A/N: My first Warehouse 13 fic! I can't believe it's taken me so long. I am appalled at myself. Hehe. Anyhow, I created the first Warehouse 13 community! Check it out ;) Enjoy!


"You've got to be kidding me, Artie." Myka Bering glared at Artie as she leaned back in her chair and grumpily threw her file back onto the table.

"It's only for a week or so." Artie answered, trying to look innocent. It didn't work, and he leaned away from the angry glares being projected at him by Myka.

They both looked up when the door opened.

"Well, nice of you to join us." Myka snapped irritatedly. Pete Lattimer walked into the room and sat down on the chair next to Myka. His hair was still damp from his shower and his shirt stuck slightly to his chest. He missed the appreciative once over Myka gave him. Artie, meanwhile, didn't.

"What did I miss?" Pete asked Artie, who handed him a file. Pete opened the cover and scanned the contents of the first page. A smirk spread across his features, and he chuckled. Closing the file, he turned to Myka. "Now this is why you're so grumpy!"

"I'm not grumpy!" She denied the accusation, and he laughed.

"Yeah, and I'm Shakespeare." Pete smiled sweetly at Myka, who picked up a pen and through it at him. It glanced off of his cheek and landed on the table. Pete looked put out and rubbed his cheek.

"Talking about Shakespeare, his quill is over in Aisle 725-Y, but back to what's in your files…" Artie smiled at them. Pete smirked and Myka glared at him.

"Why can't we just go in as ourselves?" Myka complained.

"You know why. Because of the nature of what the artefact does…" Artie shrugged.

"Ha!" Pete guffawed. "Me and Myka!"

Myka hit him in the arm. Hard. "Ow!" Pete complained, giving her a pained look. "Quit it." She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to say something else. Needless to say, he did. After all, Pete was, well, Pete.

"But… married!" He burst into fresh peals of laughter, only punctuated by the occasional 'ow!' when Myka's fist, elbow, knee or foot came into contact with various parts of his body.

"Hey, come on." Artie suppressed the urge to grin at their antics. "Your flight leaves in an hour. Get packing."

Myka jumped up and was already walking up the stairs when Pete caught her wrist. She turned and looked at him. "What?"

"Wait up a minute." He said, wondering if whether he was really that bad.

"Why?" Myka raised an eyebrow.

"You can't just run away from this, we have to do it. Don't blame me!" Pete told her, and then added: "Blame Artie. His idea."

Myka eyed him warily, before turning and disappearing up the stairs and into her room. Pete rolled his eyes in despair. He was just opening the door to his own room when he heard Leena.

"Don't worry. She's not really angry." When he turned to look at her and reply, she had already gone. Shaking his head, he pushed open his door, and began to pack for the week ahead.

Two hours later, Agent Lattimer and Agent Bering boarded the plane to the Lester B Pearson International Airport. Myka seated herself next to the window in Aisle 7, and handed Pete her bag to go in the overhead locker with a smile.

"Would you mind?" She asked, and Pete glared at her.

"Not at all, honey." He slammed the overhead closed and sat down next to her. "Honestly, why Canada?"

"Is there a problem with Canada?" Myka asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yes. It's full of Canadians." Pete pointed out.

"A valid point, only I find the same problem with America and Americans." A strongly Canadian voice said from behind them. Pete turned and smiled.

"Pete. Pete Lattimer. This is my wife, Myka… Lattimer." Myka smiled at the woman, masking her annoyance with Artie at making them supposedly married. She would kill him when she got back. Pete had already pointed out that she was mad at Artie. Apparently it was because her head was tilted to the right.

"Nice to meet you! My name is Alana Carracci." A woman of about thirty four smiled at them. "I'm flying home."

"Where are you from?" Myka asked interestedly.

"Mississauga." Alana replied. Myka feigned surprise.

"Oh really? That's where we're going too! We're staying there for a week or two. Get away from work a little bit." Myka chuckled. "Pete just works too hard."

"What work do you do?" Alana asked Pete, not noticing the sarcasm in Myka's voice. Pete, however, noticed.

"I'm an accountant." Pete inwardly winced at the job that Artie had decided for a cover. Myka suppressed a smirk. "Myka here is a French teacher."

"Oh! Bonjour mon ami." Alana grinned and Myka smiled back, trying to ignore the really bad fake French accent, as well as the obviously dyed peroxide blonde hair. Meanwhile, Pete was attempting to ignore the great view he had down Myka's cleavage, and failing miserably.

"Excuse me?" The voice of one of an air hostess broke into their conversation. Pete and Myka looked at her. "If you could please buckle your seatbelts and be ready for take off."

"Sure." Pete smiled at the attractive woman. Myka glared at the back of Pete's head and elbowed him. "Ow!"

She smiled innocently. "Is there a problem?"

"Too right." Pete answered, wondering how she could manage that irritating 'I'm innocent' look. It was annoying. Major time.

Half an hour later, Pete was reading one of Myka's books, a law novel called "The Appeal." To his surprise, it wasn't that bad. Myka was asleep, her head resting on Pete's shoulder.

She hadn't got much sleep the night before. He had been woken up by the sound of someone crying. He guessed she'd had a nightmare or something, but when he knocked on her door, there had been no answer. He'd pushed it open slightly, but it looked like she'd fallen asleep again. He was pretty sure she'd been faking it, but he hadn't pressed the matter.

Soon they were kicked off the plane into Chicago, and pushed onto their connecting flight.

"I hate stopovers." Myka informed Pete, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Agreed." Pete sighed as they waited for the fat man in front of them to walk up the metal stairs to the plane just a little bit faster. Pete mimed 'move it' gestures with his hands, and Myka bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. She punched him lightly in the arm.

"Behave yourself." She admonished, and he looked taken aback.

"Moi?"


A/N: Ah, the joys of Pete being, well, Pete. I hope you enjoyed it. Feedback, please?