Hello, my lovely readers. Now, that the mid-season finale has aired I'm feeling grief for the character of Rebekah Mikaelson due to the uncertainty of whether Claire Holt will be returning so this is the best time to turn to FF. I hope you enjoy this chapter. On with the show and have a happy and safe holiday season…
Chapter 3: Family Ties
Digging her feet into the deep carpet of her apartment, Rebekah sat down with a glass of white wine. She was determined to relax. Sitting on her couch, she curled her feet beneath her and picked up a file. Elijah had offered her second chair on a murder trial and she was preparing, turning on her iPod, she bobbed her head, listening to the newest song that Marcel and Caroline had recorded. It was great. As always.
Smiling to herself, Rebekah sipped her wine and began to feel her eyelids dropping slowly closed when the phone rang. "Blue tie or green," Klaus demanded and Rebekah shook her head.
"What?" Rebekah muttered, staring at the ceiling.
"This is important, Bekah," Klaus snapped into the phone. "I need to know which one."
"Which one what?" Rebekah replied, feeling her eyelids begin to droop again.
"Bloody hell, Bekah. The damn tie," Klaus yelled into the phone, causing Rebekah to drop it and rub her ear.
"Bekah? Are you drunk?" Klaus demanded and Rebekah closed her eyes, rubbing the skin gently. She needed to get a full eight hours sleep. The last time that had happened was when she was still living with their parents. "Bekah?" Klaus called. "I'm sorry. I'm simply nervous. Caroline has agreed to accompany me to a showing at the museum and I want to look my best. Please, Bekah. This is important to me."
"The blue," Rebekah told him. "It will bring out your eyes. Now, tell me, Nik, how did you blackmail the poor girl into a date?"
Hearing her brother growl, Rebekah giggled, "I did not blackmail Caroline into anything. She called me. Apparently she was planning on attending this event with a young man who called her at the last minute to cancel. Therefore I am helping her, sister."
"Oh, and did you have anything to do with this other man calling off the date?" Rebekah asked.
"What? Bekah, why would you think such a thing?" Klaus' voice was dripping with his typical smugness that made Rebekah want to reach through the phone and hit him over the head.
Laying down on the couch, Rebekah stretched her legs out. "Nik, why do you have to manipulate other peoples' lives?"
"Because I have no soul," Klaus replied with a chuckle. "I will see you tomorrow. Or not. I may be late to work. Good night, love."
"Goodnight, Nik," Rebekah replied. "Be nice to Caroline. I like her."
"I will," Klaus called before hanging up.
Rolling onto her side, Rebekah started to go to sleep when someone hit her buzzer and she hoped a serial killer stabbed them before she got to the door. One way or another she would get some shut eye even if she had to kill every last person she knew. Klaus would be her defense attorney and see to it that she got the lightest sentence possible. Knowing Nik she would get away with murder. That was the only thing that bothered her about the job. Well, not the only thing.
"Hello," Rebekah called into the intercom.
"Rebekah," Marcel called and Rebekah wondered how in the hell he knew where she lived. She had not given him the address.
"Just a moment," Rebekah called. She began to look around her apartment. Clad only in a tiny white slip that barely covered anything, she ran over to her bedroom and picked up a long black robe. Pulling it on, she hurried back to the door and buzzed Marcel up. Opening the door, she leaned against the doorframe. "Hi, is there something wrong?"
Marcel looked surprised by her greeting. "No. I wanted to thank you for what a great job you've been doing for me and Caroline. We've been trying for so long to break into the business. Your firm has really helped us."
"That's lovely," Rebekah replied. "But you could have sent the fruit basket to the office."
"Fruit basket," Marcel began to laugh before he held up a bag of coffee from Rebekah's little café. He also had a bag in the other hand.
"What is in there?" Rebekah asked, eying the bag curiously.
"Are you going to invite me in?" Marcel replied with that grin that made her want to jerk him inside the apartment and not let him out for a week.
"What's in the bag?" Rebekah retorted. He just shook his head. Reaching out, she tried to grab it but he held it away from her. Sighing, she waved him inside. Taking the bag as he walked in, she smiled at the brownie that she would ordinarily never eat. There were far too many calories in these things. How in the world Hayley managed to eat one a week and still fit in her clothes Rebekah would never know.
Hearing her coffee maker and water being turned on, Rebekah walked into the kitchen and leaned against the wall. "You're making coffee? You do know that it is nine in evening, don't you?"
"Yes, M'am," Marcel replied with a deep accent that sounded like it came from the southern part of the country.
"And you want us to be up all night?" Rebekah inquired, pulling the brownie out and sliding the plastic off slowly. Looking at Marcel, she took a piece of the chocolate and stuck it in her mouth. Savoring the flavor, she moaned causing Marcel to glance in her direction.
Grinning at Rebekah, Marcel's eyes scanned her body, making her realize that she had not tied the belt of the robe. "I suppose there are ways of putting someone to sleep no matter how much coffee they've ingested."
"Yes," Rebekah told him, setting the brownie down on the counter, she walked past him. "Or we could talk." Walking into her bedroom, Rebekah locked the door and then slid the robe and slip off. Pulling on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater she walked back into the kitchen.
Marcel looked up and grinned at her. "Message received. You know you could have just done this ten years ago and then we would have been married years ago with a couple of cute kids and a mortgage."
"I knew that you remembered me," Rebekah shook her head, smiling. "And you are an incredibly arrogant man. Being married to you would be like being married to Nik."
"Except I'm not related to you," Marcel replied while pouring her a cup of coffee. "And you would love being married to me."
"Why?" Rebekah called from her position on the couch.
"Because I would treat you like a queen," Marcel told her as he handed her the steaming cup. "I would listen to your horror stories from the office and rub your aching feet at night."
"Oh," Rebekah began to laugh. "Is this what you meant by 'upping your game?' I think I must agree with Caroline, it leaves something to be desired."
"You wound me, Bekah," Marcel placed his hand over his heart and Rebekah began to laugh again. "I think that I will have to keep plying you with coffee and we'll see what you think of my game around three in the morning."
"You won't be here at three in the morning," Rebekah told him, crossing her legs and smiling in spite of her desire to behave. She was flirting with this crazy man who wanted to make her coffee and keep her up all night when she had to get to work in the morning. If she had any sense she would kick him out. He was obviously mentally unhinged. What other excuse was there for his behavior?
Coming over to sit on the other side of the couch, Marcel blew on the top of his own cup of coffee. "Nice place," he murmured, looking around. "And check out the art work. Did it come with the place or was that another gift from a grateful client?" Gazing in the direction of a dark painting of a harsh winter landscape at night, hanging on the wall across from him, Marcel seemed to be considering the work.
"Oh, are you an art critic as well as a singer?" Rebekah inquired lightly, turning her head to contemplate the work herself. It was an odd choice to hang in one's living room but it suited her feelings when she moved in. Most people her age might have hung pictures of their families and friends. Or maybe a poster of someone that she admired. That was not to Rebekah's taste. She preferred to keep this one painting in the room for company to contemplate form time to time.
Marcel spoke up startling Rebekah out of her thoughts. "No, Bekah. I am not an art critic as you put it. I do write songs though. But let's go back to whether I need to have the right credentials to appreciate that painting. Do you have to be a music critic to like my songs?" Rebekah shook her head "no" with a smile. "Yeah, that's what I thought. So, this painting here. It seems like the person that made it was depressed, maybe angry, hurt and confused. Let me guess. You're the painter?" Grinning, Marcel waited for Rebekah to confirm his assumption.
Rebekah could only stare back at him amused by the misconception. Beginning to laugh, she had to sit down her cup of coffee to avoid spilling it on the carpet. "Me? Painting? Oh, you are frightfully silly."
Marcel's face fell. "Back to the first opinion. What grateful client gave it to you?"
"Client?" Rebekah picked up her coffee cup and took a gulp before responding. "Try again."
Slapping his hand on his knee, Marcel seemed genuinely confused. "Did the person sign it?"
"I don't know. Why don't you check?" Rebekah told him with a teasing smile. Getting up, Marcel walked over to the painting. However, he didn't look at the corner of the painting for the name. He began to examine the details of it.
Turning his head, Marcel placed his finger to his lips. "I think I figured it out."
"How? You didn't even look at the name yet," Rebekah got up and walked toward the painting. Maybe the signature was somewhere other than where she remembered it to be.
"Oh, I have my ways of figuring things out," Marcel replied, even after Rebekah came to stand beside him. He did not turn back to take in the name of the painter to confirm his theory.
"So, who is the artist, pray tell?" Rebekah asked him, watching the way that he walked away from her to sit back on the couch.
"Your brother, Klaus," Marcel told her simply. "I should have realized it when you said that you didn't paint it. You and Klaus are a lot alike, you know?"
"Hardly," Rebekah scoffed, coming back to sit down with him. "Nik and I couldn't be farther apart in personality."
Laughing, Marcel sat back and propped his head up with his hand. "Oh, Bekah. Are you that unaware of what you're like?"
Narrowing her eyes at Marcel, Rebekah got up. Taking a look at her clock, she frowned, "Look at the time. It's midnight. I have to go to work in the morning. I suppose that we will have to call it a night. Such a shame." Hearing the sarcasm in her voice, Rebekah felt a momentary pang of regret, although she knew she was right in what she was doing.
Sitting up straight, Marcel sighed, "I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that for all your arguing I can tell how much the two of you care for each other. It's nice. I always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling."
"You don't have any siblings?" Rebekah asked him, relaxing slightly but she refused to sit back down.
"Not growing up. No," Marcel told her. "But my Mom started to take in kids when I was about sixteen. She would see a lot of kids 'slipping through the cracks' as she put it and wanted to keep them off the streets. I took a part time job to help with the money."
"Is that how you know Davina?" Rebekah inquired, remembering the way that the girl had reacted when they met.
"Yes and no," Marcel shook his head looking at the floor, his expression clouding over. "One night I was walking home from work. It was pretty late and I heard the sounds of screaming from the cemetery. You never knew what kind of freaky stuff could be going on in there at night but the girl sounded young. Real young. So, I ran inside and found this woman had cut the throat of this young girl. The woman ran off and I rushed over to the girl and took off my jacket. Wrapping it around the girl's throat, I carried her to the hospital which was about six blocks away. The girl was lucky that she didn't bleed out on the way there. I found out later that her mother was the woman who hurt her. So, I talked my mother into taking her in."
"The girl was Davina. Wasn't she?" Rebekah asked, wrapping her arms around her waist and sitting down because her legs were shaking. She did not know that much about her employee. Now, she knew why the girl kept to herself.
"Yes, she was. It happened when she was twelve. I left four years later but we bonded like family. I think of her like she's my sister," Marcel said quietly.
Shaking her head, Rebekah tried to take in all this new information. Taking another sip of her coffee, she realized that the cup was empty. Marcel started to get up and make another pot. Holding up a hand, Rebekah stopped him, "I'll take care of it." Walking into the kitchen, she poured water into the pot and coffee into a filter. Leaning against the counter, she yawned. How was she going to concentrate on the case tomorrow and how would she be able to speak with Davina without asking her about what happened when she was a girl.
"Do you mind if I ask you something?" Marcel asked, startling Rebekah.
"Sure," Rebekah replied. "What would you like to know?"
"How in the world did you get the accent? I mean you seem to have a different accent than either of you brothers. Hell, none of you sound alike. At first I thought that you were just pretending to be related," Marcel joked, coming over with his coffee cup and setting it on the counter.
Rebekah brushed her hair behind her ear and thought about how to explain this in a logical manner. It was always odd trying to give a person outside of the family some clue as to why this occurred. "Our Father decided when we were all very young that we would benefit with education in the world outside of our home. According to his own logic that meant that we children should be split up. Elijah was sent to Canada. Finn and Nik were sent to England. Kol and I were sent to Australia. Then one day he decided that we needed to be brought home…"
"What happened that changed your father's mind?" Marcel asked and Rebekah turned off the coffee maker that was beginning to pour out steam.
Feeling tears fill her eyes, Rebekah wiped the moisture away quickly. "My younger brother, Henrik became dreadfully ill. One day he was alive. The next he was not. The day after Father made calls to our schools and the next thing my brothers and I knew we were on a set of airplanes on our way back home."
Sliding an arm around Rebekah's waist, Marcel turned her around, she buried her face in his shirt and began to cry. She hadn't talked to anyone about Henrik in so long she couldn't even remember. "Shush, Bekah. I'm here," Marcel was whispering into her ear.
After a couple of minutes, Rebekah regained her composure and pulled away. Filling her cup and then Marcel's, she walked toward the living room. Taking a seat, Rebekah looked up at Marcel as he came back into the room. "Tell me about how you left home," Rebekah murmured. She simply wanted to take her mind off of her brother's death.
"Hum… Now, that is an interesting story," he said, shaking his head ruefully, Marcel took a sip of his coffee before speaking. "I told you my mother wanted to help keep kids off the street. But one day she realized that I was beginning to try to get into trouble myself. So, I was sent to live with my Aunt in this little town called Mystic Falls"
"That's where Nik's friend, Damon, and his wife, Elena, are from," Rebekah interrupted and then stopped herself from continuing.
Smiling, Marcel nodded, "Yeah, the Salvatores and the Gilberts. How are they doing?"
"Pregnant. Again," Rebekah told him with a laugh.
Marcel chuckled. "Anyway, so my mom sent me to live with my aunt, Liz. She was the Sheriff of the town but she wasn't the one who kept me out of trouble. My cousin, Caroline convinced me to put my energy into music instead of trying to kick people's asses."
"Caroline? As in Caroline Forbes? She's your cousin?" Rebekah's mind was spinning.
"Yup. The one and only. My father was Liz' brother. They didn't get along. My dad was a jerk but my aunt was great. She and my mother always kept in touch even after my dad took off when I was six," Marcel informed Rebekah.
"I thought you were going out," Rebekah exclaimed with a giggle, feeling ridiculous.
"I am so glad you didn't air that opinion in front of Caroline. We may be from the South but that thing about cousins is not how we live. Thank you."
They continued to talk until three in the morning as Marcel had promised while Rebekah felt the urge to make another pot of coffee every hour. It had been some time since she had stayed up all night but something told her that this night would be one well spent.
Thank you for faving, following, reading and/or reviewing.
Answers to reviews:
basicHBKnomics: Hello! Thank you for reviewing. Sadistic vampire would make fantastic lawyers albeit more than lightly frightening so hopefully they're your lawyer rather than the opposing council. We will see Mikael at some point and will see at least one more TVD character in the mix.
Guest: I know. It's so sad and I know that Claire had left with a huge question mark over whether she'll be back I have no idea what Plec and co.'s thoughts for the couple are. :/
ObsessWithElijah: I try and there should be tons of fics about Rebekah. They truly did not give her enough time on TVD or TO when the character was extraordinary. :/
Peace,
Jessica