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What I get from putting Nikola's "Love is a self-destructive impulse masquerading as joy" with "You made me like you", and coming up with a depressing answer. *smiles faintly*
Title: Masquerade
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters/Pairings: Nikola/Helen/James, allusions to James/John, Helen/John and Nikola/his aide (whose name I can't for the life of me remember)
Summary: After Normandy, back in England. Three friends, betrayals old and new, and comfort
Wordcount: 1278
Warnings/Notes: Maudlin.
Disclaimer: Not mine
Title: Masquerade
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters/Pairings: Nikola/Helen/James, allusions to James/John, Helen/John and Nikola/his aide (whose name I can't for the life of me remember)
Summary: After Normandy, back in England. Three friends, betrayals old and new, and comfort
Wordcount: 1278
Warnings/Notes: Maudlin.
Disclaimer: Not mine
Masquerade
"Oh, you two go on ahead. You need your rest. I'll just ... head back to the lab, or something ..."
Nikola smiled wryly, head tipping faintly to one side. He was more than a little tipsy, Helen thought. Which was, given Nikola's metabolism, a worrying indicator of a very determined effort. It would take a small lake of wine to put Nikola in this state, and she wasn't all that sure that the War Office had that kind of supply. Which meant that Nikola had deliberately gone looking, for something to put him out of his misery.
Had he really been that worried?
"The lab?" James asked, from beside her. His hand rested lightly on her forearm. Not possessively, though she hadn't missed the rueful flicker in Nikola's eye when he caught the gesture. More that James was using her to surreptitiously steady himself. And, perhaps, comfort himself a little too. "I thought you would be going out, Nikola."
They may have been gone some weeks, and much could happen in that kind of time, but certainly when they'd been here last, Nikola had been spending rather more time than was really safe going out at night. It had driven his security wrong, or would have, if that nice young aide of his hadn't escorted him at all times. Speaking of which ...
"That's right," she said, offering Nikola a small and encouraging smile. "Why don't you gather your aide and go find somewhere a little more lively than an empty lab to drink?"
A strange expression flickered over their friend's features, a tightening of the lips and a darkening of the eyes, as much pain as anger, and Nikola abruptly put down his glass, a juddering chink as trembling fingers nudged the base. Helen felt herself blink at him in confused dismay, and caught a similar look on James' face.
"Nikola?" she asked, very softy.
"I thought you'd heard," the scientist said quietly. Looking down, watching almost absently the tremors in his hands. Tremors, she realised abruptly, that may have had more to do with the shaking desire for claws than any effect of alcohol or shock. "James, surely someone told you?"
"Told us what?" Helen asked, but James had stiffened beside her, pulling himself minutely upright and only barely wincing at the spasm in his healing leg. Helen looked at him questioningly, but James' eyes were on Nikola, and his expression was abruptly one of realisation, and slowly burgeoning sympathy.
"Forgive me," James breathed, rough and genuine. "Nikola, the traitor was ...?"
Nikola laughed, and it was not at all a happy sound, bleak, and viciously pointed inwards. He looked up at them, eyes resting for one pointed moment on the hand James still rested on her arm, and the bleakness in his eyes increased hundredfold.
"He took me dancing, did you know?" Nikola mused softly, the black crack of humour still in his voice. "Not openly, of course. But he knew some of the right places, for all the world like some of the old speakeasies. I didn't like to ask how. Didn't seem much point." His mouth twisted, his voice purposefully light. "It's quite the experience, you know. Dancing in some little room with a young, charming man in uniform. Watching other men move around you. Moving to the music, listening with half an ear for the air-raid sirens or a call for one of us from the Office."
He smiled bleakly, and met James' eyes. James, whose hand had tightened on her arm, who'd gone a slightly paler shade of grey, and whose eyes shone with raw sympathy. Helen looked between them, silently. For a long minute, as Nikola stared in barefaced defiance, looking for a moment terribly young, and James stared silently, compassionately back.
"He made me like him," Nikola whispered eventually. Turning his eyes once more to his hands, watching the slow curl of one fist. "The dashing young soldier, trading kisses with the caged scientist he was supposedly looking after. Flattery and dancing. He made me like him. All so he could use me. All so he could use you, your machine, put you in danger." He dropped his hand, the fist uncurling uselessly, and tipped his head back. A desperately drunken loll, eyes tight shut, and voice little more than a whisper. "He made me like him."
"Oh, Nikola ..." Helen whispered, softly. Moving forward instinctively, James at her back, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly. To rest her palm against his cheek, and watch dark and painfully dry eyes open to watch her. "Nikola, I'm so sorry ..."
He watched her, for a moment. Through lowered lashes, head tilted back, cheek resting softly in her palm. He watched her, with a bleakness in his eyes that she knew all too well, a bleakness she'd seen in James, in the mirror, all too often since Normandy, since old pains were stirred to the surface. That particular bleakness the three of them knew all too well, all from a shared crime, a shared mistake. Loving, however reluctantly, for however short a time, the wrong man.
"I'm tired of being a commodity, Helen," Nikola told her quietly. Pale hands lax and steady in his lap, a darkness swimming in his eyes, and nothing but exhaustion in his voice. "I'm tired of being something seduced or caged or bribed or bound, something they use to get what they want. I'm tired. Tired of this bloody war, tired of all of it!"
"I know," James rumbled, standing beside her. Hand drifting to his thigh, a healing injury hidden beneath his trousers, chin tucked against his chest, hovering protectively over fragile tubing. He reached out, curled one large and scarred hand over Nikola's, rubbed lightly at pale fingers where lurking danger glistened black. "We know, Nikola."
"Come with us," Helen said, suddenly. Glancing questioningly at James, finding no disapproval there. "Come with us, Nikola," she offered, brushing his cheek, looking down into his tired and desperately youthful face. "Come lie with us, for a little while, at least."
He smiled, a dark little flicker, pained and tired and amused. "A charming offer," he said, watching them carefully, something dark and rueful in his eyes. "I'm not much for pity, Helen. Or for seduction, right now. All things considered."
"And what about comfort?" James asked quietly. "What about friendship?" A night somewhere safe, with old friends who understood, far too well. Friends who carried the echo of your pain in their own chests, and would say nothing when you wept into their kisses. Helen turned her head, a little, turning to look at James, grave and quiet and pale, with his healing leg and the darkness in his eyes that she saw in the mirror. Helen looked down, at his hand resting over Nikola's, fingers twined together, two of her oldest friends in all the world. She looked at them, for a long moment.
Then she leaned forward, slowly and carefully, watching Nikola as he watched her in turn, watching the wary flicker in dark eyes, and pressed her lips softly to his. Cupped his head gently between her hands, rubbed her nose softly against his, and kissed him, soft and deep. Reaching down, gliding her hand across theirs, feeling Nikola's fingers tighten in James', feeling them both grip that little tighter. Resting her hand, finally, around James' wrist, and pulling back a little to touch her forehead gently to Nikola's.
"Come with us," she asked again. Curling her hand around his neck, holding tightly. Her friends. Her two old, battered friends. "Nikola. Come to bed with us. Please?"
And softly, with a breathless laugh that owed far too much to pain, his hand tight in James' and his dark eyes caught in her own, Nikola agreed.
"Oh, you two go on ahead. You need your rest. I'll just ... head back to the lab, or something ..."
Nikola smiled wryly, head tipping faintly to one side. He was more than a little tipsy, Helen thought. Which was, given Nikola's metabolism, a worrying indicator of a very determined effort. It would take a small lake of wine to put Nikola in this state, and she wasn't all that sure that the War Office had that kind of supply. Which meant that Nikola had deliberately gone looking, for something to put him out of his misery.
Had he really been that worried?
"The lab?" James asked, from beside her. His hand rested lightly on her forearm. Not possessively, though she hadn't missed the rueful flicker in Nikola's eye when he caught the gesture. More that James was using her to surreptitiously steady himself. And, perhaps, comfort himself a little too. "I thought you would be going out, Nikola."
They may have been gone some weeks, and much could happen in that kind of time, but certainly when they'd been here last, Nikola had been spending rather more time than was really safe going out at night. It had driven his security wrong, or would have, if that nice young aide of his hadn't escorted him at all times. Speaking of which ...
"That's right," she said, offering Nikola a small and encouraging smile. "Why don't you gather your aide and go find somewhere a little more lively than an empty lab to drink?"
A strange expression flickered over their friend's features, a tightening of the lips and a darkening of the eyes, as much pain as anger, and Nikola abruptly put down his glass, a juddering chink as trembling fingers nudged the base. Helen felt herself blink at him in confused dismay, and caught a similar look on James' face.
"Nikola?" she asked, very softy.
"I thought you'd heard," the scientist said quietly. Looking down, watching almost absently the tremors in his hands. Tremors, she realised abruptly, that may have had more to do with the shaking desire for claws than any effect of alcohol or shock. "James, surely someone told you?"
"Told us what?" Helen asked, but James had stiffened beside her, pulling himself minutely upright and only barely wincing at the spasm in his healing leg. Helen looked at him questioningly, but James' eyes were on Nikola, and his expression was abruptly one of realisation, and slowly burgeoning sympathy.
"Forgive me," James breathed, rough and genuine. "Nikola, the traitor was ...?"
Nikola laughed, and it was not at all a happy sound, bleak, and viciously pointed inwards. He looked up at them, eyes resting for one pointed moment on the hand James still rested on her arm, and the bleakness in his eyes increased hundredfold.
"He took me dancing, did you know?" Nikola mused softly, the black crack of humour still in his voice. "Not openly, of course. But he knew some of the right places, for all the world like some of the old speakeasies. I didn't like to ask how. Didn't seem much point." His mouth twisted, his voice purposefully light. "It's quite the experience, you know. Dancing in some little room with a young, charming man in uniform. Watching other men move around you. Moving to the music, listening with half an ear for the air-raid sirens or a call for one of us from the Office."
He smiled bleakly, and met James' eyes. James, whose hand had tightened on her arm, who'd gone a slightly paler shade of grey, and whose eyes shone with raw sympathy. Helen looked between them, silently. For a long minute, as Nikola stared in barefaced defiance, looking for a moment terribly young, and James stared silently, compassionately back.
"He made me like him," Nikola whispered eventually. Turning his eyes once more to his hands, watching the slow curl of one fist. "The dashing young soldier, trading kisses with the caged scientist he was supposedly looking after. Flattery and dancing. He made me like him. All so he could use me. All so he could use you, your machine, put you in danger." He dropped his hand, the fist uncurling uselessly, and tipped his head back. A desperately drunken loll, eyes tight shut, and voice little more than a whisper. "He made me like him."
"Oh, Nikola ..." Helen whispered, softly. Moving forward instinctively, James at her back, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly. To rest her palm against his cheek, and watch dark and painfully dry eyes open to watch her. "Nikola, I'm so sorry ..."
He watched her, for a moment. Through lowered lashes, head tilted back, cheek resting softly in her palm. He watched her, with a bleakness in his eyes that she knew all too well, a bleakness she'd seen in James, in the mirror, all too often since Normandy, since old pains were stirred to the surface. That particular bleakness the three of them knew all too well, all from a shared crime, a shared mistake. Loving, however reluctantly, for however short a time, the wrong man.
"I'm tired of being a commodity, Helen," Nikola told her quietly. Pale hands lax and steady in his lap, a darkness swimming in his eyes, and nothing but exhaustion in his voice. "I'm tired of being something seduced or caged or bribed or bound, something they use to get what they want. I'm tired. Tired of this bloody war, tired of all of it!"
"I know," James rumbled, standing beside her. Hand drifting to his thigh, a healing injury hidden beneath his trousers, chin tucked against his chest, hovering protectively over fragile tubing. He reached out, curled one large and scarred hand over Nikola's, rubbed lightly at pale fingers where lurking danger glistened black. "We know, Nikola."
"Come with us," Helen said, suddenly. Glancing questioningly at James, finding no disapproval there. "Come with us, Nikola," she offered, brushing his cheek, looking down into his tired and desperately youthful face. "Come lie with us, for a little while, at least."
He smiled, a dark little flicker, pained and tired and amused. "A charming offer," he said, watching them carefully, something dark and rueful in his eyes. "I'm not much for pity, Helen. Or for seduction, right now. All things considered."
"And what about comfort?" James asked quietly. "What about friendship?" A night somewhere safe, with old friends who understood, far too well. Friends who carried the echo of your pain in their own chests, and would say nothing when you wept into their kisses. Helen turned her head, a little, turning to look at James, grave and quiet and pale, with his healing leg and the darkness in his eyes that she saw in the mirror. Helen looked down, at his hand resting over Nikola's, fingers twined together, two of her oldest friends in all the world. She looked at them, for a long moment.
Then she leaned forward, slowly and carefully, watching Nikola as he watched her in turn, watching the wary flicker in dark eyes, and pressed her lips softly to his. Cupped his head gently between her hands, rubbed her nose softly against his, and kissed him, soft and deep. Reaching down, gliding her hand across theirs, feeling Nikola's fingers tighten in James', feeling them both grip that little tighter. Resting her hand, finally, around James' wrist, and pulling back a little to touch her forehead gently to Nikola's.
"Come with us," she asked again. Curling her hand around his neck, holding tightly. Her friends. Her two old, battered friends. "Nikola. Come to bed with us. Please?"
And softly, with a breathless laugh that owed far too much to pain, his hand tight in James' and his dark eyes caught in her own, Nikola agreed.
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