Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
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Summary: Birthday fic for my bestie Hazel (Hazelheart93). Years down the line, after working out their differences (both in and out of the bedroom), Rebekah and Elena set out on an epic road trip to take down the men who ruined their lives in only the way scorned females can – in style. Rated M for femslash, smut, and overall naughtiness. Light Klaus/Salvatore bashing, but only to serve the purpose of the story.
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Elena wears the low cut top Rebekah picked out for her the first time they went shopping together. She slides into the front seat of a cute little Fiat they (naturally) compelled ownership of from a man who looked like he couldn't believe his luck when two beautiful women approached him, running their tongues in a synchronised manner along their bottom lips seductively, their fingers trailing down their necklines, pausing just before they reached their breasts, as if they'd delivered merely a preview of what was to come, before taking advantage of his stupefied state to compel him to give them his car.
Rebekah gives Elena a sidelong glance, appraising her outfit choice, but doesn't say anything. It took her months to finally learn to drive (and even then she had to compel the instructor to pass her, given the fact her attempts at parking usually ended with her severely damaging another car due to lack of patience at how the whole system of parking worked), and now she insists on driving everywhere.
Elena doesn't mind this. It gives her an excellent opportunity to study her partner (in every sense of the word) as she drives, noting the little habits that she stores to herself because they are endearing at this point, such as Rebekah's tendency to run her teeth along her bottom lip, a sign of nerves which she doesn't understand.
What does a woman who fears nothing except abandonment have to fear on the road exactly? It's not like she can die if she crashes and, if anything, it's Elena who should have issues with vehicles, seeing how they have been the indirect cause of her various near death experiences. But she doesn't ask, sensing the blonde will only offer up a semi-vague response which won't do anything except rouse her curiosity even more. It took three years for Rebekah to ask her anything personal, the questions she did come up with revolving around her old life, her old persona, and even then all Elena could give was short, clipped answers.
The arrangement they have is mutually beneficial, with personal emotions always swept to the side because they have no business lingering between them. One of them always phones up the other – usually after a shitty day – and they always find one another, quick to tangle under bed sheets, fingernails grasping at skin, drawing blood, fangs brushing against veins before piercing, and the act of blood sharing, though a personal act in itself, becomes somewhat of an addiction, a way to quench a thirst they manage to bury the rest of the time.
The first time it happened, liquor had been present in their bloodstreams. Elena had been ranting about something Damon had done – Rebekah can't recall the tedious complaint now, but she somehow does remember the shade of colour she'd adorned herself in, a dark purple close to the shade of a violent bruise – and Rebekah listened to her venting with all the patience she could muster, before interrupting and letting loose a list of complaints the length of her arm about the power struggle between her brothers in New Orleans, hissing until her lungs started to shrink about the foolishness of men idolising power over their loved ones.
Rebekah thinks she can recall body shots being done before the night had ended with lips clashing angrily together, blood red lipstick mingling with a light pink shade, clothes peeled off faster than it took for them to snatch a breath, lips nipping and caressing each other's nether areas, moans turning into sharp screams that threaten to shatter the very bubble they'd immersed themselves in. It's a haze of alcohol, blood and raw kisses that physically mark the skin like tattoos, or a form of brand to claim undeniable ownership, but from what she does remember, it was a hell of a night, a night they've repeated both sober and with a lethal dose of alcohol in their systems.
Appraising her coolly, aware over the months they've spent in close quarters (sometimes very close quarters) they've become sort of attached to one another (sometimes very attached, if you catch her drift), two planets which survive on different extremes of heat – Rebekah the ice queen, Elena the sun goddess – clumsily orbiting each other after long since detaching themselves from the individual suns they'd been following for so long, Rebekah comes to realise that there's always been more to Elena than she originally figured – hell, you've seen one Petrova doppelganger, you think you've seen them all – but she's her own woman entirely, possessing only Katherine's amazing ability to adapt to any given situation.
Elena leans back against the seats, her head tilted back, her hair cascading down the back of the seat like an autumn waterfall, the one lone red streak she's never had the heart to get rid of (ironic, given the fact she had no 'heart' at the time she had her hairstyle implemented) always on display, a prominent reminder of a darker time.
Rebekah resists the urge to run her hands through her hair.
No intimate gestures, nothing that suggests we're romantic with each other, they'd both agreed. The vulgar American expression for what they are could be described as 'friends with benefits', although even today they're still hardly friends. Tentative allies maybe, but not friends. It suggests a personal element which they simply cannot afford to label their relationship with. All they are to each other are companions who occasionally entwine limbs, coaxing inhuman noises from each other's lips because it's a welcome distraction from reality.
And what is reality?
It's her being stuck in a power struggle in New Orleans with one brother who tries to do the noble thing, yet plays his morality card when he senses a losing battle is at hand in order to make it appear he hasn't done anything he shouldn't have, with another brother constantly locked in a battle of wits with a man with the witching community in the palm of his hands, an entire town under his control. It's also Elena having detached herself from the vice like grip of the Salvatores, after having decided being single was necessary for her sanity, yet at the same time constantly wrestling with the guilt of her best friend Bonnie being another victim in this ongoing supernatural battle for dominance which, as you guessed, seems to be an all male war.
Rebekah is sick of it to be honest.
Hell, Elena's sick of it; it's how they came to form this uneasy alliance.
"You're thinking too hard," purrs Elena, who flashes a Cheshire grin that makes Rebekah wonder whether her humanity's on or off.
Elena seems to have moments where she dallies with the switch, contemplative over whether it's worth pursuing that dark road again just for a moment of emotion-free bliss, only it never is blissful with the switch off. It's an illusion of peace, when really it's just your mind stockpiling all the things you should be feeling until something triggers you into feeling again, and then you're left dealing with all the crap you've put off dealing with for the sake of a selfish moment.
It's hard to tell with Elena now because she's cut herself off from everything she cares about. Her brother is living his own life, protector of Bonnie who, mercifully, was given an extra chance at life (although it meant some haggling with a devil of some sort; Rebekah isn't too clear on the details, mostly because she doesn't care about the trivialities of Elena's life), and the Salvatores, though still a touchy subject, cease to cross her mind. All Rebekah knows is that the break up with Damon, like most of their relationship, was messy and brutal, a true reflection on how even the greatest of loves can turn sour given the right circumstances.
"Just admiring the view," Rebekah purrs back, a flirtatious comment which catches Elena off guard.
If either tries labelling what they are, or comes even close to making some sort of remark that clearly defines their more-than-friends status, Elena freezes instinctively and shuts down. It doesn't bother Rebekah, but she can't help but be a tad curious as to why she seems to shy away from anything but platonic gestures. If their lips meet during their passionate dalliances, it's only so their teeth can lock around their lips, tugging and biting and drawing blood which their tongues are quick to swipe; their arms lock around each other's bodies merely to position and hold each other in place, not to form some sort of romantic embrace; eye contact is merely a mark of possession, and no tenderness must pass into their glances – it's an unwritten rule they've always obeyed.
It's never bothered Rebekah – until now.
"So, where to?" Elena instinctively changes the subject. "New York? Illinois?" She flashes her a wide grin. "Vegas?"
"No, no, maybe later," Rebekah replies, ticking them off with her fingers.
"You've become decidedly tamer since Matt whisked you off around the world," Elena accuses.
"I did the whisking actually," Rebekah fires back. "God forbid a woman be the one to sweep a man off his feet. So much for gender equality."
Elena, emboldened by her passionate response, leans her head back against the seat, grinning.
"You know the one good thing about living in a man's world?" She chuckles at the punch line before she's even let it slip. "They never see us coming. They've all got their own fucked up ideas on what we should be doing, or how we should be, that god forbid we have our own thoughts and opinions."
Rebekah lets a grin unfold as a plan starts to formulate in the depths of her twisted mind.
"Screw Vegas – I have a better idea of where our first stop should be."
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Elena's never been New Orleans before, but she's formulated a very basic picture of it from snapshots from Rebekah's rants. She knows approximately five things about the entire city.
One, it's under the control of men (screw the supernatural part, it's the patriarchal element she's really concerned with) who have more issues between them than you can shake a stick at; you have a rags-to-riches vampire who has the witching community in the palm of his hand, who is clearly just as arrogant as Klaus, yet possesses a dangerous level of charm that could turn even the most sceptical of women into fully fledged companions. Then, of course, you have the hybrid with an abundance of family issues that he frequently laments, yet never takes the time to actually address because, you know, power comes first (Elena particularly finds that to be an unpleasant taste in her mouth, because she'd give up power in a heartbeat just to have her family back).
Two, the ordinary citizens of New Orleans are either compelled to believe they're in a haven of sorts, or they are just genuinely clueless about the terrors that stalk their streets. Rebekah frequently recalls the times she's let her vampire face slip in public due to a momentary inability to control her emotions – her fundamental flaw, so to speak – and no one has batted as much as an eyelid in her direction, so the former suggestion is likely to be the only explanation.
Three, it's a beautiful place, if you disregard the fact it's under the control of men who believe their own twisted pasts give them the right to carve their own futures at the expense of an entire city of innocent people.
Four, it used to be a home for Klaus and Elijah (Rebekah keeps her feelings nondescript, which makes Elena think either she was in a box with a dagger in her chest when Klaus lived there, or she just wasn't part of the scene for other reasons entirely), a place they loved because the thriving community, the sense of belonging, was something of a distraction from their bigger problems.
Elena can't help but wonder if during his time in New Orleans he approached any of the witches as a means of finding a solution to his doppelganger problem, and the thought makes her shudder impulsively.
The last thing she knows about it is that if you're a citizen there, you're either a snack or a meal, and there's a clear difference between those roles: as a snack, you're more likely to walk away, albeit none the wiser. As a meal, you're likely to end up dead, because some of the appetites of the vampire community which thrives there are insatiable.
When Rebekah pulls into the city, Elena can't help but notice the fact there's absolutely no welcome sign, which sends out a very clear message in and of itself.
Unless you're a vampire of a certain pedigree, or a witch absolutely willing to be under the thumb of a species you were born to protect yourself (and others) against, you are absolutely not welcome here.
Elena can't help but think this makes the whole adventure rather more fun.
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"Brother," Rebekah sing-songs, finding his hideout instantly.
Just because animosity lies between siblings doesn't erase the fact they can still know each other's tells, where they're likely to skulk, their patterns etc, and so it takes her only a matter of moments to find his abode.
It's layered in darkness (naturally), the very basic of materials scattering the room. A bed – which looks disused, mercifully (can't have anymore unwanted pregnancies on the table) – is tucked in the corner, a desk propped up close, maps and god knows what other paperwork cluttering it up; blood perfumes the air, which triggers both Rebekah and Elena's vampire faces (sometimes basic control goes beyond even them), mingled in with a musty smell that frequents the houses of the elderly, or between the pages of a disused book left in the neglectful hands of time. It looks caught between different time periods, which makes her think this is Klaus' permanent residence because it practically sings every note of his character.
"Dear Rebekah," growls a soft voice, the dull lilt of the English accent faded somewhat by having spent years travelling around. "What brings you to my corner of Hell?"
Klaus surfaces, instantly caught off guard by Elena's appearance.
As if aware of the effect they have, they fold their arms in perfect synchronicity.
"What's my lovely doppelganger doing here?" is his next question. "Has some miracle possessed her to become human to provide a new generation of hybrids for me?"
Elena snorts with derision.
"She's here because I want her to be here," Rebekah replies smoothly. "We thought we'd pop by and see how your plans for world domination are going."
"Badly," Klaus fires at her. "Marcel knows the rules I taught him inside out, but not just that – he's created an entirely new game from them, one I know nothing about."
"Too bad, brother." Rebekah's tone sings with mockery. "I was rather hoping we could start anew – be a family again."
"Not interested."
"I didn't say my offer was a genuine one."
"Well, looks like the kitten grew herself some claws." Klaus' smile drips with venom. "Are you here to scold me, Rebekah, or look for another man you can sink your teeth into? There's no shortage of pathetic men around here who might just be to your taste, I can assure you. I'm assuming your momentary fling with that washed up jock from Mystic Falls was just that, a passing fling?"
"Look at you. Finally taking an interest in my life," Rebekah says bitingly. "No man I ever loved was good enough for you, and the one man you seemed to like you compelled to forget my very existence so that the next time I saw him, I made myself look a fool in front of him. You're a bully, Nik, and a controlling narcissist to boot."
"This surprises you? You grew up with me, remember?"
"A man may come from horrific circumstances but his acts define him and not his past," she spat. "Our dear brother once told me that our parents made us vampires but they didn't make us monsters - we made ourselves into them. It took me a while to find the truth in his words but there's no clearer example of that than the one standing right before me."
Klaus smiles, but his smile bites of mockery, of condescension, and it takes her a moment to see that he doesn't see her as any kind of adversary, someone to be taken seriously; he sees her as his annoying baby sister throwing a tantrum because she isn't getting her way.
With a cold smile, she blurs up to him and strikes him across the face.
"Listen to me, you arse," she snarls, "I put up with you for far too long. You held me back. I don't give a damn about being human anymore, even though a part of me wishes for nothing more than the simplicity of a timeline with an actual end date in mind. I wish nothing more than to be married and have children with my beauty and my husband's eyes, but I have also had several hundred lifetimes to realise that that is nothing more than a pipe dream. Unlike you, I can pick my own battles, and right now all I want is a life as far away from you as is humanly possible."
"Then why are you here?" he murmurs, his eyes locked dangerously with hers. "You attempt to cut yourself off from this family, but you always come crawling back, Rebekah. You crave people who actually give a damn about your abundance of sob stories, who worship you and adore you without understanding the real you is just as cold blooded as I am. The difference between you and me is that I've accepted – hell, I've embraced – the monster that I am. My only battle is to remind the world who I am and what I'm capable of. That kind of notoriety is hardly limited to vampires now is it? Look at the legacy of monsters the human race has spawned. Your dreams of being human and pure are nothing more than delusions."
"At least what I reached for was, for one moment, plausible," she sneers. "Power will forever elude you, Nik. You fight for it for all the wrong reasons, all the selfish reasons, and that is why you'll never achieve the power you desire. You instil fear in people, true, but you forget fear inspires bravery. You will always have someone on your heels, desperate to beat you. Once it was Mikael; today it's Marcel. And the sad part in all of this is that you once had a family willing to stand by you, who loved you when no one else could. But you threw it all away."
Klaus ignores her, moving past her so he stands in front of Elena, leering over her, once a rumoured threat, now nothing but a comical figure in her eyes, a sad, desperate man with a need for power to fill a void in his body where his heart should've been.
"And how'd you get roped into my sister's dramatic antics, sweetheart?" he sneers. "Do not mistake her alliance with you to be anything other than a desperate attempt at pretending she has the ability to make friends. She'll kill you the moment she gets bored."
Elena has flashbacks of nights spent clawing red marks down Rebekah's back, the high pitched mewl signalling her oncoming orgasm, evolving into a deep growl, committed to memory, and suddenly she can't stop smiling, because their violent encounters always seem to be nothing more than foreplay these days.
"Maybe you know a lot less about her than you think," she spits in Klaus' direction.
He smiles tightly.
"Maybe since I have no use for you anymore, I should end your life."
His hand plunges into her chest before she can even react, his fingers scratching at her heart, causing a sharp gasp of pain to emit from her lips, but, quick as a flash, Rebekah intervenes, shoving him away, her features twisting into something unrecognisable.
"If anyone gets to be responsible for her permanent death, it's me," she growls possessively. "I think you've inflicted enough damage on both our lives, wouldn't you agree?"
Elena knows Rebekah well enough to know she won't kill her, but the possessiveness in her tone stirs something in her that makes her almost hot blooded. The urge to take the blonde vampire there and then almost paralyses her. Usually something precipitates their sexual encounters – a bad day, liquor, a desperate need to forget – but this is something all on its own. They've never been romantic in that way, never felt the need to define something that they didn't want to define; it's just satisfy needs in a way that doesn't have them ripping out the throats of innocent bystanders (because despite her tough girl exterior, Rebekah does actually care about innocent people, probably because of her desire to be one).
"Good chat, sister," Klaus remarks, disdain draped across his features. "But I have a war to plan, throats to rip out... I'm assuming you're still indifferent to it all?"
"There are undiscovered villages in undiscovered parts of the world I care more about than your silly war." Rebekah gives him a hard look. "What's happening with Hayley and the baby?"
"My soon-to-be-heir is fine." Klaus waves a dismissive hand. "As for that brat, Hayley, she's staying with some of the witches. They'll take care of her."
"Because you're not man enough to do it yourself." Rebekah fills in the blanks with a scornful look. "I can't blame her in all honesty. Why she hasn't run, I don't have a clue. A life on the run has to be better than being in a pawn in a game with all male players."
"That child has a destiny to fulfil."
"That child is your child," Rebekah hisses angrily. "Your cruelty extended to many people, Nik, but never to children. Even in your darkest moments, you always made sure your wrath never touched them."
Klaus loses his smug look, his eyes darkening, and perhaps this is the key moment when Rebekah realises there's no reasoning with him. Not about this. Not about anything.
"You can see yourself out, Rebekah. We've nothing more to discuss."
He sweeps out, his posture cold and unforgiving.
Rebekah glares at his back.
"So..." Elena muses, breaking the tension. "That went well."
Rebekah doesn't say anything more.
She merely grabs Elena's hand and pulls her away, her intentions perfectly clear.
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After a warm up round between the sheets, Rebekah disappears out, resurfacing with a crate of alcohol.
The first round of shots is much needed, necked down quickly to get the worst of the taste over and done with.
The second round still has a bite to them, but they savour them, swirling them around in their mouths, laughing at how ridiculous they look while doing so, and then let the liquid pour down their throats.
The third round has them dancing to music that doesn't exist, swinging around and around, singing boisterously to a mash up of chart songs.
The fourth, fifth and sixth rounds are when things start to blur. Tongues start to caress bare skin; eyes pool with desire as lips start to crash together, like a choppy wave crushing its predecessors. Teeth scale each other's bottom lips, drawing just a hint of blood, which their tongues are quick to catch. It fuels a flurry of activity, hands exploring sacred areas, probing gently until moans prompt their pace to quicken, tenderness caving to roughness, every action blurring into the next.
Rebekah delves lower and lower, emitting such sounds she's sure the Salvatores never elicited from her lips, and a broad grin plasters her face as she works on bringing her companion to new heights, always surprised when Elena flips her over and returns the favour.
This is the only aspect of their lives where they have an equal footing with each other. Thinking about the injustices which litter their lives angers them, fuels their passion, and so when on the brink of orgasm, Rebekah suggests they make a trip back home, Elena breathlessly agrees.
Time to settle a few scores back home.
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She can't deny the allure of turning off her humanity is stronger than ever, especially given what she has to do right now, but she finds sincerity is the best card she has to play. Her and Damon disintegrated due to a series of little disagreements that quickly consumed them, and as such little things she'd loved before, like his devotion to her, soon became suffocating, so she'd had to cut him loose.
To Stefan's credit, he hadn't swept in to pick up the pieces, or try and make a move on her, but there was a good reason behind that – he'd been Silas in disguise – well, apparently, his true form. The real Stefan had been dying and coming back to life underwater, something which still triggers the parts of her prone to bouts of claustrophobia due to the fact she's been in too many near death experiences involving tight spaces where escape proved to be impossible. But even after his slow recovery, he was adamant sometimes things fell apart to make way for better things, and after she'd bit down a mental wave of vomit at the cliché of it all, she'd thanked him for being understanding.
Maybe she needs to stop being grateful to the Salvatores. They've saved her life, and the lives of her friends, on many occasions, but she still can't deny the fact she still wakes up screaming, remembering the way the flames had licked her arms as a stream of light had burned her unguarded skin, the straps holding her down, preventing escape. She hadn't really had the time to process it all, process the lengths they'd gone to get her back, but now it all just rests in her still broken heart, a hard memory to wrap her head around let alone move on from.
She lolls across Damon's bed, Rebekah lurking through his drawers, occasionally taking out a pair of his boxers before flinging them childishly across the room. The Egyptian cotton is so soft against her skin, and she relishes the feel of it, almost laughing at how ridiculous this all is.
"What the hell is going on here?" rumbles a familiar voice.
She peers up at him, warm doe eyes resting on ice blue.
"Hi, Damon," she drawls, grinning because there's nothing else to really say at this point.
"Don't recall organising this little party," Damon says sarcastically. "Hey – hey – HEY!" He grabs Rebekah's arm just as her fingers grasp a hidden bottle of Bourbon. "That's mine."
"We've come a long way, Damon," she says, pouting a little. "Don't you fancy offering your guests a little drink for the road?"
He ignores her, directing his next question in Elena's direction.
"You don't call? You don't write? You just drop off the map? Why?"
"Small town life bored me. Mystic Falls just represented everything that was bad about my life," she explains with a simple shrug.
"What a coincidence, it also houses me and Stefan."
"Take from it what you will." Then, because it's in her nature to be so compassionate, she can't help but ask, "How are you?"
"Never been better." He snatches the Bourbon from Rebekah's hand and opens the top, taking a long swig from it. "Any reason you just dropped in to say hi?"
"Just figured I owe you and Stefan a thank you."
"For what, may I ask?"
"For the nights I've spent dreaming of fire and waking up screaming," she retorts. "For the moments I've spent itching to turn it all off because the grief still gets to me, but then I remember all the horrible things I did with it off, and the lengths people went to try and get me to switch it back on, and it just kinda kills the moment, you know?" She glares up at him. "You and Stefan brought all this bad stuff into my life, and I've tried so hard to think about all the positives having you two in my life brought, and I can only think of a handful of 'em."
"Well, you had the opportunity to kick us out of it, several times in fact," he reminds her bluntly. "You kept us around."
"Because my life was an endless funeral. One more loss, metaphorical or literal, would've killed me!"
"Your room is so bland," Rebekah comments on the side, an unnecessary bit of narrative that does nothing to break the tension between the three of them. "What do you even do in here?"
"You, if you play your cards right," he sneers, "as I'm sure you remember..."
"Wow," Elena breathes, the remark equivalent to a slap to her face; despite the less than amicable terms she and Damon parted on, a part of her never stopped caring, because that's who she is. "That's what it's come down to then - you being cruel to hide the fact you've never gotten over me?"
"You really gonna act like this is a new character trait of mine you hadn't discovered before?" He throws her a disdainful look. "And here I thought you were smart."
"I thought the fact you loved me, and still do, was enough of a reason to stop lashing out every time there's a bump in the road."
She can almost see him visibly whiten at the reminder of their argument in Denver; hell, she'd never meant to reference it in quite this context, but he still pushes her buttons, still drives her to impossible heights of fury because that's his style. He pushes away what he can't have to lessen the hurt – it's juvenile, infantile even, but it's his trademark act, and suddenly the reasons for coming home just fall apart in front of her.
"When the road stops altogether, with no prior warning, then what choice do I have than to go off the track altogether?" he snaps.
"Bitterness does not a mature vampire make," Rebekah quips playfully, still rummaging through his room. "Where's Stefan anyway?"
"He left Mystic Falls not long after you," Damon says shortly. "Said he'd drop by every now and then, but I suspect he won't. He has more than just this summer to recover from after all."
He takes another long swig of Bourbon, feigning indifference.
"Can I ask what the hell is going on between you two anyway?" he suddenly changes the subject, his indifference paving way to curiosity. "Forgive me, but don't you two despise one another?"
"Yes," Rebekah replies, as Elena says, "No," and they share a mutual look of exasperation.
"It's complicated," Rebekah adds with a sly smile. "How does it feel though knowing the love of your life tolerates my company and not yours?"
Damon shrugs off the remark, looking directly in Elena's direction.
"I hope you're happy," he tells her coolly. "I get you came here to settle some scores, ruffle some feathers, raise a little hell – which, by the by, is totally my signature move – but my advice would be to move on."
"Aw, now why would you say that, Damon?" Rebekah's tone drips with mockery. "Do you not want us around, or could it be Damon Salvatore has finally found a place to settle down and call home?"
He doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.
Elena hesitates when selecting her next question, aware the wounds are still sore for him, and despite the things he's done, the person he is, she can't help but still want the best for him, even though it's not her.
"Why haven't you moved on, Damon?" she asks quietly.
"From Mystic Falls? God knows. From you?" His eyes lock with hers, a haunting smile twisting his lips. "Because you're not easy to move on from. I'm sure that hardly surprises you though."
Her lips twitch, aching to burst into a smile.
"For the record," he adds, "the whole torturing you thing haunts me too. Been on the receiving end of it myself, but it wasn't something I ever wanted you to experience."
"You should've known I'd call your bluff though," she remarks lightly. "You're right about one thing – I am smart. I kind of have to be in this world."
"This is touching," Rebekah yawns, trying to put aside the real reason why this whole scenario is making her uncomfortable, pretending it's just boredom at the fact Damon and Elena are capable of having a civil conversation post-break up, even though their personalities clash like thunder, and there's resentment there that may never be resolved. "Can we go now?"
"Fine." Elena gives Damon a last searching look before adding, "Torturing me was by far the worst thing you and Stefan did to me. I get it, but it won't ever make what you did right. But I know I've done things I'm not proud of either. Being away from you two is more...freeing than I thought it would be." She leans in and whispers in his ear, "But it doesn't mean I stopped loving you."
And she leaves him with that.
What more can you really say to a wound that still openly weeps yet doesn't feel painful anymore?
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In a shady motel outside of Mystic Falls, they lock limbs again, falling into a routine that's become something they've needed to get by. This time, Elena takes full control, dominating Rebekah into submission, pinning her hands above her head while her mouth ravages her skin, biting, nipping and tugging at her skin in an act of urgency that Rebekah is quick to respond to.
Rebekah gets it.
Elena needs control in this one area of her life to push certain things out of her mind. For all the changes she's had to make to herself – to adapt to horrific circumstances, to acclimatise her mind to grief so each time she suffers a loss of some kind it's easier to bear – the one thing she's never lost in all the madness is this dire need to be loved, to have love that doesn't walk away, that doesn't die, that sustains and endures like time, never changing, never fading, just remaining constant.
Rebekah can't exactly give her love (after all they've both been burned by it), but she can promise this – what they have – won't change. It's become something of an addiction to fall into bed with one another, taking out their frustrations on each others' bodies, whipping each other into a frenzy to match the storm that takes centre stage in both their worlds. It's something they depend on now, and sometimes there are odd moments when they just lie in each other's arms, contemplating the bizarre timeline they seem to have scurried down, going from hating each other to bedding each other in such a short space of time that on paper it makes little sense.
That's the beauty of it, Rebekah once said. We don't belong. We don't match. There's nothing about this that you could slap on a screen and label as a romance. It's just sexual tension that we choose to deal with in the way God intended.
Elena remembers enquiring whether Rebekah believed in any sort of deity, but the question was categorised into a 'too personal' area and soon forgotten about.
She kind of likes the idea that they've become so distorted by time and experience, the only people they fit with anymore is each other. Of course that could be described as being dangerously co-dependent, but anybody who even tries to label them as that gets their head slammed to the ground in what has become Rebekah's signature move.
As they surface from their recent sexual encounter, Rebekah can't help but ask a question she's been afraid to ask since the moment they left the Salvatore Boarding House in their rear view mirror.
"Did you mean what you said – about still loving Damon?"
Elena peers up at her through guarded brown eyes.
"Does it matter?"
Rebekah shrugs.
"Colour me intrigued."
"Let's just say when we broke up I had to throw my phone away because it was filled with voicemail messages begging me to come home. I said what I needed to say to get him to let go. Men like Damon constantly look for love, but they try and possess it, and then convinced they're broken when it doesn't come knocking for them again. You don't possess love – it possesses you."
"You should've been a writer. Your words make me nauseous, which is an important criteria, I do believe, for novelists."
Elena rolls her eyes.
"I have all eternity to make a career out of writing if I want. I want to do what I couldn't do back home – live. I don't want to worry. I don't want to make plans to keep people safe. I just want my moment of selfishness to do what I want to do. Is that too much to ask for?"
Rebekah surprises her both by pulling her in for a deep kiss, her lips still coated with a light layer of blood. Elena sucks on her bottom lip, addicted to the taste, her tongue clashing violently with Rebekah's before they both pull away, panting slightly.
"It's not too much to ask for at all," Rebekah says simply.
"What was that kiss in aid of, if I may ask?"
"Because now you know exactly how I've felt for a thousand years. Imagine a thousand years being told by men what to do, and when you try and make your opinion heard, all you do is get laughed at and labelled as a brat. My own brothers did to this me, Nik more than the others, but even Elijah refused to change the status quo because he valued the idea of family above all, which is all well and good until you realise the family he wants to preserve is more liable to self-destruct than an area of exposed landmines. I still maintain I want to be human, there's nothing more beautiful in the world, but now I know it's off the table, I just want to live my life as far away from the people who darkened it as possible."
"I'll drink to that," Elena agrees, and they seal the silent deal with another heavy kiss.
They're still figuring out what this is exactly, but it's a drug they're not quite ready to quit yet.
Elena suspects they never will.
Rebekah might disagree... but only because them agreeing on anything is an event equivalent in commonality to a blue moon, but it just means the inevitable fights leads to great make up sex, which really is the best part of it all.
It might not ever be love, but it's something constant, something that somehow survives in the wake of everything else, and that is what Elena needs right now. Sometimes she thinks about the girl she used to be, but memories fade over time until all you're left with is a blurred picture you can barely distinguish the features of, even if you have a rough idea of what it used to be.
Maybe this is the better version of her.
In fact, she knows it is.
A/n: Safe to say I've never written anything quite like this before so I hope you like it Hazel! Happy birthday lovely :)