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La Mariee	By : HunterOpera Category: S through Z > Warehouse 13 Views: 4783 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Warehouse 13, nor am I making any money from it.

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Claudia awoke with a smile in the Warehouse office. She'd passed out on the couch, covering herself with Artie's coat, working late on figuring out a newer system for keeping track of the artifacts – since becoming the Caretaker of the Warehouse, she'd come up with several ideas on how to better organize the relics in her care, an affection she knew the Warehouse appreciated.

“Artie?” she said, sitting up. The elderly agent was nowhere to be found. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath in and felt along the corridors of the Warehouse. On the exhale, she found who she was looking for – Artie, Myka, Pete, Jinksy, and... Mrs. Frederic? That's weird. Was there a meeting no one told me about?

Opening her eyes and frowning, she stood up and stretched, willing the coffee maker to roast her a fresh pot and pouring herself some. Her friends were in the art gallery. Mulling over the steaming cup, she walked out on the balcony to look out over the seemingly endless shelves. Nothing seemed out of place.

She finished her coffee, wondering if her friends would finish whatever it was and make their way back to her. They didn't. Setting down the cup, she descended down and walked through the shelves, feeling a sense of calm from the Warehouse as she did so. The world felt subdued, somehow, a calm falling over her shoulders. It was disquieting, and she reached for the Tesla at her hips and brought it to her hands.

It's probably nothing, she thought, smirking, just the lot of them playing a joke, or setting up some kind of surprise. She took her time and meandered through the halls, checking on things, trying to settle the nerves that were tickling her for no real reason.

As she approached the art gallery, the Warehouse grew calmer: the air fading from static to placid, the lighting becoming steadier, more streamlined. She frowned at the distant lights, breathing, feeling the weight of the Warehouse in her mind.

“You know,” came a voice, deeper in the art gallery, “I always found this part of the Warehouse inspiring, even back in the ninth iteration.” Claudia stopped, knowing that voice. She felt her eyes go wide, her heartbeat quicken, her feet forcing her to scurry forward.

Turning a corner, she brought her Telsa up and tried to pull the trigger. Her fingers wouldn't move, nor her feet – she seethed, locked in place, staring down the barrel of her weapon at her enemy. He sat with his hands steepled in front of him, his legs crossed, a circle of bronzed statues surrounding him.

“Good morning, Claudia,” Paracelsus said. He wasn't looking at her, staring instead at a Chagall. She tried to force herself to shoot her weapon but couldn't; he could control her body somehow, had done it before, but she and her friends had stopped him. He turned to look at her, offering a faint smile. “You may speak.”

“Para-Freakin'-Celcus,” Claudia spat, trying to shake her head, trying to stop the trembling he had left her. “Where are my-”

The sentence caught in her throat. Five bronze statues had been placed around him, each resembling someone she knew.

“Shall we list the obvious?” Paracelsus asked, standing up. “You bronzed me after I had become the most powerful Caretaker in the history of the Warehouse. I control everything connected to the Warehouse, including the artifacts, the bronzing process that I developed, and you. Your friends I bronzed. You, I let sleep.”

“Why?” Claudia asked. He walked over to her, circling her like a shark.

“You amuse me. A combination of competence and suppleness, I suppose,” he answered, walking away from her with his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped by a portrait, admiring it. “And, like the artwork, you inspired me. Are you familiar with theories of dimensionality and time travel?”

“Kinda a lot,” she answered. She closed her eyes, sweating now, trying to move any part of herself.

“Oh? Oh, yes, your brother. Of course.” Paracelsus reached out and touched the frame of the picture in front of him. “La Mariée, 1950, Chagall. Do you know what it does?”

Claudia tried and failed to shake her head. He bowed his head, fingertips tracing the frame.

“I forget how young you are,” he said, eyes opening a sliver, his gaze meeting hers. “Our recent experiences with moving through time and space offered me the chance to consider the concept of parallel realities. Clearly, the reality we enjoy still existed for you to come back to, stopping the reality that I had created from ever being. However, I began to wonder whether or not we were moving along the same timeline, or alternate ones. Does my timeline still exist? My time bronzed gave me the chance to think-”

“Why not go back to thi-” Claudia began, but her mouth stopped moving before she could complete the sentence.

“I understand you are used to sass,” he sighed, turning fully towards her. “I imagine that will change. For now, however, I believe you are best seen and not heard.”

He went back to his chair, sitting down upon it and looking at each of her friends in turn.

“Which of these do you respect most, I wonder?” he asked. “You love Steven. Arthur is like a father to you, while Peter and Myka act as surrogate siblings, but it is Irene you hold a certain awe for. So, right from the start, let us establish the tenents of our relationship.”

Claudia's arm, the one holding the Telsa, started to move. She fought, struggled, using every once of her will, but the limb could not be stopped until it was aimed at Mrs. Frederic.

“Pull the trigger, Ms. Donovan.”

She did.

Electricty arced out from the small pistol, joined by others set around the room – Paracelsus must have placed them there – a storm of lightning that cast the art gallery into shades. Claudia tried to scream as Mrs. Frederic began to melt, the bronze giving way to heat, the fine features of the fearsome woman slipping off into slag, but the simple release of screaming was denied her.

“Perhaps now you will take this seriously, Ms. Donovon,” Paracelsus said, the world's colors a muted sheen after the lightning died down. His voice was calm, his legs spread open, her eyes forced to watch the bubbling goo that had been the Caretaker before her. Her head jerked, her vision blurry with tears as she was forced to face her enemy. “Perhaps now that you understand our situation, we might speak with greater clarity.”

*

Well, that was dark. This is going to be dark, and it's going to take a while to turn light - I promise that it will. The journey will not be a happy one, though. If I get reviews I respond to them here, and also answer questions, comments, and whatever else: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/36931-metroid-the-bergman-affair-feedback-comments-and-workshopping/page-14 I hope you enjoyed reading this twisted little tale. Thanks for reading. More soon.
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La Mariee