Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, or the awesome world in which they live.

A/N: This first chapter is, admittedly, a bit angsty, but will lighten up with time. Thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated!

Aftermath

Chapter One: After the Bombs

Secret Service Agent Myka Bering paced nervously, back and forth, kicking aside the charred remnants of her once beautiful warehouse as she did so. She glanced over at Claudia and Artie, heads together, speaking in hushed tones while Claudia's nimble fingers danced over the pocket watch Artie had produced only moments before. Claudia was pulling tiny brass and copper fixtures from a worn leather satchel and fixing them all over the face and edges of the watch with a delicate silver screwdriver. She had already seen Claudia fasten what looked like a monocle to the timepiece and was now working it over, turning it, inspecting and augmenting her modifications.

Myka sighed and drew a long rope of chocolate brown hair between her fingers, winding it round and around. Her boots continued to scuff the warehouse floor, kicking up ash, and blackened artifacts, their edges still smoldering a dull orange – bits and pieces of her now dismantled home. Something crunched beneath her foot and she recognized the mangled frame of the glasses she was wearing in the Ovoid Quarantine just before the blast. She shifted her weight and heard the screech of shattered glass as it scraped against the cold concrete floor.

She dropped the strand of hair and moved to check her service weapon, ready at her side. She took another deep breath, trying to steady her nerves and steel her resolve. She checked her Tesla, her pockets, her pulse and ran a hand through her straightened dark hair. Her hand fell to the delicate gold chain that wound its way loosely around her neck. She traced the line of the chain across her collarbone to the gold locket hanging, heavy, on her chest.

The locket, the same locket she had plucked from the floor before entering the Regent Sanctum, now acted as an anchor tying her to her purpose. She could feel herself become calm, centered, connected by an invisible tether to the meaning, the history and the necklace's most recent owner. She pressed the cold metal of the locket until it warmed, util she was certain it would leave the faintest impression on her skin. She then brought it to her lips and brushed them lightly across its etched surface. A shiver ran down her spine.

Myka was unaccustomed to Pete's "vibes", as he called them. She had never been easily swayed by forces outside her own powers of observation. Even as a warehouse agent, she remained ever-skeptical and all of her creative faculties were pushed to extremes coping with the daily parade of the impossible. It would be unfair to say that Agent Bering had a limited scope when it came to her imagination. She could see entire universes and alternate realities in her mind's eye, nestled safely between the pages of a book. She could create complex plans, using intuition and foresight, and execute them with grace. She could envision a future where her family, her home, were safe and the wreckage of the last few hours passing were little more than the suggestion of memory.

But still, she was certain that the locket called to her. She had, as Pete would call it, a serious vibe. It was unsettling, to say the least, that she was entertaining the notion that this object could sway her so. She felt a tugging, a physical ache in her chest when she decided to slip it over her head. And now it practically burned her skin where it rested. It was a metaphysical heat that cradled the locket as it hung loosely, but still, it was unsettling.

She could not yet bring herself to open it, for fear of what she might find. She couldn't bear the idea of Helena's smiling daughter gazing back at her. Guilt hit Myka like a wave and she realized that, should the attempts of Claudia and Artie be unsuccessful, Helena would forever be Myka's own personal ghost, as Helena's daughter had been to her. Myka was already haunted by the ghost of HG Wells. Her presence, her smile, her foolish nobility, her darkness; it filled every corner of Myka's mind, a constant barrage of color and sound and longing and insufferable sadness. She saw, with closed eyes, the shape of Helena's mouth as she thanked Myka, in the last few seconds they would share together, radiating peace and gratitude before being engulfed in flames.

Myka's anger, her love, her sorrow, her desire for this one woman overwhelmed her and subsided, only to rise again and again in this terrible dance, until it finally settled somewhere in the center of her heart. She felt the sandpaper sting of tears behind her eyes and couldn't believe she still had any left to shed. Her cheeks were tight with the salt-dry tracks of too many tears already shed. Damn Helena! She would not become Myka's ghost. Myka would see to that.

She thought back to the moments immediately following the great destruction of the warehouse. After the blast, Myka went numb. Everything felt like it was on mute as she stumbled from their ill-gotten cocoon. She scanned the shambles surrounding her, searching for something, any sign that the last few seconds were a simple nightmare and she was free to wake. No luck. She sputtered and coughed, accidently inhaling the smoke and ash of her past and future, both aflame and peppering the air.

Myka hugged herself and hadn't even realized she'd spoken until Artie answered her. He had said something that sounded like hope, all might not be lost, but Myka could not even wrap her head around the possibility. She walked the perimeter of their tiny circle of clean white floor and thought of Helena. Tears began to inch their way down Myka's cheeks.

Only after Pete had stopped her terrible parade, did she realize she'd been crying. Pete brushed the tears from her cheek and crushed her to him in a fierce hug. He held her to him, perhaps a little too tightly, silently granting her the permission she needed to let go. She sobbed openly, her whole body wracked with grief, until she choked for air, hiccupping as she drew great panic breaths into her lungs. The impact of ruin continued to hit her in waves as she played out its history, cresting and crashing over her with unrelenting, violent force.

Suddenly her focus shifted and she pushed herself from Pete's tear-stained shoulder. "Pete, Claudia! Lena!"

Pete pulled his Farnsworth from his back pocket and thrust it into Myka's outstretched hand. She snatched it from him and snapped open he cover, shouting into the screen.

"Claudia? Claud, answer me. Claudia? Are you okay?"

The screen buzzed to life and snowed static for a moment as Claudia's face came into view. Even on the black and white screen of the Farnsworth, Myka could see Claudia was white as a sheet. Her dark eyeliner has been smudged around her eyes and she drew her face close to the screen as if to get a better look at Pete and Myka.

"Holy frak, Myka! You're alive!" Claudia choked out a thankful sob. Pete and Myka perked up. The junior agents voice came through clearly on the device, but also seemed to echo, small and distant, off the warehouse walls. "Oh god, Myka, Pete! I thought… Oh my…" Claudia trailed off into silence as she brought her eyes level with her surroundings for the first time.

"Claudia, where are you? Claud?" Claudia gave no response, struck dumb by the warehouse wasteland ahead of her.

"She must have come through the umbilicus… or what's left of it." Myka hastily dropped the Farnsworth and took off in a blind sprint toward their younger friend. She ran until her legs ached and only stopped when Claudia came into view several feet ahead of her in the hollowed out cavern of what was once the warehouse entrance. Myka picked carefully over the odds and ends strewn about at her feet. She tripped lightly on a mangled piano keyboard and realized, with a start, that she was wading through the remains of their office.

As Myka neared Claudia she realized that the redhead had her arms folded around her and that she was silently shaking while tears streamed from her eyes. She stretched up and called for Claudia to climb down to her. Coaxing her into an embrace as soon as Claudia's' boots hit the shrapnel strewn floor. She could feel the vibration as Claudia's words were swallowed in the embrace. "I thought you and Pete… Lena's okay, but Mrs. F… Myka, please… Please." Claudia's grip tightened and Myka stroked her hair, trying to provide some modicum of comfort in the midst of his chaos.

I'm here, Claudia. Pete and Artie are too. Helena…" the older agent's voice caught in her throat. "Don't worry Claudia, I'm not going to leave. You're stuck with us, remember? We'll never leave you." Claudia collapsed into Myka's embrace, giving into emotional exhaustion, "Not ever."

Myka snapped back to the present. Her eyes drifted to Artie and Claudia. She could still feel the weight of Claudia sinking into her arms, slack and sobbing. Myka closed her eyes and saw, clearly, the face of the woman she loved; heard the soft lilt in her voice, completely calm. A silent good-bye. She knew that if Artie and Claudia were successful in their tinkering they would all be given the chance to re-write history. Of two things Myka was certain: should they succeed, she was destined to save a life and end one in the process.