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st_aurafinaTitle: Ladybird
Fandom: Warehouse 13/Sanctuary
Rating: G
Words: 3,400
Characters/Pairings: Helena/Myka, past Helena/Helen
Notes: Written in the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
femslash12 exchange, for tellitslant
Summary: Myka learns that Occam's Razor is a double edged blade.
Myka hid behind the rose bushes to keep watch, but the street was empty. Beside her, flat on her belly behind the thick hedge of roses, Helena worked on the basement window with a chisel. Myka never knew what Helena was going to pull out of her pockets, but it somehow it was always exactly what they needed.
"In my day, it was generally accepted practice not to paint the windows shut," Helena said, prying layers of paint away from the frame.
"Guy's living in his mom's basement. She probably paid him ten bucks to paint the house, too. Seriously, the suburbs kind of freak me out." Myka took a break from the potential threat of soccer moms or kids on skateboards to watch Helena wiggle the chisel between the layers of wood. "Shouldn't this be a super easy Artifact to get hold of? I mean, Occam's Razor. Wouldn't it be easier to knock on the door and ask for it? It's probably lying there on the kitchen counter. Or, hey, maybe he left it under the doormat? That would be a pretty simple explanation."
"That's not an explanation, darling, it's a vain hope," said Helena. "And that's not how the razor works. It distorts probability in favour of the user, but that causes rebound distortion for bystanders. Simple solutions for the user; complicated solutions for us. We're going to have to work extra hard to acquire it. Aha!" The chisel cut through the last layer of paint with a crack, and she pushed against the pane of glass.
As the window swung open, a young man padded down the wooden stairs with a laundry basket. He stopped dead on the last step, mouth open at the beautiful woman slithering through the window.
Myka drew her Tesla, and took aim over Helena's shoulder. "Wayde Platt?"
"He's out of range," Helena said, a soft warning for Myka's ears only.
"Uh, yeah? I'm Wayde," said the guy.
"Secret Service! Drop the laundry and put your hands in the air!" Myka lowered her voice to whisper. "He doesn't know I'm out of range. I bluff well."
Wayde pitched the laundry basket at Helena. It overturned as it flew, scattering clothing everywhere. Myka fired a shot, but it blistered off target and set a Def Leppard poster on fire. "Damn it!"
"Please, by all that's good, let this underwear be clean," Helena shouted, struggling through cheap elastic and cotton stretch to get her own Tesla out.
"It doesn't smell clean!" Myka scanned the room but Wayde was nowhere, and the basement was filling up with smoke as the fire spread from the poster to the corkboard to the cheap vinyl sofa.
"Oh, no," said Helena.
"You see him? Where? Where is he?" Myka coughed and swung around to cover the breadth of the basement.
Wayde stepped out of the smoke. He had the razor in hand, and it gleamed with menace in the flames. He raised it to his face, and carefully scraped at his straggly peach-fuzz goatee. The smell of fudge overwhelmed the acrid stench of smouldering vinyl.
Myka paused, surprised. "That's it? You shave your face at us?" Artifacts. They never ceased to amaze. And horrify.
"Duck!" shouted Helena. She covered her head with her arms. Myka obeyed without thinking, and landed on her belly, covering Helena from the worst of whatever came in the backwash of the Artifact's function.
The basement wall crumbled and fell, covering them with lumber, drywall and cheap wallpaper.
"So long, suckers," said Wayde Platt, and walked over the rubble to freedom.
Dust and ash rained down on the two of them. "For the record," said Helena. "You do not bluff well."
---
The largest beam lay across their thighs. It hadn't broken anything, but Myka couldn't get it to budge. They lay on exactly the wrong angle, and with Helena squashed right against Myka's hip, neither of them could get enough leverage to break free.
"I imagine someone will call the Fire Department eventually," said Helena. She slipped one arm behind Myka's neck, pillowing her head. "This isn't so bad. Nice weather. Lovely, well-kept lawn. And I can't believe there really are white picket fences."
Myka shifted, uncomfortable. "This shouldn't have happened." She replayed the whole thing in her mind, seeking the vulnerabilities. "We should have taken a different point of entry."
"There's no point in analysing it," said Helena. She stroked Myka's cheek. "Whatever we did, the Artifact would have muddled the outcome. If we'd gone in through a door, the door would have fallen on us. If we'd gone in through the roof, it would have collapsed."
Myka shook her head, in disagreement and to shift Helena's fingers. "Don't. It's distracting, and this is a life or death situation. What if Platt comes back? We need to think clearly." She realised what was making her stomach squirm. "Helena, are we okay? Should we even be doing this?"
"Oh, I think so. We'll move it, eventually," said Helena, pushing at the beam. "And it will be easier than explaining things to a burly fireman." She paused for a moment, considering. "Although, that outcome has certain pleasant possibilities."
"I didn't realise how vulnerable we are now. Maybe we shouldn't be partners," Myka said, in a small voice.
"Partners as in lovers?" asked Helena. She pressed a hand to Myka's belly. "Because, if so, I protest most strenuously. We are excellent lovers." She craned her neck up to see Myka's face. "Oh, partners as in partners. No, I have to disagree. We make a wonderful team, Myka. Though I meant it about the bluffing."
Myka closed her eyes and tried to rally her thoughts. Why was everything piling up in her mind, all of a sudden? "But, what does it even mean, Helena? Should I tell my parents I have a girlfriend? Should I bring you home for Thanksgiving?" Myka imagined the dining table, her parents' expressions, and Tracy trying to make polite conversation with Helena. No, that was utterly terrifying. "And then there's the whole Warehouse thing. What if something happens on a case? I've lost someone I loved on the job before. Never, ever again."
Helena's voice was soft and close, and her breath warm on Myka's neck. "You overthink things, my love. We're both good agents. We take care of each other. If there's one thing I've learned – largely thanks to you, I might add – is that it's pointlessly disheartening to give weight to other peoples' opinions, and that it's actively harmful to fear the future."
"I suppose," said Myka, doubtfully. Something tickled her nose, and she blew at it, but it would not budge. She opened her eyes and saw a length of green: Helena held a long blade of grass in her free hand, and she traced it along Myka's nose. Something winged fluttered down and settled on the blade.
"Oh!" Helena's voice was delighted. "There, now. How bad can the world be, when a ladybird comes to say hello?"
Myka peered at the spotted beetle as it industriously climbed the blade of grass. Stupid symbol of all things perky and joyous. "LadyBUG," she said, hating herself for nit-picking but unable to stop. "It's a ladybug."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Helena. "It's a ladybird. Don't you have that nursery rhyme anymore? Phylogenically, it's not a bug at all."
The beetle in question stepped daintily off the grass and onto the tip of Myka's nose. Myka crossed her eyes, trying to follow it. "See what I mean? How are we ever going to get along, if we can't even agree on what to call a ladybug?"
The beetle preened and flicked its wings, then folded them away neatly and produced a pair of fangs. Before Myka had time to shriek, it had bitten her on the end of the nose, and flown away.
---
By the time the Fire Department had lifted the debris off their bodies, the tip of Myka's nose was the size of a gumball, and as red as one of the fire engines.
"That's no insect bite I recognise. Do you have any unusual allergies?" The paramedic was suspiciously enthusiastic about it. Myka took the ice pack he proffered, and walked away before he pulled out a cell phone to take picture.
Helena waited by their car with her arms crossed, and an unfamiliar expression of horror on her face. "My enthusiasm for this day has waned significantly."
"Come on," said Myka. "It's not that bad. Is it?" She bent to peer in the mirror and moaned. "Oh, god, I look like Ronald McDonald."
Helena shifted uncomfortably. "I don't recognise the name. I do, however, recognise the effect."
Myka gave the evil eye to some ten year old rubberneckers on bikes, then slipped into the car where they could talk freely. "You've seen this before? Where?"
"I think it's the Artifact," Helena said, and put the keys in the ignition. "Not causing the –" she waved her hands in the direction of Myka's clown nose "– but bending reality enough that really very unlikely things happen."
Myka gingerly felt the perimeter of her nose. It was perfectly spherical now, as red and round as if she had put on a clown's costume. "I'm scared that if I squeeze it, one of those hooter horns is going to go off. Where the hell have you seen it before?"
Helena carefully pulled away from the curb and onto the right side of the road. "Not this specific effect, so much as unexplained biological phenomena. It's… it's the field of interest of a former colleague."
Myka gazed at her over the top of the nose, which was beginning to intrude on her vision. "Why are you being so cagey? I have a clown nose! If there's someone who can help me look less like Bozo the Clown, I'd really appreciate it. What colleague? Are we talking about someone from Warehouse 12?"
Helena took the turnoff for the airport. "Not the Warehouse – the Sanctuary. Where we work with Artifacts, they work with Abnormals – animals and people that are exceptional. And Helen Magnus – well, to be honest, Myka, we were close. A long time ago." She shook her head. "If one had to define the absolute opposite of Occam's Razor, it would be having to contact a past lover from the nineteenth century about one's lover in the twenty first."
Myka flopped back against the seat, her blemish temporarily forgotten. "I get to meet your ex-girlfriend? Wait, her name is Helen? That must have been confusing."
---
"Helena!" said Doctor Magnus, and gathered her into a hug while they stood in the admittedly impressive stone doorway of the Sanctuary. "I heard that you'd recently come back to us; what a lovely surprise!"
She was beautiful, thought Myka, with her hand over her nose. It was bad enough having a comedy nose, but so much worse in the presence of someone so lovely. Myka found it difficult to believe Doctor Magnus had ever had so much as a pimple. Myka, on the other hand, had never spent so much time engrossed in the in-flight magazine as she had on the flight from Kansas to Old City. She wasn't sure, but she thought her nose was starting to glow. More Rudolph than Pennywise, though equally frightening.
Doctor Magnus noticed Myka and her polar bear impersonation, and stepped back. "I'm terribly sorry. Won't you both come in?" Myka squirmed internally. Trust Helena's ex-girlfriend to be beautiful, poised and British.
"Come on," said Helena, and pulled Myka over the threshold. "Helen, darling, I'm afraid we've got an Abnormal kind of problem. This is Myka Bering, a Warehouse agent. We're close."
Myka waved with her other hand. "Hi!" she said, awkwardly. "I got bit by a ladybug." She sighed. Poise was something she was sure she would never feel again.
"Agent Bering," said Doctor Magnus. "How lovely to meet you. You poor thing, what a surprise this must be, even for a Warehouse agent." She touched Helena on the elbow. "Let's go down to the infirmary and see what we can do."
---
Fortunately, Myka didn't have to change into a paper robe. She probably would have cried, and nobody wants to cry when they're feeling so alone. Doctor Magnus had insisted the consultation be private, and had left Helena doing something complicated with a teapot, overseen by, hand-to-god, a Sasquatch.
"Seven spots, you say. And fangs?" Doctor Magnus seemed to be searching a database. There had been no scary medical instruments yet, only Myka sitting on a gurney and Doctor Magnus at her computer.
"Yes, horrible fangs, they came out of nowhere. I swear, they were bigger than the ladybug's body." Myka subtly checked out the room from the gurney, and found it little different from the room where she'd had her last physical. "Doctor Magnus, I don't mean to be rude, and I trust Helena to find the right person to help me, but are you a doctor? I mean, a medical doctor?"
"Helen, please, to one of Helena's friends." Doctor Magnus smiled from behind her terminal. "Oh, yes. Oxford trained. And don't worry, I'm all up to date." She had beautiful eyes that danced with humour. Myka imagined her and Helena together in the nineteenth century: laughing, making out, wearing trousers and defying men's expectations.
"Oxford," she said, faintly. "Is that where you met Helena?"
Helen grinned wickedly. "No, not at all. That was much later, on a roof at Brighton. She was hunting an evil sextant, and I was chasing a telepathic orange skink."
Myka nodded, as if that made sense.
Helen stood and gave Myka's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "I'm so happy she's working with the Warehouse again. It's very good for Helena to keep her mind occupied. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but she can get very down in the dumps sometimes." She made a face. "Not without reason, it's true."
"We're aware. She's working on that." The words snapped out of Myka's mouth, defensive as hell, and she winced. That was rude, especially to someone who was trying to help. "I'm sorry. I'm really not at my best right now. We're very grateful you agreed to see us."
Helen shook her head. "My dear, I understand completely. And of course I would help Helena's friend – we Victorian women must stick together. Ah!" She clicked her mouse and scanned a file rapidly. "Here we are. I think I've narrowed down the species of Coccinellidae you encountered. Goodness, you're a very long way from home, my little friend. She's from Israel, a very old species. Saladin called her the Scarlet Courage."
"Saladin? Who fought against the Crusades? Uh, is that personal knowledge?"
"No, I didn't know Saladin," Helen said with a laugh. "Not quite that old, I promise. But he was very much a lateral thinker, and when he discovered that this particular beetle was drawn to discord and doubt, he used her to point out those of his warriors who were quailing. And then he could talk to them, bolster their courage, get them back into battle as soon as possible. Very motivational speaker, Saladin."
Myka wilted. It's not fun to be told you're a coward, and even less fun to have a humiliating sign that says as much. "So, this means that I'm, what? Wavering in battle?"
"With the hindsight of modern science, I'd hazard that we're talking a biochemical signature of some kind," said Helen. "Helena said that a wall had come down on you both. That would trigger an adrenaline boost then an inevitable slump. Perhaps you were simply putting out the right chemical signals, though I have no idea what this beetle was doing so far from Jerusalem."
"Occam's Razor," said Myka, thinking hard. She had been full of doubt when the beetle appeared on the scene: questioning her relationship with Helena, their partnership at the Warehouse, even the way the mission had gone down.
Helen frowned. "That philosophical theorem doesn't really apply."
"No, the actual razor," said Myka. "Simplifies things for the user, complicates things for the bystanders. If it's doubt that drew the beetle to bite me, will, uh, the opposite of doubt help to reverse the effect?"
Helen nodded. "It's a reasonable hypothesis." She seemed to be waiting for Myka to continue. Made sense, thought Myka, with something that was based on fear and doubt, you'd need the patient to lead themselves to the right conclusions. Okay, then. She could do this.
"So, what's the opposite of doubt?" Myka's stomach flip-flopped with anxiety and her nose throbbed in correspondence, but she would damn well face this fear down.
"Certainty," said Helen, promptly.
Myka hugged herself and took slow, deep breaths while she arranged her thoughts. "Do you think it can work? I mean, you're from the same time as Helena. How do I make this relationship strong enough to survive the job we both love? And I'm not usually the kind of person who doubts herself – I have strengths and weaknesses, and that's never worried me before – but Helena, she's so brilliant. Sometimes I wonder how I can match up to that. And factor in a life-threatening situation, and the wall, and yeah. Maybe I overloaded on doubt."
Helen pulled herself up on the gurney beside Myka. "I've never seen Helena so alive and connected as today, even if she's quite mad with worry at this moment. We met after she'd lost her daughter, and though she didn't give herself up to be bronzed for a few years after that, I was not surprised when I heard. There was a world-weariness about her, something so very sad. And that's gone. I can't tell you how happy that makes me. Thank you for that."
Myka nodded. Her throat was suddenly very tight, and she didn't trust her voice, but she took a great staggering breath and felt a lot of tension go out of her shoulders.
"Furthermore," said Helen, and she put an arm around Myka's shoulder. "The next time you doubt yourself, Myka, you should be aware that while I was setting Helena the task of making a decent pot of tea, she quizzed me very thoroughly about how best to make a relationship with a twenty-first century woman work. You are not the only person in this relationship to have doubts. I suspect, however, that one of you bluffs better than the other. And I have lost a lot of money to her at poker."
Myka laughed at that, and this time she felt the throbbing in her nose ease down to nothing. It definitely did seem to be getting smaller.
There was a knock at the infirmary door, and Helena's voice drifted through. "I've brought the tea, and there'd better not be any complaints."
"Do come in, darling," said Helen. "We're all decent here."
Helena came in, balancing the tea tray very neatly on one hand. She stopped at the sight of Helen and Myka sitting side by side, and propped the other hand on her hip. "Well, that didn't take very long, did it? Honestly, I can't leave you alone for a bloody second. You'd think I'd learn better after a century. How many times have you gazumped me with women now?" Her face, on the other hand, was delighted, and Myka grinned back ferociously.
"Ooh, seven? Eight? I lost count sometime in the 1900's." Helen laughed and slipped off the gurney. "If you'll excuse me, I have a team to organise into Kansas. There's a beetle we need to catch." She gave Myka another smile, and vanished out into the corridors.
Helena reached out with a tentative hand, and Myka took it in hers. "You look better," said Helena.
Myka rubbed her nose; it was still red, but a biological red, as if she had an extremely bad cold. "Helen says that it will continue to improve."
"Oh, Helen says, does she?" Helena mocked, gently, then grew more serious. "Are you really all right?"
Myka pulled Helena close and kissed her with an open mouth. "I am. And I am so ready to go and finish this mission. Wayde Platt is never shaving again."
Helena rested her lips against Myka's neck a moment. "And this time, leave the bluffing to me."
Fandom: Warehouse 13/Sanctuary
Rating: G
Words: 3,400
Characters/Pairings: Helena/Myka, past Helena/Helen
Notes: Written in the
femslash12 exchange, for tellitslantSummary: Myka learns that Occam's Razor is a double edged blade.
Myka hid behind the rose bushes to keep watch, but the street was empty. Beside her, flat on her belly behind the thick hedge of roses, Helena worked on the basement window with a chisel. Myka never knew what Helena was going to pull out of her pockets, but it somehow it was always exactly what they needed.
"In my day, it was generally accepted practice not to paint the windows shut," Helena said, prying layers of paint away from the frame.
"Guy's living in his mom's basement. She probably paid him ten bucks to paint the house, too. Seriously, the suburbs kind of freak me out." Myka took a break from the potential threat of soccer moms or kids on skateboards to watch Helena wiggle the chisel between the layers of wood. "Shouldn't this be a super easy Artifact to get hold of? I mean, Occam's Razor. Wouldn't it be easier to knock on the door and ask for it? It's probably lying there on the kitchen counter. Or, hey, maybe he left it under the doormat? That would be a pretty simple explanation."
"That's not an explanation, darling, it's a vain hope," said Helena. "And that's not how the razor works. It distorts probability in favour of the user, but that causes rebound distortion for bystanders. Simple solutions for the user; complicated solutions for us. We're going to have to work extra hard to acquire it. Aha!" The chisel cut through the last layer of paint with a crack, and she pushed against the pane of glass.
As the window swung open, a young man padded down the wooden stairs with a laundry basket. He stopped dead on the last step, mouth open at the beautiful woman slithering through the window.
Myka drew her Tesla, and took aim over Helena's shoulder. "Wayde Platt?"
"He's out of range," Helena said, a soft warning for Myka's ears only.
"Uh, yeah? I'm Wayde," said the guy.
"Secret Service! Drop the laundry and put your hands in the air!" Myka lowered her voice to whisper. "He doesn't know I'm out of range. I bluff well."
Wayde pitched the laundry basket at Helena. It overturned as it flew, scattering clothing everywhere. Myka fired a shot, but it blistered off target and set a Def Leppard poster on fire. "Damn it!"
"Please, by all that's good, let this underwear be clean," Helena shouted, struggling through cheap elastic and cotton stretch to get her own Tesla out.
"It doesn't smell clean!" Myka scanned the room but Wayde was nowhere, and the basement was filling up with smoke as the fire spread from the poster to the corkboard to the cheap vinyl sofa.
"Oh, no," said Helena.
"You see him? Where? Where is he?" Myka coughed and swung around to cover the breadth of the basement.
Wayde stepped out of the smoke. He had the razor in hand, and it gleamed with menace in the flames. He raised it to his face, and carefully scraped at his straggly peach-fuzz goatee. The smell of fudge overwhelmed the acrid stench of smouldering vinyl.
Myka paused, surprised. "That's it? You shave your face at us?" Artifacts. They never ceased to amaze. And horrify.
"Duck!" shouted Helena. She covered her head with her arms. Myka obeyed without thinking, and landed on her belly, covering Helena from the worst of whatever came in the backwash of the Artifact's function.
The basement wall crumbled and fell, covering them with lumber, drywall and cheap wallpaper.
"So long, suckers," said Wayde Platt, and walked over the rubble to freedom.
Dust and ash rained down on the two of them. "For the record," said Helena. "You do not bluff well."
---
The largest beam lay across their thighs. It hadn't broken anything, but Myka couldn't get it to budge. They lay on exactly the wrong angle, and with Helena squashed right against Myka's hip, neither of them could get enough leverage to break free.
"I imagine someone will call the Fire Department eventually," said Helena. She slipped one arm behind Myka's neck, pillowing her head. "This isn't so bad. Nice weather. Lovely, well-kept lawn. And I can't believe there really are white picket fences."
Myka shifted, uncomfortable. "This shouldn't have happened." She replayed the whole thing in her mind, seeking the vulnerabilities. "We should have taken a different point of entry."
"There's no point in analysing it," said Helena. She stroked Myka's cheek. "Whatever we did, the Artifact would have muddled the outcome. If we'd gone in through a door, the door would have fallen on us. If we'd gone in through the roof, it would have collapsed."
Myka shook her head, in disagreement and to shift Helena's fingers. "Don't. It's distracting, and this is a life or death situation. What if Platt comes back? We need to think clearly." She realised what was making her stomach squirm. "Helena, are we okay? Should we even be doing this?"
"Oh, I think so. We'll move it, eventually," said Helena, pushing at the beam. "And it will be easier than explaining things to a burly fireman." She paused for a moment, considering. "Although, that outcome has certain pleasant possibilities."
"I didn't realise how vulnerable we are now. Maybe we shouldn't be partners," Myka said, in a small voice.
"Partners as in lovers?" asked Helena. She pressed a hand to Myka's belly. "Because, if so, I protest most strenuously. We are excellent lovers." She craned her neck up to see Myka's face. "Oh, partners as in partners. No, I have to disagree. We make a wonderful team, Myka. Though I meant it about the bluffing."
Myka closed her eyes and tried to rally her thoughts. Why was everything piling up in her mind, all of a sudden? "But, what does it even mean, Helena? Should I tell my parents I have a girlfriend? Should I bring you home for Thanksgiving?" Myka imagined the dining table, her parents' expressions, and Tracy trying to make polite conversation with Helena. No, that was utterly terrifying. "And then there's the whole Warehouse thing. What if something happens on a case? I've lost someone I loved on the job before. Never, ever again."
Helena's voice was soft and close, and her breath warm on Myka's neck. "You overthink things, my love. We're both good agents. We take care of each other. If there's one thing I've learned – largely thanks to you, I might add – is that it's pointlessly disheartening to give weight to other peoples' opinions, and that it's actively harmful to fear the future."
"I suppose," said Myka, doubtfully. Something tickled her nose, and she blew at it, but it would not budge. She opened her eyes and saw a length of green: Helena held a long blade of grass in her free hand, and she traced it along Myka's nose. Something winged fluttered down and settled on the blade.
"Oh!" Helena's voice was delighted. "There, now. How bad can the world be, when a ladybird comes to say hello?"
Myka peered at the spotted beetle as it industriously climbed the blade of grass. Stupid symbol of all things perky and joyous. "LadyBUG," she said, hating herself for nit-picking but unable to stop. "It's a ladybug."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Helena. "It's a ladybird. Don't you have that nursery rhyme anymore? Phylogenically, it's not a bug at all."
The beetle in question stepped daintily off the grass and onto the tip of Myka's nose. Myka crossed her eyes, trying to follow it. "See what I mean? How are we ever going to get along, if we can't even agree on what to call a ladybug?"
The beetle preened and flicked its wings, then folded them away neatly and produced a pair of fangs. Before Myka had time to shriek, it had bitten her on the end of the nose, and flown away.
---
By the time the Fire Department had lifted the debris off their bodies, the tip of Myka's nose was the size of a gumball, and as red as one of the fire engines.
"That's no insect bite I recognise. Do you have any unusual allergies?" The paramedic was suspiciously enthusiastic about it. Myka took the ice pack he proffered, and walked away before he pulled out a cell phone to take picture.
Helena waited by their car with her arms crossed, and an unfamiliar expression of horror on her face. "My enthusiasm for this day has waned significantly."
"Come on," said Myka. "It's not that bad. Is it?" She bent to peer in the mirror and moaned. "Oh, god, I look like Ronald McDonald."
Helena shifted uncomfortably. "I don't recognise the name. I do, however, recognise the effect."
Myka gave the evil eye to some ten year old rubberneckers on bikes, then slipped into the car where they could talk freely. "You've seen this before? Where?"
"I think it's the Artifact," Helena said, and put the keys in the ignition. "Not causing the –" she waved her hands in the direction of Myka's clown nose "– but bending reality enough that really very unlikely things happen."
Myka gingerly felt the perimeter of her nose. It was perfectly spherical now, as red and round as if she had put on a clown's costume. "I'm scared that if I squeeze it, one of those hooter horns is going to go off. Where the hell have you seen it before?"
Helena carefully pulled away from the curb and onto the right side of the road. "Not this specific effect, so much as unexplained biological phenomena. It's… it's the field of interest of a former colleague."
Myka gazed at her over the top of the nose, which was beginning to intrude on her vision. "Why are you being so cagey? I have a clown nose! If there's someone who can help me look less like Bozo the Clown, I'd really appreciate it. What colleague? Are we talking about someone from Warehouse 12?"
Helena took the turnoff for the airport. "Not the Warehouse – the Sanctuary. Where we work with Artifacts, they work with Abnormals – animals and people that are exceptional. And Helen Magnus – well, to be honest, Myka, we were close. A long time ago." She shook her head. "If one had to define the absolute opposite of Occam's Razor, it would be having to contact a past lover from the nineteenth century about one's lover in the twenty first."
Myka flopped back against the seat, her blemish temporarily forgotten. "I get to meet your ex-girlfriend? Wait, her name is Helen? That must have been confusing."
---
"Helena!" said Doctor Magnus, and gathered her into a hug while they stood in the admittedly impressive stone doorway of the Sanctuary. "I heard that you'd recently come back to us; what a lovely surprise!"
She was beautiful, thought Myka, with her hand over her nose. It was bad enough having a comedy nose, but so much worse in the presence of someone so lovely. Myka found it difficult to believe Doctor Magnus had ever had so much as a pimple. Myka, on the other hand, had never spent so much time engrossed in the in-flight magazine as she had on the flight from Kansas to Old City. She wasn't sure, but she thought her nose was starting to glow. More Rudolph than Pennywise, though equally frightening.
Doctor Magnus noticed Myka and her polar bear impersonation, and stepped back. "I'm terribly sorry. Won't you both come in?" Myka squirmed internally. Trust Helena's ex-girlfriend to be beautiful, poised and British.
"Come on," said Helena, and pulled Myka over the threshold. "Helen, darling, I'm afraid we've got an Abnormal kind of problem. This is Myka Bering, a Warehouse agent. We're close."
Myka waved with her other hand. "Hi!" she said, awkwardly. "I got bit by a ladybug." She sighed. Poise was something she was sure she would never feel again.
"Agent Bering," said Doctor Magnus. "How lovely to meet you. You poor thing, what a surprise this must be, even for a Warehouse agent." She touched Helena on the elbow. "Let's go down to the infirmary and see what we can do."
---
Fortunately, Myka didn't have to change into a paper robe. She probably would have cried, and nobody wants to cry when they're feeling so alone. Doctor Magnus had insisted the consultation be private, and had left Helena doing something complicated with a teapot, overseen by, hand-to-god, a Sasquatch.
"Seven spots, you say. And fangs?" Doctor Magnus seemed to be searching a database. There had been no scary medical instruments yet, only Myka sitting on a gurney and Doctor Magnus at her computer.
"Yes, horrible fangs, they came out of nowhere. I swear, they were bigger than the ladybug's body." Myka subtly checked out the room from the gurney, and found it little different from the room where she'd had her last physical. "Doctor Magnus, I don't mean to be rude, and I trust Helena to find the right person to help me, but are you a doctor? I mean, a medical doctor?"
"Helen, please, to one of Helena's friends." Doctor Magnus smiled from behind her terminal. "Oh, yes. Oxford trained. And don't worry, I'm all up to date." She had beautiful eyes that danced with humour. Myka imagined her and Helena together in the nineteenth century: laughing, making out, wearing trousers and defying men's expectations.
"Oxford," she said, faintly. "Is that where you met Helena?"
Helen grinned wickedly. "No, not at all. That was much later, on a roof at Brighton. She was hunting an evil sextant, and I was chasing a telepathic orange skink."
Myka nodded, as if that made sense.
Helen stood and gave Myka's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "I'm so happy she's working with the Warehouse again. It's very good for Helena to keep her mind occupied. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but she can get very down in the dumps sometimes." She made a face. "Not without reason, it's true."
"We're aware. She's working on that." The words snapped out of Myka's mouth, defensive as hell, and she winced. That was rude, especially to someone who was trying to help. "I'm sorry. I'm really not at my best right now. We're very grateful you agreed to see us."
Helen shook her head. "My dear, I understand completely. And of course I would help Helena's friend – we Victorian women must stick together. Ah!" She clicked her mouse and scanned a file rapidly. "Here we are. I think I've narrowed down the species of Coccinellidae you encountered. Goodness, you're a very long way from home, my little friend. She's from Israel, a very old species. Saladin called her the Scarlet Courage."
"Saladin? Who fought against the Crusades? Uh, is that personal knowledge?"
"No, I didn't know Saladin," Helen said with a laugh. "Not quite that old, I promise. But he was very much a lateral thinker, and when he discovered that this particular beetle was drawn to discord and doubt, he used her to point out those of his warriors who were quailing. And then he could talk to them, bolster their courage, get them back into battle as soon as possible. Very motivational speaker, Saladin."
Myka wilted. It's not fun to be told you're a coward, and even less fun to have a humiliating sign that says as much. "So, this means that I'm, what? Wavering in battle?"
"With the hindsight of modern science, I'd hazard that we're talking a biochemical signature of some kind," said Helen. "Helena said that a wall had come down on you both. That would trigger an adrenaline boost then an inevitable slump. Perhaps you were simply putting out the right chemical signals, though I have no idea what this beetle was doing so far from Jerusalem."
"Occam's Razor," said Myka, thinking hard. She had been full of doubt when the beetle appeared on the scene: questioning her relationship with Helena, their partnership at the Warehouse, even the way the mission had gone down.
Helen frowned. "That philosophical theorem doesn't really apply."
"No, the actual razor," said Myka. "Simplifies things for the user, complicates things for the bystanders. If it's doubt that drew the beetle to bite me, will, uh, the opposite of doubt help to reverse the effect?"
Helen nodded. "It's a reasonable hypothesis." She seemed to be waiting for Myka to continue. Made sense, thought Myka, with something that was based on fear and doubt, you'd need the patient to lead themselves to the right conclusions. Okay, then. She could do this.
"So, what's the opposite of doubt?" Myka's stomach flip-flopped with anxiety and her nose throbbed in correspondence, but she would damn well face this fear down.
"Certainty," said Helen, promptly.
Myka hugged herself and took slow, deep breaths while she arranged her thoughts. "Do you think it can work? I mean, you're from the same time as Helena. How do I make this relationship strong enough to survive the job we both love? And I'm not usually the kind of person who doubts herself – I have strengths and weaknesses, and that's never worried me before – but Helena, she's so brilliant. Sometimes I wonder how I can match up to that. And factor in a life-threatening situation, and the wall, and yeah. Maybe I overloaded on doubt."
Helen pulled herself up on the gurney beside Myka. "I've never seen Helena so alive and connected as today, even if she's quite mad with worry at this moment. We met after she'd lost her daughter, and though she didn't give herself up to be bronzed for a few years after that, I was not surprised when I heard. There was a world-weariness about her, something so very sad. And that's gone. I can't tell you how happy that makes me. Thank you for that."
Myka nodded. Her throat was suddenly very tight, and she didn't trust her voice, but she took a great staggering breath and felt a lot of tension go out of her shoulders.
"Furthermore," said Helen, and she put an arm around Myka's shoulder. "The next time you doubt yourself, Myka, you should be aware that while I was setting Helena the task of making a decent pot of tea, she quizzed me very thoroughly about how best to make a relationship with a twenty-first century woman work. You are not the only person in this relationship to have doubts. I suspect, however, that one of you bluffs better than the other. And I have lost a lot of money to her at poker."
Myka laughed at that, and this time she felt the throbbing in her nose ease down to nothing. It definitely did seem to be getting smaller.
There was a knock at the infirmary door, and Helena's voice drifted through. "I've brought the tea, and there'd better not be any complaints."
"Do come in, darling," said Helen. "We're all decent here."
Helena came in, balancing the tea tray very neatly on one hand. She stopped at the sight of Helen and Myka sitting side by side, and propped the other hand on her hip. "Well, that didn't take very long, did it? Honestly, I can't leave you alone for a bloody second. You'd think I'd learn better after a century. How many times have you gazumped me with women now?" Her face, on the other hand, was delighted, and Myka grinned back ferociously.
"Ooh, seven? Eight? I lost count sometime in the 1900's." Helen laughed and slipped off the gurney. "If you'll excuse me, I have a team to organise into Kansas. There's a beetle we need to catch." She gave Myka another smile, and vanished out into the corridors.
Helena reached out with a tentative hand, and Myka took it in hers. "You look better," said Helena.
Myka rubbed her nose; it was still red, but a biological red, as if she had an extremely bad cold. "Helen says that it will continue to improve."
"Oh, Helen says, does she?" Helena mocked, gently, then grew more serious. "Are you really all right?"
Myka pulled Helena close and kissed her with an open mouth. "I am. And I am so ready to go and finish this mission. Wayde Platt is never shaving again."
Helena rested her lips against Myka's neck a moment. "And this time, leave the bluffing to me."
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Date: 2012-11-30 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-06 02:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 02:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-06 02:07 am (UTC)*hearts then all too*
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Date: 2012-12-01 02:42 am (UTC)And I think the Ladybird of Doubt is going to become one of my new favourite things. :P
I love Helena and Myka here - Myka so uncertain about how to balance a job and a partner when she loves them both, and Helena just as uncertain and yet not letting it show, because of course she wouldn't. Just lovely. And I adore the backstory for Helen and Helena. Running around in trousers competing over women indeed! :D
This is so, so great - thank you very much! :D
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Date: 2012-12-06 06:21 am (UTC)I have to say thank you to you for an absolutely awesome request. I don't think you could asked for anything I wanted to write more!