Disclaimer: I do not own Warehouse 13 or any of it's original characters. If I did, there would be a proper Salvador Dali artifact having something to do with a cigar box full of mustaches.
Author's Note: Just a little Pyka angst I wrote while taking a break from my avid reviewing that a much appreciated friend encouraged me to publish. It's short. As I'm sure you noticed when you looked at the word count and exclaimed, "That's short!" Anyway, enjoy! Review if you like! Review more than a few words that grammatically don't even amount to a sentence if you want to give reviews and reviewers alike a good name!
Sighing, he looked at her painfully. Her pale, green eyes darted away. She looked so soft; touchable; tangible. She had never seemed so tangible before. He had never felt such a strong pull to just reach out and touch her before. He had never felt that even if he did reach out before, he would be able to feel a thing; their atoms on two separate planes of matter. But here, now, he could and would and felt that he simply should touch her. Her ivory dress clung sweetly to every curve; the swell of her breasts; her flat stomach; small waist; hips. A wayward brown curl fell into her eyes, having escaped from the tresses pulled to the back of her head. When his eyes found hers once more, he saw them quelled unwanted with tears, and he knew he couldn't touch her. They were entire eons apart.
"I can't, Myka."
Her eyes darted to him, her forehead cinched in confusion. "What?"
"I can't find you. You run," Pete laughed spitefully at himself, his throat tightening, "so freaking much." He felt a rage building within him, begging to be released. Pleading with him, to—after years of being bottled and reigned in—let it go. "And I chase you down and pull you in and convince you that you're worth it but you don't even listen! You don't. Even. Listen."
She ducked away, cowering as tears ran in mascara tracks down her cheeks. But she couldn't escape the painful truth of his words.
"I love you. I will never stop loving you. But I can't keep this up, Mykes! I can't," his voice caught, "I can't keep up with you." He took a step backwards; his hands in his pockets. His head hung as he shook it in disbelief. "I'll wait however long it takes for you to be ready. But I'm done forcing you. I'm done forcing you to be happy."
She squeezed her eyes shut as a sob escaped her lips, shaking her entire body. She felt as though she would collapse; as though her existence was crumbling. There was nothing she could do. She couldn't even catch herself. She could only wait for the moment when she could pick up the broken pieces. But she couldn't do that again. Not again. "Pete!"
"I'm done forcing you to love me."