s hearing of it.

Having done her part, however, she is clearly no longer of interest to Mr. MacPherson. He crosses the room again and claps Mr. Nielsen on the shoulder. “So what do you say? Feel like losing? I’ll let you take all the time you want to find someone you think can beat her. I’ll even let you have the first move. Just make sure you don’t get too attached, because I know my girl will come out on top.”

He takes two identical rings out of his pocket and lightly flings them in the air. They stop right at Mr. Nielsen’s eye level, twirling on invisible axes. The light catches on them as they turn, tossing tantalizing reflections of luminosity around the room.

Moving faster than Helena thought him capable, Mr. Nielsen snatches the rings out of the air, letting them rest upon his palm as he considers them.

“Over-confidence was always one of your failings, James,” he says. “I’ve heard tell that she’s your daughter. Are you sure this is a bet you’re willing to take?”

The room dims slightly as one of the lightbulbs shatters, but neither man pays Helena any mind. She has to remind herself to breathe. She’s wondered, of course she has, but-

MacPherson waves a dismissive hand. “Mere rumor,” he asserts. “And like I said, she’s going to win, so anything else is irrelevant.”

A slow smile spreads across Mr. Nielsen’s face. “Then we’ll have ourselves a game.”

No rules or terms of the wager are mentioned, but the two old rivals share a look and shake on it.

“Girl, come here!” MacPherson commands jovially without looking at her.

Shyly, she moves forward. She’s never seen her guardian act quite this happy, and it’s throwing her off.

Mr. Nielsen turns to her with a gentle smile. “Give me your right hand, child.”

Helena does so. She’s trying to remember what they’ve been talking about, but she feels the facts slipping from her mind. She knows enough to understand that the man in the gray suit is making it happen, but not enough to make it stop.

Mr. Nielsen takes one of the rings, which he’d been holding on to, and places it onto her ring finger. The other goes into his coat pocket. The ring is noticeably too big for Helena, but before she can comment, it begins to shrink. So much so, that she can’t help but cry out when it gets too tight. Even then, the ring continues squeezing tighter, and Helena closes her eyes against the burning pain it causes, worse than anything she’s felt before.

Another few seconds, and then the pain begins to fade. Frightened and resentful tears fall down her cheeks, but Helena blinks her eyes open and looks down at her hand.

The ring is no longer there, but an angry red scar remains where the silver dissolved into her skin.

“I’ll be in touch,” Mr. Nielsen says with a nod, before he turns and strides back out the door.

***
~just north of Chicago; August 5, 1901~

Claudia Donovan, nine years old, thinks she could probably see Canada from here. Definitely, if she had some binoculars.

She sits as high as she can get in the large oak tree outside her house – the house she happens to live in, at least, even though it doesn’t feel like “home.” Nowhere has felt like home since her brother Joshua disappeared.

Claudia can hear one of her foster brothers yelling for her to get down and come in for lunch, but she ignores him for now. This is the one spot she can find any peace, lately, so she’s in no hurry to climb back to solid ground.

She looks out as far as she can see, and dreams of something better.

***
~Tilburg; September 21, 1898~

Helena walks right into the small package sitting in front of her door in the morning, kicking it out into the hallway of the train. She eyes it suspiciously for a moment before moving to retrieve it and returning to go sit on her bed.

It is lightweight, very carefully wrapped. No note.

She imagines it could be a birthday gift, but this confuses her more than anything else. As far as she was aware, MacPherson is the only person other than herself who actually knows that today is indeed her birthday. She highly doubts that the package comes from him, however.

For one thing, MacPherson has never given her a birthday gift before now.

For another, he is currently a bit too busy being officially-though-not-technically deceased.

The only conclusion is that her ever-elusive opponent has somehow discovered the meaning of the current date. Her birthday has never meant all that much to her, now even more so, given that they all appear to have stopped aging since the circus began. Still, Helena can’t stop the smile and childlike anticipation that spreads through her.

Her first birthday gift, since any time she can remember.

Carefully, she unwraps the package, setting the paper beside her on the bed. Though she pays it no more attention, the wrapping paper proceeds to tear and fold itself into three origami birds, which then take flight and flutter lazily around the room. The raven, sitting on his perch in the corner, squawks at them; one of the paper cranes chirps back.

Inside the box, there is a note. Helena doesn’t recognize the handwriting, but that is no surprise, as she hasn’t had occasion to see many of the circus people write, and she would hazard a guess that this isn’t her opponent’s true handwriting anyway.

To Miss Wells, in celebration of your day of birth
Enclosed, you will find an artifact,
in honor of the country in which you currently find yourself:
Vincent Van Gogh’s paintbrush
Use with care.

“What on Earth...?” Helena questions softly to herself.

Indeed, placed inside the box, a simple paintbrush lies. Helena has heard of the artist Van Gogh, though she is not overly familiar with his work. Thinking only to examine the brush more closely, she picks it up.

A bit of color catches in the corner of her eye, and when she instinctively turns in that direction, she gasps out loud, dropping the brush and letting it clatter to the floor.

Helena blinks, and the effect is gone.

Warily, she stares down at the deceptively plain paintbrush at her feet. Curiosity soon overtakes her, however, and Helena reaches to pick it up once again.

She is better prepared, this time. Little by little, her entire room is turned into a painting.

Broad, sweeping brush strokes; bold colors; swirls of thick paint.

It’s as if an invisible hand were reaching into her room and gradually covering everything in sight with paint. The painting is far from static, as well. One of her doves, now painted, ruffles its feathers and coos at her in confusion, and the paper birds continue unimpeded in their paths of flight, now trailing dashes of paint wherever they go.

Helena can only watch, startled shock turning to awed wonder. Before long, it is done, and her entire room is covered, floor to ceiling and everything in between. Everything save herself, that is. She alone remains as she always was.

Gingerly, Helena reaches to touch the quilt on her bed. She smudges it, and her fingertips come away with what looks, feels, and smells like actual paint. The paint doesn’t appear to stick to her clothing, however, and with a laugh of delight, Helena gets to her feet practically and skips around the room, examining everything. Even her books now contain small squiggles of illegible paint.

She can’t quite imagine what must have been done to charm the paintbrush she still holds in her hand. She isn’t even sure that she wants to know.

Illusions never quite held the same sway over her as they seemed to everyone else. Although she very much does love performing, for Helena, magic is simply a tool, same as any other. There were times growing up when in fact she deeply resented this “natural gift” she has been given.

Now, however... In this moment, Helena experiences the pure joy, the magical enchantment, that so many others have felt when they come away from one of her own shows.

“Thank you, whoever you are,” she calls into the room.

Without question, Helena’s thirty-second birthday is off to a much better start than any of those which came before.

***

“Thank you very much for the gift.”

Myka jumps at the sudden sound of Helena’s voice, whispering directly into her ear. Her gaze jerks around the room, but Helena is certainly nowhere in sight, and Mr. Kosan appears to have not heard a thing, as he remains focused on the ledger opened up before him.

“Your identity continues to elude me,” the disembodied voice continues, “but I would very much like to return the favor next time the circus changes locations. Please let me know where I can leave you your own ‘artifact’ and be sure that you will receive it.”

Myka thinks that the message is over, but after several moments’ pause, Helena goes on, sounding almost shy. “It was truly wonderful,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Why are you grinning like that? Are you even listening to me?”

Myka’s concentration is broken by Kosan’s question.

She clears her throat, forcing the corners of her mouth back into a neutral expression. She clenches her jaw against the desire to keep smiling, even wider.

“I apologize, sir,” she manages solemnly. “My mind drifted momentarily, it won’t happen again.”

“Hm,” Kosan huffs. “Be sure that it doesn’t.”

Myka does succeed in paying sufficient attention to her boss, but a good portion of her thoughts continue to drift towards Helena. She had hoped that her gift would be well received, but she couldn’t be sure. Although Myka herself has stopped seeing their game as antagonistic, she had no idea whether or not Helena felt the same way.

Now, she cannot wait to see what Helena will offer in return.

***
~Paris; May 30, 1896~

Sam smiles as he sees Myka approach.

“Hi,” he calls out happily. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Myka does not look nearly as pleased.

“I need to talk to you,” she says, glancing back over her shoulder.

Sam nods, looking down at his watch. “Sure. I get a break in-”

“No, now,” Myka interrupts. “I’m sorry, Sam, it’s important.”

“Alright.” He nods again, concerned. “Give me one minute, and I’ll get Wolcott to take over for a bit.”

“Thank you.” Myka turns her back, waiting impatiently, as he quickly goes off to find one of the other security/crew members.

It isn’t long before he returns, sliding up next to Myka and running his hand down her arm.

“It’s been a while since I had the pleasure of seeing you, Bunny,” he greets with a playful flick to the rim of her ever-present bowler hat.

She smiles wanly. “I know. The circus has been traveling too far from London for me to make it.” Myka doesn’t waste any more time on small talk before getting to her point. “Why didn’t you tell me about the new tent?” she asks.

Sam frowns, confused for a moment. Myka opens up her notebook and shows him where she’s sketched out a quick drawing of an expansive tree, with no leaves, but instead hundreds of candles standing up along its branches. “Oh!” His face clears. “You mean the Wishing Tree! I like that one. It isn’t your work?”

Myka shakes her head tightly.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s fairly new, and I haven’t had time to write to you since it appeared. I didn’t think it was important,” he adds with a shrug.

“It is important!” Myka exclaims. “She made it. I could tell, the very second I walked into that tent. I need to know these things, Sam, if I’m going to keep up with her.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, his shoulders stiffening defensively. “I haven’t noticed anything about her. You say she’s making all these moves and changes, but from what I can see, she just goes about her business, doing her performances.”

Myka takes her hat from her head and runs her hand over her hair with a sigh. “No matter what it looks like, she is working against me. Constantly. You’re my eyes here when I have to stay in London, Sam. She still doesn’t know who I am, and that gives me an advantage, but she has the advantage of being here, being part of all this.”

Sam clenches his jaw, but remains silent.

“Did you make a wish?” he finally asks, his eyes staring right into hers. “Do the wishes come true?”

Myka looks away.

“I don’t know,” she says softly, ignoring the first question.

“I miss you,” Sam goes on. He offers a self-deprecating smile, easing some of the tension that has sprung up between them. “Since I’m doing such a crappy job of spying for you, maybe you should arrange it so that you can come and travel with us.”

Myka smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Maybe I will.”

They are both quiet for another few moments, until Myka reaches out and gently squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry, Sam, I have to go. I’ll stop by again if I can.”

He nods, and with that, she turns and leaves.

She didn’t say that she misses him too, he notes.

***
~London; March 16, 1905~

The Inclement Weather Party is in full swing when Myka enters the acrobats’ tent. That tent is the largest, so it’s where everyone goes on nights when the circus is cancelled due to rain.

She doesn’t see Helena right away, but she can feel the heat of the other woman’s gaze on her. Her first impulse is of course to run and find her, but she manages to resist. Instead, she follows the sound of Pete’s voice, wandering her way through various pockets of people, until her best friend is in sight.

“Mykes, you made it!” the fire juggler calls out when he sees her, stepping forward to envelope her in a tight hug and literally lift her off the ground.

“Hello to you too, Pete,” Myka says with a laugh, reaching for the top of her head to make sure her hat doesn’t fly off. “And of course, I wouldn’t miss this,” she goes on once back on both feet.

They quickly fall into conversation – Pete going on about a few recent changes he’s made to his act, and about the pretty acrobat he’s had his eyes on – but Myka finds that she can’t continue to fully ignore the weight of Helena’s gaze.

Surreptitiously, and with attempted casualness, her eyes begin to move about the tent. It doesn’t take long for her gaze to zero in on Helena, caught up in conversation with the twins. Myka could swear that Helena’s eyes actually twinkle when she notices that Myka is finally looking at her.

No words are exchanged between them, and they each are easily able to maintain their conversations, but they share their own kind of dialogue nonetheless.

I want to be talking to you right now, not him.

It’s not that Helena hears the words, per se. It’s more like she feels them, deep inside.

I want to be kissing you, Helena answers in turn.

She grins when Myka blushes.

***

In a far corner of the tent, but with a clear view of both Myka and Helena, Arthur Nielsen frowns.

“This is unacceptable,” he grumbles, seemingly to himself.

“Oh, I agree completely,” comes the reply. “Your student shouldn’t even be here. She’s become way too much of a distraction.”

“Well you are supposed to be dead, so I don’t think you have the right to tell others where they should or should not be,” Arthur retorts.

To his left, there is a light shimmer, like from a mirage. From some angles, people can almost make out the translucent shape of an elbow, the curve of a jaw. If anyone does notice and begin to look a little closer, they suddenly find themselves interested in something else, and they forget the moment entirely.

James chuckles to himself. “Touché, old boy.”

“I will do my part; make sure you do yours,” Arthur continues. “The two of them need to stay away from each other.”

The ghostly shadow of James MacPherson inclines his head, and then walks through the wall of the tent and out into the rain.

Part 2

Fic: Wish You Were Here, Part 11/11

mysensitiveside — Sat, 14 Jul 2012 14:30:48 GMT

Part 11

Myka wandered aimlessly through the streets of London.

She needed some time away from Helena, in order to clear her head and just think. Every time she even tried to think about what she wanted, past or future, all she had to do was look at Helena, and any further thought along those lines was immediately impossible. Because how could she look at Helena and think about leaving her? She couldn’t, was the answer.

Even now, things weren’t much better. Inevitably, without meaning to, her feet kept taking her right by one thing or another that would immediately make her think of Helena. There was Helena’s favorite park, and there was the little restaurant where they’d had what Myka thought of as their first “date,” and there was the spot where they’d found their first artifact together... There were reminders of Helena everywhere.

At the same time, though, she still couldn’t get past the thought of never going home again. It was true that Helena’s London was the place where Myka had spent most of her time, lately, but it was still just that – Helena’s London, not Myka’s. It wasn’t “home” in the way that South Dakota was.

And that on its own had to mean something important, because really: middle-of-nowhere, South Dakota versus London? There should have been no contest. But being at the Warehouse 13 with the team... That was still what came to mind when Myka thought about “home.” If only Myka could take Helena with her, somehow. Damn paradoxes.

Myka had no idea what to do. She wondered if there was an artifact that could split her into two people.

That was the problem, really. As long as Myka remained indecisive, the past would win out. Because in order to wish her way back to the future, Myka knew that she would have to wish it with all of herself, not just half.

But she really didn’t know if that were possible.

She knew perfectly well that she had to let Helena go through the motions, even though she knew they would fail. It was like it had been with Christina; in order to avoid a paradox, Helena needed to end up getting bronzed, so everything that helped serve a causal role in leading up to that moment had to happen as well.

So Myka would have to just sit idly by as Helena built her time machine, tried and failed to use it to save Christina, tried and failed to save her two more times with artifacts, killed an agent in the process (would it be Wolcott? Myka really hoped it wouldn’t), lost her mind, and then ended up volunteering to get locked up in bronze for over a century.

The thought of simply watching all of that happen was enough to make Myka want to run for the hills – or run for the future, rather. But then she’d come back to the thought of abandoning Helena to go through it all by herself, and Myka would call herself a coward and change her mind yet again. It was impossible. She wished someone would just take the decision out of her hands and make the choice for her.

Myka sat at a café she’d never been to before, one that wouldn’t remind her of H.G. for any reason. She ordered some tea – having grown tired of the strange looks she got when ordering coffee, she’d found that she did actually like tea quite a bit – and pulled out the artifact. Although she knew she didn’t need to, she’d taken to carrying it around everywhere with her once again, like she had when she’d first found it.

It felt like such a long time ago, now. Since time seemed to move differently in either century, it was difficult to wrap her head around how long this had been going on, but at least from the earlier perspective, it had now been approximately ten months since that first day that she met Helena.

She wondered if there would be some kind of expiration date on how long she would still be able to wish herself back. Could she stick around in the past until Helena was bronzed, and then do it?

Myka sighed. She liked rules. She liked order. She liked rationality.

All of that was gone.

There appeared to be no rules, here, in this strange version of her life; she’d mostly given up on any real sense of order; and she’d never been good at being rational when it came to one Helena G. Wells. Not to mention the fact that she wasn’t even sure what the rational choice was, in this case.

Indecision meant that the past won, Myka knew. But she had no idea how to do anything else.

***

“Helena, what are we doing?” Wolcott asked as he kept pace beside her.

Helena ignored him, keeping her eyes on the curly-haired woman a fair bit ahead of them, as she meandered in a seemingly purposeless route.

Something was going on with Myka, Helena knew. She wanted to know what.

Ever since she’d returned from her latest brief jaunt into the future, Myka – who had spent the previous few months being nothing but attentive, comforting, and over-protective – had become quite distracted, flitting back and forth between a distant independence and a near-desperate craving to be near Helena.

It made her suspicious, and although it disconcerted her to think that she was essentially spying on her lover, Helena had found herself becoming paranoid. Better to see with her own eyes that there was no cause for alarm, and then Helena could put the issue behind her.

“Is that Miss Bering?” Wolcott now asked. He looked as though he was about to call out to her, but Helena managed to push him into a side-alley and shush him before he did anything foolish and got them caught.

“Do be quiet, will you?” she said in frustration. “She doesn’t know that we are following her, and I would very much like to keep it that way.”

She looked back around the corner; she could still see Myka, but only just. They’d have to hurry in order to not lose sight of her.

Wolcott appeared puzzled, but continued walking along with her as she beckoned to him. “I did not know we were following her either,” he commented. “Why are we following Miss Bering?”

“No need to be concerned, Wooly,” she replied with a warm smile, hoping he wouldn’t question her any further. He looked as if he might, but then appeared to think better of it.

Myka eventually stopped at a small café. It was lucky that she chose to sit outside, for Helena and Wolcott were able to find a table at the neighboring restaurant’s outside terrace.

It didn’t appear as though Myka were waiting for anyone. She simply sat, drinking tea, staring at something in her hands. Unfortunately, Helena couldn’t see well enough to know what the item was.

They hadn’t waited very long before Helena began to feel disgusted with herself. What was she doing? Ever since she’d first shown up, Myka had been nothing but wonderful, and yet here Helena was, spying on her.

She stood up abruptly, almost not caring whether Myka noticed her or not, and quickly walked back in the direction from which they’d come. Flustered, Wooly quickly paid their bill and then hurried after her.

“Did we accomplish what we were aiming to?” he asked her calmly.

“Yes,” she said, even though she wasn’t fully sure what she’d been aiming for in the first place. “Now come along, Wolcott, we shall return to the Warehouse. My latest invention is nearing completion.”

She put Myka out of her mind. Soon it would be time for Helena to save her daughter. Nothing else mattered.

***

Something had gone wrong, but Pete was totally out of the loop. After becoming practically joined at the hip, H.G. and Claudia were now acting all weird around each other.

Helena kept looking at Claudia sadly, while the redhead had started acting almost manic, constantly needing something to do. Well, whenever she was even around, that is, because lately she’d been throwing herself into Caretaker stuff a lot more often. Apparently, she’d soon be ready to “graduate,” or whatever.

Other than that, Helena mostly moped around Artie’s office, poking her head in every nook and cranny until Artie got annoyed and snapped at her. Then she would go wander around the Warehouse floor, keeping to herself.

“Where does Myka show up when she comes back here?” she asked him out-of-the-blue one morning at breakfast.

“Uh... the aisle with all your stuff,” he replied.

She smiled at that.

When they got to the Warehouse, Pete settled in for a full day of paperwork after the latest snag, bag, and tag. Artie had been there too, but of course, he’d delegated all the busy work to Pete.

H.G. went directly out to the Warehouse floor without saying anything.

It was hours later when Pete started to wonder where Helena had disappeared to. Given her question that morning, he had a pretty decent guess, so went off in search of her. Sure enough, she was sitting on her own in the H.G. Wells aisle.

“How very ‘meta’ of you,” he called out with a smile as he approached.

She turned to look over her shoulder at him, wearing her I-don’t-know-what-that-means face. “I do wish you’d all just speak English more often,” she said with a sigh.

“But where’s the fun in that?” he asked. “Way better to speak modern American and actually feel smarter than you for once,” he concluded with a wink.

She explained that she’d re-worked her calculations and had determined that there was a chance Myka might still come back to them one more time. It would only be for a few moments, though, so she’d basically decided to camp out and wait.

Pete hurried back to the office to gather up his paperwork, then called everyone else to let them know the news.

One by one, they all came.

Artie was next, with Trailer at his side. He immediately left again to go get a chair when he saw that Helena had one, while Pete lay sprawled across the floor. Then it was Claudia. She smiled shyly at Helena, and it was like they communicated some truce with their eyes, because Helena wordlessly stood up and gave the junior agent a warm hug before re-settling into her chair. Claudia had also brought a quilt and a deck of cards with her, which made the gathering both more comfortable and more entertaining. Finally, Leena joined them as well. Pete and Claudia threw out a cheer when she turned the corner bearing two pizza boxes.

Now all they needed was Myka. It would never be complete without Myka.

***

Myka was in the middle of agonizing over her future yet again, when she was surprised to feel the tell-tale tingling. For one brief moment, she thought that maybe she’d actually done it and made the artifact change. She was still equally indecisive, though, so that didn’t make any sense.

However, she quickly realized that it was probably just one more (one last?) time getting thrown back and forth.

When Myka first opened her eyes, she was totally taken aback by the unexpected sight in front of her. Usually there was no one there when she arrived, and it took her a second to even make any sense of the jumble of people before her. Trailer thumped his tail against the ground when he saw her, but everyone else appeared to be asleep.

She smiled as she looked at everyone, tears immediately springing to catch in the corner of her eyes. Pete and Claudia were on the floor, slumped against each other. Artie snored softly, his head tilted back towards the ceiling. Leena was also on the floor, leaning back against another chair. And in that chair there was someone else, wrapped tightly up in a blanket and only slightly visible, since her head was angled down and to the side.

It almost looked like... But that was impossible.

Myka blinked, but when she opened her eyes again, she was suddenly back in London. There’d been no tingling this time. No invisible hand reaching inside her chest, nothing pulling her forward. There’d been nothing at all. It felt final, like the artifact was now done with her.

She didn’t move, even as busy Londoners continued to bustle about her. She couldn’t get her mind off that last person in the chair. It couldn’t have been... Helena had died; Myka had watched her die. There was simply no way that it had been her. Right?

But who could it have been? Had they actually recruited a new agent to replace her? The thought made Myka feel sick.

In any case, her mind was clearly taking an ambiguous situation and filling in the blanks with a leap of wishful thinking, no matter how impossible. That had to be it.

It hadn’t been Helena. Obviously. It simply couldn’t have been.

***

They hadn’t meant to all fall asleep like that. With a lump in her throat, Claudia ran to go get the durational spectrometer as soon as she’d woken up and realized what had happened.

H.G. and Leena were just waking up when she returned, even as the boys slept on.

Claudia didn’t say anything; just exchanged an anxious look with the other two as she turned the machine on and pointed it into the air in front of them.

There was nothing at all for a while. But then there she was. Myka suddenly appeared, clearly surprised to see them all there. Just before she disappeared again, a look of shocked confusion crossed her face. And then she was gone again. She’d been there for exactly 4.37 seconds. That was it.

Helena stood up from her chair, her face pale. She looked like she might be sick.

The writer didn’t say a single word; she simply turned around and walked away.

Claudia moved to follow after H.G., but Leena wrapped a hand around her arm to stop her.

“Give her some space,” Leena urged.

Claudia thought about going ahead anyway, but after a moment, she stepped back with a nod.

She did understand that H.G. would probably want to be alone right now. She might have just lost her last chance to see the woman she loved.

***

Tears were streaming unchecked down Helena’s face by the time she made it outside the Warehouse.

She was close to hyperventilating, so stood still a moment, bending at the waist to place her hands on her knees as she tried to regain control of her breathing. After a minute, she straightened and headed directly for Pete’s car.

Driving still made her somewhat nervous, though of course she’d never admit it to anyone, but right now she simply needed to get away. She also happened to know that Pete actually kept his keys inside the car, because otherwise he tended to lose track of them. Pete could get a ride with Arthur later.

With trembling hands, Helena started the ignition and then gunned the engine, driving away from the Warehouse as quickly as she dared.

She drove aimlessly at first. After nearly becoming quite lost, however, she simply returned to Leena’s. She parked the car crookedly, not bothering to care.

Helena quickly climbed the stairs, thinking to go directly to her own room. She stopped, however, outside Myka’s door. No one had changed anything, she knew, other than moving Pete-the-ferret’s cage into Leena’s room. Since Helena had returned from the dead, however, she hadn’t once gone inside. It was a combination of respect for Myka’s privacy and self-preservation – she did not want to pick at an open wound.

The wound would never fully heal now. So she saw no harm in making it hurt a little more.

Before she could second-guess herself, she pushed the door open, quickly closing it behind her. She leaned up against the door, eyes sweeping around the room. It was just as she’d remembered it from before.

Her eyes were instantly drawn to Myka’s nightstand. She gasped out loud and rushed over. Myka had managed to save her locket. Helena pressed her open hand to her chest, where the locket normally rested. She’d longed to have it with her again, but hadn’t dared to ask. She had simply assumed that it was destroyed.

She settled the locket around her neck, exhaling deeply in satisfaction. The cool touch of metal against her skin was oh so familiar; it was just a small thing, but she felt more like herself, now. More complete.

With that done, she stood up and walked slowly around the room, softly running her fingertips over everything. Helena rolled her eyes at herself, but it was actually the sight of a layer of dust covering the surface of Myka’s bookcase that set Helena off crying again.

One book stuck out slightly, as it wasn’t lined up flush with the others. Helena only cried harder when she saw what it was.

Carefully, she removed The Time Machine from its spot. She didn’t open it at first; simply went and lay down on Myka’s bed, hugging the book tightly to her chest as she stared up at the ceiling. Was this the last book Myka had read, then? It seemed likely.

Once her tears had dried enough for her to actually see, she finally sat up and opened the book. She didn’t read it, she practically knew the words by heart; instead, she looked for any markings Myka may have made, a gateway into this amazing woman’s mind. Did she underline any sections that she particularly liked? Did she make any comments in the margins?

Helena heard the rest of “the gang” enter the Bed & Breakfast, but she paid them no mind. She concentrated her entire being on Myka. All she wanted in that moment was Myka.

As she continued to flip reverently through the pages, something fell from within the book and down onto Helena’s lap. She picked it up to look at it. She didn’t give it all that much attention, but something managed to squeeze into her subconscious, and she did a quick double take, before continuing to stare at it, bewildered. It had certainly gained her attention now.

It was a photograph. A photograph of her and Myka. One she’d never seen before; more than that, it was one that had never been taken, so far as she knew.

They were smiling, happy, and together. It was everything Helena wanted – for them to simply be together, permanently this time. No more time travel or death getting in the way.

At first, all she could do was stare at the photograph, as if doing so would make the image come into being. Then a bit of memory sparked – Myka’s artifact had also been a photograph, had it not? Was this the same artifact? What could it mean, especially now that Helena suddenly found it in her possession?

The questions flew by quickly, but no answers were immediately forthcoming.

Suddenly, Helena’s concentration was broken by a loud commotion coming from the floor below.

Claudia’s voice rang out.

“Holy shit!”

***

Myka was almost back to the Wells’ residence when she noticed that it was gone. The artifact. She kept it in the inside pocket of her jacket, now, always. But now it wasn’t there.

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, searching frantically through all of her pockets. Nothing. Where could it have gone?

She ran into the house, taking the stairs two at a time as she rushed to her bedroom. She searched through her drawers. She flipped through the pages of her books. She glanced around her closet, checked other pockets, checked under the bed. Still nothing.

Had she lost it? Had it simply disappeared when it brought her back this last time? No, she refused to accept that it was gone. If there was going to be any chance at all of her ever wishing her way back home, then she needed to actually have the artifact! Didn’t she?

Myka could feel herself beginning to panic. She wasn’t at all ready to make a choice, but it felt incredibly important that she at least have a choice.

“Myka, what is going on?”

She whirled around to face the doorway, where Helena now stood, a concerned expression on her face.

“I can’t find my artifact,” she answered quickly. “Have you seen it?”

Helena frowned, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, no.”

Myka turned back, continuing to rummage around, even searching again through places she’d already looked.

She stood up straight and stiffened, though, when she felt something, like a low voltage shock, run through her body. She turned around again, looking at Helena in confusion.

“What is it?” the other woman asked.

“I... I don’t know. It was-” She paused, going motionless again. Her skin was tingling again, but it felt different. There were short bursts of it, localized in small spots all over her body. There would be one on her arm, then her leg, then her shoulder... They sped up, until soon her whole body was tingling. It wasn’t painful; just strange.

Myka looked up and met Helena’s worried expression, fear now starting to spread through her.

“Something’s happening to me. I... I don’t know what’s happening,” she said.

Helena stepped forward and reached to cup Myka’s cheek in her palm. Myka leaned into the touch, even as the tingling grew more intense. It definitely had never been like this before. Whatever was happening, it was new.

She held tightly onto Helena’s shirt, with no idea what to expect. She instantly calmed, however, as Helena leaned forward and kissed her. It was possibly the softest, gentlest kiss they’d shared since the very first one, and Myka unconsciously relaxed, leaning into Helena’s body for support.

Then, with no additional warning, Myka disappeared.

***

When Myka opened her eyes, she could only blink several times in confusion. She was standing in front of Leena’s Bed & Breakfast.

She simply stood there at first, waiting to see if something else would happen. Nothing did.

She could hear voices coming from within the building, so with a shrug, she simply went and let herself inside.

Claudia saw her first. “Holy shit!” she called out, before laughing out loud and running to swing Myka around in a tight hug.

“Watch your language, young l-” Artie began chiding Claudia but stopped short as soon as he saw Myka.

Leena peered around at them next, a shocked but happy smile covering her face after a moment of pure surprise. “Myka,” she exclaimed warmly, “How did you get here?”

Myka shrugged, laughing. Claudia still hadn’t let go of her. “I have no idea,” she answered. A part of her already ached for Helena, but there was no denying how wonderful it felt to be here.

“Mykes!”

Tears sprang to Myka’s eyes as Pete appeared. He rushed forward, pulling Artie and Leena with him, and soon all five of them were wrapped up in a big group hug, everyone laughing and crying in equal measure. They had all thought that they’d never see each other again, but against the odds, here they were. And although Myka couldn’t explain it, it felt permanent, somehow, like this was it.

A small, choked noise came from somewhere behind Myka’s right shoulder. Without thinking much of it, she twisted around to look.

It felt like all of the air left her lungs in an instant.

Helena stood at the top of the stairs.

The two women stared at each other, twin expressions of disbelief on their faces.

The other four released her, squeezing her hand or shoulder in comfort, but Myka barely noticed. She couldn’t take her eyes off of Helena.

Myka found that she couldn’t seem to move, but ever-so-slowly, Helena walked down the stairs, until they stood face to face. Myka’s hand twitched, wanting to reach out, but she was too afraid.

“Are... Are you really here?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

Helena smiled, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Yes,” she nodded. “Are you?”

Myka choked out a laugh. “Yeah, I think so,” she replied. “How...?”

Helena’s smile grew even wider. “Not even death can kill me, apparently.”

It made no sense, but Myka didn’t care. There would be time later for detailed explanations. Now, there was only one thing that she wanted to do, and nothing else was important.

So with only the briefest hesitation, Myka surged forward, bringing her hands up to cradle Helena’s face as their lips crashed together. This kiss wasn’t about soft gentleness; she poured everything she felt – all the longing, and relief, and love, and bewilderment, and heartache – into that kiss. Helena returned the kiss with the same intensity, a soft whimper falling from her mouth at first contact.

Claudia cheered in the background, even as Artie grumbled at her to not look.

“Seriously, dude? I’m their number one fan! Pete’s the one who shouldn’t look, that perv.”

In a lot of ways, this was like a first kiss all over again. Kissing Helena, this version of her, wasn’t quite like it had been in the past. It was familiar, yes, but noticeably different. Because this Helena was different. She wasn’t all smirking confidence, un-tinged by darkness, like she had been when Myka first went back in time. But neither was she lost in bitter grief and anger, as she’d been after Christina’s death.

This Helena had been through hell, but she’d emerged from the other side. She still had the scars, but she was whole.

This Helena tasted like home.

Then Myka pulled back and slugged Helena on the arm. Helena’s mouth fell open in surprise at her quick turn in fortune.

“Don’t you ever die for me again, you hear me?!” Myka exclaimed.

Helena rolled her eyes. “Right. Ever so sorry for saving your life,” she grumbled peevishly.

Then, of course, there was nothing else that Myka could do but lean forward and bring their lips together once more. Helena probably felt like she was experiencing whiplash, but Myka couldn’t help it.

“How about, none of us should be watching this,” Myka heard Leena say. “Come on, guys, let’s give them some privacy.”

Pete scoffed. “Yeah right,” he said. “The time traveling lovebirds can make out later. Group hug attack!”

Myka had barely registered what anyone was saying, as she was focused solely on Helena – the feel of her arms, wrapped tightly around Myka, the taste of her lips, the sound of the soft sighs that Helena released... There was nothing else in the world, as far as Myka was concerned.

Until, that is, two more bodies came running into them. Pete managed to hold them all upright after impact, his long arms extending around all of them. Helena pulled back from the kiss with a laugh of pure joy, settling for kissing Myka on the cheek. Pete then kissed her on the other cheek, as did Claudia.

Everyone was talking over each other in excitement, but amidst it all, Myka and Helena locked eyes on each other.

“Welcome home, Myka.”

More than hearing the actual words, Myka read Helena’s lips. It was just like that last horrible moment, when the bomb had been about to go off. Myka closed her eyes a moment, needing a second to collect herself.

When she opened them, Helena was still staring directly at her. Her warm smile was so happy and beautiful... It took Myka’s breath away, just looking at it. Myka forgot everything else, then, and reached across the small circle they’d settled into. Bunching the front of Helena’s shirt in both of her hands, Myka pulled the other woman to her, ignoring the others. Helena smiled even brighter, just before their lips crashed together once again.

Leena must have managed to usher everyone else out of the room, this time, because when Myka opened her eyes again, it was only the two of them. Sounds of laughter came from the direction of the kitchen.

Neither one of them said anything.

Helena took Myka’s hand in her own and tangled their fingers together, as Myka reached to caress Helena’s cheek. She couldn’t stop touching Helena; making sure she was still really there. Helena kept her eyes on Myka, but turned slightly so she could kiss the heel of Myka’s open palm.

It was crazy, when Myka thought about it, how far they’d both come just to make it to this spot. Right here, right now.

Myka smiled. She wouldn’t change any of it for the world.

***

Epilogue

“Hurry up, Helena, or we’re going to miss our flight!”

Myka knocked yet again on the bathroom door. One of Helena’s favorite things about the 21^st century was actually the advancements in personal hygiene – there was no such thing as a “quick” shower, as far as Helena was concerned.

“Just a moment, darling!” Helena called through the door.

Myka sighed, before yelping in surprise when the door, which she’d been leaning against, suddenly opened, and Helena pulled her inside.

She could only blink, dazed. Her eyes traveled slowly up and down Helena’s body – because yes, Helena was just standing there, practically posing, naked.

Myka groaned when her eyes reached her girlfriend’s smirking face. That look meant danger. They didn’t have time for danger. And yet still, Myka could only watch as Helena sauntered forward, swaying her hips way more than was necessary. Helena bit her lip, silently daring Myka to stop her, before she leaned in and pressed her naked body, still dripping from the shower, up against Myka – and great, now her clothes were going to be wet, and she’d have to change outfits.

“Helenaaa,” Myka whined, even as her arms involuntarily wrapped around Helena’s waist.

“I am quite certain,” Helena mumbled as she kissed the thundering pulse point in Myka’s neck, making her way slowly down to Myka’s shoulder, “that the Caretaker of Warehouse 13 has the authority to delay a flight for... say an hour? Claudia can do it in a second.”

“We can’t,” Myka began, even while she urged Helena’s mouth back upward so she could meet it with her own, “make Claudia delay our flight just so we can have sex, Helena.” She spoke between kisses, moaning as Helena’s fingernails raked through her hair. “I’m ‘quite certain’ that that’s an unethical use of Claudia’s authority.”

“It’s not having sex, darling,” Helena corrected with a smirk. “We are always making love.”

Myka grinned. “You’re such a sap.”

Somehow, the moment of levity was enough for Myka to regain control. She nipped once more at Helena’s lips, but then stepped away, kissing Helena on the cheek as she continued, “I’m not making Claudia delay our flight for that either. So hurry your pretty self up, and then we’ll be on our way.”

With that, she lightly tapped Helena on the ass and then left the bathroom to go find some dry clothes that weren’t already packed.

They were flying to London. Bit by bit, they’d been doing a lot of the things that Myka had done with Helena while she’d been back in time. Well, the good things, anyway. That way, Helena could now feel like she had really done all those things, instead of some other person, only vaguely related to herself. They made new memories, this way, together.

They’d be gone for a full month, having practically annoyed Artie to death until he relented and granted them vacation time. They’d be knocking a lot of things off their list, going from London to Sandgate to Paris to Saint-Nazaire, and then back to London for a few days before flying home. Myka was somewhat worried that this trip would bring back a lot of difficult memories, memories of Christina, but she knew they’d get through it. They had each other, so they could get through anything.

Myka rolled her eyes at herself. She was a sap, too.

In any case, they were both looking forward to some time off together.

It actually didn’t take very long before Helena was ready to go. As was their tradition, they both kissed the tips of their fingers, and then pressed them to the framed photograph on Myka's desk, before they left the room. It was the artifact as it had appeared to Helena that day. They’d eventually figured out how it had happened – just as Myka had earlier made a strong enough wish to see Helena again, so too had Helena made her wish to bring Myka back home for good.

Claudia had made them a special frame that periodically coated the photograph with neutralizer, keeping it inactive. Somewhere in the Warehouse, there was a spot on a shelf with the tag, “John Hinde’s Postcard.” Where the artifact would normally be, however, there was simply a note: “On indefinite loan to Leena’s Bed & Breakfast.”

After a few last requests and unsolicited bits of advice (Claudia: “Bring me back something good!”; Pete: “Try not to be too disgustingly sweet together all the time. I know you’ve got your epic time traveling love and all that, but you’ll be in actual public now. We don’t want people to start dying off from an overload of cuteness.”), they were finally ready to go.

Claudia was loaning them her driver, who came automatically with the Caretaker job, whether Claudia had any real need for him or not.

They settled together into the back seat of the car, fingers intertwined, ready for the next adventure.

THE END!

A/N:If you made it this far, then I hope you enjoyed the fic! Don't forget to check out the fantastic complementary art made by the one and only grumpybear1031, which can be found here! So go take a look and then tell Grumpy how awesome she is! :)

Fic: Wish You Were Here, Part 1/11 (Myka/HG, Warehouse 13)

mysensitiveside — Sat, 14 Jul 2012 14:01:10 GMT

Title: Wish You Were Here
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Pairing: Myka/H.G.
Rating: Mostly PG-13, a bit of R
Word Count: ~55,300
Spoilers: Through all of Season 3
Disclaimer: Warehouse 13 and its characters are the property of the SyFy Channel. No infringement intended.
Summary: When Myka wished that she could see H.G. again, this wasn’t quite what she had in mind.
A/N: Written for the IDF 2012 Big Bang. Massive thanks go to the wonderful theagonyofblank for beta-ing this monster, and to grumpybear1031 for her amazing complementary graphics! Also, thanks to kauschi for her input along the way!
A/N2: Grumpy's wonderful artwork can be found here. Some of it is mildly spoiler-ish, so I'd recommend reading the fic before you click to enlarge the graphic of Myka's desktop and check out all the amazing work she put in.

Part 1

As the shield around them finally disintegrated, the first thing that Myka noticed was the smell. The smell of smoke, a nice campfire multiplied a trillion times, hit her like a ton of bricks, with the acrid taste singeing the back of her throat.

It didn’t seem real. To go so quickly from resignation – so this is how it ends – to confusion – why is Helena still out there? – to horror – dear God, what has she done? – to despair – no, it’s too soon to say goodbye! – to denial – this can’t be happening – to... to what? What was she now?

Myka looked without seeing, refusing to believe that the destruction before her was real. She vaguely noticed Pete speaking behind her, and she turned a slow circle as a few words managed to sink in.

“We lost, Artie. We lost.”

“Not yet.”

Those two small words... Myka knew they were important, but it was like her brain was moving at a quarter of its usual speed.

“Artie?” Thankfully, Pete articulated her own confusion, since she couldn’t seem to find her voice.

Her gaze continued to sweep unevenly around the destruction surrounding them as Artie explained, “MacPherson’s watch. It has the ability to turn back time, to restore the Warehouse to a previous state.”

Myka’s eyes whipped back around to stare fixedly at him, her mouth opening in wordless question. Did that mean-

Artie’s sad but understanding smile began to pierce the half-formed hope, and his words finished the job.

“It doesn’t work on people, Myka,” he said. “Only the Warehouse and the artifacts inside.”

It hurt just as much the second time. Regaining her friend (friend; such an inadequate word) in a flash of hope, only to find that she was just as lost as before.

Myka knew, on some level, that she should be relieved. Helena’s noble sacrifice meant that she had not only saved their lives, but that she’d also saved the Warehouse. Helena had saved everyone but herself.

Myka should be relieved, but she wasn’t.

In a strangely detached way, she noticed that her eyes had filled with tears. As the first drop fell, Pete took one big step forward and wrapped her up tightly in his arms. Words of sympathy would mean nothing right now, but a bear hug from Pete was exactly what she needed. In the safety of his embrace, she finally let go, leaning her full weight into her partner’s strong arms and releasing a broken sob.

***

Pete was worried about the girls – sorry, the women – in his life.

First there was Claudia. Bringing back the Warehouse hadn’t brought back Mrs. F, so poor Claud had some new and mighty big shoes to fill. The reverberations from the bomb had knocked over and broken the back-to-life metronome thing, so Claudia couldn’t even go through with her plan to bring Jinks back. Pete didn’t see her all that much anymore, but when he did, she just seemed tired and angry and stressed out.

That led right into worrying about his mom, who was back to being in super-secret mode with the whole Regent thing. He knew enough to know she was arguing with Claudia about the direction the Warehouse should take, though.

And then there was Myka.

Myka spent her days wandering aimlessly around the Warehouse aisles, supposedly doing inventory. She wasn’t actually doing inventory, though, and everyone knew it. She just wandered. Since they’d become partners, Pete had gotten a whole lot better at reading Myka, but as for what was going through her mind right now... Pete had absolutely no idea. She wouldn’t talk to him about it, either.

He’d tried cheering her up with the wonders of the Pete-cave, but it turned out that none of it was all that enticing to gir- women. Same thing with his offer to buy her anything and everything from his favorite buffet in Univille.

Finally, he’d decided to bring out the big guns and go all out.

Operation: Make Myka Happy quickly turned into a multi-step affair. Step one: Enlist Leena to engage Myka in conversation long enough for him to snoop around upstairs. Step two: Sneak into Myka’s room and jot down the titles of all the books he could find. Step three: Go to the local bookstore and get the cute clerk to answer the question, “If someone has all of these books, what else could she possibly want to read?” Finally, weed out any suggestions that might in any way remind Myka of a certain late 19^th century writer and inventor. Oh, and add in a book of Sudoku and a book of crossword puzzles (numbers and crosswords weren’t too H.G. Wells-y, right?). And some Twizzlers.

For all of about a minute, it seemed like Operation: Make Myka Happy was going to be a total success. Pete couldn’t help but grin as Myka looked through his gift and the first true smile he’d seen in quite a while spread across her face.

But then Myka reached the second to last book, and all of a sudden, her face fell.

She looked up at him, clearly trying to maintain a happy façade, but not quite succeeding.

“Pete... Thank you. Really,” she began haltingly. “You didn’t have to do this, but it was really so thoughtful of you.” She continued to ramble a bit, but her eyes began to get all watery and she made a hasty retreat, not-so-subtly leaving one book behind.

He didn’t understand what had gone wrong until he talked to Claudia later that night.

Seriously, how was he supposed to know that H.G. had been a Sherlock Holmes fan?

***

It was bittersweet, being back in the Warehouse.

On one hand, it was reassuring, meandering slowly through the stacks. The Warehouse was home to her now, and being able to reach out and physically feel that it was still there was comforting. Not all of the artifacts were back yet – the more complicated the artifact, the longer it took, apparently – but piece by piece, it was all coming back together.

On the other hand, it all felt completely wrong. There had been a nuclear bomb, and H.G., Steve, and Mrs. Frederic had all given their lives for the Warehouse. Myka couldn’t help but feel like there should be some kind of physical, tangible evidence of that.

All Myka had to do was close her eyes, and she could remember the utter devastation that had been left in the bomb’s wake. The searing heat; the flames, still lapping at the remnants of anything left; the fiery cracks in the ground; the ash, falling slowly from the sky. All she had to do was close her eyes, and she was greeted with Helena’s last, heartbreaking smile. But with a simple turn of a pocket watch, the Warehouse was back in just a day.

It felt wrong. You shouldn’t just be able to erase that kind of destruction.

It had all happened, but now it just felt like a dream. And if it was just a dream, then why did it still hurt so much?

Myka still caught whiffs of bitter smoke at random times, but other than that... As far as Artie and the Regents were concerned, everything was good as new.

But everything wasn’t.

***

Myka wasn’t sure what it was that made her feel ready to go back and read H.G.’s file. Because of course, paper was important enough for MacPherson’s watch to bring back, but people...

Myka took a deep breath. No, she wasn’t bitter. Really.

In any case, she suddenly felt ready – more than that, she felt an urge – to surround herself with memories of H.G. So she grabbed the Wells file and sat on her own in a secluded but comfortable corner of the Warehouse. If anyone really needed her, she had her Farnsworth.

It was on page three that she was hit with her first surprise. Apparently, during her brief reinstatement as a Warehouse agent, H.G. had seen fit to read the file herself and write her own comments into the margins. Needless to say, H.G. had a slightly different view of herself than the Regents, and her annotations made Myka want to laugh and cry at the same time.

An even bigger surprise came when an old photograph slipped from between a few pages and floated down to the ground.

Myka continued to read as she reached idly to pick it up... but she dropped it again in shock as soon as she got a good look at it.

The photograph had definitely not been there before; having previously perused the file, Myka would know.

Not to mention the fact that the photo was impossible.

Warily, she retrieved it once again, trying to see what the trick was. It was a real photograph, at least. No obvious illusions or enchantments or anything like that. It couldn’t be real, though. Could it? How?

Myka stared intently into the image, her heart beating rapidly. Within the photo, there was a pre-bronzed H.G. – wearing an old-fashioned waistcoat, and with her hair done up in an elegant, but older, style. But instead of looking out at the camera, H.G. gazed towards the figure beside her.

The agent closed her eyes, but when she opened them again, the photograph still looked the same. There, standing next to the writer and looking vaguely amused... was Myka.

***

Claudia was eating breakfast and reading the back of a cereal box when Myka entered the B&B’s kitchen.

She stopped in her tracks as soon as she caught sight of the redhead, a bright smile crossing her face. “Claudia!” she exclaimed happily, before she moved forward and pulled Claudia into a tight hug.

“Hey, Myka,” Claudia murmured into the older agent’s shoulder.

Myka looked exhausted, the bags under her eyes matching the ones that Claudia saw when she looked in the mirror each morning.

Training to be the new Mrs. Frederic was certainly no easy task, and she barely got to see her friends anymore. Instead, she went from meeting to meeting, learning what felt like a million new things every day. At the same time, there were physically grueling exercises meant to slowly build her link to the Warehouse. She was sure her head was going to explode any day now.

Mrs. F and Doctor Calder had been right, though. Even though she’d refused to think much about becoming the new Caretaker after that particular bomb of new information had been dropped on her, she actually did feel like it was the right thing for her.

If Steve’s death had taught her anything, it was that some things about how Warehouse 13 was run needed to change. Being Caretaker put her in a position to actually make a real difference. The Regents didn’t exactly have to do whatever she said, but they did have to at least listen to her now.

She missed her old life, though. There was Jinks and H.G., obviously, but on top of that, she missed the rest of the team, too. She saw Artie more than the others, but this was the first time she’d seen Myka in weeks.

The two women sat at the table to catch up, and soon both had forgotten how tired they were as they joked and laughed together.

The tone of the conversation turned more serious, though, as Claudia asked, “So how are you holding up?”

Myka sighed and offered a one armed shrug. “You know,” she replied vaguely. “I miss her. I miss both of them.”

A heavy silence fell between them, and Claudia was starting to regret having said anything, when Myka continued, “I feel like it should have gotten easier by now. Not that I’d be over it, obviously, but I mean... I barely even knew her, really.”

Claudia gently laid her hand over Myka’s. “You did know her. And of course it’s not getting easier; you two were totally in love, it’s not like-”

Myka inhaled sharply and withdrew her hand, turning to look harshly at Claudia. “What?” she asked in confusion. “No we weren’t. What are you talking about?”

Claudia’s eyes widened in alarm and she quickly stuffed a large spoonful of soggy cereal into her mouth to buy herself some time. She cursed her own tiredness, knowing that she wouldn’t have blurted that out in any other circumstance. She usually managed to remember that of the many thoughts that passed through her head, not all of them should be said out loud.

After swallowing audibly, Claudia finally responded, “Of course, it’s always possible that you hadn’t exactly reached the same conclusion I had?”

“Of course I hadn’t,” Myka said immediately, as a blush rose up her cheeks. “We were just friends. I mean, I knew she’d been with women before, we had talked about it, and-”

Claudia practically choked on the food in her mouth. The cereal didn’t actually taste all that good anymore, but she’d continued eating it just to have something to do.

“What?” Myka asked defensively.

Claudia raised one pointed eyebrow. “You talked with H.G. about being with a woman?” she asked, not caring that her mouth was still full.

“No!” Myka exclaimed, clearly flustered. “That’s not what I said! Well, it is what I said, but that’s not what I meant.” She rose to her feet and began to pace agitatedly. “I meant that we talked about ourselves, about our pasts. That’s all.”

“Okay, you’re right. Just friends. Clearly, I need more sleep. Just forget I said anything,” Claudia placated.

Myka stopped pacing, instead crossing her arms tightly in front of her chest and turning to stare at Claudia. Her eyebrows knit together in agitation, with confusion and embarrassment each clearly visible on her face. “But why would you even think that? Is it something about how I act? Did you ever think that about me and Pete?”

Claudia made a face of disgust. “Ew, no. You two are like siblings.”

“Yes, exactly!” Myka agreed, gesticulating with one hand. “And so... So you’re right about that, but... But you’re just wrong. We weren’t in love, that’s crazy!”

Equally flustered, Claudia tried desperately to ramble her way out of the mess she’d made. “Well, you know how crazy shippers can be. You’re cool, H.G. was cool, and so my mind just ran away with itself and thought you’d be cool together. Or something like that. I don’t know. Can we stop talking about this now?”

Myka just stared at her. “What’s a shipper?”

Claudia couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Never mind, it’s not important.”

With a deep breath, Claudia decided that since she’d already started making ripples by sticking her toe in these messy waters, she might as well jump all the way in.

“Okay, look.” She paused, trying to think how best to put this. “Think of how you felt about H.G. Not how you feel now, don’t think about the grief. Think about when you were friends, and you were back to being sure that she wasn’t actually evil. Okay?”

Myka nodded stiffly.

“Okay. So that feeling... Is it similar to how you feel about Pete, your best friend?” Claudia hesitated, unsure if she was doing the right thing or not. She smiled sympathetically before finishing softly, “Or is it closer to how you felt about Sam, when he was alive?”

Myka didn’t say anything. She just stood there, blinking rapidly.

Claudia opened her mouth to say something – though she wasn’t exactly sure what, yet – when suddenly Myka came back to life.

She took in a deep breath, before abruptly turning away. “I have to go. I just... I have to go.” Myka managed to shoot a genuine smile towards Claudia as she added, “It was really good to see you, Claud.”

With that, she turned and fled.

***

Myka didn’t know what to do once she’d left Leena’s. She didn’t have anything with her other than her car keys. And that photograph, which she’d taken to carrying around with her in her jacket’s inside pocket. In light of her latest conversation with Claudia, she thought about taking it out and getting rid of it. She didn’t, though.

Instead, she got in her car and just started driving with no destination in mind. Of course, there weren’t all that many places to go, so after taking a long scenic route, she ended up at the Warehouse.

It was still early, so she was able to make her way through the office and into the main part of the building without running into anyone. She didn’t really know where she was going, but she felt like she had to keep moving.

Myka didn’t notice anything around her, but one thing did draw her attention. The Anti-Gravity Generator.

She almost laughed. Of course, her subconscious had led her directly to the H.G. Wells aisle. Myka had been purposely avoiding this part of the Warehouse recently. She hadn’t been back there since before the explosion.

She really didn’t want to think about what Claudia had said, but almost against her own will, she found herself sinking down to sit on the floor and drawing the photograph out from her pocket.

It was crazy. Right? Claudia had clearly let her imagination run away with her. And yet...

Myka gazed again into the photo in her hands. She didn’t actually have any pictures of H.G. So even though this one wasn’t – couldn’t be – real, it was still all she had. And not only a picture of Helena, but one of the two of them, together.

As luck would have it, the one person Myka wanted to talk to at that moment was the very person she’d never talk to again.

“If only I could see you again,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to think right now, but... All I know is that I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to you.”

Myka hadn’t cried since that first day, as Pete held her and the Warehouse burned around them, but now she didn’t bother holding back the silent tears that carved wet paths down her cheeks. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, a single tear clinging precariously to her chin before falling and splattering onto the surface of the photo.

Suddenly, Myka’s entire body began to tingle. She looked down at herself in confusion. Then, it felt like an invisible hand reached inside her chest, grabbed hold, and abruptly yanked her forward. Myka cried out in a mixture of surprise, fear, and slight pain. Her eyes closed involuntarily as a strong wind rushed past her face. When she opened them again...

It was all Myka could do to keep from shrieking out loud. She looked around, completely baffled. She was no longer sitting in the Warehouse, but instead was standing on the edge of a busy street. As a horse rode by.

Before she could even begin to get her bearings, the tingling started again. She looked around wildly, trying to grasp some idea of where in the world she was, before that invisible hand came back and yanked her forward once more.

Myka opened her eyes, and she was back exactly where she’d been before, standing in the middle of the H.G. Wells aisle.

One hand still holding the photograph, Myka patted herself down with the other, making sure she was really there.

“What the hell?” she murmured into the empty space around her. “Guess I really need to sleep more. Now I’m having bizarre, extremely vivid daydreams in the middle of the day. Not to mention, talking to myself.”

With a wry shake of her head, Myka put the photograph away and started back towards Artie’s office.

***

Pete could barely pay attention as Artie rambled on through the Farnsworth about the latest artifact and the strategies for its retrieval. He’d mostly tuned out when Artie started talking about the contingency plan for his contingency plan.

“Artie, chillax, man,” he finally interrupted. “This isn’t exactly our first rodeo. We got this. Right, Myka?”

Pete turned to look over his shoulder, where his partner had been just a minute before...

“Myka?”

Pete frowned in confusion. Myka was nowhere to be seen, but Pete had no idea where else she could be.

“Pete? Is something wrong?” Artie’s anxious voice called out.

“All’s swell, not to worry, old man. We’ll check in later!” Pete smiled brightly before shutting the Farnsworth closed and looking around worriedly. He hadn’t wanted to freak Artie out more than was necessary, but it wasn’t like Myka to just disappear.

“Myka?” he tried calling out again, a little louder this time.

He exhaled in relief as Myka stuck her head out of a doorway just in front of him.

“Hey, sorry,” she said. “I saw something in here, but I thought it would be best to let Artie get all of his worrying out. I’m tired of him looking at me like I’m going to have a nervous breakdown or something. Now come here, I think I found a lead.”

It was their first bag-and-tag since the Warehouse had come back, and their first mission since Steve, Mrs. F, and H.G. hadn’t. Pete understood Artie’s mothering – Pete couldn’t help being a little worried about Myka too – but even he was starting to get tired of it.

Myka led the way into what turned out to be a laundromat.

“These places always have bulletin boards with all kinds of advertisements,” she explained as she walked to the far corner of the room. “I thought we might get lucky, and sure enough...”

Myka pointed to a bright green ad: ‘Got nightmares? Come receive a free consultation session with Dr. Michael Bloch, M.D. Dr. Bloch specializes in anxiety and sleep disorders. Start your path back to a free and clear night’s sleep!’

Pete grinned. “You know, if I was Sigmund Freud’s couch, that’s exactly the kind of place I’d like to hang out.”

***

Dr. Bloch turned out to be a pretty nice guy, just starting his own practice. He was happy enough to show them around, and it didn’t take much prying for him to not-so-modestly brag that he was actually distantly related to the Sigmund Freud.

Freud’s most famous couch was housed in a museum, but Freud had used this other one during his early work with hypnosis. It had been in Michael’s family for years, but when he got his degree, he’d convinced his relatives that such an heirloom was meant to be used, not simply looked at.

“So... but have you been noticing that your patients seem to be getting worse, instead of better?” Pete asked.

The doctor bristled, and Pete realized that he probably could have worded that a bit more tactfully.

“The healing process is a long one, Agent Lattimer, and-”

“What my partner means to say,” Myka interrupted smoothly before Michael could get too offended, “is have you been noticing anything strange lately? Maybe, for example, your patients started reporting hallucinations, when they hadn’t before?”

Myka had clearly charmed the guy, so naturally, Pete couldn’t resist moving to stand behind him and trying to get Myka to laugh by silently making fun of him.

She managed to mostly ignore Pete, however, and get the verification they needed that Bloch’s patients were indeed the ones who would most likely fall into a coma sometime soon.

Pete grinned when he and Myka got back out to the street. She hadn’t let him stop to get something to eat from the soft pretzel cart outside Bloch’s building before they went in, but now they had plenty of time. And honestly, he wouldn’t be Pete Lattimer if he went to Philadelphia without having both a cheesesteak and a giant pretzel.

He thought about trying to convince Myka that she should get one too, but he knew there was no point. Instead, he bought a second one for himself.

“So,” Pete began as he took his first big bite. “How long do we have before all his patients’ brains go kablooie?”

Myka shrugged. “Artie guessed about a day and a half. But we should really finish this as soon as it gets dark. Their nightmares will be worse tonight and it’s always possible that they’ll hit the overload point earlier than anticipated.”

That night, breaking back into the building was easy enough, though the same couldn’t be said for quietly maneuvering the replica couch up three flights of stairs and the real one back down again.

They were just preparing to move the neutralized couch into their van, when Myka suddenly stopped in her tracks.

“Pete?” she called out warily.

“What’s up, Mykes? Break a nail, and need big, strong Pete to save the day?” he joked.

“Pete, I think it’s happening again.” The tone in her voice – something between curiosity and panic – made him turn around and really focus on his partner.

It was a good thing he did, because if it hadn’t happened right in front of his eyes, there was no way he would have believed it.

One second he saw Myka, staring down at her own hands.

And then the next second... Myka was simply gone.

Click for Part 2

Fic: Five Days (Jessa/Marnie, Girls)

mysensitiveside — Wed, 20 Jun 2012 01:36:18 GMT

Title: Five Days
Fandom: Girls
Pairing: Jessa/Marnie
Rating: R-ish? (sex happens, but nothing too graphic)
Word count: 4,174
Spoilers: Takes place after the Season 1 finale, 1x10
Summary: Five days, each one a year after the last.
A/N: So... I don’t even know. This totally came out of nowhere. Un-betaed, so all mistakes are mine.

~2012~

When Marnie wakes up the day after Jessa’s wedding, at first she thinks that it was all a dream. A weird, messed up, crazy dream.

Because obviously, of the four of them, it certainly wouldn’t be Jessa – free spirit, pot-smoking, bohemian Jessa – who would be the first one to get married. And even if she were, the absolute last person that she’d be marrying would be that douchey venture capitalist guy.

Then Marnie rolls over and promptly freaks out. Because she’s in a bedroom she doesn’t recognize, and yeah, she moved out of Hannah’s apartment (and who is anyone kidding, she moved out of her own damn apartment, because she paid all the rent for that place, not Hannah), but not only is this not her own bedroom, but it’s also not Jessa’s or Shoshanna’s or anyone else’s she can think of.

Then that guy from her dream – well, maybe it wasn’t a dream, if he’s really here – the one who “officiated” the “wedding” peeks his head around the corner, and oh shit, is this his bedroom?

“Hey,” he calls in, a shy smile on his face. And God, she can’t even remember what his name is. Did she ever even know what his name is? “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” is all she manages to say in return, wide-eyed and staring at him. And oh, if it wasn’t a dream, then for one thing, it means that she kissed him last night, and for another, it means that Jessa’s freaking married. What an idiotic thing for Jessa to do.

She tries to be subtle as she takes a quick look at herself under the covers, but really, she’s a little (a lot) too hungover for subtlety right now. She’s clothed, at least, so that’s something.

What’s-his-name chuckles. “Don’t worry,” he says. “We came back here, and then you immediately passed out. I slept on the couch.”

Marnie makes a face, trying to deny that that’s what she was thinking about, as if he didn’t just catch her checking to see if she was naked or not. But really, what’s the point? They both know that’s what she was doing.

“Sorry...” she trails off, unsure whether she’s apologizing for passing out, for making him sleep on the couch, or for the fact that she probably acted like a drunken idiot the night before.

“Bobby,” he supplies. And, not that she doesn’t appreciate it, but that’s not actually why she was pausing.

“No, I knew that,” she lies.

It’s an awkward way to start her day.

***

~2013~

Marnie runs out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in her mouth, skidding in her socks across the hardwood floor to just barely reach her ringing phone before it goes to voicemail.

“Hewwo?” She picks up without noticing the caller id.

There’s nothing but silence on the other end, as she strolls back to the bathroom and spits into the sink.

“Shoshanna, is that you?” she asks.

“Um, no,” a familiar but haven’t-heard-it-in-a-very-long-time voice replies.

Marnie actually drops the phone. Who does that?

She scrambles to pick it up again. “Jessa?” she immediately demands in surprise, taking a second to finally look at the caller id. Sure enough, ‘Jessa Johansson,’ it reads.

“Did you just drop your phone?” Jessa asks, laughter in her voice.

“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Marnie’s blushing, now, and she doesn’t even really know why. “So, um, hi,” she continues, because this isn’t exactly a normal occurrence. She and Jessa don’t talk anymore. Not directly, anyway. They both talk to Shoshanna, and Shoshanna talks to both of them, but they don’t talk to each other.

(And Marnie talks to Hannah too, but not as often, and it’s never again been quite like it was before, and when they do talk, they don’t talk about Jessa. Not by design, or anything. They just don’t.)

“Hey,” Jessa replies, still with a hint of laughter. “Right, so... I don’t know. It was my anniversary yesterday, and that made me think of you, so... I thought I’d give you a ring.”

Marnie blinks. “Right. Yeah. Um, congrats,” she says stiltedly. She shrugs at herself in the mirror, because really, what do you even say to that?

“Ah. So Shoshanna hasn’t told you, then?” Jessa asks in response.

Marnie waits, tilting her head to the side, before asking, “Told me what?” when Jessa doesn’t fill in the silence right away.

“Yesterday is now special for a new reason – my divorce is now official.”

“Oh,” she says, and there’s a weird little spark of emotion, which Marnie consciously chooses not to analyze any further. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jessa scoffs. “The whole thing was rather ridiculous from the start.”

“Yeah,” Marnie agrees, daring to laugh at loud. “It really was.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, and then Jessa adds, “I should have spoken to you before I did it. You would have talked me out of the insanity.” She laughs, but there’s a note of seriousness there, too.

Marnie scrunches up her face, but she really has no idea what to say to that. Sorry I didn’t stop you from getting married? Talk about awkward.

“Anyway,” Jessa mercifully continues. “How are you? Seeing anyone?”

“No, not right now,” Marnie shakes her head. “You know,” she goes on with a chuckle, waving her toothbrush in the air, “I actually briefly dated this guy I met at your wedding.”

“Yes, I did hear that,” Jessa replies. Marnie can suddenly picture Jessa in her head, smirking playfully. “I once suggested to Thomas that all of us should go on a double date, and then maybe have a foursome. He was all for it, until he realized that would mean that Bobby would have to be involved as well.”

Jessa laughs and Marnie chuckles along, but then another awkward silence sets in. Because thinking about foursomes-that-never-were makes her think about the threesome-that-almost-was-but-was-really-more-of-a-twosome, and now she’s blushing again.

“So yeah,” Jessa once again continues. “Like I said, I was just thinking of you, so.”

“You sound good, Jessa,” Marnie says honestly. “Are you good?”

“I am, actually,” Jessa responds, and she sounds like she means it, but Marnie can never really be sure with Jessa. “Honestly, when people talk about the ‘sanctity of marriage,’ I don’t think they’re talking about mine. I was trying to be someone I wasn’t, trying to be more grown up than I am. But now I can get back to just being me.”

It’s more, far more, than Marnie was looking for in an answer, but it makes her happy, that after all this time, they can just sit back and talk like this. They were never really friends, except for that one day.

But maybe they could be.

***

~2014~

Marnie’s phone rings. Her attention is automatically drawn towards it.

“Don’t answer it,” Hayley says, her lips trailing down Marnie’s throat.

“I just...” Marnie’s not sure why, but she feels a need to know who’s calling. “Hold on, sorry.”

She twists her body out from underneath Hayley, who flops over onto her back with a sigh.

‘Jessa Johansson,’ the caller id reads. Marnie bites her bottom lip, staring at the screen, before hitting the silence button and turning back to Hayley. To hear Shoshanna tell it, it was thinking about Jessa that has led her here, to this particular bed, but Hayley definitely doesn’t need to know that.

“Who was it?” Hayley asks.

“No one important, just someone I used to know,” she replies, rolling over until she’s hovering above Hayley, their legs intertwined.

“Now you’re just somebody that I used to know,” Hayley sings softly, bobbing her head. “Remember that song, from a few years ago? Good song.”

“Mmhm,” Marnie murmurs vaguely, before leaning down and picking back up where they left off.

Hayley hums in appreciation, running her hands up and down Marnie’s back.

This is the second time they’ve done this. The first time was... nice. Nothing more, nothing less. It definitely turned her on, but it wasn’t exactly earth-shattering. But first times rarely are earth-shattering, Marnie tells herself, so now they’re doing it again.

(Shoshanna thinks it’s an experiment. And not even in a normal bicurious let’s-see-what-girls-are-like kind of way. Not exactly, anyway.

Marnie thinks that Shoshanna is full of shit.

“It’s not nice to use people,” Shoshanna had said. “Especially good people. And Hayley’s a good person. I like her.”

“I’m not using her, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you having a very specific type, when it comes to girls. So now you’re all into Hayley, because you want to know if you have a thing for girls in general – well, at least blonde girls with British accents – or just a thing for Jessa.”

“.....Hayley’s Australian, not British.”

Whatever. Shoshanna doesn’t know what she’s talking about.)

It is better, the second time.

Marnie sighs contentedly as she settles between Hayley’s arms, the small spoon pressed along the other girl’s long, lithe frame. Hayley nuzzles against the back of her neck, leaving a gentle kiss, and it’s nice, and it’s comfortable, and Hayley really is a great girl.

So why does she feel guilty, Marnie wonders, as her eyes stray back to her phone, which glows with a reminder that she has one voicemail waiting. It’s probably just another, ‘Hey, remember that time we kind of hooked up, and then I married that random guy?’ message.

She and Jessa do talk semi-irregularly now (just talk, because Jessa now lives in San Diego), and not about that, but Marnie hasn’t forgotten what day it is. Or, what day it was, rather, since it’s now after midnight. But it’s still yesterday in California. Whatever. There’s something weird about the fact that the day after Jessa’s anniversary is a day that comes so easily to mind for her.

“Shut up,” Marnie whispers to Shoshanna’s voice that she can hear inside her head.

“Hm?” Hayley murmurs in sleepy confusion.

“Nothing, babe, go to sleep,” Marnie replies, stroking her hand across Hayley’s arm and feeling another jolt of guilt.

“’Kay.”

The next day, once she’s back in her apartment, Marnie lies on her bed, staring at the ceiling and trying unsuccessfully not to think.

“Shoshanna?” she calls out loudly, double checking that her roommate isn’t home.

She thinks about Hayley as she closes her eyes, bites her lip, and slips her hand down the front of her jeans.

Right at the last moment, the image in Marnie’s head shifts into one of Jessa. Marnie’s eyes fly open, and her hand falters for just a second, but she keeps going, moaning out loud.

She comes harder than she has in over a year.

***

~2015~

“But I don’t want to go to some lame-ass play,” Marnie whines.

Shoshanna won’t take no for an answer. “Yes you do. Everyone is going to be there, except that won’t be true if you’re not there, so you have to be there!”

She huffs in annoyance when Marnie just looks at her out of the corner of her eye, frown firmly in place.

“You used to complain all the time about how you were such a better friend than Hannah. Are you going to prove yourself wrong?” Shoshanna asks, jutting her chin out defiantly. Marnie pouts. She hates it when Shoshanna uses her own words against her. “Hannah and Adam are back in one of their on-again stages, and Adam is one of Ray’s good friends, and Ray is my boyfriend, and you are my best friend, so you’re coming with us!”

Shoshanna turns abruptly and stalks out of the room without waiting for an answer.

“Be ready in an hour!” she calls back. Marnie sighs, but drags herself up and off her bed, heading to her closet to look for something to wear.

Marnie doesn’t realize that by ‘everyone,’ Shoshanna really means ‘everyone’ until it’s too late.

She stops dead in her tracks when she first catches sight of Jessa, waiting in the theater lobby. Shoshanna is standing half a step behind her, probably because she knew this was going to happen, and without missing a beat, she places her hand on Marnie’s back and unceremoniously shoves her forward.

Marnie stumbles, but catches her footing just as Jessa turns in their direction. A wide, happy smile spreads across the Brit’s face, and Marnie can’t help but smile back.

“Darlings!” Jessa exclaims when they reach her. “It’s been far too long!”

She reaches for Shoshanna first, and the two cousins hug each other warmly.

Marnie rolls her eyes at herself when she notices that she’s feeling nervous (because it’s stupid, really; Jessa is just an old friend, and it’s just a hug, and there’s absolutely no reason at all to be nervous).

She smiles when Jessa turns to her, hugging her tightly and only blushing a little when Jessa twists her neck to kiss Marnie on the cheek.

“It’s so good-” Jessa begins, their arms still loosely wrapped around each other, before there’s a familiar voice calling out behind them.

“Oh! My! God! Jessa Johansson, you get over here right this second!”

Marnie snorts at Hannah’s impeccable timing. Jessa gives her one last squeeze and then releases her to go meet up with Hannah.

“There,” Shoshanna says proudly, bumping her hip against Marnie’s. “Now aren’t you glad I made you come to this ‘lame-ass play’?”

“No,” Marnie sullenly replies, waiting a beat before smiling and draping her arm around Shoshanna’s shoulders. “You’re a good friend, Shosh,” she continues. “But I’m totally going to get back at you for this later.”

“That’s what you say now,” Shoshanna counters confidently, wrapping her own arm around Marnie’s waist, “but you’ll be singing a different tune when you’ve got Jessa’s tongue down your throat.”

Marnie releases an incredulous laugh, whipping her head to the side to stare at Shoshanna, who merely raises an eyebrow and smirks. Marnie pulls away slightly so she can whack Shoshanna’s shoulder with the back of her hand.

The play is really lame, of course. Marnie and Adam have never quite gotten along, but while she’ll admit that he has some talent, this whole avant-garde theater stuff isn’t really her thing.

Still, she sits through it like the good friend that she is, and if part of Marnie’s attention is drawn to the girl sitting beside her, watching the blonde’s reactions out of the corner of her eye... Well, no one notices, Marnie is sure, so it’s like it didn’t happen.

“That play was such bullshit,” Jessa tells Adam later, at the after-party, and Marnie is glad to hear that Jessa agrees with her.

Adam rolls his eyes. “Well of course it was,” he responds, as if that was the whole point. And what does Marnie know, maybe it was.

Things are a blur for a while, a whirl of alcohol and dancing and laughing. She loses sight of Jessa at some point, but decides not to worry about it (or at least she tells herself that she’s not worrying).

But then someone reaches for her hand when she’s in the middle of the dance floor, and she turns around quickly, ready to snatch her hand back.

“Jessa!” she happily calls out instead when she sees who it is, wrapping her arms around Jessa’s neck and kissing her on the forehead.

Jessa smiles and pats her on the back, but then wordlessly takes hold of her hand again and starts pulling her away. Marnie has no idea where they’re going, or why, but she follows along happily as they make their way through the crowd, climbing up stairs that Marnie hadn’t even realized were there.

The sounds of the party gradually fade away, until they’re blocked out completely when Jessa pushes open a door at the very top of the stairs, and they find themselves out on the roof of the bar.

“Oh, Jessa, this is amazing!” Marnie exclaims, still holding onto Jessa’s hand as she now takes the lead, pulling the other girl closer to the edge. There’s a half wall surrounding the whole rooftop area, but she still stops a few steps away. “It’s beautiful!”

The night is clear, and there’s a perfect view of the Williamsburg Bridge, with lower Manhattan looming up behind it.

“How did you know this was up here?” she asks, but Jessa just shrugs mysteriously.

Jessa is looking at her with an expression that Marnie is too tipsy to decipher, so after a moment of simply staring at each other, she just keeps talking instead.

“Today is our day, you know,” she says.

“Our day?” Jessa asks. From her smile, though, Marnie guesses that Jessa knows exactly what she’s talking about.

“Yep,” she continues. “Yesterday was your and venture capitalist’s day, but today is yours and mine.”

“It’s almost midnight,” Jessa comments after a moment. “So how shall we commemorate the end of our day?”

Marnie doesn’t answer; she just stares Jessa straight in the eye.

Jessa breaks the eye contact, turning to gaze out towards the city. “You know,” she continues, “on this day for the last three years, there’s one thing I’ve always thought about.”

“What?” Marnie asks softly, swallowing past the dryness in her throat, when the silence stretches on.

“I could always easily remember this day,” Jessa finally goes on, still looking straight out, even as Marnie studies her profile. “And since I couldn’t remember the exact date of that other night of ours, this one had to do.”

There’s one more long pause, and then, right when Marnie feels like she can’t take it anymore, Jessa turns her head to meet her gaze. “I think about what I said to Thomas that night, as we left his apartment” she says. “How I told him I was going to eat you out on the sidewalk. And I think about how my life might have been different if I’d actually done it, like I wanted to, instead of just-”

Jessa doesn’t get to finish whatever she has to say, because then Marnie is practically lunging at her, her hands quickly finding themselves tangled in Jessa’s hair as she crushes their mouths together.

The kiss is hungry and urgent, and Jessa’s arms immediately wrap tightly around Marnie’s body, and her fingers scratch lightly down Marnie’s back in a really nice way, and wow, Jessa is really good at kissing.

(And okay, so maybe Shoshanna did know what she was talking about back when Hayley was around, because now the experiment is complete. Now Marnie knows that it’s kind of but not really about girls in general, with or without blonde hair and a cool accent, but it’s also not the case that Marnie was just misremembering the thrill of that first night kissing Jessa, thinking that it was better than it actually was.

Because this is just like that night, but better, possibly because they’re a bit older, possibly because she’s not as drunk. Definitely because there’s no guy trying to paw at her breasts. But regardless, she feels a delicious tingling that starts at their lips and runs all the way down through her body. There’s a spark that wasn’t there with Hayley, or Bobby, or even Charlie.

Plus, yes, Marnie is currently feeling very grateful towards Shoshanna, now that she has Jessa’s tongue down her throat.)

But okay, now Jessa is moaning, and that’s enough thinking about Shoshanna.

Jessa starts sucking on Marnie’s collarbone, and Marnie tilts her head back and mumbles something, but she isn’t even fully conscious of what she’s saying. Then Jessa goes completely still, though, and she releases a shocked little laugh against Marnie’s skin.

So Marnie hits the rewind button in her mind and…

“Oh God. Please tell me I didn’t actually just say that.” Mortified, Marnie brings her hands up to cover her face.

But Jessa gently pulls them back, and the look in her eyes is so affectionate that it takes Marnie’s breath away, and then Jessa is leaning in and whispering in Marnie’s ear, “Don’t worry, I very much like the way your mind works.”

Because yes, Marnie did just point out that while they’re not on a sidewalk, now they have a whole rooftop to take advantage of.

Jessa kisses her once more, soundly, and then pulls back, reaching again for Marnie’s hand and pulling her further out of sight from the door and closer to the edge. She sees now that there’s also a railing that shoots up from the outside edge of the wall.

“Jessa, no,” Marnie laughs, “you don’t have to eat me out.”

“Does anyone ever have to eat someone out?” Jessa counters. She stops abruptly and turns around, almost crashing into Marnie. “This is a matter of life or death, Marnie,” she says seriously. “I need to eat your cunt.” The she’s turning around again and continuing forward, adding, “No, silly, I don’t have to. But I very much want to, so there we are.”

Jessa takes off her sweater and lays it across the top of the wall. Marnie realizes what Jessa’s going to do next just a moment before she actually does it, and Marnie reaches out to steady herself by grabbing onto Jessa’s shoulder, as the blonde bends to pick her up and ungracefully plop her down onto the sweater.

“Oy, you’re heavier than you look,” Jessa complains, winking to show she’s not serious.

“Hey!” Marnie laughs, swatting playfully at Jessa with her hand.

It’s not the most comfortable she’s ever been, but she leans back against the railing, which thankfully feels quite stable, and the whole thing just seems incredibly funny.

Her laughter dies off abruptly, though, as Jessa advises, “Don’t fall off, all right?” and then oh God, Marnie can feel Jessa’s breath right there, and they’re really going to do this, apparently.

Marnie lets out an un-self-conscious moan as Jessa’s lips trail up her inner thigh, and she’s never felt any inclinations toward exhibitionism before, but there’s something incredibly sexy about this, being outside, with the lights of New York City in front of her, and Jessa’s head between her thighs.

Of all the ways this night could have gone, this is not what Marnie was expecting, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Later, they’re sitting on the ground (on Jessa’s sweater) and leaning back against the wall, with Jessa’s head on Marnie’s shoulder. They’re quiet for a while, comfortably so, as Marnie plays with Jessa’s hair, and Jessa traces idle shapes over the skin of Marnie’s leg.

“You know what the most surprising thing about tonight was?” Marnie asks.

Jessa murmurs something vague.

“That you were early for the play,” she teases, “instead of showing up fashionably late around intermission.”

Jessa chuckles and pinches Marnie’s thigh in retaliation, earning a surprised “Ow!” from Marnie.

“I was nervous,” Jessa explains after a long pause.

Marnie knits her eyebrows in confusion, twisting to the side so she can look at Jessa directly. “Nervous? Why would you be nervous?”

Jessa looks up at her, then, her eyes sweeping across Marnie’s face. She reaches up and softly, slowly, runs her finger down the length of Marnie’s nose.

“I was nervous about seeing you.”

Marnie just stares at her for a beat. Then, there’s simply nothing else she can do in response to that except lean in and cover Jessa’s mouth with own.

***

~2016~

Marnie wakes up to the feel of someone kissing her neck. She smiles.

“Do you know what today is?” Jessa whispers into her ear. Her girlfriend’s breath tickles, but then Marnie moans softly when Jessa bites lightly down on her earlobe.

“Today?” she asks, pretending to be confused, even as a wide smile spreads across her face. “No, is there something special about today?”

Jessa pokes her, causing Marnie to squirm away. She rolls onto her side, leaning forward for a quick kiss.

“Yes, silly, I know what today is,” Marnie finally acknowledges. But really, it was a stupid question. Of course she knows what today is, and Jessa already knows that she knows, even without her saying so.

Jessa waggles her eyebrows. “Does that mean we can fuck in public again?” she asks, and her face is so bright and eager that Marnie has to laugh, then kiss her again, then keep laughing.

“No, we cannot fuck in public again,” Marnie breaks the news. “I’m so sorry.” Before Jessa can even think about protesting, she adds, “And it wasn’t even really in public that other time. But how about we celebrate by me going down on you in the shower?”

Jessa considers this.

“I think I can work with that,” Jessa eventually decides, nodding her head.

“Yeah?” Marnie laughs.

“Yeah.”

They kiss deeper, now, never mind morning breath, because Marnie is just too happy to care.

“Happy ‘Our Day,’ Marnie,” Jessa declares, pulling back for just a second.

“Mm,” Marnie mumbles in return.

They’ll get up, eventually. But not yet. Now is the time for lazy kisses, playful smiles, and wandering hands.

It took them long enough to get here, so now there’s no rush to go anywhere else.

THE END

Calling all artists!

mysensitiveside — Sat, 02 Jun 2012 16:30:28 GMT

Hello, LiveJournal!

As I've mentioned a few times here and there, I'm in the process of writing an epic fic, and I've decided to use it as my entry to the upcoming Femslash Day Big Bang!

Now it's time for artist sign-ups, so I thought I'd throw this out there, since I happen to know that a lot of my friends here are really amazing artists! There are five fics (all from different fandoms) looking for complementary art, so go here to check out the summaries! Sign-ups are from now until June 15th, first come first serve. Bonus points if you can guess which fic is mine (except not really, because I've only ever written fic for one of the five fandoms/pairings. Hm).

The details, from the femslash_day site:

Phase Two Details
Phase Two Sign-Ups: 1st - 15th June
Phase Two Creation: 1st June - 10th July

For Phase Two, you will be creating a complement piece to a Phase One project. A complement works with and enhances the project it's paired with. Because all of the Phase One projects are written, you will create a visual/media project with the minimum requirements listed below.

We will be allowing you the opportunity to choose the projects you'd most like to work with from the list of anonymous summaries that will be posted on 1st June, then assign the projects on a first come, first served basis. Each project will be listed by its Medal status, and your project will correspond with the minimum requirements listed below.

Visual/media complimentary works:

Gold Medal [fic is at least 20,000 words]: 3 visual works (any medium)
Silver Medal [fic is at least 10,000 words]: 2 visual works (any medium)
Bronze Medal [fic is at least 5,000 words]: 1 visual works (any medium)

One visual work is any of the following:
* a batch of five icons
* one header-sized graphic (computerized or hand drawn)
* a five-song fanmix
* 40 seconds of edited video
* 1k of audio fic

If you have other ideas for the visual/media works [3D fiber works, ATCs, etc], or you want to do a combination of works, please check with the mods for verification.

Helena knows you want to sign up!

(gif not mine)

Fanvid: "Breath of Life" (Myka/HG)

mysensitiveside — Tue, 08 May 2012 19:29:38 GMT

Fandom: Warehouse 13
Pairing: Myka/HG
Song: "Breath of Life"
Artist: Florence + The Machine
Spoilers: All episodes
Summary: HG struggles to deal with her inner demons, receive forgiveness from herself and the woman she loves, and find redemption.
A/N: Video plays best in 480p or 720p

(If HD is jumpy, try viewing with 480p)

Youtube link: http://youtu.be/TiCET-9loMk?hd=1

Vimeo link: https://vimeo.com/41782190

Download link: http://www.mediafire.com/?3r9dzsw01xm5p9q

Fanmix: Even Bad Wolves Can Be Good (Red/Snow, Once Upon A Time)

mysensitiveside — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 05:41:27 GMT

Title: Even Bad Wolves Can Be Good
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Pairing: Red/Snow
A/N: Based on/inspired by my Running With The Wolves fic

01. L’il Red Riding Hood - Sam The Sham & The Pharaohs
What big eyes you have,
The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad.
So just to see that you don't get chased,
I think I ought to walk with you for a ways

02. Running Away - Midnight Hour
Don't lie and say that it's ok
It's alright if there's nothing more to say

So I'm running away
I'm leaving this place

03. Howl - Florence & The Machine
If you could only see the beast you've made of me
I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free
Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart
Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart

My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in
You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl
My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in
You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to

Howl

04. The Wolf - Eddie Vedder
( instrumental )

05. Gravity - A Perfect Circle
I fell again
Like a baby unable to stand on my own
Tail in hand
Dizzy and clearly unable to just let this go
High and surrendering to the gravity and the unknown
Catch me heal me lift me back up to the sun
I choose to live, I choose to live, I choose to live

Catch me heal me lift me back up to the sun
Help me survive the bottom

06. Breathe Me - Sia
Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small
I'm needy
Warm me up
And breathe me

07. L’il Red Riding Hood - Amanda Seyfried
What a big heart I have
The better to love you with
Little Red Riding Hood
Even bad wolves can be good

Download link: http://www.mediafire.com/?urhh9skjx1ji8uv

Fic: Running With The Wolves (Red/Snow, Once Upon A Time)

mysensitiveside — Sat, 14 Apr 2012 00:44:39 GMT

Title: Running With The Wolves
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Pairing: Red/Snow
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,529
Spoilers: Takes place after 1x15: Red-Handed
Summary: Red has to learn how to cope with it all. Snow helps.
A/N: Written for the rare pairing challenge at femslash_land

There’s a low growl in the darkness. Surrounded in the pitch black of night, I can see nothing; I can hear nothing but that deep, menacing sound.

Harsh scents, the ones that no one else notices, prick my nose – the damp earth beneath the snow, musky sweat, and blood. There is blood everywhere, some spilled onto the ground and some still rushing through hot veins.

Gradually, my eyes adjust to the darkness. I can still hear the wolf. I cannot see him, but I know he is near.

There is a lake before me, and I find myself drawn towards it. I keep looking around, but though the low growl remains audible in the air, there is no one to be seen. No one else but me.

I arrive at the lake’s shore. Although I am not thirsty, the water still calls me forward.

Standing at the very edge, I lean out over the water, calm and just as smooth as the face of a mirror.

I recoil at the sight of the reflection that greets me, but even as an angry snarl breaks the eerie silence, a niggling thought at the back of my mind tells me that this is something I’ve known all along. A long howl of despair is torn loose from the wolf’s – from my – throat.

I take off running, but I cannot out-run the wolf. He and I are one.

***

Red’s eyes shoot open, and she is halfway up and out of bed before her mind catches up with her body. Her hands fly to her face, but all she feels is damp and sweaty skin, instead of the coarse fur she had expected to find.

Closing her eyes, she keeps her hands up and covering her face as she sits slumped at the edge of her bed, pulling desperate gulps of air into her lungs. Slowly, she pulls her hands away, gazing out at them through narrow slits.

They are shaking, but they are human.

“Red?”

She jumps to her feet and whirls around, startled by the hesitant touch at her back.

“Don’t.” Her throat is squeezed tight – sore from a night of crying to the moon? – but she manages to push out the single word. She clears her throat and turns away, unable to meet Mary’s concerned gaze.

“Don’t touch me,” she continues bitterly. “I’m a monster.”

She closes her eyes, but the images from her dream – no, nightmare – flood the backs of her eyelids, and so her eyes fly open once again.

Dream or nightmare, it makes no difference. It is her reality, now.

“You’re not a monster, Red,” Mary protests sincerely. It is sweet, but foolish, of her to say so. “It wasn’t really you. None of this is your fault.”

“All of this is my fault!” Red yells, anger and pain vying for dominance. She spins around once again, taking one aggressive step towards the bed.

Her lips curl back into a snarl as her muscles tense, and she wants to see fear in Mary’s eyes. She wants to see disgust, and hatred, and horror. Instead, all she sees is compassion.

It’s enough to make her feel sick with self-loathing.

She swallows, and though later she’ll believe that she imagined it, she can’t help but think that she can still taste flesh and blood on her tongue, and now she really is going to be sick.

Red rushes to the window, throwing open the shutters just in time, before her insides fight their way up and out of her body. She heaves violently, over and over again, emptying the contents of her stomach.

Mary is at her side, then, holding her hair back and running a soothing hand up and down her back. Even when Red has nothing left to expel, Mary remains, and Red no longer has the energy to push her away.

Instead, she pulls herself back through the window and immediately sinks down into a heap on the ground. She lies on the floor, trying to shrink her tall and lanky body into the smallest possible shape.

Mary sits with her back against the wall, and as mournful sobs begin to quietly spill out of Red’s mouth, Mary simply pulls her head into her lap. Red tries to resist, but Mary is stronger than she looks, and she holds Red in place.

There are no words of comfort, but Mary hums a soft, lilting melody over the sound of Red’s cries, and her hands are gentle but steady as she smoothes out the knots of confusion, grief, and fear.

***

I am running.

I am naked and running through the forest, but my feet barely touch down on the cold, hard snow. Instinct drives me forward, and I am moving too fast to consciously think about navigating the narrow space between the trees, but my body simply knows how to move. There could be a thousand more obstacles, and they still wouldn’t slow me down.

Am I chasing, or being chased?

I have no idea.

***

The next time Red wakes, for a few moments, she’s actually forgotten.

Why is she on the floor? Why is her head lying in Mary’s lap? Why does it feel like her heart’s been tied up into a knot?

She stiffens when it all comes back to her, but Mary merely squeezes her shoulder in comfort.

Part of her wants to stay exactly where she is, curled up in her friend’s loose embrace. Part of her never wants to move, never wants to face whatever has to come next.

It’s the rest of her that eventually forces her body into action. One step at a time; first she simply pulls herself into an upright sitting position, and then she returns to her own two feet and stretches out her stiff muscles. She frowns when she notices Mary’s slight wince at what must be a cramp in her leg.

“I’m sorry,” Red mumbles softly, staring at the floor. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not too long, I don’t think,” Mary replies. “It’s a little past mid-day. Granny came in a bit ago and left some food for us.”

Red just now notices the way her nose is tingling at the smell of venison. She turns to glance distastefully at the food sitting on the table in the corner of the room.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I am,” says Mary. She holds her hand up, and without thinking about it, Red reaches down to hold tightly onto Mary’s forearm and pull her to her feet.

Neither one of them lets go right away. They stand face to face, each silently daring the other to look away first.

Red turns away.

She is calmer now, but she still doesn’t understand. There is a lot that she doesn’t understand, but her focus for now is on a question that she can actually handle – why is Mary still here? Mary knows of the monster that lurks under Red’s skin, but still, she stays. It doesn’t make sense.

“Will it bother you if I...?” Mary doesn’t finish the sentence, but her head is tilted towards the waiting food.

Red shakes her head, but moves back to the open window. She can’t even watch. Thankfully, snow has continued to steadily fall, so when Red breathes in deeply, the scent of her earlier sickness is almost entirely masked.

She has to leave here, she knows. She needs to find someplace where she can’t hurt any more people. There is no other choice. Granny will be better off without her. Everyone will be.

That night, dinner is held in silence. Granny tries to talk, but Red doesn’t want to listen. She can’t bear to hear the shame that she knows Granny must feel because of her. So Red interrupts, and she makes a fuss, until finally, Granny gives in with a sad, downcast look.

Mary tries to lighten things up, but soon she too falls into silence.

Red is hungry enough to try eating, however. She gets through some vegetables and potatoes without any trouble, but as soon as she swallows her first bite of meat, she knows that it’s been one bite too many. She pushes back from the table and rushes to the door, managing to get a few steps away from the cottage before she falls to her knees and once again vomits into the snow.

Both Mary and Granny appear in the doorway, but Red yells brokenly for them to stay away. They hesitate a moment longer. “Please,” Red cries desperately. “Leave me be!”

They disappear back inside, and Red exhales in relief.

It’s not long before there’s nothing left to come up, but still, she stays where she is. She falls backward into the snow, gazing up to the sky. She wishes that she could disappear amongst the stars; instead, she’ll have to resort to disappearing into the trees. Soon.

***

It is Spring, and I smile up at the wide open sky as I float across the surface of the lake on my back. It is peaceful, here. I can’t seem to remember why, but somehow I know that each moment of peace is as welcome as it is rare.

I bump into something behind me. I turn to see, and my grin widens when I catch sight of Peter’s familiar head of hair.

But something is wrong.

There are others in the lake as well, I am only now noticing them, but none turn to me.

They’re dead. They’re all dead by my hand. The lake water is slowly stained red with blood.

And all I can do is scream.

***

Red jerks into consciousness.

It’s still fairly dark outside, but with that slightest hint that dawn will soon be on its way. The wind is blowing strong enough to rattle the shutters. The timing is perfect. She can walk in the same direction as the wind, and it’ll both cover her tracks and carry her scent forward, away from Granny.

As quietly as she can, Red moves about the room, stuffing some clothes, an extra pair of boots, her bow, and various provisions into her rucksack.

She leaves two notes.

To Granny, she says, “I can’t stay here any longer. Please try to understand. I am sure that Jack from the village will be happy to look after you and help in any way he can, all you need to do is ask. Don’t come after me. This is how it has to be. I love you.”

For Mary, the note is simpler: “Thank you,” she writes.

With that done, she is ready. She wraps her red hood tightly around her body, takes one last look at the only home she has ever known, and trudges off into the snow.

Red doesn’t get far, before her ears pick up the sound of someone trailing along behind her. She turns a corner, and finds a stout tree to cover her. She waits until her shadow – it’s Mary, just as Red suspected – passes her by, stopping to look ahead in confusion.

“What are you doing, Mary?” Red calls, causing the other girl to jump in startled fright.

She regains her composure quickly, turning back to face Red and replying, “I’m going with you wherever you’re going, of course.”

Red rolls her eyes, but strides forward once again.

“You already said that people are after you, Mary. I really think that following a wolf is the last thing you should do,” Red advises as Mary falls into step beside her. “I’m going to be on my own, where I can’t hurt anyone.”

Mary stops her with a firm hand on her upper arm. “You were a friend to me when you had no reason to do so. Please, just let me do the same, okay? We could both use a friend right now.”

Red eyes her warily. The thought of a friend does sound incredibly appealing, but... But it’s more than Red deserves. The thought of the monster lying in wait inside her; of the horrors she has enacted; of all that she is capable of... She can’t even trust herself any longer, how could she dare to ask anyone else to trust her?

She turns away, bitter tears running down her cheeks.

“Mary...” she begins, her voice soft and insecure.

“That’s not really my name, you know,” the other girl interrupts. “Remember how you assumed that I couldn’t tell you my name because I’d only just met you and didn’t know whom I could trust?”

Red shoots her a sidelong glance, but doesn’t bother answering. It wasn’t all that long ago, of course she remembers.

Mary – well, whoever she is – offers a beautiful smile and sticks out her hand. Red, confused but curious, reaches out to shake it.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Red.” Her grip on Red’s hand is firm, showing no hesitation. “My name is Snow White.”

***

It’s cold.

I can see my breath, exhaled as mist in the air before me, but when I shiver, I am not sure whether it’s because of the cold, or the fear.

The wolves surround me, forming an increasingly tight circle as they slowly stalk in towards me, one synchronized step at a time. There are six of them, and only one of me. Hardly a fair fight, but that doesn’t seem to matter to the wolves.

There is one of them in particular whose gaze has met mine. I close my eyes against him, and when I open them, everything around me is in sharper focus. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that the wolf smirks at me.

He and the others raise their eyes to the sky, and as one, a chorus of howls echoes through the night.

I only realize that I have changed when my own voice blends seamlessly into their harmony. I look down at my lupine form and shudder, but the usual revulsion isn’t quite there.

The leader ends his call and the rest of us follow his example. And then we are running. There are seven of us, coming together to form one whole.

***

The first time that Red consciously makes a decision to change, it’s only because there’s no other choice. She and Snow have been walking for days, and though they’ve managed to catch enough game, Red has been wholly unable to keep any of it down.

But one cannot subsist on plants, roots, and berries alone, and Red is growing weaker by the hour.

“Red, please,” Snow implores her. “You have to. We’ll track an animal and then I’ll go downwind from you and build a fire, lighting it once you’ve changed. Then your instincts will take over. You won’t smell me, so you won’t go after me. If anything, the smell of smoke will overpower my own, and you’ll just naturally go after the rabbit, or deer, or whatever we find.”

Snow reaches out to cup Red’s cheek in her gloved hand as she continues, “I know you’re scared, but you’ve got to do this. Wolfstime is almost over, but if you don’t eat, you won’t make it that long. I know that you can do this. We’ll teach you to control it. I’ve always had a way with animals, after all,” she concludes with a soft smile.

Red really doesn’t want to even try, but she’s just so hungry...

“If I do go after you...” Red looks down at the ground in shame. “Snow, you have to promise that you’ll use the fire against me if you have to.”

Snow looks like she’s going to protest, but with one pleading look from Red, she closes her mouth and nods.

Afterwards, Red doesn’t remember any of it. She comes back to herself after Snow has managed to safely get close enough to throw the hood over her body. For the first time in too-long, her belly actually feels comfortably full.

The next time that Red accidentally changes, it isn’t even Wolfstime.

The snow is starting to melt, and they’ve come across an abandoned cabin, secluded enough to serve as their new home. It needs a lot of repair work, but they make do the best they can, and it’s far better than anything they’ve had up to that point.

Red had always figured that they’d eventually stop somewhere; this cabin in the woods seems as good a somewhere as any.

One day, though, their evening meal – it’s been a while, now, since she got over her aversion to meat – is interrupted when they hear a loud roar outside their makeshift home. The fear is immediate. Snow’s first instinct is to go for her spear, but Red finds that she cannot move, as images from her various nightmares flood her brain.

Red can never remember anything from her time in wolf’s form. But as Snow tells her later, one moment she’s an immobile young woman, cowering in fright; the next, she’s a strong and angry wolf, literally tearing their door off its hinges – Snow will make a point of complaining about this often in the days to come – and rushing out to meet the threat.

The bear is taken by surprise, and Red’s wolf defends her territory well.

Once the bear is gone, then just as suddenly as before, Red is back to being herself, even without the aid of the red hood. Snow stands in the doorway, looking like she can’t decide whether she should be scared out of her mind, or full of wondrous awe. She seems to be leaning towards the latter.

That’s when they realize that she can really change at any time. It seems to be the base emotions that are most likely to set her off: fear, hunger, desire.

One night Red dreams of... She can’t quite remember all the details, but it’s enough to make her blush.

Snow wakes to the sight of a wolf prowling around the room.

She can’t help the shriek that jumps from her throat, but though the wolf is focused entirely on her, Snow somehow realizes that the animal means her no harm.

There’s something beautiful about Red’s wolf, entirely different from the girl’s own beauty. The sleek brown fur, the ripple of muscles beneath the skin, the bright and piercing eyes... There’s an undeniable magnificence, there.

Still, Snow quickly finds Red’s hood and throws it over the wolf, watching her friend return to normal.

***

The fox should be scared of me, but isn’t.

All it would take is one half-hearted swipe of my paw, and my smaller canine cousin would find himself in a great deal of pain. Regardless, he skips along beside me, darting playfully through the snow.

I almost lose sight of him, as he rushes forward to chase after a hare, his bright white fur blending in with the surroundings.

He soon returns to me, yipping at me cheerfully.

He should be scared of me, but isn’t. He is either very brave, or very stupid.

***

Knowing that she is somehow capable of changing at any time doesn’t mean that she has any idea how to actually do so at will.

Snow has been getting on her nerves, though, and she can’t at all figure out why, until the moment when she finally snaps. Red whirls on her, ready to lash out at the other girl.

The next thing she knows, she’s stumbling backwards and almost losing her balance when she collides with a chair behind her.

Snow stands at the opposite side of the cabin, her eyes wide and her hand pressed to her heart, but she laughs out loud in delight.

“You did it!” she exclaims, beaming proudly. “You roared right in my face, and then literally scared yourself back into being you!”

Red scowls at her, unhappy at having been purposely manipulated, and doesn’t speak to Snow for the rest of the day.

Still... Slowly, but noticeably, it starts to get easier.

The days are growing hotter, and instead of taking the time to fish in the stream behind the cabin or successfully find, track, and shoot game, Red finds herself wishing that she could simply turn into her wolf. It would make hunting so much faster.

One day, just like any other, that’s all it takes. She wishes that she would change, and then some untold amount of time later, her human consciousness comes to again, and now there are two rabbits lying at her feet. It’s disconcerting. But helpful.

It’s not as simple as she first thinks, however. The more she changes, the more she sometimes feels like she is losing her real self. The nightmares return, this time full of the idea that one day she’ll change and never switch back; that she’ll be stuck as a wolf forever.

Sometimes she growls, in human form, without even realizing it. There are times when she catches herself at it; at other times, it takes a gentle stroke of Snow’s hand down her arm to get her to stop.

Sometimes there’s this... hunger that builds inside of her. It’s not for food, exactly. Red doesn’t quite understand what it is.

The first time she’s aware of it, she’s been thinking about Peter. When she notices that she’s licking her lips, she’s disgusted with herself in a way that she hasn’t been in a long time. Snow has long since convinced her that her past, though tragic, is not her fault.

Still, after thinking about it for a while, she concludes that the feeling isn’t about food, or the hunt, or anything like that. What it actually is, though, she cannot articulate.

***

I have been walking for a long time. I’m not sure where I’m going, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

I am alone. I’ve been that way for a long time, too.

There are these two girls in my head. I’ve been thinking about them a lot, but I can’t remember why. They look familiar, but I can’t remember who they are. The not remembering just makes me think about them even more. It feels important, somehow. Like I need to remember.

Are they old friends, maybe? It seems unlikely, since wolves don’t have friends, as far as I know.

I have no idea what their names are; in my head, I just think of them as “the girls in red and white.”

But who are they?

***

The days blur together. They have settled into their lives here, in their cabin in the woods. It’s been almost half a year since they last saw another human being, other than themselves.

Red doesn’t feel lonely, however, and she doesn’t think that Snow does either. She does miss Granny, though. She wonders, sometimes, what happened after they left, what happened to her old life.

Still, in spite of the growing pains, this new life has become a pleasant one.

They are lying in the sun. Well, Red is lying in the sun, luxuriating in the sun’s warm rays. Snow’s fair complexion leads her to remain in the shade. There is a comfortable silence between them; for once, Red feels completely relaxed, able to keep the thoughts which normally plague her at bay.

Two things occur at once, though, which disrupt her sense of equilibrium.

Red notices the strange hunger has been gradually building within her, until it’s strong enough to get her attention. At the same time, she realizes that for the last who-knows-how-long, she has been simply staring at Snow.

She sits up, confused as to how those two things fit together. It bothers her, that she can’t come up with an answer, but that does nothing to help her figure it out.

That night, Red notices in a way that she hasn’t before, just how tactile her friend can be. When she talks, Snow likes to emphasize her words by touching Red on the elbow, or shoulder, or hand. She never hesitates to show her affection with a bright smile or a tight hug. She enjoys the sleekness of Red’s hair, and so will often volunteer to brush out the long locks, always gentle in a way that Granny never was.

Red has never had a problem with any of these things, but tonight... Tonight she sees them in a new light, as the hunger continues to simmer low in her belly even after they have eaten. Red has taken to using the word ‘hunger’ in her mind, as that was the closest equivalent. Now, though, if pressed to put a name to the feeling, she would have to choose a different word.

It’s not hunger, really. It’s more of a sharp edge of...yearning, of longing.

“Red, what’s wrong?” Snow asks, reaching out her hand to lightly stroke the side of Red’s face. The feeling spikes upward at the touch. “Are you all right?”

Red realizes that she’s been lost in thought, frowning to herself. She meets Snow’s concerned gaze, but isn’t sure how to answer.

“I... I don’t know,” she admits. “There’s this feeling inside of me that I don’t understand.”

Snow only means well when she reaches to hold Red’s hand in comfort, but it really doesn’t help matters. “What does it feel like?” Snow queries.

“I don’t know,” Red repeats. “I just... I want...”

She doesn’t know how to finish her sentence, but it doesn’t matter. She knows, somehow, that she has stumbled onto the crux of things. She wants.

If there is one thing that Red has managed to take away from her time as a wolf, it is the ability to listen to her instincts.

So now, Red inhales deeply, allows her mind to go blank, and then leans in to softly press her lips to Snow’s.

She pulls back after a moment. If anything, the feeling has only gotten stronger.

“Oh,” Snow murmurs softly.

Red opens her eyes to see Snow staring at her, her fingertips pressed to her mouth. Finding some bravery deep within her and grabbing hold of it, Red meets Snow’s stare head-on.

With that one, simple kiss, a new level of clarity has come to Red. This feeling inside of her, it’s not just some wolf-instinct; it’s real, it’s human, and it’s all about Snow.

Neither girl says another word, but there’s a moment, when Snow’s gaze suddenly softens. Her eyes flicker down to Red’s lips, and then she is taking a firm step forward and confidently raising her hand to the back of Red’s neck to pull their mouths back together.

It’s a little while before they separate again, breathing much harder than before. A bright smile spreads across Red’s face, an expression of happiness which Snow returns. She doesn’t quite know why, but suddenly she is laughing – a laughter of joy, rather than humor. Snow raises a questioning eyebrow, but soon she is laughing too.

They stand there in the middle of this home they have created, foreheads pressed together, arms wrapped loosely around each other, and mirth pouring forth from their lips.

***

My wolf and I are running, side by side.

Neither chasing nor being chased, we run to feel the wind caressing our face, to feel the miles passing beneath our feet, to feel free.

I cannot out-run the wolf, but neither can he out-run me. He and I are one.

THE END

Fanvid: "Wicked Game" (Myka/HG)

mysensitiveside — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 21:34:19 GMT

Fandom: Warehouse 13
Pairing: Myka/HG
Song: "Wicked Game"
Artist: Gemma Hayes
Spoilers: All episodes
Summary: All that Myka has left are her memories.

(Available in HD)

Youtube link: http://youtu.be/nsGNtqggssk

Vimeo link: http://vimeo.com/39032692

Download link (large file): http://www.mediafire.com/?vnavbjbhu4dfz3a

Fanmix: Poison & Wine (Myka/H.G.)

mysensitiveside — Fri, 09 Mar 2012 12:57:19 GMT

Here's a mini-mix (only 4 songs) for the latest femslash_land challenge

"Takes place" after the Season 2 finale. The first three songs are all from H.G.'s perspective; last is from Myka's.

01 Snuff by Slipknot
H.G.
I only wish you weren’t my friend
Then I could hurt you in the end
I never claimed to be a saint
Ooh, my own was banished long ago
It took the death of hope to let you go

02 White Blank Page by Mumford & Sons
H.G.
Can you lie next to her
And give her your heart, your heart?
As well as your body
And can you lie next to her
And confess your love, your love?
As well as your folly
And can you kneel before this king
and say “I’m clean, I’m clean”?

A white blank page and a swelling rage, rage
You did not think when you sent me to the brink, to the brink
You desired my attention, but denied my affections, my affections

03 Poison & Wine by The Civil Wars
H.G.
You only know what I want you to
I know everything you don't want me to
Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine
Oh you think your dreams are the same as mine
Oh I don't love you but I always will

04 Love the Way You Lie, Part II by Rihanna
Myka
On the first page of our story
The future seemed so bright
Then this thing turned out so evil
I don’t know why I’m still surprised
Even angels have their wicked schemes
And you take that to new extremes
But you’ll always be my hero
Even though you’ve lost your mind

Download link: http://www.mediafire.com/file/i1115sihtfa6tu6/Myka & HG Mix.zip

Fic: Worth the Wait (Warehouse 13/Fringe)

mysensitiveside — Sun, 04 Mar 2012 05:32:45 GMT

So, I'm actually in the middle of writing an epic (currently +10,000 words) Warehouse 13 fic. But because of that, I've had Myka/HG on the brain, and when I got these prompts, I just wanted to keep writing for that pairing. So, here is my first (complete) Warehouse 13 fic!

Title: Worth the Wait
Fandom: Warehouse 13/Fringe
Pairing: Myka/H.G.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,180
Summary: Olivia lets slip some information that she shouldn’t.
A/N: Written for femslash_land, with the prompts “waiting” and “sci-fi”
A/N2: You need to know Warehouse 13 for this to make sense, but I don’t think you need to be familiar with Fringe. Just know that there are alternate universes, where things are largely the same, but a little different.
A/N3: Takes place about a year after the Warehouse 13 Season 3 finale, and at some vague point during Season 4 for Fringe.

The waiting is impossible. Myka knows that Olivia hadn’t actually meant to be cruel; but really, giving just a slight hint of information, a slight hint of hope, but then refusing to give any details?

Seriously cruel.

But now Myka has no choice but to wait.

*Three days earlier*

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dunham. I clearly saved your ass today.” Myka smirked at the FBI agent, who merely rolled her eyes in response.

They’d first met four years earlier, at a multi-agency “new frontiers in artillery science” conference, and had continued to cross paths numerous times, especially once their respective careers each took a turn for the bizarre.

Their teams seemed to be interested in the same kinds of weirdness; sometimes it was an artifact, and sometimes it was what Olivia called a “Fringe event” – Olivia had never bothered to explain what that actually meant, though, and Myka had known better than to ask.

This time, they’d both been hunting for the reason behind a sudden outbreak of typhoid fever in a small New England town. Of greater interest to Myka, up until the fever reached dangerous levels, the residents appeared to become entirely convinced that it was 1863, and they were in the middle of fighting the Civil War. Most unfortunately, the town just happened to have a Civil War museum, ready and waiting to be raided for weapons.

“I’ll have you know that I’m quite capable of fighting off guys who are about to kill me with a bayonet,” Olivia countered. “I had it completely under control, before you did whatever it is that you do.”

Myka laughed. It was easy to find the situation funny, now that they were no longer in mortal danger, but they really were very lucky that more people hadn’t died before she and Pete were able to neutralize Clara Barton’s thermometer.

“Well in any case, it’s been a while since I ran into you,” Myka continued. “Got any new good entries for the ‘my job is the weirdest’ hall of fame?”

It was a game they played, whenever they happened to meet up. First, solve whatever case they were on; then, go out for a drink and share just a small tidbit about the crazy lives they lived. No questions allowed.

Olivia sipped at her scotch as she thought the question over. “I’ve met my own doppelganger, and she seriously screwed up my life for a while. Now I can’t quite decide whether I hate her, or am fascinated by her,” Olivia offered impassively, as if such a comment were completely normal. “What about you?”

Once Olivia took the route of ‘strange people I’ve met,’ there was really only one thing that Myka could think of. It still hurt to think about her, after all this time. Even so, she took a large swallow of wine and then tried to maintain a relaxed tone as she began, “I’ve met, in person, the actual H.G. Wells, who just happens to be-”

“A woman,” Olivia interrupted with a smile. “I’ve actually heard about that.”

Myka felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Her shock must have shown across her face, because Olivia grimaced, continuing, “And I’m guessing that I’m not supposed to know that bit of information?”

Myka blinked a few times, and her breath came out in a rush, before she found herself sputtering, “How- How on Earth could you know that? No one knows that, except for my team.”

Olivia took a healthy swig from her glass, and then stared uncomfortably into the amber liquid. “My doppelganger kind of met her,” she explained, “and then told me about it.”

Myka frowned. She didn’t really know what Olivia meant by “doppelganger,” in this context, but regardless... Myka had told H.G. about her meetings with Olivia, so if H.G. had met someone similar, then why hadn’t she said so?

“When?” she demanded. None of this was making any sense.

Olivia hesitantly met her eyes as she replied, “I don’t know, maybe six months ago.”

Myka almost dropped her glass, which she’d been raising to her lips. “What?” she asked faintly. “Olivia, that’s...impossible. About a year ago, I...” She could barely say it, even now. “I watched her die, right in front of me.”

Olivia winced. “Shit. Myka, I’m sorry. I always knew this game of ours was just asking for trouble.” The blonde ran an awkward hand through her hair. She was clearly uncomfortable, but it was also obvious that she knew a lot more than Myka did, and suddenly it all felt too overwhelming. Myka pushed her chair slightly back from the table, leaning over to place her head in her hands.

Straightening back up again, Myka looked Olivia squarely in the eye. “I know we’re not supposed to ask questions,” she began, just barely staying on the calm side of frantic. “But Helena...” Myka paused, before reaching out to place both of her hands on top of Olivia’s. The blonde, not exactly the touchy-feely type, tried to pull back, but Myka held on. “She really meant an incredible amount to me, and if you know something that I don’t, if there’s any chance at all that... You have to tell me. Please.”

Olivia stared at her regretfully. “I understand what it’s like, losing someone you care about,” she empathized. Myka didn’t doubt it. Though their post-case meetings were usually casual and lighthearted, Myka had always felt, somehow, that the stoic FBI agent had a sad history.

“But still,” Olivia continued, “I really shouldn’t get into any of this with anyone.”

“Get into any of what with anyone? Olivia, you haven’t really said anything!” Myka cried out in frustration.

Olivia gently pulled her hand away to finish the last of her drink, then went back to staring at Myka, clearly torn.

Finally, she shook her head wryly as, with a sigh, she said, “I could get in a lot of trouble for this, but you did save my ass today. And the bureau owes you a lot, considering all the times you and Agent Lattimer have assisted with a case. So I can’t promise you anything, and I can’t give you any more details right now, but I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

Myka was so confused. What could Olivia possibly promise her? What the hell was going on?

Still, she found herself nodding absently in response to Olivia’s question.

“Okay,” she continued. “It’ll be simplest if you can arrange to stay in New York City for a few days.” She laughed dryly to herself. “Broyles is so going to kill me. She better be worth it, this Helena of yours.”

Myka still had no idea what the ‘it’ was that Helena should be worth, but she held no doubts at all when she responded simply, “She is.”

*Present day*

Myka feels like she’s ready to explode. She’s been cooped up in her hotel room for three days, barely leaving at all, in case Olivia tries to contact her. She’s heard absolutely nothing, though, since she texted Olivia to say where she’d be.

She doesn’t allow herself to think about what it might mean if Olivia hadn’t made a mistake when she said that her “doppelganger” saw H.G. six months ago. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what it is that Olivia could possibly be trying to do. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what she’ll do if Olivia returns only to say that she couldn’t do anything, and she still can’t answer any questions.

She just paces, and tries to distract herself, and waits.

Pete had wanted to come keep her company – though she wouldn’t tell him or anyone else what was going on (since she didn’t even know what was going on), he’d still known that something was up – but she’d convinced him to let her do this alone. Myka somewhat regrets that decision, now, since she knows that Pete would have been good about keeping her mind off things, with his goofy antics.

Though she’s been trying not to, Myka finally relaxes back into a comfortable chair and lets herself think about Helena.

They had been friends; things had certainly gone awry after H.G.’s betrayal in Egypt and attempt to destroy the world, but H.G. had fixed everything in the end, and overall, they’d been good friends. As for the fact that Myka’s feelings towards the inventor weren’t like her feelings for other friends, well... Myka had written it off as hero worship. A simple, platonic, girlcrush.

It hadn’t been until the moment when she found herself within that barrier that Helena had created, with Helena and the bomb stuck on the wrong side, that Myka realized there was nothing platonic at all about the way she felt.

The realization came too late.

Myka had fallen into a light sleep, when she’s startled into consciousness by a knock at the door. At first she thinks that she must have imagined it – it’s happened a few times already – but she hurries over anyway and yanks the door open.

Olivia stands on the other side, but her facial expression reveals nothing. Before Myka can look around or really do anything, the FBI agent calmly ushers her back into the room and closes the door.

“Before this happens, we have to go over a few quick things.”

Myka’s heart rate spikes.

“I cannot tell you how this is possible.” Olivia pauses, but Myka still has absolutely no idea what’s going on. “I can’t,” Olivia continues, “but that doesn’t mean that someone else can’t tell you instead. Okay? But whatever anyone else may tell you, you can tell your team, but no one else – absolutely, with no exceptions – can ever find out. Do you understand?”

Myka blinks. “No, not at all.”

Finally, Olivia cracks a small smile. “You will,” she assures. With that, she goes and puts her hand on the doorknob. Looking back towards Myka, she adds, “She’s going to be a little different, just be aware of that,” before opening the door and nodding her head to someone outside.

Myka feels like she’s going to faint, as H.G. Wells tentatively steps into the hotel room. Sure that she must be dreaming, Myka immediately shuts her eyes, keeping them closed while she tries to get a hold of herself.

“Myka? Darling, is that really you?”

Myka opens her eyes, and though the world in front of her is blurred with tears, there was no mistaking that voice.

“Oh, Myka!” Before Myka can even begin to process anything else, Helena is rushing forward and wrapping her up tightly in a hug. “I can’t...” H.G. continues, “I can hardly believe this. They told me you would be here, but I couldn’t truly believe until I saw for myself. Oh, Myka, how I’ve missed you!”

Myka can only gape over Helena’s shoulder at Olivia, who smiles at them, then nods her head and exits the room.

Helena tilts her head to press a hard kiss to Myka’s cheek before pulling back to look at her. Her own eyes are also full of tears, but she reaches out to gently wipe Myka’s damp cheeks.

“How?” Myka finally manages to croak out. “You died!”

At most, Helena looks simply confused at this information. “I did?” Of all possible reactions, Myka wouldn’t have expected Helena to laugh, but that’s just what she does. She smiles brightly as she continues, “I haven’t quite made sense of it all, but they told me that there are multiple worlds out there.” Her gaze darkens only as she says, “In mine, you were the one who died.”

Myka has no idea how to react to that, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because then Helena is pressing forward once again, taking Myka’s face in both of her hands as she crushes their lips together.

It takes a moment for Myka to recover from shock, but once she does, she returns the kiss with equal fervor. It tastes of longing, and joy, and loss, and hope.

As Helena reluctantly draws back, Myka can only stare and raise her fingers to lightly touch her lips in bewilderment.

Something in Myka’s expression causes Helena to laugh brightly once again, and she comments, “Darling, why do you look like we’ve never done that before?”

Myka clears her throat, but she’s embarrassed to find that her voice still comes out fairly squeaky when she responds, “Um, because we haven’t?”

“Oh, bollocks,” H.G. mutters. “They warned me that your life would be different, but... I shouldn’t have done that. Myka, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Myka exhales, and giving up on her attempts at understanding what the hell is going on, she steps forward and pulls Helena into another kiss. One of Helena’s hands slips around to the back of Myka’s neck and the other wraps possessively around her waist, while Myka sinks both of her hands into H.G.’s hair.

There will be time to figure things out. Time to understand what this all means.

But for now, Myka’s world centers on the woman in her arms. The rest can wait.

THE END

Hello and a meme

mysensitiveside — Sat, 18 Feb 2012 23:44:59 GMT

Hello, LiveJournal! Long time, no talk! I've been slowly working on some fics, but unfortunately, my muse seems to excel at getting new ideas and starting new fics...but isn't so good at actually finishing fics. But I've decided that I'm not going to post in-progress fics anymore, because then they just never get updated. I do plan on eventually finishing all my current in-progress fics... I hope.

Anyway.

Here, have a meme!

Comment to this post, and I will list five things I want you to talk about. They might make sense or they might be totally random. Then post that list, with your commentary, to your journal. Other people can get lists from you, and the meme merrily perpetuates itself.

theagonyofblank asked me...

1. What is your OTP to end all OTPs? So, your favourite OTP, basically.
That one’s got to be Sam/Brooke, from Popular. I’ll admit that any subtext went totally over my head when I first watched the show (I’d never heard of subtext at that point, and certainly wasn’t looking for it), but one day I stumbled on “A Thin Line” by fembuck and I was totally hooked. There isn’t all that much written about them anymore, but yeah, total OTP to end all OTPs. I don’t even know why, exactly (maybe because they were my first real OTP?). They’re just awesome. :)

2. Massachusetts or Connecticut?
Definitely Massachusetts. (a) I grew up there, so know it a ton better. (b) It has Boston, which is really a great city (and how many “great cities” are there in Connecticut? Seriously, I don’t think there are any). (c) My die-hard sports loyalties are all Mass-based teams. (d) A nice coast line (Cape Cod is the best), the aforementioned great city, and some really nice spots for hiking and other fun outdoorsy stuff, all in one state!

One point in Connecticut’s favor: It’s closer to NYC.

3. Is there a TV/movie/book character that you relate most to? Explain.
Ooh, good question. And a hard one. I can’t pick just one character, so I’m going to give parts of a bunch of characters.

Ok, so. Take the imagination and tomboy-ish-ness of Anne Shirley [Anne of Green Gables], the-smart-one-in-school and loyalty-to-friends of Hermione Granger [Harry Potter], the independence and sarcasm (and liking girls) of Naomi Campbell [Skins UK], and the feels-lots-of-emotion-but-relies-more-on-being-rational of Myka Bering [Warehouse 13], plus the love of books and vague social awkwardness of most of those characters... And there you go!

4. Favourite holiday.
Hm. I guess Christmas/Hanukkah. My mom was raised Jewish and my dad was raised Protestant; I don’t actually practice anything, but I get to celebrate all the holidays. :)

5. Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
In terms of geographically where... To a certain extent, the job market in my field is such that I have to be willing to take a job wherever someone will hire me. But ideally, I’ve always been an East Coast gal, and I’d like to stay that way. That said, there are some other places I’d be interested in living, if only temporarily, including the Pacific Northwest (Seattle; Oregon; maybe Vancouver?) and Western Europe. In terms of non-geographically where, I see myself having a job as a professor, teaching psychology and doing research. And to end this on a nice, sappy note, I just hope that I’m happy. :)

So, how's life, f-list? Lately I've also been power-watching my way through multiple seasons of Warehouse 13 and Lost Girl, so yay for new fandoms! Anyone have any particular fic recs?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, kauschi! <3

mysensitiveside — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 00:00:09 GMT

Happy Birthday to my lovely, wonderful girlfriend, kauschi!!!!

Hope you have a wonderful day, my love!

<3 <3 <3

Fanmix: A Quiet Desperation (Effy/Emily, Skins)

mysensitiveside — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 04:15:03 GMT

I just finished re-reading the epically amazing Effy/Emily fic, Transatlanticism by sivim27, and since one of the latest femslash_land challenges is to do a fanmix...

Shimmer - Fuel

She calls me from the cold
Just when I was low, feeling short of stable
And all that she intends
And all she keeps inside, isn't on the label
She says she's ashamed
And can she take me for awhile?
And can I be a friend, we'll forget the past
But maybe I'm not able
And I break at the bend

Hurricane Drunk - Florence + The Machine

I'm going out,
I'm gonna drink myself to death
And in the crowd
I see you with someone else,
I brace myself,
Cause I know it's going to hurt,
But I like to think at least things can't get any worse.

Set Fire to the Rain - Adele

But there's a side to you
That I never knew, never knew.
All the things you'd say
They were never true, never true,
And the games you play
You would always win, always win.

A Beautiful Lie - 30 Seconds to Mars

Everyone's looking at me
I'm running around in circles, baby
A quiet desperation's building higher
I've got to remember this is just a game

It's Only Love - Heather Nova

It's only love
But love, should make us strong
It's only love
But love, has been hurting so long

Come Around - Rosi Golan

So high tonight and I don’t feel like coming down
I can lie to you all my days, But you’re the one, you’re the one
And I’m a fool for waiting so long to let you know
Come around, come around, come around, come around to me

Download Link: http://www.mediafire.com/?ya628cfxku9sf4v

3 Ficlets (Popular, Legend of the Seeker, Grey's Anatomy)

mysensitiveside — Sat, 05 Nov 2011 04:40:35 GMT

Title: Night Swimming
Fandom: Popular
Pairing: Sam/Brooke
Rating: PG
Word Count: 335
Summary: "You want to do what?!" Brooke asked incredulously.
A/N: Written for kauschi

"You want to do what?!" Brooke asked incredulously.

Sam just grinned. "Come on, Princess. Not too scared, are you?"

Brooke crossed her arms in front of her chest and defiantly stopped walking. "Sam, seriously. We’re in public. That’s illegal. Isn’t it? If it’s not, it should be!"

Undaunted, the brunette simply continued moving forward. "It’s not exactly public,” she replied. “There’s no one here! No one will ever know; it’s just you and me."

"Well... I’m sure it’s cold. And dirty. Or something." Brooke glanced warily around her as Sam disappeared into the dark night.

"Sam, wait!" she called, finally hurrying to catch up.

She skidded to a halt, totally unprepared for the sight that greeted her as she reached Sam.

Sam’s back was to her, but she was already stripping out of her clothes. Brooke found her eyes unintentionally but immediately drawn to the smooth skin before her. Sam glanced back over her shoulder, and there was no mistaking the look in her eyes for anything but what it was -- a challenge.

Shaking her head from the unexpected thoughts suddenly running through her head, Brooke focused back on the situation at hand.

"So what do you say, Brookie? Looks pretty nice and clean to me. You going to join me, or are you going to be a spoilsport who just stands along the sideline?" Sam taunted.

Without another word, Sam turned forward again and strode calmly into the water.

When she’d asked to come along with Sam on her evening walk, she’d had absolutely no idea it would end up with a suggestion of skinny dipping in a nearby secluded pond. If she had, there’s certainly no way she would have left the house.

Still... As Sam lazily swam out into the water, and then turned to face Brooke with a contented -- if she didn’t know better, Brooke would almost say 'seductive' -- smile, there was really only one possible decision.

Brooke grinned and reached down for the hem of her shirt.

____________________________________________________________

Title: Something More
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: PG
Word Count: 228
Summary: It’s amazing, how the prospects of Kahlan’s love life have gone from virtually impossible to even worse.
A/N: Written for pickledminx

It’s amazing, how the prospects of Kahlan’s love life have gone from virtually impossible to even worse.

She loves Richard, she does, but... There’s something missing. Maybe she’s just a hopeless romantic, but she always thought that when she found the love of her life, there would be more, somehow. More of what, she can’t say. Just more.

That they couldn’t fully be together was agonizing, yes, but as much as she’s tried to deny it, it was almost a relief, too. The thought of being with him -- it may be what everyone believes is supposed to happen, but that doesn’t mean it feels right.

But now. Spirits, she must be crazy. To go from wanting Richard to wanting Cara? From the strong and handsome hero, the Seeker of truth, to a Mord’ Sith, enemy to Kahlan’s people? Yes, Kahlan must be crazy. Crazy and cursed.

To be with Richard meant his enslavement and now... To be with Cara means her death. Virtually impossible to even worse.

And yet. Maybe the “more” that was missing is the motivation to find a way around this curse of hers.

Cara catches her eye and offers a flirtatious smirk. Kahlan can’t help but smile back at the true love of her life. Yes. She couldn’t be with Richard, but that’s all right. She will find a way to be with Cara.

____________________________________________________________

Title: What If?
Fandom: Private Practice/Grey's Anatomy
Pairing: Addison/Izzie
Rating: G
Word Count: 267
Summary: What if one day it’ll actually be her?
A/N: Written for shafeferi

It totally surprises her, the first time it happens.

Just a quick flash of long, blonde hair and before Addison can even process what she’s doing, her gaze is whipping around to look and the word is half out of her mouth.

“Iz--?”

It’s not Izzie, though, and Addison turns back around shaking her head wryly to herself. There are only approximately a gajillion blonde women running around LA, so why on Earth would she think that this one would just happen to be Dr. Isobel Stevens?

But then it happens again. And again. She keeps thinking, for one brief second, that Izzie is right there, right in the corner of her eye.

It’s never actually her, though.

Addison makes a conscious decision not to think about what it all means.

She could end it, she knows. There’s got to be someone in Seattle who knows where Izzie is. All she’d need to hear is that the blonde is off living in... Who knows? Chicago, or Atlanta, or anywhere, really. Then Addison would know for sure that it’s just her mind playing weird tricks on her.

She doesn’t call anyone in Seattle, though.

Some part of her doesn’t want those brief seconds to go away. That flash of blonde, the sudden jump in her heart rate, the way the name still comes immediately to mind though she doesn’t allow it to be voiced aloud anymore...

The ‘what if one day it’ll actually be her?’

Some part of her doesn’t want it to end.

Addison makes a conscious decision not to think about what it all means.

Fanvid: "Cosmic Love" (Cara/Kahlan)

mysensitiveside — Sun, 22 May 2011 01:18:42 GMT

Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Song: Cosmic Love
Artist: Florence + The Machine

youtube link: http://youtu.be/CRuzwIxABLk

vimeo link: http://vimeo.com/24060463

mediafire dl link: http://www.mediafire.com/?9024nyamyaah91f

Fic: Hope (WMC)

mysensitiveside — Sat, 14 May 2011 03:42:27 GMT

Title: Hope
Fandom: Women's Murder Club
Pairing: Jill/Cindy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 345
Summary: Cindy's got a crush.
A/N: Written for kauschi . Prompt was "Hope."
A/N2: Happy WMC Day!

Cindy was surprised when people kept commenting on how they always thought she had a thing for Lindsay. She admired Lindsay, of course she did. Had a bit of a professional crush, sure, Cindy could admit that. But it was never anything more than that.

Now Jill, on the hand... Cindy knew she was in trouble from the first moment she laid eyes on the blonde attorney. The short-cropped hair, the confident demeanor, the smirk... Even the tendency to sleep around, unfortunately. Jill fit Cindy’s type pretty much to a T.

But, in spite of Lindsay’s assertion that Jill would “sleep with anything that moves” (not just any man, Cindy noted with interest), as far as she could tell, Cindy stood no chance at all with her sexy friend.

Until the New Year’s Eve party, that is. Claire kept subtly nudging her in Jill’s direction, but the reporter couldn’t at all figure out why. She decided not to worry about it, though (and really, Cindy wasn’t exactly going to complain).

When the countdown to midnight began, Lindsay moved to Pete’s side, Claire went to stand by Ed... And it occurred to Cindy that she and Jill were the only ones there without dates; without an obvious person to be their first kiss of the new year. She took a suddenly-nervous glance towards Jill, who bit her lip and offered a shy smile. The expression was so unlike Jill that it caused Cindy to momentarily lose track of the countdown as she stared at Jill in confusion.

It came as a total surprise, then, when the call of “Happy New Year!” rang out around them. It came as even more of a surprise when Jill shrugged sheepishly, took a deep breath, and leaned forward and placed a soft, sweet, lingering kiss on Cindy’s lips.

In spite of herself, Cindy couldn’t help the big grin that spread across her face as Jill pulled away.

For the first time since Cindy had gotten to know Jill, she allowed a new feeling to start blossoming in her chest.

Hope.

Whole Lot of (Very) Little Fics... (Multi-fandom)

mysensitiveside — Thu, 05 May 2011 05:38:32 GMT

So, sorry to spam everyone's f-list... Just one more post.

The other ficlets I've been posting tonight are all from a 50-prompt table, and under the cut are the rest of the prompts (minus a few icons). They're all very short (all but one are less than 100 words, most are less than 50), but if you feel like taking a look, here they are...

007 Chocolate (Popular, Sam/Brooke)

Sam will never look at chocolate the same way, she realizes.

Because all Carmen did was ask if Sam wanted some chocolate sauce on her ice cream sundae. A perfectly harmless question, of course.

But suddenly all Sam can think about is the feel of cool chocolate syrup being dripped across her skin; the feel of Brooke’s warm tongue as she cleaned it all back up...

Sam blushes. Nope, she will never look at chocolate the same way.
______________________________________________________________________________

011 Confusion (Popular, Sam/Brooke)

Harrison stared ahead in confusion, his mind trying to piece together the sight in front of him. He blinked. Was he dreaming? He must be. He had thought that the two of them were both interested in dating him...

Either he was dreaming, or he’d been very wrong, because his eyes certainly weren’t deceiving him. He turned away, blushing. Sam and Brooke appeared to be much more interested in making out with each other than with him.
______________________________________________________________________________

018 Wishing (Popular, Sam/Brooke)

“Did you make a wish?” Jane asked, beaming down on her step-daughter.

Brooke smiled. She always made a wish. Since the year she was nine, her wish had been a constant, the same one every year.

I wish my mother would come home.

This year, though, she’d decided to change things up. She glanced over towards Sam, who sat in the corner, looking bored.

I wish Sam would love me back.
______________________________________________________________________________

021 Oppression (Popular, Sam/Brooke)

Brooke’s all for equal rights, and liberating the oppressed, and all that; but does it have to be her girlfriend who travels to dangerous places to write about it?
______________________________________________________________________________

026 Hope (Popular, Sam/Brooke)

Hope was a dangerous thing. Because the more hope Sam found that Brooke might feel the same way... The harder it hurt when Brooke announced that she was seeing someone else.
______________________________________________________________________________

031 Hide (Popular, Sam/Brooke)

There’s a piece of herself that she keeps hidden away inside. She knows it’s there, on some level, but she’s buried it deep enough that she can ignore it almost completely. It’s a part of her heart that will always belong to Sam.
______________________________________________________________________________

034 Conditional (Popular, Sam/Brooke)

“So...” Sam began innocently. “If I were to tell you I just found out that no one will be home after school today... Think you might be able to make cheerleading practice a bit shorter than usual?”

Brooke just grinned.
______________________________________________________________________________

041 Words (Popular, Sam/Brooke)

It’s with the written word that Sam feels the most comfortable. So instead of confessing to Brooke in person, she lays it all out on paper. Explains how she can’t just be friends. And then she takes the coward’s way out, and she runs.
______________________________________________________________________________

044 Piggybank (Popular, Sam/Brooke)

It was tough, dating someone like Brooke, Sam realized. She groaned as the blonde batted her eyelashes, gazing longingly at the pretty bracelet. Even if she totally went broke, though, buying lots of present for Brooke, Sam decided that it would be worth it.
______________________________________________________________________________

010 Stranger (Sarah Connor Chronicles, Sarah/Cameron)

Sarah felt like a stranger inside her own head. She was supposed to hate the machines. All of them. That was the reality that she clung to, a reality where she would do whatever it took to save her son, and all machines were the enemy.

So when she found herself actually liking Cameron, trusting her, treating her like an actual person... Sarah felt her solid distinction between what was wrong and what was right start to crumble, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
______________________________________________________________________________

017 Fireworks (SCC, Sarah/Cameron)

It all felt so... normal.

At least, what Sarah vaguely remembered normal feeling like. And once she and John had finally managed to convince Cameron that the brightly colored explosions in the sky weren’t dangerous.

No machines trying to kill them, no planning or strategizing, no trying to save the world. Just Sarah, a glass of champagne, and the two people she loved more than anything.

They’d made it to a new year, and in Sarah’s mind, each one was one worth celebrating.
______________________________________________________________________________

027 Preparation (SCC, Sarah/Cameron)

How do you prepare for Judgment Day? Sarah had tried like hell to prevent it. But when she can’t... For just a moment, she allows Cameron to step forward and wrap those strong arms around her. Sarah exhales, ready to move forward into whatever comes next.
______________________________________________________________________________

028 Beautiful (SCC, Sarah/Cameron)

Cameron can easily access images of anything and everything imaginable, but Sarah Connor is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.
______________________________________________________________________________

038 Wired (SCC, Sarah/Cameron)

Sarah paces back and forth as John works at the wiring in Cameron’s system. Finally, he steps back, a look of confusion on his face. “She’s all wired up,” he explains. “She should be fine now.”

Sarah crouches down, tentatively taking Cameron’s lifeless hand into her own. “Wake up, girly,” she murmurs quietly. “Please wake up.”
______________________________________________________________________________

039 Insanity (SCC, Sarah/Cameron)

John is gone. Sarah feels the urge to let her mind slip away with him, but Cameron keeps her grounded.
______________________________________________________________________________

045 Shooting Star (SCC, Sarah/Cameron)

“Look,” Cameron said, pointing towards the sky. “You can see the visible path of a meteor entering the atmosphere.”

Sarah laughed, reaching over to hold Cameron’s hand. “Only you, would call it that.”
______________________________________________________________________________

012 Bitter (Legend of the Seeker, Cara/Kahlan)

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Cara was used to it by now.

And they were “friends,” right? This is what friends did for each other, or so she’d been told. Because of course, Kahlan just had to want Cara to be right by her side on her wedding day.

So Cara would stand stoically by Kahlan’s side, as the Mother Confessor and the Seeker shared their day of joyful bliss.

She would simply watch, as the woman she loved married someone else.
______________________________________________________________________________

016 Endless sorrow (Legend of the Seeker. Cara/Kahlan)

After Richard died, Kahlan felt like her life should have felt empty. It should have felt like endless days of endless sorrow. Should have, maybe, but didn’t. Her grief was real and strong, but with Cara by her side, Kahlan woke each day with a smile on her face.
______________________________________________________________________________

022 Agony (Legend of the Seeker, Cara/Kahlan)

The feel of an agiel against Kahlan’s skin, healing the wounded skin, is agonizing. The look on Cara’s face when she manages to not faint from the pain makes it worth it.
______________________________________________________________________________

030 Underneath (Legend of the Seeker, Cara/Kahlan)

Cara puts up a strong and sarcastic front, but Kahlan sees the pain underneath.
______________________________________________________________________________

035 Gone (Legend of the Seeker, Cara/Kahlan)

Life has never been the same, Kahlan muses sadly, since Cara went away. They have to get her back.
______________________________________________________________________________

043 Punctual (Legend of the Seeker, Cara/Kahlan)

Zedd is always on time if food is involved. Richard is always on time if some damsel in distress is involved. Cara is always on time. And Kahlan... Kahlan is always on time except for when Cara distracts her for too long.
______________________________________________________________________________

015 Audience (WMC, Jill/Cindy)

Jill was at home in a courtroom.

She thrived on the atmosphere. She loved the feeling of picking apart witnesses and nailing down the case. She loved that moment when she knew that she had everyone -- the judge, the jury, the audience behind her -- eating out of her palm and hanging on her every word.

At least, that’s how it usually went.

Because for the first time in years, Jill found herself with freaking stage fright, of all things! Needless to say, the first day of trial didn’t go so well.

It took a second bad day before Jill figured out both the problem and the solution.

The difference between then and now, she realized, was Cindy. The reporter had certainly sat in on her trials before, but this was the first time since they’d started dating. Having her girlfriend in the audience felt a whole lot different than she’d thought it would.

The solution, it turned out, was both simple and enjoyable.

Turned out that all Jill needed to calm her nerves was a pre-trial make-out session with her favorite redhead.
______________________________________________________________________________

023 Return (WMC, Lindsay/Cindy)

When you’re dating a cop, nothing is quite like the relief of when she comes home to you after a long, dangerous day.
______________________________________________________________________________

029 Lies (WMC, Jill/Cindy)

Jill stared at Cindy, but couldn’t seem to take the words inside her head and say them out loud.

I told you it meant nothing, because I was too scared of the alternate possibility. I told you it meant nothing, but I lied.
______________________________________________________________________________

033 Unforseen (WMC, Jill/Cindy)

The strength of Jill’s feelings for Cindy took her totally by surprise.
______________________________________________________________________________

037 Heartache (WMC, Jill/Cindy)

Jill feels her heart ache, as Cindy and Lindsay come together with a kiss.
______________________________________________________________________________

020 Tomorrow (Skins, Naomi/Emily)

Emily was in the middle of her pep talk when Naomi suddenly burst out laughing.

Emily frowned. “What?”

“You going to start singing about how the sun will come out tomorrow, Little Orphan Annie?” Naomi asked.

She laughed lightly again at the pout that appeared on Emily’s face. “Don’t worry, babe, one bad day is just one bad day. I’m good,” she continued, leaning forward to cover up Emily’s pout with a kiss.
______________________________________________________________________________

032 Diary (Skins, Naomi/Emily)

Naomi wrote in her diary all the things about Emily that she could never admit out loud.
______________________________________________________________________________

036 Clear skies (Skins, Naomi/Emily)

Emily smiles. It’s a beautiful day, and Naomi said that she loves her. Life is perfect.
______________________________________________________________________________

042 Study (Skins, Naomi/Emily)

Emily has an exam tomorrow, but she can’t bring herself to care too much. She’d much rather spend her time just being with Naomi.

Two Legend of the Seeker Fics (Cara/Kahlan)

mysensitiveside — Thu, 05 May 2011 04:55:51 GMT

Title: Learning the Rules
Prompt: Rules
Rating: PG-13?
Word Count: 1,015

Wizard’s First Rule: People are stupid.

Cara can’t believe it.

One would think that the threat of the Keeper taking over the world of the living would be motivation enough to hurry up and find the damn Stone of Tears. But no, another damsel in distress comes calling, and somehow, finding a cure for the girl’s sick grandmother becomes more important than saving the world.

The girl’s pretty, at least, which does a lot towards explaining why Richard agreed to help so quickly.

So Cara resigns herself to enjoying a bit of eye candy while they waste a few days that could be much better spent.

Wizard’s Second Rule: The greatest harm can result from the best intentions.

Cara doesn’t even realize that her defenses have been lowered until it’s too late. Richard, Zedd, and Kahlan -- especially Kahlan -- have been picking away at her walls, bit by bit. First they got her to agree not to kill people as much. Then they got her to actually care about their cause. Then Kahlan and her stupid night wisps got her to feel truly moved.

So before she knows it, they have a damn mascot, and Cara actually lets it happen. They’d been passing through a small village north of Tamarang (stopping yet again for a random side-mission, this time to find a farmer’s missing cow), and for some reason, a stray cat had decided that he really liked Cara. No matter how much dissuading she attempted, the cat simply kept trotting along behind her, wherever she went.

It’s humiliating. And yet... Thanks to Kahlan’s influence on her, Cara finds it strangely endearing at the same time. So, while she puts up an outward front of trying to chase the cat away, she begins to let it sit in her lap when everyone else is sleeping, and she makes a point of feeding him choice pieces of meat from their meals.

Except, then one evening the little thing goes off to explore on his own a bit, and he doesn’t come back. Cara can’t help it, she’s actually worried.

When the others finally realize what it is that’s bothering her, they go off to find the cat together; but when they find him... Cara sinks to her knees, but she already knows, even without having to check. She’s not sure what it is that got him, but the poor little bundle of fur is no longer breathing.

To Cara’s utter horror, she feels tears welling up in her eyes. She wipes angrily at her face as her throat tightens up with the effort of stopping the tears from falling.

She stands up quickly, turning to face the others. The look of sympathy on their faces is the last straw, and she lashes out. “This is your fault!” she charges. She’s talking to all of them, but stares particularly at Kahlan, who looks confused at Cara’s accusation. Cara continues, explaining that it’s not the cat’s death that she’s blaming them for. “I wouldn’t have cared before you. I told you that feelings only made things worse. I told you, but you taught me to feel anyway. This is your fault!”

She storms away, waiting until she’s out of sight before she stops, leans back against a sturdy tree, and allows the tears to fall.

Wizard’s Third Rule: Passion rules reason.

‘Feelings make you weak.’

This is the mantra that Cara has taken to repeating to herself inside her head. She hates that she needs the reminder; hates that Kahlan has taken away that safety of numbness that Cara knew so well.

Still, it seems to be working, for the most part. Cara has learned her lesson after the disaster with the cat.

Kahlan hasn’t given up, though, to Cara’s great annoyance. The Confessor maintains her belief that feelings are actually a good thing, and she isn’t letting Cara simply slide back into the role of heartless Mord’ Sith.

Cara decides to just ignore her.

The blonde has almost gotten back to feeling normal again, when of course, Kahlan has to cause trouble. Not that Kahlan actually means to get kidnapped, but Cara almost resents her for it anyway.

Because even though all she wants to feel is indifference, she can’t ignore the cold stab of fear that sweeps through her when they realize that Kahlan has been taken. Luckily, the rescue mission proves to be a lot simpler than the last time they had to go retrieve Kahlan (no need to wear frilly dresses or speak in rhyme, thank the Spirits).

Even so, when Cara is the one to find the Mother Confessor, she doesn’t resist when Kahlan pulls her into a fierce hug. She assumes it’s nothing more than gratitude, but even after a long moment, Kahlan still doesn’t pull away. If anything, she only holds Cara tighter. Hesitantly, Cara brings her arms up around Kahlan’s body as well. She’s unsure whom it is that she’s afraid of breaking -- Kahlan, or herself.

She stiffens as Kahlan shifts, bringing her warm lips to Cara’s cheek.

‘Feelings make you weak,’ she repeats urgently to herself, trying to calm the suddenly wild beating of her heart.

She knows that it’s true; knows that any feelings will only hurt in the end. Still...

Cara swallows audibly then tilts her head just slightly to the side, eyes desperately trying to ask the question that she can’t bring herself to say out loud.

As answer, Kahlan bites her lip, then leans forward, crushing their mouths together. They only pull apart when they hear footsteps approaching, and Richard and Zedd come around the corner. Cara tries stepping farther away, but Kahlan quickly reaches out and grabs hold of Cara’s hand, keeping her in place.

Cara knows that feelings are nothing but a weakness. But at the same time, Kahlan does almost nothing other than feel, and she’s the strongest person Cara knows.

Cara feels more confused than ever, but oddly content as well. Maybe, just maybe... Cara can learn to use these feelings for good.

Maybe, just maybe... Kahlan will be there to help.
______________________________________________________________________________

Title: An Old Mord 'Sith Tradition
Prompt: Afterlife
Rating: PG
Word Count: 221

Cara had died many times before, but this was the first time that it truly scared her. She wouldn’t let it show, obviously, but Cara could feel time stretching out unbearably as she waited and waited and waited for the breath of life to come.

She’d never been scared before, because she’d had nothing much to lose.

But now... Now Cara could barely stand the thought of never seeing Kahlan again.

It couldn’t have been very long, but it felt like an eternity before Cara was finally pulled back into the land of the living.

A terrified Kahlan was the first person Cara saw, and without thinking, the Mord ‘Sith simply reached up and tugged the brunette down into a searing kiss.

A fierce blush ran up Kahlan’s cheeks as the women parted, but she didn’t seem too disconcerted by Cara’s actions. Cara cleared her throat. “Sorry. Old Mord ‘Sith custom. You have to kiss the first person you see after you’ve been brought back to life.”

Cara glared in the direction of Mistress Amelia, apparently the one to bring her back, warning her to play along.

“Yes,” Amelia agreed convincingly. “One of our oldest.”

Kahlan simply nodded, a shy smile crossing her lips.

Now that the lie was in place, Cara thought... Maybe she’d have to start dying more often.

Various WMC Drabbles/Ficlets

mysensitiveside — Thu, 05 May 2011 04:44:05 GMT

Some more drabbles/ficlets, this time for Women's Murder Club.

The first two are Jill/Cindy, and the third is Lindsay/Cindy. These are un-related from each other, not part of the same timeline.

Title: In the Shower
Pairing: Jill/Cindy
Prompt: Melody
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 345

“Cindy, you home?” Jill called out as she pounded on the door. Still, no response.

She debated briefly -- invasion of privacy versus needing to drop off some files that apparently would help Cindy with some research. Curiosity turned out to be the tie-breaker. Jill knew that Cindy kept a spare key under the welcome mat, but hadn’t ever actually been inside the reporter’s apartment. Whenever they got together, somehow they always ended up at Jill’s place.

Jill left the files next to Cindy’s laptop with a scribbled note, took a quick, hopefully-not-too-stalker-ish glance around the apartment, and then was about to leave, when a soft sound caught her attention.

Singing, she realized. Someone was singing. Once again, curiosity got the better of her, so Jill wandered down the hallway, in the direction of the sound.

A grin spread across her face, as she figured out why Cindy hadn’t answered the door; she was too busy singing in the shower.

Realizing that this was probably a bad idea, but deciding to do it anyway, Jill silently eased the bathroom door open, slipped inside, and boosted herself up onto the bathroom counter.

Clearing her throat, she called out, “I never knew you had a set of pipes, Cindy Lou.”

Jill couldn’t help but chuckle at the loud squeak of surprise that came from the other side of the shower curtain, as it sounded like Cindy nearly fell, before she righted herself and stuck her head around the curtain, wielding a bottle of shampoo menacingly.

Jill simply smiled and waved hello. “You going to shoot me with shampoo? Very effective, I’m sure.”

Cindy appeared to be not quite as amused. “Jill, what the hell?! You scared me half to death!”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Couldn’t help myself,” the attorney admitted sheepishly.

As Cindy got over her fright, a thoughtful smirk spread across her face.

“Well, now that you’re here... You going to join me, or not?”

Jill grinned happily in response, immediately hopping down off the counter and starting to unbutton her shirt.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

______________________________________________________________________________

Title: The Get-Away Box
Pairing: Jill/Cindy
Prompt: Boxes
Rating: PG
Word Count: 115

Jill’s always felt the need for a get-away-box, whenever she moves in with someone. She feels safer, knowing that if (when) things don’t work out, she can always leave right away, and Claire will have a box of her things to tide her over for a while.

This time, though, when Claire pulls her aside to privately ask about the when’s and how’s of picking up the box, Jill realizes that she hadn’t even thought about it. She smiles at Claire, and explains without doubt or hesitation that there will be no need for a get-away-box this time.

Jill is moving in with Cindy, and she’s determined to make sure that she never moves out.

______________________________________________________________________________

Title: The Good Ol' Days
Pairing: Lindsay/Cindy
Prompt: Nostalgia
Rating: PG
Word Count: 223

Cindy feels a wave of nostalgia wash over her as she watches Julie, the new intern at The Register. The girl reminds Cindy a lot of herself from about five years ago -- the same I’m-older-than-I-look attitude; the same dogged pursuit of The Truth (yes, capitalized), no matter, what it takes; the same hero-worship of one Lindsay Boxer.

Cindy smiles. Of course, a lot can change in five years, too.

Lindsay manages to extricate herself from Julie’s clutches, and then saunters over to Cindy’s desk.

“Determined little thing, isn’t she?” Lindsay comments, an amused tone to her voice that Cindy’s pretty sure wasn’t there when Cindy first started hanging around.

“I think I like her,” Cindy replies simply.

Lindsay chuckles. “Yeah, you would.”

“Are you saying you don’t?” she asks curiously.

“She’s all right.” Lindsay shrugs. Her friendly smile turns into a leering grin, though, as she continues, quiet enough so only Cindy can hear, “I’m more than happy with my own perky reporter, though, thank you very much. No need for any more.”

With that, she leans down and kisses Cindy soundly on the lips. They’re not big on public displays of affection, but they can’t help it now and then.

Cindy grins.

Yes, Julie does make Cindy feel some nostalgia for the past, but she wouldn’t trade her present for anything.