This is probably going to be a seven-eight chapter story if all goes according to plan. This first chapter is an introduction, so please read more if you are at all interested. The following chapters will be much more intense, however, but shouldn't lose any of the lightheartedness that comes along with Nikola Tesla. Also, I don't use a beta, so if anyone spots any grammar errors, plot incongruities, or really anything that needs to be fixed, don't hesitate to let me know. Also, FIRST EVER SANCTUARY FIC! HOORAY! XD Now, enough of my rambling.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sanctuary or any of its residents. But if Tesla were mine, I don't think I'd ever leave my bedroom. :p

P.S. The entirety of this story is dedicated to all of the other Tesla Troopers on GW. You know who you are. Thanks for welcoming me so warmly. ^-^

Chapter 1 - Beauty and a Nightmare

For the first time in one hundred and thirty years, Nikola Tesla had passed out, dead drunk.

An amused, and very unaffected, Helen had carefully tugged the empty wineglass from his fingers and set it on the table next to the three empty bottles of vintage. Then, she easily maneuvered his lanky body so that it lay flat on the couch.

Now, sitting on the edge of the cushions, she couldn't seem to leave for her own bed. For hours now, she'd sat there beside him and just watched him breathe—surprisingly lightly for all the alcohol he'd consumed. Ever since that fateful day they'd all injected the Source blood, he'd never again had the need for sleep. And because he was thenceforth always alert and suddenly superhumanly aware of when others were watching him, Helen had never really observed him acutely.

The scientist in her swiftly noticed the slender, but strong build. The way the dark, expensive material of his tailored clothing fit his frame sharply at all times—even drunk-sleeping on a couch. She made note of the way his elegant neck looked when his head was twisted to one side in sleep. The way his scruffy hair always seemed to look styled, even when it was electrified or smashed into a sofa cushion. Her photographic memory pulled up images of his unmistakable blue-gray eyes, even though they were hidden behind his eyelids at the moment. Those eyes, always twinkling in mischievousness—except when the blue was washed away by a red so deep it was black.

But not anymore, Helen had to remind herself. The pale blue will never again vanish in that shark-like hunger.

The final observation was of his mouth. Lips slightly parted, allowing breaths in and out. Behind them, teeth that would occasionally set themselves in a grin so stunning it could make her breath catch even when she didn't want it to.

Yes, the scientist in her observed all of these things and filed the details away. But it was the woman in Helen Magnus that found every single barest detail so ridiculously attractive.

Glad that the genius was in an alcoholic coma, she reached out and brushed her fingertips against his cheek. For the first time in one hundred and thirty years, his skin was warm to her touch. Smiling faintly to herself, Helen slid the fairy touch down and to the left a few inches to touch his lips. They were surprisingly soft. She found herself wishing she hadn't broken off their impromptu kiss in the foyer all those months ago. His mouth twitched in response to her touch, but he didn't stir. Helen drew her hand back and put it in her lap, resolving to get up and go get some sleep, though the sun was already creeping up toward the horizon's edge.

But something—something that the scientist in her cursed foully—kept her firmly on the couch's edge. That same something drew her hand up from her lap and rested it on the messy hair. Biting her lip to keep from giggling, Helen ran her fingers through the spiky strands, messing it up even further. All at once, her cursed precise memory pulled up the closest thing to the moment it could muster.


"Nikola!" Helen blinked. "You look so…different."

The brand-new vampire strode into the Magnus home with his usual arrogant smirk sprawled across his mouth. Since the injecting of the Source blood only two days ago, they had all changed drastically. Nikola's transformation was the most dramatic. Gone were the tweed suit, perfectly oiled hair, and moustache. Now, he swaggered through her door with all black, perfectly-tailored clothes, face clean-shaven, and hair a mess that would have gotten him thrown out of several high-standing dinner parties.

"The hair is…interesting," James Watson said, lips twitching in an effort not to smile. "Did you get electrocuted?"

"Funny story, actually…" Nikola began.

But just then, Helen reached out without warning and ruffled his hair. Nikola jumped, startled at the very unladylike move, but his shock almost instantly turned to a pleased smirk.

"It was begging me to," Helen said with a shrug, laughing.

"Fantastic. Just another thing to drag all the attention to you."

Nikola looked around sharply at the disembodied voice. His senses were such that he could easily sense exactly where his now-invisible friend stood. With a crooked grin, Nikola slapped the air, his hand landing squarely on Nigel's back in a friendly blow.

"Good to see you, Griffin. Or rather…not. Well, you know what I mean. Anyway! The hair. It might look odd in today's society, but I have a feeling it'll catch on. After all, Helen and I have got to look ahead in areas like fashion, hm?"

He smiled devilishly.

"And me as well," James piped up. "I'm working on a suit that could conceivably keep me alive just as long as you, Tesla."

Nikola pouted. "Damn. And here I thought I was going to have the lovely Miss Magnus all to myself for eternity."

The smile he shot her way made her stomach do flips.

"Well then!" Nikola clapped his hands together once and rubbed them briefly. "About that electrocution story, I'm looking forward to telling it at tonight's meeting. I went to crash Edison's blasted patent party for my work on an electric chair and made an intriguing discovery about my own physiology—which, funnily enough, brings me back to the hair…"

Abruptly he stopped speaking and glanced round. "Where's Druitt?"


Helen gasped as she forcibly pulled herself out of the memory. She couldn't let her mind go where the memory of that particular night led. She wasn't ready for that. She was happy now and for once in her life, she damned well was going to stay happy for as long as possible.

Standing, she pulled a blanket from a nearby chair and draped it over the body of her friend. A body that was once again susceptible to cold temperatures and sickness. Smiling sadly, she left the room, suddenly struck by the reality that Nikola Tesla was mortal. In fact, he was dying with every breath he took. Even as he lay on her couch, breathing soft, wine-tinted breaths, he was slowly ticking away toward the end of a normal lifespan.

The bitterly sad thought only intensified as she prepared herself for bed and by the time she lay down, she found herself sobbing into her pillow in order to muffle the sounds.

Dying. No. Not Nikola. Not him. He's supposed to be there forever, living eternity in the big wide world with me.


Eventually, the violent sobs sapped the last of her strength and her immortal body succumbed to sleep.

She woke only an hour later, completely drenched in sweat and screaming so loudly that she woke everyone in the old house—even the comatose Nikola.