A/N – The wonderful characters of Myka and H.G. Wells are the main reason I watch Warehouse 13 (besides the fact that I work in a museum and the idea of artifacts having powers is awesome). However our girls just don't get enough airtime - luckily we have fanfic!

Basically this is a Season Four redux. Everything up until the end of A New Hope happened – Steve died, Sykes' bomb blew up the Warehouse and H.G. sacrificed herself to save Myka (I know Pete and Artie were there too but I believe she was really just doing it to save Myka). Then Artie reset everything using the astrolabe. However from this point on I am taking it entirely off-canon. It's still the Warehouse we all love so much, but let's face it, there isn't enough H.G. in season 4!

It's going to be long, angsty and darker than the show itself because that's the story I want to tell – but it's also going to be sexier...eventually! There will be occasional bad language and sex between two consenting adults (eventually). It is rated M for a reason.

I sincerely hope that you enjoy it if this is your cup of tea. Feedback is most welcome for comments, questions etc.

Non omnis moriar
Not all of me shall die

(Horace, Odes)

Chapter One – The Healing Power of Cookies

The first thing she saw was an odd sort of blue light swirling in front of her eyes. She expected it to be insubstantial but when her fingers absently drifted towards it, they encountered a surface that was as solid as a pane of glass – even more so. Agent Myka Bering stared at it for a few moments longer, trying to make sense of it and work out why she was encased in it. There were others trapped within the small space too, but she had a sense of two individuals so incredibly familiar that she didn't need to turn around to know that it was Pete and Artie. Instead it was the figure standing beyond the light that Myka's gaze came to rest on. For some reason there was a soft smile on the face of Helena G. Wells, her dark eyes sparkling with an emotion Myka couldn't recognise.

"You should be safe now," she says with a certainty that only Helena can muster.

Myka frowned, not understanding what was happening. All she knew was that she was behind some sort of impenetrable barrier. From Helena's words and her own instincts, she deduced that it was preferable to be standing inside the barrier. If she was safe, then that meant Helena was not. Her heart nearly stopped beating. "But you are… you're out there." The words sounded hollow to her own ears.

"It had to be initiated from outside the barrier," Helena replied in an infuriatingly calm voice. Myka found herself unable to tear her gaze away from the other woman as she tried to make sense out of what was happening. Helena's lips moved, almost imperceptibly mouthing the words, "Thank you." A dazzling smile then took over her face.

Myka was driven to respond in kind, but her own tremulous smile barely masked the disbelief she felt at what was happening. "I smell apples," Helena said with an air of finality.

Myka found herself disagreeing with the assumption that everything was over. This time her fingers formed into a fist that she rammed against the barrier as though her determination would be enough to shatter it. There was no way in hell she was letting Helena sacrifice her life to save hers - not without having some sort of say in it.

The blue light in front of her eyes was bright, but it was nothing compared to the explosion that suddenly erupted behind Helena. The flames were swift and ravenous, consuming everything in their path. In an instant, the woman standing in front of her was gone as well.

"Helena!"

The shout died abruptly on Myka's lips as she sat up with a jerk. Her heart was pounding so hard it threatened to tear itself from her chest. Early morning light filtered through the gaps in her curtains. This was her own bed, she was in her own room at Leena's B & B. Seeing H.G. Wells die right in front of her had been nothing more than a nightmare. Although a part of Myka wanted to flop back down onto her feather pillows straight away, she knew her alarm would be going off at any moment. Besides, it was only a dream. There had been no strange barrier, no explosion, and Helena – wherever the hell The Regents had taken her – was very much alive. Then where did all of that come from? Myka thought as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. "It felt so real," she whispered aloud to herself. Doing her best to shove the nightmare to the back of her mind, Myka grabbed a towel and headed for the shower. She hoped a blast of cold water would reinvigorate her sluggish body.

An insistently pounding headache was already claiming the space between Myka's ears for its own as she sat down to start work for the day. The inventory ledger lay open in front of her on the exact page she had left it the day before. She was beginning to hate that book – a sentiment normally reserved for the works of hack authors who churned out never-ending pages of crap that defied all logic by becoming bestsellers. Her hatred for this particular book stemmed from the fact that she had stared at it, and similar books, each day for the past two weeks. Since Walter Sykes' attempt to destroy the Warehouse had been thwarted, Artie had decided that they all needed a period of light duties. Unfortunately 'light duties' consisted of checking and re-checking inventories to confirm that no other artifacts were missing or misplaced. It was light, but tedious in the extreme...and it was bringing out the worst in Myka. She was becomingly increasingly irritable, and thoroughly depressed as each day passed. It was only a matter of time before her frayed nerves snapped.

There was a loud crash from the other side of the room. Myka's head jerked up to see Pete with a pile of books lying at his feet. He met her gaze and seemed to brace himself for the inevitable lecture about the proper handling of books. However Myka just stared blandly for a few moments and went back to her inventory. A few moments later, someone blocked the already fairly weak light shining onto her page. With an exasperated sigh, she removed her glasses and scrubbed at her eyes.

"Anyone would think that Sykes had won and blown the Warehouse into smithereens," Pete commented as he jauntily perched on the edge of the table she was working at. He held a bag of cookies towards her but she shook her head. He shrugged and claimed one for himself.

"What do you mean?" Myka hadn't intended to take Pete's bait, but she suspected that unless she answered him, he wouldn't leave her alone.

"You are no fun whatsoever," Pete said with his mouth full. "All you do is sit here and check that damn inventory, all day, every day. Did you even stop for lunch yesterday?"

"This is very important work!" Myka protested. She didn't want to tell Pete that she didn't dare give herself a moment's peace to actually sit and think about anything that wasn't work. "Anyway, since when was I ever fun?"

"Since, like, always! There's more to life than work," Pete suggested helpfully.

"What, like cookies and comic books?" Myka commented bitterly.

Pete shrugged, unconcerned by Myka's tone. "Whatever floats your boat. You've totally dissed the benefits of cookie goodness and I know for a fact that you're not the slightest bit interested in my Fantastic Four back catalogue. Go do whatever you do…read a book...or something."

"Fantastic who? You know what, nevermind, Pete," Myka held up her hands in a sort of surrender. "Thanks but no thanks for the cookie. I'm pretty busy here so if you'd kindly just leave me alone I promise I'll try to stop giving off miserable vibes."

"Miserable vibes? Mykes, if your vibes were radioactive then everything and everyone in this building would be in serious danger of a messy, painful death. "Pete shovelled the last of his cookie into his mouth, giving it only a cursory chew before continuing, "Oo eed oo go on ate."

Myka threw him a glacial stare of disapproval as she looked up from the catalogue in front of him. "Okay, I speak five languages and I had no idea what you just said. On second thoughts, do I even want to know?"

Pete's mouth worked furiously, completely masticating the unfortunate cookie into a gooey pulp so he could swallow it. Trying to ignore the revolting sounds her partner was making with his open mouth was impossible. Myka impatiently tapped her pen against the table, hoping the insistent repetition would remind Pete that she had work to do and she had already asked him to leave her alone once.

With a determined gulp, Pete emptied his mouth of cookie and stared down at Myka. "I said you need to go on a date...get away from the Warehouse for a bit. I mean, I know we're pretty fantastic and all, but I think you need to meet some new people."

Myka's eyes narrowed. "Oh really?"

"Look at the people you spend all your waking moments with...we're not exactly upstanding role models. Some of us, not me of course, but some of us are a little crazy," Pete said. He suddenly coughed and Myka thought that she heard 'H.G.' somewhere in the guttural sound. "I just wish I knew more people in this town, I could set you up with someone."

"I don't need some man to take me on a date to cheer me up!" she protested. Not a man at all...a woman on the other hand, one particular woman...

As the random conversation played out in her head, Pete continued to stare at her with a bemused expression on his face. Myka finally realised that, in his customary Pete manner, he had been intentionally winding her up. She threw her pen at him – a small part of her hoping it would stab him in the eye.

It hit him in the forehead instead. "Ow!" he protested. "Lighten up a little would ya?"

Approaching footsteps warned the pair that someone else was intruding on their escalating feud. Both turned to find Artie staring at them with an odd expression that clearly revealed he was thinking something along the lines of 'what the hell?' Trailer followed at his heels, his expression was his customary one of tongue-lolling joy with life.

"Hey Artie, you're here just in time to help me convince Myka to get a date!" Pete whooped.

"I will do no such thing," he retorted swiftly as he approached them.

"Come on?" Pete pleaded hopefully. "She's all grumpy and stuff."

"Pete, leave Myka alone," Artie sighed. "For all our sakes please."

Myka didn't really hear Artie's defence, she was absently wondering what kinds of crazy delights a date with H.G. Wells would hold. By now Pete and Artie were staring at her with matching expressions – wondering what the hell had suddenly taken hold of the woman they thought they knew so well.

"Did you hit Myka in the head with something before I came in?" Artie asked.

"Hey, that was her throwing shit! I was just trying to cheer her up!" Pete protested in a wounded tone. "I don't start everything around here you know."

Artie gave Pete a knowing look before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing something that looked suspiciously like airline tickets. "Well, I've got something else that might cheer her up – a trip to LA."

"How the hell would a trip to LA cheer me up?" Myka demanded while Pete's eyes lit up with delight. Having snapped herself out of her short-lived daydream by brutally reminding herself that a date with Helena would never happen, she was in an even fouler mood than before.

"What's in LA? Ah, real people who don't loathe us on principle?" Pete suggested. "Starbucks...more Chinese restaurants than you can shake a stick at? Not to mention the world's highest concentration of comic book stores."

"And there it is," Myka scowled. "Artie, can you give me a proper answer? I thought we were being stood down from all retrievals unless absolutely urgent?"

"Well, it's not so much about the urgency of this retrieval as its simplicity. I just need you to go to this address," Artie handed Myka a piece of paper. "And pick up an object. They will be expecting you."

"And we're doing this milk run why?"

Artie bristled slightly at Myka's uncharacteristically rude tone of voice. It wasn't at all like the agent he knew so well. "Because A. it's the job you get paid to do and B. you're both starting to get on my nerves. Myka with your permanent bad attitude and-" Artie jabbed his thumb in Pete's direction. "-him winding you up."

Myka drew in a deep breath, trying to resist the urge to take her Tesla out and zap both of the smug idiots she happened to have the misfortune of working with. She glanced down at the piece of paper Artie had handed to her and read it – 1097 Costello Boulevard, Beverley Hills. "Who lives here?" she asked Artie, managing to sound far calmer than she felt.

"I think the question you're actually looking for is who lived there," Artie pointed out. "It was the home of JA Larsen."

"Since when is JA Larsen dead?" Pete asked in disbelief.

"Who is JA Larsen," was Myka's only question.

Pete turned to stare at her as though she was profoundly stupid. "Only one of the greatest B-movie actors of the 70s. Land of the Scuba Cretins, Attack of the Swamp Frogs and the sequel, Revenge of the Swamp Frogs?" Myka shook her head and Pete continued incredulously, "I can't believe you've never heard of him. Even you should-"

"Mr Larsen died of a heart attack early yesterday evening," Artie informed them, interrupting Pete's own attempt at an explanation. "He was caretaker of an artifact, one which needed to be retrieved in the event of his death. Now that he is dead, I need you two to go to LA, retrieve the artifact and bring it back. Do you think you can manage that?"

"What does it look like?"

Artie passed over a picture. Myka studied it to see a very ordinary looking class-ring. Still, in her time at the warehouse she had learned that just because something looked ordinary, it did not mean it was. Myka felt a small sense of possibility. Perhaps a trip away from the Warehouse would do her a world of good.

She pushed back her chair and crossed the short distance to Artie so she could snatch the airline tickets out of his hand. "Come on, Captain Fantastic, let's get this over with before I change my mind and make you take Claudia instead."

"You know what, I might take you up on that suggestion," Pete mumbled as he threw Artie a tortured look and followed Myka out the door.

"I can't believe I'm actually standing outside JA Larsen's house," Pete said reverently as he and Myka ascended the short flight of steps leading up to the sprawling Mission-revival style home. "I mean, Shadow of the Drooling Zombies has got to be one of my favourite films of all time. JA played this guy whose family was murdered by the drooling zombies..."

It was relatively easy for Myka to ignore Pete's enthusiastic ranting as she had absolutely no interest in what he was saying. She was already anxious to get out of LA as soon as possible. Usually she enjoyed an opportunity to get away from the Warehouse, but today she felt no passion for her job. As soon as leaving Univille, all she wanted was to get the current task over and done with so she could return home again. Checking inventories wasn't exactly her idea of fun, but as long as she was in the Warehouse she felt closer to Helena.

Myka drew in a breath to steady herself and jammed her finger against the door bell. As her hand fell back to her side, her fingers subconsciously clenched into a tight fist. For some reason the pain of her nails digging into the palm of her hand was satisfying. It served as a reminder that life was supposed to be painful. The likelihood of ever being able to have the things you wanted was so slim that Myka wondered why she continued to care so much.

Pete's chatter remained consigned to the background as she waited for someone to answer the door. She was about to ring the bell a second time when the door opened. The man who stood on the other side of the threshold regarded them both with a resigned expression. He was an older man, probably in his sixties, and dignifiedly handsome. Within his steely blue eyes lay a profound depression with which Myka felt an instant affinity. She managed a friendly smile but before she could open her mouth he spoke.

"Jerry said someone would come," he offered up in a quiet voice. "Would you like to step inside?"

"Thank you, Mr?"

"Brooker, Luke Brooker."

"I'm Agent Bering and this is Agent Lattimer," Myka introduced them both. "Are you a member of Mr Larsen's family?"

He shrugged in reply as he ushered them in. "Well I suppose so, Jerry was my partner."

"Partner as in...JA Larsen was gay?" Pete exclaimed as they stepped inside. Myka threw him a horrified expression but he could only wince belatedly. It was already out there.

"Yeah, he was, we were together thirty-one years. You got anything to say about that?" Luke bristled angrily, obviously prepared to defend his relationship.

Pete shook his head quickly. "No, of course not. I was just...I mean, it's just really sad...that he couldn't come out. I'm a huge fan and I never knew."

Luke shook his head. "It was a different time back then. Of course things have changed a bit now but we were so used to keeping things on the down low that we didn't bother to change the way we lived. Jerry was always talking about it, maybe telling his fans at one of those conventions he was always going to but he never did get around to it. Damn heart attack robbed him of the chance," Luke sighed wistfully and continued. "Damn shame too, he was a real good guy, real good, he coulda done a lot of good. Anyways, you people didn't come hear to listen to an old guy like me, you've come to take his ring. Follow me."

Luke Brooker led Pete and Myka further into the house he had shared with his partner. Everything was immaculately tidy, if a little odd. Nothing quite matched, not the furniture or the colour schemes. It was as though the pieces had been chosen on their individual aesthetics as opposed to how well they would fit with the overall décor. Myka liked it almost immediately; there was something incredibly comfortable and welcoming about it. Pete was gazing intently at the walls, most of which were covered in framed movie posters from JA's films. As Myka dutifully followed Luke down into a large living room overlooking a pool, she noticed Pete was no longer at her side. She turned to find he had stopped in the dining room.

"Pete!" she hissed angrily. "Pete!"

Pete was grinning from ear to ear as he stared at a poster for Shadow of the Drooling Zombies. He simply turned to Myka and pointed excitedly at the poster, without making any attempt whatsoever at discretion.

"Pete!" Myka made an angry beckoning motion with her hand.

It was too late, Luke had already noticed his unruly house guest. He turned but did not seem to mind. Instead he smiled. "I never did like that one, the zombies always scared the bejesus out of me. Why don't you take it with you?"

"He doesn't need it-" Myka began, trying to apologise.

"You bet I need it!" Pete interrupted. "This would be the perfect addition to the Pete cave!"

"I'm really sorry, Mr Brooker," Myka sighed. "He really doesn't need much encouragement to misbehave."

Luke simply chuckled. "Nonsense, everyone should misbehave, regardless of their age. You should try it once in a while, Agent Bering."

Pete joined in on the laugh. "Myka, misbehave? Yeah, I don't think that will be happening anytime soon. The lady is seriously uptight if you know what I mean."

Myka whirled on Pete. "Just exactly what do you mean, Pete?"

"Hey, job at hand here," Pete changed the subject.

As the partners had been bickering, Luke had retrieved a small box from a safe on the wall. He waited until he once again had Myka's attention before handing it over. She noticed a trace of reluctance, his hand lingered on the box before relinquishing it.

"I'm really sorry to have to take this away. I should imagine it was special to him."

Luke nodded. "It was, but so are dozens of other things that I still have. Besides, he always told me that the ring wasn't ever really his. He was only looking after it. Never told me why or who for and I didn't ask. It was sort of strange though. In the days before he died he was really protective over it – always staring at it. One day when he was sort of stroking it he asked me if he'd done something worthwhile with his life. Of course I told him he had – he made a lot of people happy over the years. When I found him lying out by the pool yesterday, it was clutched in his fist."

Myka felt a sense of reluctance when she and Pete left JA Larsen's house and caught a taxi back to the airport. She liked Mr Brooker, and despite his assurances that he had a lot of friends looking out for him, she sensed that their company had been welcome. They'd stayed for a cool drink, long enough for Pete to pester the poor man with dozens of questions about JA and his movies. Thankfully, Luke had relished the chance to tell humorous stories about his partner. It was only the prospect of missing their flight that dragged Pete away, his new poster held proudly in his arms.

Myka tried to tell him that he'd not be allowed to take it on the plane but in the end all it had taken was a few choice Pete-phrases to the young woman on the check-in counter.

Myka spent most of the flight feeling the weight of the ring in her pocket. "What do you suppose this ring does?" she asked Pete eventually.

He shrugged. "Dunno, suppose Artie'll tell us at some stage. Mykes, guess what."

"What?"

"I got a poster!"

"Yeah I know. I was there when you took it off the wall and did a little dance," Myka reminded him. "And when you practically crawled across the counter and kissed that woman so you could get it on the plane."

"I know, I'm just so excited! An original 1973 one sheet. I can't wait to show Clauds and Artie."

"Somehow I really don't think they're going to care," Myka pointed out rather heartlessly.

Her lack of enthusiasm only bolstered Pete's good mood. "I sense a viewing of Shadow of the Drooling Zombies coming up in your immediate future, Agent Bering. And you're gonna love it!"

Myka walked into the B & B's living room that evening - fluffy slippers on her feet and book tucked under her arm. At the sound of approaching footsteps, Pete immediately looked up from the comic book he was reading. His face fell when he saw who it was. An open bag of cookies sat on the couch beside him and crumbs were liberally strewn across the front of his t-shirt. He looked slightly nervous, as though expecting her to launch herself across the room and scratch his eyes out for no reason other than that she was pissed off about something. With a discreet swipe, Pete brushed most of the crumbs off himself and onto the floor. Keeping her movements as calm and non-threatening and possible, Myka took up a position on the couch opposite. She swung her feet up onto the couch and flipped open the book with renewed determination.

Although it was usually effortless to lose herself in the pages of good prose, tonight she found it difficult to concentrate. The words didn't leap out of the page and she often found herself having to read the same paragraph twice as she lost her place. Still she persevered. Myka clung to the belief that if she could at least rediscover one of her happy places, then she would be able to push Helena G. Wells to the back of her mind – even for an hour or so at a time. Gradually the familiar rhythm began to take over as the story took hold. A small smile even started to tug at the corners of Myka's lips. Despite being recommended by Claudia, the book was actually quite good. For some reason the couch was even more comfortable than usual and her feet were almost criminally warm encased within her fluffy slippers. It was almost as though life was back to normal.

"This is nice isn't it?" Pete's voice shattered the fragile silence like nails down a chalkboard. "You, me, enjoying each other's company?"

"Pete," Myka said in a low voice.

"Yeah?" Pete grinned happily, not realising what he had just done.

"Don't."

"Wha-"

"Just don't."

With an expression like a wounded puppy, Pete practically dived back into his comic. For added comfort, he plucked a cookie out of the bag at his side and began eating it – albeit in an unusually silent manner. He even kept his mouth shut whilst chewing.

The silence restored, Myka attempted to rediscover her previous state of contentment. However it proved an even bigger challenge than before. Over the next half an hour her eyes had trouble focusing on the pages in front of her. When she realised that she had only managed to properly read three pages, she gave up and her head flopped back against the couch in exasperation. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Pete look up at her, but after her curt words to him earlier he wasn't about to ask what was wrong. Myka's eyes wandered in the direction of the hallway and she noticed Mrs Frederic talking to Leena. At first it was only a fleeting glance in their direction. She wasn't ordinarily in the habit of staring at people (unless it was a lengthy, discreet examination of the enigmatic H.G Wells) and the scene itself was perfectly normal. However as she went back to her book, a thought nagged at the back of her mind. Despite a rather uncharacteristic protest from Artie, Helena had been taken into custody in the wake of the Sykes drama. There had been some assurances that there was no Janus Coin or Bronzer in the disgraced former agent's future, but Myka still had no idea where Helena was. If anyone did aside from The Regents, it would be Mrs Frederic. With wanton disregard for the integrity of the book in her hand, Myka tossed it onto the couch and hurried out of the sitting room. At the other end of the hall, Mrs Frederic was giving Leena a parting nod.

Myka accosted her before she could take another step. "Mrs Frederic?"

"Myka?" the stately woman seemed slightly surprised, probably at the twin spots of colour in Myka's cheeks. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"IneedtoseeHelena." The request was barely comprehensible, blurted out before Myka could actually consider the implications of what she was asking. With Mrs Frederic's rather bemused expression prompting her, she drew in a deep breath and slowed herself down. "I need to see Helena...please?"

"Why do you need to see Miss Wells, Agent Bering?"

It was a predictable response to her request, one for which Myka was completely unprepared. As her mouth worked soundlessly, a myriad of responses went off in her head like a bag of popping candy. They ranged from the relatively simple and unhelpful 'because I need to' to the mortifyingly embarrassing 'I need to find out why I want to throw myself at her each time I lay eyes on her.' As wise as Mrs Frederic was, Myka didn't want to hear her try to explain how someone who had thought of themselves as straight their entire lives, could suddenly be sexually attracted to a woman.

"I want to thank her...she saved my life when Sykes forced me into the chess lock in the Regent's Sanctum – I mean, when Helena forced me into the lock under Sykes' control. "Babbling again, Bering. Sort yourself out or she's going to get suspicious. "She solved the puzzle and saved my life. With everything that was going on around us, I didn't get the chance to say thank you."

As Myka wilted under Mrs Frederic's scrutiny, she had the sinking suspicion that the woman's uncanny ability to pick up on vibes – much like Pete's – was telling her that she hadn't explained the whole truth.

Come on, Mrs Frederic, Myka thought, resisting the urge to tap her foot impatiently on the floor. You don't want to know about all the things I imagine doing with Helena, just say yes dammit.

"If you write her a letter, I will see that it is delivered safely to Miss Wells," Mrs Frederic finally announced.

"A letter?" Myka blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Yes, a letter. Is there a problem with that suggestion?" Mrs Frederic arched an eyebrow.

"Um, not at all," Myka said as she shook her head quickly. At that moment in time, she desperately wanted to possess an artifact that would enable her to disappear through the floorboards. "I...I was just hoping to be able to thank her in person."

"I will put in a request for permission, Myka," Mrs Frederic replied, not unkindly, "But in the meantime, a letter will have to suffice."

Myka nodded in reluctant acceptance. She sighed in defeat as she watched the Caretaker walk away. It had most definitely not been the outcome she was hoping for, nor did she expect to be able to explain anything of how she actually felt in the letter. A. she balked at the mere thought of committing previously unspoken admissions to paper and B. no doubt wherever Helena was being kept, they would read her mail. Her cheeks flamed at the thought of a stranger reading her confession – in fact, her cheeks flamed even more fiercely at the thought of Helena reading it.

Somebody shoot me now, Myka thought miserably as she re-entered the living room to claim her spot on the couch. Although she opened her novel, Myka did not start reading. Instead she inwardly made a determined promise to herself. She would write that letter, it wouldn't reveal anything of course, but when the time came and she was allowed to see Helena she would hold nothing back. It would all be laid bare, every confusing feeling, every iota of attraction. Helena would know exactly how she felt and they would either be able to work things out together, or she could spend the rest of her life avoiding her and knowing that she had at least tried.

"Pete?" Myka asked quietly.

Pete glanced up from the comic in front of him. He looked slightly suspicious in response to Myka's relatively innocuous tone. "Yes, o grumpy one?"

"Give me a fucking cookie...please."