I have a thing about Helen... More her outfit in Haunted, and how it's a very Nikola outfit. Anyways, the flashback is set after the injection of the source blood but before Helen and the others find out about John (but it isn't really important to the plot). (And, again, transferred from my account on AO3.)
To be honest, Helen should've cut Nikola off after the first bottle of wine (definitely should have after the second) but here they were, on their third bottle. The whole evening had an air of a wake to it, regardless of Nikola's magnetic personality taking over. The last of the vampires was now mortal, and Helen was alone, the last of The Five. If that wasn't cause to abuse her wine cellar and their livers for the evening, she didn't know what was.
Helen felt Nikola needed it.
The first bottle had been drunk with propriety, the two of them sat on their own sides of the sofa. There was a safe distance (in Helen's mind) between them, although that had eroded as the wine flowed. Each time she filled her glass (and his, though not as quickly after the first bottle), she'd move a bit closer. Each time he set his glass down, he shifted over.
The second bottle had them somewhat fuzzy around the edges, both laughing – Nikola more so, 'Poor dear really is a cheap date now,' – as he played with his new power. A fair few times she had felt her earring gently tugged from its hole in her lobe. His arm was resting along the back of the sofa, and if it just so happened that Helen felt his fingertips on her arm, so be it. He looked better when he smiled.
The third bottle, where they were now, was still half full. Helen could feel the warmth radiating from Nikola - warmer than before? She couldn't remember. Her head on his shoulder, his hand on her arm, he said those immortal (ha) words, "Helen, remember when…" Nostalgic Nikola was in the building, being used as Helen's pillow, and for once she was fine with that.
"Helen, remember when you first wore trousers? Not just for adventuring…" He sighed. "James couldn't keep his eyes off you."
She snorted. "And the rest!"
Watching a teaspoon waltz lazily – was that down the back of the sofa? - Helen felt the laughter in his tone, "Nigel appreciated the view too… I think you look breath-taking whatever you wear. Even better when it's my clothing."
"Excuse me, who's fault was it that my dress was torn to shreds?" she asked, mock outrage infusing her words as she turned to face him.
He winked. "I saved your life that day Helen. That acid would've eaten away at your skin had I not acted when I did."
"Nikola, don't you dare!" Helen warned him, her breath fanning across his face as her blonde curls bounced.
"Really Helen, I'm not going to spill it. I'm not some clumsy oaf," he replied, smiling as he looked into her eyes. They were electric blue, sparking with barely contained ire that he wouldn't do as she said.
"It isn't clumsiness that worries me but your awe-inspiring need to show off."
"I do not show off!" he told her, aghast.
She rolled her eyes. "Just give me that beaker." She reached for the glass, but he held it away.
"No," he replied. "This is extremely strong acid. It'll eat through your skin within seconds if any were spilt. Allow me to do this; the only things that should touch your skin are the clothes you wear and the weather outside." He smiled, "And me," he added as an afterthought, pushing his luck.
The look Helen gave his was very old fashioned and pinched, "Really? Concentrate!"
He leered slightly, "On you? Always!"
Her arched eyebrow was suddenly joined by its partner, those electric blue eyes wide whilst her mouth became a perfect O. His hand had tipped. "Nikola!"
Looking from beaker to her and back again, his eyes became saucers from the horror. He meant it when he warned of the strength of the acid - it was already rending the heavy material of her dress. Without thought of propriety, his claws extended and worked, shredding her clothing to save her from the whole mess. "Helen! I - I don't know how that happened, truly!"
"You just had to show off, as you always do! I asked for that beaker and you could have just listened and given me the glass, but no, you had to act the "concerned gentleman" and do something for me. I can do my own experiments without you taking over!" she yelled, her hands on her hips, those delightful, cascading curls bouncing as she did.
Nikola looked down, almost bashfully. Helen did the same, her head shooting back up instantly. Those eyes of her, hypnotic and bright, went wider when she realised her predicament.
Corsets weren't outer wear, especially when a certain half vampire looked at her like that - repentant and hungry. Mustering her courage, she held her head high and said (a bit shrill), "Some assistance please, before someone walks in!"
He nodded mutely, walking away as his tongue ran along the underside of his teeth. He was trying to calm himself.
Helen looked down again. Pooled around her feet was the tattered remains of her dress. It wasn't a favourite by a long shot - almost a half mourning dress in its drab grey, plain woollen-ness - but it was perfect for work in a laboratory. Whatever had come over her to try and take that silly beaker from him had vanished when she realised her state of undress. "Where is he?" she muttered, unable to hold the rags to her lest the acid work on her corset. Sighing, stepping and kicking away the wrecked material, she removed the offending item from her sight, pulling off the sleeves that had remained in their place, all the while looking at the readings from their previous experiment.
That was how Nikola found her - hands on the bench, neck and back a straight line, eyes moving like his lightning as her brain engaged with the numbers. She was so ensconced in the figures she didn't notice his reappearance. Drinking in his fill of this unguarded Helen (always so proper, it had been a challenge for her to call him 'Nikola'), he soon coughed gently as he stalked to her, woollen and silk items folded in his hand.
"That isn't a dress."
Nikola rolled his eyes. "I'm not in the habit, dear Helen, of keeping ladies' dresses where I work. This is all I have."
Helen dubiously held up the shirt, noticing the creases. "It's worn."
"It's not torn," he told her, reminding her why they were in this predicament. She nodded, and quick as a flash the pale creaminess of her exposed shoulders were hidden from view. Nikola hadn't thought, before giving her his vestments, how he'd react. A possessive roar tore through his heart as lithe fingers did up the small pearly buttons.
Helen tried valiantly to ignore the change in Nikola's breathing as she undid the buttons on her boots, but that feeling of being watched, of being the sole reason for someone's base reaction, was heady and powerful. She, an ageless human, could make this vampire breathless. A small smile graced her lips - he had always said that she could, now she believed it.
Turning from him in a vain attempt at privacy, she tugged the trousers up her legs. They were tighter than she expected - she had feminine hips that these trousers certainly weren't tailored for - and rubbed in places that, as a lady, she denied to all (but one) was of interest.
Facing Nikola again, the air sped from her lungs with the depth of attraction in his blue eyes. Cheeks flushing, eyes and body back to the clothes, she touched the waistcoat and jacket folded on the bench. She didn't trust her voice, or what she felt. A deep need to be taken - by him, in this very room - suffused her body.
"Maybe we should delay the next step," Nikola murmured somewhere close to her ear. Helen was surprised he didn't feel the shiver shoot down her back when his warm breath tickled the shell of said ear. "I'll arrange a carriage..."
"But... The experiment..." Helen's breathy voice trailed away when his arm reached from behind her to grasp the waistcoat. She shouldn't wish that it was her waist that his hand should grasp, his body warm against her back, but to her shame she did.
"It can wait," he replied. Suddenly, she wasn't sure "the experiment" was the one they were working on or something less tangible, more wrapped in wool and silk and buttoned in pearls. He sighed softly, "You must finish dressing," his warmth enveloping her.
Eyes closed, she became his marionette as he placed the waistcoat on her body, never moving from behind her. His fingers pushed through all the buttons bar the bottom one. His arms around her were an unknown mockery of her shameful desire. Swallowing, she tried to keep her breathing measured, her heart rate even, as she knew he could hear each thud and whoosh betraying her.
His hand ghosting over hers to that blasted jacket made every nerve ending she possessed scream for attention. Stretching her arm, the sleeve whispered up and over the silken shirt to weigh heavily on her shoulders. Using that momentum, she turned in his arms, his hand not letting go of the flap.
Blue met blue, soft pants buffeted their skin, the air around them pulsing with static. Neither could tell who moved first but lips were on lips, fingers tight on lapels, moving to his arms, her waist finally grasped...
"Helen," he moaned softly, his voice so tender that it made her pause.
Made her stop.
"Nikola." Her tone brooked no arguments, although her heart rate certainly did. "Stop."
Eyes closed, he squeezed her waist one last time, before stepping back. He nodded. "Of course." He swallowed thickly, before gazing at her again, those blue eyes fuzzy with want. "You're right.
She nodded, side stepping to escape his hands, her own now fiddling with the single-breasted jacket she wore. "Middle button always, top button sometimes, bottom button never," he told her, wanting desperately to do those up himself but not trusting his fingers to stop.
Bottom lip caught between her teeth, she pushed the middle button through the hole, and that same beast in Nikola's chest roared again. That lip was swollen, her cheeks that delicious, sweet pink flush, and she was thoroughly out of reach.
"I remember," she whispered, her head back on his chest. She delighted to hear his heart rate accelerate. "I had to tie my tie by myself."
"You should wear something like that again," he murmured, stroking her hair as he ignored her barb about the tie.
Wetting her lips, she was momentarily back in the body of her younger self. Heart racing, she was guiltily glad he was mortal, although he could probably feel the hammering in her chest. "I don't know," she whispered, "I've no-one to help me dress."
"You need only ask," he told her, dropping his hand to her shoulder.
She smirked, "And be prisoner in my own wardrobe to your passing flights of fashion fancy?" She paused. "I'll keep it in mind." Her eyes closed, warm against him, "The maid almost had a fit when she saw me sneaking in."
"She could see how delectable you looked," he told her simply, as if it was obvious.
They finished the last half bottle in charged silence, knowing the spell could be broken at any moment and revelling in the anticipation.
Two weeks later, Nikola stated he would be leaving soon, feeling out of place now that old John was visiting. Helen would call him, and he was here. Nikola had shuddered at the thought. He didn't mention the sick feeling he had forgotten existed as a mortal any time he'd seen the two together. He also didn't comment on the brief glance of sadness that stole through her eyes, before her brittle, too bright smile graced her face.
The morning before he planned on leaving, she came to him in the library. Looking up he smiled at her attire. A pin striped white shimmer on white cotton shirt, black waistcoat, black trousers and, heaven help him, a Windsor knotted black tie, with those heels clinking on the wooden floor. She smiled back. "Everything alright?"
Smile became smirk. "Better than. Has anyone told you today that you look ravishing?"
It was faint, but he saw that same delicious, sweet pink flush he'd memorised from years before as she looked to the fireplace bashfully. She flirted with the best of them, but some reactions Helen just couldn't hide.
"Hey boss," Henry's tinny voice came from her hip. "I've got Ravi on the line, says its urgent."
Looking back at Nikola, she smiled sheepishly. Taking the radio, she walked around his table, letting Henry know she'd be up in her office in a moment to take Ravi's call. "Duty calls," she said softly, looking at him look at her.
"You best go save the day," he replied, equally soft.
"Stay out of my cellar." Her smile was infectious, and the last thing he saw of her as she left.
Making up his mind, Nikola stood from the table and walked to the opposite door. If Mumbai was calling, he could slip off today without a big spectacle, and with that particular bottle of red he'd noticed hidden in a dark corner of the cellar. Smirking, he walked confidently, knowing he could wait as long as he needed for Helen and her delectable, waistcoat self.
Literally, this was just an excuse to write Nikola dressing Helen. I know almost nothing about clothing in Victorian times (except there was such things as mourning dresses and corsets) but yeah. I hope you enjoyed. (Also, as one last aside, I am a very lucky person for the sister I have. She beta'd this without knowledge of the canon, and got my sentences to work in a way that others would understand. If you can't guess, I think she's awesome.)