Warehouse 13/ouat: Double Date

A quick stop-off in Baltimore to collect Edgar Allen Poe's stuffed raven—obvious, that one—and before Pete knew it, he and Myka were on a double-date with HG and Giselle.

Pete generally thought Myka and HG were a bit like him and the Browns—he hated them until he liked them. Sometimes, Myka went all in with HG, phoning her, Skyping with her, writing super-long snail-mail letters to her

by hand,

even playing those Facebook games with her. And then sometimes it was like they were quarantining themselves. Once, Myka had spent an entire date on the phone with HG because she'd found a new amino acid or something. Another time, she'd spent an entire date

not

talking about HG, which you would think would be like an entire date where the topic of HG Wells didn't come up: not so.

Now, in HG's swanky pad on Aliceanna Street, Myka and her were getting along famously; HG only taking a break from hearing about Myka's ongoing revision of the Warehouse manual to talk about her Kickstarter project. DNA. That was all Pete understood of it. With him and HG's date pretty much shut out of the conversation, he looked across the table at Giselle. With her huge blue eyes, her cute upturned nose, and her vibrant red hair, she reminded him of that actress. What was her name? Oh yeah, Isla Fisher.

"You know, one of my squirrels says it's going to be a very cold winter," Giselle said. "Do you have enough winter clothes? I'm sure I could make you a nice cape if you don't already have one."

"No, I'm fine on capes," Pete told her. "Wait—your squirrels?"

"Yes. Mr. Deathurge. He's collecting a lot of nuts."

"Mr. Deathurge."

"Oh yes. Squirrels are much more bloody-minded here than they are in Andulasia. They're not as bad as geese, though. I don't know who taught the geese such vile language..."

Pete nodded along. "So, how did you two meet?"

"Craigslist. I have a thing for hasty, poorly thought out relationships and Helena was looking for one. See, first I was going to marry Prince Edward, but I'd only known him a day. Then I was going to marry Robert—I knew him for a week—but then things just got weird. We disagreed about things, there were things he liked that I didn't and things

I liked

that

he didn't...

it was just a mess!"

"That... sounds pretty standard, really."

"That's what Helena says. Something about a honeymoon phase and, honestly, who can understand her when she talks about scientific gobbledygook like that? But the point is, I realized this whole thing of staying with one person your whole life is unrealistic, when instead you can just share true love with anyone for a couple of days or even a single night, then move on!"

Pete sighed. Where were girls like this when he was in high school? "Not sure that's really any more realistic."

"Oh, it is! I've seen several movies about it."

"Not sure James Bond movies count."

"No, I mean pornos."

"Ah. So..." Pete briefly glanced at Myka and Helena, who were discussing something so animatedly that their gestures looked like sign language. "You and HG—you're just gonna up and quit on her someday?"

"When true love's run its course, yes. After all, it'd be rather selfish to insist we stay together when we don't feel the same way about each other, just because we get along alright." She glanced at his plate. "Oh, have you finished your plate?"

"Yes ma'am!"

"Seconds?"

"Nah, I'm full."

"There's a first," HG said. She and Myka giggled together.

"Hey, I'm getting on in years. Need to watch that the ol' spare tire doesn't get too inflated. This one loves the pecs, eh?" He grabbed Myka in a noogie. "Eh? Eh?"

"Pete, c'mon, you're mussing my hair." She slipped free of him, then looked to HG. "Sorry about him."

"Don't apologize for me—what's that noise?"

Giselle was calling out like a Ricola commercial. A moment later, a swarm of gerbils slid from the walls, circled up the table, and carried off Pete's plate and utensils. The swarm headed for the kitchen, bearing their dishes like a very small Viking war party's loot.

"Did that just happen or did I fall asleep watching Ratatouille again?" Pete asked.

"We run a small animal shelter," HG said, "and Giselle talks to animals."

Everyone was speechless save for Giselle. "I'll tell them you said thanks."

"Helena," Myka began, "where did you say Giselle was from again?"

"Oh, I'm from Andalasia originally, then I fell through a magic portal to New York, then I broke up with Robert and went to stay with my mother, then an evil queen cast a spell that transported us all to a town called Storybrooke, where I fell through another magic portal and ended up here!"

"And where's Storybrooke, exactly?"

"A mystical, magical land named Maine!"

***

After dinner, HG broke out the opium while Giselle washed up. They could hear her singing a happy working song through the kitchen wall.

"Care for some?" Helena asked, holding the pipe out to Myka. "I had some rather lovely times in Rome thanks to the stuff."

"No, HG, we would not like any hash!" Myka's eyes were doing the thing again. It looked like she and HG were on the verge of another communications black-out. "You're dating a fairy tale princess and you didn't think to tell us?"

"Well, I am a time-traveling inventor from the 1800s. Her thing didn't seem so odd in comparison."

"

She talks to animals!"

"And she's very cute," HG pointed out.

Myka looked at Pete incredulously.

"This might not be that helpful," he told her, "but booty do be bangin'."

"Pete! Don't call other women attractive while you're dating me!"

"What? I was agreeing with Helena!"

"You don't have to agree vehemently!"

"I wasn't being vehement—HG, help me out here." He reached a hand out to here. "You're dating Giselle; would she mind if you said Myka was banging?"

Helena was taken aback. "I can't think of any circumstances in which I would say Myka was banging. And as for the other concern, Giselle has nothing to do with Artifacts or the Warehouse, so I don't see how I'm under any obligation to inform you as to her status. Unless you want to be kept in the loop for everything weird I encounter."

"Maybe we do!" Myka said stridently.

"Alright—there's this thing called a remix and it seems to be someone taking a snippet of one song's lyrics and playing it repeatedly, several times, in a row, and then people listen to this for pleasure?" Helena shrugged.

"You know what we mean!"

"I know you handle Artifacts, Eureka handles fringe science, the DCIS handles Alphas—under whose purview do fairy tales fall?"

Myka's arms were crossed with the old fire. She'd never lost a jurisdictional turf war before and she didn't intend to now. "Ours. I'm claiming it. We're going to Storybrooke and we're checking the place out and if they have any Artifacts lying around, they'd just better watch out!"

Giselle poked her head into the room with a Zip-Loc bag. "Does anyone want leftovers?"

"Maybe," Pete replied. "The gerbils didn't help make any of those, did they?"

"They did! They were very helpful!"

Myka looked suddenly under the weather. Pete hesitated. Then took the bag.

***

They drove in two cars. Pete, Myka, HG, and Giselle all piled into the sedan, with Claudia and Jinks in the Prius to meet up with them en route. Myka turned on the radio, flipping through the dial for a second before stopping at Nicki Minaj.

"Hey, princess," she called back, "rap songs don't make your head explode, do they?"

"I enjoy all artistic endeavors," Giselle reported, "even the ones about people's genitalia."

"Yeah, well, I don't," Pete said, reaching for the dial. "They got any classic rock in this state?"

Myka slapped his hand away. "Leave it," she told him. "It wouldn't do you any harm to expand your cultural awareness."

"Of what, the 90s? I was there, and Baby Got Back was a much better song then."

"With much less feminist empowerment."

"Feminist. Pah. That really what you want to call it?"

Myka leaned against her car door to look at him. "What would you call it?"

"Trend-whoring. You really gonna call Nicki Minaj a feminist when her album cover shows more skin than an issue of Maxim?"

"What's wrong with showing a little skin?"

"That's not what you said the last time I went to the comic store."

"There's a difference between Catwoman being drawn with her zipper halfway down her vagina by some man and Nicki Minaj choosing to be photographed a certain way!"

"You don't think some record label guy or manager is saying 'hey, Nicki, let's put a picture of your ass on the CD! All the guys will buy it cuz it's an ass, and all the ladies will buy it because they think it's sooooo feminist.'"

"So you don't think Nicki Minaj is feminist, just because she showed her ass?"

"I don't think Nicki Minaj is feminist because she works with rapists."

"Oh, how much control do you really think she has in the industry, that she can avoid anyone who's controversial—"

"You just said she had enough control to put her ass on the album, which apparently the Patriarchy hated, because it was so damn feminist—"

"It's a woman taking pride in her appearance!"

"So you would buy a poster of that? Since it's just a woman enjoying her own appearance?"

"Yes, I would! I have an aesthetic appreciation!"

"Well, that explains what you and HG were doing back in the day. Just enjoying each other's aesthetics!"

Myka growled. "I would punch you in the shoulder

right now

if I didn't know you'd get off on it!"

"It's not that hot,

just like you!"

Pete pulled to the side of the road, leaving the tires as balding as William Shatner, and got out of the car. "There! You drive! Since I know how much you like being in control all the time!"

Myka threw herself into the driver's seat. "And I know how much you hate a woman being in control!"

"Go on then! I'll get a ride from Claudia, who manages to combine being a feminist with

having a sense of humor!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!" Pete walked away, drawing his cell phone from his pocket.

Helena put a consoling hand on Myka's shoulder. Giselle looked between them, and to Pete, aghast, then got out of the car.

"Giselle?" Helena called.

"You go ahead. Someone should keep him company."

"You're sure?"

"It's fine. You and Myka should be alone, anyway. She is your best friend."

"Okay," Helena said uncertainly. Myka revved the engine before taking off, leaving Pete and Giselle in the middle of the forest they'd been driving through. Pete quickly confirmed that Jinks and Claudia would be along the same road in an hour or so, then snapped his phone shut. He resisted the urge to throw it against the nearest tree. Instead, he found a fallen log and sat down heavily.

Giselle sat down with him. "Are you and Myka going to get a divorce?"

***

Emma didn't like the round table. It was cheesy, for one thing, and while she knew how important it was symbolically to convert the mayor's office into something better reflecting Storybrooke's leadership—actually taking it away from Regina gave her the same queasy feeling as spending time with Henry had when Regina was

right there

but shut out from him. Like she was taking something that didn't belong to her. Funny thing for a thief to mind...

Still, she didn't mind sitting next to Mary-Margaret, David, and Regina. It was like a concentrated dose of

not-alone

that she could always use, especially with Hook being—

Mary-Margaret rapped her dagger's hilt on the table. "This emergency session of the ruling council is called to order. We have received verified reports from the bluebirds that outsiders are at the town barrier, and they are employing some form of magic to both detect and penetrate our shielding."

"Not a great reason to say 'penetrate'," Emma noted.

Mary-Margaret shot her a look. "If anyone would like to make a

serious

remark?"

Regina lifted her head. She'd had her hands flat on the table, her head down like she was half asleep. "They're probably friends of Emma's. After all, it's at least possible they're here to kiss Robin Hood, so who else but Emma would bring them here?"

David was on Regina's other side. "You could stand to let that—are you drunk?"

"I have a flask. I use it. What do you want from me? I think it's a bit late for me to qualify for sainthood."

"You went out for one week!" Emma argued. "His wife, the mother of his child, came back to life! What did you expect? Some weird love triangle?"

"I expected kisses! And foot rubs!"

Mary-Margaret cut in. "Regina, please. We're all very sorry for Emma's mistake—"

"Don't take her side!" Emma interjected.

"Altering the timelineeeeeeee," Regina said, sing-song.

"David, would you please get her to sober up?"

"Sure." David stood, putting his hands on Regina's shoulder. "C'mon, your majesty. Let's see if we can find some hot coffee and cold water."

Regina went limp. "Robin loved cold water!" she sobbed.

David dragged her out of the room.

"So!" Mary-Margaret said brightly. "About the outsiders. Do we have enough room at Granny's to house them all?"

"Wait, we're doing the masquerade thing?" Emma asked. "We tried that with Greg, remember? Didn't go so well."

"What do you recommend, Emma? Being bad hosts?"

"Yeah. Once we've got Regina sobered up, we meet them at the edge of town and ask them what they want."

Mary-Margaret looked concerned; a well-practiced look for her. "And you want Regina for this plan? She's..."

"If we do need to, y'know, zap 'em, Regina should get to be in on that. It'll cheer her up."

***

A smattering of Storybrooke's young and able had gathered where the outsiders were attempting to breach. Invisible due to the shielding, they had pulled up in pick-ups and cars, forming a barricade under Emma's direction. Now, armed with crossbows, guns, and assorted blades, they waited behind cover.

"You're looking better."

Regina was clad all in black, one of her lace and leather outfits that dated to the Enchanted Forest. Her eyes were clear and sharp, while her make-up—as always—was on point. She looked over Emma with customary dissatisfaction.

"I know a spell to dispense with the effects of alcohol."

"Could've used

that

in college."

"Or last Friday, when it seemed Hook lost the use of his tongue and you were so generous in loaning him yours..."

"I can't have flings? Only guys can have flings?"

"You can have a fling, sure. I personally would prefer a fling who changes his clothes once in a while..."

"Yeah, well, at least he doesn't have to worry about wearing white after Labor Day."

The rest of Storybrooke was gathered inside the school auditorium like there was a hurricane bearing down on them, with Gold, Mother Superior, and Tink ready to use their magic as a last line of defense. Emma wasn't cruel enough to inflict Rumpelstiltskin on someone right off the bat.

Mary-Margaret and David were there as well, watching Neal and Henry. Emma almost winced at the necessity of packing the town's children into a big metal box to protect them, but she remembered the last school shooting on the news. People had plenty to worry about on the outside as well. At least here, she could do something about the crazy shit in her life.

Though she favored her pistol, Emma reached down to check the slide of the sheathed sword at her hip. She could and damn well would do something.

On the other side of the dome, the outsiders were using magical objects—taking them out of sealed containers, trying them on the forcefield, then replacing them with a blast of neutralizing energy. The trunk of their car seemed to furnish an endless supply of magic. It seemed certain one would be able to get through.

"At least they're cute," Ruby reasoned, looking over the sharp lines of the outsiders' suits—though one wore the punkish clothes of Emma's teen years. "Nice wheels, too."

"Ruby, you wanna bitch up?" Emma asked.

"Sure," Ruby said, hastily stripping.

"That's a sensitive thing to call it," Regina said wryly.

"What can I say? Kids these days. If they're not using the N-word... you thinking of lowering the shield deliberately?"

"I don't like waiting," Regina confirmed, then was temporarily distracted by the sight of Ruby nude before the werewolf shifted forms. "We can always bring it back up—and I'll enjoy the looks on their faces."

"Alright then. Do it."

Regina gave Emma a smile that mixed hot and cold inside the blonde, then stepped out from behind the vehicles. "Uh, Reg?" Emma called, jerking her head in a silent request to take shelter.

"Please," Regina replied, and brought the shield down.

***

To Pete and Myka, it was as if a mob of people, five motor vehicles, and a distant town just appeared in front of them. Led by a woman who was going as Angelina Jolie in Maleficent for Halloween.

"Who are you?" she demanded, an outstretched hand bursting into flames. "What do you want? And why shouldn't I kill right now?"

Pete nodded. The usual welcome, then. "Let me do the talking," he said to Myka under his breath.

"Yeah, you're good at it," she replied snidely.

He rolled his eyes as he went to see about Bellatrix Lestrange. "Hi there. Pete Lattimer, big fan. Tall glass of water back there is Myka Bering, with her is heterosexual life partner Helena, and we've also got Jinks and Claudia back there, the girl is the one with the girl's name. We've also got Giselle somewhere around here—"

"Hello old friends!" Giselle burst from the backseat of one car to reunite with the townspeople, who'd long ago assumed she'd been killed by someone and stopped worrying about her.

Pete ignored her running by. "We're from the government and we're here to help."

The woman lowered her hand, extinguishing it in the process. "Well, I don't see you posing much of a threat."

"Hunh. That line has never worked for me before." Pete glanced at her smoldering hand. "Doesn't that hurt?"

Myka was rushing up to join them, Helena trailing behind her protectively, ready to draw the Tesla she'd been loaned. "

Agent

Lattimer and I are with the Secret Service-"

"You can call me Pete," he interjected. "Or Peter, the Petester, Pete-meister... hey, Mykes, think we should bother with the whole 'do you smell fudge?' stuff?"

"Well, not now that you've said 'do we need to bother with having a cover,' I should think," said HG.

"They had a forcefield. Her hand was on fire." He regarded Regina again. "That really didn't hurt?"

Another woman, a blonde in a sporty red jacket and tight jeans that Myka would love to fit into—in a—fashion-y—way—of course. She was coming up to the group, holstering a sidearm. "Emma Swan. Sheriff. I'm guessing you're not here about taxes."

"We don't pay them," the other woman said, as if daring them to contradict her.

"Well, I know where I'm retiring," said Pete.

"Regina Mills," Emma introduced. "She's sort of our mayor. "

"Charmed." Helena reached out to take Regina's hand, which she had offered as a sarcastic gesture, and brought it suavely to her lips.

"Okay," Pete said. "Yeah. She does that. Myka, you wanna tell 'em why we're here?"

"Me?"

"It was your idea."

"You can't explain what we do?"

"Honestly, I lost track around the time we went to a parallel universe. Now I just say 'snag bag and tag!" when I'm prompted. I had a public school education."

"It doesn't show," Myka informed him. "Ms. Swan, Ms. Mills—"

"Correct," Regina interrupted, her eyes fixed on Helena's. "We're not married—Emma especially so..."

Emma's hands went to her hips. "We're gonna keep being here all day if people who aren't me keep trying to be funny. Bering, go ahead,

no interruptions."

She gave Regina a look that broadened to include Pete.