Just a random one shot.
New Orleans, 1917
It was Thursday. To the most people in the Mikaelson household that didn't mean anything, it was just like any other day. To Elijah however, it was the day he had been looking forward the whole week. It was the day he would see her. She would smile at him, talk with him, ask about his week and actually be interested in hearing his answer. If he would try hard enough, he might even hear her laughing. The sound of her laughter had always fascinated him, it was always genuine. He had often seen her faking a smile, but never a laugh. When she leaned towards him to pour him more coffee, he had the opportunity the smell her softness. She smelled what he imagined angels would smell like; he could have spent the whole day just enjoying her scent.
He would have wanted to do so much more than smell her… No, he was in control the whole time, he had to be. He could look, but he couldn't touch. There were so many things about her he had managed to learn by just observing her. For example, when she was irritated, her bottom lip was twitching just a little and she always touched her left earlobe. Nothing else revealed what she was feeling; she had got used to control herself. One time he had seen her dealing with a man who would have made anyone to lose their temper; he had been nothing but rude and disrespectful, treating her like his own personal servant.
Elijah have had to really struggle to control himself, all he had wanted to do had been stood up, march to the jackass and teach him some manners. She had kept the smile on her face the whole time and when Elijah had commented the lack of manners of some people, she had innocently replied that perhaps some people didn't get much affection from their missus. She had really managed to surprise him with that comment, especially when she had stressed her words with a brief grin and a wink. That night he had learned that she was capable of standing up for herself when that was necessary. He couldn't deny that he had first seen her as some kind of delicate doll; she had captivated him from the first moment he had laid eyes on her.
How long had he been standing in front of the mirror? He bit his bottom lip and observed his reflection. Maybe he didn't consider himself as a vain person, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have cared about his appearance. He had always believed in the importance of the first impression and he felt comfortable when he knew that his tailored clothes fit him perfectly, he had shaved and his hair looked flawless. Maybe he wasn't vain, but today, just like every Thursday, he had spent a long while in front of the mirror. When he was finally satisfied, he picked up the notebook lying on his desk and headed out.
None of his siblings had asked where he went every Thursday; he doubted that they had even noticed his absence. He heard Kol and Niklaus talking, or more like bickering, in the living room, they were probably going out later. Rebekah was already out and Elijah knew perfectly well with whom. It wasn't any of Elijah's business; he thought that Rebekah deserved to be happy. He was willing to give her and Marcellus his blessing and he hoped that Niklaus would eventually do the same.
As always, he walked to the French Quarter, he needed that walk to clear his head. He was in control. He would look, smell and enjoy her presence, but he wouldn't touch. And most of all he would not act on his fantasies. Not now, not ever. She was his well-earned little holiday, but he was in control, period. His body tensed, ads always, when he approached the little diner. It wasn't the kind of place where he would normally go, but he thanked his lucky stars he had decided to have a cup of coffee here six months ago after a very exhausting negotiation with the witches.
He had sat at a table, lost in his thoughts when suddenly he had picked up the sweetest scent he had ever smelled. Then she had appeared next to his table. What had happened after that, he had no clue. He had simply stared at her like an idiot; he hadn't heard a word she had said to him. Fortunately some loud sound coming from outside had snapped him out of it before she had reached the conclusion that he must be mentally challenged or something.
He swallowed and entered the diner; he spotted her immediately carrying a tray. She was wearing her powder blue uniform and a white apron, her light auburn hair was up in a bun. As always, she smiled when she noticed him. He smiled too and headed to his usual table. The diner wasn't full, it never was in this hour and after couple of hours the place would be almost empty.
"Good evening, Mr. Smith," she greeted him warmly after he had sat down. "How are you?"
"I can't complain," he replied, allowing himself to look straight into her bright blue eyes. She was so close, but yet so far away, he could practically feel her warmth.
"And you, Miss Daisy?"
"Not too bad," she said smiling. He could easily tell that her smile was genuine; she had never faked a smile for him.
"What I can get you? The usual?"
"Yes, please."
"Alright, one coffee coming up."
He opened his notebook and pretended that he wasn't looking at her walking away. She returned soon with his coffee and placed it in front of him. So close…
"Here you are."
"Thank you," he managed to say.
"How is your writing coming along?" she asked and curiously glanced at his notebook.
"Well…" he muttered.
She gave him a sympathetic look and touched his shoulder. The gesture surprised him completely; he barely managed to stop himself from flinching. She didn't usually touch him, except one time when he had "accidently" spilled his coffee. He certainly wasn't proud of that, but he hadn't managed to stop himself, he had needed to know what her touch felt like. That had definitely been a mistake; he had barely managed to control himself.
"Don't you worry, Mr. Smith, you'll find your inspiration and I know that your book is going to be amazing. I'll be the first one to buy it."
He certainly didn't deserve her compassion, but in this case, he didn't care about the pathetic whining of his conscience, not when she was standing so close to him. Her heartbeat was like music to his ears and his thoughts were trying to go to the forbidden places again. He could kill everyone in this diner within seconds before anyone would realize what was happening. Then there would be no distraction, she would be all his. Or then he could take her to some more private place and really take his time with her. She could be all his as long as he would want to… Stop it, right now.
"Thank you, I appreciate that," he managed to say after clearing his throat.
"Miss!" some man called.
For a moment Elijah was willing to crush the windpipe of the damn disturber.
"Excuse me," she said and touched his shoulder again, she had no idea how much her touch was affecting him. She didn't know what he was, or even who he was, to her he was Elijah Smith, a struggling writer. He still wasn't sure how that had happened; somehow the lies had just started to pile up. First he had lied to her about his name, mostly because some part of him had feared that she would recognize the name Mikaelson. The name of his family was usually associated with fear or something worse, even among humans who knew nothing about the supernatural world. If Elijah had understood correctly, those humans saw them as some kind of crime family. No wonder after all the mayhem Niklaus and Kol had caused.
Elijah hadn't wanted his sweet Miss Daisy to be afraid of him. She should be though, if she would have any idea what was going on inside his head… He glanced at his notebook, he had only meant to use it as an excuse to sit here for hours, but then she had asked was he a writer and for some incomprehensible reason he had said yes. He just seemed to lose his ability to think clearly whenever she was near. She was more than his very own drug, she was his obsession.
He had heard that in some rare cases some humans could affect to some specific vampires like that, it was called CanticumSirenae, the song of the sirens. It was just a damn myth; he had never really believed it, not before he had met sweet Daisy. The fantasies he had about her were far from innocent, but they honestly weren't willful. Some dark part of his mind had created them without his consent. That was what he kept telling himself and sometimes he almost believed it. He was the moral one of his family, he was supposed to be the noble gentleman, but there was nothing noble about the things he wanted to do to this sweet innocent girl. Yes, he wanted all kinds of things, but he would never ever act on those urges. He allowed himself to look and smell, nothing more.
"Refill?" she asked smiling, he had finished his coffee quickly.
"Yes, please."
Once again she was so close, leaning towards him with the coffeepot.
"How is your grandmother?" he heard himself asking.
"She's fine, considering the circumstances," Daisy replied while pouring him coffee. "She's a tough lady."
"I can believe that."
He paused and looked into her beautiful eyes again.
"Listen. Miss Daisy, if there's anything I can do to help…"
"No, no," she cut in quickly. "You have patience and compassion to listen to my rambling, that's more than enough. You're a very kind man, Mr. Smith."
No, he wasn't. Still in some strange way he was pleased that she trusted him enough to confide in him. They had talked about all kinds of things during the last six months. She had told him about losing her family when she had been a child. Her grandmother was all she had left and now she was sick. Daisy would have never accepted any financial help from Elijah, but he had still helped her without her knowing it, making sure that her grandmother got the best treatment there was.
Perhaps it was his way to easy his conscience, although he hadn't actually done anything. Yet. No, he wasn't going to do anything. Why was he torturing himself by coming here every Thursday then? He wasn't sure how to answer to that, he simply wasn't strong enough to stay away. As insane as it was, she truly was his holiday; the only few hours in a week that only belonged to him. She belonged to him and he would have given almost anything if he could just take what he wanted. Her blood, body and soul. The dark animalistic side of him wanted to tear her clothes off, throw her onto the table and…
"Oh, I finally finished Pride and Prejudice," she continued, sounding excited.
"Really? What did you think?"
"I absolutely loved it, but I forgot to take it with me, I'm sorry. You'll have it back next Thursday, I promise."
He shook his head.
"No, no, you can keep it, I have plenty of books."
"I couldn't do that…"
"Please, I would really like to give it to you as a gift. Will you accept it?"
She looked at him for a brief moment and smiled before placing her warm hand softly on his.
"Yes, Mr. Smith. Thank you for your generous gift."
"You're welcome," he murmured, struggling to get any words out. She needed to go and serve the other customers again and he emptied his second cup of coffee so she could bring him a refill again. She asked how things were with his family; he had told her a partial truth about them. They could be very difficult and often they caused trouble.
"You should stand up for yourself more," she said when he told her that he have had to once again clean up his brothers' messes this week. "I'm sorry," she added quickly. "I didn't mean to offend you, it's just… I think that you deserve to be treated better."
He had no idea how to reply to that, but fortunately he didn't have to, someone was calling her again. Just like every Thursday, the evening went by fast and finally he was the last customer left. The old cook was leaving, he told Daisy to lock up. Elijah hated the idea of her being here all alone so late and he had arranged a loyal young vampire called Joey to keep an eye on her and make sure that she got home alright when Elijah wasn't here. Of course Joey wasn't allowed to approach her, only observe without her noticing. Why did Elijah only came here every Thursday then? Even his self-control had its limits and he certainly didn't want his family to know about Daisy. The moments he spent with her only belonged to him.
"Alright," she said smiling. "I'm all done; just give me a moment to get my coat."
Every Thursday he walked her home and every Thursday he acted like a perfect gentleman, he hadn't even tried to hold her hand. That must be why she trusted him and was so comfortable around him; he knew that she had some unpleasant experiences. She had never said that out loud, but he had read it between the lines. She shivered a little and wrapped her coat tighter around her when they stepped outside.
"Cold night."
"Here," he said and took his own coat off.
"Thank you, but I don't want you to be cold…"
"I won't be," he assured and wrapped the coat around her.
"You're very sweet, thank you."
"You're welcome."
They walked silently for a while; he suppressed his urge to sniff her hair and press his lips against her neck. The song of the sirens indeed… According to the myth, the effect would never go away; she would always affect him like this. Like a drug. He didn't want to escort her home, he wanted to take her to his bedroom and never let her leave. He wanted to take everything she had to offer to him. But of course he didn't do that, he simply walked her home and bid her good night.
"Wait," she said when he turned around. "Your coat."
She smiled while handing the coat to him; her scent was all over it. He didn't have time to process that when she was suddenly in front of him. She pushed up on her toes and kissed his cheek. It felt like a lightning going though his body, for a moment he was paralyzed.
"Good night, Mr. Smith."
He had no idea if he said something before walking away, he felt much disoriented. A kiss on the cheek… How would it feel if she would… No. He would look and he would smell, nothing more. How could he ever live with himself if he would lose control and do something irreversible? If he would be smart at all he would end this, but he already knew that he wasn't going to do that. No, he would go home, take a cold bath and see her again next Thursday. The thought made him feel strangely calm, he felt ready to deal with whatever problems he needed to.