The following morning was crystal clear, peppered with a few grey sprigs of cloud that looked entirely out of place. By mid-day, however, the bright sun could only slot itself through the lattice of accumulating cover, determinedly illuminating the pale stones and cream stucco of Vienna's stunning architecture. It was a sight, for all the grub and mire which clung to the walls, the blackened soot and smoke that refused to let go.
The trees of the Ringstrasse were turning a vivid green, the air mild with a slight breeze – Helen had brought an umbrella anyway, just in case. A London-born habit that was hard to break. The Hotel Kaiserin Elisabeth wasn't far from the Hotel Imperial, so they walked, linked together as fiancés should, nodding briefly at the doormen as they proceeded through to the restaurant.
As they were shown to Freud's table, however, Helen's stomach dropped completely, part of her fighting against the smile she offered the Doctor as she greeted him, "I see you had the same idea," she offered jovially, not looking at Nikola lest she give this unexpected turn of events more weight through her expression. "Dr Reitler," she nodded pleasantly, noting the rather smug upturn daring to grace the corners of his wry mouth, the twitch of his greying moustache above his lip as he relished the revelation. "I hope you don't mind, gentlemen, Nicolaus surprised me with taking the day off. To spend time together – but I didn't want to leave you…"
"Not at all," Freud waved with a big smile, offering his hand across to Nikola as if unaware of the escalating suspicions between Reitler and the others, "Mr Mandić. It's good to see you again! How goes your studies?"
Nikola's smile was tight as he reclaimed his hand and placed them methodically behind his back, "Very well. Thank you."
"Good, I had best call for another seat! Waiter?!"
Nikola remembered his manners entirely on autopilot, realising Helen wanted to sit down, and pulling out her chair as he had on so many other occasions. Freud was offering some explanation for Reitler's presence as she did so, about as airy and noncommittal as they could come: bumping into each other, overrunning for time.
Tellingly Helen was not the one to strike up the conversation. She was so busy discreetly trying to gauge Reitler, work out how much influence he possessed in this situation, that when Nikola's spare chair arrived and Freud started talking about the topics they'd supposedly come here to discuss, there was a short delay in her synapses. Fast realising her error she quickly recovered, smiling gently over the menu and pretending gamely that she'd been distracted by his parting shot yesterday regarding hypnosis.
He took the bait easily, regaling them comfortably with a potted history of his long-standing work on the subject. Reitler settled back into his chair, completely at ease, his fingers toying steadily with his unlit cigarette as his cutting eyes flicked lackadaisically, between his verbose friend and the two strangers in front of him. It was Nikola's stare – levelling his unflinchingly, concentrating upon him – which made Reitler shift into a better position in his seat. His self-satisfied expression fading to a whimper.
Tesla had quite gladly started ignoring Freud almost the minute he'd opened his mouth, only snapping out a snotty witticism when engaged, and earning himself a frown from Magnus. Thankfully, when their food arrived, everyone reverted to the expected script for such occasions and any further discussion of inappropriate unconscious desires, or the emotional conflicts that led, in due time, to war, were put to one side in favour of food – just as their insides constricted at the need to gain the upper hand.
There was an uncomfortable air, the food tasteless and overcooked to Nikola's palette. The vampire barely touched the contents of his plate, loudly complaining of the taste and moving instead to the wine, which was at least passable. Helen, meanwhile, glanced towards the two Austrians as she ate the main course, frustrated by the lack of opportunity to discuss what, precisely, had inspired Freud about the Spear. Or failing that, his latest research – anything that might hint at whether he'd managed to construct a weapon mimicking the one used by sanguine vampiris. He was at least somewhat mollified by her attentiveness so far. Reitler, on the other hand, had remained in stalwart, disdainful silence since they'd gotten here and she didn't trust it, not one little bit. She knew better than to engage with him: that was not the reason Reitler was here – to engage. Though what, precisely, he'd wanted out of this engagement, she knew he wouldn't reveal until she got through to Freud.
Somewhere over desert inspiration hit, with mention of a theory Freud once had to alleviate the burdens on the unconscious. "So, Freud," she started, "you're working on that now are you? In conjunction with your thesis on grief and mourning?"
He paused a moment, searching her expression as if he might understand her interest – decide whether her enquiry was pure, or out of malicious intent. She knew that look. It was the same her father had given her. The same one she'd betrayed in experimenting with the Source Blood.
"Not in conjunction really," he admitted, "Separately. My work on resolving conflict in the unconscious has actually taken a less… theoretical route. I've been working with some colleagues on a revolutionary treatment, it really is quite perfect. We're trialling it now, in fact."
"Ah," she smiled, a shot of fear down her spine at the suspicion that by treatment he meant weapon, and that said weapon was therefore nearly operational, as they had always feared. "Is that what you meant?"
He seemed lost for a moment, blinking rapidly as he replied, "I'm sorry?"
"Yesterday…" the tilt of her head was careful, the smile too astute to be fooled, "New ways of thinking about old problems."
Her eyes never left his.
Nikola could see Reitler's jaw clench in that manner more akin to a man used to speaking with his fists, but Freud did not immediately respond. In fact, the Serbian wondered whether, perhaps, the more famous man felt... a disappointment, of some kind. In himself? Or in her?
"Actually…" the psychoanalyst was frowning in consideration, casting a brief glimpse to his friend as if wishing he wasn't that voice in his head, telling him what he should do next. "…that is…" he looked back to Helen with a short smile, "quite accurate."
"You believe the…" She started to whisper conspiratorially, as though she were recruiting him for the bloody Sanctuary, and Reitler was growing more and more anxious – like the quiet build-up of a storm before it broke, "creatures – the ones Löwy described – might hold the key to some kind of medical breakthrough?"
Freud didn't back off, didn't avert his gaze – he smiled, impressed yet again at the intelligent woman's tenacity. "Yes. In fact…" he straightened proudly, "why don't I show you?"
Helen almost reeled at the unexpected give, her head automatically turning to one side as if subconsciously expecting another blow, eying him in disbelieving consideration – could it be that easy? A hedged blow of vague, non-committal hints, an outright 'no', she might have expected, but an invitation? "You would?" Opportunity knocked but once.
Freud nodded back, sparing a glance at Reitler who had reigned in his concerns before she'd looked his way, so he appeared to her just a little more relaxed.
Helen smiled, a bright and genuine thank you, a reassurance that her lies were truth. Then she remembered she wasn't heading into this alone: "Nicolaus?" She twisted to look at Nikola but there was a tightness to his expression, a silence to him, which stayed her tongue. He didn't like it – it was too easy. Well… she couldn't say she disagreed.
"Mr Mandić?" Freud questioned, evidently noting the same unease, "Come now, you seem reluctant. I know you're a philologist, but have you no scientific curiosity?"
That prized his eyes from Helen's – his chafed ego apparent in the derisory way he regarded the psychoanalyst, who'd dared to question his dedication to the one thing he probably loved more than himself.
"Call me a sceptic," Nikola drawled archly, sitting straighter from his chair and drawing on the more than adequate levels of haughty disbelief he truly felt, "but I can't see how you could come up with anything remotely useful from the fairy tales Löwy's been plying."
The admonishing look Helen threw his way wasn't entirely put on. She wasn't an idiot, for God's sakes: of course he'd given in too easily. But was there any better way? Freud had just offered to essentially clear any doubt from their minds as to what the hell was going on here, and he seemed genuinely happy about it to boot. Pleased for the opportunity to show off his work, to be appreciated… God, Freud was just as hungry for all that as Nikola – glory hungry. She could see it in him – had always seen it in him – gagging for an audience. It gave them the advantage. Not that Nikola would necessarily realise that.
"Oh really?"
The unexpected sound of Reitler's voice had them all looking to him, even Freud slightly perturbed by his sudden appearance in the conversation, though Nikola made a good show of being unruffled. He had, after all, faced down Jack the Ripper and dared to mock his outdated hair, he wasn't about to give Reitler so much as an inch.
Tesla shrugged nonchalantly, "Well… yeah."
"Then you had better come and laugh at our childish fantasies sir," Freud smiled, visibly more relaxed and slipping into his part as easily as the cigar that inevitably found its way into his mouth. "Because I believe your fiancé has quite set her mind to the task, and I certainly do not wish to impugn her honour by admitting her into my make-shift laboratory unchaperoned."
They both looked at him– instantly confused, and more than just a little curious. How on Earth would her going into a research lab impugn her honour? What kind of experiments had they been running?
0 0
Freud's mysterious statement was soon provided with some context as he and Reitler led them up the hotel stairs. Clearly, the two men were on home-ground. Helen and Nikola looked at each other without thinking about it, the same suspicions making them hesitate.
"Come," Sigmund coaxed, with that warm twinkle in his eye. Like a man about to tell a group of children a wondrous story, and anticipating their amazed expressions lighting up the room.
They followed, but given the circumstances Helen didn't feel the need to hide her uncertainty as to the dubious location. Freud was so focused on their destination, he only noticed as they reached the correct floor.
"We've been renting a room for this stage of the experiment," he finally explained, hurrying along to the correct corridor. Belatedly, whilst finding his key in front of room 47, he realised she was still giving him a questioning look, at his decision to operate from a hotel. Freud's expression twisted a little beneath the scrutiny – he knew full well how odd it looked, "So no one can steal our research," he elaborated, twisting the key. "Or… sell it to the government."
That was a curveball – Helen frowned towards Nikola, who, unsurprisingly, sympathised with that sentiment completely, and seemed mildly shocked by the revelation that he shared something in common with Sigmund Freud. He was so absorbed, in fact, that he'd seemingly missed the more pressing point – Freud didn't want the government involved?
Even more intriguing, when Reitler chuckled at his friend's remark, Helen could've sworn she had detected a flinch in it – as if he didn't entirely share-
"Our humble laboratory," Freud cut off her thoughts quite succinctly with a dramatic sweep of the door, allowing them inside ahead of Reitler and himself.
The two allied-spies eyed each other as they stepped ahead, ready for whatever move the Austrian scientists might pull on them, preparing themselves for test tubes and chemistry and dispersal machines that… weren't there.
The hotel room was, in fact, rather normal. Helen threw a confused frown as she canvased the space, suspicious only in the way the bed had been shoved right into the corner to maximise the floor space – the couches positioned parallel to each other in front of the window.
The desk and bed sheets were papered with schematics and notes, the all-too domestic smell of polish a little strong. She tried not to look at Nikola. He was, no doubt, just as confused and she could feel their hosts' gazes upon her wary neck.
"Dr Freud?" she asked staunchly, turning to meet his eye, "I don't understand-"
"Of course not," he chuffed proudly with one hand slipping casually into his waistcoat, gesturing with the other as though the after-lunch cigar was still in-hand. He stood, passively looking for something, before heading towards the desk as he continued, "it is best to show you," he unlocked the top draw, checking its contents but not taking anything out straight away, "This is not something that can really be explained to appreciate it fully."
Well that didn't fill her with foreboding at all. "What do you mean?"
Freud had that look – so proud of what he'd discovered. She glanced towards Nikola, who was busy inspecting the curtains at the window, probably working out all possible angles and escape routes as though they were some mathematical problem. Really though, the similarities were uncanny. They could be stood at Wardenclyffe right now, and she wasn't any less concerned about what miracles, precisely, this brilliant brain had concocted.
"It's a new technique…" Freud continued, a short smile like a village priest expressing the endless forgiveness of God – a comparison which was not without its irony. "Completely harmless, but far more fruitful than hypnosis or even talking therapy."
"And it doesn't require anything but two couches?" she dared.
"As I said Dr Max it really must be experienced to be understood. Both Reitler and I have participated in the trials ourselves-"
"Anyone might think," Reitler pitched in, his hands behind his back, hovering in the corner like a hard shadow, "you had something in your unconscious you did not want brought to the surface Dr Max."
His conceited smile raised Helen's heckles quite rapidly.
"You were so eager before."
"I'll try it."
Helen turned on Tesla, completely alert at the surprise acquiescence – the way he hadn't quite turned back round to them, exposing his back as though it were nothing. She glared at the casual shrug he gave the cautionary hint in the edge of her eyes.
After he'd been so reluctant about coming, he only had one reason to be so cavalier about it now: she started to slowly shake her head without thinking, and soon caught herself. He undoubtedly believed himself in possession of an Ace up his sleeve – his vampirism perhaps… some resistance to whatever drugs they were no doubt hiding from view. He was goading them, tempting them to bring it out because he didn't think it likely they'd overcome him, even if they succeeded in applying it. Either way, as Tesla turned to indulge in Reitler's subdued smugness and Freud's raised interest in this mercurial turn, Helen got the sinking feeling he wasn't going to let her get away with sitting this one out. Sure enough, he quirked a challenging eyebrow at her, a cunning smirk exposing those pointed teeth like a wolf.
"Excellent!" Freud had managed, pleasantly surprised, "Please, remove your jacket and take a seat Mr Mandić."
He gestured to the couch, but once Nikola had taken off his jacket he only put a hand on the head of the furniture and stopped, hand on hip, with that infuriating smirk, quite obviously waiting for Helen to join in. She was too annoyed to realise he was just as unsure about this as she – he was doing a masterful job of hiding it.
Freud noticed though, following his gaze towards Mr Mandić's fiancé and her now hard stare – steeled, measured and sharp, like a man in combat. She looked very much as if she might refuse, and really she had every right to.
"Dr Max?"
Magnus was looking between the Austrians, realising that to baulk now would be to lose the game. They were testing their nerve, and Reitler looked as if he were just waiting for an excuse – she could sense it in the physicality, the solid, silent demeanour he had taken on.
It was only a couch. For now. The trick was to lure the enemy out, then get themselves out, before they made them as compliant as the ancient slaves. Bloody Tesla.
At least she knew he wouldn't be waiting on her to join him unless he thought they shared an advantage in doing so. The Source Blood. He was banking on them being unable to calculate for it, for it to provide some kind of immunity or resistance as it had to the vampires who'd wielded the original weapon: leaving them compos mentis to either play dumb and eavesdrop on their plans, or overcome them and gain the upper hand. Helen didn't have any intention of letting it go quite that far.
She blinked.
"Fine."
Bloody hell. Tesla better know what he's doing, she thought to herself as she viperously caught his eye.
His grin only widened as she came round to the other couch, too full of nervous verve to trust himself to speak – or perhaps, too aware of who they were sharing the room with. Either way, she rolled her eyes disparagingly with nary a word.
Freud's surprise was evident, but he seemed as delighted as any scientist with an opportunity to test and prove once again the effects which so fascinated his curious mind. "I can see why you're getting married," he smiled knowingly towards Tesla – a look Nikola took a curious pique too, bristling slightly with a frown.
He was distracted from responding, however, by Reitler's movement towards the same desk draw Freud had peeked into earlier.
"That's right," Freud's voice diverted him again.
Helen, determined to ignore the subtle comment, had easily beat Nikola to her seat and Freud was directing her to lay down like one of his patients. They were waiting for him to follow suit, so he obliged.
The couch was comfortable, almost too comfortable to be the standard hotel furniture – the ceiling a boring white with intricate cornices, and an uninteresting light fixture that was unlit and dull in the shady daylight. Nikola spared a glance back down at his toes and into the room where Reitler was laying something out along the desk top and going over to unlock a door he hadn't noticed before.
"Now, please, close your eyes," Freud's voice was already taking on that condescendingly lulling tone of someone about to attempt hypnosis, Nikola noted wryly. As if that was going to work on him.
"Why?" Helen asked, picking up on the same thing but nowhere near as cocky about her ability to resist such a thing.
Freud held back a sigh and smiled reassuringly, "I need to relax your minds. Please, just, close your eyes."
Following his instructions only very slowly, Helen found she couldn't relax at all, her pulse hammering in her throat. She concentrated on the sounds in the room, mapped out where she'd need to reach for her knife, if needs be. Just until they took out the machine, she thought to herself, just until they revealed the device.
Reitler's footsteps were surprisingly light, but with his eyes closed Nikola could hear every one of them. Without the distraction, with the focus of his senses, he could hear their hearts – all four of them, hear the blood swimming in Freud's veins where he crouched between their couches.
"Now then, during this procedure you are in my care. Be assured, you will not come out of this permanently harmed or disturbed, we are simply delving into the mind and the mind is surprisingly resilient."
He reached out to touch them on the pulse points and Nikola automatically flinched at the contact, but he had the wherewithal not to yank his hand away with all his unnatural strength.
"I am merely measuring your pulse Mr Mandić," he reassured, "concentrate on the touch of my fingers."
Nikola couldn't not concentrate on his fingers – all those germs on that old wrinkly skin, urgh! His expression was the picture of disgust even with closed eyes.
"Now relax, keep concentrating on my fingers…"
His voice had a smoky quality to it – probably all those cigars – as he started with all the old clichés. Reitler had stopped moving, but before he could sneak a peak:
"Dr Max, please, this won't work if you don't close your eyes and concentrate on my fingers. Relax and listen to the sound of my voice. Breathe in… and out… in… and out."
Would you like me to breathe out and in too? Nikola quipped in his head, realising what the old quack was up to and exceedingly confident in his ability to resist his magic tricks.
"Listen to the sound of my voice. Relax… now, in your head, I want you to spell your name, backwards."
Oh please. Yeah, sure, Nikola smiled to himself feeling quite in possession of his faculties and not in the slightest bit sleepy or hypnotised, in which alphabet? Greek? Cyrillic? I've become a dab-hand with Sanguine Vampiris of late… I'll just start with an 'A' andthe enguhjfscanijo.
Author's Note: Yes, yes that is supposed to end there. Like that. :P Bwahahahahaha - not a typo!
Seriously though, this was tricky. I hope it doesn't seem wildly OOC or contrived… :S I was just so keen on getting to the next chapter… :)
As an aside, I discovered real Tesla didn't know Greek – in fact it was one of the reasons he couldn't study in Prague. :( But hey, maybe that only spurred our Tesla to learn it and get really good at it, once he realised he had forever to do so! (That's my story and I'm sticking to it).
New commenters! :) Thank you for coming out of the woodwork! (Or should that be paperwork? Webwork? Cyberwork? Eh)
AConstanceC – no problem! :) Honestly it's one of the biggest reasons I'm still writing Sanctuary fanfic
Sparky – Oh always. I just can't seem to stay away from the big ol' 'M'. Ow, I hope the verdamnt words work their way out in the end, :( writer's block is horrible.
Watch stander – Thank you so much – all will be revealed… good to hear from you again!
Anon007 – (awesome name btw) thank you! That means a lot. :) Hope you continue to enjoy, and yes, definitely. I may not always update with the most consistent regularity, but this story will most certainly be completed. ;) Count on it.