Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Artifacts. Even after the agents had taken the four statues and the buckskin cloak for safe keeping, Jeff Weaver found that he had acquired a taste for the unusual. The problem was finding it. Despite early sparks, Myka had pulled away when from her point of view the case was done. So maybe that was all the flirtation had been merely something to make him comfortable while they took away the one thing that had him getting up in the morning. And he hadn’t even noticed that was true until the artifacts were gone and Myka gently let him down. He’d liked her, but she must have realized at the second date that he was maybe more attracted to her job than he was to her.
What was he going to do with himself now? He threw himself down on the couch and glanced around his apartment. He had an entire top floor and no one else in it, filled instead with his collection of tasteful art and looking at it from his new perspective, it had no personality. If he thought the Secret Service would take him, he’d apply for a job to do what Pete and Myka did. Jeff blew out a sigh and picked up booklet from an auction house for a show unimaginatively titled Then and Now, a mix of antiquities and modern pieces. He doubted anything interesting would show up, but as he leafed through the pages, something caught his eye.
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Jeff thanked his driver and stepped out onto York Street outside the auction house, double slapping the closed door to let Otero know he was clear. He dodged a few other black cars disgorging passengers and looked at the building. The internal screens showed items from tonight’s show. This wasn’t the auction proper, but the invitation-only viewing before the actual sale. The odd box that caught his eye spun across the screens in the glass-walled lobby, turning for the camera on a dais draped in white cloth. It was bronze shading through teal to green, with a huge golden crystal on the top. It was too big to be a valuable gem stone, but in the catalog it had called to him. Seeing it in larger than life glory on the auction house’s lobby screens made his breath hitch.
Artist, unknown.
Featuring it as one of the hero items meant the auction house expected it to bring in a competitive price. “Mister Weaver,” an impeccable tiny blond greeted him, escorting him out of the crowd. “We were delighted to hear you planned to attend.” He followed her down a short corridor admiring her perfectly tailored dress and the line of her legs with the expensive heeled shoes. As they entered a smaller room, as well appointed as his sterile penthouse, she paused and turned, a twist of the torso over her feet as practiced as any model’s pose. “May I offer you champagne, or anything else to your liking?” Her name badge said Cynthia Breedlove, Private Services. He knew these houses and the services weren’t as “private” as her glance up through her lashes implied.
Normally he would have taken the champagne, but he smiled at her and asked for sparkling water. She brought it in a flute, garnished with a tiny strawberry, which made him feel stupid. “Thank you, Ms. Breedove. Would it be possible to see the collection?” He knew the drill. The show before the show before the auction.
“The doors will open to the guests at eight o’clock, but of course you can have an early viewing. Follow me,” she said, and while her back was turned he ate the strawberry off the rim of the glass, leaves and all. The leaves tickled his throat and he took a large swig to wash it down.
There were a few other people at the private pre-show, no one he knew but easy to catalogue their types among the super wealthy: The obvious collectors from the United Arab Emirates, a woman carrying a small dog he recognized from society articles but didn’t know, men in tuxedos escorting gowned women sortable by age and level of taste. One man stood alone, hovering near the bronze box that had caught Jeff’s eye. His jacket pulled oddly across broad shoulders because his hands were clasped behind his back with his fingers twitching as they gripped each other. It looked like he was trying to keep himself from reaching out.
Jeff made a show of looking at a few other items before circling to the box, and caught the man looking at some kind of handheld device that he tucked into his inner pocket as soon as he realized he wasn’t alone. “Nice, isn’t it,” Jeff said. The man only hummed in response, so Jeff read the curator’s notecard, the same text as the catalog.
Lot 7863509
Artist: Unknown
Period: Unknown
This relic combines a symmetry of form with a robust construction. While the citrine crystal on the top is notable for its size and flawlessness, it was produced by an unknown laboratory and is not natural quartz. The apparent age of the artifact belies this modern-seeming addition.
Provenance: Placed for auction by an anonymous collector.
The man next to him seemed unable to stand still, his hands behind his back again. He didn’t do the usual courteous step to the side to allow Jeff a better look. So, it seemed like he’d have competition in the auction, more than he’d thought even with the house using this box on the video displays in the lobby. “Caught your eye, too, huh?” he ventured.
“Yes, yes, very pretty,” the man said, a bit dismissive and not at all in the tones of a collector, but he didn’t take his eyes off the box. Jeff couldn’t blame him. Now that he was in front of it, he had a strong desire to pick it up, to run his thumb over the crystal, to open it, even though he could see no seam. It was about six inches on a side and it would fit perfectly in his two hands. He knew it would. He started to reach out, and then put his hands behind his back. Not his smoothest move.
When he moved the man’s head snapped around. His eyes were a startling blue, and his receding hair line revealed a dome of forehead that was currently being invaded by his eyebrows. He immediately smoothed his face, but something about Jeff’s abortive reach must have caught his attention. He cleared his throat and said, “Calls to you, does it?” Jeff gave a noncommittal shrug. “If you could quantify it, how much do you want to touch it?”
Jeff looked at the man again. The bright questioning in his face, the clearly contained excitement hit Jeff somewhere behind his chest. Jeff gave his puzzled yet kind face, but the words came out more flirtatious than he expected. “I don’t know. What scale are we using?”
The man blinked, a rapid fluttering of his lashes that gave the impression of recalibrating. He stuck out his hand. “Dr. Rodney McKay.”
Jeff took it. The hand was warm and dry and the fingers wrapped around his palm in a firm, practiced-feeling grip. “Mr. Jeff Weaver,” he said, emphasizing the title. “Doctor of what?”
At the question McKay dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “Physics and engineering. Mechanical.”
“This doesn’t look like a machine,” Jeff said, the flirtation nearly automatic.
McKay flushed a bit. “I collect… certain artifacts.”
“A fan of this particular Artist Unknown?”
McKay stood a bit straighter. “I pick them up where I can find them.” He avoided Jeff’s eyes and looked back at the box, hand twitching toward the pocket where he had stashed the device.
Something about McKay called to Jeff. There was something about him, very different from all the other characters in the room. For all that McKay wore the standard tux, and Jeff had to admit he wore it well, this was not a person who seemed to care for the society that having money bought. He hadn’t glanced around to see if there was anyone more important he should be talking with, something Jeff was used to because he was considered new money by the New York elite, and a rival for status by fellow new money types.
McKay reminded him more of Pete and Myka, clearly a man on a mission. Jeff wanted in, especially if this was an Artifact. “I take it you’re not interested in anything else here?” he said, to make conversation. McKay shook his head. “Me neither. I guess we’ll be competing in the auction later, unless the government is just going to take it before it goes on the market.” That would have been Pete and Mika’s move, but this was probably too public for that. McKay glanced over at him, eyes narrowing.
“Why would you assume that?”
“Let’s just say I’ve had some recent experience with… Artifacts.” Jeff stressed the word, thinking, Come on, let me in.
“Ancient?” McKay asked, and his emphasis also seemed deliberate.
Damn, but this was close to Pete and Myka territory. “Sometimes. Mostly I’ve been collecting Walter Burley sculptures.” Jeff waited for a reaction to the name of the man who had created the artifacts the Secret Service had been sent to get, but he didn’t see anything on McKay’s face.
Instead McKay tapped his fingers over his jacket’s breast pocket, probably on the device Jeff had seen him tuck away. “Yes, well, I suppose I’ll see you at the auction.”
“Can’t talk you into a drink?” Jeff blurted. Smooth, he chastised himself.
McKay didn’t seem to notice his lack of suave. “Um, no?”
Jeff tried his more flirtatious smile. “That a question?”
McKay tapped his fingers on his jacket again and cleared his throat. “No,” he said, not meeting Jeff’s eyes. “Thank you.” He added, “I don’t suppose I could talk you into not bidding on this?”
Jeff shook his head. Now that Dr. Rodney McKay was interested, he was more determined to have it, if only as bait. “I’ll see you at the auction.”
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Jeff positioned himself behind McKay. He was there with someone else, a blond woman who looked much more composed and comfortable. Certainly more like she belonged. She was wearing a conservative dress, quite a counter to the short sleeved shirt over a long-sleeved T-shirt McKay was wearing. McKay kept looking around during the bidding on other items, as if trying to figure out how it was done. The woman kept giving him amused looks, but finally whispered in his ear and he sat more still. When Lot 7863509 came up at the reserve of twenty-five thousand, McKay twitched his paddle to raise after Jeff’s first bid, then looked around to see who he was bidding against. He pointed Jeff out to the woman and she gave him a speculative glance. Jeff looked around the room as a few people put up bids, but dropped out when it was clear where the competition was. The two of them kept raising the price until she touched McKay’s arm and shook her head. Jeff was out two hundred and fifty thousand, and he hoped it would be worth it.
When the gavel went down, McKay rose to leave, a breach in etiquette, giving Jeff a glare. The woman followed and paused to hand him a card. “Please call me if anything interesting happens,” she said, then followed McKay out. Jeff glanced down and was surprised to read she she was a colonel in the Air Force, and she was gone before he could make any comment. He stayed until the break, then stopped to arrange a time for delivery the next day. On his way out he almost tossed the card away, but if the Air Force was interested in this thing, maybe that would be his ticket in. And he wanted in.