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Chapter Text

“Dammit, Elena, where are you?” Florence mumbled, glancing at her watch, “I need to pick Remy up from the neighbor’s.” Elena had texted her ten minutes ago that she wanted to go home, so (reasonably) Florence had expected Elena to be waiting outside the Lockwood mansion by the time she arrived. She had been on her way home from a girls’ night with Jenna when Elena had asked for a ride, but she wanted to do a good deed by bringing the teen home. Apparently, she had picked the wrong night to be kind, as Elena was now making Florence late to pick up Remy. Elena should have just gotten Stefan to Twilight her home. That would have saved me a lot of time.

Florence sighed, dialing Elena’s number. This is the last time I’ll go out of my way to do something nice for her. Florence knew she was being dramatic, but it wasn’t only Remy that grew anxious when they were apart for longer than originally planned. She heard a phone ring a few cars away. Why is she just hanging out over there? Florence hurried out of her car, jogging to where the sound came from. “Elena? Is that y—” She felt a sharp pain in the back of her head, a warm liquid sliding down as she herself slid down to the ground. She tried to summon her power and fight the assailant, but nothing was in focus. The ringing in her ears became louder as the ants in her vision swarmed, and everything went black.

…

Florence groaned. She could feel her heartbeat in her eyes as her head pounded, her surroundings still out of focus. Had she and Jenna gone crazy during their girls' night? She had never blacked out from a merlot before, but apparently, there was a first time for everything. She tried to move, wondering why her bed was so uncomfortable, but couldn’t move her arms. She managed to use her shoulder to move her hair out of her face, but felt a sticky liquid smear over her cheek. With the hair no longer covering her eyes, she could take in the disaster of her surroundings.

Paint peeled off and hung from the ceilings, doing nothing to hide the sight or smell of mold. Broken furniture and debris were scattered everywhere, with exposed bulbs barely emitting enough light to see. Rope chafed at Florence’s wrists and ankles, a papercut compared to the pain everywhere else in her body. As the events leading up to this unfortunate situation came back to her, she felt the back of her head for where her assailant had struck her. Shit. Blood—too much—matted her hair, her lightheaded weakness making more sense.

Shitshitshit. Remy. Florence could only imagine how anxious he was right now. Aside from when he went to school, they were never for more than a few hours and never overnight. Slight rays of sun shone through the dilapidated windows, indicating that it was the next day. Remy had stayed at the neighbors' overnight, and with no word from Florence.

“Flo?” Elena’s voice sounded from behind her, “Are you okay?”

Florence rolled over so she was facing Elena, who was splayed out on a couch. “I’m fine,” She ignored the pounding in her head. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live.”

“Why are we here? Who took us? What do they want?” Florence asked the questions in rapid succession, her brain trying frantically to figure out what was going on and how they were going to escape.

“I don’t know,” Elena mumbled, “It’s two vampires. I’m probably here because I’m the doppelgänger, but I don’t know why they took you as well. Flo—” Florence held a hand up to quiet Elena as she heard arguing from another room.

“You know how this works.”

“Did you or did you not get the message to Elijah?”

“They say he got it.” Florence silently scooted towards the voices. Elena, who had somehow been lucky enough to escape being bound, crept behind her.

“Wonderful. And what?”

“So, that’s it, Trevor.” Florence peered through the doorway and into the room where the vampires were conversing. “Either he got it, or he didn’t. We just have to wait.”

“Look, it’s not too late.” Tevor’s voice was panicked. “We can leave them here. We don’t have to go through with this.”

“I’m sick of running.” The female vampire’s voice was annoyed.

“Yeah?” Trevor threw his hands up in exasperation. “Well, running keeps us from dying.”

“Elijah is old school. If he accepts our deal, we’re free.” A creak sounded from behind Florence, and she turned to see Elena. “You!” The vampire moved closer to Florence, “There’s nothing around here for miles. If you think you’re getting out of this house, you’re tragically wrong. Understand?”

“Who’s Elijah?” Elena asked.

“He’s your worst nightmare.”

…

“Why am I here?” Florence asked the vampires. Only Remy knew of her powers,  and he was old enough when their mother had been murdered to understand the imperative nature of their secrecy..

“You’re a Dubois,” The vampire, Rose, looked her up and down, “The Originals have been hunting your family for centuries.”

Shit. “Why?”

“I don’t know. But I do know that Elijah will be happy I brought you to him.” If the Originals knew what Florence’s family was, what she was, then she and Remy were in terrible danger. Her mother had warned Florence of powerful beings that would hunt her for her ability,  which was proved by her mother’s death. But, up until now, Florence had succeeded in keeping what she was hidden. She kept her pulse points covered so any vampire that got close to her wouldn’t be able to smell what she really was; she hadn’t even told Jenna or Damon. Hell, she’d even used what minuscule fraction that was left of her energy to hide the scent of her blood from her kidnappers. But if Elijah and the Originals, whoever they were, knew she was an elemental… she didn’t want to think about what that would mean for her and Remy.

“Why have you been running?” She asked Rose.

“I’m not going to answer that. But with you and the doppelgänger, Trevor and I should be pardoned.”

Oh. “So you helped Katerina. And now the Originals, whoever they are, want you dead.”

“You know, you’re smarter than you look,” She directed her next words towards Elena, who had just walked into the room. “She, however, is not.”

“Why am I here?” Elena asked.

“You keep asking me these questions like I’m gonna answer them.”

“Why won’t you?”

“That’s another one.”

“You got me,” Elena moved farther into the room, “Ok? It’s not like I can go anywhere. The least you can do is tell me what you want with me.”

Rose sighed. “I personally want nothing. I’m just a delivery service.”

“To who? Elijah?”

Rose let out an annoyed chuckle, “Two points to the eavesdropper.”

“Who is he? Is he a vampire?”

“He’s one of the vampires. The Originals.”

“What do you mean 'the Originals'?” Elena asked. Florence found the name to be pretty self-explanatory, but she wouldn’t complain if Elena annoyed Rose into revealing more about them.

“Again with the questions.” Rose said, “Haven’t the Salvatores been teaching you your vampire history?”

“So, you know Stefan and Damon.”

“I know of them. A hundred years back, a friend of mine tried to set me up with Stefan. She said he was one of the good ones. I’m more of a sucker for the bad boys, though, but I digress.”

“Who are the Originals?” Elena asked again.

“Trevor and I have been running for 500 years. We’re tired. We want it over. We’re using you to negotiate ourselves out of an old mess.”

“But why me?” Elena asked, “And why Florence? There’s nothing special about her, at least when it comes to the supernatural world.”

“Because you’re a Petrova doppelgänger. You’re the key to breaking the curse. And I suspect there's more to your friend than meets the eye.”

“Curse? The sun and the moon curse?”

“So you do know your history.”

“What do you mean I’m the key?” Elena moved closer to Rose, “The moonstone is what breaks the curse.”

“No. The moonstone is what binds the curse. Sacrifice is what breaks it.”

“Sacrifice?”

“The blood of the doppelgänger. You’re the doppelgänger. Which means in order to break the curse, you’re the one that has to die.”

Florence had had enough. She maneuvered herself to the far corner of the room to get away from the conversation. She leaned against the wall, putting her head between her knees as she struggled to control her breathing. The throbbing in her head grew more and more painful, especially as she continued to try to use her powers. She tried to do anything that would get her and Elena out of this mess. But she was too weak. She had lost too much blood, and what was left of her energy had been sapped by keeping the scent of it out of the vampires’ noses.

Chapter Text

Florence startled from where she huddled in the corner at a loud knock. Rose hurried out of the room to answer it. It seemed Elijah had finally arrived. Elena paced incessantly, a crumpled piece of paper held to her mouth while Rose was gone. Florence stayed perfectly still, focusing on her breathing. It wouldn’t do for her to look weak in front of an ancient vampire who would likely kill her the second she ceased to be of use.

A few minutes passed before Rose re-entered the decaying room, a handsome man behind her. His floppy brown hair was parted down the middle, highlighting his strong jaw. Elijah’s warm brown eyes immediately found Florence’s hazel ones. He looked at her huddled form over as he strode to her corner, disregarding the doppelgänger completely. Despite her earlier resolve to appear strong, Florence curled more into herself under the scrutiny of the vampire.

“Hello there,” He said, “Who might you be?” Elijah’s voice was low and soothing, with an accent that she couldn’t quite place. He gently grasped her chin, lifting her face to his. Florence struggled to control her breathing as Elijah’s gaze roved over her face, his mouth tightening as he noticed the cut on her cheek. His assessment moved lower, and Florence could feel the searing heat of those eyes on the hollow of her neck and down her body. While Florence trembled with fear, Elijah seemed to vibrate with restraint. Every movement was calculated, intentional, methodical. He gently ran his hands down the sides of her calves, Florence shivering involuntarily at the light touch. She was so absorbed by the feeling of his hands on her body that she almost didn’t notice when the vampire removed the rope from around her ankles.

“I don’t like having to ask a question twice.” While the words were a thinly veiled threat, his tone was still so gentle, bordering on reverent. The juxtaposition was jarring enough that Florence, who had nearly forgotten that he had asked for her name, answered truthfully.

“Florence.” She breathed. The sound of her voice seemed to free Elijah from whatever trance he was in, moving quickly. She gasped as Elijah picked her up, his hands ever gentle against her body, setting her on her feet. Florence was painfully aware of their proximity, the wall against her back making it impossible to move away from the vampire. Not that she would be stupid enough to try and escape. She felt a drop of blood run down her cheek from the cut on her cheekbone, slowly gathering near her jaw. Elijah wiped the drop before it fell to the ground, bringing his thumb to his mouth to taste. Their eye contact finally broke as his eyelids shuttered in pleasure at the intoxicating taste of her blood. Elemental blood put vampires into a frenzy, rendering them unable to think of anything else. Florence waited, eyes closed, for the imminent bite that would be her end, but it didn’t come. Instead, she felt Elijah grasp her hand.

“Come,” was all he said, leading her over to where Elena stood. Elijah ducked his head to smell Elena’s neck, confirming what she was. “Human. It’s impossible.” The doppelgänger breathed shakily, her eyes finding Florence’s, both pairs shining with terror.

“We have a long journey ahead of us,” Elijah pulled Florence closer, “We should be going.”

“Please, don’t let him take us,” Elena begged Rose and Trevor, but Florence knew it was useless. Even if they, for whatever reason, had changed their minds, the Original vampire would have no trouble ending them. Power emanated from him. Florence was formidable when she was at her full strength, but she doubted that even she would be able to defeat Elijah.

“One last piece of business,” Elijah turned to Rose and Trevor, “Then we’re done.”

“I’ve waited so long for this day, Elijah,” Trevor said, his eyes on the floor, “I’m truly very sorry.”

“Oh, no, your apology’s not necessary.” Elijah’s tone was light, too light.

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Trevor still didn’t look at the vampire. Maybe if he had, he would have seen it coming, “You trusted me with Katerina… and I failed you.”

“Oh, yes, you are the guilty one, and Rose aided you because she was loyal to you. That, I honor.” Elijah stepped closer to Trevor, “Where was your loyalty?”

“I beg your forgiveness.”

“So granted.” Elijah struck Trevor. The vampire’s head separated from his body, rolling to a stop at Florence’s feet. She saw his disemboweled body crumple to the floor in her periphery, unable to tear her gaze away from Trevor’s unseeing one.

“You—” Rose moaned, moving towards Elijah.

“Don’t, Rose, now that you are free.” Elijah returned to Florence’s side, who still couldn’t look away from Trevor’s severed head. His dead eyes bore into her, seemingly saying, You see what he did? That is what this man is capable of. And he is known as the honorable one of the Originals. Whatever connection Elijah seemed to have with Florence was dangerous. She didn’t know how or why the vampire was so bewitched by her or why she felt like she knew him, but upon seeing the brutality the vampire was so quick to unleash, she wanted whatever connection lay between them to disintegrate. Elijah led Florence over to Elena, his arm wrapped around her side. “Come.” He ordered the doppelgänger.

“No, what about the moonstone?” Elena panicked. So she’s stalling. Stefan and Damon must be coming.

“What do you know about the moonstone?”

“We know that you need it, and we know where it is.” Florence cut in, trying to keep Elena as much out of harm's way as possible.

“Yes.”

“I can help you get it.”

“Tell me where it is.” Elijah’s eyes bore into her own.

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Are you negotiating with me?” His eyes crinkled with amusement, turning his head to look at Rose.

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” She managed to answer through her tears.

Elijah looked at Florence for a moment, then turned to Elena. “What is this vervain doing around your neck?” His demeanor turned violent in an instant as he ripped the necklace off and threw it to the side. He grabbed Elena’s head and forced her to look at him as he compelled her, “Tell me where the moonstone is.”

“In the tomb underneath the church ruins,” Elena’s voice was blank.

“What is it doing there?”

“It’s with Katherine.” Bile rose in Florence's throat as she witnessed her friend’s free will ripped away in an instant.

“Interesting.” A crash sounded from upstairs. “What is that?”

“I don’t know,” Rose answered.

“Who else is in this house?”

“I don’t know.”

Elijah led Florence up the stairs, “Move!” He barked at Elena and Rose, but the four didn’t make it past the landing. Wind rustled Florence’s hair as a vampire sped past. To Florence’s surprise, Eijah removed the rope that bound her wrists. “Rose,” he growled.

“I don’t know who it is,” She said vehemently.

“Up here,” Stefan’s voice sounded. Elijah lifted Florence to his chest and sped up the stairs. “Down here,” Stefan spoke again, this time firing a stake. Elijah moved his body in front of hers, hissing in pain when the wood went through his hand. Huh. I thought he would use me as his human shield or something. 

“Excuse me,” Elijah called, “To whom it may concern, you’re making a great mistake if you think that you can beat me. You can’t. You hear that? I repeat,” He grabbed a wooden coat rack. “You cannot beat me. So I want the doppelgänger on the count of three, or heads will roll.” He snapped one end off, leaving a jagged wooden point. “Do we understand each other?” He was still holding Florence bridal style, her body pressed against his as he threatened her loved ones.

“I’ll come with you,” Elena spoke from the top of the stairs, “Just please don’t hurt my friends. They just wanted to help me out.”

Elijah sped to Elena, “What game are you playing with me?” He asked, setting Florence down gently. Elena threw a vervain grenade at Elijah, the poison exploding in his face as he positioned his body in front of Florence’s. She used the opportunity to break away from him and run over to Elena as he yelled in pain.

Elijah’s face knitted back together, healing itself quickly as he advanced on the girls. Florence put her hands out, ready to summon whatever strength she had left to aid in stopping the vampire, but Stefan appeared, rapidly shooting stakes at the Original. When they had no effect on Elijah, Stefan tackled him down the stairs. Elijah got up quickly, ready to rip Stefan’s heart out. Florence was frozen, the blood loss rendering her unable to move quickly enough to save the Salvatore. Damon appeared, stabbing Elijah through his heart with the discarded coat rack and pinning him against the wall. Veins appeared on the Original’s face as his skin turned gray and he stopped moving, now dead.

Rose sped away, Damon making a move to go after her, but Florence stopped him. “Just let her go.” She moved closer to Damon, allowing Stefan and Elena to have a moment, “Thank you, Day.” She pulled him into a hug.

“Anytime, Ren,” He murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head lightly, “So, why was Elijah after you?” He asked as she pulled away, “ I mean, you’re human.”

“Here’s the thing, Day,” Florence sighed, ignoring the slight tightness in her chest that had surfaced with Elijah’s death, “I’m not.”

Chapter Text

Florence had refused to tell them anything until everyone was together, not wanting to have to explain it more than once. So, after Florence had picked Remy up (for some reason, her neighbor, Mrs. Rogers, had thought she’d said that she’d be gone overnight), and Damon had insisted on gathering everyone. So, now they all sat in the boarding house. Stefan, Elena, and Jeremy sat across from her; Bonnie and Caroline gathered in the room as well. Remy was playing in the next room over with some new toy Damon had bought him, thankfully not too shaken up over her absence.

“So…” Damon said from beside Florence, “Are you going to tell us about why Elijah was after you?”

“Alright,” Florence sighed, “I’m a witch, but not like Bonnie. I’m an elemental.”

“What’s an elemental?” Elena asked, “And why have you been keeping it a secret?” Florence knew that Elena placed a lot of importance on trust, and the 23-year-old had been lying to her sister-figure for years.

“An elemental is a specific kind of witch. One that is, for whatever reason, heavily favored by nature. We are immortal and can control the elements. Most elementals are only able to control one or two; the most powerful ones can control all of them.

“I never told you because elementals are hunted, mainly by vampires. The mere scent of an elemental is incredibly intoxicating to a vampire, and the taste of our blood… well, you can imagine. And once a vampire gets a taste of our blood, it’s nearly impossible to fight them off. Aside from our powers and immortality, we are physically human. No super speed, strength, or healing. And our magic comes from our blood— the more we lose, the weaker the magic becomes. Thankfully, I’ve been able to use my powers to mostly mask my scent over the years, but as I reach maturity, my scent grows stronger. Soon, I won’t be able to mask it at all. The more powerful supernatural beings— like the Originals— hunt elementals to use us. They threaten us, or people we love, to make us do terrible things that serve their nefarious plans.

“There used to be many families of elementals, but now there is only one. The Dubois. Remy and I are the last of our family, the only ones left to keep elementals from going extinct. If it were only me, I might have told you all the truth sooner, but my top priority is and always will be keeping Remy safe. And secrecy was the best way to do so.” Florence looked at Damon, silently willing him to understand why she didn’t trust him with what she was sooner.

“What kind of elemental are you?” Bonnie asked, “What do you control?”

Florence hesitated. “Earth. I control the earth.”

…

Now in her own house, Florence finally had a chance to relax. Sitting across from Damon at the dining room table, nursing a cup of tea while Remy sat in her lap watching Disney was comfortingly normal. It has been her daily routine since she moved from Paris to Mystic Falls to complete her dissertation almost a year ago.

Damon stared intently at the siblings from across the table, the gears of his mind moving almost visibly. “So, is Remy an elemental as well?”

“I don’t think so. It’s extremely rare for males to inherit the elemental gene, and most powers show in at least some way by five years old.” She sighed, making sure Remy’s ears were completely covered by his headphones before continuing. “Day, there’s something I didn’t tell you. My kidnapper, Rose, said something. She said that the Originals have been hunting my family for centuries. My family in particular, not just elementals in general.”

“What?” Damon’s eyes widened in alarm.

“I need you to promise me something.”

“No, Ren—” He tried to stop Florence from continuing, but she powered on.

“People know about my existence now, Day. They will come for me. I need you to promise that when they come, your top priority will be protecting Remy. Not protecting Elena, not protecting me. Okay? And if I do end up dying, I need you to keep protecting Remy. I need you to do your best to raise him.”

“Ren, you can’t ask me that.” Tears welled in his eyes, “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose my best friend.”

“Day, please.” She grasped his hand, “You might have to.”

Damon let out a long sigh, “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Florence could only hope that he would keep his promise. When Damon first arrived in Mystic Falls, Florence had been the only one to reach out to him, to talk to him. She allowed him to enter her and Remy’s life, and she had never regretted it. Florence was his best friend, and from early on, Damon knew he would never do anything to hurt her or her brother.

“There’s one more thing,” Florence sighed. “I lied to Bonnie about my geokinesis.”

“You don’t have power over earth?” Damon asked. It had made perfect sense to him when she revealed the power earlier—Florence spent lots of her free time in nature and had a flourishing garden in the yard of her home.

“No, I do.”

“So you control two elements, then?”

“I have control over all of them.”

…

“Come on, Remy, say goodbye to Damon,” Florence’s eyes twinkled as she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “It’s past his bedtime.”

“Bye, Day-Day,” the five-year-old hugged the vampire goodbye, giggling at her joke.

Once Damon left, Florence picked her brother up and balanced him on her hip. “It’s past your bedtime, too, Remy.” The five-year-old complained, but listened as Florence got him ready for bed.  “Rem, you know our secret?” Remy nodded, his eyes wide. “You have to be extra careful not to tell anyone, okay? You know how it would be bad if people knew.”

“Yes, Milly.” Florence sighed as she tucked Remy in. She had gone by her middle name for as long as she could remember. Yet her brother insisted on calling her Milly, a nickname he had used when he couldn’t pronounce her first name, Camila. She had to admit it was adorable, though.

“Goodnight, Remy,” She kissed him on the forehead and turned to leave the room, but was stopped by his voice.

“Can you sing a lullaby?”

Florence sighed, unable to resist his puppy-dog eyes, and started to sing:

“Bonne nuit, cher trésor,

Ferme tes yeux et dors.

Laisse ta tête, s'envoler,

Au creux de ton oreiller.

Un beau rêve passera,

Et tu l'attraperas.

Un beau rêve passera,

Et tu le retiendras.”

Florence exited Remy’s bedroom, closing the door behind her softly. She knew she should go to sleep, but there was just too much going on in her head as she made her way back downstairs. Her top priority had always been keeping Remy safe, and now that an Original vampire knew her, knew what she was, she didn’t know what to do. The safest option would be to send Remy away and try and fight the Original herself, but there was no one she trusted outside of Mystic Falls to whom she could send her younger brother. She could always move and take Remy with her, but she didn’t know where she would go or who she would trust when she got there. And anyway, now that the Originals knew who she was, moving might just leave her fighting them on her own in an unfamiliar city. That left staying in Mystic Falls, a melting pot of dangerous supernatural activity.

Florence struggled to keep her breathing under control, growing more and more overwhelmed with everything that was happening. She missed her mother, who would know what to do. She was hardly 23; she should be partying, going to college, hanging out with friends. Not being the sole guardian of her five-year-old brother while simultaneously being hunted by an Original vampire that, for whatever reason, she felt a strange sort of connection to. Hell, she’d never even had a serious boyfriend. All the guys she’d talked to ghosted her when they realized she had Remy. And now she would likely never get the chance to have one, to find the one. The Original would probably find her and force her to do his bidding, then kill her when she was no longer of any use. She would fail to protect Remy. Florence slumped to the floor as she broke down, tears streaming down her face as her breathing grew more and more out of control.

…

Elijah watched the girl, Florence, through the windows of her house. He had waited for her for over a millennium. He’d seen her in his dreams, running away before he could get close. He heard her sweet, melodic voice comforting him, caring for him. But even in his dreams, he was never able to truly be with her. Elijah had finally found her, his Florence, and he wasn’t going to let her go. She was perfect: dark hair, honeyed skin, hazel eyes. He recalled looking into those eyes in that abandoned house, their green and gold, the fear that filled them. He hated that the fear was because of him.

He watched her caring for the boy. She cooked dinner with Damon Salvatore, cleaned, and got the boy ready for bed. Elijah wondered if that was her child. He didn’t like the idea of Florence being with someone else, but watching them interact, watching Florence sing the boy to sleep, made him crave a family. Vampires were unable to have children, and weren’t even able to stay in one place long enough to raise them, which meant Elijah never even had the chance to desire a family. To desire children of his own. But watching Florence with the boy made him want that. Made him crave a life he knew he could never give her.

Elijah watched as Florence broke down, her fear and distress palpable through their bond. He wanted to take her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, that he was going to protect her, but he had to wait. The Salvatore brothers couldn’t know he was alive, so all he could do was watch. So he watched as Florence put her head between her knees, as her breath started to slow. He watched as her eyelids drooped and she fell asleep, slumped on the floor.

Chapter Text

The next day passed as normally for Florence as any other. Sure, her head still throbbed from the blow and her back ached from falling asleep on the floor, but Damon had helped her clean up the blood and stitch her wounds. She dropped Remy off at school, worked on her dissertation, then went to work at the Mystic Falls Historical Society for a few hours. It was the first time in several days that she was able to have some one-on-one time with Remy in the evening. She helped him with his homework, sang to him while they cooked dinner, and fell asleep snuggling with him on the couch, watching Robin Hood. That was what she wanted her life to be like, not full of supernatural beings (though she was one herself) and worry that she or Remy would be kidnapped or killed wherever they went.

Florence didn’t get another day of bliss. It started well enough with a run in the morning before she dropped Remy off at school and headed home to shower and get ready. She had a meeting with Carol Lockwood for her job at the Historical Society, throwing on clothes and blow-drying her hair before driving to the Lockwood mansion.

Two other cars were parked out front, one she recognized as Jenna’s Mini Cooper, but Florence had never seen the other before. Jenna was leaning against her red car, perking up as Florence exited her dark green Jaguar E-Type, greeting her friend with a hug.

“Carol roped you in on this, too?”

“Yeah,” Jenna smiled. “We still have Gilbert family artifacts at the house that some mysterious writer wants to look at for their next project.”

Florence winced. “That is some unfortunate luck. I’m guessing our mystery writer is already inside?”

“Seems like it.” The two women were greeted by Carol at the door, the mayor’s wife leading them into a sitting room. 

“The writer is already here.” She said over her shoulder, “Florence, I want you to work with him to help with his research; the subject matter is similar to that of your dissertation.” But Florence had stopped in her tracks. Jenna and Carol had already sat down by the time the latter noticed Florence frozen in the doorway. “Florence? What are you doing? Come sit down.”

Florence’s eyes were glued to Elijah, who had apparently risen from the dead yet again. He gazed back at her, a gentle smile on his lips, so at odds with the anger and brutality that she saw on that same face only days ago. So different from the gray skin and veins of his dead body. She tried to act normally, to enter the room and sit down. But her feet wouldn’t move. All she could think of was that the vampire who had been hunting her was at her place of work. If he’d found that out, he probably knew where she lived, knew about Remy. Florence knew that Elijah couldn’t enter their home without an invitation, but how long before he showed up in other places, too? Before he went to Remy’s school? She held her breath, lest her breathing spiral out of control.

Elijah rose out of his seat, striding to where Florence was still frozen. “Hello,” he murmured, gently taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. Electricity jolted through her at the brush of his lips on her skin. Her heartbeat quickened, from fear and another emotion she didn’t care to acknowledge. “I’m Elijah Smith. Mrs. Lockwood tells me that you’ll be assisting with my research.” He looked at her intensely, with emotion Florence couldn’t begin to decipher. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” His words seemed to carry a deeper meaning, a significance that eluded her.

Florence realized that Elijah was still holding her hand as he led her over to the assortment of couches and chairs. He brought her to the loveseat he had been sitting on, only returning to his seat once she sat on the cushion next to his. The vampire was dressed in an impeccable dark gray suit and a crisp black button up, a picture of lethal grace. Ironically, he and Florence looked like a beautiful pair—her dark gray slacks and black knit sweater matching Elijah. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” she finally managed to get out. “What specifically are you researching?”

“I am writing a piece on small towns in Virginia,” Elijah responded gently, “Mystic Falls has such a rich history and folklore that I would love to focus a large part of it here.” 

Carol and Jenna watched the exchange with slight confusion. Even the untrained eye could tell that there was more tension than there should be for two academics who had just met for the first time. Florence and Elijah were completely turned to face each other, seemingly forgetting that the two women were even present. 

Carol cleared her throat and Florence tore her eyes away from Elijah. “Florence is a highly skilled writer and researcher. She is currently writing her dissertation on the influence of folklore on art and architecture, with Mystic Falls as a case study.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lockwood.”

“I’m sure she is,” Elijah inclined his head at Carol, but directed his next statement to Florence. “You look young to be pursuing a PhD. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I am twenty-three. I was able to get quite a few years ahead with my schooling when I was younger, which put me at an advantage.”

“Ah,” Elijah tore his gaze away from Florence, engaging Carol and Jenna in easy conversation. Florence tuned them out, unable to concentrate on the talk of the book Elijah was writing about Mystic Falls. It’s not like it mattered anyway, as it was certainly just a ruse to get closer to her and Elena. Elijah was a mystery, which Florence did not like. She didn’t know what he wanted with her, which made that much more difficult to deal with. And there was the matter of his tasting her blood. He certainly knew what she was, but what puzzled her the most was his self-control. Her mother had never told her of the possibility of a vampire controlling itself after tasting an elemental’s blood— only that they would do anything, would drain her, for more. But Elijah hadn’t. She studied the vampire; even now, talking to Jenna and Carol, he was a picture of sophistication, of self-restraint. Maybe it was because he was an Original that he hadn’t gone feral at the taste of her blood, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something more than that.

“We can see what Mrs. Lockwood has here,” Jenna said, “That way we know what to look for from the Gilbert collection.”

“Thank you, Jenna.” Elijah responded, “Why don’t you two go ahead, that way Florence and I can talk a bit more in depth about my research.”

Florence stiffened, looking at Jenna with pleading eyes. But her friend only winked before leaving with Carol. Of course her lack of a love life would come back to bite her in the ass in the worst situation possible. She wasn’t blind to what Jenna saw—Elijah undeniably attractive, and Jenna had been trying to get her out there for quite some time. It was what Jenna didn’t see that was the problem.

Florence turned her gaze on Elijah, alone with the vampire for the first time. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her here, but that knowledge did nothing to dissipate the fear that spread through her body. This was the vampire who beheaded Trevor without a second thought for the cruelty of his actions, who had been hunting her family for centuries, who had likely been involved in her mother’s death. 

“Why don’t we take a walk?” Elijah held his hand out to Florence to help her up, “I hear the grounds of the Lockwood Estate are beautiful this time of year.” Florence ignored his hand as she rose, moving as far away from the vampire as she dared. 

…

The crisp air of the Lockwood grounds was a welcome respite from the stuffy mansion. Cypress trees stretched high above, sunlight filtering in through the forest canopy. Old carriage trails from when Mystic Falls was founded were cut into the acres surrounding the house, making for a scenic walk that Florence would have loved if it weren’t for her current company.

Even in heels, Elijah had several inches on her. It served as an unwelcome visual reminder of the power dynamic, that Elijah could snap her neck in less than the blink of an eye. That he could kill everyone she loved, and likely would if she didn’t cooperate with whatever he wanted. They hadn’t spoken since Elijah suggested a walk, but Florence was growing tired of the silence.

“What specifically about Mystic Falls are you researching?” She asked. Maybe it made her a coward, but she didn’t want to ask what he wanted with her and Elena. The sooner they got to that part of the conversation, the sooner he would threaten her and Remy. 

“The folklore, specifically the legends of supernatural beings such as vampires. I understand that you are writing your dissertation on a subject similar to that?”

He’s asking about my dissertation? “Yes, I am researching how folklore influenced the evolution of architecture. Mystic Falls actually has a lot of vernacular architecture influenced by vampires, or “demons” as the Founders called them.”

Elijah had the audacity to look interested. “What made you choose that subject matter?”

“Well,” Florence hesitated, wondering how much of her life to reveal, “I originally wanted to be an architect, but I had to drop out of my program when I moved to Mystic Falls. So, I settled on studying history and ended up seeing a lot of influence of local legends on the built environment, which inspired my specific focus.”

“Like what?”

“For example, the folklore says that vampires cannot enter a house without being invited.” The words came out before Florence could stop them, stop herself from having a semi-normal conversation with the vampire who had kidnapped her and Elena. “So, in Mystic Falls especially, there was a trend in changing the design of the house to make that inaccessible area as large as possible. Some people tried to achieve this by building a small residence for servants into the gates surrounding their estate, but the more common way was building a courtyard inside the bounds of the house.”

“You seem very passionate about architecture,” Elijah looked at her inquisitively, “Why not leave Mystic Falls temporarily to finish your degree?”

There was no way in hell Florence was about to tell Elijah about Remy and her mother’s murder, and she couldn’t make herself pretend Elijah was just a normal writer for any longer. She stopped walking and turned to face him fully. “What do you want from me?”

The vampire stopped walking as well. “What makes you think I want anything from you?” That was a lie. Elijah wanted many things from Florence, but there was no way in hell he would scare her away any more by telling her. He watched as she narrowed her hazel eyes. Her eyes, Elijah thought, with gold starbursts rimmed by the green of the forest around them, were exquisite. As was the rest of her—Florence’s glossy cinnamon-brown hair reached the small of her back, accentuating her narrow waist; her dark eyebrows were expressive; her long, dark eyelashes further drew attention to her eyes; and her tanned olive skin was covered by a smattering of freckles across her delicate nose and high cheekbones. Elijah had never seen anyone so beautiful. Florence stared back at him, her annoyance at his avoidance evident from the tightening of her full mouth. She was only twenty-three, but she conducted herself with a grace and surety beyond her age. He wondered if it was because of the boy, if Florence had ever even had the chance to be a child herself before she began raising one. 

“You kidnapped Elena and I,” Florence leveled her accusing gaze at the Original, “That is not the action of someone without some sort of vested interest.”  Instead of being quick to anger, and giving Elijah an advantage in the conversation, Florence was thoughtful. Elijah admired it— she didn’t reveal anything that he didn’t already know. 

“I don’t want anything from you,” he clarified, “My vested interest lies in your and your friend’s protection.”

“Why?”

“The doppelgänger is integral in my plans. My brother took something dear from me, and now I want to return the favor.” Elijah moved closer to Florence. Her eyes widened—in shock, that he had revealed his intentions so easily, as well as fear at his invasion of her space. She backed up a few steps, breath catching when she brushed up against a tree, unable to move further from the vampire. They were now only inches apart, Florence peering up at Elijah from under her dark lashes as he towered over her. A quiet intensity emanated from the vampire, a restraint that seemed like he was tugging on the end of a leash that was liable to snap at any moment. Too late, Florence realized that she hadn’t been concealing her scent. Her magic was still weak from her blood loss, and the little that remained aided in healing her wounds. 

“And me?” She asked, her voice low, “Am I part of that plan as well?”

Elijah braced an arm on the tree beside her head, leaning in close, “I didn’t lie.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his hand lingering, cupping her jaw, “I want to protect you. Which means keeping you as far away from my brother as possible.” Heat shot through Florence at his touch, though the vampire’s hand was cold. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized his body was nearly pressed against hers. Elijah inhaled deeply, his head tucked to her neck. Her scent—lavender; jasmine; and a warmth that came from coffee and spice—overwhelmed his senses, giving him a sense of bliss he hadn’t felt in his thousand years of existence. Florence was frozen against the tree, the panic written across her face wrenching Elijah out of his reverie. He ripped away from her, cursing himself for invading her space and prompting her fear. He couldn’t trust himself to act like he held even a semblance of indifference towards Florence, not when all he wanted was to take her into his arms and never let her go.

“Let’s go back to the house,” Elijah ground out, his voice so different from his usual honeyed baritone, “Before Carol and Jenna wonder where we’ve gone.”

Chapter Text

Florence called Damon right when she left the Lockwood mansion. Jenna and Elijah had left earlier, but Carol had kept her behind to talk about his project, stressing the fact that Florence’s main job over the next few weeks would be assisting the vampire. Adrenaline still coursed through her body from her interaction with Elijah, and it was starting to sink in that she would have to work closely with him on his “book” until he finished getting revenge on his brother. He seemed intent on getting involved in her life, and she didn’t know how to keep her brother out of it. 

“Hey, Day.” She greeted her friend, “I have bad news. Elijah isn’t dead—he’s here, posing as a writer.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “What?”

“I know,” she sighed heavily, “He says he’s researching Mystic Falls for a book, and Carol has assigned me to be his main point of contact at the Historical Society.”

“Are you sure it’s him?” Damon pressed.

“Yes, Day.”

“What does he want?”

“He says he wants to protect me and Elena. Well, protect Elena to use her in a plan to get revenge on a powerful someone.” Florence didn’t know why she withheld from Damon that the powerful someone was Elijah’s brother, but it seemed like a breach of trust. Why she cared, she also did not know.

“Shit,” Damon cursed, “But what does he want with you?”

“He said he wants to keep me as far away from his revenge plan as possible. I don’t know why, unless he plans to keep me safe in order to use me in the future.”

“You need to stay away from him, Ren.”

“You think I don’t know that? It’s not like I have a choice. Carol stressed that I should assist him with whatever he needs, and I have a feeling that if I don’t play nice, he will find a less pleasant way to get what he wants.” Florence paused, “Damon, I need you to remember your promise to me, okay?”

Damon’s tense voice came through the speakers, “Okay.”

…

Florence spent the rest of the day stress cleaning. She needed to work on her dissertation—being kidnapped had a nasty way of getting someone behind—but she couldn’t focus. She needed to do something, and by the time she left to pick Remy up from school, her house was spotless. The house was also filled with the sweet scent of fresh sticky buns, her little brother’s favorite treat. She had changed from her slacks and heels to tight jeans and boots, making her look more like the young adult she should have been. 

“Hey, Rems!” She exclaimed as the child ran up to her, picking him up and spinning around. “How was school?”

“It was good!” He smiled widely, revealing a missing front tooth that gave him an adorable lisp.
I counted all the way to 100 today!”

“That’s amazing!” She held her brother’s hand as they walked back home. “There weren’t any new teachers or people helping, were there?” Florence hated that she even asked, but she had to make sure Elijah hadn’t shown up at her brother’s school.

“No,” Remy responded, looking a little confused. 

“Okay, good.” She reassured him, “If there are, I need you to tell me right away, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Okay.”

Florence could tell that Remy was about to ask for more information, so she changed the subject. “I baked your favorite today.”

“You made sticky buns?” His face lit up.

“Yep! With the pecans, just how you like them.”

“Can I have two?” He peered up at her, his face making it impossible to say no.

“You know what?” Florence said, “If you beat me home and count all the way to 100 before we get there, you can have three.” She had barely gotten the final word out before Remy took off, counting at the top of his lungs. She laughed, jogging after the child.

…

It was just the two of them that night. Florence loved when Damon came over, and Remy did too, but she especially treasured when it was just the two siblings. Though Florence made sure to tell Remy stories about their mother, she knew she was more of a mother figure for the child than an older sister; he had only been three when his parents had been murdered. Her father had died only a few days after Florence was born, and Remy’s dad, who had been a father to her as well, was murdered alongside their mother. They were all each other had, and Florence would do anything to make sure she didn’t die, too, and leave Remy on his own.

After she put her brother to bed, Florence sat on her couch, knitting. The repetitive motion was a comfort, and it didn’t hurt that both she and Remy adored wearing sweaters. She was so absorbed in the knitting and her music that she didn’t notice her phone buzzing. She fell into a fitful sleep, waking up even earlier than usual the next morning. After her run, she finally checked her phone and was greeted by texts from Damon that not only had Elijah been invited into Elena’s house, the doppelgänger had made a deal with the vampire. And a text from Carol, telling her to meet Elijah at the Grill to work on his research.

Thankfully, the meeting was uneventful. As were the following several as they worked together nearly every day for the next month Elijah was the perfect gentleman. With the exception of their walk at the Lockwood Estate, he respected her boundaries and maintained his impeccable manners. Two weeks ago, he had even gone so far as to replace an architecture book of hers that had been ruined in an unexpected downpour. Florence knew he had made some sort of deal with Elena, but both of them seemed intent on keeping her out of it. Even Damon refused to tell her anything about their plans, to her chagrin.

…

After dropping Remy off at her neighbor’s, Florence pulled into the Grill parking lot. She was early, but Elijah’s car was already in the parking lot when she pulled in. The vampire leaned against it, his floppy brown hair covering his eyes as he looked at something in his hands. At the sound of her car door opening, he straightened, offering a hand to lead Florence to the passengers side of his car and help her to her sear. She ignored the offer, hoping her refusal of his impeccable manners didn’t garner his ill will. She wanted to keep as much of a boundary up between her and Elijah as possible. The past month had lulled her into a false sense of security with the vampire, especially as she was ignorant of the details of whatever he had planned with Elena. That tenuous sense of security had been snapped when Carol told her to find overnight care for Remy, as Elijah wanted to go out of town to conduct research and needed Florence to accompany him.

“Where are we going?” She asked as Elijah pulled out of the parking lot.

“Why should I tell you and ruin the fun?” An amused smile crossed his face. Florence leveled her gaze at him, and the vampire turned serious. “I give you my word that no harm shall come to you or your loved ones as a result of this trip.”

Florence nodded. She knew that Elijah was a man of honor, that he would hold himself to that promise. They sat in a comfortable silence for the first bit of the drive, Florence content to look at the passing scenery.

The silence was broken by the vampire. “What made you become interested in architecture?”

Florence started. The question was so innocent, completely devoid of anything related to Elijah’s ulterior motives for being in Mystic Falls or his pretenses as to why he was in the small town. Maybe that was why she answered him so honestly. “My mother always had an appreciation for art and culture, which is why she raised me in Paris. And my father was an architect, so growing up we would travel Europe, touring iconic buildings from many different eras. Gothic architecture was what first caught my attention, but it wasn’t until I started learning more about modern and contemporary architecture that I knew I wanted to be an architect.”

“So why did you drop out of architecture school?” He said, once again asking the question she hadn’t answered at the Lockwood Estate. “Surely if your parents supported your interest, they would support you completing your studies?"

“My biological father died around the time I was born, and my mother and stepfather died too, two years ago. I was in the final year before graduation.” Florence looked at where her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, “I’ve been raising my little brother since.”

“But you could move, take him with you, couldn’t you?”

“I have people I love, people I can count on in Mystic Falls.” Florence defended, “Remy needs to have people other than me, which wouldn’t be the case if we moved away.”

“Who do you have? The Salvatore brothers?” Elijah scoffed, “In that house, they attacked while you were right beside me. If I hadn’t shielded you with my body, they could have killed you. And for all they knew, you just happened to be there when Elena was taken. If I’d had no interest in you, I would have killed you or at the very least threatened to do so after their initial attack. They will always choose to protect Elena over anything or anyone else.” His voice carried an undercurrent of anger, betraying his hatred of the brothers.

Florence swallowed thickly, tears welling in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had avoided thinking about that particular fact. Stefan prioritizing Elena she could handle, but that Damon had been so willing to put her in harm's way when they all thought she was human made her chest tighten painfully. She hoped that Damon would make good on his promise to protect Remy above her or Elena, but she had to concede that Elijah might be right. But, just because the vampire had a point didn’t mean she was going to have this conversation with him. She had already revealed too much, about herself, about Remy, about her parents. Florence turned her head to look back out the window, ignoring Elijah’s slander of the Salvatores.

Chapter Text

Elijah hated that he’d been the cause of Florence’s eyes welling with tears. She tried to hide them from him, but before she’d turned away he had seen her eyes grow glossy and smelled the tears’ crisp saltiness. He hated the Salvatore brothers more, though. It had taken every bit of the self-control Elijah prided himself on not to kill them for putting Florence in danger so carelessly. He’d said the same to Damon, as he seemed the closest to her, grabbing the elder Salvatore’s heart through his chest as a warning of what he would do to every last one of them if they involved Florence in their plan to kill Klaus or caused harm to befall her in any way. Elijah didn’t think she wanted to talk to him right now, so fiddled with the car radio, trying to find a station that played something other than the drivel that they called the Billboard Top 100. 

Florence turned her head to look at his struggle, amusement filling her gaze and a small smile on her full lips. Elijah couldn’t tear his gaze away from the woman. She was exquisite, but beyond that, he had never met someone so selfless and compassionate. She had every right to despise him and everyone else in her life for the danger they brought, but she was quick to forgive, quick to put other’s needs before her own. She had already surpassed Elijah’s expectations and hopes of over a thousand years, and he had known her for only a matter of weeks. Florence reached her arm out, hand closing over his as she stopped him from messing with the radio and turned it off. Elijah dared not move. It was the first time she had initiated any sort of physical contact with the vampire, and her gentle touch rendered him helpless.

“Has the mortal world released any good music in the past two decades?” He managed to ask. Florence giggled, and Elijah could have died right then a happy man. 

“Yes,” She smiled, pulling a device out of her bag, “you just have to know what to listen to. I always prefer listening to albums all the way through over the radio.” Florence plugged her iPod into the Lincoln’s stereo, playing the album Contra.

“Vampire Weekend?”

“They’re not actual vampires. It’s a group of Columbia graduates who formed a band.” Their songs could come off as pretentious, but Florence figured Elijah might appreciate their sophistication as much as she did. “A lot of their music is about the hypocrisy of privilege and wealth, as well as being a critique of modern day life. But even without listening to the depth of their lyricism, the sound of the music is very interesting as well.”

“You know,” Elijah mused, “my brother might be a kindred soul. He shares your appreciation for art and culture.” It was a surprise that Elijah could draw that connection between his brother who had murdered their other siblings and the woman beside him who he doubted would even hurt a fly, but the way Florence talked about architecture and music made his chest tighten as it reminded him of Niklaus before he betrayed his own family.

“The brother you are going to kill?” Florence asked, Elijah nodding in answer. “Why are you doing it?”

Elijah paused. “My brother killed our siblings and dumped their bodies in the ocean.” Florence’s breath caught. “I cannot allow him to live after that.”

“I’m so sorry.” She laid a comforting hand on his, voice laced with a pain Elijah could tell was real. He wondered how the cruelty of the world had yet to take Florence’s empathy away, and hoped that that day would never come. Elijah squeezed her hand in thanks. They sat in silence until the album ended, Florence only realizing that her hand was still in his when she reached to put on another album.

The rest of the drive passed uneventfully, Florence exposing Elijah to her favorite modern-day music—Modest Mouse, the Shins, the Black Keys, Wilco—mixing in some throwbacks as well. They also talked for hours, the strangeness of the situation and their relationship momentarily forgotten as they shared their likes and dislikes, their childhoods, each genuinely interested in the other. Florence learned that Elijah loved music, that he played the piano and had played in jazz combos. The style of music fit her preconception of the ancient vampire, but it was hard to imagine him performing for other people. Like her, he loved his family above all else, which made it so much more difficult when his own brother killed them. Florence’s heart hurt for Elijah and all of the things he had gone through in his long life. It must be difficult to have lived for over a thousand years, the only constants being death and betrayal. It made her understand Elijah’s actions, even if she didn’t condone them.

Florence started when they crossed the border into Maryland. “What?” She asked, “I thought we were doing research on small towns in Virginia?”

“I never actually told Carol that I needed you for research, you know.” Elijah’s voice was amused, “She just assumed and I didn’t correct her.”

“Then what are we doing?” Florence surprisingly wasn’t scared of whatever the vampire had planned. Not only had he given her his word that no harm would befall her, their honest conversation had made her start to trust him beyond that.

“I told you,” Elijah looked at her sidelong, a smile on his face. “It’s a surprise.” Florence was caught off guard. She had already known he was handsome, but his smile brought a warmth to his face that made his striking features even more attractive. Elijah’s smile grew when he caught her staring, a blush coloring her cheeks as she quickly looked away.

…

Soon they were on a gravel road through the forest, Florence’s confusion growing as they went further and further away from civilization.

“This isn’t a plan to kidnap me again, is it?” She joked.

“Wow,” Elijah’s eyes twinkled, “Do you truly think so lowly of me? I’m hurt.”

Florence laughed, but her amusement turned into shock as she saw the building in the distance. “Is that? You didn’t—there’s no way—oh my goodness!” She turned to Elijah, excitement filling her gaze. “How did you know?”

Elijah pulled the car to a stop just outside the house. “The book that was ruined by the rain—it was about Frank Lloyd Wright’s work.” He got out of the car, walking around to open Florence’s door for her. “I could tell from how much you annotated it that Fallingwater was your favorite.”

Elijah reached out his hand to help her from the car. She took it, quivering with excitement as she pulled the vampire into a hug. “Thank you.” Elijah smelled of cedarwood and smoke, a spicy, warm scent that Florence felt strangely comforted by. She quickly pulled away, realizing she had just crossed that unspoken boundary between them, but Elijah appeared unperturbed by her action. In fact, it looked like he had enjoyed the brief physical contact, and Florence realized that she had as well. She suddenly felt cold with the absence of the vampire’s arms around her and involuntarily shivered. Elijah, ever the gentleman, pulled off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her before she could protest.

A middle-aged woman met them at the front door. “Elijah Smith?” She asked, continuing at his nod of confirmation, “The house is all prepared. There are three rooms that you can’t currently go in due to the cracks in the cantilever, but everything else is safe. There is a packet of information in the kitchen that specifies which ones as well as everything else you have requested.”

“Thank you.” Elijah smiled warmly at the woman.

“Do you have any questions before I head out?”

“I don’t believe we do.” Elijah glanced at Florence, who was still too dumbfounded at the fact that Elijah had planned for them to have Frank Lloyd Wright’s masterpiece to themselves to think of one.

“Great! Here you go,” The woman placed a key in the vampire’s open palm. “You know, you two make a beautiful couple.”

Florence opened her mouth—to say what, she didn’t know—but Elijah cut her off. “Thank you,” he inclined his head to the caretaker, took Florence’s hand, and led her inside. She wondered when exactly Elijah had gotten past her defenses. Maybe she trusted too easily, but it hadn’t taken long for her to take to Damon, either. And unlike the Salvatore, Elijah was more forthcoming with information and why he was doing what he was doing. Except, she conceded, with why he was spending time with and protecting her.

The inside of the home was even more beautiful than she had imagined. Nestled in the woods, Fallingwater was perched at the top of a small waterfall. The small portion hanging over the stream, Bear Run, gave the illusion that the water was flowing through the house, not alongside it. The house was a sight to behold from the outside, but the interior was a work of art as well.

“Elijah, I don’t know how or why you did this, but thank you. Truly.” Florence smiled at him.

“Come on, let’s look around.” Elijah squeezed her hand in unspoken acknowledgement of her thanks and led her into the open living area. The low ceilings were contrasted by the walls of windows, allowing a line of sight to the outdoors from every spot in the home. The floor was made of stone, reminiscent of a creek bed, with a warm ceiling above. The interior was almost entirely earth tones, giving a cozy feel. “What do you think?” Elijah would never admit it, but he had spent most of his time in the past two weeks tracking down every person or thing he needed to pull it off. Fallingwater was open to the public for tours, so even with compulsion it was difficult to get the house to themselves.

“It’s amazing,” Florence’s eyes were wide as she looked around, “Did you know that Frank Lloyd Wright believed a building should make the land around it look better than it did before? That, along with his Transcendentalist background, likely influenced the placement of the home over the waterfall instead of in the traditional location overlooking it.” She stopped her ramblings, a slight blush cresting her cheeks. “Sorry, it’s just such a cool house from both an architectural and historical standpoint.”

“Hey, don’t apologize for having interests. I want to hear about the house.”

“Really?” Her face lit up.

“Really. Tell me more.” 

At Elijah’s words, Florence led him around the interior of the house, pointing out even the most miniscule of details. The house was so unified with nature, that a rock outcropping was even incorporated in the central fireplace, and Wright had modified a trellis to accommodate an existing tree. The two bedrooms on the top floor as well as a study were too fragile to be in, due to the cracking of the concrete cantilevers that held part of the house above the stream, but Florence had enough to say about the rest of the house that she wouldn’t have even blamed Elijah for compelling her to shut up. But he didn’t—instead, Elijah seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, even asking questions about the things she was saying. 

When they got back to the living room, Florence perched on an armchair and looked out the windows over the gorgeous landscape. “This is perfect,” she sighed contentedly. She just wished she had brought her sketchbook. Her eyes landed on a gift bag as Elijah held it out to her. She took it, peering inside. A leather-bound sketchbook, Micron pens, and Copik markers lay inside. Involuntarily, tears welled in her eyes.

Immediately, Elijah’s gentle hands were on her shoulders as he assessed her face and body. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Florence swallowed thickly, “I’m okay. Better than okay, actually.” She sniffled, “It’s just that no one has ever done anything like this for me before.”

Elijah pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back in soothing circles. She buried her head in his chest, comforted beyond anything she had ever experienced just by being in his arms. Florence stopped crying well before she reluctantly pulled away from the vampire.

“Thank you,” she pulled the sketching supplies out of the bag. “These are absolutely perfect.”

Chapter Text

Florence sat by the stream below the house, shading in the last pieces of her sketch. Frank Lloyd Wright had definitely achieved his goal of making the landscape look better after the addition of the home, and she could have sat for hours longer, continuing to capture it from different angles. But the sun was dipping low in the sky, plunging the forest around her into dusk. Elijah had gone back inside earlier, telling her to stay outside for however long she wanted. She couldn’t believe that the vampire had gone to all this effort for her. Fallingwater had nothing to do with his supposed research or his actual objective of killing his brother.

A twig snapped behind Florence. “Elijah?” She called out, turning to look behind her. All she registered was a blur before she felt a piercing pain in her neck and a hand clasped over her mouth, muffling her screams. She was losing blood rapidly as the vampire fed, but Florence was able to summon the last of her strength and pull the roots of the trees around them from the ground, growing them around the vampire and using them to rip it away. She gasped and fell to her knees roughly, scrambling back when she saw two more vampires advancing on her. One, a woman with long black hair looked at her with fury that she had bested the first one. The first one had been a man with red hair that matched his chin that was now covered in her blood. The third, another man, looked at her with unfettered hunger as he inhaled the scent of her blood. Shit. She tried to use the roots again, but her strength was rapidly fading with the blood loss and the vampires were able to easily avoid the reaching tendrils. They continued advancing on her slowly, savoring the thrill of the hunt. The first vampire, the one that had fed on her, was already releasing itself from the roots. Florence stopped moving back in horror as she realized the ground dropped away behind her to the rushing of the icy Bear Run. If it came to it, she would launch herself in, preferring a death at the hands of nature than one from vampires. But she didn’t want to make that choice yet.

Suddenly, a hand burst through the woman’s chest, her still beating heart clutched in it. Elijah removed the heart from the vampire, letting her now dead body fall unceremoniously to the earth, revealing a face filled with icy wrath. The third vampire attacked Elijah, but he sidestepped him with ease. Elijah advanced, picking up a stick from the ground and breaking it in half. He hurled one at the vampire who was now trying to escape, realizing the strength of his opponent It pierced through his shoulder, pinning him to the tree. Elijah advanced slowly as raw terror filled the face of the vampire, tossing the other half of the stick in the air and catching it. Florence watched, though her vision was spotty, as Elijah drove the other half of the stick in the vampire’s other shoulder. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she knew he must be extracting information about why the vampires had come and who sent them. She realized, too late, that the first vampire had extracted himself from the roots and was now advancing on her. She tried to move to the side, to pick up a stick she could use to defend herself, but she lost purchase on the slick earth and plummeted into the icy stream.

…

Florence woke to warm hands on her face, cupping her cheeks. She realized faintly that she was only in her undergarments, which made her understand why she felt so cold. She tried to open her eyes, her lids heavy, and managed to make out the face above her.

“Florence?” It was saying, “Florence, can you hear me?” She realized that the face must be attached to the hands that had now moved from her cheeks to rub her arms, the friction lessening her chill. She was soaked, and cold water dripped from the figure above her as well. “Shit.”

Florence opened her mouth, wanting to tell the figure that she was alive, but her eyelids closed again, sending her back into oblivion.

…

She woke again, this time with a warm blanket draped over her and heat emanating from the fireplace. Florence opened her eyes to see Elijah pacing the beside where she lay on the couch. He was in an uncanny state of disarray, his eyes dark and wild, hair brushed away from his face carelessly. And, she realized, he was not wearing a shirt. The light from the fireplace illuminated the hard planes of his torso, his well-muscled and sinfully toned body taut with tension. A blush rose to her cheeks at the sight and Elijah stopped pacing to kneel beside her.

“How are you feeling?” The wild fury in his eyes had been replaced by worry and Florence could only imagine how intense his emotions had been for Elijah to be in such a disheveled state. 

“Cold,” She answered, her blush deepening at their proximity, “But alive. Did you—?” She didn’t need to finish the question to see the answer in his eyes. Elijah had killed the other two vampires, and relished in doing so. “Do you know who sent them?”

“My brother,” Elijah’s mouth tightened, “Niklaus. I was hoping that he would not learn of your existence, but he has been more diligent than I expected.”

Florence's breath caught, “Remy. What if your brother knows about him too?” Panic took hold of her insides, twisting them into knots.

“He is being protected,” Elijah played with her still damp hair soothingly, “I took steps to ensure your loved ones’ protection. The Salvatore brothers are guarding him at the Gilbert house, which is also being watched by my witches.”

Florence nodded, her panic easing. “Why?”

“I told you,” Elijah said, “I will always protect you.” He got up before she could respond, bringing back a mug and lifting it to her lips so she could drink. It was filled with a flavorful broth that sent warmth through her insides. “I can give you my blood to heal you, if you wish. But I believe that the vampire did not take enough blood from you to fully stop your magic from speeding the process without me.”

“No, thank you. And vampire blood actually doesn’t work to heal me. I guess it’s nature’s way of keeping a balance.”

His mention of her magic was the first time Elijah had verbally acknowledged that she was anything other than human, and it brought the image of him sucking her blood from his thumb to the forefront of her mind. She still marveled at the self-control it must have taken him, and must still be taking him, to keep himself from draining her dry. Once she finished the broth, Florence sat up, Elijah reaching hands out to steady her. 

“Whoah, whoah, whoah. Slowly.” He peered down at her, “Let’s get you to the kitchen.” Elijah picked her up bridal style, walking to the kitchen, and depositing her on a kitchen stool. He re-wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, where it had slipped to reveal the oversized button-down that Florence wore.

Elijah placed a warm bowl of tomato soup in front of her. It smelled divine, and Florence could tell it had been made from scratch. “Thank you,” She brought a spoonful to her lips and moaned. The flavor sang in her mouth, a perfect balance of acidity and sweetness. It was smooth and creamy, and she could taste hints of basil and roasted garlic. It was the best damn tomato soup she’d ever had. 

Elijah turned away and busied himself at the stove. It was strange to see the Original vampire who had ruthlessly killed three vampires only an hour ago do such a mundane act as cooking a meal. It made sense that he would be a great cook, with his methodical and precise nature. Florence was still slowly eating the soup, wanting to savor every bit, when Elijah slid her a plate with grilled cheese. He also set down a plate and bowl for himself across from her, taking his seat.

She dunked her sandwich in the soup and took a bite, the combination somehow making the soup even more flavorful. “So,” she asked, “how did you become such an amazing cook?” Vampires didn’t have to eat normal food and it had to have taken a great many years of practice for Elijah to become so skilled.

“I have had a long time to learn.” Elijah didn’t look up from the food that he also now ate, and Florence didn’t know what to do. Elijah was unusually quiet and seemed to be warring some internal battle. They finished their meal in silence, Elijah refusing to look at her the entire time. He couldn’t—he had promised Florence that no harm would come to her on this trip and she had nearly been killed. First, by a vampire, and then from her plunge into the icy water. Elijah had broken his word. He was so deep into himself, into his self-hatred and his fear that he almost lost her, that he didn’t notice Florence getting up and going over to him until he heard her voice.

“Thank you,” She said, “For saving me.”

“Don’t thank me.” Elijah still didn’t look at her, “You almost died. I promised that no harm would befall you as a result of this trip, and I broke that promise.”

Florence moved closer, gently cupping his cheeks and forcing him to meet her gaze. His eyes were filled with anguish, with self-loathing and fear. “I’m okay. Thanks to you, I am alive. If you hadn’t brought me here, if they had attacked while I was taking Remy home from school, it would have been a lot worse. Okay?”

Elijah nodded, and Florence suddenly realized her proximity to the shirtless vampire. She pulled her hands away from his face, but Elijah grabbed her hips and pulled her even closer. His eyes darkened as he ran them down her body, taking in the sight of her in nothing but his shirt. He was hungry—not for her blood, but for her. She had allowed him in, trusting him to protect her, to be close to her, to know about her life. That intimacy meant more to him than anything of the physical sort. Not that Elijah didn’t desire to be with her physically as well—it took all of his restraint not to run his hands down her body, to take Florence into his arms and taste her. 

Florence was hardly breathing as Elijah’s hands remained on her hips. She was standing between his legs, their faces only inches apart. It was strange for their eyes to be on the same level, but Florence appreciated the new angle. He was beautiful, the dim light of Fallingwater highlighting a face that could have been cut from marble. His hair curled over his dark eyes, eyes that looked at her with emotion deeper than she could fathom. She needed to press why he was hellbent on her protection, why he seemed to feel something so deeply for her. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it now, not when he seemed so liable to shatter. Not when a heat was spreading through her body at their proximity, at the feeling of those hands on her body separated from her skin only by the thin fabric of Elijah’s shirt. Florence wanted to reach out and brush the hair away from his eyes, wanted to feel him against her skin. Elijah brought one of his hands up, gently brushing a strand of hair out of her face. She inhaled, and suddenly he was across the room.

“You should go get ready for bed,” he ground out, “It’s getting late. Your things are in the downstairs bedroom.”

Chapter Text

Florence took her time in the warm water of the shower. She didn’t know how or when, but something had irrevocably changed between her and Elijah and she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. She knew Damon and Elena hated the vampire, and they had their reasons. Florence should hate him too for putting her and her loved ones in danger, but she didn’t. Instead, she found herself wanting to know more about the vampire, wanting to share more of her own life with him. Maybe it was the weird sort of connection she had felt between them from the moment they first met, she mused as she dried her hair and pulled on her warm pajamas, but it didn’t make sense for there to be some sort of magical bond. They had never met previously, and because Florence was definitely not a vampire there was no way for Elijah to be her sire. 

Elijah laughed as Florence padded upstairs in matching flannel pajamas and fuzzy socks, whatever weirdness that had passed between them earlier forgotten. “I think you forgot the candle and hat.”

“Stop!” Florence said, but she was laughing, too. A sudden realization dawned on her. “Where are you going to sleep? The other bedrooms are closed off due to the instability of the cantilevers.”

“I can sleep on the couch.”

“No,” she shook her head, “if someone sleeps on the couch it should be me. You already went to so much trouble setting all this up.”

“I am not letting you sleep on the couch." Elijah countered.

Florence’s next words exited her mouth before her mind even registered what she was saying. “Then I guess we’ll just have to share the bed.” Elijah’s eyes widened, mirroring her own surprise as she blushed. Though she hadn’t intended to say those words out loud, she wasn’t going to go back on them. She turned around, not daring to check if Elijah was following her, and went to the bedroom. Elijah entered after her, wordlessly going into the bathroom to get himself ready for bed. Florence slid under the covers. She tried to stay awake until Eljah came back out, but the warmth of the sheets and drizzle of rain outside lulled her to sleep. She barely registered the soft rustle of blankets and a warm body getting into the bed next to her before she was completely gone.

…

Florence woke up to the sound of heavy rain outside the windows and an arm around her waist, pulling her close to the hard body behind her. It was morning, but the room remained dark with the heavy downpour. She must have moved towards Elijah in the night, burrowing into the warmth of his body. She hadn’t slept through the night since her parents’ deaths, but last night, in bed with the vampire, she didn’t wake up once. Elijah’s breaths were slow and even behind her, the vampire evidently still asleep. She smiled to herself and burrowed closer to him, his arm tightening around her waist and pulling her close, as she drifted off again.

She startled awake at the sound of heavy thunder. Elijah was awake as well, looking out the windows at the rain that had turned torrential. He was once again wearing a suit, his hair and face impeccably groomed. Outside, trees littered the ground, having fallen overnight. Elijah looked so casual in the flannel pants, so at-odds with his usual suits. But, she supposed, even the vampire wouldn’t go as far as to sleep in dress pants and a button down. 

“Good morning,” Florence’s voice was slightly raspy with disuse. Elijah turned around to look at her, taking in her rumpled pajamas and slightly messy hair. She looked beautiful. He hadn’t dared sleep last night, not with the possibility of another vampire attack. But when she had moved closer to him during the night, he hadn’t been able to help himself from wrapping his arm around her, burying his head in her hair and pulling her against him. He was amazed at how much Florence seemed to trust him; she had completely let her guard down. And when she had woken up for the first time, realizing their proximity but still moving closer, he had allowed himself to hope.

“Good morning,” He smiled at her disheveled state, “How did you sleep?”

“It was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while. You?”

“Me, too.” Elijah looked back out of the window, his smile fading. “We may have to spend another night if the roads are unpassable.”

…

Florence took her time getting up. Elijah had gone out in the storm to gauge if it was safe to drive, so she had the house to herself as she opened the refrigerator. She was still blown away at the beauty and design of Fallingwater, still blown away that Elijah had brought her there. The fridge was surprisingly well-stocked. The vampire, it seemed, had told the caretaker to buy anything and everything. She pulled out eggs, goat cheese, green onions, and mushrooms. By the time Elijah returned, she had breakfast ready. He had two cups of steaming coffee in his hands, giving one to Florence. She smiled in thanks and sipped, the warmth of the liquid a welcome comfort in the midst of the torrential downpour.

“That smells divine,” Elijah peered at the food Florence had made, reaching out a hand to steal a taste. 

She smacked his hand away, “So impatient.” She spooned scrambled eggs onto two plates, “How were the roads?” She continued plating the food while Elijah answered, spreading toast with olive oil and herbed goat cheese, topping the canapés with sautéed shiitake, oyster, and chanterelle mushrooms.

“Not good. I was able to move some trees that had fallen across the roads, but the ground was too wet. The gravel is all but gone, leaving only mud that tires cannot grip.” Elijah continued as he and Florence sat at the dining table, “We can’t drive today, it’s too dangerous. I was able to get service in a coffee shop in town. I called Damon Salvatore to let him know that we would have to return a day late and not to worry.”

Florence snorted, “How did that go?”

“He demanded to speak to you, and when I said that was impossible at the moment, he made some threats.” Elijah looked at his watch, “That reminds me, we have an hour before Damon expects you to call.”

“Alright,” Florence chuckled, “You can Edward Cullen me to the coffee shop after we eat breakfast.” Florence realized that the reference might not resonate with the thousand-year old vampire and hastily added, “He’s a character in Twilight, it’s a movie about vampi—"

Elijah cut her off before she could start rambling, “I have seen it. I am not ignorant of modern-day culture, you know. I keep up with what is “fly” to young people.”

“Uh-huh,” Florence laughed at his use of the outdated slang. “Eat your food.” She gestured to the plate in front of him, taking a bite from her own.

Elijah dug in, eyes widening at his first bite of the canapés. “These are incredible,” He held the toast up to inspect it, likely dissecting each ingredient she had used and how.

“Thank you,” She beamed, “I toasted the sourdough in olive oil and made the herbed goat cheese with green onions and fresh garlic. The mushrooms were sautéed with the rest of the garlic.”

“Thank you for making breakfast.”

“It was no trouble, these canapés are some of my favorites. And Remy doesn’t like mushrooms, so I never get to make them.”

“Your brother doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Elijah took another bite and paused, contemplating his next words. “Do you have any other family? Raising a child on your own is a lot of work. Not that you haven’t been doing an amazing job, it’s just something a twenty-three year old shouldn’t have to navigate by themselves.”

Florence smiled sadly. “No, our parents were each only children. I never knew my mother’s parents, and my fathers’ died a couple of years before he did. It’s just Remy and I.”

Elijah’s heart tightened at the thought of everything Florence had to go through on her own. “I’m sorry.”

Florence cleared her throat and changed the subject. She had never been one to dwell on the negatives—with her past, doing so would drown her. They made easy conversation for the rest of the meal, sharing their recipes and favorite ingredient combinations. Elijah insisted on cleaning the kitchen, so Florence went downstairs and put on her only remaining clothes—black jeans and a fitted shirt. She groaned when she realized that her only layer was a handknit wool sweater. If I wear that in the rain, people from the next town over will be able to smell sheep. She left it downstairs, internally cursing herself for not packing something more weather-appropriate. 

“Ready to go?” She asked Elijah.

“Yes,” He looked her over, “But you, apparently, are not. Do you not have a coat?”

“The coat I was wearing yesterday was ruined with the rest of my clothes, and my only other layer is a wool sweater.”

“So wear that.”

“It’s raining,” She gestured outside the window.

“I am well aware.”

“If I go out there in a wool sweater, I will smell like sheep. Not to mention the twenty-plus hours of work going to waste because a downpour this heavy will ruin the fibers.”

“You knit?” Elijah asked, bemused. Florence nodded. The vampire shrugged off his black suit jacket, uncovering his dark gray shirt, and placed it over her shoulders. She protested, but Elijah insisted, saying that he was immortal and wouldn’t catch a cold. Florence, however, would. They stepped out into the rain, getting soaked almost immediately.

“Alright, Bella Swan, are you ready?” Elijah asked, scooping her into his arms. Florence wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing, and told him she was. “Tuck your head in so you don’t get whiplash.” Florence obeyed, resting it on his chest. She held on for dear life as Elijah ran faster than she thought even a plane could go.

Chapter Text

They made it to the awning outside of the café in mere minutes, the vampire not even out of breath. Florence's heart pounded as he gently set her down, adrenaline—not the good kind—coursing through her body.

“That was terrifying.”

“It was perfectly safe,” He guided her inside the shop.

“I run into things just going my normal speed,” Florence insisted, “Hitting something while going that fast would kill me.”

“Well it’s a good thing I look where I’m going, isn’t it?”

Florence rolled her eyes, pulling out her phone. Unlike at Fallingwater, she had service. She dialed Damon and Elijah gave her space, though she knew that he would be able to hear her from any part of the coffee shop. 

Her friend picked up on the second ring, “If it had been ten minutes longer, I would have hunted the damn vampire down and killed him.”

“So dramatic. Is Remy there?”

“You don’t even care that I would kill for you,” Damon pouted from the other end of the line.

“You’ve killed for fun, Day,” Florence deadpanned, “It really doesn’t mean much coming from you.”

“Ouch,” Damon handed the phone to her little brother.

“Flo?” His bright voice brought a smile to her face.

“Hey, Rems,” Florence said, “How are you? Has Damon been mean?”

“Day-Day isn’t mean!” Remy said indignantly. Florence could hear Damon in the background saying that Remy was right, thank you very much, and he was glad that at least one of the siblings appreciated him.

“Wellll if that’s the case,” Florence drew the first word out, “Then you’d surely love to have another sleepover with him tonight?”

“Okay,” Remy lowered his voice to a whisper, “You cook a lot better than him, though.”

“Well Damon doesn’t actually have to eat, so maybe cut him some slack.” Florence laughed, “Maybe if you’re nice enough, he’ll take pity and let you get takeout.”

“Good idea,” Remy gasped, “I have to go, I’m playing Uno with Jere.”

“Alright, have a good time. I love you, Rems.”

“Love you too,” The child handed the phone back to Damon.

“Even Remy doesn’t appreciate me.” His tone turned serious, “Are you okay? He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

“I’m good, Damon. Really.”

“Where are you?”

“He took me to Fallingwater,” Florence smiled to herself, “It’s a house designed by my favorite architect.”

“Why? What does he want from you?”

“Nothing, I swear.” She insisted, “He’s not all bad, Day.”

Damon scoffed. “Yeah right. He’s probably lulling you into a false sense of security before he pounces.”

“He saved my life.”

“What?”

“Vampires—Elijah thinks they were sent by his brother—attacked me. Elijah killed them; he saved my life.”

“Oh, Elijah said they were sent by Klaus.” Damon’s voice was filled with derision, “Are you sure that’s true? Or just something he said to get you to trust him, along with saving you?”

“Damon, stop.” Florence snapped. “Elijah is a man of his word. I trust him.”

“Then you’re an idiot.” Damon snorted.

“Was I an idiot when I trusted you?” She retorted, “You shouldn’t condemn someone you don’t know!”

“Oh, I know plenty. I know that he probably just took you to that house so he could sleep with you before using you for your power,” Damon accused. “Just don’t come crying to me when it happens.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Bye,” she choked out.

“Ren—” Damon’s voice had softened with regret, but Florence didn’t care as she hung up. Elijah started towards her, a concern laced with fury on his face. “I’m going to use the bathroom.” She ducked her head, hiding the tears that had begun to escape, and fled.

…

Elijah fought to control his anger. He had overheard the entire conversation, every word that the worm of a vampire had said to Florence. He didn’t care that Damon had slandered his character. No, he was furious. He wanted to rip the raven-haired asshole limb from limb. Not only had he called her an idiot, which was bad enough, Elijah knew that what had hurt Florence most was the suggestion that Elijah was using her. First, for her body, then, for her power. That Elijah caring about her and her interests was some grand manipulation tactic in his evil plan. And Damon hadn’t even insinuated it. No, he had said it outright. If Elijah didn’t know doing so would further hurt Florence, he would have gone to Mystic Falls and ripped the vampire’s heart out.

Florence wiped the tears from her eyes, trying to regain some dignity before she faced Elijah. She knew he’d overheard the entire conversation, which made her burn with embarrassment. For him to hear what Damon—her closest friend aside from Jenna—truly thought about her, about her naïvity, she wanted to die right then. Damon’s concerns had been valid—up to a point. But he had taken it entirely too far. She swallowed, giving herself one last moment to compose herself, and exited the bathroom.

Elijah was at the register, handing the barista a folded bill. He didn’t have to turn around to know Florence was there. He thanked the barista, stuffing his change in the tip jar, and took the latte to Florence.

“Thank you,” She sipped the drink, finding it surprisingly flavorful. “Is that lavender?”

“As recommended by the barista.” Elijah hesitated at her pensive face, “If you don’t like it, I’ll get you another.”

“It’s actually really good,” Florence laid her hand on his arm, “Have some.” Elijah obeyed, surprised that the herbaceous, floral taste of the lavender paired so well with the nutty bitterness of the coffee. They left the café, Florence thankful that the vampire hadn’t brought up her argument with Damon. “I guess we should heat back, Mr. Cullen?” She joked.

“Not yet,” Elijah produced an umbrella, opening it over them. “We can’t have you catching a cold. Or smelling like sheep.”

…

He took her to a clothing boutique, the pair huddled together under the umbrella during the walk. Next to the boutique was a yarn store that Florence tried not to gaze at too longingly as Elijah opened the door of the clothing shop for her. 

“Pick out whatever you want,” He said, closing the door behind them. Florence was surprised that so many places were open in the torrential rain, but the roads had seemed a lot better in town. It helped that they were paved.

She walked around the store, overwhelmed by all of the options. She saw a shirt that looked good—a simple fitted black long sleeve and picked it up. The fabric felt nice, but she gasped at the price and put it back on the rack. It wasn’t that she didn’t have money, Florence just had a hard time justifying spending such an insane amount on something like a simple shirt. Elijah appeared beside her, picking up the shirt she had just deposited back on the rack.

“I meant it when I said to pick out whatever you want,” he said, “Don’t worry about the price, you’re not paying for it.”

“But—” Florence tried to protest, but Elijah was having none of it. 

“Let me do this for you,” he said gently, “Please.”

Maybe it was the “please” that did it, but Florence gave in. She still peeked at the price tags when Elijah wasn’t looking, trying to pick the least expensive items in the lavish store. Florence felt the cashier’s eyes on them, growing painfully aware that she probably looked ridiculous in Elijah’s suit jacket. Realizing that she desperately needed new undergarments, as well, she went looking for them, Elijah in tow. He had taken it upon himself to carry her clothes as she browsed. To her chagrin, the only options the boutique had were very small and lacy. Florence gathered the most modest options she could find, furiously blushing, and went to the changing rooms to try everything on.

She decided on a pair of dark bootcut jeans and the black long sleeve from earlier, stepping out of the changing room to find Elijah waiting. 

“Why don’t you look at the yarn store?” He said, taking the clothes from her. “There’s a long day with nothing to do ahead of us.”

Florence thanked Elijah and walked to the shop, content to browse the selection of yarns. She was feeling a black skein of a fine merino wool when Elijah arrived.

“You do know colors exist, right?” He teased.

“You don’t exactly dress like a normal person,” She retorted.

“Maybe,” Elijah conceded, “But at least I dress outside of the gray scale.”

“Ha, ha.”

“How many skeins do you need?” He asked, picking up one to feel it, surprised at the softness of the yarn.

“Probably around twelve,” Florence said, “But I can pay for it, really.”

“No.” Elijah said, gathering the yarn and taking it to the counter, “Do you need anything else? Needles?”

Florence nodded, accepting that Elijah was insistent on paying, and put the knitting needles on the counter next to the yarn. She winced at the total, but Elijah just thanked the cashier and handed him the necessary bills.

Chapter Text

Florence opted to take a hot shower when they got back, chilled to the bone from the freezing rain. When she returned to the bedroom, she found her new clothes folded neatly on the bed. In addition to what she had picked out, Elijah had apparently purchased a pair of black slacks and white button down that she had been eyeing, but ended up putting back because of their exorbitant price tags. She smiled and pulled on the slacks, the black long sleeve, and her charcoal wool sweater. The bra and underwear that she wore had been neatly folded at the top of the stack of clothes. Florence felt heat rise to her cheeks at the thought of Elijah’s hands touching the lacy underthings.

She found Eljah sitting in a chair by the fire, a book in his lap. Her knitting supplies were on the coffee table next to him, so she dropped into the chair across from the vampire, savoring the warmth of the fire, and cast on her new project. Florence studied Elijah, gauging his size. His suit jacket had been quite oversized on her, and his shirtless body from the previous night had been muscular. He looked up from his book and smirked when he caught her staring. She quickly averted her gaze, focusing back on her knitting. She didn’t want to make the sweater too big, as it would stretch when she blocked it, but making a fitted sweater for the vampire whose measurements she didn’t know wasn't easy.

The patter of the rain soothed Florence as she knit, this weather her absolute favorite. The day was perfect—she and Elijah spending time together in a comfortable silence, each absorbed in their own activity. The vampire tended to the fire periodically, its warmth emanating through the cozy living room. He left briefly, returning with an assortment of sweet and savory pastries as a light lunch. Florence stayed in chair for the rest of the day, and had just moved on from the yoke of the sweater to the body when Elijah rose and walked to the kitchen. She followed when she realized that he was probably going to make dinner.

“What can I do to help?” She asked.

“Nothing,” he said, “Relax, I can make dinner.”

Florence tried to protest, saying that she could at least bake something or help prep the ingredients, but Elijah was adamant.

“Let me take care of you,” He guided her to a seat, “You shouldn’t always have to do everything for everyone else.”

“Thank you,” She smiled softly, “You know, no one has cooked for me since before my parents died. This is a nice treat.”

“Anytime,” Elijah said. Florence could tell he meant it, smiling to herself as she continued the sweater. While he prepped the ingredients, starting with garlic and basil, Florence sat at the kitchen counter sipping a warm mug of tea and knitting. The vampire raised his eyebrows. “Are you worried that the sweater will shrink in the wash?”

“Yep.” She said flatly, before clarifying, “It’s not for me.” Florence’s decision to knit a sweater for Elijah had been spur-of-the-moment, and she wasn’t yet sure if it had been a good idea. She had a hard time receiving kindness from someone without repaying them in some way, and Elijah had done more for her in the past few days than anyone else had in the past few years. If she decided it had been a good idea and gave the knit to the vampire, Florence wanted it to be a surprise, So, she didn’t specify who the sweater was for, just that she didn’t intend to wear it.

This was taken a different way in Elijah’s mind—it was shaping up to be too big for any of the women in her life, leaving scarce options. It could be for Damon, he thought, or a boyfriend that Florence hadn’t mentioned. She was very private about her personal life, and Elijah knew she had only just started to trust him. It would make sense for her to keep a detail like that to herself, the possibility igniting his jealousy. He had waited for Florence for over a thousand years, and he wasn’t going to stand for her affections going towards some dumb twenty-something boy. The possibility that the sweater was for Damon made fury coil in Elijah’s stomach as well. Florence seemed to see the best in people, but mere hours earlier the younger vampire had hurled unfounded accusations at her. He had seen the hurt and sadness in her face, no matter how she tried to hide it. Elijah smiled grimly, thinking of the ways he would repay the elder Salvatore his words upon their return to Mystic Falls. He had been mincing the garlic with more and more force behind his slices, the knife slamming into the cutting board louder and louder. Florence looked up from the sweater in concern.

“Are you okay?” She asked, setting her work down to give her full attention to the vampire.

“I’m fine,” Elijah slowed his movements, cursing himself for letting his thoughts spiral out of control. It was uncharacteristic of him—other than his honor, the quality the vampire prided himself most on was his self-control. 

“Are you sure?” Florence persisted, “You kind of have an ‘I’m going to kill someone’ expression on your face right now.”

“Do I?” He asked innocently.

Florence rolled her eyes. “You know, I don’t think I even want to know who you were fantasizing about putting to their death.”

“If it makes you feel any better, they deserve it.”

“Not really,” She met Elijah’s gaze, humor dying as she entreated, “Just please don’t harm my friends. They’ve refused to tell me about your deal, but whatever they’re doing is only what they think is right to protect the people they care about.”

“So you think they’re going to betray me?”

Shit. “No, not if your deal will help them kill Klaus.” She hated that she had to lie to Elijah. If she knew Damon, and she did, he would find a way to get what he wanted without doing the Original’s bidding. But she couldn’t tell Elijah that—no matter what confusing things she felt for him, her loyalty had to be to her friends first. 

“Good.” Elijah tilted his head, “Because if they do, I will not hesitate to kill them.” Florence felt a pang of fear shoot through her. It was the first time he had been the cause of her fear in weeks, and she worried about how foreign the emotion had become in relation to Elijah. No matter his actions around her, he was still an Original Vampire who had kidnapped her and Elena, threatened her loved ones, and had likely been murdering without remorse all throughout his long, long life.

Elijah hadn’t lied. If Elena and the Salvatore brothers betrayed him, he wouldn’t hesitate to rip out their hearts. If they weren’t playing a part in his plans, he would have done it already. Florence would understand—it might take years, but all Elijah had was time. After he killed his brother, he would take Florence away from Mystic Falls and start a life with her elsewhere. 

“You needn't worry,” Elijah continued, enunciating each word, “As long as they keep their word, as you said they would, I will keep mine.” Florence forced a reassured smile, trying to imagine how those words would have made her feel if she truly believed her friends had no intentions of betraying Elijah. She had to act as though she truly believed he wouldn’t—or Elijah would enact his vengeance before Florence had the chance to convince Damon to cooperate with the vampire.

“What are you making?” She changed the subject. 

“You’ll see,” Elijah had returned his attention to the food, the domesticity of the act juxtaposing harshly with his threat to kill her friends only moments ago. 

Florence leaned forward on the counter, “So secretive.” She surveyed the assortment of ingredients: roma tomatoes, fresh basil, mozzarella cheese, and something marinating in a bowl. “Caprese, I think, paired with whatever is in the marinade?” Elijah only smiled, so Florence returned to the sweater, the earlier tension set aside.

…

“So I was right,” Florence teased as Elijah set the food on the table. The caprese salad looked delicious, fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, and basil layered and topped with olive oil and a balsamic glaze. Gnocchi in a pesto sauce with balsamic tofu also lay on the table, smelling absolutely divine. Elijah had made Florence go back to the living room after she had attempted to force him to let her help with dinner for the third time. She had been able to sneak enough glances to know that everything had been made from scratch, even the gnocchi and pesto. The care with which he had prepared everything astonished her. It was plated beautifully, perfect down to the uniformity of the basil that topped the caprese salad. “Thank you,” she said, “Really. It looks absolutely divine.”

“It was my pleasure,” Elijah drew a seat out for Florence and waited for her to sit before he took his own across from her. They dug in, the flavors singing in Florence’s mouth. Elijah had created art out of the simple ingredients, combining them perfectly for a well balanced bite. 

“This is amazing,” She said, “Maybe the best meal I’ve ever had.”

“That is high praise,” A wry smile touched his lips, “I will endeavor to earn it again with the next.” The next? “Did your mother spend much time in Italy?” Elijah asked. “Florence is an unusual name for someone raised in Paris.”

“She did, around the time of my conception, I believe.” Florence answered, “I think my biological father influenced the name Florence.” She took a bite before continuing, “I go by Florence, but it’s actually my middle name. My first is much more French.”

“Oh?”

“Camille, that’s my first name.” Florence swallowed, the name feeling foreign to her. Her mother had tried calling her Camille when she was young, but for as long as she could remember, she would only answer to Florence.

“Camille,” Elijah tested the name on his lips, “It suits you.” And for some reason, when it came from the vampire’s mouth, Florence agreed.

“So, we leave tomorrow?” Florence could still hear the patter of rain on the roof and leaves of the trees outside, but it had been reduced to a drizzle. 

“Yes,” Elijah said, “Unfortunately, I have business to attend to. And I’m sure you are eager to return to your brother.” She was, though the trip (other than her near death) had been a welcome respite from everything that was going on in Mystic Falls. Even though Elijah was at the center of the drama. 

…

They shared the bed again that night. Florence sat on her side, finishing the sketch she had been working on before she was attacked. She was grateful that the sketchbook had been largely untouched—dirt had smudged on some of the pages, but there were no bloodstains as a permanent reminder of her near-death experience. She looked up as Elijah exited the bathroom where he had been getting ready for bed, a blush immediately rising to her face. She hadn’t thought about what the vampire might wear to sleep, finding imagining Elijah wearing anything other than a suit impossible. It’s not like she expected him to come out wearing pajamas, but the vampire was in nothing but his boxers. Her face heated as she once again saw him shirtless, this time also able to take in the muscles on his legs. It was unfair, she decided, that he looked so sinfully attractive. 

“I half expected you to come out in a suit,” Florence blurted before she could think better, “I mean I knew you wouldn’t be a pajama type of person, but…” She trailed off, not knowing where she had even meant to take that sentence.

“What would you prefer I wear?” Elijah smirked, getting into bed next to her and turning off the light, “Nothing?”

“That’s not what I mea—” She jumped to defend herself, realizing too late that Elijah had been teasing her, “Won’t you be cold?”

“I am a vampire, Florence. I don’t get cold.”

“Oh,” She said, her voice small, mind still reeling from having the nearly naked vampire in bed next to her. Was that what he was wearing last night, too? “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams,” Elijah’s gentle voice carried Florence to sleep.