Of course he hadn't considered death. At the time it hadn't seemed natural to. After all, what fear does a vampire have of death? And accidents of the sort that presumably started the whole little cascading failure of that particular project aren't exactly as common as one might expect. Besides, he'd had reason enough to keep his secrets. Mostly, for the rightful assumption that Helen would have taken a dim view of his renewed attempts to take over the world.
(He will, at least, admit that perhaps he might have done better with slightly older - or at least, slightly more mature - subjects, but really he'd done the best with what he'd had and he'd even managed to have a escape clause written in; as far as he's concerned it had at least been a failure he could have learned from.)
And maybe one day they'll stop keeping secrets from each other. But even if today is that day - and to be honest Tesla isn't sure that it will be, entirely - there's still the fallout from this little incident to deal with. And despite the parallels it is different, no matter what she might think. He might have conceded (albeit grudgingly) that her friend did the right choice, but this isn't about the welfare of someone he knows mostly as either a source of minor irritation or the rough equivalent of background noise. It's about Helen's welfare. The welfare of someone he cares about, despite all his attempts to insist that he's not that kind of person, that he's more than okay with people simply coming in and out of his life and isn't prone to making that kind of attachment.
He listens though, as she explains. He even does his best to hold his anger still, but it's a futile gesture - he manages to make it about halfway through her explanation of it being her choice, before the set of her jaw and there stubbornness of it all is too much and the thunderstorm breaks free once more. But it's a quiet restlessness this time. He's ill-at-ease and not inclined to agree with her, yes, but he does - at the very least - do her the favor of listening.
"Actually," he counters, and his voice is reasonably even, for all that the look in his eyes is more than enough to suggest that he's no less angry than he'd been before, "it isn't. I won't say that I liked the idea of- of being mortal, but even then I would have had what, thirty or forty more years? And that's at the least, to say nothing of the fact that you've never been the sort to give up."
For now, he forgoes bringing up Watson, who lived through the centuries same as either of the two them with relatively little ill effect and for all that Tesla has never really been fond of the idea of being shackled to so much technology that doesn't change the fact that there are other answers and would have been time enough to find something out.
"But this? You were gone, Helen. I should know; I worked my fingers to blood and bone searching."
He turns his hands palm up at that, as if to say 'see; look.' As if the phantoms of those same bloodstains are there yet, despite the fact that he has his vampiric healing back. And this, really, is the crux of the matter. Not that he is again a vampire, but that he had to take the tatters of his life and still talk to people. That he couldn't, for once, hide his desperation and grief even despite his best efforts otherwise, and despite his often dismissive attitude, he knows very well that neither Will nor Henry aren't as unobservant as all that. Someone will have noticed, somewhere along the line.
no subject
(He will, at least, admit that perhaps he might have done better with slightly older - or at least, slightly more mature - subjects, but really he'd done the best with what he'd had and he'd even managed to have a escape clause written in; as far as he's concerned it had at least been a failure he could have learned from.)
And maybe one day they'll stop keeping secrets from each other. But even if today is that day - and to be honest Tesla isn't sure that it will be, entirely - there's still the fallout from this little incident to deal with. And despite the parallels it is different, no matter what she might think. He might have conceded (albeit grudgingly) that her friend did the right choice, but this isn't about the welfare of someone he knows mostly as either a source of minor irritation or the rough equivalent of background noise. It's about Helen's welfare. The welfare of someone he cares about, despite all his attempts to insist that he's not that kind of person, that he's more than okay with people simply coming in and out of his life and isn't prone to making that kind of attachment.
He listens though, as she explains. He even does his best to hold his anger still, but it's a futile gesture - he manages to make it about halfway through her explanation of it being her choice, before the set of her jaw and there stubbornness of it all is too much and the thunderstorm breaks free once more. But it's a quiet restlessness this time. He's ill-at-ease and not inclined to agree with her, yes, but he does - at the very least - do her the favor of listening.
"Actually," he counters, and his voice is reasonably even, for all that the look in his eyes is more than enough to suggest that he's no less angry than he'd been before, "it isn't. I won't say that I liked the idea of- of being mortal, but even then I would have had what, thirty or forty more years? And that's at the least, to say nothing of the fact that you've never been the sort to give up."
For now, he forgoes bringing up Watson, who lived through the centuries same as either of the two them with relatively little ill effect and for all that Tesla has never really been fond of the idea of being shackled to so much technology that doesn't change the fact that there are other answers and would have been time enough to find something out.
"But this? You were gone, Helen. I should know; I worked my fingers to blood and bone searching."
He turns his hands palm up at that, as if to say 'see; look.' As if the phantoms of those same bloodstains are there yet, despite the fact that he has his vampiric healing back. And this, really, is the crux of the matter. Not that he is again a vampire, but that he had to take the tatters of his life and still talk to people. That he couldn't, for once, hide his desperation and grief even despite his best efforts otherwise, and despite his often dismissive attitude, he knows very well that neither Will nor Henry aren't as unobservant as all that. Someone will have noticed, somewhere along the line.