FF: Time After Time | Warehouse 13 | HG/Myka | NC-17 | Part 3
And if I only could,
Make a deal with God,
And get him to swap our places…
The first thought that entered Myka’s consciousness was that she didn’t remember her pants fitting so uncomfortably. Blinking once, then twice, she inhaled sharply and nearly cried in relief when she realized she was no longer in her own body in the twenty-first century. Another moment and she realized not only was she in someone else’s body, that person was decidedly male.
No wonder things felt a bit tighter down there, she mused.
Myka looked around and crossed to the nearest mirror to find a handsome, clean shaven man staring back at her. Dark brown hair, hazel eyes, a tall, lean build - he bore a basic resemblance to Myka which was oddly enough a relief. And then, dawning on her slowly, she began to really look at the man’s face… and the mirror she was staring into… and the room in which she was standing.
Several things bombarded Myka at once: one, she was in a tuxedo; two, there wasn’t an electrical outlet to be seen; three, the room was lit with beautiful gas lamps that she was absolutely certain were a fire hazard.
“What the hell,” she groaned helplessly, unnoticing of the lingering smell of apples hanging in the air.
She patted down her pockets and emptied the contents onto the bed. A silver cigarette case, a heavy wallet, matches, and a business card case that identified her as the Viscount William Cross. She wasn’t certain of the date, but the picture of Queen Victoria on the pound notes in her wallet indicated well enough that she’d been sent back in time much farther than anyone had intended.
Where once she might have searched for a phone or television, now she searched for a book or newspaper, but the room was unfortunately empty of both. A large trunk stood opened, however, displaying more than a handful of suits and frock coats, shoes, and shirts. It was a gentleman’s wardrobe, that much was certain, monogrammed with the initials ‘WC’ on almost every free square inch.
“Well, someone thinks highly of himself.”
Looking around the room, Myka took in at second glance what she’d missed on the first. It was a lovely room, elegant and stately. Obviously a guest room as there were no personal touches anywhere - no family photos, no small trinkets or books. The desk held an ink blotter but no pen or paper. She glanced out the windows, careful to keep concealed behind the heavy draperies, and found the sun was just setting far in the distance. Below her, acres and acres of gardens, fountains opened into soft rolling hills of grass, and beyond it, the tail end of a forest.
Wherever she was, the owners were clearly wealthy, and it appeared, she was their guest.
With no more information readily available, Myka steeled herself and eased the door slightly open to peer into the hallway. Fortuitously empty, she ventured her head out and looked around, spotting another open door about halfway down the hall. Glancing around once more, she tried to walk as nonchalantly as possible toward the empty door and rushed inside once she saw the room was empty.
It was a lady’s room, she realized, spotting the trunks of clothes and dresses, the perfume bottles that had been set up along a bureau along with a hand mirror and brush. Thankfully, the desk in this room was piled with newspapers which Myka promptly took to riffling through, finding the most recent to mark the date: July 8, 1883.
The time machine had sent her back, alright. About 128 years too early.
“Damn it all to hell,” Myka cursed, noticing for the first time that the gentleman whose body she was inhabiting had a slight Irish accent. Myka continued to look through the papers as she mumbled to herself, looking for an invitation, a calling card, anything that might tell her where she was at and why. Instead she found hand written notes on science, engineering, medicine, and zoology. Myka’s hands stilled on the pages. The handwriting, precise long lines, was achingly familiar.
“Would you kindly like to tell me what you are doing in my room, sir?”
Turning slowly, Myka’s eyes locked not on the small pistol being pointed in her general direction, but instead on the woman wielding it.
Younger of course, a few less of the tiny lines around her mouth that Myka had always found charming, but everything else was the same. Including the young woman’s eyes: dark, soulful pools sparkling with wit and intelligence.
“Hel-” At the last moment Myka cut herself off. In this place, in this body, Helena had no idea who she was. “Hello.”
The gun dipped slightly, a sign Helena was unused to the weapon, and Myka couldn’t help but smile as she remembered Helena’s one-time greeting. Perhaps they were destined to always meet at gunpoint. “I asked what you were doing in my room.”
“My apologies,” Myka smiled uneasily. “I was looking for the paper. I um, needed to verify something and I didn’t have my own copy.”
“So you decided to ravage through my personal papers,” Helena demanded.
“I um, well, you see…” what answer Myka was striving for in the ether of her imagination was left to be discovered as another man, a few years older than Helena, burst into the room looking absolutely horrified.
“Helena! What on earth are you doing?” He grabbed Helena’s hand and practically wrenched the gun from her, something that had Myka starting for him before she stopped herself. “Viscount Cross, my sincerest apologies,” the man began to gush, tucking the small pistol away. “I can’t imagine what my sister was thinking. She was startled, is all. Isn’t that right Helena? You were startled?”
The look Helena shot her brother Charles was nothing short of withering, but she smiled thinly and nodded. “Yes, you startled me, that’s all.”
“Apologize to the Viscount, Helena,” Charles instructed, his stare just as threatening.
There was a brief war between the siblings, a struggle for one to gain the upper hand, and then, inexplicably, Myka watched Helena falter. “Viscount Cross, my deepest, sincerest apologies. I meant no offense.”
Whatever had just occurred, somehow Helena had lost, and Myka was not happy with that outcome. She smiled graciously, and bowed slightly. “Apology accepted. And may I offer one as well? I did not mean to startle you so. I was simply looking for the paper and… got distracted by your notes. Interesting. Very interesting. You have quite the interest in the sciences.”
“Yes, I know,” Charles jumped in, all smiles and slick charm. “I’ve no idea what she thinks she’ll do with all that information,” he chuckled. “A woman studying the sciences is about as useful as a man learning to sew.” He smirked at Myka, or rather at William in that annoying, douchebag, AmIright? sort of way that made Myka want to smack him on behalf of all woman kind. Somehow, she restrained herself. Barely.
“Actually, I believe a woman should be encouraged to embrace and explore all her passions. All knowledge is worth having.”
Helena smiled a bit at that, but didn’t say more.
“Viscount,” Charles continued without comment, “Mrs. Ainesworth sent me up to tell you that the guests are due to arrive within the half hour.”
“Yes, of course. Tell her I’ll be down soon,” Myka responded, acting for all the world as if she knew what the hell was going on. “I’ll just… freshen up a bit more,” she finished lamely before nodding to Helena and stiffly walking past Charles. She stepped out of the room, walking just far enough down the hall to remain in earshot.
It wasn’t difficult to hear Charles voice clearly as he grilled Helena. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking there was a strange man in my room riffling through my things. How was I to know who he was Charles?”
“He’s the Viscount William Cross, a man with 100,000 pounds a year thanks to the East India Trading Company, and an avid investor. In two days time he leaves for the dark continent to go on a year long tour and safari. God knows if he’ll return, much less when, so I have little more than forty-eight hours to convince him to bankroll my stock investments and you nearly ruined it!”
“Oh, Charles, no… not the stocks again. You lost nearly everything last time-”
“It’s a certain investment this time, Helena. There’s no risk. I’ve been guaranteed a 300% return on my money. I just need to put up 10,000 pounds capital investment.”
“10,000 pounds! You must be mad! We don’t have that kind of money.”
“No, but the Viscount does - and he likes me. Trusts me. And if you could be a bit more charming and use some of your glorious assets darling, we might just be able to pull this off.”
“I’m not seducing a man so that you can steal his money.”
“Why not? You’ve seduced men for far less - not to mention the Breckinridge sisters. But I suppose they were just for fun, weren’t they?”
“You’re a bastard.”
“You would know. We share the same hapless father.”
Charles shuffled for the door and Myka rushed to her room, pushing the door closed in time to conceal herself as she looked back through the crack. Charles stepped out of the room, took one last parting shot at Helena, and headed back down the stairs. Myka watched, her heart in her throat as Helena steadied herself, and adjusted her dress. She took three long breaths and then followed her brother down the stairs.
In the solitude of her room, Myka let her head fall back against the wall, and thanked whatever gods might be listening that if nothing else came of if, at least she got to see Helena one last time. Straightening her tie, she stepped back out into the hall and followed Helena to supper.
~*~
What Myka knew of Victorian protocol had been mostly gleaned from books and watching BBC America. Thus, she hesitantly entered the large dining room a few steps behind Helena and watched as the younger woman greeted their host, a grey-haired woman of about fifty with a pleasant smile.
“Mrs. Ainesworth, you look divine,” Helena smiled, and Myka noted, there was no trace of a lie or pretense in the compliment. It didn’t take a genius to assume that the Wells sibling’s invitation had been extended as a courtesy on Helena’s behalf. This was confirmed a moment later when Mrs. Ainesworth smiled warmly and embraced Helena as a daughter, the two of them laughing at some whispered joke.
It was only Myka’s appearance through the doorway that drew Mrs. Ainesworth’s attention.
“Viscount Cross, you are looking well this evening.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ainesworth.” Myka bowed slightly again, vaguely remembering that men seemed to do this quite a bit in the movies. “You look lovely.”
A faint blush crossed her cheeks, and Myka wasn’t sure if the woman was simply starved for compliments, or if she’d over-stepped the bounds of society within the first thirty-seconds. She took the dining room in at a glance, noting the large tables strewn high and wide with food. Servers stood at the ready with glasses of sparkling wine, and in the corner, a ten-piece string and horn ensemble were tuning their instruments and beginning to play.
The enormity of the situation hit Myka like a ton of bricks. It was a party. A very lavish, very posh party. She would be expected to smile, and charm, and dance like a 19th century gentleman. Briefly considering excusing herself due to illness - which wasn’t a lie at all given the way the world was currently shifting around her - Myka took a deep breath and tried to smile.
Although it made little to no sense, somehow the time machine had sent her back to this date, in this place. She refused to believe there wasn’t some reason behind it all. Helena was here, that had to mean something, even if for the life of her, she couldn’t understand what.
“Viscount, if you would be so kind as to escort me into the hall? I believe my guests are arriving.”
“Of course.”
In a way, it was a blessing in disguise. As a host, Myka was required to stand there while Lady Ainesworth greeted each guest, which gave her a chance to at least attempt to learn their names. The rest she had to rely on body language clues. Luckily, it seemed very few actually knew Viscount William Cross personally, and those she’d met so far had only been acquaintances. Until…
“Oh, Lord Marbury, I’m so pleased you could make it!”
“To see my godson? Of course!” Myka’s stomach dropped even as she plastered on a smile. “My boy!”
And just like that she was swept into a handshake and hug and squeaked out, “Hello.”
“How are you son,” Lord Marbury asked enthusiastically, laughing and slinging his arm rather boisterously over Myka’s much taller shoulder.
“I’m… I’m well, thank you. And how are you,” she asked, forcing the same joviality into her voice that Lord Marbury was brimming with.
“Oh, I can’t complain. Can’t complain at all. But I’ve so much to tell you-”
“-Oh no,” Lady Ainesworth cut off. “You can’t possibly spirit my guest of honor away until he’s had a chance to dance, and eat, and meet all the lovely eligible ladies.”
Lord Marbury laughed gregariously, giving Myka an elbow to the ribs. “If I know William, he’s already met the eligible ladies… more than once.”
“Lord Marbury! Really,” Lady Ainesworth admonished, but there was a keen laughter in her eyes.
Myka tried for her best impish grin, still completely terrified of speaking. “Haha! That’s what I thought,” Lord Marbury chuckled again. He winked at Myka as he started toward the dining room, “Come find me when you’re done with the formalities my boy, we have a lot to discuss.”
And then, just as quickly as he’d come in, Lord Marbury was gone. Lady Ainesworth let out a deep breath. “He certainly is… lively,” she said in her most solicitous tone. “But of course you know that.”
“He is very, uh, boisterous,” Myka added, grateful that another guest had arrived as a distraction from Lord Marbury. And, Myka thought, he’s going to be a very big problem.
Part Four
Make a deal with God,
And get him to swap our places…
The first thought that entered Myka’s consciousness was that she didn’t remember her pants fitting so uncomfortably. Blinking once, then twice, she inhaled sharply and nearly cried in relief when she realized she was no longer in her own body in the twenty-first century. Another moment and she realized not only was she in someone else’s body, that person was decidedly male.
No wonder things felt a bit tighter down there, she mused.
Myka looked around and crossed to the nearest mirror to find a handsome, clean shaven man staring back at her. Dark brown hair, hazel eyes, a tall, lean build - he bore a basic resemblance to Myka which was oddly enough a relief. And then, dawning on her slowly, she began to really look at the man’s face… and the mirror she was staring into… and the room in which she was standing.
Several things bombarded Myka at once: one, she was in a tuxedo; two, there wasn’t an electrical outlet to be seen; three, the room was lit with beautiful gas lamps that she was absolutely certain were a fire hazard.
“What the hell,” she groaned helplessly, unnoticing of the lingering smell of apples hanging in the air.
She patted down her pockets and emptied the contents onto the bed. A silver cigarette case, a heavy wallet, matches, and a business card case that identified her as the Viscount William Cross. She wasn’t certain of the date, but the picture of Queen Victoria on the pound notes in her wallet indicated well enough that she’d been sent back in time much farther than anyone had intended.
Where once she might have searched for a phone or television, now she searched for a book or newspaper, but the room was unfortunately empty of both. A large trunk stood opened, however, displaying more than a handful of suits and frock coats, shoes, and shirts. It was a gentleman’s wardrobe, that much was certain, monogrammed with the initials ‘WC’ on almost every free square inch.
“Well, someone thinks highly of himself.”
Looking around the room, Myka took in at second glance what she’d missed on the first. It was a lovely room, elegant and stately. Obviously a guest room as there were no personal touches anywhere - no family photos, no small trinkets or books. The desk held an ink blotter but no pen or paper. She glanced out the windows, careful to keep concealed behind the heavy draperies, and found the sun was just setting far in the distance. Below her, acres and acres of gardens, fountains opened into soft rolling hills of grass, and beyond it, the tail end of a forest.
Wherever she was, the owners were clearly wealthy, and it appeared, she was their guest.
With no more information readily available, Myka steeled herself and eased the door slightly open to peer into the hallway. Fortuitously empty, she ventured her head out and looked around, spotting another open door about halfway down the hall. Glancing around once more, she tried to walk as nonchalantly as possible toward the empty door and rushed inside once she saw the room was empty.
It was a lady’s room, she realized, spotting the trunks of clothes and dresses, the perfume bottles that had been set up along a bureau along with a hand mirror and brush. Thankfully, the desk in this room was piled with newspapers which Myka promptly took to riffling through, finding the most recent to mark the date: July 8, 1883.
The time machine had sent her back, alright. About 128 years too early.
“Damn it all to hell,” Myka cursed, noticing for the first time that the gentleman whose body she was inhabiting had a slight Irish accent. Myka continued to look through the papers as she mumbled to herself, looking for an invitation, a calling card, anything that might tell her where she was at and why. Instead she found hand written notes on science, engineering, medicine, and zoology. Myka’s hands stilled on the pages. The handwriting, precise long lines, was achingly familiar.
“Would you kindly like to tell me what you are doing in my room, sir?”
Turning slowly, Myka’s eyes locked not on the small pistol being pointed in her general direction, but instead on the woman wielding it.
Younger of course, a few less of the tiny lines around her mouth that Myka had always found charming, but everything else was the same. Including the young woman’s eyes: dark, soulful pools sparkling with wit and intelligence.
“Hel-” At the last moment Myka cut herself off. In this place, in this body, Helena had no idea who she was. “Hello.”
The gun dipped slightly, a sign Helena was unused to the weapon, and Myka couldn’t help but smile as she remembered Helena’s one-time greeting. Perhaps they were destined to always meet at gunpoint. “I asked what you were doing in my room.”
“My apologies,” Myka smiled uneasily. “I was looking for the paper. I um, needed to verify something and I didn’t have my own copy.”
“So you decided to ravage through my personal papers,” Helena demanded.
“I um, well, you see…” what answer Myka was striving for in the ether of her imagination was left to be discovered as another man, a few years older than Helena, burst into the room looking absolutely horrified.
“Helena! What on earth are you doing?” He grabbed Helena’s hand and practically wrenched the gun from her, something that had Myka starting for him before she stopped herself. “Viscount Cross, my sincerest apologies,” the man began to gush, tucking the small pistol away. “I can’t imagine what my sister was thinking. She was startled, is all. Isn’t that right Helena? You were startled?”
The look Helena shot her brother Charles was nothing short of withering, but she smiled thinly and nodded. “Yes, you startled me, that’s all.”
“Apologize to the Viscount, Helena,” Charles instructed, his stare just as threatening.
There was a brief war between the siblings, a struggle for one to gain the upper hand, and then, inexplicably, Myka watched Helena falter. “Viscount Cross, my deepest, sincerest apologies. I meant no offense.”
Whatever had just occurred, somehow Helena had lost, and Myka was not happy with that outcome. She smiled graciously, and bowed slightly. “Apology accepted. And may I offer one as well? I did not mean to startle you so. I was simply looking for the paper and… got distracted by your notes. Interesting. Very interesting. You have quite the interest in the sciences.”
“Yes, I know,” Charles jumped in, all smiles and slick charm. “I’ve no idea what she thinks she’ll do with all that information,” he chuckled. “A woman studying the sciences is about as useful as a man learning to sew.” He smirked at Myka, or rather at William in that annoying, douchebag, AmIright? sort of way that made Myka want to smack him on behalf of all woman kind. Somehow, she restrained herself. Barely.
“Actually, I believe a woman should be encouraged to embrace and explore all her passions. All knowledge is worth having.”
Helena smiled a bit at that, but didn’t say more.
“Viscount,” Charles continued without comment, “Mrs. Ainesworth sent me up to tell you that the guests are due to arrive within the half hour.”
“Yes, of course. Tell her I’ll be down soon,” Myka responded, acting for all the world as if she knew what the hell was going on. “I’ll just… freshen up a bit more,” she finished lamely before nodding to Helena and stiffly walking past Charles. She stepped out of the room, walking just far enough down the hall to remain in earshot.
It wasn’t difficult to hear Charles voice clearly as he grilled Helena. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking there was a strange man in my room riffling through my things. How was I to know who he was Charles?”
“He’s the Viscount William Cross, a man with 100,000 pounds a year thanks to the East India Trading Company, and an avid investor. In two days time he leaves for the dark continent to go on a year long tour and safari. God knows if he’ll return, much less when, so I have little more than forty-eight hours to convince him to bankroll my stock investments and you nearly ruined it!”
“Oh, Charles, no… not the stocks again. You lost nearly everything last time-”
“It’s a certain investment this time, Helena. There’s no risk. I’ve been guaranteed a 300% return on my money. I just need to put up 10,000 pounds capital investment.”
“10,000 pounds! You must be mad! We don’t have that kind of money.”
“No, but the Viscount does - and he likes me. Trusts me. And if you could be a bit more charming and use some of your glorious assets darling, we might just be able to pull this off.”
“I’m not seducing a man so that you can steal his money.”
“Why not? You’ve seduced men for far less - not to mention the Breckinridge sisters. But I suppose they were just for fun, weren’t they?”
“You’re a bastard.”
“You would know. We share the same hapless father.”
Charles shuffled for the door and Myka rushed to her room, pushing the door closed in time to conceal herself as she looked back through the crack. Charles stepped out of the room, took one last parting shot at Helena, and headed back down the stairs. Myka watched, her heart in her throat as Helena steadied herself, and adjusted her dress. She took three long breaths and then followed her brother down the stairs.
In the solitude of her room, Myka let her head fall back against the wall, and thanked whatever gods might be listening that if nothing else came of if, at least she got to see Helena one last time. Straightening her tie, she stepped back out into the hall and followed Helena to supper.
~*~
What Myka knew of Victorian protocol had been mostly gleaned from books and watching BBC America. Thus, she hesitantly entered the large dining room a few steps behind Helena and watched as the younger woman greeted their host, a grey-haired woman of about fifty with a pleasant smile.
“Mrs. Ainesworth, you look divine,” Helena smiled, and Myka noted, there was no trace of a lie or pretense in the compliment. It didn’t take a genius to assume that the Wells sibling’s invitation had been extended as a courtesy on Helena’s behalf. This was confirmed a moment later when Mrs. Ainesworth smiled warmly and embraced Helena as a daughter, the two of them laughing at some whispered joke.
It was only Myka’s appearance through the doorway that drew Mrs. Ainesworth’s attention.
“Viscount Cross, you are looking well this evening.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ainesworth.” Myka bowed slightly again, vaguely remembering that men seemed to do this quite a bit in the movies. “You look lovely.”
A faint blush crossed her cheeks, and Myka wasn’t sure if the woman was simply starved for compliments, or if she’d over-stepped the bounds of society within the first thirty-seconds. She took the dining room in at a glance, noting the large tables strewn high and wide with food. Servers stood at the ready with glasses of sparkling wine, and in the corner, a ten-piece string and horn ensemble were tuning their instruments and beginning to play.
The enormity of the situation hit Myka like a ton of bricks. It was a party. A very lavish, very posh party. She would be expected to smile, and charm, and dance like a 19th century gentleman. Briefly considering excusing herself due to illness - which wasn’t a lie at all given the way the world was currently shifting around her - Myka took a deep breath and tried to smile.
Although it made little to no sense, somehow the time machine had sent her back to this date, in this place. She refused to believe there wasn’t some reason behind it all. Helena was here, that had to mean something, even if for the life of her, she couldn’t understand what.
“Viscount, if you would be so kind as to escort me into the hall? I believe my guests are arriving.”
“Of course.”
In a way, it was a blessing in disguise. As a host, Myka was required to stand there while Lady Ainesworth greeted each guest, which gave her a chance to at least attempt to learn their names. The rest she had to rely on body language clues. Luckily, it seemed very few actually knew Viscount William Cross personally, and those she’d met so far had only been acquaintances. Until…
“Oh, Lord Marbury, I’m so pleased you could make it!”
“To see my godson? Of course!” Myka’s stomach dropped even as she plastered on a smile. “My boy!”
And just like that she was swept into a handshake and hug and squeaked out, “Hello.”
“How are you son,” Lord Marbury asked enthusiastically, laughing and slinging his arm rather boisterously over Myka’s much taller shoulder.
“I’m… I’m well, thank you. And how are you,” she asked, forcing the same joviality into her voice that Lord Marbury was brimming with.
“Oh, I can’t complain. Can’t complain at all. But I’ve so much to tell you-”
“-Oh no,” Lady Ainesworth cut off. “You can’t possibly spirit my guest of honor away until he’s had a chance to dance, and eat, and meet all the lovely eligible ladies.”
Lord Marbury laughed gregariously, giving Myka an elbow to the ribs. “If I know William, he’s already met the eligible ladies… more than once.”
“Lord Marbury! Really,” Lady Ainesworth admonished, but there was a keen laughter in her eyes.
Myka tried for her best impish grin, still completely terrified of speaking. “Haha! That’s what I thought,” Lord Marbury chuckled again. He winked at Myka as he started toward the dining room, “Come find me when you’re done with the formalities my boy, we have a lot to discuss.”
And then, just as quickly as he’d come in, Lord Marbury was gone. Lady Ainesworth let out a deep breath. “He certainly is… lively,” she said in her most solicitous tone. “But of course you know that.”
“He is very, uh, boisterous,” Myka added, grateful that another guest had arrived as a distraction from Lord Marbury. And, Myka thought, he’s going to be a very big problem.
Part Four