seriousfic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seriousfic) wrote2012-08-02 09:45 pm
seriousfic) wrote2012-08-02 09:45 pm
Entry tags:
Warehouse 13 AU: Persist In Folly (8/9)
Title: Persist In Folly
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,200
Characters/Pairings: Myka/HG
Previous: Part 7
Next: Part 9
Summary: HG's daughter takes after her mother.
Christina dragged a chair to where Myka and Helena were bound together, back to back. "My agents are on their way with the Cup. So it looks like we have some time to kill. Or bring to life. Which are you in the mood for, Mother?"
Helena was quietly weeping.
Christina sat. "Shall I tell my story? You always did love a good yarn… imagine waking up from a dream. In the dream, you were raped and murdered. Disturbing, no? But even dead, you stayed in your body. No final reward for you. Not even hell's punishment. Just the purgatory of your own rotting carcass. Now imagine the police collecting your body, the coroner having his way with you, the embalming fluid. Bad dream, right? But only a dream. As soon as you wake up, you can run to your mother's arms, safe and sound.
"Then you do wake up. You're somewhere dark, cramped. A closet? Are you hiding? But it's so dark… so quiet… Then you remember. The last thing you remember, before the dream. A white light. It took away all the shame and pain, tucked you in so you could wait for your mother in peace. That is the natural order of things. But someone ripped you out of it and stuffed you back in your scarred, despoiled body. Imagine putting on clothes caked in mud. That's an iota of what I felt.
"And you're still buried. You claw at the wood of your own coffin, but before you can make a scratch in it, you've run out of air. You die. Again. But whatever's been done to you won't give up so easily.
"You come awake again, panicking now, tearing at the coffin lid. And you die once more. Keep doing that for a few days, until you've made it out of your coffin and through six feet of earth. Then find out that your mother caused all of it.
"Of course, by then you were in Bronze—another kind of immortality. And the Regents had uses for a girl that couldn't be killed. At first, I worked for them because they promised to release you. But after ten years of nightmares, I served to keep you locked away."
Myka could almost hear Helena break open, her sorrow growing until it broke through the barriers she'd erected to keep her sanity intact. "No more! Please! I'm sorry!"
"Sorry? Why? You got what you wanted."
"I never meant to hurt you… anyone." Tears ran down Helena's cheeks like an ocean draining. She bowed her head. "The last time I saw you, you wanted to tell me something. You were so excited. But I had urgent business. After… I went to every medium, every spiritualist, trying to find you in the afterlife. They all thought you were going to say you loved me. Frauds. I knew we weren't the kind of family that just said things like that. So I just wanted… wanted to hear what you had to say. So you'd know you were the most important thing in my life, not the books, not the Warehouse, nothing else. I just thought I'd have more time. You can forgive me for thinking I'd have more time, can't you?"
Craning her neck, Myka could just see Christina. She'd inherited her mother's response to tragedy—an expression that mingled regret with conviction. It was heartbreaking on either of them. "I was going to tell you happy birthday. You work so hard—you forget."
The door rolled open, throwing yellow light inside. Christina strode into it, taking a containment bag from her agent and dismissing him with a wordless look. She came back in, stopping at the edge of the light, next to Myka and Helena's long shadows. She stared at the box like it was pulling her in.
"She talked about you," Myka said suddenly. "Not to everyone, just to me. When she felt safe. She remembered everything about you, Christina. When she lost you, it destroyed her. She never meant to hurt you. She just wanted to be whole."
"Whole? Is that what you call a life without a death? I was at peace and she stole it from me to assuage her own guilt! Well, I'm tired of being used as an excuse for her pathology. When I was alive, you used me to pretend you weren't alone, and when I was dead you used me to pretend you weren't suicidal. I'm through being a martyr to your cause."
Helena was beyond tears. "What can I do?" she asked hoarsely. "How can I make things right?"
"You can let me go." Christina held up the Cup. It was a golden bowl, the rim inlaid with pictures of appendages. Hands, wings, paws, claws. "How does it work?"
"You pour water in," Helena said desperately. "The Cup reveals whoever inhales the vapor. Then you… feel which way you wish to cast the light. They become what they are." She shrugged helplessly. "Maddening, isn't it?"
"No. I think I'll manage." Taking a bottled water from her purse, Christina filled the Cup.
"Please," Helena begged softly. Her face was becoming a mask. "Do what you will with me, I deserve it. But let Myka alone. She's blameless."
"Hurt my own mother? I would never. No. No, I'm not angry anymore. Decades will do that. All I feel now is tired." She looked at them serenely. She had her mother's eyes. Eyes that had seen too much. "Circe's Cup shows us for what we really are. I've been dead inside for the last hundred years." She breathed in the fumes. "Don't bring me back this time." Her eyes closed even as the rest of her became a pillar of ash.
Helena shook her head like she was trying to break her own neck. "Not again…" she said in a strangled voice. "No. No, no!"
Those were the last words Myka understood, because then Helena just started screaming, screams like she was trying to shout down what had just happened. Browbeat it out of history.
She pitched and she thrashed and when Myka picked the lock, she burst free like an explosion had gone off. Helena ran to her daughter so fast that she couldn't slow down, just fall to the floor when she got close. Skinned her elbows, knees. The wind of her passage broke Christina apart. Her body fell into a pile of cinders, bits of jewelry sparkling as they tumbled. Helena couldn't scream anymore. She let out a soulless cry of pure distress, no enunciation, no volume, just the unevolved need for rescue. Her hands dirtied themselves in Christina's ashes, tearing through them for some trace of Christina, some hope. In a few minutes she was breaking her fingernails on the concrete below.
Myka took hold of her from behind and pulled her away before she could reduce her fingers to bloody nubs. Helena tried to resist, but there was no strength in her. There was only the horrible push-pull of air with which she breathed out screams. Myka landed on her back, Helena in her arms, and whispered forgiveness in her ear until the mother screamed herself to silence.
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,200
Characters/Pairings: Myka/HG
Previous: Part 7
Next: Part 9
Summary: HG's daughter takes after her mother.
Christina dragged a chair to where Myka and Helena were bound together, back to back. "My agents are on their way with the Cup. So it looks like we have some time to kill. Or bring to life. Which are you in the mood for, Mother?"
Helena was quietly weeping.
Christina sat. "Shall I tell my story? You always did love a good yarn… imagine waking up from a dream. In the dream, you were raped and murdered. Disturbing, no? But even dead, you stayed in your body. No final reward for you. Not even hell's punishment. Just the purgatory of your own rotting carcass. Now imagine the police collecting your body, the coroner having his way with you, the embalming fluid. Bad dream, right? But only a dream. As soon as you wake up, you can run to your mother's arms, safe and sound.
"Then you do wake up. You're somewhere dark, cramped. A closet? Are you hiding? But it's so dark… so quiet… Then you remember. The last thing you remember, before the dream. A white light. It took away all the shame and pain, tucked you in so you could wait for your mother in peace. That is the natural order of things. But someone ripped you out of it and stuffed you back in your scarred, despoiled body. Imagine putting on clothes caked in mud. That's an iota of what I felt.
"And you're still buried. You claw at the wood of your own coffin, but before you can make a scratch in it, you've run out of air. You die. Again. But whatever's been done to you won't give up so easily.
"You come awake again, panicking now, tearing at the coffin lid. And you die once more. Keep doing that for a few days, until you've made it out of your coffin and through six feet of earth. Then find out that your mother caused all of it.
"Of course, by then you were in Bronze—another kind of immortality. And the Regents had uses for a girl that couldn't be killed. At first, I worked for them because they promised to release you. But after ten years of nightmares, I served to keep you locked away."
Myka could almost hear Helena break open, her sorrow growing until it broke through the barriers she'd erected to keep her sanity intact. "No more! Please! I'm sorry!"
"Sorry? Why? You got what you wanted."
"I never meant to hurt you… anyone." Tears ran down Helena's cheeks like an ocean draining. She bowed her head. "The last time I saw you, you wanted to tell me something. You were so excited. But I had urgent business. After… I went to every medium, every spiritualist, trying to find you in the afterlife. They all thought you were going to say you loved me. Frauds. I knew we weren't the kind of family that just said things like that. So I just wanted… wanted to hear what you had to say. So you'd know you were the most important thing in my life, not the books, not the Warehouse, nothing else. I just thought I'd have more time. You can forgive me for thinking I'd have more time, can't you?"
Craning her neck, Myka could just see Christina. She'd inherited her mother's response to tragedy—an expression that mingled regret with conviction. It was heartbreaking on either of them. "I was going to tell you happy birthday. You work so hard—you forget."
The door rolled open, throwing yellow light inside. Christina strode into it, taking a containment bag from her agent and dismissing him with a wordless look. She came back in, stopping at the edge of the light, next to Myka and Helena's long shadows. She stared at the box like it was pulling her in.
"She talked about you," Myka said suddenly. "Not to everyone, just to me. When she felt safe. She remembered everything about you, Christina. When she lost you, it destroyed her. She never meant to hurt you. She just wanted to be whole."
"Whole? Is that what you call a life without a death? I was at peace and she stole it from me to assuage her own guilt! Well, I'm tired of being used as an excuse for her pathology. When I was alive, you used me to pretend you weren't alone, and when I was dead you used me to pretend you weren't suicidal. I'm through being a martyr to your cause."
Helena was beyond tears. "What can I do?" she asked hoarsely. "How can I make things right?"
"You can let me go." Christina held up the Cup. It was a golden bowl, the rim inlaid with pictures of appendages. Hands, wings, paws, claws. "How does it work?"
"You pour water in," Helena said desperately. "The Cup reveals whoever inhales the vapor. Then you… feel which way you wish to cast the light. They become what they are." She shrugged helplessly. "Maddening, isn't it?"
"No. I think I'll manage." Taking a bottled water from her purse, Christina filled the Cup.
"Please," Helena begged softly. Her face was becoming a mask. "Do what you will with me, I deserve it. But let Myka alone. She's blameless."
"Hurt my own mother? I would never. No. No, I'm not angry anymore. Decades will do that. All I feel now is tired." She looked at them serenely. She had her mother's eyes. Eyes that had seen too much. "Circe's Cup shows us for what we really are. I've been dead inside for the last hundred years." She breathed in the fumes. "Don't bring me back this time." Her eyes closed even as the rest of her became a pillar of ash.
Helena shook her head like she was trying to break her own neck. "Not again…" she said in a strangled voice. "No. No, no!"
Those were the last words Myka understood, because then Helena just started screaming, screams like she was trying to shout down what had just happened. Browbeat it out of history.
She pitched and she thrashed and when Myka picked the lock, she burst free like an explosion had gone off. Helena ran to her daughter so fast that she couldn't slow down, just fall to the floor when she got close. Skinned her elbows, knees. The wind of her passage broke Christina apart. Her body fell into a pile of cinders, bits of jewelry sparkling as they tumbled. Helena couldn't scream anymore. She let out a soulless cry of pure distress, no enunciation, no volume, just the unevolved need for rescue. Her hands dirtied themselves in Christina's ashes, tearing through them for some trace of Christina, some hope. In a few minutes she was breaking her fingernails on the concrete below.
Myka took hold of her from behind and pulled her away before she could reduce her fingers to bloody nubs. Helena tried to resist, but there was no strength in her. There was only the horrible push-pull of air with which she breathed out screams. Myka landed on her back, Helena in her arms, and whispered forgiveness in her ear until the mother screamed herself to silence.