a debt left unpaid
rating: g
pairing: hg/myka
a/n: we shall pretend that there was never an artifact that showed up in boone and so on and so forth. i apologize in advance?
summary: life is what you make of it, and even then sometimes it falls short
Routines have always been something she tries so desperately to avoid - they’re signs of settling, accepting that life only has so much to offer and the complacency with that being just that.
Having any sort of routine is something she spends most of her youth fighting against.
It works for a little while, with the Warehouse and all. She occupies herself when her brother isn’t looking and she finds a sanctuary that offers everything but a mundane existence. It is truly a treasure trove for endless wonder and she basks in the novelty of every day it brings her.
No two days are ever alike, no two artifacts ever posing the exact same threat - but it would seem that even this, this endless wonder is too good to be true.
Because one day is exactly like the others because it isn’t like yesterday since yesterday she has her daughter and today, she’s lost her.
The days begin to become the same after that; every day starting as a fight to win back what she’s lost and ending in a defeat that she refuses to take sitting down. Everything blends together, the curiosities barely registering with her when they get them. It nearly gets her killed more times than she’s willing to admit while going after them, and even those days feel the same.
It sends her to a dark place, one that’s far greater than she ever imagines she could fall into. As her luck would have it, bronzing isn’t the cure-all remedy she hopes it is for her monotony and she only ends up falling even deeper. She carries her demons alone, not allowing anyone to see how bad it’s truly gotten and for a second, she almost manages to fool herself into thinking she’s not actually that far gone.
Pesky thing about routines is that they’re extremely easy to fall back into no matter how long you’ve been away.
-
She starts writing again because she finds it balances out the order in her new life.
There are no glorious adventures, no world counting on her to find and retrieve an artifact in time lest it turns everyone to clay or something or other. There’s only a quiet existence, in a quiet town, where the biggest thing that’s happened all month is Benjamin from two streets down running over a mailbox or two while learning how to drive.
This is a different kind of tedium, one she finds she’s rather fond of. It makes her life simple in a way it’s never really been and she appreciates that the most anyone expects of her on a daily basis is to cook something that’s considered edible.
Still, she misses it quite often.
She doesn’t dare go back, the thought terrifies her. She’s not confident enough in herself to allow that indulgence. They told her in another world, she gladly gives up her life to save the Warehouse and the others; for them that is enough to wipe her slate clean, however she isn’t so easily convinced.
Perhaps one day, she can see what they see. For now, she settles for this.
Things are better this way.
-
It’s years since she’s last seen her, she would say she barely remembers what she looks like but that would be a lie no one believes. Truthfully, she remembers most everything - her voice, her hair, the exact shade of brown her eyes are. The only thing she can’t seem to remember is what she looks like when she’s happy.
(it’s a shame because she remembers her smile being so pretty)
She holds out hope that one day, they could be that team they speak so fondly of again, but the days turned to months that turned to years until that memory is pushed into the depths of her mind, put on hold in exchange for more pressing matters.
It should be noted that she hasn’t forgotten; forgetting would be too easy and nothing between them has ever been easy.
The universe nearly proves just as much when a young woman walks into the bookstore on a warmer November afternoon. She looks like she could be in college, wearing a simple white button-up, a leather jacket, and jeans that bring back memories that are never too far away.
She finds herself comparing the two subconsciously, their likeness uncanny save the warmer hair color and the colder eyes.
The girl pulls something out of the bag she’s wearing: a package for her, her name and address from the B&B on it but no return address. It’s wrapped in plain brown paper, folded carefully and tied with a loose string a few times. She can’t be certain, though the neat scrawl on the paper is familiar to her.
She’s told that this was one of the things left behind from the girl’s step-mother. In the letter that’s left for her and her father, there’s no mention of the package or what to do with it but she finds it safely tucked away in a place only the two of them know about. She must have forgotten to send it before everything, the girl says, more disappointed than anything.
She asks if the girl knows what it is, she simply shrugs with a familiar smirk tugging at her lips.
“Endless wonder, maybe.”
-
The wrapping paper falls away easily to reveal a medium sized book, the cover a worn dark red and its entire contents are written in the same familiar handwriting; an unused ticket to Rapid City from five years ago acts as a makeshift bookmarker for the dedication.
To Agent Bering,
For it ended up being me who owes you -
I still hope you can forgive me.
pairing: hg/myka
a/n: we shall pretend that there was never an artifact that showed up in boone and so on and so forth. i apologize in advance?
summary: life is what you make of it, and even then sometimes it falls short
Routines have always been something she tries so desperately to avoid - they’re signs of settling, accepting that life only has so much to offer and the complacency with that being just that.
Having any sort of routine is something she spends most of her youth fighting against.
It works for a little while, with the Warehouse and all. She occupies herself when her brother isn’t looking and she finds a sanctuary that offers everything but a mundane existence. It is truly a treasure trove for endless wonder and she basks in the novelty of every day it brings her.
No two days are ever alike, no two artifacts ever posing the exact same threat - but it would seem that even this, this endless wonder is too good to be true.
Because one day is exactly like the others because it isn’t like yesterday since yesterday she has her daughter and today, she’s lost her.
The days begin to become the same after that; every day starting as a fight to win back what she’s lost and ending in a defeat that she refuses to take sitting down. Everything blends together, the curiosities barely registering with her when they get them. It nearly gets her killed more times than she’s willing to admit while going after them, and even those days feel the same.
It sends her to a dark place, one that’s far greater than she ever imagines she could fall into. As her luck would have it, bronzing isn’t the cure-all remedy she hopes it is for her monotony and she only ends up falling even deeper. She carries her demons alone, not allowing anyone to see how bad it’s truly gotten and for a second, she almost manages to fool herself into thinking she’s not actually that far gone.
Pesky thing about routines is that they’re extremely easy to fall back into no matter how long you’ve been away.
-
She starts writing again because she finds it balances out the order in her new life.
There are no glorious adventures, no world counting on her to find and retrieve an artifact in time lest it turns everyone to clay or something or other. There’s only a quiet existence, in a quiet town, where the biggest thing that’s happened all month is Benjamin from two streets down running over a mailbox or two while learning how to drive.
This is a different kind of tedium, one she finds she’s rather fond of. It makes her life simple in a way it’s never really been and she appreciates that the most anyone expects of her on a daily basis is to cook something that’s considered edible.
Still, she misses it quite often.
She doesn’t dare go back, the thought terrifies her. She’s not confident enough in herself to allow that indulgence. They told her in another world, she gladly gives up her life to save the Warehouse and the others; for them that is enough to wipe her slate clean, however she isn’t so easily convinced.
Perhaps one day, she can see what they see. For now, she settles for this.
Things are better this way.
-
It’s years since she’s last seen her, she would say she barely remembers what she looks like but that would be a lie no one believes. Truthfully, she remembers most everything - her voice, her hair, the exact shade of brown her eyes are. The only thing she can’t seem to remember is what she looks like when she’s happy.
(it’s a shame because she remembers her smile being so pretty)
She holds out hope that one day, they could be that team they speak so fondly of again, but the days turned to months that turned to years until that memory is pushed into the depths of her mind, put on hold in exchange for more pressing matters.
It should be noted that she hasn’t forgotten; forgetting would be too easy and nothing between them has ever been easy.
The universe nearly proves just as much when a young woman walks into the bookstore on a warmer November afternoon. She looks like she could be in college, wearing a simple white button-up, a leather jacket, and jeans that bring back memories that are never too far away.
She finds herself comparing the two subconsciously, their likeness uncanny save the warmer hair color and the colder eyes.
The girl pulls something out of the bag she’s wearing: a package for her, her name and address from the B&B on it but no return address. It’s wrapped in plain brown paper, folded carefully and tied with a loose string a few times. She can’t be certain, though the neat scrawl on the paper is familiar to her.
She’s told that this was one of the things left behind from the girl’s step-mother. In the letter that’s left for her and her father, there’s no mention of the package or what to do with it but she finds it safely tucked away in a place only the two of them know about. She must have forgotten to send it before everything, the girl says, more disappointed than anything.
She asks if the girl knows what it is, she simply shrugs with a familiar smirk tugging at her lips.
“Endless wonder, maybe.”
-
The wrapping paper falls away easily to reveal a medium sized book, the cover a worn dark red and its entire contents are written in the same familiar handwriting; an unused ticket to Rapid City from five years ago acts as a makeshift bookmarker for the dedication.
To Agent Bering,
For it ended up being me who owes you -
I still hope you can forgive me.