Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing and am in no way profiting from this.
Warning: Lots of angst people, be aware.
Very AU, by the way.
Canon and historical fact.
According to canon, Helen was born sometime about 1850. Historically, the whole Ripper situation went down in 1888.
In writing this I imagined Helen to be in her mid to late 20's, so we can either say she was born 10 years later, or John went on his rampage in '78. It doesn't really matter, whichever you prefer.
Everything She Ever Needed.
He leaned against the doorframe, concealed dually by the shadows and her obvious distraction. Carefully controlling his voice, he spoke, "I hear New York's lovely this time of year."
Hair illuminated by the moonlight streaming from the high windows, she whipped around from where she sat; one leg folded beneath her on the dark floorboards, papers littered about her.
She recovered from the shock only to comprehend the situation. "Nikola..." She breathed.
"He-len." He chimed, in near sing-song voice.
...
He'd rushed home in a panic when Griffin had accidently let slip her plans. Helen was going to America, wasn't it fantastic? Fresh start and all that. Tell me, old fellow, how's that new invention of yours coming along?
Nikola nearly tore him limb from limb. He and Watson, the both of them. They didn't know, they hadn't been there after John's death. Each was shocked at the revelations that followed, Watson especially. Lost in their own minds they didn't see the effect it had on Helen. And, at first, it didn't seem to have had one; she continued as usual, studying and working.
She avoided them, was distracted and distant in actual conversation, but that appeared to be the extent of her grief. She was composed and reserved before everyone. Everyone but him. He was the only one she ever allowed to truly see her, her weaknesses. They didn't understand what it had done to her. Didn't know about the pregnancy and the havoc, the pain, it had wrecked. He was the one that picked up the pieces, as always.
Her father was off gallivanting around some forgotten corner of South Africa, with no notion of what had transpired. She had no other family, only her friends, two of whom couldn't quite comprehend the situation. She wouldn't allow them to.
She suffered recurrent nightmares, frequent bouts of melancholy. Her determination to conquer her guilt only served to make it stronger. He stayed with her as often as possible, trying to coax her to open to him fully, knowing it would be the only way forward. Eventually he simply demanded that she temporarily stay at his house; for the sake of convenience, he had told her. Really it was for his own peace of mind. Over the next few months he fulfilled every role she needed him to. He had been her friend, her sibling, her parent, her physician...and yes, her lover, when she had needed it.
He still didn't understand what had made him agree to that. It wasn't simply lust or want. In fact it nearly killed him; she had cried and shook the entire way through. He had tried to pull away and she wound herself tighter around him, holding onto him with such force that the both of them ended with bruises that would not fade for days.
He had tried to stop it, he really had. But he couldn't; she knew him better then he knew himself, knew what cards to play...and he was helpless.
Her kiss was forceful and hard, hand grasping the back of his neck. He pushed her away "Helen! What in god's name are y-"eyes glazed she took no notice of his voice and grasped the front of his vest and pulled him closer, not meeting his gaze, making quick work of the buttons there. He placed his hands her arms, forcefully pushing her away, "Helen!" he hissed, "would you mind explaining?" his voice came out harsher then he had intended. Blue eyes finally met his from beneath thick lashes. Eyes red-rimmed from crying she lifted her chin, her expression was of such devastating loss and helplessness he wanted to throw himself at her feet and offer her anything, everything, the world, to make it better.
"Please." her voice so low and desperate, so lost. "I know you want me" she stepped forward, standing directly in front of him.
She paused, before her voice gained a harder, more determined edge "...I know that you love me, Niko." At this a strangled half sob, half laugh escaped him, and he had to look away. "I know, and it's okay." she reached out a hand to grasp his chin, guiding his face back to hers. Her other hand smoothed back the hair from his forehead. "It's okay," she repeated, her right hand moving once again to the back of his neck, drawing him closer. She leant her forehead against his, tears mingling as their cheeks brushed. "You can touch me," her left hand found his and she placed it on her waist, "all these years you've wanted this, I've wanted it, too."
"No." He practically growled, eyes closed "Not like this." His tone softened to a whisper, "please, not like this."
"Yes, like this. I need this..." against all better judgement he opened his eyes, and what he saw nearly undid him completely. Her darkened eyes told him the truth; she did need it, "I need you." she continued, "Please, help me." His heart breaking, he pulled her flush against himself, one hand on her lower back, tracing patterns through the thin fabric of her cotton shift, the other arm around her shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, taking comfort in the familiar scent and silken feel.
She felt the hesitation and doubt flood from his body. "Its okay, Niko..." She whispered once again.
He lifted and turned his head, their lips grazing softly. But she pushed forward and captured his mouth in a bruising kiss, her free hand once more grasping the front of his shirt, pulling him ever closer.
He kissed her back deeply; years of longing and repressed need stubbornly surfacing.
He would help her; it could very well destroy him, but he would help her.
That first time, she had needed to forget. To erase to feel of John's hands on her body, hands that had done unspeakable things. He was dead, gone. But still she felt surrounded, suffocated by him. Marked by him.
And she needed to remember what it was to feel. Nikola could always make her feel; in ways and to degrees that were almost never appropriate. It was true, what she told him, she had wanted him. For all she had loved John, there had always been something...magnetic, about Nikola Tesla. She had consistently found herself drawn to him despite her harsh self-reprimands. And John's.
Never fond of Nikola, or their friendship, his suspicion and jealousy seemed to worsen considerably after they each injected the source blood. He was suddenly much more concerned about her reputation, the almost-innocent flirtation between the two. He'd demanded that the late nights spent alone together in the lab cease. And she had consented, because she didn't want to provoke, because she had no satisfactory excuse or reason for them. She didn't want to face his further questioning, and have to examine her own motivations. And because it was hardly proper for a young engaged woman to spend so much time the company of an unattached man, alone.
She had never before cared about propriety. But John had, deep down. So she made herself moderately more respectable. What would society think of her now, a murderer, and a disgraced woman? Honestly, she still didn't give a damn. In a way, in being with Nikola she was reclaiming herself, reaffirming that society could go to Hell. And, if she really were ruined, she planned on making the most of it.
And Nikola, well, he was completely, utterly, in love with her. He really would do anything. At the time she hadn't realised just what he felt for her, the depth.
Later, she would be shocked at her own selfish manipulation, her disregard for his emotions and her determination to ignore the possible consequences.
And all the times after that? What were her reasons, her excuses? There were none. Because everything beyond that she had done purely because she wanted to. After the first night there was a silent agreement; they could go back to normal, never speak of it again, he would ask nothing of her, and she no more of him.
She was the one who broke it.
The next day, she had found him in the garden. He didn't hear her approach, lost in the book he was reading. She snuck quietly behind the tree trunk he was sitting against. Peeking around, she looked over the mess of dark hair, trying desperately not to giggle.
Reaching out a hand over his shoulder, she plucked the book from his lazy grasp. The confused, surprised expression as he whipped around was too much, she burst into uncontrollable laughter. "Super-human senses, I thought you said?" She managed between bouts.
He could only look at her in awe. Sunlight falling on bouncing blonde curls, she was...radiant, laughing, teasing. She was his Helen again, finally. She fell to her knees beside him. There was pure mischief in her eyes, and a barely disguised invitation.
Smirking, he scooped a handful of nearby leaves, throwing them over her.
An almost indignant expression crossed her face, "Hey!"
"You started it." He shot back, grinning."Are you planning to return my book?"
Not breaking his gaze, she casually threw it over her shoulder. "What book?"
The look she gave him could only be described as predatory.
...
"Nikola..." She repeated
"Still here." voice now disjointed and numb, the exact opposite of what he felt.
"Say something."
"I believe I did."
She looked away from him, back to the floor. "How?" she asked softly.
"Griffin."
"I didn't plan for it to be like this."
"And how did you plan it?" His voice rose, "When were you going to tell me? Today? Tomorrow? The day after – oh, no, wait, you'd be gone by then...hmmm." He gave a charming smile. "Would I have at least got a note?"
He watched her hands clutch at the skirt bunched about her legs. When she finally turned back to him, her large blue eyes glistened with tears that she simply refused to shed. That would come later, when she was alone.
He wanted so desperately to go to her then; to touch her, comfort her; but he knew it could make her close up again, retreat into herself. And a part of him wanted her to hurt, to understand some of what she was doing to him. "Huh?" he prompted.
"I have to. Can't you understand? I can't stay here anymore. This place...There are too many memories." Running a hand through her hair, she continued, "I tried to tell you, so many times. I was going to do it later tonight, when you got home."
"Really?" he scoffed, uncrossing his arms, standing upright.
"Yes, really." she rejoined.
In any other situation he would have smiled at the fire in her. He had always been so careful, so cautious, with her. She was so bright, so lovely, so unattainable; he did all he could to avoid pushing her away. It was the only reason he had ever tolerated Druitt; he knew that forced to choose, it could never be him. He wasn't willing to lose the small part of her that was his. But now... now he really could lose her forever. So he took a risk.
"Don't do this." He managed; his voice low and pleading. Raw and vulnerable. "Please, Helen."
Red hot pain shot through her, so intense it was almost physical. "No, Nikola, don't you do this." Her breath was shaky and the words came out in a frantic rush, "You...you're making this more painful then it need be. It'll be better this way, can't you see?" Her voice broke as she continued. "It'll be better, I swear. I'll make it better."
"And here I thought that things were better." It was true, he had. They had talked, and bickered, and made plans. They had even conducted an experiment. There were still scorch marks on the library wall.
And he had hoped, the fool that he was. He had hoped. That just maybe, everything would be okay. That they would be even better; that perhaps, after everything that had happened between them, she could someday return a measure of what he felt for her. The bitter laugh that escaped him made her jump slightly. "What's the matter, Helen? Did I frighten you?"
Raising an eyebrow, he strode forward, allowed his teeth to elongate and eyes darken. She simply stared at him, wide eyed; but didn't flinch as he approached. He stopped a metre or so short of her.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
Morphing back, he sighed, shaking his head, "...I don't know." He sat down across from her. "I'm a monster, did you forget? An abomination- evil, according to some. Strange, isn't it? I'm the very substance of nightmares, unlike him." The look of warning she shot seemed to have no effect. "Oh, no, he was always the perfect gentleman- polite, soft-spoken, charming...except for that horrid little habit he had of, you know, disembowelling working girls. But, hey, good husbands are so hard to find these days-"
She barely had time to register it- before she leant forward and slapped him full across the cheek. Shocked, her hand flew to her mouth. "My God...Nikola, I-" The dazed look on his face disappeared, and he laughed. "Have you gone mad?" she said.
He gently pressed two fingers against the stinging cheekbone. "I don't think I've been entirely sane since I first met you." He said it without emotion, but still she flinched at the words. Cautiously, she leaned forward once more, reaching out a hand. When he didn't move, she placed her palm against his skin, just below his fingers.
Covering his hand with hers, he continued. "Monster as I am; I would never hurt you as he did."
"I know that."
He moved their clasped hands the rest between them. "Don't do this." He repeated. She closed her eyes, removing her hand and shaking her head slightly. Finally opening her eyes, she looked off to the side.
"I'm not going away forever, just a few months. I'll develop some contacts, then return here, to establish the Sanctuary. You'll see me again."
A deafening silence stretched between them before he spoke. "You never could lie to me, Helen. Don't attempt it now."
"I'm not lying!" She turned back to him. Now he saw fully the tears rolling down her face.
"Yes," He ground the word out "you are. Oh, you'll return, you'll talk to me, certainly. But you'll have worked long and hard to put everything that happened here in the past. Everything, including me."
"No, Nikola." She choked out. "I'd never-"
"The thing is, I knew what would happen, from the beginning. You'd use me for what you needed, and then move on...I'd be forgotten, something best left in the past. With this whole ordeal."
Looking as though she were about to speak, he cut her off. "No, don't bother denying it. I'm not implying you had a master plan; simply that I knew it would play out this way. And, believe it or not, I accepted it, because you were hurting, and I was in a position to help. I knew that if I agreed to what you wanted... everything between us; that could have ever been between us, would be irrevocably tainted. You wouldn't want it in your life on a permanent basis; the reminder. And I decided to take what I could get. Pathetic as that is."
She looked at him. The boy, now a man, that had loved her for so long. She hadn't known. She'd never dared to dream that it could be possible; the two of them. Wasn't that part of the reason she threw herself so completely into John's life? In a flash she saw how different everything could have been. She and Nikola...they could have been... happy, brilliant. She watched him place his head in his hands, eyes closed. She had destroyed him.
Suddenly, she was hit with the unfairness of it all.
He was right. The arrogant bastard was right. Sometimes she wished he wasn't such a genius. But he was right. He saved her, but at what cost? Her chest constricted with a new pain at the understanding. She had needed him, demanded more than she had any right to, and in doing so, she had condemned them both.
Raising his head, he turned to look at her. She wasn't the only one crying. Taking a steadying breath, she began, "You're right." Drawing her knees up, and wrapping her arms around them, she continued, "This worst thing," She managed, shaking slightly "is that I think I might actually love you."
He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair, "I know. Had I figured out earlier...well, could've, should've, etc. It's done now."
"It won't always be like this."
"I desperately hope that's true."
"Give me time. When enough has passed, I... it won't hurt as much. Can you do that? Can you wait?"
He smiled then, a genuine, soft smile. "Oh, Helen, I gave you forever the moment I meet you. Granted, at the time it was only eighty or so years...But nothing's changed. Even if you and I... I'll be there, always."
...
Gosh, I nearly made myself cry writing that...I need to stop writing angst. : )
So, what do you think?