Right, so this is my first Sanctuary fic, so I'm hoping it won't bomb too badly! Anyway, I'm an absolutely huge Teslen shipper. This is a one-sided Teslen story that popped into my head while I was trying to finish some work, and it just wouldn't go away! Anyway, I own nothing. Enjoy!
Though I'd die to know you love me, I'm all alone. Isn't someone missing me? - Missing, Evanescence.
Nikola Tesla didn't believe in love. In fact, he felt that love was a folly to be overlooked, a mere physical flaw that could be contained and eventually, neutralized. Nikola Tesla never believed in love - until he met one Miss Helen Magnus.
It would be incredibly, irrevocably damaging to his scientific mind to say that it was love at first sight. No, he would deny that, even as he thought of the shining, golden ringlets that shrouded her pale, long neck from his seeking gaze. Even as he recalled her eyes, coloured with a blue that rivaled that of the sky. Even as he remembered the delicate flush that had risen to her cheeks when she had caught him staring - nigh upon leering - at her. Even as his vampiric mind brought these details together, causing them to mingle and merge, entertwining - much like he wished their physical bodies would - until they formed a picture in his mind's eye. Even with his nigh eidetic memory, this recollection of Helen's stunning looks seemed almost insulting.
They were both young, which seemed a strange thing to think of when they were now so old. Still, youth had once enveloped them with nurturing arms, and Nikola liked to think that Helen had fancied him a bit, even though it was most likely wishful thinking. He liked to think that, given a bit more time, Helen would have fallen for him, instead of that great blundering oaf, Druitt. It seemed, however, that after the Source Blood had changed them, Druitt had become less of an oaf, and more of a bloodthirsty monster. Ironically, even Tesla didn't have as great a bloodlust.
When John revealed himself to be the infamous Ripper, Helen had completely fallen apart, crumbling from the inside out. A strange, sick, twisted part of Nikola had wanted to take her hand, look into her eyes, and tell her that no matter what, he would always be there. Then, he had wanted to kiss her, and make her whole again. Yet what did he end up doing?
He ended up running from her. Poor, broken Helen. According to Watson, he and Griffin had ben able to piece Humpty together again, but somehow, Nikola knew that Helen would never be the same.
Unfortunately, he was right.
Now, over sixty years later, he stands in a corridor, waiting for his ljubav to join him. Eventually, she did, and he was ashamed to admit that he was careened back into adolescence as his heartbeat sped and his breathing quickened. Thankfully, he had a flair for acting. That was probably the only thing that kept him from jumping her then and there.
He asked for a kiss. It was a simple request, one that he knew would probably never be fulfilled. After all, he was her friend, and friends don't simply go about snogging one another, do they? Yet, to his utter suprise, when he tapped his cheek, she leaned fowards, lips approaching.
Nikola knew it was wrong, yet he couldn't help but turn his head to feel her silken lips on his. His knees felt weak, his heart stuttered in his chest, and he felt as if he were flying without ever leaving the ground. Especially when her hands shot up to grab him, her long fingers closing over his wiry arms. Seconds too late, he realized it was to push him away from her.
The shock must have registered on his face; he caught the breif twinkle of amusement in her eye.
Later, in the catacombs, when he told her he loved her. She had been shocked, and, to his utter horror, seemingly afraid. That's what fuelled in in him. Her almost-fear, his pain. That's what caused him to put his plan into action.
So he stalked her in the tombs, waiting for the oppurtune moment to grab her, pull her flush against him. It would take very little effort on his part to bite her. After all, it was Helen. Poor, broken Helen.
Then, he was cornering her, and she was openly afraid of him. She considered him a monster - he saw it in her eyes. He didn't care. All Nikola Tesla wanted right at that moment was Helen Magnus. Her flesh, her blood, her mind, her soul. All of her. He was determined to get it. Call it love, call it hate, call it sadistic need. He needed her. He had to get her.
She didn't want him to get her. She didn't want to give her heart to him. She hated him.
Nikola was determined, however. He would take her by force, if neccesary. It would be easy to overpower her, with his vampiric strength, and one quick bite would be all it took to change her. To make Helen Magnus his until the end of time.
Then Druitt ruined him with a fist to the abdoment. Or, through the abdomen would be more appropriate.
It hurt. It crushed him, sending him to his knees, allowing him to see the world in a perfect moment of clarity. Helen Magnus was not his, had no desire to be his, and most likely hated him. John Druitt, Jack the Ripper himself, a man known for his bloodlust and sadistic nature, had Helen Magnus all to herself. Had given her a child.
Nikola was alone once more. But it didn't matter, did it? Nothing mattered then, anyway. His ljubav was gone, and with her, his heart. How could anything matter? So he allowed himself to crumple to the floor, allowed his blood to spill over the dust. For the first time in a very, very long time, Nikola Tesla regretted being a vampire. He regretted not having the ability to die properly.
He only hoped that, once he was dead, someone out there would miss him.
Right, I'm fairly certain that tanked. Oh well - reviews are like a stripping Jonathon Young!