open rp post

[stellationing]

Leave me a scenario (one of your own or choose from here) and include any particular preferences as well if you wish.

Or, if you want to just leave a comment with a picture or a word as a prompt and suggest which muse of mine you want, that works too! I might just be a bit slow with those.

Make a reply asking for anyone here on the subject title.

If you choose a character on the maybe list, I will definitely be slow with them.

If you know a specific "verse" of character you want, specify. If it's a cross-canon scene and you don't specify, you might get a CR AU.

Alternately, if you'd rather place a comment on the muse's contact post. Or if you want to do something a little more privately, let me know and I'll set something up elsewhere.

Go to the RNG if you don't have a specific scenario in mind.

Have fun!

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[vampere]

Though he doesn't say it, there are some threads that rather resist pulling. Tesla, for his part, has always considered him to be one of them. And yes, he knows that Helen knows how to pull, how to draw him in, but Addison? Oh, he is far from anyone who would know how to call him to heel. And even if the man had tried, he would have been more than glad to let him know that the government had gouged more then enough out of him, when they'd gone and all but stolen his research, his projects, and then turned them to uses he'd never once intended them for.

(He'd hoped, he really had, that Edison had been the last of that sort of thing, and even now it bothers him to have been proven wrong, even if it's not so much so that he wants to try and bring SCIU to heel for it.)

Besides, he'd been in and out of Helen's house more than enough those last few days, and not once had Addison thought to try and sink his claws into him, the way he had with Will and his whatever-she-actually was.

(This is not strictly the truth. Addison had tried. But Tesla hadn't really deigned to answer, after noting where the call had been coming from and that had seemed to be the last of it. And it would have been much the same if Helen had let him in on her secret.)

Still, he does - finally - turn to his glass of wine as she sets about setting the projector up. It's not a gesture of forgiveness, never that, but it's ... an acceptance. Of a brief truce, of a willingness to at least listen more than he might have otherwise, and beyond even that it's quite simply habit. There is something here to catch his attention, and it seems, in light of that, appropriate to finally turn to her offering of wine. He even seems to be settling in to the topic at hand, for change, ire set aside in lieu of curiosity.

(She always has known him almost better than he knows himself)

...And then comes her comment about explosions, and his expression darkens. Not enough to have him snapping back, not yet, but it's close and rather than turning to the promises of the map and all it's various bits and pieces, he diverts his line of thinking into another topic instead; the promise of having the whole of the thing to himself and the suggestion that he could stay if he wanted forgotten in one fell swoop.

"The keystone?"

It's a deceptively simple question, for one that means not just 'where is it' but also 'does this need it' and 'do you really expect me to override that, if not' - his tone isn't yet anything that would be called terse, but he's not nearly as pleased as he'd very nearly started to be before her comment about explosions.

[lifelines]

With that one comment, Helen has begun the time-honored tradition they have between them, the one that stems from so many decades of knowing each other, of knowing how the other works, and of knowing how to get the response they want. Needling each other. Little things sometimes. Big things other times. Helen knows how to work him, knows that her faked death is something they need to talk about if they are ever to move on. Even just their normal relationship can't survive without some sort of closure on that.

Unfortunately, that means that one or both of them will have to get angry first.

At his question, Helen pulls out the keystone from a pocket of the jacket hanging from the back of a chair nearby. She had known that question would be coming. Its whereabouts are obvious. As to the others... Her eyebrows rise just slightly in answer, as though to say that she has no idea if the device will need the keystone the way the original did. She had found the key anyway just to be safe.

Beyond that is the important detail that she hasn't tried to figure it out in the year since she recovered it. She's been saving that discovery for Nikola for more reasons than one. Mostly because he's the only one who could save her if she set something off, but also because she wanted to let him have the first stab at this thing. It's something he deserves after everything else.

"I've no idea if the keystone is at all necessary, but I found it regardless," she admits as she holds it out to him. "I thought you might want it."

For posterity's sake, if nothing else. There's always a chance that he won't want anything to do with this whole puzzle, a very small chance, but a chance nonetheless. Her curiosity might overwhelm her in that case, but she resolves to deal with that if it crops up.

"I am sorry for not trusting you, Nikola. I am now."

Needle, needle. Which of them will be the first to crack?

[vampere]

It really can't survive with that closure, no. Of course, Tesla isn't at all inclined to address the fact that he knows that same tradition has begun, much less the fact that it's entirely likely that he'll be the first to explode into anger, but if nothing else he means to do his very best to pull her down into anger with him. It is, after all, only fair and he knows her too well to suspect that there isn't something weighing on her mind too, past even the fact that she hadn't trusted him with her death.

(And he's not forgotten that yet either, nor is he any less than inclined to not use that as a leverage point if there comes a chance to.)

Still, he takes the keystone when she offers it, and after a brief moment, nods as if he can tell that this is the proper keystone. He can't, of course. Even his electromagnetism isn't enough to tell whether or not it's putting out the right amount of radiation to be the real keystone, but he trusts Helen to have the right one. After all, the alternative would only cause greater frustration and that's really the last thing either of them need. There's the frustration that needs to happen before they can settle back into life as normal, and then there's entirely unnecessary frustration. Not having the right keystone is the latter.

That said, he doesn't do anything with the keystone immediately. Instead, he sets it neatly down next to the projector, where at least it'll be easy to find if he should happen to need later, and turns back to the projection.

(The action of turning away is, at least, partially meant as a comment on how things stand. He will accept what she's offering, but he's not pleased, and it's easier to deal with the projection right now anyway.)

It's only after he's found the first of the keys into more than the default projection that he turns back towards Helen, and he keeps the action casual enough that it could very easily be read as an afterthought; something that's backed up by the perfectly casual tone of his voice.

"Mmm, I can tell. Although if I didn't know better, I'd almost say you were trying to buy my forgiveness."

[lifelines]

Helen sees exactly what is meant by his obvious turning away. She and Nikola are the same in that everything they do and say has meaning. That meaning might be buried, but everything exists for a reason. He wouldn't just turn away from her without cause and right now the cause is easy to determine.

He's still upset with her. For good reason.

For a few moments, she lets him fiddle with the puzzle, remaining close enough that she's almost in the way. Were she anyone else, she would obviously be in the way. Because she's Helen Magnus, there's meaning to her placement. She won't be brushed aside so easily. She knows what he's on about.

When he finally deigns to speak with her again, her eyebrows slide upwards. Not quite in incredulity, but something similar.

"Why on earth would you think that?" she asks, as though there's any question at all. "If I wanted your forgiveness, I certainly wouldn't be trying to buy it."

As if she doesn't actually want that forgiveness. A part of her does, perhaps even desperately so; a part of her also knows she neither needs it nor deserves it. Helen has always done things exactly the way she feels is right, despite anyone else's thoughts or feelings. Now is no different.

Except that it is.

"I have other, better ways of asking for something that important."

[vampere]

For very good reason. Still, he doesn't comment on the fact that she stands close enough to very nearly be in the way, all throughout his working through the puzzle. He lets it take a moment longer than it might otherwise too, finding that first key. He's always had a remarkable memory and for all that it hasn't been this version of the hologram that he's been dealing with most recently he hasn't forgotten how to tease out its secrets so soon either.

So he lets her stay, and never mind that it's just another irritation on top of everything else.

Not that anyone would know it by the tone of his voice, when he answers, and this time he doesn't turn back to the projection before answering. He's made his point already, and for the time being there's no real sense in dragging it out further save for petty childishness - and frustrated or no, he's not about to stoop to that.

"Well, let's see. Wine of a singularly meaningful vintage. A map that holds the secrets of technology very nearly lost to humanity and the key to same. I can't imagine why anyone would think otherwise."

Except, of course, that he can. And does, in fact, think otherwise. He knows a genuine gift when he sees one, and knows that nothing of the princely gifts she's offered have anything directly to do with her asking for forgiveness.

Which isn't to say that his expression doesn't take on a sharper cast at her comment. Like he knows something, or sees through to the heart of her, and they've known each other long enough that maybe he has.

"Like scavenger hunts. I do hope someone's told the children."

[lifelines]

Helen watches him again. They do know each other, far too well at some points. They can fill in each other's thoughts and sentences by now, can even predict how the other will react to things and events. She knew he would react like this; he knows what she really means and can see through her actions and words. No one else is allowed to know her the way Nikola does. No one else can understand her the way he does.

"All of which might just be gifts, things I knew you would appreciate when no one else would." Appreciate and understand, that's for sure. "I know how you like that which is hard to find."

Hard to find, hard to follow, hard to figure out and yet provides a very, very nice reward. In this case, the scavenger hunt had led to her, living, safe, and sound. Her life, this time, rather than her death.

"I told them all." That she's alive, she means. So, she also admits that she left him in the dark the longest. "I thought you and I should have extra time to sort everything out. Scavenger hunts do take time, after all. It isn't as though all of their secrets can be revealed at once."

Yes, because the scavenger hunt of the real truth and feelings between them totally counts. That has taken a long, long time in their long, long lives.

[vampere]

There's silence for a moment, as he watches her watching him. There's the map, yes, glittering on behind and around them, but he knows all too well that it's the little things that matter. And in any case, he's seen the map before. It's an old distraction for that it is a distraction; while there's a part of him that does want to do nothing but spend his time carefully prising out its secrets there's a larger part that has turned instead to the real scavenger hunt.

Which is not, of course, to say that there isn't a flash of anger in his eyes at the implication that she'd saved him for last, but it's mostly mollified by the implication that this is something that needs time; time that he's assuming the others didn't have.

"And they didn't even think to tell me, even after all the hard work I put in, setting things to rights after... after."

There's a brief and expansive gesture in lieu of the rest of the sentence, a poor cover for the fact that he can't bring himself to directly mention the explosion and subsequent destruction of Old City Sanctuary.

"Really, it's enough to sting."

Of course, the only person on the Sanctuary that he'd been at least tolerably friendly with had been Henry and he knows he hadn't really wanted to make himself friendly besides once he'd made his exit. And really, he's not fooling anyone about the fact that his comments are as much bitterness as anything, even if it comes as a sort of cover for everything else he's been feeling.

[lifelines]

This is becoming tedious, even for them, even with their history of dancing around the various subjects of their lives. His words cause her eyebrows to slide upwards, the unspoken statement hanging between them of why on earth would he imagine any of that, why would it be a slight that she had waited to talk to him after everyone else.

As though she has no idea of the consequences of her actions at all.

"And if I told them not to say anything?" she says as though none of this matters at all. "Come on, Nikola, we both know there's more to it than that. There's more to this entire disagreement between us. You dislike how I went about my plan, yes, but the root of it is much, much deeper."

Everything with them runs deeper than words, deeper than the surface. That's how it has always worked with the Five, how it has always especially worked with Helen and Nikola. If that ever changes, they will have lost a fundamental part of their relationship.

"You're hurt that I've left you out. Again. You're angry because you now know how I have felt all these years with you gallivanting around, ignoring me unless it suits you, never letting me in on your secret plans." Like hunting down the Cabal lab or various and sundry other things.

Her expression is challenging, as if she wants to get him angry, riled up enough that they will both snap and finally get this mess out between them.

[vampere]

It's the wait, more than anything, that's the slight. Or the perceived slight, at least - words aside, he'd already assumed that Helen would have, if not sworn them to secrecy, then implied that it would be better if some things didn't get out into the public.

(And, if he's honest with himself, he would have thought less of any of the others, if they actually had.)

Helen's gambit, on the other hand, works exactly as planned. He'd already been hanging on to the lingering remnants of anger, and for all that he'd like to think he's not completely awful at burying it under other things, it comes rising to surface without so much as a second thought and he doesn't even think to try and stop it.

(Could he, if he had to? Maybe. But he doesn't want to.)

"Yes," he snaps back, pausing only to set his (still half-full) wine glass down next to the keystone with a surprisingly final-sounding clack, "I am. I still haven't actually seen - never will see - any of this technology, technology any scientist worth their salt would have killed to even be in the same room with, never mind the society that built any of it, and to be offered this? Echoes and sterile glory wrapped up in the past? Afterthoughts, and don't tell me they're not."

[lifelines]

Ah, there it is, the anger she had felt brewing from the moment he had walked into the room. The anger she knew him well enough to know was there underneath everything, despite how cool he had kept himself up until that point. It's almost satisfying that she still does know him well enough to have needled him this far.

"You say all that as though I haven't thought of it," she tells him confidently, lifting her chin almost defiantly. "Why would I let something like that escape? Why would I allow a culture like that to completely die and their advances with them?"

He knows her too well to believe that she would simply let something like the Praxian society die out. There's no way in the world she would do such a thing. Which means that she's managed to preserve it. The question would be: how?

"But that isn't it, either, is it? The real afterthought here is something else. What would have happened if I hadn't followed you to New York City? Would you have stayed? You never were one to let go easily when something truly mattered."

She's getting close; she can feel it. Not quite there yet, not to the point where he might finally just let it all out, but they're on the path.

[vampere]

Were it not her, he might not have so much as allowed himself to be pulled into anger. It's one thing for it to be there, and quite enough for someone to know how to pull it forth. To be able to draw it out into the light, as she has. Which is not to say that he can't still get angry at the circumstances present him, but under other circumstances it burns quick and fast. A flare, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

This is nothing like that. This is the sort of anger that stays, that burns fierce and bright, and that only ever seems to come out around her (or, occasionally, in the presence of the rest of the Five, but that's pretty much a moot point now that they're the only ones still alive.)

But he knows her as well as she knows him, and while none of it is particularly intentional, he isn't about to let it only be his anger that colors the air.

"No," he snaps, and if he weren't already facing Helen he would have turned abruptly to do so; in lieu of that gesture he offers a sharp downwards gesture with his arm, one that leaves the peak of one of taller holographic buildings retreating temporarily in the wake of his arm. "It's not about that. You've never cared overmuch about where I happen to be at any one point, and in case you've forgotten, I thought you were dead."

The last of those comments is drawing perilously near to the truth of the matter, but there isn't so much as a pause before Tesla moves on to other topics.

"The only reason it matters now is because you're feeling guilty about it. Because you had to... to be Helen at everything and somewhere along the way you forget to think about the fallout!"

Both the emotional and the physical, although he doesn't - quite - say as much.

[lifelines]

Nikola's tirade might have had more impact if Helen hadn't recently told Caleb that she's a chronic micromanager. That's how she is. A controlling and micromanaging personality. She likes to have as close to complete control over every aspect of her life as possible. She hates feeling out of control, even if she is quite good at getting herself and her projects out of harm's way when things go pear-shaped.

For now, she feels as though she has some small semblance of control over the situation, though that may smash against the floor soon enough.

There's something in the way he says, "I thought you were dead" that gives her momentary pause. Yes, he had thought that. They all had because she had wanted them to. But at the same time, she has to wonder if he had truly thought that. Or if he's simply angry with her for making it look that way. Or perhaps he's still angry that she didn't tell him at all.

...Or he could be angry with her for being so controlling and thinking she didn't consider the fallout. Which she had. She always does. Her biggest downfall is that she gets something into her head and then doesn't let it go. Come hell or high water, she will see her plans through to the end. No matter what happens along the way.

Her eyes narrow and she isn't sure which part needles her the most. The idea that she feels guilty or the idea that she hadn't considered the fallout.

"What would give you the idea that I hadn't considered the fallout?" she replies in clipped tones, knowing full well that this isn't making it better. If she had considered the fallout, then that means she had known this would be his reaction and had gone along with it anyway. But she does that as well. Usually, she has a mind for mitigating damage and making sure no one gets caught in the crossfire. Sometimes, there's no helping it and this had been one of those times. "What makes you think I had any other real choice? Yes, I could have told you I wasn't actually dead. I could have risked everything by letting any one of you know. But I didn't even tell my Old Friend. No one knew. And I don't regret that."

Actually, Nikola is entirely correct. There's guilt. Guilt about his involvement, yes. But mostly, there's a guilt nagging at her, saying that if she had told someone, her Old Friend at least, then perhaps he would still be alive to help her now. Perhaps then he could see what she had built. Now there's a guilt wondering if she could have let Nikola in on it as well, if he could have helped her mitigate more of the damage. It's too late now, too late to apologize for everything she has done, not just now but always. Too late for the guilt and regret that has eaten her alive since the day they took the serum in 1886, since she lost John to his instincts in 1888. Since Ashley and James and so many other people and events in her life that it all tumbles end over end into regret and guilt.

Naturally, all of that boils into anger because it's easier to be angry and have something to fight for or against than to let herself sit. And think.

[vampere]

For better or for worse, Tesla doesn't know the finer details of Helen's association with Caleb. That she had working with the man, yes. That it had quite probably been a terrible idea, also yes, if only in retrospect. But the details of what she'd said to whom are things that not even he can tell.

(He wouldn't even if he could, but for all his failings he's never cared for the idea of getting into someone's head like that - and to be perfectly honest, he knows Helen well enough to not need to.)

On the other hand, he notices the way his accusations don't quite have the effect he'd intended. Oh, there's anger there, yes, but not like what he wants. In fact, she is - so far - doing better at making him angry than he is in reverse and that is something that he quite simply can't stand. There needs to be catharsis not just on his end but hers too and if that comes at the end of a protracted shouting match it's not like it's the first time.

Or the last time, for that matter.

He's not even sure what he's the most angry about, to be honest. That he is angry, yes, that much is easy. But he's not sure if it's the perceived loss that would have come with being the last of the Five, that she's slighted him (in his opinion) by not letting him help when he'd done similarly, or that she either didn't think about the fallout or simply figured that the projected fallout would be worth it.

(And in the case of that latter, he's not sure which is the better of the two outcomes; rather than try to decide either way, he unconsciously follows her example and channels the uncertainty into his ongoing anger, for the sake of not having to think about it.)

"No," he answers, voice sharp as the claws he keeps hidden away most of the time. "No, I don't think that's right. You just don't want to regret it, because it means that you aren't as in control as you want. Because it means you're fallible; that you can make mistakes, or misjudge a situation. But of course the great Helen Magnus can't admit to that, much less to the idea that maybe - just maybe - there's more to life than power and control."

...Says the man who has genuinely attempted to take over the world and had been distinctly less than pleased at someone else taking over one of said plans.

He doesn't stop though. Instead, he barrels right along, riding the tide of his anger.

"And as for your uncommonly stubborn and hirsute friend, of course you didn't tell him. He's dead; you couldn't have even if you'd wanted to."

[lifelines]

The change in Helen comes in an instant, in the cliche blink of an eye. One second, she is more or less still in control of the situation and the argument, needling Nikola for his anger so he might get out whatever it is that he needs to get out. A second later, he has managed to slam his fist into her control issues, her guilt, her annoyance at him over the years, and her loss issues. All at once.

Knowing her the way he does, he will undoubtedly be able to see it in her. The way her eyes widen and harden. The way her jaw tenses and then sets firmly. Her arms fold across her chest, fingers digging into the fabric along her arms to stop her from doing something else with them. Her chin lifts defiantly, as though daring him to keep going. When he does, the coldness comes, freezing her entire body until the tension between them turns her to stone. Hard, cold, and very hurt stone.

For whatever it is that they do to each other, a good deal of their anger usually stems from some sort of pain, perhaps a perceived injustice. This time, Nikola has managed to stab his talons straight into her and give them a twist. This pain she feels turns to an anger that can no more be stemmed than a volcano. And when Helen Magnus is a volcano, things usually don't take the turn anyone expected.

"Oh that's rich," she snarls, her voice taking on a quality quite like the rest of her. Stone. But under the stone is hurt, like he has actually managed to injure her as well as make her angry. "Perhaps you should take a look at your own life before you accuse someone else of doing exactly what you have several times over! Denial suits you far too well, Nikola, but even you can't ignore your own attempts at power and control. I, for one, haven't forgotten your vampire creations. How did those work out? Ah, yes. Very badly."

She will never forget the zombie vampires or his infamous trust fund baby vampires. How he would ever think she wouldn't call him on that is beyond her.

As far as the rest, her jaw tightens further and her eyes flash. He probably should have stopped, but when have any of the Five ever really known when to stop? Not even Helen is good at that, especially when she's angry.

"And I suppose you'll be telling me that I could have saved him. That I could have convinced him not to betray Caleb to me, not to give us the information that saved everything and everyone because that led to his death. I had no choice. He never let anyone know what he was doing. It was his choice. Not mine."

None of that has anything to do with Nikola's words and likely only serves to prove his point. There are plenty of things that she regrets -- not being able to save her Old Friend is the one gnawing at her currently and her words are so obviously the argument she has been telling herself since it happened. She's ignoring that at the moment. More importantly is the fact that she hasn't turned around and left. Yet. Usually, she would have given him some scathing remark -- a remark that really is on the tip of her tongue -- and then turned on her heel and left. Depending on how he responds, she may still do that. For now, she hangs in there. For now, she will see what happens.

[vampere]

He notices it. First the anger and then the way it slides into something more than anger, and in neither case does he he deny the emotions that her anger brings in its wake; first a subtle sort of satisfaction at having managed to get her to rise to the bait and then the briefest flicker of realization as the anger turns to stone. He knows what's coming next and while he can't say he'd meant to push quite that far (or not consciously at least), neither does he apologize. Not just because he's almost positive that Helen isn't likely to listen at this point, but also because he's not sure that he'd be able to make it sound sincere just and the moment. To say nothing of the fact that he has never been particularly inclined to apologize and is very nearly certain that it would cause him actual pain to swallow as much of his pride as he'd need to to say those particular words.

Instead, he lets her anger call to his, even as his expression darkens at her words, and if the effect is rather like a stormfront coming in, it's not entirely inaccurate - her anger might be a volcano but his has ever been a thunderstorm, even before the lightning took root under his skin.

"I had it under control," he snaps back without so much as missing a beat or a hint of irony. "It worked. And just because some... some over-privileged teenagers with absolutely no sense of morals or- or common sense couldn't leave well enough alone much less manage to not die in the first place doesn't change that."

He makes it about halfway to throwing up his hands, before the gesture peters out as it runs straight into his sense of propriety; without any other release they fall into any of a number of small gestures to underscore his words. He takes to pacing through the holographic city not long after that, the restless energy finding an outlet however it can.

And if he's focusing more on his second attempt than his first, it's only reasonable, to him. Yes, the first had hardly ended well either, but it was a first attempt. Even he can't always get things right the first time, and it's not his fault Helen hadn't wanted to help him improve his mini-hims.

(Or so he tells himself anyway. Whether or not he genuinely believes it is another matter and not entirely relevant to the matters at hand, besides.)

"No, I'm not," he answers, when at last her comments turn accusing, and though it's characteristically blunt, it's as soft as he knows how to be, in the grip of anger. "I mean what I said, about him being uncommonly stubborn. And..." there's a pause as his face wrenches into an expression as if he can hardly believe he's going to say what comes next, "he did the right thing, I think. Not in dying but in... choosing to do what he did, even despite the cost."

His voice keeps on the same even keel as he says it, restless pacing slowing until he's standing before Helen again and this - the moment, and his actions - are the apology he couldn't, and wouldn't, give before. Not in words, but that he can recognize the hurt; has offered her as much as he can, his anger transmuted - briefly - into something no less deadly, but approachable. A thunderstorm held in metal and wires, like the ones he used to build, so long ago.

It's a gentle nudge too, although he's not sure if it will come through as well as he'd like. She's not the only one who's lost, recently, and he'd thought he'd lost her as permanently as she'd lost her old friend.

[lifelines]

"You say that as though you had any idea that death would trigger your little vampire projects' transformation!" Helen shoots back with obvious venom. She absolutely remembers how that had gone, how Nikola had not even begun to take into account the concept of death, let alone how that concept might have affected his projects. In essence, biology had one-upped him and the teenagers had taken it and run with it.

Trust fund baby vampires. That was his first mistake.

The second was trying to keep it from her. That had not gone well. About as well as her faked death and trying to come to him later seems to be going. When will they learn not to keep secrets from each other?

But then Nikola continues and Helen's expression hardens. On the one hand, she likes and prefers that he is actually admitting exactly what her point has been. It was her Old Friend's choice, his idea and his decision, that ended in his death. He had to have known what was coming as surely as she had when she had chosen to keep everything to herself and then blow up the Sanctuary in an attempt to sever ties with the surface and the world governments for good. What bothers her is that if he can see the sense in her Old Friend's choice, and understand it to a point, why can't he see and understand her own choice? They were, in essence, the exact same. And they almost had the exact same ending.

Her fingers dig further into the fabric at her arms and her jaw sets tighter before she responds. "He chose to help, chose to do what he could to take down those who opposed everything the Sanctuary stood for. As did I. The end result of both of our choices was almost the same. He understood the price. So did I. It was my choice, Nikola. Mine to make and mine to bear the consequences of."

A part of her understands that her death would have meant the end of a great deal of things and hurt more people than she likely wants to admit to. She also understands that Nikola would not have taken it well. He hadn't so far, as he had actually thought that she really was dead. Inhaling slowly and deeply, Helen releases her hold on her arms. Keeping them folded where they are, she meets his gaze fully, letting her eyes say what the rest of her words refuse.

"It isn't quite as difficult as your friend losing his vampirism, but close."

Meaning that now he should know how she felt when he lost his vampirism and his longevity, when she had thought he would die before her and she would be the last of the Five. Being the last of them is far too difficult for any of them to bear. Now that it's just the two left, it's even harder to handle. Helen expects that someday she will outlive everyone; what the deepest part of her wants is to die before him, so that she never has to be the last of the Five and never has to live without him. She knows, in that same deepest part of her, that Nikola wants that exact thing in reverse. Living without each other at this point is simply not an option.

[vampere]

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.

[lifelines]

The tide seems to be turning. Slowly, of course, as does everything with them, but the mood in the room is changing. Anger is absolutely still there, but the undercurrent of hurt and betrayal is surfacing like a whale. Breathing heavily and knocking into them with weight and power. One feeds into the other, though which one is the whale and which is the hunter remains to be seen. Who struck first and who is out for revenge?

In this case, it could be either or both. They do push each other.

Regardless, Helen rolls her eyes at Nikola's assertion. "So you were relying on me to fix yet another of your ill-advised mistakes? How mature."

Like she has room to talk right now. She is acting like a five-year-old. As the Five always has when one of them gets upset. Particularly at each other. They bicker like children and fight like teenagers. The world doesn't end, but it sure as hell might wish it were.

And as a petulant five-year-old would, Helen lets her eyes take in Nikola's hands, as though inspecting them. Then she turns her gaze, calm and cool, back to his eyes. "They look fine to me." As though she doesn't know about his healing abilities. As though he couldn't possibly have cared enough.

But that isn't the end. Things never end easily or quietly with them. She eyes him for a few seconds before abruptly adding on, "Did you search as long as I did?"

Meaning, did he search for her for as long as she searched for a way to restore his vampirism? Was he really that distressed? Or is he just being theatrical. She has a feeling she knows and she can sense that her walls are falling, despite the hurt and pain and anger still around. Too many emotions are swirling around in this room, she thinks, and too many more will join them before they hit the heart of the matter. He has hinted to it. Perhaps she will need to do slightly more than hint about how long she had searched and how she refused to be the last of the Five.

[vampere]

He can sense it too, the turning tide of the room. Not that it does much for the state of his emotions, mind, but he notices it in the same distant way that he can sense people's heartbeats, if he doesn't make an effort to not hear them. Like it's a quiet background, or a current hidden just under the surface. But he knows that to actually acknowledge it at this point would be to shatter the moment; to dam up the current and leave everything not yet said to fester slowly, a poison neither of them needs.

And in any case, he's too stubborn to back down just because the feel of the room has changed.

"No," he counters, and now the anger comes out in his voice, fierce and defiant, rising to a crescendo as he continues on. "I was hoping that you'd be willing to help, but maybe I was mistaken in that."

He manages, fortunately, to cut himself off before doing more than simply imply that it's not - wouldn't be - the first time he's asked for help and been denied, even if those had been associated with the very same ill-advised mistakes that she's just brought up. But that's not the barb that hurts the most. No, it's her comment about his hands that wounds him; the subtle rejection he knows she's implying - that he doesn't care, hasn't searched as long as he can, and for a moment it's almost like he doesn't know what to say, nor how to say it.

"Helen," he begins halting, and the sound of it is raw and aching, like it's halfway a plea but one that's been been torn out of him against his will. "Helen, please."

The rest of the words die in his throat, but by the look in his eyes the tide may be more turned than turning; it's not anger there, not any more. No, this is the pain, the sorrow, everything he's tried so, so hard to keep hidden these last months. To drown away in the bottle, and when that had - as ever - failed to prove any solace, had tried to shove away so that he'd never have to look at it again and the truth of it this, for all he can't find the words. He has never been able to search as long as she could, not even if he'd wanted to, for all that her loss had stung more keenly than he expects anyone to know. Except, perhaps, for her and now that he's made more than an oblique reference to it, he will likely never speak of it again when this moment has been and gone.

[lifelines]

Helen likely would have commented on the first part of his reaction if the second part hadn't come so quickly. If it hadn't also torn down all of his walls, all of her walls, and laid bare the emotions swimming between them. Her expression softens slowly because she knows that she has hurt him, yet again, and this time it isn't Nikola who needs to make amends for a wrong done. No, this time it is Helen who has something to make up for, to apologize for.

That last word and the way he says it, the emotion in his voice and that damned look in his eyes, that does it for her. For a few seconds, she stands there, letting her body and mind react. Because she knows what will happen, has known that this would be the result perhaps since she decided to follow him to New York and leave a scavenger hunt for him to use in the hopes that it would lead him to her. Yes, of course they have things to discuss. The key with them, however, is that most often words don't help. Most often, Helen and Nikola speak in actions.

Actions supplemented by words.

"You were never mistaken," she says softly, almost gently. He has been mistaken in things before and they both know it, but not in getting her help. Not in this.

A second passes before she moves. Arms unfolding, she takes the few steps towards him until she stands directly in front of him, reaches her hands to cup his cheeks, and presses her lips to his. It isn't the fleeting kiss that she gave him last time, but neither is it soft or gentle. Neither does it remain chaste. Her lips part, encouraging his to follow suit, and for a moment, she simply lives in their act, in this kiss.

Because neither of them would be able to say any form of those words -- I love you. I thought I'd lost you. You were dead. I'm sorry. -- but the emotions are there in the way she holds him to her. A long time has passed since she allowed herself an attachment that she knew might last. Charlotte Benoit had been a one night sort of deal, wherein they both knew it wouldn't, couldn't, last. But this... well, no one could blame her if she dared to hope.

Forgiveness is not something she deserves, not for what she has done to Nikola, and it is an interesting role reversal. But they have experienced worse. Whatever this is, whatever he may feel towards her now, she has faith in him, in the both of them. They never stay angry with each other for long.

[vampere]

To be entirely honest, he can't much think of a time in their lives where they didn't have something to discuss. Admittedly, it hasn't always been something as weighty as what still stands between them, but it's never been hard for them to find something to fill the spaces between them.

For now, though, he waits because it's the only thing he can do. He has laid himself bare, and though he knows that she has to recognize it for what it means (the way her expression softens is enough to tell him that) the ball isn't in his court right now. This moment, and what she does with it is hers, and hers alone, and if those few seconds seem to stretch very nearly into eternity, it's only because he's never been great with patience and less so, when he's left himself so deliberately vulnerable besides.

Still, her comment goes a good way towards improving his mood. Not enough to counteract the rawness of what her earlier comments had pulled out of him, not yet, but enough to give him space to start pulling himself together. To patch up the holes that have been left in him, and have been left unaddressed since the fall of the Old City Sanctuary.

He doesn't get far. But that's only because he's just gotten started when Helen takes his face gently in hand and is pulling him into a kiss, and oh, he would have gladly suffered any of a number of things for this. For this singular moment that is at once answer to (at least some of) his answers and apology both; like her he simply take the time to live in this moment, this act, as he lets himself melt into it.

Which is not to say that he's in any way passive about it. Far from it! There's a brief flicker of surprise, yes, but after that he gladly takes it is far as she lets him, hands rising almost unconsciously to her shoulders as he does. And that, more than anything else, is his answer; he can no more say what he wants to say - thank you and I missed you, and yes, even I love you - than she can, but the emotions are there to be read all the same in his actions. He's glad, too, of the the fact that it's neither soft nor gentle. This moment is neither, really, born as it has been of anger and any of number of other things besides and it would have - somehow - read wrong if it had been. There's too much they need to say, in these few actions, and in any case, there will be time for soft and gentle later, he suspects.

(Forgiveness - true forgiveness - on the other hand, may take a while yet. But this moment she has given him is enough to more than reset the board, as it were, to wash clean the anger and bitterness of the last few months. Enough to settle him in himself again, and it is, somehow, like coming home.)

[lifelines]

Helen has a complicated relationship with physical contact that feeds directly into both her moods and her sense of control. If she has a bad day, one where something upsets her or she feels as though she has lost control, she tends to wall herself away. Any kind of contact is out of the question. If control is hers and she feels as though she can risk being open with someone, then she absolutely will be. Physical contact is fine in those instances and she will absolutely initiate a hug or a hand on a shoulder or something usually fairly small.

However, she doesn't allow herself this close to just anyone. Nikola managed to worm his way through her walls and her guard over the centuries and somehow it all led up to this. Her kiss down in the main lab before she sent him away and blew up the Sanctuary had been a start. This is a promise. This is more than she has given anyone in a very, very long time.

For a few minutes, she just revels in the feel of choosing intimacy like this, of allowing herself to feel and embrace something like this. It was her choice to kiss him in the lab and it is her choice to kiss him again now. Somehow, she didn't think he would protest and she isn't disappointed. His response echoes her beginning and for a time, she simply follows through, a part of her jealous over the fact that his healing will cover the result of this venture, whereas her bruised lips will show plainly in the morning.

Not that she would change this moment for anything in the world.

After a time, she has lost count of exactly how long and that is impressive in and of itself, she finally pulls back, her eyes slowly opening so she can see his reaction. This is a part of their relationship that is new, unexplored, and as much as he may have needled her and poked her and flirted incessantly with her, neither of them expected that it would come to this. Not until a few weeks ago. They would dance around each other, flirt, she would roll her eyes, he would push, she would place a line in the sand, he would toe the line, she would tell him no, and they would go back to work.

But this... This time, she hadn't said no. This time, she had said yes. This is permission and it has turned their sense of "normal" upside down. Well, except for the part where she has to pull her arms away and make him work for more physical contact because that is how they have always worked. She doesn't just give this sort of thing away, not even for her closest friend.

"So..." she finally says, her voice soft as she tries to catch her breath. Unlike him, she actually does need to breathe. "Springtime is just around the corner. How do you feel about Vienna?"

[vampere]

It would be a lie to say that he hasn't, in one sense or another, wanted this for a very long time. And yes, they have danced around the point, any of a number of times before but never like this. Honestly, if there hadn't been that kiss down in the main lab, how wouldn't have thought to expect this. To hope that he hadn't just been seeing the things he wanted to see in their back and forths over the long years they've known each other. But it has happened. And not just the once either, but twice, which means that it's no fluke.

And that... that is both unexpected and everything he could hope for, and the gift of this moment is very nearly worth more than anything else in the world.

Still, he lets her pull back, when she finally does, letting her - as ever - set the pace of things, even for all that she has said yes this time. It will, of course, take some time to let this part of their relationship settle into the same sort of second nature that comes so naturally in the other aspects of their lives, but well. They have have time enough for that.

More importantly, perhaps, he looks alive, for lack of a better word. Happier than he's been in years, if not decades, and even the old sparkle is back in his eyes. And if he, too, takes a moment to simply observe her in turn surely he's allowed that much, under the circumstances.

"Mmm, well," he begins, half-consideringly and as if the answer isn't already basically yes, "I suspect it might depend on the company."

[lifelines]

If asked whether or not she has wanted this for a time, Helen would be cagey at best, buried in denial at worst. Emotions are difficult for her on a good day. This sort of thing would not come easily, not even now. She much prefers their normal dance, the banter of their typical relationship. And it is that banter, the normalcy of centuries that she falls back on when he gives his thoughtful response.

Her eyebrows flick upwards and her head tilts just so, as though she is saying Oh? As though she had not expected that response or that there was any other option of who would go with him. The corner of her lips turns upwards, coyly almost, and she lets her eyes flick across him before her gaze returns to his face.

"I had thought that I might take you with me," she offers, as though they have nothing better to do than discuss the weather. "Unless, of course, you have someone else in mind. Will, perhaps? Or Henry? Or I could always call Kate back from Hollow Earth. I can't imagine she would say no."

Banter ever leads one of them into being a troll. That's just how their relationship works. Right now, Helen would much prefer banter and trolling to emotions and heartfelt things that might lead towards tears and another plea like the one Nikola already gave her tonight. Neither of them can deal with that again. Not now, not after everything recently.

[vampere]

It's the flick of her eyebrows and the tilt of her head that catches his attention, even before she's spoken. The briefest of expressions, yes, but he knows them for what they are; knows even before she speaks that things are back to normal between them, and the old familiar back and forth has picked back up. Which honestly, suits him just fine. One moment of emotional honesty is about all he has in him for one night and he's not really in the mood for another of the kinds of spats it would take for him to actually be in the right sort of mood for another besides.

And in any case, he's missed this. Not as much as he has her, but the two have always come hand in hand.

"You could, yes," he answers, and despite his words it's only really an agreement that the possibility of doing so exists. "But honestly, none of them would be able to fully appreciate the beauty of it, and it seems to me that would rather be the point of going."

To say nothing of the fact that he's well aware that the offer was made to him, in a moment that he's reasonably certain wouldn't have been shared with anyone else. Otherwise, why bother with any of what the evening has entailed thus far?

(He's not certain the offer of Vienna would have always have been on the table. But it is now, and he knows better than to assume that doesn't mean anything.)