A/N I want to thank my reviewers again for their feedback. The comments left are so insightful and thoughtful and are truly touching, and makes me glad that I can share this story. Updates will be occurring quite regularly now as the fic has been written and now only needs revision and editing before posting. The end is nigh! *town-cryer bell*
An appearance from Declan. John Druitt thinks of the century past and where his place in the world is now. Helen steals a memory. And Nikola leaves for London...
ELEVEN
"Have you managed to recover all of your residents?"
Will rubbed his face tiredly, feeling the neglected scruff that had grown there over the past week. "All the ones that managed to escape, yes. We … we lost a lot of our residents in the explosion."
Declan's face darkened. "I am truly sorry to hear that. You know that if you need any more assistance, you just have to ask."
"Thank you, Declan. I really do appreciate that. We're just trying to get back on our feet again for the moment. Finding temporary housing for the Kryton was our main concern. The rest we have under control."
"How is the construction and repairs going?"
"Slow," Will admitted with a tired laugh. "We hope to have the main lab fully restored by the end of the month."
Decaln grew silent for a moment, and even though it was just his image on a computer screen, Will could feel the regret and pain in his voice. "You're holding up very well. Doctor Magnus chose rightly when she placed her faith in you."
"They are pretty big shoes to fill." Declan laughed at that.
"Indeed. It was no less daunting for me, I assure you. I still haven't the heart to move into Doctor Watson's old office. I doubt I ever will."
Will felt a pang of guilt then. While he would eventually have to take the full position of Head of House in the future, his mentor was still alive, still there for him when he needed a guiding hand, advice or as a friend. Declan had lost his friend and support system in the blink of an eye, and had made a superhuman effort to fill that responsibility.
Will could only hope he'd be as capable when it was truly time for him.
One way or another, we'll have your name in lights.
Nikola sneered at the missive and summarily deleted it from the database.
They were good, he had to give them that. He found confidential reports that the FBI archives had been broken into and the patents they had seized upon his "death" were stolen. So they were looking for his designs to try and recreate the global hack on their own. Or at least trying to figure out how he'd done it.
He snorted derisively. They'd only be able to generate the amount of electro-magnetic power required if they had ten Large Hadron Colliders. And he doubted even that they could steal the one in existence.
Still, more the fool he if he allowed too many of his notes to fall into their hands. And it wouldn't be long before they started threatening young William to hand him over, like they'd done with Helen and John.
He'd have to make arrangements to leave before that happened.
"We have to warn the doctor right away then, if this woman you speak of is so important."
"Yes … we do." John's tone brooked no refusal, and the implication of the look he gave Aurelian made the Sybarite's eyebrows shoot up.
"No … no, don't you dare—"
John grabbed Aurelian's arm and they vanished into the air. Before Aurelian could fully orient himself to his surroundings, John had vanished in a flash of orange light again.
John reappeared in Beijing, scrawled a message on the Sanctuary's gate, and left just as suddenly.
Catch me if you can.
Trite, but it seemed to be the going joke of the day. He knew his would be captors would find it as he fully intended them to.
He reappeared in one of his safe houses, one in London in fact. It didn't matter which he chose, sooner or later he would be caught, but he hadn't visited this particular one in many years. The room was dusty and his presence disturbed a swirl of motes that circled in the air. It smelled old, of passing time, and was mostly bare save for a small table, chair and a single shelf.
He found the copy of Twelfth Night hidden in the desk drawer just as it was when he had hidden it over a century hence. Most collectors would have killed to have their hands on such an old printing. He flipped to the title page.
"For Helen, in felicitations for her most esteemed birthday. M.J. Druitt."
He had gone mad before he could gift it to her, and mostly forgotten about it over the years; locked away in a dusty corner of his memory. He knew she treasured above all else the copy her father had given her, but he had somehow hoped these two editions might some day be kept side by side. For the two men she loved the most, her father and her husband.
The noise of cars and traffic outside only served to underline how much time can pass and never in the ways one would hope or expect.
He remembered the look on her face when she had determined Tesla was still alive. Anger, betrayal. It was a look he was so used to being on the receiving end of that he had begun to think such acute anger became part and parcel of passion and deep love. For surely one could only feel that degree of hurt and rage for someone they equally held as much affection for.
But when was the last time they had laughed freely together? Would there ever be a touch he could initiate without the shadow of fear or mistrust in her eyes?
Don't try to do anything noble. Oh, Helen! Surely by now of all people she should be the one to know this wasn't a noble thing at all. Yet again this is merely the broken puppet John Druitt enslaved to something else. Only this time it is for an idea, one he cannot look at himself in the mirror without.
Absolution.
The Age of Romance was over. It seemed with that, perhaps the time of their romance had ended as well. He was close to accepting that he would be content, very happy, to once again be thought of as a treasured member of the Five. That surely is a type of love that endures beyond the sufferings of the young Romantic. And the Victorians never sneered at Platonic love.
What was the Age of the day now then? Reason? Innovation? Technology? Information?
John Druitt read through the play fondly, feeling lighthearted despite always having one ear craned for any footsteps outside his door, and felt himself a man somehow out of step with time.
Helen slipped quietly into the infirmary and locked the door behind her. Ylerin was sleeping in the sick bed. Her physiology was still prone to being overwhelmed by even the lowest doses of medication.
Helen knew what she was doing was in a firm moral shade of gray, but the imperative to know was beginning to cloud everything else. She knew Nikola had been keeping something from her deliberately, and it concerned the night he had died.
It also held the key to everything. To what had happened to John, to what was happening to all of them right now … to why he wouldn't speak to her of her funeral…
Helen knelt by Ylerin's bedside and whispered softly in her ear. "The silver lady … the chamber of Silver … Nikola…"
Helen whispered these words softly over and over again, and Ylerin's lips slowly parted. Her breath hitching in her throat, a small wisp of silvery mist curled into the air. Delicately, Helen leant in closer and inhaled.
The memory was slow to unfurl in her mind, broken and fragmented.
She felt awe and fear. She saw a circular pool of water. She felt safe. She felt so very old. She saw Nikola, speaking to something … but she couldn't make out what he was saying. It was as if she we hearing everything underwater. She saw electrical sparks shoot across the chamber. She heard a faint voice in her mind laughing.
:You would rather die than tell her your true feelings?:
She felt the chamber shaking, fissures forming in the rock and then chunks of stone falling to the ground. Running, they were running away from the chamber, and Nikola for some reason knelt there, refusing to move. His eyes were black as midnight.
"Remember what you promised."
Helen staggered back, her mind overwhelmed. She couldn't piece together anymore.
"Madman! You madman!"
Henry and the Big Guy raced out to the courtyard of the Sanctuary. They found Aurelian lying on the grass screaming those words, his nose broken and blood streaming down his face. The Big Guy helped him to his feet.
"What happened?" He growled.
Aurelian staggered, feeling woozy and grabbed the front of Henry's shirt. "The UN. They are going to do something to the UN. John, he…" His eyes rolled back and he fainted dead away.
Henry looked nervously from Aurelian to the Big Guy. "Does this place ever have a day where we're not hit with a truckload of crazy?"
The Big Guy hefted Aurelian's slight frame in his arms and then shrugged. "No."
They brought Aurelian inside, firmly closing the doors behind them. Henry put in an urgent call to Magnus, and the game kick-started into high gear again.
"Doctor Tesla … I must confess, I was more than a little surprised to receive your call."
"Well, I don't need much in the way of fanfare. I can just assume you're all honoured to receive me." Nikola stepped through the doorway of the London Sanctuary with the attitude as if he ran it himself. Declan frowned momentarily, but closed the doors behind him.
"I've followed your instructions and have kept your reception discreet. So forgive me if there isn't any fanfare."
"Wine perhaps?"
Declan fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I do wonder as to why you've shown up here instead of Old City."
"Old City's in ruins, you know that. Any port in a storm as they say…" Nikola clasped his hands together, ignoring Declan's unease. "Watson's office. I need to get inside."
Declan's hackles raised and his mouth set in a firm line. "I'm afraid I can't allow that without good reason."
Nikola finally seemed to take notice of his icy welcome and spread his arms wide, his supplications carrying a hint of mockery. "Come on, my man, we both know how this game works. Now, you get me into Watson's office because James and I were dear old school friends and because it's my business."
Declan laughed without mirth, shaking his head. "I don't know why Doctor Magnus tolerated you, but you won't find London your playground."
Nikola grimaced. "You're right, that was always New York. Now look, I'm being hunted by whatever shadowy organization it was that blew up Old City and I need something from James' office that he kept for me."
Declan eyed him suspiciously. "Does Will know you're here?"
"I don't answer to school boys."
Declan glared at him and Nikola reciprocated with an indifferent stare. "I'm also going to stand here and annoy you until the door to James' office is unlocked."
Declan rolled his eyes, but relented. He had better things to do with his time than argue with a surly vampire. He had an entire Sanctuary network in chaos to try and bring order to, for godssake. And if it was true that James Watson had kept something for him then it wasn't Declan's right to refuse him.
"If you bring any wine into Doctor Watson's office I will throw you into the giant squid's tank."
When Declan finally stopped hovering over his shoulder, Nikola closed the door to James's office and looked about the room. It was untouched, his journals and papers were still left scattered about his desk. There was even a thin layer of ash left in the small bowl James used the few times he smoked his pipe. Nikola fought down a wave of depression, and gamely walked over to Watson's bookcase.
He skimmed over the leather-bound spines until his eyes lit upon one slim volume. A collection of poetry concerning the region of Smijian. How quaint, he had never been sure James had kept it.
Opening the book Nikola found a small bundle of papers inside. His patent and designs for the Wardenclyffe tower, a few letters, and his will. His fingers trembled with the urge to open and read the last document, but he smoothly tucked all the papers away into his coat pocket instead. To relive the past in a museum for a dead friend … it was too much all at once.
Slipping out of the office he heard Declan call after him, "Leaving us so soon?" and stepped out of the London Sanctuary. The night air was chilled and smelt of rain. He looked around and with a sour taste in his mouth remembered why he never came back to visit London that often. The weather. All the drizzle you could want, but rarely ever a proper lightning storm. Teasing harlot.
He disappeared into the night, just another figure disappearing down London's winding streets.
Aurelian's eyes fluttered open and he let out a surprised, "ow" when he tried to breathe. His nose felt tender and sore.
"How are you feeling?"
Aurelian almost went cross-eyed trying to frown at his nose with dislike, and gave up and just shook his head. Helen wanted to throw her hands up in the air and give into manic laughter. Twenty-four hours and both the Sybarites somehow managed to end up in the sick bay.
"Will's made initial calls to the United Nations to try and ascertain if they've been under threat already. Everything seems to be normal at the moment. What was it you were trying to tell us?"
Aurelian rubbed the back of his head, trying to collect his thoughts together. "He recognized her as the Chief of Defense? I believe that is the term. She is going to be pulled into this game somehow, or at least that's what Beijing suspects … John." Aurelian's eyes suddenly grew wide as saucers.
"Yes, where is he? I haven't seen hide nor hair of him all day."
A flash of guilt crossed Aurelian's face before he whispered, "He has given himself to them … to buy you time."
Helen felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. Just as she was about to war with feeling angry or feeling heartbroken, Henry ran into the room. "Have any of you seen Genius?"
"Oh don't tell me he's missing too." Helen slumped against the bed and let her head fall against the wall with a loud thump!