Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"it's me

hi

I'm the problem

It's me

At tea time, everybody agrees."

Chapter One

The first time she ends up at Klaus Mikaelson’s doorstep, she’s running.

The night comes to her in flashes and agony; her feet tripping over themselves in the forest–

the sharp bark of fallen trees and haywire branches scratching at her–

screeching crows flying over her like a funeral, like vultures–

her own breath clogged painfully in her lungs, trapped in a second, invisible skeleton that won’t let her inhale –

Noise swooshes past her ears like a violent wave of wind–

The world comes into focus, and it fades again, and all she sees is the grandeur of the Mikaelson Manor. At the same time, a few things make themselves abundantly clear to Elena and the rest of the world. One: she’s a long way from home; two: she’d traded two vampires for another bigger, badder, and more murderous pair.

One step in the direction of the Mikaelsons’ back porch where she can clearly see French doors leading inside has Elena crying out in pain, a muffled sound that she immediately, instinctively swallows back. 

More things come into realization like she’s finally seeing images in 720 quality rather than 110. Dirt, small, razor-edged rocks, and a clotted mess of liquid– likely blood and mud– mixed with fresh liquid– both blood and mud are all caked under and around her feet. She’s barefoot. She’s the kind of person who wears socks to bed. She can’t remember the last time her bare feet had touched the ground; the ground outside, to be more specific. 

Why was she running? Why is she here? Here, at Klaus’ doorstep. Here, where she’d nearly been drained to death. Here, which is definitely haunted with the innumerable ghosts of people the Mikaelsons had killed over a thousand years’ lifetimes.

A phantom crushing weight pushing down on her chest– the memory of it– steals Elena’s awareness. It hurt, like tugging on an internal coil that’s made of veins and tissues. It’s promising pain that she’d escaped from once and won’t, won’t feel again.

Yes, she’d been running to get here. But she’d been running from something–

“Klaus!” the name bursts out of her like he’s murdering her. “Klaus!” Speed becomes necessary, and her bare feet race across the small clearing between the treeline and the manor. All she knows is that an innate, ingrained need pushes her to find–

A whimper tears out of her throat when her elbow is grabbed, and all her momentum rears its head against her– if it weren’t for Klaus steadying her almost completely.

This close, illuminated in the eerie moonlight, Klaus is terrifying, like the legends of old that her parents used to tell her about. Those crystal blue eyes might as well have belonged on a demon for all the comfort they brought her. 

Elena’s jerked forward to attention. “What’s wrong?” Klaus demands, voice rumbling across the clearing. An arctic cold washes over her as he follows that up with an equally furious, “What happened?”

The first sob is unprompted and unpremeditated. The hyperventilating follows suit. Klaus, even in his pursuit of danger, has to stop. How hysterical do you have to be to prompt concern in Klaus Mikaelson’s eyes?

Metal clicks against metal, and Elena flinches harder than she ever had, pavloved for the pain to come.

But the metal isn’t in the forest; it’s just in her head, because she’s associating this proximity to Klaus to the last time they were this close. The monotonous days had blurred by, but she obsessively, fanatically keeps track of her freedom.

There are no words to describe what happened. There are no words that Elena wishes to try to find, because then, that would require her to think about what happened, and she thinks that might result in her being dropped off at a mental asylum, rocking back and forth in a straightjacket.

By the time Elena had been deemed ‘ready’ for her sale, he’d stolen all the words from her, too.

“Elena.”

Events escalate, even to Elena’s numbed state of mind. Guards with superhuman strength dress her– oh God; she’s never cried, hit, kicked, and scratched more. Been hit, kicked, and scratched before. Before this, she could count on her fingers how many times she’s been tased before. Zero times. Now? Bruises where they’d shoved and held down the taser mar her skin; burns, worse than any wounds, from electricity, ache whenever she moves. 

More things happen to her, and then, in a skimpy set of underwear, Elena, chained, is pushed onto a stage.

The beaming lights blind her, and her handcuffs painfully clank together, the force of it vibrating through her teeth, when she reaches to protect her– her eyes, her body, her self . Any shred of dignity in front of–

Dozens of men and women line. It’s a theater, set up like a– bile rises up her throat– an auction. The words lot 19 are shouted, and that guard with that taser sets it off for the barest things against the middle of her back. Elena’s pain echoes, and she has a front row seat to her eager, bloodthirsty audience, who latch onto her pain like sharks with blood in open water.

Human , eons ago, Elijah Mikaelson, when he’d found her, had murmurs, nose tucked against her neck, able to taste her heartbeat.

Now, then, “A Petrova doppelganger,” an announcer calls out. “The only one of her kind. Human.”

Why is this happening to her?

Where’s Damon?

“We’ll start the bid at five million.”

Tremors wrack her body; pain. She’s not being hurt anymore, but it hurts everywhere. Inside and out. The light still hurts her eyes. She has to balance herself back from a stumble when it gets too much, and that brief moment away from the spotlight grants her a look at a side door opening.

At that very same moment, with a soundtrack of ten men shouting, arguing, hassling for her price, Klaus Mikaelson walks in.

Their eyes lock.

Like emerging from an underwater prison, the pressure lessens. But it’s not Klaus’ cruel, circumstantially kind gaze, but Damon’s electrifying eyes.

“Damon?” 

He glances off to the side, and Elena slowly becomes aware of her surroundings. The forest had been replaced; the manor’s exterior by a living room she’s never been in. Klaus by Damon. 

The relief nearly makes her collapse. Damon– Klaus is here. Oh, God. Klaus Mikaelson is here.

Then awful thoughts flood in. What if she and her friends had pushed him to the limit with their schemes to kill his family? Elena had personally given Esther her blood to wipe his bloodline. Rebekah wanted her head . Elijah couldn’t care less. Klaus? It’s been months since she’d even given him blood. She was of no use to him. 

A guard steadies her with a scalding grip. She can’t see Klaus anymore.

“-- found her like this an hour ago.”

“-- sleep walking. It’s never–”

She sees him. Catches sight of absolute fury on his expression before he walks out of the room.

Oh, no. no no no no!

The desperate, instinctive need to go to Klaus out of all people, is enough to bring her to her knees. Klaus can save her. Klaus won’t. He hates her. 

Admittedly, she’s seen more people tied up than she’d ever admit, considering the role she’d sort of always played in their capture. But she doesn’t think she’d ever been the one hanging from the ceiling in chains. Chairs, beds, sure, but not the ceiling. The last time she’d been in that seat, it was Klaus who put there.

If terror hasn’t been gripping her entrails for the past five minutes since she’s been hung and left there, she’d be worried about leg cramps and her feet going numb. Already, her shoulders, pulled taunt, are aching brutally. 

The only sound in the room is Elena’s rapid, choppy breathing, wasting oxygen. Humiliation burns fiercer than any physical pain when she’s examined like cargo. 

A hand grips her chin, jerking her to consciousness. Only a glimpse, though, because it’s parallel with-

Elena’s world is knocked off-center, off its axis, but, then, it’s steadied by a firm hand. Tremors wrack her body so much that her teeth are clattering, and she lifts her eyes to meet Klaus’ furious ones. 

She’s seen his anger before. When they’d killed his brother. Every time Damon ran his mouth. Heard it in his voice when Stefan nearly drove her off Wickery Bridge. If anything happens to her …

“Ah, I see you’ve found the Petrova doppelganger.” He comes over from somewhere behind. His approach is preceded by him touching her waist. Elena flinches hard, and right into Klaus. She feels the fabric of his jacket on her bare skin, her stomach, and it’s so– it’s so–

A hand touches her cheek. “I have.” 

A shudder follows, of relief, familiarity. She even recognizes his daylight ring. She’d never paid as much attention to anyone as she does to Klaus, presently, as they stand nearly nose to nose. They’re bound together now; by sacrifice, by circumstances, by his mother’s magic. 

Tears blur her vision the longer they stand there. 

“I have to admit,” he says, scarier than anyone’s ever heard. “When I got my hands on Elena–” Oh God, his hands are actually– “I hoped I’d get your attention.”

She jerks awake on Klaus Mikaelson’s sofa. Damon is furious and ranting, but it’s Klaus she looks at first. While Damon threatens to take her to a hospital to get her checked out, Elena is still dazed. It’s Klaus who taunts Damon, asking him if he’d never heard of sleepwalking before.

It works. Damon takes her home; dotes on her; doesn’t let her out of his sight for the next couple of days. 

Until it happens again. And again.

The sleepwalking starts six months after it happens. God knows it’s the first time Elena finally succumbed to sleep’s hold, only to be betrayed in the worst way, because her body and mind won’t obey her. Won’t heal.

Metal clicks about a thousand times in her day, and she never fails to flinch.

It’s summer, and she’d yet to sleep without…help.

It’s scorching hot, and she either doesn’t go out or she doesn’t, under any circumstances, show any unnecessary skin. Goosebumps mar her bare skin, too much on display, too vulnerable. 

“I’ve been kidnapped a couple of times. I always get rescued.” Elena, back when she was unbroken by her handlers, had tried making friends with the other hostages to spark an uprising. My boyfriend’s gonna come. You guys, heads will roll. It became abundantly clear that it was no ordinary trafficking ring that had captured her. Vervain-sedated vampires, triggered and untriggered werewolves, drugged witches, and a few species she didn’t have names for, shared the cells. All the quintessential rallying phrases she’d tried but to no avail; There's more of us than them. We’re powerful. They can’t do this to us!

Pseudo friendship lines were erased just as quickly, because when the first newly-turned vampire got hungry, the only human in the cell fell down the food chain. 

Nerves attack her out of nowhere; they have her warily glancing behind her. It’s a rare night; she had been sleepwalking, but, for some reason, she’d jerked awake. Where? In the middle of the fucking forest.

Did they learn anything from the vampire trying to rip out Elena’s neck? 

No. The answer is no. They’d chained the vampire in what seems to be hilariously weak, barely coated in vervain, chains. It made Elena feel worse; what kind of person was she to hope that another innocent girl, another captive, was tied up better?

When it was her time, she was sleeping. Metal clanks, and it’s a shot of adrenaline into her veins, because she jerks away a moment before the cell opens and a stone-faced guard manhandles her. She’s spitting angry, drags her feet to the point that he has to pick her up, but ultimately, it’s laughable. Elena is the weakest being there. The guard doesn’t even look put out that he has to handle her like this. 

The hunger had taken its toll. Her watch– her father’s– has been taken, so she doesn’t know what time it is. Or how many days it’s been. She knows for sure she’s been here for over a week. And she’s been moved. Several times. The first was out of Virginia. During this time, she’s had plenty of water to drink out of a sink, but a piece of toast a day three times a day.

She was pretty close to biting the vampire back.

Elena is led down a dizzying array of hallways and rooms until she feels like she has reached the ‘Boss’ level, like in a video game. The guard knocks respectfully, fearfully, and waits for permission before shoving Elena inside. 

Honestly, she’d sort of expected a Mikaelson behind these doors. She was a novice in the supernatural world, but she knew without a doubt that they were the scariest things you could bump into at night; the most powerful.

But it wasn’t. More guards were there, but an ancient-looking, heavy desk and an equally antique, expensive-looking chair held a man she’d never seen before.

“The doppelganger,” is the first thing he says to her. “You’ve been a pain in the ass to acquire. Elena Gilbert?”

“It’s me,” she says. “Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me.”

The man, who honestly looks like Brad Pitt– villains in her life should stop looking so attractive, almost smiles. But it looks more sinister than the looks she prompts out of Damon and Stefan. “Half starved, and you’re quoting pop lyrics at me.”

“I’m too hungry to think of literary ones,” Elena says, borrowing that fire Damon always has, even in the face of danger and under threat. She can’t wait to tell him how brave she was. “Did you set a ransom for my family yet?”

“A ransom?” The man, blue-eyed and blond, quirks an eyebrow at her. “As far as I can tell, your suburban, younger brother is painfully middle class. Are you hiding a fortune in a safe in your two-story home in your small town?”

It dawns on her. She almost laughs. This guy…doesn’t know who she is. He doesn’t know her boyfriend is Damon fucking Salvatore. That her ex is the Monterey Ripper, who, while he’s still her ex, will gladly rip out hearts for her. Her best friend is Caroline Forbes, better as a vampire than as a human. Her other best friend is Bonnie freaking Bennett, the most powerful witch to walk the earth in centuries.

“Didn’t think so,” the man concludes when she continues staring blankly at him. His smile is then tight. “I’ll introduce myself, then. My name is Sinclair. I’m a collector.”

Vampires, witches, werewolves, and more lined his cells. Any bravado Elena previously displayed dies down. “Of people?”

His eyes, once an innocent blue, had turned into a crimson red. “Not exactly.”

Chapter Text

“I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser”

Chapter Two

When she’s not sleep walking, life goes back to its monotony, broken in intervals of being with Damon and pursuing banal hobbies. Honestly, at this point, with how much time she spends locked up at home, afraid, Elena’s struggling to feel like an actual person.

So out she goes.

The next time she sees Klaus, it’s two weeks after the first time she sleepwalked to his backyard, and at the bookstore. Elena is exactly where she wants to be; at the romance and rom-com section. The latest item on her to-read list, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, is front and center, and she’s excited, for once, to read a book out of her normal tastes. There’s a corner that she rounds, and she reaches the modest display, and finds herself staring into the arctic, deadly glaciers that are Klaus Mikaelson’s eyes.

Klaus, she thinks, or says, but her breath cuts off anyway. “Oh,” is the best her lagging brain can come up with. It’s because all that good, life-providing, brain-giving, oxygen-filled blood is heading to her neck, cheeks, and face, because Klaus’ gaze immediately finds the title she’d been a step away from grabbing.

“The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo.” God, it’s even more motifying; those reddened lips curling around the syllables of what was about to be a guilty pleasure read. “What a chance,” Klaus says, “running into you here. Didn’t peg you for a bookworm.”

“I’m not,” she says, just to be combative. “I am; I mean. I have specific tastes.” Despite her usual need for validation, redness creeps up her necks when he notices the rest of her stack of books at him. Any hope of being redeemed in his cultured eyes is lost.

Which are twinkling in sharp amusement as he mockingly regards the titles. He starts them out loud, with pause. “Landline, Love and Gelato, Shatter Me, We Were Liars, The Deal, Stranded with a Billionaire, The Billionaire’s –”

The titles were fine until he got to– she slams her palm down on the books. Is momentary amnesia a thing? How could she ever think her other titles weren’t any less embarrassing? Klaus’ smirk when she looks up should be weaponized. 

“It is an interesting collection,” he says tauntingly.

“So my tastes are a little mainstream,” she says. “There’s a reason this stuff is mainstream, you know. It’s– they’re good, plot-wise.” Has she convinced him? Did she convince even herself?

Nope. The devilish dimples still haven’t gone away. “I’m sure the book boyfriends have nothing to do with it.”

“I have a real boyfriend. I don’t need–” She’s quick to defend, then quickly realizes she could go on the offense. “Why are you in the romance section?”

Admittedly, her day had been average up until that point. Woke up from a nightmare, skipped breakfast, went for a swim instead of a run, showered; Damon was still asleep when she’d exhausted all forms of keeping herself occupied, hence her ending up here, where other people’s thoughts were set to overshadow hers.

But she’s thinking this is shaping up to be one of her favorite days ever because, and don’t quote her on this, Klaus ‘you can’t kill me’ Mikaelson is the closest to caught-off-guard as she imagines he can look like. His eyes outright are wide , especially when her eyes drop to the basket in his hand. Specifically, to the book on top. 

“I’ll be damned.” Her smile widens into a grin, completely unpremeditated, because it’s The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, too. She’s still shocked– gleeful shock– when she tilts her head to try to gauge the other books cushioning this one. A glimpse of pink grabs her attention before Klaus shifts the basket away.

“No more nightmares?” he demands in a poor attempt to shift focus away from him. It takes her a beat to respond.

Reluctantly, she says, “I think I’m, like, contractually bound to tell you, right?” She doesn’t give the Evelyn Hugo fan a chance to respond. “Nightmares are present. Still traumatizing.” Fractured images come to mind, of teeth sinking into her teeth. Bloody fangs. Phantom pain and goosebumps make her shudder. “But they’re internalized, I guess.”

“But I left the back gate unlocked and everything.”

“Ha.” She mirrors his mocking expression. “Hey, might just steal your version of Evelyn Hugo next time I’m there to save myself some money.”

A flash of amusement is tampered down. “Elena,” Klaus says, “love.” He leans forward, forcing her to inhale accidently. His cologne is subtle, but it’s so strangely addictive that she immediately associates it with this moment, with the smell of pages, and intensity that makes her shoulders tighten. “I’m over a thousand years old,” the immortal says. “I’ve met Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf. I even think I might’ve met Emily Dickinson. When you reach my age, not that you will, you’ll find that there’s nothing you haven’t read before. And the classics don’t exactly leave anything for the imagination. Your generation can’t tell art from vandalized gas stations, but literature, as a collective, isn’t as disappointing as I’d expected.”

“Relax, Claudius,” she says, though she’s mentally processing all he’s said. “You can just say you’re reading for the plot, too.”

“Everyone in class always said that winters are cool, even if they had school. Summers leave you sweaty. It was almost always a debate about fashion, because, if cold, you can always put on a new layer or go somewhere warmer. If hot, when you have exhausted all other choices, what are you supposed to do, take off your skin?”

“One, morbid,” Damon says, and lets loose a dangerous smile. “Two, honey, tell me where’s the dotted line. Which one do you like most?”

“Summer, of course. Maybe those Spring-to-Summer weeks.”

Immediately, Damon’s lips curl in distaste. “Take-off-your-skin season, you mean?”

She pauses. “But it’s sundress season.”

They’re in the park. The far left reveals the Mystic Grill, and she knows that Damon has a standing appointment there with the bartender, and, surprisingly, Matt, who is the bartender. He keeps glancing away at it. When the tenth bored housewife, pageant mom, or overall MILF, and high school age girl offers him a drink or ‘accidentally’ brushes their hands– or their bodies as they pass by, he looses a frustrated breath. But he’s here, for her. 

At her comment, Damon’s (he’ll kill her if he ever hears this) siren eyes trail down her body. He likes what he sees; loves it. Elena’s recently started changing her fashion sense, trading henleys and polos for dresses and crop tops. In spirit of the summer, and of the occasion, she’s worked up enough courage to wear one of her most recent buys: a yellow sundress that stops mid-thigh and is a Pinterest dream come true. She even has a matching mini-cardigan.

“What were we talking about?”

A rare peal of laughter escapes Elena; Damon smiles back when she tells him he’s a dick. It’s normal– almost. There’s not an exact moment when Elena wilts again, and Damon starts getting bored. Eventually, to spare them both, she tells him he can go to the Grill. She’ll call him when she’s ready. Damon kisses her on the cheek before leaving.

The next time she sees him, he comes to her.

“I thought Caroline was the Miss Mystic Falls,” comes Klaus’ voice as he comes up from the other direction she’d been staring at, absolutely snatching Elena’s attention. A familiar devilish tilt to his lips lessens– or adds?-- to the severity of his chiseled features.

Elena’s aware of where she is– and what she looks like, even if Klaus can only see her top half across the wooden table between them. She’s a sitting duck in literally a yellow sundress, even if it’s one of her prettier dresses. 

“She was,” she answers Klaus. “It’s kind of like a president’s term. You only get one. I ran a few months ago.”

Klaus’ cool, blue eyes slide to the overdramatic banner over her head, declaring her as Miss Mystic Falls…there’s a picture, but it’s not like she got any say over who decorated the booth, even if she is said Miss Mystic Falls. 

It’s a nice picture, though. Everyone else is cropped out.

“Didn’t peg you for a pageant girl.”

Her jaw nearly drops in offense– both on her behalf and on behalf of girls everywhere. “The only reason I won’t jump at your throat is because I don’t support pageant culture. It’s exploitative, and it sexualizes girls from a young age– and is detrimental to their self-esteem and worth.”

“Why participate, then?”

“That’s a long answer,” Elena says, “Hey, what’s on your TBR shelf?”

The look Klaus gives her is almost amusing, almost indulgent. If he’s reading the stuff she’s reading, then he definitely knows what TBR means, and it doesn’t take a genius to know she’s changing the topic. It takes him less than a few seconds to acknowledge that.

“Chaucer,” he says seriously. 

It takes less than two seconds for a laugh to sputter out of her. “ Bullshit.”

Dimples make an appearance. Just for a second, but it’s enough for her to get caught up on his sharp-enough-to-cut features– and personality. Relentless in that way of his, Klaus’ gaze follows with her, bores into her soul and all the Evelyn Hugo and Her Seven Husband-esque books she’d read.

“I’m a legacy.” She doesn’t even think about it. This answer is better than the alternative, a raw wound that says my mom was Miss Mystic Falls. I wore her dress. I cried before I won and after. I thought it would make me feel closer to her, but it just emphasized the distance between us, the years . I went home and scrubbed my skin raw because it felt too much like that stage.  

Klaus doesn’t mock, or taunt. But he does regard her, a slight upturn to his brow. “I didn’t expect an honest answer out of you, Gilbert, have to say.”

There’s a retort on her lips, of which one of them has the higher body count, of who’s lied more, when–

A housewife makes a comeback, maybe shooting her shot since Damon was unavailable. She bumps into Klaus’ back, which sends the clipboard she’s been clutching to the ground, a killable offense back in his day, she’s guessing, by the tampered flare in his eyes, which actually scares Mrs. Fainall off from any future advances. A mousy sorry is blurted before she makes her escape.

“Bye, Mrs. Fainall!” Miss Mystic Falls is anything but diligent. 

Klaus, a thousand years old, is a murderer (her, specifically), but he’s a gentleman. Gracefully, he picks up her clipboard, and the strangest thing happens. It’s not that Klaus Mikaelson is nearly kneeling at her feet; it’s that he pauses.

A chill sends her spine into a ramrod position. Klaus rises, arctic, electrifying gaze traps hers, filled with tension. 

“Case in point,” he says, his voice a low, dangerous thing.  

Elena’s jaw locks. She refuses to shift uncomfortably, to indulge the insecurity that makes her want to retake her seat at the table, to hide, so that no one sees that–

“Klaus, it’s a–” Damon’s reappearance startles her. Usually, she’s attuned to every move he makes, but the intensity Klaus’ subjecting her to has rooted her to place. Damon shoulders his way until he stands between Klaus and her, a handsome scowl-smile thing on his face to show his displeasure. “Wow, it sucks seeing you here.”

Damon, Klaus’ accented, sharp voice echoes in her head; every time he’s greeted Damon, each time demonstrating the amount of self-control he allegedly shows by not killing him. This time, however, there’s no macho, alpha display. In fact, Klaus’ gaze stays glued to hers.

“There’s an age limit on running for these things, you know,” Damon quips when Klaus doesn’t take the bait, clearly having somehow seen the two of them; is out for blood because of it. “Anything we can help with to get you on your way?”

That gets Klaus’ attention. The absence of his scorching focus frees up real estate in her lungs for oxygen to move back in. 

“Hello, Damon,” Klaus says, nonchalant, if it weren’t for the murderous eyes. She steps out from cowering behind Damon’s back to set her clipboard down, mainly to give herself a chance to compose herself. “I was just getting an update from Elena about her sleepwalking.” 

“Oh, that nasty business?” 

She turns back just in time to see Klaus giving Damon a side eye. “PTSD,” Damon continues, taking care to enunciate clearly. “Night terrors; the works. Gave her a little tea before bed; had a heart-to-heart. Did the trick.”

Her heart is kicking up a racket. Mrs. Fainall, from a distance, is staring at the clash like she’s watching a car wreck. Elena can’t look away either.

Finally–“That nasty business,” Klaus repeats Damon’s line, mocking. “Elena.”

It’s a miracle that she doesn’t audibly react. Her flinch is barely even visible. 

“Tell me again,” Klaus says, “What you were gathering donations for.”

A few heartbeats pass before Elena understands him. She fumbles behind her to get one of the brochures the committee had equipped her with. “It’s for the seniors’ center. A new rec hall.”

His smile is unauthentic, all sharp edges. “Wonderful. Hand me that, will you, love”

The tension radiating off Damon– wow, even his shoulders– is contagious. Elena’s movements are robotic as she hands Klaus the brochure and the clipboard meant to take his information. Her breath is taken hostage as, silently, she and Damon watch Klaus read the form, flip (illegally, because you’re not supposed to do that) through the other forms before he fills out his information. It takes only a couple of seconds before he signs the dotted line in one of the classiest signatures she’d ever seen. Her hands are shaky as she accepts the offering.

Her jaw drops at the $50,000 he’d pledged. If you go back a few pages, you’ll find the $5,000 Damon had given.

“Glad to see this nasty business sorted,” is Klaus’ goodbye in that crisp accent of his, an equally cutting smile is sent my way, before he makes his leaves. Damon is seething by the time he does.

Chapter Text

"I should not be left to my own devices

They come with prices

and vices

I end up in crisis

A tale as old as time"

Chapter Four

“Bruises the shape of chain marks mar her ankle,” Klaus snaps the second Elijah, after a month long absence, re-enters the Mikaelson Manor. “They informed me the sleepwalking stopped.”

Elijah’s uninterrupted gait slows; the suitcase in his hand almost doesn’t reach the ground. “This is what you called me back in town for, Niklaus? Elena Gilbert’ nightmares?”

“But they are not mere nightmares,” Klaus argues; wants to argue, because his temper’s been at a boiling since yesterday at the park when he’d come face to face with bare legs and sandal heels, the strappy kind that were probably meant to hide the thick, looped-shaped shadows that completely entrapped Elena fucking Gilbert’s right ankle. “Sinclair proved that.”

“Elena’s kidnapping was months ago. Before the nightmares and sleepwalking started.”

“Elena is connected to us.” To me, when he did something that he couldn’t take back, when the latest doppelganger bravely, spitting mad, shaking, relinquished her life to him, to avoid his evil; when he’d drained her life force and gained everything from it. 

“In what way, Niklaus?” Elijah demands. He fully steps into the living room and closer to where Klaus has taken dominion by the bar, an ever-present whiskey in his hand. Goes to prove his older brother doesn’t believe him– Elijah walks past him to get a glass of his own. Klaus wants to hurl something at someone.

“I suspect foul play.” Klaus doesn’t have the patience to try for a semblance of a less intense declaration. “It’s been too quiet for too long now.”

“And why can’t we have peace?”

“Because it’s not us, Elijah!” His temper boils over. “It’s not how it works. Elena’s blood– it’s in mine. Our bloodlines connect. My hybrids. Sinclair knew that. We know that. Esther knew that. She was able to link all of us through a diluted sip of Elena’s blood. Someone found out Elena is a potential way to reach, to harm us, and they’re trying to get in.”

“Into what?” Elijah asks. “Her head?”

“To control her.” Klaus concludes his theory. “Elena’s connected to us enough that, sleepwalking, she can find us. What if someone’s trying to locate us through her?”

Whatever momentum he’d gained with Elijah de-escalates. “She sleepwalks, Klaus. She knows where the manor is. You have held her hostage here before.”

Klaus has to take a page out of Elena Gilbert’s book and, in lieu of putting down the clipboard she’d been clutching with a death grip, he refills his drink to gather himself. 

“If,” he says, after draining it, “there is even the slightest inclination to believe that sinister forces, such as our mother, are at play, do you think we should investigate?”

Sleep loses its appeal a few vivid nightmares into it.

It’s obvious– she should have expected it. In Victorian-esque melodrama, she can’t stop the thoughts of when does anything go in my favor anyway? and when does anything good happen to me? It’s Murphy’s Law. If something can go wrong, it will. 

Even pre-meeting Stefan, sleep was an elusive, insurmountable beast. When her parents were around, though? Slept like a baby. Because what did she have to worry about?

Now, she couldn’t escape its clutches when it had her, and she couldn’t stop pursuing it because she needed it. Stefan, when they’d dated, had been one step away from interfering due to her warped sleeping schedule. Mainly, he’d brought up maybe compelling her to go to sleep. She’d quickly shut it down with a disbelieving glare.

As of current times, sleep wasn’t so much bothering her as much as the nightmares were. In the real world, Damon was wrapped around her like a python constrictor, radiating enough heat to warm her cold, cold heart– and feet, as he wouldn’t stop complaining. 

Her qualms with being trapped under the so-called Morpheus’ pull is what her nightmares were about.

When was the last time you went to the water? Everyone, especially those on her old swim team, had asked. When everyone knew the answer. It was at the lake; when, when she’d needed it most, she couldn’t swim to safety; couldn’t save her parents. Just a few weeks ago, before she’d left to visit her mother, who was on vacation in California, Caroline had asked her out to a pool party. When was the last time you dipped your toe in water? She’d asked, like she was being helpful. Damon had nodded, pushing the same issue.

What goes around comes around. Fuck. You know why? Because Klaus Mikaelson’s face visits her in her dreams. 

Not the polished, cruel version she knows. Decayed. Burnt. Features perpetually trapped in a gaping scream that had shocked her awake when she’d first dreamt of it. The next time, maggots were crawling in and out of his mouth and eye sockets. The next time, they were climbing on top of her, too. 

So sleep she avoided. It’s not like she needs large amounts of it. It’s an indulgence, like cotton candy, like Damon, when she’d fallen in love with him when she was still with Stefan. She does find that she needs it after a grueling day, because her body doesn’t rest unless she’s tired it out, and she can’t do anything productive, so she has to sleep, even if she forces herself to wake up. It does the trick, though, tricks her to change her chaotic state of mind and dive back refreshed. 

Like a cat, Damon had joked about her naps, not long enough to reach REM. But they were enough to satisfy that hunger her brain demanded to be fed. Soon enough, though, Klaus’ decay spread to those, too.

Elena Gilbert was a fairly athletic person. Not overly so, but she’d been a cheerleader many a lifetime ago, when the biggest problem in her life was Caroline Forbes. Cheerleading and track had taken a backseat when she discovered she’d have to run for her life a few times. There was that stint when Alaric had taught her self-defense.  

Now that things have cooled down, over the summer, she’d fallen into some old habits. Such as running. And swimming. Her house didn’t have a pool, unfortunately. Fortunately, though, she had a boyfriend whose boarding house did. Damon was out this morning, so she’d had the Salvatore boarding house all to herself. 

And she had the insurmountable beast that was his pool to conquer. 

Really, it was Damon’s idea. When he’d told Klaus her sleepwalking was the result of night terrors; that a heart-to-heart would fix it. Maybe all she needed was some exposure therapy. And what scared her more than Klaus? Than vampires and werewolves and death?

The lake under Wickery Bridge. 

She doesn’t actually have a death wish; and she’s not as impulsive as everyone thinks. The next best thing to sink back into the water’s embrace, which was always welcoming to her, is a pool.

At the edge, she pauses, kneeling down to test the temperature of the water. Mystic Falls in the summer, Virginia, was fairly hot. So the water wasn’t even cold as the school’s, where she had been practicing for this exact moment days ago, had been. The effect of submerging her hand, surprisingly, is soothing.

Inhale. 

Exhale.

She’s better off on the other side, when she’s conquered this. When she can sleep restfully.

Straightening to her full height, Elena squares her shoulders and doffs the swimming cover she’d been wearing over her one-piece suit. All she needs is a deep breath in– okay, a couple of those– before she ventures down the steps. It’s irrational, especially since it’s a pool and not an ocean, but it feels like the water rushes up to meet her. It covers her bruised, aching ankle, bounces over skimmed knees from falling on this morning’s run, and settles at her stomach.

Inhale, and sink. Or dive. The pool weighs down on her, a sea of blue burying her. Elena can’t get herself to relax enough to float, so her muscles harden and let water flood in, like a boat slowly meeting its demise. And it’s the strangest thing; a flashback roots her in place. A memory unlocked, or when she’s filled in the blanks for; of four car doors, seatbelt trapping her in place. The past version of her opens her mouth to scream, to yell for Mom! Dad!

Present Elena, standing at the bottom of the pool, tilts her head. Sharply, the world comes into focus. An even odder thing happens: she sees a shadow at the edge of the pool.

The sound of rushing water slams into her ears with gusto as she kicks up. The surface meets her too fast, and Elena gasps to restock her lungs. It’s a good thing, because the sight of Elijah Mikaelson crouching at the edge of the pool knocks the air out of her chest.

She blinks water out of her eyes, and it must do something, because Klaus steps out from behind Elijah.

“Are you here to, like, assassinate me or something?” she calls out, squinting against the direct glare of the sun. “Because I won’t get out of the pool for that. You’ll have to come get me.”

Elijah actually smiles in amusement. It didn’t occur to her that she could miss him since, technically, he’s an acquaintance. But she did. Even if his smiles of amusement are of a predator observing prey trying to do something out of their hierarchy. 

“Something alarming has been brought to my attention,” Elijah says instead. 

Klaus, who’s glowering, kind of glares at her when she looks at him. Or maybe he isn’t. It might be the sun.

“Did the bank call about the $50K Klaus dropped at my Miss Mystic Falls booth? It’s non-refundable.”

This time, Klaus’ scowl is indisputable. “Get out of the water, Elena. We need to talk.”

At least Elijah tries to be polite with a small but charming smile, which beckons her out of the pool. Elena had nearly forgotten she’s in the water right now. Maybe if she tackled the rest of her fears and problems the same way–

“Damon’s not here,” she tells them. “I don’t think he’ll be happy that we’re talking without him.”

“We can handle Damon.” Elijah doesn’t even hesitate. “Our timing isn’t incidental.”

Leaving her with no choice but baiting one of them into actually getting into the water and getting her themselves. It’s surely the amount of time she spent underwater that has her breathing choppily as she forces herself to exit the pool she spent hours talking myself into. Between one blink and another, she looks up, on the last step, and finds Elijah standing right there, hand outstretched to help her out.

An even better gentleman than Klaus. Elena smiles in thanks, which drops when, when they start walking toward where her towel is, his hand shifts to hover over the small of her back, as if to shepherd her. It’s not as if Elijah’s touch is unwelcome; it’s the opposite. Every single time she’d walked alongside him, he’d opened every door, let her step first, and, if needed guidance, it was only with the most respectable manner.

“You have an odd way of swimming.” Klaus, the opposite of his brother, greets her with this before he throws her towel in her general direction. Elijah, still a gentleman, catches it before she can and gently hands it to her.

She won’t dignify that with a response. Elena makes a quick work of drying herself before lowering herself to one of the lounge chairs hugging the pool’s edge. Once she does, the pressure at her head doesn’t lessen, and she realizes she still has on the swimmer’s cap she put on to avoid getting her hair wet. She lets the towel drop to her side and unravels the cap. Her hair comes undone from the makeshift it’s been stuck in, and she runs her fingers through it a couple of times to get it to relax again.

No one’s speaking, or making demands, so “What did you want to talk about?” she asks Elijah instead, because only one of them has thrown a towel in her face and criticized her.

Elijah’s calculating eyes observe her, practically dissecting her, for a brief moment he exchanges a look with his brother. Then, he clears his throat, and to her surprise, lowers himself to the lounge chair next to her, a respectable distance away. He gestures to her right ankle. “May I?”

Heat rushes, as fast as waves, to Elena’s face. An accusing look at Klaus gains her an actual smirk. That tattletale!

Who’s really in charge, them or her, is made pretty fucking clear. Her ankle barely twitches forward with consent before Elijah starts examining it thoroughly. 

“Elena.” Elijah’s touch is warm and comforting, and even tight, but she doesn’t mind it in the slightest. She’s caught up in how dainty, breakable, her ankle looks in his encompassing grip that Elijah has to call her name again to get her attention.

“Your sleepwalking hasn’t stopped,” Elijah states.

Coming to her senses, Elena narrowly avoids rolling her eyes. It’s a defense mechanism; she’s trapped. Even if a lie is at the tip of her tongue, it dies down at Elijah’s stern look. “No,” she confesses, voice dropping to a murmur.

“And this.” He’s still holding on to her ankle, anchoring her to the present moment. “Is this Damon’s idea or yours?”

And that’s enough touching. Elena squirms to get out of his hold. He lets go instantly. Elena draws her legs up until she can rest her chin on her knees. “Both.”

A rude snort comes from Klaus’ direction. Elijah cuts him a disapproving glare.

“May I ask what you dream about?” Elijah asks, patient-sounding. “If they all end up with your sleepwalking? Are they all about Niklaus?”

A scream. More images rush to mind. Decay. A burnt skull – hers or his?

“I don’t remember them all clearly,” Elena divulges. Honestly. She avoids looking at Klaus, afraid of what her mind might remember next. “They’re flashes. The clearest ones are from…”

“The one when we talked?” Klaus finishes for her. She nods.

Elijah leans away; scrubs a hand over his face. “It might not mean anything,” he says, to Elena, or to Klaus, or himself; she doesn’t know. “Elena, I’d like to do a little experiment.”

Has that sentence ever brought good consequences? She’s already shaking her head when Elijah soldiers on to explain himself. “Are you aware of vampires’ ability to infiltrate dreams?”

Damon did it. She was tormented with dreams of crows and dead animals for weeks after meeting him, and she’d never confirmed whether or not it was him. She’s sure of the ability, though, and she tells them this.

“Fall asleep,” Elijah says. “I’d like to see what you dream of. Niklaus is convinced there’s a power manipulating this. I’d like to see if his beliefs are true.”

She’s drowning– not right now, but in the past. Right now? It’s not water crawling up her throat; it’s dirt. She feels like choking. When when when when will they rest? 

When will the threats stop coming?

“You think someone’s in my head?” The almost shrill question takes a herculean effort to get out.

Elijah’s touch finds her again; this time, it’s to rest comfortingly on her knee. “PTSD, as Damon suspects, could also be the driving force behind this. We won’t know until…”

“You get in my head,” Elena says, feeling oddly defensive. She doesn’t want anyone inside her head, especially a Mikaelson, no matter how much of a gentleman he was.

“If it’s a threat,” Elijah says, “Esther remerging from the dead; something else, we’ll be able to face them head on. If it’s not–”

Klaus wipes his hand over a sardonic smile. It’s full of mocking, though. “We’ll pay for your therapy.”

Chapter Text

“You're on your own, kid

You always have been"

Chapter Four

“This isn’t going to work,” Elena says. The anxiety’s here, making a Super Bowl-esque comeback. It’s draining and clogging. Maybe it’s the rest of the water; her body having a delayed reaction to being submerged. The liquid’s clambering up her throat, scrambling, choking–

The lounge chair makes a screeching sound as she shoves back in it, to give herself room, air, to breathe, that isn’t tainted by the Mikaelson. The boarding house to her left gets a longing look. When will Damon be back? He’ll flip when he finds out Klaus and Elijah were here. Worse, that Elena’s seriously thinking about collaborating with them.

“Elena, I assure you, no harm will come to you.” Elijah is as non-threatening as he’s ever presented himself to her; hands in his pockets, even a step further away than a moment ago. “In fact, this might provide some…relief for you; having Niklaus or I observe the dream, even interfere if need be.”

“Ah, which raises a curious question,” Klaus interjects. “Which hasn’t Damon or one of your lovely friends interfered? Where’s the Bennett witch?”

Elena has always hated how way too many people refer to Bonnie as the witch. There’s more to her than that. More importantly, she’s hating how Klaus’ question makes her feel. “Damon…” she hesitates; stalls. “Damon doesn’t believe me, all right?”

There has to be a reaction, between Klaus and Elijah, but Elena doesn’t have the courage to see it. “He says I’ve been through too much,” she continues, about to start ranting; in fact, try to stop her. “My parents; finding out vampires are real–” She almost snorts. That day is a lifetime away and seems trivial in comparison to the dumpster fire that’s been her life ever since. “Katherine, being kidnapped a couple times– one was by Damon, by the way.” A few more by Klaus and Elijah. “The sacrifice, and– I’m convincing you of his point of view, aren’t I, that I’m crazy or something?” 

Elijah’s already shaking his head. “Out of the two of you, you’re saner.”

A peal of laughter bubbles up her throat. Elijah gives her a millimeter smile, like he’s aware of how he sounded. He continues, “Pain makes you wise. When you’ve gone through a lot, like you, or like Damon, that can mean one of two things. Your ordeals mean that you’re wise enough to recognize what’s a threat and what isn’t. It seems that Damon’s ordeals have made him willfully blind.”

I gave her a cup of tea; had a heart-to-heart, and she turned out fine. That’s what Damon had said, right? Like she wasn’t having a panic attack in bed nearly every night next to him. Come back to bed, Elena. It’s nothing, he would tell her.

What if it’s not nothing?

If it’s nothing, two of the world’s oldest creatures wouldn’t have sought her out.

…but having them invade her dreams, her mind? It’d been validating– having them believe her, but did she just bite off more than she can chew? It’s better to convince Damon, to wait for their friends to come around. Maybe even Stefan can–

“I can’t invite Klaus inside,” Elena blurts. A last resort. This is a horrible mistake. Doppelgangers aren’t equipped to handle Originals alone. They’ll kill her. Again. And if everyone found out she invited Klaus into the last Klaus-free home…“My friends would lose it. And I can’t be alone with you guys like this,” she adds, for a whole other reason that she hopes hides inside the first one.

Rattling, metal knocking on metal, fills her ears. Lot 19 , like she was property . 

The rarest find: a Petrova doppelganger. The last one alive. She’d felt like King Kong at the theater. But she was powerless. She couldn’t snap and climb the Empire State building.

Arctic, murderous eyes lock with hers, but it’s in the past, not the present. Klaus had been furious at the auction. 

“We won’t act like you know what you’ve been through,” Elijah is saying, even if she’s not wholly keeping eye contact with him at the moment. Even that much contact with another human being feels too invasive. “But I think, Elena, despite our…crimes against each other– I hope that you think of yourself as safe with us.”

She looks at him.

The Noble Original. The eldest. The protector, who had every justification to kidnap her for Rebekah to torment that day, yet had kept his sister from even touching her that day. If anyone can understand it, it's you, his letter said.

Then she shifts her gaze to Klaus, who is unapproachable, but ultimately safe in a way that she can’t say about all men. Klaus had been furious that day, at seeing her like that, let her cower into him, gave her his jacket; heads had rolled.

Elena Gilbert then comes to the startling realization that she feels safe with the Mikaelsons. The world officially tilts on its axis.

It’s almost too easy to convince Alaric to convince Damon to come to Whitmore, where he’s teaching a college course. It’s been months since Jenna had broken up with him– and Elena and Mystic Falls, but, with a little pleading in the form of Alaric, he’s being overbearing again. I need some space without telling him I need space. Alaric, please.

With a kiss, a duffle bag over his shoulder, and a bag of aged bourbons, Damon leaves Elena. Alaric had promised he’d give her a week, at most. It’s all she needs. Hopefully, by then, the thing with the dreams and the dream walking and Klaus and Elijah will be solved. Or, at least, if there is something to it, Damon will have no choice but to believe the Originals. He might even eat his words about it being ‘nothing’ and dismissing her.

In the world’s strangest WhatsApp group, Elena tells Klaus and Elijah’s profile picture-less numbers that they’re okay to go ahead with the plan. She still hasn’t folded about inviting Klaus inside, so it’ll just be Elijah.

That’s okay, right? Even when Damon finds out eventually what she’d done. It was for her peace of mind. And Elijah, out of all the vampires in town, can be trusted to keep his word.

So. Friday night. It’s 11 o’clock, and her doorbell rings.

“I can’t invite you inside,” Elena says immediately when she opens the door. 

Klaus rolls his eyes. “Just thought I’d offer you some peace of mind.” He sounds mocking. There’s a layer of ancient magic separating them, but her grip still tightens on the doorknob in fear when he leans closer. “I just received word that Damon Salvatore is currently blackout drunk, in a bar in Whitmore, with Alaric Saltzman. Around…two hours away? Last I heard, we’re the only vampires in town. If there is anything you hope to pull on us, I welcome you to second guess it.”

Righteous, offended, rage has her almost slamming the door shut. “Oh my God,” Elena exclaims. In her pajamas, albeit they’re her best set. “Shit, no. Jesus. I’m not– there isn’t–” He has her rattled.  

Wrong thing to say. The more she fumbles, the more Klaus’ eyes darken.

“Can’t vampires tell when humans are lying?” Elena ends up demanding. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” she enunciates clearly. God.

Trying to see through her soul, it seems, is what Klaus is trying to do. The next few moments are intense, like, breathtakingly intense. Then, like a damn breaking, Klaus backs a microstep back, snorting. “This isn’t Teen Wolf, Elena.”

A retort is on her lips when he leaves. Just like that. In his place, two seconds later, is Elijah. His tight expression shows he’s seen Klaus was just here and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“It’s fine,” Elena tells him, not sure if she’s lying. Adrenaline from that brief encounter is still running through her tired veins. “Hi, Elijah. Come in.”

“Bonnie’s off the grid,” Elena is telling Elijah as she’s setting up her bed to go to sleep, discarding the many throw pillows she has. Honestly, her house, since knowing that the Original was coming, has never been cleaner. Her bedroom alone is worthy of an Architectural Digest cover. “Matt is…” Useless, but she doesn’t say it. What’s he going to do? “Caroline and Tyler are away, but you probably already knew that. Which leaves…”

She means her and Damon, but Elijah, who’s been leaning against her window seat in an eerie parallel to over a year ago when they’d first met, finishes her sentence with: “Stefan.”

“Stefan,” Elena parrots. A poor throw pillow is chucked extra hard at the pile she’s making in the little basket at the corner of the room she stores them in. “Stefan left. Like, right when summer started.”

She’s crying harder than she ever has, comforted, out of all things, by Elijah Mikaelson’s suit jacket. Klaus guides her to their car. Stefan shows up two hours later, at the Mikaelson Manor.

“How did you convince Damon to go away for the week?” Elijah moves on.

It’s the last pillow, so she has nothing to fiddle with. “Um, two words: Alaric. Bourbon. It took a little convincing from Alaric and I, but he caved.”

“So, Alaric knows.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Elena says. “He knows about the nightmares, but he believes Damon. When I told him to ask Damon to visit, I said I needed space.”

He sits down, hands on his knees, comfortable in her home while she’s crawling out of her skin in it on most days. “It’s curious,” says Elijah, “that Damon is so stubborn about this.”

“Right? ” She jumps at this opportunity. “Haven’t we been through that we should have the benefit of the doubt at the very least? I used to think he doesn’t want to risk another war with your family, but–” She hesitates. Elijah leans forward, interested, and it’s enough to prompt her to continue, “You wouldn’t leave your girlfriend if you thought she was in pain or danger, right?”

The same look as when Klaus had left before Elijah got there. Elijah’s expression tightens. “No, I wouldn’t.”

It’s all going well and dandy– as could be. Why Elijah is really here isn’t ever far from mind. It’s so bizarre. She offered him coffee or tea, which he respectfully declined. It left her with no outlet to direct her jittery energy at. The tension reaches an all-time high when she tells him she’s finally going to try to get some sleep.

“I will be right downstairs,” Elijah is saying. Despite his claims not to want refreshments, Elena had predicted this and left Jenna’s tea kit outside, a chest with different tea bag types and a tray with a mug, spoon, and little jar of sugar. The kettle was filled with water. “The second I hear your heartbeat start to rise, or anything indicative of you being in distress, I will come up.”

It made sense. Elena will never be able to fall asleep knowing that Elijah is right there. She had a boyfriend, for God’s sake. Another man, even an Original, a Mikaelson, shouldn’t be in her room while she slept. They’d agreed that Elijah will wait downstairs until further notice. He assured her that even if she didn’t have a dream tonight, it’s fine. No pressure, he means, but it’s extra pressure. Would they have to do this tomorrow?

Taking a page out of his book, Elena gives him a sincere but tight smile. “Great. Goodnight, Elijah.”

There’s more he wants to say; reassurance, maybe even another Klaus-esque threat, but Elijah eventually just nods. “Goodnight, Elena.”

She rips the covers off the bed to get in. A distinct metal noise whispers its sound, but to a vampire’s ears, it’s the loudest thing in the room. Oh God.

Oh...shit shit shit

“You still sleep with this?” Elijah surges forward. Elena backs away out of the Original’s path, wide eyed at his sudden anger. Speechless, well, she’s swearing at herself in her mind, she watches as he holds up the cuffs Damon had locked around the bars at the foot of her bed.

Klaus mentioned seeing the bruise around her ankle at the Miss Mystic Falls booth. Right?

“Sleepwalking is dangerous,” she tells Elijah defensively. “I’m lucky I didn’t run into anyone the last few times.”

A muscle in Elijah’s jaw visibly ticks. 

“We tried locks,” Elena goes on when he doesn’t speak. “Apparently, sleepwalking Elena is smart enough to open them.” And not smart enough to pick up shoes before venturing into the branchy woods. 

“Show me your ankle.”

It’s the last thing she expected. “W-what?”

Elijah drops the cuffs like they’re disgusting. Turns to her. “May I see the bruise, please.”

“It’s fine,” Elena says. “It’s necessary. We tried other restraints–”

“Elena.”

“But I can free myself from them. It has to be something with a key.” The key to these cuffs in particular is in a safe on her dresser, which the chain lets her reach. The password should prove to be a challenge to her sleep-addled brain. In theory.

There is no adequate way to describe what happens next. Klaus’ smirk sharpens when he’s ticked off, but Elijah’s expression neutralizes in a way that alarms her Neanderthal brain. Reluctantly, Elena lowers herself to sit on the bed and brings her feet up. Plain white socks cover them since she’s found they provide a layer of protection against the triggering cold of the cuffs.

A wince– at the memories, at the pain, which shifts between that of an aching bruise throughout the day and a reopening wound at night. Elijah is faster than her shaking hands. Gently, he lowers the hem of her sock. It’s been days since Elena let herself look at her foot, and even she is surprised at how dark the bruise is. It’s different shades, too; pink, purple, and at where the cuff clamps down, it’s a dark blue. There’s a scab –

Elijah makes a sympathetic sound, one that tugs at the seams of a floodgate inside her. She doesn’t not need an Original to be this…kind to her. It’s not even anyone’s fault. It’s–

“It’s necessary,” Elena says, quieter than before.

Elijah’s protest is immediate. “Absolutely not.”

“Elijah, you don’t understand–”

“You willingly tie yourself like this every night?” Elijah demands.

She goes on the offense instead of just stumbling to defend herself. “What’s the alternative?” she shoots back.

“I have yet to hear a resounding yes ,” Elijah says conclusively. “It’s my assumption then that this is Damon Salvatore’s great idea?”

Elena’s expression falls. “I agreed!” she argues. “Damon may not think there’s a threat behind this, but we can’t ignore that it happens. It is dangerous to wander around town at night, barefoot and barely conscious. Hey!”

The cuffs break, malleable as clay under Elijah’s strength. With a flick of his finger, he’d wordlessly forced the handcuffs’ claws open. Useless, they get tossed neatly in the basket bin next to her desk. 

Elena stares at where they landed, blinking, quite useless herself. A very real pain ricochets from her ankle and up to her heart. 

“I don’t have another pair.” She’d have to go all the way to the boarding house for their dungeon and its assortment of restraints. 

“Good,” says Elijah simply. “Go to sleep without them. I’ll be downstairs.”

She’s running.

The night comes to her in flashes and agony; her feet tripping over themselves in the forest–

the sharp bark of fallen trees and haywire branches scratching at her–

screeching crows flying over her like a funeral, like vultures–

her own breath clogged painfully in her lungs, trapped in a second, invisible skeleton that won’t let her inhale–

Noise swooshes past her ears like a violent wave of wind–

The world comes into focus, and it fades again, and all she sees is the grandeur of the Mikaelson Manor. 

A scream is torn out of her when her arm is grabbed. Terror, like the night of the sacrifice; like every time she thought Stefan or Damon were hurt; moments before her parents’ car plunged into the freezing lake. The noise in her ears escalates to a deafening volume. She’s trying to get away. Why won’t–

A pair of eyes are wide in alarm when she meets them. Something bloody must tear in her throat due to the gutteral noise of fear she makes. A grotesque version of Klaus Mikaelson’s face stares back at her. Decayed. Burnt. Features perpetually trapped in a gaping scream. Maggots are crawling in and out of his mouth and eye sockets. 

A crow screeches–

Elena screams–

Insects climb over her, crawling, burrowing, digging–

Elena screams–

A scream that’s instantly replaced by water getting into her mouth is torn out of Elena’s damaged throat, shocking her to consciousness. It’s the worst thing that could have possibly happened to her, because now, she’s back in the car, seat belt digging into her shoulder. Her parents are dying in front of her. And the water has a smell . And it’s loud , and she might as well take in a deadly gulp right now–

“Elena!” Hands smooth her hair back. Because it keeps falling. Reality filters back in slowly and in flashes. She’s on her hands and knees; what the hell? Elena looks up and the first thing that she notices is the room door inches away. The ground is even closer.

And then there's Elijah Mikaelson. A regretful, disheveled-looking, internally torn Elijah is on the ground next to her. He’s holding her, like he had done months ago, enveloping her like his jacket did that day. “Elena, can you hear me?”

“You threw water over me,” Elena whispers in a low, accusing, hurt voice.

He’s still touching her. He pauses, looking as rattled as Elijah could be. “No, I didn’t.” His hands, which had been trying to soothingly stroke her hair, cup her face. Brings her to look at him. “Elena, I think you’ve been cursed.”

Chapter Text

"And the road not taken looks real good now"

Chapter Five

Klaus gets invited inside. It’s not as ceremonial, or drudges dread as Elena had thought before, as she thought it would make her feel. They didn’t even ask her to. Shaking, distinctly not drenched in water as she’d thought, and paler than healthy, Elena had stumbled her way downstairs to get something to make her blood sugar, pressure, or whatever, up.

On her heels, Elijah followed, saying something that eluded her. It was like her ears were still being blocked by water. 

It’s only when she’d gulped down a glass of water, against her better judgment, but Elijah had persistently shoved it at her, that Elena’s vision cleared enough. Blinking, she regards the Original before her warily, noticing, for the first time, that he had been speaking, but most of it wasn’t directed at her. 

His gaze darts to the back door in the kitchen, and a horror movie-worthy jumpstarts manifests itself in the form of a glowering, towering Klaus in the dark, lit up by the lone porch lamb. 

You’re cursed, Elena.

I think you’re cursed.

Cursed. Cursed!

You’re cursed, E–

“Elena, come back to me.” Elijah might as well be speaking to a cornered animal. “Elena, darling. Talk to me.”

I think you’re cursed, Elena.

“He can come in,” she says listlessly, numb.

The door opens immediately, soundlessly, at least until the room erupts in the form of Klaus fucking Mikaelson barging in, ready for war.

“What the hell was that?” he’s demanding, growly, a pissed-off nerve vividly popping up in his neck. Instinct has Elena moving back, but Elijah’s already stepping between them.

“Calm down, brother.”

“Is it still nothing, Elijah? She was screaming.”

“He woke me up,” Elena murmurs, halting the charged argument. Elijah’s close enough to touch, which is too close. “You’re not supposed to wake up someone who’s sleepwalking.”

A pin drop would have been heard from the disbelieving silence that drops on the kitchen. Klaus may have been raring for battle, but he shares a side with Elijah in staring at her like she’s insane. 

“She’s insane,” Klaus ends up saying, and has the audacity to look surprised when the first sob bursts out of her.

“Niklaus!” snaps Elijah. He intercepts the path Elena was taking to get the hell out. Since crying in front of not one, but two Mikaelson brothers is unimaginable for her, Elena is hiding her face, also to stifle the sobs until she can get somewhere safe, so she runs right into him.

Then something unexpected happens: arms wrap around her waist. 

A hug. Elijah is hugging her. The last time he hugged her was–

Blood clings to Klaus’ jacket, which is her only protection of the frigid air, and the only thing covering her besides panties and a bra. 

Her panic-addled mind has categorized people into two: safe and not safe.

Elijah is safe.

Hand around her waist, holding, protecting, she doesn’t know, but she lets him catch her. Clings to him after.

The next sob is muffled by his shirt. It’s utterly and laughably out of her control how she absolutely folds in Elijah’s arms. In return, he tightens his grip around her. It works the same way she imagines weighted covers work. Safety blankets her the tighter he holds her.

There’s no telling how many minutes she spends crying like this, shoulders caving in with every overpowering sob, rattling her body, ricocheting throughout her icy veins. When she’d woken up, she didn’t look at the clock between the blurry journey from her bedroom to the kitchen either. The crying dilutes to sniffle, and like most griefs, unexpectedly finds a lull.

When he senses her calming down, Elijah’s hands slowly, without leaving her skin, slid up from her waist to her forearms. One travels up to cup the side of her neck. Elena is aware of him studying her features, switching between her eyes, and it’s too much all of a sudden. She doesn’t so much as shove away from him as she backs away with force.

And slam into Klaus.

He grabs her arm to steady her.

“Elena.” Unlike his brother, Klaus doesn’t have trouble finding his words, or mincing them. “I was referring to insanity in the sense that you’re trying to explain that the reason you woke up screaming was that Elijah woke you up.” She’s rooted in place as he comes closer, inexplicably stuck but still drawn to the dangerous, tightly-coiled predator in the room. “It’s because we shared your dream, and it was nothing short of horrifying.”

A second, phantom bucket of water is dropped on her. “W– really?”

“It’s the same nightmare, right?” Elijah questions from behind her. She whips around to look at him.

“Different versions of it, but yes.” Guiltily, she doesn’t look at Klaus, only seeing his decomposed face instead in her mind’s eye. “I’m always running.”

“And Niklaus grabs you.”

Simultaneously, all three of them look at the hand Klaus used to steady Elena, which is still holding onto her elbow. In her haste to get away from the both of them, Elena almost stumbles again. She only goes as far as the end of the kitchen island, anyway.

“You’re not running; you’re being chased,” Klaus says.

That rings true. Crows screech overhead. She’s drowning, but she wasn’t just running. “I think I’m trying to reach you.”

“That was no ordinary night terror.”

Damon Salvatore’s voice comes back to haunt Klaus. I gave her some tea; had a heart-to-heart. She’s fine.

Pushed by Elena’s chilling screams, and by Klaus’ own growled instructions (not that Elijah ever abided by Klaus’ threats) Elijah had tried to wake her up, the result had been catastrophic. Her screams became high-pitched, increased in intensity, and, to their own ascending dread, started to inexplicably choke.

“Someone is deliberately terrorizing her in her sleep.” Elijah keeps his voice lowered, even though Elena wouldn’t hear them. They’re still at her house, even after the sun came up. After their charged conversation in the kitchen, Elena had fled to her room. So, technically, they didn’t know whether they should leave or stay. 

Klaus wants to stay. There’s no way he’s leaving his doppelganger like this. Not when she’s in evident danger. 

Someone wants to hurt him. And they’re trying to do it by hurting Elena first.

“She was struggling to get up,” Elijah continues in that murmur. “When I raced up. I believe she might have just started to sleepwalk.”

“Sleep run.”

Elijah doesn’t indulge him, not that Klaus’ in a joking mood. His barb was sharp enough to cut: a bait; because when he got like this, he wanted to fight.

“She whispered my name,” Elijah says.

Klaus’ jaw locks. “I heard her.” In the dream. They’re not sure if even she was aware it had happened. The Mikaelson Manor had loomed in the distance of her nightmare. While gnarled branches slowed her scramble towards it from the woods, before she’d find dream-Klaus, she whispered it. Elijah?

“Which begs the question,” Elijah says. “Which one of us was she running towards in real life?”

The solution is easy. Their method is experimentation. 

Now that Klaus is invited inside, and Damon is elbow deep in bourbon, Elijah and Klaus will come back the following night. Well, one of them. Then they’ll see which one of them Elena was sleeping walking towards. 

They’re a little worried, understandably, that someone’s using her to locate them. So they don’t plan on letting her get this far. More questions have popped up. What if, instead of someone trying to find the Mikaelsons, it’s somehow a vision? Some gifted people are known to have them, and God knows doppelganger blood has magic in it.

The date is set. The next day, they’ll try again.

Elena spends the day crying and cleaning. 

It’s a habit– with Klaus. He shows up before Elijah to claim her attention. An hour before they’re supposed to arrive, she finds him in her room.

She’s a fawn, stumbling after Klaus around her, anxious, ‘doe-eyed’ as Caroline once called her, and unanimously the most useless animal around (not to be a cliche but–) a predator. She can’t defend herself; can’t hope to punch or gore someone on her antlers. All she can do is run. 

Katherine did. Run. Would she dub that as a success or a failure? A few months of being around the Mikaelson, she’d gotten a glimpse at their psyche, and despite the showdown after the sacrifice at Alaric’s apartment, Elena can confidently (-ish) say that Elijah and Klaus spent a whopping total of ten minutes looking for ‘Katerina Petrova’ after her disappearing act. 

Which makes the Mikaelsons declaring permanent residence in Mystic Falls alarmingly concerning. 

Which makes Klaus hanging around her room when she’s not there mildly terrifying. 

A sensation akin of being pierced with a needle touched Elena’s spine when she sees Klaus in her bedroom, investigating her little trinkets and knick knacks– not unlike how Elijah did when he’d first came to Mystic Falls. After she was kidnapped to be delivered to him. Before Klaus sacrificed her. Before–

“Barely a hitch in your breath,” compliments Klaus; at least, she thinks so. He sets down a snow globe from freaking Denver out of all places that she has on a bookshelf. She also thinks it’s good appraisal in his eyes (she doesn’t want to say piercing, but the word kind of fills in on itself) as he examines her upon entry. 

She’s wearing something she’d gotten for Damon on her birthday, a set of silky pajamas, of a top that barely reaches her belly button and shorts that end a little past that. In rose gold lace and pale pink. It’s her modest summer pajamas in, as she and Damon joked the other day, ‘take-off-your-skin season.’ In her mind’s eyes, the electric blue in Damon’s eyes, his pupils– they dilate in attraction. Her breath had certainly hitched and cut off then.

“Guess I’m used to this.” Embarrassing. Her voice’s shaky and not at all ‘used to this.’ Caroline’s voice sounds in her ears, telling her she’s being a ‘pick me’ girl. Acutely feeling a line of haphazardly organized goosebumps follow in the wake of Klaus close by, Elena crosses her arms. “Plus, I’ve kind of broken into your house a couple of times.”

The fairylights she’d strung up as a seventh grader– and still stands by– illuminate the deep, deep dimple in each of Klaus’ cheeks. The dimples prelude the actual smile, which is mind-boggling to her. Mainly, of course, because he should be the devil incarnate and she shouldn’t be thinking about the dimples of a man who–

“Are you getting sick of that?” she asks, suddenly feeling wild. Her very thoughts reminded her of who exactly was standing in front of her. “Is that why you made me tell Damon not to come by?” To kill me? The thought is so outlandish: Klaus– who had made it his immortal life’s duty to harvest her blood– killing her because she was a little more trouble than he’d signed up for.

Klaus, who had stood there like a scientist observing his subject systematically breaking down, clasps his hands behind his back. Straightens; his eyes narrow. “You always think the worst of people.”

Trapped in a corner, she– “Bitten once, twice shy” – tries to monologue. Call me a misanthrope, she’s about to say.

An amused upturn twitch to Klaus’ usually bloodied-like lips halt her thought process. She thinks she’s never stood in the same proximity as him without a buffer; Elijah, Damon, or Stefan. The cologne he’s wearing infiltrates her senses, fills her lungs with it, makes her associate that inexplicable scent with the air in her ribcage being sucked out and replaced with it.

She also thinks that for as long as she’s watching him, he’s watching her back. 

This is until his gaze drifts past her and settles on something behind her. His head tilts. “You draw?”

A shock-full of oxygen enters her system. W-what? She whips around to follow his line of sight and finds the sketchbook on her desk. It’s closed, which would have counted as her saving grace if Klaus didn’t immediately set out towards it.

“Hey, you can’t just barge in here and go through–”

“Stop me.” It’s his tone that irks her. Unbothered. Unthreatened. Casual. He even waits for a moment, ready to be wavered, raises his eyebrows as if to say he gave her a chance, and then picks it up. 

“Klaus.” Please.

There’s an audible crackle as Klaus peels open the first page of the stiff sketchbook. A louder beat of silence follows as he takes in what’s on it. A few feet are between them, but she can see over his shoulder. Broad shoulders, hidden under a light jacket, visibly tense as he sees what no one before him has ever seen. Every time Damon came over, she always made sure her sketchbooks were under lock and key. In Jeremy’s room, too. With him, and him, gone, that granted her the freedom to sketch and draw at her desk without worrying about someone finding her.

“It’s new,” Elena finds herself filling the gap of words. “Drawing, as a hobby. I used to, as a kid.” And when she was dating Matt; when she could get a moment away from him. “Got back to it this summer since I’m, you know, stuck here.”

It’s like she hasn’t even spoken. A flinch tries burrowing into her with every crackling of a new page. Klaus is apparently so invested that he doesn’t react when she rounds the bed and goes to stand beside him. Her hand reaches for one of her best-kept secrets. 

Klaus’ eyes lift from the black-smudged pages and find hers over them. Between them, Damon Salvatore stares back; the first thing you’ll notice is his otherworldly, blue eyes.

Inhale. Exhale. This is just Klaus, for goodness’ sake.

Who likes to paint, right? The first person to see her hobby is worthy of a Monet title.

“These aren’t sketches,” he says, voice barely higher than a murmur. “They’re caricatures.”

It seems to be mocking her– the caricature. It’s one of the few with barely a brush of color. Damon’s body is his smallest feature on the page; instead, dominating a disrespectful chunk of the space is his head; its tallest feature? His wide eyes, colored in with a blue she’d bought specifically for painting Damon. The only other colored feature is his raven-black hair, which seems comically small in comparison with the rest of his head.

“It’s not just him,” she’s quick to argue. The role of the obsessive emo, human girlfriend who only paints her immortal boyfriend is cliche, even for her. Just as she’d simply given up her stack of books at the bookstore, she turns the page to another. There are a few Damons in there, all different, but all sharing the same feature of wide eyes. Stefan’s page finally makes an appearance, and Klaus stops her before she can skip it.

And she gets treated to one of life’s rarest events: Klaus Mikaelson releasing a booming laugh that feels thunderous in her ear.

Stefan seems almost offended– the way she made him. It’s not his head that’s big. On the contrary, it’s barely the size of a coin. His body’s a little bigger, but it’s his–

“Caroline, Bonnie, and I call it his ‘hero hair,’” Elena explains meekly, aware of the shark-like smile inches from her face. “He knows about this joke.” But not the drawing.

It was a little dramatic to have his, what was it called, quiff ? reach the top of the page, but she’d colored it in so satisfyingly and so crisply, knowing firsthand how much product went into making his hair stand up like that.

“This,” says Klaus, “is a masterpiece.”

Elena groans. Klaus laughs again.

The pictures are many, each more dramatic than the other as Elena gained confidence in experimenting. Bonnie’s caricature is holding up a wand four times her size; Caroline is buried under a wealth of blonde hair. Tyler’s has wolf fur all over his human body. Another Damon passes by, with normal size proportions except for the fangs that extend till below his knee like a–

“A walrus,” Klaus had chortled then. It’s his favorite subject– Damon.

“I love him,” Elena had defended, almost vehemently, courageously, even in the face of Klaus’ superior eyebrow raise and dimples. “Art is arbitrary, right. Like that guy that painted people without eyes.”

“Keep Modigliani’s name out of your mouth,” says Klaus, but it’s with such a devilish glint to his eyes that Elena’s defenses go down. 

It’s pathetic, really. It makes her laugh and hide her face to hide it. “You’re such a dick.” But he laughs, too. She sits on her bed, defeated, and lets him feast his eyes on her secret sketchbooks.

“Where is mine?” Klaus demands a nano-minute later.

She knows what he’s asking for and curses the day she decided to draw in her room. At the same time, Klaus out of all people should know the value of privacy. “I don’t know what you mean,” she tells him primly.

That resulting eyebrow raise would shame anyone in submission. “If this is how you paint your friends,” he says, “I’m dying to see how you paint your enemies.”

“Then die,” she says, which is way too bold, so she follows that up quickly with: “I don’t think of you often, you know,” she tells him. “Before the sleepwalking thing, at least. Why should I draw you?”

The sketchbook gets placed back on her desk. The same way places felt giant and otherworldly when you’re visiting as a kid, in contrast to how average they feel when you come back as an adult– your grandmother’s house, your old classrooms, a playground, Klaus feels that way right now; the former, not the latter, like how cartoon villains’ shadows cloak most of the room. Klaus makes his way to Elena, the only vestige of a malicious smile apparent in how his dimples come up briefly.

His roughened voice, crisp, otherworldly accent– they wash over her. “You don’t think of me often,” Klaus ponders aloud. His purposeful march ends at the foot of her bed where she’s frozen. She swallows hard when he lithely lowers himself to a crouch at her feet; the unbalance of power seems almost comical.

“The man who hunted you for months,” Klaus drawls, his arctic eyes, a deceivingly innocent blue, darkening. “Who killed you in ritual sacrifice, who took away your boyfriend for a summer, who you schemed and plotted with your friends to kill, and who you dream of every night. I’m not a thought, Elena, in your head. I’m ingrained in you.”

“Well, now, you’re trying to give her nightmares.”

Elena startles, jumping to the point that her knees nearly knock into Klaus. He gracefully dodges her, and his smirk sharpens until she feels like the doe caught in a wolf’s line of sight, staring down the end of a barrel, or at salivating fangs, anxious to–

“My apologies for barging in, dear Elena,” the civilized Mikaelson says, still at the entrance of her bedroom, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeve like he’d rushed to get here. “Niklaus and I agreed to meet at a certain time, but my brother’s never been one for discipline.”

“You took too long,” Klaus counters, even sharing a look with Elena like they’re cohorts. “I was afraid she’d be asleep by the time we got here.”

With mannerisms only exasperated older siblings are capable of, Elijah sighs. “Are you all right, Elena?” He ignores his brother. “I was on the phone with one of our contacts. They’re looking into sleeping curses.”

Every trace of sleepiness and tiredness is schlooped right out of her. Predicting that she kicks first, speaks second, Klaus altogether gets off the ground and straightens to his full, intimidating height. I’m ingrained in you.

“A curse?” She’d hoped they were past that theory. “Someone cursed me?”

“Not necessarily.” It feels like a lie, but she’s panicking, so the truth’s a little abstract right now. “But there is magic to it, I’m sure. I felt it. It could be as Niklaus previously theorized, that someone’s using you to find us.”

Elena’s heart is beating out of control; a bird desperately hurtling itself at the cage walls of her ribs to escape. Cursed. Used.

“There are other curses; spells,” Klaus says. For a second, she thinks he might be comforting her, too, but he’s just stating cold facts expressionlessly. “Did your little gang happen to piss off any other ancient, immortal beings?”

“Niklaus–”

“There’s the lovely hunter’s curse.” Oh, Klaus is monologuing. “Ask Kol, and he’ll happily dive into his conspiracy theories about Silas.”

Her stomach drops. “What are the–”

“Elena, did you kill any vampire hunters recently?” Elijah proclaims in that no-nonsense voice. She shakes her head quickly. “Did you resurrect any ancient beings from an undisclosed location off the map?”

“N-no?” How does she even begin to dissect that? If she’d thought Damon and Stefan were old , then the Mikaelsons were artifacts. Their knowledge of the world, magic, and its secrets sends a shiver down her spine.

“Then we go back to our default.”

“Esther?”

“There is a litany of enemies looking for Niklaus. Any of them.”

“Once we have a name,” Klaus intervenes. “We’ll relieve said enemy of their heart and lungs. You can get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll all move on. Is that agreeable to everyone?”

A beat passes. Then two. Elena leaves the room at a run, and then she starts throwing up in the bathroom.

Chapter Text

"Don't blame me for what you made me do."

Chapter Six

“When are you coming home?”

Elena sounds pleading and whiny, but she can’t help it. Her anxiety’s been kicking up a racket, and it gets tiring hearing your heartbeat pound against your throat and stomach for so long. Paranoidly, she peeks out of the window, holding the curtain back with the tips of her fingers, sees nothing but nature, and closes it again.

“I thought you wanted me to go on this trip,” is Damon’s response. “Damon, Alaric needs you. Damon, you have to take better care of your relationships.”

“Because, at that point, you hadn’t called him in a week and he was hurting,” Elena shoots back. 

A bit of silence follows. She has to call his name again.

“Alaric’s calling me,” Damon says. “As much as I hate to admit it, you were right. The week’s not over. I’ll stay a couple of extra days. ”

Oh, would you look at that. The consequences of your own actions. With her back resting against the wall, Elena taps her foot a couple of times, feeling a dramatic urge to slam her head back against. “Okay. Take care of Alaric.”

Damon responds, “‘Course, babe. We’ll talk later.”

“Would love that. Love you,” she adds, following the more pressing urge to check the window again. Nature, suburban houses stare back. Breathing out in relief, she lets the curtain fall shut and–

And she’s been through a couple of times she’d been kidnapped, snatched, and attacked; the list of times she’d been startled into a scream is solely the reason why one doesn’t erupt out of her when, in the blink of an eye, Elijah Mikaelson appears in front of her on the other side of the window. 

Instead, Elena jerks back violently. She looks at her phone quickly, desperately, and finds that the call with Damon has ended.

“Good afternoon, Elena,” says Elijah calmly, oblivious– or maybe not– to the external panic she’s experiencing. His outline is visible even through the closed curtain, and her feet have already guided her to the middle of the room, as if that would keep her safe.

Elijah makes a sound, a mix between a hum and a tsk when she doesn’t acknowledge him. “May we speak?” he asks; the politest, yet strangely non-negotiable demand she’d ever gotten.

Elena calls Damon again; he doesn’t answer. Knowing him, he won’t think she’d call again so soon.

“I’m a patient man, Elena,” Elijah says eventually. It sounds weird to her until she realizes he’s quoting the last time a door stood between them. “I can wait you out,” he finishes the sentence he’d threatened her with at the cabin. I’m going to have to call your bluff.

That was what feels like a lifetime ago. 

“But if I’m here,” when her only response is her heart going tachycardic, Elijah says, “then how far behind is Klaus, whose patience is infinitely less abundant and arguably more violent than mine?”

What’s the magic word– yep, that’s it. In order not to look pathetic racing to the door, Elena forces herself to instead take large steps. He has to hear her, because he falls silent. He is infinitely less kind looking when she finally opens the door.

Unruffled. Perfect. Put-together. That’s what he looks like. Meanwhile, Elena…

Some of the sharpness softens in his expression, or more like it neutralizes. Elijah tilts his head as he regards her, head to foot. “You haven’t slept,” he observes.

“How can I?” Elena’s question is rhetoric and combative. 

Elijah doesn’t take the bait. His silence is heavier; his eyes dissect her. “Niklaus and I have been searching for you. I convinced him to allow you some time to come to terms.”

“I needed time,” Elena says. “I still do. I got through to Bonnie. Her mom says she checks in every couple of days. She’ll tell her to call me next when she calls again.”

“And you’ll, what,” Elijah says, starting a breath before she even finishes her sentence, “Stay awake until then? Two more days? And then however long until she can get here?”

If only Damon had listened to, he would be the one having this agonizing conversation instead of her. Elena, a la Elijah method, clenches her jaw and locks eyes stubbornly with him. The more she does, the darker his become.

One of the first thoughts to ever cross her mind about Elijah? When he stood outside her family’s cabin, when, again, he guided her to the forest to Rebekah, a lamb to the slaughter? All the demons in her life, she could tell by eyes. Klaus’ antagonizing blue; Damon’s were crystal clear. Ripper Stefan’s had tendrils of green that darkened into hazel, like a spot of blood was trapped in them.

Elijah’s?

That they’re a chasm away from a gentleman’s; that his genteel act hides a remorseful monster beneath. That, to her, he’s the scariest Original, and not just because he ripped someone's head off the first time they met. Because Klaus’ arrogant anger– you can see flare a mile away. Even Kol, for the briefest moment they’d interacted, him standing with a bat over Damon, looked like the quintessential sociopath. Elijah had kind eyes most of the time. The other times, whatever was lurking behind those dark depths, it was staring directly at Elena, and she imagined that it was exactly like staring into the eyes of a predator about to kill you.

Presently, Elijah smiles rigidly. “Your plan is futile. Come outside, Elena, and we can have a rational discussion about this.”

Oh God, is he– “Are you going to abduct me?” Despite every stranger-danger instinct that should shock her into retreating back into safety, Elena boldly steps closer to the door. “I’m in a witch ’s house,” she says. “Bonnie Bennett. I’m safe here until she can get here.”

Serves her lethargic brain right for inviting Klaus inside last night. Elijah already could, so she couldn’t stay in her house anymore. Klaus was invited in Caroline’s home, too. Luckily, Bonnie’s mom had extra extended the offer. Stay there until Bonnie can come back. 

“During this time,” Elijah says, “You can guarantee whoever cursed you won’t make their move? Do you know what’s so concerning about someone in your head, Elena? Because I can assure you, Niklaus isn’t afraid so much for your safety as you think. Sleep curses are gateways to a person’s consciousness. Can you see where I’m headed with this?”

There; he’d made his point. Hit the nerve. Elena swallows hard, less sure than she was moments earlier. “They could take over? Possess me?”

Elijah nods. He regards her dwindling confidence with a sharp gaze. “I want to protect you.” Complete, uninterrupted eye contact to drive his point home. “I can’t do that if you’re out of reach.”

Like their deal before; stay here. Do nothing. When the time comes, you and I shall draw Klaus away.

“You want to use me as bait.” Again. “It didn’t turn out so well the first time.”

That was implied. Before the tearing out of lungs and hearts, she’d seen the look exchanged between Klaus and Elijah. 

There’s no Damon or Stefan or Bonnie to fall back on when the implication of her reluctance, her challenge of Elijah’s pseudo-promise, sinks in. 

A muscle clenches in his jaw. His eyes darken. It’s scarier than she’d thought, like leaping only to find out there’s no safety net to save you.

“Call my bluff again, too,” Elena says, and closes the door. Silence falls on the house, as if, he, it, too, was shocked by her shutting the door on Elijah Mikaelson’s face.

Elena counts the seconds until the response. One, two– and gets to 30 by the time Elijah’s voice startles her into an upright position.

“Wait for Bonnie, then, that’s your solution?” 

The door seems to hold a charged energy, knowing that it’s the only thing physically separating her from the tightly-coiled predator outside, whom she’d just pissed off. 

“What about when you inevitably fall asleep? When your tormentor comes to collect? Technically, my brother and I could just wait until then for you to come to us. How does that sound, Elena?”

A furious, crimson blush attacks Elena’s face, feeling hot.

“I won’t sleep,” she proclaims. 

“For the two days until her mother delivers the message,” Elijah says, voice different. “Then for however long until she gets here. I’ll be dramatic, Elena, as you, and pretend it’s a mere two days away. It’s already been a day since you last slept. Let’s calculate that.”

Letting her guard down around him, pretending he’s anything but the ruthless monster she sometimes glimpses before he blinks that look away, is a disservice to her. And now, without a crutch, she has to face him.

“Are you familiar with the ramification of sleep deprivation? Why it’s used in torture?” says Elijah; she can almost picture him in front of Bonnie’s door, the picturesque gentleman; pressed suit and immaculate posture, plotting how to drag her away. 

“24 hours, sure, you must have pulled that off during finals' week." He sounds nothing more than calm, in control. "But let's talk about what happens after that. 36 hours, that's when your symptoms will be more pronounced. Did you believe you were tired before? You’ve barely scratched the surface about how hard your body will fight you back: headaches, nausea, dizziness. 

“Your brain is scrambling to find purchase, and you're failing it; you'll feel anxiety, depression. You're nearing that. Do you want to know what happens after 48 hours? After 72? Once you cross that threshold, your very cognitive abilities will be impaired. Hallucinations, delirium, tremors. Three days into this strike of yours, your perception of reality will become distorted. The very nightmares you're fruitlessly escaping will manifest in visual and auditory hallucinations.”

Metal clicks against metal, the last time she’d felt trapped like this. Anxious, nauseous, dizzy, jaw locked to the point of pain, gritted teeth sending spikes of pain up her nerves. I’m going to have to call your bluff, Elena. 

Tears fill her eyes as she’s struck speechless. How is she supposed to respond to that? How do you even respond to that?

Gathering her courage, a soldier counting his one bullet, Elena tries to straighten and speak in a clear– “Damon will–”

The words are ripped out of her throat when the door is kicked open, shoved hard enough that it slams into the wall. Jaw dropped, Elena fearfully anticipates Elijah at the other side of it, only to stumble back.

Klaus has replaced Elijah, looking very much like every time he roared he’d taken revenge every time they crossed him. His smirk grows when he sees how many steps she’d taken back from the door.

“You gave her a chance,” he says, glancing behind him, like he’s comforting his brother. “It seems something was lost in translation, love, when we spoke last.” He stops at the edge of the doorway, as close as he can get without the barrier pushing him back. “Someone is rooting around in your pretty little head looking for me. That means that you’re my problem. And my problem, running away to hide–” Mockingly, he makes a show of looking around the house I’ve taken refuge in. “Isn’t ideal for my peace of mind. Do you see where I’m going with this, Elena?” 

How long has he been listening to Elijah and her talk? Enough to throw the words back at her again.

“This is terrifying,” Elena shoots back, almost demandingly. Elijah threatened her. “Can’t you see that? I needed– I need–” She struggles to find words.

“Your boyfriend?” Klaus finishes for her. “He’s not here. But did he ever happen to mention how the plan to retrieve you from Alaric was conceived?” It clicks in instantly. Klaus’ smile spreads menacingly. “Wonderful. So you do know that I will burn a witch’s house around you to force you out?”

Damon and Stefan had gotten someone to fix the broken front door– and window, and fence the last time Klaus had tried getting into an uninvited house.

“We’re on the same side.” Elijah is back to calm; hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed. Tense, still, like he was seconds away from springing to attack if need be, muted tension rippling underneath his muscles.

It’s all happening too soon– too much. How is she– what is she–

“Going with you,” Elena says quickly, her panic clear, pathetic, clearly, in the face of two Mikaelsons, so pathetically trapped out overpowered it’s ridiculous. “What would that entail?”

The almost delighted fury in Klaus’ face tampers down at her acquiescence. The huffing and puffing wolf suddenly seems more manageable.

“Until Damon gets here, we can’t leave you vulnerable.” Elijah takes over the peaceful part of the ‘negotiation.’  

“And I’ll still get to live at my house?”

There’s some hesitation. Hurt, inexplicably betrayed, she thinks the worst of them, but, “Of course,” Elijah says smoothly.

“This is also your only choice,” taunts Klaus with. A tight smile makes her grind her molars. “Gotta love an oxymoron, sweetheart.”

The dignity of driving herself– not that she has a car; she’s borrowing one of Damon’s since hers was wrecked that day– isn’t even given to her. Klaus and Elijah wait outside for her to get her stuff. Speaking in hushed tones doesn’t even cross their minds. Elena only catches the last of their conversation, something about someone who might know something. Great, they know nothing.

Always the ‘gentleman,’ Elijah takes the duffel bag off her shoulders when she reappears, even when she won’t look at him, her shoulder blades tense with how hard she’s fighting to stop shaking . While Klaus storms off, the older Mikaelson stays. His presence at her back while she shuts the door makes her veins trap a shot of diluted adrenaline. She wants to run, to call Damon, Bonnie, Caroline, anyone–

Elena’s fingers shake and fail on her first and second attempt to insert it to lock up.

“Let me,” comes Elijah’s smooth, cultured voice a second before he retrieves the key from her cold grip. Strapped for words, Elena shifts uncomfortably but steps back. Something moves in her peripheral vision, and she finally sees Klaus, leaning against Elijah’s no-nonsense SUV. He smirks.

Elijah neatly twists the lock a couple of times before stepping back. Elena’s too caught into the other predator in her proximity that she doesn’t notice how close she is to him. She nearly stumbles back when they almost bump, and her eyes shoot up straight to him. The darkened eyes have lightened into warm molasses pools instead, and it’s so– it’s so deceiving that it sets her on guard. 

She’ll take her bet with the Mikaelson she understands more. 

Klaus doesn’t take his gaze off her the entire time she makes her way to him. Her pace is measured, desperate to go back to the familiarity of Bonnie’s house. She’s startled when Elijah passes her left on his way to put down her bag.

When she starts to near the car, Klaus pushes himself off the door to open it for her. She hesitates a few feet away. He arches an eyebrow, almost in challenge.

The trunk slams shut; Elijah. She’s surrounded; she understands.

When, non-combatively, she finally takes the last necessary steps, Klaus’ smirk reappears, triumphant. 

Now, almost face to face, breathtakingly close to her, he leans in with every intention of antagonizing her. He taunts, he murmurs, sounding chillingly approving, “Good girl.”

Chapter Text

"I never grew up

It's getting so old"

Chapter Seven

“You have to sleep some time, Elena,” Elijah had said, and she’d taken that personally.

The promise that they wouldn’t kidnap her 100% applies only after she gives them what they want, which is another night of nightmares they can observe. So they’d taken her to their mansion. It only made her jaw set harder.

Hour 30

Elena swears a mighty storm (in her head) when she completely misjudges the distance between her and a side table and completely annihilates her toe by stubbing it. She has to close her eyes against the onslaught of white-hot pain, which almost makes her dizzy. 

She tries to read the one book in the room to distract her. The words on the page are blurry to an offensive amount. She can't find it in herself to concentrate on anything for more than a minute.

The guest room is barren of anything that could provide entertainment– mental stimulation. A calculated move to make her give up and sleep. She won’t fold.

Hour 33

It's the nicest kidnapping she'd ever been subjected to. It's also the...fourth by the Mikaelsons?

They do take her phone away, so she can't call Damon.

They don't lock her in her room, though. She tests the bounds of her freedom by wandering out. Walking helps keep her awake. She must tour the house three times before she concedes that she needs to rest and goes back to her room. She feels watched the entire time, but no one approaches. Frustration climbs like a scream up her throat.

Hour 35

A dark, terrifying shadow stands in the corner of the room. Elena jerks awake in the armchair-- she glances at the clock, which has been taunting her from the get-go, and sees she'd only slept for five minutes.

Hour 38

They give her food, which is served on a tray and tastes surprisingly delicious, which she eats to keep her energy up.

Hour 40

Every hour, on the hour, since she’d committed to her version of a hunger strike, Klaus or Elijah come to check on her. Elijah is unreadable. Klaus is menacing; mocking. Elena is only 40% sure that the laughter she hears isn’t him because he seems to think that her sleep strike is the most entertaining thing ever.

“Realistically,” Klaus is currently saying, leaning against the tauntingly open doorway of her room. “Bonnie’s mother is eight hours away from telling her daughter you called.”

The pounding at her head that started some infinite number of hours ago increases in severity. Her body is screaming at her. Gravity pulls her down. At this point, she thinks, as she has a hard time focusing on Klaus, even he has stopped taunting her. Instead, Klaus is inexplicably the voice of reason, even if it’s malicious and mocking.

"We're not trying to hurt you." It's clear that he expects a grateful reaction; that she should give him one. When she asks about why he's doing this, he tells that, "I've always said that the best defense is a good offense. We won't wait for your tormentor to knock on the door."

Hour 46

“Elena.” 

Elijah’s expression is set in what she can only describe as a regal frown. She anticipates him invading her space, like Klaus did, but he stays there; even relaxes there, hand in his pocket, shoulders squared back.

“I frighten you now, don’t I?” Elijah says. “Make you wary, at least. I’m sorry.”

Vampires generally don’t know the I’m sorry word. Those who say after the fact don’t generally mean it. Elena thinks of If anyone can understand, it’s you and knows that Elijah is every bit the antithesis to the Easter Bunny Rose once called him.

“‘If anyone can understand, it’s you,’” Elena says. It doesn’t click in instantly, but she sees the moment it does; the flare in his dark eyes. “It’s ‘if anyone can understand, it’s you’ and ‘I give you my word’ until it no longer serves your agenda. You’ll threaten and hurt me again and again as long as it serves your goal.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, and that’s when she knows that he’s holding back. For some reason. He doesn’t want to ‘frighten’ her again. At least there’s that.

“My intention has never been to hurt you,” is what Elijah ends up saying. It rings true in her ears.

Elena’s hand stops its mission– she’d been distracting herself by tracing the almost-there patterns of the covers, drawing on the threads. She pictures Elijah’s caricature: she’d make his head barely visible, the suit will take up most of the page, and, like comics, she’ll make an I give you my word conversation bubble. She looks at him. “At least there’s that. Can’t say the same for Klaus, right?”

“Yes, I can,” Elijah says. “He’d never harm you.”

“But he’ll make me suffer.”

A beat passes, then Elijah tsks. “It’s in his best interest not to. Do you remember what I told you, when we first met? That Niklaus is a recluse?” He waits for her nod. She’d been shaking during that conversation, at the Original vampire in her room, waiting for the metaphorical ax to drop on Jeremy and Jenna’s heads. She didn’t have a choice then either. “You might have noticed his…particular taste in literature. And hobbies. At the end of the day, as the kids say it these days, Klaus just wants to go home.”

Netflix and chill don’t exactly resonate with the big bad wolf in her life. Her disbelief must be apparent on her face because a millimeter smile lightens Elijah’s expression.

“You’ve been the exemplary doppelganger for him,” Elijah says. “You haven’t tried to run away. Every time he asked for blood, you freely gave it and without protest. Your friends left town to vacation, and you’re still here. Now, whether that’s because of genuine want or because you don’t want to invoke Niklaus’ ire, I don’t know, but we have no reason to distrust you. So far.”

“You’re giving me whiplash,” Elena says accidentally. She’ll blame it on the sleep deprivation. “And you’re speaking like a villain. Claudius. Ugh! Reel me in with kind words and then somehow work in a threat?”

“Claudius?” Elijah’s voice is stranger, almost like he’s fighting back amusement. “You’re comparing me to Claudius from Hamlet.”

“She compared me to him, too.” A new, accented voice contributed to the conversation. Klaus. He enters the room and, true to her predictions, waltzes inside with no consideration of her comfort. He regards Elena with the same detached amusement those dead eyes are capable of. “You need to read something else. If you don’t like the classics, just admit it.”

How could she? She’d been too embarrassed to read any of the books she’d bought that day in the bookstore, knowing Klaus had seen them. Except for the Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. Presently, Elena feels herself having an opposite reaction to what she’d expected from facing two Originals on her own. The same shoulders that had been tense, coiled and drawn into themselves, relax. The pounding in her head, while it doesn’t entirely go away, lessens. An instinctual response, it has to be, to focus on the more pressing threats in her vicinity.

“I only compared you to him because you were speaking in circles,” Elena tells Elijah. “I told Klaus this and I’ll tell it to you now. I’m not working against you. I am tired. I’m still in Mystic Falls because I’m stuck. I’m more trapped than anyone has ever been, because, apparently, my blood is like ambrosia to people other than you .” She directly addresses Klaus with accusation, which makes his dimples appear as he innocently points at himself. Me? He mouthes.

“Sinclair is no longer a threat,” Elijah smoothly interferes. Even throws a disapproving look at his brother.

Who snorts. “After I wiped the floor with his face,” Klaus says. “Did you see that part?”

It’s a genuine question. He actually waits to hear her answer. The pounding, whooshing in her ears, has an undertone. Metal and a she’s the only one of her kind. The last living Petrova doppelganger.

“I,” she says, “I kind of blocked out most of that night. T-that week. It comes in flashes, and, like, thoughts I had.”

The morbid smile he has fades, turning into an inquisitive, intent stare. Uncomfortable with silence– always has been, she presses on, “I think I was in the car by then. Right?” She looks at Elijah, remembering the warmth of his jacket, his softly drawn Elena upon seeing her.

“You were,” Elijah says to reassure her, but it’s distant, because he’s examining her, too. “You’re having memory problems from that week with Sinclair?”

“The mind protects itself,” Elena says. “That’s what Damon said.” He’d told her about being experimented on himself by the Augustine society, about Enzo, whom he’d left behind because that’s how much he was eager to get out of there.

She tenses when Klaus makes to move. He only comes closer enough to lean against one of her bedposts. “Tell us exactly what you remember.” It’s a demand. 

“Perhaps we should wait,” Elijah says in the same breath as she, well, takes one. The last thing she ever wants to do is to reminisce. Finally, she thinks, Elijah is back to being kind and merciful. It’s ruined, however, when he adds, “At least until she’s had some sleep so she can recall more accurately.”

“I’m not going to sleep,” Elena says automatically. Hates the ‘sure, Jan’ looks she gets in return. She rolls her eyes and sits up straighter. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Elena–”

“No!” It’s the first time she really expressed her chagrin at something. Disbelief drips from her. They’re asking her to speak about that When they were there firsthand, more than Damon and Stefan, and they saw the condition she was in? “My brain was nice enough to block these memories because they were traumatizing . I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

Elijah shifts. “What if someone tampered–”

Klaus snorts derisively. “Most definitely, most likely.”

“You’re asking me to dig into a time that scarred me beyond recognition, scared me in a way I never knew to, made me scared of men – because I always knew to be scared of them in general, but not like this.” She wants to cry. It might be the sleep deprivation, but she knows it’s the utter shitshow that her life has been lately. “It’s what moms warn you about. But we live in Mystic Falls, and I never had a bad experience. Matt, Stefan and Damon were always respectful. It doesn’t really sink in how helpless you can be, until, until I was tied, and a stranger was caressing my thigh.”

A hand grips her throat, and it’s not phantom pain this time. It’s her own, because she feels how much it aches from wanting to scream and cry and rage.

“We’re enemies,” she snaps at them, at Klaus, mostly, and Elijah, because he’s been mean lately. “I almost cried in relief when I saw you . Can you imagine how desperate I was to reach that point? How much they hurt me?” she demands. It’s the part she remembers the most: seeing Klaus, like a mirage in the desert. Throwing herself at him, unable to form words. It replays in her head, on a loop, every night.

“Do you want to know the weirdest thing?” she says, now, now that they’re not speaking. “I knew I was safe with you. You might kill me and ‘everyone I ever met’ but you’ll never…touch me like that. And I thought the worst had passed; that the threat had passed. Until the nightmares started, because my trauma’s leaking like a faucet. And then you proceeded to kidnap me. And my boyfriend isn’t here. Can you see why I’m triggered?”

A heavy silence falls on the room. Elena’s face burns a bright red; embarrassed, enraged; both. Even her heartbeat’s off, skipping rapidly and racing to make up for it. The sob she’s been holding in– she refuses to get it out– manifests in the form of an avalanche of tears and her grinding her teeth so much she hears something crack.

She doesn’t realize her gaze had dropped back to the covers until the mattress dips under someone’s weight. Klaus had taken a seat on the opposite, far, far side of the bed. He waits until he has her complete attention. 

“Sinclair suffered. I made sure of that,” he says lowly, more serious than he’d been all summer. “I buried him myself, facedown, and in a shallow grave. Do you know what that means, Elena?” 

The disturbed, ‘what have I gotten myself into’ feeling in her guts almost makes her physically ill at his expression. Facedown. In a shallow grave. What the–

“It’s how the Roma people did it,” Elijah says. He seems resigned to Klaus’ violent methods. More so, he’s tense. “It’s an old belief. Meant to damn criminals to horrible fates, to block their path to heaven.”

“It means that he’s going straight to hell,” Klaus proclaims.

If she had any food in her system, she’d have thrown up. 

…but the more she thinks about it, the more it– it’s not unsettling her as much as she thought. At this point, she’s been hurt more times than she could handle, and knows the feeling of being hurt enough that you don’t mind violence the next time. Causing it. Delighting in it. If anyone deserves pain, it’s Sinclair, who insisted on seeing her body in preparation of the next doppelganger, just to ‘see how identical they really are.’

“The same fate will fall on whoever is trying to hurt you right,” Klaus then vows, snatching her attention. 

Elijah nods in agreement. “On that, I give you my word.”

There’s no holding back the sob anymore.

Crying always takes a lot out of her. She doesn’t do it often for that reason, so it’s always intense. The next morning almost always results in a hangover-like headache and red, bloodshot eyes.

She’d mumbled/cried that she wanted to be alone when she started to cry. She thought it’d worked until someone deliberately made the sound of their footsteps heard, and she’d lifted her head to find Elijah right in front of her, regarding her with a silent question.

She understands him completely, and how pathetic is she for understanding his request? For knowing he’s waiting for permission? For granting it. For the second time in the matter of days, Elijah Mikaelson draws in the mess that is Elena Gilbert to hold her while she cries, strokes her hair while her body curls in on itself from her sobs’ intensity, and whispers calming, steadfast reassurances in her ears all the while.

Somewhere, sometime, between sobs, and covering her face so that the Mikaelsons wouldn’t see her cry, Elena falls asleep in Elijah’s arms.

And wakes up in Klaus’.

Chapter Text

“All the king’s horses

All the king’s men

Couldn’t put me back together again”

Chapter Eight

Sleep being the elusive animal it is, Elena’s experience waking up from it is usually unpleasant. Grogginess, headaches, and even a bad taste in her mouth follow that dreadful moment she comes into awareness. There’s the relief– of course, of escaping the dream realm and finding a more merciful reality waiting for her, but then, the more she lies in bed, she often speculates about how kind her world really was. Unless she has a text from Damon or Caroline or Matt wanting to hang out plans, getting out of bed is an affair that lasts at least an hour on a daily basis from the sheer mental effort it is. 

Presently, she feels herself being held in a way that is so viscerally safe and comfortable that she actually doesn’t fight that hard to burrow back into that easy space between sleep and wakefulness in the morning where she forgets about her woes for a few precious moments in the mornings. Nothing has happened yet; the day hasn’t even gotten started. Her mood is a blank slate. It could be the best day of her day– or the worst; the important thing is that it hasn’t happened yet. 

Damon doesn’t usually stay with her this long. He’s always up before her or has stayed up so late that he’ll be sleeping well into the day. Something in Elena’s chest absolutely melts at how considerate he’s being right now. She’s always been a sucker for being gripped tightly, pre– and post– Sinclair. And if she glances down and sees a masculine arm wrapped tightly around her waist or a large hand resting on her back or thigh, she guarantees that her day will likely turn out good.

A fulfilling, deep breath, one that stems from feeling comfortable and satisfied for the first time in a long time is her downfall. It goes like this: breathe, open eyes, and jerk back because that is not Damon’s arm around her waist.

Already awake, Klaus freaking Mikaelson– Klaus fucking Mikaelson– smiles pleasantly at her. “Finally escaped Morpheus's thrall?”

“W-what?” Elena has never been more confused. To her relief, it only takes her moving for his grip to loosen. Hair– messy hair falls over her shoulders, and Elena almost falls back in her attempt to get away from Klaus, only his bed is gigantic, and the soft mattress greets her (not sore) back, which is odd since she usually wakes up from some kind of pain due to being tense all night long. “Oh, God,” she says, mostly to herself. “I can’t– where– what–”

“Breathe, Elena,” advises Klaus, in sweatpants and a shirt, arm back to support his head. “You’re in my room. What happened? You tell me. You crawled into my bed, love.”

“That’s not possible,” Elena denies, vehement in her belief, but then she remembers how and when she had fallen asleep. Bonnie! She must be–

Elena scrambles out of bed, almost tripping over her feet and the tangle of covers. “How long was I asleep for?” she demands of Klaus. 

An unmoved, well rested Klaus shrugs. He makes a show of looking at the watch on his antique, heavy-looking nightstand. “About half a day or so. Elijah and I were supposed to take shifts watching over you in anticipation of a nightmare, but you never had one. Around the third hour of your deep, deep slumber, to Elijah’s surprise, you got out of bed, marched out of your room, came into mine, and threw yourself into my arms.”

The hybrid outright grins maliciously when her hand, automatically, raises in horror and horrification to cover her mouth.

“Guess we know the answer to that,” Klaus goes on. “You’re running to me.”

And then he gets up. Elena is so frozen that she doesn’t back away, and he doesn’t stop advancing until they’re face to face, his arctic eyes an eerie blue. “What are we going to do about that, huh, love?”

“It’s like there’s a block,” Elijah is explaining to Elena over catered breakfast. “Niklaus and I entertained the idea that this, as Damon vulgarly suggested, might be a manifestation of your…trauma.”

The picture of trauma is what she looks like. An eternally tense Klaus, but inexplicably and surprisingly smug, is watching her like a hawk. Elijah had come up after hearing them talk, given her duffle bag of clothes she’d packed to stay at Bonnie’s house, shown her a bathroom, and told her to come down when she’s ready. That’s around the time the tremors should have started; the level of uncomfortableness she had reached usually triggers a response, but–

But she has almost a day’s worth of sleep under her belt. Elena hasn’t felt that… sated in months. Since the early days with Stefan when all she had to worry about was whether or not Jeremy had escalated to popping pills instead of just smoking weed, about making Jenna feel comfortable and adequate in her new role as their guardian.

“We should have been able to alter your dream,” Elijah continues, “Both yesterday and before. Before, we could only observe. This time, we couldn’t even break through that barrier.”

Klaus hasn’t spoken since You’re running to me and What are we going to do about that, huh, love? 

His stare is a brand on her skin. It reddens wherever it lands, and goosebumps trail after. Elena is conflicted, her attention constantly and uncontrollably going back to him every few seconds and trying to avoid his intensity at the same time. She’s not ready for him, for whatever that gaze reads, for whatever he plans to do with her.

Because she’d proven she’s here for him. That she’s not sleepwalking aimlessly; that she’s not looking for Elijah. That she can find him even in a house she’s only seen the ballroom of and on a floor she’s never been on.

“What now?” Elena asks Elijah, her gaze straying to Klaus.

Her phone is slid across the table in her direction. She jumps when it accurately stops inches away from her. To say she drops her croissant to catch it is an understatement to the desperate move she makes. It’s fully charged, and–

No messages. No calls. Everything deflates in Elena. She becomes six times smaller. Her face burns under Elijah and Klaus’ dual attention. Biting the inside of her cheek is the only way she gathers enough strength to huff a breath, as if this is only a mild convenience. She sets it down, face up, knowing that they must have checked it before her, and raises her chin.

“What’s the plan?” she reiterates. 

Scarily attuned to Klaus, she’s drawn to his movements when he leans forward. He raises his brow at her, as if–

Ugh! Wordlessly, she slides the phone back to him.  

“Thanks, dear captive.” He takes it with a satisfied show of his dimples as a reward. Ugh.

Elijah, having been watching their interaction, shakes his head. “You’re not a captive, Elena.” It’s meant to reassure her, but all it does is remind her that they have the power to decide that; that they could decide otherwise and she’d be none the wiser, helpless against the tide of, once again, a man’s will.

“Personally,” says Klaus. “I’d say that she is our captive. But I’d rate this experience of captivity a solid eight out of ten.”

The offense rises up her throat so quickly that she has to scoff. “Excuse me? You’re rating –”

“You weren’t knocked unconscious to get here–” Klaus, the bastard, starts counting on his hand. “There weren’t any ropes used to tie you up.” His smile is a direct parallel to his when he’d tried draining her blood. Just between us girls, who would you have chosen? That had taunted her for months. “You’re getting a five-star breakfast. You get to leave afterwards, driven by your very own Original.”

A retaliation is on her lips. A fuck you and a litany of swear words, but then– “I get to go home?”

He’d wanted her to take the bait and argue with him, but Klaus ends up rolling his eyes. “We need to take her home. I need to go hunt down some witches. Catch her up, will you, ‘lijah?”

“There might be a psychological element to it,” Elijah says, sharply drawing her attention to him. “But…”

Klaus had already expressed his wish to get this over with. “We didn’t know the extent of your memory problems. Of that night. Do you remember what Sinclair said?”

Elena’s world is knocked off-center, off its axis, but, then, it’s steadied by a firm hand. Tremors wrack her body so much that her teeth are clattering. Klaus looks furious. 

“Ah, I see you’ve found the Petrova doppelganger.” 

Sinclair comes over from somewhere behind. His approach is preceded by him touching her waist. 

Elena flinches hard, and right into Klaus. She feels the fabric of his jacket on her bare skin, her stomach, and it’s so– it’s so– 

A hand touches her cheek. “I have.” 

A shudder follows, of relief, familiarity. She even recognizes his daylight ring. She’d never paid as much attention to anyone as she does to Klaus, presently, as they stand nearly nose to nose. 

“I have to admit,” Sinclair says, scarier than anyone she's ever heard. “When I got my hands on Elena–” Oh God, his hands are actually– “I hoped I’d get your attention.”

“He wanted your attention,” Elena says, numb. Detached as the memory washes over her like acid reflux. Bitter; makes her almost physically ill. “Then you…” 

Wait, that’s odd. She remembers the exact shade of Klaus’ eyes in that dim light; how hard she’d been shaking, and how Klaus had steadied, had kept a hand on her back when he’d felt how cold she was. But she doesn’t remember what Sinclair had said.

“You may not know this, Elena,” Elijah says, “But Sinclair has been around for centuries.”

A former slaver who had shifted his attention to what he deemed as a more lucrative market.”

“People.” My name is Sinclair. I’m a collector.

“Supernatural beings, but not just that,” Elijah explains. “Objects of dark magic. Curses. His most profitable acquisitions were always, though, favors.”

When she doesn’t get it, Klaus cuts in, “He wanted the Mikaelsons in his debt.” His ire at the matter is visible. “Thanks to Stefan and I’s summer, and Tyler’s escapades, the supernatural world is well aware that I’d broken my curse and had the ability to turn hybrids.”

“He took me just to give me back to you?” Disbelief is clear in her question.

Klaus learns forward. “Here’s a fun fact you and your friends seem to be willfully ignorant of.” His lips curl. “I am the Original hybrid, the most powerful being to ever walk the earth. A ‘recluse’ or not–” He’d clearly heard her and Elijah last night. “People are always vying to get in favor with me.”

“Such as Rose and Trevor, who’d sought to buy their freedom by giving you to us.”

Elena’s mind forgets that it had gotten enough sleep. Pounding starts knocking at her head.

“So,” Klaus says, “Sinclair–”

“Did something to me,” Elena concludes. The word violated is running rampant in her brain, hurting. To her surprise, the brothers deny this.

“He,” Klaus says, and out of all the reactions she’d expect from him, hesitation is not one of them. But he’s reluctant just now. “You surmised it: doppelganger blood is rare. When I was contacted about an auction that held something of great significance to me, Sinclair made his motivations clear to me. He wished to earn a debt with me in return for giving something precious to me.”

You’ve been a pain in the ass to acquire, Elena Gilbert.

“And?” Elena demands, maybe even too intensely for the moment.

“And nothing.” Klaus is unmoved. “He was busy choking on his own blood to provide any further meaningful insight. And frankly, he was past his expiration date. All he claimed was that you are precious to me.”

It’s like she’s waking up all over again in Klaus’ arms, finding him in her sleep. Her peripheral vision narrows until all she can see is him. But then other thoughts like Sinclair and Damon and Bonnie and more race to the front of her mind.

“You didn’t tell us this before.” It’s a miracle that she sounds as steadfast as she does.

Klaus counters her immediately, “Initially, I thought he could have meant that your blood is the only nectar that can turn werewolves to hybrids. I’m also not in the habit of revealing information when it’s not needed,” he adds with a superior register.

A tight smile. She’s an idiot, he means. Elena pushes her chair away from the table to stand, feeling trapped.

“We’re sharing this now,” Elijah, the voice of reason, says, “We know how…alarming this must be for you.”

“A witch is coming later today,” Klaus says in a different tone than his brother. “He’ll confirm or deny Sinclair’s theory.”

Why does the pit in her stomach hurt more than the pounding in her head? “Which is?”

Klaus stands up, too. The picture of locked up tight tension hidden under nonchalance. “That we share a connection deeper than we’d thought.”

From where she’s been sitting on the deck, she’s taken out of what feels like an out of reality trance, where the trees had blended into each other, the leaves meshing together in a mushy, green, dizzying line. 

The reason why her short and blissful loss of touch with the present world is cut short is due to Elijah. Prior to his arrival, she could swear her very jaw shakes, her body stuck in a wanting-to-cry but trying with abundant resources not to respond, as she mulls over the Mikaelsons’ revelations

When he does speak, it takes a few moments for the words to sink in. He says, “I’m sorry,” and his eyes, having tried to see where she’s looking, go back to her. The next line comes out genuine-sounding. “This must feel overwhelming.”

He’s caught off by her jaw wobbling once again. Tears blur her vision. 

“It’s fine.” It’s a hilarious sentence, really. All those deconstructionists had it right; language is arbitrary. “Hiding what Sinclair said, kidnapping me. Really. You held me as I cried and everything, so it’s all good.”

A heavy exhale. 

Logic says he of course doesn’t expect forgiveness, not when it’s barely been 24 hours since he had, and with careful calculation, effectively traumatized her. But he’s out here, trying; it has to mean something, right?

“Klaus still has my phone, right?” she asks. “Is the sound on? For when Damon and Bonnie call.”

“It’s on,” Elijah confirms. 

She goes back to staring at the trees. A coward, really, because what she’d come out to stare at was the pool. And she can’t even bring herself to look at it for more than a few moments at a time. The forest feels safer, even when  she gets tangled in one every time she closes her eyes. 

Silence falls on them. 

“Damon will be certain to believe you now,” Elijah says a few moments later. 

Elena almost snorts. “He’ll love the part where I slept next to another guy for a full night.”

“He tried to wake you up, you know,” Elijah says. That gets her attention. “When you first went to him, but you were dead to the world. I wanted you to know that–” 

Klaus had been fully awake when she’d woken up, smirking like the cat that ate the plastic. He’d been holding her.

“Because of what you said last night, about feeling safe, about feeling unsafe around men,” Elijah adds. There’s a pause, and then he turns his back to the forest, resting it against the wooden railway she’s been leaning over for the last ten minutes. “Despite our differences, and I know that it would be redundant to state it any more, but you are safe with us, Elena. Always, in that aspect. I have a feeling last night might repeat itself. I’ll tell Niklaus to be more careful.”

No! is her first instinct. No, I liked it is the last thing she should be thinking of. The truth of the matter is, however, that she liked Klaus’ tight hold around her waist this morning. It made her feel safe, protected. 

“You know,” Elena says, “You’re the first person to even semi-acknowledge it. I mean, I did kind of scream at you and Klaus last night. But still.” 

“It’s healthy to speak about it,” he says, shrugging, crossing his arms, shoulders relaxing like he’s getting comfortable. “I’m surprised Damon Salvatore hasn’t.”

“Woah,” she says, “You’re throwing a lot of shade for someone who is currently holding me hostage.”

“I’ll take you home in an hour or so.”

She almost smiles; almost laughs. So casually cruel; in control. “Damon,” she says, knowing she’d been prompted and having no impulse control to do anything else. “He’s complicated. He doesn’t want any more problems, especially when Stefan’s not here. He didn’t need that much convincing to visit Alaric for the week.”

“And you haven’t spoken to him about your anxiety?” Elijah presses. “Your fears?”

The breath is stolen fresh out of her lungs with a huffed, sardonic laugh. Elena leans on her elbows, gathering her head in her hands, uncaring of how it messes up her hair. “I love him,” she says, a beat later. “But there’s this…block between us. I don’t– I don’t know how to tell him I’m in pain, and he doesn’t know how to see it.”

She’s pretty sure this confession is what Elijah wanted out of this conversation. She expects him to leave.

“Sinclair was an abhorrent man who deserved more than the death Niklaus gave him. We didn’t think anyone would be bold enough to challenge us by taking you from right under our eye in Mystic Falls.”

She blinks. “I wasn’t in Mystic Falls.”

Elijah hadn’t known that. It’s clear in the way his gaze startles up to hers.

“Someone ran my car off the road,” Elena clarifies. “I was going to see Jeremy. I was on my way to Denver.”

The doorbell rings. The witch is here.

Chapter Text

“I’ve been the archer

I’ve been the prey

Screaming, ‘who could ever leave me, darling’

But who could stay?”

Chapter Nine

“Perhaps we should wait.”

The best witch they could get on such a short notice? A 6’2 Viking-like man who doesn’t want to be here. 

“It’s fine,” Elena says, aware of the irony of situating herself across the room from Eric, two entire Original brothers between them. But she can’t help it. His overwhelming stature, hard-set scowl, and visible dislike of them in general has triggered something in her. Elena Gilbert, who has stabbed herself in the past to get a guy stabbed, who faced countless demons, Klaus, Damon in his evil, Katherine-loving days, and more, can’t bring herself to appear put-together. In fact, her next I’m fine is spoken to the floor rather than to Elijah.

“He’s a no-nonsense type,” she says, unconvincingly, to convince Elijah that she’s really okay, to get this over with. “The kind of person Stefan would have appreciated. On some level, I can like that, too. He’s here to do a job, nothing more.”

The map he’s spreading on the dining table and various instruments don’t concern her. Nope. Not in the least.  

“I actually like this,” Elena goes on, prompted better by silence than anything else; anything to escape Elijah’s all-seeing, too inquisitive stare. “Transactional relationships and encounters. You know exactly what to expect. I pay the barista and I get a cup of coffee. You lured a witch here–”

“Paid,” he corrects her.

“Great, and he’s here to do a few spells. Transactional rocks.”

“You sound like a prostitute,” Klaus cuts in, appearing by her side for the first time since he ushered Eric into the manor. He’s not even joking. Any pretenses of civility have been dropped since she’d escaped to the deck and Eric arrived. “Come, it’s time.”

She’s about to move, but Elijah catches her arm. “We don’t trust just anyone to go into your head,” he says in a low voice. “Eric’s going to test your connection to Klaus; that’s all. Bonnie can do the rest when she gets here.”

The relief is palpable– he understands. She can’t picture another person’s presence in her head. It would feel…invasive. Violating.

Elijah waits for her to move and hovers a hand over the small of her back until he guides her to the dining room and to Eric and Klaus.

“The test is simple,” Eric says. He takes a knife Klaus gives him and sprays it with alcohol, for her benefit. The small consideration makes her start to like him a little bit. “It’s all in the blood. We’ll see if yours calls to Klaus’ and vice versa.”

Does he need a knife this big to find out? Putting on a brave face, Elena goes to him. Klaus stands at the head of the table, so she goes to the opposite side to stand across from Eric. All this time, Eric had been sitting. When she nears him, he stands up to his quarterback glory, and she feels the blood in her veins reach a sluggish pace, slowing down in a fight or flight or freeze response. It’s freeze, always. She gulps.

“Sit down, Mr. Murphy.” The air-tight instructions come from Elijah. Eric’s jaw visibly locks at the command, but he obeys. He’s less intimidating this way. Elena’s airways open back up.

Footsteps sound close to her until a hand touches her shoulder. Elijah’s touch is reassuring, grounding. Elena offers her hand to Eric, who watches her with a keen eye, already knowing the only thing witches want from her.

The cut is not too deep, but it hurts like a mother. The hiss of pain that escapes her is entirely unpremeditated, and her body actually jerks back. Elijah’s grip is a double-edged sword, then, because it holds her in place. Eric turns her palm over and lets– she has to lift her eyes up to the ceiling to avoid looking at the too-crimson pool of blood. It makes her feel ill. Her gaze lowers when he lets go, and she meets Klaus’ gaze. He, of course, doesn’t make a fuss when his blood is drawn. 

Before he starts the spell, there’s an explanation, which Elena mostly tunes out since the noise in her ears is louder than anything Eric has to say.

With bated breath, they wait as Eric starts chanting. An unsettled shudder chills Elena’s body. Her wary gaze shifts between Eric to Klaus and Elijah in anticipation of their reaction. She tries to picture what would a thousand year old vampire do with a doppelganger he’s ‘connected’ to. Love is a weakness, according to Klaus, right? 

Their blood on the table, everything on the table, Elena feels as if this is one of those moments that decide everything. An unseen tension in the room gains momentum, choking them. Eric’s chanting is in low murmurs, but he might as well be screaming in Elena’s head.

Klaus’ blood stays perfectly still. Her blood, on her side of the table– 

Dizziness, a hard sinking feeling as–

– as the crimson liquid starts to move. 

Elena’s hand rises in disbelief to her face as her traitorous blood crawls over the table to blend in with Klaus’. She’d seen how locator spells work, how blood is used in spells, but she’d never seen two come together like this.

“My take on this?” Eric, willfully oblivious to the boulder-sized revelation he’d just dropped. The Mikaelsons have been rendered speechless for once. “The sacrifice had implications the Original Witch didn’t anticipate. She linked the Petrova line’s blood to yours for centuries. You proceeded to drain Elena to break the sun and moon ritual. Instead of breaking the connection, you…consumed it. You said this Sinclair guy took her?”

It’s Elijah– Elijah who’s the only one level-headed enough to respond– who responds. “Yes.”

“Isn’t it weird that one of the most powerful, knowledgeable ‘collectors’ out there took a doppelganger and didn’t do anything with her?” Eric says. “This is just my theory, but maybe Sinclair was trying to trigger something.”

“Trigger?” It’s the first time Elena has spoken. Her voice cracks. She can’t look at either Klaus or Elijah. All she can do is stare at the blood on the table.

“What did you feel when Klaus found you?” Eric asks, and it’s in such a no-nonsense tone that she responds honestly.

“Relief.” She steals the vaguest glance at Klaus. Goosebumps attack her entire body when she finds him already staring at her. Crossing her arms, she holds his gaze. “I felt relieved. I was…scared and Klaus was there. I thought it was because it was because he’s a familiar face.” Who wouldn’t hurt her. Not like that.

“Connection curses– but I wouldn’t call them that,” Eric says, “work like that. They need to be triggered by intense emotions. Before that, you probably hated each other, right?”

“Homicidal hate.” 

Klaus’ voice is more chilling than she’d expected. For the first time, a chill of fear strikes her stomach. Undoubtedly, Klaus is experiencing a montage of all the times she and her friends plotted against him. The time she gave Esther her blood at the forefront, for certain. The memory of when they killed Finn, his brother, is on its heels, she’s sure.

“That’s it, then.” Eric closes his grimoire. He looks at Elijah like he expects him to safely ensure he’ll be able to walk out of here.

Elijah doesn’t move. “What does it mean?” he demands. “A connection curse. She already sleepwalks to find him.”

Eric stares point-blank at him, as if he’s deciding how wise it will be to share his answer. He then sighs. “Their blood calls to each other. When you're asleep, you can't hide what you want. Isn't that why we analyze dreams and find them a mirror of our subconscious desires?”

He looks at Elena, and looks startled to find tears in her eyes. His gaze visibly trails her up and down, cataloging the way she’s holding on to herself. How she’s scared . Two Originals, two Mikaelsons, surround her, are trapping her. Eric’s next sigh is heavier, and he abandons his ready-to-love attitude and rounds the table to stand in front of her. “Fate is just mooning you right now,” he says dryly. “It loves irony. The doppelganger seeking out Klaus Mikaelson? Klaus Mikaelson being attuned to her? Feeling protective over her when he killed you? F.U.C.K you. Mother Nature is telling you. Balance.”

Elena experiences whiplash solely based on the words coming out of his mouth. 

“Niklaus.” Elijah is ahead of her. “Is this true?”

Looking away from Eric turns out to be a mistake, because Klaus’ gaze promises a realm of darkness.

“How can it be broken?” he demands instead. “Every curse can be broken.”

“Beats me.” Eric shrugs. Cleverly, he starts moving towards the door, aware of Klaus’ mercurial temperament. “Hey, if you work it out, let me know. You’ll be the first person to do it in, like, forever. Funnily enough, that’s how long connection curses last, because they’re not cast. You kill the girl,” he finishes, “You protect her.” A strange smile then spreads across his face. “Save the cheerleader, save the world. Remember that show?”

No one stops her when she runs out from the manor. She hears Klaus and Elijah’s subsequent argument. She left somewhere around the name Sinclair gets brought up, unable to keep herself from reacting anymore.

Since she doesn’t have a car of her own, she only gets as far as a few minutes before she has to stop to have a panic attack on the side of the road.

The distance between the Mikaelson Manor and town is around ten minutes, but she’s never been one to memorize directions. Elena decides to test a theory. Between one step and another, she steps away from the road and walks into the woods. It takes a little while to orient herself, but she finds her way back, going exactly against the tug in her gut that guides her in the opposite directions.

Exhausted, shaking with tiredness, Elena is about ready to collapse when she reaches the Boarding House. On her walk up, she freezes. A baby blue Chevy Camaro is in the driveway. Damon’s home.

She runs into his arms.

She skips sleep that night. For the next, she retrieves a pair of handcuffs from the Salvatores’ dungeon. 

She shuts off her phone, which won’t stop buzzing.

A day later. She calls Elijah, the only Mikaelson she’s willing to talk to without feeling dread, and asks him to explain what Eric said. Elijah wants to talk, evident by the countless texts and missed calls she doesn’t have the courage to look at, but he respects her request.

Their connection confirmed, neither of them willing to do anything about it, judging by the radio silence from Klaus, and with Damon back, Elena and the Mikaelsons come to an agreement. Well, her and Klaus. An unspoken one.

Thanks to Eric and Elijah’s testimonies, Damon believes her. Apologizes to her. For a number of things, too. He expresses his regret for allowing her to be taken in the first place, even though she’d been alone on that drive to Denver. He says he shouldn’t have extended his stay with Alaric. He says he’s going to hold her every night so she doesn’t have to use the cuffs again– or sleepwalk to Klaus.

The grace period ends pretty fucking soon.

“Klaus fucking Mikaelson,” Damon is ranting after he's had to get her halfway to the manor twice in one night, voice raised, glass of bourbon in hand. “Out of all the fucking people in fuck-up city, you couldn’t have picked someone else? Me? Maybe? Your boyfriend?”

“The boyfriend who didn’t believe me?” They’ve been arguing for days now. Since he’d gotten back the first day, and in Elena’s excitement at having him back, forgot about sleeping. At one point, he had stormed out and came back to pick up where they left off. 

“It’s not normal for a boyfriend to come pick you up from another man’s bed in the middle of the night,” Damon continues as if she hadn’t spoken. He seems to realize this; sees the hurt look on her face and backtracks to address this. “I…understand you’ve been having a hard time since you were kidnapped. And I’ve been good. I’ve been understanding. More than.”

He cups her face. Kisses her.

For the first time in over a week, she’s touched. Elena hadn’t realized how touch-deprived she’d been until she’d woken up twice in Klaus’ arms in the span of a few days, then, at their manor, when Elijah had rested his hand on her shoulder to calm her down. Now, as Damon deepens their kiss, she utterly melts in his arms.

The new norm is only the norm for around two weeks. When do things change?

When she wakes up, blinks, and knows by the bone-deep relief in her body that she’s not where she fell asleep.

“I think I actually sleep better when you’re here,” threatens Klaus. Oh, wait, he’s not– He’s completely serious.

Not entirely on guard, full on sleep, Elena drags herself away from the too-comfortable bed and person. “Me too. It’s the only time I don’t dream,” she murmurs. 

“We need to talk, Elena,” Klaus says.

A second later, there’s pounding on the door. Damon has come to retrieve her. He’s equally angry and guilty that he didn’t feel her leave in the middle of the night.

They come to an agreement. Partially because of the judgmental look Elijah gave her, Elena refuses to wear any sort of bindings to bed. Damon would just have to wake her up or guide her back to bed. More often than not, Damon is a deep sleeper, and she ends up back at the Mikaelsons.

Chapter Text

"All I used to do was pray

Would've, could've, should've"

Chapter Ten

One night, her fight with Damon is so brutal that Damon leaves. Burning, aching, longing, Elena, stuck at the Boarding House without a car, does the bravest, weirdest thing she’d done in her vampire-knowing existence: 

She calls a Mikaelson on her own volition. Elijah, even though she doesn’t have the same blind faith in him anymore, feels safer at the moment than his brother.

Her finger must hover over his name for at least five entire minutes before she presses it. A text would have been ideal, but what if he didn’t see it? What if he did see it and chose to ignore it– her? Her touch-deprived heart would have hung its hat and gave up if he did, especially given that Damon walked out no less than half an hour ago, telling her he needed to ‘cool off.’

Elijah answers on the second ring with a demand: “What’s wrong?”

“Damon and I had a fight. He left.” The words are unpremeditated. “Elijah, I’m–” Elena has to press her palm to the lower half of her face to compose herself, so he wouldn’t hear her choppy breathing. She forces back her emotions. “I know I’m going to end up at your house anyway. Can you pick me up?”

It’s bold. It’s the boldest thing she’d ever done. Bonnie’s judgmental glare would have burned. Caroline’s jaw would drop. Stefan wouldn’t have known what to say. Damon would’ve said she needed to be locked in the dungeon to detox– never mind that she doesn’t have anything to detox from.

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Reality rushes back in, slightly distorted. A too hasty okay, bye is uttered before Elijah reciprocates, like a well-mannered gentleman, and hangs up. Elena has to brush her hair back, using a little more than necessary strength, to wake herself up, to scold herself for what did she just do? 

It’s different. When the choice is taken out of her hands. It's easier. 

Elena flinches hard, and right into Klaus. She feels the fabric of his jacket on her bare skin, her stomach, and it’s so– it’s so– 

A hand touches her cheek.  

A jury would swear up and down that Elena should bear no guilt for taking comfort in Klaus and Elijah so much that day. For collapsing in his arms the second he ripped off her restraints. For taking Elijah’s jacket, for allowing him, for the entire time it took Klaus to absolutely massacre a hall of powerful supernatural beings, to hold her.

She could even be forgiven for ending up in Klaus’ bed nearly every night. It’s not like she controls her subconscious.

Aware of the five minutes counting down, Elena barely has enough energy to race to put sweatpants and a hoodie over the nightgown she’d put on for Damon. There’s not enough time to do anything more than brush her already styled hair, gather her phone and its charger, and go downstairs just in time to see headlights pull up.

It’s 11 o’clock, so she’s not that surprised to see Elijah still in his suit, sans a jacket, though. One second, she’s blinded by the car’s lights; the next, Elijah is opening the passenger door up for her.

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing she can say. “I feel like– I feel–”

“I know how you feel,” Elijah says calmly, calmingly. “Damon and I will be having a word later.” Oh God.

Her eyes widen. “Oh God, no.” The worst, worst thing she could ever do is facilitate a confrontation between Damon and Elijah. “You know what? This was a mistake. Damon will probably be back in an hour and then we can sleep. I don’t have to–”

“So you’ll deliberately stay up late, waiting for whether or not he’ll return?” Elijah is an unmoving boulder, harsh and unyielding in the face of her hesitation. “Please get in the car, Elena. Niklaus is waiting for you.”

Butterflies gut-punch her. What did she just do ? What did she ask for?

“The Damon matter can wait until tomorrow,” Elijah concedes graciously. She sees the promise in his eyes and only then does she inhale, trying to gather the bravery particles from the air, his strength by osmosis or whatever, and then gets in the car.

Any vestige of sleep is erased from Elena during the car ride to the manor. It was tense, to say the least. Not tense in the sense that she felt unwelcome. Elijah was pleasant . As if he’s making up for his brother draining her blood in ritual sacrifice and how it’s coming back to haunt her instead. It’s Elena’s paranoid, never-still mind that’s the source of the tension.

In less than a few seconds, Elijah parks in front of the manor, opens the door for her, and guides her by the small of her back inside. Inhale, exhale.

Klaus is in the living room when they pass through the foyer, waiting as Elijah had told her. The hybrid looks her up and down, eyes lingering on the peek of the lace of her nightgown her hoodie accidentally reveals. His expression clears, and he clasps his hands behind his back. ““I think I liked Stefan better for you.”

The snort that escapes her is pure exhaustion. “It’s a rough patch we’re going through. Thanks to you,” she adds, with accusation. “I wake up with cuts and bruises because my subconscious is drawn to you because you decided to kill me in a shady ritual sacrifice.”

Klaus tilts his head. “Woe is me,” he says. Emotionlessly.

Elena startles when Elijah comes up next to her. She’s smug with it– that Elijah is on her side, her line, of the living room. The carpet, however, is ripped out from under her when he says, “Considering the fact that Elena didn’t show last night, Damon either succeeded in waking her up or she didn’t sleep entirely and didn’t contact us for help.”

Klaus tsks. “Where will that pride get you?”

“Out of trouble with my boyfriend.” Even she has to admit that seeing your ‘epic love’ leave in the middle of the night to sleep in a rival’s bed has got to be grating.

“Which is it?” Elijah questions anyway. A feather-light touch to her elbow has her dedicate her entire focus on him. “Let me get you some tea.”

A look over her shoulder reveals Klaus following them reluctantly. Elena braces herself, feeling her exhaustion multiple by ten. She wants to sleep. Is that too much to ask?

“I slept some,” Elena says. “Damon had to wake me up a couple of times.” She didn’t fall asleep a third time. “I’m–” Unfocused, tired, and weariness weighing her down, she’s half-staring off as she watches Elijah go through the soothing motions of making her a cup of tea. “I had a Miss Mystic Falls thing today. I have to prep tomorrow for another event the day after.”

“Ah, yes,” Klaus says, “The…it was a Renaissance something, right?”

“Everything is a Renaissance something.” How does Elijah exactly remember how she likes her tea?

“Those must be draining,” Elijah says.

“They are !” Yes! Validation. She’s on her feet all day.

He places a steaming cup in front of her. She gives him a practiced sweet smile, too tired, really, and is pleasantly surprised at his warm eyes. Her expression softens, aided by the warmth of the tea when she wraps her hands around it.

“Thank you.” Miranda and Grayson Gilbert raised a well-mannered daughter, too. “I know this is…fucked up. I was panicking when I called you. I should have just stayed home. We got these prescription sleeping pills from–” Nope, not a snitch. “-- the hospital. I think these can be our solution, but I have to pick them up tomorrow. I think they’ll really work, so no more late night visits.”

Klaus’ eyes flare. Elena’s the object of his anger for a few moments before his gaze falls down to her cup. She thinks he might just take and do something dramatic, like throwing it against a wall.

“See what your avoidance of each other has done?” Elijah says, snapping the tension in half and directing it towards him. Not affected whatsoever, he leans back against the counter behind him comfortably. “Niklaus? Tell her.”

“Tell me what?” she says when Klaus only continues to glower at them.

It’s with much reluctance that Klaus finally says, “Eric Murphy wasn’t entirely wrong.” She continues to stare inquisitively at him, the fight tired out of her. “The allure of the Petrova doppelganger,” Klaus says, voice lowering. “The curse. I feel it.”

Heat rushes to Elena’s cheeks. I feel it. I feel it. I feel it. It plays on a loop in her head.

“Save the cheerleader, save the world?”

Klaus’ intensity is off-set by an eye roll. “That reference was asinine. No one remembers Heroes.”

“Yeah, I only watched the first season and the sequel,” Elena says. Blasphemy to him, she thinks, because she thinks that Klaus is a genuine fan of pop culture. “Okay,” she says, exhaling. “Connection curse. How are we going to do this?”

“We do nothing,” Elijah answers. She raises an eyebrow at him, expecting a plan out of the oldest Mikaelson. “Until Bonnie gets here. There’s nothing to do. Unless you’re willing to bring Mr. Murphy back?”

“No, please.” It’s clear that her mind is already a mind of its own, for a lack of better words. But the thought of anyone, even Bonnie, in her head, is strangely appalling. 

“All right, then,” Elijah says amicably, watching her reaction. “I was thinking we’ll put you in a guest bedroom? But I’m not sure…”

Klaus rolls his eyes. “She can use the bedroom next to mine. It’ll keep our distance to a minimum.”

None of them say it. The past while has proven that an asleep Elena will traverse forests and roads to find Klaus, only able to find comfort in Klaus’ physical hold. But Klaus and Elijah are tiptoeing around her, around her feeling of lack of safety around the general populace, and won’t outright say it.

She won’t either. “Show me the way.”

The plan was doomed to fail. Elena wakes up in Klaus’ bed less than two hours later. He’s awake, lost in thought. Immediately, he notices that she’s up.

“I’ll go,” Elena says right away. This is so so awkward. It must–

“You don’t have to,” Klaus murmurs. It goes against reason, but she could swear his voice is different right now. Under the shroud of darkness, in his room, on his bed, faintly illuminated by the moonlight streaming from a window on the other side of the room. “We both know you’ll end back here anyway.”

Elena’s hold on the covers– did she reach for them in her sleep?-- loosens. “Okay,” she says softly.

“Every night,” Klaus says, and she somewhat reads him perfectly and knows that he’s been mulling over this, “You come to me because your subconscious is trying to recreate the feeling you got that night.”

It’s what it is, pulled down into a sentence. A shiver runs down Elena’s spine. What would Damon think?

“And every night,” Klaus continues, “I wait for you.”

Later, she’ll be embarassed by how sharply she looked at him. 

“I looked into connection curses, what little information I could find on them,” he says, “This is my end of it. When you don’t seek me out, I will. Katerina Petrova will be appalled.”

The disbelieving giggle escapes her, a burst that she never expected. “ Jesus .” Katherine spent centuries running from the Mikaelsons. Picturing a scenario where she’s the one finding them is hilarious, and it reminds Elena of how lucky she is to have accepted the sacrifice.

Silence falls over the room. Comfortable silence, too.

She’s staring at the ceiling, because, somehow, she finds it easier than looking at Klaus. Because it’s Klaus . Klaus Mikaelson. He should be the last person she feels safe with, the last person she should willingly lie in bed with, bare her soul to. But she’s so– she’s–

The more she thinks, the more she’s so hurt , hurt and tired, and what’s so wrong with taking the comfort he and Elijah are offering, why their home feels warmer than hers, why their touch is more calming than anyone else’s?

“I’m the luckiest girl alive,” Elena murmurs. “For the ‘alive’ part especially, which is a weird thing to say to you , considering how hard you tried to kill me, and how hard my friends and I tried to kill you back.”

A stolen glance at Klaus reveals the unapologetic I saw something I wanted and took it expression on his face. Incorrigible. 

Elena inhales, exhales, for bravery and strength. Goes back to staring ahead because it’s easier. “And I used to think that I was so loved . My parents were gone, but I had Jeremy– and Jenna. Stefan came into my life, Damon crashed into it. And I’ve always been friends with Matt, Bonnie, and Caroline.” She omits Tyler’s name, knowing the bad blood between them. “Every time danger rose, we faced it. Everyone threw down their lives for me, even though I never asked them to. I was willing to die for them, too, but they didn’t let me.”

Klaus, from the past, waits for her in the Salvatore Boarding House’s driveway. She’d walked to him freely, of her own will.  

“But I think things piled up. Escalated,” she continues. “When the dust cleared and the danger ran out, we stopped and really looked at each other, made some calculations. We lost ourselves since we got into the supernatural world. That’s when we realized we lost other things, loved ones, who we were. And the tally was adding up, and I think…it added up against me .” she whispers the last part.

Her confession weighs heavy, and it being transferred out loud from the deepest crevices in her head doesn’t alter its weight. Elena feels it in her lungs, finds shortness of breath and regret in it. 

“I believe,” Klaus says, voice low and serious– she has to look at him. And he’s braver than her, because he doesn’t shy away from her direct stare. “I should be the last person to say this, but it truly wasn’t your fault, Elena. Everything you did was to protect your friends. I know that; they know that. The…calamity that ensued was thanks to the Salvatores’ course of action more. The only guilty part of you is your blood.”

“But it doesn’t feel like it.” Elena’s murmured whisper is rushed. “Where are they if it is? Bonnie’s off-the-grid deliberately so no one can reach her. Caroline is off God knows where with her mom. Matt can barely look at me. Stefan–” She calms down a little. It’s more resignation . It makes her bone-tired. “Stefan will never forgive me for choosing Damon. And Damon won’t either.”

“I am so glad you brought him up,” Klaus says. “The only reason he’s been allowed to live so long is because he’s been useful. Now that he’s the paradigm of uselessness…”

Another snort is shocked out of Elena. “Stop.”

A flash of a smile, the contrast of his teeth in the darkness of the room startling. “So that’s it, then?” Klaus asks, eventually, when her heart has returned to a normal rhythm. “That’s it for ‘epic love?’”

Elena hesitates.

“You said something that day,” Klaus, prompted by her silence, adds in that same quiet, disarming voice. “About how you appreciated transactional relationships. Because you know what you can expect from them. Have you given up on romance?”

“I love Damon.” It’s the truth. 100%. Through and through. Hook her up to a lie-detector. But…there’s more truth. “I just think…do you promise not to make fun of me if I say this? That it doesn’t leave this room?”

A hand touches her chin, turning her away from staring up. Klaus’ arctic blue eyes, a warm, midnight blue in this ambiance, meet hers. “I solemnly swear.”

The reference settles easily with her, reminding her that this Klaus, the one who minds his business, is wildly different from who she’d known him as.

“I think that ‘epic love’ isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” she murmurs, as if it’s a shameful secret. She gets lost in Klaus’ eyes, searching them. “I think there are crushes; there’s obsession, and there’s lust. And then when we fall in love, we fall in love with the idea of someone, not who they really are. The flawed person they got then doesn’t match up to the image in their head, and then they punish you for it.

“And all of these sleepless nights,” she says quietly. “All I’ve been doing is think. At first, I reached the conclusion that romantic love is just ideation. Then I found out that the only true love we’ll likely ever feel is familial love. My mother loved me more than anything; so did my father. I love Jeremy enough to send him away. I don’t measure love in sacrifice; I don’t keep score, but my biological father, John, died so that I could live. How could I ever be anything but loved surrounded by family?”

“Because I know I’ll love my kids, if I ever have them,” she adds. “There won’t be a doubt in my mind that I’ll do anything for them, and I won’t keep track either.”

She wants to tear her gaze away but can’t. “Does that resonate with you?” Or am I insane? 

A heartbeat. Two, three pass. Elena counts her breaths, sees the turmoil in Klaus’ turbulent expression until it settles.

“Yesh,” he says, “it does.”

Chapter Text

“And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now”

Chapter Eleven

Elijah makes as if to get out of the car when he sees Damon waiting outside her home the next morning. Elena’s reaction is instinctual. “ Don’t,” she says, pleads, even as Damon smiles tauntingly at the Original. He pushes himself off her porch swing and starts his way down them. “Thanks for helping me, Elijah. I can take it from here.”

It’s not until Elijah looks searchingly at her that she realizes she’d sought to stop him by reaching for his arm to pull him back. A fierce blush burns its way up her neck. Elena doesn’t often initiate touch, so to have her do it without thought–

Her door is pulled open.

With a sigh, Elena gets out.

“Bye bye, now,” Damon tells Elijah. Grabbing Elena by the elbow gently, he starts shepherding her to the house. 

A parallel of how Elijah guides her to places comes to mind; how he never directly grabs or pushes– barely even touches, if that, and how he respectfully keeps to the small of her back. The car hasn’t moved when Elena allows herself a glance back. She finds Elijah’s gaze and nods in reassurance. 

“Do you understand how humiliating this is for me?” Damon bursts as soon as they walk in. “I have to come get you from their house? What is this, a walk of shame?”

Elena’s temper flares. “Don’t,” she warns. She tears herself away from. She starts heading towards her room. Damon follows.

“You heard Elijah explain the curse,” she says when his glares start hurting. Her pajamas are traded for a pair of homewear shorts and crop top. “There’s nothing I can do about this. Do you think I enjoy having debilitating nightmares, how I barely get enough sleep to function?”

“Then we’re not looking hard enough to break this curse,” Damon counters. He’d stayed unmoving as she changed. “Where the fuck is Bonnie?”

“Bonnie–” It’s hard to hide her true feelings. She goes for a tamer version and says in a low voice, “She hasn’t gotten back to me.”

“Perfect!” Elena flinches at the volume of Damon’s voice. “There are options A and B moving forward: A) You put the cuffs back on–”

“Damon, they hurt.”

“Or B),” he continues like she hadn’t spoken. “I put a goddamn bell around your neck to wake up the entire street when you start walking to him .”

The audacity of his statement strikes her speechless. “What the–”

Just as quickly, Damon’s expression falls. Guilt takes its place. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he rushes to say. He comes to her and Elena barely keeps herself in place to tolerate how he grabs her shoulders. “I’m sorry. Just…think about how you’d feel if you had to get from another woman’s bed every night?” he implores. “Or a guy. I don’t discriminate.”

Her offense is stolen by a surprised snort. A gorgeous smile spreads across Damon’s face. He pulls her in for a kiss. “No cuffs or bell. We’ll work something out.”

It might be the little vindictive part of her that, in order to find out how badly Damon really feels, she signs him up for manual labor for tomorrow’s event. A summer shindig. 

Miss Mystic Falls duties include being the face of said shindig. Elena’s giddiness at making up with Damon, joking with him, only lasts as far as a few minutes before she gets a text from one of the organizers saying that the baker had dropped and ohmygod what should they do? 

The next inane hour of her day is spent with every baker/chef in the town, who are either too busy or refuse such a big order on such a short notice. She even tries the next town over and meets rejection there, too.

The clock seems to be tempting her, warning her that on her watch, Miss Mystic Falls is a joke. How would her mother feel if she saw Elena fail under pressure? 

Even sleeping well– perfectly– last night doesn’t help ease her anxiety.

I’ve got it, Elena texts the organizer, and means it. She gets up, ties her hair back, and marches into her kitchen determinedly. 

When did Elena start baking? It’s around the time she picked up books, started trying to learn how to knit, play chess, and exercising like a Kardashian to tire herself out into a hopefully dreamless sleep. Out of all the above, she thanks her insomnia for delivering an actual useful habit. And, hey, she might suck at actual cooking and will never recreate her family’s chili recipe, but she can make even Mrs. Fainall call her on her cheat day for one of her cheesecake slices.

Her initial success with a couple batches of cookies wears off. Everything is off. And everything off escalates. The clock is ticking down to mock her again. She doesn’t have enough ingredients. How can she hope, as just one person, provide enough food for an entire booth that hands out complimentary treats to the entire town? If her friends were here, they’d have helped, but she knows even Matt is working right now. 

Glaring at the oven like it’ll finish the batch of cupcakes faster doesn’t work. How is she supposed to bake a hundred of them, more cookies, and a few cakes to make cake pops?

She’s past that stage of the verge of tears and into actual ones when there’s a knock at the door. Apron, flours, tears, and all, she goes to open it. 

And is horrified to find Elijah on the other end; pristine Elijah; noble Elijah; in a bespoke suit Elijah.

“Forgive me,” he says first, eyes lingering on her face then gleaming over her messy appearance. He seamlessly gathers himself and smiles neatly at her, “My interaction with Damon this morning was concerning. I was hoping to check in on you?”

“I’m great,” she lies, and it’s almost funny. She tries to wipe her tears only to smear flour on her face, which then becomes stuck because her face is wet. “Um, come in, please.”

“Thank you,” says Elijah graciously. As he walks past her, he also lingers. Elena slows down, too, enraptured by his gaze, the way it narrows and–

“Do I smell something burning?”

Her eyes widen in alarm, and it’s enough that Elijah disappears from sight altogether. She rushes to the kitchen and finds him rescuing the latest tray of cupcakes from the oven. They’re only a little charred; will most likely be dry as rock. And–

The tears come in. “Why am I always crying around you?” she cries as she mourns the time lost and will be spent on another batch. She throws a glance at him, remembering that the last time he stood in her kitchen was probably when he’d come over to convince them to give him the half-dead Klaus.

To his credit, he looks composed as always. “Perhaps you feel safe around me as well.”

“I–” She’s about to do something dangerous, like disturb the peace for the man who came to check up on her. Instead, she avoids it. “I need to make more cupcakes.”

Elijah is silent as she throws out the burnt batch and starts pouring the batter for the new one. Their oven is small, so she can’t even fit in an additional tray of anything in there.

She pushes the cupcakes in and starts the oven again.

The lights on the oven go out.

“No. No . No!” Elena rushes to the oven.

“Elena?”

She has no idea how to fix a broken oven. Fuck!  

“It’s broken,” she says, as if still in disbelief. Helplessly staring at it, she barely tears her eyes away to share a look with Elijah. “It broke on me. I need it. I’ll– I can call someone to fix it.”

While Elijah is there, not having announced his intentions yet, she has to waste a precious ten minutes looking for the old notebook where she used to write down the phone numbers of important people for Jenna to call when something like this happened. Mystic Falls’ market is usually monopolized by one or two companies or stores. Both stores capable of sending someone over to fix the oven promise they’ll be happy to do it. Tomorrow.

“Come to the manor,” Elijah says as soon as she defeatedly hangs up. And she’d thought she’d done a good job of hardening her shoulders in an attempt to appear less affected. 

“I already break into your home every other night.” She can fix this. She’ll go to Bonnie’s empty house again. She’ll–

“We have two ovens.”

She beats him to the door.

The Mikaelson kitchen is modern and classy and state-of-the-art appliances hidden and wrapped by built-in features. If Elena wasn’t stressing about, well, everything, she’d have stopped to admire it more.

She sets down the lone bag with the delicate cartoons of eggs just as a whoosh of air blows her hair back. Five grocery bags, the heavy ones Elijah insisted on carrying, are placed gently next to hers. They’d had to stop at a grocery store to get the rest of the ingredients she needed.

Elijah always sorta had that ability to read her mind, or at least second-guess her intentions, so he correctly identifies her nervousness and takes over. He shows her where everything is and welcomes her to test the oven, albeit he says they’d never used it themselves– figures, rich Original vampires.

It’s daunting and overwhelming and all Elena can think about is how fast her heart is beating and how much of a complete failure she is when–

“My family put a curse on you twice,” Elijah concludes, “Let me bake cupcakes with you.”

 It takes her a second to comprehend what he’s saying. “W-what?”

A millimeter smile softens his expression. She remembers their car ride last night, when he’d been so so nice that she thought he must be trying to make amends for everything his family had put her through. This is him trying, again, must be.

Cupcakes done, cookies baked, and cake pops in their industrial-size fridge, Elena can finally breathe. Elijah watches the moment she does, sees her genuine relief– and the way she glances warily at the door. She’s been at the Mikaelson Manor for hours, probably worrying that Klaus will come home any time now and won’t be as welcoming as he is at night. Frankly, Elijah himself has no idea how his younger brother will react.

“I have to admit, Elena,” says Elijah, capturing her attention. Elena is only a few feet away, washing the last dish they’d used. Dozens, if not hundreds of baked goods surround them. The kitchen has never smelt more heavenly. “I have a confession to make. Two, actually.”

He almost regrets it: breaking the silence that had fallen on them by mutual agreement. Elena isn’t as tired as usual, and he recognizes the difference between the toll of physical labor and sleep exhaustion. The Elena he’d been dealing with prior to her and Klaus pseudo accepting their need for each other to sleep, at least, is different from the well-rested Elena today. Well-rested Elena was quieter; well-rested Elena stared off into the distance more, didn’t shake with buzzing, nervous energy. Didn’t stare at him and then blush when caught, like she’d done something wrong.

Any trace of her visible good mood evaporates the more he talks.

“Niklaus had to convince me to return to Mystic Falls,” he says. She’s so transparent. He sees every emotion as she feels them in the present time; casual trust giving way to natural wariness to hurt and anger. “I was there that day, and I saw how frightened you were. It’s only natural that you should seek out Niklaus after he saved you. And I also believed that you would be better comforted by your friends rather than us. All we’ve done is hurt you, and all you’ve done has been a reaction to that.”

With shaky hands, Elena sets down the plate in her hand and shifts uncomfortably.

“It wasn’t until I saw your dream that I realized how serious this really was.”

The screech of crows and his brother’s decayed, agonized face stares back every so often when he lets his mind drift. How did Elena survive months of this? No wonder she yielded when she found she could get a good night’s sleep, even if it means being so close to Niklaus.

“I also saw how relentless Niklaus was when it came to you. These last couple of weeks since Damon got back, he asked me to make sure you arrive safely at the manor. He’d have done it himself if we weren’t sure that you’d just go to him.”

“You followed me?”

“I’m certain Niklaus is hiding the extent of your connection, even from me.”

Every night, I wait for you. 

According to Eric, his brother killed her, so he feels the need to protect her. Mother Nature’s way of finding balance would have been amusing– if Elijah wasn’t 50% sure Klaus was debating the merits of killing her to put a neat stop to their connection.

“But I admire honesty,” Elijah continues, tilting his head to get her attention, satisfied when she obeys. “And you’ve been nothing but honest with us these past few weeks, so it’s only right to repay the favor. The plan to investigate your connection with Niklaus is still on pause until Bonnie can come back; despite their grievances, Niklaus won’t trust any of the witches we usually use. My second and third points are pertinent; I agree with my brother; Damon is outliving his usefulness, and I overheard your conversation with Klaus last night.”

“You overheard–”

He overheard ‘epic love’ isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and the only true love we’ll likely ever feel is familial love. 

Elena’s face burns something fierce. “I was sad.” Her defense is murmured. “Half-asleep, and cocooned in the safety that Klaus offered to that’s, apparently, on a biological level with me. It wasn’t appropriate, and I’m sorry if I–”

“You keep apologizing for things that aren’t your fault,” Elijah says. “You know, initially, I didn’t trust you for the same reason people don’t trust my brother. Because, for the life of me, I cannot read you. I called your bluff at the cabin, at your house. Every time I called you out or underestimated you, you proved me wrong.”

He sees the exact moment she goes from the apologetic defense to an angered offense. “Do you mean when both times you came to hurt or kidnap me?”

“You also lie. You lied to me at the ball; stared me right in the eyes as you did so and with little to no remorse. I don’t care that your friends constantly and consistently plotted against my family. What I care about is you and you do.”

While he’d been talking, he’d almost closed the distance between them. The height difference between them becomes clear; he has to look down at her and she has to crane her neck up, even if she does so with a stubborn lock to her jaw.

“What do you want from me?” Elena demands, her heartbeat betraying her. It’s the loudest thing in the room. “You’ve been in my head. You’ve seen me at my most vulnerable. What more could you want from me?”

A dish towel is shoved at his chest before Elena backs away, her shoulders pulled taunt, warm eyes darkened with accusation.

“I want to know that I can trust you,” Elijah says frankly. Niklaus is blinded by his obsession with the doppelganger– always has been. That leaves him , the only rational one of his family, to take care of them. “You have access to our home, to my brother. Whether either of us likes it or not, you’re bound to him.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Elena backs away further, but she doesn’t; she only moves to round the kitchen island in the middle of the room. A stab of regret is hard to ignore at that; he had scared her. Again. “Do you think I want to be bound to Klaus, to have to fight with Damon all the time?”

Elijah’s expression tightens. Damon Salvatore is a nuisance, and he’s already putting in more effort than he’d like in stopping Niklaus from killing him.

A hitch in Elena’s breath precedes her turning away. “Can you take me h–”

Elijah stops her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you like this.”

There’s a flash of a sardonic, ironic smile that Elena swallows down. “Why are you always saying that?”

And he keeps doing it. She’d pointed it out before; that he gives her his word when it suits his needs. “Because I promised to protect you. What you don’t realize is that I do keep my word. I can count on one hand the number of times I’d broken it over the centuries, and it was usually due to outside interference such as my brothers. I only ever break my promises around you. I don’t intend on repeating past mistakes. So. I’m not threatening you, Elena. I’m asking you to help me trust you. Can you do that?”

Elijah’s heightened hearing picks up Klaus’ car around two minutes away, at the start of the road. He’s blasting music like a moody teenager; won’t be able to hear them because he doesn’t know he needs to listen out for them.

“Are you negotiating with me?” Elena asks. It’s in such a specific tone that Elijah pauses. It’s what he’d said to her before.

He has to smile. This is why you don’t trust doppelgangers. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Chapter Text

“Don’t treat me like some situation that needs to be handled

I'm fine with my spite 

And my tears 

And my beers and my candles 

I can feel you smoothing me over”

Chapter 12

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Klaus’ jaw locks so tightly in tandem with his grip on whiskey that his glass almost breaks. “I am.”

Damon Salvatore knocks down another shot, too bloody merry for the hour. Klaus and Elijah had each received different versions of the same texts from Elena; that she and Damon are on better terms and that they’re spending the night together, so there’s no need to wait for her if they do. The fact that Elijah told her about this still baffles Klaus. 

Elena Gilbert has way too much influence on him, occupies too many of his thoughts. It’s the other way around; she is ingrained in him this time. While her subconscious seeks him out at night, Klaus can’t stop thinking about her during the day.

“It’s midnight.” Elijah looks at the Rolex on his wrist. “Remind me of the last time Elena stayed over?”

It was a week ago; he’d counted. Their conversation hasn’t stopped playing in his head. Every single word. 

Does that resonate with you? 

Her words were pretty and tragic, and she’d danced around a word that plagued him: she was lonely. She had a boyfriend and an army of people, even if distant, on her side, but she was shaking with loneliness. He knows a little about what that’s like.

Elijah turns to say something else, but Klaus is already gone. He swallows his sigh. At this point, Klaus’ actions shouldn’t surprise him anymore. 

Damon Salvatore doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, so Elijah takes his time finishing his own glass of whiskey.

His reservations about Elena’s closeness to his brother wane a little in those moments in watching her so-called boyfriend, doing everything under the sun to avoid going home to the girl who clearly needs him. 

Is it any wonder that the doppelganger is running headlong at them, their supposed enemies?

Sinclair was the bottom of the barrel, the most despicable of vampires; really, Elijah should have wiped him off the face of the earth centuries ago. But just as Nikalus was notoriously impossible to locate, so was the ‘collector.’ Frankly, Elijah never had a good enough motive to pursue Sinclair since his actions never directly affected him. Out of all four of them, him, Niklaus, Rebekah, and Kol, it was Kol who knew Sinclair because they both dabble in dark objects and the endless pursuit of magic that only comes when a witch is turned into one. Paradoxically, he regrets that now– because Sinclair caused Elena Gilbert so much pain and because he triggered a curse between her and his brother.

The town’s only bar, besides the Mystic Grill, is where Klaus ends up when he ventures out of the manor for pseudo-human interaction, which usually ends up with him feeding on some drunken soul. Elijah joins him most of the time so that they don’t have too big of a mess to clean up. Maybe one night a week or two. Never in the past few months did they run into Damon Salvatore here.

To say he seems to be in a foul mood is an understatement. It only makes the upcoming encounter all the more anticipatory for Elijah, whose footsteps are silent and gait relaxed as he approaches the eldest Salvatore.

He clears his throat– watches how the nearly inebriated Damon jumps, taking pleasure in it unlike when Elena flinches and startles. “Where is the lovely Elena?”

The scowl on Damon’s face is borderline hateful. Ah, this is more of the reaction Elena should be having to them. “Why don’t you check your brother’s bed?”

Elijah tilts his head; straightens; checks their surroundings for eavesdroppers. “Forgive me, but it just sounds like you’re insinuating something about your own girlfriend.” He takes the seat next to Damon. “Now, I wouldn’t blame you for holding some resentment, but to blame her is unsettling.”

“Look, buddy–” So uncouth. “Elena and I’s relationship is mine, mine to speculate over, not you. But I have a feeling you want to feel useful, so I’ll tell you what. Break the fucking curse. Boom, resentment gone.”

A humorless smile. “I am a problem-solver,” Elijah acknowledges. “And I like chess. I like to see my board, where all the pieces are. Right now, Elena’s piece, Elena, is at her home. The Damon piece, you, should be there to protect her. So that she doesn’t, as you so eloquently put it, end up with Klaus. Why aren’t you?”

“I can’t ever seem to get rid of you Originals.” Damon’s voice raises in pitch. “Seriously. Let up. Let go. Elena and I are handling it.”

“Handling it,” Elijah echoes hollowly. Save for the past week, Damon…knows that his girlfriend sleepwalks to their house at least three to four times a day. Right? He saw him dropping her off. 

…Does this explain his mood? Damon is still angry that Elijah drove her back– so angry, particularly, because he thought they’d stopped?

“I assume, then,” Elijah says, “That the cuffs are back?”

Damon smiles. “Her idea.”

The next time Klaus sees Elena, after a week-long absence, she comes to him.

In fact, she stops a few feet away from him. He approaches– to wake her up, and has to catch her before she falls. Her body just goes limp. If he were a better man, one with more remorse, he’d have taken her back to her own bed, just a flight of steps away. But that’s laughable– even his skewed moral compass knows this is wrong, and that doesn’t stop him. So he carries her back to his house, to his bed. 

He hadn't needed to wait for long before Elena came out of her house. After leaving the bar, he’d headed straight there, only to find the lights on. Elena was inside, and she was awake. He listened to her movements; smelled something baking– like how his house smelled for days after she’d been there. 

They haven’t spoken since their night in bed when Elena had tiredly bared her soul to him. It took her hours to fall asleep after, but she didn’t get up; he knows, because he waited for her to fall asleep before he allowed himself to.

It makes no sense. Klaus shouldn’t– it’s the curse. This is my end of it. When you don’t seek me out, I will.

At her house, her breaths had been languish; deep. Tired. But she'd kept moving, watching movies and TV shows. Lighthearted things that don’t require thinking, that won’t haunt her in dreams. The moment her heart slowly had fallen into a steadier beat, sleep stealing her subconscious, he'd heard it, and had braced himself.

He’d dove into her dream and–

Crows screech– Elena had whimpered.

Tree branches cut her as she runs– Elena had jerked in her sleep, but it was only for a moment.  

Elena then had gotten up. Her heartbeat had shown no inclination of her being awake. This was the part of the dream where she seeks him out. Usually, when she doesn’t get up to find or is stopped by the cuffs, the next part of the dream occurs: the decayed skull, pleading with Elijah’s name for help, and her screaming.

Elena Gilbert, sleepwalking Elena Gilbert, had frozen on her porch, cementing Klaus and Elijah’s belief that they really didn’t understand this curse. Because she didn’t just sleepwalk to the manor. She was running to him, and she didn’t because he was right there.

Elijah looks disappointed, disapproving, when he returns that night and finds Elena in Klaus’ bed. He stops in the doorway and regards the doppelganger.

However, instead of doing the right, noble, quintessential thing, and send her back to her boyfriend, Elijah studies her. Eventually, he says, “Damon doesn’t know how often she finds you.”

“Damon is a non-thought.” Klaus has rarely thought otherwise. Every unanswered cry from Elena proves it. “She wasn't even in her bedroom, instead pulling every trick in the book to stay awake.”

Even Klaus has to admit she looks hauntingly vulnerable at the moment. And she’s not even dressed to sleep. A sundress that Klaus had to hide with the covers because it kept riding her golden thigh.

“She can stay for now,” Elijah decrees. The if only to spite Damon goes unsaid. Klaus almost smiles. He loves that Elijah can be petty, too.

Breathing deeply, the relaxed, indulgent feeling she feels is what tips her off that– “Crap,” Elena whispers to herself. Resigned, she looks at Klaus, expecting to see his taunting eyes and that regal eyebrow raise he keeps mocking her with. For the first time since, well, ever, he’s still asleep when she wakes up.

It’s the perfect opportunity– to get up, to go out, unnoticed. To head home before Damon notices.

She’s never seen Klaus' expression look so relaxed. Smoothed over. At peace. Is it true? Does he really sleep better when she’s here?

After running into Elijah dropping her off, Damon has been extra attentive. Every night for the past week, he’s woken her up gently and made her go back to bed. 

Her absence wasn’t unnoticed by the Mikaelsons. She has a few missed calls from Elijah and a litany of inquiring texts from Klaus. Elena tries her best to respond diligently, but Damon’s watching her like a hawk. She feels like she’s a traitor, but whom is she betraying? 

She does know that she needs quality sleep like a fish needs water, and she’s gasping for air. But the next night after baking with Elijah, she had evaded sleep. Elijah was the scariest Original. When she least expects it, his eyes do that scary thing and he remembers all the wrongs they’d done to each other. 

She’d like to say she owes him nothing and doesn’t have to put up with being doubted and mistrusted, but that’s not really true, is it? Klaus and Elijah had come through in a way no one else had. They continue to come through, even if they’re not traditionally nice about it. That, however, doesn’t mean she has to put up with anxiety-inducing encounters. Her veins will explode at this point.

She should get up. See what time it is. Salvage her dignity and pride. She looks at Klaus.

Up close, wow, Klaus resembles more of a Roman statue than a mortal man. Usually, she keeps her grandeur fantasies to a minimum, but he looks…otherworldly most times. A Roman statue. A vengeful god. A cruel prince. His jaw is more defined than anything in her life. Long lashes, the kind that girls envy, curl over his closed eyes, hiding what she knows is a haunting blue. And when he deigns to show them, his dimples–

Said bright, blue, catastrophic blue eyes blink open, and Elena jerks back.

“Good morning, Elena.”

Elena leaves the bed, barely pulling her dress down in time with the help of the covers. It feels too intimate– being in bed with him like this, when the sunlight is boldly lighting up the room. When they’re both awake and- and–

“I don’t remember falling asleep. Damon will–”

Damon will nothing . Elena cuts herself off. How long had she stayed up last night waiting for him? Only to find a text telling her that he’ll be back later.

Is she supposed to wait, stay awake even though every molecule in her body was in a constant battle for relief, not knowing when he’s going to be home? And she’d listened! She’d drank coffee, energy drinks, watched TV to waste time.

All roads lead back to Klaus. To the Mikaelsons.

Her hesitation to leave hangs in the air.

“Do you still draw?” Klaus gives her whiplash by asking. How fast she blushes has the domino effect of him smirking.

“I tried.” Why is she answering him? Why does she let a teasing, amused smile show as she says, “I have a wicked one of Elijah.”

The way his eyes widen is more than rewarding. “This I must see.”

Elena bites back her smile, feeling shy. Damon still doesn’t know about them. It could go either way– he’ll find them hilarious or he’ll actually take offense to them. She doesn’t intend to find out.

“Maybe later,” she says non-committedly. “Can you drive me home?”

Klaus’ eyes have never looked more hawk-like than in that moment; it hones in on her. “My brother usually takes you home.”

“We’re in negotiations,” Elena answers.

He is nice; not in the traditional sense she’d expected, but because he gets up and starts getting ready. He, however, stops and– woah, dimples. “You’re in what?”

Elena heads to Klaus’ floor length mirror to fix her hair to a manageable state enough to leave the manor. “He’s wary because of the curse and doesn’t trust me, though I don’t know what he needs to trust me for.”

Her rants usually go in Bonnie or Caroline’s ears, but since they aren’t here, Klaus gets to be the recipient of her frustrations. Oh, shit; he’s just going to go–

“Don’t tell him I said that,” Elena races to say, to make up. “Or do. I’m not– I didn’t mean–”

“You’re scared of Elijah?” Klaus sounds the same as always– steadfast; taunting, but a hint of disbelief leaks through the mocking that she’s convinced is his default.

She locks eyes with him through their reflections. He has a shirt in his hand that he’d clearly planned to put on, but he still hasn’t. He’d been half-facing the bathroom when he’d stopped to question her. Damon and Stefan had changed enough times in front of her to practically erase any reaction she had towards men, and Damon hasn’t stopped since the auction. He’s her boyfriend, sure, but…

Her heart skips a beat from the consideration from the usually cruel man.

“I’m just,” Elena says, “aware of where I am in the hierarchy.”

Klaus’ expression isn’t fully convinced, but he indulges her, even scoffs a little. “And here I thought everyone had a natural disposition for trusting Elijah.”

Elena almost rolls her eyes. “Rose called him the Easter Bunny compared to you, which is very disturbing."

"As opposed to calling him what, exactly?" Klaus asks. "Am I the Easter Bunny in this scenario?"

"I would never." She tests him, "Take me home first, though?"

This time, she doesn’t hide her reaction as much when Klaus smiles sharply. She smiles back.

“Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”

All the way to her house, they don't speak-- except about books. Elena recommends YA novels until he rolls his eyes and he tells her to pick up some philosophy to make up for all the book boyfriends she's reading. A fat lie since he knows enough to know what book boyfriends are. His ‘I’ll see you tonight’ is met with a glare, which he smirks at, dimples and all.

Elena goes inside, dreading Damon’s reaction. She’s in her room changing outfits when he calls. He tells her to take a nap to recharge and that they can sleep as early as she wants today, not showing the least bit of inclination that he’d noticed where she went last night.

Maybe she can balance until they figure this out. She's able to convince herself of this until her tender control over reality slips by one domino piece falling: Caroline calls to say she's coming back to Mystic Falls.

Chapter Text

“Your ivy grows

And now I’m covered in you”

Chapter Thirteen

“Absolutely not.”

Something had changed. Since her whispered confession to Klaus. Since Elijah paradoxically promised to protect her and told her he doesn’t trust her. Since she found out that Damon drinks while she’s struggling to stay awake. She knows a Mikaelson had to help her get to their manor that night, but neither has come out and said it. Safety isn’t something that comes in abundance for someone like Elena, but she finds that she’s not that pressed up about it.

Klaus wasn’t in bed when she’d woken up. Her phone, which was mysteriously on the bedside table, showed she had a voice message from Caroline. Elena sighs. It’s been a while since she had spoken to her childhood best friend. Last she’d heard of her was that she and her mom were visiting relatives in Oregon as a break from Mystic Falls. Other than that, their interactions were limited to her sending memes and posts. 

“Hi!” Caroline’s bubbly voice washes over her. Elena perks up. “So, it’s official. I’m bored to tears with Oregon. If I have to eat Aunt May’s meatloaf again, I’ll gag. I have two news, good and bad. Which one do you want first? Mom decided to stay with her sister. Mystic Falls still holds a ton of bad memories, you know. But the good news is that I’m coming back! Can you pick me up from the airport? I have gifts! ”

Hence the “Absolutely not” from Klaus.

Elena lifts her head up to see him in the doorway of his room, already dressed, expression cut from steel, which sharpens with a smile, “Damon is here to pick you up. Oh, and no bloody way in hell.”

“A weird curse may mystically connect us.” Elena is currently arguing with Klaus, Elijah, and Damon. Her face burns fiercely at how cornered she feels. It shouldn’t– they shouldn’t– “But that doesn’t make you–” She addresses an unmoving Klaus, then the boulder that is Elijah. “Or you . Or you!” she tells Damon. “Any right to control what I do. Caroline is my best friend. If she says she needs a ride from the airport, that’s what friends do.”

“Hell no!”

“We still haven’t grasped the parameters of your curse,” Elijah smoothes over in that detached way of his. Elena glares at him. His eyes flare, darkening, but his expression doesn’t change whatsoever. “It’s unwise to leave town.”

Klaus, who had claimed dominion over an armchair as his throne, had been perfectly happy watching them battle this out, finally intervenes. He’d been quietly smug all morning, especially since Damon had decided to look for Elena this morning. Lo and behold, she was at the Mikaelsons. At this point, she feels like a kid waiting for someone to pick up and drop off. 

But Caroline could shake things up. It was like breathing in fresh air again; the monotony of her life, albeit it was a turbulent life at that, would broken by the blonde storm that is Caroline.  

“Personally,” says Klaus lightly, “I’d love to see dear Elena traverse state lines to get to me.” His pleasant expression widens into a devilish smirk at her offense. He addresses her, “But it's a no from me, sweetheart.”

“I’m not asking for permission.” Elena tries exchanging a look of camaraderie with Damon but finds that he’s lost in thought as he scowls at Klaus. “Damon?”

“Actually, Mephastophilis–” Damon shifts his gaze from Klaus to Elijah. “And Beelzebub–” His eyes are wide with expression. “I agree with them. You shouldn’t leave town. We don’t understand the connection curse. Sinclair aired out all our dirty laundry and declared doppelganger blood to be the best thing since sliced bread. The last time you left, your car skipped off the side of the road.”

Metal clicks against metal, and phantom water fills Elena’s lungs, making it hard to believe. She’d barely made it an hour out of Mystic Falls before her car was attacked. She’d woken up in cuffs, in a cell. 

“What if Caroline is in danger, too, if someone uses her to get to us?” Elena asks, feeling numb, a little quieter. She draws into herself on her spot on the sofa opposite Klaus into her back meets luxurious fabric, a velvety green, deeply intricate pattern woven into it. 

“What if Damon gets her?” Elijah proposes, drawing all their attention to him. Unlike Elena, who’s lately been flustered by being the center of a room, Elijah couldn’t care less. “She’s safe. You’re safe.”

“Wonderful. Glad that’s all, then,” Klaus says, getting up. “See you tonight, Elena.”

Damon’s molars get an exercise from how hard he clenches his jaw. “I’ll get Blondie from the airport,” he says, “On one condition. None of this shit. You stay away from the Mikaelsons. We’ll have to get, like, remote control locks for your house.”

“But I don’t want you to go,” Elena says. She stands up and goes to Damon. They’re in the presence of two vampires who can hear through a forest, but she drops her voice to an intimate whisper anyway. “Damon, things are…rocky right now. I’ll– I’ll ask Matt to pick her up.”

“And subject her to a two-hour drive with an ex-boyfriend?” Damon says. “Have a little mercy, baby. I’ll be back before you know.”

“But I have the swim meet tomorrow. I need you there.” Elena’s insides quack as she says it. Most of Miss Mystic Falls’ duties have been a headache that she can swallow with a smile, but this …she’s been agonizing over this event for weeks. Thanks to her statue as both Miss Mystic Falls and a former swimming champion, she's been assigned lifeguard duty.

“Then I won’t even drop Caroline off at her house. We’ll go straight to you,” Damon reassures her. There’s only him and her in this moment; he’s looking at her with electrifying blue eyes, the color of a calm sea in sunlight, the kind that doesn’t scare her, and he’s smiling at her how she likes, too. “With Caroline back, we’ll have this sleepwalking thing locked down,” he adds.

She still sighs. “Damon…” 

A kiss on the cheek. “It will work out; you’ll see.”

It doesn’t– as in work out. A little before Damon should be getting to the airport, Caroline calls Elena to tell her that hey, this is super awkward, but my flight keeps getting delayed. Tell Damon to turn back. I’ll take, like, a bus or something. But it was redundant to have him come back, especially since he hates putting so much mileage on the Camaro in the first place. Since communication goes through her, apparently, Elena calls Damon to let him know. He’s already there, and Caroline’s flight will get there in the next morning. He’ll stay the night, it’s decided, and he takes a photo of the hotel room he booked. Wish you were here is his caption. Don’t go to the swim meet. The town will understand.

Elena doesn’t. Won’t. She won’t let the water dictate her life. 

To think that she was drawn to the water during the nighttime before That Night, when her parents’ car crashed into it. Currently its allure resembles that of a pretty poison. She’s lucky– so incredibly lucky– that the dark waves had never drowned her. That Stefan was there that night.

When was the last time you went to the water? Caroline asked her weeks ago.  

Since then, since that day, when she’d felt like the water had betrayed her in the worst way possible, fed her poison when all she had done was love it. The last was the time Klaus and Elijah came to talk to her. And now...

Her feet feel like they’re sinking, even if it’s at the tiled edge of the Salvatores’ pool. 

Despite its crimes, though, the water welcomes her in the only way it can. When the waterline reaches her waist, she pauses; the drag and pull of the water is slow, relaxing if she’d let herself feel it. A chanced look behind her shows that she’s alone, but she knows that; had chosen this time of night, too. Elena has nothing to say, nothing she can say right now, no one she wants to see that isn’t miles away, so she continues her mission.

A vestige of her high school swimming habits had her putting on her goggles after she'd gotten dressed into short-sleeved swimwear before leaving her own house. She’s grateful for the familiar way the slippery fabric fits over her body, her thigh as she pulls it, her stomach, which feels void. It’s also dark, which she’s thankful for. No one needs to see– and she’ll die on this hill: if there even is anything to see. 

One second, the water’s up to her shoulders, the second, with a lackluster breath, she dives down under. The stark contrast between the noises of the night forest in the distance, the sudden, jarring rush of water and the muted silence in her ears is enough to make her descend faster.

Her feet firmly stand on the pool floor, and she doesn’t try to swim more than necessary other than to her objective. 

Her memory from that day is divided between murkiness and graphic, startling images. Her parents' faces dominate most of them, their reflection in the windows before Elena had lost consciousness, but there are other flashes, too. There are sounds, too: her father’s frightened, panicked yells, her mother’s wounded whimpering– she’s been hurt, too, by the crash, her father, telling Elena to get out. The loudest, most deafening of them was the rush of water, water gurgling, water stealing into their car, water going in her ears, water killing them.

Something dark sweeps next to her, threatening enough to jerk her to attention. Elena barely keeps from taking in a breath. 

A second later, a bruising tight grip grabs her by the arm. Her mouth opens in alarm. In seconds, the surface of the water rushes up to them with dramatic alacrity. Elena gasps in that brief moment before the air descends on them; water races to her lungs, and she’s blinded by the urge to cough uncontrollably not to choke on it.

“What in the seven hells was that?” Klaus Mikaelson is yelling at her. But he’s holding her. He’s dragging her out of the pool. Hands on the other side– Elijah– pull her up. With the strength of her stomach’s violent wish to expunge any water she’d swallowed, her body nearly bends in half for the next cough. An arm supports her waist, another on her back.

“I was fine.” It doesn’t help that her voice comes out scraggly, cracked. She’s so fine, in fact– She gets out of Elijah’s hold. “I was barely under there for 30 seconds! Why did you–”

“If you value your sanity,” snaps Klaus, rising up, and so abruptly, that Elena swallows wrong and has to cough again, “you won’t make me repeat myself. What the hell was that?”

“That’s enough.” Elijah steps forward, forcing Elena to look at him. “Elena, are you all right?”

“She was drowning.”

“I wasn’t,” Elena says, defends, genuine. “Was I struggling? No. I was on the swimming team my whole life. I can hold my breath for minutes.”

“Then why are you–”

“Because you scared me!” she says, “You yanked me out of the water. I was trying to relax.”

“With your feet on the pool floor,” concludes Klaus in a tone that questions her sanity. “Why aren’t you home?”

“I forgot the password to the new alarm system Damon installed.” The notepad that had it was, coincidentally, in her room.

“Your anxiety about the swim meet earlier suggested that you have an issue with water,” Elijah says carefully.   

Goddamn it. Listening to that voice message in a room, alone, had more consequences than she’d foreseen.

Something like resentment burns her. Elena swallows hard, taking in a inhale of beautiful, fresh, non-murder-y air. “Damon exaggerates. He widens his eyes and says a lot of stuff. Not a lot of it is true.”

It’s Elijah’s turn to look skeptic. Great, now he thinks that she’s a nutcase instead of untrustworthy.

“This isn’t what you think. I was practicing,” Elena says. “Since my parents’ accident, water sort of invokes fear in me. I’ve been trying to beat that.”

Bloodied, distorted reflections scream in her face. Her father’s shouts; her mother’s choked breaths. Water, slamming like a bandit against the windows they couldn’t close fast enough.

“Unsupervised?” Elijah demands, frowning, like he cares. Elena backs entirely out of the circle she feels is closed around her and heads to the towel she’d laid out.

“You only do this when Damon’s not here,” Klaus says.

“No one is. I need to be clear-minded.” Elena makes a quick work of drying her face and hair with one end of the towel, only able to breathe when she does so. Her aversion to being soaked with water has made her default setting over getting out of the show is immediately blow dry her hair. She can’t take baths anymore, convinced that she’ll slip and become stuck under that line that separates air and the water, life and death. “Why are you guys here?”

“Damon’s not here,” Elijah explains. With poise, he steps around the puddle of water she and Klaus had made– shit, wait. Elena’s head whips around. Too stuck in her head, she hadn’t noticed what Klaus was doing. The hybrid’s clothes– oh, he’d jumped in fully dressed– are dripping wet, and is in the process of taking his shirt off. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she tells him softly, guilty. When you don’t seek me, I will. But it wasn’t even around the time they usually encounter each other. He looks at her, an intimidating sight to behold when muscles and hard-defined abs aren’t on display. She’s startled when he suddenly comes over, but it’s only to grab the towel she’d disregarded. “D-Damon will be back tomorrow. I’m skipping sleep tonight.”

Inhale, exhale. You’re fine. You’re great.

“But you have that swim thing tomorrow.” Elijah’s eyes drift over the pool, as if he’d gleamed exactly what she’d been doing, her twisted exposure therapy to get over her fear.

“He said that he’ll be back before it,” she says.

“Let me guess,” Klaus says, “He widened his eyes dramatically while he said it? I was there, Elena. Don’t be stubborn. I, too, want to get some sleep.”

“I’m not comfortable with that tonight,” she shoots back. Damon’s absence, the looming swim meet, the inevitable moment she’ll have to go near the high school’s outdoor Olympic pool, and the possibility that she’ll need to go in at one point– it’s all culminating in something.

“Elena…”

“Are you gonna kidnap me again?” Elena argues. “No? I’m going home. I’ll send, like, an hourly text so you know I’m not asleep.”

It works. Klaus looks like he wants to argue more, but Elijah, closer to her, regards her. She thinks that he might be seeing her, veins and mentality exposed and all, that she’s shaking, that she really won’t sleep tonight because she’s scared. It works. They leave. Elena stays up the night at the Salvatore Boarding house, too lazy and cautiously smart not to walk back to her house in the dark.

Taking a walk in the forest always calms her down. You’d think she’d be scared of it, given how many times she’d run through it in her nightmares, but Elena enjoys the trees in the morning, the chirping of birds, how the sun never beats down on her too harshly in the shade.

As the Miss Mystic Falls-appointed lifeguard, she only needs to be there when the event actually starts, having begged out of the preparations for it. She has a few hours before she needs to be there. Damon was supposed to be her ride. Maybe one of the organizers will pick her up?

“Hello.”

Strangely enough, she’s not startled by Elijah’s appearance. Elena gives him a sweet, sort of sheepish smile. “Hi. I’m sorry for last night.” She wants to get ahead of this. “It was…intense. I was upset because Damon’s stuck waiting for Caroline. I’m already tense because of the swim meet. Who would want me as their lifeguard?”

“That wouldn’t be too bad,” Elijah says. Even in the middle of a forest, his suit looks pristine; immaculate. He’s a comfortable few feet away from her, and she thinks that he might be because she’d told them she wasn’t comfortable last night. He sort of smiles at her, a tame curve to his mouth. “Several minutes, you said, that you can hold your breath for?”

“Yeah.” That wouldn’t be too bad. Was that a compliment? “Did Klaus sleep?”

“He,” Elijah says, “added at least two mildly alarming paintings to his collection.”

Elena breathes out. He sleeps better when she’s there, he’d admitted that. But at all?

“I was hoping to check in on you,” Elijah tells her. “Last night was intense. Damon’s not here, and it also occurred to me that you might be stuck here without a car.”

She is. “Oh my God, would you?” she says, “I have to get to the meet. I was going to get one of the organizers to come get me.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Elijah says; he smiles and it doesn’t look abrasive. It’s a genuine expression, like, that wouldn’t be too bad if you were my lifeguard. “It would give me a chance to make up for being inexcusably rude the other day.”

“You weren’t.” He’d scared the sleep out of her, made her ask Klaus to drive her instead of him. But he’s being so nice and she is a forgiving person. “You spelled out some truths. I’d do anything for my family, too. I have. You’re just protecting your lives.”

It was a little hard to believe; Klaus needed protection. He was a bull in a China shop. Elijah guided him when needed, kept him from the worst of the violence. But Elena now fully believes it.

“We understand each other,” Elijah says genuinely. She’s trapped by his gaze, his dark eyes, and how warm and relaxed that she feels in that moment that she doesn’t notice the exact moment that his expression shifts. He tilts his head, even though his gaze is locked with hers, seems to be focusing. A second later, he snaps out of it. He comes over a few steps, offers an arm like a gentleman. “Shall we?”

She takes it. Is about to let him lead her away when she remembers, “I need to run back to the house real quick. Come in with me.”

Elijah shifts when she tugs her hand away, doesn’t try to hold on, but he doesn’t let her move. “It’s all right. What do you need?”

Her confused smile slips a little. “My bag. It will just be a second.” She moves to move away, but this time, her hand is grabbed. “Elijah?”

“I wanted to discuss with you...” but the words trail off. And he’s not even looking at her. His brand-like gaze is fixed…behind her. To the Boarding House.

“Elijah,” she breathes.

“I’ll take you to the meet. Let’s go.”

“Elijah,” Elena enunciates. “What’s wrong?”

His look spells out something alarming. He’s not looking at her like she’s untrustworthy, like his brother has just dragged her from the bottom of a pool. Not even like he’s dissecting her, like when she’d asked are you negotiating with me? and the familiarity of it had made him smile with morbid intrigue. For the first time, she notices the new tension rippling underneath his composure. 

“Take me back,” she says, quieter. “To the Boarding House.”

He’s so much taller than her, so put-together, but he looks down at her, brows furrowed, like he’s soft for her. “Are you sure?” he murmurs.

Her nod is more of a jerk to her head. A sinking, sick feeling starts in her stomach. She takes Elijah’s hand. Closes her eyes. 

When she reopens them, they’re in the Boarding House’s living room, and Caroline, half-dressed, tears her lips away from the man she's straddling and gasps in alarm as she almost falls off the sofa. 

Steady, familiar male hands steady her, and electrifying, wide blue eyes find Elena across the room. 

Damon.  

Chapter Text

“Goddamn

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand"

Chapter Fourteen

Sometimes, Elena gets hung up on a few words. It began when she was little and suddenly, she became obsessed with counting the number of letters in words. Love, a four-letter word. She’d add up the entire sentence. I love you, one; two; three; four and a total of eight letters. When people spoke to her, their words got stuck in her head, and she’d count them, too, imagining them being written on the walls.

Would space out during the entire conversation to count.

As she got older, she continued counting letters, but it was second nature; what her mind did when she got bored in class.

Grown, she was obsessed with words as a clump in general. Certain phrases or terms would stay with her for days, weeks, or even months. Song lyrics, quotes from movies or books, and things she made up in her head. The Cinematic Orchestra’s song, To Build a Home, had a line that always made her heart stutter and repeat: held you as tightly as you held on to me, which she always associated with the death of a loved one. A song called Crossfire by an artist called Stephen when he said, can I trust what I'm given, even when it cuts? Finally, a Lana del Rey, Carmen, I’m dying.

She could go on. Really. For days.

But things people told her also lingered. Ugly words thrown during fights. Pretty words said to her in times of need. 

I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Damon had told her once, but I need it.

She thinks of that, and then she thinks, with guilt, usually, of every night, I wait for you.

In her final two years of high school, when vampires had crashed into her life and disaster after calamity followed, two particular words imprinted themselves behind her eyes– so much so that her heart automatically reacted when they invaded her line of thinking.

On the precipice. 

On the cusp.

Because she was on it– the precipice; the cusp, but she was drowning in it. Almost– she was almost, about to, on the cusp, on the precipice; soon . 

She could never bring the words to stop being written on the wall in front of her. On the precipice; the cusp. On the side of a cliff, teetering, held by emotional ties and time restraints and miraculously, paradoxically afraid of the other side.

But what do you know, she had been on the cusp of something. Life as she knew it, as shitty and mind-numbingly traumatizing as it had been, would get worse with one betrayal. Two.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. She feels sick. Sick to her stomach sick. Sick in her heart sick, if you could feel sick that way.

“Oh God,” Elena voices. Later on, it would almost look comical– if it didn’t hurt so much– how fast Caroline and Damon scramble to get away from each other. 

“Elena!” Half-naked, Damon abandons his pursuit to find his pants and takes a few steps to. Elena backs away, and her back connects with– Oh, God, it’s Elijah. He’s here. “Let me– it’s not– we’re just–”

“You were about to have sex.” Slowly growing detached from the nightmarish reality she’s in, Elena finds herself numb as she says the words. But the distance isn’t coming fast enough. Tears blur her vision. “Oh, God. Damon, how could you?”

“Elena, if you’d just listen to me–” He tries reaching for her, but she rips her hand away from him. “It’s not–”

“Why?” Elena demands. She repeats, hurt, “How could you?” When, when, when– “I picked you over Stefan. You asked me to choose and I chose you.”

“And I meant what I said that day,” Damon argues. He’s standing in front of her and moves like he wants to touch her but can’t. “Elena, I loved you so goddamn much it hurts.”

“It hurts?” A fever-like blush burns her as it crawls over her face. Humiliation– she feels humiliated. Like she’s a fool; there’s a joke being played on her. “You don’t love me. This.” she points at a guilty, about-to-cry Caroline who’s silently putting on her clothes. “Isn’t love. Oh my God, you used the past tense.” I loved you so goddman much it hurts.

“I meant what I said that day,” Damon asserts, jaw locked, blue eyes bright with emotion. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Damon.” That’s not her. It’s Caroline, who’s found her shirt and is slowly trying to approach, too. It’s at that moment that, like a wave crashing into her, Elena chooses anger instead of passiveness.

“Your flight didn’t get delayed, you just came back to have sex with my boyfriend.” The accusation flies out of Elena. A cry is stuck in her throat, blocked by devastation and oh God oh God oh God–

“Elena, we need to talk to you,” Caroline says, sounding sad. “You’re my best friend. And this just happened! It wasn’t like we planned–”

“This just happened,” Elena echoes. Her eyes widen. “How long has this been happening?”

“Elena–” Damon steals her attention. “Just hear us out, okay? Elena, we–”

“Stop saying my name like that.” Elena feels her voice raise. Can do nothing to stop it. “Stop, stop, stop! Like you’re telling me to calm down and listen, as if I didn’t just catch you cheating on me.”

“You know what?” Damon snaps back. “How do you think I felt to have to come get you from Klaus fucking Mikaelson’s bed? When I woke up in the middle of the night and found your side of the bed empty because you’re in another man’s bed?”

“Jesus, I don’t control that!” She can’t believe that this is that. “Is that why you did this? To get back at me?”

He opens his mouth to argue, then falls silent. Guilty.

“No, it’s not,” Elena understands. Caroline’s face twists again, like she’s about to really start crying.

“Things were tense after the…auction,” Damon says, each word a direct wound to Elena’s heart, each syllable more outlandish-sounding to her ears. “You tapped out. You were zoned out. You flinched at my touch, at my voice.”

Dizzy with– with the onslaught of devastation, of feeling wronged, Elena has to step back, away.

“You barely came out of your room for weeks,” Damon continues. “How do you I felt when it felt like you couldn’t stand me?”

“Because that’s what mattered then,” Elena says, “How you felt after I was–” Violated. Sold. She has to run a hand over her face. It feels hot to the touch. Tears are imminent, and they’re not the normal kind that fall silently. Tremors catch ahold of her body. Ugly sobs climb up her throat, but she holds them back. The more she does so, the more she shakes.  

“I need,” she murmurs tearfully, her world knocked off its axis, “my things. I need to leave.”

“Elena–” “Elena!”

She leaves behind her name. Her phone was charging upstairs by the bed. Silence hangs in the air for the split moment it takes for them to follow her, a stampede of steps that precedes the door of the room she and Damon– and Caroline?-- share slams open.

Elena’s eyes lock with Caroline, insurmountable resentment and hurt building up in her. She looks at Damon confrontationally. “Every time you didn’t wake me up when I was having a nightmare, you were with her, right?”

“I–”

“Yes,” Caroline answers at the same time. “I’ve been staying in the next town.”

The next town is a 30 minute drive. So while she’d been cuffed to the bed, her boyfriend was fucking her best friend like a– “Like a mistress,” Elena realizes. “But which one of us, right.” She lets her phone drop on the bed and marches to the closet.

“No, because we didn’t want to hurt you!” Caroline follows her. It’s a walk-in, but there’s not enough room for all three of them, especially when Elena is a non-stop blur of movements as she gets her stuff. All she can think about is getting out and her overthinking has jumped ahead to never coming back here. “Elena, I love him.”

The pounding in Elena’s head, which had been picking up momentum, comes to a screeching halt. Like it, too, is in disbelief.

I LOVE HIM might as well play on speakers in her head.

“When did it start?” 

“Not that long a–”

“I’m asking Caroline.” Caroline can always be counted on to tell the truth. What an ironic thing that was.

“Since before the auction.”

Hurt sets her jaw into an ironclad grip that she has to tear to ask, “How long before the auction?”

“Caroline! It’s not like we marked it on the c–” snaps Damon from the doorway. 

Oh, please. Elena’s eyes narrow as she crossed her arms. “Caroline knows exactly when it started.” 

Caroline looks at Damon helplessly before turning back to Elena. “April 14th.” She bets Caroline knows the exact hour and minute.

Elena does a quick count. “Two weeks before I got kidnapped?” It’s almost a screech. 

“We broke it off. Obviously,” Caroline says. “Because we felt so guilty. But then…”

But then she became a zombie, according to Damon. Truthfully, those days are a blur, or reality blends in with nightmares. She did spend a lot of time locked in her room. And any touch felt scalding, abrasive.

"Why then?" Elena finds herself snapping. "It was the conquest, wasn't it? The chase? You got me from Stefan and got bored."

Damon rears back, as if wounded.

“It’s not my fault,” Elena denies, asserts, vehemently shaking her head. The bag she’d been throwing her clothes in is finally full. She grabs it and storms out, and her arm is grabbed on the way.

“Let me explain myself to you,” Damon says. He doesn’t let go when she tries tugging her arm away. “It started when–”

“Let go of me,” demands Elena, distinctly feeling like the water for once, boiling, trapped in a kettle, about to spill over if she doesn’t get out right now . “I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

“No, we–”

“Let go of me,” she says, but her voice fails her. She wants to sound stronger, more combative, but the hurt spills over, too.

“She told you to let go,” a new voice cuts through the room. Elena freezes at the sight of Elijah a few feet away. Authoritative-looking in his suit, posture straight, and dark, dark eyes. 

He’s a new target for Damon, who rounds up on him. “You are the problem!” Damon accuses. “You– and your brother. If it weren’t for–”

A cry is stolen out of Elena when Damon’s neck is twisted right in front of her. His grip tightens unbearably on her wrist for a split second before he tumbles to the ground. Standing tall behind him is the eldest living Mikaelson.

“He was annoying,” defends Elijah, shrugging.

Caroline rushes to Damon, and Elena is stuck in place until a hand, which she sees coming, gently touches the bag she’s holding.

“Come with me,” he says softly. His brows furrow when he sees her trembling lips, how the thread that makes up her sanity is pulled taunt. 

She takes his hand.

“Would you like me to take care of him?”

Elena isn’t startled at Klaus’ appearance, though she is confused by it. The last place you’d expect to see Klaus Mikaelson is at a pool with half the town hanging out nearby. The bleachers are filled with them. Klaus looks out of place, like he belongs in the first class somewhere, not here, where he’s glowering at everyone and everything while in thousand-dollar shoes and mannerisms of an age-old aristocrat.

Upon her non-reaction, Klaus adds, “I’ve always said that you’re either killed useless or live long enough to be actually menacing.”

A humorless laugh that’s entirely hysterical bubbles up her throat. Elena immediately slaps a hand over her mouth to stop it, but she can’t help her expression. Klaus smiles triumphantly. 

She recovers quickly after making sure no one had seen her. “What are you doing here?” she asks him, voice quiet. It’s the strongest she can get it, she suspects, from the amount of crying she’d done the second she’d stepped out of Elijah’s vision after she’d made him drop her off.

“You didn’t sleep last night,” Klaus says, “Are you certain you’re the best person to safeguard the lives of some half a dozen or so children?”

The insides of Elena’s cheeks are bitten in an attempt to hide a sardonic smile. “Thanks for the concern. I’m fine and alert.” She bypasses him and continues her– honest to God– vigilant watch…over the empty pool. They haven’t gone in yet.

A large shadow falls over her when Klaus steps in front of her, darkening her entire vision, holding dominion over her because he’s all she sees.

“Elena,” he says very seriously, “Damon isn’t worthy of an iota of your attention.”

“You know that’s what he says did it?” Elena finds herself snapping. “Because, after the most traumatizing week of my life, I mentally checked out for a little over a month. And, oh my God, how could I, right? How could not consider what he felt? Neglected because I flinched at his touch because my skin crawled every time someone came near me? Please,” she scoffs.

After a rant like that, she should feel better. It’s why she finishes a diary every few months; pages upon pages of Horcrux-like-worthy intensity poured into them. 

But she doesn’t– as in feel better. She feels worse. She feels the worst she’d ever felt. Words come to mind. Burden. Inconvenient. It’s not my fault but how do you think I felt, Elena? Like you couldn’t stand me.

I loved you. In the past tense.

“It’s done.” This time, Elena does jump, but it’s only because Elijah appears out of nowhere. He smiles briskly but sincerely. “Elena, this is Mark. He was captain of the swim team for all four years of high school. He’s here to take over your duties.”

A guy who’s vaguely familiar awkwardly steps up from next to Elijah. A faintly confused look on his face makes her half-confused that a little compulsion might have played a role in ‘convincing’ him.

Elena’s about to refuse– how bad would Miss Mystic Falls look like if she abandoned her post– when Elijah adds, “They’re in the parking lot,” he says. Softly. Like he knows what it’s going to do to her.

Elena’s expression shutters. At least they should have the grace to give her some time and space. About to cry, she examines both Elijah and Klaus. Despite their imposing aura, alarmingly so, she doesn’t feel any alarm from them. Can’t sense any bad intentions. Sees that they’d come all the way here.

“We have something that will cheer you up.” Klaus smiles like he’s transparently luring her away.

She exhales. She takes the bait.

So, for the second– third?-- time in a span of one day, Elena takes Elijah’s hand and allows the Mikaelsons to whisk her away.

Chapter Text

“And when I was shipwrecked,

I thought of you"

Chapter Fifteen

Double doors open to reveal–

“You are a book boyfriend,” gasps Elena as Klaus leads her to the object of ‘we have something that will cheer you up.’ 

Immediately, she glances warily at Klaus, afraid of his reaction to her slip of the tongue. She didn’t mean it like that, and she’s about to set him straight, but he’s smiling, ugh, with dimples and all. 

Truly, Elena doesn’t dwell on it that much. Because– because of the Beauty and the Beast experience she’s experiencing . No other word for it. Where to look first– the two-story tall windows? the sunlight beaming but not overheating the parquet floors? the walls and walls and walls of rows and columns of books, left and right, up and down. An honest-to-God ladder is off to the side, and the second floor wraps around the first. There’s even a balcony-like alcove with beautiful chairs and an individual floor lamp. 

“If you look to your left–” Klaus steps up to her side. “-- you’ll find the romance section.” He smiles, again, like he hears her heartbeat kick up a fuss. “Divided, of course, into categories you’ll find adequate.”

“Where did you put The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo?” Elena murmurs, teases, back. “Contemporary literature or fiction?”

“Step right up and you’ll see for yourself.” Hands clasped behind his back, Klaus backs away harmlessly and lets her explore. Her heart half-as-heavy as when she’d walked in, she takes a step forward. Glances at the double doors entrance and finds Elijah there, hands in pockets. He nods reassuringly, already amused. 

The only clothes she’d kept at Damon’s house were from the ‘cute’ side of her wardrobe– as in sundresses, crop tops, blouses, and the occasional flowy skirt. Carelessly, Klaus had told her on the ride over that Elijah dropped the duffle bag he’d grabbed out of her hands at the Boarding House at the manor. Truth be told, she’d forgotten about it entirely. 

Casually, Elijah had shrugged in the rear view mirror, as if what are you going to do about it? She’d learned these past few weeks that that, as noble and gentleman-y as he was, is Elijah’s default.

In one of said sundresses, she makes her way to the biggest section of the library inside the Mikaelson Manor. A kaleidoscope of colors shocks her senses upon doing so. It’s easily the brightest section; hardbacks mixed with paperbacks, magnolias, bright pinks, lavender, Robin’s egg blue, and all the colors of the rainbow. A neat, fancy-looking plate hangs over each section. But it doesn’t say ‘biographical’ or ‘historical fiction.’

“Hockey romance,” Elena reads aloud. “Mafia romance? Enemies-to-lovers, childhood sweethearts to lovers, fantasy romance– this can’t be real, Klaus.”

“Why not?” 

She hadn’t realized he’d followed her to exactly where she is. Proximity usually makes her nervous, and today has been a sensory overload, so she subtly takes a few steps away until she’s comfortable with the distance.

“Because you’re Klaus .” The explanation (excuse?) sounds asinine, even as she thinks it over. “Klaus ‘I’ll kill you and everyone you’ve ever met’ Mikaelson. Klaus ‘you can’t kill me’ Mikaelson.”

Faux innocence pulls at his brows. “I can’t be both?” he asks in such a convincing tone that she has to blink at him. He bypasses her, looks around for a second, then hands her a book. “Here, I think you’ll enjoy this.”

It’s one of those alpha romance novels. Elena shoves it back at Klaus, if only to hide the bubbling laugh that escapes her by covering her mouth. “Oh my God. Put it back.”

There’s an elegant, amused breath that comes from a small distance away. Elijah. 

“We have other sections,” the older Mikaelson informs her smoothly.

“Marriage of convenience romances?” she jokes, but Klaus’ eyes drift to a little down the line.  

“Billionaire romances, mostly,” Klaus tells Elijah helpfully. “They’re there. In the ‘B’ section.”

Her and Klaus’ eyes connect, both gleaming with light humor. His are a catastrophic blue that’s simply not fair, because she remembers finding him at the bookstore, the scent of his cologne that she now associates with safety, and how he and Elijah rescued her in more than one way.

“Thank you,” she tells him. She doesn’t think she actually showed how grateful she is for, for everything, rescuing her, coming to get her to sleep and driving her back. Though, still, she hesitates, “What am I supposed to do? Do you think they’re still waiting for me?”

“Well,” says Klaus back. “I can answer one of those: I figured since I occupy your nights–” He makes a show of looking around all the options around them. “Stay. For now. So you can occupy my days.”

Elijah leaves them in the library to discuss books he undoubtedly are ‘uncouth’ or something. She learns that Klaus has read every book under the sun, but War and Peace is still his favorite. 

“What about you?” he asks. They’re wandering around the library, only stopping so that Elena can examine any interesting book that catches her interest. “What’s your favorite book?”

“I don’t know.” He has a poetry section. A well-worn William Blake’s Songs of Innocence looks more well-read than the others. Elena sort of smiles. “I still haven’t found it.”

Time loses its transient effect on them, or her, at least. Touring the library and seeing books she’s sure no one alive has heard of is something she could have done for the rest of the day. Distracted, unburdened by the thought of Damon and his too-fresh betrayal, Elena almost forgets what he did. What he and Caroline did. At least, she does until her phone suddenly rings, halting her conversation with Klaus about the Bronte sisters.

Damon. Of course. The number of her notifications are in the two digits and rising. Caroline.

The sound grating, Elena blindly declines the call.

Once that’s gone, Klaus continues, “Emily's second novel has never been proven or confirmed, but the myth has some foundation–”

The phone lights up again. And again. Even with the sound off, it might as well be blaring alarms.

“Ugh,” says Elena. An understatement. On the verge of tears, she turns away. Mercifully, Klaus allows her this cover for grief. “I need a distraction,” she says, and turns her screen brightness all the way down so she won’t see the ringing even when it’s silent. “I’ll, um.” Things to say run through her mind. "Can I have a tour of the manor?"

“We do have other rooms than the library,” Klaus says, offers. “I can’t promise entry to Elijah’s study, but there's a greenhouse.”

“Okay,” Elena, willingly, and in the light of daylight, nowhere near sleepy, agrees.

Klaus shows her the greenhouse, or the foundation to it. It’s basically a glass dome, but it’s the prettiest thing ever. He also shows her the various rooms; offices, studies, the eight bedrooms, all beholden of elegant decor– and not with just any furniture, but as the amalgamation of pieces the Mikaelson family had collected over their thousand or so years of roaming everything from the Americas to the Ottoman Empire to islands she’d never even heard of.

Then, “This is your art studio,” Elena breathes.

Masterpieces lean against every wall. Stacks on stacks of paintings. Some are even haphazardly arranged on top of each other. Easels are every few feet, too, with more than one unfinished piece on them.

But it’s not just that– just paintings. In the far end of the long room, there’s a drafting table. A built-in bookcase beside it shows a wealth of sketchbooks and folders and files; the scent of pencil, paper, pen, and paints subtly sneaks up her lungs. Elena inhales.

“You showed me yours,” Klaus says. He’d been watching her reaction to his studio silently. “We don’t quite share the same…style, but I thought you might enjoy this.”

“My caricatures are just an outlet,” Elena says. Something to occupy her sleepless nights. “This is art. It’s…soulful–” Portraits are followed by abstract paintings. “And haunting. And emotional. How long does it take for you to finish a painting?”

“Depends.” Klaus leaves her side. She follows him to one of the easels. “This one.” It’s a landscape, well, part of it. It’s half flowers and half roots. “Around two weeks and I’m still stuck on it. Some take more. Some less. Some I finish in one sitting.”

Would he mind if she stayed and examined literally every single painting here? Looking at each one suddenly has paramount importance in her mind. “May I?”

Gesturing it’s all yours, Klaus steps back. Elena heads to the flowers and roots first. She can see spots where he’d painted over aspects of the painting. Can still smell the fresh paint. Another landscape is next– in fact, she finds all kinds of fields: sunflowers, daisies, roses, magnolias. Another section of the room is dedicated to abstract paintings, the ones she called haunting. Emotion drips from every single one of them. The darker they get, the more raging and caged Klaus must have felt. The portrait section takes the most of her time, but only because Klaus leans with interest and tells her exactly who these people are. Aristocrats, nobles, princes and princesses and kings and queens, and ordinary people. 

Eventually, she reaches the drafting table. Klaus gives her a permissive nod when she reaches for the sketchbooks next to it. 

These feel more …personal. Elena almost murmurs something about it, but as she lifts sifts through them, she becomes fearful that he’ll take them away. They are more personal, but they’re also simpler. Street signs, buildings, architecture, sketches of people. 

“These are breathtaking,” Elena tells Klaus honestly. And then is rewarding, as if he’d been waiting for her response, he gets up and personally shows her his favorites.

After showing her what probably were most of his drawings and paintings, with a promise she extracts about showing her the finished roots paintings, Klaus brings her back to one of the living rooms downstairs. Elijah is there, doing something on his phone, but he looks up and smiles in greeting when they walk in.

Is this the end of the line? Distracting her worked for, like, a few hours. What if– what if–

“Oh my God, is that a chess table? That looks so cool,” Elena says, slightly feeling off-kilter after an afternoon with Klaus talking books and art. The chess table’s features are addressed in Elena’s head as ‘marble’ and ‘expensive.’ It’s the exact thing you’d expect to see at, like, a sultan’s palace. It even stands out from the rest of the furniture from how antiquated and extravagant it is.

“Do you play?” Elijah pockets his phone.

“A little,” Elena says. “I have an app.”

“I’ll let you two have it,” Klaus says. When she looks at him, inevitably feeling closer to him after seeing his art– his studio might as well be the inside of his mind, his smile is still innocent. “We shall speak later.” The promise is there; it’s not just a statement. She beams back.

He leaves her and Elijah alone.

It’s nerve-wracking, to say the least, like stepping up to your favorite professor with a paper you’d worked on all week in hopes they’ll compliment you or lean over your desk while correcting you. But Elena makes it all the way to the chess table. Like a gentleman, Elijah waits for her. Even lets her choose between black and white. The only sign of his hesitation when she picks to sit at the black side of the board is a split second’s delay in helping her with her chair.

“I’ve been playing for a thousand years,” Elijah warns, still behind her, though he rounds the table. The embodiment of a professor fantasy. “Are you certain you don’t wish to choose white?”

“I’m a rookie; I don’t mind either. Please.”

“...All right then," allows Elijah, adjusting the button of his suit jacket. Regally, he takes his seat. Thinks about his move for an offensive two seconds before he moves the first pawn. 

It goes like this: pawn, knight, knight, pawn, bishop, bishop, his king moves two spaces to the right, pawn, bishop, and knight, and on and so on until, before they both know it, Elijah wins.

Elena’s jaw drops in offense. “No, I want a rematch.”

“Take white.”

“No, just a rematch.”

Elijah indulges her. They start again. Elena loses again. And again. Their games take at least two hours. It’s in the fourth game that, well, Elena doesn’t know exactly what she does wrong, or right, because Elijah’s arm pauses over the board. 

She lifts her gaze to see what’s taking up so long. Elijah tilts his head as he examines the board. Then he reaches for the piece of paper he’d been marking both their moves on as ‘part of the experience’ as Elena had said when they’d started.

“Elena,” says Elijah carefully, in that elegant voice of his. “Are you losing on purpose?”

Every molecule, atom, in Elena’s body hangs in cryo. Elijah understands her like that, after a wrong slip, like with a snap of his fingers, he sees every emotion bared in her face. And–

“You’re a strategist,” Elijah realizes, leaning back in his chair, and, dare she, looking at her a little differently. “Is that why you chose black? You wanted to study how I thought?”

“I’ve sort of been playing chess with my dad my entire life,” Elena admits. Sheepishly. “I stopped after, you know, but I picked it up when I couldn’t sleep. Mostly with apps. This is different.” An itching sensation– the one that comes with being watched so closely– creeps up on her. “You don’t think like the AI.” Elijah is smarter, like her dad. He actually took it easy on her, but it was like playing on a medium level.

“Play me for real,” Elijah demands, chin raised in challenge.

“I’m still rusty. It’s better to lose on purpose,” Elena says.

Elijah shakes his head. Without waiting, he starts rearranging the pieces even though they’re in the middle of a match. “I won’t be mean,” he says, and it sounds like teasing by the glint in his eyes. 

Blowing out a breath, Elena takes a breath of bravery. “Okay.” She doesn't even protest when he switches the board to give her the first move.

Inhaling, she makes her play. A strategy she’s familiar with. Now that she’s been caught, she kind of wants to impress Elijah. How she reaches for pawns and bishops– that’s her dad talking, as if crooning in her ear the right move. And when, after half an hour, she unceremoniously checkmates Elijah, she could swear she hears her dad’s phantom yell of victory.

“Checkmate,” Elena says unnecessarily after clearing her throat.

A heartbeat passes. Then two. And more. All the while, Elijah looks at the board. “Stroke of luck,” he decides eventually, even to her pearl of laughter.

“I won,” she says triumphantly, “Fair and square.”

“I bet you you can’t win twice.” Who knew Elijah had such a competitive streak?

Elena has one, too. It’s in her adopted blood. “What do I get for it? When I win again?” Contextual over-arrogance, too.

And it works, because Elijah gives her one of those rare smiles– not the amused millimeter curves to his mouth, but an honest smile. “Are you negotiating with me?” His accent flows over her.

“I want,” says Elena, “Your kitchen. And your gadgets. For a baking session.” Her oven at home still isn’t working as before. The hassle of getting a new one is a daunting task that she doesn’t wish to tackle. “And what will you want?”

“An answer to a question,” Elijah tells her easily. “Do we have a deal?”

“I make a deal, I keep a deal,” she quotes him, and they shake hands on it. Elena’s and falters in his strong grip, feeling how much it envelops hers, how much strength is in it. Grayson Gilbert always talked about how to gauge a person’s personality by their handshake. Elijah’s only rival might maybe only be Klaus, she guesses. Like him, it’s strong, steady, but not overbearing or meant to induce discomfort.

The board is rearranged. Elijah hands her another pen and paper to mark her movements now that he caught that she actually knows how to play. 

Their fifth game is the longest. Elena actually tries, but it’s true; he has a thousand years of experience over her, and she suspects the only reason he let her go on this much was that he could study her strategies as well. He wins.

Immediately, he says, “My brother.” Klaus has been gone for the few hours they’ve been playing. “What happened that night? We never continued that conversation fully. What do you remember?”

His brother– Klaus.

When you don’t seek me out, I will

–and every night, you come to me because your subconscious is trying to recreate the feeling you got that night; every night, I wait for you.

Elena doesn’t answer right away. When she does, however, her voice is measured; steady. Honest. “I never thought there would be a day when I would seek out Klaus, especially after everything we put each other through,” she says Elijah, who’s listening with undivided attention. “ Elijah, you can’t imagine this part. That week with Sinclair. I'd been locked alone for around two days when the guards came to get me for the auction.”

Metal grates. A newborn’s weight as she slams Elena into a slam, sharp, cutting pain in her neck. Guards’ leering gazes. Sinclair’s I’m a collector.

“When we locked eyes,” Elena murmurs, “The sheer relief I felt. No one knew where I was. Jeremy wasn’t even expecting me to visit hi in Denver. At first, I thought it was a ‘the devil you know thing’ but it wasn’t . Because he could have just killed Sinclair for, like, the audacity or something, but he stayed with me. He kept close because he could tell I was cold and scared.”

Elena’s world is knocked off-center, off its axis, but, then, it’s steadied by a firm hand. 

Tremors wrack her body so much that her teeth are clattering. She flinches hard, and right into Klaus. 

The fabric of his jacket on her bare skin, her stomach, and it’s so– it’s so– 

A hand touches her cheek. 

A shudder follows, of relief, familiarity. 

She’d never paid as much attention to anyone as she does to Klaus presently.

“My mind,” she continues, “draws a blank for most of this time, but I remember him snapping Sinclair’s neck– and every guard in the room. We went to an…office? And he told me to stay put for a second. I heard screams next.”

There had been a vampire in the office he’d led her to, and Klaus had killed him, but he’d also dragged the body with him as he left. The massacre lasted for ten, fifteen minutes, tops. Elena hadn’t moved an inch, eyes locked on the door, expecting, at any moment, to see Sinclair come in.

An actual scream had risen up her throat when a stampede of footsteps sounded right in the hall. Barely a few seconds later, she’d find out that nothing feels as good as relief. Because she didn’t even care that– “Klaus was covered in blood. Carrie-esque blood,” Elena says. “It felt like my muscles atrophied at this point. He had to lead me out.” Actually, he had to nearly hold her. 

Look away, Elena, he’d said, as they passed over the bodies of the guards and the guests. 

Close your eyes. God, she did trust him fully in the moment. He could have drained her of blood, shown her Esther and Finn and Katherine and she would have been none the wiser. That’s how much she leaned on him. And he'd allowed her to lean on him, grabbed her by the waist to lead her out while she hid her face in his arm.

“And then he led me to you,” Elena adds a little more shyly. Elijah had been already in the middle of taking off his jacket to cover her when she and Klaus had emerged from what she learned was a nondescript warehouse in the middle of nowhere. He, too, had to hold her because she was too shell shocked to even cry. 

“I get to decide what you bake.”

It’s as close to an apology, outright sympathy, from him. Elena almost laughs.

Chapter Text

“Takes one to know one 

You're a cowboy like me.”

Chapter Sixteen

Elena wins/loses six out of ten games with Elijah. Time and experience are on his side, but, according to him, her method gives her an edge. Whenever she does a particular move, in that quiet, cultured voice of his, his remarks either make her jaw drop or giggle.

“You should see me at cards,” she’d once said, and her heart will never forgive her for the jumpscare she gave it when Elijah actually looked intrigued.

Sometime during what she didn’t know would be their tenth and final, Klaus comes down. Having been waiting to talk to him, Elena straightens. “Hey, Elijah, can we take a tiny break? Do I have to, like, seal my next move in an envelope?”

Amusement dances in Elijah’s eyes. “If you’d like, sure.” She’s winning this time, she feels it. He indulges her by giving her a piece of paper, which she writes down where she plans to move her bishop next. She leaves it on her seat, trusting Elijah to be honorable enough not to peek.

“Enjoying making that vein in Elijah’s forehead pop from overthinking?” asks Klaus when she walks in the kitchen. 

There was a vein in Elijah’s forehead that she usually knew to watch out for, but it wasn’t that present at the moment. Delighted that her chess prowess had affected him this much, Elena’s gait slows as she smiles to herself.

“He said that my techniques were both ‘strategic’ and ‘unhinged,’” Elena tells Klaus.

“An alarming description for the girl whose subconscious can locate me at any time,” says Klaus lightly, humor softening the severity of his resting expression. 

“Come on, you’re going to hold that against me?” Elena laughs. “But speaking of that, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. This is awkward, isn’t it?” she adds. At his questioning look, she presses on, “All these weeks and I’ve always ended up here; I never started the night here. This,” she says, “has to be uncomfortable.”

Klaus straightens. He’s across the counter, the same counter where Elijah told her that she has to prove they could trust her. Presently, Klaus says, “Are you uncomfortable? Do…I still frighten you?”

“If you’d asked me that a year ago, I never would’ve believed that Damon had to use cuffs to keep me away from you instead of the opposite.” It’s an accidental truth– she’d always maintained that it was both her and Damon’s idea to cuff her ankle to the bed. Now, she gets to watch Klaus’ expression darken because, for some reason, he’s angry on her behalf. “Now?” She brings him back. “It’s the only way I get peace; only time I feel safe. But there are alternatives if you don’t…like it. I can–”

“Elena.” Klaus seems to be on the verge of saying something, but then he puts it off until he rounds the counter and comes over until he’s within touching distance. A microscope would study her with less intensity. Elena wonders what he sees, wants to ask him about it but hesitates in broad daylight. 

Whatever Klaus was searching for, he finds, because he (which results in her breath hitching) touches her chin briefly. “I prefer it when you’re here,” he confesses, voice low like he’s professing a secret. “And now that you say you’re no longer frightened of me…”

It’s too intense– what she’s feeling, what his touch just did to her just now. How her heart isn’t recovering. She tries to lighten the tension by saying, “I haven’t been since I saw The Spanish Love Deception in your basket at the bookstore.”

The sharp edges of Klaus smooth over. She even sees dimples a second before– “Go beat Elijah again in chess.”

She doesn't, but later that night, dressed in the best matching pajama set of a top and shorts she finds in her duffel, Elena makes her way to Klaus’ room. It’s barely nine o’clock, but Elijah had noticed her exhaustion, warned her lightly about her judgment likely being impaired by sleep deprivation, and told her they’d continue their match tomorrow. 

Any other time, and she’d have beaten Klaus to bed. As it turns out, though, he’s just as tired because he spent all of last night painting. So he’s already in bed when she arrives.

“Shut the lights,” he tells her, which she does immediately. Her skin, goosebumps and all, come alive at the thought of her upcoming trek across the room to the bed. Even in the dark, Klaus’ gaze is branding. She imagines it trailing up her bare legs, becoming hooded like Damon’s eyes when he sees the lace of her top, and when they travel up her collarbone and shoulders until they settle on her face.

Charged silence rules the room. The covers are blissfully cool and soothing as she pulls them over. Despite her exhaustion, her mind won’t stop whirring like an old computer, too tense. All the thoughts she’d been ignoring are displayed like the toll of a Hunger Game. Doubts, fears, hurt, and when she looks over and knows without a doubt that Klaus is still awake as well, the filter that governs her thoughts during the day is stolen by the intimacy of sharing the same breath.

“I wonder what you see when you look at me,” Elena murmurs under the guise, the protection, of the covers and the dark, entertaining her thought from earlier. “Do you see Katherine’s features? Tatia’s looks? Their manipulation? An amalgamation of all? Like I’m the latest version? Because sometimes, I think so– that that’s what people see when they look at me.”

“That,” Klaus echoes, “you hold all of the doppelgangers’ features combined?”

A deep, weary inhale. “Maybe?” she whispers. “When I was…with Sinclair, I found out that there were other supernatural species that I’d never even heard of. The stuff of legend. But I was the only doppelganger there, and, yet, he claimed I was his most prized possession. Is that a doppelgagner’s curse? Powerless on their own but powerful in the hands of others?” The next part, the one she agonized over, is that she was only precious because of her blood and her connection to Klaus, not because of her as an individual. 

“You might be an upgraded version.”

Unwittingly, Elena smiles, even as her jaw drops in disbelief. “I’m being serious, Klaus.”

“So am I,” doppelgangers' ultimate enemy says. “Nature abhors imbalances. Like with our curse. The stakes have been in my favor for too long. Mother Nature might have gotten tired of us Mikaelsons driving Petrovas to extinction.” 

Then, he appears to mull over something for a minute. Elena doesn’t rush him. There is no pressure here in this haven. Where an enemy can tell another that she only feels safe around him. Where he can tell her that he waits for her every night. 

Eventually, Klaus murmurs. “It might be an evolutionary response. A survival mechanism. From the moment a doppelganger is born, there's a bounty on her head. A ticking clock. There's an instinct so deeply rooted inside you to survive that you don't know it's there until danger comes, and it does. Like that Katerina tried escaping Bulgaria the second I caught wind of her existence, even if she wasn’t aware of it. Like her turning herself into a vampire to escape me. Like you surrounding yourself with powerful friends before the sacrifice.”

“But it wasn’t intentional.” Stefan and Damon crashed into her life. “And it didn’t take.” John gave his life to guarantee that.

“So you powered up. You ensured that doppelgangers wouldn’t suffer the threat of being used again. Another survival mechanism. You went to the biggest monsters in town and locked yourself behind their doors. Like it or not, intentionally or not, you earned yourself our protection.”

The more he spoke, the more Elena’s expression fell; the bigger the gap in her heart grew. In a split second, Klaus notices and is visibly caught off-guard.

“Is that what you think of me?” The distinct feeling of aching vulnerability bites at Elena, pulls her muscles taunt with the urge to get away.

“No, Elena–” Klaus follows when she rips the covers off her and tries to get up. He doesn’t stop her, drag her back, but he does touch her shoulder for a moment. “I didn’t mean it in that regard.”

“No, but you think all doppelgangers are manipulators,” Elena says, hurt. “I’m not. I’ve never– I didn’t–”

“I know,” Klaus soothes. “I know. It’s not your fault. I was theorizing about how the connection curse came to be. The imbalance Eric Murphy spoke of.”

Slowly but surely, Elena’s reaction diluted, the hurt rearing to lash out calms down. Wiping at her cheeks, her back still to Klaus, she tries not to look at him too much as she gets back to bed. “I’m sorry I overreacted.”

“You haven’t,” Klaus says. “You were responding.” Warming her heart, he looks like he wants to take back what he said. “It's hard,” he ends up saying. “Trusting. Trusting you. That's why I was looking for reasons not to." 

Her anger deflates even more. “Oh.” It didn't erase what he said, but she understood it. Her jaw set tightly, she burrows deeper into the covers on her right side, turning so that she looks directly at him. “I think you should trust me.”

Even in the dark, his dimples are visible, indulgent. “Is that so?” 

“Yes,” she says. “There’s not one particular reason, or an abundance of reasons I can list, because that’s not how trust or forgiveness works. But it will show." She then adds, "Me, here, in your bed, arguably more vulnerable– I might just be the third worst doppelganger in history.”

Klaus’ laughter, genuine laughter, is rare and specific, like solstice twice a year. “There are three of you in total.”

“Exactly,” says Elena, with a temporary smile. “And it works the other way around, you know. I don’t know if I trust you not to hurt me yet.”

Klaus’ response doesn’t come right away. While she’d been on her side for the last part of the conversation, he’d been staring at the ceiling. Now, he turns so that they’re face-to-face, natures bared, motivations spilled out. “You can trust us. Me.”

What motivates her next, a survival instinct, an evolutionary response, good old hurt? But she murmurs, quiet but in a clear voice, that– “I trusted Damon.”

The shift in Klaus is noticeable. “It can be argued that Damon has committed quite the litany of transgressions. There is no statute of limitations, you know. He can still answer for what he did.”

The onslaught of emotions target her throat, choking it. She swallows back the urge to cry. “For cheating on me with my best friend?”

“Unforgivable,” Klaus agrees darkly.

“I don’t want him to be hurt,” Elena says quickly, suddenly realizing who she was talking to. Klaus can very much exact a promise and turn around to hurt Damon. “I just…I just–” Tears fill her eyes faster than she can blink them away.

For the second time tonight, Klaus soothes her. He says, soothingly, “I know.” And, after a moment’s pause, he orders softly, “Come here.”

Gently, Elena obeys. She must really be the worst doppelganger ever, because she allows Klaus to then hold her, his arm around her back and waist. Slowly, she lowers her head to rest on his chest. And when the tears of hurt, of really processing Damon’s betrayal, arrive, Klaus’ grip tightens reassuringly. 

It’s not the first time she’d been wrapped in his arms. Sometimes, they wake up like this, having drifted closer in their sleep. Less urged by the curse and more of their own volition, of trust and mutual like of each other, it feels different now, however. Intentional.

Twelve hours. That’s how long she sleeps for. It’s the longest and most restful sleep she’s had in months, possibly years. Klaus isn’t in bed with her, but his side of the bed feels warm. Which means it hasn’t been that long since he’d gotten up. 

Stretching, Elena finds that hunger is a priority. She’d had a quiet dinner with the Mikaelsons yesterday, but her appetite wasn’t that great then. She makes her way downstairs. No Mikaelsons are anywhere in sight. She decides, then, to thank them for their hospitality. 

Elijah had promised her free use of their kitchen, right? Sort of.

Klaus emerges, the scent of fresh paint and paper along with him, by the time she plates bacon, eggs, and pancakes on one of their fancy dishes.

For some reason, shyness prevails over her…excitement? of seeing him. She’d said too much last night, overshared. It would kill her if his reaction to her was negative from now on. Her heart has already taken a beating.

“Good morning,” she says softly.

A heartbeat had passed by then, then two, as Klaus had regarded her from across the kitchen. Presently, a dimpled smile charms her as he says, “Good morning.”

Biting back the spread of her smile, Elena turns back to the pan. Behind her, she hears Klaus approach.

“I hope this is okay,” she tells him, or the pancake she’s about to flip. “I wanted to thank you guys for everything. I can’t offer favors or, like, dark objects, but I can make breakfast.”

Klaus snorts. His path has led him to rest his back against the nearest counter to her, a strip of bacon already in hand. “Your perception of what immortals do and deal in is dramatically skewed.”

“Yeah?” The immortals she’d dealt with had been the Salvatores, the Mikaelsons, and Sinclair. “What do you do all day then?”

“I imagine what everyone else does,” he says. “Eat, drink, read, paint, watch movies and shows. Elijah handles stocks or something boring.”

She laughs, half-focused on plating the pancake and making the next. “How do you guys make money?”

“Elena, you can’t just ask how someone makes money.”

She freezes. But only for the split second it takes for a disbelieving laugh to erupt. “Oh my God, did you just quote Mean Girls?”

He smiles devilishly. And eats while he stands besides her. When he’s done with the bacon, he retrieves a fork and knife and starts cutting the pancakes right as she finishes plating them, regaling her of how they actually make money. Interest from bank accounts on top of accounts on top of actually owning companies where people make money for them. He thinks Elijah owns a couple of banks in Europe, but he’s never bothered keeping up with them.

When Elijah walks in, Elena is laughing at something Klaus said. She’d finished cooking, but neither of them had moved from the counter by the oven.

Her positive energy travels to how she beams at Elijah, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Elena, brother.” Elijah does smile genuinely, but it’s more inquisitive. It’s ten o’clock in the morning, but he’s dressed in a bespoke suit and looks ready to either storm a billionaire board meeting or pose for an Armani catalog. “This was very kind of you, Elena. You didn’t have to.”

Was it too much? But Klaus had said–

“I take it back,” Klaus says, “This is the best time we’ve kidnapped her.”

Her “Klaus!” is in tandem with Elijah’s exasperated “brother!” 

Elena pushes away the plate of bacon in front of Klaus in offense. “If I’d known I was a captive, I wouldn’t have made breakfast.”

Elijah’s “You’re not a captive” is met with an eye roll from Klaus and his “You came willingly, if you remember.”

“But you can leave whenever you like,” Elijah corrects. “Thank you for breakfast. It smells delicious. Shall we?”

At breakfast, Elena tells Elijah, “We’re still negotiating, right?”

A millimeter smiles lifts at the edges of his mouth. Polite as ever, he nods respectfully. 

“Okay, so I have four favors. I want your kitchen for an afternoon.” That leaves her with three. “I’m gonna need a ride back to my house, please.”

“Those are your favors?”

Elijah ignores Klaus. “Of course,” he says, “Whenever you’re ready to leave.”

An hour after breakfast, Elijah’s SUV slows down in front of her house, and he spots the exact moment her light mood evaporates. Caroline is on her porch.

Chapter Text

“You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love 

The slowest way is never loving them enough”

Chapter Seventeen

“You don’t have to,” says Elijah. With ease, he pulls the car to a stop. “I can easily evacuate your home of unwanted guests.”

But Caroline’s already seen them. Got up from the swing to worriedly pace across the porch, eyeing the SUV in preparation.

“No,” breathes Elena in resignation. “But thank you. And thank you for yesterday, and for driving me.” She makes to leave, but Elijah stops her.

“This wasn’t a favor, by the way,” he tells her. Smiles, even. “Niklaus was right. Think of another.”

She’d have laughed if Caroline didn’t turn and look at them in disbelief like she’s wondering what they’re talking about. 

“Okay,” Elena says quietly, attempting to smile a little. “I’ll see you later.”

Of course, since Elijah is Elijah, he’s out of the car and opening her door in the split second it takes her to turn around in that direction. He’s not smiling anymore, but he radiates that very same reassurance of that effect. After she gets out, she notices that his gaze has shifted, and that Caroline looks thoroughly intimidated from the strength of his disapproval. Elena ducks her head to hide her expression.

Even though he’s slow to it, walking back to the driver’s seat at human speed, Elena and Caroline wait for him to leave to react. Elena’s jaw locks something fierce, in burning hurt, as Caroline’s guilt practically envelops her. It isn’t until Elijah’s driven away that Elena loosens a breath and starts making her way to her own house.

“Elena–”

“You’re here to make me feel better about you being with Damon,” Elena murmurs in a quiet, resigned voice. “Or you’re here to make yourself feel better about it.”

Caroline visibly struggles before saying, “It’s complicated.”

Elena rolls her eyes.

“It is !” argues Caroline. “We’d meant to break it down to you, but just as you started to show signs of recovering from the Sinclair thing, the nightmares started, and then the sleepwalking…”

“I know,” Elena says, “It was better to hide in the next town over and lure my boyfriend away every night.”

“No!” Caroline says. “It started– would you let me explain?”

“ No ,” Elena says, “I don’t owe it to you to let you explain. You were my best friend. We’ve been through so much. I can’t believe you would resort to stealing my boyfriend from me.”

“I didn’t–” protests Caroline, then– “ Resort ? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” Elena says with a sigh, “that the first thing that went through my head when you popped up in your bra while straddling him was that ‘Caroline finally succeeded.’ You got what you wanted. Congratulations. I don’t take back cheaters.”  

“And just what do you mean by ‘I succeeded?’”

“Don’t pretend otherwise, Caroline. You’ve always had their weird, one-sided competitive thing with me. It started with grades, track, cheerleading, and finally, boyfriends. You saw that Stefan liked me and still tried to flirt with him. Then it was Matt, whom you actually dated. Now, it’s Damon.”

“That was wildly mean,” Caroline says, rearing back. Protective anger overtakes her apologetic tone. “I don’t go for your leftovers. What, do you have, like, a monopoly over everyone?”

Elena smiles Klaus’ smile. “See it your way. Damon did the same with me. He promises the world until the next shiny thing comes his way.” She then leans forward. “And you know what I think? Why this victory will feel empty to you? Why I had to turn off my phone because of how much Damon called? Because you might be the next big thing,” she murmurs, “But you’re not quite me.”

And then she goes inside. Caroline doesn’t follow.

August bleeds into September. Every night, without fail, she ends up in Klaus’ bed. 

Nine out of ten, she starts out in Klaus’ bed. The other times, she accidentally falls asleep somewhere else. The Mikaelson Manor has a media room, a whole home theater with red lush chairs and cotton candy and popcorn machines in the back. Most days, that’s where she and Klaus find themselves. As much as he keeps up with pop culture, he doesn’t watch YA or superhero movies. Makes no sense, but that’s just one of Klaus’ many idiosyncrasies. 

The conversations flow easier, too. During this month, she talks more, and listens more, than she’d ever talked or listened her whole life. How could she not? Klaus and Elijah are the most interesting people she’d ever met. Klaus makes it a point to meet everyone of cultural influence that he can– that he promises her to meet her favorite living authors and actors (and compel them to be nice in case they’re assholes) means the world in a twisted way.

She grows just as close to Elijah. While Klaus ‘occupies her night’ as he’d once said, Elijah makes more of an effort to occupy her day. Klaus might talk a pretty game when it comes to books, but Elijah knows literature, the nonfiction kind Klaus only dabbles in to stay current. Actually liking it, Elijah can talk about everything from history to facts about dinosaurs.

Their chess matches are usually the highlight of her day. Since starting to play against him, after getting over that she can sometimes win, Elijah has let go of his surprise and started teaching her new strategies and established plays. Sometimes, he’s even more pleased about her wins than she is. The ‘negotiations’ pile up. So far, he’s demanded baked goods and for her to answer questions.

One night, this happens:

“Say,” Elijah says in that deliberate way of his. “If you could, would you turn into a vampire?”

He’d, yet again, checkmated her to oblivion yesterday. At this point, they immediately launch into their favor if they have it ready. His, most of the time, are questions social convention keeps him from asking outright. His question is a day late, which means he’s been mulling over it for a while.

For some reason, the question drops like a bag of cement in the room. Klaus, who had been half-ignoring them, content with his own book, a book of poetry out of all things– his eyes stop moving across the page, but he doesn’t entirely look up.

“Live forever,” Elena echoes, but really, she’s just turning the question over in her head. They’re only a couple of weeks into their friendship (?), and while they’ve spent really too much time together, it seems too early to drop her baggage. She wasn’t even sure she’d drop any baggage at all in the future. “Can we, um, have this conversation elsewhere away from Klaus?” A poor attempt at humor, to lighten the tension.

Their friendship (?) relationship (?) is teetering on shaky ground, especially when the past is brought up, which is every other conversation, or when Damon is around. But that resulted in something unexpected: Elena has been experimenting with how to stop tension from escalating. 

Honesty really is the best policy. And Klaus takes the bait every single time.

With measured movements, he sets down his books. Smiles at Elena, dimples and everything. It’s sharper than anything else in this room. “Try me.”

“Metaphorically speaking,” Elijah corrects. “I’m curious, Elena. You’re surrounded by vampires. You could have turned into one by Damon’s hand before the sacrifice. Why are you so vehemently against it?”

The picture of a regal king of some sort, Elijah holds court at the lone armchair in the living room. Both Elena and Klaus have claimed a sofa of their own. As it turns out, Klaus isn’t just a big ol’ softy when it comes to his taste in books. To say he’s an Architecture Digest enthusiast is an understatement; Mystic Falls should have known they had a decor artist on their hands when he decided to build a manor from the ground up. The furniture is almost too pretty to sit on. For tonight, Elena has chosen a sofa that Klaus had corrected her when she called it ‘purple.’ It was Mardi Gras purple. His was a (she’s afraid to say) a deep, velvety green.

Elena finds herself answering with certainty and little to no hesitation, confident that her answer won’t piss off Klaus like Katherine did centuries ago. “Immortality sounds like a curse if you ask me.”

Klaus is paying attention, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes, a catastrophic blue, seem to be intensely watching her. Elena’s smile is sheepish, like what are you gonna do? kind of shrug-like expression. It was her opinion.

“I’m already struggling in this lifetime. No need to add infinite years to that.” The intention of her sentence– her tone even– is meant to be jokingly. It’s her generation’s way of coping. Struggling, wishing for death, dramatically expressing so. Neither Klaus or Elijah, the dinosaurs, interpret it so though.  

Elena meets their posture and straightens as well. “I’m just…content with this life. I was born in the 2000s and I’ll die in the 2000s.” Guilt is oddly settling in her stomach. “Plus, think about it, too. Watching everyone you know die from old age while you stay young? Watching everywhere you know change until you’re the only one left standing?”

Elijah targets only a part of her sentence. “Most of the people you know are vampires.”

“Super strength and super healing,” Klaus surprisingly intercepts. “Neither sounds appealing to your doppelganger instincts?”

“Maybe,” Elena vaguely confirms, still shocked that Klaus is mentioning this. “But Jeremy is human. So is Jenna. No offense to our new…friendship, but my family matters the most.”

Understanding dawns in Elijah’s eyes– as always. Because he always understands her in this regard.

“Jenna,” says Klaus, “Whom you haven’t spoken to in months.”

Hurt, sharp and barbed, stabs at her stomach. He’d noticed? “Still my aunt. She’s bound to forgive us one day for hiding the truth from her.”

Humming in response, Klaus leans forward, forgetting his book entirely. “And Jeremy. Save for that visit after your return from that week, he has yet to come check on you.”

Jeremy. Jeremy– “I asked him to go to Denver to get away from the toxicity of Mystic Falls. I don’t want him to come back.” They speak almost every day. “Are you judging me?”

“Niklaus–”

“I’m merely wondering if your loyalty is misplaced,” Klaus surges on, “If the roles were reversed, would they sacrifice immortality for you?”

And, boom, it’s a mic drop. “Jeremy had–” He’d tried to become a vampire before. Nearly overdosed. Didn’t work, and resented her for it. Presently, Elena’s jaw locks. “Yes. I trust them.”

It’s a battle of wills of some sort: the upcoming eye contact with Klaus. Challenge gleams in his gaze, baiting her. “Where do you suggest I place my loyalty?” Elena demands.

A paper would be cut by the sharp edges of his next smile. Klaus’ examination of her features doesn’t slow or halt. The tension encompasses the room; fills her lungs. It’s not until Klaus gets up and walks all the way up to Elena that she looks up.

But he doesn’t say anything. His gaze is meaningful, purposeful, but not menacing. Or promising. An army of goosebumps march across her skin, troops of butterflies batter her stomach, and her breath hitches when he, for the briefest moments, touches her cheek. Almost affectionately. Almost like–

He smiles again.

That night feels more intimate than any other. The words had been hanging on Klaus’ lips, she was sure. Where her loyalties should be. With them, did he mean?

As per their routine, they head up to the room at the same time. Elena had previously changed in the room next door that she’s been given, where more and more of her clothes pile up the longer she stays at the Mikaelsons. With Virginia weather in the summer, even with the AC cranked up, the manor is still overly large. Going to sleep in anything other than shorts and a light top is unthinkable. For Klaus, who runs extra hot because of his werewolf, he struggles more. To her heart’s surprise, he once asked if she’d be uncomfortable with him sleeping with his shirt off. And, yes, she’d had to put a hand on her face to measure how hot her flaming cheeks also ran at that moment. She’d mumbled that she wouldn't mind. 

That night, as both lay in bed, neither speaking, but the promise hangs in the tension. And it continues to do so for the next few nights.

At one point, when sleep evades them both, Elena turns in the bed accidentally too close to his side, opens her eyes in surprise, and finds him doing the same. His gaze, heavy, lowers to her lips.

“Coming to collect on one of your favors?” Elena asks lightly a few days later, exchanging a smile with Elijah when he comes into the kitchen while she’s making lunch. To cool off and busy herself. Since she’s cooking, when he’s there, Elijah always insists on helping. Most of the time, Elena finds food catered to them or ordered out, but she craves home cooked meals every few days.

Presently, Elijah breathes an amused, elegant chuckle. “I’m still hoping to culminate enough into one dramatic favor,” he says, smile widening at her jaw dropping in disbelief. “But I am tempted right now.”

“You know,” she says. Currently, she’s in the process of arranging vegetables in the order she wants to cut them up in. “If you want to ask me something personal, it doesn’t have to be a favor.” At this point, she’s sure, she’d do anything the Mikaelsons want, too, if only to repay how she’d fallen into a depressive spiral without them.

Elijah tilts his head as he regards her. Then, “All right then,” he decides, “You’ve changed this summer. Even prior to my leaving.”

Klaus’d had to ask Elijah back when he’d discovered the sleepwalking thing hadn’t gone away. At that point, Elijah had been out of town a couple of weeks on a business trip, she’d learned this past month.

“Okay?” Elena says/asks. Her attention, which was divided between the green peppers she’s cutting and Elijah, solely goes to the latter.

“Please forgive this if it’s an intrusion on my part,” Elijah says smoothly, going to the sink to wash his hands. His next step is coming to stand across the counter from her and taking half of the vegetables to cut. 

Meanwhile, Elena, having previously tensed, memories of that month she ‘checked out’ coming back to haunt her, slowly goes back to her task. “It’s not,” she says, when she notices that he’s actually waiting for permission, even though she doesn’t know what he wants yet.

“I’ve noticed that you weren’t entirely yourself following that week with Sinclair, even more so after that month,” Elijah says, “And I want you to know that this is merely an observation on my part.” He waits for another nod before continuing, “You changed. You ran for and won Miss Mystic Falls. Afterward, you changed the way you dressed, slowly but surely. You wore less jeans and more dresses. Smiled more, but less genuinely. Went out more.”

His gaze is too intense, boring into her soul, even though she still doesn’t know where he’s headed with this. She’s surprised Elijah noticed her this much, even before she started spending so much time with them. Swallowing, Elena goes back to cutting, moving onto carrots, starting with peeling them.

“And, now,” Elijah goes on, “You’re going back to your old habits. You’re wearing calmer colors again. You spend most days inside with us, if not at your house and not attending an event as Miss Mystic Falls. I can’t help but notice how interrelated your routines are. During the early summer, how…badly did you feel that you did everything under the sun to appear all right when you weren’t?” And before she can even form an opinion, never mind a response to that, he adds carefully, “And, now, during this past month, you’ve been acting more like yourself; now, I wonder, if it’s all related to your happiness. How far Damon’s neglect reaches back.”

Elena has to set everything down. “You noticed that?” she asks softly.

“I notice,” Elijah murmurs.

Vulnerability dances on her shoulders; makes her want to retreat into herself. “I think,” Elena says quietly, “that Damon and I’s relationship was over before he cheated and before we ended it. They asked me to choose, and Damon promised the world, and Stefan was still recovering from his binge with Klaus. And I still hadn’t forgiven him for using me to trick Klaus into sending his hybrids away.” How could you, Stefan? She’d demanded, eyes and voice thick with tears, feeling so, so betrayed that she nearly kneeled over with the hurt. My parents died on this bridge. I nearly died. “I shouted it at Damon at the Boarding House. He only enjoyed the chase and the danger. As long as there was something to fight for. When things settled, I think he found Mystic Falls boring.

“And then…Sinclair happened. And when I actually noticed how absent I had been afterwards, I tried making up for it. Deep down, I felt I wasn’t good enough for him, couldn't live up to the Elena that was with his brother, so I changed bit by bit. How I dressed, how I went out. The more he drew away, the more I tried to hold on, the more I changed, and the more I drove him away because Damon doesn’t like being handed things or them being too easy.”

She hesitates, feeling like she’d shared too much. Elijah nods, so, so kind in his expression that she has to distract herself. She retakes the task of cutting carrots while speaking so she won’t focus so much on the heart-wrenching realization she’d concluded during many sleepless nights and been reluctant to admit to herself.

“It kills me that he’d been so insistent on the cuffs, on that the nightmares weren’t a real threat, all because he was too eager to get back to Caroline,” Elena confesses. “Literally. Who does that?”

“The lowest, most insecure of men,” Elijah provides. She has to smile, because he always has an insult, although less crude than Klaus’ brand, ready.

“And Caroline,” Elena says, unable to stop because the vault had been opened. “She’s supposed to be my best friend. We always competed, but she’s been mellow ever since she was turned into a vampire. But the second the opportunity presented itself–” Elena had caved in weeks ago and listened to the dozens of voice messages Damon constantly bombarded her phone with. Before she'd blocked him. “-- she went for it, for my boyfriend. I regret ever trying to change for them, or trying to hold on so tight.”

They’d broken her, she admits sometimes at night, sometimes to herself and sometimes to Klaus. Giving someone the best of you and having it thrown back in your face is akin to tearing out your veins and lamenting on the pain.

All this time, Elijah has been listening with an empathic frown. When she’s finished, breathing heavily with the effort it took to dig this deep into herself, he comes over. Willingly, when he draws her into one of his rare hugs, she follows, and rests her head against his shoulders.

“I’m glad,” eventually, he says, as he pulls away a little, just enough to brush her hair away from her forehead gently, their noses close enough to almost touch, “that you’re finding yourself again with us.”

A smile eludes her, then, not having enough emotional energy to conjure one up. But it’s not something she needs to do. Slowly, she leans forward, her forehead nearly resting on his, holding her breath to ground herself in the moment.

“Thank you,” eventually, she murmurs back, “for bringing me back.”

Elijah smiles. Brushes her hair again. As he steps away, allowing her access to oxygen, which she didn’t want anyway, happy to breathe in his air, his hand touches the middle of her back.

He goes back to his side of the counter to chop, even takes off his suit jacket. In peaceful, pleasant co-existence, they start falling into a rhythm. Elena even starts thinking everything’s okay, that it’s okay to talk about open wounds without it tearing her soul as she’d imagined. 

Damon and Caroline’s betrayal had changed her more than any danger she’d ever faced. Katherine, Elijah, Klaus, Rebekah, Finn and Esther– none had broken her as much as the past summer did. Every word she’d told Elijah was true and then some. Elijah said that she was finding herself again with them, but she mourns the self she’d lost in the first place. The one who stayed up waiting for Damon, lost days’ worth of sleep in fear of shutting her eyes when he was with Caroline instead, disregarding her, dismissing her. 

Not even pretty dresses and a pretty title distracted him, kept his attention on her long enough. If she’d tried hard enough to break out of that mind fog, during that period he and Caroline broke up for her ‘sake,’ could she have made him stay? She’d told Caroline that doesn’t take back cheaters, but was it better not to have known? This hurts – more than anything. It hurts hurts hurts hurts–

It’s a split moment, but that’s all it takes. Elena’s directing all her physical energy into chopping a carrot and all mental energy hurting that it transfers. One moment, she’s thinking, the next, her hand slips, and a fountain of blood then erupts right before her eyes. A second later, just as her eyes meet a Elijah's in horrific realization, white, hot, searing pain blinds her.

A pained yell, of pure agony, clambers up her throat. It’s released, ultimately, when she looks down and sees what she’d thought was a streak of pain was actually the white of bone she’d chopped all the way through.

“-- Elena, Elena!” Elijah is beside her, voice firmer than she’d heard him in months. “Don’t look. Here, here!” Before she knows what’s happening, a bleeding wrist is shoved in front of her. It’s still not bleeding as heavily as her– dizziness strikes her where she stands at– half-severed finger.

“No,” she cries out, furiously gritting her teeth to avoid yelling out loud. “I don’t– I don’t want to become a vampire. I can’t–”

“It’s for the pain,” Elijah demands. “Elena–” His expression twists with sympathetic pain as she clutches her finger tighter, crying out with sheer– “I give you my word. Elena, you need to drink.”

Mostly, she’s growing faint. Compliant with it, with anything at this point, delirious with pain, Elena lets her lips part in the slightest, and it’s enough for Elijah to force his blood down her throat.

When Elena doesn’t come to announce she wants to sleep, Klaus goes to search for her. It’s been a more than rough day. After the incident at lunch, according to Elijah, he’d had to guide her to wash her hand, which was soaked with blood, while she hyperventilated. 

Poor thing. She wasn’t used to pain, not in the way the rest of them were. If it were Klaus in that kitchen, she never would’ve been hurt in the first place. How could Elijah not have reacted fast enough? Elijah had told him their conversation about Damon might’ve triggered her into spacing out this much. Hours later, she still wouldn’t look at her hand without her heartbeat audibly, wildly increasing. 

He’d have expected her to go to sleep much earlier. But tonight, she and Elijah were in the living room while Klaus was painting. So, Klaus makes his way downstairs, fully prepared to find her asleep on the sofa.

But. He doesn’t. As in find her. Not in the living room, at least. Like a moth to a flame, Klaus follows the sound of her steady breathing up and up the stairs– is she in his room already?

A few doors before his, Elijah’s room is ajar, which is a rare occurrence. Klaus doesn’t know what prompts him to push it fully open, but he knows that his heart turns to stone in his chest the moment he does.

Elena is there, fast asleep. 

And she’s not alone.

Beside her, on the bed, is Elijah, who looks like he’s been waiting for Klaus, waiting to see the grim realization on his face. 

They'd once, months ago, talked about this. Who Elena was running to, when she'd whispered his brother's name. Eric Murphy's words edge their way back into Klaus' head, how nature restores balance, and the Mikaelsons were guilty of tormenting the Petrova line for long enough.

Klaus has to stop in the doorway. Look at her restful features for a few moments. Eventually, he concludes, “It’s in the blood.”

Elijah looks down at her. “It’s in the blood,” he confirms.

Chapter Text

“Dear reader

If it feels like a trap,

you’re already in one.”

Chapter Eighteen

“My brother is an idiot” is said to Elena, and Elena couldn’t agree more.

Waking up next to both Klaus and Elijah Mikaelson was a system shock. Elena was still working on the last trauma– the sight of bone white, a color she wants to wipe out of existence. It wasn’t that much of a restful sleep that she’d jerked awake from with the eerie feeling of someone watching her. It wasn’t someone. It was two.

Instinctively, Elena turns to her right– and succeeds in finding Klaus there. On a chair, his legs resting on the bed. Then the entire world feels off equilibrium. As it rocks back into place, Elena registers more than a few things at the same time: Klaus, of course; the background behind him, the wallpaper– the dresser, the– the–

“Hello there.”

Like he’d murmured the first time they met. In mortification, aware of Klaus’ sardonic smirk, Elena lifts her eyes to meet Elijah’s. Suited Elijah. Impeccable Elijah. Elijah, in Elijah’s room. “Oh God,” she breathes. The events of last night come to mind. She’d fallen asleep in–

Snorting behind the hand he’d used to transparently try to hide his expression, Klaus says, “You are the worst doppelganger.”

To say that Elena makes herself scarce from that moment on is an understatement. Ignoring both of Klaus and Elijah’s we need to talk, Elena and don’t you dare you walk away– who said what is easily discernible, she locks herself in her room until the Uber she ordered arrives. 

The rest of the day and subsequent night are spent in a permanent state of anxiety and worry; a rolled-up pit, no, gulf of dread in her stomach. 

She doesn’t trust the security system that much. Hates it in general. Klaus calls repeatedly, but she shuts off her phone.

She cleans her house, top to bottom, looks up ‘how to stop sleepwalking’ remedies as if Damon didn’t do that months ago, and repeatedly glances at the clock in order to talk to Jeremy for their semi-weekly Zoom call. She won’t tell him any of this, but her relief comes in the form of him venting to her about his normal, boring life. She could listen to him describe what he ate, who he talked to, and what he learned in classes for decades.

The phone call comes and goes, along with a calendar reminder of a Miss Mystic Falls appearance she needs to make. Eye makeup does its role, and Elena dresses up the part, and she orders another car to take her to town.

Where, minutes later, Klaus Mikaelson finds her.

“Hey,” she says when he approaches with a thunderous expression, “how fast can you say ‘let’s kill the doppelganger who’s more trouble than she’s worth?’”

That halts him in his place. They’re still at the organizational part of today’s event. Elena, in a dress, is handing out invitations for a town-wide picnic that she’s not actually contractually obligated to attend. Not many people are around, but enough for Klaus’ gaze that misses nothing to do a perusal of the park.

Visibly, he schools his expression into something more civilized by the time he reaches her. “I disagree with Elijah’s incessant need to give you time,” he proclaims, “I suppose you two are similar in that regard. You’re going to kill each other with a ‘who’s more considerate’ contest.”

Just their proximity is making her tired. That’s how indulgent she’d gotten; the opposite of sleep-deprived. She is now sleep-starved. An addict, to the brand of peace of mind Klaus Mikaelson paradoxically provides her.

“You’re freaked out,” Klaus continues. “You can be freaked while I get some quality sleep.”

“Is that what you care about?” Elena’s voice is a representation of her state of mind, which is drained. “I am freaked out. Did,” she adds, “you sleep at all last night?”

“You know the answer to that,” he says. “Or are you asking about Elijah? Because you should’ve asked him yourself, given that he waited for you to make your inevitable trek to our home after you turned off your phone. Imagine both our surprise when you didn’t.”

Elijah had waited for her? Guilt churns her stomach where the dread was– oh, wait, they share the space. 

“I didn’t know that,” Elena tells Klaus in a low voice, holding eye contact with his stormy eyes. She sighs, and takes a step closer to him. “I’m scared, all right?”

A muscle in Klaus’ jaw ticks. “Of?” he bites out.

Elena can grit her teeth, too. “If you don’t know, you don’t know.” How can he or someone like him understand? How intimidating this is for Elena, or someone Elena. Pulling the stack of invitations closer to her, an extra barrier between them, she steps away from and– he meets her step.

“Don’t play games with me,” he warns.

“I’m not,” Elena answers immediately, knowing how dangerous it is for Klaus freaking Mikaelson to think you’re trying to trick him. “I told you; I’m uncomfortable with this. Actually, I think this is hilarious,” she says a beat later, “Like in one of those nature documentaries Elijah watches. A cat someone cruelly threw into a lion’s den. I’m staring down a roaring lion’s gaping maw.”

Klaus’ expression tightens like he doesn’t know how to react. “You should have told me you were prone to hyperbole.”

“Ugh!” says Elena. Tries to bypass him again. Fails again. “I need time,” she tells him.

As they’ve been talking, more volunteers and parks and rec employees have begun showing up. Aware of the looming audience to their conversation, Klaus straightens, squares his shoulders and everything. “You have until tonight,” he promises.

She can’t help but notice that Elijah never tries reaching out to her throughout the day.

Night comes. At eight p.m., there’s a knock on her door, so demanding and imminent that Elena immediately knows who’s on the other side.

Deliberately making her footsteps loud so he hears her coming, Elena makes the short distance from the kitchen to the door and immediately huffs– but not at him.

“What did this door ever do to you?” taunts Klaus instead of whatever else he had to say when she opens it, has her eyes widen in alarm, and then glare furiously at the door. An actual smile lessens the severity of his expression when she darts back inside, leaving the door wide open.

“The security system needs, uh, hold on,” Elena answers, distracted. A breeze of air drifting through the house does nothing to uplift her mood. Not when she– aha, found it! She hurries back to Klaus, flicking through the pages of the notepad with the password on it.

“He actually installed it?” Klaus leans back; spots the doorbell camera; smirks at it.

“Hold on.” Elena races to put in the code before it starts blaring, having to hold it up because it’s too complicated, a jumble of numbers meant to wake up a sleepwalking Elena. Never mind the fact that a coherent Elena never made the effort to memorize it. 

With it in hand, she finally opens the door fully; looks at the Original on the other side. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Klaus says. “Elijah is caught up with something, so ‘pick up the doppelganger’ duty has been assigned to me. Come now.”

“The what?” She shouldn’t have opened the door so invitingly. And what was Elijah so busy with that he wasn’t– 

When her grip tightens on the doorknob, Klaus’ smirk sharpens, like he’s aware he’s unnerved her. “So Elijah is freaked out, too. I told you–”

“No, you didn’t. Elijah, I, you,” he says, “And Mrs. Fainall across the street know that you’re just going to find your way to us later. I’m in no mood to traverse the woods when the mood suits you. So. Get your shoes.”

“Mrs. Fainall can see us?” Elena looks past him. She swears the curtains on the house opposite the street move. “Oh, man. And, no, thanks. I’m gonna try the lock thing tonight.”

She’s actually caught him off-guard; his sharp features don't so much darken as they neutralize. “Do you think this will keep me out?”

“I think I want it to definitely keep me in.” And it will do so with ease. How can anyone ever think she’s playing games with them? She’s the opposite of a threat.

“And I told Elijah I’ll see you safely to our house. Guess whose will weighs whose.”

“I think you’ll find my will equal to yours.” The serious expression is hard to hold onto for more than a few seconds when recognition flashes in those cold eyes. “So you do know where that’s from.”

“I told you I only draw the line at YA.”

“But not Thanos?”

“As I told you,” he says, “Immortality is boring, lest you want me to invest more attention in you and my pursuit of gathering a hybrid army…”

Nope. Anything is better than that. Her thoughts must show on her face. 

She wouldn't go as far as saying he softens, but he’s not as unapproachable as before. “My brother likes to think of people and places as parts of a chess board. I picture things a little differently; you, Elena, are under my jurisdiction.”

“Legal jargon?”

“Judge,” he says, “And executioner if you don’t get a move on. And we both know I won’t hurt you.” The rest is unspoken.

Elena digs her heels in. “I’m not gonna go with you if it makes Elijah uncomfortable. He didn’t sign up for this. He wasn’t even in the bed when I woke up.” Her voice lowers at the end, portraying hurt. “You were there when I woke up the first time.”

In which universe was Klaus more of a gentleman than Elijah? He went out of his way to appear harsher to people while Elijah maintained his image.

Like he doesn’t want to admit this, Klaus breathes in and out for a second. “Elijah fancies himself as a gentleman,” he drawls, and he leans against the door with both arms, towering over Elena, who inhales– both at the height difference and at the hitch in her breath, “You didn’t invite him into your bed, so he made himself scarce– and mind you, kept me to that chair.”

She did think it was unusual to find Klaus lounging on that chair by her when she’d woken up.

“So…” Elena hesitates, thinking about Damon’s I loved you in the past tense and about being a burden and an inconvenience. “He doesn’t hate me? You don’t hate me?”

“Hate,” repeats Klaus. Snorts. He mocks, “Oh, how I despise you, Elena.” 

And then to her gasp and disbelief, he walks past her and inside. But he doesn’t just walk past her, his arm finds her waist, and he physically guides her deeper inside. The door is swiftly kicked shut. Elena has to crane her neck up to look at him. It’s the closest she’s been to him without being in bed. It’s…it’s too much. His cologne– it’s not just cologne she smells, but the inevitable scent of paint and expensive, delectable soap as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. She has to duck her head to hide her reaction and is confronted with the sight of her own two hands, which she must have instinctively put up to support her weight when he’d grabbed her.

A pulse beats rapidly, and it’s not just hers. Her hand leans a little heavier on his chest, sure, fascinated, that she was touching Klaus’ heartbeat.

“Now that we have established that,” murmurs Klaus, looking down at her. “Can we get some sleep?”

Klaus feels otherworldly in comparison with her bedroom, in contrast to all her childhood dreams. If she wasn’t sure it would draw attention to it, Elena would have run ahead to take down the One Direction poster she still has up for nostalgia’s sake. The last time he was there, it was that night he’d seen her sketchbooks.

On the same wavelength as she is apparently, Klaus smiles curiously when she brushes past him to tidy up a little. “I was promised an Elijah caricature,” he asserts. Elena’s laptop is still open, a movie queued. “My God,” Klaus says, and she can’t help but think that he’s making fun of her a little because that’s often her reaction. “You were going to watch a horror film? Have you learned nothing?”

“My nightmares were, like, manifestations of the curse.” Elena defends her decision. The extra pillow she was getting from her closet is thrown to the bed. “They’re never influenced by outside factors. And–”

“And,” Klaus provokes.

“And it’s not horror. I can’t handle scary. It’s existential horror. This won’t scare me,” she says. It’s a movie called Annihilation starring Natalia Portman and Oscar Isaac. Klaus watched Mean Girls; you’d think he’s seen everything under the sun by now. Like the sun dawning on her, Elena clears her throat: how to get past how nervous Klaus in her bedroom makes her. “We can watch it?”

And maybe Klaus feels off-kilter, too, or he can tell that she is; whatever it is, he indulges her by agreeing. So, willingly, Elena changes into her pajamas, one of Jeremy’s shirts because she misses him and shorts, and when they’re both on her twin-sized bed, she balances her laptop on their lap because there’s nowhere else for it.

Every now and then, she glances at Klaus to see if he’s paying attention. Having unadulterated permission to steal glances at him this close feels illegal. Her heart jumps in her ribcage every time she does so. Eventually, though, the movie turns out to be insanely good– so much so that both she and Klaus forget about sleep and become deeply invested. Unfortunately, it is scary enough to qualify as a horror movie. Some eerie moments have Elena reaching to lower or mute the volume of the laptop, which has Klaus chuckling in her ear.

When the shadow of the bear appears in the background, Elena is shaking her head already, mentally nope, nopping out of this. During all these sleepless nights, Elena bulked up on reading psychological concepts, including the 'uncanny valley' phenomenon, which describes the instinctual fear you get when you see something that looks, feels, or sounds human but isn't. The bear's mutated features already set her on guard, but when it opens its grotesque mouth and shrieks in the voice of one of the deceased characters, Elena startles. Her shoulder, which was cozied up to Klaus’, knocks into his.

The volume suddenly gets muted, and the shadow of fear that had momentarily gripped her fades. “Thanks,” Elena breathes, embarrassed at her reaction.

“It is horror,” reconfirms Klaus. Their next shoulder knock is intentional this time.

Readjusting herself to be more comfortable, Elena unmutes the movie. “I have to see this through, otherwise, I’m actually gonna get nightmares about it.”

Eventually, Klaus gets comfortable, too, raising an arm up to rest over his head. By the time the last few minutes of the movie arrive, Elena, half-asleep but determined, is almost entirely laying down. When sleep nearly overtakes her, her head almost always falls on Klaus’ arm. However, the last few scenes turn Elena’s fear of Uncanny Valley up to a hundred, and when the alien antagonist takes on the form of Natalie Portman and eerily mimics her every move, Elena flinches. Hard.

“Okay,” she says, and turns the screen entirely in Klaus’ direction. They’d long shut off the lights, so the only source of light is the artificial glow of her screen. It illuminates Klaus’ cruelly amused reaction. “I can’t. I can’t. You tell me what happens so we can finally sleep.”

To her surprise, Klaus obeys. First, though, he mutters an this won’t scare me mocking remark of what she’d said earlier, but he describes the scene. And he’s honest when he tells her he thinks the creepy part is over. Five minutes later, the movie ends with a sort of cliffhanger, and, with a frown, Elena shuts her laptop off and puts it away.

“Care to tell me why you’re putting off sleep so much?” Klaus asks, which freezes her in place, mid-getting back into bed. Klaus had gotten up, too, and is taking his shirt and jeans off to prepare to sleep. So when she startles towards him now, it’s at his shirtless chest first and then to his defined jaw.

“I’m not,” she lies. And settles in. “Am I being a good host? Do you need a drink, extra pillows–”

He actually chuckles, the sound rough and Klaus-like so much that she should have known that even his laughs were sharp-edged. “Elena, love,” he says, “We’ve slept in the same bed consecutively for a month now. I’ve seen you sleep at seven p.m. because that’s how much you love sleep.”

It’s…true. With Klaus on the other side of the bed, even the regular nightmares are chased away. All what people are saying about sleep turns out to be true. It’s amazing– again, she’s an addict. 

“Let me guess why you don’t want to sleep,” Klaus presses, “It’s because you’re frightened of what will happen when your subconscious is in control. Will you stay here, in your childhood bed, with me, or will you go to Elijah?”

If all the doubts in her head were equivalent to a movie-esque bar fight, with slamming chairs, breaking glass, and shouting men, then Klaus’ murmured question is paramount to a sheriff firing a warning gunshot. 

“Why did this happen?” Elena surges forward. She sits on the bed but doesn’t get under the cover like him. “Because he gave me his blood? Is the curse mental? Like I was scared when I…saw the blood and he helped me?”

“Perhaps,” says Klaus, but he looks like he does give it some thought. He then frowns. “We’re of the belief that it’s pertinent to the blood itself.” 

Said blood that made Elena debate locking herself indoors for the upcoming week to avoid all possible injury. Still, she relaxes a little. There have been plenty of times when Elijah rescued herself over the past and nothing was ever ‘triggered’ or ‘activated.’ But– “But when did I have your blood?”

The question catches him off-guard. “You don’t remember?” His brows furrow, like he’s reaching a realization. “When you told Elijah your recollection of that night, you didn’t–” The first chess favor, when Elijah asked her what she remembers of Klaus’ involvement that night and what she remembered. “When I…” Bought her. Paid actual money for her. In order to get Sinclair to let her out of the magically-locked cuffs (because how else would they hold supernatural creatures much more dangerous than her? Just her luck). “When I brought you to that room, you were there, but it was like you weren’t. You wouldn’t answer me. Wouldn’t move unless prompted. And there was blood on your clothes. I gave you some blood, and only then did you regain awareness.”

It’s the second night in a row that she hasn’t slept. Exhaustion drags her down like a gravitational pull. Elena is bone-tired. But her back straightens into a straight line, and the slightest tremor shakes her. “I don’t remember this,” she confesses quietly, shamefully. 

Empathy softens Klaus’ harsh eyes. “I know.”

Her shoulders ache, an onslaught of unnerved goosebumps stampeding all over her arms. She hears a slowly released breath, and then, just as her expression crumbles, Klaus pulls her into him.

Crying yourself to sleep is akin to drinking before bed, because it can leave you, in Elena’s case, with hangover-like symptoms. With a raging headache pounding at her head and light nausea, Elena drags herself away from Klaus’ arms the next morning. The moment she does, his grip tightens, as if he was ready to stop her from moving.

“Klaus,” she murmurs. “Klaus. I need to get up. I’m awake; I promise.”

After a moment’s delay, she’s released. After a sigh, Elena gets ready for the bed, mentally ignoring and mentally stuck on the fact that Klaus is still in her bed. It’s the first time the roles have switched.

When she’s dressed for the day, she comes back to find him also ready to leave.

He says, “I don’t suppose I can convince you to come to the manor with me later?”

“I don’t want to make Elijah uncomfortable.” It’s a courtesy no one’s done to her. “I’ll really try the security system tonight. Also, just because you've been really cool about this doesn't mean you signed up for it. It’s not fair to…” She doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to be accused of being a ‘pick me’ girl or overestimating her importance. It’s not fair to divide him and Elijah. 

“You’re a victim of this curse, too,” Klaus reminds her. “Elijah will reach out when he’s ready if that’s what you’re worried about.”

When, when, when– the bane of her life. Still feeling drained but grateful, Elena aims a sweet smile at Klaus. “Thank you,” she tells him. “But I think I need time.”

“And,” Klaus says, “Time you shall have. Hours of it, in fact.” He ignores her accidental but outraged giggle. “I saw this coming,” he tells her. “So, in a few hours, let me know what you decide.”

“What I decide about–”

The doorbell rings.

“That’s your door,” Klaus informs her, even smiling innocently when she gives him a suspicious look. “Well, aren’t you going to answer it?”

It’s not Elijah at the door, she knows that. All kinds of scenarios and people– Matt, maybe?-- run through her head as Elena heads to the door. Klaus is already there. Once she’s close enough, he opens it for her.

Elena freezes. Right there on the steps. Her jaw drops.

The last person, well, one of the first that she’d dismissed, she would have expected, is standing on the other side. Like a timeless portrait in her favorite drawer, he looks the same, evokes the same feelings in her. Before. Comfort, affection, familiarity, love.

“Stefan.”

Chapter Text

“‘Tis the damn season

Write this down”

Chapter Nineteen

It’s been months since she’d seen Stefan. But he’s here. Handsome, sculpted, hero-hair Stefan. Kind Stefan. Good guy Stefan. Her first real, epic love Stefan.

One moment, Elena is on the stairs, and the next, she’s flying. Both Klaus and Stefan react, but it’s only Stefan that she has eyes for at the moment. Stefan, who knows her, is familiar with her reaction, both the slow-to-move and seismic ones.

Oof is the sound that Stefan lets out when she collides with him in one of history’s most overdue hugs. Always a good sport, Stefan rolls with the punches. He digs his heels in for as long as it takes for Elena to practically jump on him, and then he backs away to allow for enough room to spin her around. His arms around her waist– they’re reassuring, strong. Familiar. Stefan is so– to her, he’s so–

“Ugh!” exclaims Elena, laughing in his shoulder before patting it to make him let her down. Immediately, he obeys, but his hands don’t leave her. With the Mikaelsons, her touch-starved weakness was slightly abated, but it flares now, and is calmed by Stefan’s hand sliding to hold onto her waist still even when she’s firmly on the floor.

“I missed you,” she tells him. Honestly. She’s beaming. And she turns to beam at Klaus behind him, but finds him gone. He must have left during the hug. Disappointment slumps her shoulders, but only for a little, because she’s distracted by– “Klaus called you?”

“I missed you, too,” says Stefan. There’s a moment where her hand curls in on his chest with the intensity of the emotions that hit her. You underestimate what a kind, familiar face can do for the tranquility of your soul. “And Klaus didn’t call. He texted a vaguely threatening message.”

Elena almost snorts. “He does that.” Smiling sweetly, she steps away. “I sort of attacked you there, didn’t I? I’m sorry. It was just really nice seeing you.”

Stefan matches her energy. “If you hadn’t moved away when you did, I would have raised you over my head, Dirty Dancing -style. Mrs. Fainall would have been scandalized,” he adds on a whisper to Elena’s laugh. “Besides,” he continues, still smiling, “I’m here to get you back.”

The speed with which Elena’s smile drops is hilarious– so much so that Stefan’s half-serious expression breaks. When, offended, she shoves at his chest lightly, he outright chuckles.

“You heard,” she says.

“Damon called,” Stefan confirms. “To rant. Caroline did, too.”

“Are,” Elena says, hesitating, “Are they okay? I was sort of super mean to Caroline. But I was so angry, Stefan, and hurt.”

“You have every right to,” Stefan tells her. Comfortingly, he brushes her hair back with the familiarity only an old lover is capable of. “Have you spoken to Damon since?”

“Not directly. He kept leaving me these voice messages explaining what happened. He kept shifting the narrative from ‘we were drunk when it happened’ to ‘we’re in love’ to ‘please respond.’ I blocked him. No offense, but I expected that you and I will never speak again. Damon is your brother, and the bond between you is only rivaled with the bond between, like, the Mikaelsons, the one where they constantly hurt and betrayed each other but love each other so much that they inevitably return to the same orbit. What did Klaus say to get you to come back?” She adds.

“Okay, I lied,” Stefan says. “Well, one, of course I’m not gonna side with my cheating brother, even if he is my brother. Two and three, we need to talk about this… this. Seriously, Elena, Klaus?”

“Never in my life,” says Elena around the straw of her ice coffee, “did I think I’d be going on a date with Stefan Salvatore again.”

Prior to leaving the house, she’d texted Klaus a simple thank you because, somehow, he knew exactly what she needed.

Stefan, his arm already stretched behind her on the park bench they have chosen as the spot to sit and talk, smiles smugly. “I’ll bet I’m one of your better boyfriends.”

“Considering that the only other two options are the boyfriend who cheated on me with my best friend and Matt, that’s not exactly an accomplishment. The vindictive part of me wants to add that part where you slipped on and off blood binges, was heartless on numerous occasions, and re-traumatized me by threatening to drive us off Wickery Bridge and turn me into a vampire,” Elena says. “But I’m in my Lover and Midnights eras, not Reputation.”

“I wonder what the conversations between you and Klaus are like,” Stefan taunts, “Do you quote Taylor Swift at him?”

A litany of quotes Klaus used– not limited to singers– is on her lips, but, selfishly, Elena wants this as a secret. Prior to the sleeping thing, Klaus had shown no indications of his personal preferences. There was that time he saved Caroline from Tyler’s wolf bite and talked to her about culture . They should have known then.

Sensing her apprehension, “Speaking of–” Stefan says, studying her features gently, “How is that going? What happened? From the start.”

The next hour is spent explaining to Stefan everything that happened from the moment he left to yesterday. A few details are skipped, like how she sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, even if she’d accidentally ended up in Klaus’ bed, and didn’t get up; how Klaus was sweet, sometimes; how Elijah had begun leaving chess books on her nightstand. She also tells him about the nightmares, how crows screech over her head, and she trips over a skull, and decayed, decomposed features stare back at her, which had become more distorted with each dream.

“And now,” she concludes, “Elijah is avoiding me. What am I supposed to do, just cuff myself to the bed again, wake up blinded by the alarm when I open the front door?”

Stefan’s response and reaction don’t come immediately. The entire time she’s been talking, he’s been listening attentively. That’s one of the things she’s always liked about Stefan; how seriously he always took her. If she’d told him about the nightmares, she bets he’d have believed her.

“Do you want advice,” eventually, he says, “or do you want to just think out loud?”

“Oh my God, are you sure you don’t want to get back together?” 

A genuine laugh. “Do you actually think we could?” he questions so harmlessly that Elena gives it serious thought; considers it while staring into his light forest-green eyes. Klaus wasn’t really the first person she felt. She thinks of you won’t be sad forever, Elena that he’d told her in the party at the falls and how that profoundly impacted her. 

But all roads lead to– “I’ll always be in your debt for saving me. More times than I can count.”

Gently, her hair is brushed back again behind her ear. Stefan’s smile is accepting, understanding. “But Klaus?” A laugh is startled out of her. Stefan continues, leaning in. “Seriously? Don’t tell me Elijah is– oh, come on.”

“I feel…safe around them.” Elena is not shy about admitting this, but the context in which Stefan is talking about, she barely allows herself to think about this. “It kind of feels…weird. Like I’m doing something illegal.”

“Every time you have a dirty thought about Klaus, a Bennett witch–”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” she warns. “I’m asking you, Stefan. Is it weird?”

“Is it weird,” repeats Stefan. He leans back. “I was there that night, you know,” he says, and it’s so far off from anything she’d expected that she freezes. “I saw how you were. Did you know Elijah nearly carried you to the manor? They’d called when they found you, saying that Damon wasn’t picking up. Even though we were broken up, I couldn’t leave you. So I was at the manor before them. Klaus was like a freaking time bomb, not to mention covered in blood. He started ranting and raving about how we could have allowed this to happen, how Damon failed, and what he was going to do to everyone who was involved. Do you remember this part?”

She does . The part where Elijah carried her from the car is sort of murky, but she remembers him reaching for her, and how she’d gotten blood on his crisply-ironed shirt; how warm his jacket felt on her shoulders. But the next thing she knew was that Stefan was there, and the sheer relief she’d felt for the second time that night nearly brought her to her feet.

“I flinched,” Elena remembers. An angry Klaus was terrifying. If she’d known he’d just come back from burying Sinclair, she thinks she’d have been even more scared. And she was tuning him out, anyway. But he’d stepped closer to her, raised his voice too much, that alarm had grabbed her. “And he stopped.” He did. In his spot. Stared at her like he was seeing her for what she was, scared and terrified and more vulnerable than she’d ever been. 

“Do you want to see the text he sent me?” Stefan offers, and it’s so tempting that Elena doesn’t immediately refuse. “He told me you were single.”

Her jaw drops. Stefan cracks a smile, and the tension is broken, just like that. For real, he shows her his phone. The latest text from Klaus is Come to Mystic Falls. It’s about Elena.

“I called, like, straight afterward,” Stefan says, “And all he said before hanging up was that you needed me.”

“He knew,” she says, “that I needed you. Before he left, he said I had a decision to make.”

Inhale. Exhale. Does the indecision ever end? The hard part?

"So," Stefan says. "Did you make it?"

Seeing Stefan Salvatore was not on Elena Gilbert’s bingo card for her expectations today. But what’s even more blindsiding is what they come across.

“I think you’re going to be fine,” theorizes Stefan moments before they pull up to the Mikaelson Manor. 

Curiosity bites at her, and she leans forward, only to find her eyes widening in reaction to the organized chaos unfolding before her.

“Right here, thank you, gentlemen,” commands Elijah Mikaelson at the gaggle of movers occupying a large part of the manor’s lengthy driveway. There are two moving trucks that she can see the inside of, filled to the brim with antiques, furniture. Everything from majestic, dragon-themed desks, armoires, and bookcases to statues, vases, plate sets, globes, and at least two chess tables are being carefully guided inside. Is that a piano--

That’s not even the most surprising part. It’s that, from a third, different truck, an entire car is being unloaded.

At their approach, Elijah sharply turns. The only indication of surprise at Stefan’s presence is an arched eyebrow. Before she can stop him, Stefan gets out of the car. Scrambling out as well, she barely catches up to Stefan before he reaches Elijah.

Who looks at her first and then Stefan with an inquisitive head tilt. “Hello, Stefan. Elena, my brother told me you’d be otherwise preoccupied today. My apologies for the calamity. I know how you dislike noise. They’re about to–”

“What are they doing in the first place?” Elena can’t help but interject. 

To his credit, Elijah is used to her interruptions by now. Doesn’t take offense like Damon always did. It was during one of their chess talks that Elena once admitted being guilty of often interrupting people while talking as a kid, but it wasn’t like it was coming from a malicious, controlling place. She just gets too curious, excited, or feels strongly about something and says to further engage with the person.  As an adult, she’d been able to curb this habit to a certain extent. Elijah was horrible with her in that regard, because after listening to her confession, he encouraged her to interrupt him whenever.

Hands in his pocket, shoulders squared back confidently, Elijah looks immovable. Infallible. It was Klaus who had pointed out to her the tension in his neck, tendons being pulled taunt. When he gets angry, and Elijah doesn’t ‘get angry’ in the first place, a vein will become visible in his forehead. Right now, the former of his ticks is apparent. It’s comforting to know that he isn’t at ease while her nerves are going haywire.

Because, matter-of-factly, Elijah informs her, holding eye contact with her to the point that she’s absorbed in the warmth of his gaze fully. “I’m moving in.”

“Hold on,” Stefan cuts, hesitating, but maybe only because of the palpable tension between them. “I thought you and Klaus already lived here.”

There’s a weight that’s lifted when Elijah shifts his attention briefly to Stefan. “My brother built this manor for our family, but I never really moved my belongings here. Didn’t feel like home.” His gaze drifts back to Elena. “I didn’t have a reason to stay before.”

Inhale. Exhale. You’re fine. It’s not like he’s alluding to her being a reason to stay, right? Elijah freaking Mikaelson isn’t suddenly calling Mystic Falls ‘home’ because Elena…crawled into bed with him the other day.

A hand touches her elbow. Stefan. “I think you’re going to be fine,” he says gently, so cleanly and without ulterior motive that Elena feels emotion climbing up her throat. Seeing the memory in her eyes, Stefan smiles a little. “You won’t be sad forever, Elena.” 

The breaking down of her expression is guarded by him leaning in to kiss her forehead and pulling her in for a long hug. Elena hugs him tighter than she ever had, ridiculously happy that Klaus had called him back here.

“And you,” Stefan says when he pulls away to Elijah. “I will dagger you if any of you hurt her. And steal all of your family’s coffins again.”

Not many people threaten the Originals and actually have the ability to follow through with their threat, never mind live to tell the tale. And threaten to do the same again. If Elijah’s expression sharpens a little before neutralizing. “Of course,” he says smoothly.

With one last sweet kiss to her cheek, Stefan makes as if to leave. “Goodbye, Stefan,” she murmurs.

Kind eyes and an affectionate touch to her cheek. “Goodbye, Elena.”

It’s not until he’s fully out of the driveway that Elena loosens a shaky breath.  

“Are you all right?” Elijah asks a beat later.

Today has been a balm to an aching burn– so much so that Elena has to physically touch her neck to make sure that the hurt isn’t there as much anymore.

“You disappeared,” Elena says, or accuses, or just expresses her hurt.

“In hindsight, I realize I should have tried harder to reach out to you,” Elijah says, momentarily distracted by the movers, true to his word, starting to clear out. “You have…boundaries, fears, that I’ve been trying to be careful with. You have just started to get comfortable with Niklaus. You know, he found us that night instinctually? He came to search for you.”

When you don’t seek me out, I will. He’s proven that to be true again and again. Elena locks her jaw.

“Waking up next to the two us might have been alarming to you,” Elijah continues, brows furrowing when he sees her cross her arm. “And I couldn’t have that.”

“You and Klaus waking up next to me?”

“No, you being scared of us again.”

A wave slamming into her vulnerable back would have surprised her less. Elena senses the words for the trap they might be and can’t conjure enough sense to do anything but– “So you’re gonna to move in.”

“Hmm, with one stipulation,” Elijah says evenly. “Well, not a stipulation per-say. A condition would ideally have to be fulfilled in order to…” he trails off and Elena gets the eeriest feeling that this is as close to tongue-tied as Elijah gets.

Pretty damn close to being charmed by him, Elena uncrosses her arms. “Which is?” she asks quietly.

An exhale is released, and it’s not Elena doing the coping mechanism this time. Reaching into his jacket’s pocket, Elijah then retrieves a set of car keys on a Tiffany’s keychain.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t replaced your car after you lost your old one,” he murmurs. “I want you to be free, Elena. To feel free. Not trapped. Not entrenched. Or cornered. To go wherever you want whenever you want to.” He takes her hand, which had anxiously gone up to her pulse on her neck again, and gently places the keys in her palm.

“So that when you come here,” he continues in that same assured tone, “it’s because you choose to.”

Reeling still, carefully, Elena closes her fist around the keys. “I take the car,” she tells him, somewhat numb and breathless, “that’s your condition?”

A tsk. “Forgive me, I had the wrong word,” Elijah says. “I meant a favor.” His lips curve up a little. “I believe you owe me around…thirty by now?”

It’s much, much more than that. They play more chess faster than she can read those books.

“Then I want to collect,” he tells her. “Take the car, but stay.”

“Stay,” echoes Elena. Stay, as in– “Like move in?” 

“Precisely.” Oh, how she wishes she can be as confident in her choices and as assertive as he is. 

The towering manor beside them steals her attention for a moment. Over the past summer, she’s only had…good memories here. Positive ones, of healing, of comfort. She knows every single room there, has spent noons, afternoons, and evenings in Klaus’ art studio, equal amount of time across from Elijah with a chess board between them, or a book, or a plate of food, or a tray of cupcakes.

“What about Klaus?” Elena asks. “He’s…okay with this?” With me? “What’s the sleeping arrangement going to be like?” What she’s alluding to isn’t lost on either of them.

“We’re still waiting on a few leads about lessening the symptoms of the curse and relieving you of the nightmares, but, yes, if that’s what you want,” he answers. “Or, alternatively, we can just…sleep.” He shrugs the most elegant shrug ever.

Klaus, to her right, and Elijah, to her left. Elena can just picture it; has only allowed herself to picture it since waking up in Elijah’s bed like one thinks of dessert the day after a cheat day.

“And that’s fine with you.” Elena seeks confirmation, that this isn’t a cruel trick.

The cruel thing, however, is how attractive Elijah’s millimeter smile just then. It’s full of affection, promise, and pure male confidence. Oxygen is stolen out of her lungs when he leans in a little, lowers his voice to a murmur, and– “Niklaus and I have…have been known to be all right with sharing a bed once in a while, provided there’s a woman between us.”

Chapter Text

“Rain came pouring down

When I was drowning,

that's when I could finally breathe

And by morning

Gone was any trace of you,

I think I am finally clean ”

Chapter Twenty

“Stop,” Elena says, batting at the hand invading her personal space. “Stop. I’m trying to– Klaus!” Her giggle is uncontrollable. “You’re getting paint all over– I’m trying to fix–” She giggles again.

Klaus, who has been invading her personal space, her back to his chest, and their paint brushes tangled in color, finally backs down but doesn’t step back. “We cannot paint together.” His smile expands into a laugh at her own chortle. 

They both regard the heinous painting they’d been half-assedly working on for the past half-hour. A painting of a caricature. It’s of no one in particular. Elena felt like it would be too mean to target someone like this, even if Klaus pushed for it. At the end, the result was a caricature of a caricature if it makes sense, features either dramatically too big or too small.

Tilting her head at either angle doesn’t make it any prettier either. “It’s a clash of talents,” Elena decides playfully, then has to push at Klaus to go away when he tries to reach with his brush again. “You’re making it worse!”

He laughs directly in her ear. “I don’t think that’s possible, love.”

Smiling too much feels like asking for trouble, but he’s sort of at her back, so he can’t see her face, right? Nevertheless, Elena puts a little distance between them. They’re in his art studio, which is more of a wing, as she’s discovered, because he has different rooms and different eras. It wasn’t just Elijah who fully moved in when she did; Klaus brought over a litany of artifacts. The Mikaelson Manor is bursting with furniture, trinkets, and antiques. 

It’s been a month since that day in the driveway when Elijah asked her to move in and gave a car that her jaw dropped when she looked up the price of. At the Mikaelson Manor, she has her own room, fitted with her own clothes along with a black credit card on her nightstand that she’s been told to drain as much as she likes. Klaus still has his own room, and so does Elijah. But…there’s a fourth room, one with a larger-than-average bed. For 30 consecutive days, that’s not where they ended up; it’s where they start at.

One afternoon, she’s not at the manor, although that’s where she spends most of her time. No, she’s in the town square. Klaus and Elijah were on their way. Frankly, she was looking forward to them watching her in a pretty sundress and softly curled hair take to school a few middle-aged men in a barbequing contest.

Things have…changed since that day when a certain we wouldn’t mind sharing a bed, provided there’s a woman between us was said to her. And when Elena got some much needed closure from Stefan, whose appearance was a surprising show of growth and maturity on Klaus’ part. For all they knew, Elena could have chosen the younger Salvatore and skipped town. 

The past month has been…peaceful, even for them. Elijah spent most of it transferring his personal belongings and organizing the manor to his liking. Klaus spent a lot of fighting Elijah on this. The other halves of their months were spent with Elena, cultivating their…relationship. If there’s another thing they gained from Stefan Salvatore’s visit, it’s that Elena enjoys soft touches and affection. Goes to show the extent of the damage Damon had left her with, because when she got to them, she’d mostly flinched. Now, when Elijah reaches for her waist, to press a kiss to her cheek, brush her hair back, she leans into him. The same with Klaus, although he’s more daring than Elijah is. Whereas Elijah reaches, Klaus grabs– her waist, her wrist, her elbow, the words right out of her mouth.

Presently, one moment, Elena is smiling sweetly at a woman as she takes her order, and the next, Damon Salvatore is next in line. Immediately, Elena’s eyes connect with his and freezes.

“One burger,” Damon orders with a devil-may-care smile, then adds, “Please.”

The other volunteer with Elena gets started with the order, so Elena has no choice but to write his receipt. Hurt locks her muscles. Seeing him, that smile, that arrogance she always thought was secretly charming…

“What are you doing here, Damon?” she accuses, brimming with tension. She almost bites her cheek when, as she hands him his receipt, he touches her hand. Flinching, she rips hers away.

“The weirdest thing happened,” Damon says. There’s no one behind him in line, so he gets comfortable. “My dear brother called to ream me out about mistreating.”

A secret, vindicated smile pushes at her lips, but she holds it back. “That’s weird? The consequences of your actions?”

“Nope, sorry, that’s not the weird part. I didn’t mean to allude that that’s weird. What I meant to say is that you’re all buddy-buddy with the Mikaelsons and that’s fucking bizarre.”

“Damon–”

“You’re all but moved in with them, aren’t you?” Damon pressures. “I have to say it hurt quickly did you move on with them.”

“Stop it. You don’t know what you’re–”

“Are they the rebound?” Damon gestures accusingly in a direction she assumes is towards the manor. “Or was I the rebound from Stefan? You talk about epic romance and love, but you move on alarmingly quickly from men who love you.”

“Love me?” Elena echoes in disbelief. “You cheated on me, Damon,” she hisses, leaning forward so she doesn’t shout it. His electrifying blue eyes are wide with emotion. He widens his eyes and says a lot of stuff. It’s his thing. “With my best friend. When I was recovering from the single most traumatic thing I’ve ever gone through. You didn’t love me.”

“I do–” Damon suddenly straightens. Both he and Elena become aware of her fellow volunteer only a few feet away. Damon’s tight smile all but spells danger, so Elena sharply draws away from the table, knowing he’d follow. He not only follows but grabs her elbow to tug her in the direction he wants. In a secluded spot a small distance away from everyone else, he finally lets go. “I went to Caroline because I love you.”

It would take a set of therapy sessions to even begin to untangle that. For the moment, Elena’s jaw drops, the blood thrumming through her veins slowing down in sheer disbelief and offended shock. “What sort of oxymoronic bull–”

“You talk to me about the chase, the conquest,” Damon argues, “like these were my only motives, but what you didn’t mention, little miss Ophelia, is that you’re motivated by the same bullshit things.”

An insulted shout, of pure frustration, is climbing up her throat. “Oh my God,” snaps Elena. “How delusional are you? Is that what you and Caroline say to make yourselves feel better?”

Running on pure stubbornness and self-righteousness– those were Damon’s fuels, but they halt for a screeching moment. His intensity lessens for the moment it takes for him to roll his eyes, shrug, and say, “We broke up.”

As she processes this, Damon’s familiar lips quirk up in a smile. The same teasing one he’d always saved for just her. “We fell into a routine,” he says, and steps closer. “And I strayed. I messed up. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, but I don’t regret how it made the spark in your eyes come back, even if it was with hate.”

For the step he took, Elena takes two away. “A fine line, right? This is insane, not just delusional.”

“If you’d let me get a few sentences in–” Damon surges forward anyway to cup her face. Elena backs away, and, surprisingly, he respects her wish for distance, finally. He stops and regards her really carefully, like, from head to toe, lingers on her expression. “You look better. Beautiful.”

“Stop,” she demands. The words are all right, but they land wrong. The stark contrast between the Mikaelsons and Damon makes itself known at that moment. While there have been compliments to her beauty, most of what they praise are things that matter to her. Elijah compliments her intelligence, her heart; Klaus admires her talent, her grit, her strength. “What do you want?”

It’s not the reaction he’d hoped for. “Ideally,” Damon drawls, “I have a set of steps I’d like us to follow. One, I get you out of the Mikaelson Manor. I’m not even mad at you for bunking with them. You need protection and I’m sorry I haven’t been here to provide it.” He sounds more earnest than she’d ever heard him. “Two, you come with me. I have a lead on a coven in Portland. We can get this curse taken care of. No more nightmares, ergo, no Mikaelsons.”

“Damon…”

“Wait, you haven’t heard number three yet,” he says, eyes shining brighter. “We’ve gone through so much. Katherine, the tomb vampires, werewolves, the sacrifice, Klaus and the rest of the Mikaelsons, Sinclair– we shouldn’t give up on us. I’ve never felt as much as I was with you. As soon as you saw Caroline and I at the house, everything I thought I was pursuing with her turned out to be what I had with you. I’ll spend forever making up for it.”

A dam near breaks in Elena. Damon is her ex. Even with the Mikaelsons, she’d spent weeks processing mind-blowingly weird is that? In the years she’d known him, she’d tied her identity to him so tightly that she’d spent the longest time strangely afloat without him, like a buoy in the water, aimless, bobbing, and one prick away from collapsing.

“Do you honestly think the Mikaelsons will love you like how I love you?” Damon murmurs. “That they’ll stick around if they weren’t tied down?”

And Damon had broken her. And Caroline. Made her believe that she was too much to handle, that her pain was inconvenient, cumbersome, an imposition. She wanted too much, loved too eagerly, got too clingy at the end. Damon’s complaints had been that Elena didn’t give enough of herself– and then it had been that Elena was too withdrawn. Would Elijah and Klaus, who promised to be different, be the same?

But…a small, childish, tugging part of Elena was fighting against that pessimistic, hurt voice in her head. Klaus and Elijah didn’t hold her like someone about to leave her. The Mikaelsons wouldn’t have all this effort for nothing, right? The car, the paintings, the cooking and baking, the chess, the touches–

Elena feels meek at this moment. A flash of resentment ripples through her, but it washes away before Damon could register it as something too meaningful. He was already looking at her, waiting for a crack in her shield– she hadn’t shifted from her spot since they’d settled across each other. Elena’s resolve hardens.

“Where were you,” she says in a quiet voice, “when Sinclair took me?”

All the proclamations, the promises, the filler words– they all visibly catch in Damon’s throat. She can see it in his eyes.

“You were with Caroline, weren’t you?”

“It’s in the past, Elena. I want to–”

“I was gone for a week, Damon. Why did it take you so long to find me?” Elena demands. “Do you know what he did to me? How I feel about him? For the longest time, it was like my insides turned bitter with resentment. All I felt was anger, all I could think about was that anyone who touched me without consent should eat shit and die. They should be sent to the bottom of the ocean with a faulty suit and die under the pressure of miles of water.” Next, the disbelieving sound that erupts from her throat, half a cry, half a snort, is entirely disrespectful. “Sleeping? It ranked just as high as someone leaving a bag of flaming shit by the front door. It’s the worst of what happened being amplified. I couldn’t rest. I couldn't close my eyes when I’ve just been tortured and fall into a restless sleep to attempt to give my mind a chance to recover. I couldn't even taste a bite of food again, couldn’t drink. 

“But, yeah, tell me it’s in the past and do nothing to help me. Go on a tirade about how neglected you felt when I couldn’t even cry.” 

Through her own rant, all the past month’s hard work of calming down is violently thrown in her face. Her breathing painfully accelerates to the point of hyperventilation. These ironclad breathing exercises she convinced herself work, the inhale and exhale, the supposedly infallible one, fail her in the worst way possible. They leave her painfully drawing in squeaky, oxygen-less breaths while her ex-boyfriend won’t even touch her in comfort from his shock.

“That’s enough,” a new authoritative voice interrupts. Truth be told, Elena had clocked in Klaus and Elijah’s presence when they’d arrived at the park, an innate part of her knew, a tingling in the back of her neck.

Like they’d done so hundreds, countless of times, Elena steps back and into Elijah’s arms, finding where she needs to rest as easily as fitting two matching puzzle pieces. There, in his embrace, she closes her eyes and breathes him in. It’s easy; being with him It’s not the first time she’s had this thought; how easy it is to be with them. How comforting it feels, how warm, how familiar, like her soul recognizes his and calls him closer every time. Easy as breathing, as falling asleep, held by their arms.

“A chat is overdue between us, don’t you think so, lad?” Klaus’ shark-like smile should register as unnerving to her, but it doesn’t. Still beyond hurting, Elena holds eye contact with an almost stricken Damon, even as Klaus claps Damon’s shoulder none-too-gently. 

A hand carefully touches her chin. Elijah. “Elena, come with me.”

“I,” she says, stutters. “I– he’s not worth it. I…said my piece. I–” Her gaze travels between the three men. “I want Klaus, too,” she admits in a low but genuine voice, the loudest she can get it without it breaking.

The grip on Damon’s shoulders tightens to the point of Damon wincing. It feels purposeful.

“This is the last time you’ll contact Elena,” Elijah decrees. His hand, which is caressing her back up and down reassuringly, never slows down. “It’s only out of respect for any misguided, lingering affection she might have for your past and your brother that you’re allowed to continue breathing. Don’t test our mercy further. You won’t find it.”

Klaus doesn’t release him right away. She’s tense, not trusting that he’ll let Damon go that easily, until he raises his palms innocently in the air. But she doesn’t truly relax until Klaus comes over to her side. She gets her last glimpse of Damon as she’s led away. And instead of the hurt or the regret or guilt she expects, the sheer resentment that she sees in his darkening eyes is staggering.

“Get out of the pool, Elena.”

Since moving into the Mikaelson Manor, their beautiful, glistening, and shiny pool caught her gaze, her eyes straying to it every time she passed by it. But she’s been kept busy. A few days after the confrontation with Damon, Elena follows the impulse; finds her swimsuit, and, muscles locked tighter than Fort Knox, rigidly walks into the water. She’s only taken a deep breath, about to follow her routine of gradually swimming down until her feet find the pool’s tiled floor, when Elijah’s voice breaks through to her.

She has to work to unhinge her jaw from how roughly she’d locked it. “What’s wrong?” Her voice isn’t as steady as she’d like it to be, but it’s clear.

Elijah, who had been out of the manor, she’d made sure of this before deciding to venture into the pool, had lowered himself to a crouch by the poolside. His hand is out for her to take so that he’d pull her out. Elena’s hair isn’t even wet yet. 

“What is wrong is that I need you to get out of the water,” Elijah says measuredly, but Elena keeps away, because his eyes are that dark color that she doesn’t like. Reservations about his temper prove to be correct when he tilts his head, a tick paramount to Klaus snarling. “Elena,” Elijah demands.

“Come swim with me,” she challenges. There is no way in hell he’ll listen. She’s never even heard Elijah talk about the ocean, never mind–

In a moment, Elijah, with a few sharp movements, stands up to his full height, takes off his jacket.

Elena’s heart stutters in her ribcage. He wouldn’t, would he? “Elijah…”

“If you will not come out,” he says, “I’ll come in.” He waits for two beats for her to comply, but Elena is trapped in place. A tight smile, and Elijah sheds his shoes and socks. 

She’s standing in the middle of the pool, and she always, always uses the stairs to get into any pool because she gets freaked out by a too-fast descent. In the same, no-nonsense but brutal manner he goes about with everything, he swiftly enters the pool with one professional move. Startled at his sudden approach, Elena loses her footing, but he’s there to catch her. 

“I respect you enough not to drag you out of here,” Elijah says. After he’s steadied her, his hands linger, one supporting her waist and the other coming to cup her neck and cheek. “But I will ask you, once more, to get out.”

“Why?” Her anxiety has reached an all-time high. She’s been this tense for days, and the strength in her muscles seems to have evaporated. If it didn’t, she’d have gotten out of Elijah’s grip. It’s telling, though, that she doesn’t feel trapped by as much as she’d expected.

“Because,” Elijah bites out, more ticked off than she’d gauged, “We’ve noticed a pattern with you. Whenever something upsetting happens, you retreat into yourself. Then, when that doesn’t work, you find an outlet for your nervous energy; usually in the form of punishing yourself by revisiting the trauma of your phobia.”

“This is–” Elena’s words catch in her throat. She doesn’t– it’s not–ugh! “It’s not a phobia anymore,” she argues, her temper flaring because she doesn’t like it when someone psychoanalyzes her. You talk to me about the chase, the conquest like these were my only motives, but what you didn’t mention is that you’re motivated by the same bullshit things. “I got over it. I can get into the water without freaking out. I can swim and hold my breath and–”

“This isn’t healthy,” Elijah cuts in. “Can’t you see that?”

Do you honestly think the Mikaelsons will love you? 

That they’ll stick around if they weren’t tied down?

All this time, Elijah has been searching her eyes, able to read her soul. She can tell the exact moment he finds exactly what he’s looking for, because he raises his chin. “I’m calling in a favor.”

Elena’s tongue presses against her bottom teeth. The indignation flooding her emotions is enough to drown in it. Self-righteousness, resentment, distress– whatever the ever-suffering Damon resented her feeling all the time. It’s enough to make her sick, and scared. “We’re negotiating?” she asks in a delicate voice.

A nod answers. Elijah splays his fingers on her waist, covering more of her side. He brushes her hair behind her ear. She has to look away to gather herself. “For a question, and you have to ask Klaus to answer, too.”

“Everything you want, we’ll grant it,” Elijah vows. 

Elena breathes in, trying to gather all the bravery molecules in the air. Swallowing hard to give herself time, she moves to touch him. Slowly, she raises her hands so that they rest on his shoulders, his soaked shirt. He’s always trying to respect her boundaries, isn’t it? He could have taken off his shirt and pants before getting in the water, but he didn’t; didn’t pressure her. 

“If,” she murmurs, as courageously as she can, “if the connection curse didn’t exist.” She raises her eyes to his, trying to read him as masterfully as he reads her. “If you and Klaus weren’t–” tied down to me. “--bound to me. Would you still…like me?” It feels beyond childish, utterly immature in the face of Elijah’s sophistication and established maturity.

This close, Elijah’s pupils dilate visibly in front of her, which is endlessly fascinating to her. Once, he brushes his hand down her hair; secondly, he cups her cheek. Thirdly, he leans in, and–

And he waits for Elena’s permissive nod before he kisses her. Before, there wasn’t a sound that didn’t irritate her; her sensory-overloaded senses picked up on the everything from the ripples of their movement in the water; the birds that fly overhead, attracted to the fountains both in the manor’s driveway and in the garden beyond the pool; the sound of her own, stubborn, pulsating heartbeat. 

Oxygen fills her lungs a second before his lips touch hers, like the first breath after, after being suffocated, after being released. The whoosh of waves, of gushing, stealing water that never really is too far from her thoughts is gone, too. How could she hear, see, feel anything other than Elijah at that moment?

It’s only because of her need for actual air that they draw away from each other. They don’t go far; their foreheads touch. She knows she should pull away, to find her composure. But Elijah kisses her, and again, each kiss sweet, unhurried, but purposeful.

“If,” he murmurs, so close that he kisses her again, “anyone can understand-” Another peck. “- it’s you.”

Numb, drowning in intensity, she then lets him guide her out of the pool. Her preference for the stairs is respected, and Elijah’s lips tighten at seeing even the towel she neglected to bring. Only momentarily, because he uses their intertwined hands to pull her in for another kiss like he can’t get enough.

Silent, she follows him as he gets a towel for her; waits as he texts Klaus, and as he disappears in the blink of an eye and comes out in less than a second later in a different suit, and she changes, too into one of her dress. Just as he grabs her hand and leads her to the living room, the front door opens, and Klaus storms in.

“Are you all right?” he demands of Elena. His gaze then drops to her death grip on Elijah’s hand at her side. 

“Damon Salvatore filled her head with poison,” Elijah asserts. “Do you care to tell her or should I?”

It must be upon some kind of pre-agreement that Klaus understands perfectly what Elijah is implying, because, without another word, Klaus crosses the room in a few steps and holds out a hand. “Come with me?”

Peacefully, Elijah lets go of her. Elena’s look at him is confused, but he doesn’t seem resigned, or even sated. His hand briefly brushes against her jaw before he nods in encouragement. 

Klaus, as gentle as he can be at times, isn’t always as patient. The second she takes his hand, they disappear, and they arrive several feet away from his bed. It’s been weeks since she’d last actually slept here, but it looks unchanged; evokes the same feelings in her.

“In this room,” Klaus says quietly, drawing her attention to him, “under these covers, when the only light in the room was the moon streaming in through that window, we found comfort in each other. It wasn’t your subconscious that sought me out, it was my soul calling to yours. And, every night, we built a foundation. You’re of the opinion that I saved you, but you healed a thousand-year-old hurt.”

Inhale, exhale. Elena is experiencing an ordeal, of being so wound-up with emotions that she’ll flinch at the wind. 

“Elijah and I had a…deal,” Klaus tells her, sharply drawing her attention to him. “We wanted to give you time to get over your relationship with Damon, to see if you even wanted a romantic relationship. The curse was right; there is an imbalance with us. So. We agreed we would let you make the first move.”

For a month, for more than that, they’d been subtly giving her hints, haven’t they? The touches, the affection, the sweetheart and darling. When she finally speaks, Elena’s voice miraculously sounds clear, even to her own, self-deprecating ears, “How do I know,” she murmurs, “that this isn’t just the curse? If we didn’t need each other, would you still want this?” She’s close to crying; the taste of tears is already imminent. 

“Elena, love,” Klaus says, and it’s after a moment of measured thought. “‘Connection curse’ is a misnomer. This– I know what it’s like to be cursed. This is the antithesis to that. Being connected to you has been a gift.”

The Mikaelsons wouldn’t love you if they weren’t –

“And even without it,” Klaus continues, “I’ll still admire you. Your talent for drawing that you insist on dedicating to those caricatures, your knack in evoking that mercurial vein in Elijah’s forehead, your empathy, and your actions, despite your every claim that love is useless and transient, to love everyone and everything around you.”

Her brows furrow, and catastrophic blue eyes have never– she’s never seen that color blue in Klaus’ eyes. “You know,” she breathes, and she thinks no one has ever listened to her as attentively as he does just now. “Every time I look at you, without fail, I still feel this relief. Even when I stopped feeling in danger.”

And, before her eyes, the most gorgeous, breathtaking smile on his face widens. Dimples take the oxygen right out of her lungs and put it back in. 

“Misnomer or not,” Elena says, throwing her heart on the line, “Being cursed by you, to you, has been the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Chapter Text

“Are we out of the woods?”

Chapter Twenty One

Elena knew that Klaus was strategic, a planner to a fault. But she didn’t know he’d already decided where he wanted their first kiss to be. After their mutual confession, the tension in the room reached a crescendo and then relaxed, like lulling waves, he takes her hand, and with only a small devilish smile that’s mostly innocent, guides her to the bed.

No warning alarms go off in her head; no crashes, no rocky boulders that her thoughts meet. Somehow, she knows exactly what he’s trying to achieve. He lies down on the right side of the bed; she takes the left, and they meet in the middle.  

Elena leans back to study his features this close, his high cheekbones, chiseled jaw, and can’t resist an contagious smile when he smiles at her, studying her back with just as much concentration.

It’s Elena who makes the move, who kisses. Everything they can’t say is in this kiss. Klaus can be gentle, but he’s never been anything less than intense and passionate in everything that he does. When he takes control of the kiss and she visibly softens under it, under him, he surges forward to set the pace, the force of which pushes Elena to her back– something Klaus deems as unacceptable and instead easily picks her up to set her on his lap instead. 

When they pull away, Elena huffs a breath, a release of tension. Klaus’ bright eyes, somehow incandescent in the eerie glow of the darkening room, flicker back and forth between her own eyes. Like she’s being tugged by an invisible pull, Elena finds herself drawn to her with the desperate, breathtaking desire to do something she definitely shouldn’t do. She’s losing her mind; she has to be, because if she doesn’t kiss him right now–

How many attempted kisses does it take to break Elena Gilbert? Just two. The second time Klaus angles for another kiss, Elena is past logic and reason. Something feral is whirling inside of her, the same thing that Damon tried to smother. Klaus, she’s thinking. Klaus Klaus Klaus, who she genuinely cares for. Klaus here, wanting to kiss. Klaus, here, smelling so good, like a breath of fresh air, like, coming up for air after diving too deep. 

Klaus seemingly follows Elena’s train of thought, from logic to reasoning to untapped eagerness. When the novelty of their eagerness fades, the passion doesn’t, but the want is still there. Sometime during, Klaus had gently lowered Elena and they’re lying side by side. Their lips brush in a chaste, innocent kiss, Elena allows herself these moments of indulgence, sometimes, she desperately chases after Klaus’ lips, and every time, he’s right there, matching her energy.

The thought of leaving Klaus’ arms sends a physical blow to her chest, extracting all the oxygen from her lungs. She has to inhale his scent again to catch her breath. Their kiss this time is slower, more indulgent, and it ends all too soon, even if it’s an untraceable time later.

“So,” Elena whispers. It’s dark, and the moon is their only source of lights, just as they like it. Something he said has gotten stuck with her. “You’re saying we could have been doing this for weeks?”

At this point, though, Elena’s not an amateur. If she’s happy, she’s not just waiting for the other shoe, she knows a boulder will drop on her head. Happiness, she usually theorizes, is to be consumed in small, healthy amounts. It turns rotten after a while and in large quantities. And goddammit it, she’s happy.

Romance novels always filled her head with too many dreamy descriptions. Few people in real life had been worthy of them, though. Maybe a few people before she got to know them, and a few movie stars. Now? Romantic adjectives raced to the front of her mind every time Klaus smiled at her, and every time Elijah looked her way. She barely keeps those ideas from her tongue right now. They might just be the most good-looking men she’d ever met. This is it, guys , she’d wanted to let the rest of the world know. The epitome of beauty, of manliness, of perfection, has been located. The rest of you can go home. 

Elena smiles to herself, even as rain hounds her like an overbearing ex. She and Klaus agreed to meet at the grill after a Historical Society meeting.

And, luckily, when she’d entered the Grill, it was to one more person in the bar. He half-turns enough to make her halt in place. If she’d ever thought Damon was pretty, then Klaus was dynamite, unforgettable. Dirty blond hair curls at the back of his neck, and him shifting to the side reveals an angular, structurally-perfect face; high, defined cheekbones, delectable lips, the slightest bit of stubble, and, as he swallows a sip of his whiskey, dimples. 

A drowned cat is what she resembles at the moment, not her best look, so she’s surprised when his perusal of her is just as hungry and admirable. “Caught in the rain, too?” Oh, God, his accent.

Her smile is wry, and Miss Mystic Falls-approved. “Oh, dramatically so.” She hadn’t exactly gotten a chance to change since the meeting, so she was still braless in her slip dress. 

Her smile widens when Klaus’ gaze determinedly remains on hers. A gentleman, then, for the moment. When she takes off her coat, she couldn’t have gotten his attention up if she’d tried.

“Usually,” he says then, playing along with her caught-in-the-rain act, “I’d offer to buy a drink for a damsel–” Her eyebrows arch at the term, but he keeps going, dimples making an appearance as if he knows exactly what he’s doing. “– but I have a feeling a warm beverage would have more of an effect.”

“It would,” she says, shifting towards the bar stools but not claiming one yet, “If I accepted it.”

“You’re not?” he asks. He has to know what that raspy British tint to his words does to her.

Elena gestures around them to the empty place that’s even empty of waiters. “No offense, but this kinda looks like the prologue to a crime flick.”

His smile sharpens. The usual warning signs that should be blaring in her head; tiny minions screaming in terror, and war sirens sounding, aren’t there. She welcomes their absence.

Inhaling deeply, Elena straightens her shoulder. “Look,” she says, lowering her voice in case the bartender is close by, “How do I say this without sounding like a prostitute?” She enjoys the way his eyebrows arch on his chiseled forehead– Seriously, Michelangelo would be jealous. “I like transactional relationships, if that makes sense. Knowing what I’m getting into. If I give the bartender money, he’s gonna give me a drink. If I do a favor for someone, I expect one back. If I let you buy me a drink–” It’s exactly what she’d told him what feels like forever ago. The context is radically different, though.

Somehow, mid-sentence, his darkening blue eyes had fallen on her lips as she spoke. She notices this because she notices his own lips; his lips, as they wrap around every vowel, say, “What would you give me in return?” 

“That’s what we’re going to clarify,” she says.  

She swears her blood pressure drops when he nods along with everything she’s saying. He leans in, studying her features as if he’s about to be quizzed on her tells, and murmurs, “Then what are we waiting for?”

Who followed who into the bathroom– that doesn’t matter. Who went into the stall, who locked the door, who kissed who first– things of the past.

When they’re done doing something that would scandalize the Historical Society and the Miss Mystic Falls panel of judges, Elena freely lets herself exhibit a moment of weakness, vulnerability, as she leans against his rock-hard chest, panting, her forehead finding purchase on his collar bones. 

A hand is stroking down her hair and back. “Warm yet?” The British accent is raspier now, even though he’s teasing her. 

It actually prompts a snort out of her. And a reality check. She pats his arm to make him let her out of the momentary cocoon that she’s been in for the past few minutes. Attuned to her, Klaus lets her go gradually, allowing her to find her balance after sort of being entirely held up by him for the duration of their interaction a minute earlier.

It’s Klaus’ turn to snort when she pats him on the chest and flashes him a smile. He follows her out for an actual meal. A warm blush accompanies her all the way home. When she'd first started actually liking Klaus, she never would have guessed that a romantic relationship with him would be so, well, not only romantic, but playful. Klaus is insatiable, but he's also sweet and likes giving gifts. As for Elijah, he exceeded her expectations. He is a gentleman at all times; he takes her to the next town, which is larger and more populous, for shows at the theatre and the opera. Elena never stops feeling warm and cared for in his company. She never wants to be away from the Mikaelsons.

Be careful what you wish for– isn’t that what Elijah had once warned her? When he’d kidnapped her. That’s something that Elena often thinks about, spirals down, even as a kid. Every time she wished for something– for example, like I wish there could be a nice way of leaving Matt back when they’d been dating. A guilt-free way to break up with him, because she’d really only agreed to date him because he was one of her closest friends and they owed it to each other to explore a romantic relationship. Then, her wish was granted in the most morbid, grotesque way possible. A car accident took away her parents, and a grieving Elena broke up with Matty with a few select words, her head down, and he never had a chance to respond the way an overbearing ex could because, really, who would bother the grieving girl?

Be careful what you wish for. For her to survive the sacrifice somehow. John traded his life for hers.

Be careful what you wish for. She wanted to be with Damon. Enough said about that.

Elena should really be careful what she wishes for. In her spiraling thoughts, she started carefully crafting her wishes. Honestly, she wishes she’d met Elijah earlier; no one picked their words more deliberately than him. It was almost like making an opaque deal with a genie, leaving no room to get screwed over. You always did though– get screwed over.

Be careful what you wish for. She wanted to be with the Mikaelsons, to feel whole again. And she was back to sleepwalking again.

All it took was one night. One night where she slipped out of bed, unbeknownst to all of them, and, with silent, barefoot steps, padded out of the room, down the hallway, walked down the stairs, and arrived at a room that’s usually empty but was recently filled with antiques. She’d seen the furniture go in; never gave it a second thought. 

Awareness drops on her life a bucket of cold, freezing water. Elena jerks awake in the middle of the room, looming over a lone coffin. An all-too familiar, nearly desiccated face lies almost peacefully in front of her. At the ball, she’d gotten a glimpse at the youngest Mikaelson brother; got a really good look at him when Damon had snapped his neck in front of the entirety of the Mikaelson family. But she and the ‘psychotic Original’ didn’t really come face-to-face, or speak, until Denver. When he’d befriended Jeremy, nearly broken a baseball bat hitting Damon– the crunch of bone still echoed in her ears. 

Shame about Mary, he'd callously said about the vampire who had turned Rose, whom he had not only killed, but had pinned up the wall like a butterfly. Nightmares, when she gets them, sometimes bring up that indelible image. So, Kol had smiled, where did we leave off?He'd tapped the baseball bat like he was getting ready for a game. Despite the mortal danger each side was facing at the time, Kol, honest-to-God, gave off the energy that he was having fun. Toying with them. Getting even is what he’d called it. Don’t test me, he’d told Elena, because Klaus had deemed her off-limits. 

But out of all of these traumatizing and traumatic encounters, the clearest she can hear his voice, the soundest image, is of him spreading his arms in challenge, his smirk widening, and murmuring to Damon to relax, darling.

Be careful what you wish for. Elena learns the lesson the hard way. Disbelief and horror– at what she’d done, at what Klaus and Elijah’s reactions were going to be like– have paralyzed her in place. Their names should be on her lips, calling for help. She should be in their arms, being held by–

Slowly, with cruel realization, Elena’s gaze lowers to the dagger in her hands. The moment reality rushes in occurs in tandem with Kol Mikaelson’s eyes snaps open.

There’s not even a vestige of civility in them. Nothing but animalistic hunger and demon-black, veiny eyes. Elena doesn’t even get a chance to scream before he lunges up in supernatural speed and, with ruthless ferocity, sinks his fangs into her neck.

Chapter Text

“Before I learned civility

I used to scream

ferociously

any time

I wanted

Chapter Twenty Two

The pain is unlike anything she’s ever felt. And it doesn’t sink right away, the same way you don’t realize you’ve been burned. Elena’s breath is cruelly stolen straight out of her lungs; she chokes on it. In those moments, when Kol Mikaelson’s teeth sink so deeply in her skin they nearly go through her shoulders, when he holds her with an achingly bruising grip to trap her in place, Elena realizes how gentle, as morbid as it sounds, Klaus was with her the moment of the sacrifice. His lips had almost kissed her neck, then. With near-feral starvation, Kol hadn’t even made it to her neck; it was her shoulder that he was about to dislocate.

It’s only a matter of seconds– that’s how long it takes for her to finally scream and for Kol to drain half her veins’ worth of blood, or that’s what it feels like when, the doors slam open, and chaos ensues in the time it takes Klaus and Elijah to tear Kol off her.

“I didn’t–” Elena’s pain is blinding, worse than when she’d almost cut her finger off. She can’t think. “I sleepwalked here. I didn’t mean–” She’s crying, she realizes this, but only because she’s shushed soothingly. The dagger, which had been locked in a death grip in her fist, is taken from her by an emotionless Klaus. It’s Elijah who’s holding her.

Who she turns to, and is faced with a bloodied wrist. Knowing her limits, faced with indelible pain, Elena obeys the silent request and, with slight trepidation, takes the blood Elijah offers. The healing feels blissful. Relief nearly brings her to her knees, but she has more pressing matters to address.

“I didn’t even know he was here,” she tells Elijah desperately. Her voice is collapsing, too, jaw shaking with the strength it’s taking her not to sob. The pain– her own bones breaking under his jaw. Is that what people felt when they’d swim in shark-infested water and look down to find a gaping maw locked stubbornly around their limb. The horror, the blood, and the agony? “I woke up just as he did. I’m sorry!”

“Elena.” Her chin is grabbed, and Elijah cups both her cheeks. “Breathe,” he commands.

In defiance, her lungs stutter and lag. Hiccupping cries ensue, and she can’t let go of her shoulder, even though it’s long-healed by now. The blood is still wet, staining her pretty nightgown, and phantom pain is still ricocheting through her veins.

Elena jerks in Elijah’s hold to face Klaus just as he turns back to her. The image he presents is terrifying. Structured features, otherworldly power, shut down as he emotionlessly re-daggers his youngest brother. During the mayhem, Klaus had broken Kol’s neck to get him off her. Now, he’d adjusted Kol back in the coffin.

“You have to believe me.” Elena’s entire body trembles. As much as she likes them, and them her, they still haven’t reached this point, where they’re angry with her. What does an angry Mikaelson look like? Elena had naively hoped to never find out. I'll kill you and everyone you've ever met, she knows, Klaus once told Stefan.

The thirty seconds that Klaus regards her are among some of the scariest of her entire life. It’s him who flinches first, expression softening, “You’re still frightened of us,” he realizes with a visibly grim tone.

Elena’s arms are grabbed, and she’s turned to face Elijah, who examines her expression, too. His face falls. “She is,” Elijah says grimly. “Elena, sweetheart, we believe you. Tell her, Niklaus.”

The hybrid, who’s killed more people than she can ever hope to meet, who promised her that she’d healed him, is careful when Elijah transfers his grip for his. 

“We believe you,” Klaus soothes, but his voice is still rough. “We’d hoped that this wouldn’t happen.”

It’s the first light at the end of a tunnel. Drawn out of her frozen state, Elena breathes, “You knew this would happen?”

“There was always that probability,” Elijah says from behind her. He’s frowning at how Elena is holding still while Klaus tries to stroke her hair comfortingly. “We all had your blood during the toast at the ball. Kol, Rebekah, and Finn, too.”

She flinches at Kol’s name, phantom pain stabbing at her shoulder. “But I never had Kol’s blood.”

The look Klaus and Elijah exchange over her head is transparent; they don’t even try to hide it. They don’t know why she went to him either.

“Let’s go back upstairs,” proposes Elijah diplomatically. Like he’s feeling a vestige of guilt, too, he looks at Kol’s re-desiccated body again before he guides Elena upstairs. Elena understands his pain.

Upstairs, in their room, none of them make a move to get on the bed. Almost immediately, Elena breaks the silence by blurting, “Why can’t we wake him up?” Pleading– that’s how she sounds, but she can’t help it.

In unison, the Mikaelsons brothers sigh, as if her question is more loaded than she knows. Then, “Kol is…dangerous,” Elijah says carefully to Klaus’ derisive snort, “He’s a bloody maniac; that’s what it is.”

“You know all too well what Stefan was like as a ripper,” Elijah picks up, making Elena’s eyes narrow. Not at the Stefan part, but at him ignoring what Klaus had said, which means he agrees. “Our brother would make Stefan’s crimes pale in comparison, mainly because he’s in control. He is not so much blood-thirsty as he loves chaos and violence.”

Even to Elena’s disbelief, she’s shocked when a lone, first tear of many, starts streaming down her face. Her chest tightens with it at the same time. “He’s that bad?” she asks on a breathy whisper.

The understatement of the century, it seems, by Klaus’ reaction. “He once compelled actors to perform a Shakespearean play, killed them when they messed up their lines, and compelled them to actually kill each other during the death scenes.”

Elena’s face falls. What had she done? “I didn’t mean to…” she whispers. She’s shushed soothingly almost instantly, Elijah gathering her up in his arms before sitting on the end of the bed with her in his lap. She hides her face in his neck as he rubs her back.

By her feet, Klaus then crouches, a hand on her knee. She looks at him, and his expression is serious. “It’s not like we plan to keep him daggered forever.” Like they did Finn. 900 years. She can’t imagine. “However,” he says, and hesitates, “Now that we have you, we have something to lose. With Kol, you rarely know where you stand or how he’s going to react. He could as easily let things go as retaliate for grudges he’s been holding for decades.”

“Retaliate,” Elena repeats, numb, “Like for…” She doesn’t dare speak their other brother’s name, also afraid of Klaus and Elijah’s reactions to it. She did have a role in Finn’s death. Outright anguish fills her when they nod grimly.

“Was he always like this?” Elena asks, shy about asking another question but unable to hold back. Besides, Klaus and Elijah never stopped her from asking questions. They loved it. 

By an unspoken agreement, Elijah is the one to answer her. “No.” All this time, his hand hasn’t stopped caressing her to calm her down. Presently, he’s stroking, harmlessly, her hip, going up and down in a soothing motion. “Before our mother turned us into vampires, Kol enjoyed being gifted with magic like her. When he was turned–”

“He lost his powers.” Like Bonnie’s mom. “But–” Against all supposed logic, sympathy stirs in Elena. It could drive a witch crazy losing their magic. Resignedly, Elena’s shoulders drop. “Are you sure we can’t wake him? I feel…” her frown begins to match Klaus’. “I feel like I’m missing something,” she says, almost wildly. “For that brief moment before he attacked me, that longing stopped.” 

Klaus won’t budge on waking up Kol. There was talk of moving his coffin elsewhere, but neither he nor Elijah trust anywhere else than their home to store it. A new lock, which Elena doesn’t even get to see, will get installed on the room where he’s held. If sleepwalking turns out to be an issue, Elijah and Klaus are confident they have it under control. 

It all works out fine. For the day, anyway.

The next day, Elena has successfully avoided eye contact with Klaus and Elijah. When the night comes, she actually thinks she’ll be more comfortable. But in the daylight, when what she’d done is stark in the sunlight, she’s too shy, too apprehensive and guilty, to ever think that she might look at one of them and see accusation or suspicion in them. Undaggering Kol, intentionally or unintentionally, if something like that even matters to men like the Mikaelsons, had made her skittish.

Also, it’s not like either of them are home. If it weren’t for Elijah making her give him her word that she won’t go in the pool again, Elena would already be six feet under until her heart regulates itself again. The shower works somewhat to the same extent. 

With a towel wrapped around her, Elena sighs deeply, enjoying that breath of fresh air after staying in the steamy shower for too long. The Mikaelsons have impeccable taste, and she’s always enjoyed the large, gold-rimmed mirror that hangs over the pristine, probably with actual gold-finishes, sink. When the steam is this intense, Elena has taken to leaving messages for them in the mirror. For Klaus, she makes little drawings, often with little hearts; for Elijah, on the other side, she writes notes of the thought of you variety or I like you. Do you like me? Check yes or no. On that day, she’d gotten two check marks, which made her smile uncontrollably for the entire morning.

Maybe a little message will remind them of the relationship they’ve built, and if their reaction is sweet, Elena will know they’re not mad at her. 

Inhale. Exhale. Elena leans forward to wipe a circle in the mirror in order to brush her hair first, and– 

Gets the shock of her life when Kol Mikaelson’s reflection stares back at her.

A nightmare come to life: being scared by someone standing behind you in the mirror.

“Hello, darling,” smirks Kol. Immediately when a scream visibly climbs up her throat. He lunges forward until he’s at her back, raising a finger to shush her. A hitch in her breath, barely a whimper, is the best curbed reaction she can manage. Kol smiles harmlessly when she does so. “Good girl. Was that so hard?”

“They’ll be home any moment.”   

“Let them,” Kol says. He leans in; there are mere inches between them, but he’d closed that distance to whisper menacingly in her ear. She sees where Klaus’ often mocking tone comes from. Or is it the other way around?

At his proximity, a blush rises up Elena’s neck, too clear in the bathroom’s bright lights and in her towel. Kol’s eyes, shameless, unlike his well-mannered brothers, track the blush’s ascent. “How are you–” She didn’t even get a wink of sleep last night, never mind go deep into a dream that she’d sleepwalked.

“Take a gander,” Kol challenges in that not-from-one-place accent Klaus, Elijah, and he share, and he outright laughs when she, panicked, shoves her hairbrush at him in an attempt to get away. The clank of the brush hitting the marble makes her flinch into a jump. Lo and behold, she and Kol stare at the fallen object, one of them decidedly less maliciously amused by it.

Let them . “You’re not really here,” Elena concludes. “How?”

“Well,” monologues Kol, “Imagine my shock; I was trapped in a state of non-existence when a rush of air fills my lungs,” he says, “Like that first breath you take after breaking the surface of the water. And, well, darling, you looked and smelled so delicious that my instincts took over. Doppelganger blood?” his smirk widens. “Nik had it right; I should have been hunting your lot a long time ago.”

Thud. Thud. Thud rings Elena’s heart, or it’s the sound of her digging her own grave. Sure that he’s a projection that can’t hurt her, she shoves past him and gets out of the bathroom. Kol disappears and reappears in front of her a step away from the bathroom.

“Don’t you know how special your blood is?” he asks, taunts, “That stuff of legend. Didn’t expect it to allow me to project my consciousness to yours, but–” His expression darkens. “--can’t complain.”

“I can,” Elena, compacting all her courage into one breath, says. “Enjoy this while it lasts. The second Klaus and Elijah get home–”

“I wonder which is faster: you, alarming my brothers,” Kol mocks, cutting in. “Or me, who knows where Jeremy is at the moment. Come on, you must have wondered where I was all night," he adds at her narrowed eyes.

Fear for Jeremy also gripped Elena with a more brutal chokehold than fear for her own life. It’s chilling; paralyzing. Her expression shutters, closing off.

“Play well,” warns Kol, “and all will be well. March downstairs and take that pesky dagger out of my heart.”

“You won’t hurt Jeremy,” says Elena with bravado, even though it hurts every vein, takes all the courage out of her system. “You can’t.”

“Can’t I?” retorts Kol. “I trust my brothers shared my affinity for magic?” He sees the truth in her expression. “Then you know I’ll do everything in my power, spend every minute of my restless sleep, not to get free, but to hurt your baby brother.”

And he’ll do it, Elena knows with sinking realization; because this is exactly what the Mikaelsons had warned her about last night. That Kol holds grudges; that he retaliates; and, from her own experience, he has a twisted sense of ‘getting even’ with those who had wronged him.

“I wanted to undagger you,” Elena tells him. Honestly, and while looking him in the eye. It’s impossible, Elena had once thought, that someone could have darker, scarier eyes than Elijah, but Kol’s haven’t lessened in severity from that charcoal black, cruel color. “Your brothers didn’t let me. They put a lock on the door to stop me from sleepwalking to you again.”

That handful of bravery pays off, because his thick, yet unfairly perfectly styled, brows furrow. “Sleewalk?”

When Elena mumbles a swear and frustratingly presses her cheek deeper into Elijah's arm, he distractedly presses a peck to the top of her head. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks, only a hidden hint of worry in his tone.

They all know very well what’s wrong. Everyone is on edge after the Kol thing; but Elena, Elena is losing sleep, and not by choice or fear. It’s because, yesterday, Elijah had chosen that exact moment to come home. Kol, who retained his supernatural hearing in this state, scowled at Elijah’s car’s approach down the road; threatened Elena about what will happen to Jeremy if she doesn’t comply, and made her promise to explain the sleepwalking thing to him. And threatened her to silence about his appearance. Tomorrow, she'd hissed at him. She'll explain everything tomorrow.

For the rest of the day and night, Elena kept expecting him to pop out, kept a lookout from the corner of her eyes, but the youngest Mikaelson didn’t reappear. Is his projection always visible? If not, he can be watching her at any given moment.

From experience, even when faced with mortal danger, you’ll lose hair from sitting down and thinking about said danger. If you have someone to hold you, let them. Tomorrow will bring tomorrow and that's all she can influence at the moment. So. From her spot curled up against him on his ridiculously comfortable sofa, looks up at Elijah. “I’ve spent so much time on this app that I’m going to grow delirious,” she says, then frowns. “And I can’t solve this test so I can jump to the level I want.”

Elijah and Klaus are familiar with Duolingo. Numerous times has Elena stepped away to get her practice of the day finished so she wouldn’t break her ‘streak.’ They’ve actually been pretty helpful. She hates the ‘speaking’ part and if one of them is by her, she always has them speak the phrases for her. Klaus obeys, and Elijah does– but he makes her say the line to him until she gets the pronunciation right. 

Used to this, Elijah pauses his reading– a book in French that looks like a biography to someone in philosophy. He glances down at her phone screen. “Why do you want to jump to that level?” 

Happy that he’s indulging her, she smiles innocently at him. “Because I’m stuck in the grocery one,” she tells him. “And I want ‘express opinions.’ I think it will be really helpful, you know? And I can speak my mind better.” 

With the way Elijah is regarding her, she’s 99% sure he’s going to tell her that maybe she’s not ready for the next level, so she re-presses her cheek back to his arm. “Can you solve it for me? Please? So I can move on?”

A heartbeat passes. Then two. There’s a sigh she feels rising in his chest.

“And you want this level more?” 

She smiles sweetly at him. “Yes, please.”

She’s content to let her phone get plucked up from her hands and into his expert ones. Her chance to relax for a few moments is grabbed eagerly. She closes her eyes, inhales. Elijah may just be the epitome of elegance in his suits and immaculate presentation, and he always smells divine.

A test that would have taken her five, eight minutes is eaten up in less than two. There’s one point where he gets a question wrong. The subsequent gruff ‘merde!’ gets her giggling and shushed, but nevertheless, victorious, Elijah hands her back her phone, Duolingo figures dancing their little dance on her screen.

“Mille mercis.” She stretches for a kiss on the cheek, which he allows, but he grabs her chin and fully kisses her. Breathless, French, English forgotten about, she lets the phone to the sofa and lets him grab her by the hips and lift her to his lap.

“Tu n’as pas besoin de cette application,” he says minutes later when they’ve retaken their spots, except that she’s still halfway in his lap, but the book and phone are back in their hands again.

“I don’t need this app?” Elena translates questionably. 

“Exactement,” he says. “You need a bescherelle.”

“What’s that?” 

“It’s a book of verbes,” he tells her. “You’re already getting a good grasp over the vocabulaire, but Elena, sweetheart, you need to learn conjugaison if you really want to learn francais.”

“She doesn’t need a bescherelle,” a new voice adds. Klaus. He smiles that charming, dimpled, all-encompassing smile at them– well, her, more specifically. Already shrugging off his jacket, phone, and wallet, he makes quick work of getting himself a drink. “She needs hands-on experience.”

“She needs grammaire et conjugaison. Structure.”

“No, and I’ll show you. Elena, viens ici.”

Although he looks reluctant, Elijah loosens his grip enough for her to get up, but she comes back with an apologetic peck to make up for leaving. Drink still in hand, Klaus watches her come over as he takes a seat in the chair diagonal to the sofa.

“Bonjour,” Elena says as she goes to him, smiling affectionately– and maybe a little daringly. “Comment ca-va?”

“Très bien. Elena, je veux te proposer une marché. Un examen.” He’s proposing a deal, an exam. 

Over the next two hours, both he and Elijah thoroughly test her about her ‘French.’ She also gets a few naughty words out of it.

When they go to sleep, deliciously exhausted, Elena has almost forgotten about Kol. Settled, naturally, between Klaus and Elijah, she’s at that stage of nearing sleep when her breathing is deep, her body relaxed, and her mind empty.

The equivalent of accidentally stepping off into the deep end when you don’t know how to swim shocks her when, after getting the most unnerving feeling that she’s being watched, Elena opens her eyes and finds Kol standing at the foot of the bed.

Chapter Text

“You wouldn’t be the first renegade

to need somebody”

Chapter Twenty Three

“I’m gonna spend the day at my house,” is what stops Klaus and Elijah in their step. 

Thanks to their habit of falling asleep at the same time, more or less, all three of them get up at relatively the same time. Getting ready in unison, like a choreographed dance, has been routine to them. In front of the mirror is Elijah, adjusting his tie; Klaus is randomly choosing accessories, because, as she learned, they’re actually gifts/talismans that he cherishes; Elena herself is sitting on the edge of the bed, tying her shoes. 

“To clean,” Elena corrects, then sort of smiles because all three of them know what she’s asking for is really time alone. “It’s been a while since I’ve been there. I’ll pick up a few of my things, air it out, clean a little.”

“Would you like some company?” offers Elijah thoughtfully, but suspiciously. 

“You ’re gonna clean with me?” Suited Elijah; handkerchief-carrying Elijah?

He comes over, pats his knee, and Elena obeys his unspoken command of giving him her other, untied foot. As he firmly ties the shoelaces, he says, “I can clean.” His smooth accent washes over her.

“We can send someone,” Klaus says. Elijah caresses her ankle when he’s finished and gently puts her leg down, after which Elena bounds over to Klaus, because she doesn’t like the look in his eyes. Even though they’d momentarily had fun yesterday, the brief mistrust between them is rearing its head again.

Elena rises to her tiptoes to kiss him, and he responds in kind, supporting her waist.

“It’s fine,” she says, to him, and to Elijah, “I just need to…regroup. Think. I will come back.”

Klaus studies her features, looking for deception, for the lie, and maybe he finds a little of it because his next move is grabbing her face and kissing her so thoroughly that she stumbles back. Elijah’s goodbye kiss to her is just as intense. Elena almost doesn’t leave the house entirely, because Klaus has shown that he’s very willing to spend the day in bed, but Jeremy comes to mind. And Kol. 

So she leaves. Once she starts driving, just out of the hearing shot of the Mikaelsons, her passenger seat suddenly houses a new addition. The absence of his reflection is eerie.

She waits for him to speak, to threaten, to snark, but he does none of the above for at least the next five minutes.

Eventually, “I never met her, you know,” Kol says, sharply drawing her attention to him. “Katerina Petrova– Katherine Pierce or whatever she’s called, but Nik filled me in.” 

His nearly black eyes shift along her features, comparing her face to the one in his mind. “I did know Tatia,” he continues, “She wasn’t really my type. Too docile and strangely manipulative. Played my brothers at the same time. She enjoyed my brothers’ dual attention but wanted to divide them.” Amusement creeps into his voice. Because that was so damn amusing; the idea that his brothers were played for fools. It lasts only a second before he turns serious. “I’ve been gone for a long time, Elena, and now I hear the newest doppelganger has entrapped both my brothers. Again. I didn’t believe it at first, but you, you look just like her. I wonder if you’ll act like her, too.”

Careful deep breaths. Like trying not to splash in the presence of a nearby shark. Partially because, while he’d said his piece, he seems to have gotten lost in thought, though while staring at her, and partially because oxygen feels like a scarce source at the moment.

Suddenly, his gaze clears. And she thinks he might just reach for her throat again, but he smiles widely, leans back. In a very predator-like manner, he tilts his head. “I’ve been trying to figure out all last night what you meant.” Even while sitting down, a projection of his real self, Kol still makes for an intimidating image, enough that her heart experiences palpitations. “How a Petrova doppelganger ended up in the lions’ den,” he mocks with a laugh, the sound so light that Elena is reminded that he’s actually her age, give or take a few months.

“And?” Elena’s hands hurt from her death grip on the steering wheel, but there’s no way she’ll let go of her only outlet to express her nervous energy. Even if Kol can plainly see her tense knuckles.

“I also took a walk around town,” Kol adds, not satisfying her question. “Ended up at the Salvatore Boarding House. Your bloke– or is it ex-bloke?-- was over there.”

“Damon?” Irrational, or perfectly rational, frustration pounds at her head. “Ugh,” she ends up saying.

Kol’s laugh is easy. In this car ride, he’s laughed and smiled more freely than she’s ever seen his brothers ever do.

“Never liked him, to be honest,” Kol says. “I almost felt bad for him, though, because he looked wrecked.”

Wrecked ? The sheer resentment and hurt in Damon’s arctic eyes haunt her sparingly, but she thinks of them because of the intensity of those emotions. “What was he doing?”

“Did you know we met before? Once?”

Elena’s jaw sets. Why does he never answer her? But– “He never told me. How did you meet?”

“I think you’ll want to hear more about my theory,” Kol baits her, smile widening when her annoyed gaze meets him face to face instead of glaring ahead. “All right,” he says, “I’m only letting the cat out of the bag because I want my genius to be broadcast to my brothers when you wake me up.”

They’re coming up on her street now, and Kol somehow knows exactly where her house is because he entirely disappears, too unbothered to stay while she parks. With a huff, Elena carefully pulls the BMW Elijah had gotten her (that drives like a dream) and, with a deep breath, this time meant to stock up on oxygen, she enters the house that she strangely aches for and because.

Every week or so, she makes a point to drop by. To make sure nothing is stolen; there was when she was moving into the manor, so there was a lot of back and forth; and to overall appreciate her childhood home. She never stays for long, though, which is why Klaus and Elijah were surprised this morning.

It’s a routine by now: prepare the passcode on her phone, unlock the front door, and then rush inside like a maniac to put it in before that fucking alarm goes off. Kol is nowhere in sight. Elena continues as usual; gets as far as opening all the windows to let some air in and let out the musty smell of a house that’s locked for weeks at a time. She’s in the kitchen, gathering cleaning supplies, when there’s an audible shift: a lack of a hum in the air. The power went out. Lovely.

No Kol still. He’s probably rooting around every nook and cranny of the house now. Elena’s on the phone with the electric company, who are telling her that there was an issue with the automated payment, when he finally appears.

Across from her at the kitchen island, he gives her an empty that’s conventionally attracted, and it’s so deceptive, like visibly deceptive– even Klaus’ smiles, dimples and all, can be genuine; kind. There is nothing behind that cruel excuse for a twist of the lips. Nothing but malice and murder on his mind. And his eyes , God, it’s like someone drew eyes on an empty vessel, like buttons. There is no human behind them, just something that moves like one.

Elena’s resolve hardens. She will not let Kol hurt the haven she’d found with the Mikaelsons.

“Found what you were looking for?” she asks him in a harmless tone.

“Interesting collection of drawings you have up there,” Kol says. “That Elijah portrait? Scarily accurate.”

Every instinct in her was gearing to fight, to be defensive, but, again every grain, amusement sneaks through, along with a reluctant smile. “Stop,” she says, because she’d meant to destroy that caricature before Klaus remembered it again.

“So.” Kol gracefully lowers himself to one of the island chairs. “I assume magic’s involved here?”

She almost snorts. What an understatement that is. 

For the next, at least, half-hour, Elena reveals everything that happened since the night Sinclair’s men took her, skips over the more traumatic details of her kidnapping but gives him the gist, how Klaus saved her, and then the nightmares that had followed, which escalated to sleepwalking; how this lasted for months before she and Damon broke up.

“Hold on,” says Kol, “Explain that bit further, because there’s a gap between leaving the bastard and snaring both my brothers.”

“I didn’t ‘snare’ a–” Elena bites back her words. “And I don’t need to explain–” She’s cut off by him making a show of looking up, specifically in the direction of Jeremy’s room. An unspoken threat. Inhale, inhale, inhale– why isn’t it working? “It just h–”

“I’m curious as to Nik’s motives in the first place,” interjects Kol. “A murderer he might be, but I can see him politely shoving a doppelganger out of his bed that first time.”

“His motives?” Klaus’...he didn’t have motives. You’re of the opinion that I saved you, but you healed a thousand-year-old hurt. “Klaus didn’t have any. He was kind enough to–”

A bark-like laugh, entirely juvenile. “My, that word has never been used to describe my brother.” He sounds gleeful. “You have my sympathies here, actually.  I’ve heard only about connection curses in concept. Perhaps he saw a better way of keeping the doppelganger in line if she was in his bed?”

“Don’t,” Elena says, and speaks over him the next time he tries to speak over her. Elijah must have the patience of a saint if he lets her interrupt him like this. She’ll never do it again. “It’s more complicated than that. Don’t… cheapen our relationship like that.” 

His eyebrows raise in superiority, eerily like Klaus’. “Then explain it to me. I never met Katerina,” Kol re-asserts, visibly enjoying Elena reeling back from every word that comes out of his mouth. “But I have to admire her balls. Impeccable survival instincts. Fucking annoying and not to be envied, but I think even she will congratulate you on entrapping two Mikaelsons. Also, be sure to add at the end your plan to undagger me, otherwise, I’ll be occupied for the rest of the day.” Hunting Jeremy down, he means.

“I told you,” Elena argues. “My side of it. I can’t speak for them, but I like and trust them. And my plan–”

“Is that why Nik and Elijah were all like ‘oh, ‘lijah,’ she’ll never feel safe with us,’” Kol mimics his brothers in a fairly accurate impression. “‘She already does, Niklaus. That’s why she came to us and continues to stay. We’ll share these concerns with her when she returns. I love you, brother, always and forever.’ ‘I love you, too, always and forever.’”

Tense, all-consuming silence envelops the conversation. Then--

“I’ll convince them,” Elena says. “I’ll convince them to take the dagger out.”

Kol wants her to go back immediately, but Elena responds by starting to organize the cleaning supplies. “You’re actually going to clean?” demands Kol is disbelief.

“Yes,” responds Elena, as if it’s obvious. “I want to actually clean my house. And Klaus and Elijah will know if I didn’t.” They’re like scent hounds when it comes to the truth and attuned to her. If Elena so much as sneezes, Elijah will close the window that’s letting in air. If she lies a little, like not being so sad when Jeremy misses their weekly calls, Klaus will take her out to distract her. If she doesn’t come back smelling like bleach and disinfectant, they’ll assume she went to her house to, like, cry or something. Having gotten what he wanted from her, Kol makes himself scarce.

When she comes home, it’s to Klaus sketching in the living room. Cleaning and talking with Kol had sapped out all of her energy, raised the defenses she’s had down for so long. But seeing Klaus– she never pictured she’d ever say this– relaxes her. A smile finds its way to her lips, and she immediately heads to him. He welcomes her, having set aside the sketch book the second she pivoted in his direction.

“Hello, love.” He brushes her hair away from her forehead before kissing her. Elena melts into him. “Did today,” he says once they pull away, “work?” The fact that he doesn’t say it kind of proves that Kol was right. Klaus and Elijah did talk about her after she left.

Another kiss is awarded to him because Elena’s emotions experience an influx of protective affection to him. “It did.” She looks at him directly in the eyes while she says it, to erase any doubts he has. “I don’t think I’ll need to go back for some time, too.”

“Oh?” Klaus arches an eyebrow. Dimples precede a smile before his expression turns serious. “Elena, love, we need to talk.”

No, no, no– she already told him. “I know what you’re going to say and I’m going to tell you right now. I’m sorry about my reaction."

Her chin is grabbed gently. “Don’t ever apologize for that,” Klaus says firmly. “You have every reason to flinch. It means that you’ve been burned before, yes, but it also means that you’re clever. Irrationally, I’d hope you’d never flinch away from me again.”

“Klaus…” her murmur is sad.

While he’d been talking, like Elijah, his hands never stopped touching her. In his lap, he usually caresses either her sides or hips. Now, somehow, between one stroke down leg and another, as his hand trails up where he had gripped only last night, he says, “I have a demand to make.” 

It’s a testament to how unguarded she has become, and how much Klaus and Elijah have gotten her comfortable, that she forgets to react. She’s so caught off guard that it takes her a second to tilt her up at him. “Klaus–”

“Nik,” he interrupts immediately. “I want you to call me Nik from now on. Klaus is a name uttered with fear and vitriol. You’ll speak softly when calling my name.”

Out of all the demands he could have made, of everything he could have said, it's the very last thing Elena ever expected. A soft smile overtakes her face. 

When a voice speaks directly into her ear, Elena startles and knocks down one of her pawns by accident. “The lock is spelled shut, by the way,” Kol shares, as if he’s not leaning over the back of the sofa that the chess table is adjacent to and Elena and Elijah aren’t in the middle of a match right there. “Could smell the magic off it. You’ll need to get a witch to de-magic it or to get the method out of my brothers.”

“Are you all right, Elena?” demands Elijah attentively. He’s sipping on a whiskey while Elena is enjoying a club soda that he made her 

“Yes,” she says, and doesn’t even chance a glance at Kol next to her. “Just stared off. Sorry. Um, your move.”

There’s a huff of displeasure, but Kol doesn’t say anything more. Eventually, she forgets he’s even there, but only because Elijah is, once again, making her eat dust at chess.

“No!” bursts out when Elena makes her next move with her knight. It’s a miracle that she doesn’t wince at Kol's outburst. “No, no, what did you just do? You’ve killed yourself. Five moves, and he’ll take your queen.”

And, lo and behold, five moves later, Elijah gives her a crisp, triumphant smile. “Another game?”

“Negotiations?” Elena asks, as per their routine. Besides her, Kol tilts his head in confusion.

“Double or nothing,” Elijah answers. His smile widens at Elena’s put out look, because she honestly has no idea what he could ask her. He could just as easily ask if she misses Caroline or Stefan or ask her to help him re-organize his rare book collection.

“Deal.” Because it works both ways. She’ll make him solve her Duolingo lessons for a week because she needs a break but doesn’t want to lose her streak.

The first few moves are okay. She’s all right, holding her own. It’s not until she reaches to move a rook that Kol says, “If you want to lose, by all means, go ahead.”

Elena’s hand hovers over it. 

“Elijah,” Elena says lightly, for the sake of curiosity, “What’s your favor going to be?”

“I saw you and Niklaus’ creation drying on the patio.” Klaus technically has a balcony, but it’s a makeout spot for them and letting paintings dry in his studio or room bothers Klaus’ heightened sense of smell, so they’ve been putting paintings on the patio for a couple of hours to take the worst of the smell out of it. “I didn’t know you had a talent for painting. I’d like to commission a portrait.”

A blush rises up Elena’s neck. Elijah seeing her drawings feels different than Klaus. Klaus has already seen her creations; claims to love them, or at least, he finds them amusing. “Really? I can do that anyway.”

“Well,” Elijah says, and shrugs in that elegant, calculating way of his. “Not just any regular painting. I want one of your caricatures.”

The uncomfortable feeling in Elena’s stomach coincides with Kol’s chortle. “Oh, please tell him there’s already a very flattering–”

“I can draw–”

“Of me.”

So Klaus hasn’t told him there’s one existing of him already. “But Klaus has been teaching me normal painting,” Elena says, kind of pleads, “I can make you really pretty. And I’ll add a field of flowers.” Just sunflowers, though. Anything else is still out of the question.

Elijah smiles. “I’m already pretty,” he says deliberately, knowing it will make Elena giggle. “And that’s why it’s a favor. Double or nothing. One medium-sized portrait.”

“Elena,” says Kol, lowering his voice like he’s divulging a secret. “I think you’re better off breaking up with him.”

Elena wipes away at a sardonic smile; doesn’t even lift her palm off the bottom half of her face. “I’ll want you to pose for a nude, regular, pretty painting for my favor. Only if you’re comfortable with it,” she adds quickly, forgetting about the Duolingo break. This is obviously more important.

“You’ll have to take me in less than forty moves.”

“Deal,” says Kol on her behalf. “Only if you make his dick small. Elena, say yes.”

Elijah puts his hand out for a shake, eyes gleaming with challenge and amusement. She remembers shaking his hand that first time, after he’d tricked Jenna into inviting him inside. How his hand had enveloped hers; here, now, every night.

“I’ll help,” Kol says.

Is this what making a deal with the devil feels like?

“Deal.” It’s Elena this time. She shakes Elijah’s hand, all official, and smiles when he gently knocks her foot under the table affectionately. 

Kol gets up, rounds the sofa and comes to stand beside her. Elijah knocks all the remaining pieces and rearranges them into a new game.

While he’s distracted, Elena’s eyes lift to meet Kol’s. They’re not so dark now; he smiles mischievously, spelling trouble for her.

Chapter Text

“If clarity’s in death

then why won’t this die?”

Chapter Twenty Four

“Do you want a loin cloth or should I just leave it blank? Like a Ken doll.”

Elijah falls silent; he’s been staring at the chessboard like he’s trying to picture exactly where he went wrong, not knowing that ten moves ago, Kol had called out his every move before he made it.

“Double or nothing, you know?” Elena smiles her Miss Mystic Falls smile; triumphant. And on her way out, she kisses Elijah on the cheek. She shares a conspirator’s look with Kol as she passes by him.

“It has been a good day. This isn’t a phrase I, as a person who chronically has bad days, say lightly. Joyous occasions? They stress me out; weddings, birthday parties, parties–” It’s an understatement if there ever was one. “For a day to be counted as a good day, I’d have to get a nice, restful night's sleep and eat something sweet. Literally. That’s all it takes. I don’t actually ask for much, but God do I have bad days because that criteria is almost never met.”

Kol looks positively confused, maybe even unnerved, after Elena stops talking; she’d started as soon as he’d appeared next to the fridge just as she’d closed it, horror movie-style. Presently, Elena breathes a snort, satisfied with getting a reaction out of the projection of the Original. “Diatribe over,” she teases. “Come to threaten me? Ruin away.” 

“I’ll stop threatening you,” says Kol, “When you undagger me. Personally, I’m fond of breaking down the door.”

“And what’s stopping Klaus and Elijah from feeling I betrayed them?”

“Nothing.” Kol smiles at her own humorless smile. “I haven’t seen much convincing.”

“Because I have to be smart.” This was strategic; talking to her when Klaus and Elijah are both out of the house. “If I keep asking them about you, they’re gonna move the coffin, and then we won’t know where you are or I won’t be able to reach you.”

A muscle in Kol’s jaw visibly clenches. He knows that she’s right. After seeing how she interacts with his brothers, he knows that their relationship is real. Which is why Elena knows it will be outright devastating to someone like Klaus if she betrays them.

“How about I,” says Kol, a few beats later, when she’s moved away and started gathering more ingredients for the cake she’s making for Elijah. “give you some incentive. Get a move on and I’ll tell you what I know about Sinclair.”

Everything in Elena freezes.  

“I know you know I know Sinclair,” Kol says, a mischievous, if not wicked, gleam to his eyes. “Where do you think he got his affinity for dark objects?”

Elena doesn’t not tense up, but she nods and– and something is thrumming under her skin like it’s about to explode, so she’s rearing to leave.  

A noise is building up in her ears, a drummer pounding against her forehead for a bass sound, and a crescendo is approaching. As she always does, Elena imagines the ricocheting sound of her heartbeat boom boom boom, throwing, hurtling itself at her ribcage like a deranged animal. Her panic escalates its pace. The feeling of dread, an oozing, black thing in her stomach, stays with her until she realizes that she’s actually shaking. Her eyes keep darting to the door.

On autopilot, her subconscious was looking for Klaus and Elijah. Mentally compartmentalize that for later, because she does need to know more about Sinclair, Elena resigns herself to listen to her gut, which is telling her to listen. It has always served her right, hasn’t it? 

Buzzing with energy, Elena forces her body, her breathing, to calm down. 

No, it hasn’t. Her gut has not always led her down the right path. Her eyes close as painful, tugging memories flash behind them. Wasn’t it that same gut feeling that let her let down her guard with Damon? The I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I need it and the chase, the conquest; we’re motivated by the same bullshit things and how could you, Damon?– that gut feeling? Fuck you, gut feeling. You should always trust your second thought or impression; that’s what they say, or she thinks they do. A first thought, impression, or reaction is a flinch, no matter whether or not you’re flinching. You can’t help it, but what you do next is you. It’s thoughtful or careless, because you do what you can do with what you have. Or you don’t, and you run around like an uneducated, thoughtless, panicked, rabid thing. 

A tremor actually shakes her body, and Elena’s thinking that she’s actually lost it when she realizes that it’s because she’d automatically stepped back when Kol got in her personal space.

And God believe her, Elena has never laid a hand on someone, never touched without consent, never pulled, tugged, or pushed without it being in self-defense, but right now, she’s out of her body. It’s like watching a motion picture, a caricature version of herself, handle this, a materialistic thing of herself, of panic and trauma packed into flesh and tears. And Elena, you gotta believe her, has never done anything like this, but one second, she’s on the other side of the room, having shoved past Kol to stumble towards the closest window.

“Elena. Elena!”

The world comes into focus, and it’s minutes later. Three faces stare at her; only two are real. They’re still in the kitchen, and Elena doesn’t remember anything but– but Sinclair. The mention of his name sent her body into a system breakdown. The one closest to her, the boldest, is Elijah, who, as soon as he sees clarity in her expression, looks at her, a question in his eyes. As soon as Elena does a curt nod thing, and Elijah, sympathetic and somehow able to understand her, nods back. And steps forward.

“You look ill,” he says in the gentlest tone ever. He seems to think that she actually feels sick, because he carefully reaches for her face. A breath is loosened out of her lungs when he tests her temperature. Elijah doesn’t just place the back of his hand on your forehead; he presses a long kiss to it; puts their cheeks together for a second. “You feel a little hot.”

“What happened?” Klaus asks. His question brings the words I buried him facedown. Do you know what that means? It means he’s going straight to hell. Why is he still haunting her, then?

Bile rises up Elena’s throat, and she squirms out of Elijah’s hold and runs to the sink, the closest thing her jagged mind thought of. Klaus is behind her in less than a second, half a second faster than Elijah. He holds her hair up and out of the way while everything she ate today fights out of her stomach. Sinclair Sinclair Sinclair stands out among a jumble of other racing thoughts, so she’s not sure which is louder, her brain or her body’s violence response to it.

Once she’s done, she leans back, and tenses when she feels Klaus behind her. Her shoulders pull together, the tension running through her body like making a checklist. Goosebumps attack her skin, and she has to close her eyes to keep her equilibrium. Then, like, a breath of fresh air, the weight around her, even though it’s not directly pressing on her– it’s lifted.

“Niklaus–”

Klaus stops Elijah before he comes any closer. “Give her some space.” He holds eye contact with Elena, and her heart almost leaps out of her ribcage to race to his, because he somehow understood exactly what she needs. Space. 

She tries to thank you, but she’s crying, the hiccupping kind of crying hinders whatever she was going to say next, but they get the gist of it, and have to visibly reel their reaction in, because it sounds a lot like Elena is mumbling: I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine.

Elena steels herself again, swallowing back the ball in her throat that’s aching to come out, when Elijah shushes her soothingly, looking like it's killing him not to touch her right now.  “If you’re just saying that because you think or you’ve been told that you’re over reacting, then so help me, God–” Elena shakes with the force of her chagrin. “You’re just reacting. Something happened to you. You can’t shake that off.”

“I don’t–” Elena says; tries. “I–” Her gaze locks in with Kol across the room, who appears to have cemented himself in the same place as before; he looks pale, even for an unfeeling projection. I know Sinclair. Where do you think he got his affinity for dark objects?

“I’m beginning to think you’ve drowned in there, darling,” says Kol’s projection, but it’s from the other side of the door.

It’s an hour later. The shower is running, and she’d given it the college try, but even the contact on her skin proved to be overwhelming. 

She’s in a towel and hugging another, leaning against the bathtub, her feet drawn up as she’d been crying into her knees nearly all this time. 

Right now, all Elena can hear is Sinclair calling her darling sometimes; the same way they both rolled their vowels. Oh God what did she just do when she’d sleepwalked: curse herself with the Mikaelson everyone warned her about?

“Nik and Elijah are downstairs debating the merits of breaking down the door. I could just step right through. But I am my brother’s…brother. I know you wouldn’t do anything to alert my brothers to my presence.” he adds in a light tone, like he’s trying to joke with Elena when all she can do is stare with a locked, tremoring jaw at the door. “I’m going to count down from twenty before I come in; because I can hear the shower running and hitting tile.”

Now, to her disbelief, Kol actually counts out loud, spacing them out like he has all the patience in the world. After, he waits a few more beats before he passes through the door. He stops. Sees Elena on the floor. She looks away.

Kol loosens a breath. “My,” he says. Elena draws her knees closer when he, with the litheness of a predator, crouches in front of her. “It appears you didn’t give me the full story of what happened with Antoine Sinclair.” Antoine Sinclair. His tone is different, filled with familiarity, unlike Klaus and Elijah when they speak about him.

He doesn’t want her to speak? Fine. Elena steels her jaw, even as tears blur her vision.

“What scared you?” Kol asks; demands, as if it personally offends him. “Because I’ve heard you talk about him before and none of these conversations evoked such a violent reaction.”

The trembling reaches her shoulders.

“Connection curses such as yours,” bites out Kol, “aren’t cast; they develop.” He’s leading her to an answer, but she won’t dignify it. He's saying that Sinclair didn't use her for a spell. Where do you think he got his affinity for dark objects?

He’s a bloody maniac; that’s what it is.

“Nik buried him,” Kol continues strongly. “What is it? Or do you want how far I’m willing to–”

Before her self-preservation can save her, Elena surges forward, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “You,” she mouthes, hurt and furious at the same time. You’re my problem, she means.

If Kol was actually here, maybe, she’d be more intimidated by his proximity. God knows she can still shy away, flinch, even if only in her head, when Klaus or Elijah moves wrong. 

The speed with which Kol’s expression shutters is terrifying, and Elena is thinking everything about him is true, every paranoid and scared thought she’d had about him, that there’s nothing but the devil behind those unfeeling eyes, when he tilts his head. Spending so much time with the Mikaelsons, who sometimes use silence to prompt you into spilling your guts, usually digging your own grave further, Elena recognizes his unspoken question. And the strategy. When Klaus doesn’t want to scare her, he falls silent because he knows she doesn’t like loud shouts.

Still shaking, and recognizing how trapped she is, and mainly because she never actually got to express these venomous thoughts towards the actual menace who took her, Elena mouthes the words, “You’re like him.”

Where do you think he got his affinity for dark objects?

And-- Relax, darling.

Do you think Katerina Petrova has the same birthmark on her thigh?

With the most caught off-guard look a Mikaelson has ever looked at her with, Kol reels back. Immediately, like a cat who retreats to her hiding spot, albeit with more trembling defiance, her back slams against the bathtub again.

As every warring emotion flashes through Kol’s expression, Elena tracks them warily. Until–

“I knew Sinclair,” he snaps– or that’s how Elena perceives it, but, because, while his eyes are screaming, his voice has been forced into something lower, less harmful. “I’m not like him. And he wasn’t like this when I knew him. Which is no excuse,” he says after a second’s delay. “But I can guess how the worst aspects of him escalated. I didn’t know he did that. He was a curse-obsessed witch when I’d met him. When he crossed the wrong vampires, they saw the best torment to him would be to turn him into one. They were right. Sinclair went insane trying to achieve the same level of power again; so he sought to steal, to possess. Have you ever read Doctor Faustus?”

Still shaking, but, strangely, hanging onto every word, Elena nods.

“After making a deal with the devil, he never held power again; could only have a vestige of controlling it,” Kol explains in a measured tone. “He could use witches to do his bidding, but never wield magic again. He couldn’t intimidate vampires, older, stronger vampires, anymore. So, he sought out the biggest prize he could; the most powerful vampire he could, and, in his twisted head, thought he was doing Klaus a favor. So he’d be in his debt, not knowing that there are some lines even a Mikaelson will not cross. Do you remember how Faustus died? ‘Faustus is gone: regard his hellish fall,’” he quotes. “Sinclair won’t hurt you anymore. Nik wiped out his organization, but there is even one person still alive, I'll personally make them suffer. No one will hurt you again. They’ll face the wrath of the Mikaelsons if they do.”

Klaus and Elijah are both downstairs, probably listening to her; Elena is trapped in this silence, but she doesn’t mind it.

Like that was too much seriousness, Kol rolls his eyes at himself. “You can actually talk. I was exaggerating. Don’t yell, though. The shower will hide it.”  

“He called me darling,” Elena says immediately, voicing the physical ache in her chest that’s been hurting for months. “He got that from you.”

Like with everything she says, Kol takes a moment to process, eerily similar to Elijah’s way of taking in information. Klaus is definitely more reactive than them. “All right, then,” Kol says eventually. “I won’t call you that any more. What would you prefer?” He hums, as if in thought. “Elijah already calls you ‘sweetheart’ and Nik thinks he has a monopoly over ‘love.’ Any suggestions?”

Is this conversation absurd or is it just her? Elena’s sure she’s been staring at Kol in disbelief for too long now. 

“Baby? Babe?” he tries, and it occurs to her that he might actually be trying to relax her. They don’t necessarily like each other in general; he’ll always resent her for not being able to take out the dagger. Jeremy will always be on her mind. But, now, he’s trying during this...tentative truce. “You bake a lot. Sugar? Cupcake?” 

The makings of an absurdly-timed, because she can’t possibly be doing this right now, smile are beginning to weaken her frown. Her resolve weakens the further down the list of terms of endearment that Kol goes through. Sweet potato makes her look away, if only to hide her smile, and Kol grins like he’d won something.

It’s not until later that night that Elena quietly pads outside of the room and finds them in the living room. Crossing her arms protectively over herself, she says, “Can we go to, like, the movies or something? I need to escape into something.”

So. Klaus and Elijah oblige. They sense that, yes, she needs an escape, and that, yes, she’s sensitive right now. Surprisingly, the movie that they end up choosing– it was between it, a horror movie, and a kids’ cartoon– is a shark one.

By the end of it, Elena had relaxed. As they’re walking out, she’s talking again.

“-- and that part where the shark was right there and no one reacted!” The Reef: Stalked had done what nothing else had– or maybe it was the Mikaelsons. If there’s one thing that can get Elena to snap back to herself and talk animatedly, it’s to make her watch a bad movie. “Oh, and the shark conveniently waited for them to make a plan and then attacked? And no major deaths? Come on.”

“Wow, you feel really passionately that no one died,” Klaus says, laughing as he lets Elena shove harmlessly at him. The touch thing had run its course, like a fever, and she found herself reaching for them again.

“I expected at least one of the sisters to die. And– and the title is Stalked , and they only say it once at the worst timing and most anticlimactic way possible,” Elena continues her diatribe. “The mom? Her kid’s bleeding out inside and she comes to say goodbye before they leave to get help and watches them go?”

“Appalling,” Elijah agrees obediently.  “And there was a major death: the shark.”

“Don’t even get me started on that.” Elena groans. “Why do I never feel sympathy for these characters? On one hand, you do have to respect that you’re in the sharks' home, you know? We can't hold them to the same human standards. The humans, though, they’re bloody stupid.” 

Klaus smiles like he always does when she uses a word he’d influenced. She’s even rewarded with a kiss, which has a Pavlovian-like on her using his vernacular. 

As he pulls away, he says, “If Elena Gilbert’s bleeding heart stops feeling sympathy for you, you’re done for.”  

Chapter Text

“I just want to stay in a lavender haze”

Chapter Twenty Five

Giddy with excitement– she actually got to drive a boat!-- Elena thinks it’s not possible to be filled with as much sunshine and happiness as she is right now. After her panic attack a week ago, Elijah and Klaus decided that Elena needs to be cheered up– and to experience fun outside of their manor. They still go to the movies, theater, and to restaurants, in twos or threes; doesn’t matter. But today Elijah took her to the docks.

“We will not be going into the water today,” he’d warned, which was clear, even though he was in a button-up shirt and not a suit for a change. “But we can still enjoy it.”

The speedboat was medium in size, shined a mighty lot with polished wood, and featured comfortable seats, and a million sailing stories Elijah has to share. Elena basks in the sunlight, Elijah, and the glass of champagne from a bottle they were sharing. When he offers, would you like to drive? she jumps at the opportunity. He lets her drive them, steadies her when she hesitates, but lets her have full control. Eventually, as it’s getting darker, he guides her to drive them back. Afterwards, they walk aimlessly around Mystic Falls.

Elijah makes this content sound, a hum she wants to bottle up and replay all day long, especially since it’s accompanied by him tightening his grip on his waist and pressing her closer to kiss the side of her head. She likes his little touches. The conditionless affection he offers with no show; the absent-minded pecks to her head, hair, and hand, the–

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. “A quoi penses-tu?”

She mouths the French version, and he nods in agreement that she’d gotten the pronunciation right, before she answers, honestly, “You.” She smiles sweetly at his eyebrow raise. “I am. I was just thinking about how much I want to stay in this moment, with you.”

Since it’s a Saturday, Mystic Falls is relatively busy, its streets brimming with natives and tourists alike. Elena’s pretty sailing outfit, which she’d found on her dresser this morning, doesn’t have any pockets. So her phone is in Elijah’s pocket since she’d forgone  a purse as well. The absence of that incessant need to take pictures isn’t there, that urge to document– even though logic dictates that she immortalize every moment of this interaction– it’s seamless. Besides, she needs her hands to hold onto Elijah the same way he’s holding on to her.

“Let’s do this every day,” suggests Elijah in his usual, quiet ‘I’ll give you the world’ way. She takes comfort in knowing he delivers on his promises. “We’ll have to bring Niklaus, but he can mix drinks for us or something.” He pretends he doesn’t hear her giggle stop! and shoulders her half-hearted attempt to get out of his hold. “He has to earn his keep somehow, Elena.”

“Stop,” Elena drawls teasingly. Kisses him once. “You’re so mean.” Kisses him again. “We have another boat,” she then adds, a little more tentatively. At Elijah’s arched eyebrow, she elaborates, “At my family’s cabin. You remember it?”

Elijah simultaneously smiles and winces. She winces, too, “Sorry.” This was her betrayal, if it can be called that. I’m going to have to call your bluff, Elena. And she’d violently proven him wrong. “Anyway, um.” It’s not good to keep up a tally between them. Still walking, she beats him by a step and starts walking backwards; immediately, he takes her hands so she doesn’t trip, but doesn’t stop her. “It’s actually one of my favorite places in the world and has so many memories. It’s where we made s’mores; where Jeremy broke his arm jumping off the dock, where we’d play board games until the morning. If I could live there, I would.”

“Then why don’t we?” says Elijah. Because they’re a plural now, a collective. What are we having for dinner? Where are we going tonight? Where are we going to live, now.

Elena almost trips, though, but her imbalance doesn’t stand a chance against Elijah’s vigilante watch. “Seriously?”

“We can do a trial run,” says Elijah, easily, so agreeably. “We have multiple homes around the world, sweetheart. We can alternate. It doesn’t have to be Mystic Falls,” he adds, voice softening. Her cheek is cupped in his hand; they stop in the middle of a sidewalk. “It can be Greece, Italy. Spain. Dubai. Paris. Your family’s cabin. We’d follow you anywhere.”

She’s unable to make sense of her incoherent thoughts, shamefully unable to articulate her words any better. I want to take photos of you, write poetry about you, give soliloquies about you all go through her head. Poetry– she used to actually write it. Where’s all of that now? Somewhere back in under Wickery Bridge? Sometime before she lost her ability to sleep and rest. Since finding herself more with the Mikaelsons, she hadn’t even thought of trying.

“I think it’s the other way around,” Elena murmurs, kind of teasing and also one hundred percent serious.

Elijah kisses her, devoting every promise into this moment, until his arms wrap around her waist. As he dips her, her giggle is lost in the kiss. It’s also remarkably natural for her to let him hold on to her, trusting him to hold her up. 

Any flush she has as he finally pulls away is intensified when she sees Elijah’s reflection in the storefront glass. He’d taken a step back and now had his head tilted, sharp gaze honed in on her in such a focused, predator-like way that reminds of how much he and Klaus had audibly expressed their love of her reactions.

To make matters of her reddened neck and cheeks worse, as he pulls her back up, Elijah’s smirk softens into a smile, “I love that you still blush.”

She thinks that she’s never been smiled at the way Elijah smiles at her right now. The severity of his usual expression softens and gentles, dramatically, and the difference between their heights has him looking down at her already.  

She doesn’t say it, but she puts it out to the world so much that her eyes bleed that meaning. “Kiss me,” her lips say instead. And with the same autonomy, her body melts and molds against his when he obeys.  

One peck turns to two turns into a French kiss turns into her shyly giggling and ducking into his shoulder at the attention they must have garnered from making out in public. Her hair masks his soft chuckle as well.

They’re steps away from the café he’s been leading them, and Elijah is in the middle of relaying a childhood story, one involving him, Klaus, and Henrik, whom she only hears about every so often. This story is not sad; in fact, she has to grab onto his arm because she’s giggling so much.

“-- and then Rebekah tries to–” His amused smile widens into a grin upon seeing her reaction. “Elena, you need to stop giggling so much. I’m trying to tell you a story.”

“I’m sorry,” she tries to say seriously, but then she pictures a naked Elijah trying to lecture Klaus about sneaking out, both of them unknowingly surrounded by poison ivy. She continues half-heartedly and laughingly. “Je suis désolée,” she mocks I'm sorry, “You’re trying to tell me a very traumatizing story and I’m laughing about it. My apologies.”

“Merci,” he says pointedly, eyes narrowing with each escaped chortle. “Anyway, Kol was a hooligan, he runs off with our–” And so the story continues, each part more scandalous than the other.

There’s a part where her next laugh is raucous, loud enough to attract a few looks and for Elijah to pull her closer by the waist. 

His hands move as if he’s about to tickle her as punishment. He playfully attempts to shush her a few times, but the couple of pecks he presses to her beaming cheeks say that he’s savoring this moment, too.

“Honey, no.”

Silently, Elena scowls at Kol, whose shoulder would be touching hers if he wasn’t, you know, a phantom form of himself. And she doesn’t actually scowl directly at him, since Klaus and Elijah are both in the living room with her; she has to do it at the green Duolingo figure, which works to the same effect.

“You can keep ignoring me,” says Kol; for the past few minutes, he’s been lounging by her, just like he’s been doing for the past two weeks since he triggered her into having a physically painful pain attack. She’s been mostly ignoring him, but it’s 85% because Elijah and Klaus haven’t left her side. What was she supposed to do? Talk to thin air? That would for sure make the non-daggered Mikaelsons send her to a mental asylum. “Or you can save yourself the trouble of repeating the lesson. You’re nearly out of those stars.”

Her huff of air doesn’t go unnoticed. Klaus looks up from his painting; he had taken to setting up an extra easel in the living room, although Elijah banished him away from the Persian rug. Elijah sets his financial paper down. “Elena, is everything all right?” 

“Oh, she’s perfectly fine,” says Kol, “Elle se mit en colère–”

“What does ‘elle se mit en colère’ mean?” Elena asks Elijah.

“It’s another way of saying ‘she got angry.’ Colère is synonymous with rage.” He pronounces it as ‘raa-ge’ and not ‘ray-ge.’ “I’ve noticed it’s been a while since you asked us to do one of the speaking exercises for you.” An exchanged look with Klaus. 

An invisible clock is counting down her linguistic failure. She hates it when she gets anything less than compliments on her speed when she completes a level. “I skip them,” she admits, because she doesn’t lie, even pretty little white lies, when she can, when she can help it, to the Mikaelsons. “I don’t want to bother you.”

More like, unconsciously, thanks to the looming secret of Kol haunting her, she’s been kind of withdrawing from them whenever he’s around, which is around the clock. 

“Well, that won’t do.” It’s Klaus, who sets down his pencil– he still hasn’t gotten to the painting part yet. He starts coming over to her. “Repeat after me, Elena, voulez vous–”

“Voulez vous.”

“Coucher.”

The devilish tint to his eyes spells trouble, but she can’t resist those dimples when they’re directed at full force at her. “Coucher,” she murmurs. 

He reaches her; while she’s still sitting, he takes her chin, raises it. “Avec moi.” His reddened lips wrap around each vowel, syllable, with inviting intrigue.

“I know the song,” challenges Elena, even as his smile spreads like he thinks she’s adorable, like Elijah smiling when he tells her I love that you still blush. “Voulez-vous. Coucher. Avec moi. Ce soir? ” She spaces them out to speak teasingly, and laughs when she’s picked up.

“Will never say no to that, love.”

“Look!”

Elena outright jumps when, after getting dressed after a shower, Kol calls out from the bathroom. “Elena!”

Silently, she pads over to him, still drying her hair with a towel. She finds him in front of the fogged up mirror.

“Doppelganger blood is lovingly potent,” he says, and gestures to the heart he’d drawn in the space where she usually leaves her messages for Klaus and Elijah. Her jaw drops, and she points at him in disbelief. Proudly, he nods.

Wow, she mouthes, and he beams. “Imagine how many ways I can freak out Nik and Lijah. Redrum, redrum!”

A snort accidentally climbs up her throat. Don’t, she tells him silently. He narrows his eyes playfully, as if saying ‘make me.’

At that moment, she hears someone coming up and has barely enough time to train her expression into one that’s neutral before Elijah appears. An automatic, Miss Mystic Falls-approved smile lifts her lips, and he reciprocates genuinely. 

He’s here to get something, but he notices the mirror and goes into the mirror; makes a satisfied hum; draws another heart under it; kisses her on his way out.

Kol shudders, as if it’d been meant for him. “Never doing that again.”

“All right,” says Kol, “And why are we choosing to put ai instead of ais?”

Without saying a word, Elena points to the word that had indicated the verb tense she needed to use and je instead of tu.

“We might make a bilingual out of you yet.”

Elena brings up Kol exactly twice. Both times end in complete and utter refusal. 

The picture of the regal, decadent, powerful-enough-to-relax, Klaus looks to be the quintessential indulgent vampire lord as he lounges on the patio. She’s drunk herself full (and will gladly continue) on his company on this rare morning off. The past week has been preparing for a Miss Mystic Falls event, and even Elijah had been gone for two days on an urgent business trip he’s been putting off for months, apparently. Klaus had kept her busy enough, though.

Like this morning. An unhurried Klaus; a pretty Klaus; looks sharp enough to cut that soften in her presence Klaus; Klaus, won't stop running his hands over her exposed, Klaus.

And vice versa. Elena had yet to change out of her nightgown, one of the bespoke pieces that magically appear whenever Klaus or Elijah leaves the house. Today, her lace sliver of fabric is a flimsy white, and something about it has made Klaus tug her onto his lap more than usual. 

Their breakfast spread of pastries and carafe of coffee is long consumed, but neither of them has made a move to leave the sun-bathed terrace. She suspects he won’t, not as long as she keeps letting him caress her thigh; he knows she won’t, not as long as he keeps kissing her like this, leaving strands of goosebumps in place of his touch, and not as long as he keeps letting her rest in his lap, tracing his chest through his open robe.

Few things in existence could have moved her at that moment; at the top of that list is her other paramour: Elijah. At first, she doesn’t hear the car pull into the driveway, but then, Klaus sighs. His lips press against her hair. “It’s my brother.” God, his voice still hasn’t lost that gruff quality from sleep.

Adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin– whatever you call it– shoots straight into her heart, waking her up. Klaus snorts, but his touch to her chin is affectionate. “Go. I’ll follow.”

She makes a happy noise, but mostly kisses him before she bounces up and back inside the apartment. The marble floor of the manor’s foyer almost has her slip, but she makes it to the front door. If Elijah had something locked and ready to say before she opened it, it dies down on his lips when he sees her. Truth be told, she’d always thought that Elijah was intense. It wasn’t because he was older; enough of their stories about them proved he was just as intense, if not more, all his immortal life. At night, when she lays in their arms, not knowing which one of them was stroking her hair and whose hand had lifted her shirt to rest on her bare stomach, she thinks about…well, the way they look at her. Presently, Elijah, specifically. 

It’s too direct– his stare. Most people hide their desire when they look at someone they admire. Klaus’ gaze always found hers. Not Elijah. Once they’d, well, locked it down, he’s been surprisingly selfish with his stares, indulgent; his tastes are decadent. He leans against walls and looks her up and down with little regard for politeness or manners. And he smiles because he likes what he sees. She smiles back, and sue her if it's a little triumphant. She has everything she could need.

They run into each other in the middle of the hallway, looking up just in time to avoid– well, she more than him; he seems unconcerned with the space between him and things, she’d noticed– knocking each over.

Except for her. After her panic attack, Kol has been respectful of her personal space. He had been genuinely distracted enough to bump into her.

Even though he can pass through her, he doesn’t. The awkward little dance-y dance of trying to step around each other but only just coming face to face each time ensues. Once, twice, and–

“All right,” Kol says, “You go right and I’ll go left.”

The snort that escapes her is unpremeditated. Elena has to wipe his hand over his mouth to stop the exasperated smile from widening. That’s the worst way–

Kol laughs.

Okay, so maybe her heart can fit one more.

Chapter Text

“I want to brainwash you

into loving me forever”

Chapter Twenty Six

For as long as he could remember, even as a forgettable human, Kol has been more or less an outsider. He saw the careful evaluation Esther and Michael regarded him with; how Esther was always careful to hide her more dangerous grimoire from him, predicting that he– he was a wild card; a risk; a killer. To someone like Elijah, who valued humanity, who somehow treated human life as more precious than vampires’, to someone like Rebekah, whose maternal instinct was tragically abundant in every decision she made, and especially– especially to someone like Klaus, who could read every thought that went through Kol’s mind, because he had it first and didn’t act on it. Kol did, so they treated him differently, for doing what they were too afraid to do.

But who could blame him, though, right? His sanity, a taunt string as a witch, was pulled until it was frayed as a vampire. No one understood him; his experience. The physical ache he felt where his magic used to be. Its absence. A part that had integrated into him so deeply that his identity started and ended with the magic at his fingertips. He could never replicate that feeling; perhaps briefly, when he held power over people; their lives. In this regard, his family understood him, and he understood them back. While they usually never expressed their real opinion of him, he heard their erratic heartbeat, saw the sheen of sweat drip down their foreheads, noted their hard swallows; and of course, he felt their evasiveness. 

It was no wonder that most vampires avoided them like the plague– and not just because they were the ‘Originals.’ It was that his reputation was considered laughable in comparison with Elijah’s and Klaus’. Any threat would be clocked in immediately– the moment someone made the decision to attack them, Klaus would have throngs of spies to see it; the moment said attacker came within a few miles’ range, Elijah would have them all figured out, like pieces of a chess board. As much as Elijah cherished human lives, he had barely any qualms taking a vampire’s.  

And if he needed to be called, Kol would cut them at the knees: paralyzing them with unadulterated fear, the kind that made a human’s heart stop from terror. That’s when his brothers unleashed him.

Their presence in Mystic Falls, Virginia was…lackluster. Truth be told, Kol would eat his words the second he stepped foot in a small town. Too stifling; honestly, he’d thought Nik was joking when he said he’d built them a mansion here. It used to be that he and Kol shared the same affinity to cities, brimming with culture and fun.  

Mystic Falls was a phase, he had been convinced. People would be suspicious, they said. A family who never aged would raise some eyebrows, especially in a small town when your business was everyone else’s business.

He supposed, though, that life would grow tedious if it weren’t for shaking things up once in a while. Vampires often felt the drag of days in the form of depression. Life stretched ahead hopelessly. There wasn’t a movie they haven’t watched; a book they haven’t read– or even a habit they hadn’t mastered. As time went on, he suspected that fewer and fewer things caught his attention– and maintained it. That’s when Kol got ‘destructive,’ according to Elijah.

Presently, the strangest thing is happening. It’s been over a month since he’d been dragged from his restless slumber and tasted the sweet ambrosia of a doppelganger’s blood. Since he’d haunted Elena Gilbert’s every waking moment.

And life still hadn’t dragged. In fact, he found himself looking forward to it.

If he could go back in time, he’d have cut Antoine Sinclair at the knees as a witch, even, to minimize his influence over the supernatural world. 

She doesn’t know that he doesn’t have to show himself to her to see her. His consciousness is tied to her. Currently, he’s watching her on one of her dates with Klaus.

All of that in mind, it was a testament to how alluring Elena was. For once, his attention was on something other than his magic or thirst– though that wasn’t entirely true. His eyes, narrowed with fierce focus, tracked Klaus’ hand as it trailed Elena’s thigh. An obscure French song played loudly through the speakers Elijah had installed when he’d first moved in, for Elena’s sake. Like all of his family members, Kol is fluent in the language. The lyrics are more explicit than Elena will understand, but they’re sensual. Kol doesn’t know any of these new artists; but he knows it has a tantalizing beat, and it apparently made Elena dance like she was in the 1920s. It was quickly becoming his favorite song.

Elena was absolutely wicked, he was also realizing; and strangely adorable, especially for her generation. Klaus had taken advantage of the rhythm to pull her close. Clever girl. She only allowed the intimate touch for a brief moment before she seamlessly twirled away, leaving him wanting more. They’d shared brief eye contact then. Could she sense him?

But he’d register the spark he felt when Elena got too close, when she was aware of him, and while he felt reluctance from her, the restraint that followed was genuine. She wasn’t putting on a show– other than the very entertaining show she was putting on right now.

Being Miss Mystic Falls shouldn't have been her first calling– not when Elena’s body glided so easily across the floor, twisted, twirled, and had Kol mesmerized.

If his brothers could see him, they’d be worried. She was the only thing he saw, so of course he was bound to get obsessed with her. The sound of her delicate voice never failed to grab his attention. If he felt ill at ease, all he needed to do was call for her, and she was there. Sure, she made him work for her smiles; even harder for her genuine laughter, but he collected those moments triumphantly.

When she undaggers him, he bets she’d fit perfectly under his arm, loving, forgiving of his sins, and able to predict exactly what he wanted the moment he made the decision to raise his arm. She’d forgiven his brothers; loves them. She’d forgive him; love him, too.

Kol’s reflection appears in the industrial-sized freezer door as Elena shut it, only she’s already looking at him. “It’s true,” he’s saying, and she’s pretending like she’s listening to someone on the other end of her AirPods. “The 1920s are the Mikaelsons’, as a collective, favorite era.”

“You, I get,” Elena is saying, putting the frozen vegetables in her cart. She pushes it to move on from the frozen section of the grocery; Kol follows. “Nik, too. But Elijah?”

“What, do you think he hobnobbed with Sartre and Camus all day long? No, put a flapper dress in front of him and he’ll start to be uncouth, you’ll see. Besides,” Kol adds; he beats her by one step and walks backwards, uncaring of running into anything. “It was about more than one thing. The flapper dresses, the nightlight, the music– the Jazz!”

Elena’s shaking her head, sort of smiling, even if she hides it reaching for a box of oats. “I don’t believe you,” she sing-songs quietly, teasingly, enjoying the way, even after, what, a month of hovering over her, Kol still gets riled up, indulges her, when she pushes.

“A few drinks in him,” Kol insists, “And he’s scat singing.” He goes on to demonstrate said singing, even when Elena laughingly shushes him like he’s actually causing a disturbance in the grocery store. “Test my theory,” Kol says, then, “Flapper. Jazz. Drinks.”

“Maybe I will.” Elena tilts her chin up, accepting the challenge. “Okay, so you liked the 20s. Do you like today?”

“I love today,” Kol answers. With every item she puts in the cart, he follows, as if cataloging it. “The food, definitely. The technology. The music. The company.”

Okay, so here’s the thing. When did it start, Elena doesn’t know. When Kol started flirting– or at least, she thinks that’s what he does. And he gives away so little indications. With no way to read him, no history to draw back on, she doesn’t know what to do. And he’s relentless. He leaves messages on her mirror after her showers; he takes the empty seat at the table next to her; he’s single handedly solved every difficult French lesson that came her way.

“Like Taylor Swift,” Kol adds, provoking her.

“Keep Taylor Swift’s name out of your mouth if you’re not serious.”

He laughs; freely and unbridled. “I mean it. It’s a toss up between Cruel Summer and mad woman for me. This generation’s strongest lyricist, they call her.”

The cart stops abruptly in the middle of the sweets aisle; Elena stops before it. Regards the tallest Mikaelson. “You’re serious. You’re actually serious.”

“'I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?'" he quotes, sort of singing but sort of not, but with such a devilish grin that Elena huffs a breath, the last of the breath she momentarily loses. She cannot read him.

The next time Kol is brought up, she’s–

If possible, the gasp that was rising in her throat somehow doubles, her oxygen deprived lungs lagging in catching up. 

Somewhere, she’s aware of the covers being ripped off her and another person adjusting their position so that they’re at her side, but Elena just can’t breathe . Familiar hands hold onto Elena’s wrists delicately but unwaveringly, holding them away from her body. 

“Elena,” he’s saying. “Elena, listen to me.”

Feeling helplessly stuck and again makes Elena feel like she’s drowning. Every time she succeeds in lifting her head only to have someone holding her in place might as well be them dunking her head over and over again in water. The water clambers up her throat and wrestles its way inside her nostrils and settles there, leaving her gasping airlessly. 

New hands, large and calloused, grasp her head, clasping both her cheeks. Elena’s unseeing gaze finds Elijah.

“We understand you’re scared. Try to breathe,” he says quickly, sounding sharper than Elena’s ever heard him. “You’re making her feel suffocated by holding her down,” he tells who she can tell is Klaus, who’s in front of her.

“Look at her arms,” bites out Klaus, sounding more aggressive than she’d guessed; she tries drawing away from him, but all she can do is swallow oxygen-less air with useless inhales. “Look at her arms. She’ll hurt herself again. She’ll draw blood.”

“Don’t make me interfere,” warns Elijah.

"Trust me," says Klaus, then repeats it to Elena. Somehow, that gets through the fog and murkiness blocking her vision. "There you are, love," drawls Klaus, smiling in relief when her eyes connect with his clearly, "Do you want to be held or to have some distance?"

Her sleep-addled brain takes a few moments to figure it out. Mindful of her every move, Klaus lets go before she even starts to squirm.

She immediately stumbles out of the bed, getting so tangled with the covers that she almost falls and catches herself before her knees touch the ground. Both jump to help her, but neither touches her. Elena doesn’t stop until she’s at the window, until she’s gasping at the free, unburdened air outside.

“You can usually tell what triggers her,” Elijah says, when she stands there for a few minutes, to Klaus. “Why hold on this time?”

Elena looks down at arms; Klaus’ words registering with her. Her arms have long, angry scratches running along them. They’re fresh and sting and– and she has to raise her gaze to stop looking at them. She meets Klaus’ eyes instead, who immediately comes over, his wrist already raising up to his mouth. 

She shakes her head immediately, even if she falters at his frown. “I’m…better now,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out.”

“What matters is if you’re feeling all right,” Elijah says. Where Klaus had hesitated a step away, Elijah closes the distance; she leans into him, and that’s the permission he needs to press a kiss to her forehead.

“It always feels like I’m drowning,” in the comfort of his protective arms, under Klaus’ scorching gaze, and with Kol’s eyes meeting hers from across the room, Elena confesses. “It used to be that I’m being chased, then running, and now it’s sinking. I’m locked in rooms and watch as they fill up with water. I try the locks and windows. I wake up just as I’m pulled under; that’s why I gasp so hard.”

Klaus makes a sympathetic sound and takes her from Elijah’s hold. “Sweetheart,” Klaus murmurs. He doesn’t say anything else; doesn’t have. They understand each other’s pain to an extent. He knows that feeling safe and protected will do more for her peace of mind than anything else. Between him and Elijah, they manage to coax her back to bed.

“Her nightmares are escalating,” in that stage between sleep and awareness, she hears Elijah murmur. His hand hasn’t stopped stroking her side; she’s facing him, although they’re so close that her forehead is resting against his chest. Klaus, who’s holding her, keeps a reassuring grip on her. “It’s because of him, you know.”

There is no response from Klaus. Not right away.

“Waking Kol up is not an option,” his voice is nearly inaudible but rumbling. “The punishment for daggering him will fall on Elena’s shoulders, you know that; he’ll hurt her to hurt us.”

And Elena must have made a distressed sound, because they fall silent. 

“Not necessarily.” Elijah and Klaus continue their conversation in hushed voices outside of their room. It’d taken Kol physical strength, never mind the fact that he doesn’t have a physical body, to tear himself away from Elena, even if she was asleep. But she had the deepest, prettiest pained frown, and she kept burrowing into Klaus and Elijah like they’d save her. But even he understood the importance of this; had to listen to them. 

Thankfully, he’d retained his enhanced hearing. So, he sits on the chair by the window Elena likes to read in, gaze on her and his ears focused outside.

“He’ll share the connection with her.”

Is that what it is? Kol almost laughs. Figures that his brother’s voice was unconvinced. They didn’t want to share her.

“Kol never played well with others,” Klaus argues, almost raising his voice to a normal volume. “Jealousy was always his greatest vice. He won’t share.”

The covers had been pulled over Elena before they’d left the room, but she’d kicked them away as she’d immediately started reaching for the void space where they were. She’d calmed down pretty quickly, though. Could it be that because Kol was only a few feet away?

“However,” Elijah counters, “it’s hurting Elena. Not waking him up. She almost hurt herself today.”

“Kol will hurt her worse.”

Kol’s lip curls in distaste. He’d noticed Elena’s nightmare right away. It took his brothers precious minutes to wake up, enough that she’d scratched herself in her panic while he uselessly shouted at them to wake her up. Elijah says something, but it’s beyond Kol, who only wants to focus on his doppelganger now. He gets up, tests her response to him, and finds that she shifts, as if wanting to be closer to him. The second he’s close enough, Elena’s eyes flutter away. 

He freezes, only to realize too late that she couldn’t see him; not unless he wanted to. Charged tension fills the room as she slowly wakes up and sits up; is she searching for him? But, eventually, she gets up and searches for Klaus and Elijah.

Kol breathes out. He needs to convince her harder than ever to undagger him. Maybe he needs to change his methods.

Chapter Text

“And there was one prize I'd cheat to win”

Chapter Twenty Seven

When she wakes up, she feels a part of her missing. Instinctively, she reaches for her right, and feels Elijah reach over her to grab that hand. He lays a kiss on her palm as she opens her eyes. It’s rare that she wakes up without one of them. A pit in her stomach starts, her mood turning sad and sour.

“I upset him last night, didn’t I?” she asks Elijah quietly, not sure if Klaus was home or not, not brave enough to ask.

Elijah breathes out. In. Opens his arms so that she’d come closer. The covers rustle as she melts into him. “Niklaus,” he starts, voice low enough that she thinks Klaus may be home after all. A sigh. He restarts, “Do you know when you want something for so long, put so much thought into making it a reality– that relief and possession that follows? It’s not my place to speak of his past romances, but it’s been hundreds of years since my brother allowed him to fall.” Elijah hesitates just before he says it, to fall in love. “Anything that jeopardizes that will meet a swift fate.”

Elena’s heart then aches, for both Klaus and Kol, who’s– who’s– “But what if Kol doesn’t threaten what we have?”

Elijah’s expression softens, like he, too, feels her anguish; barely experiences it himself, though. “There’s no way to know that.”

Afterward, Elena’s feeling melancholic. Klaus was downstairs, and they’d all had a near silent breakfast together, save for asking everyone’s plan for the day. Klaus planned to lock himself painting but welcomed Elena to join him whenever. Elijah had work. Elena, without any Miss Mystic Falls duties, was unmoored. A to-do list is in front of her on the kitchen island, and she’s staring ahead in thought when Kol comes into her line of vision.

Automatically, a smile lifts the corners of her lips. She likes seeing him, since he’s become flirty and teasing with her and stopped threatening her with Jeremy. 

Good morning, she mouthes, aware of the two keen vampire ears that might overhear her talking to ‘herself.’ 

Her smile widens when he mouthes it back. Good morning.

“Take me away,” Kol then says, dramatically, if she might say so herself. “I can’t just keep talking at you all day long. If you don’t say something back, I’ll throw myself out of a window.”

They’re on the ground floor, and Elena, with her own eyes, has actually seen Damon throw him off a balcony before. Plus, he’s, like, an Original. And a ghost, so she shrugs and hides her laugh at his outraged reaction.

Okay, okay, she indulges. She closes her notebook and bounces out of the kitchen, gives each of Klaus and Elijah a kiss goodbye, telling them she’ll take a walk and pick up a few things from her house. Kol is in her passenger seat when she reaches the car.

To her surprise, when they get to her house, Kol rattles off the passcode without her having to dig through her phone notes for it. They spend the next two hours or so there, talking about everything and nothing. Because they’d been talking about drama, she asks, “Hey, what’s that play you had actors brutally recreate?”

“Must we bring up the past? I’m flooded with guilt,” Kol says, so sincerely that she has to blink.

And she thinks she might have a better understanding of him, in general, because she recognizes his superficial regret.  

“Are you just saying that because you’re worried about my reaction?” Elena says. 

In response, he tilts his head, his lightheartedness giving way to a neutral mask. It’s almost eerie, reminding her of the ‘psychotic’ Original everyone warns her about. “Why do you say that, my love?” One of his favorite new nicknames for her, one she’s sure he picked to one day to spite his brother.

The neutrality gives way to a not-so-empty smile. With alacrity, he straightens into a sitting position. “You’re growing bolder. I’ve been waiting for this,” he adds, even as she experiences whiplash from his reaction. He’s been waiting for her to ask him a question? “Are you still mad I bit you when you undaggered me?”

The question is so out of the thoughts that had plagued Elena for the past few weeks that she doesn’t answer right away. The more she stares, the sharper Kol’s gaze gets, which abruptly widens when she blurts, “Oh, no. No,” she says, only realizing that he wouldn’t have asked this if it wasn’t important to him. “No, I was never upset about it. You’d just woken up from, what, a year under? Of course you were going to lunge at the human in the room. I’m not mad,” she clarifies at the end. It mattered to him if she was angry about that or not?

Unreadable emotions cross his expression before he settles on another smile. “Good.” Like that’s it, then, an open-shut case. “It was Hamlet.”

“Really?”

“You like it, don’t you?”

“I do,” Elena says; leans forward, and then hesitates, “Klaus and Elijah don’t want to undagger you because they think they might hurt me.” She watches out for if his eyes darken. “I want to prove them wrong, but…I need to know that you’re not just telling me what you think I want to hear, too.”

The biggest landmine of a question, because Elena herself is indecisive about this; how to approach this, especially alone.

“Bolder,” Kol praises, perusing her, the tension she’s trying to hide, frowning. “But I’m afraid this answer requires more time to craft.” Exactly the opposite of what she wants to hear; the look in his eyes sharpens. “Because you’re still afraid of my brothers.”

Like a film reel flashing behind her eyes, Klaus’ stone-like expression as he daggered Kol comes to mind; her panic as she realizes Elijah was behind her, coming to the conclusion that they were trapping her.

“I’d assume Elijah lost his edge when it comes to you after all this time,” Kol goes on, “But trusting Nik…”

“Are you still questioning his motives?” He’d expressed his doubts about Klaus’ ‘kindness’ during their first conversation when she’d caught him up.

“Not anymore,” Kol answers, and it rings true. During this entire time, his dark eyes never strayed once from her, the pressure intense in meaning. A Mikaelson’s full, undivided attention never fails to unnerve Elena, even if Klaus and Elijah’ these days send a shiver of delight down her spine. “You know how to handle my brothers,” Kol tells her, “I’ll let you figure this one out. Perhaps you can tell them that my priorities have changed.”

Alarming. The word comes to mind. My priorities have changed– what does that mean for someone like Kol Mikaelson?

“But don’t tell them the truth,” Kol says, taking advantage of her frozen state as he comfortably leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees; the picture of careless and unaffected. “That my regret is arbitrary; and that the first thing I’ll do when I’m re-awakened.” his voice turns lighter, a smile evident in them; his eyes, a midnight black, fall on her neck. “Will be to go back for seconds.”

“What are you doing?” asks Elijah as he comes over casually, two cups of tea in hand, one of which he hands immediately to Elena, who’s working on the coffee table with a mass of papers, her laptop, and a bunch of journals simultaneously spread out in front of her. “You look stressed, sweetheart. Are you all right?”

She accepts the coffee and the kiss with a ‘thank you’ and goes back to work. She is stressed. “Reading Jonathan Gilbert’s journals.”

A head tilt. “I heard about them. Is there a specific reason you’re reading them or just for curiosity’s sake?”

A heavy sigh. “Kinda?” she says. “It’s nice to read the words of another Gilbert. I’m determined to read through them all before locking them up once and for good. He was…a little unhinged. Made all the poor choices. All at once.”

His lips twitch like he’s thinking she said something funny but he’s polite enough not to laugh at someone’s expense.

“May I?” he says instead, and waits for her nod of consent to lower himself to the floor next to her. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“Just mentions of magic.” She shows him all the journals except for the one she’s holding that she’d managed to find at her house. 

“Emily Bennett?” Elijah asks, showing that he knows more about Jonathan’s story than she’d expected.

“More like curses.” Elena’s not even being subtle now; her eyes catch Elijah’s. “Connections.”

His lips tighten. “You wish to understand more about your connection with us. And Kol.” The first thing I’ll do when I’m re-awakened is go back for seconds. 

No secrets; Elena has never been one to lie before this. Shovel, grave. “What if it’s not just Kol? What if Rebekah comes back to town one day? She will mind me climbing into bed with her.” That is if she doesn’t smother Elena with a pillow first.

“I have thought of Rebekah,” Elijah tells her honestly. “However, I can assure you that she’s somewhere in Paris right now. And, let’s just say, you won’t be having her blood any time soon. If you’d allow me, I can help you. After all, I have to pose for a portrait soon,” he adds dryly, but with a charming smile. Elena giggles. She’d nearly forgotten about this double or nothing favor.

“I’ll give you a loin cloth.” Her smile is uncontrollable. “I’m practicing on Roman statues to get it right first.” That night, in bed, later, when they were telling Klaus about their bed, he’d spent a solid five minutes murmuring ideas for Elijah’s painting while Elijah kept a neutral expression, the only thing betraying his mask being the amusement dancing in his eyes. 

Elena hands Elijah a few journals. He settles next to her. 

The next few minutes are as peaceful as can be– especially knowing that at any moment now, Kol might be watching. Or, worse, he might be watching Jeremy. When I’m re-awakened– did he just ask her about being mad about the first bite so he’d do it again? What kind of– ugh! She can’t read him.

Then, as the minutes pass, she gets lost in another stream of thoughts, putting down a journal entirely. When Elijah glances at her, she smiles sweetly around her metal straw as she gazes at his side profile. She’s in love with how strong he looks at all, but especially when he’s focused. The fact that she’s allowed to shamelessly study him is one of her favorite parts of her current reality. 

“May I?” Elijah says after a while of speed reading through the one she handed him; he’s gesturing at the other journals. She nods in permission. A headache is starting to pound at her head.

The frown returns, and then she leans back to rest her arm on the cushion, chin going to rest on the back of her hand. “At the risk of sounding completely like a teenager with a crush, especially since you’re reading journals my vampire-hating ancestor left: you look hot.”

Her reward makes her make a note to compliment Elijah every chance she gets. The smile she gets is indulgent and delicious. This is better. Easier. He’s not threatening her.

With a lover’s satisfied hum, she leans back. The ice coffee is just how she likes it. Lost in thought, she notices that Elijah’s coffee looks different and leans over to take a sip to compare and finds that his is sweeter than usual. She has been influencing him; she knew it!

The coffee should make her more strung-out or make her headache worse, considering the anxiety tensing up her insides already, but it’s always had the opposite effect on her. As long as it’s not an outright quad, coffee might as well be chamomile tea.

Around fifteen minutes later, that’s how Klaus finds them when he comes home. Her, resting sleepily on Elijah’s shoulder; Elijah diligently working through her journals and organizing them into neat piles, and two empty coffee cups that Elijah has only had a quarter of and she the rest.

Upon seeing her other lover, her boyfriend, the caffeine provides her with an extra boost of whatever that love-happy hormone is called, and she rises immediately to her feet to adoringly greet him. “Hi,” she says sweetly. 

“ Hello .” He sounds indulgent, her favorite mood, and she melts into his kiss when he gathers her up in his arms. A few teasing kisses later, Klaus says, “There is a desk where Sylviane Agacinski might have worked on right over there in the corner, yet you’re both on the floor.”

Elijah makes a sound, the most he’s willing to contribute to this conversation with Klaus with how focused he is. Elena smiles nevertheless. “It’s my fault. There were so many journals that I needed in front of me.”

“And the dining room didn’t have–”

“The dining room didn’t have Elijah,” she finishes for him, shifting shyly when his expression changes in understanding. Her fingers trail down from where she’s been clutching his shoulder to grab his hands. “How was your day?”

He smiles. A hand releases one of hers to caress her cheek. “Je n'ai pas à me plaindre. Ma journée augmente rapidement en qualité.”

It takes her a second to– I can’t complain. My day has just increased in quality. 

“Oh.” She blushes; smiles. “A ton service, alors.” She thinks she says it right. The way Klaus indulges her sometimes, she can never tell. “Do you want to join us? You don’t have to read if you don’t want to?”

As always, she’s caught off-guard by how easygoing Klaus can be. Kol was wrong. Klaus can be kind. “What are we reading exactly?” Klaus takes one of the journals. “Ah, Jonathan Gilbert?”

For the first time since he’d sat down, Elijah looks up to them. The regal cut to the structure of his face, his kind eyes. Elena turns to Klaus, “I’m trying to see if he knew anything about connection curses.”

“We have some grimoires upstairs with some information if you’re interested,” Klaus offers. “I didn’t know you were interested in this.”

“I am,” Elena says, as gently and non-abrasively as she can. “I want to know if the curse can escalate, if it’s reached, like, an equilibrium. And there’s a geographical aspect to it because I haven’t dreamt about Rebekah, ever. So is it Kol’s proximity that’s giving me nightmares?”

Inhale. Exhale. Focusing on the ramifications of the connection curses only worked for two seconds because as soon as she lifts her eyes, she finds Klaus and Elijah exchanging a look. A glare, actually, and alarm licks up her spine.

“You guys are fighting?” she asks quietly, her expression falling.

Klaus looks away first, but it’s to cup her face. “Brothers fight,” he informs her. “It’s fine.”  

“We’ll try our best to never allow our disagreements to touch you,” Elijah says. He gets up; kisses her cheek.

But it’s not fine. Not when this particular family has violent tendencies for daggering each other.

Chapter Text

“And I cut off my nose

just to spite my face”

Or:

"Everything I touch becomes sick with sadness."

Chapter Twenty Eight

When Klaus approaches the kids’ circle with a devilish smirk and mischievous dimples, Elena’s smile turns confused.

“Tiny humans,” he says, and Elena almost winces. “Look over there.” All of the fifteen tiny humans’ heads swivel to where he’s pointing. “That’s Elijah. He’ll be taking over your care. Ask him if he has candy. He’s convinced easily.”

“Kids, don’t –” rushes Elena, but it’s lost in the mayhem of all the kids jumping up and running up to the Original. With a palm raised to her mouth, sort of in horror, she watches as he’s approached. Surprise makes way for confusion for a pointed look in Klaus’ direction. He says something, and it has all the kids enraptured. He starts walking towards one of the booths in the park, and like a little line of baby ducks, all neatly follow him. At the last second, he turns around. A wink makes Elena blush.

Once she’s sure that kids are fine, she turns to the ‘innocent’ Klaus. “Their parents are going to have questions about who’s buying their kids candy.”

“You were barely holding on,” Klaus counters. “I could see you hating every second of this.”

“I–” Elena stops. She had been counting the minutes down until she could pass on this duty. Storytime with Miss Mystic Falls had drained her more than any other activity. “Don’t tell me you’re a kid person.”

“I can tolerate children,” her boyfriend says, “I wouldn’t, like, throw a rock at one.”

Her jaw drops in offense for the split second– “That’s a reference, right? Please tell me it’s a reference.”

Klaus’ expression is serious for all but two seconds before it cracks. Elena tries to hold in her giggle but can’t. 

“Come on,” he says, “You’re overdue for a break.”

The entire day had been spent at the park. First setting up for today’s events, an annual kids thing where parents can drop them off for games and story times while they drink wine and lemonade off to the side. This was her fourth Miss Mystic Falls story time group. 

All too willingly, she goes with Klaus as he leads her away to a secluded spot: a miraculously empty picnic table with the shade of an oak tree covering. It’s heaven on Earth for her at the moment.

For a few peaceful minutes, all they do is sit there. Comfortable silence, but Elena, as it’s been said about her before, can never leave well enough alone. The more she gets lost in her thoughts, the more melancholic she gets. 

“Elena?” Klaus murmurs, noticing how her mood had fallen. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?” 

The deep breath she takes doesn’t do nearly enough to satisfy her need for oxygen. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t believe you.” Klaus meets her cutting look with arched eyebrows in challenge. “Try me.”

Noise catches her attention. It’s Elijah in the distance. He’d come back to her booth and is in the process of, without one of the pre-approved books, telling the kids a story. While a few parents are taking full advantage of this break, some can’t quite break away from their children; are taking photos from afar, pure love on their face.

“It’s at moments like this that missing my parents goes through me like physical pain,” Elena finds herself confessing to Klaus. “One moment I think I’m content, then I think of them, the distance, the years between us, and I want to kneel over with pain. Sometimes, the pain scabs over; others, like today, it’s flayed open. And I can’t, Nik. I can’t.”

When she looks at him, moments away from giving in to the tears stampeding up her throat, she finds Klaus already looking at her with concern.

“Can’t what, love?”

“I can’t go on,” she murmurs back. “I can’t pretend any longer that I’m not crawling out of my skin. For the life of me, I can’t– I feel like– like the mercury in a thermometer that’s slowly bubbling up. On the outside, I feel like I’m detaching. At home I’m fine. Happy. Here? I can’t hold a conversation to save my life, like I can’t relate to anyone anymore. I try. I really do, but it’s like they’re speaking a different language. And it feels awful, like I’m selfish and self-absorbed and like I’m motivated by bullshit things. 

“I’m,” Elena says, and repeats, once, twice. “During that week, what bothered me more than feeling like I’m in danger was feeling like an object, to be traded and evaluated. Now, after, I’m struggling to feel like a person. Tell me this makes sense.”  

A leap off a cliff, and solid ground underneath her. That’s what she feels like, after exposing her insecurities like this.

Presently, she feels like that red racing line of a thermometer, flagging down a fever, waiting for his answer. A gust of wind blows her hair back, having a domino effect of a shiver ransacking her. Vulnerability aches, too, more.

“It makes perfect sense,” murmurs Klaus. Dimples precede a resigned smile as he touches her chin affectionately. He then loosens a breath. “If you wanted a pretty, sugarcoated answer, you’d have gone to Elijah.” It sounds like a warning if there ever was one.

Your compassion is a gift, Elena. Carry it with you. As I will carry my regret. Always and forever. His letter had said. Elijah likes that part of her. He wouldn’t understand. He’d try to convince her she was still human.

As a prelude to what he’s about to say, Klaus kisses her once, sweetly and gently. “You’ve been detached from the human world for a very long time, Elena,” he murmurs, looking between her eyes. “I don’t know if it’s because you’re a doppelganger, but you go through the motions like a vampire does. Damon had a vestige of the truth that day.”

The chase, the conquest; we’re motivated by the same bullshit things suddenly comes to mind, and Elena’s temper flares and falls just as quickly.

Studying her, Klaus finds the moment to continue, “The more I got to know you, like this, the more I found how beautifully passionate you are about some things. With us, I believe your reactions are genuine. With others? You smile because you think you have it. You pretend to care about things because you think you’re supposed to care about them. You mock a lot. Not maliciously. Not consciously, even. To blend in, or keep up the pretense of normalcy, I don’t know.”

Every word ricochets and lands somewhere etched in her ribcage. It takes more than she’d like to admit to recover, to not meet his words with hurt. But…aren’t those her own insecurities and thoughts? What took her years took Klaus months to pin down. “After…Sinclair, Damon once told me that I act instead of react.” It might even bother her more than I loved you in the past tense. “Is it like Imposter syndrome reversed? I act like a vampire but I’m not.”

“One,” Klaus says, and he gives her time to see that he’s planning on leaning forward before he cups her face, “Damon Salvatore was a small man. Never listen to a word he said. Two, a lot of what you’re saying is not you losing your humanity as you’re alluding, but of you maturing. We change views. There’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t want to talk to the humans. Don’t. You don’t want to be Miss Mystic. Don’t.”

The thought of quitting makes tears come to her eyes, and she’d have turned her face away if he wasn’t holding her. “My mom wanted me to be Miss Mystic Falls.”

He tsks. “She wouldn’t have wanted this for you.” She closes her eyes, trying to regulate her heartbeat, as he brushes her hair behind her ear. A kiss to her forehead nearly breaks her. “Have you been worried about this for a long time?” he asks. “Elena, love, I’m the last person who should be talking about humanity, but if all you want to feel, for now, is grief and love, then no one would judge you.”

Even though they’re fighting, Klaus and Elijah band together later. Against her, or, at least, that’s what it feels like. 

“Are you going to sleep tonight?” Elijah is saying, concern lowering his voice to a caring tone. She’s on the edge of the bed, having just finished her night routine of lotions and such, and just as she’d started to scoot back, Elijah had grabbed ankle; his caress is gentle. Klaus' look is pointed.

Sleep had been evading her lately, so much so that it's not uncommon for her to sneak out of bed and curl up in the chair by the window to waste time until morning comes. Ever since Kol had looked at the vein in her neck, tilted his head, and told her he’d be going back for seconds. And promptly disappeared. Honestly, Elena is half-convinced she’d imagined him. Some sort of fever dream that hurt and hurt her with an occasional reprieve. Every time she closes her eyes, she dreams of him somehow; sometimes, they’re kind comments, and others, like last night, she dreams that she turns over in the bed, only to find he’d replaced Klaus or Elijah, and she can’t even scream as he lunges to bite her.

All of that rushes forward, but she asks, “Have you two made up?” instead.

An exchanged look. Klaus sets down the whiskey he’d been sipping since dinner tonight.

“We don’t apologize in the Mikaelson family, you should know that by now,” says Klaus with a superior tone that suggests he’s trying to cheer her up. 

“And disagreement shouldn’t ruin amicability,” Elijah adds sagely, “As the old Arabic idiom goes.”

“Then, can I weigh in?” Elena asks. “I just want to hear both your sides. If it’s about Kol, I’d like to say my piece as well. Please don’t be like the Salvatores, who kept me out of every decision until I practically had to blackmail them. And then they only gave me the illusion of choice.”

“Sweetheart.” Elijah uses his grip to pull her closer; crouches down with both his hands on her knees. “We thought it might be better if we kept you out of our fights. It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to take sides. I didn’t realize it was making you feel isolated.”

“The truth, Elena,” Klaus says, “is that we’re trying to settle on a date to wake Kol.”

In the blink of an eye, Kol, for the first time in a week, manifests behind Klaus. A gasp nearly escapes her, but her surprise at his appearance is integrated into her reaction at his statement.

“Elijah thinks a year is sufficient,” Klaus continues, unaware of the death glare of his youngest brother. “Ideally, my answer would be in a hundred or so, but you are affected by this. So five-ish is my raffle choice.”

Uncanny valley. Uncanny valley. Something that looks human but isn’t; wakes up every instinctive alarm in you. “He’s your brother,” bursts out of her. “He’s not going to be dangerous.” It sounds false even to her ears, which still have the echo of the first thing I’ll do when I’m re-awakened will be to go back for seconds. “I am affected by his absence, so I should get a say in when he wakes up. Now.”

“Elena,” is sighed, like she’s being unreasonable.

Klaus’ reaction is more mercurial. “Are we not enough?” he demands, so abruptly that Elena braces herself as he advances forward. He says we but he’s pointing at himself. “You act like you love us, but–

“I do.” The cry that’s climbing up escapes. Elena realizes what she just confessed the second they do. She waits; a beat passes, then two, and she has to get up.

“Elena.” It’s a different Mikaelson, but not one the one she wants to speak, even if she’s vehemently defending him. In contrast with the charged tension in the air, he seems almost outright gleeful. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve done.”

Uncanny valley. Elena doesn’t even fully stand up when Klaus appears in front of her. His expression is frightening, just as intense as the day of the sacrifice. Ready, love? he’d asked her when he came to the Salvatore Boarding House. Her mouth falls open, in prepare of a protest, to take back the words too late, to, to, to–

And is pulled into a kiss so passionate and loving that her scowl softens; her shoulders relax in tandem, and when her hands climb to his shoulders to pull him closer, Klaus pulls away.

“Some conversations are going to scare you,” he murmurs, “We’re going to fight, and we’re going to make up.”

“I just confessed my love and you–”

“Planned to do this when we weren’t fighting,” Klaus interrupts. “Let’s hit ‘pause’ on that for a second. Make way for better things.”

“Pause,” Elena repeats.

Dimples precede a smirk, which then softens into a smile. Another kiss, then– “I do,” he says, “love you. I told you before today, if all you want to do is grieve and love, we’ll be there for you. It killed me not to say it then.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Elena can’t help but say. She thought she wanted this, but having it this close was having an opposite reaction, telling her to run when she should stay. It takes a herculean effort to– “I’m not easy to love."

“And we are?” Klaus speaks. “You’ll be well within your rights to run the other way from us, just as I suspect you’re thinking. But I’d implore you to hear us. Because we’re the real deal. The offer’s on the table; love, romance, someone to come back home to– things you romanticize about like a tragic heroine. Things you can have.”

Elena’s already shaking her head– scratch that; her entire body’s shaking. “You don’t know what you’re getting into with me. This was one thing; love is another. Everyone I touch dies or leaves me.” The resolve that usually powers her principles is nowhere to be found. Her voice is quieter than intended, and she fears it’s cut off the flow of their conversation when Elijah continues talking like he heard her perfectly well. He doesn’t understand– he just can’t. It’s easy for people, powerful, who have the strength of a family behind them, like him and Klaus to–

“We love you, and don’t think that we haven’t felt you pulling away,” he says as disbelief forces him to exhale. “Let me break it down in words you’ll understand. You are cold; you are sick; and you are a helpless case. You are cold, because you think you’re alone: no contact strikes the fire from you that is in you. You are sick; because the best of feelings, the highest and the sweetest given to man, keeps far away from you. You’re helpless, because, suffer as you may, you will not beckon it to approach, nor will you stir one step to meet it where it waits you.”

A sound is emitted from Elena, like she’s about to either defend herself again– or, and this is more likely, to cry. Elijah, however, then, moves as if to continue his monologue but Klaus stops him. A silent, aggravated battle of wills between them ends all too quickly. Klaus wins.

“Elena,” he says, voice a pitch deeper like he’s as overcome with fierceness as Elijah had been a second ago, like he’s at the end of his wits. “I have never seen someone as loved as you. By your family, by us. This won't be the epic love you're used to; the passion that flares and turns to ember just as quickly. There are crushes, obsessions, lust, and then there's what we have.”

A hand touches her chin. Elijah. “I know you struggle with accepting love, after Damon, and that you think it fades and becomes resentful, but I don’t think you quite grasp how much we’ve grown to love you. I’d need years with you. Four, ten, thirty. A hundred. None of it is enough. Because I can’t compound everything I want to say to you, all the ways I love you and why, why you should love me. It would take years before I get my fill of you. Before I’m ready to let go of you.”

An outright tremor goes through her before she steps closer to lean her forehead on Elijah’s, staying far enough to look into each other’s eyes. “I’m not ready to let you go either.” Nail, coffin; shovel, grave; and a leap into someone’s awaiting arms. Elena cements her fate. “I love you.”

Chapter Text

“Did you see my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism

Like some kind of congressman?”

Chapter Twenty Nine

Being around Klaus is different than Elijah, okay? 

It’s not like Elena set out to deliberately stand a little taller around the regal, older Original; swear less around his sophisticated vernacular; read outside of her comfort zone, especially if he recommends a book. Klaus evokes, provokes, other things in her, too. She’s bolder, more daring, teasing; knows that he understands on a level no one ever will, because he understands her pain . He also gets her humor, and vice versa. To not get into a tailspin about her behavior around the Mikaelsons, it’s suffice to say that Elena has never, never, laugh-snorted in Elijah’s presence. She had, around Klaus, because he had off-handed quips that surprised them out of here and because he didn’t mind watching comedies with her.

“If I weren’t completely confident in myself, I’d take offense to this,” says Elijah. Dryly, but also with amusement.

Tears, the good kind, are in her laughing voice that she tries to tamper down. “I’m sorry,” apologizes Elena, kind of sincere. “I’m nervous,” she says unconvincingly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her to avoid getting paint on her face. “And it’s your fault.”

Any other day, any other night, and she’d have never found a naked Elijah funny in the slightest. He usually keeps her too distracted for that. But, when he walked into Klaus’ art studio, which is sans Klaus, per her request for privacy’s sake, wearing only a robe, and told her in that smooth, cultured accent to ‘draw me like one of your French girls’ and the snort had escaped her so fast and without premeditation that she’d slapped a palm over her mouth. 

“It’s not like I’m dressed for the part either,” she adds. As per his instructions, for his comfort, Elena is in one of her nightgowns with only an apron over it to avoid getting paint on it. 

Elijah likes her hair up, she’d found out early in their relationship, so it’s up, and if his gaze keeps straying to her like he doesn’t where to feast his eyes on first, then that’s that. Presently, his gaze, heavy with intent, looks her up head to toe, and hums. Elena bites back a smile.

“Okay,” she says, trying to be more serious. “You have two options. I’m not gonna actually draw your…” she alludes, and has to touch her face to measure the severity of her blush when he arches an eyebrow in challenge. “So you can, like, lounge on the sofa–” that she’d asked Klaus to drag up from one of their unused saloons. “All debonair-like, you know. Dorian Gray-style. And I’ll drape that cover over you. Or you can stand here.” She lifts the sheet she’d cut earlier. “For your toga-wearing, Roman warlord statue.”

“Dorian Grey,” muses Elijah, “or Roman statue. Augustus of Prima Porta or Togatus Barberini?”

In the next room over, there’s a library of just art history books. Klaus insisted that it was part of her art education to read a few of them. It’s why she knows the difference between the regal Caesar statue and the– “You can make Niklaus and Kol the two decapitated heads in my arms.”

It’s entirely inappropriate to giggle right now, but it escapes Elena easily, not that she fights that hard to keep it in. “Stop,” she scolds his, for once, mischievous smile.

She’s still recovering when he comes over; he brushes her cheeks for her; smoothes her hair behind her ears. “I allow you full artistic creativity. You choose. I don’t mind.”

Elijah can be the sweetest. As a thanks, Elena kisses him. “Augustus, please, then.”

Dear diary,

Did you see the crazy doppelganger who confessed her love to the two Originals in the middle of a fight and ran away? I thought they were gonna give me the boot. Maybe re-sacrifice me to balance the scales again. But they didn’t. 

A few days later, Elena’s back at her house, where it’s warm, nostalgic, and fuck, paradoxically just about the loneliest, most haunted place in the world. The manor is what feels like home now. She finds herself locked in her closet, documenting it all in her journal. The last suitcase of her belongings is resting on her old bed; the last of the things she’d kept off bringing over to the Mikaelsons, a piece of her that sought to cut her losses short and save face. 

They were so sweet. I’m so in love with them that I just might sink and drown and die.

Elena smiles to herself, and prepares to write again, only to jump out of her skin when a voice calls out, “Are you decent? Why are you in the closet?” Kol.

Knowing he could come at any moment, Elena drops everything she'd been holding and leaps out of the closet, trying to recover from her gasp.

A respectful distance away, a shit-eating grin on his face, Kol awaits. He’d gravitated towards her shelves where her picture frames and trinkets, now in her bag, used to be.

“Forgive my absence as of late,” he says, and moves on to the open bag to examine its contents. “I can’t wait to be undaggered.”

Elena, back to the closet, breathes out, expression falling. She’d been blissfully absent; in a lavender haze, the past week as she, Klaus, and Elijah had their fill of each other. It wasn’t enough; as if to further reassure her, they’d started making plans with her. It wasn’t just indulging her to let her paint them. It was making plans to her family’s cabin, Paris, Milan, anywhere she wants; all the places they wanted her to see; things they want to do with her. It was enough to fill years. 

But they hadn’t brought up Kol. The mention of his name might have broken the haze.

“Oh, no, don’t make that face,” Kol says; drops everything; comes to stand in front of her. “I told you. My priorities have changed.”

“How?” It’s that boulder she’s always waiting for. Happiness should be taken in small, manageable quantities. Too much, and a rude awakening will follow. When I’m re-awakened– “I’m mad at you.”

Kol’s smile doesn’t exactly sharpen, but it doesn’t exactly instill comfort in her. “I know,” he says, and his gaze drops down– not to her neck; it stops at her lips. “Since you tried so valiantly to free me, I thought I’d do you the personal courtesy of a heads up. Things are in motion now. I found a witch willing to free me.”

What? Nothing but the truth is in his black eyes as eerie at it– they are. Elena’s jaw drops, alarm bells ringing in her head. No no no– not when she and Klaus and Elijah–

“I know what you’re thinking,” Kol says. Completely misinterpreting her panic, he continues, “Will he really be gunning for my neck next?”

She’s already shaking her head, cursing herself for carelessly chucking her phone on the bed earlier. Klaus and Elijah are on their way, but how soon?

“Loved your little love confession with my brothers.” Kol tilts his head. “I wonder what pretty words you’ll use when you tell me you love me.”

It goes to show how absent-minded, soft, she’d been, because she’d allowed herself to lead herself here, to this moment. Shovel, grave; cliff leap, shock of water. Gasping upon contact only to inhale water.

“Yes,” Kol, for whatever reason, is saying this, “I will be having your blood when I wake up, and only your blood from now on. I’m romantic like that. And we’ll be even when I give you mine. Elijah,” he states, accent smooth and voice crisp, “has laid out the perimeters to your new relationship. The one where you play chess, sit on his lap, and visit museums together.” The mockery is clear. “And Klaus, who has only demanded you forgive him for his past transgressions and let him lavish you with love and gifts in exchange for your affection. I want my terms met as well,” he concludes.

“Kol–”  

An amused gleam lightens his eyes at her evident and unguarded surprise. 

A universe where Kol is mellow is out of this realm, but for some reason, he’s playing along with her, letting her try to come to terms with her absurd reality. Swallowing is difficult. Elena is about to speak when he beats her to the chase.

“When I first saw you, after you woke me up, I noticed something,” he muses, after, “You initially only liked my brothers because of what they represented to you, miss ‘love is ideation.’” 

Her brows furrow in confusion, her gut feeling fighting her. Her no is cut off.

“But I suppose you couldn’t resist legitimately falling for them. They became your sanctuary. Lavished you with love, attention, and gifts.” His repetition of the description isn’t lost on her. “In return, you learned to trust them. Let them make you laugh. I watched you.”

A mischievous smile makes an appearance. It’s almost reassuring– the Kol she knows. In almost perfect detail, like a suddenly unlocked memory she recalls the first time he’d flashed that practiced smile at her, across the room, at the ball. That was, what, seconds before he’d followed Matt up to his break his hand?

“Relax,” he murmurs. “Those are my demands.”

It takes a moment for her poor brain to calibrate. “Kol…”

“I want you,” Kol affirms. “That ‘honeymoon’ phase we never got. I want your love, and your touch. I want you unguarded, and I want to be your sanctuary. For you to come seek me when you’re afraid and when you’re happy.”

“I don’t want to recreate your relationship with my brothers,” Kol says. “I want our own. You’re so beautiful, Elena, that I lose my breath looking at you, that I want to possess you. But these are my darker thoughts,” he adds once he sees her alarmed look, because she’s already been down this path before. “What you neglected to notice, when you’re looking at me so sadly, is that you own me, as well.”

How is it possible that your entire world can be turned askew and the rest of the world is none the wiser?

“Although my brothers like to ignore it,” he goes on, “I am clever, like you. And I know I’ve put you in a compromising position. Consider this the first gift of many.”

And she should have flinched; she’s not smart like that anymore, used to letting her guard down in Kol’s company because he can’t touch her. So when he steps closer, a breath away, she doesn’t back away. His eyes, an abyss away from what a human’s should be, lighten considerably. And they trap hers.

His dark pupils, a sea of molasses, dilate. “You won’t tell anyone about my plan. Or my presence in your life since you undaggered me. You won’t communicate it in any other way as well.” It’s a siren’s hold, even when he breaks his intense stare, even winks at her like they’re cohorts in this together, it takes Elena a few seconds to logically orient herself. 

Then, between one blink and another, Kol cuts her another smile and disappears. 

Oxygen floods back in her lungs. As well as relief; resignation; alarm. She– would’ve, could’ve, should’ve– she should have told his brothers about him right away. She could have. Would have– if he hadn’t compelled her just now.

Why he made himself scarce soon makes sense. The doorbell rings.

The impending feeling of ensuing calamity reaches an all-time high. When she reaches downstairs, she practically rips open the door and is almost tackled immediately.

Elena braces herself for the impact. Anyone else on the other side of the door, and she would have expected an impact and an attack, but it’s okay. Wasn’t one of the thoughts that often haunt Elena the list of people she trusted implicitly and without conditions?

Unlike Klaus, Elijah, or even Stefan, who adapt, move with her when she’d run into their arms, she digs her feet into the ground. She feels the impact, welcomes it, knowing that it could knock her down. But that’s the thing. She doesn’t mind. After all, they’re the only breakable people around her. They’ll never break each other.

She’s the worst doppelganger ever. Katherine, Elijah, Klaus, Damon, Stefan– the list goes on– would be facepalming if they could see her now. She just surrenders.

Thankfully, Bonnie Bennett’s mind is far from homicide. 

“I missed you,” is said desperately, by whom, it doesn’t matter, because the other says it back immediately and just as strongly. Elena and Bonnie are nearly the same height, so their hugs are equally matched in strength, a well-rehearsed move from countless sleepovers, greetings in the morning, and comforting each other during heartbreaks.

After what has to be a full minute-long hug, Bonnie initiates pulling away with an amused, sort of broken laugh. She wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Elena laughs, too, thinking how unbelievably happy everything had fallen in–

Both violently flinch at the same time at a sudden onslaught. “This alarm–” Elena lunges at the stupid thing, rapidly putting in the passcode.

“Jesus, that was annoying,” laughs Bonnie, and her voice; it just earns her another hug.

“You cannot believe how happy I am that you’re here,” Elena says genuinely, excitedly. Like a love sick teenager. “Oh, you won’t believe how things have fallen in line now that you’re here. It’s perfect. I can’t wait for you to– Come in; we’re just standing out here.”

Bonnie takes Elena’s offered hand. As she follows her to the living room, she says, “So everything is okay now? You’re…okay? Happy?”

“More than,” Elena answers, unable to stop her smile. “I’m here packing the rest of my stuff, not that I’m not happy to see you,” she races to add. “This is the nicest surprise.”

“Wait a minute,” Bonnie interjects, “What are you talking about? What surprise? You knew I was coming.”

The speed with which Elena’s heart stutters is cartoon-like; it simultaneously leaps out of her ribcage, one big bloody mess, and slams back into her throat. “I was just upstairs writing when you came,” she tells her. “Bonnie, you never told me you were coming back.”

“Elena, you asked me to.” Bonnie, already ten times smarter than she is, stands up. “Who else–”

“She can’t see me, so you’ll have to interpret between us.”

A chill runs down Elena’s spine, like someone was running an ice cube down her back. Bonnie’s alert, but nothing she can do will prepare her for the sight of Kol Mikaelson in the doorway, smiling that empty, triumphant smile at them.

“Let’s talk, shall we. You both can start by why you keep saying the Bennett witch is ‘off the grid.’” He pushes himself off the frame and advances in their direction. “Meanwhile, you’ve spoken to her nearly every week this past summer, and I have the magical journal to prove it.”

Chapter Text

“The dominos cascaded in a line ”

Chapter Thirty

Oxygen had long crystalized in her lungs. Tears climb up her throat. Her jaw wobbles.

Wickery Lake. It’d taken from her more than anywhere else. With hardening resolve, she steels her jaw as she stares at it.

The glimmering lake catches her attention, but not that much. Not when she’s so deep in thought. It’s where she should have died. Not when Vicky Donavon tried to tear her throat out. Not when she stabbed myself to trick Elijah. Not at the sacrifice. Here, then, drowned with them. But her dad made Stefan save her. And she couldn’t have left Jeremy alone, anyway.

The litany of warring emotions that goes through Elena is dizzying the more she thinks. 

Elijah thought he had understood why she did it.

Her body starts to fight standing so still for so long, starting to tremble. 

He thought she came to the water to punish herself after something traumatizing happened. The timing wasn’t incidental, but he’d had the reason wrong. She comes to the water to think. When her feet touch the bottom of the pool, and she tilts her head up to the surface, she finds clarity.

Earlier,

The first time she ends up at Klaus Mikaelson’s doorstep, she’s running. 

The night comes to her in flashes and agony; her feet tripping over themselves in the forest– 

the sharp bark of fallen trees and haywire branches scratching at her– 

screeching crows flying over her like a funeral, like vultures– 

her own breath clogged painfully in her lungs, trapped in a second, invisible skeleton that won’t let her inhale – 

Noise swooshes past her ears like a violent wave of wind– 

The world comes into focus, and–

A sharp prick in her finger startles Elena back to reality. Ow. Bonnie lets go of her hand, a bloody pin in her own, and Elena watches with numb focus as Bonnie tastes that tiny little dot of red.

“Potent stuff, isn’t it?” Kol might as well be lounging on any other day of the week. 

Elena can tell the exact moment after a hushed spell leaves Bonnie’s lips that her best friend can finally see the specter that had taunted her for weeks. Bonnie straightens, juts her chin in challenge. “Kol Mikaelson,” she says, “What do you want?”

“Bonnie,” cuts in Elena gently, grabbing her hand to stop her momentum. “That’s what I was writing to you about. I–”

One step in the direction of the Mikaelsons’ back porch where she can clearly see French doors leading inside has Elena crying out in pain, a muffled sound that she immediately, instinctively swallows back. 

More things come into realization like she’s finally seeing images in 720 quality rather than 110.

“I took a page out of your book, sweetness,” says Kol casually, even praisingly. “I made my own timeline with Klaus and Elijah.”

Dirt, small, razor-edged rocks, and a clotted mess of liquid– likely blood and mud– mixed with fresh liquid– both blood and mud are all caked under and around her feet. She’s barefoot. She’s the kind of person who wears socks to bed. She can’t remember the last time her bare feet had touched the ground; the ground outside, to be more specific. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Elena, even as Kol arches an elegant eyebrow. “You have half of a truth.”

But she knows exactly why she’s running. Why she’s here. Here, at Klaus’ doorstep. Here, where she’d nearly been drained to death. Here, which is definitely haunted with the innumerable ghosts of people the Mikaelsons had killed over a thousand years’ lifetimes.

A head tilt. “Do I?”

A phantom crushing weight pushing down on her chest– the memory of it– steals Elena’s awareness. 

“Dear diary,” continues Kol, “Which is the translation for Dear Bonnie. On tear-inked pages, you wrote I’m still reeling. I know things weren’t 100% with Damon for a while. I should have expected this from him. But I didn’t expect this from her. Shall I continue?”

It hurt, like tugging on an internal coil that’s made of veins and tissues. It’s promising pain that she’d escaped from once and won’t, won’t feel again.

“I sound a little obsessive, I’ll admit.” Kol shrugs, as if in innocence. “You see, your journals turned out to be my favorite works of literature, so I might have reread them a few times. Like you do your favorite book.”

They're in the Boarding House, and Caroline, half-dressed, connects her lips to the man she's straddling. She moans as they fall deeper into the sofa. Steady, familiar male hands steady her, and from across the room, the glint of a daylight ring Elena knows all too well finds her. Damon.

“There are a wealth of paragraphs of how much Caroline means to you, which I won’t share, for privacy’s sake.”

Sometimes, Elena gets hung up on a few words. 

It began when she was little and suddenly, she became obsessed with counting the number of letters in words. Love, a four-letter word. She’d add up the entire sentence. I love you, one; two; three; four and a total of eight letters. When people spoke to her, their words got stuck in her head, and she’d count them, too, imagining them being written on the walls. 

Would space out during the entire conversation to count. 

As she got older, she continued counting letters, but it was second nature; what her mind did when she got bored in class. 

Grown, she was obsessed with words as a clump in general. Certain phrases or terms would stay with her for days, weeks, or even months. Song lyrics, quotes from movies or books, and things she made up in her head. The Cinematic Orchestra’s song, To Build a Home, had a line that always made her heart stutter and repeat: held you as tightly as you held on to me , which she always associated with the death of a loved one. A song called Crossfire by an artist called Stephen when he said, can I trust what I'm given, even when it cuts? Finally, a Lana del Rey, Carmen, I’m dying, which she associates with the betrayal of a loved one.

She could go on. Really. For days. 

But things people told her also lingered. Ugly words thrown during fights. Pretty words said to her in times of need. 

I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Damon had told her once, but I need it.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. She feels sick. Sick to her stomach sick. Sick in her heart sick, if you could feel sick that way.

“I ran and ran into the forest so they wouldn’t hear my footsteps on the road,” Kol recites, perfectly, from words she’d written in her journal months ago. 

“That’s enough,” snaps Bonnie. “Elena–”

“But don’t you want to know the date on that entry?” demands Kol, and Elena nearly feels sick, again, at how almost gleeful he sounds, triumphant, like he’d solved a mystery and was saying how he did. The boulder finishes its descent down the mountain; breaks Elena’s ribcage over and over again and in stages as he says, “April 27th. Nearly two whopping weeks before someone drove your car off on your way to Denver during an unexpected visit to dear old Jeremy– say hi to him for me, will you?”

“It’s half a truth,” re-asserts Elena. She steps away from the protective hand Bonnie has on her and drops to the sofa, hiding her face in her hands before brushing her hair up. Inhale, exhale. Get all the bravery molecules in the air. “You don’t have the full picture. What even–”

“It’s why I’m here, aren’t I?” Kol’s smirk softens, which Elena, honest to God, is beginning to think is his ‘caring’ face. “Why I haven’t revealed the halves of my knowledge to my brothers? Today is the first time I compelled you, by the way, in case that doubt takes root. I used your journal to contact Bonnie on your behalf. It's why I’ve been so patient.”

That was him being patient? Even Klaus and Elijah started noticing her heart acting up every time Kol appeared in the room. And she and Bonnie need to have a conversation about handwriting.

“Because you need me to undagger you.” It’s Bonnie, not her; but Kol’s eyes remain locked on Elena.

“Yes,” he says, and breaks the gaze to cut a glance at Bonnie. He looks back at Elena again. “But because I also meant it. You’re clever, like me. I loved your little love confession with my brothers. These are my terms.”

“Your demands.”

“No, my terms,” corrects Kol. “I told you. I want our own relationship. Bonnie, me, these truths, half and whole, don’t change what I told you upstairs.”

“You can’t blackmail her into a relationship,” Bonnie interjects; still standing, a fierce pillar of support, always, in Elena’s life. Her plans.

“He’s not,” Elena says, unable to raise her voice above a murmur. You're clever, like and I'm clever, like you. She can barely tear her eyes away from Kol. “You won’t tell Klaus and Elijah?” 

“Not unless you give me a reason to,” Kol says, then backtracks, “Wait, no, that did sound like blackmail. Our relationship’s not going to have that kind of manipulation.” As opposed to other kinds? “Let’s just say that I believe the truth will come out, but it won’t be from me. I give you my word, which may not mean to you as Elijah’s does, but I’ll prove you can trust me.” 

Maybe that’s just the color of his eyes. Elena gets lost in them. They are scorchingly dark, but in a comforting way. They don’t send a trill of alarm down her spine like wide and catastrophic blue eyes do, not a hint of fear like hungry forest green eyes, and don’t hide a leashed beast. The demon is out there; doesn’t hide; is raising his contract and full name to Elena with no stipulations.

“You want the truth about what happened,” Elena concludes, “And to be undaggered.” She lifts her head to look at Bonnie, who’s already looking resigned as Elena feels, at least, about this aspect. “All right,” she says, aware that Kol straightens in awareness. “It did start the night I caught Damon and Caroline cheating. The first time wasn’t when I was with Elijah. It was that night. Bonnie was out of town, but she’d left us these two-way journals where we can talk without it being traced, but it was at the Boarding House. I didn’t know where else to go, so I ran. I went back to my house, got into my car, and decided to drive to Jeremy. I didn’t know there was a bounty on my head.”

A text to Klaus and Elijah cancels their plans together. It might actually be the first time Elena canceled on them. It was Elijah who got unexpected calls and meetings and deadlines. It was Klaus, with his web of spies, a secret empire no one knew he was the head of, who sometimes had to ‘deal’ with something.

Bonnie’s here!!! She’d texted, her heart in her throat, afraid they’d sense her overspilling emotions through the screen. Will come home later. Go to bed without me and I’ll catch up.

Once she'd honestly started to tell Kol the truth, his threatening aura had dissipated. But it didn't stop her shaking. When she'd told him they'd continue tomorrow, he hadn't minded. His mischievous smirk told her tomorrow would change everything. So she'd changed courses to Wickery Bridge. 

Presently, with a heavy breath, heavy heart, and a paranoid pull to her shoulders, nerves in the process of fraying, Elena goes home. Actually, her throat is a little sore from talking for so long. Kol had so many questions, and it’d reached a point where she had to go home or the Mikaelsons would come looking for her.

If there’s anyone keeping a balance of sins, then the marks on the left side just filled pages. Because while today had been emotionally draining, it had been draining, like a therapy session. Never in her life would she have imagined to be her secret-keeper, an all-too-happy to do it either, but it strangely fit.

It’s just around the time they go to bed, and Klaus and Elijah had stayed up for her downstairs. She kisses each in greeting, tells them she’s too tired, that they’ll talk tomorrow, and goes upstairs. 

“Is something wrong, sweetheart?” asks Elijah, as they get ready for bed. 

The air is charged, but they don’t know why. 

“Was Bonnie unkind?” Klaus says, and it’s enough to startle Elena into actually paying attention.

“No,” she says quickly, because it’s dangerous for someone like Klaus to go on the offense for someone like Bonnie. She really fucking loves him. “No, she was great. I just really missed her.”

It’s such the truth that it rings true. “So,” Elijah muses. “You caught her up? She knows about Damon, about us?”

Warring emotions, inner turmoil, guilt, aside, Elena has to go to him, at least for a hug and a sweet kiss on the cheek. “I told her,” she says softly, comparing his eyes to Kol’s. Godamnit, had she misjudged Kol? “She’s–” She also looks at Klaus, since he and Bonnie had the more packed past. “-- happy as long as I’m happy. We’d do anything for each other; even this. She said–” This is true, actually, but it didn’t occur today. “-- that she remembers thinking I might’ve had a crush on Elijah back when.” 

As Elijah’s smile spreads, Elena closes her eyes in a laughing wince that’s maybe a little too intense. “And,” she adds, “the night we all got drunk and declared Klaus to have the best accent.”

Klaus’ eyebrows raise. Dimples frame a smug smirk. It has an infectious, nostalgic response in her. She allows his kiss, leans into it.

The world comes into focus, and it fades again, in Klaus, in Elijah, and all she sees is the beauty of her new, happy life. At the same time, a few things make themselves abundantly clear to Elena and the rest of the world. One: she doesn’t mind that she’s a long way from home; two: she’d traded two vampires for another bigger, badder, and more murderous pair. Three: her heart was big enough to fit one more. And it couldn’t have worked out in a better way.

Sleep comes easy, like the truth had lulled her to it. Unburdened, Elena burrows into Klaus and Elijah’s arms and enjoys a peaceful night of sleep until–

Until Kol is shouting at her. 

The speed with which Elena gasps awake is a record; she sees–

Kol’s panicked, furious expression–

Klaus’ eyes, which she always thought of as catastrophic blue, unblinkingly open–

Her mouth falls in horror, and she calls his name, reaches for–

Elijah’s hand, unnaturally still; his neck twisted at a stomach-churning angle.

“Elena. Elena! ” rumbles Kol; snapping in her face. “You need to get out of here. Call B–

Metal clicks against metal. Metal clicks against metal, and Elena flinches harder than she ever had, pavloved for the pain to come, and that’s the last thing she knows before darkness overwhelmed her, unconsciousness comes faster than drowning.

Chapter Text

“I've never been a natural 

All I do is try, try, try”

Chapter Thirty One

How many kidnappings does it take to shave that novelty off?

When you lose count. In that stage between forced sleep and disturbed awareness, where your mind is trying to protect you by delaying reality, Elena tries to see how many times she’d been kidnapped or held hostage. The name ‘Mikaelson’ stands out, if only for Klaus coming to take her to the sacrifice, Rose and Trevor taking her for Elijah, Elijah dropping her into the cave with Rebekah, Klaus draining her of blood–

Wow. That’s not even going into the times before Elijah rolled into town. 

The sequence of events goes like this: like someone who’s never been taught better, when between tearful blinks, Elena looks up and finds someone standing in the middle of the road, she swerves.

By the time her car crashes into the tree, Elena’s not even inside it. The next time she cries, it’s inside a cell.

The name, or the realization of it, shocks her system beyond repair. To say Elena panics her way back to consciousness is an understatement. She chokes to it, until she finally opens her eyes, and hears the clang of metal. 

Handcuffs, binding her wrists together painfully.

Several things register with her as her body fights off whatever had knocked her out in the first place. The hard, relentless surface of the cold floor; a freezing draft from an air conditioning unit that she can faintly hear churning back to life every few minutes, and–

Incoming footsteps. 

A doppelganger’s best strategy, in her opinion. Playing stupid. To say Elena re-closes her eyes and fights to calm her heartbeat in a second is a stretch, but between the time the floorboards creak and her senses tingle with alarm at the presence of someone else who means her harm, she schools her expression into neutrality.

You look just like Katherine were Rose’s first words to her. She wonders what predatory words her new captor will tell her.

Setting off every alarm, bell, and siren in her overworked system, heavy, distinctly male boots make their way towards her. By now, by three days into her capture by Sinclair, she can tell the difference in people’s treads. It takes every aching muscle in her body not to flinch at the gruff voice that speaks and says–

Later, she’d laugh in self-deprecation, irony-is-a-bitch, fuck-Elijah-was-right kind of way at what happens next. Pure, incomprehensible to her , French is spoken. Elena can only pick out the pronouns of elle and il and mentally curses herself for letting Klaus and Kol do her Duolingo exercises for her.

The other man– she’d only counted two– responds in equally rapid French. Their conversation is maybe a minute long, but their gazes are scalding on her way-too-vulnerable, exposed by her nightgown skin, but Elena senses her hair literally falling out from the stress.

When they leave, their footsteps echo louder in her head thanks to her ear practically being pressed to the ground. Although she internally flinches at every vibration of movement, Elena is patient. Rational. She counts how many steps it takes for their voices to fade; tries to gauge how big the space she is in, and which steps, felt on her cheek’s closeness to the wooden floorboards, creak.

After another count to fifty, she risks a look; then a look around. She’s alone. Empty room. High ceilings. Cobwebs in the corners, and–

Her head snaps towards the open doorway at the sound of an argument. Vampires, werewolves, witches, and whatever is in between, distracted . Purely running on survival instincts, Elena scrambles up. An empty, barely held-in, pained cry is torn out of her throat when sharp shards of glass, soundlessly, thank God, pierce her bare feet the second she tries to stand up.

Elena freezes for a whopping ten seconds in the same exact position. If they’re vampires, they definitely would have heard that, right? But the argument, which sounds like it’s coming from…downstairs? continues, deliciously heated. 

On her knees, Elena scrambles out of the way of the barbaric, broken glass they’d left around her. If she wasn’t a cheerleader, she doesn’t think she could have bent and jumped as she did in the next few seconds. With every move she makes, the glass in her feet burrows deeper into her skin. But it’s not like she can exactly reach it and take it with her hands.

Elena decides to test a theory. Between one step and another, she steps away out of the room and treads out into the hallway. It takes a little while to orient herself, but she finds her way, going exactly with the tug in her gut that guides her in the right direction.

An abandoned, Victorian-style mansion surrounds her, suffocates her, if only for the number of noisy steps she’ll have to risk. Still kind of dizzy from whatever they’d used to knock her out, the walls become her support. All the way until she gets to the room that’s the farthest from hers. To get there, she goes around the railing that surrounds the entire second floor and provides a peak into downstairs. Intrusive thoughts win, and Elena allows herself to slightly lean forward.

Not one, not two, but at least five men are downstairs. Three are fighting; two are holding them back, and it’s that temper that Elena recognizes as a lycanthropic trait. Eyes warily locked on the conflict, she slowly backs into the room her gut feeling led her to.

And has to stop. Honestly, honestly , she’d expected to find a tied up, snarling, ‘I’m going to reach down your throat to tear out your spine’ Klaus or Elijah, but a lone, still coffin steals all the hope from her lungs.

It’s Kol. They have Kol.

Why do they have Kol? Oh God, they have Kol. And she’s all out of tricks. Her heart, gut, and connection leads her here. 

Between one panicked breath and another, Elena, with alarm, registers the dwindling sound of the fight downstairs. The decision having already been subconsciously, quick on her aching feet, Elena rushes to the coffin and struggles to rip it open.

Projection Kol and corporeal Kol look… different. Empathy pulls at Elena’s eyebrows. She still struggles with feeling trapped and cold; all the Mikaelsons, except for Klaus, have got to have claustrophobia. 

A thundering of footsteps up the stairs burns her out of her frozen state. They’re heading in the opposite direction, towards her room. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

It’s her cut feet that give her the idea. Her body shaking to get off them, Elena mentally apologies to Kol, to her future self, for this new and fresh trauma that will surely haunt her, and climbs inside the coffin with him.

Straddling him, eyes darting panickily to the door in anticipation of being caught, Elena’s last thought is please don’t kill me before she wraps her bound hands around the dagger; pulls it out, and seals the coffin over the both of them.

Like this, Elena can pretend that he’s Klaus, or Elijah; or, really, just Kol, whom she can be comfortable with. Like they’re asleep on a lazy morning, stealing precious memories, indulging in the decadence of a day that hasn’t yet started. She’s lying on top of him completely, but tries to keep her weight off, in case he wakes up uncomfortable with her proximity. What she can’t help, though, is her head, which she can’t find a place for other than on his chest, on his heart.

In here, she can’t hear anything from outside. On its own will, her body starts trembling. She’s going to get hurt, and she’d thought she was over it, but she’s not. She wants Klaus. And Elijah. And Bonnie. And Kol, who tried to warn her!

She can’t hold herself up for long in this suffocating coffin. They’ll find her soon, too.

The exact moment Kol even starts to show signs of awakening from his dagger-induced sleep, Elena counts, one, two, three, fuck it, and leads with her back to open the lid. The moment light from the room floods in coincides with Kol’s eyes opening with at-ready fury .

He remembers.

A rare moment of visceral understanding goes between them. A nod from Elena immediately has Kol reacting accordingly. A silent gasp nearly escapes her as he lunges at her. She’s already on top of him, but he takes things a step further. In tandem with sitting up, his hands reach to her legs to pull her to straddle his lap, and he guns straight to her neck and bites .

Pain– she expects it; braces herself for it.

But maybe intentions do count; because Elena tenses, prepares to force her body through another ordeal, to struggle, squirm, or cry, but– But beside the initial sting of his fangs, something else follows. The sluggish pace of her blood dallying its way to Kol has a euphoric effect on her. It ricochets from her neck, attacks with butterflies to her stomach, and her thighs tighten around Kol’s. Even when he’s drinking her blood, Kol seems hypotactically aware of his surroundings; of her. A sound– a cry, a breath, a moan– she’s about to make is muffled into his neck when he gently guides her to it by pressing on the back of her head. His hand stays there, clenching her hair without any real intent to cause pain. 

It’s the calmest she’s been out of her mind. When every doppelganger, human instinct should have her running for the hills, Elena throws caution out to the wind and burrows closer to him. The conquest, the chase, the things she’s been accused of and can apply to Kol– they feel fucking great.

Elena’s unaware she’d tightened her hands, which had somehow, unbeknownst to her, climbed up to clutch at Kol’s shoulders, until he draws away. Before he completely backs away, he presses a kiss to that spot where her shoulder and neck meet.

Voices downstairs suddenly raise in volume, and Elena flinches away, a few pints of blood weaker. Since she’s entirely on top of Kol at this point, she jolts when he suddenly moves, but it’s only to roll up the sleeve of the 1920s shirt he’s wearing and bite deeply into it.

Shaking her head immediately, Elena mouthes Kol! even as she clutches at her still bleeding neck.

She’s met with an eye roll and a sharp check of reality. Silently making a point to look around the room, Kol arches an eyebrow. A thousand words go between them. How clever is she if she rejects being healed while still technically being considered as a captive? They have no idea where they are, who took them, and–

Kol actually kisses the side of her head, like he’s praising her for her obedience, when she leans forward and takes his offered hand. Blood tastes appalling to her human senses, but, somehow, his matches the sickly sweet taste Elijah’s blood had tasted like. Like everything else, it’s another piece of the puzzle. It fits.

Electricity bounces in the air as Kol looks between her eyes; his gaze drops to her lips. “May I kiss you?”

Elena’s eyes widen. “We’re kidnapped,” she whispers in disbelief.

The smile that spreads across Kol’s expression when she pulls away is mildly alarming. If Klaus’ smirks were cause for worry, then Kol’s must panic. Instinctive warning signs signal upcoming danger. Reckonings. 

Elena’s too tense to flinch away when he cups the sides of her neck, where he’d just bitten, and leans close to her ear. “After this,” he murmurs, his smile audible, “You’ll explain everything. Understand?”

And after another last peck that she would consider sweet any other time, like he can’t take his hands off her just yet, Kol is gone. Just like that.

One hand is still on her neck where his bite was and the other is on her cheek where he kissed her when she hears screams next.

“Elena, darling–” calls out Kol approximately eight minutes later. He cuts himself off. “Sorry! Elena, sweetie? Can you come here for a second?”

Meanwhile, Elena hadn’t moved. In a manner that she can’t escape how twisted it is, she’s been sitting in his coffin ever since he had disappeared. Whatever they gave her is leaving traces of a hangover-like headache, and Kol’s blood is trying to heal around the shards of glass in her foot, which is disgustingly painful.

A lesson she’d learned when Elijah first rolled into town, though? When an Original calls for you, you go. It doesn’t take that much of an effort to find Kol through the maze of a house; mainly because she follows the splashes of blood on the walls. Bile rises up her throat when she encounters her first dead body.

“Elena?” Kol calls again.

“Coming,” she responds, if only to prolong seeing him. Her poor brain is in shambles, along with her sanity. Warring emotions– being afraid of Kol and wanting him when she definitely shouldn’t– are making her physically sick. He’d come through with going ‘back for seconds’ and she’d invited him to it; curled up in his lap while he did it.

And that’s not even mentioning her worst crime to date. Drinking his blood. Cementing the bond. 

Klaus and Elijah are going to– she can’t even think about that; what the repercussions might be. God.

At least three more bodies are on her way to Kol; there might be more, but Elena makes it a point not to look deeper into any room. She’d heard the screams– Kol’s taunts. It was something out of a horror movie, because Elena could hear much fun Kol was having.

“There you are,” greets Kol when she limps into view. “You look even more beautiful in the sunlight,” he compliments. The room they’re in is on the ground floor, and floor-to-ceiling windows are lighting up the entire space, perkily shining every inch of it, down to the blood dripping down Kol’s hostage as he holds him down.

Aching, in distress, Elena stops in the doorway. 

“Elena, this is Michael,” Kol says; a muffled whimper of pain penetrates the room, makes Elena flinch, as the man cries out. He’s clutching desperately at his side, where– the contents of Elena’s stomach nearly make an appearance at– a gaping hole. A few inches to the side, to Kol’s side more, a bloody organ lies on the ground. “And this is Michael’s spleen,” Kol adds in a light tone, like this is amusing for him. “He’s been lucky chosen as the survivor for tonight’s atrocities against my family. Tell her who you are, mate.”

Gurgles of blood are her answer. Elena nearly passes out.

“Sweetheart,” disappointed, Kol says, and drops the hold he had on the back of Michael’s head to go over to Elena. “They’re not going to hurt you. What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“I’m scared,” Elena tells him outright. His brows furrow, like he’s genuinely confused. Unwillingly, like a tragedy you can’t look away from, and with morbid curiosity, her gaze strays to Michael’s– she can’t even say it.

“Oh.” Kol then steps in front of her to block her vision. “He can live without his spleen,” he says, as if to reassure her. In the background, Michael’s breath starts wheezing. “He deserves it,” he adds, then Elena gets a front row seat to his darkening eyes. “He and his pack took you. With the help of a witch.”

Flashes of the massacre dotted throughout the mansion play behind Elena’s eyes. The blood that had made her sick. “Werewolves and a witch?” she demands. “Why?”

“According to spleen-less Michael, they’d heard about the blood of a doppelganger and how precious it is,” Kol says. “From the same circles Sinclair ran in. They thought to use you and keep me as leverage when my brothers came calling.”

Use you overlaps with I’m a collector in her head, and Elena says, voice trembling, “Use me how?”

“Believe it or not, some werewolves are still trying to break the ‘moon’ curse. This lot heard your blood is powerful enough to turn hybrids and lure Nik out to massacre who’s who of the supernatural community; why not relieve them of their pain as well. Bloody idiots.”

“So they’re working alone?” Elena is desperate for that reassurance. “Sinclair…it’s not Sinclair? He didn’t survive somehow?”

“Antoine Sinclair,” Kol says, and leans close; he reaches to touch her with his bloodied hands but stops at the last moment. “He’s gone and died, Elena. Quite brutally. If Klaus Mikaelson says he put someone in the ground, I believe him. Don’t you?”

“I do.” When the doppelganger started implicitly trusting the hybrid, she doesn’t know, but she knows that she trusts him more than she ever trusted Damon to keep his word. 

“You, on the other hand,” Kol continues, sharply drawing her attention to his shark-ish smirk. “Your motives are more opaque, aren’t they?”

Michael gives another whimper of pain as– Elena is just noticing this– he tries to drag himself towards the door. “You still gave me your blood.” Cemented their bond. Bound them.

Kol’s smirk widens. “I did,” he confirms. “You still have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I do,” Elena says, if somewhat reluctantly. Uncomfortable, she takes a step back from Kol. “Can we get out of here? Call Klaus and Elijah? I want to make sure they’re okay. They were–”

“Just snapped necks to get them down,” Kol says. “But you do have a point, cupcake.”

Then, in just two strides, Kol eats up the distance Michael had been trying to crawl, and with one easy move, he leans down and– Elena has to jump to look away. But she hears the last sound the werewolf makes; the thud his body makes when it limply falls on the rotting floorboards.

“Come now,” says Kol, like he didn’t just kill an entire pack, “I’ll look for a phone.”

“His name is Michael,” says Kol later, as he’s rooting through his pockets, reminding her of how wildly different they both think, “It’s a predisposed name for killing if I ever heard one.”

Strangely trusting of her, Kol obediently hands her the phone. “I’ll talk,” she tells him, even as he levels her with an indulgent look. “I need to…explain. I don’t want them to be angry when they get here.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.”

No idea what to say to that. 

Elena only has her own number memorized, so she dials it and hopes her kidnappers hadn’t taken it. Exactly half a ring in, Elijah’s crisp, vastly pissed off voice answers.

“Elijah,” breathes Elena in relief. She taps at Kol’s arm to get his attention, unable to stop her triumph from showing. Kol grabs the hand she’d reached out and keeps it, intertwining their fingers. Tilts his head– as a threat or in confusion?-- when she resists the movement. 

“Elena,” says Elijah back, with equal amounts of relief and worry. She hears him call out for Klaus, the most un-put together she’d ever heard him. “Where are you?” he demands.

“I’m–” The fault in her plan shows. She looks at Kol with wide eyes, but he only shrugs. He has no idea where they are. 

“Give me that,” says Kol, and in an extra loud voice, as if he wants both Klaus and Elijah to hear him. An unnerving smile takes up real estate on his face as he takes the phone and puts it on speaker. “Hello, brothers.”

Elena’s heart contracts. Oh my God. Oh God. Oh–

“This is Kol speaking,” he says cheerfully. “This is not a ransom call. It’s a ‘you’re both bloody idiots for letting her get kidnapped. Again.’ Once again, you’re letting me do your dirty work. This time, however, I don’t mind.”

“Kol,” snaps… Klaus. “Unless you wish to end up with a snapped spine–”

“Spare me the gore, will you?” volleys Kol. “I have an equal amount of interest in our lovely little doppelganger. Curious thing blood curses are, aren’t they? Step one, drink Elena’s blood. Step two, give Elena your blood. Extra points if you make her safe, and in this den of wolves…” he trails. “There’s a Bennett witch in town. Why don’t you–”

“Kol,” it’s Elena interjecting this time. After a moment’s thought, she’d called his name gently. He resists when his name is snapped. “Can I talk to them, please?”

He’s all but rearing to fight; it’s mostly aimed at his brothers, but her interrupting has him narrowing his eyes. Elena raises her eyebrows in faux bravery. 

“Kol saved me,” she says clearly, to him and to his brothers. “We’re not hurt. Apparently, they were wolves trying to sacrifice me or something. A regular Sunday,” she adds horribly, with bad humor, if only to lighten up the air. The darkness in Kol’s eyes recedes, and he rolls them at her hyperbole. 

“But you’re all right?” Klaus demands, his tone radically different than when he was speaking with Kol.

“Yeah. They’re all dead.” How many kidnappings until you stopped feeling sympathies for your captors? This is her limit. “Are you guys okay?”

There’s a sigh on the other end. Then, “We’re all right, Elena. And Bonnie is with at the moment. She’s been trying to work on a locator spell, but you’re both cloaked.”

“The wolves had a witch on their side. Her body’s in an upstairs bedroom,” Kol contributes. “Her head’s in the parlor.”

“Elena,” says Elijah quickly, his alarm amusing Kol. “Don’t–”

“I’m fine.” She cuts a look at Kol, who’s still all too happy at riling his brothers. “I’ll, um, see if I can send you our location. Hold on.” It’s only then that Kol allows her to take back her hand. Silently, though her fingers are almost outright trembling from how badly she’s holding in her reaction to everything. “Here,” she says, a few seconds later. “We’re in Lexington, Kentucky. It’s…seven hours away from Virginia.”

“We’ll be there in half that,” asserts Klaus. “Elena, stay on the line while–”

“Enough of that,” interjects Kol. “It’s my time with her now.”

Seven hours with Kol. She doesn't know how she will survive.

In disbelief, Elena watches as he ends the call. She thinks he might crush the phone, but he just puts it inside his coat. Smiles at her, a smile of camaraderie, and guides her out of the room.

Half an hour later finds them at one of the rooms that had escaped the bloodshed. As soon as she had taken a step, Kol found out that her foot was hurt and had dragged her to the sofa there. With no regard for his own safety, he has her lay on the sofa, takes her feet in his lap, and had painstakingly taken every shard out.

Deep in thought, Elena has been studying Kol, chin resting on her palm, as she has been doing for the past thirty minutes. His smile is sharp as he caresses the length of her bare leg, just as he has been doing since he was sure there was no more glass left. 

“You know,” she comments, distracted; because it really is cold, and his touch feels soothing. “After the Sinclair thing, I couldn’t stand being touched for so long. Afterward, when I wanted it, I didn’t know how to ask for it. By the time I grew closer to Klaus and Elijah, it was like I was touch-starved” Unprompted honesty. A result of Kol’s probing and prodding questions all the time as a projection. “A hundred years daggered. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“It’s not really a hundred years,” says Kol, entirely too focused on his task of touching her. “It’s like falling asleep and waking up. Not even limbo, because we don’t dream. Perhaps glimpses of consciousness before they fade away.”

She thinks. “How did you project yourself to me?”

“That was only after having you,” he answers casually, then snaps to attention and looks at her directly. “Waking up to you, tasting your blood, it was like coming up for air.”

The air inside her lungs flails. She’d always thought Klaus and Elijah brought back her ability to breathe comfortably, even if they wreaked havoc on her heart’s rhythm. Kol using that same metaphor…

“To be honest,” he’s saying, which makes her realize she’d gotten lost in a trance, staring at him. “I’m surprised that the Bennett witch went with your scheme.”

“Scheme? You’re making me sound more diabolical than I really am,” Elena counters, trying to relax said heartbeat so that he’s not alerted to her nervousness. 

“Then explain what happened to me again.” It’s his true goal, sitting here with her: extracting the entire truth from her.

Like she’d told him yesterday– or was it the day before?-- she says, “On the night I caught Damon cheating, I got in the car to visit Jeremy and was taken on the way. The week after–” She has to look away. “Um, something clicked in place when Klaus helped me, I guess. There was no plan for Bonnie to help me with because I didn’t scheme. I didn’t tell them about the journal because–” A moment of hesitation. “-- because I didn’t want to find a way to break the connection. Not yet.”

Kol stares at her. For entirely too long. Past the mark of appropriate and veering to uncanny valley territory. Elena tries her best to hold his gaze, but it unnerves her to the point that she tries drawing her legs away. His arm comes down, with an ironclad gip, and keeps her in place.

“See, I don’t believe that,” he finally says. “I mean, I enjoyed the little charade you and Bonnie put up at your house, but I’m supposed to believe a Bennett witch stood by and did nothing while you befriended and fell in love with the Mikaelsons ?”

“She’s my best friend–”

“She’s a witch first.”

“She’s on my side, no matter what. And she has her own stuff to deal with.”

“The same girl whose magic tried to annihilate vampirekind? Who has always notoriously hated vampires– and with good reason?”

“We’re not high school kids anymore,” Elena counters, “And we’ve matured past old grudges.”

“That, I believe.” Kol smiles. “But you forget who you’re speaking with. I’m Kol Mikaelson, sweetheart; don’t you think I know all there is about connection curses?”

“Of course,” Elena says, “You said–”

“And I’m curious about your…let’s call it procrastination. Procrastinating confronting Damon about his infidelity; procrastinating telling my brothers about the curse; and even the curious timing of sealing your bond with each of us.”

His characteristic cruel, brilliant smirk makes her heart shoves against her throat, thudding loudly against her skin as if her collarbones are metal instead of echoing bones.

The living room where they had settled in is on the ground floor, and has near panoramic views of their woody surroundings. The moon is like a hired actor, hanging dramatically in view and lighting up too much of the room and too little at the same time. Enough to cast an eerie glow on the predator in the room, inches from Elena.

Like he’d been waiting to lunge, as soon as Elena starts to speak, to protest, to defend herself, dizzy with her resolve– he interrupts, “You’re going to try to convince me you’re a victim in this? You’ll disappoint me, Elena. Especially because you hate the label. Try again.”

Infinitely feeling less safe, Elena’s muscles tense, ignoring the command from her brain of fight or flight, which leaves only adrenaline powering her still veins instead. “I can’t control the curse, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Connection curses are real. They’re a blood curse, if you’re trying to get the name right,” Kol says, “There’s a litany of conditions that need to be met, of course. Miraculously, you and my family accomplished them all. But something tells me you were one step ahead.”

Elena’s already shaking her head in denial, but Kol continues, “Nik, I’ll grant you that, given the Sinclair thing. That’s the night your bond with him was sealed. Elijah, however? I find that one a little harder to believe. Remind me again how that came to be?”

Elena’s jaw locks. “I told you already. I accidentally cut my finger and he healed me. We didn’t know–”

“A timestamp on your journal is very intriguing, forgive the interruption,” he says. “Elijah healed you shortly after that confrontation with Damon, didn’t he?”

Oh, she was going to burn all those journals when she got home. 

Kol’s smirk widens at her silence. “Come on, Elena; you were barely subtle with it. But you’re clever. It’s why my eldest brother enjoys playing chess with you so much. But he underestimates you- and your bluff. Don’t worry, I blame him entirely for falling for that one. How did he not second-guess the bleeding doppelganger when it’s not even the first time you deliberately stabbed yourself in front of him to get what you wanted?”

Chapter Text

“And the voices say, “you are not the exception

You will never learn your lesson””

Chapter Thirty Two

“I’m on your side, Elena,” says Kol, so convincingly that Elena’s shaky, traumatized resolve weakens and hardens and wavers again. “You avoid writing your actual schemes, but you document the events. I already know everything. You just have to help me connect the dots.”

“Why?” Elena finds herself saying. “Why are you doing this? Why do you want to know this? Why–”

“Why give you my blood?” Kol concludes, that unreadable smile making a return. At her hesitation, he presses, “You hold your secrets, the way you think, so closely to your heart. Revealing the truth probably feels like a loss. I’m the same . So I’ll propose this. If I answer that, you will answer me back.”

Are you negotiating with me? Elijah’s phantom voice is reminiscent of this. “A quid pro quo?”

“No.” Kol’s smile is visible in his voice. “A zero sum game, isn’t that what they call it? An advantage for one side and an equivalent loss for the other.”

How long has it been? Less than an hour? At least five more for Elijah and Klaus to come.

“Do the calculation,” prompts Kol. “Wouldn’t it feel so nice if you weren’t sitting on this secret? If the only other person knowing this wasn’t two days away and reachable through ink and paper?”

“Why do you want this bond with me?” Elena asks, stalling. In reality, she’s experiencing an– an ordeal. It’s been months since she’d been backed into a corner like this. It feels as suffocating as that cuff around her ankle. And she doesn’t see a way around this. Kol read her journals ; he doesn’t know everything, but he knows enough to be dangerous. To threaten her reality and the love she’d built with bloody hands and desperation. All for what?

“I’ve told you this already,” answers Kol, and God help her, he seems earnest. “I want you.”

“No,” she refuses immediately. “You don’t know me well enough for that. You want the idea of me. You’ve only watched me; saw me with your brothers. You may have read my journals, but I’ve been talking with them. I know what you really want.”

It’s almost satisfying to watch that mask of a smile neutralize. “And what’s that?” provokes Kol.

Elena straightens– as best she could while his arm, which might as well be a steel trap, holding her legs. “You want them. Elijah and Klaus. You want your family back. To fit in without having to constantly prove yourself, and messing it up because they don’t think like you. They don’t even realize they’re doing it, as in push you out. From what I could gather, that promise in the ashes of your old home, Elijah, Klaus, and Rebekah held hands and promised each other ‘always and forever.’ You weren’t there. I’m not trying to be mean, Kol., but am I right?”

From experience, she knows what Damon’s reaction would be to saying something like this to him. That steel trap will drop down any time now to bruise her, hurt her.

A heartbeat passes. Then two. And the trap doesn’t activate. The boulder doesn’t fall.

Kol’s expression shows a litany of emotions, all passing like he doesn’t know how to process them. A muscle in his jaw works overtime, and his gaze goes unfocused, lost in thought.

“They’re milestones,” Elena reveals eventually, when her heart hurts at seeing the absence of that smirk for once. That gets his attention. Elena continues, holding up her end of the deal. A zero sum game. One side’s loss is paramount to the other’s gain. “Bonding with Klaus was an accident. Instinctual. But when I came back, and Damon left Caroline, I genuinely thought I could put all of that behind me. I tried to pull myself together, but I didn’t…do it right. Damon and I had been through so much. I chose him over Stefan. Anyone could see how devoted he was to me. To lose that devotion? When Katherine kept it for one hundred and fifty years? I thought something must be seriously wrong with me. So Caroline had something I didn’t. I started changing how I dressed. And it worked, for a while; he paid me more attention when I was in a dress or a skirt. But that faded. I tried to show interest in his hobbies, but it’s not like Damon does anything that productive besides reading and working on his car.” She rolls her eyes. 

“I could feel him slipping away. When I knew he was seeing her again, the Miss Mystic Falls competition was around the corner. My mom was the one who signed me last year. I convinced myself that I was doing it for her. And I was. It wasn’t until I won that I realized that I was kind of doing it to not just imitate Caroline, but to take something away from her.”

“Caroline Forbes,” Kol speaks, and it surprises her that this is what he focused on. “The one Nik fancied?”

Her control over her expression slips, and is punished with Kol’s lightening a little.

“Yes,” Elena says, almost grounding it out. It is such a sore subject and deep-hidden insecurity that she’d been unable to help her reaction. “That was just an added bonus, but not why I did what I did. Which never leaves this haunted mansion,” she says seriously. She starts to draw her legs to herself, but only to shift closer to Kol. He lets her, until she’s kneeling next to him, eye-level with him.

His gaze lowers to her face, her lips. He murmurs, “You know my terms.”

She does . “The connection is genuine,” she says clearly. Then, just to double check, looks around as if to make sure they’re completely alone. “The sleepwalking isn’t.”

“Hold on,” Kol says. His eyes had widened. That part wasn’t written in her journal or her conversations with Bonnie. “But Nik and Elijah spied on your dreams. They saw what you saw. I’ve heard them talking about it.”

“Bonnie’s part in my ‘plan’ is more extensive than diagnosing the problem,” Elena divulges. “I asked her to do a spell for me. On me. Another curse. A dream curse. My traumatized mind–” her tone turns wry. “-- did the rest of the work. The curse gave me nightmares. Parts of the nightmares are my mind bridging the gap. Others are from memory. Running– from that night I saw Damon and Caroline. The rest is what changes. Klaus’ skull. Mine. Calling for Elijah sometimes. I couldn’t control any of that.”

“So Bonnie made you sleepwalk?”

“Let’s be honest,” Elena says, “Klaus wouldn’t have given a fuck if the doppelganger ran up to him and told him she was having nightmares. He’d have told me to take an Advil and get lost. It was a spell, but I guess she put a little more ‘umf’ into her spell. I was supposed to have more control over it. End up at their front door or something. It’s why I was so surprised to find myself in Klaus’ bed. Honestly did not mean for it to escalate that way. It’s why I went along with Damon to stop it. And Bonnie had gone back to her mom.”

“And if you called her back to town, my brothers would have made her stay to stop the curse,” Kol correctly surmises. They do think alike. Elena nods.

“I never wanted to force them into anything,” Elena tells him. For this next part, since it’s the most crucial, most dangerous, she has to steel herself for it. “The connection only ever affected me,” she studies Kol as she says it. “The nightmares. The sleepwalking. Wanting them. Klaus never would have noticed if I didn’t end up in his house that night.”

“‘Every night, I wait for you. When you don’t seek me out, I will.’ You wrote that a few times in your journal.”

Elena shakes her head. “Do you see Klaus having nightmares about me? Approached me before I did? It took forever for Elijah to come around. All I did was orchestrate circumstances to grow closer to them,” Elena confesses, knowing how it sounds. Terrible. But not to Kol’s ears. “Cutting myself was impulsive, but Damon gave me the opportunity to speed up my timeline. Up until that night, part of me was still thinking about Damon. What he did. And Elijah is too noble for his own good. He never would have gone after me if he thought Klaus and I were magically bound.”

“Nik would have also taken offense to it,” Kol says. He really does watch his brothers more than they notice. “But why do you want them both ? Nik would have been enough.”

“The curse,” Elena says. “Doesn’t work that way. Elijah was there that night, too.”

Kol ponders over that for a while. “You mentioned milestones?”

Elena nods. “Before I made my move,” she says, and then hesitates, “I had to make sure Klaus genuinely liked me. I had to invite him inside. But then Elijah threatened me.” Her irritation at that incident at Bonnie’s house shows. It was well-documented in the journal, so Kol already knows about it. “Klaus held me. He didn’t have to. He didn’t have to save me, or comfort me. I know what it looks like when a guy likes you. Doppelganger face and all.” Her bitterness at her status as a doppelganger escapes. “Anyway, um. Milestones. Breakup with Damon. Klaus starting to like me back. The more we talked, the more I realized how perfect we are together. We even, miraculously, had the same taste in pop culture.

“Elijah almost caught me, you know,” she says with a humorless smile. “He told me he didn’t trust me. Told me I could lie and that I had to prove myself. Pissed me off, to be honest.”

Kol tilts his head to regard. “What did that prompt you to do?” he asks, like Elena’s reactions amuse him.

“Went on strike. Made them realize they could miss me. I convinced Matt to tell Damon that the Grill was out of bourbon to make him go to the other bar Klaus likes. That honestly turned out better than I could ever hope, because Klaus came to get me himself. Then Caroline came to town–”

“I particularly enjoyed reading about your confrontation with them,” Kol says. “Better than revenge.”

“Better, because it got Elijah to admit he liked me back. Both of them. It was relatively smooth sailing from there. No more external factors. We fell in love.”

“You fell in love,” Kol echoes, muses. Then, he jerks forward, like he had suddenly realized something. Elena has a seat right on the podium as a genuine, honestly twisted, smile changes the entire structure of his expression. “Elena Gilbert has never sleepwalked in her life without an endgame in her ever-planning mind,” he says, almost urgently. “A few weeks after ensaring–”

“Please don’t call it that.”

“Seducing my brothers, then,” Kol corrects absently, “Elena Gilbert sleepwalked to my coffin and pulled the dagger out of my cold, dead heart.”

Elena jerks in Elijah’s hold to face Klaus just as he turns back to her. The image he presents is terrifying. Structured features, otherworldly power, shut down as he emotionlessly re-daggers his youngest brother. During the mayhem, Klaus had broken Kol’s neck to get him off her. Now, he’d adjusted Kol back in the coffin.

“Yeah, and you almost tore my throat out for it.”

“That was on purpose?” Kol demands. That part hadn’t been spelled out in her journal. She had told Bonnie about the incident, but not her inner thoughts about it. “You wanted to wake me up?”

Almost immediately, Elena breaks the silence by blurting, “Why can’t we wake him up?” Pleading– that’s how she sounds, but she can’t help it.

But she hadn’t known how dangerous he was; started to regret it. Elena’s face falls. What had she done?

Inhale. Exhale. Elena shifts, leans forward. It’s the first time she’d initiated touch with Kol like this. Slowly, so he can stop her if he wants to, she touches his cheek. “I want you, too,” she murmurs. With a teasing eye roll, she relaxes back. “Before you went all Caspar on me. Didn’t expect that.”

It takes Kol a few moments to study her back, dark gaze boring into her very soul. “Jeremy,” he says eventually. “I kept threatening you with Jeremy.”

“I was genuinely trying to wake you up,” Elena tells him. All the Jeremy threats had annoyed her, but– “But it wasn’t like I could tell you why.You were doing as Originals do.”

“You dragged your feet.”

Elena’s about to deny, but she sees the look in his eyes. For some reason, Kol’s developing a truth radar when it comes to her. “Only because you kept making things difficult. I wasn’t sure I could trust you. And if I undaggered you, I’d lost Klaus and Elijah’s trust. And you’d have gotten a dagger back in your heart. I was saving both of our relationships.” And potentially lives. She still hasn’t seen the Mikaelsons angry with her.

“I bet you didn’t take into account I’d start liking you,” Kol says; teases, or she thinks. His intentions are usually entirely too opaque for her to decide that.

“And I like you back,” Elena says bravely. “I don’t want to manipulate you, or Klaus, or Elijah. Or anyone else. I just–” she averts her gaze, facing a sudden onslaught of emotions in the form of butterflies in her stomach and tears in her eyes. “I just want to love. I have paradoxical opinions about it; that it’s useless, transient. But I can’t help but lunge like a starved animal at it every time I think it’s possible.”

“Take it.”

Elena is startled into looking at Kol after working so hard to compose herself. In anticipation, she holds her breath when he reaches to run the back of his hand along her cheek; brushes her hair back.

The breath that she held back hitches audibly when his grip tightens, curling into her hair. Not to the point of pain. Enough to threaten to, though.

“Nik and Elijah have to know,” Kol leans forward to say, lowering his voice. “Perhaps not today, but nothing stays a secret around my family. Your manipulations coming to light are inevitable. Is that clear?”

Petulant and resigned is what Elena feels as her brows furrow in distress. “I never–”

“I’m not threatening you. After all, you’re the reason I’m out of my coffin. The first person to care about me in centuries to vouch for me, even after knowing me.”

She’s pulled closer until their foreheads are almost touching. Her swallow is audible, and it makes Kol smile. 

“I like you; every part I’ve seen, I like,” this close, all Elena can do is murmur. “Promise you’ll keep my secret?” she asks, tentative. “I only ‘schemed’ to get closer to the Mikaelsons where so many others failed. They’ve been so good to me, and I can tell I’m good for them. Klaus and Elijah don’t fight anymore. They call Mystic Falls home, again, finally. Klaus gave Elijah back his dagger a while back.” She anticipates Kol’s reaction. “Rebekah’s across the globe. Matt shows me her Instagram posts, but Klaus’ not hunting her down. The Mikaelsons are finally content .”

Kol’s eyes narrow, darkening– having done so since the dagger comment was hidden in the middle of the sentence. “Impossible. The dagger?”

“We’re bound together now,” Elena tells him. “Klaus won’t dagger you again. I won’t let him. I overhead them one night. They were worried about the effect of me being connected to one of you who’s daggered. They’re cautious because I’m human still.”

“I won’t believe it until I see it,” Kol says with wavering conviction. “Nik would never give up the daggers. It’s his only way to control us.”

“No, it’s his way of keeping his family together,” Elena corrects. “I understand him, too. But what if the Mikaelsons had something else in common? To stay for?”

In his pocket, Michael’s phone suddenly lights up with a text. The light drowns out both of their expressions for a moment, but neither of them have to look at it to know what the message says. They had been talking for  forever. The phone serves as a reminder of the reality waiting for them outside of this bubble.

“My dagger,” Kol says, a few beats later. “And your love. That’s what you’re offering?” My family goes unsaid, but she hears it.

Silently, knowing that actions mean more in this family, Elena touches his face, and gently, she pulls him down to meet her kiss halfway down. The moment their lips touch, something rests easy in Elena’s very soul. It’s what she’d been looking for for months. Her soul reaching out to theirs.

Being with Kol at that moment, it’s easy. It’s without all the usual complications and angst. She knows exactly how to touch him and him her. It’s because they’re bound by more than a bond, but by a secret, and the same desire for family and love where everything else failed them. They’re the type of people who have to manufacture circumstances to get what they want, and both have come to collect the rewards they had earned.

Kol had pulled her– or she’d climbed up– to his lap. They don’t drown in each other. They pull each other, like coming up for fresh air after sinking for so long. Their lips barely disconnect all this time, not until Kol pulls away, the Original breathing heavily.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” he murmurs. “More schemes. More plots. More pieces you put together to get this?”

Lying is futile, and not something she wants to do when they’re so close– so close and loving. “Yes,” she breathes. “Small details. I’ll tell you.”

He drops his forehead to hers. “Oh, sweet doppelganger. You’re either going to be our salvation or our damnation.” In contrast to the intense, adrenaline-pushed emotions and high a moment earlier, he smiles. “We have a few hours until my brothers get here. I’m all ears. I’ll accept everything under one condition.” He waits for her cautious nod. “No more secrets. If you’re giving this relationship with the three of us a real chance, then no more plotting. You want something, you tell us. Me. Now that the final piece of the puzzle finally fits, there’s no more need for manipulation, is there?”

Elena’s agreement is too immediate, too eager; all she wants to do is kiss him again. Lose herself in him again, and yes, tell him all her secrets.

Besides, it’s not like she can tell him that the puzzle isn’t quite complete yet. 

Chapter Text

“I’m only cryptic and Machievallian because I care”

Chapter Thirty Three

“No, Kol, don’t–” Any warning or threat she makes is lost in her giggle, which bursts out of her as Kol nevertheless tries to kiss again. “Kol, I’ve been cooking. I smell like garlic– Kol!”

A mischievous grin, shark-like, yet soft in its edges, pulls at Kol’s expression. His arms are all but roaming everywhere they can reach on her body, but she feels his satisfaction as he caresses where he likes to hold her from the most: her waist. Arms lock around her waist and tighten on the small of her back to make her arch as he continues to try to kiss her.

When she dodges him again, he relinquishes his hold to cup her cheek. “Did you actually eat it?” he asks seriously, looking into her eyes. 

The amused gleam in his warm eyes deepens at the sight of her smile widening shyly. She shakes her head a little. “But I can–”

Whatever she’d meant to say is forgotten, long gone, abandoned, and willingly handed over to Kol, who carries her over to the nearest empty counter. He climbs on top of her.

“We do eat here, you know.” 

Kol doesn’t slow down in the least at his brother’s interference, but Elena giggles and pulls away. At the moment, Kol blocks her entire view of the entire; she has to rest her chin on his shoulder to look at Elijah, who has a wry smile lightening the severity of his expression.

“Hi,” she says in a sweet voice. 

Elijah’s smile softens. “Hello, sweetheart.” He comes over. Kol backs off enough so that he’s still straddling her but he gives Elijah enough room to lean down, cup her face, and kiss her.

Elijah’s thumb caresses along her jaw. “Niklaus called,” he informs her, though his eyes are still on her lips. “One, answer your phone. Apparently, he prefers it when you answer instead of his own brother.” Her giggle is contagious. Kol and Elijah, who are eerily similar in the appearance, smile in amusement. “He’ll be home soon.”

“Good,” Elena says; she’s been anticipating his return all day long since he’d kissed her goodbye on his way out this morning. “I’ll call him.” Attentiveness is the way to his heart. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

Elijah shifts his gaze; he surveys the kitchen. The mess of the kitchen, actually. “It’s your birthday,” he muses. “You shouldn’t be making dinner. Kol–”

“Tie me to the stove, will you,” remarks Kol dryly. It’s an empty comment, because a few weeks into Kol re-joining the world of the living, he’d taken to cooking as a hobby. 

Of course, he preferred to make the weirdest, most outlandish meals– get him a blowtorch and he’ll make an entire meal out of it. His only stipulation, at first, was that Elena would make the dessert. But he’d liked it so much that she often found experimenting with recipes.  

“-- and I can take over,” Elijah continues, as if uninterrupted. “Go. Get ready for dinner.”

After a moment of consideration, Kol rolls his eyes; nods. And gets off her to help her up. She kisses them both on her way out, smiling to herself. Even on the day Klaus and Elijah came to rescue her and Kol, she’d never expected this.

Months ago, an item she never expected to knock off her bingo list, in her lifetime, was falling asleep in Kol Mikaelson’s lap. While Elijah Mikaelson drove. And Klaus in the passenger seat. And– get this: none of them had tried to kidnap her. It’s the opposite. They saved her. 

Surreal.

It’s everything her teenage self never would have imagined. Never would have wanted either. Deja vu hits, of Stefan and Damon coming to her rescue after Rose and Trevor took her, ironically, for Elijah. At that point, she’d almost died five different times, been force-fed vampire blood, by Damon, her boyfriend’s brother (and current ex-boyfriend now), and a million other traumatizing events she’d blocked out. 

The point is that she’d never been as scared as she’d felt watching Rose get afraid– Trevor. 

Phantom blood splatters on her shirt; Trevor’s head was torn off in a clean slice. 

How deadly was the predator in the front seat? And why was she so comfortable letting her guard down, sleeping in his presence? Kol, touch-starved; Kol, knows all her secrets; Kol still wants her. Worked almost as hard to get her as she did them. Beyond waiting for Klaus and Elijah to barge into the mansion and their reunion– it had involved jumping into their arms and them fanatically making sure that she’s not hurt, Kol had barely left Elena’s side.

“I was hurt,” Elena had said to Klaus, desperately, holding him in a hug he loves her too much to pull away from yet. “But Kol healed me.”

Elijah, who was at her back, had paused. He’d been almost standing guard between them and Kol, who was only smirking smugly at his brothers. But Elijah had done it with a hand stroking Elena’s hair and back, as if to make sure she was really there.

“He gave you his blood?” 

And that had cemented her fate. Or Kol’s. There might have been some fighting, which she’d shouted at them to stop, but Kol had been accepted, if somewhat reluctantly, into the fold. If he hurt Elena in the least, then Elijah and Klaus vowed to find a way to break his connection to Elena.

Presently, they’re gathered around their favorite dining room. Elena’s being lavished with attention since it’s her birthday, although she’s usually more or less the center of attention on any average day. At the moment, she’s giggling at a story Klaus and Kol are telling her while Elijah has a palm raised to his mouth, as if in embarrassment and shame at his brothers’ antics.

“And it was his shoe–” Kol is saying, which sets off Elena. A snort of laughter of pure amusement escapes her, which is contagious to the others.

“You guys were wild,” says Elena; compliments. Because it’s so nice seeing Klaus and Kol banding together like this. It’s not often, but they do get along the best when they’re both in good moods. “And you,” she addresses Elijah. “Where were you when they were wreaking havoc?”

Mid-sip of his wine, Elijah pauses, as if caught. Klaus and Kol’s reactions give him away. Then, smoothly, in that crisp, immaculate voice of his, he asserts, “Who do you think distracted the wife?”

They launch into another story, determined to prove to her that Elijah’s not always the same, well-behaved Original he claims to be, much to Elena’s amusement.

Eventually, though, dinner, courtesy of mainly Kol, is over. The cake, which he helped her make, is served, too. Afterward, too impatient, Kol claps his hands to get their attention. In a second, he’s grabbing Elena “-- time for presents!” and pulling her to sit on the other long end of the dining table. He smirks at her triumphantly. “I’ll go first. Close your eyes.”

All too happy, Elena complies. Movement behind her shows that Klaus and Elijah had gotten up, too. There’s a rustle of bags and fabric in front of her before Kol murmurs for her to open her eyes. In tandem, he presents her with…a tiara.

Elena’s jaw drops.

“Princess–” it’s his most uttered nickname for her. She could replay his voice– and all of them, since his brothers had also taken to calling her that sometimes– on loop forever saying that. “It’s only fitting.”

The gleam of the diamonds is blinding. It’s breathtaking and extravagant and tasteful and so utterly– ugh! Her shriek makes Kol laugh, and he has the foresight of gently setting the tiara on her head before she lunges at him. Elena’s legs wrap around his waist as she pulls him down to her level for a rewarding, toe-curling kiss that lasts as long as that tiara is probably expensive.

“Something tells me you didn’t get this from Tiffany’s,” she murmurs against his lips after as she carefully, and with reverence, touches the diamonds on her head.

“Oh, no,” Kol answers, “It’s best you don’t know where I got it. Don’t, like, post any pictures with it. And certainly don’t tag any European royal families.”

“Kol,” Elena wants to scold, but she laughs.

“Before you tackled me,” Kol says, “You should have let me give you all of your presents.”

“There’s more?” The weight of the tiara is strange, but not unwelcome. Better than her Miss Mystic diadem for sure. When movement to her right catches her attention, she smiles brilliantly, excitedly at Klaus.

“It’s a set of royal jewels,” Kol says. He reaches behind her and presents her with a necklace, earrings, a set of bracelets, and–

“This is incredible. Kol, how did you–”

“Don’t mention this to Interpool as well,” interrupts Elijah wryly, though he smiles.

“Are you going to get in trouble?” Elena asks Kol, seriously, even though she can’t take her eyes off the most beautiful things she’d ever seen in her life for long.

A touch to her chin brings her attention back to him. “Worth it for my girl,” Kol says. “My brothers have the sentimental gifts covered. I thought I’d give you something utterly indulgent and decadent to make you smile.” 

He helps her put on the rest of the jewelry until her outfit turns a few more million dollars heavier.

“I’ll go next,” says Elijah. With little resistance, Kol steps aside and Elijah takes his place in front of Elena. In the same aristocratic, meticulous manner he treats everything of importance with, he retrieves an simple, but quite thick envelope from inside his jacket pocket. “I’m afraid it doesn’t quite glimmer, but I hope it will suffice.”

They could write her love letters and she’d have loved them all the same. With careful fingers, she opens the neatly sealed package. And has to blink at the legal jargon. Her eyes dart all over the pages, but a series of numbers and words in bold letters are the loudest.

“These are all the proporties surrounding your family’s cabin,” says Elijah gently; tentative, even. The immaculate Original unsure of her reaction for once. “You told us about the disputes.” Property lines and complaints their neighbors had bombarded them with like they had a personal agenda and feud against the Gilberts. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You and Jeremy are now the sole owners of that Gilbert estate, which now extends for miles around the lake.”

“Jeremy,” Elena repeats, dumbfounded. “You put Jeremy’s name on the deed?”

Her hair is brushed back over her shoulder; a hand, calloused from his days as a Viking man a thousand years ago and from, as a vampire, she’d learned, playing musical instruments, brushes against her cheek. “You and your brother are now free to leave the property as it is; build a donut-shaped mansion around the lake–” He smiles at her accidental snort. “-- or we can build a second property.”

Elena’s heart, head, jumps forward. A second property…or a home? They’re nearly a year into their relationship. Even for vampires, that’s too soon to be planning a life. Or is it? Elena and Stefan were ‘I’ll die for you’ a few months in.

“You and Nik can design it,” Elena says with an indulged smile. Klaus’ dimples immediately make an appearance. She can’t help but feel like she’d chosen the correct dialogue option in a video game, solely for that breathtaking expression. 

Never one to be ignored, Kol interrupts, “What about me?”

“You and I will populate it,” Elena jokes, and almost gasps when he lunges at her for a kiss that shows her how hard he’ll try ‘populating’ that house with her.

Afterward, she directs her attention to the one who deserves it the most at this very second. Wraps her arms around his shoulders to bring her to her level. “Thank you,” Elena says, lowering her voice, sincerely, and looking Elijah in the eyes, wondering she could ever look into those eyes and see anything but warmth and adoration reflected back. “We can build a house on the lake. Only if there’s a chess table in the living room.”

“And enough room for an art studio,” Klaus contributes, which further solidifies Elena’s belief that they’re building a home together. 

“A California king bed in the bedroom,” Kol imagines; grins wickedly. “Elijah’s nude portrait shall hang in the foyer to traumatize visitors.”

Dual heys! are shouted, for two different reasons.

“I’m not criticizing the artistry, princess,” soothes Kol, “Just the subject.”

Mean , she mouthes at Kol, even as he grins and Elijah rolls his eyes. Her thank-you kiss to him turns into an apologetic for Kol one. Drawing away is inevitable, but Elena is extra motivated because–

Her eyes lock with Klaus’. The second-oldest Mikaelsons is holding something behind his back.

“There are two presents,” Klaus warns, like the birthday-loving lover Caroline had described him to be. “There is one I feel you’d appreciate more, but it’s not mine to give.”

Brows furrowing, Elena leans forward in interest. Then almost immediately back in shock. In disbelief, her palm raises automatically to cover her mouth as he shows her–

“That’s my dad’s watch,” Elena says; once, twice. “That’s my dad’s watch. I lost it when–” Involuntarily, her voice fills up with tears. It cracks. Elijah, still the closest to her, tsks and pulls her into a half-hug, delicately kissing the top of her head. “They took it away. How did you–”

Hesitation marring his confidence, Klaus offers a hand out for her to put her own in; starts to gently put on the watch for her. “After that night, we returned to–” No delicate way to put it. “-- clean up. I found it in one of the security offices, almost smashed to bits.”

Any attempt at resisting tears is conquered with those words. They’re a straight punch to the chest. Her dad's watch; the image of it in contact with her dad’s coat in his office at the hospital; the sight of it, unused, in a drawer Jenna shows her; the heavy feel of it on her own wrist, like stepping into shoes that are too big. But orphaned Elena had been determined. She’d gotten a watchmaker the Historical Society knew to adjust the watch to her. Ever since, she hadn’t gone out without its reassuring weight, her dad’s presence and blessing. It was among the many violations she’d been exposed to at Sinclair– someone stealing her watch.

“Took forever to repair it with original pieces,” Klaus continues carefully. “If I couldn’t fix it, I was going to return it to you, but…”

What was it, fight or flight or frozen? What about paralyzed by emotions, because it should belong under a different category. Elena should know; it’s keeping her hostage right now; shackles her by the wrist.

“You got me back my dad’s watch,” she says, almost numbly, still staring at it. When she raises her head to Klaus, he’s still watching her. His gaze tracks the soundless tears that she tries to wipe away.

Both of his brothers, her boyfriends, are in the room with them, but their worlds narrow to each other for the moment. Elena doesn’t need a thousand words to thank you. Everything she wants to convey escapes her expression. He comes over and presses their foreheads together; a kiss later.

She proclaims, also later, to all three of them, wearing a princess tiara, holding the deed to her family’s most prized possession, and wearing the most precious thing she can think of, “Best birthday ever.”

Chapter Text

“She would’ve made such a lovely bride

What a shame she’s fucked in the head”

Chapter Thirty Four

In private, Klaus shows her her second present. Elena’s essence comes to a stop, her feet slowing their march, as she pauses in front of a portrait of her.

“The background is plain,” explains Klaus quietly from behind her as he comes up to her side, carefully watching for her expression, “because you’re the center.”

A…doppelganger of her stares back at her from over her shoulder, in a dress that exposes her neck and shoulders. Lush, luminous hair cascades down her bare back. Her dad’s watch decorates her wrist. All beautiful, more beautiful than she could ever claim to be to ensnare someone. But that’s not what halts her attention and makes her stuck in place. It’s her face. It’s the look in her eyes that’s– that could only be described as– as pulling.

“Elijah called it ‘Elena’s Allure’ when he saw it,” Klaus says, an ode to the ‘allure of the Petrova doppelganger line that had haunted Elena for years. “I don’t think you realize what a look from you could do to us,” he murmurs; that gets her to look up, and he reaches to caress her cheek. “Even before, before last summer. At the ball. You stole our attention when you walked in. If I could, if you’d let me, I’d draw portraits of you all day long. It’s what my brush heads to do every time I touch the canvas.”

Elena’s attention strays back to the painting, to her eyes; her own in real life stuck on her almost reflection.

“But you’re strange about being complimented on your looks.”

The noise that had started whispering past her ears stops. Elena gasps inaudibly in disbelief. “I’m what?”

“You asked me once what I saw when I look at you,” Klaus says, “Tatia, Katherine. Their games; their beauty, because it’s identical to you. But it’s not. How on Earth Katerina Petrova managed to impersonate you so many times is unfeasible to me, because I can’t believe you’re inimitable in any way.”

“She tricked you.” It’s a last defense, and only one time. Back at Homecoming. A day Klaus probably celebrates because that’s when he finally killed his father.

“I didn’t know you then,” Klaus says, then smiles as if ‘nice try.’ “I know every time I tell you that you look beautiful, you think I’m admiring a lineage of doppelgangers along with you. This, however, I’ll implore you to let me compliment the part of you that’s unlike any other.”

Inhale. Exhale. “My eyes.”

“I’m not Modigliani,” says Klaus, his lips starting to curve up, “But I see you, Elena.”

“Figured I’d find you here.” 

Kol’s hands descend on Elena’s shoulders. He kisses the top of her head then rests his chin there. A hum. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it’s egotistical of you to stare at a painting of you all day long.”

It takes a few moments for Elena to pull her eyes away from, well, her eyes. Her hand grabs Kol’s on her shoulder, squeezes it in comfort, or in search of it. “What do you think I look like?” she asks.

“Gorgeous, as well.” Doesn’t even have to think about it. How did she get so lucky?

“Thank you, but I’m serious,” Elena says; she gestures to the painting across from the stool she’d taken residence on for the past few minutes while everyone else is asleep. “Painting Me. What does she look like?”

“As much as I hate for Nik’s head to get bigger than it already is,” Kol says, “He is an admirable artist. You look breathtaking.”

An inhale is stuck in her throat. One of frustration. She’s not looking for compliments or affirmations. She’s– “She looks like me? Not like Katherine? Or Tatia?”

Since he’s behind her, she doesn’t get a chance to examine his response, but he does fall silent. For at least 30 seconds, he studies the painting; once, he adjusts his chin on her head, affectionately brushing it against her hair. “I know what this is about,” eventually, he says in a low voice. He murmurs, “Guilt finally caught up to you, huh.”

Red creeps up Elena’s neck; crawls over her shoulders. “What guilt? I’m just–” but she falls silent. She lets go of Kol’s hand. “I love them. You.”

“And us you,” Kol reassures immediately. Finally, he comes to stand in front of her. He takes her face in his hand to tilt it up. “It’s that nasty human conscience of yours. By all accounts, you’ve achieved a milestone no else has– gotten the Mikaelsons around a dinner table discussing an amicable, dare I say, delightful future. I have to admit; I was doubtful of you, but in this case, sweetie, the ends do justify the means.” His voice drops into a whisper, even if the others are asleep. “If you’re worried about that mischievous glint in your eyes, rest assured. You’re not as manipulative as Katerina. Or Tatia. They calculated for power. You did it for love. It makes for a world’s difference.”

The chase; the conquest. We’re motivated by the same bullshit things and–

– and if anyone can understand, it’s you 

–and you lie, Elena

–and I can see you, Elena.

“So you see it, too?” Elena whips around to the painting again, fixated on eyes that make a chill go up her spine.

The honeymoon phase lasts desirably longer than any of these had expected.

“We’re in a committed relationship,” Kol is murmuring in her ear, almost seductively– nope, definitely with the intent to ensnare and seduce. “Come on, my beloved.”

“Yes, Elena,” drawls Klaus as he emerges from the French doors that separate the kitchen from the deck where Kol and Elena are hanging out with iced coffee Elijah made them. “All the other kids are doing it,” he mocks in an impersonation of a 90s movie. 

A laugh bubbles up her throat, but she stops it, not wanting to hurt Kol’s…unpredictable feelings. “Kol, I’m not sure–”

“The answer is ‘no.’ N. O.” Klaus’ voice is deadpan. He comes to stand behind Elena’s chair, hands on its back. 

“You don’t even know what I’m asking her,” Kol counters.

Klaus’ head tilts; a sardonic twist to his lips. “So you’re not trying to manipulate her with Dracula-esque notions of being each other’s beloved and, apropos of that, should drink each other’s blood?”

Kol’s expression neutralizes right where it is; an eerie parallel is reflected in Klaus’. They hold each other’s glares in challenge, and Elena, too late, realizes that this is a continuation of a conflict that has been happening behind her back.

“Tell me, Nik,” says Kol, a heartbeat later, “Did Bonnie Bennett get back to you about severing Elena and I’d bond?”

Yeah, that was alarming to read about in her journal. A day after Elena and Kol returned from their brief kidnapping, if you could even call it that, Bonnie took off again. After reinforcing the journals between them with a spell that made their content look like gibberish to anyone but them.

“Come on,” taunts Kol, fearlessly, as Klaus’ eyes go from a brilliant blue to a darkening, turbulent storm. “Who do you think the witch will side with? Me, or the hybrid who wreaked actual havoc on this town for months after he killed his future girlfriend?”

Two things happen at the same time. Like a bomb about to go off, literally in the process of about-to-explode, Klaus straightens. In tandem, even a second earlier, Elena shoves away from the table, hurt. 

A little too late as well, Kol realizes that his barb stung Elena, too, not just Klaus, and regrets it. “Elena–”

But Elena is already walking away. Not towards the house, where both will just follow her, and not where that fucking painting is haunting her, but out. Out to the forest surrounding the manor. Before she fully steps off the deck, she turns to them, “Please don’t hurt each other while I’m gone.” It’s a weird fucking promise to extract from your boyfriends every time you and them have a conflict. “No daggers,” she warns in a quiet voice. She leaves.

Honestly, Klaus was her most likely candidate for finding her after she stormed off upset. Even Kol, because he can’t stand Elena pouting even for a minute. 

But it’s Elijah who makes his footsteps heard as he comes up from behind her. There’s a specific willow tree Elena had found months ago that she likes to sit under and write. Everyone knows it exists, but only in the context of picking up Elena– and from makeout sessions under it. 

“You and Kol have this bond.” Elijah’s voice washes over her smoothly. “One Niklaus and I don’t dare interfere with, but he has the worst hold over his temper. That virtue signaling barb was solely aimed at my brother.”

The sun is going down; streams of it aren’t even showing between the trees, which gives Elena full and unobstructed permission to regard Elijah to her heart’s content. Even after traversing through the forest has done zero to rumple his appearance. 

“I know.”

Elijah’s lips tighten. “Stand up for a second, will you, sweetheart?” He’s already in the process of doffing his suit jacket.

“Elijah–”

A shush with a playful eyebrow arch, and Elena falls silent. The eldest Mikaelson sets his jacket on the ground, then helps her sit on it and joins her. 

“They’re already fighting, aren’t they?” Elena asks, even though she promised herself she wouldn’t. She draws her knees up to her chest; rests her chin on them and then shifts so that it’s her cheek so she can look at Elijah. 

It takes him some mulling over to respond. “It’s in Kol’s nature to be combative with Klaus. Niklaus had wronged him too many times for him to start afresh with him, even with your positive influence on him.”

Elena takes in his words. She nods. She starts to speak, then stops, and tries again. And–

“Say it, Elena. Whatever you want. I’ll never begrudge you a question. Or a favor,” he adds with a gentle smile, prompting the tension to seep out of her shoulders a little. 

“Do you guys,” Elena says, with no small amount of hesitation, “You guys understand Klaus. Don’t you? I know that the daggers are unforgivable, but you know why he pulled them on you over time.”

“In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him. I think it's impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves.” 

It’s completely unexpected, and so out of the blue that Elena’s jaw drops, which makes Elijah’s smile widen.

“What,” provokes Elijah, “did you and Nikalus you two were the only ones who read books?”

Elena laughs. “Okay, so you understand Klaus.” She shakes her head. “But Kol… forgiving Klaus; not taunting him, and vice versa. It’s out of the picture?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s out of the realm of possibility,” Elijah says, “I’d say Niklaus has hurt you more than he’s hurt most people, and you’ve forgiven him.”

“Ah, I see you’ve found the Petrova doppelganger.” He comes over from somewhere behind. His approach is preceded by him touching her waist. 

Elena flinches hard, and right into Klaus. She feels the fabric of his jacket on her bare skin, her stomach, and it’s so– it’s so– 

A hand touches her cheek. “I have.” 

A shudder follows, of relief, familiarity. She even recognizes his daylight ring. She’d never paid as much attention to anyone as she does to Klaus, presently, as they stand nearly nose to nose.

“I have,” Elena says, genuinely, and with three journals worth of epiphanies backing her sincerity. “We’re all redeemable,” she tells Elijah. Or asks him. He tilts his head for further explanation. “Like you said. If you understand why someone does or did something, then you can love them.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Even if they had the best of intentions?” It’s getting too hard to maintain eye contact with who, without favoritism, Elena considers to be the most observant Mikaelson, so Elena shifts her gaze to look at the sprawling green ahead, stretching for miles before the glimmer of the manor’s pool can be glimpsed. “All Klaus wants is a family. I can understand that. Love him for it.”

“If anyone can understand, it’s you,” acknowledges Elijah. That gets him a shared look of camaraderie. “Your heart is softer than ours, Elena, though. Forgiveness comes easier to you. Think of… think of Rebekah, who’ll barely return our calls. The last time Niklaus daggered her, as the Salvatores watched, was the last straw for her.”

She can’t imagine it’s something Klaus would divulge to his noble brother, but then again, she doesn’t think like Klaus. She thinks more like Rebekah at that moment, because that would be the last straw for her, too.

“Do you think the daggers are the problem?” So far, Elena had tried her best not to be too direct or interfere with the Mikaelsons’ drama, especially if it precedes her to this extent. “If they didn’t exist, none of you would have an edge over the others?”

Her chin is grabbed, and Elijah’s eyes look warm. For now. “Elena, what are you planning?”

Chapter Text

"I wake up screaming from dreaming

one day I'll watch as you're leaving

because you got tired of my scheming"

for the last time"

Chapter Thirty Five

Nothing. She’s planning nothing. Days pass, and Kol showers her with kisses and follows her around until she forgives him. Tension between him and Klaus…doesn’t last. Surprisingly. They kind of fight like she and Jeremy do. Where they say unspeakable, hurtful things at each other and then, with barely a look, move on without a direct apology. 

One night, she and Klaus are in the balcony of his art studio. He’s the one to bring it up. “The sacrifice,” he says, his fingers, which are caressing her side as she rests half on top of him on the lounge chair. Her cheek is pressed to his chest, and he’s been distractedly, running his hands over her side, back, and hair as he stares ahead in thought.

Those two words jolt her out of her own trance of thought. “What?”

“The sacrifice,” Klaus confirms, “We’ve never spoken about it.”

Any languish feeling in her previously relaxed muscles fades away. Elena sits up but doesn’t get up. She runs a hand through her hair to push it back; to stall. “It’s not something we can exactly speak about.”

“You’ve forgiven me for it,” Klaus says, or asks, kind of like how she was when she talked with Elijah in the forest days ago.

Elena inhales deeply. “Saving me from Sinclair negated it,” she says honestly. “And everything you did after. It’s fine.”

“And the months that followed?”

It’s Kol’s taunt, coming back to bite her. “All in the past.” 

The most immediate reaction Klaus has is nodding– but he then examines her. “Why don’t I fully believe you?”

“ Nik .”

“Elena,” he mirrors her tone. “When you initially undaggered Kol, you flinched from Elijah and I like we were going to hurt you. The past still looms over us.”

Few things in the world scare Elena Gilbert after her twenty one years on Earth. Personally dying herself isn’t that big of a fear for her; losing her loved ones, watching them die, that’s the big one. Sinclair is another macro fear. It’s followed, when Elena deigns to acknowledge this, by the shuttering expression Klaus gets when something really, truly, loyally, pisses him off.

“I’ve done some things, too,” Elena says quietly. “Muscle memory makes me flinch, but how can you not hate me sometimes?”

Klaus’ eyes, illuminated into a catastrophic blue, search between her eyes. “Hate you for what?”

Elena draws away. It’s mainly to hide her expression. A breeze of fresh, cool night air momentarily passes by, and Elena breathes in all the unburdened by secrets oxygen she can from it.  

“I came back to life, sure,” Elena says, feeling tense as Klaus gets up as well. “But my friends and I raised Mikael. I daggered Rebekah. We plotted to kill you.”

Klaus stares at her. It’s almost…frightening, but he says, “John Gilbert died because of me,” like it’s been weighing over him.

Elena’s momentum deflates. “He did.” A heartbeat passes, then two. “Truth be told,” she tells him, if somewhat reluctantly, “I never really felt a connection to him as my birth father, even as an innocent kid who’d only known him as Uncle John. But it feels like a disservice saying that out loud, to admit that the only time I loved my birth father was after he died. Does that make me a horrible person?

“Does being with his killer make me worse?” Elena adds, “For the sake of my sanity and happiness, I’d long given up thinking too much about it. I love you too much to dwell on that.”

It was like flinging her heart out and hoping someone will catch the slippery, bloodied organ.

But, slowly but surely, a smile framed by dimples curves up Klaus’ lips. And slowly, he leans in and kisses her. They’re forgiven. They’ve forgiven each other. Elena melts against the kiss, curling her hand against his chest, when–

Sharply, she pulls away. Eyes wide. The most horrible, horrible thought on her mind.

Alarmed, Klaus cups her cheeks to get her attention. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s me ,” Elena says, and Klaus lets her step back when she moves to. “I’m the problem. It’s me. How could I sit and tell you that everything’s fine when–when–” Her breathing starts to escalate, genuine hurt upsetting her heartbeat. “When I killed your brother.”

Nothing else she could have said could have silenced Klaus’ reassurance so fast. His expression smoothes out into something barely familiar, or too familiar at this point. 

“You didn’t kill Finn,” he says emotionlessly. 

“No, but I might as well have. It was Matt and–”

“It was the Salvatores,” Klaus argues, and Elena shuts the hell up because what is she even arguing against? For him to hate her? “Prior to that, Finn was trying to kill us.” In front of her eyes, Elena gets to watch as Klaus composes himself.

Then breathe out in relief as he closes the distance between them again; presses their foreheads together. “You have mixed emotions about your father’s death. I’m the same with my brother, but he was daggered for 900 years.”

With their proximity, Elena doesn’t think he’ll see her brows furrow in sadness, but he does.

“900 years might have been an overreaction,” Klaus says, “But from your brief interactions with him, did Finn strike you as someone who particularly enjoys being alive?”

“Klaus,” the scold is instinctive.

“Finn would’ve been relentless in his pursuit to end his life as he saw no purpose in continuing it. I couldn’t have that– nor could I have had people finding an Original all too willing to follow people down dark alleys.”

It’s the same fine line Elena toes to sate her humanity. To keep the guilt and discomfort at past decisions out, because not every choice rests easy in her stomach. 

Tentatively, she then asks, “So you don’t hate me for it?” 

Klaus kisses her. After, he says, “Nothing you could do could make me hate you.”

His embrace is something she also melts into, if only to hide her conflicted expression. 

The day Klaus hangs up the painting of her in the hallway that leads to their bedroom had previously been a pretty good day, according to Elena’s definition of them: good night’s sleep, a hearty meal thanks to Kol, and a sweet outing with Elijah, who had taken her shopping and walking through the town. 

Any trace of jubilance is sucked out of her when those come-wither-I’ll-kill-you eyes stop her in her tracks.

Footsteps sound behind her; Elijah is coming up, and Elena hides her ire. 

It all escalates from there. The painting, the blueprints Klaus and Elijah run by her, which she’s honestly excited about, and the thinly-veiled barbs exchanged between Klaus and Kol that Elijah swears are relatively tame in comparison to their real fights.

When the stomach ache hits her, Elena doesn’t think much of it. Doesn’t tell anyone about it, because, really, she’s the only human in a house of vampires. What are they going to tell her, to take an antacid or something? The last time their bodies resisted them, or punished them for eating, like, Taco Bell, was a thousand years ago. 

Just because Elena chooses to ignore it, it doesn’t mean that her overly observant boyfriends are willing to. It’s Elijah who notices.

“Are you feeling unwell?” he asks, when he finds her one afternoon curled up with a pillow on the armchair in their bedroom.

A pang goes through her stomach. “Maybe, like, a stomach cold or something.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” is said to her, and Elijah makes Kol make her soup, which wipes away any pain. Until it comes back the next morning. 

“You can’t keep stuffing me with food every time I feel unwell,” Elena tells Elijah a few days later while he hands her a loaf of bread she’s meant to eat alongside her chicken noodle soup. 

“I might be a little behind on modern medicine,” says Kol, who’s watching her like a hawk as an attempt to intimidate her into eating her food– as her appetite’s been decreasing these days, “But this isn’t normal, right?”

A hand brushes her shoulder as Klaus passes by before taking the seat across from her. “I’ll save you both the trouble. No, it’s not. To risk sounding Kol-esque, Elena, have some blood.”

The bowl of soup is pushed away with a disgruntled noise. “There goes my appetite,” Elena comments, aware of the disapproving look Elijah gives Klaus for that. “It’s fine, guys.”

“If you won’t take our blood–”

“We can just–”

“Then you need to see a doctor.” Klaus cuts Kol a glare for his almost suggestion.

“Humans are fragile. Our little stomachs hurt when we eat some foods, which is probably what happened. Our little immune systems make us tired when they’re fighting off things. I’m fine, guys.”

“You are not, in fact, fine,” says Dr. Meredith Fell a week later. Elena had always admired her bravery and sheer ‘fuck you, let’s go’ fighting attitude, so she won’t begrudge the doctor her wary glances around the room. Three Originals stand protectively around Elena. Correction, Kol is the farthest away, but only because he’d snatched Elena’s medical folder from Meredith’s hands and is sifting through it. “The good news is that it’s psychological. The bad news is that it’s psychological. It's stress.”

Elena has to blink a few times at the doctor. “Stress,” she, well, stresses.

A look of dislike is aimed at Kol, but Meredith returns to Elena. “We’ve done all the works. Stress is a not-so silent killer. Depression, anxiety, high blood pressure, diabetes– all these things can stem from stress. I don’t blame you for feeling it.” The pointedness of her look at the Originals dotting the room is almost comical. “My professional medical advice is to remove the source s of your stress as soon as possible.”

“I’ll remove y–”

Elena interrupts Kol quickly. “I’m not in an overly stressful period of my life. I’m happy. For a few months there, I didn’t get a lot of sleep. Could that be it?”

“Sleep deprivation has a list of consequences. Joint pain, blood sugar and insulin system disruption, high blood pressure, seizures, headaches–”

“She gets a lot of those,” Elijah cuts in. A fierce scowl adorns his handsome features. He’d taken the only other available seat in front of Meredith’s office while Klaus, arms crossed, is standing guard behind Elena. 

“The sleeping pills I prescribed before.” Meredith seems determined to only address Elena. “They didn’t work?”

Over her head, Elijah and Klaus exchange a look. What feels like an eternity ago, Elena had gone to Meredith for sleeping pills, which had gone mysteriously from her bag after she’d stayed over at the Mikaelsons.

Sensing the trains of thoughts, plural, Meredith’s lips purse. “I’ll write you a new description. If the pains persist, we’ll look into more tests.”

“Answer’s glaringly obvious, sweethearts,” says Kol the second they step into the manor after a silent car ride home. It’s the fastest Elena has turned in her life– that next turn to cover Kol’s mouth before he got his neck snapped, or worse, but he’s quicker in saying, “We turn her into a vampire.” Dusting off his hands, he shrugs; smiles wickedly.

Already shaking her head, Elena backs away instead. “Not the answer,” she says, again, before someone else who’s less kind responds instead. “You know what could help? Not having to worry about my boyfriends slamming each other into walls–” which she’d walked in on numerous times. “– or fighting when I’m out of sight because they’ll know it’s upsetting but doing it anyway.”

Klaus loosens a breath. “Brothers fight, love. It’s harmless, love.”

A pang goes through her, and it’s not her stomach this time. “But it’s not, is it?”

The room falls silent, as if the tension was a volume dimmer being switched up. But Elena only has eyes for the Mikaelson who, always, without opposition, holds power. Oddly enough, a phantom memory goes through her mind. Days after Klaus had killed Mikael– after they’d tried to kill him. At the grill. He’d come to look for Stefan and threaten his location out of there. When he’d leaned in close, one of Damon’s dart in hand, the sharp end aimed at her neck, and, unblinkingly murmured, “consider this me broadening the scope, sweetheart.”

Presently, he radiates the same intensity. “Well,” he challenges, “What do you want me to do about it, sweetheart?”

An accidental scream is torn out of Elena, followed immediately by a burst of giggles as Kol loudly smacks a kiss to her cheek. The champagne cork, which had flown off somewhere in the dark forest, is forgotten about as she leans her glass for Elijah to pour the bubbling alcohol in. A bonfire, which they'd built in a clearing, shrouds all their faces in an incandescent glow.

Klaus’ hand, which had been an ever-present presence on her waist, tightens to steady her. Elena’s hand, which had been an ever-present presence on Klaus’ waist in return, is used to rest her head on his chest briefly before she perks up. Once everyone has a glass full of champagne, her smile is uncontrollable. 

All night, Klaus’ expression had gone through a spectrum of emotions. Tensions, good and bad, have been high for the past few hours. The implications of what she was asking of him never escaped her for a single second. All night, Elena watched as hesitance and reluctance simmered into intensity and silent anger before they made way to acceptance.

“I told you!” Kol is saying, more like ranting, mostly to Elijah, half-drunk, which jolts her attention to him. “I said she might be our salvation and she is! Bye! Bye!” He shouts and waves in a random direction. “So long, daggers. Miss you never!”

“He was there when we destroyed the daggers and ashes elsewhere,” remarks Elijah dryly, but he is fighting off a triumphant gleam to his eyes as well. Elena giggles when, in indulging his youngest brother, he waves once, as regal as a king, in the same direction as Kol. Afterward, Elijah clears his throat. He toasts, “I never believed I would see the day the looming threat of the daggers no longer existed.” He adds, “I look forward to the next phase of our lives without them.”

“Awful toast,” Kol says immediately. The tallest Mikaelson, he lifts his flute higher. “Raise a glass with me for a future unbridled with fear and instead filled with freedom, the love of our girl, and decadence.”

“Ooh.” Elena, who’s had already had a glass from the first champagne bottle Kol previously opened, perks up. “Can I do one?” She waits for their nods of consent before tilting her chin up. “I’m not gonna say ‘always and forever’ because it’s a Mikaelson thing. And I’m more of a paragraphs and love letters girl. I realize that tonight is significant for a lot of reasons. It was a sacrifice.” Her eyes lock with Klaus’, who’s been silent nearly all night long. At one point, Elena actually felt bad for destroying the daggers, which is nonsensical. That’s how much Klaus affects her. Unable to resist, she leans in and gently kisses his cheek. “And a victory. But I hope you’ll remember it as something that’s good,” she continues, softer. “One less barrier for your family to finally be together.”

Even Kol’s jubilant mood is momentarily dimmed as he waits for Klaus’ reaction. Elijah straightens.

“I hope,” after a moment of staring into Elena’s eyes, Klaus says, and when he does, it’s to solely address Elena, “that you now know how far I’m willing to go to please you.” His voice is solemn. 

A sacrifice, she’d called it before, and Klaus is genuinely acting like he’d lost something. He then steps forward so that he’s in front of her, and his arm lets go of her waist. A hand cups her cheek instead. 

He leans down. “You do realize what you’ve done, don’t you?” 

An unfamiliar pit forms in her stomach. Elena is a captive at that moment, under his thrall, in the face of that mock sympathetic tone that he hadn’t used on her in months. 

That’s the thing about having and keeping too many secrets; your inevitable reaction to someone saying things like that. Forget about headaches and abdominal pains. Elena’s lungs are constricted, because she’s finally thinking she’d gotten too bold, gone too far. She’s–

“You can never leave us now.”

The world tilts back on its axis. On-kilter, if that’s a thing.

Klaus forces her attention back to him silently, touching her chin to make her look at him again. “You know that now, don’t you?”

Elena swallows. Kol and Elijah had fallen silent around them. The moment feels dangerous, like there’s a before this moment and only after. One of those momentous moments in life. Before her parents died. After Stefan came into her life. Before she met Elijah. After Klaus killed her. 

Before Damon cheated on her with Caroline.

After Elena decided who she wanted to be with.

“I chose this,” Elena says, genuinely and deliberately, so he’ll know there’s not one inch of her that feels otherwise. “I chose you.” Briefly, she makes eye contact with Elijah and Kol to include them, too. “Promise to never leave, too.” It’s a demand and a promise, all wrapped up in one vulnerable sentence. 

For the first time all night, a tempting smile, framed by his sinful dimples, lessens the severity of his expression. “I give you my word,” he vows. And kisses her.

In that moment, Elena feels as if she’d made a deal with the devil somehow. Seconds later, Kol and Elijah make their own promises to her. Each kiss is a brand on her, and vice versa. 

It’s not regret that flows through her veins. It’s that I took a risk and it paid off and that feeling when you know everything you thought was impossible to get yet still wanted was in reach.

A few mornings after, when the tentative peace settled, like the earth after a quake, Elena inhales all the courage she can get from her risks, and while everyone is out, ventures out to a spot that had taken forever to locate.

Silently, Elena makes her way to, surprisingly, the old caves, where Elijah and Rebekah had once held her hostage. A flashlight, since her phone is shut off to avoid having it located, shines past all the drawings etched on the walls. Elena follows the trail she meticulously mapped out days ago until she reaches a narrow path that then opens to an echoe-y chamber.

A boat, distinctly Viking-like in build, is the center of the room. On it is a platform-like mound, which contains an antique urn filled with ashes. 

It’s a fake, Elena found out days ago. They are ashes, but not the ones she’s looking for. 

If it was a devil she’d made a deal with days ago, then who was she dealing with now? As the shovel she’d brought down to re-dig the earth burrows into the ground under her dedicated hands, thoughts of hesitation fade away, replaced by determination. 

Meredith Fell was right. Elena wasn’t sleeping again. Not as well as she could. Not when every time she closed her eyes, instead of water rushing into her nostrils and throat, dirt choked her.

Hand to heart, she was going to leave this alone. Let this rest. But her connection to the Mikaelsons won’t let her ignore this pull. Every night, she doesn’t seek him out, he does her. How else could she have found him?

“I’m not a witch,” in the echoing silence of the cave, Elena keeps her voice to a murmur. “I don’t know any spells. I can’t call the witch I know for this, either. But,” she adds, as if he could hear her, “I’ve been told my blood is alarmingly potent.”

With that, as if she’d sufficiently said her warning, Elena unearths the knife she’d nicked from her own house, one of the combat-things Alaric had once given her, and cuts into her palm. A wince is inevitable, no matter how many times she’d given blood. Elena steels her jaw, and squeezes her first shut to direct where the blood falls.

To the grave dirt that surrounds Finn Mikaelson’s body.

Chapter Text

“They see right through me”

Chapter Thirty Six

“I need you to lie for me.”

In hindsight, these weren’t the best first words to say to Finn Mikaelson, who, a couple hours later, Original body fully restored, takes in a first restorative breath. Granted, Elena did wait for him to get his bearings, but she’s worried he’ll speed off somewhere, and the manor is the closest familiar spot he knows. 

The eldest Mikaelson is…more intimidating than she thought. It’s been a long time since she’d gotten tongue-tied in front of Klaus or Elijah, whom she considers to be the scariest. But Finn…

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s older? Kol’s her age. Elijah is, what, just five years older; Nik, four. But the man has a decade or so over her. And that’s in human years.

As she’d been sitting for the past 120 minutes, Elena, the picture of harmlessness, waits for Finn to acknowledge her; smiles gently when he does, “Hi.”

Oh, Elijah’s Roman statue painting has nothing on the sharp, structured edges of Finn’s features. If the rest of them are made from clay, then he’s all marble. When he speaks, his voice is deeper than she remembers, “Elena Gilbert.” It’s a statement. No-nonsense, which is the opposite of his monologuing brothers. “I died.”

“You did.” He’d appreciate honesty back as well. “Hope you don’t mind I brought you back.”

“‘Hope you don’t mind I–” Finn repeats, and it’s the first time she’d seen him…in disbelief. “Is my mother–” He sits up, and half his sleeve, burned to a crisp, starts to fall off. 

“No, Esther didn’t have anything to do with this,” Elena tells him. “I also kinda definitely will never bring her back. No offense.”

There’s a sound he makes which she thinks is derisive, but she can’t tell where it’s aimed, because he abruptly sits up.

“I cannot stand the smell of burnt clothes anymore.”

And starts taking off his shirt.

It takes a moment for her body to obey her mind’s push to– “You missed a lot,” she says.

Which bloody circle of hell, treacherous waters, or haunted cliffside did this doppelganger emerge from?

How is she not kept in check? Or under severe protection?

The last time Finn Mikaelson had walked this earth, Elena bloody Gilbert was surrounded by a protection details at all times. The Salvatores. The night they had awoken, Niklaus– and Elijah– had sat them through a half hour long lecture about the paramount importance of the  doppelganger's well-being. The scoffs Rebekah had choked down made Kol cackle, if only for the dissent in the room.

Instead of Stefan or Damon Salvatore at her back, or one of his brother’s hybrids, or his brothers themselves, Finn, reeling from actual oxygen entering his lungs instead of the drab, poor imitation of it he got on the Other Side, watches in disbelief as the doppelganger without a hint of fear or trepidation, full of naivety and misplaced trust, gives him her back . 

If she weren’t the doppelganger, with any member of his family, that exposed neck would already be severed; her blood on the cave walls.

Actual fingers, muscles, bones, and skin– they take some time to recalibrate in order to shed off his burnt shirt. For the doppelganger’s sake, he doesn’t do the same to his slacks.

“I assume,” says Finn, as he finishes buttoning down his shirt, half of his attention on his task and the other on the idiotic, clearly suicidal doppelganger, “that you have resurrected me in order to enact another revenge plan against my brothers?”

Those shoulders tense. Finn senses the predator in him rearing up in satisfaction, a lion licking its lips before pouncing, and violently pushes down the urge, even though he hadn’t fed since–

“You haven’t been watching from the Other Side?” Elena chances a glance at him from over her shoulder, eyes full of an emotion or intent Finn isn’t able to name. Once she sees that he’s fully dressed, she calmly turns back around.

“I did,” Finn answers her. His fingers linger on the last button of his shirt, lost in deciphering her. “For the first few months, at least. I grew bored and resentful. I’ve been traveling the world.”

Those doe eyes light up. “Really? I always thought I’d do the same if I were invisible. First stop on my list would be Area 51 to see if they’re really hiding aliens there or not.”

Individually, her words make sense; together, not so much. Finn blinks.

“Right. 900 years. Sorry.” Genuine empathy pulls at a self-deprecating smile. “Um, so no. I didn’t wake you up–”

“A white oak stake was in my heart. You brought me back from the dead.”

“I had to,” Elena says, and starts explaining all he’d missed, and he might have been less blindsided when Stefan Salvatore and Matt Donavon had ambushed him and Sage outside of the Grill.

An hour later, both of them had gradually immersed themselves in such an intense conversation that Elena, the human , had lowered herself to sit on the ground. A minute later, Finn had followed opposite her. 

“No more daggers,” is one form of what Finn’s been repeating for the past few minutes. “ Niklaus destroyed them. Willingly.”

“Ask Elijah and Kol when we get out, if you want. If you don’t, I have proof. Hold on.” 

In the dwindling light of a few candles Elena used to light the cavern, Finn watches as she fetches her phone from the side of the backpack; studies her features while he does so. Vividly, he remembers his disinterest in Tatia, the original Petrova doppelganger. There were dozens of beautiful girls in their village; more that were bearable to be around. Tatia only fit into one of those. The divide she’d driven into their family washed away her features in Finn’s mind’s eye.

A carbon copy of her, in a little sundress, gives him her phone. A video plays on the small screen. 

“This was a few days ago,” Elena offers, as Finn in stony silence tracks the too familiar daggers in the process of being destroyed, as if a trickster is about to switch them out. When the last one melts, and whatever ashes remain are chucked into a nearby lake, Finn replays the video.

“I believe a lot in balance,” the miracle worker, angel?, says, “Kind of like witches’ balance. I’m sorry about killing you. We were seeing the world with red-tinged, revenge goggles. Our real target was Klaus. Killing you, when you’d just found Sage, and you weren’t hurting anyone, was radically unfair.”

“Radically unfair,” Finn repeats. He presses play again. “Unfair was my younger brother keeping me daggered for 900 years. Unfair were my other siblings, who stood by and did nothing all the while. Unfair is how little they grieved after my death.”

Terse silence follows his words. Finn goes through one more round of replaying the video before he acknowledges the doppelganger. Stricken is how he’d describe her. Lost for words.

When she sees she has his attention, she shakes her head. “I’ve only been with them for around a  year, but I know they grieved you in their own ways. The more Klaus denies it is because of how much guilt that surrounds him. I watched Kol consecutively break Damon’s kneecaps– and spine– five different times. Klaus and Rebekah parted ways because she accused him of not grieving enough for you.”

“And Elijah?” Finn’s tone is almost muted.

“Who do you think made this Viking pyre thing?”

All this time, he hadn’t really taken in his surroundings. Elena, with the amount her presence enveloped, how much she moved, fidgeted as if nervous, had taken up most of his view. “We played in this cave as children. Hid.”

Elena nods. “Elijah was the one who told me about it. There’s this spot in the town square where–”

“–the natives gathered to worship,” Finn finishes. “Your school–”

“– was built on Indian burial grounds.”

Said natives had etched history onto the cave walls. Versions of their names Finn hadn’t seen in centuries. The symbol for his mother. The hybrid. Finn, immortalized. The eldest.

“Why do you need me to lie?” he muses. Coming to the realization that they’d been here for too long; his brothers must be looking for Elena by now. Yet, here she was, content to leave behind her three paramours while he got readjusted to, again, the new normal.

Presently, Elena smiles/winces. “Yeah, here’s the thing–”

And she tells him about the nightmares. And the sleepwalking; her stomach pains and headaches. How she keeps dreaming of dirt and Viking boats and flashes of Stefan Salvatore’s face, grotesquely twisted with murderous intent.

“I understand,” she’s saying, conclusively, “that you may not want to go back with me. It’ll be within your right to balance to do so. But I love them, and they’re good , and amazing, and caring, and starting to feel like a family again. You can go out there, explore the world for real, but you’ll be alone. I have this thing about familial love; how it’s the most expensive but precious thing in the world; inimitable. There are no more daggers. No white oak stakes.”

“And you.”

“Not necessarily,” Elena says, “Not by force or proxy. If you want to be with your family, you can. I’ll never come between you.”

Any hint of disingenuity, farces, or lies is absent. 900 years ago, Finn was the best judge of character in his family. He knew well enough to stay away from Tatia; knew how to evade Mikael’s wrath and appease their mother. Wanted to die when his existence no longer served a purpose.

“You sleepwalked here,” Finn reiterates; states, “And you don’t know what to do with me.”

A grim, almost triumphant gleam shines in her eyes. “Exactly.”

The second they’re out of the cave, Elena calls Elijah.

“Elijah?” the little actress maintains eye contact with a locked-jawed Finn, who’s trying to hide how good it feels to be breathing in fresh air again. “I think I did something bad.”

“Did he hurt you?” is Elijah’s first demand when, halfway back to the manor, he, Klaus, and Kol suddenly emerge like vengeful warriors. Between one step and another, Elena’s grabbed by the elbow and whisked off to the side while two Originals place themselves between her and Finn.

“I’m fine,” Elena is immediate in reassuring them. “You know I’ve been having nightmares,” she says; addresses them all. With furious but silent resignation, Elijah’s jaw locks in front of her. Klaus’ does the same. She can’t even look at Kol yet, afraid of his real reaction. “I was dreaming of– of dirt and this, like, Viking pyre? I swear I didn’t do any spells– or anything. I just–” In lieu of better words, she shows him her cut palm, which has yet to be cleaned or disinfected.

The more they stay silent, the more Elena’s resolve wavers. 

Then– “You resurrected Finn.” It’s Kol. Kol and his declarative sentences; accusing eyes.

“An accident, I assure you,” Finn’s dry and crisp voice cuts through them. If she thought Elijah talking brought the Mikaelson siblings to attention, then Finn’s brought them to heel. “And she later spent the better part of the walk here convincing me to come here instead of taking off elsewhere.”

He’s…on her side? Elena whips around in surprise; she’s shocked at the dark look in his eyes, but it’s not aimed at her. Finn and Klaus are locked in a battle of wills; in challenge.

Wincing internally, Elena remembers his did Finn strike you as someone who enjoyed being alive? and wonders, too late, if this translates to did Finn strike you as someone I enjoyed having alive?

“Elena.” It’s the first time Klaus had spoken during this tense interaction. Her arm still in Elijah’s grip, Elena is desperate to go to him, but is kept from it. The ocean is Klaus’ eyes is back to arctic waters. “Kol will take you home.”

“Are you serious?” demands Kol once, after using his heightened speed to get them to the manor within the blink of an eye, they enter the foyer. “Are you fucking for real, Elena? What the fuck?”

The honest anger in his eyes jolts Elena. “It’s not like I–”

“Finn may have bought that– I don’t even know what you told him,” Kol volleys, “but I won’t. Not when I know the truth. Elena, this has gone on for too much.”

Lightning strikes her spine into an armrod position. “I told you–”

“Connections and nightmares, I recall,” Kol says, advancing on her; Elena’s feet cement her to the ground. “Was it in the bylines where it said you’ll resurrect my dead brother who tried to kill us?”

“But he doesn’t want to kill you– or himself– anymore!”

“Listen to yourself!” Kol snaps, a full 180 from his chipper, albeit wicked, and mischievous self. “I was fine with it when I knew your secrets and when you faked a little sleepwalking to burrow into my brothers’ hearts, but you’re growing dangerous, love.”

“Because of Finn.”

“Because we’re not a collector’s set that you’re completing!”

“I don’t think of you that way. Like a conquest,” Elena argues. “You know I love you. I love you. It’s not my fault Finn drank my blood during the toast.”

The retort on Kol’s tongue dies down. Cool resolve takes its place. “You will not take his blood in return,” he asserts in a non-negotiable tone.

The lie is there on Elena’s mind. Logic dictates, “I’ll never compromise your trust like that.”

“Are you guys mad at me?”

To Elena’s disbelief, nothing pulled Elijah, Klaus, and Kol closer more than the looming, ominous threat of Finn.

Who’s done barely anything other than go to his room since they’d brought him back half an hour after her and Kol’s conversation. Not that she’d know. Elena was whisked off their bedroom. Ranting and distrustful of her intentions and still-upset-at-her Kol leaves her to join his brothers.

Elena paces the room until Elijah comes back.

“Are you?” she stresses. “Because it seems like you guys are mad, but he’s your brother. And it looked like you forgave him before–” Before she and her friends killed him.

“It’s,” says Elijah, stepping further into the room, “complicated. Frankly, I believe we don’t know what to do with Finn. Kol and Niklaus are refusing to let him anywhere near you.”

“Because he might give me his blood?”

“Because he might retaliate against you and your friends killing him and Sage.”

Elena opens her mouth to respond but stops in her tracks. Elijah’s frown softens, and he follows her when she turns away to sit on the bed.

“I never want to cause you trouble,” she tells him earnestly. “But when I looked up and saw him awake, and alive, I thought you might not mind the idea. Even if he takes off. You never really had him back for long before he died.”

“Unprecedented territory is where we are, Elena,” Elijah says. He sighs, and loosens his tie, which is a red flag of anxiety if she’d ever seen one on Elijah. “He might leave. We won’t stop him if he does. He’s assured us he has no intent to communicate with Esther.”

He’d already told her as much back at the cave. Back when she’d demanded, with a pretty please, for him not to kill her and Matt for the two stakes they’d thrown at him that night.

“So this is like a clean slate with your brother, right?” Elena says. Elijah’s about to answer her, but his gaze drops down to her still aching palm, and he takes her away to clean it. The conversation is put on hold. She swears, though, that there’s an extra perk in his step. Elijah was the closest to Finn as humans. Maybe he’d cave in first. Just like he did with Kol.

Which leaves- "And Klaus- Nik. We haven't talked."

Elijah, who's meticulously wrapping her hand, pauses. "Let him cool off for a few days."

Klaus doesn't know what to feel; that much becomes clear to Elena when he refuses to talk to her but climbs into bed with her and Elijah.

Kol's suspicions of her, and threats of outing the 'origins' of her romance with his brothers, falter. Mostly at Elena's genuine anguish at the thought of him being upset with her. On the third day, he beats Elijah to bed to take his place. 

Days later, things are still tense, but for various reasons. To no one’s surprise, or really, just Elena’s, Finn Mikaelson is just as pretty as the rest of his family is. With a jaw sharp enough to cut, gaze sharp enough to pierce your soul, an eyebrow raise sharp enough to– yeah, he’s overall a sharp person, as in clearly wicked smart.

What gave that away almost instantly? The way Elena’s almost certain he knows that she’s watching him. While visibly dating his brothers. His eyes say it. His locked jaw says it. 

Unaware or acting deliberately obtuse of the relentless stare off Finn and Elena are having, they leave them alone in the same room and go off to discuss something of paramount importance. AKA they’re talking about Finn. Or Elena herself. They’ve been trying to get in contact with Rebekah, but she’s still blocking their numbers.

Elena sighs. “Do you wanna listen to your brothers or do you wanna go somewhere else with me?”

Away from her boyfriends, his brothers, Elena wouldn’t go as far as describing Finn Mikaelson as a delight, but that menacing scowl had certainly softened. By the time the third firework had shot off into the sky in a glorious blaze of vibrant colors, Finn had at least stopped actively glowering at Elena.

“See?” It wasn’t in her nature not to gloat. “What did I tell you? It’s fun, right?” Most of the conversation so far had been one-sided, but Finn hadn’t told her to shut it yet. And something told her that Finn wasn’t used to someone speaking to him so much. Elijah had told her he was mostly ignored by everyone, even growing up, and vice versa. So if filling the air with chatter provided some… anything, comfort, entertainment, whatever, Elena will gladly comply.

“Here, here’s a trick I do.” That gets Finn’s attention. He watches as Elena dives for two of the biggest fire sticks in the bunch and situates them right. “I should preface this by saying I don’t condone violence in any way or form. I’m a pacifist, kay? But you gotta let your frustrations out somehow, as long as it’s not hurting anyone or anything, or else it will fester and come out in the worst timing.”

In the dimming sunlight, Finn looks ethereal– vengeful god kind of beautiful. The background, the sand, the beach, and the forest in the distance– ugh, if only she had a camera or something.

Elena is pleased she has Finn’s full focus. She lights up the first of the explosives. “This is…let’s call it Tiklaus. I’m frustrated about something it did.” Like not thanking her for resurrecting his dead brother. The second and third explosives are next. “These are Telijah and Tol. They…are frustrating me as well.” Like trying to find a witch to examine her ‘faulty wiring’ and doppelganger selfish instincts, probably. And acting like she’s lying. Elena gestures genuinely to her heart. “Now, I would never hurt them, never ever wish them harm, but a girl’s gotta vent.”

In tandem, she and Finn step away as the spark intensifies before wildly exploding. Their heads snap up in unison to watch the show. Coincidently, three of the four explosions crash into each other and make an ever brighter spectacle.  

When it’s over, Elena turns to him. “Your turn, babe.”

With feline-like gracefulness, like that of a mountain lion, Finn crouches down lithely and gathers a bunch of fireworks in her arms. With a snort, Elena stops him before he can place them in their designated safe spot. “Relax, Finn. A few at a time. We don’t want to cause a forest fire.”

The glower she’s given almost isn’t worth the warning, but Elena doesn’t really want adding ‘pyro’ to her list of attributes that Elijah no doubt had on file somewhere. She meets Finn’s scowl head on and channels Klaus in a sharp eyebrow raise.

“Ugh.” Finn may have said, but the sound is too quiet. The eldest Mikaelson settles for three, the first two of which are understandable, but why a third? “I’m not one to beat around the bush,” he tells Elena superiorly. “This one’s Elijah-” he points. “- and that one’s Klaus.”

Elena nods along casually. “And the third?”

For the first time since they started hanging out, Finn looks kind of amused when he regards her. “We’ll call it Telena. She’s a pain in my ass.”

The fireworks hide Elena’s chortle.

Chapter Text

“And the skeletons in both our closets 

plotted hard to fuck this up”

Chapter Thirty Seven

Elena was never one to let her embarrassment show. She would have never survived an encounter with, well, a lot of people, if she were anything otherwise. Finn Mikaelson was making it hard, though. After spending the night with Kol, Elijah, and Klaus doing…things that she shouldn’t be thinking about in the presence of their 900-year-old Viking, and by extension, probably old-fashioned brother, she had woken up to Elijah pressing a goodbye kiss to her cheek. Just as the warmth moved away, she heard him mumble something about having work.

Hours later, she’d woken up alone. A note on her nightstand in Klaus’ cursive handwriting told her to come to the studio after she’d had some breakfast. The same note changed handwriting, in Kol’s elegant scrawls, telling her not to forget about their date tonight. A third handwriting joined them. Elijah’s professional calligraphy, telling her to please take her meds, which Meredith had prescribed for her stomach pains.

Confrontational at the moment she was not, so Elena swallowed back and decided that she was hungry anyway. They had exhausted themselves last night anyway. With the promise of spending time with all of them dangling in front of her, she lightheartedly proceeded to the kitchen in one of Kol’ shirts that had been left out for her.

Neither Kol nor Elijah were around to make her something, but she knew they’d stacked the cabinets with cereals, granolas, and pastries. Where, though? Lately, every time she’d been in the kitchen, she’d had either a vampire or a hybrid distracting her and taking up her attention. The bottom cabinets, aka the ones she could reach, revealed an assortment of items that were anything but what she was looking for. Klaus must have watched some sort of HGTV show that showed him how to organize the kitchen like someone who actually utilized it– before Kol showed up to take over it. Her search through the first top cabinet for the granola bars went well, but it didn’t have what she needed. When she went for the one by it, standing on her tiptoes to reach it, her arm stretched as far as it would go, the first flash of pain made her pause. It was over before she knew it, so she shrugged it off and went for the third cabinet. 

A sharp breath escaped through her nostrils, almost making a whistling sound. That’s how abrupt and pointed the pain that ransacked her stomach was. Jesus H. Christ. What the actual hell? Elena remembered the days that had surrounded her only other long-term injury, her ribs, from her seatbelt knocking her back at the accident, the misery that had come with it. She’d been made to rest, nothing but grief to accompany her, and been forced to shove God knows how many pills in order to rush her recovery– and potentially overdose– in attempt to get back to her feet and help Jenna and Jeremy with all the guardianship and inheritance stuff.  

She’d rather turn into a vampire before facing that throbbing, ebbing pain again every time she inhaled– and the traumatic memories that came with it.

And wow, that was an invasive thought. It might have been the only time she acknowledged that she lived with vampires and had one willing to turn her at the drop of a hat. But the last thing she wanted in the world was to become immortal in it. The thought was…unfathomable. She dreaded the day Kol and Elijah brought it up– or Klaus.

Lowering her arm was an ordeal. However, it was one that went by quickly when someone spoke behind and startled her into turning around. “Elena, are you all right?”

Finn. Finn in a shirt and slacks, his usual attire out of a Regency age novel. He was a few feet away from her. His eyes, a healthy amber color, evaluate her body from head to toe, almost immediately zoning in on her awkwardly-held arm in front of her middle.

“Hey. Finn,” she says. “I’m fine. How are you?”

His eyebrow raise tells her exactly when he thinks of her answering his question like he’d attempted small talk.

“What’s wrong?” He cuts down straight to the chase.

Vampires can tell when you’re lying, right? They can’t tell one hundred percent, but Elijah once told her he can tell when her heart jumps. “Nothing,” she lies anyway, and regrets it when Finn levels her with a I can tell you’re lying look. “Seriously. Random pain, you know? I was just getting some breakfast before I caught up with Klaus.”

There, that was the truth. Her stomach hasn’t ached for a while now, so this was random. She holds her breath as Finn regards her and releases it when he nods and changes the topic. “Kol didn’t leave anything prepared before she left?” he asks. Finn was also the recipient of Kol’s obsession with feeding them foods from around the world.

Elena relaxes at the mention of Kol. Their relationship as of late had resulted in a Pavlovian response. She associates him with warmth, affection, and food– good food. “No one mentioned anything, so I was just gonna get some cereal and-”

A plate stacked high with pancakes is just sitting there in the oven, Finn reveals while she’d been mid-rant. Given that it’s been years since she’s really had a parental figure leave her something to warm in the oven, Elena doesn’t really blame herself for not knowing food can be stored there. 

“Is it cool if I get a guy flowers? Like would Kol like it or be offended?” she asks Finn, who laughs amicably and hands her the plate. 

“Kol loves lilies,” Finn actually answers, which just nails it in that he’s the most misunderstood and understated human being ever. He waits until she gets a fork and knife and sits down before he smiles. “I won’t keep you much longer. Enjoy your breakfast, Elena. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

Her own smile comes easy. “Thanks, Finn. Will do.”

He starts walking out of the room. “And you should let my brothers know if your stomach starts hurting again. Or me.”

Are you fucking for real, Elena? Kol’s demand is as clear as day. We’re not a collector’s set that you’re completing!

“Yeah, sure,” she lies anyway, smiling brightly.

“She’s lying.”

Elena drops the fork at the intrusive voice suddenly speaking. Klaus suddenly comes up from behind him, stopping Finn in his tracks. Betrayed, she watches as the two men assess her. Klaus goes on, “When she’s compliant about it, you should be concerned whether or not she’s lying. Dear Elena has a case of the ‘humans.’” He eyes her again, no doubt following the stream of emotions that are just providing him with all the answers he suspects. He frowns when she gets up to put her plate away, no longer hungry. “She’s trying to prove she doesn’t feel mortal pains or aches. When it’s completely fine.”

“I know it’s fine. I’m okay. Really. I was gonna come up to you after.” A chance she’d jumped at since she and Klaus had barely interacted the past few days. Since Finn.

Klaus gestures for Elena to sit down again, and with a muted huff, she reluctantly obeys, not wanting to upset him. Finn, on the other hand, watches curiously. As he’d been curiously observing the dynamics between her and his brothers.

Klaus comes over, and Elena’s breath hitches slightly when he leans down to her level. The hem of her shirt is lifted up slightly as, as he obscures Finn’s view of him, presses his palm to her bare stomach. Even if there had been pain there, it’s wiped out by his touch. A relieved sigh escapes Elena; she lowers her forehead to his.

“I didn’t mean to lie,” she murmurs to Klaus– and Finn. Their silence sends a spike through her stomach. “It’s from exerting too much effort. Humans get aches every once in a while to remind me to take it easy.”

“Is that self-diagnosed?”

She purses her lips.

“Is the pain constant, Elena,” says Finn; he’d come back into the kitchen. “Or is it sudden?”

She and Klaus share a look. More likely, it’s Klaus scaring her into submission with a glare. Already knowing that he’s listening to her heartbeat, she answers honestly– before he pushes her more, “Both, I guess.”

Like he’d been checking off syndromes in his head, Finn's gaze gets lost in thought.  

“Can I make you a tea?” is the last thing she expected him to say. Judging by Klaus’ reaction, him, too.

“Okay,” Elena agrees. It’s almost comical– how all the two of them turn around and watch Finn make her a cup of tea using herbs from the cabinet. “How do you know this stuff?”

“Kol may have been fascinated with the dark side of magic and all the power it yields,” Finn says, “I enjoyed this side of it.”

“Finn,” Klaus says. During this brief pause in conversation, he takes the seat next to her and sneaks what she interprets an I’m sorry for cornering you touch to her cheek. “He was our village’s most talented healer.”

“He would have been,” denies Klaus, “If Mikael ever let him.”

“I’m so glad you killed him,” Elena, sort of absently in pain, says out loud without thinking. “Oh! I didn’t–”

Klaus’ distinct amused, snort of a laugh cuts through the tension Elena had thought was building. Finn is hiding a smile before he turns back around to his task, the corners of his lips twitching in morbid amusement.

“So am I,” Klaus informs her, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Elena’s own smile is reluctant but his is honestly contagious. “Give me a cup of that, too, will you, brother? Just to make sure you’re not poisoning our girlfriend.”

As surprisingly non- abrasive as Finn has been, he shrugs and sets out an additional mug.

“You’ll go up to my studio later?” Klaus is saying, as she’d been lost in thought in Finn’s direction and shoulders muscles. 

“You can go now,” Finn says, “This takes some time to brew.”

The narrowing of his eyes suggests Klaus actually thinks Finn might slip them something into their drinks; Elena grabs Klaus’ sleeve to stop his upcoming march. “Thank you,” she tells Finn, smiles sweetly, at both him and Klaus, and then heads to the studio upstairs. Klaus follows.

“You were surprisingly easy to lure up here.”

“Well, when you use the word lure…” Elena smiles teasingly at Klaus. She’s following him around the art studio to a painting he wants to show her. Granted, she’s still a little traumatized from the one she got for her birthday, and speeds like a cat down the hallway when she’s alone to avoid looking at it. “Do you feel like painting together today? We haven’t– not since…” Not since she had resurrected his ‘least’ favorite sibling from the dead a week ago. “Hey, can we talk about that?”

He stops in front of a finished canvas. It halts Elena dead in her tracks, if only for the sheer violence and darkness of the painting. Almost all of it is covered in complex layers of grotesquely dark, hopeless layers. And, from the right, peeking like all the corner suns she had drawn at each page as a kid, is a spot of beaming light, infecting and lightning the severity of the overwhelming midnight blues, pitch blacks, and depressing grays.

“I did tell you most of what I want to do is paint you nowadays,” Klaus says in her ear, having come up behind her. Finn could have come up and spilled boiling tea on her and she wouldn’t have noticed. Her trance into the hypnotizing abstract was that deep.

“That’s me?” 

“The only bright spot in an otherwise depressing swirl,” Klaus explains. “There’s one with your face as a sunflower, but I thought you’d like this more.”

A giggle escapes her, but it gives way to seriousness. “You’re giving me too much credit,” Elena tells him softly. “You saved me. In more ways than you can realize.”

“We’ll agree to disagree, love,” Klaus says, then smiles. His hands had been clasped behind his back, but he lifts one to brush her hair back and cup her cheek. 

“So.” Elena has been waiting for a moment like this since she and Finn had walked into the rest of the Mikaelsons in the forest. Kol will take you home– nothing else, except for sleeping next to her because they can’t rest otherwise. “You’re not…mad? About what I did? Finn?”

The gentle touch on her cheekbone doesn’t change. If possible, Klaus’ eyes soften more towards her. “You’ll have to forgive my actions this week,” he says; he averts his gaze for a moment, like this is hard to admit, then finds her again. “It’s our experience…me overreacting and you, rightfully so, being wary of me. So I’ve tried to make it so my reaction won’t ever hurt you.”

“All the roads lead back to this?” Elena asks, “Me being scared of you? We agreed that we’ve moved past that.”

“But your eyes were on me that day in the forest,” he says, “Anticipating what I’d do. And I don’t blame you. Now that I’ve had some time to think, and Finn has had every opportunity to prove himself, I can finally say this. Thank you.”

Elena’s lungs inflate and fill with much-needed oxygen. A sigh of relief is caught in her throat. “Really?”

“In our experience,” Klaus says, attentively, and adds, “we never even got the benefit of something being too good to be true. Then you appear, and you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. More than that, you’re possibly the best thing to happen to the Mikaelsons. You are too good to be true, my instincts tell me, because, otherwise, you just reunited my family, truly, for the first time in a thousand years. We can’t ever begin to thank you. We wouldn’t know how. If the curse got something wrong, it’s shifting the balances, because, again, it seems like we’re in your debt.”

“No debt,” Elena says immediately, “No balances. Just us. We don’t need to measure love.”

Klaus smiles, and it’s Elena leaning up for a kiss. “I love you,” she tells him after. And he tells her, “I love you, too.”

A few minutes later, Elena and Klaus are mixing colors in preparation of their newest project: a landscape peppered with the newest flower Elena requested to be taught: lilies. When Finn walks in, it’s to Elena’s uncontrollable and a little naughty smile as Klaus murmurs something in her ear about his plans to ‘frolic in fields.’

“Hi!” she says, a little too brightly, but it’s an outlet for her blush because Finn surely heard what his brother was promising. She shoves at Klaus’ chest when he smirks smugly. “Thank you.” She takes the two mugs of tea from him and hands Klaus his; has to hold back a sigh when he puts his palm on top of hers while he taste-tests his, and then hers, before giving her a nod of approval.

And a wince. “Just like I remember it. You know they make tasteless pills now with the same purpose?”

“Finn was thoughtful enough to make us tea,” Elena lectures, and takes her first sip,“If it helps my stomach, I don’t care how it–” 

Klaus laughs at her caught off-guard face.

Elena’s been through a lot, okay? She’s been stabbed, thrown, hit, punched, slapped, killed, and all the violent verbs she can think of, so she’s familiar with pain and having to swallow it back. That said, the considerable amount of effort it takes her to not gag is herculean. She hums, as if it’s an acquired taste. “Is that, um, paprika?”

“Ginger root,” Finn says. Elena subtly tugs at Klaus’ sleeve when he makes as if to move away, which would make her face to face with Finn, and she can’t hide her reaction that well.

She swallows that foul gulp. “Already feeling better.”

“Full of shit,” remarks Klaus with a snort. He deserves the next time she lightly shoves at him.

“Thank you, Finn,” Elena asserts, because he’s unreadable and did something nice for her. It’s 50% in defiance of Klaus’ all-knowing look that she continues to choke down the tea.

“1,000 years later and you still paint,” Finn says, to Klaus, having stared off and found the darkest corner of Klaus’ studio where he keeps the more abstract, angry stuff. It’s a non-question, because he goes off to investigate. 

Elena taps Klaus’ mug to remind him to drink his. He looks at her like she deserves to be mocked. She rolls her eyes. 

“You paint together?” Finn asks, probably in regards to their position, nestled together in front of an empty canvas.

“Yes.” To avoid a Klaus-rude answer, Elena is the one to speak. “This used to be a couple big rooms, but a few months, we–”

“As in Kol,” Klaus provides, “With demolition gear and a maniacal grin.”

“We–”

“Oh, Elena was right there along with him.”

“Elijah was here, too.”

“Was it yours or his suggestion to take his shirt off?” It’s so offensive that Elena splutters out a laugh.

“Okay,” she laughs. “Sorry,” she tells Finn, because they veered off track. “We opened this room to the studio. It’s supposed to be mine, but when we paint together, we do it here.”

Silently, Finn takes her words as an invitation and disappears there.

“He’d have ruined his suit,” Elena defends to Klaus. 

He smiles indulgently, still mockingly, exposing her for thirsting over them. “Uh-huh.”

“What are these called?” Finn comes back to the room, one of her sketchbooks in hand. It’s the same one Klaus had perused almost a year ago when he’d been in her room to observe her nightmares. He holds up a caricature of Damon, one with his fangs all the way to his knees and his head four times the size of his body.

“Caricatures,” Klaus answers for her, because Elena had stalled a little in surprise. It’s been months since she’d opened these sketches. “A fine art form that our Elena is particularly adept at.”

“This is Damon Salvatore, your ex?” Finn seeks to confirm. Horrified, the same way she had when Klaus first saw them, Elena nods. “Girls this century are different,” Finn proclaims generally. Klaus barks a laugh.

“Back then,” Klaus explains to Elena, “Girls– women were pushed into training in the ‘gentler’ arts to be more appealing to men. Painting, playing musical instruments, singing, embroidery.”

The caricature of Elijah is what Finn shows them next. “Finally!” Klaus abandons her entirely because it’s the one he’s been desperate to see. “Marvelous work, Elena,” he praises, his smile borderline villainous. “Really admire the proportions of his head to the suit.”

“Oh my God.” Elena puts down her mug and goes to snatch the sketchbook from him but he tosses it to Finn. “Nik!” She turns to Finn, trusting the eldest Mikaelson to be mature…and is met with arched eyebrows as he raises it above her head. Elena’s jaw drops at the same time Klaus genuinely laughs.

Elena narrows her eyes at Finn. He’s, like, a head and a half taller than her. “Last time I resurrect a Mikaelson,” she threatens. He cuts her a sharp smile.

Arms wrap around her waist, pulling her back. “Come on, love,” says Klaus, “Don’t antagonize him or he’ll never give it back. Trust me.”

So, for the morning, Elena and Klaus get a companion in their art studio. She’d almost nailed down two perfect lilies in a row when Finn, who must have looked at each of her sketches, comes back.

Armed with a smile already, Elena looks up. He says, “Do you only paint caricatures of people you’re angry with?”

Her smiles falters.

Chapter Text

“Why'd I have to break what I love so much?”

Chapter Thirty Eight

Top ten ways to cope with trauma: put your trauma to words. 

Which Elena already obsessively did.

Didn't work.

Top ten ways to cope with trauma: art therapy.

Which was the first time Elena had picked up a pencil to draw since she was a kid and her dad wanted more things to hang on the fridge. She’d had to use one of Jeremy’s unused sketchbooks. 

With a shaky palm, tentative fingers barely able to hold on to the pen, and tears dropping down to the rough-to-the-touch page, Elena had pressed the pencil so much that its tip broke. The next time was a little calmer, a little better. Drawing a flower, then, did absolutely nothing for her mental health after surviving Sinclair. Neither did suns, moons, or, as she did as a child, cartoon characters. It was a slippery slope from here, because one unspecified cartoon character later, Elena found herself coloring the hair to a pitch dark and the eyes to an electric blue.

She was drawing Damon. The tip of her pencil broke again.

Elena found a new obsession. Every time Damon got out of bed, undoubtedly going off to meet Caroline, she’d go to Jeremy’s room and work on another sketch instead of voicing her pain. 

Then when Caroline came to hang out with her or, like, drag her shopping, like nothing had happened, the Caroline sketches were added to the Damon notepad. 

Then when Bonnie, upon first hearing about Elena’s plan and nightmares and crush on the Mikaelsons, first refused to help her, a Bonnie sketch joined the roster. The only one.

Stefan won’t come back to Mystic Falls. Stefan sketches.

Damon is a dick. More and more.

Elijah breaks her heart a little by calling her untrustworthy. The only Elijah sketch.

When she’s happy, she paints flowers with Klaus. She hasn’t had to paint a caricature for a long time.

Presently, she gapes at Finn. How on Earth did he– “What?”

“They seem angry in nature.” And the eldest Mikaelson flips the pages until he reaches the ones where her pencil had pressed too hard to the page. “And you haven’t painted everyone. I've seen Damon and Stefan Salvatore; Caroline Forbes, Bonnie Bennett, and Elijah. Am I correct? Or are there more sketchbooks I’ve missed?”

These are all the sketchbooks. Klaus had insisted on building shelves to keep them with plenty of room for her collection to grow.

“Elena.” It’s Klaus. This time, Finn wordlessly hands him her sketchbook. “Is he right? Is that why you paint caricatures?”

Oh, wow, look at her heart rate rise in the presence of freaking Originals. “Not entirely.” It’s a truth. Elena loosens a soft sigh. “I started sketching as an outlet after…Sinclair. To distract myself when I couldn’t sleep.” True, true, true. “You paint what you know. At that point, all I knew was Damon. And then my friends.”

“But you were having nightmares about me then.” Klaus is already perusing the pages, as if through a new perspective. 

Goddammit. Shit. “I was.” Elena mentally curses the day she listened to those dimples as they told her to get comfortable. Art is to be shared. I built these bookshelves for you. “It’s not that deep,” she kind of breathes out a laugh; brushes a hand through her hair, aware of Finn’s, fuck, overly observant eyes tracking her, the pulse in her throbbing throat. “I’d mainly stopped before you saw them for the first time. You might like the other Elijah painting I did,” she adds, trying not to show her eagerness to change the subject.

She holds her breath. Exhale. Fuck!

Klaus’ dimples precede a smile. He puts down her sketchbook. Smirks at Finn. “Oh, you’re going to love this, mate.”

Elena doesn’t dare breathe out in relief. It’s a good thing, too; her breath would have been caught. A second later, she turns around and sees Kol in the doorway. His look is all-knowing. The tea rests like a stone in her stomach.

Klaus was making her smile, even with a mouthful of pancakes– and that applies to the both of them. Elijah was pleased as well, happy that the food he’d cooked was good enough that Klaus, Finn, and Elena had stopped talking in order for her and Finn to focus on devouring our plates. She mostly watched Finn; he ate like he'd been subject to the same etiquette lessons all Founding Families kids had to go through as children. Or, not exactly; he held himself like an aristocrat. Took small, manageable pieces. Didn't say a word.

Just as she was finished, and was in the process of setting her empty plate down, Kol makes an appearance. She could have predicted his arrival– if not for Klaus’ sudden tension, then by the stampede of steps that had preceded it. He’d meant not to cover his footsteps, or he enjoyed making his presence known.

“Hello, cupcake,” he greeted first, smiling big and mischievously. 

In a good mood, she was about to beam back– but then he added, “Rough night?” He was mocking her. Because, really, rough wasn’t the word that could be used to describe the previous night. Even as she stood here in the kitchen, Klaus radiating warmth from her right side, Elijah across, phantom hands tugged at her waist. The memory of being turned over, being handled, and loved, burned a shiver down her spine; goosebumps down her arms. She looks so pretty. See, Kol? See what Elijah and I meant? Can’t get enough.

The comment was directly meant to provoke Finn. Show him what he was missing.

Little did Kol know though– while she wasn’t ashamed in the least about what she’d done with him and his brothers last night– that she’d met the king of mockery, and not exactly that good-hearted teasing kind; dated him. And Finn had enough older brother experience under his belt that nothing affected him.

Also, Elijah was in the room, and she tended to be more polite when he was. “It was a nice night.” If it weren't for the tension between them since she'd brought back Finn, she'd have added a retort about him not being invited to her bed again, but-

Klaus shifts. His expression is radically different from hers, infinitely more ticked off. Next to her and the counter– and across from Kol, he tilts his head in that unnerving way of his. “I will throw you off the roof again.” Again?

Instead of retorting, Kol shrugs harmlessly, as if saying that something couldn’t be helped. The ‘innocence’ in his eyes increases. His muscular shoulder moves, and she notices for the first time that he’d been holding it behind his back as if hiding something. Her observation skills need some work. One look at Elijah and she can see that he's already eyeing Kol suspiciously. He’d probably clocked it in the moment Kol came into the room.

“You could,” Kol is saying. “But then, this could break.” A camera– the one Elena distinctly recalls seeing on TV and in the hands of professional photographers. Her excited gasp brings down the tension in the room. She makes ‘gimme gimme’ hands at Kol before he hands it over.

“You can photoshop people’s heads onto animal bodies, or vice versa,” he says in a polite tone, probably because Klaus still hasn’t loosened up. Elijah had only shaken his head. Undeterred, Kol continues, “The only cost is to send me all the pictures you take. And take plenty of me.”

Already, she’s nodding, powering the camera up. “This is incredible. Thank you!”

Now that she’d shown her gratitude, resigned, Klaus snakes an arm around her waist as she navigates to the photo gallery curiously– Kol had understood what she wanted and gave her a permissive nod. Like her body knows where to go, she gets up and changes her seat so that she’s perched on Klaus’ knee, facing the counter and the vampires while he sat sideways.

Kol comes over with that lazy gait of his, though intensity lit his dark eyes. “I don’t recommend reaching the end of that gallery without viewer discretion,” he tells her seriously, though an arrogant smirk twisted his lips after, especially as red rushed to her neck and cheeks as having her thoughts– of course– exposed just as she sees the first of–  

“Oh.”

Elena wants to hide in the nearest hiding spot, which is Klaus’ neck. Finn looks curious. When Kol’s eyes track the spread of the blush that persists, Elena gives in to the urge with a put-out huff. Klaus’ arms gather around her back and stroke down her hair. But he laughs, and so does Kol.

“Kol, you shouldn’t put her on the spot like that,” Elijah scolds.  

“He’ll traumatize her,” Klaus comments, his chest rumbling as he speaks, with amusement he hides.

Elena lifts her head up, wiping at her flaming cheeks. Kol shrugs like someone who never touched consequences. “Give me and her a few hours alone and we’ll recreate these pictures.”

“You’re up early,” says Finn when Elena came down a few days later, wide awake from an impromptu nap in the middle of the day. Finn is taking up more than a fair share of space on the sofa, laying there with a book that he’d been reading before she’d come down. “My brothers expected you to sleep until tomorrow, so they went hunting.”

That would explain the absence of a note. The Originals were so adept at being vampires that Elena sometimes forgot that they needed to drink. She lingers on the cusp of entering the living room. Out of all the Mikaelson siblings, she’d interacted with Finn the least– or no; that spot would belong to Rebekah, but no one wants to open that can of worms. She was actually pretty sure Klaus was about to hire a witch to track her down. For now, though, he was busy; busy with her and their new honeymoon phase. The highlight of this past week, its peak of happiness, had been when they’d allowed her to follow them around as much as she wanted to with her camera. To say that had been memorable–

Thoughts of photographing a suited Elijah by the fireplace, Lost in Translation-style with a glass of whiskey, a shirtless Klaus with paints artfully decorating his chest, and Kol, who refused to put on–

She then remembers that an actual person is talking to her, looking at her, and steps further into the room. “Had to wake myself up from a dream.”

“Yeah?” prompts Finn, half sitting up as she comes closer. She stops at the coffee table, mentally debating if her energy was up for another intense attempt at socializing with Finn and making a fool of herself or if she should make up an excuse and wander the town– she could go swimming since the Mikaelsons are all gone. Oh, that’s a nice idea. A way to cool down at least. Think. Unaware of her plans, Finn continues, “What was it about?”

Connected, attuned to her or not, Finn has heightened senses. By the knowing gleam on his face, he knows exactly what that dream had been about– and why she had abruptly woken up from it.

“Klaus, Elijah, and Kol,” Elena answers fearlessly, enjoying the surprise on his face. He hadn’t expected honesty. A teasing remark about him always listening is on the tip of her tongue when he abruptly gets up.

Some of the tension she’s been feeling building up ricochets at the sight of the tallest, most unapproachable Mikaelson solely focused on her. Why does his impersonal expression make her desperate to earn his approval?

To her surprise, the almost-scowl was only at a five rather than a ten in terms of intensity. Because he says, “You haven’t taken any pictures of me.”

Thus, one of Elena’s more memorable afternoons starts. Honestly, she wants to see how far she can push Finn. When she asks him if he’d be willing to head into the forest for his pictures, he agrees.

Tortured, guilty Viking is her aesthetic for him. She has him pose leaning against trees, staring broodily at a pond, and, her personal favorite, the picture taken in their backyard, of him chopping wood, Captain America-style.

They’re both sure each one of them is taking the piss out of the other but neither are willing to back down.

“These are good.”

Finn is the one to bite first, as in give in. When she shows him the pictures.

Scowl and hot Viking or not, Elena can’t help but be drawn in by the praise. “Aww, really?” she beamed. “I’m so glad you liked it. I think I’m liking photography more than drawing, but there’s no need to thank me. You are the model. You made the pictures good. All those Mikaelson genes.”

Good-heartedly, Finn rolls his eyes. “It’s your camera. Besides,” he adds, “I’ve seen the difference between the ones you take and the ones Kol took. He keeps showing them to me.”

Humility ingrained into her by a lifetime of being the older sister herself results in a reflexive shrug. “Still think you guys are pretty.”

There, a smile out of Finn. The eldest Original was beginning to like her.

Chapter Text

"No body, no crime"

Chapter Thirty Nine

“You have one month to come to terms that you’re gonna turn into a vampire.”

Elena sighs tiredly. “Kol.” They’re walking back to the living room, a neat little row following after, with her head down in thought, she’d stormed inside the manor. Finn, the only Mikaelson who hasn’t joined them on their trip to the doctor, looks like he’d been waiting for them to come back. His expression, as unreadable as it is, visibly darkens at their little march.

“Do you believe I’m joking?” Kol steps past Elijah and Klaus to grab Elena’s elbow to pull her to a stop. “I was alright with a mortal girlfriend until she got sick. This was a matter of time, love. Best thing: you can pick who turns you.”

“Do you think I’m joking?” Elena counters, then softens. “Sweetie.” He loves it when she calls him that, but he remains stoic, an alien expression on Kol. Granted, he’s only been this depressed since Elena had thrown up dark red, almost black blood this morning. She wasn’t even done throwing up in the sink–that’s as far as she’d gotten since she’d ran from bed–before Klaus had whisked her away to the hospital. 

“Can someone catch me up?” Finn interjects. He stands up from the sofa and comes to tower over Elena and Kol, making her feel even smaller, and she’s fighting tooth and nail to keep her resolve.

“I’m fine. We found out I have an ulcer,” Elena explains patiently, even against Klaus’ loud scoff. With sad, furrowed brows, she watches as he goes to get a drink; puts four glasses on the bar. Elena continues to Finn, “The doctor prescribed–”

“I,” says Elijah; his hand brushes the middle of Elena’s back as he moves past her to go to Klaus’ offered hand with his whiskey, “would implore you to give some thought to Kol’s suggestion.”

Klaus’ back tenses. He knocks down his whiskey like it’s a shot.

A pang goes through Elena that has nothing to do with her ulcer. “I know it’s not an ideal situation.” What a fucking joke that is. With little prompt, or thanks to a temper that had been climbing the entire car ride home with Kol consistently telling her he’ll turn her into a vampire, she bursts, “It’s a cosmic fuck you from the universe. I’ve survived everything under the sky. I’ve been kidnapped more times than I can count. I died. I’ve been drained of blood nearly three times. I survived Sinclair.” Her voice cuts off, and she has to avert her gaze to compose herself again. “And I have rolled with every punch. If turning into a vampire was on the table for me, I’d have had Damon turn me into one when Katherine told me it’s the only way to escape Klaus.

“But I don’t want to turn into a vampire. I–I’ll talk to Bonnie. Maybe she’ll–”

“Wonderful idea,” cuts in Kol, “She can make you a daylight ring.”

It’s like talking to a wall. The strength of her would-be glare is overwhelming, and she knows that Kol is worried, thus, he’s being an asshole, and the same way Klaus isolates himself from her when he’s angry to avoid triggering her, Elena tends to do the same for Kol because he’s so sensitive.

“I feel sick,” Elena murmurs. Briefly, her hand touches Kol’s heart, a little sorry-we're-disagreeing, and she leaves to retreat upstairs.

“That was tense.” It’s Elijah who follows her up to her room, but half an hour later when she doesn’t come back. She’s taken a shower and is in her armchair, wishing to God that Elijah wouldn’t notice if she were to take a swim right now. Her legs shakes, nervously tapping the floor, with the extra, pissed-off energy.

Elena chances a polite glance at him. Judging by him connecting her line of vision to the glistening pool seen through the window, he’d connected the dots. And frowns.

“Niklaus’ silence was deafening,” he says a few heartbeats later. “But I think you misunderstood it.”

“You guys are overreacting,” Elena tells him. “I’m fine.”

“So you keep saying,” Elijah remarks, and comes further into the room. “We may overestimate the fragility of humans, but throwing up blood isn’t healthy.”

“It’s wildly unhealthy,” Elena agrees. “It’s a stress ulcer, Meredith said. It’s been building for months, if not years. All the running for my life, worrying about whether my family would live to the next day, about choosing the wrong Salvatore–” she rolls her eyes; that seems like a lifetime away. “It’s all catching up to me. A gashing wound in my stomach. But it’s going to heal.”

“What if we’re not prepared to risk you like this?” Elijah demands. He’d previously just stopped in front of her, but he now takes a seat on the ottoman in front of her so that he’s level with her. “You heard Dr. Fell, too. The last time you were admitted to the hospital, you had a brain bleed.”

Oh, that was great to hear. It was probably why Klaus was overreacting in his own, storm-brewing way, because it was when he’d kidnapped her to drain her of blood that she’d been knocked down and slammed her head. 

“And I survived,” Elena says. “And Klaus’ silence was deafening.”

“Niklaus couldn’t care less about hybrids and your human blood if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not just that,” Elena says, “Being human is who I am. That, and my humanity, has saved me more times than I can count. I may be the only human in town, but I’m the safest human in town.”

Kol is making lunch when she goes downstairs later, a stew that Finn is consulting with him on, which makes Elena doubtful of its contents and their taste.

“Hey.” Klaus is nowhere to be found. Elijah had kissed her cheek; told her it’s her choice in a tone that felt like lying, and left her alone. “I love you,” presently, she tells Kol, a little too vulnerable but unable to help it. 

He stops straining what she thinks is broth, expression locked. “I love you as well,” he says. “I adore you. Which is why I’m not willing to let you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She sounds like a broken record. She gives Finn a small smile, also unable to conjure up strength for anything more, and passes by him to jump on the counter next to Kol. It’s a move she’d done hundreds of times since Kol had decreed the kitchen as his lab of experimentation. It’s the first time, however, that she strains to do it without hurting her stomach.

Kol immediately abandons the strainer to help her, but Finn gets to her first. Warm, colossally larger than hers, hands, calloused, grab each side of her waist and hoist her up. Elena’s gaze drops to Finn’s face with this newfound proximity.

A slam jolts her away. Kol, who had put down the strainer in the sink. 

“I know you won’t turn me against my will,” Elena says. Finn puts a respectful distance between them but doesn’t move that much away, which is interesting but something she tables to dissect later. “Kol. But I hate it when we fight. Let’s just get through this.”

“We’re the same human age,” Kol says. “Your beauty and strength are Cleopatran. You have history’s first vampires to teach you control. A Bennett witch to help you. Now’s the perfect time to turn.”

“I have nightmares about what it would be like to be a vampire,” Elena argues, or pleads, “For as long as I could remember. Since, like, the Twilight mania.” He doesn’t even smile. “Ask Nik and Elijah. I told them I can’t stand the idea of watching everyone I know die from old age while I stay young; watching everywhere I know change until I’m the only one left standing.”

“But you’ll have us. Me,” Kol says vehemently. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Of course, I want you.” Elena doesn’t dare look at Finn in case he interpreted that comment correctly. “I have to think of Jenna and Jeremy and Bonnie, too. They’ll age. The thought of my baby brother as an old man while I’m still like this actually makes me physically sick. No , Kol,” she adds, catching the stream of thoughts before it escalates into an idea inside his head. “You can’t turn Jeremy, too. We can’t just turn everyone I love into vampires to keep me happy.”

“And why not? I'll turn the entirely of Mystic Falls if you desire,” demands Kol. Elena loosens a breath of frustration, and he comes to stand between her legs, arms on either side of her thighs. “Elena,” he says, and repeats, “Elena,” and tilts his head until she looks at him. He then kisses her, slowly and comfortingly. To show her what she’ll be missing, she thinks.

“You wanted us,” he murmurs after, “You have us. Keep us. Or are you worried about Nik?”

Elena’s mid-sigh when he says that, and is caught off guard by a new voice joining the conversation. “Are you?”

In the kitchen doorway, expression set in stone, it’s Klaus, in that innocent, hurt, vicious tone only he is capable of. 

“You don’t have to say it,” she tells him.

“It seems that clarification is in order, though.” 

Kol relinquishes his spot in front of her to give to Klaus, but only moves a tile to the left. Klaus takes his place but doesn’t reach for her.

“Kol,” Klaus says, leaning close to her, apropos to over a year ago when: just between us girls, who would you have picked? “Kol was generous offering you that month to readjust to your upcoming reality.”

Heat, almost fever-like, crashes down on her; the opposite of a bucket of ice water being dropped on her head. It’s the embodiment of being so caught off guard. Elena feels herself react and is an equal witness to her reaction as she tries getting away from them, but Klaus reaches for her again. Her body has a mind of its own, and she actually retreats backward , shifting until she’s on the other side of the kitchen island.

Only to meet Elijah on that end.

“I feel trapped,” Elena blurts, desperate.

“We just want to talk,” Elijah, ever the diplomat, offers. “We’ll give you space.”

It takes hours, and then days, before Elena and the Mikaelsons reach an agreement.

Mainly, it’s because Kol cheats. On the second day of ‘negotiations,’ where even Finn joined in to tell her that ‘being a vampire isn’t so bad,’ a wild shift from what she knows to what he really thinks, Kol calls an old friend.

With a dropped jaw, disbelief locking her muscles tight, Elena listens to Jeremy on the phone as he tells her he’s always wanted to turn into a vampire. He reminds her of the time he failed to. When Kol called him to tell him about Elena’s ulcer (I know it’s treatable, Elena, but you won’t have to be in pain!), Jeremy agreed to take this step with her.

Elena doesn’t speak to the Mikaelsons for two days after that.

On the third day, she agrees.

On the fourth, they agree. They’ll use the blood of an anonymous vampire to avoid a sire bond, since that’s actually something vampires need to worry about when turned by someone they have feelings for.

On the same day, Bonnie, who’s been with her every step of the day via journal, agrees to come to Mystic Falls to make her a daylight ring.

It’s agreed upon, then. Elena Gilbert will turn into a vampire a week from now. 

“The lake house is almost done,” Klaus murmurs to Elijah that night. Elena and Kol, who have made up, are wrapped up in each other’s arms. As per their usual routine, Elijah and Klaus are going over their plans for the lake house next to Elena’s family’s cabin. Elena gets the final say in everything, but since they enjoy the planning process more, she lets them come up with all the details. 

“Just in time.” Elijah is studying Klaus’ latest sketch: what he’s excited to reveal to Elena as her very own drafting table for sketching. “A newly-turned vampire in the town is sure to wreak havoc. The lake air will serve her well.”

“And Jeremy,” Klaus says.

Elijah sighs. “You win some, you lose them,” his older brother says dryly.

Klaus snorts. When they’d finally found a middle ground with Elena about turning into a vampire, promised her forever, and started to embrace the thought of happily ever after, never did any of them ever think her little brother will be the key. And join them.

Speaking of. “I called Stefan,” Klaus says, “Jermey expressed his dislike for staying with us, even as a new vampire. Stefan will take over his training. Elena agreed.”

“Because he’s the paradigm of self-control?” 

“Would you rather you teach him?” Klaus says. “Don’t mind Kol and I, then, when Elena, with her heightened feelings and newfound strength and stamina–”

“Stefan it will be,” Elijah agrees. Klaus rolls his eyes. “But we will do our due diligence checking in them.”

“Of course,” Klaus lies. Both of them know that he’s lying. Besides, Stefan, Elijah, Elena, and even Kol will have that covered. All he’s willing, or wants, to focus on is Elena to help her get through this. “Is this it, brother?”

“‘Is this’ what, Niklaus?” Elijah, done with Klaus’ sketch, has moved on to the remaining sketches spread on the table. Among them are Elena’s, which Finn brought out to look at days ago and hasn’t put them away. Curiously, Elijah looks at them but doesn’t comment. 

“Nature’s way of finding balance,” Klaus says, “Gifting us with everything we ever thought we could want and more. Elena’s balance, really. Thanks to her, even Kol is drinking out of blood bags. Mother Nature has successfully neutralized us.”

“I’ll speak for myself when I say,” Elijah says, “that I couldn’t be happier to be ‘neutralized.’ Aren’t you? We’re finally the family you always wanted.”

That rang true. Gotta love irony. The second Klaus agreed to get rid of the daggers, his only hold on his family to keep them at his side, he actually got his family back. All because of a certain doe-eyed doppelganger.

“We are.” It’s hard, then, to contain his smile. “We have our beloved probably waiting for us. Shall we?”

Elijah tables the drawings for now. He makes as if to leave, but a shrill sound fills the room. Klaus’ phone. “Who’s calling you at two in the morning?”

Klaus stares at the ringing phone, his temper flaring at the interruption. “Well, our good mood lasted for approximately a night, didn't it?”

“Who is it?” 

A scoff, a trigger for violence, is about to be released. “It’s Damon Salvatore.”

The phone falls silent. Perhaps it was a drunken, mistaken–

The screen lights up again.

Klaus presses answer before the ringing wakes up Elena. “I will k–”

“Hi, there,” comes Damon Salvatore’s overly cheerful, smirking-sounding, and utterly and surprisingly sober voice. “Am I speaking to Elena’s would-be turners? AKA her harem?”

Elijah’s gaze suddenly travels up to where their room is. Kol must still be awake and has heard them. The youngest Mikaelson brother had promised retribution on Damon for hurting Elena so much.  

“Think very carefully about what you want to say to me, Salvatore,” Klaus, aware of the upcoming collision of Kol coming down, says. To spare Elena the heartache of having to reason with Kol not to kill even her ex, they’ll have to– “Six words or less.”

“Fine,” says Damon, “Your girl’s been faking. Bitch.”

“Evil, I've come to tell you that she's evil, most definitely 

Evil, ornery, scandalous and evil, most definitely”

Chapter Text

"I think he knows"

Chapter Forty

“What do you mean Elena’s faking?”

“The proof’s in the pudding,” Damon Salvatore says, “Or the proof’s in–”

It’s the next day, and a pair of stoic, royally pissed-off Originals are back to where they never thought they’d be: the Salvatore Boarding House. Actually, they’d come to beat Damon to an inch of his life, call Stefan to get his brother, and compel Damon to never bother Elena. Something they should have done months ago.

But Damon brandishes something in their face as soon as they walk in. With a crooked smirk, he holds up a USB drive. “– this. As it turns out, the little security system I oh-so-lovingly installed at Elena’s house? The camera has audio recording.”

“You’ve been spying on Elena?”

To Klaus’ chagrined scoff– “Dead man walking, Salvatore!” he yells out, the oldest Salvatore disappears in a burst of vampire speed. “This is ridiculous, Elijah. We could be with–”

“You won’t tell Klaus and Elijah?” It’s Elena’s voice playing on some built-in speakers. Elijah and Klaus lock eyes immediately. Her voice is faint, but their heightened hearing picks up on it without trouble. There are a few moments of silence, before– “It did start the night I caught Damon and Caroline cheating. The first time wasn’t when I was with Elijah. It was that night. Bonnie was out of town, but she’d left us these two-way journals where we can talk without it being traced, but it was at the Boarding House. I didn’t know where else to go, so I ran. I went back to my house, got into my car, and decided to drive to Jeremy. I didn’t know there was a bounty on my head.”

“What is this?” demands Elijah. “Damon–”

“Here.” In the stairs leading down to the living room, three glasses of whiskey in hand at ready. “This is stamped the day Bonnie Bennett came back to town a few months ago, but I have way more valuable gems. Want the ones where she’s talking to herself but I’m pretty sure she’s talking to Kol?”

“What’s your purpose here, Damon?” Elijah commands in his ‘head-will-roll’ voice. “What do you stand to gain?”

Like a shutter had dropped on his too self-assured mask, Damon then knocks down one of the glasses and rolls his eyes. “She gave me hell for months. Humiliated me. Dated my enemies. Elena gave me hell back when – when I wanted to turn her into a vampire to save her from you . And now she’s ready for forever with you? Nope. Nuh-uh.”

And he presses play on a remote, audibly skips forward a little.

“I couldn’t give Damon the satisfaction of breaking up with him,” Elena, talking to an inaudible voice, says, “He was too much of a coward to leave me for Caroline. And I’d given too much to choose him. I didn’t mean to, but I started planning…”

“No animal blood.” Elena is adamant about this. And giddy. She’s always been a planner, and having a to-do-before-turning-into-a-vampire-list is quelling all sorts of anxieties inside her tightly-coiled stomach. “I’ve seen what absinthe’s done to Stefan. And, honestly, I can’t stand the thought of hurting a lil animal. I think I’m actually more okay with hurting someone than, like, a deer.” She pouts at Kol, who grins like she’s adorable, and kisses her right then and there next to her on their table at the Mystic Grill.

“Agreed. You know that Mikael, as vile and murderous as he was, didn’t want to hurt humans– not out of the kindness of his heart, but on principle. So he drank solely from vampires.” Kol wiggles his eyebrows. Elena laughs and rolls her eyes, relaxing her back to Kol’s hold; his arm is on the back of the booth, surrounding her in warmth and affection.

“If I drink from you,” Elena says, “Then I’ll have to drink from everyone. For the balance.”

“Not if we don’t tell them.”

Elena’s elation dims a little. It had taken a while, but she’d been riding on cloud nine since last night when they’d finalized the details of how she’d turn. “If we do this,” Elena tells Kol in a lower voice, “We’re signing up for forever together. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course I want to,” he says. Then, mocking her seriousness a little, leans down. “Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. This way, we’ll both be dead.”

“I’m serious, Kol.” Elena lightly pats at his thigh to get his attention. “Our…secret. We can’t ever say it out loud.”

“What secret?” Kol rolls his eyes, but the tips of his lips curve in a teasing smile. “You’ve already burned the journals and made Bonnie spell the new ones. Unless either of us– or Bonnie, which is unlikely, tells them, we’re in the clear. And, there are no daggers. Ergo, no consequences.”

“I don’t know if it’s the connection,” Elena says, “Or how much I love you, but you actually have me convinced.”

He smiles. They kiss, and go back to their lunch.

Klaus Mikaelson had never been described as an optimist. A dreamer. A forgiving man.

Days. They had been days away from Elena into a vampire. If the decisions had been left up to Kol, they would have compelled themselves legal papers to marry them to Elena; her on a beach in a flowy dress and them in suits and 20s hats. 

When Katerina fucking Petrova had sacrificed Rose and Trevor in her place, fled and turned into a vampire, it wasn’t so much a betrayal as the pain of getting so close and losing something he’d yearned for before he even knew what was missing in his soul. 

And, fuck him, for the past year, he kind of thought that it was Elena that had been missing. 

Waking up to her beauty every morning, basking in her kindness every day, and falling asleep in her comfort every night– this, Klaus, and Elijah, had thought. This is the culmination of a thousand years of misery and running. Nature took another route to ensure peace– rather than punishing them, it had rewarded them. And it worked. 

Which is why Klaus Mikaelson is close to losing his fucking mind.

“Hold on.” Elijah is close to snapping, feeling as untethered as Elena often describes when she’s overwhelmed. “All right,” he says in a faux calm tone, because he’s the only one capable of rational thought between him, Damon fucking Salvatore, and Niklaus, who had fallen suspiciously, murderously silent. “When all else failed, Elena tries a last-ditch effort to create another problem by faking the sleepwalking.”

Klaus scoffs rudely; there’s pounding in his ears, drum-like. “You heard him.” He gestures at an otherwise smug as a cat Damon Salvatore. “She wanted to make him jealous. And spite him. The best way to do that was through dating his sworn enemies.”

“You guys,” Damon says, “Elena’s always been like this. I don’t how it could have escaped us. It’s in those fucking Petrova genes! When she first did it to get what she wanted, Stefan and I thought she was downright adorable , a kid playing in the adults’ pool.”

Elijah and Klaus’ silence is telling. If a ‘kid playing in the adults’ pool’ is what can be used to describe Elena, then her pulling off what Damon has connected the dots to is dramatically alarming.

“She manufactures circumstances to meet us.” Elijah is still trying to connect the dots himself. “The cuffs.”

“They were her fucking idea!” snaps Damon. “Sure, I signed onboard when I saw whom she was headed to, but she’s the one who marched her pretty little ass to the dungeon and brought them up.”

“A witch like Bonnie Bennett can cast a spell to make her sleepwalk with such precision?” Elijah wonders aloud. “I’ve heard of sleep curses, but linking her to us…”

“We’re already linked to her. Aren’t we?” Klaus adds, snapping at Damon. “The connection curse?”

And Damon fucking Salvatore laughs in their face. 

“Enjoying your final days as a human?” Finn asks. He’s been hanging out around her more these days.

Elena smiles up at him, on her way to hike with her camera. “Wanna join me?”

“Finn could tell there was something wrong with the caricatures,” Klaus is saying, not at their own house. Elena, Kol, and Finn are out God knows where. But Klaus and Elijah don’t want to risk being overheard. “She only drew people she was angry with. She denied it but was too suspicious. I dismissed it as nervousness from her crush on Finn.”

“I’ve seen these sketches,” muses Elijah. “Her most common theme was Damon. Then there’s of Caroline, one of Bonnie–”

“Elena said in that recording that Bonnie initially refused to help her.”

Elijah nods. “And there’s Stefan. But I thought she wasn’t angry with him. They parted away on great terms when he came to visit.”

This is one Klaus has to think about. With every passing minute, his mood darkens to dangerous levels. It’s been centuries since he’s been this close to losing control; since he’d felt that uncontrollable rage werewolves always lament about. That anger, his wolf, swims to the surface; ripples underneath his skin like veins.

“Elena froze when I brought him out to visit.” Klaus’ voice had lowered. Any higher, and he’d start to yell. “Surprise or–”

“Fear of her plan being foiled?”

“Okay, I love you,” Elena tells Jeremy on the phone. He’s packing, ready to meet Stefan in one of the Salvatore properties off the grid as well. “I’ll see you on the other side of this,” she says teasingly.

“We know she hid her communication with Bonnie,” Elijah is saying. “The journals she and Bonnie mentioned.”

Klaus’ head snaps up. “Call that fucking witch. Eric Murphy.”

“It’s like she knew exactly what to say to us.” Elijah is still in disbelief. It’s getting dark. They’d texted Kol to tell him that they’re busy with plans for the lake house. By the skin of their teeth, Kol had been asleep with Elena when they’d come up from the call. “And when . All those monumental conversations that endeared her to us. That night when she spoke to you about familial love.”

Klaus’ eyes are nearing a werewolf’s auburn color. “And her questions about forgiveness.”

“She fit too perfectly.” Eye color aside, Klaus had calmed down. Also, coincidentally, to a dangerous level. “Our hobbies and interests. Our tastes in books. Your love for chess. Mrs. Fainall,” he adds suddenly, “She was the one to run into me that day when I first saw her cuff. What, did she get the old lady to purposefully run into me?”

“She is her neighbor. But is Elena that calculated?” Elijah answers his own question. “The chess.”

“What about it?”

“The first time that we played,” Elijah says, gaze lost in thought. He remembers it vividly. Are you losing on purpose, Elena? “She kept losing on losing on purpose. A few matches in, I realized she was trying to gauge my strategies and called her out for it. But I won more times than her until…”

Just when Klaus thinks he couldn’t be surprised anymore. “Until what?”

Elijah pinches the bridge of his nose. “Until after she undaggered Kol. Accidentally or on purpose, do you think?”

“Do you think Finn knows?”

By nightfall, Klaus and Elijah had dissected every single interaction they’d had with Elena since they’d rescued her from Sinclair back in April.

“You know,” Elijah says, expression stuck in a perpetual scowl that had haunted them all day long. “Damon only did this because Stefan probably told him we were planning to turn Elena and Jeremy.”

“Do his motivations matter?” Unlike Elijah’s pissed-off but overwhelmingly upset reaction, Klaus, at least for the past while, has found a newfound amount of strength. Dark energy is simmering behind his tightly-coiled muscles. “You heard her confess in her own voice. Her, Bonnie, and Kol, even if his role came in later, concocted the perfect plan to ensnare us. We fell too easily, Elijah. I told her– I told her that we never even got close to something that we could call too good to be true; that she was too good to be true. Love and affection, the brand which Elena offered, that was unfamiliar. Betrayal and revenge, now those are a bit more in our field, aren’t they?”

“There are still gaps that remain,” Elijah says. “ Why she did it. Why she chose us. And her end goal. What, did she plan to trick us for eternity? Damon was right in this regard; we see her miniscule calculations and dismiss them as endearing. She would have had full rein to manipulate us for eternity.”

They’re coming up on the manor now. Elena’s voice is the first thing, per routine, they search for. She’s giggling at something Kol says, and a small derisive but genuine chuckle reveals Finn’s company. 

Klaus, thoughts of every night you find me and I wait and I seek you and being cursed by you is the best thing to ever happen to me are running rampant in his head, getting tainted as they mix in with whispered confessions of I started planning and I couldn’t give Damon the satisfaction of breaking up with him.

“You forget, brother.” Steps away from the looming manor, which had been a safe haven for them all, their first true home in centuries, the place where they’d, albeit without Rebekah, had finally acted like a family, Klaus stops; regards his brother. “We’ve been bested by a doppelganger once before,” he says. “I refuse to let it happen again.”

“What about Kol?”

“She bloody burned our daggers, Elijah.” It’s the most heated Klaus had allowed himself to snap all day long. He advances at his brother. “She protected Kol. In case this ever happened.” Elijah starts shaking his head, but Klaus presses, “You heard their plans. He told her how exactly to seal the deal. Gave her our secrets.”

“We gave her our secrets,” Elijah says, “Because we love her.”

“You sound unsure, brother,” Klaus says, “Because, I wonder, do we love her, or the version of herself she calculated to best appeal to us?”

“So what?” Elijah counters. “We go in right now and confront her?”

The drum-like pounding in his head reaches a crescendo, his wolf a mirror behind his face, baring his teeth in a snarl. Klaus feels exposed, and, paradoxically, and by extension, wrathful. “Elena always believes herself to be kind, even if she soliloquies about losing touch with her humanity. She’s not Tatia, nor is she Katerina. She– she strokes our egos, reassures our insecurities, knows when and how to push and pull back. But she worries about mortal matters more than any of us.”

The same kind of resolve hardness in Elijah. He straightens. “What do you suggest then?”

Klaus borrows a page out of his brother’s book. “We catch Elena’s conscience.”

“Hey,” Elena beams at Klaus and Elijah when they finally come home. She and Kol are already in bed, but she’d insisted on waiting up for her other two boyfriends in one of Klaus’ favorite nightgowns on her. She sits up; smiles when Klaus indulges her with an almost too-rough kiss when he comes closer. “You’ve been gone all day. Is everything alright with the lake house?”

“All good on that front,” Elijah says, loosening his tie first. He comes to her for another sweet but chaste kiss before retreating to change out of his suit.

“Speaking of.” Klaus’ gaze travels from Elijah to her; he smiles teasingly. “We have a surprise for you.”

“What fucking surprise?” on the bed behind her, Kol demands. He hates being left out of Klaus and Elijah’s planning. Elena reaches back and touches his hand. The tension immediately leaves him, as if he’s thinking that he has been the one to spend all day with her. Kol sits up and kisses the back of her shoulder, touching one hand on her upper arm. 

“One town over, they’re playing one of my favorite plays,” Klaus, who still hasn’t moved from his spot towering over Elena, murmurs. Affectionately, he nudges her chin up with the back of his fingers. “How do you feel about dressing up tomorrow for a night out at the theater?”

It takes approximately two point zero seconds for Elena to agree. “Aw, Elijah, it’s been too long since we’ve seen a play,” she calls out; he’s in the process of hanging up his clothes like every night. “Yeah, sure. I love plays. What’s this one called?”

In tandem with a pang of going through her stomach, Klaus’ lips start to curve up in a dark smile. “The Mousetrap.”

Chapter Text

"Death by a thousand cuts"

Chapter Forty One

In her head, Elena always tried making deals– with God, with her parents, with her body, anyone or anything that came to mind. For example, if her shoulder hurt, she would think, well, I need my shoulder to move my arm. And pain in that spot is inconvenient. I would like the pain transferred to a more expendable part of my body. Like her leg. She would do this until she somehow ends up injuring her leg and then think, it would be a lot more convenient if another part of my body hurt. Like her hand. She could manage that better, right?

It was the absence of pain that she craved, not its transfer, of course, but she couldn’t stop making those trades. If she could have one of her parents back, would she trade one for the other? If she could change, as horrible as it sounds, Salvatores, would she?

If she was in pain, would she trade her pain for someone else’s?

When she was in trouble, would she subject someone else to it in her place? If it got her out of it. 

This line of thinking– or at least the admittedly selfish part of it– isn’t as common now as it was a few months ago, pre-Mikaelsons. For the first time in her life, Elena is exactly where she wants to be, with the people she wants to be with. Miraculously, it’s working out with Klaus, Elijah, Kol, and, possibly, Finn, so miraculous, in fact, that after Elena mentally traded her partners’ pain to relieve them in every imaginable scenario, she’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As she stares at that fucking painting in the hallway, the ulcer, now that it has a name, is more painful than ever. It’s why every bone in her body is praying that none of her three boyfriends decide to check up on her. She inhales the pain and keeps it quiet– of course, the occasional pained expression wrangles its way from her gut to make itself known on her face.

And on her face, as in the face of the painting. 

It’s a character flaw, she’s aware of this– her habit of transferring pain. She went from Matt to Stefan to Damon to Stefan to Damon, again. And then to the Mikaelsons. Elena knows this. She knows that she has to move on; can’t stand staying stagnant. As she’d told Kol, she always has ‘milestones’ in her head. Maybe–

What if Klaus accidentally just, like, drew on his knowledge and experiences from the doppelgangers as a collective? That would make the painting more like Katherine. Or Tatia. Or an amalgamation of all of them. Because he can’t possibly think of Elena as mischievous and strategic as her hauntingly playful eyes suggest. Right?

Elena… knows, all right? She knows that, by now, she’s half secrets and half brunette. Once she got all the Mikaelsons to, like, fall in love with her the way she was with them, she figured that feeling of secrets would fade. 

It no longer had any use, ergo, no weight. Null.

Then what would explain the two current banes of her life? The painting and the ulcer in her stomach, the embodiment of her body’s struggle.

A sigh, from, like, deep within her soul, is loosened then. Elena feels up for a swim. Fuck.

Hours later, Kol twirls her around in her pretty, Me Before You-style red dress until she’s dizzy and giggly. The expression of jubilance is still on her face when she’s turned and turned to find Klaus in the doorway.

“You look divine.” If Elena wasn’t in love with him, the almost-too-sharp smile on Klaus’ lips would be at least a little alarming, but she is, and she goes to him, smiling back in full.

“Thanks for this,” she says. “Gorgeous.” Her compliment is accompanied by her needlessly adjusting his tie. “But, really. It’s nice to have one final night like. Before,” she trails. Her ‘new reality’ is still taking time to adjust to.

“Before proverbial shit hits the proverbial fan?”

So uncouth. Elena shoves at Klaus’ chest harmlessly, but smiles. “Where’s Elijah? The play’s at eight, right?”

“He has a business call that’s running too long,” Klaus says, “He’ll catch up.”

A frown pulls at Elena’s expression. “Aw, really? We can wait.” She turns around for Kol’s consent, but he’s lost in thought, looking up as if he can see Elijah and trying to gauge what he’s doing. "Did you invite Finn?"

“One, nonsense. We don't have to wait. Two, nope. Finn's tastes don't run quite as mine.” Klaus starts pulling Elena to the front door, hand tucked in the crook of his elbow. “We don’t want to be late for this.”

Charlotte is a little less than thirty minutes away; the car drive goes by in relative, peaceful silence. When they get there, it’s just in time, and they have to briskly walk to their seats in the middle of the third row; the best seats, according to Elijah usually.

The lights dim, which never fails to send butterflies through Elena’s stomach in excitement. She turns to smile at Klaus, but he’s staring ahead, face set in stone. “Nik?” she whispers; in that moment, with a loud slam, the theater lights cut off, sending them into pitch black darkness. That’s when Klaus turns his head to face her. It might be the lights, or Elena’s stomach, or just her PTSD, but the gleam in his dark eyes turns the butterflies in her gut into a swarm of angry locusts.

They’d arrived too late to pick up the play’s program, which is a shame (she might get Kol to compel them a few, for memory’s sake). Elena’s about to lean over and ask Klaus about the play when she recognizes the opening immediately.

“Oh, we’re about to see Doctor Faustus?” She perks up. Exchanges a look with Kol, since they’ve spoken about the morality play before. “Hey, I thought you said the play’s name was The Mousetrap.”

“Did I,” says Klaus, genuinely so innocently that Elena imagines she’d misheard him. “My mistake.”

A few minutes into the play, just as Faustus is making the deal with the devil. Elijah arrives. Elena is surrounded by Kol and Klaus on either side, so he takes the seat beside Klaus wordlessly. Even though she knows the events of the play, when Faustus’ blood keeps clotting, an act of God to keep him from signing the contract in blood, Elena is on the edge of her seat.

“Should we get the programs? And take pictures? You have my camera, right?” Elena murmurs to Kol after Act I. The lights have barely come on, and the squeal of wheels and hustle of actors and stage hands rushing to put up the next set fills the theater. “I want mementos of my last play as a human.”

Darkness surrounds them, but Elena’s gaze happens to drop to Kol’s grip on her knee. She’s so used to him holding on to her that she hadn’t initially noticed– wow, his knuckles are white from how tightly he’d curled his hand in a fist. An are you okay? is one her lips, but Kol gets up abruptly. 

“Need to use the restroom,” he says in his usual bright voice. “Princess, would you accompany me?”

Elena’s smile is a little confused. Klaus is attentively listening to them when she glances at him. “Do you want to…” The implication is there. The curtains, however, open again.

Faustus is fucking things up, for himself and everyone involved. It becomes perfectly and tragically clear that he’s bitten off more than he can chew. He doesn’t know what to do with the devil he’d damned himself with. Every chance there’s an attempt to redeem himself, he ignores it.

Elena’s phone buzzes in her small purse. She lowers the brightness on it, grimaces as she hopes the actors won’t notice her, and quickly looks at the text she’d gotten.

It’s from…Kol. Let’s get out of here.

Curtains drop. The second act’s end. The theater’s overhead lights come on, signaling the ten minute break between acts. Immediately, Kol grabs Elena’s arm. “Quickie in the bathroom. I demand it.”

Despite herself, Elena laughs. “Well, if you demand it.” She’s about to follow when her other hand is grabbed. Klaus.

“You don’t like the play?” he asks. 

Remembering how he’d said it was one of his favorite plays, Elena indulges him. “I like it. That Faustus guy can use some therapy, though,” she teases. The edges of Klaus’ smile deepen. “Elijah, did you like it?” she calls out. He hasn’t spoken nearly all night.

The picture of a regal king waiting to be entertained, Elijah, chin resting on the back of his hand, seems to be lost in thought. “I’ll only judge it when we reach the ending.”

Elena tilts her head, but Kol tugs at her. “Time’s a-ticking, darling.”

With an apologetic smile at Klaus and Elijah, Elena lets Kol lead her away. 

They reach the reception, and right where they should turn for the bathrooms, Kol abruptly changes routes and shoves her into an unmarked room.

“Kol–”

“Something’s wrong,” Kol says immediately. He reaches behind Elena in search of the light switch. She’s seen him when he was faking, wearing a mask of nonchalance, when he posed as guilty and as innocent, but she’s never seen him this serious .

“Wrong how?” Werewolves and witches who wish to hunt her for her blood race to mind.

“That fucking play, Elena,” Kol hisses. “Nik’s too-smug smirk. Elijah’s stoic, icy silence? Something is wrong.”

When Elena and Kol leave the room, the third act is already in session, and Elijah is waiting for them by the corner. He pushes off the wall when they near him, startling Elena.

“I was worried you’d made an escape,” he murmurs. “Come, you’re missing the third act. The final one is about to start.”

Elena looks at Kol and lets Elijah take her back into the theater.

The picture of a gentleman, he holds her hand. As he leads down the carpeted stairs, Elena, for once, takes her eyes off the play and casually peruses the actual theater. Her heels nearly stumble, and Elijah has to catch her.

“Is something wrong?”

Elena is quick to smile. “Heels. Stairs.” 

They continue walking, Kol at their back. Elena holds her breath, if only to slow the blood gushing toward her heart in an attempt to calm it down, because other than her, Kol Klaus, and Elijah, and the actors onstage, there is no one else in the rows.

The rustle of her dress, a pretty, bright red, is almost too loud as she retakes her seat between Klaus and– Kol is suddenly replaced by Elijah. Elena’s head nearly snaps at that switch, but Elijah is already whispering something in Kol’s ears.

“This part is my favorite,” Klaus murmurs in her ear. Elena turns to the stage. She knows this next part. The play is about to end. There’s one last chance for Faustus to redeem himself, but he doesn’t, or can’t. Faustus is supposed to–

In a radical escalation of events, the demon Mephistopheles, in a dramatic variation of the play, actually kills Faustus on screen. It's supposed to happen offstage.

The actor’s scream makes Elena jolt in her seat so much that she feels it when she slams back in place.

One dead, the silver hilt of– Elena’s mouth almost drops in horror at the clearly plastic but familiar dagger– sticking out of his heart. A monologue ensues.

The noise, water whooshing past her ears, stop her from hearing anything of value, but there’s a point where Kol’s concerns turn out to be very fucking real. Elena doesn’t know exactly when the monologue changed, but the words start sounding…too familiar. 

The next part is so abrupt and quick that Elena blinks. Rephrased, and rephrased, what the actor is saying finally comes through what is alarmingly beginning to feel like her thick skull.

When the iconic "Faustus is gone; regard his hellish fall," his is replaced by hers.

To say Elena freezes is an understatement. It takes herculean effort to maintain her expression nice and pleasant. Unassuming. 

Until she can’t anymore.

Up to that moment, she could see a tense Kol sitting two seats away.

She can’t anymore.

When Faustus finally meets his fate, and shouts using more blood-curdling screams than is PG appropriate, Elena finally does the unspeakable. 

She flinches, and Elena’s feet move before the rest of her realizes what she’s doing. 

The theater lights shut off entirely. The last thing she sees is Klaus’ satisfied face. It’s not a pleasant, aha! expression either. It’s grim, and full of repercussions.

It’s a horrible feeling, one she’d last felt when Rebekah Mikaelson kept her captive in the caves that night Esther linked them and tried to kill them.  

When the darkness prevailed, Elena had instinctively frozen in place. Before she knows what’s happening, a hand grabs her elbow. She blinks, and the lights reopen with blinding clarity. 

“We’re on the stage,” Elena says, sort of numbly. Alarmed out of her mind. The stage is empty except for her, Klaus, and Elijah. “Where’s Kol?”

The feeling of being hunted is embodied in Klaus’ next smirk. “A stage is fitting for such an actress.” Elena has always loved the way Klaus wraps his lips around each vowel. Now, the effect leaves a bad feeling in her stomach.

“Worried for your lover?” he mocks. “Don’t worry your pretty doppelganger head about him, love. After all, you made sure to destroy the daggers. I wonder if you knew this day would come.”

“I asked you,” Elena says, “to get rid of the daggers because they were always going to be a barrier between you and your brothers. They never would have trusted you if–”

“Trust!” volleys Klaus, “That’s a lovely word. Trust. Elijah, have you always trusted Elena?”

Elena swallows. She knows now why Elijah has been distant since yesterday. There’s nothing but pure darkness, unreadable darkness at that. But it’s not just that. It’s like he can’t stand looking at her. 

“Believe it or not, Niklaus,” answers Elijah unwaveringly. He can’t stand to look at her but he’s sure keeping his gaze locked on hers, “I actually did doubt her intentions when she first came to us. But she convinced me.”

“Me, too, brother,” Klaus says. It takes everything in Elena not to flinch back when he starts advancing toward her. “You’ll have to forgive my brother and I’s absence all day. We were quite deep into our mother’s grimoire in search of answers about connection curses and whatnot. As it turns out, Eric Murphy wasn’t entirely truthful. But…let me guess. You already knew that. How do you know him?”

Elena opens her mouth to answer, but this time, she really does flinch back. In a twisted parallel with the first time they’d met, Elijah is suddenly in front of her. His hands reach to cup her face; his pupils dilate. “Tell us the truth, Elena.”

“His real name’s Victor.” The words are forced out of Elena. “He’s Bonnie’s boyfriend in the Appalachians.”

Oxygen doesn’t exist for her at that moment. Desperate, Elena shoves herself away from Elijah; is deeply hurt when he lets go of her like he can’t stand touching her either.

“Speaking of lovely, ‘off-the-grid Bonnie,’” Klaus says, “We were somewhat suspicious when the Bennett witch showed a surprising amount of restraint and happiness for you upon discovering your relationship with us. Thanks to Damon, we know that you’ve been talking to her all summer. But why hide it?”

“Because if she came back too soon, you’d have tried to make her remove the curse.” Fuck. Fuck Fuck! “Because I was desperate.” It’s the most truthful Elena has been in months . “You can’t blame me for that. Because– because I can’t understand, for the life of me, how anything anyone does isn’t out of sheer desperation. Every single word that comes out of my mouth is a plea. Every conversation is me begging the other person to love me. Every time I tell someone goodnight, I’m praying they wake up tomorrow. Every word, breath, or cry– I’m dying. Every time I push or shove, I’m fighting for my life. When that line blurred, when I started trembling when doing things, must have been sometimes after I met Stefan, because I know I wasn’t like this before my parents died. 

“I know what I did– or I don’t know. You give someone your all, your best; what could I have given Damon after that? I chose him but he didn’t choose me. And I–” Elena is gasping by now. “But then you chose me.”

Do you want to know how many confessions it takes for Klaus Mikaelson to snap? Just the one.

“Which part of it was real, then?” he demands; surges, really, enough that Elena almost flinches back. “The curse–”

“The connection curse is real,” Elena asserts. “I just…found out about it before you did.” Because she can’t handle another accusation, vitriol thrown her way, she explains, “After…Sinclair, I kept having these awful nightmares. But I’d have good ones, too, where I was with you. And it didn’t make the slightest sense. Bonnie diagnosed it before I did. She said that my blood connected us, and it came around a full circle when you saved me in my hour of my most desperate need then gave me your blood.

“But,” she hesitates, “I wasn’t going to do anything about it.”

It’s Elijah who has an objection with that. “You knew you were connected to my family but were going to hide it?”

“You wouldn’t have given me a second glance,” Elena says. “Too much bad blood. Until I started coming around to accepting the connection, I wasn’t going to put decisions about my life in someone else’s hands. Not again.”

“And then Damon cheated on you.” Klaus’ voice is ice cold. Arctic. Like before; before they fell in love, before his voice made her smile.

“Everything Eric– Victor said was real,” Elena says, again, without having to be compelled. “The toast linked us. The curse was triggered when Klaus saved me from Sinclair.”

“Back to Klaus now, are we,” Klaus says, clasping his hands behind his back, eyes gleaming with promise. “At least that part was real?”

“It was all real.” Elena’s chest heaves with the strength of her too-short, too-heated breaths. “I don’t know what Damon told you–”

“Your ex-boyfriend showed us audio recordings from the security system he’d installed in your house,” Klaus taunts. “You know, to keep you from sleepwalking to us . What’s that look in your eyes for?” he adds.

The truth emerges. The part she’d always dreaded. “Because the sleepwalking’s made up.”

Despite both of them claiming to know the truth, this surprises them, and it brings tears to Elena’s eyes. “It was just me who felt the connection,” Elena stresses, “Klaus, you would have laughed in my face if I told you I was having dreams about you. Dreams about you saving me. Dreams about being with you. With all of you.”

But all he got from that was– “Dreams, you say. Not nightmares?”

Elena inhales deeply. “You wouldn’t have cared.” Her resolve’s clear on that one.

“But we tested the sleepwalking,” Elijah says. It hurts to look at him. At least Klaus’ antagonistic front is familiar. Elijah’s isn’t. “You found out where we were every time. Another one of Bonnie’s spells?”

“There’s no spell that can locate an Original like that.” Elena chokes on the confession. “I–” she stops.

Klaus leans forward. “‘I’ what?” he demands. “How did you find us every night?”

Elena swallows, shaking her head.

“Elena,” he threatens, and she suddenly remembers that Kol is nowhere to be seen.

“It’s stupid,” she confesses. A prompting nod from him is just as good as compulsion. “Your phones.” It’s not just stupid. It’s hilarious, especially to Bonnie back when they’d made this part of the plan. 

Klaus seems to think so. His expression goes through a myriad of emotions before settling on dark amusement. “You tracked our phones.”

Bested by Find My Friends, Bonnie’s voice from then, her contagious laugh, seeps into Elena’s mind.

“The sleepwalking was entirely faked then?” Elijah. “But we would have noticed– your heart didn’t even speed up. I’ve seen you get up. Followed you every night. You showed no sign of consciousness.”

Conflict pulls at Elena’s brows. She feels more trapped than she’d ever been. Again, the truth– “I wasn’t the only one angry Damon and Caroline were sleeping together.” Not even Kol knows this. Elena keeps her eyes on Klaus. In fear of his reaction to– 

“She was still with Tyler back in April.”

Any trace of light, even as humorless as it had been moments ago, is erased. Few people have managed to piss off Klaus in his lifetime more than Tyler Lockwood.

“Tyler,” Klaus grounds out, “fucking Lockwood knew about this?”

“He didn’t want to at first,” Elena says; her palms start to ache from how strongly she’d closed her fists at her sides. “But I convinced him; take revenge on Caroline by–”

“By taking Niklaus away?” Elijah demands.

Elena nods guiltily. Not every layer of her plan is one she’s proud of. “And Damon. I convinced him that if I was with Klaus, I’d talk you into stopping hunting him down.” Funnily enough, or maybe cry-worthy enough, Elena hasn’t even had to. Klaus had all but forgotten about Tyler until now. “I asked him to compel me that, every night, I’d find you and then act like I was sleepwalking. You’re right. I wouldn’t have been able to fake that part.”

“You just faked the rest, then?” Klaus booms, the words clearly having extra meaning to him than she initially realized. “To what end, Elena? What did you stand to gain from ensnaring us?”

“What end?” Elena snaps as well. Finally; unable to stay calm, even if  her voice shakes while she raises it. “This. Before tonight. I just wanted you .”

“And we’re supposed to believe that?” Elijah.

“It’s the truth,” Elena says heatedly. “I– I–” It sounded better in her head, on the pages of her journal. “Everyone around me dies, okay?” her voice cracks. “I told Damon and Stefan. I told them when Alaric died that I couldn’t stand one more death, losing someone else. They asked me to choose and I chose Damon because I thought he’d never leave me. The ironic thing is that while he was cheating on me with Caroline, he never actually intended to leave me.”

“You could have left him,” Elijah says.

“And what?” Elena gestures to, ironically, the empty theater around them. “Ended up alone again . A human? I could, what, go back to dating humans, get married and have kids? In what scenario would anyone handle the life and danger I bring? But–

“But you guys could,” she confesses, “I’d started to feel it when Klaus saved me from Sinclair. And I’d always felt it for you.” She addresses Elijah. “And you’re not even normal vampires. You can’t be killed by stakes. There weren’t even enough daggers to keep you down all at once.”

“So you started to pursue us because…we couldn’t die?” Klaus’ anger gives way to disbelief. “Do you feel used, brother?”

“Kol.” Elijah is in no mood for joking. “And Finn. What were your plans for them? Why wake Kol and revive Finn?”

“The blood.” Elena is forced to answer. “And, frankly, I wanted them, too.”

Her words drop a new tension on the stage. Elena is left breathing heavily after them, almost shame cementing her in place.

“You wanted your own little harem,” Klaus says in an accusing tone. “Of indestructible Mikaelsons. Is that it?”

“Oh, be honest.” Elena goes on the offense. “This was the only way. You ruined every chance at love Elijah and Rebekah ever had. Possession, jealousy– something always pushed you to it. And Elijah, you could never step away from your family for too long. Kol tried to stay away, but you’d lock him in a box; only bring him out to liven it up like he was an entertainer you hire for parties, not your flesh and blood. 

“And, fine, I understand where you’re coming. But when I feel what you’re feeling, I send Jeremy away instead of imprisoning him next to me, because I know that’s what’s best for him. I looked at it from left and right, and I realized you weren’t just the opposite of me. You were the opposite of the Salvatores. You could share.

“It was actually Kol who gave me the idea years ago. Before anything.” Elena takes a deep breath. Even Kol doesn’t know this part. “Mary Porter.” She almost laughs, kinda hysterically. “Back when we were looking for who sired Damon and Stefan. Kol was in Denver, and he called Mary Porter an ‘Original Groupie’ and listed all the ways she was involved with you. It’s the only way Klaus will accept love, because it will bring him closer to his family. It’s the only way Elijah will accept it, because, really, Klaus is your best friend. Kol has always wanted to be close to you, but it’s almost been a hit and a miss. We latched on together because we were equal amounts of desperate and wanting love.”

There are entire natural disasters going on behind their eyes. Avalanches and storms in Klaus’. All of violent nature. 

And Elijah. He’s gone dark. Any remotely warm is burned out. 

It’s 100% true; what she had said, but she’d known it wouldn’t go well when she said.

“How far did you manipulate our brother? How much of it was his ‘desperation’ and how much was it you whispering in his ear?” Klaus, when he finally speaks, bites out.

Elena experiences an aha! moment then, one that’s not half as calculated as her usual moves. There’s an in, then. Not for her, but for Kol. “I manipulated him, too,” she says quietly. Where is he? If he overhears this– “After I undaggered him, he had my blood and started appearing to me as a projection. He’d originally meant to threaten me into letting him g–”

Elijah chuckles humorlessly, rubbing a hand down his face. “Little did he know that’s what you were already planning on doing.”

Elena ignores the barb, as sharp as it is, “I didn’t…understand him until then. What he wanted. Until he was at my house, and he made an ‘always and forever’ comment. It was genuine. I love him. I love how unpredictable and predictable he is. I love that he’s affectionate, and he wants to make us closer by drinking each other's blood, which is weird but also kinda endearing. I just…” It’s not without guilt that she– “Pushed him where I wanted to.”

"Just like you pushed me?" Elijah demands. "When you made me give you my blood."

"Klaus was next door," Elena says, "I told you I didn't want your blood, and I underestimated the pain. You needed the push, too, and in that order. You never would have made a move on me if I didn't. Klaus wouldn't have accepted me if he wasn't first, and you wouldn't have gone for me if Klaus had staked his claim. Let me remind you. You kissed me first. You whisked me off to confess your love. Did I force you to follow me to Bonnie's house? To threaten to kidnap me to keep me in your house? To kiss me every time afterward?"

"These actions lost their value when we learned how you originally manipulated us."

Each one of them is a broken record, saying the same thing over and over again. Worse: everything Elena says digs her grave deeper. Shovel, meet the Mikaelsons.

Klaus' expression had shuttered to a terrifying point. “And Finn?” he asks in a low voice.

“Haven’t gotten to work yet,” Elena answers confidently, because that's what they want to hear, “You’re not hearing me. I love you. The way I went about it was wrong; I admit that A painting hanging in our house continuously reminds me of that. An ulcer in my stomach from the stress and guilt of keeping this secret keeps reminding me of that. If there’s one thing that’s real, it’s that I love you. Trust that.”

A beat passes, then two. 

Klaus stares at her, possibly as air-deprived as she is. On his side, Elijah is, too, but he’s alarmingly, and chillingly, calmer. Warning bells already are blaring in Elena’s head.

“The problem, Elena.” Elijah is the one to break the silence. “Is that I no longer trust anything you have said and will ever say.”

“You deceived us,” Klaus volleys, “You’ve already admitted it. You wanted revenge on Damon and Caroline. You wanted revenge on us.”

Elena’s eyes widen. She hasn’t seen this part coming. “No, no, no–”

“I killed you, Elena,” Klaus thunders, pointing to himself. “I wondered how you could have forgiven me for that, but it turns out you didn’t. You sought revenge against me for tormenting you and your friends for months. You wanted revenge against Elijah for his role in betraying you the night of the sacrifice and when delivering you to Rebekah that night. Having us all with us is your revenge against Rebekah for terrorizing you in the caves and after. Stop me when I’m wrong, Elena.”

“You are wrong,” Elena says, desperate, because she hasn’t seen this part coming. “I love you–”

“It’s becoming eerily clear to us that you don’t know what love is,” Elijah says, and it stops her dead in her tracks.

Tears of hurt precede Elena shaking her head in denial.

“Here is how it’s going to go from now on.” Klaus brings the hammer down. “Unfortunately, I can’t ever really hurt you, love. Call me sentimental– or chalk it up to your precious blood. So that means you can’t ever be truly out of my sight. You’re going to tell Bonnie to hurry up to get to Mystic Falls. You’re going to call Tyler fucking Lockwood to lift his compulsion. And then, and then, everyone who played a role in taking the Mikaelsons for fools will face retribution. That sounds fair, brother, don’t you think?”

“More than fair,” Elijah agrees. He loosens a breath. Like this has been a giant hindersome thing in his day. “You want to know my favorite part in all of this, Elena?”

Being taunting is one of Elena’s least favorite looks on Elijah. Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “You keep looking for Kol when he’d long fled the theater. I suspect he’s somewhere out of Mystic Falls by now.”

The row where they’d been sitting is completely empty. There’s not a peep backstage either. 

“Did you think you’d earned his loyalty?” Elijah mocks. “Kol only stuck around for as long as he did because you provided a new challenge for him. Entertainment. Watching his brothers fall for once. Once he knew you’d been caught, he, as always, made a run for it. Without the daggers, I suspect we likely won’t see him for a few centuries.”

That’s when Elena can’t stop her tears. Elijah’s expression shutters, like he can’t stand her crying either, despite wanting to hurt her.

Klaus is equally stoic. “Let’s go home,” he mocks.

The Mikaelsons, for the first time in months, aren’t all over her when they finally cross the threshold of their manor. Elijah and Klaus radiate danger and loathing. As soon as Elena walks through the front door, surrounded by them to ensure she won’t get away, she races upstairs to compose herself. 

A part of her hopes to see Kol here. He had noticed that something was wrong. Why didn’t she listen to him sooner? If she had, maybe he would be–

She doesn’t even blame him for running. If she could, she would be running, too. At least to gather her thoughts. Any time now, Klaus is going to call her downstairs to call Bonnie and Tyler. In a matter of days, this would go back to the way it started: with Elena one-sidedly yearning for the Mikaelsons and the Mikaelsons not caring one lick about her beyond her blood.

Elena is mid-sob, the silent kind that hides more pain and makes your shoulders shake, when she stumbles into her bathroom. 

It’s a miracle, then, or by exposure to Kol’s projection, that she doesn’t scream at the sight of the person standing behind her in the mirror.

Someone who looks exactly like her.

The name Katherine is barely on Elena’s lips before she’s knocked unconscious.

Chapter Text

“There goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen”

Chapter Forty Two

The next time she sees Katherine Pierce, it’s because Katherine’s lying in the bed next to her.  

“You were asleep for too long,” Katherine had complained, then shrugged. “I fell asleep, too.”

“What the actual fuck,” says Elena; she breathes in; once, twice, and gets up, wincing. She needs to–

“Kol says hi,” Katherine says smugly, effectively halting Elena mid-step. Her doppelganger draws herself out of bed slowly, like a stretching cat. “Or,” she drawls, “He said something wildly inappropriate that made me think maybe I did choose the wrong Mikaelson.”

“Kol.” Elena blinks at her. There are no injuries on her person, except for the grogginess that came from– was she drugged? But Elena feels like she might as well have been hit by a bus. An Original, Mikaelson-manufactured bus that knocked her around for a few rounds prior.  “Kol sent you?”

“I’m only saying this because I’m compelled,” Katherine says, like it’s an important point of pride for her. She primly holds herself up, arches an elegant eyebrow at Elena. 

“You don’t take vervain?” She doesn’t mean to– okay, Elena is mocking her, but only because she hates Katherine.

“I do,” Katherine snaps, like Elena’s the idiot. “Same as you, I’d imagine. Your charming boyfriend kidnapped me months ago, drained me of vervain, and compelled me to do this.”

Kol, Elena is about to repeat, a broke record of hope, but stops herself. She stops herself for a really long time. Months ago, Kol…planned for this? “When was this?”

“When you’re immortal–”

“When?”

Elena recognizes the look in Katherine’s eyes. Chagrin and resentful hopelessness. “A few weeks after he was undaggered,” is dragged out of Katherine. “He called me his ‘sleeper agent.’”

Oh, man. She shouldn’t have watched all those Marvel movies and TV shows with Kol. She knew they were giving him ideas. God, she missed him. “Where is he?” Elena demands. “What did he compel you to do?”

“Hold on, let me connect the dots,” drawls Katherine, later in the kitchen, twirling her whisker around like it’s a knife. Katherine’s unnecessarily pushy and needy for details, like she’s basking in the aftermath of the Mikaelons being tricked. She won’t tell Elena anything about Kol until– “You were unhappy with your relationship with Damon.”

“I was happy,” Elena argues immediately, “He cheated; there’s a difference.”

Truth be told, Elena is still shaking from the confrontation between her and Klaus and Elijah. The I no longer trust you haunts her, as well as Klaus’ cruel expression and vow to seek ‘retribution’ on everyone who played a role in her plan.

The strangest part about this? Katherine feeds into the toxicity that Elena knows she’s guilty of and nods. Oh, right; what was she thinking? She’s talking to ‘ better them than me .’

“And so,” Katherine continues, going back to mixing the pancake batter, “You decide to fake circumstances that would lead to the end of your relationship. Instead of, you know, ending the relationship yourself.” 

Triggered, Elena opens her mouth to speak, a litany of excuses on her tongue, but Katherine picks right where she left off, “Then again, that would give Damon satisfaction, right? A guilt-free method to jump back into Caroline’s arms.”

The protest is right there. I was hurt. Damon hurt me. I didn’t see a way out. Who would protect me? But then doubt creeps in, and not for the first time. Can you lie to yourself? Is that a thing? About what your motives are?

“And then–” Katherine. “-- you set your sights on your next paramour.” As if she’s coming to a realization, she snaps her fingers. “Didn’t some crazy guy kidnap you?”

“I had to protect myself,” Elena says, emboldened because she’s talking to the only person in the world, in history, past, present, and future, who can understand her. “In case you’ve forgotten, Katherine, doppelgangers can’t live without protection. Not for long. I thought about turning myself into a vampire.”

“But that would be besides the point. You’d be siccing Klaus on yourself.”

“Exactly!”

“Not to mention Elijah would look at you differently.”

A sour taste rubs at Elena’s throat. She traded Stefan’s love for her innocence for Elijah’s. Two of the same temperamental demon. 

“Who better to protect me from the Mikaelsons–”

“Than the Mikaelsons.”

Katherine nods.

Whatever songbird that had been fluttering grotesquely inside of Elena’s ribcage quiets down. Katherine looks at her, but it might as well have been looking in the mirror. Years ago, she thinks she would have cringed at this conversation with Katherine, her doppelganger. Would have shuddered at any common traits. She’s a dead ringer for Katherine , said Damon, years ago, didn’t he? Both inside and out, did he mean?

It seems that Katherine is burnt out from talking, too, or is simply too hungry, because she goes back to making pancakes and leaves Elena to wander around her apartment. Photographs are scattered around on every surface and most walls. Some have her stopping in her tracks because it’s Katherine in them. Katherine and Nadia. Uncanny Valley shouldn’t apply to other people, but the image of her own smile that’s not her own makes her move on. Other than the photos, the place is decorated almost exactly like she had designed it herself. There’s wallpaper on the walls instead of muted paints, but the furniture’s all classic. The futon is literally one she has multiple versions of saved on a board on Pinterest. 

“Here,” Katherine says eventually, just before Elena’s done with the living area and is about to try to sneak off to the corridor that leads to the rest of the apartment. Her doppelganger sets down two plates on a small, bistro-style table by a floor-to-ceiling length window. Each has a reasonably-sized stack of pancakes and is accompanied by a mug of coffee. 

“How do you know how I take my coffee?” Elena asks after one sip of the suspiciously appealing coffee. To her surprise– well, is she really shocked at anything Katherine does anymore? To her surprise, though, Katherine’s watching her, as if she’s proving a theory.

“Because it’s how I take my coffee.” An identical mug is in her hands. Same murky color, blessed by the same amount of sugar, milk, and creamer that used to make Damon’s lips curl in distaste on a regular basis. 

Okay, this and– and the apartment decor, the clothes in the closet, the futon– “Are we the same person?” Elena demands, but not without humor. “Like, are doppelganger genes so identical that we have the same taste buds, same–”

“Personality?” Katherine says. “No, I lucked out on that one.”

Elena rolls her eyes. “This is exactly how I would decorate my apartment. If I could.” All those years, all those boyfriends, all that Founders’ money, and she’s never gotten to make a place her own. “Why did you save me?” Because, this time, Elena wasn’t just kidnapped. She was rescued. By Katherine Pierce out of all people.

Katherine elegantly raises an eyebrow. She says primly. “If you can believe it, I received not just one, but two phone calls last night.”

“Stefan,” Elena immediately concludes. She knows that Stefan and Katherine always had…something.

“And your boy toy Kol.” Katherine fake-pouts. “Adorable, isn’t he? If he’d been around when I was human, I wouldn’t be in this mess.” She takes a bite out of her pancakes.

“Kol called you?”

“Wanted me to switch places with you, yadda yadda yadda.” Katherine says with a mouthful of food. “I think he would have compelled me some more if he could. Promised me protection and anything I ever wanted instead. When a Mikaelson promises you that, you listen. It sorta negates another Mikaelson’s promise to hunt you down forever.”

“Kol called you,” Elena repeats, numb. He hadn’t abandoned me. He was still looking after her!

“He has a plan.”

“Are you…” In disbelief, Elena meets Katherine’s eyes in the airport mirror bathroom; Katherine’s eyes aren’t on hers, but on Elena’s skin tight top, the only style of clothing Katherine owned. “Are you checking me out? Are you that narcissistic? We look like twins.”

Once again, Elena finds herself dressed exactly like Katherine. Same tank top (although ‘tank top’ feels like a misnomer, considering it had a Chanel tag), same boyfriend jeans and boots. A curling iron had even been thrown Elena’s way before they left because Katherine couldn’t be bothered to straighten hers.

“I’m aware.” Katherine tilts her head as she regards Elena. “You forget, Elena. You might be the next big thing, but you’re not quite me.”

Elena rolls her eyes.

“Here.” Katherine casually hands Elena a large envelope. “Passport, birth certificate. All the works. A lot of money, thanks to a Kol Mikaelson donation. I read his letter, by the way. Sorry not sorry. He instructed you to lay low after a few months before he can come get you. Tell me where you’re going.”

Elena’s busy examining the papers. One perk of having a doppelganger, she guesses, ready-to-flee documents. “I’m not gonna do that. You know, so you can trade your freedom for mine.”

Katherine tilts her head. “Smart.” Then rolls her eyes. “I never knew that about you, you know.”

“That I’m smart?” Elena asks.

“That, and that you’re more like me than you know.”

There’s a retort on Elena’s lips, an I’m smarter or an I’m nothing like you but it dies quickly in her throat.

"See?" taunts Katherine. "It's the Petrova curse. We can't settle for just one man."

"It's not about that," Elena says. "I love them."

I love them mouthes Katherine mockingly. "Spoken like a soon-to-be-dead doppelganger. Hey, since this is the last time I'll see you before, you know, you get your throat slit by Klaus and Elijah and you take that delicious Kol down with you, I will concede you this. You pulled off what Tatia and I couldn't."

"The Mikaelsons' love?" Elena mocks Katherine back.

"Nope," Katherine says, nothing less than gleeful. "You tricked them, but that's not it. You're the one who finally tore that family apart."

Eight hours later, Elena Gilbert steps out to Paris, France.

She’d always, always dreamed of visiting this city. With Caroline and Bonnie. With Kol. Elijah and Klaus. Maybe she’d have brought Finn if he were up for it. 

Now, as her heart weighs heavy on her chest, drowning and bobbing around in heartache waters, she wanders heavily through the streets with no real purpose. You're the one who finally tore that family apart plays on a loop in her head.

Her doppelganger looks serve her well, then, because she stumbles upon a bar a couple of hours into her walk, and wow, she’s actually homeless, isn’t she? The bartender and a table of businessmen a few tables away keep her supplied with alcohol. Elena, some sober sense still instilled in her, sneaks out of the back door and starts walking.

With no phone, money that will last her a few weeks if she’s lucky, and with the city dropping in temperature, Elena stops in the middle of a street. She closes her eyes. Fights back tears. Actually misses the Mikaelsons. And lets that tug in her gut guide her right.

Exactly one hour later, Elena Gilbert knocks on the door of an apartment. The way it swings open is already telling of who’s on the other side of it.

Klaus, Elijah, Kol, and as of lately, Finn would always be her number one crushes. If she could, she would weave poetry about their old world beauty, soliloquies about how much she adored everything about them, and with how self-assured they were, probably share monologues with them about why they were the most handsome men in the world.

But she’ll be damned if the sight of Rebekah Mikaelson didn’t take her breath away.

Maybe it was the perspective of being on the run, of being alone, once again. Maybe it was Rebekah herself. Aphrodite would be jealous. If she had her camera, Elena would have taken a photo. 

An all too familiar, gorgeous, seemingly uncontrollable frown teased at Rebekah’s expression as she stares at whom Elena guesses is the last person she expected at her doorstep. Blonde hair, messily tied in a side swept braid, adds to the alluring vulnerability of– it’s around midnight, so she’d probably woken Rebekah up.  

Elena smiles at her. “Hi.”

What the fuck was Rebekah Mikaelson supposed to do with Elena fucking Gilbert?

Correction: Elena fucking Gilbert who was drunk, sleep-deprived, and separated from her brothers?

The breath Rebekah loosens is entirely exasperated. Why? Because Elena fucking Gilbert is in her apartment, and Rebekah will happily, gleefully rip into her any other day. If…if she didn’t feel this distinct tug towards the brunette. 

She follows that same tug towards where there’s an unseemly amount of noise coming– a racket of drawers opening and closing and Elena mumbling a pop song under her breath. 

Another breath. It would be bad…right? If she killed her? She can pretend she doesn’t know that Elena is precious to her brothers. But the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that she can’t get away with hurting the doppelganger. Not without serious repercussions. Any defense that Elijah might have in store for her would die down; Kol, the psychotic little shit he is, would haunt Rebekah to the grave about killing the only girl he only really liked.

And Klaus. A trill of fear chills Rebekah’s spine. Civility– it’s a nice armor between them. Brotherly banter and unconditional affection can only go for so long before Klaus’ expression shutters into the terrifying expression. A tear or two, a macabre display of regret , might slide down his cheek. Nevertheless, a dagger will find its way into her heart seconds later.

And she will not get daggered over Elena fucking Gilbert. Again.

Purposefully, Rebekah strides through her beautiful Parisian apartment, the one she’d worked for months to decorate and style, until she reaches her kitchen. And pauses in the doorway.

The source of all the noise? Not just Elena, but Elena trying to make breakfast. In the middle of the night. There are two identical bowls of cut up fruit next to her, cozied up next to scoops of granola and yogurt.

The noise was actually Elena trying to open one of Rebekah’s organic, freshly-squeezed bottles of orange juice. 

With her eyebrows raised in disbelief, Rebekah crosses her arms. She’s about to speak, to protest, to mock, when Elena huffs like a petulant child, backs away from the stubborn bottle her human strength can’t conquer. Elena’s expression falls into a stubborn one, jaw visibly locking in determination, before she tries one last ditch effort: using the fabric of her shirt. Elena rises to the tops of her tiptoes and wraps the bottom of her tank top around the cap. The top is so small and clingy to the skin that a flash of olive skin, a toned, soft stomach, and–

All right, she really has to say something to her now. At least alert the doppelganger to her presence so that–

An aha! is quietly muttered in triumph when Elena finally opens the bottle. Then turns around to Rebekah, like she’s known she had been standing there all along. “Hi,” the doppelganger beams. “I’m making mimosas. If that’s okay.”

“It’s not fucking okay,” Rebekah says, maybe a little too immediately. She steps into the kitchen. “I will not end up with a dagger in my heart because Elena fucking Gilbert decided to drunkenly barge into my home.”

And Rebekah gets to watch as Elena’s eyes fill up with hurt before she can cover the emotion up. A smile teases at her lips instead. “You don’t have to worry about that. I made sure of that.”

“Oh,” says Rebekah, “Thanks, I’m cured. Your reassurances don’t exactly assure me, Elena–”

“There are no more daggers,” Elena interrupts, so innocently and matter-of-factly that Rebekah actually lets her talk. “When Klaus, Elijah, Kol, and I grew closer, I knew that the dagger threat hanging over their heads would never allow us to have a real relationship.”

There is actual noise, the sound of her own heartbeat, knocking on Rebekah’s ears. “Where are the daggers?” she demands, because she wouldn’t trust–

“I told Klaus– he prefers it when I call him Nik, actually,” says Elena, “I told I’m a very forgiving person, but I don’t know how I’d forgive him, be with him, if he someday daggered Elijah or Kol, because I love them, too.”

“Elena–” grounds out Rebekah.

“It was a whole thing,” Elena continues, “We threw the remaining white oak ash in Wickery Lake and watched as the daggers melted in a fire.”

It can’t be– It just can’t. “I don’t believe you.”

“I asked Kol to take a video of it because I knew you’d need convincing.” Elena, with a fucking perk to her step, bounces over right in front of Rebekah. Smiles. “Do you have a laptop I can open a link on?”

This close, Rebekah could pick out every feature on Elena’s face. Every Talia-esque resemblance. The way her siren eyes are dark with intention and honesty – goddamn it, she can’t pick a lie in them, the way those lips, which still have a touch of lipstick on them, are tilting up in a disarming smile. 

And Elena lets her study her. Content to study her back.

Nothing in the world, in history, could have intrigued Rebekah more than what was being offered. With a fake huff of reluctance, Rebekah backs away a step before veering off into her living room. Elena follows a second later.

“I swear to God, Elena,” threatens Rebekah as they head to her MacBook, which sits on a desk overlooking the picturesque skyline, “If there is an ounce of mistruth to your words–”

“All my secrets are out,” Elena corrects. “I have nothing to hide.” Obediently, she sits when Rebekah kicks out the armchair she’d paired with the desk. Any other time, if Rebekah was looming over her, hand over the back of the chair, and her victim would have been terrified. Elena, months ago, would have been terrified. Now, the doppelganger calmly navigates to log into a new email address.

She then goes to an email she’d sent to an account called [email protected].  “Sorry. I didn’t know how else to keep this video, and I’m paranoid about my phone being stolen or, like, Katherine using facial recognition instead of me. Here.”

A series of photos are downloaded onto her computer next. The daggers, distinct hilts visible, throughout the various stages of being melted. One of the photos has Kol posing with a cheeky grin and two thumbs up. The last file is a boomerang out of all things. It’s of Kol and Elena, standing on the banks of Wickery Lake, throwing the ash into the water. As the video replays on a loop, of the ashes being thrown and coming back, Rebekah is frozen. It’s not until Elena shuts off the video and the screen darkens that Rebekah blinks at her dumbfounded expression.

And it’s not until minutes later that Rebekah speaks. “You,” she says, finding it challenging to string together comprehensible vowels and consonants at the moment, “ convinced my homicidal, fratricide-prone brother to permanently destroy the only thing that could keep us in line?”

“Hey, Klaus wanted to destroy them, too,” Elena says, still relaxed on the chair under her, “But he was too prideful to do it. I gave him the opportunity to. He daggered you every time he felt like you were drawing away. He thought the daggers kept you together when it tore you apart. I showed him the results of what happened if he did the opposite. And it brought the family back together.”

At this angle, Elena has to look up to meet Rebekah’s eyes, and Rebekah holds dominion over her. If she tried, Elena wouldn’t even be able to get up without Rebekah stepping out of the way. 

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Rebekah’s voice is quieter than she’d care to admit. It fades into her throat when Elena’s smile turns sympathetic. 

“That’s the part I couldn’t convince them to do,” she says, “Klaus was afraid you would never come back if the dagger threat was gone. He wanted to tell you in person.”

“So you’re telling me instead.”

“I’m not possessive of the people around me like that,” Elena tells her. “I think you should have all the options. All the freedoms. I didn’t plan to come to France, but I’m glad my curse guided me here so I can show you this. And now,” she adds, making as if to get up. Rebekah doesn’t budge, so she’s forced to sit down again. Elena breathes out and tucks her hair behind her ears. “I’ll be on my way. Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sit the fuck down.” Rebekah is a little forceful. “Why?” she demands. “Why did you come here? We hate each other. I never answered my brothers, but I’ve listened to their messages. You tricked them into a relationship with you. Why on Earth did you come to me when that fell apart?”

This time, when Elena gets up, Rebekah lets her. Besides, Elena doesn’t go far. “Because I plan things to a fault,” she says, standing in the middle of Rebekah’s living room in Paris . “Because, no matter what we did to each other in the past, we feel safe around each other because we’re even . Because you feel the same tug as I do towards each other,” she says, then adds, “Because I’ve been learning French for you.”

Chapter Text

“What doesn't kill me makes me want you more”

Chapter Forty Three

“You’re delusional.” A tall glass of lemonade, decorated with a pretty, striped metal straw, is set in front of Elena. Rebekah rounds the tiny table on her small balcony, her own glass in hand. “And my brothers are idiots.”

“Both of these statements are wrong.” Elena takes a first sip; sugar spikes her literal sugar levels and energizes her. “Look, I’ll let you know my side of it; why I did what I did, and then you can judge.”

“Fun,” Rebekah snarks. “I’ll judge.”

And so Elena launches into her own perspective of the events, from prior to Sinclair’s kidnapping to up until two days ago. She must speak for at least 30 minutes. Rebekah interrupts. A lot. Mainly because she has Klaus and Elijah’s perspective from the messages they sent her.

“I never told them how to feel for me,” Elena concludes, “I took my hands off the wheel after letting them into my nightmare, which was real. And, yeah, the kitchen finger cutting thing was fake, but I’ve kind of learned that Mikaelsons are a lot like countries. All their resolutions are long-term and slow-acting. Elijah would have played a thousand chess matches with me before he started thinking about how he felt.

“I,” Elena says, then hesitates. “I.” Jaw locks again. Under Rebekah’s eagle-like gaze, Elena is a high-schooler again, trying not to stare. “I knew what they wanted,” Elena settles on saying, “What drove them. I…lined up the pieces to give them everything they ever wanted. Klaus and Elijah and Kol, their family. You, Elijah, and Kol, the daggers gone. Kol, someone to scheme with. Klaus, someone who’s equally as lonely as he is. Elijah, someone who knows what it’s like to be the older sibling, who struggles with finding lasting relationships anymore.”

Matt Donavan, Rebekah and Elena's once boyfriend, seems to be an unspoken name between them, shared between their lips as each girl stares at the other, sweet lemonade in their teeth. 

The truth, after much self-reflection, is that Elena hasn’t made any real friends beyond the ones she got at birth and made in the sandbox. Matt, Bonnie, and Caroline. Stefan, she dated for, what, like, a year? Damon almost exactly the same amount. So much for epic love. Isn’t all that it's cracked up to be.

 “Huh,” says Rebekah.

Elijah lets his head rest on the doorway of Elena’s room. It’s technically theirs, but neither he nor Niklaus have gone inside since they’d returned the day before. Elena certainly hasn’t come out. But she didn’t lock the door. He’d waited until he heard her breathing even out in peaceful sleep before making his move.

Two entire inches into the room. He’s been like this for a few minutes now. Staring at the enigmatic, evil, according to Klaus, and most hauntingly beautiful girl he’d ever seen. What an absolute mess this is. Why did she have to manipulate them? Elijah would have willingly…

He would have. He’s sure of it. He’d kept his distance from Elena after he’d kidnapped that night to force the Salvatores into unlinking him and his siblings. But if Elena had called, he’d have come.

How much of you was real? He wants to ask her.

“Why shouldn’t I just call my brothers and tell them where you are?” nibbling on a pink macaron, Rebekah says. 

A chocolate one is halfway up to Elena’s lips. “Well, right now, two would kill me. There’s one I would really like to find. And I’m not sure how Finn would react.”

A macaron drops onto Rebekah’s dainty plate. “Finn?”

“Hold on.” Rebekah gestures for Elena to stop with her really uncomplicated ritual to resurrect her eldest brother. “I still don’t understand why you brought back Finn.”

“Because I felt him,” Elena says, “Finn, out of all you, deserves to live. He never got a chance to.”

An unreadable emotion that is undoubtedly sad brings down Rebekah’s expression. Elena watches it happen with an emphatic expression of her own. Finn is a sore subject, for all of them, including, ironically, himself. No one wants to think about their neglect towards their eldest brother, just because they didn’t have that close of a relationship with him. 

“900 years. Anyone would go crazy,” Elena continues, “But, so far, other than that one attempt to help Esther, Finn’s aspirations to bring down the Mikaelson family flared down as quickly as they had flared up. He’s been alive for a month now. All he wants to do is read books, drink tea, and take walks in the forest.”

“He used to have a talent for natural healing, you know.” It’s the first non-insult that Rebekah’s aimed at Elena all day. Her posh accent as she lords a fact over Elena’s head brings a smile to her face. Her as in both their faces.

“I do know that,” Elena tells her, “He told me. He makes me ginger root tea when my stomach hurts.” 

Immediately, Rebekah pulls the same face as Klaus had. A thousand years old, and all of them still remember that God-awful tea. God knows that its taste is still etched on her tongue, too. But, still, Rebekah’s reaction makes Elena giggle.

“You feel a connection to every Mikaelson who had your blood at the toast,” Rebekah says. “You brought Finn back from the dead.” Disbelief, ‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ bleeds into her prim accent. “But you couldn’t be bothered with contacting me until now?”

“I didn’t need to.” Honestly. “The distance made it easier, and the fact that I wasn’t sure if you’d choke me on sight.”

Rebekah shrugs, which Elena takes as a ‘take it or leave it.’

“The timing wasn’t right,” Elena says conclusively. 

“And you’re all about timing, aren’t you?” Rebekah pushes. “A manipulative doppelganger. How original.”

“I am,” Elena responds. “Same way Klaus wouldn’t have cared a lick about me a year ago. That’s the thing with you Mikaelsons. You sabotage love when it finds you. Paradoxically, you claim to want it more than anything.”

“I still don’t care about you,” Rebekah shoots, but it’s too soon, too immediate. Her words had touched a nerve in Rebekah. “You only came to find me when the male Mikaelsons were done with you. Let me guess. You want me to protect you.”

“Personally, I don’t want anything from you,” Elena tells her. “This is about what I can do for you. What do you really want, Rebekah? You want the daggers gone? Done. You want Klaus and Elijah off your back? They could have found you if they wanted to this past year, but they didn’t. You want Kol back, because you two were always partners in crime and the closest in age. I love Kol. You want love? You can have that with me, too.”

So far, Elena’s been doing a good job at keeping her composure. Being around Rebekah reminded her of those videos of cats or tigers stalking you and stopping when you turned around. She couldn’t afford to show weakness. Or regret. Rebekah barely respects either. None of the Mikaelsons do.

Now, though, Elena’s chest is a little heavy; her stomach hurts from the rollercoaster of emotions it’s been on, and the flight over. And tingly chills ice at her arms as she holds Rebekah’s intense gaze over the table. In her little Parisian home. The picturesque Pinterest board come to life. A teenager’s vision of what her first apartment would look like. All alone.

“You want my friendship,” Elena adds, on a lower, softer voice, “It’s yours. You want nothing to do with me?”

Rebekah continues to hold Elena’s gaze, jaw locked, as if in challenge. Any challenge on Elena’s part dies down on her lips. Rebekah leans forward, and it’s startling how that gesture still sets Elena on her guard. Rebekah says, “You thought bringing Finn back from the dead was easier than confronting me?”

Klaus wouldn't have accepted me if he wasn't first, and you wouldn't have gone for me if Klaus had staked his claim. Let me remind you. You kissed me first. You whisked me off to confess your love. Did I force you to follow me to Bonnie's house? To threaten to kidnap me to keep me in your house? To kiss me every time afterward?

“She hasn’t moved from her room,” Elijah is telling Klaus. “She’s barely eaten or drunk. She’s even stopped writing in her journal. I left one on the nightstand.”

Klaus pauses mid-drink. “You left–” He briefly closes his eyes in disbelief. “Elijah, why can’t you grasp the idea that–”

“That she’s our prisoner?” Elijah challenges. “Three days ago, she was our girlfriend. We were going to turn her into a vampire. Were ready to–”

“To storm that next journey of her life?” mocks Klaus. “Have her manipulations not chipped away at the last of your love for humans? Need I remind you that Elena played us for fools for nearly a year?”

Elijah’s temper flares and dies down. His jaw locks. “She manipulated us,” he acknowledges, then, as if weighing against it: “She loved us.”

Because I was desperate. You can’t blame me for that. Because– because I can’t understand, for the life of me, how anything anyone does isn’t out of sheer desperation. Every single word that comes out of my mouth is a plea. Every conversation is me begging the other person to love me. Every time I tell someone goodnight, I’m praying they wake up tomorrow. Every word, breath, or cry– I’m dying. Every time I push or shove, I’m fighting for my life.

“Stockholm syndrome, Elijah,” Klaus says. “There are studies about this.”

“All right.” Klaus barges into the room, ready to–

Elena’s not in the bed. Rustling in the closet halts him in place. A curious Elena with sad, furrowed brows leans her head out. She’s in her underwear. 

“This has gone on long enough.” Klaus picks up his momentum where he left it off. “Did you honestly believe the silent treatment would, what, endear you back to my brother and I? Guilt us into keeping up that charade of a relationship?”

At this point, Klaus likes to think he has a masterclass in Elena Gilbert’s facial expressions. It helps that she’s usually the most expressive person ever. And the most vocally transparent. She tells you when she’s sad, or has a usual tic he can read. She tells you that she’s feeling happy, or randomly kisses you when passing by in the hallway with a sweet little giggle. Or she tells you that she’s mad. She’s never quite about it.

Elena is silent for so long that he thinks they might honestly stare at each other for eternity when she says, “I thought you no longer trusted anything I have said or will say in the future.”

“Elijah was the one to say that to you,” Klaus says, “My version is less polite.”

A typical eye roll. At least those muscles haven’t changed. Klaus’ about to speak, to say what he came here to say when, after a moment’s hesitation, Elena shyly comes out of the closet.

“You–” Klaus is saying, when she, again, hesitates, before she starts walking to where she’s clearly agonizing about. Her clothes, a set of silk pajamas Elijah had gotten her, are on the bed. Klaus freezes in place when a whiff of her too-familiar perfume clouds his bearings. He had gotten her that perfume; had regularly burrowed into her neck, kissed it, after she applied it and throughout the night, just to be close.

“Bonnie still hasn’t arrived,” Klaus finally bites out, voice snappish. “Do something about that.”

And he has to wait for her to grab her clothes, then like they haven’t dated for nearly a year, shared a bed for more than that, darts back into the closet to change. 

“Can I have my phone back to see?” when she comes out, hair still wavy from a recent shower, she asks, gaze down. Klaus tries to catch it, but she gives him barely any attention as she bounds over to the sofa off to the side, ignoring her favorite armchair.

Elena’s phone was one of the first things they’d taken away. Besides her temporary freedom until they figured out what to do with her. 

“Here.” He reaches into his jacket pocket to bring it out; watches as she holds it up to her face for facial recognition to unlock it. “Don’t you dare send anything without–”

A tired sigh. “I know.” She half-tilts the screen so he can see everything she’s doing. She types a quick text to Bonnie, waits for his approval, then her finger hovers over the send button. “Are you going to hurt her? For her role?”

“Retaliation from me is an inevitable fact of life,” Klaus says. “You have a message from her. Open it.”

Elena turns her face away, the way he’s familiar with when she wants to compose herself, but he swears her expression turns annoyed. It flares his own annoyance. And now they’re both here, annoyed with each and stuck.

“It says,” Elena reads aloud, “that Victor’s sick. She’ll mail the daylight ring.” An honest to God smile then stretches her face. “Oh my God, and I didn’t even have to warn her.”

“Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve,” Elena is saying to Rebekah; they’re back inside. Rebekah ordered dinner from a restaurant across the street, a delicious feast of pastas, breads, and chicken parmesans, Elena’s favorite. Elena, emboldened by how food makes her stomach hurt less, has started a tirade, “Damon, a twenty-something-year-old man, shouldn’t have been messing around with high school girls. Stefan’s eternally 17 years old, so is Kol. I get that. Damon died in his twenties. I get that the rules are different for vampires, but Caroline and I were fully human when he pursued us. Did you know he actually compelled her, at the start?”

Rebekah shakes her head. “Damon Salvatore thinks that crooked smile will let him get away with anything.”

“He does,” Elena says, “So Caroline’s in her sophomore year. An impressionable teen. He starts sleeping with her, biting her and not healing the bites, so she’s perpetually in pain, and compels her to do his bidding and ‘stop talking’ whenever he gets annoyed with her.”

Rebekah’s nibbling on a piece of garlic bread. “You slept with the insufferable bastard.”

“We both did.”

An eye roll and a giant bite. “I was lonely. He was there. It was also to get back at you.”

A gulp of wine. “I’m sorry for stabbing you in the back. I’m sorry it hurt and ruined any chance at friendship. But I don’t regret it.”

A disbelieving arch to Rebekah’s eyebrow. “Pardon me? Bitch,” she adds.

“I’m serious,” Elena presses, “There was no way you’d have let us kill Klaus. He’s your brother. Even if you were willing to go through with our plan, Klaus would have known something was wrong from your reaction.”

“And you concluded this,” Rebekah says. “Not the Salvatores or Bonnie?”

Elena swallows; gets up. It was her, unhurried and unpressured by anyone else. 

"My God," Rebekah drawls, watching as Elena starts gathering the plates, "You are diabolical. Have been for forever."

“Hello.”

Katherine, her facial muscles tired from having to mimic what she thinks is Elena’s expression all the time, looks up and finds the one Mikaelson she’d never met. “Finn,” she hazards. No bad blood there. Kol was very clear in his instructions on how to react like Elena. She adores Finn. Acts like a girl with a crush around him. Silently, he revels in it. She’s also received a very strict warning not to progress the relationship.

She smiles and draws herself up from her bed. Predictably, Finn’s dark eyes drop to the bare skin revealed by her silk pajama top and shorts. She then remembers she has to be sad and conflicted and schools her expression into an ‘aw shucks’ one.

“I apologize for my absence,” Finn says, an awkward pause of silence between them, like he’s used to Elena shouldering the burden of starting conversations with him. “My brothers had sent me to a vampire acquaintance who specializes in acquiring government papers for vampires.”

Okay? “Oh.” Definitely not the brother she’d have gone for.

“Are you all right?” Finn ventures deeper into the room. Katherine can already tell Elena lets them get comfortable around her, touch her things. “Niklaus and Elijah…caught me up.”

“Are they readying the pyre for me?” Katherine asks sarcastically, because, really, her vampire hearing has picked up on a lot of ‘woe is me’ conversations. None so far have involved physical harm to precious Elena.

“Nothing so drastic,” Finn answers seriously. “They’re mostly looking for Kol, but he’s disappeared.”

He’s gonna call in a few hours, Katherine wants to scream, but Kol has covered all his bases. He got her to agree to do this charade before compelling her into obedience.

“I miss him.” That’s something lovelorn Elena would say. A tear worthy of an Oscar springs into her eyes. It’s almost immediately wiped out by amusement when Finn visibly startles at the sight of it.

“Kol always bounces back,” Finn reassures her. “That you can trust. You can also trust that they will never harm you as well. They’re hurt and lashing out. They've never loved anyone as they love you. That shows.”

“But s–” Oh, wow, Katherine that almost-trainwreck. “But I manipulated them. I manufactured the circumstances that led to them falling in love with me to get revenge on Damon for cheating on me and then I continued to push and push for what constituted the perfect relationship when I actually fell in love with me.”

Finn blinks at her. Katherine stares back. 

There’s no way this guy exists for real. It’s almost driving her crazy– because what does he know? Neither Kol nor Elena had clarified that. Gauging the extent of his knowledge would require–

“How’s your stomach?” Finn then asks, skipping over the awkwardness. “Come. My brothers tell me you haven’t been out of your room since the play. I’ll make you some tea. You haven't had any today.”

So while Katherine was running for her life, Elena Gilbert was getting the Salvatore brothers to fight over her. Then while Katherine was still running for her life to pay for that Mikael stunt, a Mikaelson was making Elena tea for her fucking stomach?

Not completely unwarranted, Katherine twists her expression. “Are they downstairs?” Like she can’t hear the emo music from Klaus’ room and the juxtaposition of the classical melodies from Elijah’s.

“Niklaus’ in his studio,” Finn says after a moment of concentration. “Elijah’s in his study. Have you taken your medications?”

A tray of orange bottles had been in the bathroom. Just to punish them for involving her in this, Katherine had flushed them down the toilet. Just to be an inconvenience. What did vampires need with pills anyway? And what reason did she have to care about Elena?

“Yes. All the medications,” she answers, and springs out of bed and leads Finn out of the room…before she remembers she has to be coy and shy and meek and not strut confidently. With her teeth grinding in the effort it takes to control her reaction, Katherine waits for Finn to follow her before allowing herself to follow him, shoulders pulled taunt into herself as if in anxiety. 

A Mikaelson kitchen is something she thought she never would have thought she’d willingly step in, unless she wasn’t, you know, probably about to be chopped up by Klaus or something. It’s…surprisingly domestic. She almost expects a ‘live, laugh, love’ sign, but it’s all sleek appliances and at least a dozen of bespoke kitchen towels with an M crest on them. A snort climbs up her throat. Of course the Mikaelsons have custom-made towels. The next thing she knows, they’ll have–

A hand touches her chin, and Katherine jumps, flinching away.

“Oh!” Finn immediately backs away, equally startled at her reaction. Breathing harder than she’d expected, Katherine raises a hand to her throat, eyes wide at the eldest Mikaelson. “My apologies,” he says, the second apology of the day. “You were lost in thought. Here.”

Warily, Katherine looks at what he’d pushed in her direction on the island. A small cup of steaming tea. She casts a suspicious glance around the room, almost expecting Klaus or Elijah to jump out. By the skin of her teeth, she’d escaped their interactions unscathed. So far. She didn’t trust their knowledge of Elena’s mannerisms to count on a long-term stay. 

A sickly sweet smile from her puts Finn at ease. Katherine’s too focused on it, and Klaus’ footsteps– is he coming down?– when she takes her first big sip of tea. And gags.

“God.” She spits it back into the cup, actually shivering. Vervain would have been preferable to this, ugh, spicy sludge. Katherine shudders all over. Gags again.  

And the blood drains from her face. Did he say that…Elena hasn’t had her tea yet ? As in…this was a ritual with them?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Finn’s face is…already shuttering into a stoic, stone-like expression. Fuck!

“Mmm,” Katherine says too late, like she hadn’t drooled the liquid back into the vile mass a moment earlier. She winces and smiles Elena’s ‘aw shucks’ smile. “My stomach’s feeling a little upset,” she bullshits. “Can I–”

Any lie dies on her lips when her throat is grabbed; any noise dies down equally fast.

Finn tightens his grip around her neck. “Where’s Elena?”

Chapter Text

“I never trust a narcissist

but they love me”

Chapter Forty Four

The next night, all formal-like, Elijah leaves ‘Elena’ a note on her nightstand on an empty notebook that was just there for some reason, telling her to come down for dinner at 5 p.m. Katherine had fanned herself with the note, an honest giddy feeling in her stomach. She’d forgotten how handsome and just, ugh, immaculate Elijah was. 

Before, Finn corners her in her bedroom for what has to be an hour-long lecture on how to behave like Elena.

“You have most of her mannerisms down,” he says in that gravelly, grave voice of his that Katherine barely resists mocking. Experience has taught her that he does not and will not care for pleasantries with her. And is really pissed off that she wears Elena’s face but isn’t as kind, thoughtful, and shits rainbows like the real deal. He goes on, “It’s tempting to lock your jaw and be combative with my brothers, but hurt and silence are your best weapons.”

“Aww,” taunts Kat. “Is poor lil Elena hurt because her boyfriends, plural, are angry she manipulated them? Is she quiet because she knows–”

Another throat grab. Katherine chokes on Finn’s relentless grip. Gentle Original, her ass. Just as quickly, he lets go of her without changing his expression but doesn’t back away. The end of the bed touches the back of her knees. Sheer will and pride hold her up as Finn leans closer.

“The reason why you persistently breathe,” he murmurs, eyes consistently studying her face and coming back with a derisive look, he’s disappointed at what he sees, “is because Kol, for once, was thinking long-term. The longer you’re here, the more time he and Elena have to formulate a plan. You will not compromise this. Understand?”

Another comment is cut off just as violently. Well, Finn makes as if to step closer and Katherine snaps, “Fine. Fine. Jesus. If it’s not the tea or the personality, what does Elena see in you?”

As she’d learned since last night, as Finn had dug up every ounce of truth in her, he’s utterly and hilariously unmoved by anything she throws his way unless it’s related to Elena. She can curse him to high hell and he’ll blink at her. But she’ll say that Elena’s an s-word and she’ll get her neck snapped. Funnily enough, when she’d woken up, Elijah was doing his disappearing, Edward Cullen act, watching her sleep. He’d disappeared just as her eyes had opened, but she knew he was there.

Presently, Katherine is looked at from head to toe; is found lacking. Finn tilts his head. “You’ll pay for that.”

That fucking little actress. 

Both of them– she, her. Elena, Katherine. Elena, for leaving. Katherine, for doing a horrible job of playing her. 

Anger fueling his stoic expression, Finn watches as Katherine, as Elena, demurely enters the dining room, dressed in one of Elena’s tiny dresses. Finn’s jaw locks tighter. He can tell the difference. Goes to prove just how idiotic and willfully blind his brothers are. Like horses with shutters on their eyes. No wonder that Elena manipulated them as easily as she did, even if the effort did take months. 

When he finds her, he’ll–

“Thank you,” Katerina fucking Petrova murmurs shyly when a neutral-expression Elijah pulls her chair for her. 

It’s an eerie parallel for Finn, who usually enjoyed watching Elena interact with his brothers. Elena would already be in someone’s lap by now, probably Kol’s, who reveled in whispering jokes, taunts, and dirty things in her ears and watching her try to stifle her expression. Elena would have kissed Elijah in thanks for his help. Elena would have had Klaus laughing by now he watched TV or painted from across the room. Would have smiled gently at Finn by now. 

Elijah’s examining Katherine, head tilted as if trying to figure her out. That is, of course, until Klaus storms in. A dark smile, little kindness in it, twists his lips. He immediately makes for the head of the table. “Let’s begin,” he says, “Shall we?”

“What now?” It’s the next morning. Rebekah has an extra room that she lets Elena stay in, a room of beauty and pastels. Over a breakfast of pastries and coffee that Rebekah had gone to her favorite cafe to get, she makes this demand. “There are no more daggers, but I will not stick my neck out for you.”

“I sort of gathered that.” Elena reaches for a rich-smelling croissant stuffed with the perfect amount of chocolate, and not the Nutella she’d used, but an actually addictive, sort of dark-tasting kind.. Paris is everything she’d ever wished for and more. If only the rest of the people she’d wanted to see it with were here… “I think I’m kind of kicked out of Mystic Falls by default. I’ll probably, like, join Bonnie and Victor in the Appalachians.”

“What are you up to?” Rebekah asks. “I don’t trust that dark gaze. Your brows are frowning, but your eyes are smiling.”

Mischievous eyes stare at her from over her shoulder. Klaus’ painting. Elena’s hand jerks up, a tentative reach for her cheek, shying just a small distance away from her eyes. What do other people see in her that she can’t? “I’m genuinely not planning anything.”

“And I don’t buy that.”

“You said you wanted nothing to do with me,” Elena says, “I’m respecting that. ‘No’ is a full sentence, you know.”

“You are delusional, you know that?” Rebekah says. “You– you come in here, spewing shit about love and your delusional definition of it and how to get it. You pursued my brothers for months. Tricked them for longer. And you come to, what, present your offer like a sales pitch?”

“Not like a sales pitch,” Elena retorts. “It’s what I wish I got. An honest description of what to expect in a relationship. People don’t put effort in their relationships anymore, in my experience. I have past references. The determination to prove it. I told you what I have to offer– romance, love, and for our case, friendship, too. Klaus and Elijah don’t know I’m here. You still won’t talk to them.”

Rebekah tilts her chin up proudly. “What’s your point?”

“Let’s be friends for a day,” Elena, ironically, presents her sales pitch, “We’ll see how it goes.”

When the first actual salesperson approaches them, speaking a hundred words a minute, Elena freezes. Rebekah has to interfere. After the woman leaves, Rebekah turns to Elena with a mocking expression. “I thought you’ve been ‘learning French for me.’”

“I did,” Elena defends. She moves past Rebekah to get to the rack of designer clothing. All dresses fit for a Founders’ Day party of quiet wealth. Her expression turns self-deprecating. “Klaus and Elijah did almost all of the speaking exercises for me. It’s actually kind of funny. When Kol and I were kidnapped, I’m pretty sure they had an important conversation over me but I could only get some verbs out of it.”

A moment, then two. Elena looks up from a navy blue halter dress and finds Rebekah blinking at her. “What the fuck are you even?” she asks seriously, then leaves for another section in the store. Elena follows.

“Okay,” says Elena, twisting side to side to see how prettily the dress is when she turns. “What do you think?”

She has to wait until Rebekah comes out of her own dressing room for her opinion. And, suddenly, everything else ceases to be of importance. Elena is the one left staring at the other. “Wow,” she says. “I forgot what I was saying.”

Rebekah brushes past her to get to the full-length mirror at the end of the hallway that leads to the dressing area. The way she regards her reflection drips with confidence. “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” Elena shifts her gaze back to her own reflection and her own dress. Holds back a sigh.

“It’s not admiration,” Rebekah says, her refreshing blue eyes meeting Elena’s in the mirror. “But it’s not jealousy either.”

“I do think you’re pretty. More than,” Elena says. She smoothes her hands over the fabric that flows like a skirt down her thigh, trying to figure out if Kol would like a dress like that. Chances are that he would. He’s that good of a boyfriend. “I was admiring your confidence. It’s a very good look.”

In the fluorescent light of a store Elena could never hope to pronounce right, in the opulent dressing room, Rebekah finally loosens a sigh. Her gaze finds Elena again, through the mirror again, and really examines her. Elena’s breath stays in that phase between being breathed and thinking about it, solely for the blonde’s focus on her.

“As if you don’t know you’re beautiful, Elena,” eventually, Rebekah says, if somewhat reluctantly. Then, “Is this a display of what kids are calling a ‘pick me’ girl nowadays?”

The opposite of Kol, then. And Klaus and Elijah. All three usually have different reactions to her insecurities. A disbelieving laugh bubbles up Elena’s throat, but she just shakes her head. “It’s not about that. I’m talking about confidence. I used to be– confident. One of the most popular girls at school. Then two of the most handsome I’d seen yet roll into town and simultaneously fall in love with me. My confidence was slowly chipped away at, by Katherine, who should look exactly like me but was ten times more beautiful, then by Damon cheating on me, then by Sinclair and his men…treating me like an object rather than a person. Kinda took the perk out of my step. And this is way too much to confess in a clothing store. Excuse me.”

There’s noise, again, in her ears, of rushing water and clicking metal. Elena flees to her dressing room to get back into her own dress. Once there, she closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.

And jumps when the curtain behind her is slammed open with a screech.

An unimpressed Rebekah is on the other side, hand on her hip. “You’re not gonna make me feel pity for you, Queen Anne,” she states. At Elena’s jaw, which drops in offense, she sort of smiles with superior amusement. “I’m bored with this store. We’ll get these dresses and then go.”

Minutes later, as Rebekah struts to the cashier to pay for Elena’s dress and hers, Elena…plans. It’s probably the least diabolical plan she’d made in months, and she detests that word in the first place. When Rebekah returns, matching, glossy shopping bags in hand, Elena waits until they’re outside before she lays it all out there.

“Before I leave,” she says, “Let’s have a girls’ day. We’re already shopping, so we’re kind of already having one. We’ll have lunch at a bistro, drink wine, then head to your beautiful Parisian apartment for a sleepover.”

“A sleepover?” Rebekah’s reaction is instinctual. Her lip curls in distaste. “What are we, twelve?”

“I’ve had countless sleepovers with Bonnie and Caroline before. Did you ever have one?”

A familiar look crosses Rebekah’s face. The same one she’d seen around Mystic High where Rebekah tried everything to fit in and couldn’t. 

“People don’t put effort into their relationships anymore,” Elena says, lowering her voice in the ambience of passerby giving them glares of distaste for stopping in the middle of the street. “I don’t know what the Mikaelsons have been telling you in their messages, but I put the best effort in mine. If you’d let me show you,” she adds on a lighter note, “I’ll show you how good of a friend I can be. No strings attached. No one will ever know we did this. Tomorrow, drop me off at the airport, and you can forget all about the lonely doppelganger.”

One lunch at a corner bistro and a handsome waiter that Rebekah flirted with late and one trip to a supermarket later, they were back at the apartment. “I was thinking,” Elena starts carefully as she sets down the five bags of insanely priced clothes that Rebekah hadn’t blinked while paying for. “We can do normal sleepover stuff. If you, we can do makeovers, face masks, manicures, and pedicures. We can order pizzas. Or– if you want, we can sit and gossip.” She nods after listing every item like she’s checking them off a list. With a conclusive tone, she adds, “We actually know a lot of the same people, and pre-Damongate, Caroline always had the fresh scoop.”

At her rant, Rebekah doesn’t display any outwardly reaction, but Elena senses something she’d expected more from her. And, dare she say, that Rebekah looks more unsure of herself than anything else. “Unless you want to do anything else. What do you want to do?”

“You’re really going with this?” Rebekah demands instead, her usual MO of the offense instead of the defense. “Sleepovers and face masks?”

In utter seriousness, Elena says, “Sleepovers are a rite of passage. If we can’t gorge ourselves on pizza, gossip, and paint our nails now, then when else are we going to get to? Before I go on the run.”

Rebekah lets go of her own bags, half a dozen gigantic ones and double that in smaller ones. The long hallway that leads into the wallpaper-decorated, Versailles-style foyer, suddenly seems too small to fit both of them. The Original takes a threatening step towards Elena.

And continues to stare down at her, gauging the lie, looking for where Elena’s being deceptive.

Finds complete honesty, because that’s what Elena truly wants.

“No strings attached,” Rebekah then extracts this vow from her in the most threatening tone ever. “One girls’ night where we do whatever I want.”

Smiling is impossible to resist. Elena loves being threatened like this. 

“Plus–” Rebekah steps back, allowing oxygen to finally flood into Elena’s lungs. It still smells like Rebebah’s Chanel perfume. “If my brothers ever found out I was doing face masks with you while they’re running around like headless chicken, I’ll have blackmail ammo for centuries.”

One look at Rebekah’s apartment had previously revealed that Rebekah suffered from, not baby fever, but house fever. Girl loved to decorate. Her apartment was the embodiment of a Pinterest board. In all of Rebekah’s favorite colors. There was even one room for DIY projects. Two entire rooms transformed into closets. It was girl heaven.

“Wanna hang out and watch movies or do you have anything specific in mind?” Elena asks, when Rebekah continues to stand still in the middle of the room. The deliberate way she moves– and stops– reminds her of a character in the Sims, which is something mean to think of. But Rebekah does stand too still when she’s lost in thought while maintaining impeccable posture.

Rebekah’s reaction is self-conscious, as unaffected as her expression is.

“When I was younger , like, still with my parents, I remember making lists for everything,” Elena says. “I had daily to-do lists, even though I was a kid and didn’t have anything actually planned. They would be, like, wake up, eat breakfast, hang out with Bonnie, lunch, et cetera.” Rebekah is watching her with careful eyes. Elena leans forward. “Since this is your first official sleepover after all, do you have anything like that? A Pinterest board of activities you would like to do? A diary where-”

“Not everyone keeps a diary, Elena.” Rebekah rolls her eyes. “And not everything has to be psychotically planned. Let’s just do something.” She looks Elena up and down and declares her decision. She wants to start with–

Nails.

Her vanity drawer reveals entire kits of nail care items, which Rebekah daintily sets on the transparent surface. A bag with a brand that Elena only recognizes from her mom’s stuff holds a plethora of skincare products that must be worth hundreds of dollars. An old-fashioned telephone, the spin dial kind, in a cream color with gold rims, is resting on the nightstand, which she points out to Elena, for when they need to call pizza. 

The sleepover commences.

Elena schools her expression back to show vague neutrality, but she’s unable to keep the tiny, uncontrollable twitch prelude to a smile off her face. Rebekah never-had-a-sleepover Mikaelson is holding up matching pajamas– true, one was a pale pink and the other a champagne color, and the Victoria’s Secret logo is unmistakable, but it further cements Elena’s belief that everything Rebekah knows about friends comes from 2000s movies. 

And she loves that.

“Give me the pink one,” she demands to stony-faced Rebekah, who gives a little derisive hum of approval and hands Elena the satin set. Elena’s exposure to money– and by money, she means wealth, like, old money wealth– is something she tries not to think about too much. It’s mostly Founders’ stuff, and since vampires’ appearance in her life, Elena had learned what a joke Mystic Falls’ ‘founders’ were. Frauds and fanatics. Still, casual displays of wealth, to her, aren’t that familiar. The Mikaelsons enjoyed status and expensive things but didn’t stress that much about it.

Although… anything she says is negated by the stolen princess set of tiaras and jewelry she has back at home.

Rebekah storms to the bathroom to change into her own outfit, leaving the entire room to Elena. She hurries through the process, not wanting to inconvenience Rebekah in her own home or give her any opportunity to call this thing off. Surprisingly, the button-up top and matching shorts fit perfectly. 

“I’m done,” she calls out in case Rebekah is finished as well. “Thanks for letting me borrow this. Promise I’ll–” 

The bathroom door opens, and an almost identically-dressed Rebekah emerges. Five feet and ten inches tall, model-like Rebekah rocks the pajama set better than an actual underwater model, which are not thoughts Elena should be having about a girl who might kick her out at any moment. Elena’s smile is equal parts distraction– to herself– and sincerity. Rebekah’s melancholic expression earlier and her unspoken confessed lack of sleepover experience come to mind.

“We look like twins,” Elena says. “We should take a selfie.”

Judging by the miniscule smile she’s rewarded with, that was exactly the right thing to say. 

“Do you have a side you prefer?” Elena asks.

“Both are fine.”

The latest iPhone is shoved in Elena’s hands, and Rebekah’s phone is blessed with over a dozen of mirror selfies– the bathroom mirror and the vanity mirror, as well as regular front-facing camera selfies. Although a beauty as unmatched as Rebekah’s needs little work, Elena makes sure to give her the best angles. It was on her to make Rebekah’s first official sleepover a treasured memory, even if they were semi-enemies.

They pose with their right sides to the mirror, with their best Vogue faces; Rebekah even temporarily lets go of her Elena-vitriol to squeeze their faces together in for a few selfies.

“Oh my God,” says Elena, as she scrolls through the dozens of pictures they’d taken, phone aimed to the side to let a seemingly disinterested Rebekah who still hasn’t moved from her side see as well. “We look so cute.”

Overhead lighting doesn't work for the ambience they’re going for, so they retreat to the living room and its cashmere and ottomans and only turn on lamps. On Rebekah’s marble dining table, they set their haul from the bathroom.

“So. What do you do for fun around here? What you do in your free time, I mean.” asks Elena when there’s a lull of silence. 

Elena insists on painting Rebekah’s nails first. She had promised Rebekah a memorable night, and if pampering her like she never got to as a teenager was the way to do it, then she was perfectly happy letting Rebekah take minutes to decide which shade of pink she wanted.

When Elena takes Rebekah’s hand, she notices the spread of goosebumps that appear all the way up to her upper arms. She’s not so arrogant as to think that it’s her ‘allure.’ How long has it been since her skin had experienced a kind, gentle touch? A touch without intent– not to hurt, not to touch. Just to help. Elena knows it was months for her after Sinclair to stomach any kind of skin contact.

Rebekah’s skin was pleasantly cool; her fingers slender and elegant. As Elena applies a transparent, protective coat to Rebakah’s nails, her hand is immaculately still and precise. 

She hums gracefully to Elena’s question and tilts her head, her eyes not lifting from her nails. “I like shopping,” she states. “And going out. The nightlife in Paris is to die for.”

Finished with the first coat, she reaches for a pink that perfectly matches Rebekah’s set of Victoria Secret pjs. She waits for a permissive nod from her before getting started. Then, Elena learns a lot of things about Rebekah. She loves Paris but is planning to move on within a year or so to another European city. She hasn’t made any worthwhile friends, and she doesn’t trust vampires solely because of her Original status.

Satisfied with the bold coat of polish she’d just painted to perfection on Rebekah’s nails, she leans back to let them dry. Fully focuses on Rebekah.

“What about you?” Elena is asked, with chagrin, like it took an effort for Rebekah to be nice but feels like she needs to repay the question. 

“Lately,” Elena says. “I’ve been kind of consumed with your brothers. I paint with Klaus, play chess with Elijah, fuck around in general with Kol, and hang out in Finn’s general proximity. I learned to bake, but that was for me.” A snort from Rebekah catches her attention. “What?”

“You,” Rebekah says. She takes back her hands from Elena, now that she’s done, and examines them carefully. She had ended up with lilies-inspired nails. Her walks of art usually end up with exaggerated features, painting people as caricatures of themselves, but Klaus had been hard at work teaching her to paint other things, like flowers. Like lilies. “How can my brothers truly be in love with you if you had molded yourself into what they like?”

“Believe it or not,” Elena says, “I’ve actually been playing chess with my dad since I was a little kid. And I like painting because it’s not just painting. Klaus is different when he paints. It’s a way for us to hang out. I’m fifty percent convinced that Finn and I are similar as, like, people, but we’re still getting to know each other. I’d love Kol in any reality I met him.”

“He must be on his way,” Rebekah says. She leans forward, which forces Elena to directly look at her. “Kol isn’t usually the sharing type. He’ll be over the moon that you chose him. You two can live happily ever after.”

“I didn’t say I picked him,” Elena is quick to defend. “I love all of them. It’s the Salvatores’ dilemma all over again. If I pick one, I’ll lose the others; more than that, they’ll lose each other, and I have no desire to entertain that notion. And I like swimming, to answer your question. Do you know any good, like, beaches?” she asks her. “Don’t even need something picture-perfect.”

“Whiplash,” Rebekah enunciates. “You give the average person whiplash when they speak to you. And you can try any community pool. Fuck if I know.” 

“Come on, even you don’t sound convinced when you say that,” Elena says, teasing. “Bunch of screaming kids with their families? That’s my only option? I changed my mind. I was just trying to be polite. I want somewhere lush and empty.”

“Isn’t that dangerous, though?” Rebekah asks. “Like, if something goes wrong? My brothers will kill you, but they’ll also kill me if you drown.”

“You look handsome in your suit.”

Finn just about facepalms when Katherine, smiling as Elena, purrs at Elijah from across the table one entrée course later. The fucking actress seems to think–

“We’re fighting,” correction: the delusional actress purrs, “There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be civil.”

“What happened to you, Elena?” demands Elijah seriously. Finn is at least glad to know that his brother isn’t easily fooled. If either of them had fallen to Katherine’s temptation, he’d have been forced to reveal his hand– as in hers, and give Katherine’s identity away. “Why are you like this? What made you think it’s acceptable to manipulate people like–”

“Like pieces of a chess board?” Katherine mocks. Unbeknownst to her, she hits the nail right on the head for a metaphor Elijah often uses. People, as pieces of chess. Klaus calls himself judge, jury, executioner. Elena barely stopped Kol from making name plates. “Be honest,” Katherine continues, leaning forward like it would draw their gazes to her cleavage. Elena would never, at least not at the dinner table, and not while they’re having a serious discussion. “I’d say Katherine did a worse number on you. You’re gonna give me the same treatment?”

Klaus’ chuckle is cruel and sharp-edged. “Why in the hell are you bringing that wench up after she tried to hurt you so many times?”

Tension locks Finn’s jaw. Would she react to being called a–

“You weren’t in love with her,” she says, a packed bite to her words, “At least…not the both of you.” Come-hither eyes at Elijah, who narrows his, unconvinced. “She ran for her life– that’s all she did. And you punished her for five hundred years. Forgive me for trying to get back to your good graces to avoid a similar fate.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re as naive, Elena, as to think that we actually hunted Katerina Petrova every day for half a millennium.” Elijah’s condescension is paved with polite terms; the taunt is clear, though.

Klaus adds, “Part of the fun is making her run around like a headless chicken while she was barely a thought in our heads.”

Meanwhile, Katherine is experiencing an ordeal. Stages of disbelief and anger and, honest to God, offense cross her face. 

“I mean,” continues Klaus, unaware why she was so affected but clearly taking this opportunity to teach ‘Elena’ a lesson about their brand of vengeance. He spears a piece of stuffed mushrooms. “If I’d seen her before the sacrifice, I definitely would have killed her. So. There’s that.”  

Katherine’s gulp is audible.

“I’ve been swimming all my life. I was four when my dad had hauled me over his head for my first wave when we went on vacation,” Elena shares. “Four and a few days when my dad allowed me to join him on his paddleboard. Four, and somehow still screeching with joy as he gave me back to my mortified mother, bleeding because I’d been knocked off and stepped on something sharp.”

Shockingly, Rebekah has one of the most attentive reactions of someone listening to a story. Unblinking is the way to describe her. By the end, she seems like she doesn’t know whether to be amused or horrified.

“No one’s been able to get me out of the water since then, sharps objects or not,” Elena tells her. “I could take or leave lakes and swimming pools, but I’m upgrading to beaches. They haven’t ever wronged me.” She’s not overly confident or arrogant as she says it. Matter-of-factly. Elijah would be appalled, though. He’s convinced that any body of water will hurt Elena, convinced that Elena’s trauma with water was abundant and made her biased. She could barely say anything, though, because most of Elena’s identity– and trauma– was tied to the water.

“Paris does have nice beaches,” Rebekah concedes. Without waiting for Elena’s opinion, she chooses a pale blue for Elena’s nails. Without warning, Elena’s hand is grabbed, and the routine task of the first clear layer is provided in a no-nonsense but still careful method.

“Do you really think that Kol is coming?” Elena asks then. “I’m wary to use phones in case Klaus and Elijah are monitoring them. And I’m desperate to talk to him.”

“Kol is nothing if not persistent, annoyingly so.” Rebekah sounds blaze. “He’ll find you soon enough.”

Elena chances a smile at Rebekah and jokes. “When he does, do you think he’ll want identical nails?”

Rebekah smiles mockingly, baring her teeth. It’s a ‘you’re ridiculous’ smile, but a smile nonetheless. 

“We didn’t call you here for the pleasure of your company,” Klaus says, halfway through his steak. Katherine has been poking at her chicken parmesan. “In fact, Finn–” he surprises him by addressing him. Unimpressed, Finn finds his brother’s too-smug eyes. “I’d advise you to check you still have your watch and wallet after Elena leaves.”

Katherine’s dark eyes flare. She reaches for her glass; slides down in her chair. “Dick.” It’s a mumbled insult, one behind a large gulp of wine, but it resounds in the room nonetheless. The most tense of silence drops on the room. Elijah’s jaw drops while Klaus’ locks in what Finn thinks is genuine hurt. Elena would never, never swear at them like this, or insult them. The most she’d ever hurt him is that joke of a shove she’d aim at their chest, her light hand putting in zero effort and all of the affection she can. Kol and Klaus are usually the recipients of them. Finn has gotten three of those shoves.

Klaus gets over his reaction, smoothing his expression in alarming neutrality. “Well, then, this will be good news all around. Stefan Salvatore will be here tomorrow to pick you.”

It’s news to Finn, who can’t help but share an alarmed look with Katherine. He knows– he knows that the moment she’s out of the house, her compulsion won’t cover her actions or words, and she’ll be gone, leaving his brothers to really hunt down Elena and Kol.

“Stefan?” Katherine’s voice is shaky. Fake or not, it sounds sincere enough, because even Elijah starts to soften a little toward her.

“Our dilemma,” Klaus steals, “is we can’t let the only living doppelganger live on her, what with you getting kidnapped left and right. You need vampire protection. Since we can’t stand seeing your face…” he adds on a lighter note, like he’s taunting her, directly trying to hurt her.

Elijah gets up. Leaves the room.

The next journey after their nails dry is putting on face masks. Rebekah escorts Elena to her Kim Kardashian-esque bathroom. For some reason, it has double sinks, but she doesn’t question it. In Rebekah’s hands are organizer containers filled with the face mask packages and jars. She rifles through them, putting them on the counter. “You can pick whichever one you want,” she offers like she hasn’t just put a $500 jar in front of her like it was nothing.

With expert movements, Rebekah choses an apricot-based one and is also in the process of gracefully slathering it on when Elena picks one that promises rejuvenating skin and a vanilla scent. She tries to mimic Rebekah’s deliberate movements. 

“What’s next on the agenda?” Rebekah boredly asks once a timer is set for the allotted 10 minutes. Slowly but surely, the mask is hardening in place. Elena pauses at the question, but is surprised when Rebekah wordlessly raises her phone for pictures.

For once off-kilter, Rebakah moves stiffly, like she doesn’t know how to navigate not being able to to control her face muscles. It’s enough to prompt a surprised guffaw from Elena. Rebekah’s offended glare fades when a snort accidentally escapes Elena’s throat and she laughs for real.

A foreign ringtone trills, cutting in, not Rebekah’s own phone, which hadn’t rang for the past two days.

Rebekah’s demeanor changes a little. “That must be one of my brothers. Excuse me.” She leaves with a puff like she’s put out. 

Meanwhile, Elena is alarmed. She’s not ready to move on to the next step, whatever it is. Kol still isn’t there! Rebekah only, like, 10% likes her. And there is a million and one–

Before she knows it, she’s so deep in thought that the ten minutes pass, and Rebekah comes back. “Brothers are annoying. Another rant. Apparently, Elena was rude at dinner.”

“Katherine is gonna ruin everything,” Elena says, chagrined as she follows Rebekah out of the bathroom and into the living room. She’s trying, really, to trust Kol’s plan. But Katherine? If she wasn’t compelled, she’d have posed with Elena’s slit throat to gain favor with the Mikaelsons.

Rebekah spares Elena a look. “I’m bored with this. What’s next on the sleepover agenda?”

It’s getting late, and Elena’s reservoirs of energy, unlike everyone she’s chosen to surround herself with, are dwindling. “How about a movie?”

After scrolling through Netflix for a little, they settle on a movie Rebekah and Elena agree on: John Tucker Must Die. The quintessential 2000s teen movie that won’t likely pass today but is considered a gem nonetheless.

Silently, and a to-do list of things she wants to do list in her head, Rebekah silently gets up and comes back with two giant bowls of buttery popcorn and sodas. Bags of candies are under her arm, which she unceremoniously leaves between them on the sofa.

Elena gets snacking.

John Tucker Must Die succeeds where Elena has had little success: it makes Rebekah laugh. Out loud. Not just derisive little snorts or mocking, taunting little smirks. The sound is foreign to Elena; she hasn’t heard Rebekah genuinely laugh before. Even Klaus is more generous with his amusement.

Halfway through the movie, Rebekah pauses it while the screen is on the lead, Kate, whom three other girls, all scorned by John Tucker, decide to get revenge on him by turning Kate into the perfect girl for him in order to break his heart; she turns to Elena. “You’re kind of like her, you know.”

“Kate?” Elena frowns at the anxious blonde character.

“I don’t know where you got your instructions from,” Rebekah says, “And I’m still not convinced you’re not out for revenge.”

“Because I can’t possibly genuinely like your brothers?” Elena questions. “Or you?”

A muscle in Rebekah’s jaw twitches. Something Damon told Elena a long time ago comes to mind, then: how everyone made fun of Rebekah by saying she fell for or slept with who paid a second of attention to her. Klaus, Damon, Stefan, even, have all said that to her face. Cruel, if you ask her.

“If there are two things I know.” Elena’s voice is quieter. They’d long shut off every light, even the lamps, leaving only the TV screen to illuminate them. Right now, Rebekah is a kaleidoscope of color. Elena is mesmerized. “I know loss and grief. I’ve lost everyone I cared about at one point. Some came back but others didn’t.” Like her parents. Alaric. She even grieves for people who were only in her life shortly but left an impact; Rose, Lexi. “I also know about love. A lot about it, because it’s the only thing my human head and heart can’t live without. Revenge has never been my motivation. 

“I want a love that consumes me.” Elena shrugs a little, smiling a little, reminiscing. “What everyone else wants. Passion, adventure, and even a little danger. But what I want most, what I’m most attached to, is a love that lasts. Unconditional is the word I’m looking for, not just familial love.”

Rebekah’s brows furrow. She’s honestly listening to Elena; even gets comfortable as she does, leaning her head back against the cushion behind her. “Familial love, as in your family?”

Elena nods; mimics Rebekah’s posture to relax as well but faces the blonde Original. She rests her chin on her hand and gazes at her. “For the longest time, I used to think that familial love was the only pure form of love. Friends, lovers, boyfriends, and girlfriends come and go. But family stays. It’s something Jeremy once said during a fight: he loves me, but he doesn’t like me. If I wasn’t his sister, he wouldn’t have been friends with me. But Jeremy’s only constant in my life. Unconditional love,” she repeats. “Not what I had with Stefan. Or Damon. Bonnie, I think; we drift and come back together.”

“Elena,” Rebekah says seriously, non-combative for once “You’re twenty-two years old. You’re too young to have given up on love.”

“I haven’t given up on it,” Elena tells her. “I’m just saying. When you don’t have that familial, conditionless love, that’s when the trouble starts, because you start looking for it somewhere else, and not everyone is willing to love you but not like you.”

Outside, the city of Paris seems to quiet down a little, too, as if sensing the sanctity of this vulnerable conversation. Some things you only share with your diary and your mother figure.

“My family’s love isn’t as unconditional as it is…” Rebekah struggles to find the right word. She shifts so that she’s sitting down again, eyes drifting to the ceiling instead, starting to get lost in thought. She says, “Nik could dagger us all a hundred times over and we would still forgive him. Elijah could let him, and we’d still forgive him. Kol could break my date’s hand and I’d still forgive him.”

Elena’s smile is half a wince. She knows, has seen, Kol’s violent tendencies when he’s bored and feeling chaotic and ignored. “What about Finn? Do you forgive him for the Esther thing?”

A heartbeat passes, then two. Finally, Rebekah nods. “I’ve never felt as much as I did when he died.”

Unexpectedly, emotion clambers up Elena’s throat. She has to look away because that sentence just…undid her. Reminded her of countless nights, ribs aching and phantom water in her lungs, waking up, screaming for her Dad that we’re drowning, Dad– Dad!

“Elena?” Rebekah says, her tone more familiar– the one she’s used to from her. Elena hums to avoid talking. “I’m only going to say this because I don’t think any of my brothers will say it and because you keep skirting around it." She loosens a sigh. "You want to love and be loved; I can understand that, but... you don’t have to break your back for it. You can’t possibly balance four different versions of yourself, each appealing to my brothers, with the sole purpose of making them light up when you enter the room. You know why? Because you’re not a dog, Elena.”

Elena’s immediate, instinctive reaction is offense. Hearing the word ‘dog’ in the same sentence as her, within this context, rubs at a new wound.

“For the first time–” Rebekah adds salt to it. “– I’m actually addressing you with minimal abrasiveness. Look at where your search for manufacturing unconditional love has led you: hiding from your lovers. I can promise you right now that Nik isn’t thinking about how sweetly you smile at him or how you outsmarted Elijah during a chess match. All they’re thinking about is how you manipulated them and how they can get back at you.”

A stage is fitting for such an actress.

How far did you manipulate our brother? How much of it was his ‘desperation’ and how much was it you whispering in his ear?

– “The problem, Elena.” Elijah is the one to break the silence. “Is that I no longer trust anything you have said and will ever say.”

Both of them will deny this to the day they die, but Rebekah’s eyes soften at Elena’s expression, conflict written on her every feature. Inhale. Exhale. Shovel, dirty, Elena– she dug her own grave, didn’t she?

Eventually, voice low enough that Rebekah probably won’t tell how much it’s willing to crack and break, Elena murmurs, “Let’s just watch the movie.”

Chapter Text

"My reputation's never been worse,

so you must like me for me"

Chapter Forty Five

Two girls are kissing, and Elena doesn’t know what to do.

When they watched movies with their parents as teenagers, Elena and Jeremy had a system. Because, hand to heart, every time this happened, some sort of inappropriate scene would come up, and then they would have to deal with the awkwardness of a really long and steamy kissing scene, if not worse, horrified to make contact with someone else. Jeremy, who blushed harder than Elena, made it a point to look up the exact minute of such scenes. Magically, his phone would appear in his hands a minute before, or Elena would suddenly feel the need to get soda from the fridge.

With Klaus, who she watched the most movies with, such a need never rose. Because, well, he tried pretty fucking hard to imitate those scenes with her. Kol, too. Elijah didn’t need a movie to grab her waist out of nowhere and just kiss her.

With Rebekah, however, Elena had forgotten that kissing scene in John Tucker Must Die. Why? Because it wasn’t just the main character Kate and John Tucker kissing. It was Kate and her girl best friend Beth. Beth was teaching Kate how to kiss. 

“You’re blushing like a schoolgirl,” quips Rebekah as soon as Elena goes to her default of ‘do you want some soda’ despite the two full cans in front of them. Elena’s almost up when Rebekah genuinely laughs, “You’re in a polyamorous relationship with all of my brothers, including the one you resurrected from the dead solely to get together with him, and you pretend to be a fumbling idiot while you’re with me.”

A sound of disbelief escapes Elena. “I’m not.”

An eyebrow raise.

“Fine.” Elena sits back down. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable because…” Rebekah gestures at the paused movie, which is stuck on Kate and Beth just as they’re drawing away from each other. “You do realize I’m a thousand years old as well. A sapphic kissing scene won’t make me clutch my pearls. It might– with Finn, what was his literal thousand years old mindset.”

“I don’t think Finn would mind.” It just slips out of her. Elena smiles sort of sheepishly. “I mean, he’s been with Sage, and she was as wild as it gets. Just because he doesn’t show that side of himself to his siblings doesn’t mean…” She stops herself. She doesn’t want to be that kind of person– who acts like she knows someone better than their own sibling, even if it was Finn himself who put that distance between him and the others. “You already said you weren't onboard with the bond. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. That’s it.”

Rebekah doesn’t respond; they both continue staring wearily, warily, at each other. 

The usual energetic beast in Elena’s heart calms down a little. Those little warning bells that have been stuck on alarm mode are sated. Because– “You’re looking at me like you’re waiting for a punchline,” Elena murmurs to Rebekah, going back to rest the back of her head on the back of the sofa. “I think…I think this is something we both share. You wait for the punchline. I wait for the shoe to drop.”

A deep breath– from Rebekah, juxtaposes Elena’s held on. She expects to be mocked, to be told to quit her ‘sales pitch,’ but what Rebekah says is this: “And does it?” the blonde asks tentatively. “The shoe. How often does it drop?”

Look at where your search for manufacturing unconditional love has led you– hiding from your lovers. I can promise you right now that Nik isn’t thinking about how sweetly you smile at him or how you outsmarted Elijah during a chess match. All they’re thinking about is how you manipulated them and how they can get back at you.

A stage is fitting for such an actress. 

The problem, Elena, is that I no longer trust anything you have said and will ever say.

“A lot,” Elena divulges. “As soon as I let myself be happy, finally indulge in something that’s finally good without acting all tortured about it, it drops. I’m still under said shoe.”

Rebekah, who has a front row seat to the shoe crushing Elena, nods in rare understanding. “The punchline,” she shares, “is that Klaus will walk in with a dagger and stab me for ignoring them all these past months.”

A defense is on the tip of her tongue. Klaus wouldn’t do that anymore. If you want to paint someone as the villain, treat them like it, even when they try to do good, they’ll act like a villain. Klaus just wants to not be alone. But Rebekah wouldn’t appreciate any of them. Neither will Klaus at the moment. 

“How did we go from kissing girls to this?”

Rebekah laughs like she didn’t mean to. “It has been a while,” she says casually, then rolls her eyes immediately.  

“That’s an understatement,” Elena reassures her. “It’s been a while for me, too. I’ve never really…” she trails off. “I mean,” she hesitates, “Tonight stays between us, right? There’s sanctity in that?”

“I’d never tell anyone I’m with you.”

Okay. Ouch. Elena, slightly appeased, tells Rebekah something that only her diary (and probably Kol, since he read all of them) knew. “Caroline and I…used to practice kissing a lot as teens, but it was never really anything.”

“You and Caroline Forbes?” Rebekah’s jaw drops.

A shrug. “Small town. Matt had asked me out for a date and I panicked. That’s why–” she gestures at the scene that had nearly run her out of the room. “That was my experience.”

“The whole extent of it?” Rebekah asks. “Playing boyfriend with your childhood best friend?” To that, Elena nods. Rebekah leans back and regards her for a moment. “You never, I never pegged you for someone who went both ways. You seemed attracted to the hot, damaged, and dangerous type.”

Damon grabbing her by the elbow and menacingly whispering in her ear, I will break your arm even though both of them knew he’d raced all this way to protect her. Klaus grabbing her by the waist, at the school hallway, in her foyer, to say I despise you, Elena. Elijah carefully placing his hand on the small or middle of her back, a grip that he uses to guide her wherever he wishes. When they’d knocked down the wall in Klaus’ studio, during Elena’s turn, she swung too hard and yelped as debris suddenly came falling down on her, only to have Elijah’s unbreakable grip on her arm, tugging her to safety. Kol didn’t just grab. He wrapped himself around her. If she was standing somewhere, he’d come up behind her, hands around her waist, chin on her shoulder, and quietly hold her, firmly, while she baked, for example.

“Mystic Falls still has that small town mentality,” Elena ends up confessing. “So I buried it. Caroline will deny it happened unless she’s drunk. But I remember…I remember watching girls like Paulina Sanchez from across the hall and parking lot and in gym class, seeing the softness and how delicate she was when she moved. I’d, like, stare at her hair, wondering what made girls’ hair so much prettier than boys, why clothes look like works of art on their bodies rather than merely serve as a practical necessity for guys.

“The comparison wasn’t fair, really. Back when I was a teenager and compared boys and girls, because boys always came out on top. You’re right. I have a type. I enjoy…watching the assured way some guys moved, the way their eyebrows arched when I said something interesting or witty or caught them off guard, and I would always, always feel a shiver full of thrill run down my spine at how while I was in the room, guys like Stefan, Damon, and now Klaus, Elijah, Kol, and Finn’s eyes never really leave me.”

“Oh, to see my brothers’ faces when you tell them this little confession.”

Red creeps up Elena’s neck and cheeks. She soldiers on, “You’re a thousand years old,” she quotes, “Haven’t you ever been with a girl once or twice?”

“Sayonara!”

Finn’s jaw locks down with an audible snap. “Elena would never say such a thing,” he grits out. He’s seconds away from snapping more than Katherine’s neck. If his brothers were lurking around the house, he’d have put her out of commission to spare himself the headache. The walking, talking, poor substitute for Elena was merrily packing a bag of Elena’s clothes. “You would never leave. Elena would go back and make things right with my brothers.”

Katherine, holding up a pair of Elena’s nightgowns– Finn has to avert his eyes not to stare too long at them, mockingly pouts, “Is that so?” she taunts. “Where is the little heartbreaker, then? Because it sounds a lot like she bit off more than she can chew and hightailed it out of here.”

Finn says, “Elena’s name will not be tainted by your vitriol. You might have stocked up on vervain after Kol’s visit, but his original compulsion is still in effect. You will not make things hard for Elena to come back.”

A stubborn tilt to her chin, Katherine starts to say something, but is visibly unable to. Finn’s shoulders relax. Kol did do his due diligence. “Fine,” Katherine bites out. She aggressively throws the nightgown into the open suitcase. “What do you want me to do?”

"I don't even play chess!"

“Hey, can we talk?” Elena says softly, in that little demure tone she’d had since things had blown up at the theater. Elijah’s shoulders tense, and he’s glad that he’s not facing her at the moment. She’s in the doorway of his office. Months, weeks, ago, Elena would already be perched on his desk, or in the chair opposite his, working on her Historical Society and Miss Mystic duties on her tablet. Now, there’s an impossible distance between them.

“Talk,” Elijah says, putting down the pitcher of whiskey. Elena never liked the taste of whiskey or bourbon on their lips, although she never explicitly said it. “Is Stefan Salvatore not to your liking? Would you prefer someone else? Bonnie was unreachable.”

A heavy, heartbreaking sigh escapes Elena. The depth of the sound catches Elijah’s attention more. Her shoulders are too limp, almost as if resigned. Her expression matches her defeat. 

“I never wanted our goodbye to be like this,” Elena ends up saying. “Can we– can we, I don’t know, have one final conversation?”

I can’t understand, for the life of me, how anything anyone does isn’t out of sheer desperation. Every single word that comes out of my mouth is a plea. Every conversation is me begging the other person to love me. Every time I tell someone goodnight, I’m praying they wake up tomorrow. Every word, breath, or cry– I’m dying.

Over the past few days, Elijah… understood. “You know,” he says, and goes back to the whiskey. “I mulled over our confrontation at the theater, and analyzed every single one since we met again this past summer. Some things about you did strike me as odd, or off-kilter, but in terms of how you reacted to things. I often felt like you were acting rather than reacting. I’d blamed it on your trauma; a barrier you might have put up to hide your real emotions. Your struggles with humanity and accepting love from me and my brothers, those were real, too. But, as it turns out, I was only wrong by a fraction. You were acting.”

All the time he’d been speaking, Elena had been listening attentively. More reactive than usual. At the end, she waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, she says, “The things we do for love.”

A humorless snort escapes him. Every conversation is me begging the other person to love me. “How about this?” Elijah says, “Stefan will be arriving in a few hours. Let’s have one last match. For old times’ sake.”

Elena tilts her head, unreadable. “For old times’ sake.” She doesn’t sound too happy about it.

Whenever Elena called him for a chess match, as soon as he agreed, and he always did, she would smile that beautiful smile of hers, perk up, and be in her seat before he got to his. It always pulled at the best strings in his heart, seeing his beloved so indulgent in sharing his hobbies. Presently, Elena makes her way downstairs and lets him lead the way. 

Just goes to show how far they’d grown apart. Elijah pulls out her chair. He sees Elena look first at the white side of the board, brows furrowing, before she sits down.

“Part of me does understand why you did what you did,” Elijah says as he makes the first move. “Out of respect for your relationship, the genuine part of it, I will not taunt or threaten you, but you must also see why we can’t trust you again.”

Elena immediately moves one of her knights. It takes her longer to respond, “You love me,” she states, or asks? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t answer.  

“You wanted a conversation,” Elijah says a few moves later. “I’ve said my piece. We weren’t built for forever. You would have had to change everything about you to fit in with my family. You never wanted to become a vampire.”

Tense silence follows. Elijah has to look up from the board to see Elena’s reaction. She’s lost in thought with a deep frown. A locked jaw. 

Even though it’s her turn, she leans back in her chair, pulling one leg over the other. “You would have turned me into a vampire,” Elena repeats. 

“In hindsight, it was a rushed decision,” Elijah says, taking a cue from her and relaxing back as well. “I remember the night before the sacrifice, when Damon fed you his blood. You were heartbroken. Kol, Niklaus, and I pushed you into making this decision, and Jeremy with it. Truth be told, I’m sure unsure as to what Kol said to you to convince you to let Jeremy turn.”

Now that he thinks about it, it is strange that Elena agreed to turn into a vampire once Kol had gotten Jeremy to turn as well. The Elena he’d known for the past year’s view on vampirism were made clear at the beginning, when she said that she was struggling enough as a human. But once this wonderful year had passed, he thought she must have changed her mind. He knew he wanted to spend forever with her. She wanted the same. Her attachments to being a human were the only humans in her life, Jeremy and Bonnie. As a witch, Bonnie could extend her lifetime for over a century, if not more. Once they’d gotten that out of the way, Elena reluctantly agreed.

A lavender haze, Elena would call it, when love made her make these types of decisions.

“It’s your move,” Elijah says. 

Elena moves a bishop. Elijah tilts his head; he studies the board.

He and Klaus agree on most things when it comes to Elena. They want to be with her. They want her to be happy because her happiness was contagious. It was just so easy being with her. The urge to protect her was seemingly innate in them, because Elena attracted danger. She’d had ample opportunities to turn into a vampire before, even before she knew Klaus existed and wanted to sacrifice her. The ‘epic romance’ she had with Stefan– they’d promised each other forever, too, right?

“Remind me,” Elijah muses, countering Elena’s knight easily. “Why did you agree to let us turn you into a vampire?”

“Easy,” Elena says, readily making another move without hesitation. “I wanted to become a vampire so I can be with you forever. You know that.”

“But you were surprisingly agreeable to letting us turn Jeremy as well,” Elijah says. He counters. “The entire reason you sent Jeremy away was to distance him from the supernatural world.”

A heartbeat passes, then two. “I did,” she responds, “I can change my mind, can’t I?”

“Of course.” 

“And what else?” Finn pushes. He’d backed Katherine into a corner in Elena’s walk-in closet in search of privacy to threaten her. As usual. Katherine blows a tired breath. This guy– “What else did Elijah say?”

Klaus had apparently dragged Finn into a conversation, so he’d been unable to eavesdrop on them, hence the interrogation. As if Katherine didn’t detest the dick enough. 

“Nothing,” she repeats what she’d been repeating for the past ten minutes of their recap. “After we spoke about Jeremy, he shut down. I tried opening up a conversation again but he was unresponsive.”

Scowling deeply, Finn finally lets go of her. Shoulders pulled back, trying her best to appear unaffected by the trigger-happy Original, Katherine jumps on the opportunity to give herself some breathing room. 

“You must have done something wrong,” Finn concludes. “You were supposed to fix things with Elijah, not make them worse.”

Katherine scowls prettily. “I didn’t make things worse.” Whatever. She needs a change of air before Stefan gets her and the shitshow that will follow.

“Not my prime market,” Rebekah says, “There is some appeal to the pretty boys type.”

“Like Matt,” Elena says. 

Rebekah nods. “Before Matt, there was Stefan, but he was off his rocker. Before him, there was a governor’s son whom I was quite attached to– until Nik killed him by knocking him off the balcony in front of me.”

A wince is immediate. Klaus deserves his reputation, but after she’d seen his other side, she can’t associate the two together anymore. Not as much. 

“I suppose most, if not all, of my troubles do come from men,” Rebekah muses. “Nik, Kol, Elijah. Stefan. Finn. Damon.”

Elena loosens a breath. “Boys are the worst,” she jokes, only half jokingly.

“Perhaps I’ll follow your advice,” Rebekah says aloud; she relaxes back into the cushion and looks up, as if pondering her next move. “Girls are prettier; they’re a lot of work, but not as much work to appease a man’s ego. My brothers won’t feel threatened by a girl too much, I think.”

“So you’re going to call them back?”

“Don’t know,” Rebekah says. “I have to figure out what to do with you first.”

A smile tugs at Elena’s lips. “I thought you were driving me to the airport first thing in the morning?”

“Is,” says Klaus, coming up to Elijah’s right by the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks their pool, “is Elena swimming laps in the pool?”

Elijah, expression stone-like, a too-full and undrunk glass of whiskey in hand, visibly grits his teeth. His other hand is in his pocket, and he nods silently.

“And,” adds Klaus inquisitively, “she’s not eerily standing at the bottom of it, staring up, lost in thought?”

Nods again. “Precisely.” He finally looks at his brother. “Earlier, I invited Elena to one final chess match.”

Klaus smiles a humorless, cruel smile. “Feeling sentimental, brother?”

“Some,” Elijah says. He goes back to watching Elena through the window, practically glowering. “She moved her bishop wrong.”

It takes a moment for Klaus to– “How do you mean?”

“Elena’s bishop,” Elijah repeats, “Bishops move in an L-shape, two squares in a straight direction, and then one square perpendicular to that. She moved it wrong.”

“So she’s emotional, and you said she diabolically loses on purpose to rile you up.”

“No, she loses deliberately to gauge my strategy,” Elijah corrects. “In her worst game, Elena never moved any of the pieces in the wrong direction. It’s chess 101. Her father taught her, and she cherishes that knowledge.”

“We can’t trust–”

"You said it before," Elijah says, "When Elena is too compliant, that's when we know something is wrong. We're not that oblivious. Elena has been too compliant. She hides in her room, whispers with Finn, and has barely attempted to make up with us."

Dick, Elena had whispered under her breath at dinner. Klaus had been hurt. “And she’s swimming laps in the pool,” Klaus says. 

What Elijah is really saying finally, finally, sinks in. A familiar feeling takes root in Klaus’ stomach. It’s what he’d felt when he’d heard Elena’s voice at the Salvatore Boarding House. Only it’s not betrayal that he feels. It’s worse. It’s rage. Pure, unadulterated, wants-to-lash-out rage. 

At Katherine fucking Pierce.

Under the surface of the water, Katherine doesn’t hear them coming until it’s too late. She comes up for a breath and to rest on the side of the pool when Klaus forcibly pushes her back down. With vampiric speed, Katherine flails and tries to get out of his grip, but he forces her down again. When he lets her out, and he finally looks in her eyes, he doesn’t know how he didn’t tell the difference before. Elena and Katherine’s eyes are worlds away.

“Where the fuck is Elena?” he demands. In that moment, too, he recognizes the look on her expression. She starts to speak but her jaw locks again. Compelled. Great. Kol.

Ugh . Klaus thinks, or says, and snaps her neck out of sheer frustration.

“What are you doing?” 

Elijah and Klaus had marched back inside to convene with Finn, only to find him hauling a suitcase on his way out. He stops, looking put out that he’d been caught.

Their eldest brother gestures to the patio where Katherine Pierce still hasn’t recovered from her snapped neck. “That out there was an imposter. Without Elena, I see no reason to remain here.”

“‘Without Elena?’” repeats Elijah in disbelief. “Brother–”

“Do you, honestly, for one second, believe that I stayed all this time out of fondness for you lot?” Finn demands. “If it weren’t for Elena’s gentle affection, I wouldn’t have even let you know I’m still alive. 900 years,” he adds, suddenly surging forward. “900 years, and you left me locked up. Why, because I, your eldest brother, didn’t fall in line? 900 years, and all of you stood by while I was in a tortured, comatose state. Yet, the girl who’s only ever been hurt by us, pulled by a bond and magic she can’t explain, resurrects me the first chance she gets. Is it any wonder I’ll love her more?”

“Elena lied,” Klaus, not one to be dulled or dismissed, counters, “She took us for fools. She got Katherine fucking P–”

“Please,” Finn shoots back, “That was all Kol, surprisingly, the only observant Mikaelson left. Elena was fully prepared to lay herself under your mercy.”

“Then Kol has to meet–”

“Your vengeance,” Finn argues, “Again and again. We have to watch out for your wrath. I will not.”

“And where will you go?” Elijah demands. 

“Away from you,” Finn says. He picks up his suitcase again. “To find Elena. Protect her from you. Who knows, perhaps Kol has already found her and all three of us will live happily ever after. Wouldn’t that be a treat?”

How many of Rebekah Mikaelson’s best and worst stories started with the words fuck it?

“This never gets out,” Rebekah had warned the too-tempting, too sad Elena. “I don’t know if it’s all the bullshit you've been peddling, the fact that I’ve been in the city of love and haven’t had a romance yet, or that you painted my nails, or that you’re the only lover I’m certain my brothers won’t kill, but…”

“But…?” Elena had trailed, and was instantly alert when Rebekah had shifted a little closer to her.

“But,” Rebekah adds, a little more softly, shifting her gaze from Elena’s eyes down to her lips, which were tainted a little red from all the candy they’ve been eating. “Fuck it.”

And she closes their lips together. It feels right, like everything she ever wanted, served on a silver platter and wrapped in a pretty, brunette bow.

Chapter Text

“If you ever walk away,

I’ll never walk Cornelia Street again”

Chapter Forty Six

Elena is giggling in Rebekah’s neck. “For some reason,” she murmurs, comfortably throwing her leg over Rebekah’s, enjoying the way Rebekah immediately starts to distractedly stroke her side and hip. “Katy Perry is stuck on a loop in my head.”

Rebekah’s smile could power a Starlink satellite, even in the dimness of her lush bedroom. “That ‘I Kissed a Girl’ song?”

“Us girls, we are so magical,” Elena sing-songs teasingly, “Red lips, so kissable.”

“Such a fucking nerd.” But she kisses her to shut her up. “Oh, well; I can’t say it’s the first time I’ve been serenaded in bed.”

Elena laughs. 

“I’m comfortable with routines,” Elena is saying; she’s making cappuccinos while Rebekah makes some fancy crepes she learned the recipe of here. “My favorite part of the day is the first part, when you first open your eyes. Nothing bad has happened yet. For a moment, too, you can’t remember the past bad. There are days when I swear I can hear my parents downstairs. I’m still in high school, none the wiser. But I’m happy nowadays, or used to be. I wake up, knowing I’m safe in their arms. Klaus and I are going to make breakfast. Elijah will be reading the paper. Kol is still in bed because he takes the longest to wake up. Finn will be locked in his room, but if I’m up early enough, he’ll come for a chat.”

“So,” Rebekah says; she’s in a silky robe she’d given Elena a matching pair of– to go with their silky pajamas. “You have four Original vampires, the entire world, basically, at your feet, but you just want to have breakfast?”

“Suspend your disbelief for a moment,” says Elena. Done with the settings with the fancy machine, she leans back against the counter to watch Rebekah move with lithe, swift movements around the kitchen, her hair up in a messy updo. “Let’s pretend you’re human and thinking about retirement. Inner peace. How would you like to spend the last few twenty or so years of your life? For me, I’d be with the guys, painting and playing chess. Eating. I’d like it to be at our cabin. There’s a lake nearby, but I’m not daunted by it. My reflection doesn’t scare me. I read and bake when I’m alone, but also when I’m with others. I’ll have my sundresses and pretty nightgowns. I’ll watch all the movies and shows I’ve been putting off, like Gilmore Girls and all the CSIs. My friends come to visit. We have dinner parties and bonfires. My stomach doesn’t hurt anymore, neither does my heart. It doesn’t race anymore. It doesn’t need to.”

Elena has been speaking, and Rebekah had momentarily abandoned the crepes to listen. Her eyes, a quiet blue, search Elena’s face.

“I don’t know my version of peace,” she says, “The brand of immortality we’re cursed with– it’s best not to dwell on what you can’t have.”

“But if you could,” Elena says, “It was a misnomer– retirement. Tell me your version of peace.”

Freckles dot Rebekah’s cheeks and shoulders– how did Elena never notice that before? As she waits patiently for Rebekah to think her answer over, she studies her. She’s never seen someone so paradoxically strong and vulnerable. If Elena thought she and Finn, or she and any of his brothers, were similar, then her and Rebekah were made of the same wistful stuff. 

“I live in a beautiful home,” Rebekah says, eventually, when all the crepes are plated. “Somewhere the sunrise and sunset are visible every day, and we stay up to watch each. The knives aren’t sharp in my kitchen, and my brothers stop by periodically but not to intrude. There will be animals there, because they’re precious. And goats hate Nik for some reason, so it will keep him out of the house.”

A soft smile is irresistible. 

“Of course, every now and then I’ll gorge myself on something– love, blood, parties,” Rebekah adds, “Fun isn’t banned, after all.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” 

Afterward, Elena and Rebekah work in unison to transfer their crepes and cappuccinos to the terrace, where they eat in amicable silence. Neither one makes a move to get up or bring up the very near, accelerating future. It will crash into them soon enough.

A couple of hours later, it does. “Um,” Elena says; she and Rebekah are strolling down the streets of Paris. “I hate to be a bother.”

Half her face hidden by exorbitantly-priced sunglasses, Rebekah’s eye roll is still somewhat visible to Elena. “We’re past pleasantries, don’t you think?”

“All right.” She thought so, too. “I kind of need you to take me to a hospital.”

An hour later, Rebekah had compelled every single nurse and doctor in the emergency room to give Elena the best care possible, and Elena is sent home with a mild scolding for not taking her meds. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rebekah is demanding when they get home, holding onto Elena because Elena is holding onto her stomach. “You’re actually sick. What the fuck?”

“It’s nothing,” Elena says, casually in pain. She’s used to it. She actually thinks Finn’s tea helped immensely. “I’ll pop a few pills and I’ll be good as new in a couple of hours. It’s probably just the butterflies you give me.”

Yes, she had been given the best care possible– as in a lot of drugs. Elena is feeling loopy, to put it mildly.

“You’re ridiculous.” Rebekah leads Elena to her white sofa and gently guides her lay down. With an ‘I’ll do anything for you’ mindset, Elena obeys. “And, again, you should have told me before this escalated.”

“I’m sorry ,” Elena says genuinely. “You were so pretty and I was scared you’d kick me out if I was too much trouble.”

“Then my brothers are idiots. At least Kol could have sent a warning. And your medications.” Rebekah sits down on the ottoman right by Elena’s side. She haphazardly throws a super soft throw over Elena’s curled up figure. The warmth eases the pain in her stomach a little.

“I love Kol,” Elena murmurs immediately, a fond smile on her lips. “Like, I want to cry because of how much I love him. I miss him so much. I wish he was here. He’s the only one who saw me for me and stuck around.”

“I’d have to see this tolerant Kol for myself,” Rebekah counters, “But sure. You don’t think my brothers will accept you as well?”

Her emotions on a rollercoaster, Elena’s mood dips dramatically. Rebekah, although she does it with a sigh, knows how to comfort her, and lets Elena finally cry on her shoulders.

It just goes to show how off their game they are. Between the few moments it took for them to recover from Finn’s swift exit, Katherine fucking Pierce disappears from the patio. Klaus had wanted to throw something breakable at a wall. Anything to vent out his anger because everything had gone to shit, and it all ties back to–

It takes them a while, because Klaus and Elijah have gotten softer. Also, they didn’t know Elena was actually missing before, so they hadn’t bothered to look for her elsewhere. A few hours later finds them in Denver, because where Jeremy Gilbert is has to be where Elena is.

They enter the two-story suburban home, hearts in their throats, not knowing what they’re going to do when they see their doppelganger–

Only to find their other brother patiently waiting for them.

Kol smiles. “Hello, brothers.”

An invisible wall. Klaus slams into it as soon as he lunges at Kol, whose laugh is matched by another, less controlled one.

“Wow,” says an entirely new voice. A guy, mid-twenties, that they had never seen before, is perched on the couch opposite Kol. There’s a certain empty and too gleeful look in his eyes that doesn’t rest right with Klaus. “You weren’t kidding. They are hella violent. Bro, weren’t you at least going to let him explain?”

“Who are you?” demands Elijah, stepping forward to match Klaus’ step.

“Aw, man. I really wanted to meet your girl first,” the guy says to Kol, ignoring them entirely. He throws himself to the couch.

Kol, who laughs freely, stands up. “Brothers, who fucked everything up,” he says. “How did I know you’ll try to, or almost, do something that you will regret? Like threaten poor Jeremy Gilbert to make Elena come back because you miss her so much?”

“Do you miss her manipulations?” Klaus demands. “The way she–”

“Personally,” interrupts Kol, “I thought she kept things interesting. Admit it, brothers. You would never settle for someone mediocre, even if all Elena wants is mediocracy.”

“You knew all along what she’s been doing,” Elijah says to Kol, but he watches out for the other guy, who still hasn’t been introduced to them. The guy does a little wavy wave to him, too unthreatened in the presence of two murderous Originals. “How can you be okay with that?”

“Because,” Kol says, “despite your perception of Elena, how she’s an evil-doer out for our demise, all of us know deep down that we love her to hell and back. And she loves us, against all odds, back. She’s drawn the short end, if you ask me. If it weren’t for her, we’d all be at all odds. Finn would still be dead. I’d still be daggered, probably for centuries to come. Elijah was ready to dive back into transient business affairs, and Nik, you would have retreated into your violent tendencies–”

“Violent tendencies,” mocks Klaus, “Bold of you to be the one to accuse me of that when even Elena–”

“I know, I know.” Kol raises his hands in mock surrender. “The Psychotic Original. I’m aware of my reputation. Despite Elena’s unorthodox ways, you can’t help but notice she’d effectively curbed that side of me.”

“A shame, really,” quips the guy.

“Now, I think you’ve had your hands full with Katherine Pierce for the past few days.” Kol sounds too amused for this conversation. “You’ve seen the difference between real malice and manipulation. Suspend your disbelief for a moment. Picture Katherine in Elena’s place, having ensnared us all. Tell me what Elena has done differently,” he challenges. When Klaus and Elijah don't answer, he surges forward, “You know. She had all of us at her bid and call. She could have used us to annihilate Damon Salvatore and Caroline Forbes–  I know we all offered, but she didn’t. Because she doesn’t like conflict. The worst doppelganger in history, because she dove into the lions’ jaws instead of flinching away. You call me a violent sociopath who weasels out of family obligations. Meanwhile, I suspect she’s the only reason Finn and I indulged in playing house for the past few months.”

Elena’s monologues, whispered confessions about love and humanity and peace come to mind. All Elena had ever done was look for love wherever she could find it. 

“She got an ulcer from her secret-keeping,” Kol continues, even as the guy winces dramatically behind him. “She has more humanity and love in her than all of us combined. Admit it. ‘Playing house’ these past few months have been the best of our long and dreadful lives.”

“How can you trust her?” Elijah says, raising his voice. “What she did– we have to question every single word she ever said to us.”

“Because I know that Elena is the best thing to ever happen to us. She’s just as lost and aching as we are. What she did wasn’t one hundred percent ethical, but she’s one of us. And in comparison with Katherine Pierce, or anyone else, wouldn’t you rather a sweet thing like Elena has her hands on me? On you?”

Both Klaus and Elijah are about to respond when movement catches their attention. The guy, who’s hiding a big smile behind his palm, nodding approvingly at Kol.

Klaus is the first to snap afterward after a few heartbeats of silence. “Who the bloody hell is that?”

“Oh!” the guy says. He stands up, comes all the way to the invisible barrier. Without a single mutter of a spell, he touches it, and Klaus feels the surge of magic in the air. When he steps back, Klaus can step forward. The dark-haired, smiling stranger raises a hand to shake. “Kai Parker, at your service. Not that I’d ever be at anyone’s service. I’m just here for shits and giggles.”

The punchline– the shoe or boulder hangs still, expected to fall any day now. But it doesn’t. At least for two more days, it doesn’t. With her pain under control, Elena and Rebekah find out that they tend to bicker a lot, but they couldn’t agree more in the bedroom. Despite her thousand years, Rebekah is still exploratory in her method, and Elena has never been this far– not like this. It’s fun, and full of lighthearted giggles and breathy moans. It feels safe, too, in a way it’s never been. 

One day, they’d just gotten up. Rebekah is taking a shower, and Elena, still in her nightgown, is following one of Rebekah’s favorite rituals: opening up all the curtains to let in the beautiful, beaming sunlight. That’s when the doorbell rings.

Elena pauses, stuck to her place. Until– “Can you get that, Elena?” Rebekah calls out from the bathroom, not sounding alarmed. It relaxes Elena as well. Calmly, she makes her way down the parquet floors, through the foyer, and around the round table and its surrounding seating, and opens the front door. And gasps. 

“Finn?”

There is approximately one point two seconds after Elena’s exclamation, during which she barely gets to peruse Finn’s appearance– an elegant coat hangs over broad shoulders, covering a dark Armani shirt and slacks and a five o’clock distracts her before Elena finds Finn advancing on her. He reaches, and–

"Kol says you can have the full set."

And hands cup the sides of her neck, and–

And she’s pulled in for a kiss so deep and yearnful that it breathes oxygen back in her deprived lungs. Finn’s so tall that she’s pulled to her tiptoes to meet his stride, because he doesn’t stop his march. With a quiet but powerful kick, he shuts the door and picks Elena up by the waist. Without unlocking their lips, he sets her down on the table behind them, and–

Breathes heavily. Caresses her face. Like he’s been waiting to do this for months and is savoring this moment.

“Finn.” It’s the only word she’s capable of at the moment. “What are you doing here? How did you–”

“Because I know you.” Finn’s deep, gravely voice soothes all the sore spots in her heart. “And Kol does as well. He sent me your way. He knew exactly where you’d go. He has a plan.”

“He does?” Elena’s relief is palpable. She realizes at that moment that she’s holding on to Finn’s wrists as he’s still cupping her cheeks. “Where is he then?”

“I’m to bring you to him,” Finn tells her. “I–” With a little reluctance, he pulls back a little, only enough to reach into the inside of his coat. Small homemade packets of tea are inside a pouch. “I was worried about you. Katherine threw away all your medication.”

Her smile isn’t 100% humorless. It’s actually kind of amusing and sort of predictable. “Rebekah got me new ones,” Elena tells him. “Do you–”

A towel is dropped on the ground. “Finn?” Rebekah gasps. She’s in the doorway, in a bathrobe, but she races towards her eldest brother. 

If Elena tears up a little, too, no one tells her not to as the brother and sister embrace.

“Where’s Kol?” when they pull away, Rebekah asks Finn. Finn immediately steps back to Elena’s side and helps her down from the table. Rebekah’s gaze lingers on the too familiar way he’s touching her with. “My brothers?”

“I suspect they have their hands full with Katherine Pierce,” Finn says. 

“It’s been nearly a week,” Rebekah counters, “She’s not that good of an actress.”

“She’s not,” Finn responds, and glances reassuringly at Elena. “Kol compelled and coached her through what to do. She mostly hid in your room.”

“So they haven’t figured out the switch?” Elena regrets the question as soon as it’s asked, because she can’t take it back. It makes the pain in her stomach come back. If anything, the person wearing her face in the painting resembled Katherine more than her. 

“They found out yesterday when they actually spoke to her,” Finn answers after a moment’s pause in that deliberate way of his. And after a moment’s hesitation, he comes back to cup the back of Elena’s neck to tilt up her head. “She moved a chess piece wrong.”

Oh God. “She–” Elena has to stop herself in disbelief. “But you knew,” she chases the first question with this, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but how come you’re here and not them?”

“Because Kol knows exactly where you are. He knew you’d be drawn to Rebekah next,” Finn says, “And to answer your first question. I knew in a second. I don’t know how Klaus and Elijah, or even your Stefan and Damon and family were fooled by her. She can never truly mimic the way you speak or act. You two couldn’t look more different. She’s a cheap imitation. You are the real thing.”

Every single time Katherine had impersonated Elena cut Elena, because how could people not be able to tell the difference? Stefan had slammed Elena in a wall before realizing Katherine had tricked both him and Damon. Not to mention Jenna and Caroline and Bonnie.

To have Finn immediately notice…

“Kol will have some grievances with you.” Finn steals her attention. “He’s been trying to reach you, but you haven’t been responding.”

“What?” Elena’s heart stops. “I’ve been dying to talk to Kol, but I haven’t heard from him?”

Simultaneously, Elena and Finn shift their gaze away from each other. The slightest hint of guilt mars Rebekah’s expression.

Chapter Text

“If I could dance with you again 

I'd kiss you as the lights went out 

Swaying as the room burned down 

I'd hold you as the water rushes in”

Chapter Forty Seven