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cosmicsommers2013-02-20 12:53 pm
stellationing) wrote in cosmicsommers2013-02-20 12:53 pm
Entry tags:
open rp post
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.
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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.
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(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."
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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.
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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.
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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.
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(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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.)
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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?"
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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."
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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.
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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.)
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Something certainly feels different, a shift in the mood or how they are reacting to each other, even though nothing has has changed at all. Nothing outwardly, anyway.
"Indeed," she agrees gently, the amusement still clear on her face. "Then, perhaps in a week or two, I'll see you in Vienna."
As though she won't be the one taking him, as though they won't travel together. Honestly.
At any rate, she leans back over towards the table, picking up both of their glasses and handing his over again. Lifting hers slightly, she watches him carefully, obviously still trying to figure out how he's going to take whatever next steps they have to go on.
"To new beginnings?" she suggests first. "Or is that perhaps too cliche? To old maps? Or perhaps to Vienna?"
All of the suggestions are, of course, symbolic in some fashion. New beginnings between the two of them or just for the Sanctuary and Helen herself. To old maps, old friendships, the old device and the city floating around them. Or to Vienna in springtime, a new beginning all its own. A combination of old and new, just as Helen and Nikola have always been.
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(Which is not to say that he wouldn't mind being kissed again, if it should come to that, but he's already had one more than he'd expected and he isn't about to push, yet. Not when they're both still on unfamiliar ground.)
Still, he does take the wineglass when she offers, and without even the slightest hesitation either.
"To Vienna, I think," he answers, raising his own glass in echo of hers. To new beginnings, to the future, to whatever will happen to come of this particular evening, and somehow it seems right somehow to be raising a glass to the future while standing in the middle of an old map to an older civilization. Out of the old, new, and he can very much work with that. And if he's as much watching Helen's reactions as she is his, surely that isn't any real surprise.
(He doesn't comment about the implication that they might not be traveling together. Of course they will, and right now he doesn't care enough to poke at the implication of her words.)
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"To Vienna." Helen lifts her glass just a little higher in her toast before tilting it to sip, her eyes never leaving his and the gently playful smile on her face remaining. A long time has passed since she felt this free. Somehow she has a feeling that being with Nikola will be good for her. He has ever been a constant in her life and she doesn't see that changing. With luck, it never will and she will lean on him well into eternity.
Lowering her glass again, she finally casts a glance at the map again. "Shall we find its secrets tonight or leave that for the morning?"
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And if it happens to give him a bit longer to come up with how to approach the topic so much the better, as far as he's concerned.
So it is that he simply inclines his head a bit, and turns to his own wine for a moment. After all, if he can't enjoy this moment and the smile on her face (something that has been all too rare of late) than what's the point of it all. But she is right in one regard. Now that they've come so literally through the flames and risen again from the ashes he doesn't mean to be anything less than a constant presence in her life. Which doesn't necessarily mean that he'll always be at her side - he always has been prone to wandering off when the mood strikes him - but being a constant in her life... that he has every intention of being, if she'll have him.
(And to be honest, he suspects that's been part of the point of this whole thing.)
He glances to the map when she does, as if by calling attention to it, she's reminded him of the fact that it's there and that they aren't just standing in the middle of an empty room.
"Mmm, time to put this particular genie back in the bottle for now, I think," he answers, and it is - finally - an acceptance of what she offered him, both in the map itself and the apology for what she's made him suffer through these last few months, whether it was intentional or not. The secrets it holds will still be there in the morning, and for now he finds that Helen is the more interesting anyway.
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Like a new cocktail someone dreamed up. Normalcy with a twist.
Moving over towards the table again, Helen quietly removes the device and then closes the book, sliding each piece of the puzzle next to each other so they could be played with later on. Once that is done, she straightens, wine glass still in hand, and tilts her head slightly. Almost playfully.
"The genie is back in the bottle and the bottle has been stashed. Our jobs have been completed for the moment. So that leaves the question of whether or not you'll be returning to your room."
Yes, that is a full invitation for him to stay with her. Whether they talk or she sleeps and he does... whatever else, she doesn't care. It would be nice to just have him around again. She has missed him.
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Rather than say anything, however, he simply watches her as she puts the map away again. He's seen it before, of course, but even now there's a sort of joy in watching her simply be herself, be the woman he has always admired and not just for her physical qualities. (Although he won't deny that those are also wonderful.)
"What, and leave all this behind? I don't think so." The gesture he offers seems to encompass the room itself, but is meant to mean the map and - most importantly - the wine. "Besides, there's nothing I particularly need back there."
He always has been inclined to travel light, and this time has been no exception. Yes, there are a few spare odds and ends back at his room, but frankly, he'd much rather have the mood in this room than the one that has seen so much of his formless and unchecked depression of late. Plus he's missed her too, even if he'd never directly admit it.
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God only knows what her life has become now that she is relying so fully on Nikola, but she would not change it for anything in the world.
Giving him that playful smirk as she takes another sip of wine, she moves to lower herself to the couch, crossing one leg over the other as she waits to see what he will do. Time to find something to discuss while she ensnares him and convinces him to stay close. Not that there's much convincing to be done as it is. They both seem fairly content to remain close by the other.
"I've something you might need here," she says, as though she's only commenting on the weather or airfare. "A ticket to see the Sanctuary. I need to return soon to check on how things are going before we head to Vienna."
Or she might just want to take Nikola back to see certain parts of it, the way the whole thing came together and how heavily Praxian technology influenced its design, to show her oldest friend something she has become exceedingly proud of. It's his call, really. He'll figure it out.
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And if he doesn't quite know what their lives have become either, he's willing enough to see where it ends up.
He watches for a moment longer, as if he's trying to decide how long get away with 'weighing his options'. It's the smirk that does him in, in the end, as he follows her over to the couch, settling in on it as if it's the most natural thing in world to do so. And she's right, too. He does want to stay close for the time being, and he certainly can't imagine she can blame him for that.
That said, it's the mention of the Sanctuary that gets his attention. And really, he ought to have expected something like it, given that it had been no real secret that she'd been moving residents out of even the Old City Sanctuary.
"Well," he begins slowly, "it would be terribly remiss of me to turn down an offer like that."
By his tone, he could just as easily be comment about the ticket, be it metaphorical or otherwise. But the sparkle of amusement in his eyes suggests that he might just have guessed that there's more to her offer than Helen's need to make sure that all is well prior to their departure.
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As Nikola finally takes a seat by her, she turns just a little more towards him, sipping further at her wine as she listens. She had known that even the barest mention of the new Sanctuary would catch his attention, even more will what she has in store for him.
"I managed to get my hands on a good deal of technology you had shown an interest in," she continues, watching him for signs of his reactions. "The upgrades to the Sanctuary infrastructure have made everything much more stable, which was the point, but I had hoped you might come to see it. Praxis may be gone, but parts of it live in the new Sanctuary. I would hate to be unable to share that."
It's the best she can do, honestly. She can't change what happened -- or, well, she had the chance to but refused for a multitude of reasons -- but she had been able to procure either the blueprints for their technology or pieces of the technology itself. Either way, the Underground Sanctuary has become something of Praxis rebuilt. If that isn't tempting for him, she doesn't know what would be.
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Which is not to say that he's ignoring his wine, but the further on she gets in her explanation the more he seems to be ignoring it.
"You don't say," he begins, once she's finally laid it all out before him, and while he sounds more than interested, he leaves it at that. On the other hand, he's not condemning her for not doing more to save at least something of Praxis, and maybe that's enough. "And I suppose someone's going to have to make sure Heinrich hasn't completely made a mess of the computer systems."
Which is to say, of course he'll come. Even if Praxian technology hadn't been involved, he'd have had no shortage of curiosity about Helen's new Sanctuary and not just because it had been built in secret and possibly quite literally under his nose. Plus there's still a part of him that can't help but feel that she does owe him, a little. Even if he isn't about to even remotely begin to address that fact, much less let it actually show in his expression.
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They stay up for quite a while, talking about the Sanctuary among other things. After a while, Helen's body simply gives out. After the stress of the last 114 years -- this last year included in that hot mess -- she hasn't slept nearly enough or eaten or taken care of herself in general. And the last few weeks were probably some of the worst. So, at some point during the night, Helen's eyes finally slide shut and, in what is highly contradictory to her typical light sleeper nature, she falls into a very deep sleep while sitting upright on the couch.
The upside to this, for Nikola, is that by the way she was leaning against the back of the couch, she ends up with her head resting on his shoulder.
When she finally wakes in the morning, she will feel quite pleased and lucky to have someone who so thoughtfully tucked her into bed without making a fuss about it, someone she can trust and feel safe and comfortable enough to leave herself vulnerable because she knows he would never do anything to hurt her. Not intentionally.
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