warehouse 13 fic; like a good book
like a good book|warehouse 13; myka/hg | 2708 words | g | set in the same universe as a sorta fairytale | in which myka takes hg to meet her parents
It's Pete who brings it to her attention.
“Soooo,” he singsongs at breakfast (his bizarre attempt at sounding casual - which fails every time), “how's the guest list coming along? Any beautiful relatives I'm going to have to suffer through a dance with. I am the best man, I know my duty,” he says.
“What guest list?” Myka laughs, “It's just going to be us Pete. Warehouse wedding, nice and simple. You, Artie, Leena, Claudia. That's all I need.”
He shoots her a look. “Uh, what about your parents?”
Shit. The awareness dawns on her. It's been months since she's been home, and whenever they call they just talk about her work in vague details and she can't even remember if she's even mentioned Helena as a colleague but she certainly hadn't found the time to mention that she was in a serious relationship with her.
“Oh my god. I have to tell my parents, don't I?” she says, turning to him with wide eyes.
“That's you're getting married? Uh, yeah. I think that'd be a good idea Mykes.”
“I know, I know, it's just I've been so caught up and in all the planning it just made sense to keep it small and simple. I mean, I'm marrying HG Wells, Pete, how am I supposed to explain that to them?”
“Just introduce her as Helena,” he shrugs. “Even if you introduced her as HG Wells, they'd just think it was an unfortunate coincidence. It's not like they're going to turn around and say, 'Oh my god, all this time HG Wells was really a woman.' The guy's been dead for over fifty years Mykes.”
“Right. Okay, just introduce her as Helena. I can do that. I mean, they're gonna kill me for not telling them sooner anyway, so what difference does her name make right? I can do this. I can. Mom, dad, I'm getting married. Easy. Right?”
But she's staring at the ring on her finger and struggling for breath as she babbles to herself and Pete's not sure she's actually okay.
“Uh, HG?” he calls loudly. “I think Myka's having some kind of a breakdown.”
Helena is quick down the stairs and into the dining room, looking from Myka immobile in her chair to Pete hovering next to her. “What did you do?” she accuses, kneeling next to her fiancée.
“Nothing,” he shrugs defensively. “I just happened to mention that she should really invite her parents to your wedding. I didn't know she'd unspool like this!”
“You really are an idiot sometimes,” she says, glaring at him. “Myka, darling,” she says gently, brushing the curls out of Myka's face. “Calm down, I'm right here.”
“I have to take you to meet my parents,” she blurts suddenly, raising her eyes to Helena's.
“No you don't, not if you don't want to,” Helena tells her, trying to calm her down by taking hold of her hand and caressing it slowly.
Myka takes a breath, focusses on the feel of Helena's fingers on her skin and begins to feel calmer.
“No, Pete's right. They have to know that I'm getting married. I mean that's normal. That's what normal daughters tell their parents. And I do want them to see how happy I am, I do. It just freaked me out a little,” she says with a shaky smile.
“Okay, so we'll go meet them, tell them the good news. It'll be fine darling,” she answers brightly, pressing a kiss to Myka's forehead.
-
“Oh, it's charming Myka,” Helena breathes as they pause outside Bering & Sons.
“Yeah, it is,” she answers, nerves creeping into her voice ever so slightly.
“Hey,” Helena says, turning to face her. “It's going to be fine, you'll see. I've seen you face much scarier things!”
“Than telling my parents I got engaged and accidentally forgot to tell them? It's pretty high on the list right now,” Myka replies through gritted teeth.
But Helena simply puts a hand on the small of her back and guides her forward, through the doorway where Mr and Mrs Bering are waiting inside.
“Hi Mom, Dad,” she says, hugging them quickly and stepping back to Helena's side. (It's odd really, just how much comfort she takes from the simple act of proximity.) “I'd like you to meet Helena. Helena Wells. We...work together,” she says awkwardly.
(God, she should have just opened with we're getting married and gotten it over with she thinks to herself.)
“It's a pleasure to meet you both,” she hears Helena speaking next to her, politely shaking hands with her mother and father, all grace and charm.
“So Myka,” her mom says, guiding them to a couch between the bookshelves. “You were awfully vague about the reason for this visit. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, everything's fine, I just, you know it's been a while since I've visited,” she shrugs.
“Well we're thrilled to see you of course. How's work? How's Pete?”
“Oh, Pete's fine. You know, he's Pete.”
“Remind me to send some cookies back with you for him. He was so supportive when he was here last time,” Jeannie says, launching into a story about her recent baking exploits while Myka pretends to listen as she prepares the words in her head.
She glances over at Helena, only to find Helena's eyes fixed firmly on the bookshelf in front of them, eyes glancing over the titles and lips moving slightly as she does. Myka smiles at the sight; HG Wells still enraptured by the written word.
“Hey,” she whispers quietly. “Go look around if you like.”
Helena looks at her carefully, silently asking if she's sure and Myka nods at her, thinking it might actually be less nerve wracking if Helena isn't sitting right next to her.
Helena excuses herself with a polite, “I'm going to look around a little. Myka tells me you have some wonderful treasures in these shelves.”
Myka flashes her a quick smile, turning back to her mother as she tries to think of a good way to broach the subject of her impending nuptials.
-
Helena wanders the shelves slowly, drinking in the realisation that she has almost a hundred years of literature to catch up on. She never will of course, there's too much. But there's something lovely, something hopeful, about that knowledge; that all those years while she was bronzed, people never lost their love of words, never tired of exploring humanity or dreaming of better things.
She must remember to ask Myka for suggestions on where to start. If she plays her cards right she can probably bribe Myka into reading some to her she thinks, feeling a smile adorn her face at the thought.
“You really love books,” she hears a voice beside her, making her jump a little.
Helena turns her head, wondering how Myka's father had managed to sneak up on her so easily but she smiles as she answers, “Yes, I do. I always have.”
“And you really love my daughter,” he continues, eyes focussed on her intently.
“I -” she pauses, surprised by his acuity and directness. “How could you tell?” she asks quietly, deciding there's no point in denying it. This is why they came after all. Besides, it's a lie that would not fall easily from her lips.
“You look at her the same way you look at those books,” he tells her.
She thinks - hopes, perhaps - she can see the hint of a smile on his serious face.
“And how is that?” she challenges him, curious as to what he sees. She always thought she was good at keeping her emotions in check - Claudia tells her the term is 'poker face' - but if there were ever feelings she couldn't hide, it's most certainly those that Myka inspires.
“Like they keep you breathing.”
She swallows, has to close her eyes for a second, because the accuracy of those words is startling and fills her with emotion.
(The truth is, sometimes she has to not think about what - how much - she feels for Myka. She distils it down to the commonality of the words I love you even though they're entirely inadequate. But to open herself up to the complexities of her heart would overwhelm her, fill her with fear of what she might lose and it's better if she can just enjoy the purity and simplicity of being in love.)
“Yes, well you're quite right there. I have never been able to imagine my life without books. They've always been my refuge,” she says fondly. “But all the books in the world can't even come close to being as essential to me as your daughter.”
He smiles now, properly, and says, “I'm glad. She deserves to be loved that way.”
“Does it surprise you?” she asks, unable to resist her curiosity.
“That someone would love her that much?” he questions, confused.
“That the someone would be a woman.”
“Ah. Well, firstly, I wouldn't be surprised by anyone falling under her spell. But secondly I suspect the question you're really asking is, am I surprised that Myka loves the woman in return.”
She doesn't respond, but turns her attention back to the shelf in front of her.
“Myka hasn't brought many people home to us you know. There was a boy or two early in college, but nothing since she joined the Feds. Not her partner - Sam, the one who died. She talked about him though, and afterward it certainly wasn't hard to see what she'd felt for him. But she's changed a lot since she took that job out in South Dakota. And she's brought you here and I can see it in her eyes, the way they light up when she looks at you. The same face she used to make whenever I'd catch her reading behind the shelves. It's clear to me that you're perfect for one another. So the answer to your question, I suppose, is: why should it matter?”
“She was nervous, you know,” Helena tells him. “About bringing me here. Actually, I was rather nervous too. I've never been terribly good at this sort of thing. But it was important to her. Only, now, talking with you, it occurs to me that I may have neglected a certain social grace. I confess it simply never occurred to me before now. And if I'm truthful, it's a symbolic gesture more than anything. I don't intend to let anything stop me from spending the rest of my life with Myka, but I should, I suppose, have done the traditional thing and asked your permission to marry her. That's what she came here to tell you - that I asked her to marry me and she said yes.”
He smiles at her again, shaking his head. “My dear, I may wear glasses but I am not blind. Neither one of you remembered to take your ring off first.”
“Oh,” she says, looking down at her hand in surprise. “How stupid of us. Well, I suppose that's that then,” she continues, flashing a slightly sheepish grin at him as she steps past him and makes to return to Myka.
“For the record Helena?” she hears him speak behind her. “I would have gladly given my blessing.”
-
“Hey,” Myka says, smiling widely as Helena walks back into the room. “I was just wondering if I should come find you before I lost you to the books forever.”
“Never darling,” Helena tells her as she takes a seat and reaches for Myka's hand.
Myka looks at her questioningly but Helena doesn't let go. “The jig is up, Myka - I believe that's how the expression goes at any rate. Your father kindly pointed out that we aren't exactly skilled in the art of subterfuge and if I'm not mistaken, neither is your mother. We forgot to take off our rings.”
“Crap,” Myka says in surprise, looking first at Helena, then at her mother who simply smiles and nods. “Mom, why didn't you say anything?”
“I thought it would be rude to ruin your announcement,” she answers with a shrug.
“Well, okay then,” she says, breathing out a sigh of relief and holding tighter to Helena's hand now. “I was trying to work myself into this big speech or whatever, but I guess don't really need to. So, I suppose all I really want you to know is that Helena makes me very happy.”
“Like we couldn't have figured that out by ourselves!” her mother laughs delightedly. “Really Myka, your face gives you away. Doesn't it Warren?” she adds as Myka's father re-enters the room, smiling at his daughter - and Helena beside her.
“Okay, well. Fine,” she says standing now. “I'm going to give Helena the grand tour if that's alright by you. You and dad can sit here and discuss how painfully transparent I am!”
Her mother just shakes her head and winks at Helena.
-
“This was my favourite spot to read when I was a kid,” Myka tells her, leading her into a tiny corner at the far end of the bookshop behind the stairs.
“It's not very organised,” Helena comments, running her fingers over a shelf of books that seem to have no order whatsoever.
Myka smiles, sitting on the floor and pulling Helena down next to her. “That's because it's my private stash. I used to hide all my favourites here where I figured they were less likely to be found and bought.”
“And your father says you aren't any good at subterfuge,” she says with a wink.
“No, I think he always knew,” Myka says quietly. “We didn't communicate well back then - and even now it's still, well it's not as easy it could be. But he knew every corner of these shelves. There's no way he didn't notice my theft. I think he just knew what they meant to me. It was his way of showing his love. Not that I really understood that at the time.”
“He does love you very much you know,” Helena tells her seriously.
“Yeah, I do know. And I must say you seem to have won him over quickly too. How'd you manage that? I mean, I know you're charming but my dad isn't easily charmed.”
She looks at Helena curiously for a moment and then gasps a little. “Wait, you didn't use some kind of artefact on him did you? Is that why he's taken this so well?”
“Oh don't be ridiculous Myka, of course I didn't,” she answers laughing. “Actually, I didn't have to do a thing. Apparently being transparently and hopelessly in love with his daughter is all it takes.”
“Oh, is that all,” Myka laughs, rolling her eyes. “He doesn't like to make it easy on people does he?”
“I can't think of a single thing that would be easier than being in love with you darling.”
Myka shakes her head, blushing slightly. “Ever the charmer HG.”
“It's not charm, it's a fact,” Helena says, kissing her gently.
Myka's hands find Helena's waist, pulling her closer and kissing her harder as she feels warm fingers slide under the hem of her shirt - and then she stills, as footsteps stop on the other side of their bookshelf and she hears her mother's voice.
“Warren? Where on earth did Myka take Helena. I want to ask them about their wedding plans.”
“Just leave them be Jeannie, they're probably making out behind the shelves somewhere.”
Neither Myka or Helena can contain their laughter.
It echoes throughout Bering & Sons Books, as joyful as if all the happiness, contained in all the books, has spilled from the shelves.
It's Pete who brings it to her attention.
“Soooo,” he singsongs at breakfast (his bizarre attempt at sounding casual - which fails every time), “how's the guest list coming along? Any beautiful relatives I'm going to have to suffer through a dance with. I am the best man, I know my duty,” he says.
“What guest list?” Myka laughs, “It's just going to be us Pete. Warehouse wedding, nice and simple. You, Artie, Leena, Claudia. That's all I need.”
He shoots her a look. “Uh, what about your parents?”
Shit. The awareness dawns on her. It's been months since she's been home, and whenever they call they just talk about her work in vague details and she can't even remember if she's even mentioned Helena as a colleague but she certainly hadn't found the time to mention that she was in a serious relationship with her.
“Oh my god. I have to tell my parents, don't I?” she says, turning to him with wide eyes.
“That's you're getting married? Uh, yeah. I think that'd be a good idea Mykes.”
“I know, I know, it's just I've been so caught up and in all the planning it just made sense to keep it small and simple. I mean, I'm marrying HG Wells, Pete, how am I supposed to explain that to them?”
“Just introduce her as Helena,” he shrugs. “Even if you introduced her as HG Wells, they'd just think it was an unfortunate coincidence. It's not like they're going to turn around and say, 'Oh my god, all this time HG Wells was really a woman.' The guy's been dead for over fifty years Mykes.”
“Right. Okay, just introduce her as Helena. I can do that. I mean, they're gonna kill me for not telling them sooner anyway, so what difference does her name make right? I can do this. I can. Mom, dad, I'm getting married. Easy. Right?”
But she's staring at the ring on her finger and struggling for breath as she babbles to herself and Pete's not sure she's actually okay.
“Uh, HG?” he calls loudly. “I think Myka's having some kind of a breakdown.”
Helena is quick down the stairs and into the dining room, looking from Myka immobile in her chair to Pete hovering next to her. “What did you do?” she accuses, kneeling next to her fiancée.
“Nothing,” he shrugs defensively. “I just happened to mention that she should really invite her parents to your wedding. I didn't know she'd unspool like this!”
“You really are an idiot sometimes,” she says, glaring at him. “Myka, darling,” she says gently, brushing the curls out of Myka's face. “Calm down, I'm right here.”
“I have to take you to meet my parents,” she blurts suddenly, raising her eyes to Helena's.
“No you don't, not if you don't want to,” Helena tells her, trying to calm her down by taking hold of her hand and caressing it slowly.
Myka takes a breath, focusses on the feel of Helena's fingers on her skin and begins to feel calmer.
“No, Pete's right. They have to know that I'm getting married. I mean that's normal. That's what normal daughters tell their parents. And I do want them to see how happy I am, I do. It just freaked me out a little,” she says with a shaky smile.
“Okay, so we'll go meet them, tell them the good news. It'll be fine darling,” she answers brightly, pressing a kiss to Myka's forehead.
-
“Oh, it's charming Myka,” Helena breathes as they pause outside Bering & Sons.
“Yeah, it is,” she answers, nerves creeping into her voice ever so slightly.
“Hey,” Helena says, turning to face her. “It's going to be fine, you'll see. I've seen you face much scarier things!”
“Than telling my parents I got engaged and accidentally forgot to tell them? It's pretty high on the list right now,” Myka replies through gritted teeth.
But Helena simply puts a hand on the small of her back and guides her forward, through the doorway where Mr and Mrs Bering are waiting inside.
“Hi Mom, Dad,” she says, hugging them quickly and stepping back to Helena's side. (It's odd really, just how much comfort she takes from the simple act of proximity.) “I'd like you to meet Helena. Helena Wells. We...work together,” she says awkwardly.
(God, she should have just opened with we're getting married and gotten it over with she thinks to herself.)
“It's a pleasure to meet you both,” she hears Helena speaking next to her, politely shaking hands with her mother and father, all grace and charm.
“So Myka,” her mom says, guiding them to a couch between the bookshelves. “You were awfully vague about the reason for this visit. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, everything's fine, I just, you know it's been a while since I've visited,” she shrugs.
“Well we're thrilled to see you of course. How's work? How's Pete?”
“Oh, Pete's fine. You know, he's Pete.”
“Remind me to send some cookies back with you for him. He was so supportive when he was here last time,” Jeannie says, launching into a story about her recent baking exploits while Myka pretends to listen as she prepares the words in her head.
She glances over at Helena, only to find Helena's eyes fixed firmly on the bookshelf in front of them, eyes glancing over the titles and lips moving slightly as she does. Myka smiles at the sight; HG Wells still enraptured by the written word.
“Hey,” she whispers quietly. “Go look around if you like.”
Helena looks at her carefully, silently asking if she's sure and Myka nods at her, thinking it might actually be less nerve wracking if Helena isn't sitting right next to her.
Helena excuses herself with a polite, “I'm going to look around a little. Myka tells me you have some wonderful treasures in these shelves.”
Myka flashes her a quick smile, turning back to her mother as she tries to think of a good way to broach the subject of her impending nuptials.
-
Helena wanders the shelves slowly, drinking in the realisation that she has almost a hundred years of literature to catch up on. She never will of course, there's too much. But there's something lovely, something hopeful, about that knowledge; that all those years while she was bronzed, people never lost their love of words, never tired of exploring humanity or dreaming of better things.
She must remember to ask Myka for suggestions on where to start. If she plays her cards right she can probably bribe Myka into reading some to her she thinks, feeling a smile adorn her face at the thought.
“You really love books,” she hears a voice beside her, making her jump a little.
Helena turns her head, wondering how Myka's father had managed to sneak up on her so easily but she smiles as she answers, “Yes, I do. I always have.”
“And you really love my daughter,” he continues, eyes focussed on her intently.
“I -” she pauses, surprised by his acuity and directness. “How could you tell?” she asks quietly, deciding there's no point in denying it. This is why they came after all. Besides, it's a lie that would not fall easily from her lips.
“You look at her the same way you look at those books,” he tells her.
She thinks - hopes, perhaps - she can see the hint of a smile on his serious face.
“And how is that?” she challenges him, curious as to what he sees. She always thought she was good at keeping her emotions in check - Claudia tells her the term is 'poker face' - but if there were ever feelings she couldn't hide, it's most certainly those that Myka inspires.
“Like they keep you breathing.”
She swallows, has to close her eyes for a second, because the accuracy of those words is startling and fills her with emotion.
(The truth is, sometimes she has to not think about what - how much - she feels for Myka. She distils it down to the commonality of the words I love you even though they're entirely inadequate. But to open herself up to the complexities of her heart would overwhelm her, fill her with fear of what she might lose and it's better if she can just enjoy the purity and simplicity of being in love.)
“Yes, well you're quite right there. I have never been able to imagine my life without books. They've always been my refuge,” she says fondly. “But all the books in the world can't even come close to being as essential to me as your daughter.”
He smiles now, properly, and says, “I'm glad. She deserves to be loved that way.”
“Does it surprise you?” she asks, unable to resist her curiosity.
“That someone would love her that much?” he questions, confused.
“That the someone would be a woman.”
“Ah. Well, firstly, I wouldn't be surprised by anyone falling under her spell. But secondly I suspect the question you're really asking is, am I surprised that Myka loves the woman in return.”
She doesn't respond, but turns her attention back to the shelf in front of her.
“Myka hasn't brought many people home to us you know. There was a boy or two early in college, but nothing since she joined the Feds. Not her partner - Sam, the one who died. She talked about him though, and afterward it certainly wasn't hard to see what she'd felt for him. But she's changed a lot since she took that job out in South Dakota. And she's brought you here and I can see it in her eyes, the way they light up when she looks at you. The same face she used to make whenever I'd catch her reading behind the shelves. It's clear to me that you're perfect for one another. So the answer to your question, I suppose, is: why should it matter?”
“She was nervous, you know,” Helena tells him. “About bringing me here. Actually, I was rather nervous too. I've never been terribly good at this sort of thing. But it was important to her. Only, now, talking with you, it occurs to me that I may have neglected a certain social grace. I confess it simply never occurred to me before now. And if I'm truthful, it's a symbolic gesture more than anything. I don't intend to let anything stop me from spending the rest of my life with Myka, but I should, I suppose, have done the traditional thing and asked your permission to marry her. That's what she came here to tell you - that I asked her to marry me and she said yes.”
He smiles at her again, shaking his head. “My dear, I may wear glasses but I am not blind. Neither one of you remembered to take your ring off first.”
“Oh,” she says, looking down at her hand in surprise. “How stupid of us. Well, I suppose that's that then,” she continues, flashing a slightly sheepish grin at him as she steps past him and makes to return to Myka.
“For the record Helena?” she hears him speak behind her. “I would have gladly given my blessing.”
-
“Hey,” Myka says, smiling widely as Helena walks back into the room. “I was just wondering if I should come find you before I lost you to the books forever.”
“Never darling,” Helena tells her as she takes a seat and reaches for Myka's hand.
Myka looks at her questioningly but Helena doesn't let go. “The jig is up, Myka - I believe that's how the expression goes at any rate. Your father kindly pointed out that we aren't exactly skilled in the art of subterfuge and if I'm not mistaken, neither is your mother. We forgot to take off our rings.”
“Crap,” Myka says in surprise, looking first at Helena, then at her mother who simply smiles and nods. “Mom, why didn't you say anything?”
“I thought it would be rude to ruin your announcement,” she answers with a shrug.
“Well, okay then,” she says, breathing out a sigh of relief and holding tighter to Helena's hand now. “I was trying to work myself into this big speech or whatever, but I guess don't really need to. So, I suppose all I really want you to know is that Helena makes me very happy.”
“Like we couldn't have figured that out by ourselves!” her mother laughs delightedly. “Really Myka, your face gives you away. Doesn't it Warren?” she adds as Myka's father re-enters the room, smiling at his daughter - and Helena beside her.
“Okay, well. Fine,” she says standing now. “I'm going to give Helena the grand tour if that's alright by you. You and dad can sit here and discuss how painfully transparent I am!”
Her mother just shakes her head and winks at Helena.
-
“This was my favourite spot to read when I was a kid,” Myka tells her, leading her into a tiny corner at the far end of the bookshop behind the stairs.
“It's not very organised,” Helena comments, running her fingers over a shelf of books that seem to have no order whatsoever.
Myka smiles, sitting on the floor and pulling Helena down next to her. “That's because it's my private stash. I used to hide all my favourites here where I figured they were less likely to be found and bought.”
“And your father says you aren't any good at subterfuge,” she says with a wink.
“No, I think he always knew,” Myka says quietly. “We didn't communicate well back then - and even now it's still, well it's not as easy it could be. But he knew every corner of these shelves. There's no way he didn't notice my theft. I think he just knew what they meant to me. It was his way of showing his love. Not that I really understood that at the time.”
“He does love you very much you know,” Helena tells her seriously.
“Yeah, I do know. And I must say you seem to have won him over quickly too. How'd you manage that? I mean, I know you're charming but my dad isn't easily charmed.”
She looks at Helena curiously for a moment and then gasps a little. “Wait, you didn't use some kind of artefact on him did you? Is that why he's taken this so well?”
“Oh don't be ridiculous Myka, of course I didn't,” she answers laughing. “Actually, I didn't have to do a thing. Apparently being transparently and hopelessly in love with his daughter is all it takes.”
“Oh, is that all,” Myka laughs, rolling her eyes. “He doesn't like to make it easy on people does he?”
“I can't think of a single thing that would be easier than being in love with you darling.”
Myka shakes her head, blushing slightly. “Ever the charmer HG.”
“It's not charm, it's a fact,” Helena says, kissing her gently.
Myka's hands find Helena's waist, pulling her closer and kissing her harder as she feels warm fingers slide under the hem of her shirt - and then she stills, as footsteps stop on the other side of their bookshelf and she hears her mother's voice.
“Warren? Where on earth did Myka take Helena. I want to ask them about their wedding plans.”
“Just leave them be Jeannie, they're probably making out behind the shelves somewhere.”
Neither Myka or Helena can contain their laughter.
It echoes throughout Bering & Sons Books, as joyful as if all the happiness, contained in all the books, has spilled from the shelves.