Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. If I did, a freaking awesome kiss would have been just the beginning...
A/N: I'm so happy you're still with me ...
Thank you so much for your awesome reviews, they always brighten my days. I LOVE to read what you guys think about it!
A bazillion thanks to my amazing beta Kymberleii...:-)
Here it goes...
Enjoy!
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Chapter 10
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Esther carefully lifts her head, only to let it slowly sink back to the ground. It keeps spinning.
With a sigh she turns on her side, pauses for a while, then rolling on her stomach. She determinedly pushes herself onto her hands and knees; trying to ignore the dizzy feeling, she breathes in and out and glides herself into a sitting position. Her head spins like a whirlwind, and she seeks support in her hands to keep it steady and to keep the nausea instantly befalling her at bay. She focuses on slowly breathing in and out. In and out, until the sickness in her stomach ceases.
She looks down at her shoulder; the shirt is torn where the beast has bitten her. (Where her son has bitten her.) She tugs the neckline down to examine the wound, but there isn't one. It's completely healed due to the vampire's blood, and without looking at her ribcage, she knows there will be nothing to see as well. Then why is her head spinning like this?
She lets out a sigh. She simply doesn't know anything about the consequences of a werewolf biting a witch; she's never heard of such an incidence before. But since she's beginning to feel better, she presumes that there isn't any lasting damage to dread.
She leans her head against the wall behind her and closes her eyes in frustration. Speaking of consequences…she already has to deal with the vampire blood in her system. She shudders in disgust at the thought of the thick liquid gushing into her mouth, soaking every inch inside until she couldn't avoid swallowing it down any longer.
She hates them so much, those abominations of nature she has created.
She always has.
She would've preferred to just leave and build a life somewhere else back then, but Mikael was not willing to let go of his pride, and she also hated him for pressing her to perform that fateful ritual.
She knew there'd be a price they had to pay. She hadn't imagined that there would be bloodlust; but she knew that something evil would be around them. She talked herself into believing that they would still be her children. Her beloved children. But deeply buried in her heart she had known they wouldn't.
Her children had been gone the moment Mikael had stabbed them, and they hadn't returned. The monsters that came instead had pretended to be them; but she always knew they were only beasts with a stolen shell to hide in.
However, most of all she hates her weakness, preventing her from undoing the evil when it had still been possible. When she could have killed them without having to harness the power of another witch's bloodline. When it would've sufficed to merge her power with Ayana's to wipe the earth clean of vampires, like Ayana had begged for. When they began to understand the extent of the curse she had brought over the world. But she was paralyzed by horror about the result of her deed until it was too late.
She sighs again. That opportunity was long gone; there was no point in mourning it. She has to focus on her task to atone for her mistake. Unfortunately she can't do anything right now; she can't go back to her cavern or anywhere for that matter. There's too much of a risk of getting herself killed now that they all know about her plan to annihilate them; and it isn't an option with vampire blood in her system. This body she borrowed would come back as a vampire; she wouldn't be able to do magic any longer. She would need the body of another witch, preferably her own, re-prepared for resurrection; but in order to invade it, she'd have to be near it in the moment of Bonnie's death. Sadly she lost it, and she knows that in her current state it would be insane to try and get it back.
So she has to hide in this small cave for a day, until the evil coursing through her veins has left her body, hoping they won't find her here like they found her cavern. She decides to at least use the time to her advantage to request for help.
She doesn't need candles: the power of her blood is strong enough, and the rising moon outside helps too. She positions herself in the center of the cave, closes her eyes and raises her hands, arms outstretched and palms upside. It's not necessary, but it helps her to focus on the power flowing in her body.
She conjures the image of the one she seeks help of and concentrates on it. Then she begins to chant.
She doesn't have to look for long; it's almost as if Ayana had already been waiting for her.
"You failed," she says instead of a greeting, and Esther feels a shiver running down her spine at the coldness in Ayana's voice. She's displeased, and her next words not only confirm Esther's suspicion, but also tell her the reason. "And you're abusing my ancestor. That isn't right."
Esther staggers slightly; she didn't expect her friend and ally to be angry at her for using Bonnie's body. "It was unavoidable. I couldn't have accomplished our mission if I was dead," she defends herself, straightening and raising her chin. She won't let Ayana lecture her. She hasn't done anything wrong. (Not this time.)
Ayana sighs exasperated. "We don't have time for this. You failed, but there's still another possibility to rid the earth of vampires."
Esther narrows her eyes. "I had the doppelganger captured, and I have some of her blood. I just have to…"
But Ayana cuts her short. "This was a vain effort. They know. They won't fall for this ruse again; apparently they didn't even at the first time, at least not all of them. You have to take the other path now."
"What are you talking about?" Esther studies her friend cautiously; as far as she knows, binding the Originals together has been the only possibility.
"You really don't know about it, do you?" Ayana raises her brows in surprise. "It never occurred to you back then? Think about it, Esther. What did you use to seal the curse that turned your children into vampires?"
Esther pales and stares on the ground with blank eyes. "Tatia's blood," she whispers, "they drank it to trigger the transition, but I also used it to seal the spell when I spilled it over the wood from the white oak tree…But it's not possible to unseal it with the doppelganger's blood. I made sure of that. It needs to be Tatia's blood…" Her head jerks up, and a cruel smile settles on her face; her eyes begin to glint with a hint of insanity. "Oh the irony…"
Ayana observes the change in Esther's attitude, and suddenly sadness flies over her face. "This shouldn't be an opportunity to be happy, Esther. We're talking about killing your children. The ones you sought to protect with this spell to begin with. They would've never become an abomination if you hadn't defied my advice," she says quietly.
Esther casts her a cold glance. "Those are not my children. My children were gone a thousand years ago. Those are deadly monsters, and they have to be erased from this earth as soon as possible. So, tell me where I'll find what I need."
Ayana nods slowly, but Esther is sure to see a slight trace of doubt flickering in her eyes. "I'll tell you. But you have to hurry. They are on it."
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Finally.
Damon glances at the border sign reading 'Welcome to South Carolina!' and sighs. He turns his head and peers at the sleeping girl lying beside him in the reclined passenger seat, listens to her heartbeat, observes her breathing for a while.
Not that he had ever stopped attending to it, not even for one single minute of this trip; but now he takes it in with a gradual feeling that he hasn't felt since he has heard about Elena's disappearance; confidence. He doesn't dare to rely on it, not yet; but despite his anxiety it sneaks its way to his heart, and he lets it.
He reaches out and gingerly strokes over her cheek with his fingertips, and much to his surprise he feels a slight smile tugging up the corners of his lips.
His thoughts flash back to the night when he first did this; when he had secretly watched her sleeping, peacefully despite the horrible things that had happened the days before (despite the things he had done the days before), not yet knowing what cruelties fate had in store for her. He remembers his amazement when he realized his desire to learn more about her, and not only to distinguish her from Katherine. For the first time in decades or even since he had been turned he was genuinely interested in someone, he was intrigued by this girl that had so fearlessly stood against him. It hadn't been just the resemblance to Katherine that had him feeling drawn to her, but more the obvious differences to her doppelganger.
He snorts; he can't believe that he had ever mistaken Katherine for Elena. He's sure that the bitch couldn't fool him anymore; a brief glance into her eyes would suffice. There's something in Elena's eyes that Katherine could never feign; not even the Katherine of today, who sometimes decides to let humanity back in. He can't name it, but it's there, no matter what mood she is in, whether she's laughing or yelling, whether she's sad or scared. It's what defines her, what makes her Elena. He would always recognize her.
(Not to mention that he could pick out her heartbeat even in a crowded room.)
He realizes that a well known feeling settles in, spreading through his body, grounding him. The feeling he always has when he watches her asleep. He still does that sometimes, sneaking into her room when she sleeps. He knows that she wouldn't like it, but he refuses to feel guilty about it; from time to time he simply needs it. Those are the rare moments when he doesn't feel rejected or restrained by guilt or by being scared of getting hurt; when he allows himself to dream. To hope against all hope. He doesn't feel the need to fight then, he feels at peace for a little while. It's why he needs those stolen moments; it's the closest he gets to happiness.
He never touches her, apart from occasionally stroking her cheek or her hand, carefully, only with his fingertips; much like the first time. This time though, the need to take her in his arms is getting stronger. He was too scared for her all those hours, and he knows too well that she can't wake up accidentally, so she would never know. It's tempting; however, he doesn't give in; he can't shake the feeling of taking advantage of her. But he makes a small concession; he gently takes her hand and holds it securely in his. "It won't be long now, Elena," he says quietly and squeezes her hand. His stomach turns once more into a stone at feeling no response whatsoever, and more for his own than for her wellbeing he repeats firmly, "It won't be long now. You'll be back soon."
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Dawn is already lurking and the sun is waiting to show her bright face when he finally reaches their destination. He pulls his car over and inhales deeply; all his hopes are directed at the woman who awaits them inside the house. He hates to be dependant on a witch with this, but he has no choice. He turns toward the sleeping form beside him and places the hand that he is still holding on her belly.
"I'll come and get you as soon as I've talked to the witch." He knows that it's kind of ridiculous that he's talking to her; she's sleeping and can't hear anything; he does it anyway. (He thinks that maybe, deep down, she can feel it.) He hesitates briefly, but then he bends down and gives her a light kiss on her cheek; it helps against the fear for her that threatens to overwhelm him again, now that he is so close to find out whether or not that damn witch can help her. "I'll be right back," he whispers, and then he finally gets out.
He walks over to the house, climbs up the few steps and takes another deep breath that is supposed to help him brace himself to face the truth; it doesn't. You care too damn much… Stefan's voice still resonates in his mind, and he curses himself for being such a pussy; annoyed he shakes his head and determinedly lifts his hand to knock at the door.
It doesn't take long until it's flung open. Behind the threshold stands a small, thin man in his seventies with fine hair in different shades of grey and a glum expression on his face. He leans at the doorframe and examines Damon grumpily, his eyes scanning him from head to toe. Damon instantly feels anger building inside; he hates to be studied like he's a piece of flesh on the market. But he assumes that this man is the witch's husband or father, and he needs her to be willing to help him; so he fights back the urge to beat this guy's staring eyes to mush, plasters his usual smirk on his face and extends his hand in greeting.
"Mornin'…" he starts, but he's cut short before the word is out.
"You're the vampire," the man states without bothering to take the outstretched hand; Damon lets it fall again. Okay; no politeness then.
"Yes," he answers, "Damon Salvatore." He waits for a moment, but the man just keeps staring. "Um, I'm guessing your wife is waiting for me…?" He waits again, raising his brows when still nothing happens. He's about to consider different options how to get the witch at the door when the man decides to speak up for the second time.
"I'm not married."
"Surprise…" Damon mutters under his breath, but of course the guy hears it.
He shoots him a sharp look and again he says nothing for a long while. Damon feels impatience growing inside, along with the rising fear of not getting help here. And it's only the thought of the dying girl in his car that keeps his mouth shut. But he can't control his eyes, and they express what his mouth may not; impatience, fear, helplessness and anger toward that annoying guy who dares to challenge him when he so urgently needs help for Elena mingle into one feeling – fury. He clenches his jaws and he feels his hands curling to fists, but he successfully keeps them in check, resisting the need to slam them against anything; he takes a deep breath, and then he lets out just one word through gritted teeth.
"Please."
The small figure in front of him furrows his brows, his scrutinizing eyes become a fraction softer, and then he says, "Where's the girl? You would want to bring her here; I can't help her if she stays in the car."
For a second, Damon is taken aback when he realizes that the witch turns out to be a warlock. He remembers now that Abby never said that it was a witch she sent him to. But then he snaps back to reality, and when it eventually registers what the warlock just said, he is at his car in a flash. Carefully he scoops Elena up in his arms, relieved to hear her heartbeat again.
She's so at ease while she sleeps; but the strained breathing is becoming shallower. The herbs are losing their effect. It's about time.
He feels sorry for disturbing her, for dragging her out of her peace into the cold of reality; but he promised. He lifts his gaze to the warlock waiting at the door, watching them with a piercing glance; and all of a sudden Damon's distrust toward him is blown away. When the lifeless girl came into his view, the warlock's demeanor changed slightly. Pure power begins now radiating from him, sensible even over the distance, although he hasn't moved an inch. He nods once, nearly imperceptibly, and Damon nods back, feeling confidence softening the stone in his belly.
He gently presses her motionless body against his chest for a brief moment, then he bows his head down to hers. "You can wake up now, Elena. We just arrived." He pauses, listens to her changing heartbeat, and he can feel the moment the fear leaps at her again. "Shhh," he soothes, "you're okay. You survived the trip." He walks back to the house while he still talks to her, and he hears her slowly calming down. "Abby's witch turned out to be a warlock. He doesn't win an award for niceness, but we don't want him to make you a lady, do we? Niceness is overrated anyway."
Standing in front of the threshold again, he looks down to the warlock, and he's sure to detect a tiny grin tugging up the corners of the man's lips for a split second, dancing in his eyes for a blink before he steps aside.
"Get in," he grunts, but when their eyes meet, Damon bewilderedly notes that he somehow begins to like the grumpy old man.
The warlock closes the door behind them, turns and his eyes rooted on Elena he says, "I'm Carl."
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He leads them to his living room and shows Damon the couch where he can lay down Elena and then offers him a coffee. Damon rejects; he didn't come here to have a chat over a nice cup of coffee. His ever present worry increases as he realizes that they are eventually running out of time. Elena's heart is becoming weaker, and he can't imagine that she is even getting the tiniest bit of oxygen into her lungs, as shallow as her breathing is now. He kneels down beside her, cups her face with both hands, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Then he grabs her hand with both of his, holds it tightly like the day before at the boarding house. He turns his head toward Carl, and his pleading eyes urge the warlock to act.
Carl scrutinizes him, scanning his face, his eyes darting to the vampire's hands and back to his face, and a knowing look appears on his face. He kneels beside Damon, gently shoving him a bit aside, but signaling with his eyes that the he's allowed to stay and to keep hold on the girl's hand. The warlock reaches into a bowl that is on the coffee table behind him and seizes a handful of herbs, rubbing them over the bowl between his palms and turns back to Elena. He takes her free hand in one of his, cups her cheek with his other and closes his eyes.
After half a minute, he lets go of Elena, his eyes snap open and he pensively looks at her face.
"Who did you say cast the spell?"
Damon knits his brows fractionally, and he feels fear creeping its way back into his heart. "Esther Mikaelson," he says hoarsely; he startles when Carl's head jerks around to stare at the vampire.
"The Original Witch? She's been dead for a thousand years…"
Damon's frown deepens. "She was. She's been resurrected."
Carl gapes at him for a long time, and then he turns his attention to Elena again. "She's the doppelganger, isn't she?" he asks quietly. Damon's eyes widen before they narrow to slits.
"You sure know a whole lot of that stuff," he replies cautiously. He tilts his head lightly. "How come I get the feeling that we have a problem here?" He hears Elena's heart pouncing in her chest, and his own heart drops into his gut at the warlock's apologetic glance.
"If this is Esther's spell – I can't lift it."
"What?" It's kind of a reflex; Damon jumps up to his feet, tearing Carl with him, his hands on his collar. But the rage blazing in his eyes is only a mask. What he really feels is full-blown panic. He knows that if this man can't help Elena, she's going to die. They won't have time for another shot.
Carl stays surprisingly calm. He grabs both of Damon's wrists, and again Damon can feel the power emanating off of this small old man. "Let go of me. I don't want to hurt you. And you know I can." His voice is low, matter-of-factly. Damon loosens his grip on him, slowly; and without warning the panic inside turns into utter despair.
Only twice in his long life he had felt akin to what he feels now, and both times it had been about Katherine; but never about Elena. Countless times he was scared to death to lose her, but he always could've kept fighting. But right now he doesn't know how to fight anymore. There's nothing he can do. All his hopes to save the girl lay on the old man in front of him, and he just told him there's nothing he could do either. Damon stares at him, his eyes void of fury now, blank. Slowly he turns his head to the girl lying on the couch, motionless, looking so frail. His mind tries to process what is happening, but it's pointless. How could he even begin to understand that Elena is dying? He sinks down on his knees again, his eyes locked on her face, and he slowly lifts a hand to reach out to her, touching her shoulder, lightly, feathery. His hand glides down to her neck, slipping behind, resting on its back. It would be so easy. He could end her suffering with one brief twist of his hands. He thinks of Rose; he did it back then, too. But he hears Elena's heart beating, frantically, as if she knows what he's contemplating; and he knows he can't. He isn't sure if he fails her; all he knows is that he can't do that. He lifts his other hand and wipes away the tears on her face, not aware that some of them are falling from his cheeks. His arms both slip behind her back, wrapping around her securely. He cradles her in his arms, slowly rocking her back and forth. He wants to say something, anything, to comfort her, to comfort them, but he can't. Not a single helpful word is coming to his mind, and he couldn't have spoken past the knot in his throat anyway.
It takes a while until he becomes aware of the voice saying his name, of the hand placed on his shoulder.
Until it registers what the warlock says.
"I didn't say I can't help her."
Damon goes completely still. He even stops breathing, only his heart continues thudding against his chest. After a while he gasps, his eyes fly open and he breathes out with a soft moan. He turns his head, ever so slowly, looking up to the old warlock, trying to decide whether to rip his heart out or to kiss him.
"What?" For the second time within minutes it's the only word he gets out, only a whisper this time.
"I can't lift the spell, but I can help her to override it; for some days, at least. That will give you time to meet an old friend of mine who might know of a solution. I'll go fetch the herbs I need." He hurries out of the room, leaving Damon alone with the girl still cradled in his arms.
He can't let go of her, can't lay her back. Not yet. He feels more tears pooling in his eyes, but he fights them back, swallows the knot in his throat down. "You'll be okay. You'll be okay," he whispers, and he doesn't know who he tries to reassure more, Elena or himself.
He sighs in relief when Carl reappears, an apothecary jar in each hand. "Lay her back," the warlock orders, and Damon reluctantly obeys; but immediately he grabs Elena's hand again. He won't leave her alone until she's recovered.
(He doesn't know if she needs this, but he knows he does.)
Like before Carl kneels down beside him; he pours one of the jars' herbs into a bowl, and like before he rubs them between his palms. Again he takes Elena's hand in one of his, cups her cheeks with the other hand. But this time he turns to Damon then, his face looking more serious than the vampire wishes to see.
"She's important to you." It's a statement, not a question.
Damon closes his eyes for a second; then he swallows and nods. "Yes."
Carl also nods. "Then don't be afraid if it doesn't work." Damon tenses, his eyes go a fraction wider, but he doesn't say a word. He waits.
"I'm sure that these herbs are the right ones; they just might be not strong enough to override a spell of the Original Witch. In case they aren't, I'll add those herbs." He points to the other jar. "Those have the wonderful ability to amplify the magic power of other herbs; their disadvantage is that they amplify the still lingering magic power of all other herbs that have been used on her lately."
Damon tilts his head a little and casts the warlock an insecure glance. "You mean, if for example someone has been rendered unconscious with herbs, those …will do it again?" he asks hesitantly.
"Not necessarily, but they might. They might for as long as this certain someone wears them on his body, but they might also render the person just briefly unconscious, but several times. It depends on the circumstances; the person in question, the used herbs, and the witch who has used them."
Damon shifts in unease. "What about…someone who was part of a spell, but didn't use the herbs themselves?"
"This applies on any spell cast with the help of herbs that involved her." Carl eyes the vampire thoroughly. "Is there something we should talk about?"
"Would it be…dangerous for her?" Damon counters.
"Only if the spell was."
Damon gazes at Elena. "And the other person? The one who actually used the herbs?" he asks quietly, his eyes glued on her face.
The warlock shakes his head. "Only her."
After a few more seconds, Damon draws in a deep breath, straightens and turns to Carl. "Nothing to talk about. Please, go ahead; she has suffered long enough now."
The warlock gives him a piercing look, but then he nods, turns to Elena and begins to chant.
Only moments later Damon feels power flowing through their linked hands; the chanting becomes louder, more urgent, and he tightens his grip, his eyes never leaving Elena's face, his ears focusing on her breathing.
Yet, it doesn't take very long until the chanting ceases and eventually stops; but the breathing hasn't changed. Damon lets out a sigh; he had really hoped that the warlock wouldn't need those amplifying herbs. Yeah, no such luck. He watches as Carl, after giving him a reassuring nod, takes the second jar, pours some of the herbs on his palm and puts the jar aside. He grabs Elena's hand again and places it over his outstretched hand; with their hands linked, the herbs buried between their palms, he chants again.
Like before, Damon feels the warlock's power flowing, but for a long time nothing happens. His fear increases; he knows it's her last chance. The longer it takes, the more nervous he gets. His heart clenches at the sight of the girl that is still so close to death. He begins to beg inwardly, but it doesn't seem to help. The chanting gets a note of urgency again, and his eyes flicker to the warlock, but Carl's face doesn't give away anything. So Damon focuses on Elena again; his eyes latched onto her face, he realizes that his grip has become too fierce, and he loosens it a little; but it doesn't take long until he clutches her hand like before, as if he could will her to breathe by squeezing her hand.
And then, all of a sudden, Elena gasps.
It's a small gasp. It's certainly not giving her lungs enough of the so urgently needed oxygen.
But it's so much more than they have gotten during the last hours.
Damon leans closer to her, still pressing her hand against his chest, slipping his other hand under her shoulder. He doesn't even notice that the chanting has stopped and the warlock has disappeared. He listens to her heart that is erratically beating in her chest, and he desperately waits for the next breath.
It fails to come.
Instead Elena's eyes fly open, wide open. She turns her head, slowly, until her eyes meet those of the vampire who is hovering over her, observing every inch of her face with eyes so terrified, and yet so full of hope and love. Her lips part slightly, but she still doesn't breathe. He sees tears springing to her eyes, and he begins to consider shaking her, just to get her to breathe.
And then, with the little air she gasped in, she says just one word.
It's barely understandable, her lips and tongue haven't been moved for too long; and it's audible only for vampire's ears. But Damon hears it; and he understands.
"Sorry."
And as if this word had been the obstacle to overcome, she finally breathes in; long, deeply, shuddery but releasing. Relief washes over Damon like a tidal wave; he lets go of her hand and cups her face instead. He knows what she apologized for, and he knows that they will have to talk about it. Later. Right now it doesn't matter what happened before.
Nothing matters; she is breathing.
He wraps both arms around her, and like earlier he holds her, only this time she slips her arms around his neck, too. He buries his face into her hair and just listens to the sweet sound of her breathing that is slowly getting steadier.
"I thought I'd really lose you this time…" he says quietly, his voice cracking.
"I'm still here," she whispers back.
He pulls back to look at her, his eyes roaming over her face, locking with hers then. "Yeah. You're still here." He swallows. "I'm glad."
She just smiles.
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A/N: So, here it was, the promised Delena...I hope you liked it!
Now that she's not paralyzed, there will be more of it in the next chapters...:-)
What did you think? Tell me...review, please...
(wsm021 - you know at which part I thought of you, right? :-) )