So Elena has once again played the hero, offering herself up to Klaus like a sacrificial lamb (her martyr complex is a bit annoying, isn't it?). In TVD she has a backbone, but she rarely gets to make her own decisions, constantly overridden by those pesky Salvatores (props for trying to protect her, but come on, guys, let the poor girl think for herself), so you only get a hint of the strength she possesses. So I decided to play on that, giving her some independence. I don't think this idea is too out of character for her. Let me know what you think, whether you disagree/agree, like it/don't like it, etc.
Thanks for all the reviews on the first chapter!
Now for a little Elejah interaction.
00000000000000000000000000000000
Dear Damon,
…Elena stopped, her eyes welling with tears. She had not let herself cry over the past few hours; she'd come straight home from the Mikaelson mansion and had immediately gone upstairs and shut herself in her room, locking the door, to begin writing her letters.
Somehow her letter to Damon proved to be the hardest to write. She knew what she had to say to Jeremy, to Caroline, to Bonnie, to Alaric, to Matt; even Stefan's was easy, words flowing from her pen like water. But the issue of what message to leave the eldest Salvatore weighed on her mind more than the others. Perhaps it was because her relationship with him was the hardest to define.
She left the piece of paper on her vanity, which she was using as a desk, and went to take a shower. She let her mind go blank as the water washed over her, washing away any doubts and firming her resolve.
This had to be done.
Stepping from the shower she towel-dried her body and hair and wrapped the fluffy white towel around her, tucking in the top to secure it. She opened the door to her bedroom and stepped out, steam escaping; she imagined she was that steam, rising into the air effortlessly before evaporating into nothing.
She froze. The window was open and Elijah sat on the foot of her bed, elbows resting on his knees and chin propped on his folded hands. He wore no tie, she noticed, and noted the small white scar that adorned the hollow between his collarbones. She saw something flash across his dark eyes when he took in her apparel, or lack thereof, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. She expected him to look away, but to her surprise he did not, only cleared his throat softly.
"Hi."
She could think of nothing else to say. She did not have the energy to string a sentence together.
"Hi," he replied gently. He cleared his throat again, obviously at a loss for words. "I, uh, I came to see how you were doing."
It was the first time she had seen Elijah hesitate between words. He seemed so unsure of himself. Her eyes flickered to the letter that sat apart from those she had written to her friends, still open on her desk.
Carry it with you, as I will carry my regret.
She sat down at her vanity and picked it up, clutching it in her trembling hands, before re-folding it and sticking it in between the pages of her diary.
"I'm fine," she replied, trying to keep her tone light. "But thank you." She met his eyes through the mirror and tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace.
He said nothing, merely sat there, staring at her. She picked up her hairbrush and began combing through her damp hair. She stared at the bags under her eyes, captivated by the wan pallor of her usually bright olive skin. This was what stress did to her. Perhaps, now that she was going away and ensuring the safety of her friends and family, some of that stress would ease. Perhaps it would give her some relief. She was tired of living in constant fear and anxiety.
She hadn't realized how violently her hands had begun to tremble until she dropped her brush. It clattered to the floor. She stared at it.
A wretched sob tore through her body, taking her by surprise. Once it started, she could not make it stop – it was like a floodgate had been lifted, and her emotion washed over her like a tidal wave.
They were not the delicate tears that women shed in movies, accompanied by glistening eyes and a quivering chin; they were ugly, heaving sobs that racked her body with such force she had to wrap her arms around herself to keep from shaking apart. Tears leaked out of closed, squinted eyes and streaked down her face. She could taste the saltiness on her tongue, feel them slide down past her chin to her neck. But worst of all was the noise: try as she might, she could not stop the miserable cries that pushed up through her chest.
It was the sound of heartbreak.
Finally her weeping began to subside, tapering off into pitiful whimpers that sounded pathetic to her own ears. She swiped at her cheeks impatiently, willing the tears to stop.
She started as Elijah stood from the bed; she'd forgotten the handsome Original's presence up until then. Her cheeks flamed in embarrassment. She had not intended for anyone to see her like this – him least of all.
He shed his suit jacket, laying it neatly on her bed, then grabbed a box of tissues from her nightstand and strode over to stand behind her, setting it gently on the vanity in front of her.
It was a small act of kindness, seemingly inconsequential…but he would never know how grateful she was for it in that moment, how much comfort it brought her.
When she was finished dabbing at her tears and blowing her nose, he bent to pick up her hairbrush and, instead of giving it back to her, began to tenderly brush her hair.
She should have been resistant to this great invasion of the clearly defined boundaries between them, but the feel of his hands smoothing down her hair soothed her, and she found comfort and security in the closeness of his body. The backs of his hands brushed the nape of her neck and his knuckles skimmed over her ears as he continued to run the brush through her long dark hair. Her eyes closed of their own volition.
"So I assume 'fine' is code for 'an overwhelmed and emotional wreck'?"
A bubble of laughter rose in her chest and escaped, and the feeling had a fresh wave of tears falling from her eyes. She chuckled. She'd always heard there was a fine line between laughter and tears – now she was personally acquainted with it.
"Yes, I suppose it is," she replied shakily. He stilled and set the hairbrush down. His hands squeezed her shoulders. She met his eyes and her chin quivered. "I'm so sorry, Elijah."
It was a simple apology at face value, but it encompassed so much more; it was an apology for everything that had ever transpired between them. Every broken promise, every shaky truce, every botched negotiation, every betrayal…every emotion-filled look of longing, every brush of the shoulder, every suggestive comment made in jest, every shared connection. Every desire towards him she wasn't supposed to have; every feeling that should have been reserved for someone else.
"Me, too," he replied gently, his eyes soft and full of understanding when they met hers. Nothing else needed to be said. His thumbs ghosted over the backs of her shoulders. His hands were so large compared to her, and they dwarfed her slim shoulders.
He cleared his throat. "Perhaps your letter to Mr. Salvatore can wait until morning?" he pressed.
"Yes, perhaps it should," she sighed, her eyes downcast. "I'm so…tired."
His hands squeezed her shoulders again. This time, partially out from under the thumb of her grief, she felt butterflies jump around in her stomach. She couldn't help but be aware of how close he was: the back of her head brushed against his taut stomach and his hands were warm against her skin. She thought she saw that mysterious flash in his eyes again – an emotion she could not place – but it was gone in the next moment, and they were back to their cool, steady brown.
"I can't imagine why," he said with a teasing smirk. She smiled back; this time it did reach her eyes, if only a little.
He pulled the chair back for her and she stood, immediately moving towards her bed. She was so emotionally exhausted that she did not bother with pajamas, merely pulled the covers back and crawled into bed in her towel. If Elijah was surprised by this he did not show it – she supposed that very little surprised him, after a thousand years – and he slipped his suit jacket back on, stepped over to turn off her lamp, and walked quietly to the window.
"Goodnight, Elena," he whispered into the darkness. "I'll be back at noon tomorrow to pick you up."
"Okay," she mumbled, already half asleep. "Elijah?"
He hesitated. "Yes, sweet Elena?"
"Will you stay until I fall asleep?"
She wasn't sure what had possessed her to ask, but his presence was so warm, so comforting, and she wanted to drift off into dreamland with that feeling surrounding her.
She heard the snick of the window being locked, heard him sit on the window seat. She turned over to see him close the curtains and settle forward with his elbows on his knees. She could only make out his outline, his form cast in shadow; it suited him – he was a creature of the night, after all. He did not say a word; his silence spoke volumes.
She smiled into her pillow and drifted off to sleep, the weight of the world, at least temporarily, lifting from her shoulders.
00000000000000000000000000000000
He was not there when she woke, but a single daffodil lay in the sunlight on her window seat. There was no way he could have known daffodils were her favorite flowers, of course – they were simply everywhere this time of year, including in her neighbor's front yard – but it made her heart leap all the same.
She smiled, brought it to her nose, and then pressed it into the pages of her diary.
0000000000000000000000000000000000
Short chapter, I know, and not very fulfilling, but writer's block has been sort of crampin' my style lately. I felt like I needed to add a taste of the reality of Elena's situation and the grief she must be facing – her life really just sort of sucks right now, to be honest. Who wouldn't want to break down and cry a little?
I also wanted to set up base camp, so to speak, in the relationship between the two of them, before she leaves Mystic Falls and goes jaunting across the world with the Original Disfunctional Family. You can definitely sense the romance there – I feel like Elena and Elijah have never been just "friends" or "allies," even on the show; there is always this tense energy between them and she seems to bring out long-dead emotions in him – but it's still overshadowed by the stress of their situation and the loss she's experiencing.
Plus, this isn't one of those fics where she just completely forgets about Stefan and Damon…let's be real, they were a huge part of her life for a while, and she still loves them very much. So while this thing with Elijah is definitely stirring, she isn't just going to jump into bed with him and live happily ever after. That's not generally how life works. Although it would be nice, wouldn't it?
If I had the chance to get Elijah Mikaelson a.k.a. Daniel Gillies into my bed, I wouldn't hesitate…but we all know that Elena Gilbert has some issues and makes some whacko decisions. Eventually she'll see the light. ;)
Alllllllrighty then! Onwards we go!
