A.N.: So I think we all need a pick-me-up with all this Coronavirus hysteria. I hope everyone's okay.

I'VE HANDED IN MY ASSIGNMENTS! So I can play…and if the schools are shut and I can't finish my course, then I'll have plenty of time to write fanfic… Always look on the bright side of life…


Resurgam

34

Action and Reaction


"Can I help you?"

"You can, but that doesn't necessarily mean you will."

Sheila Bennett gave him a long-suffering look, deadpan and impatient. "What do you want?"

"I want to chat, witch-to-witch, about that little debacle in the woods the other night."

"The debacle."

"Yes. Nicer way to phrase a witch hunt that ended in slaughter. Not many get away from the Order leaving quite so spectacular a mess behind. I suppose people would say you have friends in the right places," Kol smirked. "Must say I was a little miffed I wasn't invited to the party."

"Maybe your friends were worried you'd take the wrong side," Sheila mused, eyeing him critically. "You're known to protect witches and promote their interests."

"Witches, yes, to a degree. The Order, never. I do not tolerate fanaticism of any kind, and the Order exhibits the worst traits of any extremist cult," Kol mused. "If you would prefer, you can provide me with your mobile telephone number, that way I don't have to linger uncomfortably on your threshold."

"Or you could tell me what it is you want, Kol."

"A dozen witches were butchered the other night," Kol said, seeing no reason not to dive in. Sheila assessed him, eyes narrowing. "There should…be a vacuum of power, that number of witches dead, channelling as much power as they were to conceal the vargulf, and themselves, and to execute you and test your great-granddaughters for magic, to control the vargulf. That amount of power…we should be able to feel it, to see its effects, loosed upon the world. Magic always leaves traces."

Sheila sighed heavily. "There's been nothin'?"

"You've not been watching out for the signs?"

"I've been a little preoccupied, myself," Sheila said, raising her eyebrows. He had heard how stiffly she walked when she had risen from her chair to answer the door, saw how tired she looked even days after. She was not a spring chicken, as they said: Sheila Bennett had great-granddaughters, and had been manhandled by witches and vampires - to kidnap her, and to take her to safety. Anyone else would bounce back with ease; Sheila Bennett was…elderly.

But elderly often meant experienced; and people gained wisdom through experience.

Sheila Bennett was a very wise woman. And a very talented witch.

She sighed, tucking her cardigan around her, and joined Kol on the porch-swing after politely gesturing for him to sit.

"Alright," she said, "what is it you're worryin' about?"

Kol's lips parted, he frowned, taken aback, but fidgeted in the swing and glanced back at Sheila Bennett. He was aware there was a burned patch in the front yard where the wolfsangel had been staked into the grass, set alight by now-dead witches. "Gyda tells me the silver daggers my cousin Niklaus used to imprison us over the centuries have been melted down, forged into a single weapon that siphons the essence, the power, from supernatural creatures killed by its blade."

"Yes."

"Where did the witches get those daggers?"

"That, I don't know - you'd have to ask Giulia."

"That's what Elijah said."

"Then why in the heck are you loiterin' on my porch?"

"Because you're a witch! Giulia isn't. Intuitive as she is when it comes to decoding written spells and grimoires, you can recognise things in the atmosphere that vampires cannot," Kol said, frowning subtly. "You can pick up the subtleties and nuances of Nature, of magic… Also, Giulia's not answering my calls, and I've exhausted Elijah." Sheila chuckled softly, shaking her head.

"So you've come to bother me."

"It doesn't concern you that someone has hijacked all that power?" Kol frowned, and Sheila sighed heavily. "Given the threat to your granddaughter and her children, I would have thought you more interested in where the coven's power has gone - who now wields it."

"I'd imagine whoever was pullin' the strings to get those people into the woods is reapin' the benefits of channelling their coven's power," Sheila said, shrugging.

"And you're not at all concerned who is pulling those strings - or to what purpose?"

"Same purpose the Order's always had - to eradicate you. I was just a stop along the way, unfinished business for my daughter to tidy up," Sheila said, and her face turned cold, her eyes hard.

"But it wasn't just unfinished business - Elijah told me not one of those witches killed rose again; they had no protection in place, against an attack!" Kol said excitably. "Any witch in enemy territory has to be truly stupid not to put a protection spell on themselves in the event of their deaths."

"These aren't just any witches - I'm surprised I have to tell you that, knowing so much about the Order. They're fanatics - more'n willing to martyr themselves for their beliefs," Sheila said, shaking her head. Her daughter led them. Not only was she willing to martyr herself, but she was happy to have her own mother murdered.

"I want to know where their power went. We should be seeing the backlash," he said, squinting at the clear sapphire-blue sky, an hour before sunset. It had been calm for days, calm and warm, a little chillier at night as the wind picked up, but nothing out of the ordinary for late-September in Virginia. Nothing to suggest something unnatural had happened - like twelve witches being butchered, their power released into the atmosphere at the moment of their deaths. Magic always left traces, and when a witch died, especially violently, it left a mark: He had seen towns razed to the ground by fires, by floods, by earthquakes and horrendous storms after a massacre like the one that had occurred the other night - because their power was untethered, chaotic, and it took a moment for Nature to embrace it, so it could be harnessed and temporarily bequeathed to others.

"Well, I'd say we've not seen the last of the Order's nastiness," Sheila said softly. "And a dozen witches - there's a lot someone skilled could do with that, if they chose to."

Kol sighed heavily. That's what he was afraid of.

Back in this place, with his family, nastiness with Niklaus reminding them all far too vividly of his first transformation, their macabre origins…the Order resurfacing here, in Mystic Falls, and the half-glimpse he had thought he'd had, downtown - he'd been blistered from drink, but…it was the neat hair, the tailored but inconspicuous suit… It couldn't be.

He shook his head, gazing out at Sheila's quiet street.

"I should be well shot of this town," he admitted, muttering. Torturing Klaus was truly not enjoyable: He only did it because it infuriated Isak to have to share… His family were best enjoyed in small doses - except for Gyda, of course; and it was strange to spend time with Willem after a thousand years' separation… Strange, but a blessed relief; it was…normal. No dysfunction. Somehow, no-one had brought up the question of what Willem had been doing the last thousand years…and with whom.

Why had he disappeared from Marseilles, and Lucrezia's twins with him?

How had he evaded Mikael so long?

They didn't ask: Kol…would prefer not to know.

Willem represented something exquisite and unknown: A successful, happy life without each other. Without Klaus. They had been conditioned over the centuries to believe they could do nothing without him, including be happy or find love, no matter how many times Klaus murdered those friends and lovers they managed to find. But Willem… Willem was proof they could live out their eternity without toxic co-dependence on each other - emotionally abused by Klaus to the point they believed they were nothing without him, reliant on him for everything.

They didn't ask the tricky questions, because it didn't matter: What mattered was that he had lived those thousand years without them, and was healthy. He was happy, he was content, and he knew himself…

He highlighted the damage Niklaus had inflicted systematically and persistently throughout the centuries, breaking them all down.

It was an uncomfortable realisation, but they all knew it, even Rebekah, though she would never acknowledge it - Niklaus' hold over her ran far too deeply.

But Kol recognised it: He had lived his life without the others for centuries, intermittently - this past century was the longest he and Elijah had both been left alone, and with modern communications they had learned to maintain their relationship without constant presence. It was healthier that way; they had their own lives, independent of each other.

Kol preferred it.

He had not grown up one among many: He had been raised by Ástríðr, long before Elijah quickened in her womb. He had grown up independent. And he had viciously fought back against any attempts Klaus made to force Kol into subservience to his whims - which was why he had spent the so much time daggered in a box, but to amuse Klaus when he was bored, or needed advice on magic…

Perhaps it was time to go. His family was awake; and as of last week, the silver daggers had been neutralised. They no longer had to worry about Niklaus daggering them when he didn't get his way.

Kol would miss Elijah; but he doubted anything could lure Elijah away from Giulia Salvatore.

He had never seen Elijah like this; not in all their centuries. Not since Marseilles, and the incomparable Lucrezia, Countess of Provence… But even then, it had taken decades for Elijah to warm to her: He had been lost in his grief, and gently, coaxing and tender and understanding, she had drawn him out of his depression. Elijah had fallen in love, and no matter how many women he had been with over the centuries, none could ever compare to Lucrezia…until Giulia.

She was extraordinary.

The bond between Giulia and Elijah, Vera had told him, had been almost instantaneous. And fierce. She had never seen Elijah come alive the way he had around Giulia… Seeing him, now, Kol understood what Cara and Vera had witnessed a decade ago between Giulia and Elijah - what little they had been privileged to see of their evolving relationship, of Elijah opening up as he fell in love…

Kol had his contacts in New Orleans and knew overtures had been made by the King to entice Giulia back to the Crescent City. Giulia had also mentioned Marcel was trying to court her. Kol would enjoy that - Giulia, back in New Orleans…they'd had a lot of fun, last time, in spite of her circumstances; and he had enjoyed teaching her. But she had the little one, now, and nothing came before her responsibilities to Zita's happiness and wellbeing.

She wouldn't leave Mystic Falls unless it was in her child's best interests to do so, and he doubted Elijah would leave Giulia…not when there was possibility

He'd heard other things, too, while he had been away from the Quarter. Murmurings about unrest among the witches, a shadow none of the covens were willing to talk about to outsiders; they were closing ranks, to the frustration of all informants and especially of Marcel, who ruled the city through constitutional monarchy - fair representation, diplomacy and a charismatic leader who had the supernatural community's best interests at heart… His rules… Kol could admit that it suited him to live under and luxuriate in Marcel's rule. He was…a respected consultant, rather than a vaunted member of Marcel's Privy Council, his 'inner circle' of friends-turned-family, lackeys and sycophants.

As a former witch who had spent a thousand years learning as much as he could about different forms of magic, Kol was a unique and precious source of information - to keep Marcel ahead of the covens, yes, but as a bridge between the witches and the vampires. He was feared and respected by the former; and dreaded and disdained by the latter. He could never wholly embrace being a vampire, when he remembered so vividly what it meant to be a witch: And the witches respected his journey, and his experience, while the vampires disdained his inability to conform to the 'vampire nature' as prescribed by Niklaus'. Either way, it was to Kol witches and vampires alike went, when they needed advice on how to deal with the other faction. He had a unique perspective on things. And Marcel cared to keep the peace, to respect each faction's culture, and keep everyone safe from the humans, so they could not just live but thrive in one of the most unique cities in the world.

It had been Kol's privilege to watch Marcel build an empire from the ashes, to help shape the bedrock on which his rule was founded. The supernatural was the lifeblood of the city, the Crescent werewolves making the bayou their home long before settlers brought voodoo-practicing slaves and vampires turned the Quarter into their playground. The covens of New Orleans had an even longer memory than the vampires.

Kol had heard some troubling things at the beginning of the summer, little more than whispers and worries, a young child going missing… Then, nothing.

Whatever was happening had people scared. And Kol should have been returning to New Orleans to be a mouthpiece for the witches - they had their own voices, yes, but backed by him, the vampires of New Orleans, even the King himself, had to listen. They were arrogant bastards but even Marcel's precious inner circle were suitably wary of him. And he should have been heading back to the Vieux Carré…but his family was here. Whole, for the first time in centuries. Elijah and Finn and Gyda and Lagertha and Willem and Rebekah…even Isak.

Eternal life got repetitive, especially with the lack of variables like his family being 'in play'. He relished opportunities like this, to do something different, even if for just a little while. For the moment, small-town life with his family superseded even his desire to return to the chaos of the Quarter and unpick whatever mystery was unfolding.

He half-wished Giulia would come and play with him in the Quarter. She adored it; the mystery, the macabre. She had a network of friends who would be delighted to see her return - and Kol couldn't help think they weren't likely ever to take it for granted that she was there, in their lives.

There was plenty enough mystery in Mystic Falls at the moment, however. Plenty of things making him more anxious than he'd been in a century.

It was quite refreshing, really. Eternity got boring.

"Well, you head on back to the Quarter," Sheila muttered, rising from the swing. "And you tell Josephine she still owes me forty dollars."

"I'll tell her," Kol promised, with a tight smile, letting Sheila Bennett retreat back into her home. He just…had wanted to talk someone's ear off about his worries - he wanted someone to talk him down off the ledge, after thinking he'd seen… But it was too much of a coincidence. It had to be.

Because to believe it was anything other than a trick of his mind was to invite paranoia he hadn't endured in a century. He was better off returning to New Orleans, to ensure he had no part in whatever unfolded here… And at the same time, this was where he belonged, because this time…this time was different. He would not abandon his family.

They should have known, really. Mikael had only ever cared to eviscerate Niklaus. Why? Because he was an abomination of nature? No. They all were.

But none of them had murdered Ástríðr in cold blood, and lied about it to their half-siblings, pinning her murder on Mikael and using them as armour against him for centuries…

It wasn't them Mikael was after.

He wanted Klaus.

And for the first time in a thousand years, they all truly understood why.

And Kol…wasn't going to stand in his way.

Sheila ducked into her house, closing the front-door behind her, but Kol remained on the porch, swinging contentedly, frowning into nothingness as he half-listened to Sheila boiling the kettle for a cup of herbal tea, tapping gently on her laptop to check emails. He sighed, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. After a moment, he dialled a familiar number, and wasn't surprised that he picked up after the third ring. He always picked up after the third ring. If Marcel didn't answer by the third ring, there was trouble.

"Tell me you're not on your way back into town."

"Salutations to you, too," Kol sniffed. "Why so grumpy, darling? That trampy little witch put a hex on a questionable location?"

"Things are just heating up here, that's all; last thing I need's an Original throwing themselves into the mix."

"As the city's most long-standing resident, I have every right to 'throw myself into the mix' if I so choose," Kol reminded him gently. "Let me take a wild guess. You kicked the cauldron. It's all over your expensive Italian-leather boots."

"Who've you been talking to?"

"No-one, dear Marcellus; but unlike most of your lackeys I possess a little more than average intelligence. And I know the Crescent City well enough to read the signs, even if you don't realise they're being sent out into the universe," Kol muttered. He narrowed his eyes. "Why is it you don't want me to return to the Quarter? You're not doing anything…untoward, are you? Not breaking one of your own precious rules."

"You know I would never," Marcel said grimly, as if it chaffed to even endure this conversation with Kol: He hated anyone mouthing off about his people, which occurred incredibly often when one took into account that half of them were belligerent halfwits and the others arrogant, self-aggrandising arseholes who forgot their place - and sometimes, Kol took delight in reminding them where they stood in the grand scheme of things. The best nights were those when Marcel's people underestimated Kol the bartender. Survivors learned respect.

"Ah, so you're not afraid I'll relish watching you turn into one of the monsters you always believed your family to be," Kol clicked his tongue, "you're worried I'll get in the way of whatever you want to do, which is usually whatever the hell you like. It's the witches, this time, isn't it? The Crescent wolves have been…boring recently."

"Fine, it's the witches," Marcel admitted. "I'm gonna ask you once, Kol, not to get involved."

"Would that I could, darling boy," Kol sighed, putting on that he was truly devastated and reminding Marcellus that Kol had, in fact, helped raise him from childhood. And whether Marcel liked it or not, even Kol had influenced him, shaped who Marcel was. "Unfortunately there are ominous happenings here in the Old Dominion that require my immediate attention."

"Is Giulia okay?" Kol blinked.

"I always forget you two know each other…" Kol said thoughtfully. He sighed, thinking over Giulia's last few weeks. It had been rough; he'd shared a drink with Elijah the other night, after Elijah had commandeered her vehicle to drive her home, exhausted and upset to be treated so poorly by a friend she had just gone out of her way to help. He had noticed the pattern, here in Mystic Falls, watching Giulia among her friends. They took her for granted: But she couldn't walk away without worrying infants would be neglected or children brutally hurt if she didn't keep an eye out for them.

It was Zita she had moved to Mystic Falls for; but it was her friends' children who kept her here.

She had developed such a sense of personal responsibility so early in her life that it would shame her to abandon innocent children - would break her heart to know she could have made the difference, and didn't. So she stayed, and she took the hits…because it was best for the babies to have her around.

It was no wonder Marcel respected Giulia.

Kol adored Giulia. They hadn't known each other, when Elijah was daggered: But during her time in New Orleans the first time, she had sought him out at his bar and from there they had built a friendship. He had the privilege of getting to know her. She was vibrant, and hyper-intelligent, warm, unselfish, had a way of making everyone feel like they were family, like they were vital, and wanted, and would always be protected… And for all that, she could hold her own. She was fierce, and terrifying; unyielding, stern - but adaptable: She was kind and warm unless the situation required it, staggering in her intensity and terrifying in her capacity for strategy… She was implacable, patient, wily, and deliciously naughty. She knew how to laugh, and loved so fiercely and so wholly, she was being set up for an eternity of heartbreaks - and of epic loves. She was elegant and intimidating and warm, protective and chilling… She reminded Kol far too much of Ástríðr not to adore her - not just for Giulia herself but of Kol's best memories of a woman he had adored, respected and admired, who had raised him, and loved him, and taught him.

Marcel had his rules. Kol had his code. And that code was founded on Ástríðr's teachings. The same as Elijah's. They were the best parts of Ástríðr, preserved for eternity. And they had raised Marcel: It was no coincidence he…was the best parts of them.

Marcel was what they might have been.

"She'll be alright," Kol said softly, frowning, not quite believing it himself. She was different, now, than she had been when she had lived in New Orleans, B.Z. - Before Zita. But then, she was different to how she had been mere month ago at the vintage festival, when she had first undaggered Elijah. The last few months had started to take their toll - but it was her friends' attitudes and constant lack of appreciation, taking her for granted, that was wearing her down. Kol had spent a lot of time with Giulia, both times she had been to New Orleans; it was he who had pointed her in the right direction to help her friend Bonnie, and years later, when she had been pregnant and heartbroken, and she was working on her Psychology of the Occult doctorate at Tulane, they had truly become friends. Through her, Kol had made new friends of his own - Tyler, and Zara, the former an ally and a young man Kol was coming to admire and respect for his leadership, the latter, a near-constant presence at his bar on girls' night, vibrant and playful and clever, unconquerable.

He sometimes forgot that Tyler Lockwood had grown up in Mystic Falls, that as deeply immersed as Tyler had become in New Orleans life, in Crescent pack life, he was not a native. That he had a history with Mystic Falls, with Giulia. Sometimes it was very clear that the two had grown up together: In a lot of fundamental ways, they were very alike.

And Marcel had recognised all those insane qualities in Giulia - and Tyler - that would make them either an excellent ally or an exquisite enemy contending for his crown. Marcel wanted Giulia to return to New Orleans - not to be his queen as some supposed, but to help Marcel rebuild and expand his empire after the recent destruction created by civil war with Françoise-Amélie, playing their game of thrones - every decade, leadership changed amid the vampires: The inevitable conflicts created a checks-and-balances system to ensure the city was never overrun with vampires.

Ever since Amélie had decided to abandon the Big Easy for good, breaking the wheel, Marcel had gained new real estate: And rumour was he wanted Giulia to design the renovations and rebuilds.

Kol knew there had been conversations.

He wondered how deeply deluded Giulia's friends were that she would tolerate their selfishness for much longer. That she hadn't been accepting Marcel's overtures - that she wasn't so brilliant, and so creative, and so bored here in town, and put-upon by friends who abused her after she helped them so consistently, that she wasn't seriously entranced by the idea of designing Marcel's city…


"Are you making a doll's house?"

Giulia smiled to herself softly, stroking Tisiphone's ears as Zeus lifted his head from her feet to sniff at the hem of Zita's dress and give her knee a lick as she padded closer.

"No," she answered softly, helping Zita climb into her lap and settle comfortably. There was nothing that compared to cuddles with Zita, and her little dumpling sighed and settled in for the duration, gazing at the architectural model Giulia had spent the last few nights working on. "But it would be cool, wouldn't it?"

"Why did you make it?"

"Well, you know Aunt Caroline and I build houses," Giulia said, settling back in her comfortable office chair. "Sometimes I get to design them. What do you think?"

"It needs more yellow."

"Yeah. Yeah, it probably does," Giulia smiled, but made a note. In terms of designing a youth centre, it was important to hear the thoughts and opinions of youths and incorporate them into the design process. She had already had Spencer's input; and she like listening to Zita's thoughts. She was always surprised, and delighted, by her daughter's bizarre observations. Sometimes they were…punishingly astute. "Where should I put it?"

They sat, and Giulia cuddled her daughter close, luxuriating in the tiny person she had created, and admired, and loved with everything she was - at times, one of the hardest things she had ever done, but always, always, the very best. She played with Zita's delicious ringlets, and they sat, and chatted, and Zita giggled, and Giulia put on a playlist she knew Zita would enjoy, nothing too energetic to risk winding her up before bedtime - Game of Thrones soundtrack pieces she adored. They listened, and they talked; Giulia showed Zita her conceptual designs for buildings and properties Marcel Gerard wanted to develop in New Orleans… Zita told her what she liked about each of them, and Giulia teased out why she like those things.

It was while reading There's an Alien In Your Book to Zita that Giulia realised…she hadn't been so excited and enjoyed talking about a project with so much enthusiasm in ages.

Mystic Falls…was limiting.

And she was bored.

Bored of the town; tired of the people. Sick of the backward small-town attitudes that belonged in previous centuries.

She had lived in London, Paris, Bologna, New Orleans…vibrant cities full of diversity, full of opportunities.

Sitting playing with her daughter's gorgeous curls while Zita cuddled against her, eyes closed in an expression of pure bliss as she luxuriated in Ramin Djawadi, Giulia knew…she had come back to Mystic Falls for her daughter's benefit, for Zita's childhood, her future…

But Mystic Falls was not enough.

Too backward, too fixed in mind-sets, too…prejudiced.

There was never going to be a perfect place, in a perfect world, where she and Zita would belong, without having to dread discovery of the secret…a secret Zita didn't even know yet. But there were places, more vibrant than this, where they could be part of a community, where they could both thrive…

And after last week, Giulia was tempted to throw it all in and show Mystic Falls her tail-lights, for good.

She read The Koala Who Could and There's an Alien In Your Book to Zita, cuddled in bed; and was half dozing when she woke herself up, thinking, the books sliding off her lap onto the rug with a dull thunk as she jolted out of her doze. She tucked Zita under her blanket, snuffling softly, and watched her little girl preen deliciously as space opened up in her little bed, star-fishing, before padding out of Zita's bedroom, curling up on the sofa with Tisiphone and Gallant, turning up the music, and picking up her copy of Don Quixote - she was working through it in original Spanish - before sighing, eyeing the architectural model in her office, and reached for her phone.

"Must be a quiet night in Mystic Falls," was the answer after the third ring.

"Why d'you say that?" Giulia smiled.

"You're the second call I've had today," Marcel said. "Had Kol on the phone earlier. Your ears must be burnin'."

"You know, you don't have to be polite, Marcel; you can admit you were thirsting after me," Giulia teased, but she frowned at the strange tightness in Marcel's usually easy, rich laugh.

"Always," Marcel assured her, flirting shamelessly, his deep New Orleans drawl like the subtle hint of distant thunder. "Kol was tellin' me some things."

"Was he checking in with you? That's sweet," Giulia said. "He's homesick."

"Yeah, well… Keep him occupied, yeah?"

Giulia stilled, hearing the subtle urgency in Marcel's tone. They weren't close, but they had spent enough time together to truly appreciate one-another. She had heard too much from Tyler - or rather, he had told her he had seen and heard too little of people in the city - and friends in New Orleans had been drip-feeding her curious nuggets of information over the last few months. Enough that, hearing that tone in Marcel's voice, she was concerned. "What's going on,Marcel?"

A heavy sigh. "Listen…I can't get into it right now, timing's crucial, but - would you do me a favour? Call Tyler? Whatever's kickin' off, I don't want him to worry his people will be caught in the crosshairs."

"That sounds like something he needs to hear from you," Giulia said grimly, frowning. She sighed. "Are you about to do something very noble and incredibly stupid?"

Another heavy sigh. "Yeah."

"Involving witches, perhaps?" Giulia asked, and Marcel made a soft, masculine noise - a habit he must have adopted from Elijah's influence. "Tell me you're not going to start another war."

"Tryin' to stop one, actually," Marcel told her quietly. "I just…you know I believe in what Tyler's doin', he's a great guy and he knows what's important. I don't want him thinkin' what's gonna happen is a threat to what he's buildin'. And I don't have time right now to parley with him - can you get on the phone and talk to him?"

Giulia sighed. Marcel knew she and Tyler were close: She had run interference on Tyler's behalf and that was one reason among many Marcel had taken Tyler seriously when he started to help the Crescent pack in the bayous of New Orleans. Marcel also knew better than to lie to Giulia: She'd cleaned him out in poker far too many times not to know his tells. And he didn't like to; he knew he value of allies, positive relationships, loyalty. He wouldn't take advantage, when it was dangerous to his status to cross the likes of her: Her actions when she had retrieved Bonnie from the Tremé all those years ago had made a reputation for her, among more than just the witches. "I… Sure. Of course, I will."

"What is it you called to talk to me about?"

"I thought you said timing was crucial?"

"I'll always take time for you," Marcel said quietly. "What's going on?"

Giulia admitted, "I…have been considering things."

"Considering…my offer?"

"Maybe," Giulia said quickly. Over the last few days, she had been seriously considering it. But hearing him talking about a war… "I just - I don't know… I won't bring my daughter into a warzone."

Marcel sighed softly. "I know. And I don't want to create one. Kids gettin' hurt, that's the last thing I want. Please…don't let what you think is happening here affect your decision."

"It's not just that. I can't make the choice overnight, you know; I have a lot of things to consider. Even if I decided to move down there, it'd take me a while," Giulia said honestly. He couldn't get started on his projects with her for…at least a year, she would say.

"A while… A while is good," Marcel said enthusiastically. "Give everythin' here a chance to settle down…before you showin' up shakes things up again."

"You flatter me," Giulia said softly, not reassured.

"Hey, I give credit where it's due, you know that," Marcel reminded her. "I don't exaggerate. You're missed around here. You leave one hell of an impression." Giulia sighed to herself; it was on the tip of her tongue to say something quippy in response like, Yeah, with the sole of my boot. But she didn't.

"I'll want some assurances, Marcel, if I'm going to uproot my family," Giulia said quietly. "We need a much longer conversation."

"And I can't wait to have it with you," Marcel said. "Have you been thinking more about my projects?"

"Some," Giulia said, downplaying that his project briefings had, in fact, been the only thing keeping her engaged and excited and not lashing out in unhealthy ways as her friends took her for granted. "I'll email you in the morning. Marcel…be careful. Think…think about the consequences."

Marcel was passionate, he was honourable, and he was smart, sexy as hell, a charismatic leader…and tended to leap before he looked.

Whatever he was up to, she hoped the lasting ramifications weren't cataclysmic.

Because, as she hung up the phone, she realised how desperately she wanted to get out of Mystic Falls.

And she tugged Zara's scrapbook out of its place on the shelf - one among many Caroline had contributed over the years…

She wanted to go back to New Orleans.

She hated Mystic Falls. Hated it! Had never wanted to return after leaving it behind when she started college. She had returned for Zita, thinking it would be a better place to raise her than New Orleans, constantly at war… And she had wanted to return, a little bit for herself, too; Mystic Falls was where Liz and Caroline lived, the Saltzmans, Jeremy and Ashlyn, Rose and Matt, Carol Lockwood…it was where her friends lived - and she had wanted Zita to know them. As it had become clearer that Giulia was no longer human, no longer merely mortal…it had become important to her to save up the memories of these people she loved.

It didn't mean they got to walk all over her.

And it did mean that when she looked through Zara's scrapbook - pictures of Jackson and Daniel and Ellory and Owen, Victoire and Kol…her life in New Orleans…she felt a pang of longing, a yearning…for home.

She dialled the phone, and did as Marcel had asked, relaying his message to Tyler.

And when they had finished talking, Giulia plugged her phone in to charge, settling back with Gallant and a blanket, and glanced up at Enzo, leaning casually in the doorway. He had been waiting, patiently, listening to her phone-calls from upstairs.

"First time I've heard you even talk about it as a possibility," he mentioned casually. Giulia glanced at him, clearing her throat softly. There was no denying she wasn't…anxious - that she hadn't been overthinking Enzo's possible reactions, placing too much importance on the bond they shared - perhaps more than Enzo felt…

"If I did…if I did decide to move me and Zita… Would you come with us?"

Enzo gazed at her, his dark eyes warm, almost sad, but it was heartfelt when he said, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." He came and sat on the sofa, cuddling up under the blanket, and sighed. "Is this something you've been seriously considering?"

"More often, recently," Giulia admitted. Enzo gave her a careful look.

"Why now?"

"I just… Can't. I… I'm not happy."

"Even with Elijah awake?" Giulia glanced sharply at him, but Enzo just shrugged enigmatically.

"Nothing's ever that simple."

"No," Enzo agreed, sighing heavily, rubbing her shoulder, and she settled in, nestled against him. Elijah was awake: And she couldn't forget Fabian. It wasn't fair, to anyone, but…that was where she was. She would not violate the promises she had made. No matter how she felt when she was with Elijah…she couldn't. It wasn't fair, to either of them…but when was life ever truly fair?

She made the best of everything, or tried to.

Sometimes it didn't always work out the way she intended.

Returning to Mystic Falls was becoming a failing experiment. As much as she loved the amazing days, they were becoming few and far between…

Too much string, not enough pearls.

And she was straining, trying to get to the next one.

It felt like torture, sometimes…knowing Elijah was so close, that…one tiny decision, one kiss…that was it. To violate, to abandon her promises, so easily…she couldn't. No matter how hideously she felt about holding back from Elijah…she wouldn't do that to herself, to live with the guilt and shame of betraying Fabian.

Most of her life were not what she had envisioned for herself. Waking Elijah was the one target she had set for herself. Everything else had been a surprise, an adventure.

She could never have anticipated that the decisions she had made for herself would mean that, when she finally did wake Elijah…they would remain separated by her circumstances.

Giulia wouldn't give Zita back for the world.

And she hated the tiny thought in the back of her mind, that she just wished things would resolve themselves, one way or another, with Fabian, so she would be free to… So she would be free. It was a horrible thought. Wishing her husband away, so she could move on to Elijah.

It was a harsh reality, though, one she would never deny. Sometimes the truth was devastating. And a lot of the truths in her life had been life-altering.

The fact was, she was not happy in Mystic Falls: And she was coming to realise that her own mental health had to take a priority sometimes. That the life she had wanted for Zita might not be in Mystic Falls, that she had made a mistake in leaving New Orleans at all…but if she hadn't

She dreaded to think what might have happened to Spencer if she hadn't been here.

There was no right answer, of course. Every decision she made had untold consequences - like Marcel, tonight, with whatever he was doing… There were always repercussions, sometimes good, occasionally catastrophic…

She had some decisions to make.

Giulia was just afraid to hurt people when she made them.

She had to stop crossing oceans for people who wouldn't jump a puddle for her.

She wanted to be the very best mother Zita deserved: She couldn't do that when she was bordering depression.

It was time to move on.


A.N.: What do you think?