A/N: I do not own Warehouse 13 nor the characters. Also, this is number six of the six stories/one-shots I'm working on at the moment. Which is why I classify this as a one-shot-possibly-more-later-on fic. These girls are keeping me busy.

Aware that if she sent Pete downstairs and kept H.G. Wells' study for herself nothing would get done, Myka reluctantly volunteered to explore the lower level. Sitting in Wells' chair, looking through his papers… It would be too interesting, too engrossing. And sadly, they didn't have very long before the authorities would be alerted.

Walking down the hallway, her mind still upstairs in the study, envious of what glimpses into the psyche of one of her favorite authors Pete would see, Myka methodically started checking all the rooms and closets. Seeing nothing that seemed important enough for Wells to come back for, she hoped Pete was having more luck. Maybe she'd have to rein herself in and venture upstairs after all…

A clicking, rattling noise coming from down the hall made her pause. Unbuttoning her sidearm, Myka started creeping towards the front door, her gaze zeroing in on the doorknob that was violently shifting back and forth. Taking a deep breath, Myka drew her gun, strode forward, and threw open the door seconds after the person trying to pick the lock succeeded.

"U.S. Secret Service –!" died on her lips when a woman – the one Pete had been smiling at earlier in the tour, she realized – gasped, hands to her mouth as she jumped back.

Well, this obviously wasn't H.G. Wells. She quickly holstered her gun, clearing her throat, "I'm sorry about that."

Before she could finish, the woman was talking in a thick, flustered English accent, "Oh, I do beg your pardon. You see, I – I left my notebook behind in the rush, and I just – I need it. So I was hoping to slip in and out, right quick, and – well, bad plan now, I see."

"Not so good when put into practice?" Myka offered, crossing her arms, eyebrow raised.

The woman laughed a little, shaking her head and brushing her bangs away from her forehead, looking good naturedly chagrinned. "It certainly didn't involve having a gun aimed at me, but that's entirely my fault," she conceded, obviously recovered from some of her surprise. Smiling, she gestured behind Myka, who was still blocking the doorway, "So, may I…? If you please."

When Myka didn't respond right away, the woman took a step forward, gently pressing her hand against Myka's crossed arm. The touch was soft, fleeting, the woman's eyes dark and imploring, "Please?"

Disconcerted at the sudden feeling that she was being flirted with, Myka blinked, looked behind her, scanned the streets outside for any hint of the missing author, and looked back down at the Englishwoman. She was quite striking, probably harmless, and against her better judgment, Myka uncrossed her arms, "Fine. Where did you leave it?"

A beatific smile crossed the woman's face, and she grabbed Myka's hand in her own, squeezing tightly. "Oh, thank you! Thank you! I see some Americans really are quite nice."

Raising her eyebrow and lifting her chin, Myka pulled back her hand; if Pete were here, he'd probably have some inane response to that odd compliment, but she didn't know quite what to say. "Well, I imagine… Yes. We're not all bad." A little out of her element, she quickly hurried the conversation along, "So, where did you say you left it?"

The woman put a hand to her face, tucking hair behind her ear again, apparently thinking deeply. Myka took the opportunity to scan the street again. "I believe I set it down in the study. When the fracas started, I unfortunately didn't have the chance to pick it up."

"The study." Myka nodded. Of course. The place that tempted her beyond all reason. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and held up one finger, turning away slightly. The house still was technically a place of interest, and she could not allow any civilians entrance. Her gaze flitted back to the woman, who had leaned her hip against the short porch wall, playing with a ring on her hand as she badly pretended to not be watching Myka.

After a couple of rings, Pete answered, "You have reached 1-800 Pete Lattimer. What can the Pete do for you?"

Myka rolled her eyes. "Hey, Pete, do me a favor and look on the…" she glanced at the woman, who quickly supplied "Side table,", "The side table. Is there a notebook on it?"

"Now, that's an odd question. You know something I don't know, Mykes? Not fair; you should share with the class."

"No, Pete. A woman's here who needs her notebook, and she says she left it in the study after you caused a 'fracas'. Her words, not mine."

"A fracas, huh? Anything like frittatas? Oh, that sounds good…" There was a pause, and Myka decided that really didn't deserve a response. "Oh-kay. One notebook, check!"

Myka let out the breath of air she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. She gave the woman a small, reassuring smile, and the woman smiled back. "Okay, good. Could you walk it down here?"

"Sure thing. Up here's a bust. Nothing that yells 'H.G. Wells wants me!'. Hey." Pete's voice suddenly grew eager, "Woman? The hot one?"

"Hot o – Pete. Really? Can't you be more articulate than that?"

"Ahah! You didn't say no! So it is."

Myka looked over at the woman, who seemed to be watching her with a slight smirk on her face. She hoped against hope that Pete's voice didn't carry that far. Thankfully, Pete's footsteps coming down the stairs saved her from having to answer. She shut her cell phone and moved over.

Strutting up, Pete held up the notebook with a flourish, a big, flirting smile on his face, "Your notebook, Madame."

"My," the woman accepted her lost item with just as flirting a smile, "If you two are the standard representation of Americans, I believe I am living in the wrong country. Thank you. I am in your debt." She inclined her head, hugging the notebook to her chest, "Both of you."

Myka shifted. It looked like the woman smiled more deeply at her than at her partner.

"Well, reaching across the water and all that – have to keep up good relations, after all." Pete puffed out his chest.

Rolling her eyes at the obvious male posturing Pete was doing, Myka decided that there was no point in sticking around. She felt uneasy leaving the house empty, and besides… The study still called to her. "Yes, well, while you two relate, I'm going to take my own look around upstairs."

"Hey, I was thorough," Pete protested, looking back and forth between her and the woman. Focusing on the woman, he waggled his eyebrows, grinning cheekily, "I'm very, very thorough." The woman obligingly giggled; Myka, being one herself, could tell she was charmed, but not as much as her laugh projected.

"Sure." Nodding at the woman, Myka smiled faintly, "I'm glad you got your notebook back. Now, if you excuse me."

"Ah, wait, darling!" The woman called out, taking a couple of steps to stop her with a hand on her arm – Pete mouthed 'darling?' – and quickly pulled out a pen, scribbling down something into her notebook. Tearing out the page with a practiced flip of her wrist, she smiled, slipping the paper into Myka's hand. "If you're staying in London for a time, please, allow me to thank you for your help."

Staring dumbly down at the paper in her hand, Myka almost missed nodding at the woman's – Helena, she read, written in beautiful, flowing cursive – Helena's wink and farewell as she turned and walked away down the street.

"Duuuuuude," Pete rounded on her, "You just got a booty call. A lesbian booty call. A British lesbian booty call." He made it sound like that was even more impressive.

Myka stared at the woman's retreating back, then back down to the paper. A high blush settled onto her cheekbones, and she stuffed the paper into her trench coat pocket, determined to forget about it. She turned to head back into H.G. Wells' house.

"Dude," Pete said again, bumping his shoulder against hers, holding his hand up for a high five, "Way to go!"

"I'm sure it's not like that," Myka said diplomatically, trying to ignore him.

"Dude." Pete followed her up the stairs, shaking his head. "Just… Dude."

"Stop it."

"Dude."

"Stop it."

"Du – "

Myka turned around, poking him in the chest. "I said, stop it. This is not your male lesbian fantasy, okay? We are not going to be talking about this." Huffing, she turned on her heel and entered the study, slamming the door behind her. Hopefully going through Wells' things would distract her from the confusing situation she had just gotten into.

Standing down the hallway where Myka had left him after the poke, Pete stared at the closed door. "Dude," he whispered, shaking his head, a giant grin spreading across his face. He was never going to let his partner live this down.