{fic: WH13} Lady of Truth, Part 1
Title: Lady of Truth
Date: 16th April - 28th May, 2012
Spoilers: Post season three, after everything has been fixed.
Notes: written for written for windandthestars' February 'oops' ficathon - but the fic is actually for SarahDude because of our discussion about Dickens and her declaration of my existence as him.
Disclaimer: Warehouse 13, it's characters and all related do not belong to me. Nor does Egyptian mythology... Though that would be interesting.
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CHAPTER ONE
There was one rule for a continuing life at the Warehouse: don't touch. Artie's gruff tones barked it at them at them at least once a week - and, to be fair, it was usually deserved. Pete's interminable fidgets and childlike curiosity meant that there was very little he DIDN'T try to touch, warning or not. Claudia was always trying to improve, enhance or recreate whatever technological wonder they had uncovered this week. And Helena, well, the artificer in her just wanted to pull everything open and wonder at its insides. The only one who truly respected the 'don't touch' rule was Myka.
Which was why it was such a shock to find her in her current predicament. Later she would say that it was all Pete's fault, but since this was her usual claim for incidents of an annoying nature, no one truly gave it much heed.
As with most things within the warehouse walls, everything had started out innocently enough. Artie had gathered them around the breakfast table, issuing out assignments (for Pete, Helena, and Myka) and chores (for Claudia) in his brusque tone. It always reminded Myka of mornings with her father, the table between them littered with a defensive barrier of plates and books as he drilled her about her homework or chores. Unlike her father, however, Artie's harshness masked a twinkle of the eye, a smile hiding just around the corner that he allowed Myka, and sometimes only Myka, to see. They did not always see eye to eye, did not always agree on a wide range of issues, but Artie and Myka understood each other, and she took comfort in these morning meetings, knowing that despite his unwillingness to discuss it, Artie had taken great care in laying their days out before them.
Pete was halfway through cramming the fifth croissant into his mouth, crumbs coating his sweater as he tried, yet again, to beat his record, when Artie's arm swooped out to smack the back of Pete's head with the case folder. Claudia, who had been surreptitiously filming Pete's attempt on her phone, bounced slightly as she shoved the phone back into her pocket. Artie continued with his instructions, the move not having slowed him in the slightest.
"...can never be too careful, and Mrs. Fredericks and I agree that it would be better to have agents on the ground should something come up. The exhibit will be featuring some newly uncovered artifacts, which has us a little concerned. And besides, I think we all know that anything Egyptian warrants some watching."
"Yead," Pete said around his mouthful of pastry. "Ti uffally comes to gif uc ip te bunt."
All eyes swivelled to seek out Myka's translation, which she gave with the smallest of sighs - they had all worked with Pete for years now, surely they should be able to translate him. "It usually comes to bite us in the butt."
Artie gave a nod. "He's not wrong. Okay. Your flight leaves in three hours, all the information you need is right here, pack light."
They rose from the table, sparing a brief glance for poor Claudia, who was now left alone with Artie and his list of chores. Granted, the 'chores' she was assigned were usually more interesting than anything Myka remembers from her youth, but Artie had a dark streak and he usually included at least one task that would leave Claudia in tears of frustration. But there wasn't time to come to the girls rescue, and Helena had already slipped her arm into hers, guiding her up the stairs behind Pete to pack.
CHAPTER TWO
Myka stifled a groan as her chair jolted forward for the third time in as many minutes. Helena reached for her hand, giving it a soothing pat as she did so. She knew how much Myka hated to fly - not out of fear but out of frustration at their suspended state. That and her talent at always landing a seat in front of a child. Myka had glanced at the passenger behind her and had thought she was in for an easier trip than usual. Apparently she was mistaken.
Helena pushed her own tea across to Myka’s table and smiled when her companion picked it up and blew on it without a thought. Helena had been delighted to learn that Myka, despite her professional exterior while at work, was in fact remarkably familiar with those she felt truly comfortable with. The fraternal punches that existed between she and Pete translated nicely into large encompassing hugs for Claudia and the passing laying of hands for Leena.
As for Helena, Myka had become increasingly tactile as their relationship had progressed. She was quick to reach for Helena’s hand, or rest a palm on shoulder or hip. Sitting together in the B&B usually resulted in heads on shoulders or legs thrown into laps (accompanied, usually, by a fair degree of good natured ribbing from the others). After a century of physical and mental isolation, Myka’s snuggliness had thrown her at first, but now it was a balm in ways Helena couldn’t have anticipated. Likewise she had learnt that small touches like these, while not ‘on the clock’, did wonders for Myka’s well being, and Helena enjoyed having a positive effect for a change.
At the feel of Helena’s hand on hers Myka felt herself relax, moving slightly in her seat so that her arm aligned and merged with Helena’s own, elbows knocking together gently. Tilting her head, Myka leant in to whisper quietly to Helena, only to once more be violently catapulted forward. Helena’s eyes widened when Myka failed to completely hide her growl. That was a noise to be explored later.
Turning to face the ‘child’ in the seat behind her, Myka was met with a face full of Pete and his cheesy grin. “Knock it off, Pete!”
Pete’s grin grew even wider as he good-naturedly elbowed the young boy in the seat next to him with a, “Told you that would get’er!”
Myka sighed and rubbed her brow. It was always a gamble placing Pete behind them whenever they got split up, but the chance for a few quiet hours with Helena was always worth the chance - at least until he started kicking.
Sensing that he had probably pushed Myka far enough for one flight, he held out his share of the paperwork, slipping it between the gap in the two chairs. “I’m done, and I’m sure you two - XeroxHead and BrainTrust - are done with yours, swap?”
Helena smirked at Pete’s antics as she exchanged the folders. She had considered ‘Wells and Bering’ (or ‘Bering and Wells’ if Myka truly insisted) to have a certain degree of timeless charm, but Pete had declared it unimaginative and had been substituting his own monikers ever since. With the new notes in hand, Pete calmed considerably and got down to his reading, leaving Helena to pull Myka’s hand into hers once more where she was intent on studying each line of her palm until the plane landed in New York.
CHAPTER THREE
Helena had not spent time in New York since her debronzing and, as such, Myka had been a little concerned that the hustle and bustle might unsettle her. For all her adjusting to her new time, there were still things that managed to throw her, and the resultant frustration often caused more damage than whatever it was that had confused or upset her in the first place. She needn't have worried, however, as Helena spent the entire ride from the airport to the city with her face glued to the window. She had marvelled over the people walking the streets and the buildings that disappeared into the sky. When she declared the energy to be like that of London, Myka regretted not having bought her here previously and, settling in to watch her delight, starting planning a chance to rectify that.
It wasn't long until Pete started pointing out landmarks and tried to feed her misinformation about their surroundings. Helena, it seemed, was too smart for him however, and started correcting him through her laughter. It was impossible not to get swept away in the wonderful mood and as such it was with quite good cheer that the trio approached the museum. It was only mid morning but the building was already milling with visitors: mothers with young children, pensioners enjoying a morning walk, rowdy students on a school trip.
The students filed past them in a huddle pretending to be a line. The children were all about ten years of age and their boisterous shoving reminded Myka all too keenly of her own schooling experience. Her quick eyes scanned them all, falling on the student her brain labelled as the ‘Myka of the group’. She was just a little too tall, her mouth just a little too wide, her hair just a little too curly - all of which combined to create a young girl best described as ‘gangly’, just as Myka had been at that age. Of course, it didn’t help that she was pouring over her guidebook eagerly, attaching post-its to the things she couldn’t bear to miss.
Helena, who was altogether too skilled at discerning her thoughts, nudged her gently as Pete arranged for their access to the museum. “She’s darling Myka, don’t you think?” she said, subtly pointing out the mini-Myka. “Look at all those lovely curls.”
Myka looked at Helena frankly. “Helena -”
“And the uniform is so sweet. In fact, now that I think about it, she doesn’t look entirely unlike Christina. Same smile about the eyes.” Helena sighed. “She would have loved it here.”
Myka smiled at her gently, wanting nothing more than to wrap Helena in her arms and never let her go. Helena was much freer with her thoughts these days, far quicker to share stories of her past, of the daughter whose memory she treasured so. Helena had explained that it was part of her rehabilitation, her therapy for the events of the past year (nay, the past hundred years). But Myka thought it more than that. Myka believed that, consciously or otherwise, Helena was making the world real to her again, that by making Christina exist in the minds of those around her then she wasn’t truly gone. It was a recalling to old habits, to be sure, but a healthier one that Myka supported.
Pete nearly skipped over to his partners, excitement lighting up his face. Reaching over, he smacked his palm firmly over Helena’s chest (earning himself an automatic whack from Myka), pulling back to reveal the impossible-to-miss bright red sticker now affixed to her lapel. Craning her neck and squinting (adorably, Myka’s brain supplied), Helena made out the words announcing her first time at the museum.
“Was that really necessary?” she asked.
“Of course!” Pete crowed. “Wouldn’t want you to miss anything important.”
Myka just shook her head at Pete’s good natured torment of Helena. He was completely capable of holding a grudge, Myka knew, but when he forgave he did so entirely. He had a good heart and shared it openly - it was why Myka loved him so.
“Okay,” Myka said, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand - but also noting that Helena had not removed her sticker. “We don’t know what the artefact will be, or, indeed, if there even will be one. I suggest we make a quick sweep of the floors for good measure and meet up in the Egyptian exhibit when it opens at eleven.”
Pete’s hand shot up into the air so fast it actually managed to unbalance Helena. “Dibs on the dinosaurs! Me. Ooh. Me. Pick me. Dinosaurs.”
Myka watched as he rose higher on his toes, his hand straining above him. She said nothing, causing him to emit small puppy-like whimpers.
“Helena, why don’t you -” the whimpers got louder. “- head to the Rose Center, I’ll take the Hall of Biodiversity, and Pete -” he started bouncing. “Pete you go check out the dinosaurs.”
“YES!” Pete punched the air and rushed off in the right direction.
Myka and Helena watched him go, slipping smoothly in the back of a school group, high fiving the two boys at the back.
“Doesn’t he need adult supervision?” Helena asked.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Myka arrived at the new exhibit it was just in time to hear Helena chastise Pete for peeking under the skirt of the Horus guard outside the door.
“What? This is a museum. I’m learning about Ancient Egyptian boxer shorts. It’s educational!”
The two boys he had high fived earlier slapped hands over their mouths to contain their mirth. They were looking at him with unabashed admiration - which, by the looks of it, had won him the approval of their teacher. Pete Latimer may be King of the Kids, but it usually ended up paying off in the end.
The exhibit had been well advertised, and as such had quite a few visitors. Myka had already contemplated the trip before the assignment had been so fortuitously made. The main draw of the exhibit were the contents of a newly uncovered tomb, one that was already being heralded as the find of the decade.
The tomb had belonged to a young Middle Kingdom pharaoh. His historical significance was still under consideration, but despite the outcome there was no denying that he had been beloved. His tomb had been well stocked and, much to the delight of the archaeological community, had been remarkably well preserved.
Right on eleven o’clock, a blue blazered museum worker appeared and opened the exhibit, pulling back the curtain between the two ‘guards’. With a quick glance of agreement between them, the three split up and kept watchful eyes on everyone around them - when it came to artifacts, red velvet ropes only went so far.
Whenever possible they would brush a static bag up against an object or two in the hopes of catching a spark. Copper hand weapons, papyrus maps, limestone busts - even a dazzling jewelled gorget - all were quickly tested and dismissed.
Several hours and even more artifacts later, they slumped towards each other in the middle of the exhibit. It had been laid out to resemble the original layout of the tombs and this, the antechamber was the most densely packed with items.
Collapsing on the bench, Pete smacked Myka lazily with the guidebook. “Hey Mykes. Didcha check the creepy cat?”
“What cat?” Helena asked.
Pete pointed out the ‘creepy cat’ that sitting had bought into the line of sight. It was a stone statue, sitting about thirty centimetres tall. It was made of a black stone, its gold inlay around the forehead and collar still remarkably shiny. High on its chest sat the Eye of Horus, a symbol now very familiar to all the agents, and below that, a winged scarab. Most stunning of all were its bright blue eyes, made of a polished stone.
“Bastet.” Pete gave her an odd look, but Myka continued before he could start. “Bastet was an Ancient Egyptian war goddess, quite a powerful one. It was her duty to protect the pharaoh. She was also the protector and patron saint of Lower Egypt.”
Helena looked at her approvingly for her recall of information and picked up the thread where she had left off. “She was originally depicted with the head of a lioness, but over time and with the increasingly reverence for the domestic cat in Egyptian society she took on the visage of her animal symbol.”
Pete gave them both a look. “You guys are nerds. You know that right?”
Helena looked at him disdainfully, “I, Mr. Lattimer, am a geek, thank you very much.”
“Claudia?” Pete questioned, having seen their young friend supply Helena with a supplements to her vocabulary on more than one occasion.
“Indeed.”
Myka pulled herself from the bench, pulling her now well-crinkled static bag from her pocket and slipping it over the statuette. A smattering of electrical sparks poured from the open end of the bag. Myka shied away from them, but still found the hot sparks burning and tingling her fingertips.
Helena clapped her hands together, something she was wont to do after an artefact had been both ‘snagged’ and ‘tagged’. “Righty-ho then chaps, shall we away?”
Pete screwed up his face at her.
“...too British?”
Pete nodded.
CHAPTER FIVE
Myka placed the static bagged statue down in front of Artie with a flourish. This was by far her most favourite part of the job, and Artie rewarded her with a pleased grin.
"Good job, all of you,” he said, slipping his hands into some purple gloves so he could investigate the artefact himself. He turned the statuette over in his hands, running his fingers over the smooth lines of the cat’s body. “Beautiful,” he whispered, investigating its surprisingly blue eyes. He pointed them out. “Lapis Lazuli, you see? The Ancient Egyptians used it on their amulets. Bastet was highly revered, as you know - if this was in the Pharaoh’s tomb it may have been part of his personal collection. There’s no telling what effect this could have had. I’ll have to uh, do some research.”
And with that Artie was gone, headed for the archives, artefact firmly in hand.
Claudia picked up the scuffed static bag between two purple fingers. “What happened here? You guys recycling bags now? Cause that’s not a good idea.”
Myka grabbed it, one last errant spark zapping her on the hand. “You know what museums are like, Claud, more searching than snagging.”
“Speaking of museums,” Pete said, shoving his hand into his pocket. “I come bearing gifts for the Claudielf.”
Museum themed badges poured from Pete’s hand into Claudia’s, more than one dinosaur design in the pile. In true Pete fashion (all heart, no subtlety), he had taken to bringing Claudia souvenirs every time they went on a mission. It didn’t exactly make her miss Jinks less, but trying to guess what he would bring her did distract her, at least momentarily.
Myka was tired enough to let Helena win the battle to drive home. How she managed to drive herself about when she was first debronzed Myka had never discerned, but since then she had developed a rather selective regard for road rules and a decided lead foot. As such the pair were inside Leena’s well before Pete and Claudia had arrived.
The latter pair had entered the lounge, full of the usual barbs about Helena’s driving, but the sight of Myka curled up on the chaise, her head in Helena’s lap and already well on the way to sleep stopped them short. Between the two of them, Pete and Helena were able to manoeuvre the boneless Myka into bed for a well deserve sleep after a day of artefact hunting.
CHAPTER SIX
Going to sleep was not a sensation Helena handled well, the loss of control so unsettlingly like being bronzed that she often fought it into exhaustion. Waking up, however, was quite possibly her favourite thing in the world - especially these days.
Most mornings found her wrapped snugly in blankets and Myka’s arms. It amazed her that they always went to sleep more or less on their own sides of the bed, but come morning Myka was so far on Helena’s side that they were practically occupying the same space.
Helena always woke before Myka and so she was free to study her bed partner all she liked. Today her study began simply by quietly enjoying the weight of Myka’s arms. Myka was a snuggler of unmatched proportions so it was not at all unusual for her arm to be resting under the blanket in the dip of Helena’s waist. What was unusual however was the lack of one of Myka’s longer legs curled around hers, or the face nuzzling into her hair as Helena’s consciousness caused her to slowly wake. Deciding that Myka must be further back than usual, Helena turned to continue her exploration of the peaceful sleepy expression she loved so.
Her turn was accompanied by the loss of warmth at her hip - and, unnervingly, a small snarl. Myka was usually a far better waker than this. Opening her eyes to apologise for waking her so, Helena was shocked to find the remainder of the bed devoid of Myka.
She threw back the covers to discern the origins of the hiss and found herself leaping from the bed at the sight of a small furred creature. Leena ran a clean establishment; Helena had never even seen an ant, let alone a pest of this size. The ‘pest’ looked up at her rapid movement, giving Helena a confused look.
Helena could see now that the creature in the middle of their bed was a small cat. Helena called on her (extremely limited) knowledge of felines to declare it a brown tabby. It was small in size, but Helena felt fairly certain that it was past the kitten stage.
Sitting back down on the edge of the bed for a closer look, Helena was surprised when the cat immediately relocated to her lap. Kneading her thigh gently, the cat curled itself up tightly and, without a care in the world, went off to sleep once more.
After the ‘Emily Lake Debacle’ - as it was called around here, when mentioned at all - Helena had made no secrets about her dislike of cats, and it had been her experience that cats weren’t all that fond of her either. There had been talk from her ‘therapist’ (a regent who had been appointed to her) of Dickens accompanying her back to the Warehouse as part of her rehabilitation - something about unconditional love and soothing companionship. Thankfully Helena had managed to dissuade them of that notion, citing the affectionate nature of her teammates as adequate enough in this regard. Helena thought they could read through the lines perfectly well, and wasn’t all that concerned. Pete, however, had thought the idea a wonderful (or at least wonderfully entertaining) one, and Helena would not have put it past him to have spirited the cat into their bed just to annoy her.
Scooping the cat up to hold against her chest, she ignored its mewl of protest - which quietened down when it found the soothing rhythm of her heart beat.
“Come on... kitty,” Helena said, feeling entirely out of her element. “Let’s go have a word with Uncle Pete.”
{ Part 2}