A/N The Sequel to "Sybarite", this is a WIP and some characters and events are referred to from the first fic in the series that may not make sense if this is read alone.

THE THREE

ONE

Oxford University 1877

"I must confess, Mr. Tesla, that I had not anticipated such troubles from a student with such high recommendations from the Charles-Ferdinand University … but I did receive warning letters from Austrian Polytechnic. It appears it was an oversight on my part to ignore them."

"Yes well, the deans of Austrian Polytechnic did have more time to become better acquainted with me," The young man replied.

"Indeed." The Dean of the Science faculty trembled with irritation at the glib young foreigner who seemed to regard him with little respect for his authority. "The damages to the upper level observatory will be taken from your scholarship. And if I hear of any more unauthorized experiments with electrical current than I shall personally escort you outside Oxford myself."

"I did hear the English sense of humour was to be found somewhat lacking…"

"Enough."

Helen stood awkwardly outside the door to the Dean's office, unable to help but overhear the heated conversation inside. She had heard of the new student who had transferred from Austria and the formidable reputation he was already gaining for himself. Apparently his last lab partner had been shocked with over a thousand volts of electricity and had fainted dead away. That coupled with his foreign accent and manners had effectively ostracized him from the rest of the students. And earned him the somewhat unflattering title of "that Serb".

Some less than polite words were exchanged beyond the closed door, and then she heard a loud bang, as if someone had slammed a book onto a desk. There was the sound of footsteps, and the door swung open.

She started slightly, quickly recovering, and regarded the young man who stepped out of the Dean's office with polite curiosity. He was slender, a dark moustache adorning his upper lip and his hair neatly slicked back. He looked surprised to see her standing there, but quickly gave her a small bow of his head, shutting the door behind him.

"You must be Miss Magnus," He offered her his hand. Helen sighed inwardly, and extended her own hand. The overbearing gestures of gallantry she received at Oxford were just as annoying as being duly ignored, but instead of kissing her hand like she expected, he shook it firmly.

"Tell me, Miss Magnus – what do you think the effects would be on the human heart when shocked with a hundred thousand volts of electricity?" His English was clipped with a Slavic accent, but he spoke very well.

His question caught her off guard, and she eyed him curiously. Was this a trick question? "It would go into cardiac arrest surely, and cease beating. It would mean death for the poor man involved."

He grinned slyly, as if withholding an amusing secret. "Yet I am very much alive."

Helen's eyes widened. "Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you've deliberately shocked yourself with a fatal amount of electrical current?"

"Fatal?" He lazily stretched his arms, working a muscle in his back. "I find it rather pleasant. You see, I find that the English are very single-minded when it comes to certain fields. You still run experiments with direct current exclusively."

Helen raised an eyebrow, wondering in the back of her mind why this strange man had decided to stop and speak to her now, but more fascinated with what he was intimating. "Alternating current. It's been proposed as a theory only, there have been no practical observations…"

He leaned over, as if to whisper in her ear some startling secret. "Go out one day during a thunder storm. You English do not lack for rain. Tell me then that no one has ever seen such a thing before…"

With that mysterious exchange, he stalked away, fastidiously wiping his hands with a cloth square he dug out of his pocket. Helen had the feeling that she would run into the infamous Tesla again. It seemed inevitable.

"Package," The Big Guy growled, placing a slim brown parcel on her desk. Helen Magnus thanked him with a smile, and noted the postage on the parcel.

"Brazil?" She tore the brown wrapping paper and found inside several postcards addressed to Will, and an old slim text on mythological beings in the Amazon jungle.

"How sweet." She set aside the postcards for Will to pick up later. He had an ongoing contest with Aurelian (or Aureliano now) on who could find the silliest postcards of the region, and some of Aurelian's entries were truly laughable. The slim text must have been for her, and she flipped through it in interest.

"Happy birthday," The Big Guy intoned, and bashfully presented her with a small gift-wrapped box. Helen kissed him on the cheek and thanked him. It was a medicine bag from his people.

"You know, for once I think I will actually have a peaceful birthday." Helen grinned knowingly at the Big Guy and he chuckled with her. The past three alone had involved Tahitian zombies, skin walkers and lengthy meetings with the United Nations. She was not hopeful that the peace would last long today either.

"Henry got stuck in the elevator if that counts." The Big Guy barked with laughter at the thought and hugged Helen once more before shuffling out of her office to take care of the rest of the mail. Helen placed the slim book away and turned off her computer. She would do her rounds on the Sanctuary residents, and John would probably be back by the time she was done.

It had been strange at first, getting used to seeing him almost every day. He had become a semi-permanent fixture of the Sanctuary now, unsure of where to go or what to do after they returned from the temple of the Silver Lady. She hadn't believed him at first … that the elemental was gone…

But it was. And now Helen didn't know what do with herself, or with him. He still could never be the man she had known at Oxford. But she had also changed into a very different woman.

Perhaps they would still be able to meet somewhere in between.

Unsure of what to do with himself, but loathe to be useless and idle, John had partnered up with Kate as they both held the most connections to the unsavory parts of Old Town. They had gone out on a run right now to shut down an abnormal trafficking operation.

Helen thought about the bottle of wine she had stowed away in her desk. A red vintage from 1879 … the year they had first become the Five. She found the thought both sad and pleasing that the anniversary of the group's forming was also on her birthday. It filled her with no happiness to consider that so few of them were now left to celebrate.

"On your right." Kate grit her teeth and fired off the remaining rounds in her clip from her position behind a large storage crate. She released the empty clip and reloaded in a matter of seconds.

Thankfully, during that time Druitt had teleported behind her assailant and knocked him out cold with a well-aimed strike to the back of his head.

"Nighty night," he growled as he shoved the prone man away from him. Kate had managed to gain a few more yards and incapacitated a further two men. They had hoped to get in and out without a confrontation, but a large transfer of money was taking place the day they decided to strike. It made things decidedly messy.

"I think it's time we cut and run," Kate called out.

"Did you get their shipping records?"

Kate held up a small flash drive as she elbowed a man in the face. John nodded; they had what they needed. He twisted another man's arm behind his head, knocking the knife from his would be murderer's hand.

"Ripper, here." The man suddenly held up a slip of paper, blood spraying from his mouth. Druitt looked at him stricken.

"What did you call me?"

Druitt knocked the man's head against the wall, and with a small measure of regret, slit his throat. Snatching the piece of paper, he grabbed Kate's arm and teleported them away from what was quickly becoming a bloodbath.

"Shit, are you okay?" Kate asked, her eyes wide at the sprayed blood down his front. She swayed slightly in the front courtyard of the Sanctuary, unused to teleporting.

"It's not mine." Druitt stalked off to his room.

He closed the door behind him and found that his hands were shaking. Since the incident in South America, he hadn't taken a single man's life. The rage he had felt, the blackness that poisoned his mind had disappeared. At first, he didn't believe it himself. He was afraid to tell Helen – how could he explain it? He didn't know himself how it happened.

But the need to know for sure prevailed, and ever the scientist, Helen had run her tests and taken her brain scans. They showed incontrovertible proof that he was now different.

And he was afraid. He wanted nothing more for over a century to be free of the black hatred that had ruled him. Now that it was gone, he was unsure of how to feel. Relieved, above all else, but it had been a part of him for so long that he wasn't sure who Montague John Druitt was anymore.

Going on missions made him afraid, but it was something he knew he had to do. What if the bloodlust was still with him? What if he killed someone and found that he still liked it? He knew he couldn't erase everything about himself that made him a dangerous man. He was a good fighter, a killer, he knew how to take men down and this was something that he could use to help the Sanctuary. He was only now beginning to reconcile this part of himself, and was beginning to feel excited about living as a new man.

Ripper. That man had called him Ripper.

He opened the slip of paper and his gut lurched when he saw the message scrawled within.

"From Hell. Boss, it seems you've grown tired and have stopped running. Don't. No man can ever vanish completely without a trace. It's time the world knows your name."

John trembled violently and tossed the note into the fireplace. He walked into his small bathroom and vigorously washed his hands, scraping his skin raw until every drop of blood was gone. From Hell. The only note he had ever written in a moment of foolishness and twisted arrogance.

No one knew who Jack the Ripper truly was. M.J. Druitt was a favourite suspect amongst Ripperologists, but the world thought he had died by committing suicide and drowning in a river.

So who was this man … how did he know? Who had written this note?

What could they do to him anyway? There wasn't a shred of evidence found to place him with the Ripper murders, and any outcry now would just be seen as fanaticism.

Druitt wiped his face dry, calmer. Something disturbed him about this missive, but there was nothing he could do about it at present. He'd only sabotage himself if he lingered on it.

Only briefly wondering if he had been too hasty in burning the note, John Druitt left his room to find Helen.

"To young and foolish times."

"To an enduring legacy of sanctuary," John gently corrected as he raised his glass in cheers. Helen smiled wistfully, but made no rebuttal, and sipped at the wine.

The moon and stars lit the night sky, and a gentle breeze stirred the hair on her face. She had set up a small table and chairs on the Sanctuary's rooftop so they could relax outside.

"Do you remember the first time we had to fetch Griffin from the Dean's office?" John asked.

"Or the first time James drank brandy in the music hall."

John laughed with Helen at the old memories. "What was it that he thought he discovered?"

Helen shook her head ruefully. "A conspiracy amongst all the breweries to keep educated men from discovering the meaning of life."

John chuckled, setting down his glass. "I'll never forget the look on Tesla's face when he came to pick up James in the cab. 'Jove, I told you dancing is the work of devils!'"

Helen finally allowed herself to laugh and feel mirthful without restraint. The years may have passed, and some friends may not have been with her now, but she could always revive them in her memories.

Druitt smiled a little sadly, seeing Helen relaxed and comfortable around him in a very long time. He looked out over the city. "I actually never expected it to be us at the end."

Helen glanced over at him. "What do you mean?"

"I always thought James and Tesla would be here with us as well. Actually, I was sure James would outlive me. I never expected to die of old age … always thought it would be Scotland Yard. Or you."

Helen glanced down at her hands as she recalled the night she had shot him. The terror he had inflicted upon Whitechapel, and the betrayal and grief she had felt when she found out it was him.

She also thought of Oxford … of going to see Twelfth Night … of Ashley… "It would never have been me, John."

He sat silently, and she thought she saw him tremble slightly. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, so she reached across the table and clasped his hand.

"I'm very glad you're still here with me, John."

He looked stunned, and that made her heart ache. "Really?"

"Truly." She leaned over and kissed him softly. He was hesitant to respond at first, but when she didn't pull away he gently kissed her back. He looked at peace for the first time in a long while.

He gently clinked his glass against hers and whispered, "To the Five."

"To us."