Nothing Left To Lose 2/8
Title: Nothing Left To Lose
Author: flamingo_bandit
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Spoilers: Post-“MacPherson.”
Ships: Artie/Claudia
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None so much
Summary: Claudia runs from her fears. Artie searches for his. Chapter 2 of 8.
Shout-outs: A huge shout-out to Folger’s and to my temperamental but trusty Mr. Coffee. I love you, baby. Let’s never fight again. Also the traditional shout-out/declaration of undying love to theredoormouse, AKA the brains of the operation.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
He took her arm, gently but forcefully, and steered her back to the booth she’d vacated. “You,” he said in a low hiss, “are supposed to be at Leena’s. You are-what are you doing here?”
“Uh, well,” she said, running her fingers through her hair. She looked tired and a little pale; he was reminded briefly of how she’d looked in Joshua’s lab, and released her arm so that he wouldn’t grip it tighter. “How’d you find me?” Almost as soon as she spoke, her brow furrowed. “This wasn’t on purpose, was it? So what are you doing here?”
“This isn’t, is not about me,” he answered, and then the waitress stood beside him, looking frazzled. “Uh, yeah, I’ll have a, uh, a slice of apple pie. And some onion rings. And a coffee. Claudia, are you getting anything?”
“Um. Yes. Fry basket, please. Again I ask: what are you doing here? And why do you look like you just survived an explosion?” A very confused waitress disappeared into the kitchen.
“I-what? No, never mind about that.” He took a sip of his water; his fingers left dust trails in the condensation on the side of the glass. “As soon as you’re done eating you are going home, understood?”
“Did you get MacPherson?” she asked then, abruptly.
“Sh,” he hissed, raising his hands and looking pointedly at the cluster of patrons in the center of the room.
She sat back with grim satisfaction. “I take it that means ‘no.’”
“Which is why it was an incredibly stupid move to run off,” he informed her.
She studied him, tilting her head to the side. “Where are Pete and Myka?”
The waitress returned with a pot of coffee and an empty mug, and Claudia handed him the sugar dispenser without his asking. “Thank you,” he said to both, over the clink of spoon against china.
“Artie?” She was sitting straight up now, leaning forward, and once the waitress was gone again she leaned in and spoke. “They’re not here. You’re working on your own.”
He set down his spoon, watching the drops of coffee spread across his napkin. It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer it, but took a sip of thick dark coffee, liking the heat in his empty stomach. “So you understand why you need to leave.”
“No,” she said patiently, drawing out the vowel. “Actually, I think you should let me stay with you.”
A sound erupted from his throat, halfway between a laugh and a cough.
“Come on, Artie,” she said in that wheedling voice she thought was cute. “Do they even know where you are? Does anyone?”
Their food arrived, a welcome distraction. Artie speared a crumble of piecrust on his fork and didn’t answer her.
“Come on,” she said again, pouring salt onto her fries. “What if you need help?”
“I don’t,” he told her brusquely, and pushed his onion rings towards her. “I know you’re going to steal one anyway, go ahead.”
“I won’t steal onion rings if you let me come along,” she promised, wide-eyed and attempting a winning smile.
“No. Eat.” It came out more sharply than he’d intended, but perhaps just as sharply as it should have; she flopped back in her seat and didn’t argue.
They continued their meal in silence, half-listening to the old men in the corner talking about someone called Frank, their voices rasping but their laughter robust and echoing like younger men’s. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, like a headache.
“Artie,” she said finally, toying with the last of her fries. “You can’t do this alone.”
“I can. And, as it happens, I will,” he replied, crumpling a napkin in his fist. Then he sighed, dabbed his mouth, found a streak of blood along his cheek. “Claudia,” he said then, leaning across the table, lowering his voice to a furtive growl. “I am breaking the law. I will be travelling God-knows-where for God-knows-how-long. I am doing all of this to find a ruthless, insane man who just blew up the Warehouse-”
“Who what?”
“Exactly! All apparently at the end of an elaborate scheme that I still-still-don’t fully understand. Do you really think you’re coming along?”
She stared at him, stunned into silence the way she so rarely was. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, and for a moment he almost regretted his bluntness, because the sudden forlorn look, a homeless look, that flashed across her face was intimately familiar. Then she nodded, once. “Yes,” she said, as though it was obvious.
He opened his mouth, about to argue, but he looked at her again. She was still pale and tired, but that wasn’t the only thing reminding him of Joshua’s rescue so many months ago; there was a hardness to her eyes and a set to her mouth, a focused determination that he knew far too well.
He sighed dramatically, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “Imagine for a moment-just a moment-that I somehow agreed to bring you along.” He reached for the last onion ring. “You would have to follow instructions to the letter and, as you may or not be aware, you don’t have a very good track record.”
Her smile faded. “I’d be good! I will.” She dropped her napkin into her tray of fries. “Artie, you know I can help you. I’m much more-more useful to you than I am back at Leena’s anyway, aren’t I?”
There was a truth to that; part of him was already calculating, wondering. She could make the search for MacPherson easier, undoubtedly. MacPherson had the advantage, artifacts and the element of surprise; Artie’s assets were few, and Claudia was a good resource.
Resource? he thought, and took a sip of coffee to ease the sudden lump in his stomach. “Nice try, kid,” he said, dusting crumbs from the table and into his palm, then pouring them back onto his vacated plate. “Go home.” He started to stand so he could pay at the counter; then he caught another glimpse of her face.
She didn’t look at him, concentrating, lids half-lowered, lips parted. Sometimes the expression made her look freshly kissed, a thought he usually dismissed before it fully formed. Coupled with pallid exhaustion, with an emotional weariness so strong it seemed to pour from her skin, it now made her look like her heart had been broken.
“What home?” she asked, with something like a laugh. Rays from the orange evening sun spilling through the windows caught her hair, set it spectacularly aflame for the briefest instant.
“Claudia,” he started, sliding back into his seat. His hand twitched, but he didn’t reach for her. “What happened?”
“You didn’t hear?” Her voice was quiet, gaze still focused somewhere on the table. “Frederic didn’t tell you?” Then her eyes flicked up and to his surprise they were sharp, with something like hunger, or resolve, a determination so furious that before she even spoke he was sure it had nothing to do with him. “Leena said I might be helping MacPherson,” she said, letting the words tumble from her mouth, and she snapped her teeth shut, drew herself up as though ready to defend herself.
Reassurances, apologies, excuses all died on his lips as he looked back into that flinty, aching expression, and he was the first to break eye contact.
“If I don’t let you come along,” he said finally, “you’ll just follow me anyway, won’t you?” His heart pounded in his ears.
And then her mouth curled into a satisfied little smile, and she leaned back in her seat. “There you go, geezer,” she said with a cocky tilt of the head. “I knew you’d catch on eventually.”
Author: flamingo_bandit
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Spoilers: Post-“MacPherson.”
Ships: Artie/Claudia
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None so much
Summary: Claudia runs from her fears. Artie searches for his. Chapter 2 of 8.
Shout-outs: A huge shout-out to Folger’s and to my temperamental but trusty Mr. Coffee. I love you, baby. Let’s never fight again. Also the traditional shout-out/declaration of undying love to theredoormouse, AKA the brains of the operation.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
He took her arm, gently but forcefully, and steered her back to the booth she’d vacated. “You,” he said in a low hiss, “are supposed to be at Leena’s. You are-what are you doing here?”
“Uh, well,” she said, running her fingers through her hair. She looked tired and a little pale; he was reminded briefly of how she’d looked in Joshua’s lab, and released her arm so that he wouldn’t grip it tighter. “How’d you find me?” Almost as soon as she spoke, her brow furrowed. “This wasn’t on purpose, was it? So what are you doing here?”
“This isn’t, is not about me,” he answered, and then the waitress stood beside him, looking frazzled. “Uh, yeah, I’ll have a, uh, a slice of apple pie. And some onion rings. And a coffee. Claudia, are you getting anything?”
“Um. Yes. Fry basket, please. Again I ask: what are you doing here? And why do you look like you just survived an explosion?” A very confused waitress disappeared into the kitchen.
“I-what? No, never mind about that.” He took a sip of his water; his fingers left dust trails in the condensation on the side of the glass. “As soon as you’re done eating you are going home, understood?”
“Did you get MacPherson?” she asked then, abruptly.
“Sh,” he hissed, raising his hands and looking pointedly at the cluster of patrons in the center of the room.
She sat back with grim satisfaction. “I take it that means ‘no.’”
“Which is why it was an incredibly stupid move to run off,” he informed her.
She studied him, tilting her head to the side. “Where are Pete and Myka?”
The waitress returned with a pot of coffee and an empty mug, and Claudia handed him the sugar dispenser without his asking. “Thank you,” he said to both, over the clink of spoon against china.
“Artie?” She was sitting straight up now, leaning forward, and once the waitress was gone again she leaned in and spoke. “They’re not here. You’re working on your own.”
He set down his spoon, watching the drops of coffee spread across his napkin. It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer it, but took a sip of thick dark coffee, liking the heat in his empty stomach. “So you understand why you need to leave.”
“No,” she said patiently, drawing out the vowel. “Actually, I think you should let me stay with you.”
A sound erupted from his throat, halfway between a laugh and a cough.
“Come on, Artie,” she said in that wheedling voice she thought was cute. “Do they even know where you are? Does anyone?”
Their food arrived, a welcome distraction. Artie speared a crumble of piecrust on his fork and didn’t answer her.
“Come on,” she said again, pouring salt onto her fries. “What if you need help?”
“I don’t,” he told her brusquely, and pushed his onion rings towards her. “I know you’re going to steal one anyway, go ahead.”
“I won’t steal onion rings if you let me come along,” she promised, wide-eyed and attempting a winning smile.
“No. Eat.” It came out more sharply than he’d intended, but perhaps just as sharply as it should have; she flopped back in her seat and didn’t argue.
They continued their meal in silence, half-listening to the old men in the corner talking about someone called Frank, their voices rasping but their laughter robust and echoing like younger men’s. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, like a headache.
“Artie,” she said finally, toying with the last of her fries. “You can’t do this alone.”
“I can. And, as it happens, I will,” he replied, crumpling a napkin in his fist. Then he sighed, dabbed his mouth, found a streak of blood along his cheek. “Claudia,” he said then, leaning across the table, lowering his voice to a furtive growl. “I am breaking the law. I will be travelling God-knows-where for God-knows-how-long. I am doing all of this to find a ruthless, insane man who just blew up the Warehouse-”
“Who what?”
“Exactly! All apparently at the end of an elaborate scheme that I still-still-don’t fully understand. Do you really think you’re coming along?”
She stared at him, stunned into silence the way she so rarely was. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, and for a moment he almost regretted his bluntness, because the sudden forlorn look, a homeless look, that flashed across her face was intimately familiar. Then she nodded, once. “Yes,” she said, as though it was obvious.
He opened his mouth, about to argue, but he looked at her again. She was still pale and tired, but that wasn’t the only thing reminding him of Joshua’s rescue so many months ago; there was a hardness to her eyes and a set to her mouth, a focused determination that he knew far too well.
He sighed dramatically, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “Imagine for a moment-just a moment-that I somehow agreed to bring you along.” He reached for the last onion ring. “You would have to follow instructions to the letter and, as you may or not be aware, you don’t have a very good track record.”
Her smile faded. “I’d be good! I will.” She dropped her napkin into her tray of fries. “Artie, you know I can help you. I’m much more-more useful to you than I am back at Leena’s anyway, aren’t I?”
There was a truth to that; part of him was already calculating, wondering. She could make the search for MacPherson easier, undoubtedly. MacPherson had the advantage, artifacts and the element of surprise; Artie’s assets were few, and Claudia was a good resource.
Resource? he thought, and took a sip of coffee to ease the sudden lump in his stomach. “Nice try, kid,” he said, dusting crumbs from the table and into his palm, then pouring them back onto his vacated plate. “Go home.” He started to stand so he could pay at the counter; then he caught another glimpse of her face.
She didn’t look at him, concentrating, lids half-lowered, lips parted. Sometimes the expression made her look freshly kissed, a thought he usually dismissed before it fully formed. Coupled with pallid exhaustion, with an emotional weariness so strong it seemed to pour from her skin, it now made her look like her heart had been broken.
“What home?” she asked, with something like a laugh. Rays from the orange evening sun spilling through the windows caught her hair, set it spectacularly aflame for the briefest instant.
“Claudia,” he started, sliding back into his seat. His hand twitched, but he didn’t reach for her. “What happened?”
“You didn’t hear?” Her voice was quiet, gaze still focused somewhere on the table. “Frederic didn’t tell you?” Then her eyes flicked up and to his surprise they were sharp, with something like hunger, or resolve, a determination so furious that before she even spoke he was sure it had nothing to do with him. “Leena said I might be helping MacPherson,” she said, letting the words tumble from her mouth, and she snapped her teeth shut, drew herself up as though ready to defend herself.
Reassurances, apologies, excuses all died on his lips as he looked back into that flinty, aching expression, and he was the first to break eye contact.
“If I don’t let you come along,” he said finally, “you’ll just follow me anyway, won’t you?” His heart pounded in his ears.
And then her mouth curled into a satisfied little smile, and she leaned back in her seat. “There you go, geezer,” she said with a cocky tilt of the head. “I knew you’d catch on eventually.”