Not seeing the Mikaelsons goes well, for a while. The beginning is hard. You're used to being busy: either from work or entertaining the horde of vampires who come to visit. There's nothing to distract you from the gnawing dread that's been in your stomach since Rebekah kissed you.
You hope she's okay, that you didn't scare her too badly.
Then again, she did spring a kiss on you. So she can stew in her worry a bit longer.
You think that's the petty part of you talking.
The house starts to feel more like yours. You explore the other rooms. It's odd, being surrounded by things that aren't yours but are all things that could be. Part of you was worried after seeing the classical style of the Mikaelson manor. But your house is… cozy. You have bright quilts and artwork and a full set of crystal wine glasses. (As well as martini glasses and champagne flutes). The guest bedroom holds a queen size bed. There's a pullout sofa in the living room. You're guessing that's in anticipation of your vampire visitors. Elijah left one of the bedrooms empty. You don't know what to do with it yet.
You still haven't unpacked the rest of your things in the garage. There's nothing in there you need right now.
Elijah replaced your bed an extravagantly large circle bed that looks like it popped straight out of a vintage catalog. You love it. It has enough room for you to sprawl and wake up slowly in the early morning sun. Not that you've been sleeping much— your nights are interrupted by dreams you can't remember but linger on your skin. You stay in bed out of misplaced hope you'll fall back asleep. You never do.
Headaches that slip into migraines plague you. You lay in the dark for hours. It never makes a difference.
Eventually, when the sun starts shining in your eyes, you have lazy mornings surrounded by stacks of books. You slowly but surely work your way through Kol's movie collection. You're still not sure what order they're in.
You miss him. You stamp the feeling out and try not to think about the Mikaelsons. It goes about as well as expected.
In the past, you weren't able to enjoy your free time. There's always something to do. But now your groceries get delivered, your bills are on auto-pay out of someone else's wallet, and you don't know what to do with yourself. (Finding new hobbies is hard. Finding time for yourself, historically, has been harder). You read the gardening book Elijah gave you and start to fill your house with plants. You even manage to keep some of them alive.
Only the Pothos, but still. It's more than you've ever accomplished before.
You don't bake as much now. There isn't anyone to help you eat it.
You do have Kate over on a day you're not feeling terrible and you make her favorite: brown sugar blueberry streusel. She told you it's your best recipe. You respectfully disagree. (She's never had your sea-salt chocolate ganache cake).
"This is where you live?" She asks, disbelief etching her voice. You expected this reaction. Kate is older than you by nearly a decade, but neither of you can afford to live somewhere like this.
"I know."
"This isn't like, the Sopranos, is it?"
You take a sip of your tea.
"No," you answer eventually, "But that's actually kind of close."
Kate doesn't ask any more questions. You love her for it. You get updated on all the workplace drama. Some of your favorite coworkers have left. You're struck with the alarming feeling that even if your life went back to normal and your returned to work, it wouldn't be the same.
A little more of your control slips away. You find yourself scrambling for the pieces.
"I can't believe Megan left," you say, aghast, "Did she even finish her degree?"
Kate shrugs. "She graduated a semester early, apparently. She got a job from that internship she had."
Maybe you should have gone into finance instead of psychology. It occurs to you that you never would have met the Mikaelsons if you hadn't been working at the bakery that night. A lot of the change in your life hinges on a chance meeting.
Too much for you to be comfortable.
You're thinking of the Mikaelsons again. Ugh.
Kate notices you've zoned out.
"What to show me the backyard?"
You accept the change in subject and smile.
"Of course."
"Oh, this is incredible," Kate comments as she gazes around the hibernating garden. She's bundled up in her winter coat (It's not even that cold out today. You lose some respect for Texans). "Don't you have a black thumb?"
"Hey," you protest, "People can change."
"Not that much," Kate refutes.
You like to think she's wrong.
You show her your gardening plans you drew up. It's too cold to do anything outside, so you're stuck doing research. You've never lived anywhere with a garden. Well, at least one that has more than ground cover. You are going to have a vegetable garden. You consider getting blackberry plants until you learn they take two years to produce fruit. Who knows if you'll be here that long.
Kate is politely skeptical, about more than just the garden. You would be too if you were in her shoes. She stays remarkably collected for her visit.
"Promise me you'll be alright, okay baby girl?" She says when it's time for her to leave. Her forehead creases with worry.
You smile and promise.
You don't do anything for the rest of the day, or the next.
Eventually, you make yourself leave the house. The town is one of those pre-revolution colonies sprinkled around the country with centuries old buildings and a well-funded historical conservation committee. You take your time exploring. You spend too much money on nice soaps (that you don't even need: Elijah stocked your new house full of anything you could ever want. He should have his own interior decorating service. You don't think buying too-expensive toiletries is in the job description) and books. You buy yourself new work shoes with memory foam inserts. Not that it makes a difference, now.
Your car is driving better than normal. The heat works and the faint smell of cigarettes is gone.
You find a coffee shop a few streets over with big leather chairs and window seats. They have black tea. It's not quite as good as yours, but you'll take it. You go back the next day and the day after. They open early enough you can escape there when your nightmares infect your house and you think you're going to scream if you stay there one minute longer.
Eventually, it becomes routine.
You wake up and make breakfast. You've been making a lot of scrambles, when you feel like eating. After, you get dressed in clothes that you're positive you didn't buy and get your bag. Your gardening books are already inside.
Despite only finding it a week ago, the baristas know your name. You might be spending too much time here.
You order your black tea with milk and honey. The barista (Todd) writes your name on the cup without asking. You take a seat by the window and take out your notepad and pen. Elijah's book lays open on your table as you make plans for the garden. You have sketches of the backyard and vague ideas for what flowers you want to plant. You're thinking of sticking to native wildflowers. Blue-moon cleft phlox and prairie trillium and— of course— Virginia bluebells. Maybe you'll have a tea garden and grow vervain and other herbs. The Mikaelsons might take that the wrong way.
Not that it matters.
The coffee shop fills up while you're daydreaming. A gust of winter wind blows in. You take another sip of your tea and enjoy the warmth. This town is bigger than your old one. Sometimes it's enough just to be around the bustle of other people. You'd almost forgotten what it's like.
You think you were stuck in a rut so long that you've forgotten how to be a person. You struggle to think back to when you were young and had dreams and ambitions. (You're still young, you know rationally, but sometimes it feels like your life is slipping away from you. Before the vampires, before all of complexity Klaus Mikaelson has brought into your life, you were just another person struggling to survive. The thing is, you think you tried to survive for so long you forgot about living).
You have enough money now you could travel. Maybe you will.
Assuming you ever manage to sleep through the night again. Maybe you should save traveling for when you can go a full twenty-four hours without a crippling migraine and nausea.
"Pardon me, may I sit?"
You look up, train of thought ripped away from you. A man with ruffled hair and light, serious eyes stands at your table. He's older than you. You can't quite place his accent, something warm and vaguely European. You haven't heard anything like it before. The rest of the chairs are taken.
"Of course," you say hastily, cleaning away your gardening book, "Please, take a seat."
"Thank you." He sits down and you glance at his order. Chai. You can't quite make out the name.
"Sorry the table's a mess, I was doing some research."
"On…" He glances at your book, "The Native Plants of Virginia?"
You flush. "I just got my first house, I'm trying to figure out what to do with the garden."
The man hums. You don't usually make conversation with strangers. Maybe this is part of trying new things.
You could use some friends who aren't vampires. (Or at least ones who aren't constantly worried you're going to get murdered by the mafia. Sorry Kate).
"I'm afraid I'm not much of a gardener."
"I'm not either. I kill everything I touch."
The man laughs sharply, like he didn't plan to. It's a nice change to his solemn expression.
"I do know quite a bit about the native plants here, though" he offers, "If you need advice."
"Actually," you say slowly, "That would be great." You realize you should probably introduce yourself.
He smiles, more muted this time, when you do.
"It's very nice to meet you," he says, "I'm Finn."
Finn is a huge help. Some flowers he recommends, it's too late to plant, but he does give you an idea for a makeshift greenhouse. There's a space by the garage you could put it. Maybe you'll get a bee box.
You're getting ahead of yourself. You still don't know if you'll even be in your new house come spring. The Mikaelsons, and their enemies, are unpredictable. But you like talking to Finn.
"How do you know so much about flowers?"
"My family grew up… rurally," he says, "Being able to identify what plants are edible was necessary."
"I grew up in the suburbs," you admit, "Can't say I ever learned."
His eyes crinkle when he smiles, you realize. He's quiet and calm in a way you're not used to. It's nice. He's also pretty in exactly the way that appeals to you. (Not that you're thinking about that, not right now).
You think the Mikaelsons would tear him limb from limb, high cheekbones or not.
"No, I wouldn't think so." He drinks the last of his Chai. Your tea is long-cold.
"Do you come here a lot?" You finally ask, "I haven't seen you here before."
"My first time in the area," he says, "I've been traveling for a while."
"Oh, why?"
His forehead creases and you abruptly remember the two of you are strangers, and you should be careful of emotional pitfalls.
"I'm sorry," you blurt out, "You don't have to answer that."
Strangely, he chuckles.
"It's quite alright. I don't have a good answer. I'm sort of… aimless right now."
Preaching to the choir.
"Yeah," you say, hands seeking long-gone warmth by curling around your cup, "I think it's going around."
"I see," he says, "Looks like we're birds of a feather."
"Seems so."
His eyes drift down to your throat and rest there.
"May I ask where you got your necklace? I've been admiring it."
"Oh, this?" You ask, tugging on Kol's amulet, "My friend gave it to me. It's a good luck charm."
Finn's gaze lingers a touch too long.
"It's lovely. I've never seen anything like it."
You hum. "I haven't either. I don't know where he got it."
He leans back in his chair. "He must have good taste."
You smile.
"Very."
You glance through the window and realize it's mid-afternoon. The coffee shop is going to close soon. Finn notices too.
"Well," you say, "If you happen to stay in the area, I'm here most days. It's a pretty nice town."
"I'll keep that in mind. It's been a while since I've stayed in one place."
You don't have a lot of hope that you'll see him again. If nothing else, you had nice conversation and have a list of flowers to look into. You're relieved you still know how to talk to people. Your conversations with Kate can't be considered 'normal' as of late.
The baristas look relieved when you finally leave. They switch the sign to 'Closed' behind you.
"It was nice meeting you," you say, lingering awkwardly outside the front.
Finn examines you and eventually smiles— at least that's how you interpret the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"Likewise," he murmurs, "I'm sure I'll see you soon."
You hope so. You need more human friends.
You walk to your car, spirits buoyed at the idea of meeting someone all on your own (no supernatural interference necessary). You think that last time you made a friend was in college. Maybe your dry streak has ended.
Your optimism is derailed when you hit the parking lot and there's a familiar witch leaning against the driver's side door. You freeze near the entrance and debate whether or not to run. Then you realize she's staring directly at you, so there's no point.
"Bonnie?" You ask in disbelief.
You hope she's not here to kidnap you. You don't think Kol's good luck charm can prevent that.
She raises her arms in peaceful surrender.
"I'm not here to hurt you, I just want to talk," she says, "Klaus hasn't been making it easy to find you."
You wrinkle your nose at his name. At least he hasn't sold you out to his enemies out of spite yet. Part of you is surprised. Your hands clench on your bag.
"What do you want?"
"I wanted to give you a warning."
God, this is like pulling teeth.
"… About what?" You eventually ask.
"Someone's trying to reach out to you. Their spirit is… attached to yours. I noticed it at Stefan and Damon's."
"Um," you say, "That doesn't sound good."
Bonnie shrugs. "Hard to say. I didn't get a read on its intentions. It could be benevolent."
Could. What a reassuring word.
"Well," you say cautiously, "Thanks for the heads up. Was that it?"
She tilts her side to side before shrugging. "Yeah, pretty much."
"I feel like this could have been a text. Next time, maybe don't wait out in a parking lot for god knows how long. You could get kidnapped."
Bonnie rolls her eyes, but you think you spot a glimmer of a smile. She moves aside so you can open your car door.
"Til next time," she says.
"… Next time."
Hopefully, next time won't involve a dungeon and angry vampires. You get the odd feeling you would like Bonnie if you were more certain of her intentions. You drive away until you can barely see her, even if you feel the weight of her eyes watching.
You go home and make yourself tea: your new blend with vervain and English Breakfast. Your hands barely tremble. You go to bed early, but winter means it's pitch black outside. Cold winter air doesn't drift in through the windows here. You fall asleep quickly in a house that's not quite your own.
Not that it matters.
You jolt out of a nightmare with phantom hands burned into your skin. You knock over your lamp in your haste to turn on the light.
Freya. Your night terror has a name. This is the first time you've ever managed to see the name on that glass coffin. It's the first time your dream has turned on you to this extent. (The first time ghosts and corpses tore you apart. You still hear the screams and the crunch of bone).
You take in a shaking breath and squeeze your knees tight. The light barely alleviates your panic.
You have a sinking feeling that these dreams are related to Bonnie's warning. The part of you that whispered these dreams were more than dreams is vindicated. The rest of you is terrified.
A splitting headache keeps you awake for the rest of the night.
I am going to add a tag for this fic that just says: warning: do not read for plot. Author is a boring person.
(But hey! Introspection is fun and sexy. Hope you liked Finn's introduction ;-) )
Also just a little reminder if you want to read a much more edited version of this fic, head on over to Ao3 !