4th May, London, 1945
The London Sanctuary was dark and quiet tonight, cocooned in a peaceful hush that expanded across the flagstone halls and panelled rooms, nestled with warm lighting behind the blackout curtains. There was a gentle hum from the aging light fixtures, and down below, the new containment facilities which had developed over the last five years. Well, two really, Tesla thought to himself. They hadn't upgraded them properly in what looked to be two decades before he'd swung by – anyone would've thought money was tight.
He replaced the lid to the decanter in the lounge, the crackling fire warming his skin but not his bones. That's what the brandy was for, a little spice. The night was unseasonably cold. Rain had drawn in during the day making the temperatures plummet, typical British spring. Another reason he preferred New York.
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn't go back to her, the big apple, the white dove, the constant drive towards the future. He was dead to them, and needed to stay that way. God he hated anonymity.
Taking a rather large sip of the drink, without even sniffing it, he found himself cursing his inability to become intoxicated yet again. He sighed. This wasn't going to be easy.
Earlier today had come the news that Berlin had surrendered. Hitler was rumoured to have put a bullet in his brain already. The only considerate thing Tesla imagined the Nazi leaders had done in their entire lives – allowing the Fuhrer to finally die almost two years after his actual death, to let the dreams of empire die with him. It was only a matter of time now… and then what? Go back under armed escort to his adopted country, and become the government's clock-work genius? He didn't think so. If he couldn't go back and live the life Helen had so graciously ended for him, he wasn't sure he wanted to go back at all.
Then, of course, there was the woman herself. He paused, nose midway into the brandy glass, remembering their evening buried within the cavernous wine cellar, drinking away her resuscitated sorrows. It wasn't long after Normandy, when Eisenhower was still insisting on keeping him under armed guard. An inept armed guard – the amount of times he'd snuck off, really, they were lucky he wasn't a Nazi spy.
Magnus and Watson had come back from their little jaunt with weary faces, though Griffin had stayed overseas until December, when he'd surprised them all at Christmas dinner by literally appearing out of nowhere. The French air seemed to have agreed with him… unlike the other two. As Helen had finally explained, after copious amounts of Côtes d'Rhône, neither she nor James had even begun to come to terms with Druitt's re-appearance after all these years. Though, Tesla considered wryly, neither of them had gotten over him in the first place. A bruised ego and a bruised heart. Quite the pair.
They'd become closer since the thirties, much closer. The observation was a benign melanoma on his heart, fast turning cancerous. He found it hard to address Watson with anything near the respect that had matched their earlier days, whenever he caught his stolen wistful glances in Magnus' direction, or the way they fitted into each other's lives like a married couple. Then she would tease Tesla with that flirty smile of hers, hips slanted defiantly, a pointed look in her eyes, and it was like nothing had changed: Watson was still just her best friend from college, and Nikola was the one making the sparks fly.
She still wanted him, he knew it. He could see it when she was buried beneath piles of paperwork, or fixating over the details Watson had laid down for heading into enemy territory. She yearned for the distraction, the excitement, the adventure they'd had before. The life she'd had when she stopped clinging to this place as if it would somehow rectify her relationship with Druitt, and started thinking about herself for once.
Without doubt, the times they had shared together were memories he would reach for on his dying breath. Whenever it was, however many centuries away that might be. He wanted her to be there with him. Only her.
She wasn't going to hold the Death Ray debacle against him forever… was she? He had his suspicions – that she was only using it as an excuse to hold him at arm's length – and it was driving him mad. The put-downs too hot to be without passion and then, the quiet moments of confidence, where her walls came slamming down as soon as he offered so much as an ounce of intimacy or compassion. Getting left behind on missions, and then consoled for being put out. She had defended him as their choice for relaying secret messages: admittedly it was something one of her flunkies at the Sanctuary could've easily handled, but she at least trusted him enough to put their top-secret mission memos in his hands. And then to throw his dishonesty and machinations in his face whenever…
He'd reached the bottom of the glass. It hadn't done a thing to cure his irritability, or calm his nerves, because he knew it all came down to one thing. He couldn't keep doing this to himself; couldn't keep longing for a day that might never come, couldn't bear the constant tension when he knew what it felt like to hold her close. When he didn't have to imagine, only remember, the contours of her body and the way she moaned. The itch, they called it in America, but it was more than that… it was everything they'd run away from in the first place. Everything Tesla had wanted since he'd realised what he experienced whenever she walked into the room; to love without reservation, without fear, without giving a damn of what other people thought.
Casting a cutting glare into the flames he told himself to stop being a coward, it was time to face the inevitable.
0 0 0
Magnus found the message after returning from a short jaunt for some nettle tea – rationing had put a stop to her usual five cups of earl grey a day a long time ago. Sometimes she wondered what it had tasted like. A small scrap of paper, folded with precision lay on her desk with her name, scratched in a spiky font upon its front. Tesla's handwriting had never been particularly elegant, and was rarely legible unless being understood was vital to its purpose. So it was to her surprise that the scant text was entirely legible, and completely baffling at the same time. Instantly her suspicions were roused. She almost blew him off precisely to make the point that she was not going to come running every time he so much as beckoned.
She supposed that's why she was now in the corridor approaching the lounge... drawn to that air of mystery he always managed to concoct. Sighing as her hand met the door handle, she braced herself for whatever madness was about to ensue, lips set together with a pre-determined hint of disapproval, and entered.
To her surprise she was met with the drop of a needle onto a record, and the sound of a Swing band playing something slow, lush, and familiar.
'The suspense is killing me,' crooned Billie Holiday; her potent voice shimmering with vulnerability and determination all in one. 'I can't stand uncertainty,'
She was almost loathed to interrupt Lady Day, though she was more than a little surprised to find Tesla now stood to attention right in front of her, offering his hand with the precision of a slice of his claws. "A dance, Miss Magnus?" The woman, not the doctor, not the head of the Sanctuary Network; it was a calculated address. He had never dropped her proper title without a reason.
'…whether you want me, to stay or go."
An intrigued smile worked its way into her expression, encouraged by the wide, close-lipped smile he beamed at her. Clearly feeling pleased with himself for something, Magnus mused, accepting the hand and allowing herself into his hold. It was a beautiful song, sultry, if a little mournful.
Which struck her as odd, considering the day's good news, "Never pegged you as a Billie Holiday man."
He shrugged as he led her in a slow dance across the floor. 'Love me or leave me, or let me be lonely, you won't believe me…' "Well," he responded lowly, "I wouldn't have chalked up ol' Blue Eyes to Watson's collection, but apparently wonders never cease."
She tilted her head back, chuckling with that tone of admonishment that let him know he'd hit the mark. It made him want to hold her closer, but he hesitated, unsure of whether it would be enough to make her bolt.
'You might find the night time the right time for kissing...'
She could tell he wanted to kiss her. The way his eyes lingered distractedly on her lips when he forgot she was looking, it made them part just by insinuation, because Helen had to admit... a part of her still wanted it to happen.
His hands pressed a little more firmly for a moment, as though waking from a dream, "Helen…" he couldn't quite say it, whatever it was. A peculiar awkwardness she'd not seen in an exceedingly long time crossing his demeanour.
'…for just reminiscing, regretting instead of forgetting with somebody else.'
He sighed, long and regretful, like he knew he was about to say something that would cause trouble.
'There'll be no one, unless that someone is you…' Billie had taken the words right out of his mouth anyway.
"Nikola?" Helen was eying him with two-parts apprehension, one-part concern, and he studiously avoided meeting her gaze. "What's wrong?" It was hard not to hear the mounting suspicion in her voice that it a) wasn't going to be anything she'd like and b) probably involved some "genius" scheme with dubious ethics that she'd be cleaning up after him.
'I want your love but I don't want to borrow. To have it today and to give back tomorrow,'
He smiled faintly, stepping into her space as they continued their dance, just to be nearer, to feel her warmth.
She hadn't expected that. Magnus rested her head against him out of instinct, surprised by the physical memory that it resuscitated. His scent reached her nostrils, barely changed, for all the fifteen-odd years since last they stood this close on purpose, even his clothes had the same texture. Had it really been that long?
Sometimes it felt like only yesterday she'd been redressing him for playing fast and loose with everything, for snubbing friends before they'd even been made, and treating the world as if it had a personal grudge to bear him. After she'd stormed out of his apartment that day, heading back for London and never looking back, she wondered whether perhaps even the great Nikola Tesla had been starting to feel his age. She smiled ironically at the thought. It had been too late by then. She had given him more than enough chances to realise what he had all around him, and it wasn't lost in some ancient vampire text or in her father's map to the source blood's final resting place.
Things between them were never going to be anything more than what they'd already had. At some point over the years, before he had so rudely interrupted the war effort, Helen had come to terms with that. Nikola was not the man who'd be there to feed the trolls, and repair the relays, make the tea, and mooch for funds from bankers around the world. Hell, she'd had more than one evening's networking cut short by his sudden, and admittedly... not wholly unappreciated, presence. It wasn't his fault if years ago she'd indulged in a little daydreaming. He had always been a law unto himself – and never pretended to be anything different.
Even so, for all her misgivings and his amazing display of recklessness in '42, she knew he wasn't just a bad habit, but a drug she enjoyed taking. After all those years and he could still make her shiver – not in the slightly terrified yet possessive way that John had, but with the tingle of anticipation, of excitement for what would come next. It was impossible, he was impossible. And it was only now, as the last verse repeated, that she started to realise the choice of song might have had a deeper intention than opportune letchery.
'There'll be no one unless that someone is you,
I intend to be independently blue.
I want your love but I don't want to borrow…'
It couldn't though, could it? She pulled back and watched, as his face tightened with the effort of appearing unaffected by her startled and slightly suspicious expression.
'To have it today and to give back tomorrow,
Your love is my love,
There's no love for nobody else.'
The music rounded off, leaving her as surprised as the outro was short, the record continuing to scratch without input until the needle found its way to the end and slipped away. She had a demanding look about her: Tell me, speak to me, as though by thinking it she could will him to admit the purpose of this little encounter. What did he want from her?
He didn't want to let her go, that was for sure. Her hand was still in his, he could still feel her waist, but even so she had withdrawn from his embrace. Time had started to draw out for the vampire. Ten years didn't seem so long anymore, least of all when you locked yourself in a lab for the majority of it. Yet one year in her presence without any release had been too much.
"Stay with me." He had never asked for anything so openly, so exposed to a yes or no without another card up his sleeve, but it was necessary. After weeks of simmering sexual tension, he needed to know whether she would come to him in the end out of lust, like before, or for him, or not at all.
It hadn't been quite what she was expecting, a question so vaguely couched she could take it in any number of ways. The only thing she couldn't ignore was the intense honesty of his request. She found herself staring absently at his lips, her stomach dancing nervously at the thought of it. Stay with him? In the darkness of her dreams she might've imagined such a thing, two immortals, an eternity of scintillating conversation over the very finest vintages followed by sultry nights, but forever was a very long time.
Her bottom lip retreated beneath the top one as she played it out in her head; the passion that would sour beneath bruised egos and terse arguments, until they hated each other as strongly as they had ever desired. Oh, forever was a long time to hate someone, and she knew from experience that the pain, the guilt, the anger would always prick at you. Heartbreak never got any easier and old wounds never healed.
That decade of pointedly refusing to make contact with Nikola had made her realise something – she didn't want to lose the one best friend who was as likely as she was to live forever. He could be anywhere on this planet, he could lock himself away in the most obscure corners of the earth; just so long as she could find him somehow, just so long as their relationship had not been poisoned like hers and John's. Being lovers was a gamble, the stakes were too high, and lest she forget, the likelihood of him cobbling together another damnable contraption and causing some world-crisis was becoming increasingly high. Frankly it was just a matter of time before there was another Death Ray, another Earthquake machine, another experiment taken to its fullest conclusion without any consideration for the rest of the world.
No it seemed obvious to her now that outside of her occasional fantasies, she and Nikola could never be. Her smile was a sad one, wistful. It didn't match her words, and made his heart sink almost instantly.
"The song's finished Nikola… and it's late, I should probably finish up at the lab."
He smiled it off, though he knew she was being purposefully obtuse. In a way he was almost glad, "Aw come on, the lab can wait. I've got a bottle of Sangiovese that Griffin smuggled through." One last drink, he thinks to himself behind that tempting grin, one last night to soak up what we have, whatever it is.
Sensing that the brevity of his tone was something he wasn't really feeling, Magnus withdrew, slowly, from his touch, until she stood alone again. One regretful glance into his eyes told her all she needed to know, and the regret cut through her, knowing that she was the cause.
Better to draw a line right here, she thinks to herself, before their friendship becomes irretrievable. Come morning, he'll be Tesla again, and in twenty, thirty, sixty years' time, they'll look back on tonight with wistful glances and knowing smiles, and they'll be friends.
She sighs delicately, shaking her smiling head, "Good night Nikola, save the Sangiovese for another time. Soon."
He's slow to respond, dumbstruck, almost, by the retreating opportunity. Before he had quite put together a coherent thought besides 'I love you', she had already slipped away. The moment had passed, and they would not share another moment like that again. She cast one last long glance from the doorway, hand pausing elegantly on the frame, but she didn't say a word – and neither did he.
8th May, 1945
(V.E. Day)
Helen was exhausted, in that excited, alive sense. Everything zinged like her wide grinning smile; the whole world was full of relief, joy, and celebration. She rested briefly against James as they stumbled, still slightly inebriated, through the Sanctuary's doors, laughing at the long winding walk they'd just had to take. The impromptu celebrations had shut down half of London's transport – including the Taxis – and now her feet were killing her. Haphazardly Magnus reached back to unhook her feet from her heels, the bottle clutched in her hand starting to roll from her grasp as she did so.
Luckily James caught it in time, his hand pressed lightly against her back, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "Do be careful Helen!" He admonished genially, "You'd never forgive yourself if it ended up smashed on the floor."
She laughed, one hand gently resting on his arm as she took the other shoe off with a modicum more grace. "Well a '39 Burgundy from dear old Clement, though greatly appreciated, isn't quite as spectacular as Winston's little gift for D-Day, is it?" she reclaimed the bottle with a wry eyebrow, and her clever little smile, to which Watson could only smile back contentedly.
"Speaking of which," Watson murmured, "I hope you found a good hiding place for it, or else buried it so deep in the wine cellar that our resident connoisseur won't have found it."
She scoffed, "Please, since Nikola arrived I've become an expert at inventive relocation… you don't really think I'd let him get to the remains of my father's wine store do you?"
He chuckled, a warm deep rumble that reminded her of firesides on wet autumn nights, "After that Christmas in '21? God I'd never seen you so angry over alcohol in all my life."
Helen smiled thoughtfully to herself at the memory, knowing that Watson was still bereft of all the details as to how, exactly, that section of their stash had been decimated. She wasn't sure he would want to know the real reason she'd been so irate the following day, he certainly wouldn't have approved at any rate.
"Well," she glanced between Watson and the bottle, grin widening, "I think another toast is in order!"
"Are you sure that's wise?" the protest wasn't particularly heartfelt; despite the fact she was clearly still drunk and could only get worse.
"Of course! Why not? Where's Nikola," she started towards the lounge where she knew there'd be clean glasses on the sideboard, and Watson followed at a leisurely amble, hobbling slightly from last year's injury, "I've not seen him all day – he should join us! And Charles, and Amelia... we deserve it. After all we've been through!"
"I'll go take a look downstairs," Watson smiled gently from the doorway.
Helen nodded, uncorking the bottle with a little difficulty, and letting it breathe as he left. Eventually pouring out five glasses she reached for two, and then, growing impatient for the company, began her own search, certain that the scent of wine alone would be enough to draw out the pesky Serbian at least. Whatever the circumstances of his assistance, she couldn't deny that without Tesla this war might've gone on for a hell of a lot longer. For that at least, she wanted to thank him. Only a little though. She still considered it part of his atonement for the mess he'd created.
Except, Nikola wasn't in the library, or the kitchen, or her study; she poked her head back into the lounge, finding James there, already in spirited conversation with Charles, Amelia, and even George the Panteralus-hominid, who rarely ventured into the upper part of the building. She smiled at them all, asking if they'd seen the miscreant vampirus, to hear only a negative. Watson's face took on that interested look it always did when presented with a conundrum, his eyes narrowing in thought. Magnus barely noticed it these days, it was so normal to her. Leaving the wine she told them all she'd just check upstairs, in case he was there.
"Seems a shame otherwise." She said, though neither Amelia nor George seemed to share this sentiment, having taken a quick dislike to him over the few weeks they'd been forced to 'nanny', as they liked to call it.
Upstairs Helen had even less luck, until she mustered the courage to try at his door. This was silly, she thought to herself, he was probably out enjoying the night's party atmosphere, before the President tightened the reins on him… but it was a picture she couldn't quite reconcile to the man she knew. Somehow, she got the distinct impression that without someone interesting to share, to explore it with, the madness out on the streets would bore him sooner rather than later. If Griffin had been with them she'd have given up already, chances were they'd be out causing mayhem with a few pints in Nigel's system, but she knew their invisible friend was across the channel with Jeanette. He'd sent a telegram this morning.
Rapping her knuckles against his door she was surprised to find the wooden barrier give and press inward without any resistance. Frowning she dared to push it wide open with the tip of her finger, and scanned the dim interior. It was silent, still, and when she flicked on the light she realised, it was empty. Not just of Nikola himself, but of everything that belonged to him. The wardrobe doors opened out to empty interiors, the bedside table no longer sported the pen and paper he kept just in case inspiration should strike, like lightening, out of the blue. The realisation that he had left them, for good, was just as sudden, and she wasn't quite sure how she should feel. She wasn't surprised, and yet she felt numb… knowing that three days ago, her jibe about him getting out of the lab a little more often was her parting shot, the last thing she had said to him. Oh Nikola. She shook her head, wondering if it was selfish of her to wish he had stayed, whether it was stupid to have hoped that he might, and that Nigel would come home, and they'd almost be a Five again. Things were moving on. Time was changing them, pulling, slowly tugging them apart – again. She couldn't help the overwhelming sense of disappointment, the bitter tang of knowing that not even their friendship was enough to keep him around. Her mind wandered back to that evening, four nights ago, when he'd played Lady Day and her insides stirred with a sense of unease. Had she driven him away?
How ridiculous, she chided herself, this was Tesla they were talking about. Since when did he ever listen to anything he didn't like? He'd have stuck around just to annoy her if he'd felt himself spurned in some way.
"Everything alright darling?"
She managed to look toward Watson in a daze, and by the time she had, he'd already clocked every nook and cranny, every slight change to the room. Instantly his shoulders seemed to drop, his face becoming astutely neutral as he observed her properly for the effects of this discovery. His findings proved to be inconclusive.
"Well…" he cleared his throat a little, "can't say I'm enormously shocked. Now it's all over."
Now it was all over and his freedom here in London would come to an abrupt end.
"You think he was trying to give us all the slip?" she eyed Watson with a little spark of mischief in her eyes. It certainly sounded more likely to her. With his European mission all but officially over, Nikola was no doubt trying to get ahead before the Americans pinned him down. Clearly he wasn't taking any chances.
Watson said nothing, and she didn't look at him long enough to detect his hesitation to confirm her analysis with his own. His eyes, his mind, told him a different story; one of quiet storms leaving the drip of silence in its wake – unfinished, despite its abrupt and startlingly regimented departure. Tesla hadn't said a word to anybody, hadn't left a message or a note, no indication of where he might be going, or what was next. Considering how much he loved to talk about himself, and his discoveries, that he'd not so much as hinted at this, in even a coded manner, was telling. He clearly didn't want to be found, even by their close-knit circle of overly longed-lived comrades, and for a creature so in love with having his genius validated at every opportunity, to pass up the only people who could fully appreciate it in the coming years of enforced obscurity… Watson suspected Tesla had grown somewhat embittered by their friendship. Helen's in particular. Which meant Tesla, at least, still had feelings for her: a fact which wounded the old detective more than he would ever dare admit. Helen, it seemed, was convincing herself things were otherwise, and he was loathed to put a stop to it.
She was imagining Nikola avoiding the net of his adopted nation: easier now that she'd laid the groundwork with his official death, but still being careful not to arouse suspicions. It wouldn't be easy for him, in fact, it was kind of amusing to imagine him trying.
Quite how she was going to explain this to Eisenhower, however…
"Bloody hell." She muttered to herself, slamming a palm into the side of some furniture in irritation.
James almost recoiled, "Calm down." He chided with a slight smile at her vigorous expression.
"The bloody bastard…" she complained, expressing herself with an angry sweep of her arm, finger pointing doggedly to the floor, "Eisenhower's going to give us absolute hell when he finds out. For God's sakes!" It really was the last thing she needed, and just typical that it wouldn't even cross Tesla's mind – or if it had, that he'd ignore it for his own sake.
Straightening himself out, James studied her down his aquiline nose, "Tesla is more than capable of taking care of himself, as he so frequently claims."
She looked at him as if to say oh I know. "He's not the one I'm worried about," she groused.
A slap wasn't good enough, next time Magnus saw that part-vampire, she swore to God, she was going to shoot him!
Author's Note: I originally made Magnus' feelings much more lovey-dovey, but after re-watching Rome I reassessed their relationship a little. Her expression when he tells her he loves her is just too shocked – like it never occurred to her that whatever he felt could be something one could call love, or as if she'd convinced herself somewhere along the line that what she thought might be love, wasn't. Thus, when they part, I realised she couldn't be thinking of him in that way. Which would make even more sense if at the time she was feeling more and more deeply attached to Watson, which let's face it, after Normandy, she certainly would've even if they hadn't been an item up to that point. And just because Tesla thinks one thing, doesn't mean it's true… but anyway I digress.
The Clement to which Helen refers is Clement Atlee, deputy Prime Minister at this point, soon to be Prime Minister after the '45 elections – history nuggets! ALSO in Rome she says Tesla dropped out of sight before the end of WW2 and I'd like to point out WW2 did not end until VW Day on 15th August… and also, technically Tesla had dropped off the map before VE day too! So ha!
UPDATE ON THE (now deleted) UPDATED NOTE: I briefly thought that as Helen 1 was in the room at the Nazi surrender that Jodl signed it would preclude her being in the UK in the evening of the 8th - but have no fear! For Jodl signed in Rheims on the 7th at 2.41am! Phew. Still totally feasible that she could be back in London in time to celebrate. :)