This is the first serious angst I've written in a while and, as such I'm dubious. Apparently my muse likes The Script and their tear-jerkery music... It's a little over the top and I'm not sure how easy it is to follow but it's one of the few things I've ever written that I sort of like...

And the kiss mentioned is the kiss we're all waiting for. Just FYI...

Anywho, don't own it (after reading this I'm sure you'll all be glad of that). Rating is for foul language and twisty themes...

Let me know what you think...

xx

"Hello my dearest ice queen, still stony faced as ever I see," he quips, flopping down onto the ground at her feet, sitting cross-legged as he plonks the bottle of wine he pilfered down in front of him. Chuckling at his own joke, he takes a deep swig from the bottle, smacking his lips before 's not sure of the vintage only that it's from the shelf he'd been told was off limits for as long as he expected to be received in her home.

It was an unseasonably warm night, far too warm for the woollen suit and cravat he'd chosen but it wasn't like it mattered. Despite his best efforts, he was still immune to the heat. Turns out his disassembly of the de-vamper was more complete and utter destruction than anything else. And he just can't be bothered to make another.

Small crickets were chirping away in the nearby grass, making sure that, no matter what, there wasn't and never would be any silence.

"We have to stop meeting like this," he drawls, taking another swig. "People might start to talk."

"No!" he screamed, running as fast as he could but already he knew it was too late. That tiny click of the trigger, the amazing bang of the bullet, her grunt as the bullet buried into her flesh. Then nothing. Nothing but the racing of his heart, the pounding of blood in his head as he raced towards the man still holding the gun.

Click. Bang. Grunt. Only it was his grunt this time. He grunted again, pushing through the small projectile as he continued towards his target.

Click. Bang. Grunt.

"What? Kill him already!"

Click. Bang. Grunt.

"I'm trying!"

Click. Bang Grunt.

The man screamed briefly before his neck was snapped. The other man began to shoot.

Click. Bang. Grunt. Click. Bang. Click. Bang. Click. Bang.

Snap.

And then there was silence.

"Helen." He breathed her name, spinning on his heel before sprinting to her side. Her blue eyes were wide as she held her hand to her abdomen in a futile attempt to hold back the deep red, viscous blood that was steadily pumping from her body. Her breath was coming in quick, short pants as he knelt by her side. He cupped her cheek as the arm supporting her gave out and he helped to lower her gently to the ground.

"Helen."

"You know, you look exactly the same as you did last year," he says critically, shifting so that he can roll onto his side and stare up at the clear night's sky. "All shiny and cold. Practically untouched."

There was no answer.

"Oh come on, don't go playing coy," he remarks snidely, shifting to lie on his stomach as he smirks at her. "Plus we both know untouched is the last possible word we could use to describe you." He shuffles until he's sitting cross-legged by her side before taking another deep drag from the bottle. "You practically scream sex, my love. God only knows how many other poor chaps have been seduced by that look in your eye." He sniggers before narrowing his eyes, raking his eyes up and down.

"Succubus," he accuses with a disgusted little smirk.

"They... They'll... be... here... soon," she said, voice distorted with pain.

"Hold on," he whispered in return before hauling her upright, sliding in behind her. She let her head loll back against his shoulder as his wiry arms wound around her, pulling her flush against his back. Carefully he pried away her shaking hands, replacing them with his own.

"Magnetic field," he whispered in her ear, praying that she remembered how it had worked for him before.

"Thank. You," she huffed before grunting, digging the nails of one bloodied hand into his thigh in an attempt to divert some of the pain she felt. She grimaces, coughs and hacks for a minute before letting out a groan, loosening her death grip on his leg.

"Stay with me Helen," he urged, holding her tighter. Sweet, sweet torture. Being this close, holding her like this was torture.

"They'll be here soon, don't worry. Just stay with me."

"I'm trying," she spat before throwing her head back and arching in pain.

They sat that way for hours maybe, he wasn't sure. He couldn't count the minutes, the seconds. All he could do was whisper in her ear, breaking the terrible silence that had fallen over the room.

"Nikola," she whispered hoarsely as he paused to draw breath.

"I'm here, love. I'm here," he cooed, rocking her softly.

"Find a new date to the prom," she muttered with a sigh and he could just tell her eyes were slipping closed.

"No! Helen, don't you dare give up. Just stay awake, they'll be here soon and then you'll be alright."

"You have. To let. Me go."

"I went back to Oxford this year," he says conversationally. "In the autumn too. Even met a pretty young blonde in a red dress." He pauses to take a sip of wine. "Fucked her up against a tree."

"No! Let me go! I have to be with her!" he bellowed, shoving at the large hairy arms that were holding him back.

"Tesla, she's lost a lot of blood, Declan and his team know what they're doing," the ex-mercenary said, placing a hand on his arm as if to soothe him.

"You're covered in blood," grunted the manservant.

"It's HERS!" he screamed, thrashing in the confines of the heavily muscled arms.

"Huey, Duey and Screwy are doing well apparently," he mutters darkly as he stretches out his long legs. "They keep going on at me for stealing your good wine. I argued that it doesn't matter because you aren't exactly going to do anything about it." He pauses to take another drink before letting out a noise of disgust.

"You trained them well my dear. They keep developing bigger and better ways of keeping me out." He sighs, leaning back on his hands to look at her properly, cocking his head to the side. "Not that it works mind you. I always was a devious son of a bitch."

And then he saw her. Sort of. A gurney whizzed past the far end of the corridor, a blur of white sheets, spreading red blood and dark, tangled hair. He needed to get to her. He had to.

"Helen! I love you! Please!" he called desperately before sagging slightly. He had to hide his sick smirk as the restraining arms loosened. With a loud growl he broke free of the big ones arms, back handing the girl and sending her flying across the corridor, hitting the wall with a satisfying crack before sliding to the floor unconscious.

Taking his chance, he used what little strength he had to push the hairy one out of the way, booking it down the corridor. He followed the scent of her blood, already fearing the worst. They'd kept him separated from her for far too long. Picking up the pace, the blood was pounding through his ears, drowning out the cries of the startled staff he was shoving from his path.

Suddenly he comes to a dead end and swears loudly. If this had been her home he wouldn't be lost. Taking another deep whiff of the foreign air he realized he'd been following the blood on himself, not that seeping from her wound. Swearing once more he took off, this time certain he was on the right track.

"You've always been so demanding," he snarls, taking another drink from the partially empty bottle. "I used to like it. That whole bossy, kiss my ass, thing you had going on was hot. But after a while, love, it gets stale. You just take and demand and take and demand until you get what you need and then leave us high and dry with nothing but the memory of a quick bonk and a wet patch to remember you by. Not that we even go that far."

He stares at her, nothing but contempt in his eye.

"And do you want to know what the worst thing is? I still fucking love it."

"CLEAR!"

"NO!"

Everyone who wasn't focused on bring back the life to her limp body turned to stare at him, startled to see the vampire crying openly.

"NO!"

He burst into the room, barely breaking his stride as he raced to her side, grabbing her hand. They watched him with a mixture of trepidation and pity. He briefly wondered if they thought he'd been drawn to the sight because of all that lovely blood he could drink. He didn't care. All that mattered was her pale face, smeared with dirt and blood, thin tear tracks snaking their way over her soft cheeks. When had she been crying? he wondered. With a single finger tip he traced the smudged salt path before cupping her cheek just as he had done back in the cell.

"I'm getting sick of this silent treatment," he hisses angrily. "After all I did for you, after all you put me through, you could at least fucking respond."

"Tesla, you've got to get off her," the British ex-protégé said as a nurse tried to pry him away.

"NO!"

He threw the nurse across the room before releasing Helen's cold hand. Shaking from head to toe he reached out and lay his right hand over her heart.

"Please," he whispered, his voice breaking pitifully as he spoke.

There was a beat before his hand sparkled with electricity, forcing her body to arch off the bed and further into his hand.

They all listened.

Nothing.

"Don't you dare!" he cried angrily before shocking her once more.

They all listened.

Nothing.

He growled. Another burst of electricity erupted from his fingertips.

They all listened.

Nothing.

Then he whimpered, shocking her once more.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

"You selfish bitch!" he bellows. "You selfish fucking bitch! You love me, you tell me you love me and then you go and do this. And then you ask me to give up! To let go!"

He lets loose an angry cry towards the sky.

"Bitch!"

"Helen."

It sounded like a plea. His voice was hoarse, eyes puffy, entire body shivering as he sat by her side. Sometime in the past hour they'd gotten him a small stool. He'd ignored it resolutely as he continued to pump her body full of electricity but, as his own energy waned, he'd given in.

"Helen," he whimpered again before shocking her again. Her body arched but not as violently as before. He was too weak. That had always been his problem. He'd always been too weak. He'd been too weak to tell her how he felt back when they first met. He'd been too weak to help her when everything turned to shit. He'd been too weak to help her when she'd been raising a child on her own. He'd been too weak to stop the bullet and now he was too weak to bring her back.

"Please," he breathed, slumping forward to bury his face in the cool crook of her neck. He shocked her again and this time it was barely more than a fizzle.

"Don't do this." His voice was cracking.

"You kissed me. You can't kiss me and..." He couldn't say the word. That would make it real. "You kissed me..."

"How dare you?" he cries, voice gaining volume. "You never thought about anyone but yourself!"

"Helen." He'd thought he was all out of tears. He was wrong. He cried silently against her icy skin, letting loose the tiniest of shocks with each of his mute sobs.

"Tesla?"

He knew he should care about being seen like this but he didn't give a fuck.

"Tesla? Is there maybe someone we can call? Is there something you need?"

The male voice was soft and raw with emotion. Stupid little protégé, Nikola thought angrily.

"James, get James," he croaked, lifting his head just long enough to look over her still body. His didn't know it but his eyes were glazed with grief.

"Uhm, Watson?" the dumb doctor asked. "He's dead. Died years ago. You know that Tesla, you were there. Do you mean Druitt?"

He couldn't listen to even one more second of this. This child had no idea what had just happened, couldn't understand the magnitude of this moment.

"GET OUT!" he bellowed, lifting his head and standing as he let his inner monster have free reign. He let loose a guttural snarl as he crouched over Helen's body protectively, claws primed and ready to prove Dr. Expendable's nickname correct. "GET OUT!"

The foolish boy showed that he wasn't so foolish and backed out the room quickly, allowing Nikola to quickly drop the inhumane grimace his transformation always gave him.

Slumping back into his seat, Nikola once again nestled into her neck, whispering plea after plea against what would have been... should have been her pulse point.

"I hate you!" he screams petulantly, tears springing unbidden to his eyes. "I fucking hate you!" With all this strength he hurls the wine bottle at her and it breaks against the stone with an ear piercing smash. The red wine slowly drips down the marble in tiny rivulets that remind him of blood.

"I hate you," he whispers, throwing himself down on the grass, not caring about the wine or the glass or the fact that his suit is being ruined.

"I fucking hate you." His voice is weak and his words are distorted by his sobs. Giving in to the darkness, he lies there, finger tips curled around the cool stone. He curls in on himself, pulling his knees up, imagining that she is cradling him as he cries.

Four years and nothing has changed. Not the darkness eating away at his heart. Not the urge to throw things. Not the urge to rip apart the entire world. She hasn't changed either. She is still shiny and cold, well polish by the well wishers he's never seen. He never comes on the anniversary, that's too cliché and he just can't stand it. No, he comes on the anniversary of a very different day. It was the day he'd decided he was going to propose to her on. Because his life hasn't turned into enough of a cliché as it is.

Four years and he still mourns her. Others have moved on, others have accepted it but he is still angry. He still feels nothing except the white hot anger that makes him want to kill. An eye for an eye and all that.

Four years.

"God, I love you. I miss you. So much. Too much."

R.I.P

Helen Magnus

Mother. Protector. Friend. Lover.

May you find your Sanctuary...

"I'm sorry."