A/N: My inspiration for this was Dido's White Flag. Also, thank you Sailor's Wife for nudging me to finish this. It is way too tempting to get distracted by big books with lots of tiny words and no pictures… Anyway, please tell me what you think. I'm just starting to write again, and I'd love to hear feedback!
Disclaimer: None of it is mine. If it was, they would have already announced a season 5.
"White Flag"
Nikola was still alive, and he was still in Rome. It had taken a good while to heal from Johnny Dear's fist through the gut. As a vampire, he was notoriously difficult to kill, but he had to admire the effort Druitt had put into trying. It was almost sweet really, how willing Druitt was to put his vocational skills to work for Helen. Nikola scowled as he took another sip of tea.
He spent his days researching and his nights in a corner of the Riccioli Café, doing his best to wipe out the famous wine cellar's collection of older vintages. It was not quite the atmosphere he preferred—a little too neon and loud at night for his tastes—but the wine made up for it. He had wanted to bring Helen here: the wine selection was superb, and they served oysters. The possibilities were endless. In the decades he had waited for her, he had so many plans and dreams stored away for them…. Not for the first time, he wished that alcohol still affected his physiology. It would help him forget about the latest in a string of setbacks that spanned two lifetimes.
It had been a brilliant plan: save Helen's life and then declare his love for her. Unfortunately, she had caught on far too quickly that the threat was aimed at him and not her. Then there was the bit with his brainless vampire army. That was going to take her awhile to get over, probably at least a few decades, given her hesitancy to trust anyone since Druitt.
He was currently seated outside the café across the street from his hotel, his laptop open in front of him. He had to let Helen know he was still alive, let her know that he was serious about what he had told her in the catacombs. At the same time, he couldn't get close enough for her to actually try to kill him again. As much as what was left of his Victorian sensibilities detested email, it seemed to be the best solution to his problem. He opened up a screen and started typing…
My Dearest Helen,
I know that after what happened in Rome I am the last person you expected—let alone wanted—to hear from. Johnny tried so hard to kill me for you, it was so sweet. Fortunately for me, he failed. So yes, I am still alive.
Trying to kill you wasn't really part of my plan when I decided to confess my love to you. I fear that I have made quite a mess of things. As difficult as this is for you to hear, though, I think you should know that I really do love you. I may be a conceited, evil bastard at times, but that doesn't keep me from loving you; that will never change.
I'm not asking for things to go back to the way they were. True, for the last sixty years we have each pretended that the other didn't exist, so I suppose things ARE going to go back to how they were. I meant how they were back in Oxford, before the Five, before everything changed. Do you remember all those night staying up almost until dawn poring over research? Or that time we ran into each other in Vienna? All of that was before the change, before I made such a mess of everything that I couldn't hope for you to forgive me.
I truly don't expect you to ever talk to me again. I'm not trying to make things even more difficult for you; there is so much going on with the Kabal that you cannot be distracted by me. I just wanted you to know that I'm not giving up. You can hate me for a hundred lifetimes, and I will still be waiting. I'm in love, and always will be.
-Nikola
He read over the email he had just written. It was not at all how he wanted to tell her those things, but the conventional means of going about it had been failing him since 1865.
"Tesla," a voice behind him growled. He partially vamped out and spun around to see who was foolish enough to sneak up on him.
It was one of his contacts here in the city; not the concierge at his hotel, but a real contact with ties to the underground network of Abnormals. "What is it?" Nikola clipped, trying not be too rude to the bearer of intelligence.
"Have you been in contact with the Sanctuary?"
"Not since the last time, when they tried to kill me," he hissed. "What is going on?"
"Word is that the Kabal is planning to launch a virus that turns all Abnormals into human killers. The outbreak started in Alaska last week…" The Abnormal had fear in his eyes.
Tesla growled. "Helen and company are undoubtedly looking for a solution."
"So far, apparently they don't have anything. Dr. Watson is on his way to the Old City sanctuary from London. Druitt is there too." Nikola's eyes narrowed. James rarely travelled anymore; he most certainly wouldn't willingly subject himself to Druitt unless he had no other choice. His mind whirred, and suddenly everything fell into place.
"Thank you, Greg, I owe you one." He really did owe Greg if this actually worked. The Abnormal nodded and slipped back into the shadows. Nikola opened a new browser window and started looking for flights from Rome to Janakpur. It was possible that Helen and the others hadn't yet realized their only shot at developing a cure for the virus was to retrieve the source blood from Bhalasaam. If that was the case, Nikola could beat them down to the caverns. He had been there often enough over the past 50 years or so that he knew where he was going, even in the ruins of what had once been the one of the wonders of the ancient world. He allowed himself a small sigh, a moment to grieve for the loss of the last enclave of vampires on earth.
Helen may not want to see him after what had happened last month, but it would take all five of them, or, all four and whoever Helen rounds up to take Nigel's place, to retrieve the source blood. He would find a way to make things right in his own way.
He took another look at the email he had composed, and hit the Delete key.
