Sanctuary Fic: No Rest for the Weary
Title: No Rest for the Weary
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Fandom: Sanctuary
Wordcount: 902
Characters: Nikola Tesla, mentions of James Watson, Alan Turing
Warnings/Notes: This fic owes artaxastra 's Kill, and takes the events of it's fifth section for granted.
Beta: This fic wouldn't have happened without the ideas and early feedback of oxbastetxo and beta reading by inueve . Any remaining mistakes are, of course, mine.
Summary: One small moment that may have had a part in setting a post World War II (and still not at all recovered) Nikola on a different path. Set sometime in the 1950's.
There was plenty of medication at the drop point, along with other supplies and (thoughtfully, he supposed), newspaper clippings covering some of the important world events since James had last heard from him. Nikola blinked at the neat folders of paper, wondering if he should perhaps be grateful. After a moment’s hesitation, he started shuffling mechanically through them. His fingers and hands moved aimlessly- unsure where to start, unsure that he even wanted to start. A folder shifted aside and a flash of lighter color, suddenly exposed, caught his eye.
He released whatever he had a hold on, and slowly reached over to touch the smaller envelope. His eyes held focus on the paper as his fingers brushed against it, but drifted only a moment later, unfixed, unseeing for a moment. He jerked, suddenly, subtly, and reached out again to take hold of the anomaly.
It was a different sort of paper from any of the folders in the pile, a nicer sort. More expensive, probably left over from before the war had even started, he noted absently as he brought it closer to his face. He sighed, knowing he should open it. There would be some reason for James to have left it. There had to be, with James. His eyes drifted randomly over the unmarked, slightly creased surface- yes, he had to open it. He really did. Nikola closed his eyes momentarily, touching a finger to his forehead, and took a deep breath. He shouldn’t just sit here thinking about opening the damned envelope, he should open the envelope. He opened his eyes again, but his hands didn’t move.
How long he waited, he wasn’t sure. How long he sat with his eyes drifting lazily over the non-features of the envelope, he wasn’t sure. But eventually, he did find the energy, the fortitude, to bring his hand up to the top of the envelope, to position his finger, and slowly let one solitary claw appear. He sat there, claw poised to rip the envelope open, wondering what he was waiting for. And then it came, just enough curiosity about the contents to give him a small but noticeable push, and his finger moved, severing the paper in one quick, easy motion.
He breathed then, trying to draw in enough energy to push him on to the next stage. It seemed to work reasonably well, because it only took him a few more seconds to retract the claw, and pull the papers from the envelope. Most of them were clippings, just as with the other folders, but on top there was a short handwritten note. James’ handwriting.
His eyes moved easily along the page, processing the words, but only barely gleaning the meaning behind them. He should sleep, he truly should. If he slept he might be able to wake up, but it kept eluding him, and James hadn’t left him anything strong enough to sedate a vampire.
Nikola shook his head. Something about Alan. Something about not trusting… someone. Something about emotion. He bowed his head. He couldn’t. Emotion… he couldn’t. But he had started now. He was already in motion, and he couldn’t stop of his own volition now, just as he hadn’t been able to start of his own volition earlier. He could only watch as his hands moved mechanically, and wait for something that would push him to stop.
The handwritten note fell by the wayside, and he read about the robbery. Then about the relationship that robbery had brought to light. Yes, Turing and his ill advised ‘dalliances’. It would have been like him… But that wasn’t the end of it. Nikola was granted no reprieve from the movements of his hands, the tracing of his eyes. The next clipping told of a new trial, this one for gross indecency, not robbery. And then, the sentence. And then, the death. And then, finally, no more clippings to read, not from that envelope. His reprieve, but it was too late. A man he had known was dead. A man he had even found himself liking, on occasion, was dead. For a ridiculous reason, after he had done things… things that might just have meant the difference in the war. It was absurd. It was an outrage. He should be outraged.
He chuckled. It was a hollow sound.
His eyes flicked down to his hands, still holding the last piece of paper. Yes, He should be sad. Sad for Alan’s death, outraged on his behalf for the injustices done to him, horrified at the fact that it had been the side of ‘good’ that had done this. He knew this. He knew this. He wasn’t though. The same strange tiredness that took away control of when he did what he did, had also taken rage from him. And sadness. And happiness too, for that matter.
It was the damned war that had made him tired. The damned humans’ war, and the aftermath. They exhausted themselves, fighting and killing, to the point where the death of someone who might have actually been a friend no longer meant anything. Till they were too tired to care. Till he was too tired to care.
He let go of the final paper, and shook his head as though the disgust he couldn't quite muster were actually present. Humans really were disgusting, evil creatures, and they were dragging him down with them.
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Comments and concrit are welcome!
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Fandom: Sanctuary
Wordcount: 902
Characters: Nikola Tesla, mentions of James Watson, Alan Turing
Warnings/Notes: This fic owes artaxastra 's Kill, and takes the events of it's fifth section for granted.
Beta: This fic wouldn't have happened without the ideas and early feedback of oxbastetxo and beta reading by inueve . Any remaining mistakes are, of course, mine.
Summary: One small moment that may have had a part in setting a post World War II (and still not at all recovered) Nikola on a different path. Set sometime in the 1950's.
There was plenty of medication at the drop point, along with other supplies and (thoughtfully, he supposed), newspaper clippings covering some of the important world events since James had last heard from him. Nikola blinked at the neat folders of paper, wondering if he should perhaps be grateful. After a moment’s hesitation, he started shuffling mechanically through them. His fingers and hands moved aimlessly- unsure where to start, unsure that he even wanted to start. A folder shifted aside and a flash of lighter color, suddenly exposed, caught his eye.
He released whatever he had a hold on, and slowly reached over to touch the smaller envelope. His eyes held focus on the paper as his fingers brushed against it, but drifted only a moment later, unfixed, unseeing for a moment. He jerked, suddenly, subtly, and reached out again to take hold of the anomaly.
It was a different sort of paper from any of the folders in the pile, a nicer sort. More expensive, probably left over from before the war had even started, he noted absently as he brought it closer to his face. He sighed, knowing he should open it. There would be some reason for James to have left it. There had to be, with James. His eyes drifted randomly over the unmarked, slightly creased surface- yes, he had to open it. He really did. Nikola closed his eyes momentarily, touching a finger to his forehead, and took a deep breath. He shouldn’t just sit here thinking about opening the damned envelope, he should open the envelope. He opened his eyes again, but his hands didn’t move.
How long he waited, he wasn’t sure. How long he sat with his eyes drifting lazily over the non-features of the envelope, he wasn’t sure. But eventually, he did find the energy, the fortitude, to bring his hand up to the top of the envelope, to position his finger, and slowly let one solitary claw appear. He sat there, claw poised to rip the envelope open, wondering what he was waiting for. And then it came, just enough curiosity about the contents to give him a small but noticeable push, and his finger moved, severing the paper in one quick, easy motion.
He breathed then, trying to draw in enough energy to push him on to the next stage. It seemed to work reasonably well, because it only took him a few more seconds to retract the claw, and pull the papers from the envelope. Most of them were clippings, just as with the other folders, but on top there was a short handwritten note. James’ handwriting.
His eyes moved easily along the page, processing the words, but only barely gleaning the meaning behind them. He should sleep, he truly should. If he slept he might be able to wake up, but it kept eluding him, and James hadn’t left him anything strong enough to sedate a vampire.
Nikola shook his head. Something about Alan. Something about not trusting… someone. Something about emotion. He bowed his head. He couldn’t. Emotion… he couldn’t. But he had started now. He was already in motion, and he couldn’t stop of his own volition now, just as he hadn’t been able to start of his own volition earlier. He could only watch as his hands moved mechanically, and wait for something that would push him to stop.
The handwritten note fell by the wayside, and he read about the robbery. Then about the relationship that robbery had brought to light. Yes, Turing and his ill advised ‘dalliances’. It would have been like him… But that wasn’t the end of it. Nikola was granted no reprieve from the movements of his hands, the tracing of his eyes. The next clipping told of a new trial, this one for gross indecency, not robbery. And then, the sentence. And then, the death. And then, finally, no more clippings to read, not from that envelope. His reprieve, but it was too late. A man he had known was dead. A man he had even found himself liking, on occasion, was dead. For a ridiculous reason, after he had done things… things that might just have meant the difference in the war. It was absurd. It was an outrage. He should be outraged.
He chuckled. It was a hollow sound.
His eyes flicked down to his hands, still holding the last piece of paper. Yes, He should be sad. Sad for Alan’s death, outraged on his behalf for the injustices done to him, horrified at the fact that it had been the side of ‘good’ that had done this. He knew this. He knew this. He wasn’t though. The same strange tiredness that took away control of when he did what he did, had also taken rage from him. And sadness. And happiness too, for that matter.
It was the damned war that had made him tired. The damned humans’ war, and the aftermath. They exhausted themselves, fighting and killing, to the point where the death of someone who might have actually been a friend no longer meant anything. Till they were too tired to care. Till he was too tired to care.
He let go of the final paper, and shook his head as though the disgust he couldn't quite muster were actually present. Humans really were disgusting, evil creatures, and they were dragging him down with them.
----------------------
Comments and concrit are welcome!