Lieutenant Devon McMasters let himself into his hotel room late. After his interview, he had called his precinct and checked how everything was going. The precinct secretary told him everything was well in hand, and they'd see him after his leave, on Monday.

He then went to the bar in his hotel, had a bit of dinner and a few drinks, and thought of the interview, alone again, as usual. He felt the interview went okay. Despite the mystery of it all, he wanted to get the assignment. It was a way out.

Those two agents, Pete and Myka - he thought they made a good-looking couple though half an hour into the interview, he gathered that, though they were close, they were just good friends.

He also noticed Myka's excellent taste in clothes that, although she was dressed FBI-style, she took pains to dress as neatly and femininely as was reasonable. If he was Myka, he'd probably go for the same style.

And that was part of his problem - a secret he could not bring out among his colleagues. He had scarcely admitted it to himself, much less to anyone. In the rough-and-tumble, hyper-masculine world of the NYPD police force, his secret had no place.

Just to see, he had gone to a lingerie store once years ago, and, though in a total panic, he bought a three-pack of panties. Good thing there were small and medium sizes, so he didn't need to try and mumble out a size, and just got small.

But he never opened the package. He still had it, still unopened. He knew it was an approach-retreat thing, and he made himself evaluate why. So. Perhaps he just wanted to dress in women's clothes. But it was more than just dressing up. It was more than that... It was deeper than that. As early as he could remember, he had these feelings, that something was wrong, but as quickly as the feelings surfaced, he would submerge them, perhaps because of a fear of shaming his father. He knew his mother would understand, or at the very least, accept, but his father...

When his father died last year, he grieved for the man that he loved, but in his alone moments, since his dad was gone now, he thought that he might not need to hide his feelings anymore. But such thoughts shamed him still. And yet...

-----

Like his dad, he was able to hold his liquor, and had many times in the past drank his co-workers under the table, but this time he quit after his third double bourbon on the rocks (he actually wanted a brandy alexander or a pina colada, but he was afraid people would think those were too girlie).

Just before eleven, he had gone up to his room, changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth, drank three full glasses of water as protection against a hangover, and went to bed. In five minutes, he was out like a light.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

But in less than an hour, the doorbell waked him up. Automatically, he reached for the holster on the nightstand. He stood beside the door. "Who is it?" he called out.

"It's Pete and Myka."

He clicked the safety on and peeked through the peephole. He saw them with another person in goatee, hat and glasses.

He put the gun back in the holster and opened the door.

"We come bearing good news, dude," Pete said with his easy grin. He does look awfully cute, especially when he smiles, Devon thought.

"Hey, guys," he said, shook their hands and ushered them in.

"Nice jammies, Devon," Myka said, giggling. "This is our boss, Dr. Arthur Nielsen, senior supervising agent of Warehouse 13." She introduced the small man.

Warehouse 13, he wondered.

At his quizzical look, Artie nodded. "That's why we're here. You're in, Lieutenant."

So they briefed the police lieutenant on Warehouse 13. Needless to say, Devon had a hard time believing much of it, but after Artie took out several of the wonderful gadgets from inside his bottomless bag and demonstrated them, Devon had to believe. And if he started to believe what they were saying, even partially, then he could conceive the possibility that the rest of it was also true.

He asked a lot of questions which the three answered easily - they had fielded them before - and, though not everything that they said could all be true, Devon was willing to go along with them for now. He asked when he could visit the warehouse. Artie said that there was a major case they were working on at the moment, and Artie said he would like him to help with it. As soon as the case was done, then they'd fly to the warehouse's secret location in South Dakota.

South Dakota, he thought. Hmmm.

Then they briefed him on the Magnus Scalpel. Even if he only half-believed in artifacts, the fact that over sixty people had died or gone missing made him shut up and just listen. Artifact or not, this has to be solved.

They then left, Artie being careful to put all the artifacts he took out back into his bag, bade him goodnight, and said they'd pass by for him tomorrow morning.

The first thing he did after they left was to call his precinct commander and ask for an extension of his leave. Rather than read anything into the captain's quick yes, he just said thanks and hung up.

He then went through the two folders Myka had left for him. He took out one of those expensive mini-liquor bottles that are always in hotels, poured himself a hefty shot, sat down and started reading.

In the first folder, there were some sample reports of how some artifacts were previously recovered by Artie, Pete and Myka, although there were some that dated back to the eighteen hundreds and Warehouse 12, and where the artifacts were recovered by someone named "HG Wells." Surely not...

He then went through the questionnaire that the agents were supposed to use to identify the presence of artifacts, and found all of the questions laughable.

"Have you recently encountered something that you feel has affected your life?" one of the questions asked... Fairly serious question.

"While looking up do you have the sensation of falling?" All the reaction Devon could muster was, "huh?"

"Do you have the constant feeling that today is yesterday?" Hmmm. Happened to him a few times.

"Does your gallbladder feel numb?" Can you even feel your gallbladder?

And the funniest was, "have you recently smelled something that could best be described as fudge when there is no fudge?" He loved chocolate and often wondered why chocolate was so good. Hmmm. Chocolates are artifacts? Could be... He giggled and continued reading on, eventually reaching the other folder, and he was able to update himself with the Magnus case.