Part 1 - Cold Temperatures and Showers Expected.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like to fiddle with them. I don't claim to speak through any official channels for the show, or the production company, and there is no profit being made.

Spoilers: Takes place after S2x7 "For the Team" but before S2x9

Myka was unsettled. The rules that she had taken refuge in for so long said one thing, but her gut instincts said another. In her job, instincts were everything, and they usually aligned well with the rules, but not this time.

H.G. Wells had been a hero to her. As a little girl she had read every one of Wells' works, one after another, curled up in a chair at her father's bookstore. Every year after she had nerded it up at Halloween as a Wells inspired steam punk, adding new elements to her outfit up to her third year of college. Wells had introduced her young mind to possibilities and ways of thinking that she had never let go of, and since beginning work at the Warehouse, she was glad she hadn't. The impossible made possible excited Myka, and she credited Wells for the open mind that had gotten her the job she now loved.

So having H.G. Wells suddenly appear in her life as flesh and blood was for Myka, much like meeting a favorite rock star for anyone else. Finding that H.G. Wells was not the overweight old man she had believed but a stunning, dynamic woman had up ended her further. Myka was drawn toward that brilliant mind, but was she using that mind for good or some nefarious purpose? Artie told her Wells was evil and deserved to be bronzed, but she immediately felt drawn to the other woman and didn't believe there was evil there.

Myka believed herself to be a force for justice, but what if good intentions and being on the side of law were not enough to claim just cause? What if re-bronzing Wells was not just at all? What if it was the right thing and Myka just didn't want to do it?

Myka paused at the doorway to the office, shook the distraction out of her mind and looked around. Clearly the occupant had a thing for meteorology. A Galileo thermometer, Hygrometers, telescopes, and wind speed indicators cluttered the shelves, while pictures of cloud formations and the devastation caused by natural disasters covered the walls.

"And here we meet again," A husky feminine voice, with a light British accent whispered in her ear, the heat of breath down her neck raised gooseflesh down her arms. Myka knew instantly who it was, the voice, the spicy scent she wore mingled with the smell of leather - all there. Myka closed her eyes and silently exhaled, enjoying the adrenaline for a breath.

Spinning away from the voice she raised her Tesla gun and found herself staring down the barrel of a - something she didn't recognize. It was pointed at her though, whatever it was. H.G. looked back at her from behind the weapon, that confident smile resting easily on her lips.

Oh, her lips – Myka watched them move, "Really? Still?" Wells questioned.

Yes 'still' Myka thought and grit her teeth, she willed her brain to focus but she still stammered, "I guess so, I don't know, when you sneak up on a person like that… that's kind of a black hat kind of thing."

"A black hat?" H.G. asked.

Myka blinked, "I must have picked that up from Claudia. Black hats and white hats, bad guys and good guys…" She trailed off.

H.G. considered this, "So there is no room in your world for gray hats? Gray is a very functional color."

Myka was confused. What is this banter? Why is she still talking to this woman like a friend while holding a gun on her? "Well there IS," she stuttered, "but I don't…I can't make up the rules as I go…and what is that thing anyway?" Pointing with her free hand she indicated the weapon.

"This is a net gun."

"Oh. Well since neither of us is interested in lethal force why don't we put these away?" Myka suggested.

"I don't know. Are you going to slam me against a wall and hold me there by the throat again?" Wells was smiling wickedly now, almost challenging her to do just that. She had a way that was turning Myka's insides to mush…why did she have to do that? Myka wondered again about her softness for powerful women. Working to make a respected Secret Service agent out of the bookworm she was in her childhood had not left a lot of time for relationships, but she still knew what she felt. It seemed H.G. knew what she, Myka, felt too.

Myka sized up the other woman, "Only if I have to. Are you going to slam me against the ceiling again?" she prodded back, acting bolder than she felt.

"No," Wells answered simply.

The two women mirrored each other as they slowly lowered their weapons, both unsure what would happen once they were no longer forced apart by firepower. Myka's heart beat harder in her chest. Usually a she would be more nervous with a gun pointed at her, but not this time, not with this woman.

Once the guns were holstered, Wells slowly approached Myka, hands up in a surrender that the rest of her body language did not reflect. Her eyes were black and predatory, her movements like a cat stalking prey. Myka held her ground, more than sure of her ability to defend herself, but less than sure of her desire to.

"You disappeared…um, before…," Myka began but was unable to finish without continuing to falter.

Coming up inches from where Myka stood unmoving, H.G. took a slow breath, licked her lips and looked the other woman up and down. Hands still raised, she leaned in and lightly, achingly, brushed her lips against Myka's. Myka heard her own breath hitch in anticipation, but Wells just stood back up and waited.

Myka took a step back, too many competing thoughts were shorting out her brain. Lightening danced between her neurons and her heartbeat felt like the answering thunder in her chest. She felt exposed with her back to the door, but she wanted so badly to kiss that smirk off those lips. This was dangerous, she knew. H.G. was not telling her the whole truth, but right now… did she care? Should she trust her gut, or what she had been told? Her training took over when her mind finally entirely skipped the groove, 'when it is impossible to make a situation safe, mitigate the hazards to the best of your ability.' She didn't want to end up handcuffed to something or attacked from behind… Then she caught a whiff of spices again with the breeze from the open window, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

Myka reached up and grabbed H.G.'s wrists pressing her back crosswise to the closest wall of the office. She held her there for another heartbeat, then claimed those lips, crushing her body against Wells and into the wall. H.G. simultaneously kissed back and tried to break Myka's grip, but Myka pinned her further with a thigh against her center that had H.G. relaxing into Myka's body. Myka automatically forgot and relaxed along with her, releasing her hands. As H.G. brought her arms down, Myka realized her mistake, tensed and broke the kiss, locking H.G.'s gaze with her own. Wells simply touched Myka's cheek and rested her palms on the brown-haired woman's shoulders.

"Can I trust you?" Myka breathed studying the other woman's eyes for any sign of deception. "You smell like spices, are you using an artifact on me?"

Frown flashed across Wells' face, but it didn't linger. Perhaps, Myka imagined, H.G. thought there was some trust between them now, but in her haste to gather the items she wanted from the Warehouse she had damaged more than she realized. "No," H. G. said, "that is the scent of a soap I created for long days in the wood with no baths," She looked thoughtful, then continued, "I didn't think I would need to trick you. Not that I would."

Wells held her gaze easily, "So, yes, you can trust me," she said without blinking. She wrapped her arms around Myka, took a handful of soft curls and kissed her again, pulling away just slightly each time Myka tried to deepen the kiss. She smiled at the cloud of frustration that passed over the younger woman's face after the second time. "Patience," She chided and ground her hips into Myka's thigh sending a jolt through Myka's core. "Give - and take," she paused then said decisively, "It's your turn to give." H.G. hooked a heel behind Myka's and used her free hand to push her in a complete 180 so that Myka was the one trapped against the plaster. The cheap wall rattled and something fell to the floor. Myka felt a nudge of fear that washed into simple adrenaline as H.G. took her lips again, this time with more force.

Myka yielded, moaning quietly as she allowed the other woman's tongue to pass over her own. She felt the pulse in her chest beat harder, the desire gathering and boiling like storm clouds. She want to feel H.G.'s warm breath on her skin, wanted to feel the other woman's hands against her, and wanted to let the explorer of time and ideas explore her. H.G.'s thigh tensed between her own and she leaned into the other woman only to be forced back against a picture frame.

Wells took her lips away and whispered into Myka's ear, "I can show you things you've only read about."

This sent Myka's mind over the edge. She gasped when H.G. began nipping her neck, leaving little burns everywhere her teeth touched. She looked up toward the ceiling and her eyes focused not on ceiling at all but a frothing wave of water cascading down toward them.

She shielded H.G.'s head and ducked her own as the wave hit, pummeling them against the wall and then picking them up to toss them like socks in the washing machine. They let go of each other and both swam for the surface, which was only a foot from the light fixture. When they emerged, they tread water and looked at each other, shivering in the cold.

"Thank god for ground fault circuit breakers," Myka said, and then cringed. Could she think of anything more nerdy to say?

Wells smiled, "Oh is that why we aren't being electrocuted? Excellent." She didn't seem at all put off by Myka's brainy comment and she paddled closer. "The water is already going down. My guess is that the artifact is whatever we knocked over."

Myka tipped her head to the side for a sarcastic think, but then smiled sincerely "Mmm, yeah. Good guess!"

"MYKA!" They could hear Pete shout from the foyer below, probably disconcerted by the sound of seashore, including the seagulls, inside of an office building.

Myka turned her head and shouted, "YEAH PETE! I'M FINE!" Their feet touched the floor and the rest of the water filtered away. She reached over and combed her fingers through H.G.'s hair, slicking it back, then held her face gently for another kiss, feeling the desire stir again. Hearing Pete's running footfalls on the stairs she stepped back and tried to straighten her blouse but it was no good, it was clinging to her every curve.

Pete arrived at the office door out of breath, "Hey nice shirt!"

Myka leaned against the wall crossing her arms to hide her wet top, giving H.G. the opportunity to duck out the door behind Pete. "Getting a good look?" She asked. Just behind Pete, H.G. paused and winked appreciatively, giving Myka a nod before disappearing around the doorframe.

"Um yeah," Pete flushed and looked away, "boy you sure take the fun out of it."

Myka favored him with a wry smile and buttoned her jacket closed still shivering a little from the cold salt water. Pulling on a pair of purple gloves she picked up the barometer and looked up at a brass plate on the wall labeled "Dr Isaac Cline's barometer" It sizzled as she placed it in the container of neutralizing goo.

Walking through the foyer she spoke into the Farnsworth to Artie. "We got it Artie, it's a barometer labeled 'Dr Cline'. There won't be any more executives drowning in their offices."

"Well that makes sense," Artie said. "Dr Cline was a meteorologist in Galveston, TX during the hurricane of 1900. Thirty-two of the forty-eight people died who sought refuge in Cline's house during the storm, including his wife. That barometer should have warned him that the storm was coming and was going to be bad, but it didn't. The city of Galveston and Dr. Cline paid the price."

"I'm just glad this guy liked to have his windows open." Myka said, distractedly, "See you when we get back." She closed the little door without hearing Artie's response.

As they traveled home Myka couldn't stop thinking about H.G. What could have happened for Wells to be bronzed? As agents of the Warehouse, the more they learned the more they wondered just what their leaders' intentions were toward them. Artie had become more forthcoming but there were still holes in their knowledge about just how things were handled and that worried Myka. Besides creating a firestorm of craving inside her, Wells was also, unless she was an incredible actor, a good-hearted person. Listening to the subtext of Artie's comments about MacPhearson, he too was once a good man who later went rouge, if not entirely bad.

Is there any way to tell whom the black hats and white hats really are at Warehouse 13? Can she trust her gut to guide her through?