Author's Note: Elena has been wandering the world alone for a few years, lost in her bloodlust and battling the accompanying guilt and regret. So when all hope is lost, can it be found again? (Since I wrote a story on it, you can probably guess the answer, though)

Lost and Found

It was late and it was dark outside, only the streetlights illuminating the pavements in their orange glow. Elena watched the occasionally passing cars from the diner window – the bright headlights rushing by and the red taillights as if waving a lonely good-bye to her.

She wrapped her hands around a hot mug, the warmth feeling nice against her palms as she lifted it up to take a sip. She'd lost count of how many cups of coffee she'd already had just sitting and watching the passer-bys.

She liked to do that sometimes when she had a more lucid night like tonight.

Her days she spent confined to the shadows since she'd thrown her daylight ring into the woods a long time ago, during one of her first serene moments in a while, if she remembered correctly. That had been somewhere in Tennessee, perhaps?

Truthfully, she didn't want to remember. Shouldn't that be the whole point of blackouts? Still, whenever she was just sitting down, not doing anything particular, the mental images started popping up in her head like stabs in the gut.

Faces, voices, the overpowering smell of blood… Elena shook her head violently to shoo them away again. Whenever she thought of it, she just wanted to cry. Curl herself into a ball and weep for days without end.

But crying didn't help her. Whenever the sorrow became too much, the darkness would simply take over again, leaving corpses behind in its wake.

Nothing really helped, because the hunger would always return, even after the most gruesome of feasts, and then a new hunt would be in order.

She never could stay in one place for long. And she'd tried; she'd really tried to change herself, gain some shred of control. Once she even managed to succeed for a while, picking up a nightshift in a diner in Georgia. But, as always, it didn't take long before she slipped, before she killed again.

This so-called switch… this switch sucked. To Elena it seemed as if it kept flipping itself without her permission. She woke up in unfamiliar places, her hands and face smeared with blood, and then she became overcome with guilt and regret so intense, she hardly knew what to do with herself.

Shouldn't she feel nothing at all if the switch was off? Wasn't that the whole idea of shutting it off so you wouldn't have to feel the burning remorse and the suffocating despair that threatened to swallow you whole? And since she still felt all those painful emotions, did that mean the switch was on instead?

The switch obviously sucked. It seemed to have a life of its own because Elena had never tampered with it. She didn't even know how to do it. Maybe there was no switch? Maybe she'd just gone insane with bloodlust?

She needed help but she felt like nobody in the world could save her anymore. It was too late, wasn't it? She'd done too many horrible things already to see a road back to any existence that would be bearable.

Sometimes she tried to recall how life had been as just a regular high school student. Before she found out about all the supernatural craziness, before her parents died and her life fell to pieces. She never could though.

Only once she'd ran back to Mystic Falls in a moment of weakness with the intension of begging Stefan and Damon to help her, but the Salvatore boarding house had been abandoned and she was too scared of bumping into serif Forbes to go to Caroline's. She'd refused to even go near Bonnie's house or her own old home. She couldn't risk hurting her friend or her brother.

Not that she'd known whether any of them resided in Mystic Falls these days, anyway. They'd probably gone off to college or found jobs somewhere. That was what normal people did, or well, people who had some self-control, people who had a future that wasn't devoured by one all-consuming need. Being normal… Another feeling she'd long forgotten.

She'd slept in Stefan's bed and left town the next morning. After that little incident she hadn't turned back again. She might have called them, sure, but she just… couldn't, she couldn't stand the thought that they'd see what she'd become. That would have been just too painful. They couldn't help her anyway.

"Another cup, sweetie?" the waitress said, waving with the coffeepot.

Elena gave her a short nod, setting her mug on the edge of the table for her to fill.

She left the little diner about half an hour later. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning and the streets were empty and cold. Harsh wind was twirling up leaves and garbage, and the sky was so hopelessly black that Elena felt as if she fitted right in.

Just another grey, heartless city… she'd been through a dozen at least.

In the past she might have thought twice before walking through a dark alleyway in the middle of the night but now she couldn't care less. She wasn't afraid of whatever could be out there, even if it happened to be bigger and stronger than her, unlikely as it may have been since she was a vampire. Elena was only afraid of herself, of what she might do, of what she'd done already.

And she was angry and hateful because she couldn't stand what she'd become like. Yes, she was a full-on monster with the blood thirst and the whole packet. She'd accepted that. Nothing she could do to change that little fact, but once upon a time she'd at least been determined, resolute, never doing things half-way.

Now she was somewhere in-between… always. Between anger and fear, apathy and desperation, insanity and regret. Worst of all – she was too weak to get a handle on herself and too cowardly to end it all.

She'd thought about that quite a bit. It wouldn't take much… just to step into the sunlight or, a slightly harder, messier option, of staking herself. It sounded pretty easy in theory but in reality she had to face the truth – she couldn't do it. Burning alive seemed like a horrible way to die and jamming a wooden stake into her heart didn't appeal to her much either.

And to think she had stabbed herself in the gut with a kitchen knife… Where was that courageous Elena? Dead with the rest of the good parts of her? Or maybe… maybe she couldn't let herself die because she wanted a salvation, needed to redeem herself?

Maybe… always maybe. Maybe I won't kill her? Maybe I'll try to spare him? Ah, to hell with it!

Elena walked, shoulders hunched and hands stuck into her pockets even though she couldn't really feel the cold. Hence the flimsy hoodie she was wearing and the dirty pair of jeans. The rest of her possessions, there weren't many, were stuffed into a black backpack that was slung over her shoulder.

She passed through the alleyway and up some street, not bothering to check its name. She didn't really care where she was heading; she'd just go to wherever her feet took her.

A few bars were still open with people gathered in front, but otherwise the streets looked so very bleak and lonely. A band of men laughed loudly and drunkenly, smoke rising into the brisk autumn air as they puffed their cigarettes.

Elena didn't give them a second glance. They were living in such a different world from hers.

She just walked and walked, never looking back and barely looking forward.

The dawn was still a few hours away when she stopped in the middle of a railway bridge. Wind was howling fiercely around her, whipping her hair against her face, which made it quite impossible to see anything.

She felt tired and her limbs felt heavy so she took a seat on the metal edge, letting her feet hang down freely. Although she was in the industrial part of the city, the view was beautiful: the river silently murmuring beneath her and the many colourful city lights reflecting on its dark, glossy surface.

Yes, Elena felt so immensely tired, not sleepy, but weary down to her very bones. She didn't really sleep anymore; at least she didn't call it sleeping. She dosed off and flinched awake, scared that she might have blacked out again and done something awful.

She needed to rest from all this worrying, anxiousness, guilt and fear. All she dreamed of was freedom – freedom from the burden of the hunger. Freedom to be her own person again.

But dreaming was foolish and, moreover, pointless. Dreaming was for naïve, innocent girls. Elena didn't belong among them anymore.

So she did the only thing she could think of. She pushed herself so ever slightly forward until the cool metal vanished from under her and for a short moment she was flying – she was free.

Then the ice cold water hit her, crashing around her, pulling her into its depths. But Elena didn't fight. It felt… good… peaceful. And although her eyes were open the water was too murky to see anything. She turned her head upwards, gazing at the disappearing surface. The light was there still and then, a second later, she had sunk too deep and nothing but blackness remained.

She closed her eyes. The cold was biting every inch of her body, but she barely felt it. She let her mind go blank and the steady current to carry her. Where? She didn't care. Her consciousness was long lost.

"How are you feeling?" a smooth, even voice asked her.

But Elena's mind was one big blur as if fog had descended upon her brain. She remembered coldness, utter and complete, but her body felt warm, though somewhat stiff.

"Where am I?" she said, her own voice so monumentally different from her interlocutor's. It was only a hoarse whisper, weak and barely audible.

She felt as if she was recovering from some great illness, which for some reason made her think about her mom. How she used to take care of her when she had a high fever. And how Elena wished she'd be here right now, stroking her hair and assuring her that everything would be alright.

"You're lying in a hotel bed, suite 1108, it's Thursday, October the 8th, 2015," the voice said calmly. "Now, you should drink this."

Elena felt a hot mug brushing against her fingers. There were no more excuses; she had to open her eyes.

She found herself, indeed, in a spacious bedroom. It was dark, save for a dim desk lamp on the nightstand. The thick curtains covered the windows tightly, not a ray of sun escaping past them. To be honest, Elena couldn't even tell if it was day outside at all.

After she'd taken in the unfamiliar surroundings, she had no choice but to turn her eyes to the owner of the steady voice.

Elijah was sitting in a leather armchair next to her bed, holding a cup of steaming tea out for her as he looked at her expectantly.

'He hadn't changed much' was the first thing that sprang into Elena's mind. He still wore that stoic, unreadable expression that she remembered as being his trademark, and was, of course, clad in an impeccable business suit.

Elena remembered the last time she'd seen him as if it was yesterday. She didn't think she could ever forget the day she died.

She felt a puzzled frown stretching across her face as she accepted the cup. She remembered the bridge, the harsh wind…

"What happened?" she croaked, taking hastily a sip of the hot tea to gain back her voice.

"That's what I'd like you to tell me," he replied, leaning back and folding his hands.

She didn't understand. There were so many questions and not nearly enough answers. "How did I get here?"

"Ah," he sighed, a hint of a smile on his lips, though not a happy one. "Foolishness and sheer, blind luck."

"Huh?" Elena mumbled confusedly.

Elijah reached out to retrieve a newspaper from a small table on his left, unfolded it and started reading monotonously.

"'Early this morning a body was reported to be found on the bank of Chicago River…'" He omitted further details about the location, pausing for a short moment. "'According to the coroner the woman discovered was about twenty years of age. She carried no wallet or any kind of identification."

He continued with a description of her appearance and a request to report of any individuals who might match the portrayal and hadn't been seen since last night.

"'A witness described to have seen a young woman, who fits the depiction of the deceased closely, jumping down a railway bridge several miles away from the scene where the body was found. So, for now, the authorities are treating the death as suicide since no traces of foul play have been detected,'" Elijah finished, giving her a sharp look. "That's the foolish part."

"I never meant for this to happen," Elena said quietly, apologetically, her eyes averted. She'd just wanted to escape her life for a moment, but now that she thought about it, she had to admit that her actions had been reckless and pretty stupid.

"Nothing will be found, of course," Elijah said with iron certainty, completely unconcerned. He sounded almost as if he was bored by the whole ordeal.

"And the lucky part?"

"Yes," he perked up. "Firstly, that it was a cloudy day, otherwise only ash would remain of you," he said dryly, "and secondly, that I have many connections, especially in Chicago – one of Niklaus's personal favourites since the 1920's, and there are still those who haven't heard of the breaking of the curse and wish to gain my favour."

"I guess that does count as lucky," Elena muttered under her breath, before looking up at him.

"Are you hungry?" Elijah queried carefully. "I would have offered you blood as soon as you woke, but I thought it might make you somewhat… anxious," he ended the sentence tactfully.

"No!" she nearly shouted, clamping one hand over her mouth as if it would help. But already the hunger was stirring inside of her, impatient, and with that all the mental pain flooded back to the surface of her mind, almost making her cringe.

Elijah raised an eyebrow at her peculiar behaviour. Then he actually looked the tiniest bit uncomfortable.

"I know we haven't…" He stopped, hesitating and for the first time… well, ever. Elena couldn't recall a time she'd seen his confident façade falter before, even if it was just for a split second. He cleared his throat before he continued. "I know we didn't depart on the greatest of terms, especially since I failed to uphold our deal…"

Elijah had obviously misinterpreted her reaction. After all they hadn't seen each other for years, so he couldn't have known about her… how should she name it? Downfall? No, this wasn't some grand, epic tale of love and loss. It was just a plain addiction, an ugly obsession of hers…

"I don't blame you for what happened," she told him and it was true. She didn't. She'd blamed Rebekah, though, for a long time. Then she realized that she might have killed her, but Rebekah didn't make her complete the transition or kill innocent people. Elena had every right to hate her for causing her death, but she couldn't just roll the rest of her sins conveniently on her shoulders.

Elijah's face remained motionless to her confession, though that was nothing new really. He was a master of control and everything that did actually go on inside his head seemed to always stay hidden right behind those fathomless eyes of his.

In a way it was sad, Elena thought. He never took off that expressionless mask; at least not that she'd witnessed it. His delight was displayed only in a small, fleeting smile that often failed to reach his eyes. There was never another sign of his anger, but a slight frown or the way his mouth twisted; no indication of sorrow, but merely a slight softness in his gaze. He'd reduced all those great big feelings into nothing.

Right now she envied him for that skill.

"I-I, uh," she stuttered, searching for the right words. "I need your help."

He raised his brow at that, leaning fractionally forward to show that he was listening to her.

So she gave him her 'story', as briefly and tersely as she could think of. The fact that she managed not to break down and start sobbing made her feel kind of proud of herself. Something about his presence just kept her from turning into an emotional wreck, like some of his calm stillness somehow transferred over to her. She was glad for it; she didn't want him to think her weak or pitiful.

He nodded politely as she prattled on and when she was done, a strange silence fell between them.

"Is that why you jumped off that bridge?" he asked at length. "Because you do know that vampires can't be killed by drowning."

"I know," she sighed, not brave enough to look at him. She felt so horribly dumb. "It wasn't a suicide attempt."

"So what was it?"

"My great escape?" she offered quietly, and he chuckled lightly at her lame jape.

Elena kept staring at her hands. They were shaking uncontrollably, her body was shaking too. Slowly she felt her mind drifting away but she knew she couldn't let that happen. Her throat was dry despite the tea she was drinking. It was aching for something thicker and darker.

"About that blood," she suddenly blurted, anxious and a little embarrassed. "I think I need it."

"Of course," he said, raising graciously from the armchair and turning toward the door. A second later he was gone and the door fell shut behind him.

Elena felt weird. She was used to uncertainty, not knowing where she'd stay tonight or where she'd wake up tomorrow, where she'd go next or how long she'd stay. Now she was lying in a comfy bed in a neat hotel room, her hands folded above the covers, looking around aimlessly. Somehow the whole situation felt foreign.

She was confused. Her mind kept flickering back to the starless sky, the dark river and the railway bridge. She'd experienced such clarity then, for a moment she'd experienced freedom and now she couldn't recall how it had tasted.

And seeing Elijah again… It felt as if she'd known him in another lifetime entirely. It felt like an unexpected blast from the past that he was here, with her. Her 'knight in shining armour'… the thought made her snort for some reason. Elijah had never been her saviour, just a less painful alternative.

The door opened again and Elena sucked in a shaky breath. The smell of blood was in the air and she had to use every ounce of her willpower to keep herself seated on the bed when all she wanted to do was to grab the glass filled with the red liquid from Elijah's hand and drain it.

Somehow, again, his presence commanded civility and made her wait the few excruciating seconds it took him to cross the room, press the cold glass into her waiting palm and fall back into the armchair.

Elena gulped the blood down greedily, not able to restrain herself any further. As the container emptied, her grip became tighter. With the last satisfied sip, the glass couldn't withstand anymore and crashed into shards in her hands.

Her eyes, she couldn't remember shutting, flew open. Her face paled at the sight of the red glass shards scattered on the bed. She ran her hands over her face nervously.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," she muttered, trying to gather the pieces together, but then realized that the sharp edges had cut into her hands as well and now they were leaving trails of blood on the covers.

"It's alright," Elijah said softly, setting one hand on her arm to stop her from fussing over the mess.

"No," she said defeatedly, "it's not alright at all. That's why I need your help." She looked up at Elijah to find him observing her with some… concern? It was hard to tell with him.

"I… I know it's a lot to ask…" she continued unsteadily, "but I can't do it myself. I just can't bring myself to do it…"

"No," he said before she could elaborate. And there was such conviction in his voice that she knew that no matter what she said, he wouldn't change his mind.

So she asked instead, "Why?"

"Because I don't think the world would be a better place if you died."

"You're joking, right?" The bitter words tumbled out of Elena's mouth, almost without her permission. She just couldn't believe he used an argument like that. How could he say that when her existence had caused the death of so many people already?

"I meant what I said, Elena," he stated calmly. "If you can't find a single reason to live for, if you have truly given up then I won't stop you from doing what you think is right, but I will not do it for you."

"Then why did you come here? Why did you bother helping me?" He didn't make any sense to her and his emotionless gaze reflecting only some distant tranquillity frustrated her.

"I still owe you your life," he said simply, his eyes boring into hers. "I know I cannot ever pay that debt to you in full, but this is the closest I can do."

"And what now? You'll just leave again?" she asked, already dreading the answer.

"Yes." He never was the one to sugarcoat things…

"Then take me with you."

"Elena…" He shook his head, looking at him pityingly, which was exactly what she hadn't wanted.

"Please," she insisted, "You're so good with… this. You have a ton of experience, you could help me."

He just kept shaking his head, weary and withdrawn.

Elena felt a surge of desperation running through her. If he refused her, if he left her, she'd be on her own again. He was her ray of hope. He'd never been her saviour, but he could be… If she'd just get him to agree, he actually might be her road to salvation. Because if Elijah – the epitome of restraint – couldn't help her, then nobody could.

She had to try once more. He hadn't said a certain 'no' as before, so she dared to hope that there was a chance he'd reconsider. So she tried with wit and a splash of humour. After all, he was here because of some misplaced sense of responsibility in the first place.

"Don't you know?" she said and his brow furrowed. "You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."

Elijah watched her curiously, that shadow of a smile on his face again. It made his eyes seem more alive and somehow kinder, warmer.

He stood up and walked to the door before he turned to her again. "We're departing for New York tonight, then. I'll leave you to your rest."