Vienna Institute of technology

Bribing the night watch into letting him in had been easy. Way too easy, in fact. Hans' love for white wine was widely acknowledged. Which, really, was why Nikola refused to leave his notes in his office overnight. Anyone from the institute could come in at night with a little help from that good old Hans and a bottle of wine to put him in a good mood. It was a wonder that plagiarism wasn't rife.

Of course, Nikola was not there to steal anything. He needed a phone from which to place a long-distance call. That, along with the insurance that nobody would be listening to said phone-call.

Walking from the Science Ball venue to the institute had given him quite some time to think. Yet, he still couldn't make sense of the events of the day.

They had danced. And his waltzing had not been too bad, despite his obvious lack of practice. He still had stepped on her toes, twice.

The first time, she had politely pretended that nothing had happened, a small smile on her lips as only witness to his clumsiness.

The second time though, she had tripped and collapsed against his chest. And she had chuckled, hiding her face in his jacket.

It was Helen right then. She had to be Helen. She had that bubbly, carefree laughter that Nikola had not heard since John had broken her heart and the equilibrium of the Five.

They had been young once. Young and silly, and the four lads in their study group had lived for Helen's infectious laughter. Especially Nigel, who had gone great lengths to devise new ways to make her lose her carefully built composure. That delightful sound usually started with a side smile, sometimes a roll of her eyes. But then she would bite her lip and when her chest would heave with a low rumble, they all knew she would explode into uncontrollable chuckles.

It was a sound he hadn't heard since they had left Oxford to become all-too serious people.

There, with her shoulders brushing against his chest while she laughed and with the warmth of her breath seeping through his jacket, shirt and undershirt, he felt the compulsion to wrap his arms around her and burry his nose into her hair.

She had to be Helen. Everything about that woman screamed of Helen. Despite the Bavarian accent, her stubborn use of German, her new hair colour or the fact that she seemed to have no recollection of her own identity or past.

She was wearing a potent, citrusy perfume. Which was also unusual. Back in Oxford, she had worn jasmine. It had been discreet, but still strong enough to be known as her trademark. Although she had stopped wearing perfume after Nikola had turned into a vampire. At the time, she would playfully argue that she was fed up with not being able to move around a building without him knowing exactly where she was only by the trail of jasmine she was leaving behind. But truly, she had stopped wearing any perfume as a favour to him too. Perfumes were offensive to his very sensitive nose.

Despite the scent of citrus enveloping "Svenja", he was able to detect Helen's scent. No amount of perfume could hide the smell of blood from a vampire, and even less the smell of source blood, even in faint amount.

By the time he reached the secluded phone in Otto's office, he was positively pissed.

"You've reached the Sanctuary, James Watson speaking."

It was a relief for Nikola to hear James' voice. First because it was nice to learn that his old friend was alive and well. And above all those friendly considerations, it would have been awkward to describe his situation to a total stranger.

"Watson! Filling up for Helen while she's away?" The vampire asked, his tone carefully detached.

There were a few seconds of silent reflexion on the other end of the line, during which Nikola smiled, picturing James scratching his head, trying to figure out where he had heard that voice.

"Tesla." He finally guessed. "It's been a while. I'm now head of the London house actually." He corrected with quite some pride in his voice. "Helen decided to try her luck in America, where the Sanctuary now has two houses. You're in luck if you're looking for her though, she's in London these days. However, you might want to call back tomorrow if you're trying to reach her, she went down to the operating theatre half an hour ago."

Nikola raised an eyebrow. The good doctor had improved his lying skills, it seemed, for nothing in his voice betrayed him.

He might not be a lost cause after all.

"Mazel tov on your promotion. But cut the crap. I know Helen is in Vienna, posing as a German citizen. What I can't figure out –" he paused for effect, "is why."

The bomb was dropped and James kept silent for a moment, as if trying to understand what he had just heard.

"What?" he spat, sounding convincingly baffled, "Nikola, I have no idea what you're talking about. We have no business pending in Vienna and Helen was in my office moments ago."

The vampire gritted his teeth furiously.

"You're telling me I'm delusional." He sputtered.

"Certainly not," the brit retorted, his tone sounding slightly offended, "I think you smelt a rat and I'm rather inclined to trust your guts."

That softened Nikola a bit. He did have great instincts. And if before John's killing rampage, James had never really listened to him, the Ripper Case had shuffled the cards and the detective had learnt to take the vampire's opinion into consideration.

Although the compliment could also be mere flattery, he realized. He had to stay focused.

"I'm all ears." James went on, his curiosity palpable.

Nikola put his feet on the desk, settling himself for a long monologue.

"I've been doing my best to hide in the shadowy halls of the Vienna Institute for Technology lately, working as an associate professor." He began.

James scoffed.

"That's barely hiding at all." He intervened.

"Thanks, I've got standards." The vampire answered, carelessly. "Anyway, I've been minding my own business until yesterday. That's when she barged in. Figuratively. We were inaugurating a new research association when I saw her in the crowd." He explained.

"Helen." James clarified.

"Yes. Helen Magnus, in the flesh."

He proceeded to give him the full account of his day, from their first, cold encounter to her considerably warmer reception in the evening.

He kissed her. Fuelled by the discovery of the romantic feelings he had been harbouring for Helen, encouraged by her light-hearted attitude and infectious laughter, he planted a rather innocent kiss on her lips. He felt her breath catch in her throat, and the muscles in her fingers spasm on his shoulder, and he almost regretted his action.

She ended the kiss precipitately, her head jerking back as if she had been burnt.

She studied his face as if seeing him for the first time, her eyes wide with shock, or hurt, or sudden realisation. Nikola couldn't place the emotions he could read on her features. She was obviously caught in a storm of conflicting feelings, and it was all too much to decrypt. Not that he had the time either, as she suddenly seized him by the lapels of his jacket and her lips assaulted his fiercely.

That time, there was nothing innocent about it, and they battled for dominance, forgetting their surroundings.

Nikola had never been so thoroughly kissed before. It felt as if that embrace was the result of centuries of frustrated desire finally breaking the dam. He felt the weight of decades spent ignoring his love for her pouring through his lips, electrifying her. He gave her everything. The fear of losing her to the icy waters with the sinking of the Titanic and then in Carentan, the bitterness of seeing her fall for John when he had known that brute would try tearing her heart out, the regret. Yes, above all else, the regret he felt about burying his feelings for so long.

"Helen…" He whispered quietly when at last, everything had been said through the wild dance of their lips.

She opened her eyes and looked down.

"I'm so sorry." She sighed.

Before he could stop her, she shook her head.

"I'm not that Helen you're comparing me to. And I'm sorry I've stolen that kiss from her."

That stung him. He felt as if she had just stabbed him right through the heart.

She didn't give him time to react. She freed herself from his embrace and took a step back.

"Thank you for the dance, Nikola. I hope that one day you'll get her to feel what I've felt just now."

And with that, she left, leaving him frozen in the middle of the garden, unable to move.

James sighed.

"That… Was not Helen." He said, his tone heavy with what felt like compassion to Nikola's ear.

"And you're basing your assertion on the fact that she kissed me?" The vampire asked dejectedly.

"What? Good gracious, no! I won't even comment on that." James answered.

His friend could picture him sticking out his chest defensively.

"Then what? Help me there, Watson, because it makes no sense to me." He pleaded.

James remained silent for a while, as if weighing the pros and cons of sharing his deduction.

"Alright. This is a very sensitive topic that I'm going to share with you." He began.

"The suspense is killing me."

"Svenja Schädler was one of our patients. She is one of the very few shapeshifters of her kind left in the world."

"You must be kidding me!" Nikola raged.

"I'm not!" James argued, almost shouting. "I'm very sorry you've been fooled. Her species can replicate anyone's DNA to a T, enabling them to look like anyone they want to, provided of course that they can come into close contact with the person they wish to replicate. You remember, I'm sure, that John told us he had killed Hitler but a copy had taken his place?"

Nikola was defeated. It could not be true. It simply couldn't.

"We thought he was lying." He completed.

"We did. But a few years later, it happened again, before our very eyes. In the form of Miss Schädler. Now you get why this is confidential."

The genius sighed deeply.

"I don't get it. How is it that she chose to become Helen? And why did Helen let her? Wouldn't it put the Sanctuary in danger?"

James laughed.

"Well, to be honest, I don't think that pursuing a career as an architect puts anyone in danger." He joked. "But you're right, we were against that idea. Svenja had a peculiar fascination with Helen. We tried to dissuade her to use Helen's image, but in the end, we thought it actually was not such a bad idea. To anyone interested in acquiring a shapeshifter, she would look like the last person to mess with."

Nikola nodded. As preposterous as it all sounded, it kind of made sense.

As if the Sanctuary had somehow sensed he was not yet fully convinced, he heard the sudden crackling of the interphone he had installed decades ago in Helen's office.

"The patient will live. But I'm afraid I'm going to need your assistance with washing my hair, darling." Helen cooed.

It was too much to handle for Nikola who hung up without a word for James.

Helen Magnus was a lot of things. But she was not the kind of woman to kiss a friend and ask another one to wash her hair mere hours afterwards.

He covered his face with his hands, sighing.

He didn't know what to believe anymore. The feeling of betrayal clenching at his guts was too much to bear. James' explanation wasn't satisfying. His instinct was never wrong, and it was telling him that the woman he had met that day was Helen. Yet, Helen was in London, and it turned out Svenja Schädler was a shapeshifter. Logic wanted his instinct to be wrong.

Ockham's razor was not for Nikola Tesla's use. If there was another explanation, even a convoluted one, he would certainly find it.

He needed to think.

And he did so. For exactly 46 years before the solution presented itself in the shape of timetravel.