Disclaimer: Not mine, borrowed and nurtured. Based on the NYE movie, because I love it so much. A/N: Dedicated to my dear friends, EmisonHeaven & theboyfriend-and-theprettygirl who inspire me every day with their kindness, love, and support. Thank you for being so amazing, this is for you. Multiple pairings (managed to fit most of our otps as well as crack!ships) Enjoy Xx
Magic in New York
1.
Rebekah Mikaelson poised her pen against her schedule for the night, as Vice President of the Times Square Alliance, the Ball drop was her responsibility. She had worked towards this moment her whole life. America relied on her to make The Ball Drop without a glitch. She noted the media swarming her with their microphones, cameras and press passes, and exhaled.
She cleared her throat and glanced at her speech, hoping for the courage to address them all.
Vincent Griffith, NYC cop winked from his post, and she smiled, she could do this. "Some people swear there's no beauty left in the world, no magic, then how do you explain the entire world coming together to celebrate the hope of a new year?" she felt more confident with each word.
Camille O'Connell waited on the curb opposite Ansel's Records, hands deep inside her tan-trench coat, as it began to rain. Inside her pocket, she held her bucket list: five years' worth of experiences she'd never been brave enough to complete. Cold rain drops clung to her nose, wads of blond hair stuck to her cheeks, so much for straightening it this morning – it always went frizzy in the rain.
Water gushed down gutters, and umbrellas shook into shape behind her.
Five years as Executive Assistant to the CEO, with no promotion or Christmas bonus received in all that time. Her boss, Wes Maxfield was an ass, yet, she remained loyal, because she believed if she put in the hours, she would one day be rewarded.
Today she was determined to ask for her bonus, or 2 weeks annual leave, no excuses.
Camille stepped onto the road, ahead of the other pedestrians. A taxi sped through a puddle, drenching her work attire – heck. Her first instinct was to flick her arms to dispel the water, but somebody bumped her and sent her straight into some garbage bags – great, just great.
"Are you alright, lady?" a bunch of teenagers asked in passing.
One, with wavy auburn hair and a purple beanie, seemed almost concerned.
A gentleman in a tuxedo and scarf threw out his hand, but Camille shooed him away. She limped into her building for what would be another stressful day at the office, unaware of a courier riding his bicycle through the courtyard, flirting with the ladies on their coffee run; a parcel for her to sign.
Kol Mikaelson parked his bike behind reception with April, tucking a parcel beneath his arm. He knew the building well and headed across the carpeted floors to the CEO's office, seeing the EA in the chair outside, staple in hand. She never looked him in the eye or spoke to him, but that was expected in Music Production.
He was happy where he was, and when he'd earned enough money, he'd be on his way to better things. At least that's what he told his college roommate, Jeremy Gilbert, who had finished an arts degree, despite being dumped by his girlfriend, and now treated all holidays with disgust. To get him out of his funk, Kol persuaded him to come out and party with him, he clocked off at 9pm.
Resident, Liam walked the hallways of the hospital with eager couples hanging off his spiel. He wished he was at home, beer in hand, rather than working New Year's Eve, but he needed the money. 'The hospital will donate 25 million dollars to the first couple who has a baby on New Year's Eve. Sign this, and you can't check in 'til tonight,' he recited.
Damon Salvatore turned to his heavily pregnant wife, Bonnie Salvatore, with paperwork and pen in hand. Two girls beneath the age of five hung around his knees, carrying Mr and Mrs Cuddles, bows in their bobs. He kissed Bonnie's forehead, professing, 'We're going to win the money!'
Bonnie sat in the waiting room, one hand on her stomach, the other beckoning her girls to sit, pulling pencils and paper from her overnight bag. She was always prepared, Damon smiled. The girls sat down and began to draw. 'Of course, we are,' Bonnie said. 'This baby is due tonight,' she smiled.
Another couple waited opposite, a man in a red and white football jersey, with the number 1, and surname, Lockwood, who held hands with his fiancé, Elena Gilbert, her surname sounded familiar. Ah, yes, 'Gilbert' as in Grayson Gilbert, the Surgeon who delivered her first two daughters, Bonnie remembered.
"What money?" Tyler asked, intrigued.
He had a scholarship but having access to 25 million dollars could ensure a lifetime of happiness.
"25 million dollars," Damon repeated. "To the first baby born on New Year's Eve."
Tyler raised his eyebrows at Elena, as if to say, we could be in the running.
Damon noticed, and narrowed his eyes.
"It's ours," he warned, taking a threatening step forward, teeth clenched.
"Game on," Tyler retorted, snatching up a form.
Elena gasped through her contraction, gripping the chair's arm for comfort.
Nine months had passed and soon they would have a little kid running around Mystic Falls.
25 million dollars, and all that stood between them and it, were one couple, Elena gasped.
Bonnie had been through the experience twice before and remembered how scary it had been the first time. She smiled at Elena, who wiped sweat from her forehead.
"Oh, it's on," Elena hissed at Bonnie.
Bonnie bent over her chair to pull a crayon out of her two-year old's mouth.
"What's on?" she asked, confused, scanning the room for a television set.
Jeremy Gilbert climbed from his bed, hair unkempt, scratching the stubble on his cheeks.
Time stood still, but days had passed into weeks – he knew because his mail had grown from a small wad to a big one, and Kol, must have disturbed it when he'd left that morning, forcing it to become an avalanche of comics, bills and magazines stretching as far as the living room.
His empty beers from his last Netflix binge remained on the table.
The answering machine blinked with new messages, and his cell had 26 missed calls, most of them from numbers he didn't recognise, and 16 from Kol.
Jesus Christ.
He moved to the kitchen where he poured himself a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and thought about going back to bed. It had been three months since his girlfriend, Liv Parker dumped him, and maybe he should move on, but he'd put everything into that relationship.
Christmas had come and gone – Elena and her fiancé were due to have their baby soon, and he should be happy, he should be over the moon to be an uncle, but their happiness irked him because that should have been his life, his future. He was angry Liv left him to follow her dreams, and he took it out on them, he knew he was being a dick, but he couldn't help it.
Love sucked him dry of aspirations until he was an empty shell – he could not draw, he could not move - the sound of Liv's laughter between his pillows as he tickled her rang in his ears; sometimes he could still smell her coconut body wash left on his sheets; her lips ghosted his neck and he buried his anguish in beers until he passed out night after night.
Reverend Markos Bennett beamed at the couple before him, having read the formalities of the wedding, he added with a bit of flair 'You may give kisses to the misses!'
Stefan Salvatore grinned and pulled his bride into their first kiss as husband and wife, dipping her just a little, one hand supporting her back, and the other against her neck.
Elijah Mikaelson stood as best man to the couple's wedding, and only witness. His black Armani tuxedo and white scarf stuck out like a sore thumb, but Elijah's nobility and wealth weren't in question. He had driven five hours to Pittsburgh from New York – and that was dedication.
"For Better or For Worse, I can see why Stefan's crazy about you," he said to Davina Claire.
Davina grinned, and leaned her head against Stefan's shoulder, white daisies in her hair.
"So, big speech tonight?" Stefan inquired, hugging his wife's waist.
"Yep, been preparing it for a year," Elijah sighed.
"What about that girl? The one you met last year?" Davina remembered.
"She's probably long gone," Elijah pocketed his hands, and left the church, frost biting his nose.
He got into his car and turned on the engine, typing the address into his GPS.
"There's someone out there for you too, go and get her!" Stefan yelled after him.
Elijah rolled his eyes, and accelerated through the snow, skidding on the first corner and crashing his Audi into a barn, scaring the chickens. Karma was a bitch. Luckily, Davina called in a favour to have his car fixed by her friend, Aiden, whilst he got a lift back to town from Mr Bennett's distant relatives: Lucy, Bree, Emily, and Jonas.
Elijah didn't care how he got back, as long as they didn't stop.
He had planned to keep his business to himself, but Emily Bennett had other ideas. She wanted to hear all about his lost romance, despite Elijah's claims it was in the past.
"Everybody knows, True Love Stories never end," Emily pressed.
Caroline Forbes stood overseeing her sous chefs, Matt and Gia, preparing her entrees and mains.
"This is our first A-List party, we cannot mess this up," she warned, tasting her creations and delegating jobs to her other staffers. "Make sure we have all the booze on this list, and that the vegetarian dish only has a small pinch of salt. I want the steak to be medium-rare and remember the cranberry red-wine jus needs to be thicker than normal, I want only the best."
Gia had paid attention to most of Caroline's speech, until her gaze fell on Klaus Mikaelson's trailer out the window - she had a soft spot for musicians. His charming smirk and mischievous blue eyes captured the heart of millions, not just Caroline Forbes' – although she'd deny it now.
"We have Esther Mikaelson to impress, and yes, I'm slightly nervous, but I need this job, and she was kind enough to take me on despite her son leaving me at the altar for his World Tour." Caroline stared at the poster on the kitchen door, then without a flicker of emotion continued on her way.
Gia knew deep down, there was a hole in her heart which only Klaus could fill.
Klaus Mikaelson was on his last leg of a World Tour which had taken him hostage for the past year. He'd travelled to great cities, London, Paris, Tokyo, Sydney, and met some great people along the way. He strummed his guitar, changing chords and experimenting with lyrics. He'd tried to write new material: apologies to his sweetheart, his almost wife, and let the words roll off his tongue.
Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good
Sweet Caroline
I believe they never could
Regret filled his lungs, and hints of his past life could be seen in photographs.
His daughter, Hope Mikaelson from birth to teen; grown up before his eyes.
His brothers and sisters at various family functions; Rebekah, Elijah and Kol.
Hayley Marshall, his first love, best friend and mother of Hope.
Caroline Forbes, and her smile which lit up the room.
Sweet Caroline
Kol's phone rang as he climbed a flight of stairs. He answered, hearing Jeremy's fake apology.
"Come on, Jeremy, it's midnight on NYE! We're obligated to do something! Don't be such a grump! I'm going to find something so epic that you won't be able to say no!" Kol hung up before his best friend could argue and noticed Wes Maxfield's EA squinting at a list raised above her nose.
"Working on those resolutions, huh?" Kol asked, causing Camille to stuff it beneath a pile of invoices.
"No!" she sounded affronted.
"Okay," Kol changed the subject. "I have a package for Wes-."
Camille cut him off. "Do you work here?" she shot, making Kol sigh.
He saw suspicion in her narrowed eyes. "No, I've been delivering packages here for about a year, think this is the first time you've ever looked me in the eye." Camille took the package and opened it with a pretty serious letter opener that made Kol take a few steps back, in case she decided to use it on him.
She pulled out two square cards without even a glimmer of excitement.
"Wow! The Gala Ball! That's a hot ticket! It's amazing. They got the best food, the best music. They got so many single girls and it's a masquerade, so you don't even have to really worry about their faces. You kind of just, you know, use your imagination, man. I'd give my left b- well, maybe next year." Kol trailed off into nothingness when Camille returned his digital signature pad to his chest.
She put the two invites into her in-tray.
The courier looked disappointed, but bid her a good night, and left to deliver his next parcel.
Riley Flanigan, a boy of fifteen, with a charming smile, walked up to Hope, eyes sparkling.
"Hi Hope, you good? Good. I'm going to see you at the Ball drop, right?" he asked.
They'd exchanged looks all year, and hung out to study, but this was a big deal, it was New Years, and everybody knew what happened when the Ball dropped at midnight.
"Hi, yeah," Hope beamed, hearing Lizzie and Josie giggling at their Waffle House table.
Hope waved Riley and his friends off and sat down to finish studying.
"You're so going to kiss Riley tonight!" Josie grinned, applying cherry chapstick.
"I know how to kiss, it's not a big deal," Hope answered, butterflies in her stomach.
"What about your mum, what's she doing?" Lizzie asked, twirling her hair between her fingers.
Hope sighed, "Probably getting ready for a night in, watching the Ball Drop."
Josie returned to her books, "Good luck," she said, as Hope thought of an excuse.
"Anyone who can, please help Matt and Gia unload the truck?" Caroline called, crossing things from her list. There were only a few crates worth of champagne and flutes, and then she'd concentrate on finishing the dishes and preparing the truffles.
"Hey," Klaus had entered her kitchen, a smirk plastered on his face, like in the poster hanging above the kitchen door. It was uncanny. "It's good to see you, Caroline!"
How dare he walk back into her life.
"Get out," Caroline warned, anger bubbling in her chest and veins.
"I needed to see you, needed to explain, since you never took my calls," he began.
Caroline gripped the bench to steady herself from flying at him like a possessed being, memories of their last encounter fresh in her mind. She had been in agony when he left her for his World Tour – how could he expect her after everything, to just resume where they'd left off?
"You walked out on me, Klaus! You chose your music career over your own wife! You don't get to do this to me on the biggest night of my career. Get out."
Klaus did not, as Caroline wished, disappear from her life, like he had a year ago. Instead, he raised his hands in some 'hear me out' position and ignored her warning.
"I tried to call you, you never called me back! I left you tickets, you never showed up." He was only a metre away, and Caroline felt hot tears burning her mascara clad eyelashes. "Talk to me, dammit, just talk to me. How can I fix this, us?" he pleaded.
She raised her head, tears dripping freely now, and clenched her jaw, hearing him out, but only to reject his claims of forgiveness. She had suffered, and now, no more.
Never again.
"What, because it's New Year's Eve, you want another shot at it? You walked out on me, Klaus, I think that says it all. You know, I didn't even get to make you dinner, or unpack the groceries." Caroline shook her head and left, the capsicum rolled from the bench, forgotten in her escape.
Hayley Marshall sewed Victorian costumes ready for Broadway, deep in her memories.
Hope wasn't a baby, she knew that, but it didn't make things any easier on her.
It didn't matter what age Hope would be, as her mother, she would always worry. She'd noticed Riley that year, carrying Hope's books, walking her home, and maybe it was because of her past with Hope's father, but she didn't want Hope to make the same mistakes she had.
Klaus Mikaelson was the ultimate bad boy – he was charming, a musician, and literally a bastard.
He was the reason his family were on the outs.
Esther Mikaelson, sole owner of Ansel Records, had left Klaus' father 15 years ago on domestic abuse claims. Later, lawyers discovered a secret: an affair with CEO, Ansel Lycanthrope, resulting in Klaus' true identity. Mikael, in a rage, shot and killed Ansel, and plead guilty to murder. The Mikaelsons were forever altered: some left town, and others started anew.
Hayley had a soft spot for wounded souls - too much Pinot Noir, and a home cooked meal, resulted in a teen pregnancy. Being pregnant at 17, meant not finishing high school, but she had no regrets – that drunk one-night stand gave her Hope, and a family, even with all the drama.
Just because things didn't work out between her and Klaus, didn't mean they lost touch, strangely, they grew closer and even became friends.
Her love life was non-existent, she had Hope to raise, not to mention a career in Fashion. She would call Klaus now and then, just to listen to his dreams and fears, and offer her advice. They would reminisce about the past, about how their families abandoned them, but mostly, talk about Hope.
It wasn't until Hope's 14th birthday, that Hayley met someone, someone she'd never in a thousand years thought she'd have feelings for. It just happened, completely out of the blue. They'd met, in downtown Brooklyn, at a Jazz bar, and shared a pizza and champagne. He was dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, hair askew, that familiar charming grin mesmerising her.
Like Klaus, he was musically gifted, playing some jazz piece on piano, like Sam from Casablanca. ('Play it again, Sam'). The music lifted her spirits after a stressful day. That night she wasn't Hope's mother, she was whomever she wanted to be. Ingrid Bergman, requesting as time goes by… But he and Klaus hadn't spoken in more than a decade, and he was still Hope's Uncle.
It was complicated.
Maybe all they both needed was to let go of the past.
Hayley pricked her finger with the needle and sucked the blood from her finger.
"Hope spent last New Years on tour with her dad, so it'll be just us watching It's a Wonderful Life and pigging out on jellybeans and pop-tarts," she explained to Keelin, who sat darning a pair of plus fours. "You?" she asked her friend.
"Same, you know, Freya, she'll finish her shift at the hospital and want a long bath, I'll probably be asleep on the couch by the time she comes home," Keelin joked.
Hayley smiled, "Well there's always room for you at ours, if you don't mind pop-tarts and a slobber from our Wolfhound, Sherlock," Hayley laughed, as Keelin contemplated the idea.
Rebekah heard voices inside her ear-piece. Planning the NYC ball drop was stressful because there was a new mayor to please. This one drove around in Limos, and smelled like French Perfume, still, Rebekah had promised everything would go to plan.
"Don't just dump them! Float them in the wind! They should be magical," she yelled into her microphone as she supervised the release of confetti. She had been on the go all day, having completed a television interview and realised she had worn the wrong shoes.
"Vincent," Rebekah hugged her friend. "Thought you were with your family tonight?" she smiled.
"I knew you needed me," he squeezed her. "I made you a coffee and saved you a donut."
She stepped out of their hug and took a grateful sip from the steaming mug.
"Thank you, what would I do without you?" she whispered.
"I don't know, but I do know tonight will be brilliant!" Vincent smiled.
Rebekah held the mug in both hands, warming herself.
"I hope so, because my job is on the line."
She had bitten into the cinnamon donut when a car pulled alongside her with tinted black windows and engine humming. The window opened, revealing the mayor, dark-hair in a pony-tail, with vibrant red lipstick, and wineglass in hand. She wore a black, tailored suit, and gave Rebekah chills up the back of her spine when she spoke in a terse voice:
"Miss Mikaelson, I do hope you realise how important this night is, for the both of us," she said, "If everything goes to plan, you could progress onwards as my personal assistant, if not, I will ensure you will never work in New York again. I suppose you should be told, Lorenzo St. John, the creator and designer of this year's ball, has been fired, any questions relating to the function of the 3000 light bulbs will now fall to you. Do not fail me," Isobel Saltzman warned.
Rebekah lifted her chin, a smile planted firmly on her face – why Enzo had been fired, she was not given the luxury of knowing, however, she would not cave to the pressure. Tonight, would be the best New Year's ever, and not because Isobel was mayor, but because tonight, Rebekah had magic on her side.
Camille perused the internet, stopping her mouse on a bungalow in Mystic Falls.
Pulling open her desk drawer, she pulled out an envelope, and smiled - having bought herself a ticket to the retreat in advance. The phone had not rung in ten minutes. She made a face, shut her drawer with her knee, and hid the envelope beneath her keyboard. She stood up and knocked on her Mr Maxfield's door, hoping to get an end of year bonus.
He had the television on in the background, a woman in her mid-twenties was being interviewed about the Ball drop wearing a navy pin-striped suit, and joggers. Mr Maxfield barely lifted his head and continued to stare at his computer screen. She thought he must be writing an important email, it didn't occur to her, he was playing solitaire and hadn't even thought of writing her a cheque.
Camille brought up the bonus, who scribbled an amount for her - but sadly, it was nothing like she expected, and the devastation at such a tiny amount hit her hard. It took a few minutes before she regained her voice.
"You see, sir, I already booked a two-week vacation..." Camille whispered.
"Two weeks! I can't do without you for two weeks! You can take one week," he exclaimed.
"I almost died today, sir." Camille looked over the portraits on his walls, the Mikaelson family.
She'd been in that office constantly delivering mail, filing and editing contracts – the more she studied them, realization dawned. She had met two of them, Elijah Mikaelson, the gentleman who offered her his hand only that morning, and the courier who had been so keen to win her tickets to the ball – she'd never taken the time to see what was truly in front of her.
She had been so self-absorbed with her deteriorating life that real life had passed her by.
She stared at the cheque in her trembling hands and decided to put herself first for once.
"Well, in that case, sir. I quit." Camille ripped up the cheque, feeling rebellious.
"You're not quitting, you can't, I need you. Get me a coffee?"
Camille didn't answer, disorientated and suffocating from being underappreciated.
The phone rang. She told them to hold, then threw the phone across the room - it was exhilarating. She unplugged it, packed her stapler into an empty box, and picked up the two tickets Kol Mikaelson had been so excited about – she glanced at her list and read the first one: Quit my job.
She grabbed her envelope, and walked out, carrying her bag tightly against her chest.
April, at the front desk, had already left for the night.
Caroline pelted tomatoes at the poster of Klaus on the kitchen door, each splat gave her a small amount of satisfaction. A twinge in the back of her mind bugged her, reminding her she was wasting a perfectly ripe piece of fruit – but the need to let go of her pent-up anger was stronger.
"I hated him for leaving me like that! And then he just shows up on the biggest night of my career, what kind of karma is that?" Matt ducked whilst whipping a mousse in the crook of his arm as Gia handed Caroline the tomatoes one by one.
"You're in love with Klaus, or that you're throwing the biggest party in the city?"
"ARGH!" Caroline threw a handful of tomatoes at his smirking poster.
"Can I do one?" Gia pointed at the eggs, minding their own business. "Are they expensive eggs?"
"They feel good," Caroline said, pulling hair from her mouth.
SPLAT.
Gia grimaced, and Matt resumed his standing position by the bench, with some relief.
"Oh, that was a terrible throw," Caroline said, whilst Gia laughed.
"Hold the elevator!" A 17-year-old girl with dark wavy hair, red lipstick and coat dashed into the lift.
"I'm going down," Jeremy grunted.
"Me too," she gazed at the decorations in his hands with a distracted look.
"Yeah, I tore down the decorations, violating lease," he explained, following her gaze.
"Not my decorations," the girl pushed the down button repeatedly.
"Hey, you're the new girl from 5B?" Jeremy noticed, dropping the decorations into a garbage bag.
The elevator was one of those vintage ones with a grate between the doors. It had only just pinged when suddenly the elevator made a crank noise and froze. He was used to it, the elevator was built in the 1800s, and he had nowhere to be, but the girl was, just like everybody else, on her way to celebrate, no doubt.
"No, no, no, no, this can't be happening, I have somewhere to be!" she pulled out her cell.
"Doesn't work. No reception," Jeremy pointed to his useless phone from his pocket.
"How are you not more panicked right now?" she demanded, grabbing the elevator phone. "Hello, this is 5B, I'm stuck in this elevator, I'm going to be late for work!" she yelled into the receiver.
Jeremy smirked, suddenly his night had gotten a lot more interesting.
Freya Mikaelson stood in the ward, with Elena and Tyler, discussing their birth-plans.
"Labour could be any day now, will you be having a natural childbirth, or hypno-birth?"
Tyler and Elena exchanged agreed upon looks.
"We were both thinking we could slot in a c-section?" Tyler suggested.
"-Like tonight-ish?" Elena suggested.
Freya sighed, seeing through their urgency, she was not stupid. "I will not schedule a c-section so you can win the 25 thousand dollars. The couple before you wanted to split the money, 50/50."
Tyler interjected, "What about 70/30?" Elena put a defeated hand on her fiancé's arm.
"You are close to a rectal exam," Freya warned Tyler.
Hayley Mikaelson descended the stairs of the train station, with Hope in tow.
The subject of attending the Ball Drop, had arisen, and Hayley attempted to persuade her daughter to stay in, with her, and not attend the crowded square.
"I'm just not comfortable in allowing you to stay in Time Square alone, I'm sorry, end of-."
Hope let out a frustrated growl, "-discussion, I know!" she stopped on the stairwell, fingers on the seam of her singlet-top. "I'm fifteen, this is not a training bra!" she raised her shirt, flashing everyone passing by and receiving wolf whistles.
"-Hope!' Hayley hissed, worried for her daughter's sanity as well as safety.
"Look mum, the world doesn't scare me, I want to start living in it, you used to!"
The distance between mother and daughter grew like a train leaving a platform.
Hope was right, Hayley was scared, scared of change.
Mikael lay in the hospital with a scratchy blanket pulled up to his chin. His doctor, Meredith Fell had checked his vitals and made sure he was comfortable, knowing he didn't have long to live. She poured him a glass of water, leaving it on the swivel table to the side of his bed.
"Are you sure I can't get you anything, Mikael?"
The frail man's eyes brightened in response.
"I've been hanging on, so I can see the ball drop one more time." Meredith hastened to turn on the television. "I want to watch it outside, please-"
She sighed. "-I'm sorry, it's against hospital policy to allow anyone on the roof." Mikael rolled over onto his side, falling silent. "Just call out if you need anything, or press the buzzer by your bed, okay?" she heard a muffled grunt, and closed his door, bumping into another nurse.
"How's he doing?" Sara asked, playing with her hair-tie on her wrist.
"I'm not sure he'll make it through the night," Meredith sighed. "Doing anything special tonight?"
"I have a date after my shift," Sara admitted.
"Promise me, you'll check on Mikael periodically through the night? I'm sure he'd enjoy the company."
Sara nodded and went to make them some tea to get them through the next few hours.
"You just promise me you make it to your date before midnight," Vincent reminded her.
Rebekah gripped her pen, shaking her head.
"I should never have told you that." Rebekah continued to mumble. "He won't even remember."
Vincent raised his eyes to the sky and saw the 3000 flashing coloured balls of light above.
"Don't you owe it to yourself, to try?" he shrugged, the voice of reason.
Rebekah heard a clunk, then several of the lights sizzled and turned off.
The ball had stopped moving.
"No, no, no! What is that? This can't be happening."
As she rushed off in the other direction, Vincent yelled after her.
"You'll fix it, you always do!" Then he pulled out a pack of cards, overturned an empty garbage bin, and invited his sergeant, Diego, to a game of 'Go Fish', knowing Rebekah would make things right again.
A/N: This is such a crack!y fic, I'm developing new otps as I type. I'm rewatching TVD and soon TO, so I HAVE FEELS. This fic has been in the back of my mind for years. Nat – I'm having so much fun writing this, can you tell? Paris – enjoy Tylena asdfghjkl! To my other readers – who's your fav ship so far? If you haven't seen the movie, I highly recommend it. It's up there with Love Actually x