My Own Mary Poppins

a warehouse 13 au in three parts

by anamatics

vii.

Steam and heat fill the shop. It's barely six thirty and there's a rush on. It's hot, so unbelievably hot behind the counter and Myka's slowly counting to ten as she completes orders, listening with half an ear as Pete bangs around in the kitchen. He's making breakfast sandwiches and bagels, crafting brilliance out of simple ingredients. He's at his best when he's like this.

One. Myka's face itches. She knows better than to reach up and scratch it as her fingers are wrapped around a mug that belongs to the stuck-up looking banker across the counter from her. She'll be sure to pitch a fit and be very annoyed to hear that Myka is the one in charge.

Two. No, it's better to just ignore such things. Myka bites her tongue to distract herself from the prickly pain that grows just underneath her eye and blossoms across her cheek. This is the time to be moving, advancing. Forward, the song says, is all.

Three. The morning rush is like a dance. Each step is carefully choreographed for maximum efficacy and to create the best possible product.

Myka and Claudia dance around each other. Four. Myka turns on the steamer and blasts heat into some milk, Claudia takes the metal mug from her and adds in two shots of espresso. They hand off that order and move on to the next one.

Five. Somewhere in the background, Pete is singing along to Kesha on the radio. Myka wants to roll her eyes, to tell him that that hardly constitutes music, but she knows she should not judge. The tune is catchy after all, the kind designed to take up residence in your ears and stay there all day. She knows all the words as it is, she supposes that it just isn't what she calls rock and roll.

The espresso machine is cleaned off with a rag that really should be changed out. Myka takes it and tosses it under the sink and grabs a fresh one from under the register. She steps around Claudia and an iced raspberry tea and mocha and goes back to her cleaning. Six.

The line is thinning out, and Myka exhales. It's nearly seven thirty now, and the time has flown by. The morning is still the morning and they're still going to be busy for some time. She exhales as Claudia dodges around her with a plate full of eggs and toast. This is when she can finally breathe freely, once the first rush is gone and the mist outside has cleared to show the sky once more.

Seven.

Helena comes in then, scarf around her neck and shivering despite the fact that its summer and the forecasts say that it should be warm for the rest of the week. The mornings are what are cold. Cold and barren as the night, only warming with the sun as it cuts a swath of light across the sky. She meanders her way up to the counter and settles herself, leaning against it with a smile that doesn't look nearly as bright as before.

Myka knows she should be better. She knows that she should be a lot of things - that she has a task to complete for Helena and then this will probably all be over. Perhaps she's a fool for wanting to linger in the not knowing and the puzzle part of things.

(She's always liked puzzles.)

"Hello," Helena says smoothly, all early morning bleariness and just a little bit of the mist seems to be clinging to her. She's cold and pale and doesn't quite seem all there. Myka wants to reach out, to hold her and push back the fog of darkness and bring her into the bright summer sunlight. "The usual?"

Myka rings her up for gun power tea. Eight.

She knows that Helena is a writer, and she wonders how private she is about her own writing. Her preferred penname is already used, but Myka is sure that Helena can think of another. She shifts from foot to foot as she selects the loose tea and packs it into an infuser. She adds a little more than she would usually as she can see the circles under Helena's eyes.

Nine. Myka steps around Pete this time, coming out with three plates of bagels and eggs. He grins at her, all cheeky and dimples. Myka smiles back at him, because he's the brother that she never had wrapped up in a big goofy shell.

He'd known when Myka had come late to do prep that morning after Helena had proven that she was quiet skilled at far more than just driving Myka mad with her mysteries. He'd seen how she had a fond smile on her face all day and he'd been able to infer what had happened.

"I'm not gay, Pete," she'd confessed on her lunch break that day. She'd been sitting, picking at her sandwich and Pete was puttering around in the kitchen, straightening things and getting ready to make a batch of granola for the morning breakfast rush. She'd run her hands through her hair, trying to figure out what exactly had happened with Helena. "She's just like…"

Pete had smiled serenely at her and had told Myka to not worry about the labels. They change all the time anyway. "You fell in love," he'd said, and Myka had nearly choked on her sandwich.

She hadn't realized it'd gotten that bad.

Myka watches Helena take her tea and disappear off to the tables towards the front windows. She nods to Mr. Neilson, who scowls at her, and settles into her usual spot. Ten.

viii.

"Did anything happen to Christina, to make her fall ill?" Myka asks tiredly that afternoon. She's got to hire Steve, she's dead on her feet and they're still going to be open for another three hours. She pulls out her running grocery list and adds 'call Steve' to the top of it. She'll do it later tonight, once she's sat with Helena for long enough to ascertain if her theory has any merit at all.

Over the course of her life, growing up in her father's bookshop, Myka has heard strange tales. There are books, ancient tomes full of dark secrets, secrets that change a person. Her father had told her stories when she was a child, about a book that could suck away your very soul.

Helena sips her tea and stares at Myka with that calculating gaze that Myka's come to hate being on the receiving end of. She shifts, uncomfortable as Helena sets her cup down.

"I was reading to her. Just So Stories," Helena explains with a fond smile. Her lips quirk upwards then and Myka moves forward, trying to catch that smile and keep it there. She'd read those stories herself as a kid. Stories with lessons and fantastic takes on evolutionary concepts. "The Crab that Played with the Sea, I think."

Myka's thinking quickly now. Wondering if the story's content has anything to do with the ebb of Christina's life. She chews on her lip and doesn't look at anything in particular. Its overcast today, and they are not quite shadows.

Except that they are. They are shadows dancing across the sunny canvas that is life at this point in time. There is tea and there are biscuits. There maybe are even scones when Myka's feeling awake enough in the morning to harass Pete into cooking them.

"Do you still have the book?" Myka asks quietly.

Helena nods. "I read it to her every time I go to see her," she says and then shakes her head. "I'm positive that it isn't the book we're looking for."

Myka isn't so sure.

Claudia drifts by and tells Myka that they're out of milk. Again.

"Take five bucks out of petty cash and go get some," Myka says, jerking her finger towards the door. There's a grocer around the corner that carries gallons. "I'll cover the counter."

She's met with a tired smile and a sick feeling at the pit of her stomach. Claudia disappears back towards the counter and Myka stands. She knows that she has no choice now. Helena's still looking at her distant, looking at her nearly crossways. She's not seeing Myka at all.

Helena stands abruptly, tucking her bag under her arm and picking up her cup of tea. She downs it one large gulp and winces as she swallows. "Darling, I've just had an idea," she says, and leans forward, her breath smelling of tea and the muffin she ate earlier. "I've been reading her forwards, but maybe I have to read her backwards and out of this lull."

Myka's brow furrows, and then her eyes widen. Yes! That would follow the same sort of bizarre logic that they've been forced to follow this entire time. "Try that," she says, and Helena kisses her full on the mouth.

"I'll send word," Helena replies and brushes past Myka. She's standing alone in the middle of her shop, her cheeks on fire as Claudia makes happy noises from behind the counter where she's got the petty cash pouch out and is digging through it, looking for a five.

"Seriously, Mykes," Pete says, brandishing a spatula at her. "That was adorable."

"I half expected her to say 'jinkies,'" Claudia laughs and waves the five as she bounces towards the door. Myka has no idea where her energy comes from.

Myka supposes that there are worse fates.

ix.

It is not an easy process, but Myka's theory and Helena's idea prove to be the correct one. It is not easy to read backwards. A story seems like gibberish mixed with the obscene at times. Kipling would never approve of his work being read backwards as it is now, sitting in a white white white hospital room and rocking back and forth. Prayers, words, whispered to God and anyone else who might be listening.

And Christina?

Christina wakes up full of youthful energy and a distrust for her surroundings so acute that Myka wonders what sort of a home Helena had before she came to this city.

As fall starts to turn the days cooler and Myka's mornings on her bicycle turn into harrowing adventures of dodging around iced-over puddles and air so cold that her eyes prickle and tear up at the corners.

The wind changes abruptly from the sweet smell of summer and spring to the harsh bark of the north. Myka can smell the change before she sees the signs and shivers in the new breeze.

Helena comes to the shop then, and she has Christina with her. Myka makes them tea and is grateful that she's convinced Pete to make scones that morning. They share the scone between the three of them, Myka nibbling because she's sick to her stomach just looking at how perfect Helena is with Christina. That is a mother, a mother in love with her daughter. Myka has no place in their little family.

"I have to go away," Helena confesses as Christina crawls into her lap, her wool jacket looking oddly dated in the world of hyper-modern winter outdoors-wear. Myka wonders why Helena favors wool sweaters and stockings and vintage looking coats.

Myka knew that this was coming. She's not a fool, after all. Helena came in on the west wind, all manic and desperate and Myka had fallen in love.

"I'll be back," Helena promises with a kiss after the rush is over and Myka has a minute to come and sit with them. Christina is a quiet child, all wide dark eyes and questions. She still loves Just So Stories, but Helena won't read them to her anymore.

There's a sort of sigh that is drawn out then, where Myka's apron digs painfully into the back of her neck and her fingers rake through her hair, desperate for something more than summer sun-kissed love.

Helena is a being that belongs in the sunlight, blessed with shadow. Myka sees her as that and nothing more. She's desperately in love, but she knows better than to believe such a promise. That's what the book says after all, pie crust. Easily made. Easily broken.

So Myka?

Myka doesn't believe her.

She's gone on a Tuesday, nary a trace of her left. Myka finds the book that caused all this sitting on top of another, one she can't help but stare at for a long time, wonder dawning on her face.

The Time Machine

a novel by HG Wells