H.G./Myka: Frozen
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Pairing: H.G./Myka
Title: Frozen
Chapter: Prologue/?
Rating: T
Spoilers: Up to and including 3x01.
Disclaimer: Don't own Warehouse 13 nor the characters within.
Summary: Pulled back, H.G. mourns and hopes and waits for the next time.
A/N: Kind of experimental piece. Short chappy, but I wanted to introduce the scenario and plot for a bit before seeing what the show is going to give us. Also, inspired by H.G.'s body language.
She opened her eyes. Feeling cold and tingly as if she had just been slipped back into her body, her head was the coldest part of all. Raising a hand to her brow, she sighed at the clamminess of her skin. That wasn’t the first time they’d done that to her, but it was the first time she’d cared about where they had sent her.
It had been exquisitely painful.
Sucking in a deep breath to rid her lungs of heavy prickles, she rolled over onto her side before pushing herself up. Dropping her feet to the floor, she leaned forward and watched as her eyes adjusted to the dark.
Dark meant night, she presumed. She’d been able to see out the window before, but that didn’t really mean anything, now did it? Sighing, letting out breath that seemed to frost her lips, she raised a hand to her head again, brushing her hair back from her face.
Those few seconds her consciousness had been interrupted had been the first time she’d felt warm in a long time.
As if hearing her thoughts, the sound of slats sliding open told her that heat was about to be pumped in. They wouldn’t give her blankets for fear she’d kill herself, but the warm air didn’t accomplish anything anyway. The coldness came from inside. There was no way the outside air could penetrate far enough to reach her core. It just succeeded in drying her throat and stinging her eyes.
She fell back again. Her gaze roamed aimlessly around the dark, nothing to focus on. It confused her mind and made her muscles tense, synapses firing with nowhere to go, nothing to accomplish.
Slowly, she brought her right hand up, her left slithering over to wrap around her fingers. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she swallowed. She could still feel it there. She knew it was nerve memory and a guilty conscious, but that didn’t make anything better.
Starting with her thumb, she rubbed the pad of her finger along the nail, then down her knuckle to the veins that stuck out of her skin. Sliding over to her index finger, she stayed on the left side before circling around. She did the same to the next. Even with her fingers spread out, she could tell…
Remaining dull pain filtered down her hand, igniting the ever present ache in her chest. That damn ring…
They’d had to cut it off.
Typically, it had been an artifact. She’d merged so completely with it that it would not come off, no matter what they’d tried. No other artifact worked on it, and no manmade tool could either. Eventually, as she sat small and huddled, not part of the real world, she’d let them take her hand, arrange it just so, and watched as they sawed off her finger.
The second the ring wasn’t attached to her anymore, her cold and emptiness tripled, but she felt clear for the first time in a long time. The clarity made her sick. So sick she’d been ready to die when Mrs. Frederick came for her.
More frosty breath blew over her lips as she curled her hand into a loose fist, and she could imagine it hanging in the air, crystallizing. Dropping her fist to bounce on her chest, it came to an ironic stop vaguely over her heart. She could feel it beating. Just a few hours before, it had been unwelcome.
The chill couldn’t prevent her mouth from cracking into a slight smile. The woman she’d betrayed was the only one, it seemed, capable of thawing her.
Whatever happened, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, listening to the wet thump of blood passing through her heart, she would do all in her power to see Myka again.
Pairing: H.G./Myka
Title: Frozen
Chapter: Prologue/?
Rating: T
Spoilers: Up to and including 3x01.
Disclaimer: Don't own Warehouse 13 nor the characters within.
Summary: Pulled back, H.G. mourns and hopes and waits for the next time.
A/N: Kind of experimental piece. Short chappy, but I wanted to introduce the scenario and plot for a bit before seeing what the show is going to give us. Also, inspired by H.G.'s body language.
She opened her eyes. Feeling cold and tingly as if she had just been slipped back into her body, her head was the coldest part of all. Raising a hand to her brow, she sighed at the clamminess of her skin. That wasn’t the first time they’d done that to her, but it was the first time she’d cared about where they had sent her.
It had been exquisitely painful.
Sucking in a deep breath to rid her lungs of heavy prickles, she rolled over onto her side before pushing herself up. Dropping her feet to the floor, she leaned forward and watched as her eyes adjusted to the dark.
Dark meant night, she presumed. She’d been able to see out the window before, but that didn’t really mean anything, now did it? Sighing, letting out breath that seemed to frost her lips, she raised a hand to her head again, brushing her hair back from her face.
Those few seconds her consciousness had been interrupted had been the first time she’d felt warm in a long time.
As if hearing her thoughts, the sound of slats sliding open told her that heat was about to be pumped in. They wouldn’t give her blankets for fear she’d kill herself, but the warm air didn’t accomplish anything anyway. The coldness came from inside. There was no way the outside air could penetrate far enough to reach her core. It just succeeded in drying her throat and stinging her eyes.
She fell back again. Her gaze roamed aimlessly around the dark, nothing to focus on. It confused her mind and made her muscles tense, synapses firing with nowhere to go, nothing to accomplish.
Slowly, she brought her right hand up, her left slithering over to wrap around her fingers. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she swallowed. She could still feel it there. She knew it was nerve memory and a guilty conscious, but that didn’t make anything better.
Starting with her thumb, she rubbed the pad of her finger along the nail, then down her knuckle to the veins that stuck out of her skin. Sliding over to her index finger, she stayed on the left side before circling around. She did the same to the next. Even with her fingers spread out, she could tell…
Remaining dull pain filtered down her hand, igniting the ever present ache in her chest. That damn ring…
They’d had to cut it off.
Typically, it had been an artifact. She’d merged so completely with it that it would not come off, no matter what they’d tried. No other artifact worked on it, and no manmade tool could either. Eventually, as she sat small and huddled, not part of the real world, she’d let them take her hand, arrange it just so, and watched as they sawed off her finger.
The second the ring wasn’t attached to her anymore, her cold and emptiness tripled, but she felt clear for the first time in a long time. The clarity made her sick. So sick she’d been ready to die when Mrs. Frederick came for her.
More frosty breath blew over her lips as she curled her hand into a loose fist, and she could imagine it hanging in the air, crystallizing. Dropping her fist to bounce on her chest, it came to an ironic stop vaguely over her heart. She could feel it beating. Just a few hours before, it had been unwelcome.
The chill couldn’t prevent her mouth from cracking into a slight smile. The woman she’d betrayed was the only one, it seemed, capable of thawing her.
Whatever happened, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, listening to the wet thump of blood passing through her heart, she would do all in her power to see Myka again.