Sanctuary Fic -- Vicious
A short Sanctuary fic with John and Nikola, set during the Worth Affair, right after the scene with the Prime Minister when he's left The Five to "sort it out among themselves." This is assuming the background for Nikola from penknife's wonderful story, Sure and Bright but you don't have to have read it.
James has stalked off and Helen has made it very clear she intends to spend the evening working in the lab, hauling Nigel with her, so it's just Nikola left in the parlor -- Nikola and Johnny. He more than expects that Druitt will make his exit in a whirl of brimstone scented smoke. After all, there's nothing to keep him. But he doesn't. He just stands there oddly uncertainly, his hands at his sides.
Nikola goes over to the cabinet and pours two generous glasses of James' best brandy and hands one to the killer. "Johnny, why are you still here?"
"Why are you?" His hands are pale and soft when he takes it, entirely unlike the browned agile hands of the sportsman he used to be. Nikola frowns.
"Do you think they'd let me get on a ship when the Prime Minister forbids it?" Nikola tips back the glass of brandy, the light reflecting off his gold cuff links. "I suppose I could go to the American embassy. I'm a citizen now. And I've got friends with money. I don't expect they could actually hold me indefinitely if I pushed." He takes a sip. "But I'm curious as to how all this will come out."
"So am I," John says, as though he's grasping at straws, at a prefabricated explanation. His coat is well cut, but his cuffs are worn. His hair is an utter disaster, lank and long like an opium eater, but there's no scent of opium clinging to his clothes. He looks like the sort of pretentious young man who would like to be a vampire.
Meanwhile the actual vampire looks impeccable.
"Helen's doing it for the money," Nikola says.
Johnny flinches almost imperceptibly.
"You know she is." Nikola looks at him over the rim of the glass. "And Nigel for the pardon. And James because he knows he'll never argue Helen down."
"And you?" Johnny's voice is bitter. Nikola wonders if he knows it.
"For the good of humanity," Nikola says lightly and takes another sip.
"That's a load of shite."
"Is it?" Nikola gives him a distinctly pointy smile. "Why are you doing it? The pardon too?"
"Do you really think that will make any difference?" he snaps. He doesn't look up as he drains the brandy glass.
"No," Nikola says gently. "Not when you're still killing."
"How do you know? What are you, James Watson now?"
"I don't have to be James to see that," Nikola says.
For a moment he thinks Johnny will dash the remains of the brandy at him, but instead he gets up and crosses the room to pour more. "You look well," he says accusingly.
"I'm doing very well," Nikola says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "I have a number of brilliant inventions that are selling like hotcakes, some amazing lines of research open, wealthy friends, a regular table at Delmonico's…."
"Love?" Johnny demands.
"That too." Nikola takes a sip. He's not about to give Johnny any particulars, but he's not going to pretend either.
"I thought you were famously celibate."
"That's what I've heard," Nikola says.
"If Helen…."
"Oh please." Nikola shakes his head. "Do you think everyone is as obsessed with Helen as you? I hadn't seen her in three years until today. I live in New York, thank you very much. And she lives in London."
John crosses behind him, footsteps loud on the wooden floor as he steps off the carpet. "Ah."
"But I gather your intimate relations are less rosy."
John puts one hand on the back of the chair just short of his neck. "You're not the least afraid of me."
"Please. Vampire." Nikola tilts his head back and looks up at Johnny contemplatively. "I suppose you could drop me off the Eiffel Tower or something. That would be inconvenient. Both the broken bones and having to get home from Paris. But it's not precisely terrifying." He shrugs. "So why are you staying? There's not much in this for you and no one can make you stay. Is it for Helen? Because if you think she's going to forgive you, you're going to be disappointed. And James…."
For an instant he thinks Johnny will simply disappear. Then his face stills abruptly. "I have no reason not to. Nowhere else to go and nothing to do."
And that's the cruelest thing because it's the truest. He and Johnny had never been close. Helen and Nigel were his dearest friends in school, while he and James had shared a passion for science that only intensified with received genius. But he and Johnny had never been close. He should not be the one to see that expression, utterly bleak and hopeless, a man without anything left -- no friends, no home, no lover, no work -- no work, not that to fill his days and nights! No reason to live except that he stubbornly refused to die.
Bother, Nikola thinks. Having seen there's no pretending he doesn't understand, not to himself. He can't walk away from Johnny, from trying to think of something that will help. They all drew straws and Johnny got the short one from the Source Blood while Nikola hit the jackpot. It really is his problem, luck of the draw and all that.
"It's a good thing you're staying," Nikola says negligently. "I expect we'll need you. And I certainly will to keep the rampant idealists in line. You know Worth is a violent little bastard. It's not going to be the sort of detective novel where the killer confesses in the end and docilely lets the police take him away. It's going to come down to us in the end."
John nods solemnly. "We're the vicious ones."
"Of course," Nikola says with a smile.
James has stalked off and Helen has made it very clear she intends to spend the evening working in the lab, hauling Nigel with her, so it's just Nikola left in the parlor -- Nikola and Johnny. He more than expects that Druitt will make his exit in a whirl of brimstone scented smoke. After all, there's nothing to keep him. But he doesn't. He just stands there oddly uncertainly, his hands at his sides.
Nikola goes over to the cabinet and pours two generous glasses of James' best brandy and hands one to the killer. "Johnny, why are you still here?"
"Why are you?" His hands are pale and soft when he takes it, entirely unlike the browned agile hands of the sportsman he used to be. Nikola frowns.
"Do you think they'd let me get on a ship when the Prime Minister forbids it?" Nikola tips back the glass of brandy, the light reflecting off his gold cuff links. "I suppose I could go to the American embassy. I'm a citizen now. And I've got friends with money. I don't expect they could actually hold me indefinitely if I pushed." He takes a sip. "But I'm curious as to how all this will come out."
"So am I," John says, as though he's grasping at straws, at a prefabricated explanation. His coat is well cut, but his cuffs are worn. His hair is an utter disaster, lank and long like an opium eater, but there's no scent of opium clinging to his clothes. He looks like the sort of pretentious young man who would like to be a vampire.
Meanwhile the actual vampire looks impeccable.
"Helen's doing it for the money," Nikola says.
Johnny flinches almost imperceptibly.
"You know she is." Nikola looks at him over the rim of the glass. "And Nigel for the pardon. And James because he knows he'll never argue Helen down."
"And you?" Johnny's voice is bitter. Nikola wonders if he knows it.
"For the good of humanity," Nikola says lightly and takes another sip.
"That's a load of shite."
"Is it?" Nikola gives him a distinctly pointy smile. "Why are you doing it? The pardon too?"
"Do you really think that will make any difference?" he snaps. He doesn't look up as he drains the brandy glass.
"No," Nikola says gently. "Not when you're still killing."
"How do you know? What are you, James Watson now?"
"I don't have to be James to see that," Nikola says.
For a moment he thinks Johnny will dash the remains of the brandy at him, but instead he gets up and crosses the room to pour more. "You look well," he says accusingly.
"I'm doing very well," Nikola says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "I have a number of brilliant inventions that are selling like hotcakes, some amazing lines of research open, wealthy friends, a regular table at Delmonico's…."
"Love?" Johnny demands.
"That too." Nikola takes a sip. He's not about to give Johnny any particulars, but he's not going to pretend either.
"I thought you were famously celibate."
"That's what I've heard," Nikola says.
"If Helen…."
"Oh please." Nikola shakes his head. "Do you think everyone is as obsessed with Helen as you? I hadn't seen her in three years until today. I live in New York, thank you very much. And she lives in London."
John crosses behind him, footsteps loud on the wooden floor as he steps off the carpet. "Ah."
"But I gather your intimate relations are less rosy."
John puts one hand on the back of the chair just short of his neck. "You're not the least afraid of me."
"Please. Vampire." Nikola tilts his head back and looks up at Johnny contemplatively. "I suppose you could drop me off the Eiffel Tower or something. That would be inconvenient. Both the broken bones and having to get home from Paris. But it's not precisely terrifying." He shrugs. "So why are you staying? There's not much in this for you and no one can make you stay. Is it for Helen? Because if you think she's going to forgive you, you're going to be disappointed. And James…."
For an instant he thinks Johnny will simply disappear. Then his face stills abruptly. "I have no reason not to. Nowhere else to go and nothing to do."
And that's the cruelest thing because it's the truest. He and Johnny had never been close. Helen and Nigel were his dearest friends in school, while he and James had shared a passion for science that only intensified with received genius. But he and Johnny had never been close. He should not be the one to see that expression, utterly bleak and hopeless, a man without anything left -- no friends, no home, no lover, no work -- no work, not that to fill his days and nights! No reason to live except that he stubbornly refused to die.
Bother, Nikola thinks. Having seen there's no pretending he doesn't understand, not to himself. He can't walk away from Johnny, from trying to think of something that will help. They all drew straws and Johnny got the short one from the Source Blood while Nikola hit the jackpot. It really is his problem, luck of the draw and all that.
"It's a good thing you're staying," Nikola says negligently. "I expect we'll need you. And I certainly will to keep the rampant idealists in line. You know Worth is a violent little bastard. It's not going to be the sort of detective novel where the killer confesses in the end and docilely lets the police take him away. It's going to come down to us in the end."
John nods solemnly. "We're the vicious ones."
"Of course," Nikola says with a smile.