This is the one shot I mentioned working on the other day when I posted Temporarily Changed.
If she didn't know any better she would say it was a game to him. She would say he does it on purpose, and that he is flirting with her because he can.
Her head, logic, tells her that this is the case; that he is bored with his eternity and is passing the time by playing with her emotions. He once told her he would never make the mistake of falling for another doppelganger but whenever they are near each other he gives another impression.
She swears his hot and cold routine is giving her whiplash.
He head says it's a game and maybe it was in the beginning, but that was before; before Klaus and the elixir, before the ball, before the Salvatore love drama, before Jeremy, before Wickery Bridge and Willoughby.
That was before when her life was the stuff of soap operas. That was before when he knew her desires and that a future with him was not in the cards.
Her head says it's a game they're playing and they've been playing it from the start, but that was before the rules were re-written.
It was before eternity stretched ahead.
Her head says it's a game but her heart sings a different tune; it always has. Lately it sounds a lot like A Whole New World; the original not the remake.
Maybe he'll hate her.
Maybe he'll tell her that her head has been right all along and laugh in her face… no, she doesn't think he'll laugh in her face.
He will never laugh at her; with her, yes, but never at her.
Maybe he'll tell her that her heart is right.
Maybe he'll reveal that he has meant every subtle flirtation and felt every longing look.
Maybe – and she knows she's reaching now – he'll tell her how he knew it was her from the start in the gazebo.
Maybe he'll be angry it took her so long to get here, that it took her death before she really looked at him, but she's not sure she wouldn't have come eventually anyway and there is no way to find out now.
The scenarios race through her mind, but there is only one way to figure out which will come to fruition, so with her heart in her throat she knocks.
It feels like eternity before the knob twists, but when the door opens she forgets her tact. She forgets every rehearsed word because it's impossible to remember anything when he gives her that soft look. She might forget her own name too, but fortunately – as always – it's the first thing out of his mouth.
The syllables fall from his lips as gentle as a lover's caress that still – fifteen years later – has the power to send delicate shivers down her spine.
"Elena."
"Elijah," she returns his smile. her contented look does not last long because yes he's in front of her again but she wants answers. "What are we doing?"
Her tone urges him to step outside and stand in front of her toe to toe. He doesn't need clarification.
"What do you want us to be doing?" He tilts his head meeting her eyes.
That's when she realizes it; the ball is in her court and has been for a long time, maybe even from the beginning. Fifteen years before she was too young to know what she wanted, but she is thirty-two – nearly thirty-three – now and she has had time to think.
She knows what she wants, so she takes it; right there on his doorstep.
The kiss is tentative at first, but then he returns it and she wraps her arms around his neck.
Her head tries to tell her it's new, it will fizzle out, and that nothing she has ever lasts, but her heart whispers the words he wrote all those years ago.
Always and forever.