Fic: Time and Turn (Chapter 8)
Title: Time and Turn
Chapter 8: Thread A: 4
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.
The second time Helena watched Laura Sperling employ her artifact (or ability; there still was no telling, although the very nature of said ability seemed to point due Warehouse), she did not accost the woman afterwards. It had been a much larger accident, involving a group of schoolchildren crossing the street at a traffic light and a large SUV-type car, its driver drunk regardless of the early hour.
Helena did not need to see the slumped shoulders or mindless cadence of Sperling’s gait to know the other woman’s sorrow. She reassured herself she was following her to ascertain the woman came to no harm; Sperling did not seem to care where her feet were taking her.
When her steps had taken them across the river, beneath a railway bridge, into a park and eventually to a bench, Helena sat down beside her, sharing the view of the Spree, and her silence.
They sat like that until the sun had fully cleared the horizon behind the two-chimneyed factory. Sperling’s breath came in a rhythm alternately too measured or too quick, but as far as Helena could make out, there were no tears. There was not even motion, except for an endless turning of the ring on the woman’s right.
Finally, the German woman rose again, turning towards the way they had come. After taking a few steps, she craned her neck around and regarded Helena with a tilted head and raised eyebrows, causing the agent to scramble to her feet and follow.
*Five,* Sperling offered when they were halfway back to the bridge. She took a deep breath and stopped, meeting Helena’s eyes for the first time. *Five dying children. And I had time for only three of them.* Her eyes blazed black with subdued anguish.
It shocked Helena into silence for a few long breaths; then, unable to hold the words back, she whispered, *I witnessed my daughter die.*
The woman’s nostrils widened, and her eyelids fluttered close. *I’m sorry.* When they opened again, her eyes were unfathomable. *I didn’t know you had a daughter. Then again,* she huffed, *I don’t even know your name.*
Trust no one. *Monika,* Helena said. *Monika Sander.* She was ready to follow this up with her back story, but Sperling simply nodded and began walking again.
*You said you could help.* She heaved a heavy breath. *And while I know I’m… bleak, afterwards, and shouldn’t make any far-reaching decisions in this state, I…* another long exhalation, *I simply don’t want anymore. They call it a gift, but to me, a curse is what it is.*
*Can you tell me more about it?*
*More than you’ve already experienced?* Sperling asked pointedly, and Helena shuddered quite without volition. Still, she nodded.
*The rescue services recognize me by now,* the German went on, and Helena tried to follow that new tangent. *Some even contact me when there’s an accident that involves children. Each time my phone rings with one of their numbers, I swear not to answer it. Each time, inevitably, I do, because how can I deny the children? It’s an obligation, to have a gift-* she spat the word *-like that.*
Again, Helena nodded. That sentiment came easy to a Warehouse agent. And she carefully chose to look at the matter only as a Warehouse agent would, not as, say, a moth-
*Injured children are afraid,* Sperling cut through Helena’s thoughts, looking at feet that moved not quite in unison, allowing for their difference in height. *And I can… soothe that, if not the body’s pain. And that buys time, sometimes enough for life-saving measures, sometimes not. In those cases, I… cradle the heart I’m touching until it… stops. I don’t leave them alone. They mustn’t be alone.* Probably unconsciously, her steps had speeded up to a near-jog. *The three I touched today died, but at least I… the other two died alone.* Sperling’s voice had dropped to a whisper on the last words.
Christina had died alone.
There was a ringing in Helena’s ears, and she stumbled, and Sperling’s hand shot out-
“Careful, Agent Wells,” a familiar, if completely unexpected voice spoke out. Sperling snapped around before her hand had a chance of touching Helena’s elbow. If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Frederic catching her other arm, Helena would indeed have fallen. As it was, all three of them reeled like drunken sailors for a step or five before they managed to catch themselves.
“‘Agent Wells’?” Sperling said, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline. “What’s going on here?”
Chapter 8: Thread A: 4
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.
The second time Helena watched Laura Sperling employ her artifact (or ability; there still was no telling, although the very nature of said ability seemed to point due Warehouse), she did not accost the woman afterwards. It had been a much larger accident, involving a group of schoolchildren crossing the street at a traffic light and a large SUV-type car, its driver drunk regardless of the early hour.
Helena did not need to see the slumped shoulders or mindless cadence of Sperling’s gait to know the other woman’s sorrow. She reassured herself she was following her to ascertain the woman came to no harm; Sperling did not seem to care where her feet were taking her.
When her steps had taken them across the river, beneath a railway bridge, into a park and eventually to a bench, Helena sat down beside her, sharing the view of the Spree, and her silence.
They sat like that until the sun had fully cleared the horizon behind the two-chimneyed factory. Sperling’s breath came in a rhythm alternately too measured or too quick, but as far as Helena could make out, there were no tears. There was not even motion, except for an endless turning of the ring on the woman’s right.
Finally, the German woman rose again, turning towards the way they had come. After taking a few steps, she craned her neck around and regarded Helena with a tilted head and raised eyebrows, causing the agent to scramble to her feet and follow.
*Five,* Sperling offered when they were halfway back to the bridge. She took a deep breath and stopped, meeting Helena’s eyes for the first time. *Five dying children. And I had time for only three of them.* Her eyes blazed black with subdued anguish.
It shocked Helena into silence for a few long breaths; then, unable to hold the words back, she whispered, *I witnessed my daughter die.*
The woman’s nostrils widened, and her eyelids fluttered close. *I’m sorry.* When they opened again, her eyes were unfathomable. *I didn’t know you had a daughter. Then again,* she huffed, *I don’t even know your name.*
Trust no one. *Monika,* Helena said. *Monika Sander.* She was ready to follow this up with her back story, but Sperling simply nodded and began walking again.
*You said you could help.* She heaved a heavy breath. *And while I know I’m… bleak, afterwards, and shouldn’t make any far-reaching decisions in this state, I…* another long exhalation, *I simply don’t want anymore. They call it a gift, but to me, a curse is what it is.*
*Can you tell me more about it?*
*More than you’ve already experienced?* Sperling asked pointedly, and Helena shuddered quite without volition. Still, she nodded.
*The rescue services recognize me by now,* the German went on, and Helena tried to follow that new tangent. *Some even contact me when there’s an accident that involves children. Each time my phone rings with one of their numbers, I swear not to answer it. Each time, inevitably, I do, because how can I deny the children? It’s an obligation, to have a gift-* she spat the word *-like that.*
Again, Helena nodded. That sentiment came easy to a Warehouse agent. And she carefully chose to look at the matter only as a Warehouse agent would, not as, say, a moth-
*Injured children are afraid,* Sperling cut through Helena’s thoughts, looking at feet that moved not quite in unison, allowing for their difference in height. *And I can… soothe that, if not the body’s pain. And that buys time, sometimes enough for life-saving measures, sometimes not. In those cases, I… cradle the heart I’m touching until it… stops. I don’t leave them alone. They mustn’t be alone.* Probably unconsciously, her steps had speeded up to a near-jog. *The three I touched today died, but at least I… the other two died alone.* Sperling’s voice had dropped to a whisper on the last words.
Christina had died alone.
There was a ringing in Helena’s ears, and she stumbled, and Sperling’s hand shot out-
“Careful, Agent Wells,” a familiar, if completely unexpected voice spoke out. Sperling snapped around before her hand had a chance of touching Helena’s elbow. If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Frederic catching her other arm, Helena would indeed have fallen. As it was, all three of them reeled like drunken sailors for a step or five before they managed to catch themselves.
“‘Agent Wells’?” Sperling said, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline. “What’s going on here?”