I'm back, and boy did I really underestimated how much research goes into writing a historical story! Even with all I've learned, I'm sure there will be many inaccuracies remaining. Unfortunately, I don't get paid to write fanfiction. I may have popped into the school library often during my lunch hour to flick through the books on Victorian England though.

I got a really good start on this next part of my saga and then as the time-travel complications began popping up all over the place, it kinda fizzled out, but I know that this story can be good so I persevered. I really hope I can get to where I want to with this and not lose track of all the 'fiddly bits'. Let me know if something glaringly bad ruins the continuity and I will try my best to change it.

As a quick recap/rundown of events so far; The Bubble - Myka falls into an Egyptian artefact in Paris and finds Christina's doppelgänger there. She and HG rescue the girl. The Bump - Myka and HG rekindle their relationship and begin living as a family with Christina. Artefact madness causes unexpected pregnancy for Myka. HG proposes. The Bond - Myka deals with her conflicted feelings regarding becoming a mother. A mysterious woman is trying to use the movie prop from the 1960's version of The Time Machine. That's the bare bones of it, though as I sit here thinking about all the ins and outs, I can hardly believe I've really written so much!

The Bridge will go back and forth between the 21st and the 19th century, but will mostly stay with Myka in the 19th century. I've created an extended family for HG which, as far as I'm aware because I did not research on this, bare no resemblance to the real H. ' family. This is purely fiction!

I suppose I should add a disclaimer, erm - WH13 doesn't belong to me; no money being made, all just for fun; all original/historical characters are of my own imagining and are not intended to represent real people.

Chapter One

In the distance, the kitchen clock kept up its regular rhythm, filling the now empty house. Tick... tock... tick... tock...

Voices gone and laughter silenced; Helena felt a pit of despair open beneath her feet, the old scarred wound in her chest being torn asunder, threatening to throw her bodily into that world of torment and madness.

She heard nothing more through the receiver. Fighting blindly against the darkness, she tried to regain her senses. "Myka...? Myka...!? MYKA!" No, this cannot be happening. Not again!

The distant sound of Pete calling her name barely registered. Her grip tightened around the phone, making her knuckles turn white. What could have happened? How had it happened? She had taken this mission for the sole purpose of keeping Myka out of harm's way, now she'd failed, and not only her fiancée but her daughter too?

Was she cursed to watch her loved ones be taken from her over and over? Had she wronged someone in a previous life to be on the receiving end of this torture? She'd given up on a life of adventure and discovery, repeatedly said no to that inner voice that enjoyed the thrill of the chase, because her family was more important. Why was she being punished for that?

Bloody hell, Helena, this is not helping. Think, blast you!

At the panic in the inventor's voice, Pete twisted almost completely round in the front passenger seat to try to find out what was happening, repeatedly calling her name. "HG...? Come on. Damn it, what's going on?" His sixth sense had decided to return with full force and the intensity of it was overwhelming. When he continued to get nothing from her, he rounded back to the driver. "Steve, you'd better step on it. I'm gonna call... I guess Leena's the closest. I don't like this," he muttered to himself as the call connected and began to ring.

Somewhere in the Badlands of South Dakota, sun mocking with the promise of warmth and comfort overhead, Christina smiled tiredly up at the rusty monstrosity before her, relieved at last to have her part in this adventure almost over with. "Well, here I am, at last," she whispered. "Did you miss me?"

She wandered in a roundabout way toward the entrance, considering whether she would need to knock or not, but as she came within a dozen feet of the door, it swung open.

"I guess that's a yes."

The door closed softly behind her and she made her way passed the pillared bombs to the inner security barrier. Placing her face close to the scanner, she let the machine do its job and stepped back as she heard the dull click of the lock releasing.

Two familiar bickering voices greeted her at the entrance and she waited nervously as the portal slid quietly closed behind her.

"I told you that thing would let you down eventually. The Warehouse's system isn't just a jumble of wires. Everything here runs on a mystical energy." The director smirked slightly as he felt a hint of victory in his old machine vs. Claudia's new fangled gadgets.

"Well excuse me Grumps for trying to bring us into the modern world," Claudia grumbled. "I can't just give up. Not now Myka and little CJ are missing." She felt a shift in the air around her... the Warehouse waking up. She frowned. "Oh, so you're talking to me again are you?" she mumbled aloud to the room.

"What?" Artie turned from his workstation to scowl at his protégé, his voice catching in his throat as he spotted the unexpected intruder. He stood suddenly, crying out at the shock and grabbing his Tesla to aim it at the young woman. "What...? Who...? How did you get in here!?"

Christina held her hands out on either side of her to show that she was unarmed and stepped into full view. A content smile softened her features and she glanced around at the familiar walls. "The Warehouse let me in. I think you've been looking for me."

Claudia took several steps forward to take a closer look at the visitor and unconsciously reached out a hand to touch her face. "Jiminy Cricket. HG 2.0"

"Hello Aunt Claudia," Christina grinned at the open-mouthed expression on the young agent's face and then laughed as she pulled the redhead into a relieved hug, ignoring the stiffness in the computer-whizz's shocked figure.

From across the room, Artie lowered his weapon but didn't put it away. "So, you want us to believe that you're who? Christina Wells?" He scoffed. "Why would you have targeted Myka and your younger self? What have you done with them?"

The time-traveller released her idol and moved closer to the sceptical director. "I haven't gone by that name for a long time." At their matching looks of confusion, she elaborated. "Not since my parents tied the knot. I am Christina, though other than my mothers, most people just call me CJ," she shrugged her shoulders and waited to see what their verdict would be.

Artie had received a disturbing call from Leena a short time ago to inform him that she was at Myka and Helena's and that their beloved agent and her daughter were missing. Pete, Steve and HG were on their way back but by the sounds of things, the inventor was already in a downward spiral of emotions. Even if this young woman in front of them was who she claimed to be, he didn't trust her yet. For all he knew, she was no different than her mother and the charm was an inherited form of manipulation.

"I'm not supposed to tell you why I needed to come," Christina began, effectively cutting off the beginning of another argument. "But you should be prepared for what I did."

"Your mom's flipped her lid with all this," Claudia remembered from Pete's frantic call. "Why would you do that to her? What exactly did you do with Myka and Mini-you?"

"I didn't want to hurt her; it was unavoidable. If I could have sent her with them, I would have." The young visitor ran an agitated hand through her hair in an imitation of the distraught woman in question. "I sent them to London. Or more specifically, London, November 1890." She braced for the blow as she watched their faces drop. Several quiet seconds passed before anyone moved.

The grumpy director adjusted his glasses and sat heavily in his chair. "I assume that you have a good reason for playing with time? An airtight, saving the world reason, not just an attempt to revive someone you've lost?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, the young adult huffed and rolled her eyes. "I didn't ask for this. The Regents contacted me, they explained the situation, my parents talked me through it; told me things about our family that are bloody impossible and, after a while, I agreed."

Artie scoffed. It made sense that the Regents were behind this. He'd known that they were hiding something. "Time travel is extremely dangerous. No one should have that power."

Christina's features softened again in understanding of his caution. "I know. You've been giving me the same lecture since I was nine. Mum told me about her failed attempts eventually too."

"Eventually? It figures that she'd want to keep that quiet for as long as possible." As usual, he was having a hard time being sympathetic towards anyone who thought that they could use an artefact for personal gain. He stood up and began fussing around his desk. "We wouldn't want her to appear crazy or incompetent."

Claudia shook her head with exasperation. "Artie, you've gotta let that go."

"It's ok Claudia," Christina placed a calming hand on her surrogate aunt's shoulder. "Mother never did make anything easy for herself. Why would she keep one of her greatest accomplishments from me?" She cocked her hip to one side and offered the cynical leader a sardonic gaze. "I guess she didn't relish the idea of telling a child a bedtime story that involved her dying a gruesome death and had her mother turning mad with grief. Or perhaps it was revealing that her previous body still lies in a crypt in France. Or better yet, how about the world-ending, megalomaniac-behaviour that was only thwarted when one of her parents was forced to put a gun to the other's head?" Seeing that she'd made her point she added, "I'm not entirely sure Grandpa. When would you have broken the news to me?"

Suitably chastised, Artie returned to his chair, grumbling meekly, "Don't call me that, it's weird."

Chuckling to herself, the time traveller strolled the length of the room and sank onto the couch. "You don't mind if I lie down for a bit do you? I've been on my feet for days."

Snapping out of a daze, Claudia pushed her chair toward the couch and its occupant. It was strange seeing the young woman lying where a newly rescued eight-year-old lay not six months ago. Knowing that she was from the future, Claudia wanted to ask her all sorts of questions, but one look at Artie and she knew it wasn't a good idea. Still...

"So... How did your mission to build the perfect tree house go?"

Through her exhaustion, Christina cracked a smile. "Project Hide-Away is ongoing. Though version 4.2 was bloody good."

The techie slid forward with interest. If she hadn't been sitting on her chair backwards, she would have been on the edge of her seat. "Really? How did you solve the issue with the..."

"Yes, tree houses are the priority here," the sarcasm in the director's tone carried across the office loud and clear, cutting through the budding conversation.

Claudia deflated and twirled sheepishly. "Oops. Can you blame me? Think of how much she must know about the advances in technology. Like how she managed to dodge all surveillance. Except that really old camera in the hotel lobby."

Artie ignored her. "Miss. Wells, or whatever your name is, would you be so kind as to tell us what you're going to do now to bring your victims back? Then perhaps we can finally wrap up this investigation."

CJ wanted to laugh at her aunt's uncontrolled curiosity; it was much like her own, but Artie's words hit a nerve and she felt a sting of indignant ire. "They're not victims and I wasn't trying to hurt them." She felt like getting up to confront him but didn't have the energy so settled for an irate stare. "Do you think I like this!? I've torn my family apart and I don't even know if I should have. Whether I had a right to. I'm not even allowed to explain why everyone agreed that it was for the best, including you, Grandpa." She wiped furiously at angry tears. "I would never have agreed to any of this if you all hadn't convinced me that it was the right choice. But whether it was right or not, it's done. And I'm the one who has to live with it."

Another lengthy silence passed but just as the director was about to open his mouth again, Claudia shot him a look that told him to keep his comment to himself. "CJ, you're right that we can't know how you're feeling with all this time-travel wackiness. We need to know what to do next though. How do we get them back?"

"I don't really know how the artefact works, I was just told what to do with it. Not that it makes much difference because Mama has it now." Christina shrugged, clearly at a loss. "I think returning home is up to them."

"Look," Pete tried for the umpteenth time to elicit a reaction, a response from the backseat. They were nearing Univille now, Steve had hit the edge of the town at a speed that he was not at all comfortable with but now he'd slowed, refusing to break the speed-limit in a residential area. Lattimer used it as an opportunity to get through to the reticent woman who hadn't spoken a word since screaming her lover's name in vain. "We don't know what's happened. If it's an artefact, we'll figure it out like we always do. You don't need to go all killer-crazy on us." Dark, furious eyes rounded on him slowly. He gulped but considered it a tiny victory that he'd managed to gain her attention. Myka would kill him if he let her fiancée tip over the edge again; she would want him to keep trying. "The mad rampage didn't work out so well for you last time, did it? We're a team, HG; work with us on this."

Helena's eyes narrowed at the reminder. Did he think she'd forgotten her past mistakes? Guilt had been a companion to her for most of her life. Somehow, she was convinced this was her fault too. Her gaze returned to the familiar buildings and her mind whirred with images of what she might find when she arrived home.

Home. Such a simple word but with so much meaning. A concept that had been foreign to her for so long, which she had finally rediscovered with Myka, their daughter and the tentative promise of a future.

"Hey," Pete continued stubbornly. "You said you and Mykes thought that Christina was behind all this. That's something, right? She'll have answers."

"Christina would never hurt Myka," the inventor growled with conviction.

"Exactly!" The intuitive agent felt elated by the response, ignorant to the threat in the woman's voice. "So wherever they are, it could be for their protection instead."

"Assuming that we were correct." She reminded him sharply. In fact, ever since hearing Myka's fading warning to Christina, she had begun to doubt their daughter's involvement. She was convinced that the worst had happened to her family, and what would possess the girl to do something like that? There had to be another culprit.

Then again, Pete might have a point. Without knowing for sure, it was perhaps a little premature to be making assumptions. She was reluctant to let his words take seed; adverse to the idea of any sort of hope growing inside of her. That road inevitably led to more pain. But maybe, just maybe, there was something to hope for after all.

She didn't wait for the car to come to a complete stop before diving out the door and sprinting up to the house. In her haste to get inside, she barely missed knocking Leena down but any thought of an apology died when no one else was there to greet her. Frantically, she dashed from room to room, finally reaching the last one; painted a bespoke green, a half complete tree-house model still drying on the desk, an odd sock peeking from the confides of a drawer.

Muscles giving way, she sank slowly to her knees and let her head fall into the bed covers, which still held a faint flowery scent that belonged to the usual occupant. She wanted to scream, to rage at the world and demand retribution, but for what? What had become of her family?

Questions demanded answers but she was too tired, too weak with shock and sorrow to begin the search. Answers would demand something of her that she wanted to believe she had put away for good; something that hummed in the dark, tormenting; the very thing that had accompanied her as she tortured Christina's killers. Something she didn't want to be again. She felt its teeth, its inevitability, clawing at her insides, and strove to fight it.

Those few eternal minutes stretched her resolve; a war fought in the depths of her mind. Rashness against patience. Hope in the face of pessimism. Faith and wisdom grappling with despair and pride.

Myka would want her to find control, to find love and light in the darkest shadow and let them fill her heart. "I need more than, 'she hates the world'." Myka would prevail over hate. She would find a way to keep going without the relentlessness of hate's influence. She wouldn't fall subject to its whims.

A timid knock at the door pulled her thoughts back to the room and her gaze fell on the bulky frame filling the opening. She sniffed and started to wipe her tears from her cheeks, coughing to cover the pain in her voice. She stood on wobbly legs, using the bed for support. She had to be strong. They would expect it of her. HG Wells; time-traveller, murderer, betrayer, mad as a March hare; whatever she was, she wasn't weak.

When thick arms circled her shoulders, she fought them and the sob that grew from her throat. He smelt musky as always and the feel of his body against hers was all wrong, but she sank into him regardless, relief flowing with the renewed flood of tears as her fingers clutched desperately at the back of his jumper. How had he known?

Pete for once had no words; he simply held the grieving woman close and rocked her softly to and fro. He could see the battle she was fighting behind her eyes and knew that the last thing she needed was to be left alone. His mind recalled the moment in Warehouse 2 when, before they had known of her ultimate plans, Myka had crouched before the raven-haired inventor to pull her back from that edge of despair. A century in bronze had given her too much time with her thoughts, too much time to rationalise and to fall prey to those inner demons. He wasn't about to let that happen again.

As her sobs subsided and her slim figure stilled, he gently released her. "You're not alone, HG."

Her hands continued to grasp his forearms as she gathered her remaining equilibrium. "Thank you, Peter." She sniffed and then barked a rough laugh as he conjured a clean tissue from his sleeve. At least, she hoped it was clean. "I'm not sure how you knew, but I needed that." The letting of her wound had left a clarity that she held onto like a life raft. "We need to find out what happened."

"We will," he reassured her, foregoing any urge he might have to say something childish. "Steve is on the phone with the Warehouse right now. Do you feel up to going down there?"

Balking at the idea that he would think her that feeble, she rolled her eyes at him. "I have had my moment. I am not some wilting flower that needs saving. I thank you for your consideration but I do not require your constant attention."

Hearing that familiar fire in her voice, he grinned. "You sure grandma? I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." He followed the grumbling inventor from the room, happy in the knowledge that he could keep her going with their usual bickering. He wasn't stupid; he could be her verbal punching bag; an outlet for that repressed anger.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Agent Jinks was just putting his phone away. He and Leena were stood in the kitchen. They had removed the empty package from the hallway and Myka's phone was resting on the island counter top. Two pairs of eyes quickly flashed over the Victorian and they were both relieved to find most of their friend gazing back at them.

"What news from the Warehouse?" Helena asked as her hands gripped the edge of the faux-marble surface. "Have they found anything?"

"You and Myka were right about our suspect," Leena began softly. She wasn't sure how the inventor was going to react, but she and Steve were in agreement that this was better news.

HG reached automatically for her locket before realising that she'd put it away several weeks ago in an attempt to move on from the past. Her fingers curled uselessly into a fist against her chest as she stumbled over the name, "Christina?"

"So she says, and Claudia is certain it's her. Artie is his usual self about the subject." Steve saw the faraway look in the Victorian's eyes and simply added, "She turned up at the Warehouse a few minutes ago."

Knowing that she would be unable to reconcile her daughter's actions with what happened earlier that day until she had answers, Helena ran her hands through her hair and patted her pocket to check her keys were still there. "If that is where she is, then that is where I must be also." She turned from the room, her mind singularly focused.

Pete caught up with her in the driveway and stepped in front of the offside door. "I'll drive."

"I am perfectly capable of manoeuvring this vehicle," she griped.

"You're distracted and you need time before getting behind the wheel." When she didn't seem inclined to agree he crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you know how much trouble I'll be in when Myka gets back if she hears you've been in an accident and that I let you drive?"

Mimicking his stance, a small, ever-so-slightly-mean smirk appeared at the corner of her mouth. "And I should be concerned about that because..."

"Any punishment I get will go twice for you, and I'm not talkin' handcuffs. It'll be yelling and then the silent treatment." He grinned when she practically threw her keys at him. He patted her retreating form on the head and then jumped into the driver's seat, ignoring the expletive she muttered in what he was fairly certain wasn't English. When they were both buckled in, he started the engine and backed carefully passed Steve's Prius. "I know this sucks and all but I'm not getting any hinky vibes."

"I was under the impression that your 'vibes' were causing you some consternation." Helena was staring out of the window, still smarting from not being allowed to drive. When her statement met with silence for longer than was usual for a response, she glanced at her fellow agent and noticed the strain in his expression. "They weren't working as you expected them to," she clarified slowly.

"That's what I thought you were trying to say. Man, why is it that you and Mykes can't seem to just say things plain?" He grumbled. "Though you are so much worse than she is."

"I thought I had." She wanted to roll her eyes at him and his stupidity, but caught herself.

That's what she would have done some years ago, perhaps more so in her youth; looked down on the uneducated or those lacking 'book smarts'. She'd done a lot of thinking since her time away from the Warehouse, met many kind and thoughtful people, and began to think that perhaps she was missing something by placing all of her values in one aspect of humanity.

Despite his faults, Pete was a gentle soul with a thirst and optimism for life that she didn't always manage to retain. That was just the person he was. He didn't read anything that wasn't printed in a comic book or on the back of a cereal box, and his manners left much to be desired, but he was forgiving, loyal and had an energy that had buoyed her mood unexpectedly. She doubted that this appreciation of his better qualities would outweigh her irritation with him for long, but it would do, for now.

She reached a hand towards him and placed it on his shoulder. "Thank you."

Their journey to the Warehouse was both too fast and too slow for the inventor's liking. She wanted more time to adjust and decide how she felt about her future daughter's presence, and whether she actually believed that it was her. At the same time, she wanted answers and a plan for her fiancée and their eight-year-old's safe return.

Two days ago, she had been nervous about entering the Warehouse again for fear that something dreadful would happen to her family. Now she realised how irrational that fear had been. It hadn't been her presence in the Warehouse that had triggered this nightmare, this investigation had started over a month ago, when the guards in Hollywood had disappeared under suspicious circumstances. Artefacts just seemed to find her and she figured that perhaps it was about time she accepted that.

This time, as she stepped into the operational headquarters of the Warehouse and smelt a familiar faint scent of apples, she wasn't nervous. Her concern for Myka and Christina, and her curiosity over the involvement of time travel, outweighed any residual fear she had.

Determination written on her face, HG scanned the room, her eyes passing over Artie, Claudia and Agent Coombs only to come up empty and return once more to the redhead. She was aware of their cautious, curious and confused gazes on her but dismissed their feelings as a distraction.

"Where is she?" She asked the young tech expert as calmly as she could manage.

Claudia opened her mouth to respond but Artie beat her to the punch. "Before you run off and do anything rash, Agent Wells, I want to make a few things clear." He moved to stand in front of her, his expression grave. "There will be no vendettas; no making or using artefacts without consultation and agreement with the whole team; no use of excessive force, and no running off half-cocked. Do you understand?" He knew he couldn't afford to go easy on her but he softened a bit as he took in the slump in her shoulders. "This could be your last chance to prove that you can control yourself."

Taking his words as the warning they were, Helena placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not going to give the Regents an excuse to Bronze me again, or get rid of me permanently. I am going to do everything in my power to get them back though."

Grunting, he nodded his acceptance. "It's a fine line between the two. We all want them back; they're just as much our family. You need to trust that we will do everything in our power to help."

HG took a steadying breath to quiet her impatience. "Has she told you anything yet? What she did? Where they are?"

Claudia swivelled in her chair to face the inventor. "Jinksy didn't tell you?"

Helena glanced at Pete who looked mildly guilty. "What exactly was he supposed to have told me?"

Deciding to rip off the news like a band-aid, she said quickly, "She sent them back to 1890." As the Victorian's jaw dropped, the redhead took a slow breath and then added, "To London."

I hope that's a promising enough start!