Author's Note: CONTINUATION of "Lost and Found", so I would recommend reading it first, otherwise some things might seem weird.
Basically, I was wondering what kind of hoops – mental, moral, emotional etc. – one would have to go through coming back from a downfall such as Elena's in the abovementioned story. My explorations became a story. This has been sitting on my hard drive for far too long, so I revised and here it is!
Better
New Year's Eve, 2016
"How are you feeling?"
It's been over a year. She feels better now. She's no longer hopeless; at times she even dares to dream.
She gives him a small smile and he nods slightly before he turns his sights back on the city below them. Everything looks white and gold from the balcony up the hill. Snowflakes fall at a leisurely pace and the wind is quiet.
Oddly, she feels warm in the glow that emanates from the open double doors behind them, and lively with all the fractured conversations she can hear going on inside.
She's almost happy. There's just this pinch of uncertainty that still lingers in her gut, whispering "what ifs" into her ear. What if you forget yourself… what if you slip…
So she goes over everything he has taught her, everything she has learned for herself, counts every reason why. Because as soon as she returns to the party, her ultimate trial, she'll be once again greeted by ticking hearts and pulsing veins, so tempting, so easy to open up with just a flick of her finger…
Focus! she snaps at herself and recalls all the things that have helped her get this far.
1. Trust
She remembers the very first day of her "reeducation". Her watching the lights zoom by as they drove through the night towards New York and his stone-carved face in the dead silence.
In her mind's eye, she can see the place he owns on 79th Street, near the park, the way it looked on the somber morning of October 9th as they pulled to a stop in front of it…
The weather had turned for the worse, gentle rain tapping against the windshield. Elena didn't mind really, without her dayring she'd learned to appreciate rainy days.
"Come," Elijah beckoned her as he killed the engine and exited the car. He opened the trunk to retrieve his suitcase and, to Elena's astonishment, her black backpack.
"It was found hanging from your shoulder, so I assumed it belongs to you," he commented. "I'm afraid it got soaked, but perhaps there's something salvageable still."
"Thank you," Elena said with wide eyes as she accepted the flimsy backpack she had never expected to see again.
They climbed up the staircase to the third floor, where Elijah unlocked the front door of the apartment 3A and held it open for her.
He followed her inside and set his suitcase on the dusty parquet. "Feel free to look around," he told her. "This will be your home for the next few weeks in the least."
Elena nodded absent-mindedly as her feet took her from room to room – every single one similar to the last, which was disused; a home lying in wait of its master's return.
"You'll have to forgive me the state of the place," Elijah said from behind her, making her jump.
She'd totally forgotten his presence during her tour of the apartment. Elena had to smile at herself. What kind of idiotic vampire was startled by someone she knew was there?
"I haven't been here for a long time."
He walked to the fireplace, his polished shoes clicking on the wooden floor, and ran his fingers over the mantelpiece, blowing the dust off them, watching it twirl in the air.
"I lost quite a bit of money after the crash of '29, sold many of my assets at that time, but I never could let go of this place," he told her. "I lived here for nearly thirty years altogether, though with intervals, of course."
"A lot of memories," Elena heard herself say, busy staring at the old-fashioned wallpapers and their flowing, elegant patterns. There were hooks on the walls where paintings had once hanged, scratches on the floor where furniture had been dragged over, and in her mind's eye she could see this place as it might have been many years ago, filled with life.
"Yes," Elijah agreed, his flat tone bringing Elena out of her reveries and into the bleak morning again, the only sound around them being the rain that thrummed against the windowsills.
"Now we should discuss our arrangement," he pointed out. "I advise you not to leave this flat until we have… made certain progress. I have business engagements, but I will find time for you between them." He glanced at his wristwatch, the sight making his forehead wrinkle. "But now I must leave you to your own devices, I'm late as it is already."
He gave her a nod of good-bye and started walking back towards the entrance.
"One more thing," she piped up and he spun around, listening politely. "I think you should compel me to stay in this apartment."
"Do you think such measures necessary?"
"Yes," she said at once and without hesitation. This was the only way she could have any peace of mind. She had to know that she couldn't hurt anyone, even if the darkness took hold of her.
She half-expected him to refuse, but the next thing she knew, he was standing right in front of her. "You will not leave this apartment until I say so."
He was gone nearly all day and she spent the time going crazy, regretting her "brilliant" flash of wit of having him compel her and drinking gallons of coffee, the only thing Elijah had around.
"You must be hungry," he said on his return. He picked off the lid of the icebox he was carrying and handed her a blood bag.
It was gone almost instantly.
"Can I have more?"
"Yes, but we will be working on that as of tomorrow."
Elena was barely doing any listening since she was busy raiding the icebox. Elijah pulled her back gently, his palms on her shoulders.
"Now, now," he scolded softly.
"But I'm hungry!" she snapped, trying to dive for another bag of blood, but Elijah's firm grip only tightened at that, holding her in place.
"Elena," he warned, spinning her around in his arms to look her straight in the face. "That's enough."
It took her nearly ten minutes to snap out of her frenzy, which included kicking, screaming, hissing and struggling wildly among other things. When she did though, her face burned red with shame and she uttered at least a dozen jittery apologies.
"It's quite alright," was all he said as he disappeared into the kitchen, Elena trailing shyly behind him.
"I do apologize for being so late," he continued while he stacked away the blood, his tone casual as if Elena hadn't thrown a fit just moments ago. "There was a stop I needed to make on my way back to get you this–"
He stuck his hand into his jacket pocket and produced a simple but fine silver ring. A daylight ring. Elena examined it suspiciously, not making a move to retrieve it from his hand.
Elijah seemed to follow her train of thought. "This flat has many windows and I have absolutely no idea where the curtains are," he quipped.
He took hold of her hand and set the ring into her palm, then pressed her fingers closed around it.
"The choice is yours, but know this, I will not compel you to stay here forever. To learn control, you must have need to use it."
And at that moment Elena knew how it was going to be. There would be no strict aversion therapy, no locked cellar doors or starving sessions, there would be willpower, a lot of it, and trust, one she didn't want to betray, but wasn't sure if she could.
"We should go inside," Elijah says as he gives the spectacular view a last sweep of his eyes.
"Yes," she agrees and gives him a quick flash of a smile. It's not as genuine as she'd like. The icy grip of doubt won't let it. He doesn't comment, only offers her his arm, which she accepts, and directs them inside.
There must be at least a hundred people around them, occupying every nook and crevice of the grand house, everyone in evening dress which alone is enough to make a person feel on one's toes. Vampires really know how to host a party, she thinks absently.
Most of them are exactly that, vampires, but there're just enough humans mixed among them to make Elena feel on edge. It isn't even the hunger; it's the idea of hunger and what she'll do if it should make an appearance.
She grabs a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and empties it with one, long gulp. She feels her body relax a little. That's better.
Her surge of relief is short lived, though, for the next time she lifts her eyes, it's Rebekah she spots, talking with a tall, handsome man in the far corner of the room.
The last time she saw Rebekah, she died.
She stops in her tracks, frozen. Another waiter slips past them and her arm shoots out almost automatically to acquire a glass of bourbon. She raises it to her lips, ready for another attempt at soothing her nerves, but then stops.
Getting drunk is not the answer.
She takes a small sip and hands the glass to Elijah.
"Thank you, Elena," he says pleasantly, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but she knows he's satisfied with her judgment.
2. Moderation
The following morning as Elena stumbled into the kitchen, her eyes still half-shut, hair a mess, clothes crumpled, and yanked open the fridge door, she couldn't help but feel like she was recovering from an especially poisonous night of partying.
The sight that stared back at her from inside the refrigerator was depressing: merely a single bag of blood spread over the middle shelf and nothing more. She chuckled with morbid amusement as she ripped it open.
"I see you have a strange sense of humor."
She startled, almost spat out a mouthful of blood, and twirled around just in time to see Elijah's head appear from behind the morning newspaper. She really was quite hopeless at being a vampire.
"Sorry," she mumbled as she wiped the red off her lips. Her table manners had much declined since her death.
"Appetitus Rationi Pareat," he said and turned the page.
"What?"
He looked up with an amused glint dancing in his eyes, folded the newspaper carefully and set it aside. "That shall be your new motto. Let your desires be lead by reason."
She smiled at that and threw away the empty bloodbag. "Reason is my reluctant friend."
"For now. But here we come to your first lesson – never too much, never too little. Starvation will do you as little good as excess. Moderation is the key."
On that particular morning Elena found that moderation was more her bane. She was hungry and miserable and prayed that in time it would somehow, against all odds, get better, and then her mind would stop playing that single tune ("blood, blood, I want blood") on repeat.
Elijah excuses himself to chat with some business associate of his. Elena wonders whether it's some sort of test.
She sits at a small table, watching the band play swing music and people dance. She has the strange feeling that most of them learned their steps just then, in the '30s and '40s.
"Not in the mood to dance?" a taunting voice addresses her and a second later Rebekah flops down on a chair next to her, sipping champagne with a nasty smirk on her face.
"Oh, great," Elena groans, dragging one hand down her face in a display of exasperation. This is just what she needs.
After everything – her all but therapeutic soul-searching and self-analysis, rationalization of Rebekah's actions and the realization that she, too, wanted to protect her family – at that very moment, Elena still wants nothing more but to run a stake through her heart, preferably one that would have a lasting effect.
"Please, just go away," she says and that's as polite as she can force herself to be. In the end, she is Elijah's sister and she owes a lot to him.
"Why?" Rebekah asks mock-innocently. "So you could flirt with my brother?"
Elena inspects her rudely expectant expression. "Is there an answer in this world that would make you leave?"
"No," she's glad to inform her.
"Alrighty then," she says and feigns a smile, "I guess I've endured worse."
Rebekah sneers at her balefully. "Maybe. When Nik arrives, we'll see if he'll get a dance out of you."
For a split second Elena can't conceal the horror that flickers across her face. She can't help as her hands turn into fists. If there is a comeuppance coming her way for the sins she's committed, this must be it.
3. Restraint
They stayed in New York.
Three months passed and some progress was made. Some wasn't. The transition from a perfect high school student into a constantly relapsing blood addict had not been easy, to say the least.
They sat at the dinner table, Elena at one end and Elijah at the other. From the distance it would have seemed like a lovely Thursday night meal, but in reality, it was not.
"I can't do this," Elena grumbled petulantly and let her cutlery fall on the plate with a loud clatter.
"And why is that?" Elijah said, leaning forward with the most pleasant, most irritatingly polite look on his face. She felt like throwing the fork at him.
"Because of the– "
He raised his hand to stop her. "Let's not forget our manners now."
She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back on the chair, knowing well that she was acting like a spoiled child, but not being able to help it. This was ridiculous; it was only the two of them.
"So no b-word," she hummed under her breath, "got it."
She wondered whether he might have enjoyed, even if just a little bit, playing those games with her. He had a very strange set of methods for curing the modern blood-junkie. They mostly seemed to involve his favorite mantra of being always patient and always prepared for surprises which resulted in excruciating dinners such as this where he expected her to act normal and blissfully unaware of the supernatural when she could so clearly smell the intoxicating scent of blood tingling at her nose.
It made keeping up a civil conversation very hard. She felt like a grade schooler with attention deficit disorder. But it did make her grow stronger, better at all of this. When at first try (of course without any knowledge of his intentions or time to prepare) she lasted barely a few minutes, now she could sit, granted pouting and whining, for thirty minutes before losing her cool.
"Next week we'll have guests," he informed her then, sipping his wine, all thoughtful. "It would be a good exercise in–"
"You're not serious, are you?" she sputtered. "I'm not ready yet!"
He took in her big, frightened eyes and tense posture, the fingers that were gripping the edge of the table, and smiled to himself. "I think you are."
"But what if I lose control?" she demanded.
"I trust you'll restrain yourself."
"But what if I can't?"
He was serious when he spoke again. "Do you honestly think I'll let you murder them?"
She felt her cheeks redden. How stupid. "No."
"Then it's settled."
Next week didn't go so well. Nobody died though. The week after that went better.
Elena feels like the air got sucked out of the room all of a sudden. The thought of the two people she hates the most in this entire world in the same house with her wakens an old, ugly desire inside her. Desire for vengeance.
It doesn't take long for Elijah to notice the unlikely duo at the table and the look that nears sick on Elena's face. He says a few words to his interlocutor and starts to make his way through the crowd, a line of concern on his forehead.
Elena gets up. She needs air.
Before she can flee the room, Elijah catches her by the arm.
"Do you wish to leave?" he asks her quietly.
"Is Klaus really here?"
"Apparently so." He looks down. He doesn't seem exactly happy about it, she can tell, and she can only assume he did not expect him to appear.
"I'll be right back," she tells him.
Elena bursts into the bathroom. For a moment she just stares at her reflection in the mirror and clenches the edge of the sink as she takes long, steadying breaths.
But the red-hot surge of rage refuses to recede.
She rips angrily at the zipper of her handbag and when she gets it open, she rummages through it like a mad person until she finds what she's looking for. The one stake.
Elena runs her finger over its metal-coated surface.
The originals have probably scoured the earth in search of it and Lord knows she's felt guilty for not handing it over to Elijah. But she just couldn't. This stake is the representation of her resolve, her revenge, and she's just not ready to let it go.
Revenge is like poison that spreads through her veins, relentless, pointless (for her lost loved ones cannot be brought back by any measures) and so not what she ever wanted to be the driving force in her life. But sometimes… sometimes there's honor in revenge, right?
It's ironic actually since Elijah is the one who salvaged her backpack, who was too gentlemanly to go through her personal belongings and who unknowingly returned her the one weapon that could kill them.
A souvenir of her life in Mystic Falls, the last thing she took with her as she left in the chaotic aftermath of Alaric's death, of her own death. Since then wherever she's gone, she's always kept the stake with her. Call it caution, call it some sick sort of sentimentality, but right now she's glad she has it.
There was a time when she considered using it on herself. She thought it would have been poetic in a way. But there are such better-fitting candidates conveniently lurking around… And what sweeter way to start a new year than with the death of your worst enemy?
Elena feels a twinge of guilt as her mind pauses on Elijah and all he has done for her. But his brother is a monster who only wrecks havoc on this world, a brother he himself had wanted to kill not so long ago.
She slips the stake back into her bag with her mind made up.
This time she has the upper hand. Klaus will never see it coming. Maybe there is a righteous retribution for the wicked after all? she muses. And that is an encouraging thought.
4. Direction
It was the beginning of June and Manhattan was blazing with heat. Soon she'd spent eight months in that apartment without any physical contact with the outside world (which made it sound grander, more heroic than it actually was).
Elijah had offered going out, taking a stroll in the park, visiting a museum, whatever she wanted, but her answer remained the same. "Not yet." He didn't enforce it.
He was away from New York at times: a few days, sometimes a week. Business. When he was in NY, he was always busy, too. She wondered what he was doing, but didn't feel like she had the right to ask; wasn't sure if she'd care anyhow; didn't trust that she wouldn't get furious if he was involved with Klaus when all anybody should be doing regarding the hybrid was plotting his well-earned demise.
Days came and went lounging on the couch in the hellish heat she couldn't feel, watching daytime television, reading an occasional book and drowning out memories of her previous summers among family and friends by keeping a perpetually half-full glass of wine in arm's reach.
She was just in the middle of waving her latest dose of Merlot at the TV screen and shouting instructions to the characters who would only ignore her when the weight suddenly disappeared from between her fingers.
"Take a look at this," Elijah said sticking a small pile of papers into her hand instead.
She glanced at the black print that spelled "Creative Writing Summer Course 2016" and frowned, turning her head up to him for an explanation.
"I took the liberty of signing you up," he announced.
"Why?"
"Because you sit here all day doing nothing." There was a note of disapproval in his voice. "You need an objective. And since you want to become a writer, this is the place to start."
"Correction: wanted to become a writer," she said.
"And you still can."
Elena skimmed the top page with her eyes and frowned again. "This is for high school graduates. I never got to that."
"Well, you would have," he dismissed the protest quickly, "but regardless, it doesn't matter, because while you might not have technically graduated, Elena Jones did."
"Jones?" she laughed and shuffled through the papers to find a birth certificate, high school diploma and a driver's license. "Year of birth: 1997, you flatter me," she commented sarcastically, but there was a line of worry on her face.
"You could participate online, so you wouldn't have to leave the flat," he explained.
"Do you think I should do this?"
He raised an eyebrow as if to say he thought the answer obvious. "You need a new direction in life, Elena. Watching soap operas is not it. Just because you're dead doesn't mean that you have to stop living."
"But I'm not-"
Elijah shook his head at her. "Do you wish to spend the rest of your life battening on other people's expense, only compelling what you need?"
She almost winced at his harsh tone, harsher than he had meant it to be, it seemed. "I–" she hadn't worked this through, not really. She hadn't planned a life beyond fighting her addiction, hadn't anticipated what it would truly mean to live forever or what one should do with eternity in their hands. "…no."
"That's what I thought."
Next time Elijah came home, the TV was shut and the wine bottles stood in the fridge in a neat row, untouched. Elena was curled up on the couch with her laptop, clicking away on the keyboard.
Elena paces in the foyer and stalks through the long, mazy corridors. Her nerves are acting up.
If she really means to go through with this, she needs to remain collected. She needs to avoid Elijah and find Klaus when he's alone. The plan starts sounding madder and madder in her head. She could still stop this, walk away and she'd probably never (perhaps an overstatement for an immortal, but she's not a nitpicker) have to see Klaus again.
But then there's a part of her that already knows that she won't back down on this. It all started because of Klaus's obsession. You'd think one would be satisfied with being an immortal, indestructible vampire, but no, he had to break the curse, had to be the only hybrid in the freaking world.
Suddenly she petrifies as she spies him exiting the ballroom, engaged in a conversation with another man. By some miracle he doesn't notice her.
Elena doesn't follow them. She just closes her eyes and listens. Very intently.
A door clicks shut. Her eyes snap open. Third door to the left.
She positions herself as far away from the door to the room of her interest as possible, but so that she could still see it, and waits. She knows she hasn't got much time before Elijah will come to find her. She's been away for about half an hour by now.
Five minutes pass. Ten minutes. And then the door creaks open and Elena can hardly believe her luck when Klaus's conversation partner steps out and walks briskly the other way.
It's time.
She creeps down the hallway to the door. Her one hand grips the stake behind her back and the other hovers above the doorknob. Do it, just open the door, just go for it, her mind whispers impatiently. Someone could come at any moment, move, you idiot!
Or run away like the coward you are…
She opens the door and slips in.
Klaus is standing before a bookcase with his back to her, his finger trailing along the spines of neatly arranged volumes. He turns around with a look of mild surprise as he hears the door.
"Elena, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asks with disinterest. He doesn't give a single fuck about her now that she's ceased to be of use to him and that knowledge only increases the feeling of resentment in her.
"I have something I want to tell you," she improvises and she's quite proud of the stony expression she manages to keep on her face. But, well, she's learned from the best.
He arches an eyebrow. "So, please, do," he drawls in an irritatingly complacent tone and beckons her to continue, "it's New Year's Eve, after all, and when's a more appropriate time to bare one's heart?"
She steps closer to him, her hands still tightly clasped behind her back, hoping it doesn't seem too unnatural to pass as casual.
Now she's directly in front of him and oddly all she feels is determination, the nervousness has vanished. She lifts her chin to look at him straight in the face. He appears expectant, if not slightly amused.
"After all these years," she starts and her voice is so cold that it barely sounds like her at all, "I still hate you just as much as on the day you killed my aunt, sank your teeth into my neck and sucked me dry."
And that's the moment her hand flashes out with the stake firmly between her fingers. She aims it at his heart.
She sees the way his eyes widen and his breath hitches. And even in this split of a second she manages to find twisted pleasure in the fact that she's swiped that grin off his face.
But Klaus is quick. Only just before the stake pierces through his ribcage, he knocks it off her hand, leaving his chest merely grazed, though considering the amount of blood that's seeping through his white dress shirt, it seems a lot worse.
The red-tipped stake hits another bookcase and falls to the ground. There's an instant where they're both stock-still, staring at each other with pure shock and animosity.
Elena launches for the stake, trying to utilize her advantage that Klaus seems to be utterly astounded by her attack. She knows all too well that he doesn't need a stake to rip her heart out, so she really, really needs it now.
Just when she reaches the bookcase, she can feel him behind her. His hand pulls her back, strong and rigid like an iron hook, and sends her flying across the room, but not before her fingers close around the stake.
Elena lands on top of the large desk, slides across it and drops off its edge along with a pile of papers, pens and a lamp. She quickly takes cover behind the row of drawers, panting like crazy. For a brief moment she allows herself to pinch her eyes shut in sheer frustration as she realizes this might very well be her end.
She listens, ready to bolt should he use his vampire speed to get to her.
"Just when I thought we could let bygones be bygones," he chides, breathing heavily as well. "I am impressed by your courage, I'll admit." He gives a small, dramatic sigh. "So it's quite unfortunate that I'll have to kill you now."
She hears the whoosh of air as he moves and she's gone, on the other side of the room. Elena may not be strong, but she's fast. He zips through the room again and again she's in another corner before he reaches her.
They glare daggers at each other.
"You must know you cannot escape me. Not in the proximity of… what is it? Twenty square meters?" he says.
"I can stake you, though," she retorts, waving the object in question at him. She's surprised at the steadiness of her own voice.
He measures her with his gaze and his lips curl into a sly sneer that makes her want to gag just a little. "Oh, now I am truly impressed."
Elena takes one long, cleansing breath and meets his eyes. "Come at me," she hears herself say. Her head is swimming; adrenaline is coursing through her body.
Then he comes and this time she doesn't run. This time she plunges ahead. There are two things she feels in that moment:
How the stake penetrates his ribcage.
And how his hand enters her chest.
Blood is everywhere now. It trickles down the stake and drips off her hand; it streams down her skin from where his arm sticks out, soaking her clothes. The very sight of this is dizzying.
Elena feels faint.
She thinks of Jeremy, of Caroline and Bonnie, of Matt, Tyler, Stefan and Damon, all the people she had hoped to see again, with whom she meant to reconnect with, and how in the course of one evening she's succeeded at throwing it all away.
Locked into this terrible embrace, she can't move away when the warmth of Klaus's breath hits her ear.
"You missed," he chocks out, but even then there is glee in his voice.
Elena squeezes her eyes shut, because she can't have Klaus's ugly mug be in sight as her heart gets torn out. What else can you do when you're about to die?
There's a sickening crack and then the fingers around her heart go limp.
5. Connection
June 22nd rolled around and with that came Elena's 24th birthday.
She told Elijah early on that she'd rather have it pass unnoticed. She hadn't celebrated her birthday in years. It wasn't any longer a day to celebrate but a day when to sulk and stew in misery. It felt strangely bittersweet.
This year the plan remained the same and Elijah didn't protest.
She spent the day in bed, cradling in her hands the picture frame that held the image of her family and sipping Elijah's most expensive scotch. She almost wanted him to get mad when he would eventually catch her, but doubted he would, and felt bad for having one of those days when she took unhealthy joy in provoking others.
Another sip and she turned her gaze back on the picture, slightly smudged on the edges since her "swim" in the Chicago River, but still the dearest item she possessed. Her mother, beaming back at her with sparkling eyes, her father standing at her shoulder with his hand around her waist, smiling steadily, Jeremy at the front, a boyish grin on his face, and her, carefree and ignorant of her impending fate. She could have cried to that scene, but didn't.
There was a quiet knock on the door.
"Yes?" she called, letting her head drop on the sheets. Brooding was much more tiring than Stefan had ever let on.
Elijah pushed the door wide open and took a few long strides into the room. He wasn't one to act around her as if she was made out of porcelain and sometimes she wondered if that was intentional or if it was just the way he was.
"Celebrating, I see," he commented without any sarcasm. She noted his eyes zooming in the scotch bottle, three quarters empty, but he made no mention of it.
"As by my tradition," she said.
He walked across the room and sat on the edge of her bed. "I have something for you." He stuck his hand into his inner jacket pocket.
She wanted to tell him not to bother; she was perfectly content in her misery, wasting away, and a gift, though very nice of him, would only make her feel worse about her behavior. Yet, she kept quiet while he extended his arm in her direction with a cell phone in his palm.
Elena eyed the device longingly. Why did he have to keep giving her stuff she didn't know whether she should accept?
"You shouldn't have gotten me anything," she sighed and her eyes flicked up to his face. "I don't think I deserve presents for another ten years, at least."
"It's not my present for you," he said simply, "I just thought you might want to give a call to your brother or your friends." A pause. "But I do have a gift for you." He smiled, no smirked, and she was instantly curious why.
"Your compulsion. I removed it two months ago and yet here you are."
For a moment she was speechless. "I– uh, I didn't know I could leave, I guess," she reasoned.
"You never even thought of it, did you?" he asked and his smirk grew wider.
Her forehead wrinkled as she recollected the last months. Before it had been on her mind constantly. The hunger had prodded her to try and escape, begged her to get the compulsion removed, her eyes had followed the men and women passing by on the street yearningly. All that had kept her in place was the fact she couldn't possibly lift her foot past the threshold, but now… he was right. She hadn't thought of any of it for weeks.
"Many happy returns, Elena," he said as he stood up, "but if you indeed want them to be happy, you should pick up that phone and call your family."
Later that night, she was still in bed as she dialed the familiar number of her brother with shaking hands. It rang a few times before the click of a call being answered.
"Hello?" Jeremy's nonchalant voice said.
"Hi," she breathed, tremendous joy and fear both raging within her.
"ELENA?" he nearly yelled, sounding as if he'd just won a million dollars.
It's like her consciousness is barely there. Elena fights to keep her eyes open, to not pass out.
She watches as Elijah carefully removes Klaus's hand from her chest and lets his body drop on the floor unceremoniously.
She sinks, back against the wall, to the floor as Elijah bends down and yanks the stake from his brother's torso, wipes it off with a handkerchief and tucks it away somewhere.
Then, all of a sudden, his face is right in front of her.
"What the hell happened?"
His voice sounds far-off, echoing. Even so, she can tell he's angry.
The healing kicks in and slowly she starts to feel better. She can still feel the sensation of having Klaus's fingers around her heart, seconds away from ripping it out, and it makes her nauseous.
"Elena?" Elijah reminds her, impatience flitting across his face. Yes, he's definitely angry.
Well, she won't bother with lying to him. "I tried to kill your brother," she admits bluntly.
"What were you thinking?" he practically hisses. His eyes fall shut and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Never mind, just… can you stand up?"
"Yea," she says. Now the guilt really starts pooling inside her and it's nearly overwhelming.
He supports her as she struggles to get up and when she does, her eyes trained unblinkingly at Klaus's motionless form, he takes off his jacket and drapes it around her shoulders.
His finger touches her chin to turn her head towards him, tearing her gaze off Klaus.
"Go clean yourself up. Can you do that?" he speaks slowly as if she's a small child. "Niklaus won't be down for long and I need to speak with him, alone, before he does something reckless."
Like finish the process of removing my heart from my chest, Elena thinks sardonically, but obeys without question.
She makes her way back through the corridors as if she's sleepwalking. Her feet take her to the bathroom and it's far too strange to think that not an hour ago she was standing at the exact same place, devising the plan that by now had failed her. Klaus is safe to live another day or, in his case, probably a millennium. The stake is gone. And Elijah is furious with her.
Good job, Elena, good job.
She does the best she can to clean off the dried blood and arrange her dress in a way that the tear over her heart is not completely obvious.
After that she manages to sneak to the balcony without Rebekah or anyone else unwanted noticing her. It's the perfect retreat from where to observe the party, sitting on the wide balustrade, concealed by the night.
She pulls the jacket closer and tips her head backwards, watching as the black sky expels snowflakes that land on her face. Her eyes close. It feels good to be outside. Her breaths become calm again. The cool air, even when mingled with the faint scent of his cologne, clears her head and she can't understand any longer what kind of madness drove her to try what she tried tonight, jeopardizing everything she had worked so hard for.
"It's almost midnight," Elijah's voice starts her.
Her head jerks to his direction and she wonders how long she's sat there, alone.
"Elijah," she begins, not at all sure what to say. "I'm so sorry; I don't know what happened…" How can she explain something she can't fully understand herself? "When I heard he was here, I just… I saw red and…"
He raises a hand to silence her. "Let's not speak of this tonight," he says with a note of weariness.
"I take it then that Klaus won't try to murder me, for a night, at least?" she quips and cringes a moment later at how distasteful her remark is.
To her astonishment, he gives a quiet chuckle. Maybe his family is twisted enough to consider failed staking attempts a common occurrence?
"No," he tells her, serious again, "but what you did was insane, Elena, you must promise me you won't try anything alike again."
Her gaze drops to her feet. "I won't." And she means it. She still hates Klaus, but he isn't worth throwing her own life away.
"You took a stake to a party?" he asks after a brief pause.
She nods, thoroughly ashamed and wanting to sink through the floor.
"Why?" he continues and she's genuinely surprised to detect baffled amusement in his tone.
"I thought we were supposed to talk of this tomorrow?" she retorts.
"Very well."
He hands her a glass of champagne, she hadn't noticed he held in her state of bewilderment. So maybe he isn't that angry with him, maybe he understands her better than she originally thought.
As if on cue, the band starts playing Auld Lang Syne, accompanied by a chorus of voices. It must be midnight now.
She clinks her glass to his and takes a drink.
"Any New Year's resolutions?" she jokes.
He laughs lightly and sips his drink as well. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't believe in them," he explains simply. "What about you?"
Without her permission her mouth draws into a grin. "I think after tonight, I'll just appreciate the fact that I'm still alive."
6. Appreciation
August came in a flash and the weather remained hot and muggy. But on late afternoons when the sun had sunk much-much lower, Elena found that the air was just the right temperature.
Elijah had finally convinced her to leave the apartment and there they were, on one of the less frequented paths in Central Park.
He sat on the bench, leafing through The Wall Street Journal and glimpsing at her every now and then to see if she was done. She wasn't. In fact, she didn't even feel bad for having him waste his time on babysitting her.
She stood almost in the middle of the lane, in the one sunspot amidst the shadows of the tree branches, facing the sun with her eyes closed. And she hadn't felt better in a very long time.
There was real sunlight warming her face, a light breeze touching her hair and her mind was peaceful, no dark urges, no frightful thoughts. Her mouth curved into a smile. She could have stayed there forever, inside a moment that once would have meant so little to her, so ordinary.
"Elena?" Elijah's voice came, accompanied by a silent chuckle. "Are you still on Earth or have you by chance drifted into some far-off galaxy?"
"I'm still here," she mumbled absent-mindedly, although she wasn't sure if it was entirely true.
Behind closed eyelids, the possibilities were endless. She could imagine herself standing on a blooming meadow in the middle of the forest, on a beautiful beach with palm trees hanging over her head, in the back yard of her old house grilling burgers, anywhere in the world. But right now she was even absolutely content with just standing in Central Park, next to a bench and a trash can, hogging the last bit of sunlight on a Wednesday afternoon.
"You know, Elijah, maybe I should teach you something for a change," she said, cracking open one eye to peek at him.
He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Is that so?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "Enjoy the moment. Appreciate little things."
He shook his head, smirking at her new-found enthusiasm. "Very good, Elena."
"Don't mock me," she responded, grinning. "I've only seen sunlight through two layers of glass for the last ten months and before that, for a long while, I didn't see it at all."
"You have succeeded in turning your life around and suddenly the world has more colours to it," he concluded.
The smile on his face was affable but his eyes were cautious. 'It won't last' they said. But she didn't care, because after everything she'd gone through, Elena Gilbert promised herself that she'd never take anything for granted again.
They decide it's probably smarter to leave. There's never a safe bet when Klaus and his whims are involved.
Elijah goes to find Rebekah and bid her good-bye. So Elena strolls to the foyer.
It's empty. Most of the guests are just getting started with the partying.
"You're in love with him, aren't you?" a sneering voice sounds right behind her.
She swerves around to come face to face with a very smug Kol. "Excuse me?"
He gives her a once-over that feels downright violating.
"You are," he says with arrogant certainty. "I saw the two of you together tonight." Then his tone adopts an especially irritating quality so she can tell he enjoys every second. "The way you look at him is… very expressive, to say the least… not that my brother would appreciate it."
"Shut up, Kol," she snaps and heads for the front door. She can wait for Elijah outside.
"Let me give you a piece of advice," he calls out from behind her and she really can't help being curious, "don't waste your precious time, darling."
Elena stops and turns back. She doesn't know why, but the things he says get to her. She wants to think he does this simply to torment her, but if so then why does she recognize some truth in his words?
So she asks him "Why?" even when she knows she should just walk away.
And he smirks because he knows he's got her.
"You've spent what? A year around him? That's as warm as he gets, believe me. You want a taste of the original stuff? Call me," he ends his speech with a mischievous wink.
"I would never–"
"Save it, love," Kol interrupts her nonchalantly. "I'm just sayin', the sooner you realize that your love is wasted on someone who doesn't even believe in it, the sooner you can run to me and I'll make you forget all about it." He leers broadly. "Not by compulsion, if that's what you thought."
"You disgust me," she says and then she really does walk away. Her insult doesn't diminish his smirk, though, because he can see that the gears in Elena's head are turning. Perhaps not in the way Kol had intended for them to turn, but they are turning.
7. Acceptance
It was snowing heavily outside and all of New York was lit up by Christmas lights. December had arrived.
"I think the finish line is looming," Elijah said, pouring bourbon into two tumblers before he joined her on the couch.
They were in the living room, which had remained untouched by the holiday spirit. The most Christmassy things around them were the burning logs in the fireplace.
Elena nodded her thanks as he handed her the drink. "You think so?" she squeaked a little nervously.
She had waited for this moment for what seemed like forever and the Christmas-time had always been the hardest for her with being apart from Jeremy, Caroline, Bonnie and the rest of the Mystic Falls gang. She missed them so much it almost hurt physically.
"Yes," he assured her. "An old friend of mine holds a New Year's celebration in his house just outside the city. I thought it could be your final 'test', so to speak."
"Alright," she said at length, her gaze lost in the flames.
"You are in control, Elena, and you are ready to resume your life."
"I guess," she hesitated. "It's not really the fear of losing control that I've been thinking about lately…"
"What is it, then?"
She was silent for a while. There was a part of her that didn't want to discuss it, that didn't ever want to think of it again, but deep down she knew that she couldn't just ignore this forever.
"For this past year I've been occupied by this one objective – beating the hunger. And it's been like a full-time job, I haven't had time to think of much else, but now… The hunger is subdued and, well, all this other stuff, stuff that's been dormant, has started surfacing again. I'm just not sure what to do with it."
He regarded her with sympathy, but didn't say anything. Actually, she felt extra bad for speaking to him about it. Elijah had helped her get her life back, become herself again, and now she was dumping another load of her problems on him.
Elena shook her head, ashamed. "I'm sorry. You know, I shouldn't have even brought it up, it's only that-"
"Don't apologize," he interjected and it sounded almost like a scolding. "Tell me."
She didn't know where to start. It wasn't a story with a beginning and an end; it was a painful bubble inside her chest that threatened to burst.
"I've killed people, Elijah, killed. Truth is, I don't even remember how many. I never, not in my worst nightmares, thought I'd ever have to admit to something like that. And I sure as hell don't know how I'm supposed to get all this… ugliness out of my head."
'How do you do it?' she nearly added, but stopped herself in time. It didn't seem very nice to pretty much call him 'murderer' to his face, to say nothing of courtesy. Still, it remained implied.
"Time helps," he stated matter-of-factly. He glanced up, pouting his lips as if he was trying to recall the ingredients of an especially complicated recipe.
The idea of waiting until the memories of the murders you've committed fade seemed to Elena about as appealing as sunbathing without her daylight ring.
"And there are always the short-term solutions," he added darkly.
Her mouth curved into a bitter smile at that. "Let me see. Flipping the switch, which didn't really work out for me," she started counting on her fingers, "getting wasted or high or both, sleeping around mindlessly…"
She trailed off and they just sat in silence for a while.
During her time as Elijah's houseguest, she'd gotten to know him… somewhat (not an easy task). She'd still never seen him fly off the handle or emerge from his room dressed as anything but properly. But she had learned one thing – he didn't have all the answers in the world. Then again, he was never put off by coming up with them.
"Perhaps, though…" Elijah said and his head tilted in a thoughtful manner. He took a big gulp of his bourbon. "…perhaps we ought to look at this from another angle."
"What do you mean?"she asked.
"Perhaps some things cannot be forgotten, perhaps they shouldn't be, and if you cannot forget then there is always…"
"…forgiveness?" she finished weakly. "I don't think I'll be receiving any." The thought scared her.
"I meant yourself, Elena. As hard as it may be, in the end the best remedy is to find a way to accept your past wrongdoings, forgive yourself, not try and erase the memories you don't want, and gain some peace of mind from the fact that you're better now."
The glass she'd been aiming at her mouth stopped in mid-air. Elena didn't know if she could ever come to terms with her past actions, but she also recognized the truth in Elijah's words. She could run from it, but she'd never truly get away.
At some point she realized that she'd been staring into nothingness for the last five minutes with a little frown on her forehead. She looked up at him. "Thanks for the advice," she said and her gratitude was sincere.
Elena was done with running, both literally and figuratively. When she was still human, she faced up to her problems, so if she really wanted to be herself again, she'd better muster some fortitude and find a way to accept what she'd done.
8. Letting go
"Elena?"
She whips around to find Elijah looking at him inquisitively. She's been standing outside in the snowfall, waiting for him, and somehow gotten completely lost in her thoughts. "Oh, sorry. What were you saying?"
"Are you quite alright?" he asks. "You seem… dazed."
She stares at him, unable to get Kol's statement out of her head. She stares at him and sees things she's never seen before.
He started out as her enemy, then a dubious ally, somehow became her revered acquaintance and then her so-called "savior". Her friend. But no more. He's never acted as if he holds anything but platonic fondness and respect for her and she'd never thought of him in a romantic sense.
Until tonight. Tonight she feels as if she's woken up from years of coma. She realizes that Kol is right – she is in love with Elijah, has been for a while – and she can't begin to explain as to how she's not realized it before.
But if Kol is right about her, can he be right about his brother, too? She wants to leave well enough alone, but she can't…
It's past two o'clock at night. They drive back to Manhattan, walk up the familiar set of stairs, he unlocks the door and as he turns around to let her in, she knows she has to take her shot, because if she won't do it now, she'll never find the courage to do it.
Elijah looks at her curiously when she doesn't make a move to go inside. Instead, she takes a doubtful step closer to him, stands on tiptoe and kisses him. If he's surprised, he hides it well.
It's brief and slightly awkward, but her eyes close for that one tiny moment and she could swear his lips move against hers. But then, as she pulls away, she sees something downhearted in his eyes.
"Elena," he starts and she wants to stop him as soon as he opens his mouth because she knows what he's going to say and she does not wish to hear it. "Why would you give your heart to someone who cannot possibly reciprocate?"
Okay, maybe she didn't expect a question. She stands before him like an idiot. But the question holds a clear statement about him.
…your love is wasted on someone who doesn't even believe in it… echoes in her head. Shut up, Kol! her mind snaps, but she cannot deny that she does not have an answer. At least not on-the-go.
"I…" She opens her mouth to speak, but the words refuse to come out. She wants to tell him everything – that she loves him and needs him, but it feels as if it'd be selfish to lay it all on him. So what is there to say? "I don't understand" she murmurs and it's true.
She understands if he doesn't believe in New Year's resolutions or going crazy with Christmas decorations, she would understand if he doesn't think of her like that, but how can someone not believe in love, not love anyone or anything altogether? That she does not understand.
He regards her carefully as if he's trying to figure something out.
"Let me tell you how it will go," he says and there's this rare softness to his tone. "You will go to sleep. Tomorrow when you wake up, your head will ache a little because you had just a bit too much champagne tonight and you'll be disappointed with me for some of the things said, but all the same you'll realize that you are ready to face the world again, that you don't need me anymore. You will pack your bags and take a flight back home to Mystic Falls, you'll see your brother again and your friends, next fall you'll go to university, you'll get a degree and perhaps write a few books…"
She looks at him while he speaks, really looks, and for the second time in the span of one night something new dawns to her. In the past year, she's changed. But he hasn't. She's just been purposefully avoiding the truth, remained intentionally ignorant as to who he is.
This entire time, she's never asked him where he went on all those occasions when he was away. Why? Because she's a coward. When she closes her eyes, lets her imagination work, she sees him ripping out hearts and lopping people's heads straight off. She has no idea whether that's what he's been doing, nor does she want to find out, because she knows she can't handle it if it were true. She can't handle knowing him completely. She has this picture of him in her head and she can't allow it to be shattered. Not just now.
So maybe, she dares to think, it's not that he couldn't love her. Maybe it's the other way round. Because isn't she here right now, claiming to love a man she knows in actuality little about? And if she did know him, through and through, could she still love him?
"…You will have a great life, Elena, and one day when you look back on this dark period in your life, it'll seem so far away, you'll barely be able to recall it," he finishes and she senses that it somehow includes his involvement, too, maybe even his very existence, although she can tell for a fact she'll never forget that.
She takes another second to inspect his face and finds only conviction in it. So she lets go.
There's no shame in letting go when the possibility of a different outcome is as improbable as it is when conversing with someone who never says anything they don't mean. Later, when she'll have the time to process, it will hurt, she thinks vaguely, but she's learned that no matter what happens, good or bad, expected or sudden, seemingly insignificant or confessedly huge, in all probability she'll still wake up to face another day and life will go on.
The following morning Elena opens her eyes to the rich morning light, spreads her arms over the covers of her bed and stretches her body from top to toe. Her head feels just a little thick, but she ignores it and crawls out of bed to get a glass of water.
Slowly and fastidiously she makes her bed and packs her things.
In the entrance hall, she lets her bags fall on the floor as she turns to say her final farewell to Elijah. They stay like that for a while, her inching towards the door, but not really in any hurry to get out, him leaning against the wall, not in any haste to get rid of her, and whenever they seem to be finished, one has to say just one more thing that leads to another continuation of their conversation.
When Elena does finally reach the door and push down the handle, she can't resist looking back just one last time. She raises her hand and gives him a hesitant wave.
He smiles broadly, like he's proud of her, and returns the gesture.
And then she's out of the door. She can't believe it.
She's leaving New York. Finally. And it feels strange.
She's leaving a new person. A better one.
She's leaving without her vengeance, without his love, but as the door of the apartment that has become like home to her falls shut behind her, she knows she's going to have a great life.