Warehouse 13 Fic: Time Will Tell: Myka/HG: Chapter 7/?
Title:Time will tell (title shamelessly stolen from episode!)
Author: Carly Carter
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Characters: Myka & HG Wells
Rating: PG thus far.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
Summary: Myka doesn't know whose side she is on anymore. She doesn't know who she is anymore. She doesn't know what she wants.
*Diverges from canon after 'For the team.'
AN: This chapter is for tonyabuchanan --> a very special person who helped me find my voice again.
Chapter 1 ---> carlyisnot.livejournal.com/36547.html
Chapter 2 ---> carlyisnot.livejournal.com/39343.html
Chapter 3 & 4 ---> carlyisnot.livejournal.com/41915.html
Chapter 5 ---> carlyisnot.livejournal.com/42348.html
Chapter 6 ---> carlyisnot.livejournal.com/43618.html
Chapter 7
Myka drifts in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she hears Pete's voice. Or the sound of him clumsily moving about in the motel room, making all the more noise for his attempts to be quiet. She has a vague recollection of a conversation with him, assuring him that she will be fine, that she just has a bad case of the flu. Urging him to go, to finish the case without her.
He doesn't say goodbye, believing her to be asleep. But he lingers for a moment, watching her. Thinking to himself that something doesn't feel quite right, but unable to put his finger on it.
She doesn't actually see him leave. Her eyes are too heavy to open. But she hears the definitive sound of the door clicking shut behind him. The sound echoes in her consciousness. A hollow, empty sound. She tries to think, but she is so exhausted. So confused. She can't quite make any connections in her brain. It leaves her frustrated, powerless.
Without opening her eyes she can tell darkness has fallen outside. It's eerily quiet. Pete is still gone, this she just knows. But she feels like she is being watched. Like every hair is standing on end. Like she ought to run, to fight, to scream. But she does not. She waits, and she listens. She thinks she can hear the sound of someone else breathing right beside her, but the sound is so closely entwined with the sound of her own breathing, in perfect unison. She can no longer distinguish the difference. Perhaps she is imagining it?
When she finally manages to open her eyes, she is caught off guard by the sight of HG Wells sitting on the bedside, only inches from her. She still isn't certain if she is only dreaming. Myka looks, long and hard, up at HG Wells. Without saying a word. She looks and she tries to see HG Wells for a disturbed psychotic. The very essence of evil. The devil incarnate. She tries to see a person devoid of all humanity, deserving of being bronzed. She looks, deeply, into the eyes of HG Wells. And even after all this, betrayal and humiliation, Myka still can not see that darkness in the other woman's soul. Desperation? Yes. Deception? Perhaps. Darkness? No. It just is not there. Myka isn't certain if that makes her exceptionally blind or if it just makes HG an extremely talented actress.
What she does see, alarmingly, in the eyes of HG Wells, is her own reflection. What she senses is a connection. Some sort of unity that she can not articulate with words. Something she has never felt with another human being in her lifetime. Something that confuses her, but does not frighten her. And she can not recall a time where intimacy has not frightened her.
HG is sitting, perfectly still, lifeless, on the bedside. Sitting quite comfortably as if she belonged there. As if there was nothing out of the ordinary. As if she had every right to be there. And yet she doesn't look quite real. The moonlight falls around her like a vision. Myka looks twice, shaking her head slightly, wondering at the bronzing process. At the miraculous preservation of this immaculate, flawless woman across the centuries.
HG Wells does not apologise. Yet there is a hint of apology in her tone, something like regret, which she tries to hide behind the veneer of her enchanting smile. HG offers her explanation, in that lilting delicious accent .
“I had to do it.” There is definite uncertainty in her tone. Almost, Myka thinks, fear.
“Evidently.” Myka mumbles in reply, as she struggles to sit up. She feels suddenly at a distinct physical disadvantage, and is determined to muster all her strength to at least reposition herself to meet HG at eye level. She senses distant fear emanating from the other woman, and it seems important to Myka to convey her own fearlessness. As if she couldn't care in the slightest, as if HG had no power to affect her. Not just by this mystery virus, but by her very existence.
Myka does not ask HG why she did it. She wants to know. She wants to understand. Desperately. But she can see HG wants her to ask. HG wants to explain. HG is seeking some sort of absolution. And as much as Myka wants to be able to give it to her, she can not. She is angry, she is hurt, she is bitter, and she isn't going to make this easy for HG Wells.
“I know you didn't want to do it. That's why I had to.” Is HG's attempt at justification.
It's a twisted logic that Myka can't quite get her head around. She isn't certain it makes any sense, but everything is so convoluted in her head, she can't make it fit. And so, she makes no answer.
“You would have done it, against everything you believed in, eventually.” HG Wells tells her confidently.
“Would I just?” Myka asks, bitterness creeping into her voice.
“I didn't want you to compromise your integrity by going along with something you did not believe in.” HG asserts.
“How thoughtful.” Myka retorts dismissively.
“If you understood exactly what was at stake....” HG's begins passionately, but her voice trails off, lifeless. She suddenly isn't able to meet Myka in the eye.
“If you understood, even just a little, how much I despise being kept in the dark. Being powerless, having decisions taken away from me...” Myka can't quite finish the thought, let alone the sentence. But she is pleased with the icy venom in her voice, and the stricken look on HG Wells face.
“I can only assure you that one day you will understand, things will be clearer.” Now there is blatant remorse in the eyes of HG Wells. Now she sounds like a remorseful little child. But Myka is determined to keep her head, to remain unaffected. Or at the very least, to pretend.
“I understand perfectly.” Myka answers her. “You have no respect for me at all.”
“On the contrary. I have the utmost respect for you. The utmost admiration.” HG protests. “I know it's asking a lot for you to believe it. If there was any other way...” There is undeniable sincerity now. HG's eyes are glistening with tears.
“This is not about Artie at all, is it?” Myka asks, suddenly hearing something catch in the other woman's voice. “It's not about Artie, or the Warehouse.”
“It's not just about Artie.” HG admits. “It's not just about the warehouse, not even just about me, or you.” HG tells her cryptically,
“What does that even mean?” Myka demands.
“I can't explain it all to you right now.” HG answers, defensively, growing frustrated. As if she is the one who has any right to be frustrated by this situation.
“Why not?” Myka asks simply. She wants to know. Wants it more than anything.
“You're just going to have to trust me, it's for the best that you don't know the finer details at this juncture.” HG answers, keeping her eyes to the floor.
“If that's the case, you might have injected me secretly.” Myka points out. “Why tell me anything at all?”
HG Wells has no answer to that. Myka feels a little stab of victory in leaving the other woman speechless.
“What did you come here for?” Myka asks her. Enjoying the fact that she has made HG uncomfortable, though not really understanding why.
“I wanted to see you.” HG answers, reaching her hand out towards Myka's face.
“Don't even try it.” Myka tells her. “I'm not as stupid as you think I am.” Myka tries to make it sound believable. Because, the truth is, and they both know it, Myka is just that foolish, that pathetic. One touch from HG Wells and she disintegrates.
“I don't think you're stupid at all.” HG answers. “And I wanted to see you, you must believe that much at least.” After careful consideration she continues. “And also, if you want the truth, I need something from you.”
“Something else?” Myka asks incredulously. She thinks to herself she has already given HG everything, every tiny little part of her soul. She has nothing left to give. Although she doesn't expect the other woman to understand that.
“I need your blood.” HG informs her, and in the semi light of the full moon, Myka tells herself she ought to be afraid. Apprehension should be rising in her as HG Wells, uninvited, inches towards her with a needle and syringe in hand.
But Myka makes no protest, verbal or otherwise. She only turns her head away as she feels the hot sharp sting of the needle piercing her skin, and HG Wells draining the very life source out of her.
“Thank you.” HG says, awkwardly.
Myka only shrugs. Her head still turned away. There are many things she is willing to overlook. The bronzing. Artie's strong warnings. The fact HG injected her with god knows what. But being kept in the dark, that is something she can not tolerate.
“Myka..” HG begins.
And even though Myka's heart skips a beat to hear her name so tenderly from the other woman's lips, she refuses to turn and face her. Afraid HG will take one look into her eyes and see right through her. Afraid that HG will melt her anger away with one simple glance.
“Just leave.” Myka tells her coldly.
“As you wish.” HG answers. And it brings Myka little consolation to hear the resigned sadness in the other woman's voice.
~~
When Myka wakes, hours later, she feels clear headed. She feels stronger. Better. It's not how she had expected to feel. She had expected to be on the brink of death.
Pete is asleep in the armchair beside the bed. She smiles at the sweetness of him. She tries to convince herself that this whole situation is some pyrexia induced hallucination. But she traces the skin of her forearm, and feels the slight round needle mark, the tiny scar HG Wells left behind, and she knows it is all too real.
She finds herself drawn to the balcony, quietly creeping so as not to wake Pete. She isn't surprised when she looks down, and catches HG Wells looking up at her. Smiling at her. And it's not a triumphant smile, nor a bitter smile. It's pure. And, God help her, Myka finds herself smiling back.
She is startled by Pete's hand on her shoulder. She spins to face him, then quickly back to the space where HG had been standing only moments ago. The other woman has vanished.
“Can I get you anything?” Pete asks.
She shakes her head. Sweetness be damned, she only wants him gone. “Just getting some fresh air.” She tells him. He picks up from her tone that she resents his intrusion, and without question leaves her alone on the balcony.
As she stares out into the night, she thinks about Pete. Always been there for her. The safety of his arms. The implicit trust between them, implicit and complete. And in her case, completely undeserved. There are so many things she has kept from him. But the guilt of it all is not enough to prompt her to open up to him now.
What is it about him, she asks herself as she stands shivering in the night breeze, what is it about Pete that just isn't enough for her? What is it about him that makes her shudder when he touches her. That makes her want to run downstairs to HG Wells and.....and what? Myka doesn't even know.
Author: Carly Carter
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Characters: Myka & HG Wells
Rating: PG thus far.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
Summary: Myka doesn't know whose side she is on anymore. She doesn't know who she is anymore. She doesn't know what she wants.
*Diverges from canon after 'For the team.'
AN: This chapter is for tonyabuchanan --> a very special person who helped me find my voice again.
Chapter 1 ---> carlyisnot.livejournal.com/36547.html
Chapter 2 ---> carlyisnot.livejournal.com/39343.html
Chapter 3 & 4 ---> carlyisnot.livejournal.com/41915.html
Chapter 5 ---> carlyisnot.livejournal.com/42348.html
Chapter 6 ---> carlyisnot.livejournal.com/43618.html
Chapter 7
Myka drifts in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she hears Pete's voice. Or the sound of him clumsily moving about in the motel room, making all the more noise for his attempts to be quiet. She has a vague recollection of a conversation with him, assuring him that she will be fine, that she just has a bad case of the flu. Urging him to go, to finish the case without her.
He doesn't say goodbye, believing her to be asleep. But he lingers for a moment, watching her. Thinking to himself that something doesn't feel quite right, but unable to put his finger on it.
She doesn't actually see him leave. Her eyes are too heavy to open. But she hears the definitive sound of the door clicking shut behind him. The sound echoes in her consciousness. A hollow, empty sound. She tries to think, but she is so exhausted. So confused. She can't quite make any connections in her brain. It leaves her frustrated, powerless.
Without opening her eyes she can tell darkness has fallen outside. It's eerily quiet. Pete is still gone, this she just knows. But she feels like she is being watched. Like every hair is standing on end. Like she ought to run, to fight, to scream. But she does not. She waits, and she listens. She thinks she can hear the sound of someone else breathing right beside her, but the sound is so closely entwined with the sound of her own breathing, in perfect unison. She can no longer distinguish the difference. Perhaps she is imagining it?
When she finally manages to open her eyes, she is caught off guard by the sight of HG Wells sitting on the bedside, only inches from her. She still isn't certain if she is only dreaming. Myka looks, long and hard, up at HG Wells. Without saying a word. She looks and she tries to see HG Wells for a disturbed psychotic. The very essence of evil. The devil incarnate. She tries to see a person devoid of all humanity, deserving of being bronzed. She looks, deeply, into the eyes of HG Wells. And even after all this, betrayal and humiliation, Myka still can not see that darkness in the other woman's soul. Desperation? Yes. Deception? Perhaps. Darkness? No. It just is not there. Myka isn't certain if that makes her exceptionally blind or if it just makes HG an extremely talented actress.
What she does see, alarmingly, in the eyes of HG Wells, is her own reflection. What she senses is a connection. Some sort of unity that she can not articulate with words. Something she has never felt with another human being in her lifetime. Something that confuses her, but does not frighten her. And she can not recall a time where intimacy has not frightened her.
HG is sitting, perfectly still, lifeless, on the bedside. Sitting quite comfortably as if she belonged there. As if there was nothing out of the ordinary. As if she had every right to be there. And yet she doesn't look quite real. The moonlight falls around her like a vision. Myka looks twice, shaking her head slightly, wondering at the bronzing process. At the miraculous preservation of this immaculate, flawless woman across the centuries.
HG Wells does not apologise. Yet there is a hint of apology in her tone, something like regret, which she tries to hide behind the veneer of her enchanting smile. HG offers her explanation, in that lilting delicious accent .
“I had to do it.” There is definite uncertainty in her tone. Almost, Myka thinks, fear.
“Evidently.” Myka mumbles in reply, as she struggles to sit up. She feels suddenly at a distinct physical disadvantage, and is determined to muster all her strength to at least reposition herself to meet HG at eye level. She senses distant fear emanating from the other woman, and it seems important to Myka to convey her own fearlessness. As if she couldn't care in the slightest, as if HG had no power to affect her. Not just by this mystery virus, but by her very existence.
Myka does not ask HG why she did it. She wants to know. She wants to understand. Desperately. But she can see HG wants her to ask. HG wants to explain. HG is seeking some sort of absolution. And as much as Myka wants to be able to give it to her, she can not. She is angry, she is hurt, she is bitter, and she isn't going to make this easy for HG Wells.
“I know you didn't want to do it. That's why I had to.” Is HG's attempt at justification.
It's a twisted logic that Myka can't quite get her head around. She isn't certain it makes any sense, but everything is so convoluted in her head, she can't make it fit. And so, she makes no answer.
“You would have done it, against everything you believed in, eventually.” HG Wells tells her confidently.
“Would I just?” Myka asks, bitterness creeping into her voice.
“I didn't want you to compromise your integrity by going along with something you did not believe in.” HG asserts.
“How thoughtful.” Myka retorts dismissively.
“If you understood exactly what was at stake....” HG's begins passionately, but her voice trails off, lifeless. She suddenly isn't able to meet Myka in the eye.
“If you understood, even just a little, how much I despise being kept in the dark. Being powerless, having decisions taken away from me...” Myka can't quite finish the thought, let alone the sentence. But she is pleased with the icy venom in her voice, and the stricken look on HG Wells face.
“I can only assure you that one day you will understand, things will be clearer.” Now there is blatant remorse in the eyes of HG Wells. Now she sounds like a remorseful little child. But Myka is determined to keep her head, to remain unaffected. Or at the very least, to pretend.
“I understand perfectly.” Myka answers her. “You have no respect for me at all.”
“On the contrary. I have the utmost respect for you. The utmost admiration.” HG protests. “I know it's asking a lot for you to believe it. If there was any other way...” There is undeniable sincerity now. HG's eyes are glistening with tears.
“This is not about Artie at all, is it?” Myka asks, suddenly hearing something catch in the other woman's voice. “It's not about Artie, or the Warehouse.”
“It's not just about Artie.” HG admits. “It's not just about the warehouse, not even just about me, or you.” HG tells her cryptically,
“What does that even mean?” Myka demands.
“I can't explain it all to you right now.” HG answers, defensively, growing frustrated. As if she is the one who has any right to be frustrated by this situation.
“Why not?” Myka asks simply. She wants to know. Wants it more than anything.
“You're just going to have to trust me, it's for the best that you don't know the finer details at this juncture.” HG answers, keeping her eyes to the floor.
“If that's the case, you might have injected me secretly.” Myka points out. “Why tell me anything at all?”
HG Wells has no answer to that. Myka feels a little stab of victory in leaving the other woman speechless.
“What did you come here for?” Myka asks her. Enjoying the fact that she has made HG uncomfortable, though not really understanding why.
“I wanted to see you.” HG answers, reaching her hand out towards Myka's face.
“Don't even try it.” Myka tells her. “I'm not as stupid as you think I am.” Myka tries to make it sound believable. Because, the truth is, and they both know it, Myka is just that foolish, that pathetic. One touch from HG Wells and she disintegrates.
“I don't think you're stupid at all.” HG answers. “And I wanted to see you, you must believe that much at least.” After careful consideration she continues. “And also, if you want the truth, I need something from you.”
“Something else?” Myka asks incredulously. She thinks to herself she has already given HG everything, every tiny little part of her soul. She has nothing left to give. Although she doesn't expect the other woman to understand that.
“I need your blood.” HG informs her, and in the semi light of the full moon, Myka tells herself she ought to be afraid. Apprehension should be rising in her as HG Wells, uninvited, inches towards her with a needle and syringe in hand.
But Myka makes no protest, verbal or otherwise. She only turns her head away as she feels the hot sharp sting of the needle piercing her skin, and HG Wells draining the very life source out of her.
“Thank you.” HG says, awkwardly.
Myka only shrugs. Her head still turned away. There are many things she is willing to overlook. The bronzing. Artie's strong warnings. The fact HG injected her with god knows what. But being kept in the dark, that is something she can not tolerate.
“Myka..” HG begins.
And even though Myka's heart skips a beat to hear her name so tenderly from the other woman's lips, she refuses to turn and face her. Afraid HG will take one look into her eyes and see right through her. Afraid that HG will melt her anger away with one simple glance.
“Just leave.” Myka tells her coldly.
“As you wish.” HG answers. And it brings Myka little consolation to hear the resigned sadness in the other woman's voice.
~~
When Myka wakes, hours later, she feels clear headed. She feels stronger. Better. It's not how she had expected to feel. She had expected to be on the brink of death.
Pete is asleep in the armchair beside the bed. She smiles at the sweetness of him. She tries to convince herself that this whole situation is some pyrexia induced hallucination. But she traces the skin of her forearm, and feels the slight round needle mark, the tiny scar HG Wells left behind, and she knows it is all too real.
She finds herself drawn to the balcony, quietly creeping so as not to wake Pete. She isn't surprised when she looks down, and catches HG Wells looking up at her. Smiling at her. And it's not a triumphant smile, nor a bitter smile. It's pure. And, God help her, Myka finds herself smiling back.
She is startled by Pete's hand on her shoulder. She spins to face him, then quickly back to the space where HG had been standing only moments ago. The other woman has vanished.
“Can I get you anything?” Pete asks.
She shakes her head. Sweetness be damned, she only wants him gone. “Just getting some fresh air.” She tells him. He picks up from her tone that she resents his intrusion, and without question leaves her alone on the balcony.
As she stares out into the night, she thinks about Pete. Always been there for her. The safety of his arms. The implicit trust between them, implicit and complete. And in her case, completely undeserved. There are so many things she has kept from him. But the guilt of it all is not enough to prompt her to open up to him now.
What is it about him, she asks herself as she stands shivering in the night breeze, what is it about Pete that just isn't enough for her? What is it about him that makes her shudder when he touches her. That makes her want to run downstairs to HG Wells and.....and what? Myka doesn't even know.