Author's Notes: Anyone familiar with me in the Warehouse 13 fandom is probably wondering WTF I'm doing writing Pete/Myka when I'm a Bering and Wells shipper. Well, technically, this universe isn't shippy (long story that will be written one day). But on the surface, this universe looks pretty damn shippy, and I thought it would be fun to use for the myka-pete community on Tumblr. They posted some cute holiday prompts for a Comment Fic Party, and I liked the excuse to write this universe. :) So from a Bering and Wells shipper to the Pete/Myka fans: Happy Belated Holidays! I hope you enjoy.
Sidebar: The new shipper name "Twizzlers and Cookies" is bloody adorable. I'm just saying. #approve
Prompt is in bold.
"Mommy!" Four-year-old Charlotte pushed away from the breakfast table where she'd been snacking on cookies and rushed to the foyer when Myka entered the inn.
"Hi, Charlotte," her mother said before heading into the living room. Charlotte stayed back in the entryway, perplexed by this abrupt greeting.
"Rough case, Mykes?" Pete asked.
Myka sighed and sat down beside him on the couch. "Yeah. You could say that."
Charlotte didn't hear the questions and answers that followed. It was weird grown-up talk about work that she didn't understand. She had already gathered the important fact: Mommy was sad. This happened from time to time. Her mother or her father would go off to work fine and happy (she assumed they were always happy. Sometimes they were gone before she woke up), and would return later looking upset. Charlotte didn't understand what happened at work to make them sad, but she didn't like. Seeing her parents sad made her sad.
The girl took a bite of the cookie she still clutched in her hand. Cookies were magic (just ask her daddy) that always made her feel better. As she munched, she considered how this gingerbread cookie might be the best cookie she's ever had. (She might think this about every cookie she eats.) The moment of delicious contemplation gave her an idea, and she walked over to climb up on her mother's lap.
"Do you want some?" Charlotte asked as she offered the cookie. She had forgotten that the pre-dinner snack was supposed to remain a secret between her father and her.
Myka shook her head. "No, thanks. You eat it." She ran her hand through the girl's messy curls.
Charlotte frowned. First the dismissal of herself and now the dismissal of cookies. This was obviously a serious situation. She took another bite and hummed as she chewed. The gloomy atmosphere was making her feel uncomfortable and crabby.
In an attempt to clear the tension (or as a desperate ploy to prove how amazing this gingerbread cookie was or simply because she was four years old), Charlotte looked up and tapped her mother's arm. When she knew she had her mother's attention, she opened her mouth and said, "Aaahhh," providing a clear display of the half-dissolved brown mush that used to be the cookie.
Myka raised her eyebrow. "Oh really?"
Charlotte swallowed and giggled.
"Are you really showing your chewed food to me?"
Charlotte giggled again, this time in anticipation. She sensed what game was starting.
Myka shook her head. "Don't you show your food to me." But her tone wasn't scolding and there's a light in her eyes. "Don't do that." And then her fingers were tickling Charlotte's sides and the girl shrieked and laughed. It's just what Charlotte expected, and she was delighted.
"Do you like seeing chewed up food?" Myka continued. "Let's see." She broke the tickling attack and caught the squirming girl's wrist. She leaned over and stole a bite of the now crumbling cookie. "Aaahh," she said with her mouthful. "Do you like that?"
Charlotte laughed. She loved it. Quickly, she stuffed the remainder of the cookie in her mouth, chewed it up, and stuck her tongue out.
Myka shook her head again and grinned. "You're a clown, little girl."
Charlotte grinned back. She hated clowns (their noses were too big), but she loved making her mother smile.
Brown eyes sparkled as wind whipped by and drew tears. "Whooo!" Charlotte, age seven, was enjoying sledding for the first time. She came to a rest at the bottom and eagerly clambered up to tug her sled up back up the hill.
"I love sledding!" she declared.
Above, stood her parents. Pete hopped in place and held his arms crossed.
"Yeah, what's not to love about freezing in a bunch of wet snow?"
"I told you to dress warmer," Myka scolded.
"Tell your Colorado weather to not be so cold!"
"It's not any colder than home."
"Daddy!" Charlotte said as she tugged her child sled over the hill crest. "Daddy, did you see me? I went really fast that time!"
"Yeah, you did. I don't understand how the wind didn't turn you into a Latte-cicle."
Charlotte scrunched her face in confusion. She decided against asking and spun back to to her fun. "I'm gonna go down head first!"
"No," Myka said. "No, no, no." Charlotte froze, already kneeling by her sled.
"You might lose control of the sled, and get hurt."
"No, I won't." Charlotte laid out on the sled.
"Just sled normally, kiddo," Pete said. "You were having fun with it."
Charlotte pouted. "But I want to slide head first."
"Well your mom and I don't want you to get hurt."
Charlotte continued pouting.
"We can head back to Grandma and Grandpa's now, if you want," Myka said.
"No." Charlotte sighed. "I'll go down normal."
Charlotte turned around and sat on the sled properly. An idea crossed her mind when she gripped the guide rope. She could try to zig zag down the hill using the rope! That would make things interesting. Grinning, she pushed off and waited for the right time to change directions. She wanted to gain some speed first.
And now. She tugged at the left side, expecting it to direct the sled a bit to the left. Instead, she made the entire front corner lift up, and it threw her off balance. Panicked, she tried to correct, made it worse, and went tumbling off towards the right. She slid a bit before rolling a couple of times. Finally she skidded to a stop, far from the path she'd meant to take and with a coat full of snow. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked around. There was shouting somewhere, but her attention was focused on locating her sled. She spotted it on the opposite side of the hill and down several feet from her. She could only see half of it. Tears - real salty ones, not the wind-induced ones - welled up in her eyes.
"Charlotte! Are you okay?" Her parents reached her.
"Did I break it?" Charlotte asked as she started crying.
"Break what? Are you okay?"
Charlotte cried. She felt some of the snow down the front of her coat melt and run icy cold drops down her shirt and skin. She suddenly hated snow and sledding and winter.
"Hey, look at me," Myka finally got the girl's attention. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
Charlotte shook her head and glanced back at the partial sled. "My sled," she said through her tears. "I broke my sled."
"Don't worry about the sled," Myka said as Pete stood and walked down to the crash site. "I want to know if you're broken anywhere."
"No," Charlotte said, still crying. With her mom's prompting, she slowly stood up and let Myka check her over for injuries.
"I"m all wet and cold."
"I know, but that's okay," Myka said, brushing off the snow off her coat. "We can fix that." Myka instructed Charlotte to unzip her coat and take it off so she could shake out the snow. Charlotte brushed snow off her sweater and tried to stop the tears, but she was too heartbroken over her breaking her sled.
"Hey, Latte," Pete called out. Charlotte looked over and saw him walking back up the hill to her and Myka. "Good news." He held up her sled which was magically whole again.
"But I broke it!"
"Nah, it's a bit dinged up, but it's not broken," Pete said. "It got pretty buried in the snow, though."
"It's not broken?" Charlotte sniffed.
"Nope." He set the sled down next to her.
"Hey, see, no damage done." Myka smiled at the girl. "And I got all the snow out of your coat too." She helped Charlotte put it back on, and then wiped away the last of the girl's tears.
"Can I still keep sledding?" Charlotte asked.
Myka nodded. "If you want to."
"Yeah," Charlotte said. "But I won't pull on the rope this time. I'll just, just do it normal."
"That would be a good idea."
"You want a piggy back ride back to the top?" Pete asked. Charlotte nodded, solemnly. "Then hop on, pardner," he said, adopting a cowboy accent and squatting down so Charlotte could climb on his back. "Better hold on to ya britches, little lady. No tellin' what this horse might do." Then he rose with a "yee-ha!" and took off up the hill, neighing and rearing until he had Charlotte laughing and forgetting all about her tumble.
Charlotte didn't look up from her book when someone walked into her bedroom. Only her dad was home with her.
"I need a signature," she said.
"A signature for what?" Pete asked.
"For my identity," Charlotte said. "Like a signature move or a trademark."
"Uh huh. Why do you need a trademark?"
"Cause Turtle has one."
"Turtle Wexler. A character in The Westing Game." Charlotte laid the book on her chest and stared up at the ceiling to explain. "She's like super awesome, and I want to be best friends with her. And also be her, which I'm actually pretty close at. We're both thirteen, we both go by nicknames."
"Hey, who else is calling you Latte? That's my thing."
"No one," Charlotte said. "But it still counts as an official nickname. I just need a signature move. Turtle kicks people's shins."
"Well your mom likes to punch me in the arm."
Charlotte thought for a moment. "So you're saying it might be in my DNA to punch people?"
"Man, I hope not."
It finally dawned on Charlotte that her dad's voice was muffled and that she hadn't actually seen him yet. Confused, she sat up and looked around. No one was there.
Charlotte quirked her eyebrow. It sounded suspiciously like her dad was under her bed. Moving to her stomach, she scooted to the edge of the bed and looked down. Sure enough, she spotted her dad's legs sticking out from under the bed frame. She flipped around and scooted to the opposite edge. She had to pull up her messy covers to be able to look under the bed.
"Ooph," she groaned when she leaned over far enough to see properly. She shifted so the bed's edge wasn't pressing on her diaphragm.
"Why are you under my bed?" She peered curiously through the head rush she was getting from hanging upside down. "Are you wrapping something?"
"Yes," Pete answered, concentrating on his task. "Your mom got home from work earlier than I expected, and I wasn't done wrapping her present yet."
"So you're hiding under my bed while you finish wrapping in hopes that she won't find you."
"Pretty much." He looked up at her. "And don't tell her!"
"Duh," Charlotte rolled her eyes. Then she had a thought. "So where did you wrap my presents so I wouldn't find you?"
"I wrapped them when you weren't here."
"I'm always here when you're here," Charlotte said. "Did you hide under your bed to wrap them?"
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't."
"Are they still hidden there?"
Pete struggled with tearing off a piece of tape. "Uh huh."
Charlotte smirked. In a second, she was jumping off the bed and bounding down the hall. She heard a "wait, what?" and then a thump that she thought might have been her dad hitting his head. She didn't pause though. She was on a mission.
"Presents!" she yelled and dropped to let her sweatpants slide across the hardwood floor on her knees. Just when she reached the bed, a pair of legs popped out to stop her.
"Don't even try it!" Pete said. He grabbed her arms and yanked her back up.
Charlotte rebalanced herself on her feet and frowned. "I wasn't going to open them or anything! I just want to see their shapes and sizes so I can start guessing what you guys got me."
"Too bad. No peeking before Christmas."
"But I just want to - hey!" She suddenly found herself scooped up and slung over her dad's shoulder.
"Nope, I said no peeking."
Charlotte squirmed and shouted as Pete carried her out and down the stairs.
"Put me down! Hey put me down! You're cheating!"
"Geez, you weigh less than a package of Oreos."
"Hey, I had two sandwiches for lunch today!"
"I know." Pete paused on the landing. "Footlongs, too. I was so proud." He continued down the stairs.
"Ugh, let me down." Charlotte tried kicking, but Pete held her legs trapped. "No, but put me down! I'm going to puke." She made gagging noises to sell it.
"Like any daughter of mine can't hold her food. You're not fooling anyone, missy." He brought her to the living room and dropped her on the couch. Charlotte immediately sprang up and moved for the stairs again. "Nuh uh uh uh uh!" Pete fought her back.
"I will take you, old man!" Charlotte laughed as she grappled with him.
"Hey, no wrestling in the house," Myka said, coming in from the study.
"It can't be wrestling," Charlotte said, breaking one grip only to get caught around the middle. "Ugh! He won't teach me any wrestling moves."
Myka walked up behind Pete and kicked Pete in the back of the knees causing his legs to buckle. He managed to stay standing, but it was still enough distraction for Charlotte to twist loose. She leapt away to avoid further entrapment.
"Cheater!" Pete said.
"No rough-housing inside," Myka replied.
Pete pointed at Charlotte. "No more snooping."
Charlotte squinted and then sighed. "Fine. I'll just wake up at 4 am on Christmas Eve and peek at the boxes then."
"You were snooping in the Christmas presents?" Myka asked.
"No." / "Yes."
"Well it wouldn't have done you any good," Myka said. "We put all your presents in gift bags this year."
Charlotte widened her eyes. "You didn't."
Myka let her dangle for a minute, and then shook her head. "No, we didn't. You can still play your guessing game before you open them."
Pete looked oddly distracted by the ceiling. Charlotte took this as an opportunity to return upstairs.
"I'm going to go back to reading." She dashed off before her parents responded.
"What are you doing?" Myka asked as Pete turned his stare towards the wall.
A minute later they heard an exclaim.
"Oh my god, what is this monstrosity?!"
"Charlotte?" Myka called. She eyed Pete who was doing his best to appear innocent. Something clicked in her head. "Tell me you did not wrap her presents in duct tape."
"Whoa now," Pete said. "Do you not remember how she wrapped my birthday present? This is payback fair and square."
From upstairs, "Oh my god, you did it to all of them?!"