Disclaimer: I own nothing! Team Sanctuary owns all, but I'd be more than willing to rent Tesla if they're willing :P. My first real Sanctuary fic. It just hit me while listening to The Feel Good Drag, and I actually never figured out where the American Sanctuary was based, so I made it New York because the real Nikola Tesla used to live there. I apologize for anything that's incorrect. Also, this is a mild AU, having Helen and Nikola run into each other after WWII--really mild AU. R&R and enjoy!

The colors and the lighting had chased him across the ocean, following him no matter what he did. Violent, vicious, rage, held back by the smallest threads. Trading the small apartment he'd had in Paris, he had run away, back to the only place he knew that had ever offered him anything. And instead of welcoming memories, the colors, his demons, the drugs, the lighting, had followed him to New York. The escape had backfired. Dragging him down further as his body craved the fix. Blood, smack, sex, and of course, he wanted the colors too, as much as he hated them. The rat hole apartment he was living in, was even worse for wear since he had moved in. Slash marks raked along the walls, holes had been punched through the two ratty doors, and of course, there was him.

Curled in a ball, Nikola ran his shaking fingers through his hair. He had been so stupid to believe that he would be able to handle the hits. But it was too late now, a decade too late. The LSD he had taken so willingly in the sixties had sent him spiraling out of control. Doing things in the name of science was occasionally an incredibly stupid idea. The careful line he had kept with medication between himself and the vampire had been destroyed. And he had fallen down the slippery slope, getting off of the trips with smack, and tumbling down from there. He had tried to escape, tell himself that the drugs were because of the people, the unrequited love, the false friendships. He had run across an entire ocean to get away. And there he was.

Forcing himself to his knees, he grabbed the arm of the couch, pulling himself to his feet. He need to get out, find the lighting, maybe find a whore. Find something. Staggering to the door, he jerked it open, almost taking it off the hinges. Vanishing onto New York's streets he slipped away.

* * *

It had not been the most pleasant of times for her. The final construction on the American Sanctuary was completed, and of course anything wonderful and new she tried to create was in his plan to mar it. Helen Magnus, glared at the shattered remains of a hallway. John had thought it would be amusing to teleport a infant wyvern into her Sanctuary. The armless baby dragon had wrecked havoc. Damn that man, John Druitt. She should have known better, nothing good ever came from him.

Rubbing her forehead she turned on her heel. At the moment, she didn't want to deal with it. Because the only way she could think of dealing with it would be throttling John until he looked more like her hallway. The uncharacteristic violence caused by her innumerous failed plans. Plans that had gotten interrupted by one thing or another, or by someone purposely throwing a monkey wrench into them. Opening the front door she started for the city. There just had to be a place to get lost somewhere, and she couldn't think of a better place.

* * *

The music of the club was deafening. She knew she looked out of place, her pant-suit not at all fitting in with the leather jackets and the multicolored hair of the lost youth of the seventies. At the moment, she didn't care. There was no reason why she always had to be the good scientist. Why couldn't she just vanish into the anonymous background of the underground club, proceed to get herself completely smashed, work her charms on a unsuspecting young man, take him to a hotel, and just for once not have everything matter so much. Force the ever-present John out of her head, at least for a night. Knocking back her vodka, she waved over another drink. Sliding off the barstool, she edged around the dance floor, eyes scanning the various patrons in the booths. Most where couples, and the ones who weren't, didn't look very appealing. Unless… she doubled back, going to the other side of the club. She would swear that something familiar had tugged at her over there.

Appearing in front of a table littered with countless beer bottles, she set her shot glass down with more force than needed. If it hadn't been for that feeling, she never would have recognized him. Crisp well kept suit replaced by a tattered tee-shirt and faded blue jeans, he looked like hell warmed over. His always thin frame looked downright emaciated, the shirt hanging off of boney shoulders.

Eyes turning from the lip of the beer bottle, he looked up at her. Vague recognition in his blue eyes he raised an eyebrow, just tilting the bottle at the opposite booth. There were thousands of questions running through his mind, none of them bothering to spare the energy to surface. Nikola tipped back the last of his beer, opening another one he had already ordered. The only thing that was dragging through his exhausted, alcohol saturated, withdrawaling brain was why was Helen sitting across from him. Why was she even here?

"Nikola, my God, what happened?" she asked, for all that she had wanted to get smashed, Nikola was way beyond that.

"I had to get away. And the colors followed," he shrugged, bloodshot eyes watching the pulsing crowd.

Her eyes shut for a moment. She remembered when Nikola had started experimenting with the hallucinogens. Sure, she didn't think it was the smartest thing to do but she never thought it would go this far awry for him. Catching his free hand, she caught his gaze as he looked at her, more than a little stunned at the contact.

"I will always be here for you, Nikola," she squeezed his hand. For all that she had disagreed with him, he didn't deserve this. This was like his own personal hell. The very things that he had taken to help him invent and see what he was missing had drowned him.

"John's gone," she said, moving some of the bottles aside.

"Mmm, interesting," he managed to sneer at her despite his lack of mental function.

For a split second she almost walked away right there. But then it hit her, it was Nikola's supposed indifference that gave him away. It was why they were still on remote speaking terms. He was indifferent because if he wasn't, then he'd just be broken.

With a sudden movement, she grabbed the front of his tee-shirt leaning across the table and bringing him half way too. Their lips clashed, Nikola's brain playing catch up as fast as possible.

"Helen?" he asked as she released him. It was amazing how sober one could become when the making of rash decisions got tossed into one's lap.

"Nikola…" Standing she offered him her hand. As he looked at her, perhaps this was something they both needed. Or at the least it would be a fix for both of them. They had spent years flip-flopping between each other and others. Everything about the other was so inviting to them. Taking her hand, he stood too, and they made their way out of the club. It was an escape, even better than any drug they knew about, even if they knew it was over before it ever began.

If you liked it lemme know, and if you'd like to have a little, ah, more in a second chapter I'd gladly write it (like say PWP--er a point, not 'plot' for the last 'P'). I just dunno if I got the characters well in this, I think I did, but feed back would be really appreciated. Hope you enjoyed it! :)

--Alley