HG Wells and the American Spy
Title: H G Wells and the American Spy 2/?
Author: Me, duh!
Pairing: HG/Myka - Warehouse 13
Rating: R, NC-17, M. You get it.
Warning: Kinda violent. Kinky sex perhaps.
Note: So. I had a few wonderful people ask me to continue on in my story about Helena, seducing her way through Europe, and two idea's suddenly took hold. One, this story, is the continuation of Helena's relationship with the woman she met from the train in the previous and first chapter, Mariah Barton. Someone told me that they thought Mariah Barton was a “reincarnation” of Myka Bering, and now that I look at it, she really is. With that in mind I thought, “Why not make this a whole long story?” And that's what you're reading here. The other idea that took hold is of the rest of Helena seducing her way through Europe, as in with other women in other countries. Never fear, I started that thread, too. So, I say all that to say, I hope you'll like what you read. Thanks!
Part One
When Helena opened her eyes in the darkness she was cold, naked, and alone. She reached across the mattress for Mariah and felt nothing. That wasn't right.
After the two of them had quickly made their way from the attic to Helena's room, hand in hand, Helena had proceeded to test her invention. Of course it wad completely procedural, or at least that was what Helena told herself. In any case Mariah seemed more then pleased and passed out on top of the sheets after a few rounds. Helena had sat up on one elbow and watched the American sleep, something about her dark curls and meaningful lips that struck Helena as vaguely familiar, as if she had known this woman in a past life. Helena had fallen asleep with that possibility at the top of her list of things to ponder.
And now Mariah was no where to be found. Helena sat up quickly and peered around the room in the considerable darkness, telling herself that Mariah had only gone to the bathroom, and nothing more. But there was no light coming from underneath the bathroom door. Helena snatched a pair of dark pants and her warmest thickest collared shirt, dressing quickly. For a moment she contemplated reaching for the tiny handgun she kept hidden in her top drawer, and then she decided it would be better to have it if she didn't need it than not have it if she did. Helena thought she heard a few footsteps coming from above her and she dashed for the door, one slipper still flapping, halfway on.
There was absolutely no reason Mariah should be in the attic alone, even if she was curious. Helena cursed herself for being too distracted to remember to lock the wooden door behind them.
Just as she thought the attic door was standing open, a long shaft of moonlight filling the space of the open doorway. Helena stepped into and out of the light quickly, avoiding the creaking middle floorboard like only someone who knew the attic like her could.
The American woman was facing away from Helena in the far corner of the attic, puzzling over a stack of papers on Helena's desk. Helena frowned, knowing immediately what Mariah was looking at, but completely unsure why. Helena slowly crept forward until she was just behind Mariah, and then reached out and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder.
"Care to tell me why you are up here, in the middle of the night, going through my papers?" Helena asked as the American jumped back, gasping in surprise.
"I'm-" she gasped. Obviously she hadn't planned on getting caught. "I was just so curious about your inventions," she managed to smile. She looked nervously to the pile of papers scattered on Helena's desk and then back to her hosts dark flashing eyes. Helena looked positively dangerous. And she still had a hand on Mariah's shoulder.
"All you have to do is ask, my dear," Helena decided to play along although she suspected much more was going on. "I could have shown you everything in the morning."
Mariah pretended to be shy, turning away from Helena for half a moment. When she turned back, it was with a scowl. Helena was ready, and she stepped back just as the curly haired woman jammed her fingers into the air where Helena's windpipe had been seconds before. Helena reached out and grabbed Mariah's wrist with tight thin fingers, twisting her quickly around, pinning her arm up uncomfortably behind her back. Mariah clawed at Helena's face with her other hand, trying to land her nails on anything soft to no avail.
"You had better stop moving or I'll break your arm right off," Helena threatened, pulling up on the woman's arm. "Now tell me, who are you, and what are you after up here in my attic?"
Mariah snarled but stilled. "I won't tell you anything," she promised. Helena was always up for a challenge. She leaned closer to the woman, still firmly gripping her arm.
"I don''t want to hurt you," Helena admitted, nearly whispering in the woman's ear. She loosened her grip, remembering fondly how few hours of sleep both of them were operating on, and why. "Unless of course you want me to."
"What I want-" Mariah replied, twisting her wrist out of Helena's grip and flipping her onto the ground. "Is for you to let me go." Helena found herself at a disadvantage when Mariah kicked out a knee and dropped her to the ground. Helena hunched there, breathless for a moment as Mariah threw open the attic window and aimed Helena's grappling hook gun across the empty street. The woman turned back and looked at Helena almost sadly. "Sorry it has to end like this, Helena." And she turned, wrapped a handkerchief over the taught line, and prepared to slide off into the night.
Helena propelled herself into the air towards the leaving woman, wrapping slender strong arms around the American's waist. She dug in hard with her heels and fought against gravity to heave the woman back into the to room and to the wooden floorboards with a thud. Helena fought to quickly turn the woman on her stomach and pin both arms behind her back with a knee. She gently but firmly pushed against Mariah's head and forced the woman into submission. Wrestling in bed with some of her more frequent conquests before she proceeded to fuck them had seemed to pay off.
"Let me up you fucking woman!" came the muffled cursing from Mariah to interrupt Helena's thoughts. She looked down at the woman with a pain induced grimace. She wished none of this had to happen and she wasn't always so brazen. If she'd never caught Mariah on the train only hours ago, she wouldn't have the problem of dealing with an American spy and if she had never gone cross dressing to the country side she never would have been on the train. But it was too late to do anything about that now.
“You, darling,” Helena finally replied to the continued cursing, “Have such a dirty mouth.” Helena stood up, pulling the woman up by the arms from behind. “I should know.” She pushed her towards the desk chair, finally able to reach for the gun she had tucked into the back of her pants.
She aimed at Mariah and pulled the trigger back in one swift movement, Mariah stilling instantly. The American glared up at Helena with half a snarl. “You're not going to shoot a woman who's life you just saved,” Mariah reasoned snidely.
Helena shrugged, her finger still on the trigger. “You don't know that,” she countered. “Tell me what I want to know and you'll never have to find out.”
Mariah lowered her head and sighed. She looked as if she were about to acquiesce. “I'll never tell you a thing, so just shoot me.”
Helena took a slow step forward, pressing the muzzle of the gun against the woman's forehead. “You will tell me. Are you a spy? American? What do you want with my time machine?”
Mariah smiled almost wickedly. “You're even smarter then you look,” the woman commented. Helena had hit the nail on the head. “That machine wont be yours for long.”
Helena flinched, a chill going down her spine at the look in the woman's face. Just as she hesitated, Mariah moved her head aside and snatched the gun from Helena's grip, kicking her in the stomach. She dashed for the window and said nothing this time, gone in the seconds it took Helena to recover from the blow.
“Fuck,” Helena cursed, holding her abdomen gingerly. She hadn't meant to let her guard down, something the agents of Warehouse 12 would certainly scold her for. She hated only being an apprentice.
Helena turned to the window and saw that the line had gone slack, all traces of Mariah now gone. Helena cursed again, knowing she had no way to even prove the woman's existence to anyone who could help her. “The suitcase!” Helena said aloud to herself, and left the attic in as quick a hurry as she could. Her stomach would be bruised come daylight, but she didn't care. No one, American or otherwise, was going to make a fool of H. G. Wells. Helena was sure of that.
When she reached the guest room she flipped on a light and looked around. Part of Helena was still used to having to light a candle or a lamp at night. Electricity was only a few years old. The suitcase that had been sitting at the foot of the bed was gone. Helena cursed and looked around the room. Her mouth was just as dirty as Mariah's.
It seemed the leather satchel was gone. Helena desperately looked under the bed and in the closet before sitting down on the bed with a huff. Where could it have gone? Certainly Mariah didn't slide away with it, so she must have hid it. The question was where?
Helena shivered. Much to her relief, the bedroom window was wide open, and she dashed to the sill to peer out into the alley. Surely the bag was down on the ground level where Mariah had dumped it before stupidly leaving the window open, waiting to be picked up. If she hurried, she could get to it before Mariah could. Helena left the guest room and quickly padded down the hall, taking to the stairs without hesitation. She had the handgun tucked neatly once again in the waist of her trousers, and she took the house key from the in table where the spare always sat, lighting the emergency lamp beside the key with a match. The stem caught light and Helena quickly closed the glass, locking the front door behind her and dashing out into the night air, rounding the house and going into the alleyway in a few hundred feet. It was cold and wet, products of a good London winter. She missed the countryside vehemently. At least there it was quiet, and there was grass to keep your feet warm outside at night. The London street on which her home sat was all brick and stone, something she had never been quite able to get used to.
When she came to the alley she held up her lantern, peering into the darkness and hoping for the best. She wasn't scared, but she had no wish to meet Mariah in the dark, or anyone else who wished to harm her. Quickly she walked down the narrow lane until she came to her home, peering around for the leather bag. The alley was putrid, and she covered her nose in disgust.
The leather case was against the wall. Helena snatched it up and nearly ran out of the alleyway back to her house. The faster she was inside, the safer she would be.
Helena dumped the contents of the leather bag out onto her bed quite unceremoniously. Thanks to Mariah her stomach hurt quite a lot. She couldn't care less about messing up the woman's bag. She separated the clothes from the other items quickly.
Besides a case of toiletries which Helena expected, she found a leather bound notebook stuffed with papers. It fell open to a middle section, where a picture had been taped to the left hand page. Helena blanched. The picture was of her. Beside it was written her name, and in rather lovely print, a dozen or so facts anyone who had met her would probably know. Helena pursed her lips at the last one, "sexually promiscuous", and frowned. She was begging to get the feeling that the entire encounter with Mariah Barton, if that was her name, was a set up.
Helena found speculative drawings of her time machine next, and then a list of the agents at Warehouse 12. Wherever Mariah had gathered her information was proving to be a good source. Helena turned to the last entry in the book and came across an address only a block away from her home.
"Aces," she smiled to herself as she shut the book. She knew exactly where Mariah was going, and if she hurried, she might be able to catch up.
Author: Me, duh!
Pairing: HG/Myka - Warehouse 13
Rating: R, NC-17, M. You get it.
Warning: Kinda violent. Kinky sex perhaps.
Note: So. I had a few wonderful people ask me to continue on in my story about Helena, seducing her way through Europe, and two idea's suddenly took hold. One, this story, is the continuation of Helena's relationship with the woman she met from the train in the previous and first chapter, Mariah Barton. Someone told me that they thought Mariah Barton was a “reincarnation” of Myka Bering, and now that I look at it, she really is. With that in mind I thought, “Why not make this a whole long story?” And that's what you're reading here. The other idea that took hold is of the rest of Helena seducing her way through Europe, as in with other women in other countries. Never fear, I started that thread, too. So, I say all that to say, I hope you'll like what you read. Thanks!
Part One
When Helena opened her eyes in the darkness she was cold, naked, and alone. She reached across the mattress for Mariah and felt nothing. That wasn't right.
After the two of them had quickly made their way from the attic to Helena's room, hand in hand, Helena had proceeded to test her invention. Of course it wad completely procedural, or at least that was what Helena told herself. In any case Mariah seemed more then pleased and passed out on top of the sheets after a few rounds. Helena had sat up on one elbow and watched the American sleep, something about her dark curls and meaningful lips that struck Helena as vaguely familiar, as if she had known this woman in a past life. Helena had fallen asleep with that possibility at the top of her list of things to ponder.
And now Mariah was no where to be found. Helena sat up quickly and peered around the room in the considerable darkness, telling herself that Mariah had only gone to the bathroom, and nothing more. But there was no light coming from underneath the bathroom door. Helena snatched a pair of dark pants and her warmest thickest collared shirt, dressing quickly. For a moment she contemplated reaching for the tiny handgun she kept hidden in her top drawer, and then she decided it would be better to have it if she didn't need it than not have it if she did. Helena thought she heard a few footsteps coming from above her and she dashed for the door, one slipper still flapping, halfway on.
There was absolutely no reason Mariah should be in the attic alone, even if she was curious. Helena cursed herself for being too distracted to remember to lock the wooden door behind them.
Just as she thought the attic door was standing open, a long shaft of moonlight filling the space of the open doorway. Helena stepped into and out of the light quickly, avoiding the creaking middle floorboard like only someone who knew the attic like her could.
The American woman was facing away from Helena in the far corner of the attic, puzzling over a stack of papers on Helena's desk. Helena frowned, knowing immediately what Mariah was looking at, but completely unsure why. Helena slowly crept forward until she was just behind Mariah, and then reached out and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder.
"Care to tell me why you are up here, in the middle of the night, going through my papers?" Helena asked as the American jumped back, gasping in surprise.
"I'm-" she gasped. Obviously she hadn't planned on getting caught. "I was just so curious about your inventions," she managed to smile. She looked nervously to the pile of papers scattered on Helena's desk and then back to her hosts dark flashing eyes. Helena looked positively dangerous. And she still had a hand on Mariah's shoulder.
"All you have to do is ask, my dear," Helena decided to play along although she suspected much more was going on. "I could have shown you everything in the morning."
Mariah pretended to be shy, turning away from Helena for half a moment. When she turned back, it was with a scowl. Helena was ready, and she stepped back just as the curly haired woman jammed her fingers into the air where Helena's windpipe had been seconds before. Helena reached out and grabbed Mariah's wrist with tight thin fingers, twisting her quickly around, pinning her arm up uncomfortably behind her back. Mariah clawed at Helena's face with her other hand, trying to land her nails on anything soft to no avail.
"You had better stop moving or I'll break your arm right off," Helena threatened, pulling up on the woman's arm. "Now tell me, who are you, and what are you after up here in my attic?"
Mariah snarled but stilled. "I won't tell you anything," she promised. Helena was always up for a challenge. She leaned closer to the woman, still firmly gripping her arm.
"I don''t want to hurt you," Helena admitted, nearly whispering in the woman's ear. She loosened her grip, remembering fondly how few hours of sleep both of them were operating on, and why. "Unless of course you want me to."
"What I want-" Mariah replied, twisting her wrist out of Helena's grip and flipping her onto the ground. "Is for you to let me go." Helena found herself at a disadvantage when Mariah kicked out a knee and dropped her to the ground. Helena hunched there, breathless for a moment as Mariah threw open the attic window and aimed Helena's grappling hook gun across the empty street. The woman turned back and looked at Helena almost sadly. "Sorry it has to end like this, Helena." And she turned, wrapped a handkerchief over the taught line, and prepared to slide off into the night.
Helena propelled herself into the air towards the leaving woman, wrapping slender strong arms around the American's waist. She dug in hard with her heels and fought against gravity to heave the woman back into the to room and to the wooden floorboards with a thud. Helena fought to quickly turn the woman on her stomach and pin both arms behind her back with a knee. She gently but firmly pushed against Mariah's head and forced the woman into submission. Wrestling in bed with some of her more frequent conquests before she proceeded to fuck them had seemed to pay off.
"Let me up you fucking woman!" came the muffled cursing from Mariah to interrupt Helena's thoughts. She looked down at the woman with a pain induced grimace. She wished none of this had to happen and she wasn't always so brazen. If she'd never caught Mariah on the train only hours ago, she wouldn't have the problem of dealing with an American spy and if she had never gone cross dressing to the country side she never would have been on the train. But it was too late to do anything about that now.
“You, darling,” Helena finally replied to the continued cursing, “Have such a dirty mouth.” Helena stood up, pulling the woman up by the arms from behind. “I should know.” She pushed her towards the desk chair, finally able to reach for the gun she had tucked into the back of her pants.
She aimed at Mariah and pulled the trigger back in one swift movement, Mariah stilling instantly. The American glared up at Helena with half a snarl. “You're not going to shoot a woman who's life you just saved,” Mariah reasoned snidely.
Helena shrugged, her finger still on the trigger. “You don't know that,” she countered. “Tell me what I want to know and you'll never have to find out.”
Mariah lowered her head and sighed. She looked as if she were about to acquiesce. “I'll never tell you a thing, so just shoot me.”
Helena took a slow step forward, pressing the muzzle of the gun against the woman's forehead. “You will tell me. Are you a spy? American? What do you want with my time machine?”
Mariah smiled almost wickedly. “You're even smarter then you look,” the woman commented. Helena had hit the nail on the head. “That machine wont be yours for long.”
Helena flinched, a chill going down her spine at the look in the woman's face. Just as she hesitated, Mariah moved her head aside and snatched the gun from Helena's grip, kicking her in the stomach. She dashed for the window and said nothing this time, gone in the seconds it took Helena to recover from the blow.
“Fuck,” Helena cursed, holding her abdomen gingerly. She hadn't meant to let her guard down, something the agents of Warehouse 12 would certainly scold her for. She hated only being an apprentice.
Helena turned to the window and saw that the line had gone slack, all traces of Mariah now gone. Helena cursed again, knowing she had no way to even prove the woman's existence to anyone who could help her. “The suitcase!” Helena said aloud to herself, and left the attic in as quick a hurry as she could. Her stomach would be bruised come daylight, but she didn't care. No one, American or otherwise, was going to make a fool of H. G. Wells. Helena was sure of that.
When she reached the guest room she flipped on a light and looked around. Part of Helena was still used to having to light a candle or a lamp at night. Electricity was only a few years old. The suitcase that had been sitting at the foot of the bed was gone. Helena cursed and looked around the room. Her mouth was just as dirty as Mariah's.
It seemed the leather satchel was gone. Helena desperately looked under the bed and in the closet before sitting down on the bed with a huff. Where could it have gone? Certainly Mariah didn't slide away with it, so she must have hid it. The question was where?
Helena shivered. Much to her relief, the bedroom window was wide open, and she dashed to the sill to peer out into the alley. Surely the bag was down on the ground level where Mariah had dumped it before stupidly leaving the window open, waiting to be picked up. If she hurried, she could get to it before Mariah could. Helena left the guest room and quickly padded down the hall, taking to the stairs without hesitation. She had the handgun tucked neatly once again in the waist of her trousers, and she took the house key from the in table where the spare always sat, lighting the emergency lamp beside the key with a match. The stem caught light and Helena quickly closed the glass, locking the front door behind her and dashing out into the night air, rounding the house and going into the alleyway in a few hundred feet. It was cold and wet, products of a good London winter. She missed the countryside vehemently. At least there it was quiet, and there was grass to keep your feet warm outside at night. The London street on which her home sat was all brick and stone, something she had never been quite able to get used to.
When she came to the alley she held up her lantern, peering into the darkness and hoping for the best. She wasn't scared, but she had no wish to meet Mariah in the dark, or anyone else who wished to harm her. Quickly she walked down the narrow lane until she came to her home, peering around for the leather bag. The alley was putrid, and she covered her nose in disgust.
The leather case was against the wall. Helena snatched it up and nearly ran out of the alleyway back to her house. The faster she was inside, the safer she would be.
Helena dumped the contents of the leather bag out onto her bed quite unceremoniously. Thanks to Mariah her stomach hurt quite a lot. She couldn't care less about messing up the woman's bag. She separated the clothes from the other items quickly.
Besides a case of toiletries which Helena expected, she found a leather bound notebook stuffed with papers. It fell open to a middle section, where a picture had been taped to the left hand page. Helena blanched. The picture was of her. Beside it was written her name, and in rather lovely print, a dozen or so facts anyone who had met her would probably know. Helena pursed her lips at the last one, "sexually promiscuous", and frowned. She was begging to get the feeling that the entire encounter with Mariah Barton, if that was her name, was a set up.
Helena found speculative drawings of her time machine next, and then a list of the agents at Warehouse 12. Wherever Mariah had gathered her information was proving to be a good source. Helena turned to the last entry in the book and came across an address only a block away from her home.
"Aces," she smiled to herself as she shut the book. She knew exactly where Mariah was going, and if she hurried, she might be able to catch up.