Fic: Time and Turn (Chapter 4)
Title: Time and Turn
Chapter 4: Thread B: 5
Series: Chrysalis
Part: One
Author: NuMo
Rating: Teen and up audiences
Characters/Pairings: Myka / Helena, Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, OFC, Claudia Donovan, Pete Lattimer, Steve Jinks, Artie Nielsen, Mrs. Frederic
Tags: Post-s4e10, probabyl jossed come April
Summary: So join me for an episode which has women cupping cheeks, familiar tentative sideways glances, mentions of Berlin and Dresden and Germans zooming around in fast cars - oh yeah, and time travel too, but probably not the way you’d pictured it.
(I’m no good at summaries.)
Cross-posted at AO3. WH13 and its characters don’t belong to me, I’m just playing and I promise I’ll return them when I’m done. I do own my own characters, and, as always, I love me some feedback.
“Hey, H.G., I think that’s for you.” Pete reached out an envelope to her as she walked up to the car. “It was wedged behind the wiper. Look, it says ‘Helena’.” He pointed to where, indeed, her first name was written on the brown paper. Helena took it, then looked at him pointedly for a long moment. “Yah,” he suddenly realized, dropping his arm, then swinging both of them back and forth, clapping his hands each time they came up in front of him. “I’ll, uh, I’ll give you some privacy, then, right?”
“Thank you.” Helena found a smile for him, then watched him walk a few steps back towards the mill, still swinging his arms. Then she turned to head in the opposite direction, following the brook that powered the mill to an overgrown meadow. She leaned her forearms on the fence surrounding it, turning the envelope around and around in her hands for long minutes.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” she welcomed the intruder, unreasonably glad to have a basis for postponing opening the letter.
“I had been wondering, you know,” Myka said softly, mirroring Helena’s posture and squinting into the sunlight that slanted across the meadow. “If I’d ever see you again. I seem to do that a lot.”
“Myka, I’m-”
“Of course,” Myka went on as if Helena had not spoken, “Mrs. Frederic did tell us, eventually, that she’d sent you abroad with the astrolabe. But I mean, even before that, I didn’t see a lot of you, did I, what with your research and all. At least you used to send postcards, then. From all over Europe, too.”
“If only to make Pete envious,” Helena murmured.
“Oh, that worked alright.” They continued watching the grass grow for a few moments. “Are you okay, Helena?”
Of every way she could have reacted to yet another sudden return of mine after weeks of insufficiently explained absence - reproach, demand, disdain; all well within her rights - Myka Bering chooses solicitousness. And how to answer? If she asked this way, it was because she knew Helena was not okay. It was Myka’s way of providing an opportunity for Helena to evade further questioning by asserting she was ‘fine’, but did she want to do that? Helena’s warring thoughts seemed to spread to her cerebellum, because she suddenly lost her grip on the envelope, blinking stupidly as it fluttered a yard or so into the meadow.
“Hold on, I’ll get it,” Myka said, already crouching to slip through the fence.
Helena couldn’t help but watch and wonder, not for the first time, how anyone could turn gangly length into such gracefully coordinated action. Truth be told, she had, a long time ago, concluded that fencing and martial arts and, not to be forgotten, the rigorous training for Secret Service agents would probably do the same trick that Kenpo and dancing lessons and riding had done for herself. Still she would watch, with bated breath, whenever the opportunity presented itself. It doesn’t stop being magic just because you found out how it’s done, she remembered Pete saying once.
“There you are.” With a whoosh of breath, Myka rose, now leaning on the fence from the other side. She nodded towards it. “Open it?” Again, there was an escape route in how Myka inflected her voice, making her words question rather than prompt.
Don’t make my mistake, Helena. So instead of dodging and shirking, Helena ran one finger underneath the flap, frowning when a second, smaller envelope slid out. “Whatever is in this,” she said, hefting it and reading the address on it, “is for… I would say an institution, in… Cologne? I don’t recognize the acronym, I’m afraid, but ‘Köln’ I understand.” Peering inside the larger envelope, she saw a sheet of paper and coaxed it out, then perused the hand-written lines, the little of them that there were. “Laura… asks me to take the letter there, personally, for some reason.” She looked up at Myka, large envelope in one hand, missive and small envelope in the other. “Why would she ask me to cross the Federal Republic of Germany to deliver a letter?”
“You tell me,” Myka said, then dropped her eyes quickly. “Um, unless… you don’t want to. I mean, I don’t have a right to…”
“You don’t have a right to ask about the stranger I brought along to a Warehouse operation?” Helena asked, eyebrow a-quirk.
“Well, if you put it that way,” Myka conceded. “I had wondered. You know. About her.” And you. The words hover in the air as blaringly as if Myka had said them.
Many of my lovers were men. What on Earth had driven me to say that? The irresistible urge to flirt shamelessly with a beauty who had not even been looking at her at that precise moment, granted, but since then, Helena had wished quite frequently that she had kept her mouth shut that particular time. It had not exactly scared Myka off, but it had lent a subtext to such a lot of her, Helena’s actions - a subtext that, at times, was rather welcome, a subtext that, like now, she could have gladly done without. And subtext or no, what on Earth was driving her, time and again, to this woman’s side, into her personal space, under her skin? More than the pursuit of redemption, that much was a given, but what ‘more’, exactly? And whatever it was, it was mutual, was it not? Was it?
“I met her in Berlin,” Helena answered the easier question. “Our first meeting… I misjudged her, very much so. I suspected her of using an artifact in a harmful fashion, only to find out that if anyone was hurt by its use, she was.” And quite more important than that, she wanted to assure Myka that every interaction there had been between Laura Sperling and herself had been completely and utterly devoid of any form of unwarranted attraction, but-
“Hey, double Ms. Fencepost,” Claudia interrupted, jogging up and coasting to a halt beside the two of them. “Artie has given up looking for ruffled German feathers to pat down; seems that the Steinbrücks are all gone, and now Jack wants to hit the road. H.G., you weren’t telling Myka about this Laura person, by any chance? Because if you were, maybe you could wait until we’re on our way; we’re all curious, you know, and that way you don’t have to repeat yourself.”
“How considerate of you,” Helena replied, arching her eyebrow.
Claudia sketched her a bow. “Anything for the woman who stopped me from having to stab Grumpy Grumpshausen with a dagger. Mind you, after…” Her voice dropped away, and her mouth quivered once. Then she drew herself up and visibly out of that line of thought, and gave them both a shaky smile, jamming her hands into the pockets of what she’d once told Helena were ‘skinnies’. “Anyway, let’s get going, right?”
Chapter 4: Thread B: 5
Series: Chrysalis
Part: One
Author: NuMo
Rating: Teen and up audiences
Characters/Pairings: Myka / Helena, Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, OFC, Claudia Donovan, Pete Lattimer, Steve Jinks, Artie Nielsen, Mrs. Frederic
Tags: Post-s4e10, probabyl jossed come April
Summary: So join me for an episode which has women cupping cheeks, familiar tentative sideways glances, mentions of Berlin and Dresden and Germans zooming around in fast cars - oh yeah, and time travel too, but probably not the way you’d pictured it.
(I’m no good at summaries.)
Cross-posted at AO3. WH13 and its characters don’t belong to me, I’m just playing and I promise I’ll return them when I’m done. I do own my own characters, and, as always, I love me some feedback.
“Hey, H.G., I think that’s for you.” Pete reached out an envelope to her as she walked up to the car. “It was wedged behind the wiper. Look, it says ‘Helena’.” He pointed to where, indeed, her first name was written on the brown paper. Helena took it, then looked at him pointedly for a long moment. “Yah,” he suddenly realized, dropping his arm, then swinging both of them back and forth, clapping his hands each time they came up in front of him. “I’ll, uh, I’ll give you some privacy, then, right?”
“Thank you.” Helena found a smile for him, then watched him walk a few steps back towards the mill, still swinging his arms. Then she turned to head in the opposite direction, following the brook that powered the mill to an overgrown meadow. She leaned her forearms on the fence surrounding it, turning the envelope around and around in her hands for long minutes.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” she welcomed the intruder, unreasonably glad to have a basis for postponing opening the letter.
“I had been wondering, you know,” Myka said softly, mirroring Helena’s posture and squinting into the sunlight that slanted across the meadow. “If I’d ever see you again. I seem to do that a lot.”
“Myka, I’m-”
“Of course,” Myka went on as if Helena had not spoken, “Mrs. Frederic did tell us, eventually, that she’d sent you abroad with the astrolabe. But I mean, even before that, I didn’t see a lot of you, did I, what with your research and all. At least you used to send postcards, then. From all over Europe, too.”
“If only to make Pete envious,” Helena murmured.
“Oh, that worked alright.” They continued watching the grass grow for a few moments. “Are you okay, Helena?”
Of every way she could have reacted to yet another sudden return of mine after weeks of insufficiently explained absence - reproach, demand, disdain; all well within her rights - Myka Bering chooses solicitousness. And how to answer? If she asked this way, it was because she knew Helena was not okay. It was Myka’s way of providing an opportunity for Helena to evade further questioning by asserting she was ‘fine’, but did she want to do that? Helena’s warring thoughts seemed to spread to her cerebellum, because she suddenly lost her grip on the envelope, blinking stupidly as it fluttered a yard or so into the meadow.
“Hold on, I’ll get it,” Myka said, already crouching to slip through the fence.
Helena couldn’t help but watch and wonder, not for the first time, how anyone could turn gangly length into such gracefully coordinated action. Truth be told, she had, a long time ago, concluded that fencing and martial arts and, not to be forgotten, the rigorous training for Secret Service agents would probably do the same trick that Kenpo and dancing lessons and riding had done for herself. Still she would watch, with bated breath, whenever the opportunity presented itself. It doesn’t stop being magic just because you found out how it’s done, she remembered Pete saying once.
“There you are.” With a whoosh of breath, Myka rose, now leaning on the fence from the other side. She nodded towards it. “Open it?” Again, there was an escape route in how Myka inflected her voice, making her words question rather than prompt.
Don’t make my mistake, Helena. So instead of dodging and shirking, Helena ran one finger underneath the flap, frowning when a second, smaller envelope slid out. “Whatever is in this,” she said, hefting it and reading the address on it, “is for… I would say an institution, in… Cologne? I don’t recognize the acronym, I’m afraid, but ‘Köln’ I understand.” Peering inside the larger envelope, she saw a sheet of paper and coaxed it out, then perused the hand-written lines, the little of them that there were. “Laura… asks me to take the letter there, personally, for some reason.” She looked up at Myka, large envelope in one hand, missive and small envelope in the other. “Why would she ask me to cross the Federal Republic of Germany to deliver a letter?”
“You tell me,” Myka said, then dropped her eyes quickly. “Um, unless… you don’t want to. I mean, I don’t have a right to…”
“You don’t have a right to ask about the stranger I brought along to a Warehouse operation?” Helena asked, eyebrow a-quirk.
“Well, if you put it that way,” Myka conceded. “I had wondered. You know. About her.” And you. The words hover in the air as blaringly as if Myka had said them.
Many of my lovers were men. What on Earth had driven me to say that? The irresistible urge to flirt shamelessly with a beauty who had not even been looking at her at that precise moment, granted, but since then, Helena had wished quite frequently that she had kept her mouth shut that particular time. It had not exactly scared Myka off, but it had lent a subtext to such a lot of her, Helena’s actions - a subtext that, at times, was rather welcome, a subtext that, like now, she could have gladly done without. And subtext or no, what on Earth was driving her, time and again, to this woman’s side, into her personal space, under her skin? More than the pursuit of redemption, that much was a given, but what ‘more’, exactly? And whatever it was, it was mutual, was it not? Was it?
“I met her in Berlin,” Helena answered the easier question. “Our first meeting… I misjudged her, very much so. I suspected her of using an artifact in a harmful fashion, only to find out that if anyone was hurt by its use, she was.” And quite more important than that, she wanted to assure Myka that every interaction there had been between Laura Sperling and herself had been completely and utterly devoid of any form of unwarranted attraction, but-
“Hey, double Ms. Fencepost,” Claudia interrupted, jogging up and coasting to a halt beside the two of them. “Artie has given up looking for ruffled German feathers to pat down; seems that the Steinbrücks are all gone, and now Jack wants to hit the road. H.G., you weren’t telling Myka about this Laura person, by any chance? Because if you were, maybe you could wait until we’re on our way; we’re all curious, you know, and that way you don’t have to repeat yourself.”
“How considerate of you,” Helena replied, arching her eyebrow.
Claudia sketched her a bow. “Anything for the woman who stopped me from having to stab Grumpy Grumpshausen with a dagger. Mind you, after…” Her voice dropped away, and her mouth quivered once. Then she drew herself up and visibly out of that line of thought, and gave them both a shaky smile, jamming her hands into the pockets of what she’d once told Helena were ‘skinnies’. “Anyway, let’s get going, right?”