Prelude to "Animus." I own nothing, etc.
Nikola sighed after once again sipping the second-rate chardonnay he had found down in the Sanctuary's cellar. He supposed he should be drinking that ghastly Gatorade Helen had prescribed instead, but really - that dreadful stuff? He'd take third-rate wine over that.
He was nearly finished packing. After the abysmal failure that was his expedition to the Cabal's secret Colombian lab, Helen had all but strong-armed him into returning with her to the Sanctuary, concerned about his nine day stint with no food and little water (he still shuddered at the memory of where that little bit of water had come from). His depressingly minor abnormalities allowed him to deal with the deprivation better than ordinary humans, but he had still been weakened a great deal by the experience, leading him to desperately need sustenance. He had only just reached the point where Helen was willing to admit that he could leave.
Nikola had to admit he was somewhat flattered by her concern. Even while mad at him, she was still worried about her old friend.
And he was under no illusions here - she was still at least a little bit mad at him.
He supposed he understood why, in a way... Maybe. Certainly he agreed that the Source blood should never be used for nefarious purposes again, as it might be if it were unearthed and someone were to learn of its continued existence.
But what was so terribly wrong with the resurrection of the vampiric race? And who was to say he couldn't ensure the blood was carefully hidden once again after he'd used it? On top of that, one bad use of a neutral object shouldn't render it unusable for good purposes. Right?
It was all a moot point now, though. All of the larvae containing traces of the blood had been destroyed. She even found the one I hid, damn it. There was no chance that Nikola Tesla would be restored to his former glory. He was doomed to end his life in the obscurity of mediocrity unless he could come up with another plan.
But what? he wondered. He had lived much of his life with the consistent expectation that he would have years in which he could experiment, fail, and regroup to his heart's content with no pesky little things like death to interrupt him. In the past, he could explore anything. Now he needed something to either resurrect him - or to make his name be remembered for something more spectacular than an electrical transformer.
It was the same conundrum that had been keeping him preoccupied ever since that little trust fund brat had robbed him of his birthright. Lately, however, his inner monologue was underlaid by a new theme.
Will Helen still be there for me? Sure, she had helped him get out of that bug infested wreck in Colombia, but she'd been quite close to taking him out (not in a good way) for his attempts to obtain the Source blood. She had pulled him out of the fire this time, but would she respond if he called for help again?
The potential denial of future aid was distressing enough, but on top of that - he liked Helen. She was now his oldest friend. Quite possibly, she was his only friend. Dear old Johnny, after all, only turned up when he wanted something (heaven forbid Helen find out what our latest experiments have been), and certainly none of Helen's little brat pack would ever even think of him as being friendly, let alone as a friend. No, Helen was his only friend, and the thought of a life where he couldn't work with his friend, casually flirting with her while they brainstormed, was terribly dull.
A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. "Come in!" he called out idly. Probably young Heinrich with the room service bill. Or, perhaps, with some questions. Nikola had noticed that despite Wolf Boy's best high-handed front, he still admired the Serbian scientist's intellect. Rightly so.
It wasn't Heinrich, however, or even the simpering protege.
"Well, well," he drawled, taking in the sight of Helen, who looked altogether too good in black leather. "Here for a goodbye kiss?"
He was pushing his luck, he knew - but what was life without risk? His default form of communication with her would always be flirtation. She was, quite simply, far too much fun to play with.
Helen rolled her eyes in her typical response before her face grew more serious. "Care to work your way back into my good graces?"
His curiosity was piqued. With several women he knew, such an offer would entail his engaging in either tedious labor or - he shuddered at the thought - some horrifyingly intimate activity. A request from Helen Magnus, however, would not be so tiresomely basic.
Eyebrows raised, he responded. "I'm listening."
The answering smirk would have scared a lesser man. "Take a look," she baited him, raising her tablet which was turned on to reveal a picture of some... Paperweight?
"What is that?" Nikola quizzed. She couldn't be asking him to investigate some simple little trinket. He wouldn't mind replacing it and holding a few things down on her desk, however...
She navigated to the next picture. Where the object had simply been sitting on a table in her library, it was now encircled by the model of a city - a city that couldn't possibly exist. It was more advanced than anything he'd seen. The strange object was now glowing. It's projecting the image of the model, he mused.
"What is that?" This was becoming more intriguing. Hypotheses, begging to be explored, began filling his mind.
"A gift from my father," Helen answered, allowing him to gaze a moment longer before lowering the device. "I think he was leaving a message for me, but Henry and I have yet to decipher it."
He scoffed a bit, unsurprised at Wolfie's lack of progress. "And you need me to... delve a little deeper," he insinuated with a glint in his eyes. And, we're back on.
Helen pursed her lips, looking as prim as she ever had. "Nikola," she sternly reproved him.
He grinned, unperturbed now. She loves the innuendo, I know it. Sure enough, a hint of a smile was just tugging at the corners of her lips.
She'll forgive me, he concluded, feeling a wave of relief before tamping down the unwelcome strength of trifling feelings. This was a relief, of course, but there was no reason to be irrationally mushy about it.
He shook off a long ago memory of James giving him a look that suggested his real feelings for Helen were all too apparent.
"I'll do it," he sighed out as if this were all some great hardship, "on one condition."
Helen raised a brow. It really is quite unfair how sexy she looks when she does that. "What?" she asked.
He raised his glass. "Refill the wine cellar?"