A/N I read a couple of fics a while ago that were WH13 crossovers with a movie called TiMER. If you haven't seen it, it's a variation on the soul mark idea – people get fitted with a piece of technology that counts down to when they'll meet their soul mate. Both the fics I read were unfinished high school AUs (by Wicked Wisty and amtrak12 on ). I had the idea of writing something based in the Warehouse universe but with the same premise – that Myka's TiMER goes off when she sees Helena for the first time in the Wells museum. It goes off into AU territory after that. I borrowed the idea of soulmates getting a holiday together from Caden Ashford's wonderful soulmark story on AO3, The Possibility of Happiness. The rest of this is, as far as I am aware, all my idea. There are many tropes in this, I'm sure.

Myka was focused, her mind taut as a drawn bow, when she and Pete entered the Wells Museum in London. And the target at which the arrow in her mind was pointed was HG Wells. Her favourite author, the man who taught her how to think and question, all from his vantage point a century ago – he was here, and yeah, he might be evil, but he was still a hero to her personally. The fact that he had been in the Bronze sector had come as a huge surprise to her – and a huge disappointment, if she was completely honest. But she reminded herself that they didn't know why he'd been Bronzed in the first place. She knew that because she admired the man's work so much, she was much more willing than Pete was to hear him out. She rubbed at the TiMER on her wrist. The damn thing was supposed to go off soon – she'd lost track of how long she had left, but she was not pleased. She didn't need the complication, and she didn't need some supposed miracle device to tell her who to love. She only got the damn thing to stop Tracy and Claudia's whining. Claudia. Damn. There was the real source of her worry. How could Claudia help MacPherson? Myka sighed and Pete told her to get her eyes on the prize. She resisted the urge to punch him. Yes, the prize. HG Wells.

Helena George Wells was in the grip of madness. They had Bronzed her at her own request, yes, but had she known...had she understood what it would do to her...she would have pulled the trigger herself a thousand times over. Her grief had changed, twisted, and she couldn't look at this world and its oblivious residents without wanting to raze it to the ground. James MacPherson had offered her anything she wanted as long as she helped him, but she didn't think that extended to his own life. Returning here, to her old home, was intended as a means to an end, but she couldn't suppress a hint of pain at the memories that assailed her. Charles and her father arguing in the drawing room, over her and her scandalous behaviour of course. The section of the library that he kept stocked with books that were ostensibly for him, but were really for her, to further her education in secret because her father refused to allow it. She never did say goodbye to Charles. Yet another regret in this whole bloody mess.

Myka saw the name in the guest book – Edward Prendick – and she knew that Wells was here. She tried to suppress the automatic excitement that she felt at meeting one of her literary heroes, and focused again on the business at hand. HG Wells could be a real threat. She had to be on her A game. A woman appeared from behind them, murmuring apologies and smiling, and that's when it happened. The damn TiMER went off. Hers – and the woman's. Myka gaped in astonishment as the loud beeping continued. The woman – who had black hair, pulled up almost severely, looked at her beeping wrist in confusion, and then tried to walk away. Myka grabbed at her wrist automatically, and was suddenly aware of an elbow hitting her in the face extremely hard before she passed out.

Helena noticed the curly-haired American – how could she not? The woman was so tall and confident, so unlike the ladies of her time. And those trousers fit her very nicely. Helena brushed past her, smiling, and was momentarily shocked by the beeping that issued from the woman's wrist – and her own. (She resolved to find out what the bloody thing was for – MacPherson had only said that she should wear it to blend in, and had made her attend a clinic where she had a variety of medical tests and was made to fill in pages of forms and answer interminable questions for half a day. She had been lost in her own thoughts for most of it, and hadn't paid the attention she should.) Then the woman caught her wrist, and she noticed the gun hidden under her jacket, and simultaneously she noticed several burly, be-suited men blocking the doorway. Her elbow came up automatically and caught the tall woman in the face as Helena hooked a foot behind hers to make sure she fell. Helena started to flee towards the back exit before being hit by a surge of electricity that she recognised as coming from a Tesla before unconsciousness claimed her.

Pete didn't know what to think. Not only had this extremely hot woman turned out to be Myka's One, but then she knocked Myka out with a nifty martial arts move and ran like hell. Pete shot her automatically with the Tesla – nobody hurt his partner. Then the guys from TiMERcorp were moving in to take Myka and her One away for their furlough. There was no getting past it – he was going to have to talk to Artie. Everyone with a TiMER was required to sign – and have their employer sign – a release that made it a legal requirement for them to spend a month with their soulmate. He'd never heard of anyone knocking their One unconscious when the TiMER went off, but he supposed there was a first time for everything. He asked the TiMER agents to contact him when Myka woke up, and went to contact Artie on the Farnsworth.

Artie was pissed, like Pete knew he would be, but he knew he had no choice but to leave Myka where she was. He told Pete to return to the Warehouse. Pete knew he didn't have a hope in hell of catching HG Wells without Myka, so he headed back to the airport. Edward Prendick. Pete sniggered to himself.

Myka woke up in an unfamiliar room with a hell of a headache. She tried to lift her head, but it was spinning, so she put it back down as gently as she could manage.

"You shouldn't move too much. They said you might have a mild concussion. Sorry about that, by the way. I didn't know about any of this." The voice was English, cultured, and female.

The woman's face came into view, as she crouched beside the bed. Myka suddenly remembered what had happened. The TiMER going off, this woman. Her One. "She hit me – what the hell?"

"What do you mean, you didn't know about any of this? Any of what?" Myka asked, puzzled.

"This device – this TiMER. It was a means to fit in, nothing more. I knew nothing of its import. I still don't, truth be told. I would never have hit you, but I saw your gun, and I realised you were trying to capture me. I was just trying to get away. I'm very sorry." She did sound sincere, but Myka didn't understand.

"Why would you not know what the TiMER was for? And why would your first instinct be to elbow me in the face, might I ask?" She was kind of pissed, truth be told. She didn't really subscribe to this soulmate idea, not entirely, but she also didn't expect to get hit in the face when the damn thing went off. A handshake would have been nice. And the fact that it was a woman? That, she hadn't even begun to process.

The woman began to explain, "I am not...from here. I was told that I should wear this device to fit in, that everyone has one. That's all. I didn't know what it signified. I am still trying to work out what it means. I have undergone a...trauma, you might say, recently, and when you grabbed my arm, I reacted instinctively. I was trapped for a time, and I'm afraid you frightened me. I apologise. I understand that your name is Myka Bering." She inclined her head slightly, an archaic movement that oddly suited her. "Helena George Wells, at your service."

That made Myka sit up, far too quickly, making her head spin wildly. "Wells? As in HG Wells?"

The woman sighed. "One and the same, I'm afraid. Am I to assume that you are an employee of the Warehouse, then?" She made no move to get up or move away. Myka was confused and simultaneously thrilled beyond measure. HG Wells was a woman – an extremely attractive one – and her soulmate, of all things. How – she was a woman?

Myka gathered her scattered wits about her enough to answer.

"Yes, I work for the Warehouse. And I was there – I am here, in London – to find you. MacPherson let you out of the Bronze sector, and I was supposed to take you back." Myka put her aching head in her hands.

"No-one said anything about you being a woman." She meant both that no-one had mentioned that HG Wells was a woman, and that no-one had mentioned that her soulmate was going to be a woman. Helena seemed to pick up on both meanings.

"Ah." Her eyes were sad. She stood up slowly, and Myka's eyes followed her as she moved gracefully to a chair on the other side of the room. It was a well-appointed room, with lots of comfortable furniture, a large television, and a fireplace. Myka was lying on a day bed that had apparently been placed here for her because she'd been unconscious – it was out of place in the comfortable living room. This must be a furlough apartment. She remembered reading about it when she was signing the paperwork for the TiMER.

"I don't suppose the TiMER guys left any pain meds for me, did they?"

"Oh yes, of course they did. I'm sorry. I'll get them for you." She came back a moment later with some pills and a glass of water, which Myka took gratefully. She lay down slowly.

"I guess we've got a lot to talk about, huh?"

Helena huffed out a laugh. "You could say that, I suppose." She smiled wryly. Myka couldn't help but notice that she was lovely when she smiled. When she frowned, her eyes were black and dangerous. But when she smiled...wow.

"So, do you think we should try this again?" Myka asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Helena, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

"I mean, this introduction thing? Because this stupid TiMER seems to think that we're soulmates, and as much as I dislike the damn thing, I have to concede that the science is sound. So, I'm Myka Bering, and I'm pleased to meet you, Helena Wells." She smiled gently at the confused author, whose eyebrows had climbed almost into her hairline at the word "soulmate".

"And I am very pleased to meet you, Ms Bering." She pulled her chair closer to the day bed and curled up, her legs underneath her. She watched Myka from beneath lowered lashes. Her face was almost expressionless, but Myka caught a hint of confusion under the mask Helena wore.

"And what is it that you do for a living, Ms Bering?" She smiled. It didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I am with the US Secret Service, Ms Wells." Myka grinned in return. "And you?"

"Well, I have been rather tied up recently, and unable to do anything of any great import. But at one time I was an author, inventor, and an agent of Warehouse 12."

"What?!" Myka's mouth was hanging open. "You were a Warehouse agent? So how – why – did you end up in the Bronze sector?"

Helena's face darkened. Her eyes took on a dangerously blank look that, Myka was to learn, she always adopted when confronted with the idea of the Bronze sector.

"I chose to be Bronzed. Foolishly, as it turns out. I did not understand that I would be conscious, but immobile. For over a hundred years." Myka gasped. Helena continued, "But I was out of control. The Regents – I understand why they had to step in. I had a daughter. She was murdered, and I was unable to accept the reality of her death. Which is when I invented my time machine. It transfers one's consciousness. I was able to inhabit the body of my daughter's nanny, but in doing so, I served only as a witness to the events that transpired that night. I was unable to change anything." Her voice was flat, emotionless. She looked away. "I watched my daughter die, and I fear that did even worse damage to my mind. I began to undertake more and more desperate experiments to try and reverse her death, and in doing so, I caused an accident. Another Warehouse agent – a friend – was killed. It snapped me out of my frenzy, and I asked to be Bronzed, in the hope that I would awaken in a better time." Her face twisted in a sneer. "And here I am, unBronzed by an idiotic man who wants only to steal from the Warehouse, and awake in a world that is even worse than the one I left." Her voice rose a little, filled with tension and barely restrained rage.

Myka was horrified. What this woman had been through – she couldn't imagine it. She leaned over and took one of Helena's hands in both of hers. Helena jumped, and turned back to look at her.

"I'm so sorry for what happened to you, Helena. I'm sorry about your daughter. And I am so sorry about the Bronze – I didn't know." Myka's eyes were clouded in pain. Helena was transfixed, momentarily, by her sincerity. She was such a striking woman, this Myka. She was not opposed to the idea of getting closer to this agent – she was really quite beautiful – but Helena had other plans when she was released from the Bronze, and they did not include finding a soulmate. She could bloody kill James for making her get this thing.

"Artie – the agent in charge at the Warehouse – he will want to speak to you when we get back. I will speak to him on your behalf, and to Mrs Frederic, the caretaker. I won't let them Bronze you again, I promise." Myka's words were impulsive, but sincere.

Helena was stunned. "Why would you do that? Why would you speak for me? You hardly know me."

"I don't know. But I have a feeling about you. And even if I didn't, no-one deserves to be in the Bronze sector, not if they're conscious. That's...it's cruel. " Myka shrugged, her eyes meeting Helena's. She was so open, so honest. Helena's heart stuttered a little.

"I...would you mind if I absented myself for a bit? I feel the need to take a bath. Getting shot by a Tesla always did take it out of me." Helena smiled, not looking at Myka.

"You were Tesla'd? Did Pete do that? I'm so sorry." Myka was aghast. She ran a hand through her hair restlessly.

"It's quite alright. Your partner was just defending you. We tested them out on each other numerous times when we were designing them – Nikola was a friend. We perfected the Tesla together. But it does rather exhaust one." With that, she smiled at Myka and left the room.

"Wow." Myka thought. "HG Wells is a woman. She's really pretty, and she invented the Tesla. With Nikola Tesla. And she invented a time machine. And apparently, she's my soulmate. What the hell just happened?" Myka covered her eyes with one hand, her mind awhirl. "HG Wells is a woman."