This chapter contains very blink-and-you-miss-it references to PTSD and previous physical assault. I've made some things up about locations (while doing my best to Google) since I'm not American. Sorry!

i have fault lines in my bones
part four: road

She finds herself surprised he plays music. It's not so loud she couldn't hear him if he chose to speak, but it's loud enough for the car not to feel overly quiet and uncomfortable. They've been driving for a few hours now, with her quietly admitting to herself that she'd dozed off for an hour or so when the night had thickly laid itself over Virginia.

The stars hide from them as if afraid to peer out and peek at them. She doesn't want anyone to see where they're going, that they're together. It's best that this remain a secret, just like it's always been. This secret works better than any other secret she's ever had. It makes her feel like she's finally tucked away, no longer the doppelgänger everyone tries to covet like she's some blinding comet. It's normal to have a secret.

When she tilts her head to the side to watch him, Elijah doesn't seem tired. She knows he can feel it. He might be a thousand years old, but even he needs sleep. All vampires do. Her research into what Stefan could have possibly been had led her down a garden path of garlic, sleeping in coffins, wearing oddly fitting capes and possibly singing the alphabet, but it hadn't discounted the fact vampires slept.

He's not a bad driver. Elena isn't quite sure why she expected him to be slow. Perhaps it's the revelation of his age or the way he likes to enjoy her slowly like she's the finest of wines he's ever tasted. She rests her elbow on the lip of the open window, curls her fingers to the top of it, and enjoys the wind tangling her long hair as it whips against her face.

The sky's still dark despite the sun yawning and slowly beginning to stretch itself into another hard day's work. She smiles as the darkness is slowly lifting like a curtain. She doesn't quite know what to expect on the stage of this particular day, but she's looking forward to it.

For the first time in a long time, Elena feels alive.

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"I can turn around any time you like and take you back to Mystic Falls. I don't mind."

That's the seventh time he's offered that. Not that she's counting.

He doesn't turn to her with his palm open, lifelines creasing his smooth skin and acting like a platter for her to take from. He looks ahead at the road, his own arm now sitting outside of the car. It's so relaxed and youthful that she likes this unburdened look on him best.

Elena shakes her head vehemently. "No," she says, pressing her lips together in determination. Same answer, same expression, same vocal tone. The road ahead of them extends further than she's ever travelled before. "I'm good. I'm fine," she says. Looking at him she smiles, "But if we need to go back because you want to go back, then that's fine, too."

Elijah smiles and laughs loudly. It's the first time she's heard him laugh. "I'm all right," he says, glancing at her. His smile makes his eyes crease. She's changed her mind; she much prefers this look on him. "I was just wondering about you. Driving Miss Daisy and all."

She gasps playfully, sitting up in her seat. "I can't believe you watch movies."

"I know what "O.M.G." is, Elena." He laughs lightly and warmly. Glancing at her, he regards her with an arch to his brow, "Does it really surprise you I could know anything? I saw the movie in the theatres the week it came out."

Elena smiles, pressing her lips together. No, it doesn't surprise her. Not a lot surprises her about him anymore, but that doesn't mean she's not open to him shocking her—and in a good way. She's over being spooked in terms of being surprised.

Narrowing her eyes playfully at him, she scrunches up her face as she eyes him. Pulling against her seatbelt, she twists so she's facing him, pulling her knees to tuck beneath her.

"Okay, trivia time. Let's see what kind of movie buff you are."

He takes his gaze off the road, smiling at her. The arch of his brow has remained, making him look like an accepter of her challenge. The gauntlet's been thrown and he's picked it up.

Biding her time for a moment, Elena points her finger at him playfully. "Who is Glen Coco?"

Elijah smiles, shaking his head incredulously. "Not Danny Devito, but I do love his work."

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She wishes she had thought to pack sunglasses. It's a thought she wonders if he shares, eyes bare, squinting into the sunlight. Sometimes she checks to see if he's burning.

The wind ruffles his hair. She buries her hands between her legs and squeezes them tightly with her thighs, stopping herself from giving in to the temptation to reach out and touch him. All she wants to do is brush his hair back and out of his face, but she knows he doesn't need her to. He doesn't lift his own hand up to brush his hair out of his face to make her feel like her fingers are rendered useless. He seems to like it, the tickle of his hair, the imperfection it promotes.

When he catches her staring, he smiles. Elena can't help but smile back.

"I have a question for you," he says. She sits up straighter in her seat, waiting patiently as he looks at the road ahead and then back at her. Houses align the busy road with cars passing by them. She wonders how many of them he can hear clearly. "Backstreet Boys or N*Sync?"

Elena laughs, taken aback. "Oh, I was definitely a Backstreet Boys girl. Nick Carter was very cute."

"Is that so?"

She nods, humming in the affirmative. "Very." She reaches out to brush her fingertips against his floppy bangs. "You have his haircut."

He smiles toothily, his cheeks a slight sunburn pink. She clumsily brushes her fingertips against the shell of his ear before withdrawing her hand. "Let's get one thing straight," he says, slowing the car at a set of traffic lights. He turns to face her, ignoring the red lights blaring in front of them. "He found inspiration from my haircut."

Elena laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear roughly. "Is that so, Mr Mikaelson?"

"Yes, Miss Gilbert," he nods. With a glance at the lights, he focuses on her, leaning close towards her. "I am older than Nicholas Carter, by at least a few decades."

"And cuter," she says. Leaning back in her seat, she looks straight ahead. She's a little proud of that one. He seemed a little shocked—a good kind of shocked—before she decided to turn her gaze away from his

inhaling deeply, she lets it out in a forceful blow.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to make the lights change colour," she says. Looking at him with a furrowed brow, she laughs awkwardly. "You've never done that? Tried to change the traffic lights?"

He shakes his head. "No," he says. He doesn't look at her like she's grown a second head. He looks amused, a small smile playing on his lips. Facing the intersection with a curious furrowed brow, he licks his lips and asks, "So, how do I do it?"

"Just blow," she says. "But you have to time it properly. It takes a lot of skill."

Elijah doesn't try. He looks out the front window patiently, his fingers lightly tapping the steering wheel.

When Elena huffs out her breath again, the traffic light facing them remains red. Pouting, she slouches in her seat. "I'm out of practice."

After a moment, Elijah huffs out a burst of breath. The traffic lights turn green. He looks at her proudly before he focuses on the road ahead, pushing the car forward.

Crossing her arms against her chest, she rolls her eyes. "Show off."

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After a total of five hours in the car, her stomach rumbles louder than Whitney Houston's belts. He lets her touch the stereo, uncaring for how loudly she turns up the volume so she can sheathe her voice within the music as she sings. Elena's forgotten how horrible she can be as a passenger.

She makes a mental note: Elijah likes Whitney. It accompanies a mental list she's been creating since she slipped inside of the Chevy Classic. Elijah likes playing silly games like Eye Spy and guessing movie quotes, he enjoys humming loudly to songs but never quite allows himself to sing, and he likes blowing his breath to try and change the traffic lights. What remains underneath a big question mark is why he drives this particular car.

When she lowers the volume to a warm hum, she can hear him breathe. A deep inhale in. He hums to the tune from ABBA, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

Elena mouths the words, leaning her head heavily against the back of her seat. Her feet are pulled up beneath her while she leans heavily against the door and rests her head on the edge of the open window. Watching the world from a tilt. It's different. She wonders if Elijah sees the world like she does or differently, like he's watching from a tilt of his head.

He glances at her. "Are you hungry?"

She nods. "Starving." She sits up straight, keeping her legs tucked beneath her. "Are you? Do you like food?"

His brow furrows. Before he can open his mouth, she says quickly, "It's like you have an aversion to food." She narrows her eyes suspiciously and points her finger at him. "I've never seen you and it in the same room. Not even garlic."

He chuckles, gazing back to the road. "You're in a good mood."

She blushes, sinking into her seat. She lifts her feet to rest them against the dashboard. The further they get from Mystic Falls, the less chained and weighed down beneath its smothering waters she feels.

"Yes, I can eat food," he says. "I enjoy food, in fact. I'd almost chosen to become a foodstagrammer, but I thought that career path would prove to be unsatisfying."

"You're teasing me."

"I am," he says, smiling at her. He slows the car gently at a set of traffic lights. None of the buildings or street names are recognisable to her. A spark of excitement warms her belly as he tells her of a diner she may like a few blocks away.

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With her chin pressed into the palm of her hand, she looks out the diner window with a forlorn sigh. The day's bright, the sky a stretch of light blue and cloudless. The street outside is busy with cars zipping by in either direction. Only one pulls into the parking lot. It's foreign to her to see a street so busy, with cars she can't identify passing by for possibly the only time she'll ever spy them.

She doesn't look at him when he sits down opposite her, tugging his blazer as he does so.

He gently sighs. "See anything interesting?"

Elena presses her lips together and shakes her head. She doesn't move her chin from her hand. "No," she says, sighing in disappointment. "It's just like any other town."

"Were you expecting something different?" Elijah sounds amused. When she glances at him, her elbow still digging into the table, he's smiling. It's a nice look on him. She thinks she can see the smiling lines from his time in the car.

She sighs again, looking back out the window. The diner's an upgrade from the retro look, even though Elena had been secretly hoping to step back into the 1950s with waitresses on rollerblades and a jukebox blaring in the back. The booth's cushion is a worn red, similar to that of dried blood. The waitresses walk in flats or small boots, and a small black radio sits on a shelf in the corner by the bathrooms. It's definitely not a world to escape within.

"No," she says. "I just expected it to not look so…"

"Familiar?"

She only hums, nodding. Keeping her gaze on the window outside, she watches as a man hurriedly walks by, feet pounding into the sidewalk as he nestles a cellphone against his shoulder and ear. His hands are filled with numerous shopping bags looking like they're ready to burst.

Elena licks her lips and doesn't pull her gaze away from the window. "I thought that maybe Mystic Falls was different. It's so unusual, so I thought that maybe, well… somewhere else was different, too."

"You'll be surprised by how many towns have vampires walking at nighttime," he says. When she turns her head to look at him with a curious frown, he turns his gaze towards the window. "Every town is the same."

"I went to Atlanta once. With Damon." She sucks in a breath, finding a wave of confusing feelings washing over her briefly. That had been a fun day away, one that made her feel like there was a bubble outside of Mystic Falls she could fall into easily. That wish had been born on the cusp of learning Stefan's truth, and the truth of her heritage. She feels guilty for looking back on that heroic kidnapping turned impromptu getaway with kindness. Damon had been a different person then.

"The bartender was a witch," she continues. "He killed her."

Elijah nods. "I know," he says. At the tilt of her head, he swallows thickly. "Bree was a friend of my brother's. She had been a friend of mine, too."

"She was a good person," Elena offers quietly. "She let me drink even though I'm seventeen. I was having a really bad day… or year, really." She cards her hand through he hair, scooping it up and over her head. "I'm sorry you lost her. I'm sorry that your brother did, too."

Elijah looks at her for a moment before he drops his gaze to the table. Fingers brushing against the surface, she tries to identify the shapes he's drawing. "Kol won't be happy to hear she's dead by Damon's hand," he says quietly. Elena perks up, watching him intently as he refuses to look up at her. "He has a temper. Kol likes his witches."

She wants to know more. Who is Kol? How does Elijah feel about him? Will he stop Kol from hunting down Damon and avenging Bree? Would he even avenge her? Her chest bursts with impatience and the hunger to know more, but she knows she has time to ask. She can wait.

Instead, she opts for asking something else entirely. "What about you? Do you like witches?"

"Some," he says. He looks at her with a small smile. "I'm known for my fondness of doppelgängers."

When the waitress comes to take their order, Elena looks down at her legs and finds herself disappointed. No rollerblades. Ordering a light meal—a burger and fries to his steak—and a glass of water, she watches as the waitress gives a lingering look to a seemingly oblivious Elijah and turns away. Again, disappointment at her black flats floods her. She knows it's silly to expect to see real-life reflect the movies, but she had hoped for it for this one time. Vampires were real. Why not stereotypes about waitresses in diners?

Elena sits back in her booth, brushing her hands against her wrinkled jeans. Keeping her gaze down, she clears her throat. He doesn't look at her, busy folding his laminated menu in half along its proper crease. With an arch of her brow to the table, she teases, "That waitress was hitting on you, you know."

She doesn't care to look up. She can feel him looking at her and can easily picture him smiling. But when he doesn't answer immediately, she worries she's overstepped.

"You sound bothered."

Looking up at him with a furrowed brow, she shakes her head. Scoffs too loudly. "Oh, no, I'm not," she says, waving her hand dismissively. Ignoring the niggling in her chest at the idea of him now letting his gaze linger on the waitress, she clears her throat roughly. She leans forward and grabs napkins from the holder—a small jukebox that doesn't light up nor play music—and begins to place them down in front of her. She looks up at him then, feeling like she has her armour on to hide her face and feelings from his sharp eye. "I was just wondering if you wanted to steal her panties, too."

She swears she sees a blush kiss his cheeks.

"No," he says, looking at her. His hands are nowhere to be seen, pressed against his lap. She wonders if he's fidgeting. She's tempted to lean across her booth to peep beneath the table. "Just yours."

Elena's sure she flushes bright red. Clearing her throat very loudly, she moves her napkin to her left. He laughs lightly.

"I thought we'd drive for a little longer and then find a place to rest," he says. He plucks a napkin from the holder and begins to brush it across the table. Not once does he wrinkle it. "We'll be in New Orleans tomorrow, if not the next day."

"I can drive, you know."

"I'm aware," he says, gaze on his task at hand. His sweeps are gentle as he glides the napkin over the surface of the table. "But you've also been awake for as long as I have, and I won't be awake to tell you where to go."

Elena smiles. "So, you're going to finally prove you can sleep?"

Elijah looks up at her, lips curved upward. He stops wiping the table, crumpling the napkin in his palm. "Perhaps."

"Are we going to just sleep in the car?" She arches her brow. She feels excited about the idea. "I didn't pack a pillow, and I doubt any of your blazers are going to be comfortable enough for anyone to rest their head on."

"We'll go to a motel," he says. At the arch of her brow, he chuckles. "What?"

"I just…" Elena pulls her hands from the table, pinching her legs out of his sight. What she wants to say is very silly in comparison to everything else they've said, but she'd made a vow to trust him. She needs him to trust her, even with the silly misjudgements and assumptions she's made about him. "You don't seem like a motel kind of person."

Rather than frown, he smiles, leaning back against the booth. Crossing his arms against his chest, he arches his brow in amusement. "And what kind of person do I look like?"

Wincing, she offers, "A… five-star hotel with a turndown service kind of person."

He smiles, chuckling. He doesn't seem offended. Elena's only come to know Elijah so intimately that she doesn't quite know him any other way.

"You'll be surprised, Elena. Sometimes I've had to make do without a turndown service. We'll finish here and we'll drive a little further." He crumples up his napkin into a ball. When he removes his hand away from it, even its circular circumference appears neat. "There's a nice motel along the road an hour from here. You'll like it. It has a very five-star feel. They even leave little chocolates on the bed."

notes.

I'm taking some leniences with the charactertisations/ histories of the OG family and characters the show literally forgets. (My fave, Kol, deserved better!)

I created a playlist for this fic on Spotify. You can find it on my Tumblr at finnicks.