sanctuary/warehouse 13 fic: far too well
Title: Far Too Well
Summary: Nikola Tesla/H.G. Wells (Sanctuary/Warehouse 13), based off one freaking line in the WH13 premiere. (Post-premiere for WH13, sometime post-"Sleepers" for Sanctuary.)
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. I'm just playing with it.
Words: 2,121
Notes: For caffrey. WATCH THE PREMIERE FIRST, JEN[N].
"Call her."
"We can handle this," Artie said, not bothering to spin in his chair and look at Mrs. Frederic as she hovered over his shoulder.
"You can't. Call her."
"I'd really rather not." He was pounding on the keyboard much harder than was necessary. Claudia would have his head if he broke another one.
"And why not, when you clearly require her services?" Mrs. Frederic's patience was wearing thin and Artie was aware his argument wasn't likely to hold water. He slapped the enter key, running the virus scan software Claudia had demanded he run daily after MacPherson's hack, then turned to his boss.
"She unnerves me, alright? Honestly, I find it unnerving that she's always that on top of things, always that put-together, always that much better and faster than us when we call her for help. And the whole not-aging thing is a little creepy."
"You deal in the unnatural and a-little-creepy every day, Agent Nielsen," Mrs. Frederic took a step forward; in those heels, with that look on her face, Artie found her almost terrifying. "And what exactly is so unnerving about women who don't age?"
"N-nothing. I didn't mean... I'll call her."
* * * * * * *
Magnus stood in the doorway to Henry's lab, watching Tesla fiddle with an unidentifiable piece of machinery. Henry had stormed off several minutes ago - Magnus had passed him in the hallway - and Tesla didn't seem to be at all bothered by the silence. A few washers and screws stuck to the back of his hands; while he had more control than he used to, he hadn't yet completely mastered his apparent magnetism. Magnus considered it dangerous for him to be surrounded by so many tools and potentially deadly magnetic projectiles in the lab, but he hadn't asked her opinion and she knew better than to offer it.
While she watched, a screwdriver left Henry's desk and sailed through the air; before she could shout a warning, Tesla's hand shot out and grabbed the plastic handle. He slapped the screwdriver back on the desk without looking up from whatever he was tinkering with.
"Nice catch."
"Yes, well, my reflexes might not be what they used to, but I'm not completely without physical prowess." Tesla raised his head enough to leer at her.
Magnus ignored him: "Nikola, I have a job for you."
"If it's not a continuation of our little rendezvous in the trust fund vampires' closet then I'm not interested," Tesla said, his eyes already back on his work.
"The Warehouse called me." Magnus struggled to hold back a smile at the look of utter contempt that crossed Tesla's face.
"Those steampunk brats who stole my prototype stun-gun back in '93?"
"One in the same."
"What do they want now? Because my little offer to perfect it for them expired decades ago. It's not my fault if it's blown off some James-Bond-wannabe's hand; I told them it was just a first run and as brilliant as I am--"
"I think they've done all right by themselves in regards to the Tesla--"
"--they named it after me after they stole it from me!--"
"--but they called concerning an old friend of ours: they're having a bit of a problem finding H.G. Wells."
Tesla paused, scratching idly at a washer clinging to his ear. "Didn't they stick her in a freezer years ago?" he said, with carefully affected nonchalance.
"It seems she's thawed."
"And they want my help?"
"Asked for you specifically." Magnus smiled; she could afford to boost his ego this time.
"Well," Tesla smoothed out his tie, smirking at Magnus, "it is nice to be needed, I suppose."
* * * * * * *
After a quick stop at the Warehouse to see how far they had gotten in three weeks - not far at all - Tesla found himself in Chicago. He had no reason to suspect she would be there except blind luck, but it was where they had met and it seemed like a place to start.
The steampunk brats had been searching high and low for three weeks. It took Tesla two days.
She was standing opposite the Grand Basin, gazing up at the The Republic statue, oblivious to the tourists wandering past, and she looked exactly as she did more than a century ago. Bronzing treated her well, and the pantsuit she was wearing fit her better than those dresses ever did.
Tesla sidled up behind her and whispered in her ear: "Really, Helena, I expected a little more of you."
"Nikola!" She was startled, but not nearly as surprised to see him as he had expected.
"Still as gorgeous as the day we met," he said, lifting her hand and dropping a kiss on her knuckles.
"You're a little grayer," Tesla ran a hand through his hair self-consciously - he'd finally started to age but everyone at the Sanctuary knew better than to mention the few silver hairs that had appeared at his temple - as she smiled, "but I suppose being exposed to light and air for the last hundred-plus years will do that to a man."
"Yes, well, I'm just thankful you're as predictable as I'd hoped." Tesla waved his hand, gesturing to the Chicago skyscrapers surrounding them. "You heard I was still around?"
Wells shrugged. "I read your obituary at the library; it didn't sit quite right."
"My lonely death was necessary but you know me, never could keep completely quiet."
"You do love attention, don't you?" She hooked a finger around his tie tack, tugging gently.
"Any will do, but I'd really prefer yours."
"You're incorrigible," she laughed at his smirk. "Come, I've got a room. We can discuss on whose authority you tracked me down over a horribly overpriced bottle of wine."
* * * * * * *
"You must take off that wretched vest." Wells shed her coat as Tesla poured them each a glass of wine. He had already opened the curtains and the lights from the city below them brightened the low-lit room. Draping her coat over a chair, she took her glass from him.
"Afraid I'll use it to sneak off with another one of your toys?"
"Not at all, primarily because I didn't bring any toys with me."
"A shame."
"It reminds me of James."
"What?" Tesla's face twitched; Wells thought it almost looked like a grimace. He blinked, his mind momentarily outside the hotel room before clearing his throat and throwing her a crooked grin.
"I'm sure you look just as lovely without it."
It really seemed to bother him. She unhooked the front clasps, narrowing her eyes at him: "Not going to filch it from me, are you, Nikola?"
"Though it would be nice payback for my stun-gun all those years ago, you have my word." She took off the vest and laid it over her coat.
"So, you're working for the Warehouse now?"
He shook his head: "Nikola Tesla doesn't work for anyone."
"So, what, the Warehouse played on your ego until you felt sufficiently loved and superior enough to join the witch-hunt for me?"
"I always feel superior to the steampunk brats, Helena, and considering our time together was so brief, you know me far too well."
"Ah, he doesn't deny it!"
He raised his glass to her in a silent toast. "It was Magnus, actually, who stroked my ego on behalf of your Warehouse."
"Magnus? Helen Magnus?" Tesla nodded and Wells whistled softly, sitting down gracefully on the edge of the bed. "I've missed quite a bit, haven't I? Can't kill any of us, hmm?"
"Oh, many have tried."
"How is Magnus these days then?"
"You remember Magnus: helping the helpless and thwarting my plans for world domination at every turn." He flexed his fingers with a frown on his face, but Wells couldn't tell from his voice whether he was pissed or proud.
"I always admired Magnus for those very things."
"Of course you did; you're both horribly stubborn women meddling in professions where you don't belong - society's words, not mine! - and spurning my romantic advances."
Wells drained the last of the wine from her glass, then patted the empty space beside her on the bed. "You know, I think that last bit only applies to Magnus."
"Well, it's been a while," Tesla winked, "You'll forgive an old man's forgetfulness."
The silence stretched for a long minute, broken by the soft splashing as Tesla refilled Wells' wineglass before returning to the bed and the rustling of sheets as Wells stretched out, her feet in Tesla's lap.
"So what did you think about for all those years?" Tesla asked, uncharacteristically quiet.
Wells told him of the project she was working on, showed him the pages torn from a notebook that were filled with her scribblings and diagrams. It reminded her of the night they met; they had talked, just talked, all through the night, discussing his inventions and her stories, of where the world was going, how they could work together to make these visions a reality. It was only when Tesla passed out from exhaustion at dawn that Wells reached into his jacket pocket and stole the prototype stun-gun he had so proudly and arrogantly bragged about a few hours before.
Tesla pulled a stubby pencil and several folded pieces of paper from his jacket before tossing it over her coat and vest, and doodling alongside her, suggesting modifications to the plans she had made. They discussed the merits of one method over another, why his idea was better (such a man, always assuming his idea was better), what her timetable should be. Wells had forgotten that simply talking with a man like Tesla was better than almost anything. Almost anything.
By dawn they were stretched out side-by-side on the bed, hands smudged with ink and lead, papers littering the sheets. Tesla's vest was unbuttoned but Wells imagined that he was still too much of a 19th century gentleman to relax anymore than that. The topic they had been avoiding for hours seemed to hover over them.
"Are you expecting me to come quietly?" she asked, prodding his shoulder with her index finger.
"I haven't any idea what you mean."
"You're just going to tell Arthur Nielsen you couldn't find me?"
"On the contrary, my dear, I shall follow Agent Nielsen's instructions to the letter." He sat up slightly and she could see the self-satisfied smirk that crossed his face: "He said, and I quote, 'Just find Wells, would you?'" Wells laughed, smiling widely. "And he said it quite like that, you know. Very exasperated."
"Oh, I can't imagine why," Wells teased. "No doubt you were insulting him mere seconds before."
"See? Know me far too well." Tesla pushed himself off the bed, winking at Wells as he turned.
"Leaving so soon, Nikola?"
He shrugged on his jacket. "Come now, Helena, you're the one who kept me up all night. I've been in the city for two whole days now. No doubt the Warehouse is keeping tabs on me in case I do something so underhanded as to find you and let you go." He shook his head. "No, I should make a good faith effort to find you in a few more major cities before slinking back and admitting I did precisely what they asked and not a thing more."
"I would have preferred a thing more," Wells said, rising and meeting him at the chair. She swatted his hand away and buttoned his vest for him.
"All in due time," he said, stealing a kiss as she reached to grab the Imperceptor Vest and her coat. He collected her notes and stacked them neatly, tying them together with the ribbon she'd pulled from her hair the evening before. He scribbled something on the last page, pointing it out to her as he handed her notes back: "A number to reach me, should you require my assistance with your project, or anything else for that matter. If you can't reach me there, try Magnus at the Sanctuary; she has an annoying habit of always being able to find me, even when I'd rather not be found. Make something up, though; Magnus is on better terms with the Warehouse than I am and she might feel obligated to tell them where you are, or at the very least encourage you to turn yourself in."
"Thank you," Wells said, tucking the notes in her pocket. "For the help. And for not turning me in."
"Minds like ours shouldn't be locked up for so long," Tesla said. Wells nodded.
"Seems we both know each other far too well."
Summary: Nikola Tesla/H.G. Wells (Sanctuary/Warehouse 13), based off one freaking line in the WH13 premiere. (Post-premiere for WH13, sometime post-"Sleepers" for Sanctuary.)
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. I'm just playing with it.
Words: 2,121
Notes: For caffrey. WATCH THE PREMIERE FIRST, JEN[N].
"Call her."
"We can handle this," Artie said, not bothering to spin in his chair and look at Mrs. Frederic as she hovered over his shoulder.
"You can't. Call her."
"I'd really rather not." He was pounding on the keyboard much harder than was necessary. Claudia would have his head if he broke another one.
"And why not, when you clearly require her services?" Mrs. Frederic's patience was wearing thin and Artie was aware his argument wasn't likely to hold water. He slapped the enter key, running the virus scan software Claudia had demanded he run daily after MacPherson's hack, then turned to his boss.
"She unnerves me, alright? Honestly, I find it unnerving that she's always that on top of things, always that put-together, always that much better and faster than us when we call her for help. And the whole not-aging thing is a little creepy."
"You deal in the unnatural and a-little-creepy every day, Agent Nielsen," Mrs. Frederic took a step forward; in those heels, with that look on her face, Artie found her almost terrifying. "And what exactly is so unnerving about women who don't age?"
"N-nothing. I didn't mean... I'll call her."
* * * * * * *
Magnus stood in the doorway to Henry's lab, watching Tesla fiddle with an unidentifiable piece of machinery. Henry had stormed off several minutes ago - Magnus had passed him in the hallway - and Tesla didn't seem to be at all bothered by the silence. A few washers and screws stuck to the back of his hands; while he had more control than he used to, he hadn't yet completely mastered his apparent magnetism. Magnus considered it dangerous for him to be surrounded by so many tools and potentially deadly magnetic projectiles in the lab, but he hadn't asked her opinion and she knew better than to offer it.
While she watched, a screwdriver left Henry's desk and sailed through the air; before she could shout a warning, Tesla's hand shot out and grabbed the plastic handle. He slapped the screwdriver back on the desk without looking up from whatever he was tinkering with.
"Nice catch."
"Yes, well, my reflexes might not be what they used to, but I'm not completely without physical prowess." Tesla raised his head enough to leer at her.
Magnus ignored him: "Nikola, I have a job for you."
"If it's not a continuation of our little rendezvous in the trust fund vampires' closet then I'm not interested," Tesla said, his eyes already back on his work.
"The Warehouse called me." Magnus struggled to hold back a smile at the look of utter contempt that crossed Tesla's face.
"Those steampunk brats who stole my prototype stun-gun back in '93?"
"One in the same."
"What do they want now? Because my little offer to perfect it for them expired decades ago. It's not my fault if it's blown off some James-Bond-wannabe's hand; I told them it was just a first run and as brilliant as I am--"
"I think they've done all right by themselves in regards to the Tesla--"
"--they named it after me after they stole it from me!--"
"--but they called concerning an old friend of ours: they're having a bit of a problem finding H.G. Wells."
Tesla paused, scratching idly at a washer clinging to his ear. "Didn't they stick her in a freezer years ago?" he said, with carefully affected nonchalance.
"It seems she's thawed."
"And they want my help?"
"Asked for you specifically." Magnus smiled; she could afford to boost his ego this time.
"Well," Tesla smoothed out his tie, smirking at Magnus, "it is nice to be needed, I suppose."
* * * * * * *
After a quick stop at the Warehouse to see how far they had gotten in three weeks - not far at all - Tesla found himself in Chicago. He had no reason to suspect she would be there except blind luck, but it was where they had met and it seemed like a place to start.
The steampunk brats had been searching high and low for three weeks. It took Tesla two days.
She was standing opposite the Grand Basin, gazing up at the The Republic statue, oblivious to the tourists wandering past, and she looked exactly as she did more than a century ago. Bronzing treated her well, and the pantsuit she was wearing fit her better than those dresses ever did.
Tesla sidled up behind her and whispered in her ear: "Really, Helena, I expected a little more of you."
"Nikola!" She was startled, but not nearly as surprised to see him as he had expected.
"Still as gorgeous as the day we met," he said, lifting her hand and dropping a kiss on her knuckles.
"You're a little grayer," Tesla ran a hand through his hair self-consciously - he'd finally started to age but everyone at the Sanctuary knew better than to mention the few silver hairs that had appeared at his temple - as she smiled, "but I suppose being exposed to light and air for the last hundred-plus years will do that to a man."
"Yes, well, I'm just thankful you're as predictable as I'd hoped." Tesla waved his hand, gesturing to the Chicago skyscrapers surrounding them. "You heard I was still around?"
Wells shrugged. "I read your obituary at the library; it didn't sit quite right."
"My lonely death was necessary but you know me, never could keep completely quiet."
"You do love attention, don't you?" She hooked a finger around his tie tack, tugging gently.
"Any will do, but I'd really prefer yours."
"You're incorrigible," she laughed at his smirk. "Come, I've got a room. We can discuss on whose authority you tracked me down over a horribly overpriced bottle of wine."
* * * * * * *
"You must take off that wretched vest." Wells shed her coat as Tesla poured them each a glass of wine. He had already opened the curtains and the lights from the city below them brightened the low-lit room. Draping her coat over a chair, she took her glass from him.
"Afraid I'll use it to sneak off with another one of your toys?"
"Not at all, primarily because I didn't bring any toys with me."
"A shame."
"It reminds me of James."
"What?" Tesla's face twitched; Wells thought it almost looked like a grimace. He blinked, his mind momentarily outside the hotel room before clearing his throat and throwing her a crooked grin.
"I'm sure you look just as lovely without it."
It really seemed to bother him. She unhooked the front clasps, narrowing her eyes at him: "Not going to filch it from me, are you, Nikola?"
"Though it would be nice payback for my stun-gun all those years ago, you have my word." She took off the vest and laid it over her coat.
"So, you're working for the Warehouse now?"
He shook his head: "Nikola Tesla doesn't work for anyone."
"So, what, the Warehouse played on your ego until you felt sufficiently loved and superior enough to join the witch-hunt for me?"
"I always feel superior to the steampunk brats, Helena, and considering our time together was so brief, you know me far too well."
"Ah, he doesn't deny it!"
He raised his glass to her in a silent toast. "It was Magnus, actually, who stroked my ego on behalf of your Warehouse."
"Magnus? Helen Magnus?" Tesla nodded and Wells whistled softly, sitting down gracefully on the edge of the bed. "I've missed quite a bit, haven't I? Can't kill any of us, hmm?"
"Oh, many have tried."
"How is Magnus these days then?"
"You remember Magnus: helping the helpless and thwarting my plans for world domination at every turn." He flexed his fingers with a frown on his face, but Wells couldn't tell from his voice whether he was pissed or proud.
"I always admired Magnus for those very things."
"Of course you did; you're both horribly stubborn women meddling in professions where you don't belong - society's words, not mine! - and spurning my romantic advances."
Wells drained the last of the wine from her glass, then patted the empty space beside her on the bed. "You know, I think that last bit only applies to Magnus."
"Well, it's been a while," Tesla winked, "You'll forgive an old man's forgetfulness."
The silence stretched for a long minute, broken by the soft splashing as Tesla refilled Wells' wineglass before returning to the bed and the rustling of sheets as Wells stretched out, her feet in Tesla's lap.
"So what did you think about for all those years?" Tesla asked, uncharacteristically quiet.
Wells told him of the project she was working on, showed him the pages torn from a notebook that were filled with her scribblings and diagrams. It reminded her of the night they met; they had talked, just talked, all through the night, discussing his inventions and her stories, of where the world was going, how they could work together to make these visions a reality. It was only when Tesla passed out from exhaustion at dawn that Wells reached into his jacket pocket and stole the prototype stun-gun he had so proudly and arrogantly bragged about a few hours before.
Tesla pulled a stubby pencil and several folded pieces of paper from his jacket before tossing it over her coat and vest, and doodling alongside her, suggesting modifications to the plans she had made. They discussed the merits of one method over another, why his idea was better (such a man, always assuming his idea was better), what her timetable should be. Wells had forgotten that simply talking with a man like Tesla was better than almost anything. Almost anything.
By dawn they were stretched out side-by-side on the bed, hands smudged with ink and lead, papers littering the sheets. Tesla's vest was unbuttoned but Wells imagined that he was still too much of a 19th century gentleman to relax anymore than that. The topic they had been avoiding for hours seemed to hover over them.
"Are you expecting me to come quietly?" she asked, prodding his shoulder with her index finger.
"I haven't any idea what you mean."
"You're just going to tell Arthur Nielsen you couldn't find me?"
"On the contrary, my dear, I shall follow Agent Nielsen's instructions to the letter." He sat up slightly and she could see the self-satisfied smirk that crossed his face: "He said, and I quote, 'Just find Wells, would you?'" Wells laughed, smiling widely. "And he said it quite like that, you know. Very exasperated."
"Oh, I can't imagine why," Wells teased. "No doubt you were insulting him mere seconds before."
"See? Know me far too well." Tesla pushed himself off the bed, winking at Wells as he turned.
"Leaving so soon, Nikola?"
He shrugged on his jacket. "Come now, Helena, you're the one who kept me up all night. I've been in the city for two whole days now. No doubt the Warehouse is keeping tabs on me in case I do something so underhanded as to find you and let you go." He shook his head. "No, I should make a good faith effort to find you in a few more major cities before slinking back and admitting I did precisely what they asked and not a thing more."
"I would have preferred a thing more," Wells said, rising and meeting him at the chair. She swatted his hand away and buttoned his vest for him.
"All in due time," he said, stealing a kiss as she reached to grab the Imperceptor Vest and her coat. He collected her notes and stacked them neatly, tying them together with the ribbon she'd pulled from her hair the evening before. He scribbled something on the last page, pointing it out to her as he handed her notes back: "A number to reach me, should you require my assistance with your project, or anything else for that matter. If you can't reach me there, try Magnus at the Sanctuary; she has an annoying habit of always being able to find me, even when I'd rather not be found. Make something up, though; Magnus is on better terms with the Warehouse than I am and she might feel obligated to tell them where you are, or at the very least encourage you to turn yourself in."
"Thank you," Wells said, tucking the notes in her pocket. "For the help. And for not turning me in."
"Minds like ours shouldn't be locked up for so long," Tesla said. Wells nodded.
"Seems we both know each other far too well."