WHAT YOU DON'T KNOW CAN HURT YOU

When Elijah awoke, he was already furious. He knew instinctively what the pain in his chest was that felt like he'd been shot at close range with a high caliber shot-gun. When he looked down, in his stomach, there was a five inch stake protruding out of his body.

He looked up. Klaus was slouched in the chair opposite him, watching with thinly veiled amusement.

"So your little pet staked you during the night, too, did she brother?" he asked, with a smirk. Elijah didn't reply, only pulled the stake out of him and tossed it to the side, looking mutinous. He could see a circular patch of blood in the middle of Klaus's shirt that must have come from exactly the same wound. "Bad form. Though I have to say, if you're really that bad in bed, then I wouldn't blame her."

"Enough," snarled Elijah, his patience snapping.

This was not the way he liked things. He liked neat kills and very little bleeding and organization and precision. And the unexpected just angered him.

He was not sure whom he was more angry with: Clare, for attempting to kill him in his sleep; or himself, for not seeing this coming.

Elijah ripped off his bloodied shirt, searching for a new one viciously. "I'm going to find her, and I'm going to kill her," he told Klaus, his voice like whiplash.

I should never have trusted that woman.

And why had he even trusted her in the first place?

But it was rhetorical question; with Clare it had never just been about answers, it had been about impulse - being drawn to something for no easily explainable reason except that you were.

Maybe, if he'd slept on it, he'd have thought differently and not been so full of betrayal and humiliation and rage. Sometimes things all looked different in the morning (and hadn't that been exactly what she'd wished for, anyway?)

As it was, Elijah's only coherent thought right then was anger and to kill, but before he could take another breath, Klaus had him by the throat.

"And is this going to be before or after I kill you," he hissed in his face. "You see, after I woke up staked to my bed, I decided to do some background research on that the little pet you bought home. It turns out you sneaked Clare Kennedy into this house right under my nose." His self-restraint suddenly snapped, and he threw Elijah across the room, where he slammed into a book shelf. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" Before he could get up, Klaus had flashed over and had him pinned to the ground again, this time with the discarded stake in his hand. "I should have known that I could never trust you," he spat.

Elijah curled his lips into a wordless snarl, knowing that this was normally the part where Klaus would attempt to put him in a coffin for another indefinite number of years. But anger at Clare, at the situation was pulsating through him like adrenaline and he managed to wrestle the stake out of his brother's hand and all but attempted to crucify him to the floor with it.

"That line's getting old, Niklaus," he said, his voice cold. In one swift motion, that could have almost looked as if he was about to stake his brother through the heart, Elijah stood, dropped the stake and turned his back on Klaus once again; walking out of the room.

Downstairs, Rebekah lounged on a sofa. As he entered the room she raised an eyebrow – taking in his stained clothing. "You promised to take me out for breakfast this morning," she said, calmly.

Elijah made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. Where would Clare have gone next? What was she planning to do?

That was the worst part: he had no idea.

Rebekah continued to pester him: "I thought you were a 'man of your word," she forced, petulantly. "We haven't done anything together in ages."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Rebekah, but this family doesn't do together," Elijah commented curtly, his mind elsewhere. He had no idea…no idea…He just knew he wanted to find Clare Kennedy and make her pay.

Rebekah appeared in front of him, arms folded. "Maybe it's time that we did."

"We're not having one of your sibling therapy sessions."

"Yes we are, Elijah!" she suddenly yelled. Something inside his only sister snapped and suddenly words burst forth like water rushing from a broken dam. "Because this family is breaking apart. You can see it; I can see it and I'm fed up to hell with all of it!" Her voice became quieter. "I want to fix this. I want to be a family."

He reached out and touched her chin, something about him softening. "How long have you kept all this bottled up?"

"Too long."

She didn't take her eyes off of him as she waited for his answer.

He sighed. "Fine."

He owed this to his sister.

Rebekah nodded, the vulnerability about her face retreating. "Okay," she muttered. "Let's go."

They made their way to a small café in the middle of Mystic Falls – Rosie's – eclectic, stylish; the kind of place where customers might be writing a screenplay on their laptop whilst mainlining coffee.

They were seated in a quiet corner and Rebekah ordered. "I want two croissants and two pots of tea," she said, not glancing at the menu the waiter offered her.

"Brits?" the guy smirked whilst jotting something down on a notepad. Before she could reply, though, his hand lifted to his forehead. "Damn," he muttered, screwing his eyes shut for a moment. "Had this headache on and off for two days now."

"Did I ask for your life story?!" Rebekah snapped, but Elijah held up his hand, silencing her before she could say anything more.

He gazed at the human boy before him intently. "Headache?"

"Yeah…just blacking out every now and then."

"For how long?" Elijah leaned forward in his seat a little more. "Can you remember anything before two days ago?"

"Jeez, are you Dr. House or something?" the waiter grimaced, unable to tell if Elijah was joking or not.

"Just answer the question," he snarled.

"My memories fine, man. Just the headaches."

Inside Elijah, everything stopped. The young man's eyes were black, but that wasn't just it – Elijah's eyes slid passed him, taking in the other café patrons: the mother with the baby in the stroller – her eyes were black. The man serving coffee over the counter, him too. The teenage boy sitting at the table behind Rebekah with enough rings in his ear to resemble a shower curtain rod; his black eyes were trained on the phone in his hands.

And there were more; Elijah estimated at least half of those occupying the café.

"It's not just Clare," he whispered, his blood ice in his veins.

He then stood abruptly, dragging a protesting Rebekah up with him. "We're leaving," he said.

"Hey, you haven't even had your food!" the waiter protested.

Elijah took out a twenty from his pocket and stuffed it into the human boy's hand. "Your tip," he said, sardonic, before grabbing his sisters hand and dragging her out of the café.

"Elijah, stop! What are you – Elijah!" Rebekah managed to tear her hand out of her brother's grip. "What the hell are you doing?"

He turned to face her, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were flitting to the face of every passer-by, checking their eyes. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were surrounded. "Go back to the house, Rebekah," he ordered. "And stay there."

She folded her arms. "Why?"

"It's not safe out here."

"Well I've got people to see at the Grill in an hour so –"

"Go back to the house Rebekah. His tone indicated that there wouldn't be any more argument. He should have known his sister better.

"I can look after myself," she said, stubbornly.

"It's not safe –"

"I can look after myself."

His eyes were on her face now, unwavering. For a moment they just stood, silent, empty words caught between one-another like a soap bubble.

Finally he swallowed. "Then go."

He tried to tell himself she would be alright. She was an Original vampire, after all.

Just as Seth and Damon were walking into the police station, Ross was walking out.

"Hey," said Seth, grabbing his partners elbow. "I thought you were going to help with the Kennedy interrogation?"

"I was, man," Ross muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. "But I've been getting these headaches and Sheriff Forbes just sent me out to check on the towns vervain supply so-"

"Oh, right."

"I'm sorry, Seth-"

"Nah, it's okay. This is one headache you're probably gonna want to miss," he said, referring to the woman inside.

But despite his words, Seth felt like a weight had suddenly been put onto his shoulders. He and Ross hadn't gotten off on the best start, but he'd thought that he'd be able to make that up once they were put on a case together.

"Does this mean you have an opening for 'partner-against-crime' now," broke in Damon, smirking. "Cause, y'know, in a past life I think I was a cop."

"That," said Seth, rolling his eyes. "Is highly unlikely. C'mon," he muttered, pushing the double doors into the station open. Inside, it was quieter than usual. Seth wasn't wearing his uniform and it somehow it made him feel…off.

"I can't believe we finally got her," Seth said, to distract himself.

Damon glanced at him. "She handed herself in, you make it sound like you did something."

He ignored the jibe. "I didn't. The time that I step forward and do something is now."

"You're the one that gets people to talk," Damon said, simply. It wasn't a question.

Seth's mouth twisted into a grimace. "I get political points if I can do it with out causing bodily harm. Somehow, interrogation never seems to go that way, though."

Damon didn't seem phased. "If you want my advice, ditch the guilty conscience. It makes things easier."

"Me having a conscience, Damon," Seth said. "Is what separates me, from the likes of you."

"Ouch. Guessing you don't want to become a vampire any time soon, then?"

Seth felt bile and a dozen flip responses make their way up his throat, but the one that actually came out with was just the default. "Never. I hate everything you stand for."

The change in Damon was so sudden that Seth barely had time to blink before the vampire's hand was round his throat, his face pushed up close to his. "You better learn that thing's aren't black and white in this town, and you better learn it fast, my friend," he snarled, slamming Seth's head back against the wall for emphasis. "Your little vendetta against vampires' is going to get you nowhere."

"Let go of me," Seth rasped, struggling for air.

"DAMON!" The cry came from Meredith, who had just appeared in the room, Liz Forbes at her side. "What are you doing?!"

Damon let go of Seth's throat with a snarl and Seth sunk to his knees, trying to regain his breath.

"Let's just go and interrogate the serial killer so I can leave," muttered Damon.

Sheriff Forbes stopped him. "Damon, you can't. Kennedy's killed almost thirty vampires. It would be suicide for you if she suddenly snapped."

"I think he should do it," Seth choked out immediately.

Damon shot him a glare.

"Guys," said Meredith, with an air of exasperation. "Can we please just…not?"

She dragged Damon to the side, leaving Seth with Sheriff Forbes. "Do you make it your life's aim to try and kill every person you meet?" she hissed under her breath.

"If I recall correctly, Doc, I haven't laid a finger on you – seems your just about overdue a great big Damon-welcome."

"Don't even," she said, passing a hand over her forehead. "All I'm asking is that you try and co-operate a little better."

"Oh please. Co-operate? Have you tried to tell Officer Friendly that? The guy has a complete grudge against anything supernatural."

"Then prove him wrong," Meredith insisted. "Because at the moment all you're showing him is that he's right."

Damon looked at the intently for a moment. "I'm not promising anything," he said, finally.

She smiled slightly. "I don't want you to. I just want you to try."

He rolled his eyes. "What is it with woman and wanting me to be a 'better person'?"

"Elena, too?" she smirked.

"Let's not go down the Elena route."

Her smirk grew wider but she didn't comment, just strolled back to Seth and Sheriff Forbes whilst Damon checked his phone.

There was one text, from Elijah: Clare Kennedy isn't the only one. Be careful.

He frowned. Quickly sent back 'What?' and made his way back over to the group.

Seth was now standing on his feet, deep in conversation with Liz Forbes. "You could have told me I was going to have to interview Kennedy with out Ross," he said, raising an eye brow at her.

"Sorry?"

"Ross. You sent him out looking for vervain when we have serial killer in the back room? What's that all about?"

Too late, Seth realized by the expression on his boss's face that she had no idea what he was talking about.

"I didn't send Officer Forier out anywhere."

The pair suddenly stared at each other; it was so quiet you could have heard a penny drop.

Damon glanced down at his phone and he suddenly realized what Elijah had meant. "Clare Kennedy isn't the only one," he repeated a loud.

"You're kidding?" said Liz, composure suddenly broken as she turned white. "How do you know? Why would Forier be working with her?"

But Seth had suddenly thought of something more pressing and a whole lot more dangerous. "Vervain," he said, loudly as comprehension hit him. "Ross said he was going to check up on the vervain."

Meredith caught on to his train of thought too. "He wasn't going to check on it," she whispered. "He was going to take it."

"How'd he know where to go?" snapped Damon, angrily.

"We have a list of all the known places where vervain is kept. He'll have got locations from that," said Sheriff Forbes.

"I'm going after him," said Damon, grimly. "Where would he be going first, Liz? Where's the closest place?"

She paused, looking suddenly serious. "The Boarding House, Damon. The closest place that holds vervain is the Boarding House."