A.N.: Happy Friday, everyone! So, things are going to get a little…bloodier…


Resurgam

15

Stefan Has Accepted Your Friend Request


Klaus somehow managed to pull himself together, long enough to return from the National Park.

Rebekah heard him raging to himself as he entered the house, throwing his weight around, and continued to scroll through photographs on Stefan's Facebook page, unfazed. Stefan finally, after much pestering, had accepted Rebekah as a 'Friend', and she was enjoying looking through modern photographs, his Instagram snaps, taken over the last few years while he travelled with Niklaus.

It was not her brother's first tantrum, and it was hardly his most violent to date; there would be more. She conserved her energy to deal with the truly horrifying tantrums - but without Elijah to mediate, to be Klaus's faulty moral compass, well… Stefan had told her the best way to deal with Klaus now was simply to refuse to engage. It infuriated Klaus to no end, but ignoring his tantrums shocked him enough to calm down.

She and Stefan had played Bananagrams, the game she had seen Giulia buying, and Stefan had drifted off for a nightcap, leaving her to enjoy rummaging through the goodies she had picked up while shopping…and to go through the tote-bag Giulia had gifted her, the contents of which were now spread over her California king-sized bed. She had been so busy with Stefan, exploring the town, to go through them for days. She rested against the pillows, Giulia's handwritten letter unfolded beside her; she was touched at the gesture, the effort Giulia had gone to.

Stefan had told Rebekah that Giulia wasn't just kind: She was smart.

Stefan, who didn't seem to be impressed by much anymore, had beamed when he spoke about Giulia's accomplishments.

And Rebekah had to give it to the girl, who was a mere twenty-eight chronological mortal years old…after hearing what Giulia had been up to academically the last ten years since Stefan walked out of her life, Rebekah was impressed.

She had been daggered at a time when women in universities were the exception, not the rule. That the intensely beautiful Giulia Salvatore, in her sweaty workout gear, with her scrumptious little girl, held multiple PhDs as well as a full-fledged degree in Architecture from a premier European university… Rebekah wasn't such a jealous, spiteful girl that she couldn't be awed by another woman's success. She was curious about it, impressed, and had been thinking… Stefan told her she had missed the beginning of the feminist movement; the greatest era for burgeoning female equality.

She had just seen women secure their right to vote in America with the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment before she was daggered.

Now, Giulia Salvatore was more highly-qualified than any of the men in her family who had come before her, including perpetual-student Stefan.

Rebekah had asked Stefan about attending university herself: He had laughed, initially, then realised she was serious, and asked what she would like to study, commenting that if she wanted to do the thing correctly, she could start by attending a high-school while she assimilated to the times, and apply to a university of her choice. He didn't think Klaus was up for chasing her to the ends of the earth to sink a dagger back into her heart out of spite; while modern methods of transportation were awing, Klaus was now limited by his own nature. He couldn't handle long in an automobile, let alone confinement in an aeroplane, or on a ship.

She could go wherever she wished, and do everything her gender had always prevented her from pursuing.

Rebekah had thought about inviting Giulia Salvatore for a cup of tea, to talk about her degrees; Stefan said coffee had eclipsed tea as the beverage of choice in the States, but she could invite Giulia to meet her for a drink at a café to talk about university. Stefan said Giulia would probably like that.

"Where the hell is Stefan?" Klaus growled, the door banging off the wall as he stormed into her room.

"He went for a nightcap," Rebekah shrugged, eyes on her phone.

"Get him back here. Now."

"I'm dressed for bed; you go and find him, if it's so important," Rebekah said unconcernedly, fiddling with the end of her braid. There was no preferred hairstyle for this time, but after Giulia's comment about the Twenties, Rebekah did think that some of the old styles still retained their elegance, even now. She had lived through every extreme of fashion over the last millennium; today's extreme seemed to be that there was no common fashion that women of all social castes prescribed to. She had coiled her hair into a thick, shining braid down her back before bed, just as she had for a thousand years.

"He really is laying the royal treatment on thick," Klaus sneered, eyeing the things in front of her.

"I don't need Stefan to give me things; I am more than capable of acquiring them for myself," Rebekah sniffed, scrolling through Stefan's photograph albums.

"Ah, so you're too exhausted from your day compelling people to give you things?" Klaus sneered at her, picking up and dropping the things on her bed.

"As opposed to bartering their brother's life for a decade's indentured servitude?" Rebekah said tartly, finally looking up from her phone to smirk at her hateful brother. "And, actually, these were gifts."

"Gifts don't count if they're compelled," Klaus smirked viciously.

"No compulsion necessary; you see, people actually like me," Rebekah sniped back. At least when she was daggered, her mental fortitude wasn't tested: She was always on edge around Niklaus, always thinking of the next stinging quip to fling back at him, deflecting the hateful things he said to her. "They were a present from Giulia Salvatore."

After a few moments, Klaus became utterly still. His voice was his silkiest, his most dangerous when he asked, "Giulia Salvatore?"

"That's what I said," Rebekah said, sighing irritably. "Has your transformation affected your hearing? Or merely your mind; not that I can tell there is much of a difference."

"Giulia Salvatore? Dark hair, cheekbones to cut diamonds, truly magnificent breasts?" Klaus asked, fuming.

"She also has two PhDs and is a qualified Architect with her own practice," Rebekah said, "but, yes, focus on her physical attributes. And I'm the one who missed the feminist movement! Did Elijah at least get to witness it; he always was a fierce feminist."

"That's not possible," Klaus hissed, staring at her.

"I'm told it's actually encouraged for women to pursue higher education."

"That she's alive - seeing as I turned her for the ritual ten years ago."

"Well, you have lost your touch," Rebekah smirked, delighting in pressing her advantage, and hiding the spark of dread that flared, realising he would follow this lead to Giulia's demise if it meant 'fixing' what he had declared was broken. Klaus was fuming; and impotent. Instead of lashing out at her - she could clean the floor with him, and he knew it, loathed this new development, and avoided any reminder that he was not nearly as powerful as he once was, as he believed was his right - he fumed, smashed a chair, and slammed his way out of the room. She laughed under her breath, scrolling through Stefan's pictures, lots of shining red sports-cars, atmospheric nature photographs, occasional 'selfies' outside landmarks with sardonic little smiles, holding up handmade signs that seemed to indicate inside-jokes he shared with people she had never met, and he had never mentioned.

Using social-media, Stefan could communicate with people on the other side of the world instantaneously.

He had told Rebekah that it was how he had stayed sane during the last ten years with Klaus, who was worse than Rebekah had ever seen him.

She could hear Niklaus downstairs in his studio, grinding pigment, the scent of turpentine nauseating, and familiar to her. He had always mixed his own paints. He had always used art as his escape, the one place he convinced himself that he was utterly, purely in control…forget the siblings whose lives he had sadistically dictated for centuries.

Klaus put everything into his artwork; and his siblings delighted in ruining it. Kol, especially, was a delightful little fire-starter: Anything Klaus had ever been proud of, Kol had burned, or shredded, or encouraged Rebekah's pets to defecate on. Anything Kol could do to get back at Niklaus for the ancient, repeated offenses Klaus had committed against him - against all of them.

Kol was reckless and wonderful; Rebekah often wondered what fate had befallen him, when he chose to remain in New Orleans in 1919. Remaining in New Orleans, while Elijah departed for Europe, had given her and Niklaus precious time to escape the city, to hide in plain sight in the largest of raucous, industrial cities in the North, until Mikael had caught up with them.

Over two centuries in the Crescent City, all undone by Rebekah's foolish decision…her necessary choice… Everything, ruined, because of her. Marcel, reduced to ashes; fleeing from the only home they had known since Marseilles…Mikael had run them out of that fortress port-city, too…

She wondered whether Mikael had hurt Kol or Elijah, before discovering them: Stefan had mentioned that Elijah had been daggered the night Klaus bartered his blood for Stefan's freedom.

He had endured for nearly a century, alone, without his family; and been daggered for the crime of attempting to wake them. Her heart hurt for him, her favourite brother.

Rebekah used her fingertip to guide her phone, choosing Stefan's next photograph album, entitled Mystic Court.

She sat up straight, eyes glued to her screen, using her fingers to zoom in, focusing, shocked, furious.

Rebekah flung herself from the bed, racing downstairs. She made Klaus start as she threw herself into his studio, wielding her phone as a weapon. His reflexes were a lot slower; his senses, unreliable.

"What, Bekah?" Klaus hissed aggressively, scowling bloody murder at her: She shoved the phone at him, and he frowned, blinking at the screen, touching it with his thumb to stop the image going dark.

"Why is Katerina Petrova wearing my necklace?" she shrieked. Klaus stared at the image. "I WANT IT BACK, NIK!"

"There's no need to shout!" he bellowed back right into her face. He tapped at her phone, which flickered and changed as it followed 'links'.

Katerina, with her perfect dark curls and fluttering eyelashes, was photographed with Stefan, wearing her mother's pendant.

Nik had given it to Rebekah, after finding their mother's mutilated body: He knew she had always admired it.

The last she had heard, Katerina Petrova had perished in a fire in the 1860s; she had still been daggered when that happy announcement reached New Orleans. The beguiling little bitch who toyed with her brothers had burned alive. Good.

Only, she hadn't. She was there, in full colour, on Stefan's arm, flaunting her curls and Rebekah's mother's pendant.

"This is not Katerina Petrova," Klaus said quietly, and Rebekah scowled, her heart seizing. She knew Klaus had to have found a human doppelgänger to have reversed Mother's spell. And she knew she had dropped her necklace at Stefan's feet that night at Gloria's…she hadn't told Niklaus that.

Stefan had to have picked it up. Her necklace. Her mother's pendant.

"Who is she?"

"Someone who should have stayed dead ten years ago," Klaus said, showing Rebekah the phone. The screen was illuminated with someone's wedding photograph, a handsome blue-eyed young man and the doppelgänger, smiling warmly at him, her shining hair upswept, wearing a black-beaded white strapless dress, stunning strappy black heels and a charm bracelet. No sign of Rebekah's necklace. "Elena Gilbert. The last Petrova doppelgänger…and, the last I recall, Stefan's epic love…"

"What?" Rebekah asked flatly, glaring. Klaus' smirk was his victory, after weeks of Rebekah maintaining the upper-hand in their confrontations.

"I think it's time we impose a curfew on young Stefan," Klaus said silkily. "Staying out all night, fibbing about undead girlfriends…it really must stop…"

"He gave her my necklace?" she hissed, knowing she was so angry and emotional that she was shifting, her fangs elongating her furious hiss, her sight shifting, focusing on the tick of blood pumping at Niklaus' neck.

"Easy, Rebekah - I am not a snack," Klaus growled, flinging a paintbrush at her to refocus her rage. She pulled herself together, pulling the bloody paintbrush from her shoulder.

"This is Stella McCartney!" she gasped, looking down at the small blood-stained tear on her silk blouse. She grabbed a handful of paintbrushes and impaled them bristles-first in Nik's abdomen. In his ear, as he groaned, she hissed, "Dick move."

She heard Stefan say it all the time.

Klaus grunted and groaned, on his knees as he plucked each paintbrush out; she stalked out of the room, scrolling through this Elena Gilbert's profile… She found old albums, pictures of this doe-eyed, unremarkable girl with Stefan.

She was no Katherine.

That was something.

And Rebekah realised…this was Niklaus' fault… How could Stefan have known that necklace was hers? Niklaus had erased her from Stefan's mind.

Still…

Stefan had lied.

And he would be punished for it.


They waited until Stefan returned, near dawn, wiping blood from the corner of his lips. He saw Klaus, scowling at him in greeting, and looked as unimpressed as he always did.

"Found your way back, huh? Leave anyone alive?"

"Oh, my little sojourn was nothing by the Ripper of Monterrey's standards," Klaus said quietly. "But then, the Ripper's been out of commission as of late, hasn't he? He's got sloppy."

"How can I be? Cleaning up after you."

"I will admit, I'm rather impressed you managed to maintain the mental fortitude required to conceal secrets from me, and for so long," Klaus said quietly, lethal in his calmness.

"Alright, fine; I ripped your vintage jacket," Stefan rolled his eyes. "Truthfully, it was heinous. And you looked like a Neo-Nazi wearing it."

"Not even close to what I'm talking about," Klaus hissed softly.

"Well, could you get to the point? It's been a long night; I'm beat."

"Yes," Rebekah said coldly, finally moving from behind the front-door, "you are."

She reached forward, and snapped his neck. It was cleaner than Niklaus trying to tear out his heart; and truthfully, Rebekah didn't want to kill him.

The sex was too good.

But that didn't mean she was above punishing him for giving her necklace to another girl, to a doppelgänger, for forgetting her…

He had been chewing vervain since she had risen: He had to be drained.

And he frustrated her to no end as she tormented him; the Ripper, laughing at her attempts to inflict pain.

"This is gonna hurt you more than it will me," he warned playfully, as she stabbed him again with a pitchfork Niklaus had acquired from the outdoors store on the border of town.

"It's not going to hurt me," Rebekah hissed, stabbing him again, as he laughed, groaning only slightly.

"You seem pretty upset - aaah," he sighed, as she withdrew the pitchfork.

"You gave away my mother's necklace!" she shouted at him, tears burning her eyes.

"Oh, that was yours?" Stefan gasped, realisation dawning; he seemed utterly distracted as she stabbed him again, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Yeah…could see how that'd be a kick in the fangs, finding out I'd given it to the girl I fell in love with."

Rebekah faltered. Niklaus had said as much, but she took everything he said with a sack of salt. "You - you loved this girl?"

"You were my first true love," Stefan told her, sighing heavily. "Until Elena was my first true love." Something flickered across his face, something she hadn't seen before; confusion, grief. Helplessness. She pulled the pitchfork out, and faltered, unable to stab him again; the scent of blood and vervain was strong, and she wiped her face, sniffing, trying to pull herself together. Niklaus was having a tantrum out in the woods, triggered by her violence.

Wolves only hunted for food, after all; not for pleasure.

It was the desperation, the confusion on Stefan's face that made her pause. She dropped the pitchfork, suddenly exhausted, and remembered his warning…it hurt her a lot more, seeing what she had done to him, than it hurt him. A month ago they had lived and would have died for each other. They had brought out the best in each other. And now they were both on the defensive, protecting themselves…from each other. From Niklaus. And here she was, doing exactly as Niklaus wanted, exactly as he had counted on her reacting to the doppelgänger, to Stefan's love for her. To being forgotten.

"You forgot me," she gasped softly, tears spilling, and Stefan hung his head; it wasn't his fault. None of this was his fault. Niklaus had abused him just as he had legions of others throughout their endless, harrowing millennium together: She wasn't untouched by Niklaus's sadism, either. How many times had she been stung thus?

At least Stefan lived.

How many of her lovers had Niklaus murdered? And not just hers; Elijah was lucky to steal even a scrap of euphoria throughout his sorry life.

She launched herself at Stefan, clinging to him, heedless of the blood on her new clothes. She wrapped her arms around him, chained up, broken and bloody…he relaxed into her arms.

"Everything," he murmured: He had forgotten everything about her. "He took you from me, as if you had never existed… The person I was when I was with you; Klaus destroyed him." Marcel, their friends in New Orleans… Stefan was the last person she had known, the only person outside of her family to remember her, that she had existed, once, had thrived, and loved to dance, and fallen in love heedlessly and completely.

Whatever she had had with Marcel, as confused and toxic, lustful and passionate, and bitterly disappointing and self-destructive as it had been, had been something…warped, something unnatural, her brother's ward and protégé, the extension of himself Klaus nurtured and fiercely guarded - and punished. She had adored children; Marcellus had never known a woman's kindness. He had grown up with Rebekah as his governess, his mother, sister, his playmate, as well as his aunt. The lines had blurred, things had become confused…an unhealthy co-dependence that had led to physical intimacy they knew was wrong, guilty but fierce. She had been daggered; and she had woken to find Marcellus altered. A vampire. He had chosen his desire to be a vampire over his love for her… Decades later, he had lured a monster to run Niklaus from the city…so they could be together… A half-arsed apology after decades.

She had been a fool.

Niklaus had taken her from both of the great loves of her life, Marcellus and Stefan. One had a choice: The other, none whatsoever. She had been erased from their lives, from Marcellus's, fifty-two years, from Stefan's, nearly one hundred.

Was it Stefan's fault he had picked up her necklace, and given it to a girl he had fallen in love with - he couldn't remember Rebekah to know how devastated she would be. Had he remembered, he would never have given away her things, especially the one thing she treasured above everything else. It wasn't in Stefan's character.

He had lived, and he had lived free of Niklaus, the way Rebekah had always dreamed to. Could she resent him that? The opportunity to learn what love was, for the first time, again? There were so few firsts left for a vampire, especially one of her age; she could barely recall the feeling of first love.

But Stefan… Stefan had always been different. She had fallen in love with Stefan for the first time, and it had felt like the only time she had truly been in love.

Klaus had liked the Ripper's sadistic cruelty; he had kept Stefan alive for his own amusement, and had tolerated his love for Rebekah because of it.

She stepped back from Stefan, holding his gaze, and asked, tears dripping down her face, "How did Elena Gilbert survive the ritual?"

"A protection spell," Stefan told her tonelessly. "Magic revived her after he bled her dry to lift the curse."

"Why didn't you tell Niklaus about Elena Gilbert being alive?" she whispered.

"To protect her."

"Do you love her still?" Rebekah asked curiously.

"I'm not in love with Elena."

"But you love her."

"I always will love Elena," Stefan told her honestly: He was under compulsion. He had to be honest. And Rebekah hated it.

After a moment, she asked, "Do you love me?"

"I don't know."

"But you used to?" she pressed.

"I was in love with you," Stefan told her.

"But not anymore?"

"I've changed," Stefan said.

"And I am exactly the same, letting my emotions dictate my actions, just as Niklaus relies on me doing," Rebekah said tremulously, wiping tears from her cheeks roughly.

"I like that you've not changed," Stefan said, her compulsion maintained.

"You do?" she asked sceptically, sniffing. Curious, she said, "Tell me why."

"Klaus ruins everything he touches," Stefan grunted, blood spilling at his bare feet. "You're stubborn; you refuse to let him ruin you."

Rebekah gave him a watery smile. "I wish that was true."

She leaned forward, and gave him a tender, lingering kiss; even bloodied and abused, Stefan growled softly under his breath, and became assertive, dominating her, leaving her breathless, hungry for him. The chains tangled around him held them up, as she wrapped herself around him, furiously kissing him for the first time in weeks.

All she wanted to do was untie him and apologise for the invasion of his most intimate thoughts, and take him to bed for days until he could no longer think straight let alone answer any other questions Klaus wanted to subject him to.

She wanted to join him in how raw he had to be feeling, stripped back, laid bare, vulnerable…she wanted to comfort him; she wanted him to comfort her.

Niklaus would not allow it. She knew him too well.

He had the scent of blood; and he wanted to hunt.


"Why didn't you tell me Stefan was back?"

Giulia stifled a sigh, bit her lip, and counted to five as she turned. Elena had pushed Grayson's stroller into the walled garden Rose cherished above all others, her English garden. No hello, just the same wounded, judgemental look Elena had perfected at sixteen, demanding things she believed herself entitled to. She believed discretion and lying were synonymous: There were some things people did not need to know. Giulia knew that well.

"Hello, Elena," she said lightly, eyeing her former childhood friend. Though Elena had cut her hair prior to giving birth, for the ease of it, and her chestnut locks now flowed to her shoulder-blades in relaxed waves, it was still the same Elena that Giulia remembered, eyes flashing with self-righteous fury, her slender figure now almost painful in its thinness, not taking care of herself since Grayson's birth.

Elena's son was fussing in his stroller, upset, and Giulia frowned: Elena had left the stroller with the sun beaming directly onto Grayson.

"Why didn't you tell me he's back?!" Elena asked heatedly.

"I would have thought Stefan should be the last thing on your mind," Giulia said carefully, and Elena scoffed, as if she could not believe what she was hearing.

"How could I think about anything else?"

Giulia leaned forward to wheel the stroller around so that Grayson was in the shade; and she frowned, concerned to see him red-faced, wrapped up in a fleece bodysuit. It was early July in Virginia! The sun beat down, the cicadas provided a vibrant chorus and it was breathlessly hot. She reached down and unsnapped the poppers of Grayson's suit, tenderly freeing his limbs from the smothering heat. He shouldn't be outside, not in this heat. It had been a long time since Zita was so little, but some things she could still do in her sleep.

"Because it's been ten years since you were anything to Stefan," Giulia said firmly, frowning at Elena in the sunshine. She was supposed to be setting up for the Founders' Fourth of July party tomorrow: Enzo had called Giulia's birthday the trial-run for the half-dozen pasta dishes he was going to prepare as their family's contribution for the buffet spread. She'd attend the party for the shrimp manicotti alone, forget the fireworks.

"I was everything to Stefan," Elena gasped defensively.

Giulia considered the unkindness of what she was about to say, but felt it necessary. A twenty-seven-year-old wife and mother, Elena shouldn't care that her high-school boyfriend had returned to town. Looking right into Elena's eyes, Giulia told her, "You were nothing, when it came down to how much he loves Damon."

Elena gasped, looking wounded.

"Elena…you're a mother…you chose Matt," Giulia reminded her gently. "Matt…who's given you everything you know Stefan could never offer you. Why does it matter?"

"Did you tell Stefan not to talk to me?" Elena demanded, looking tearful, ignoring what Giulia had said, and Giulia frowned at her, surprised.

"Why would I do that?" she asked, and Elena raised her eyebrows, drawing her head back as if Giulia had presented her with a trap.

"I haven't heard from him, he hasn't answered my calls or texts -" Giulia sighed, frowning, and Elena glared righteously as if Giulia was insulting her dead mother. "I know you never cared to find him after he left with Klaus."

"I cared to keep you alive," Giulia said coldly. "And not put you right in Klaus's path after we'd both survived what he did to us, against all odds."

"And here we have it," said a silky, accented voice, and Elena gasped loudly, the scent of her sudden and complete terror making Giulia's nose twitch, as she went still, scenting the air, slowly glancing over her shoulder.

Looking dangerously benign, he was a slash of dark clothing and golden hair beneath the apple-tree tangled up with climbing roses and clematis, smiling benevolently, attractive and ageless. Dark jeans, a dark shirt unbuttoned at the throat showing beaded necklaces, a sharp blazer, he looked as if he had wandered off a Fashion Week catwalk…no indication of his monstrous nature showed in his hazel eyes, the shimmer of golden stubble on his chin.

Klaus.

His benevolent smile was enough to have Elena breathless with fear, covered in cold sweat, shivering in her terror.

And beside him, Rebekah, her expression a contrast to Klaus's, pure loathing in every beautiful line, scathing hatred in her sapphire-blue eyes as she stared down Elena.

Giulia's mind went to Stefan, who was missing.

And she knew why, if the two of them were stood here, Rebekah looking like she wanted to draw and quarter Elena single-handedly.

Giulia was hyperaware of Elena's terror; and the scent of Grayson, now comfortable and content in his stroller, sighing softly, just out of sight, if not out of scent.

Klaus rested his hazel eyes on Giulia, dislike etched into his face.

"You're supposed to be dead," he told her softly.

"I found it didn't suit me," Giulia said calmly, not breaking eye-contact, subtly shifting so that she drew Klaus' attention from the stroller, toward Elena. She could get to the stroller before Klaus, but perhaps not Rebekah; she wanted their attention on Elena. On her.

"I'm afraid, my dear, that I must insist you do your best the next time, to settle in and make it stick," Klaus said. "I killed you for a reason; you were supposed to stay dead."

"The ritual only demanded sacrifice," Giulia said softly. "Nothing dictated we had to stay dead once you'd finished brutalising us." Rebekah's eyes flickered for a second to Klaus, but returned to Elena, disdain pouring from her.

"When I kill someone, Giulia Salvatore, I prefer for them to stay dead," Klaus whispered silkily. He glanced at Elena. "We're going to play a little game… I say 'we'; you and Rebekah here. My sister's rather miffed. Her boyfriend gave away a little trinket she's rather precious about. She'd like it back… As for you… I'll have fun with this one, sister; she's wily."

"Elena, go," Giulia said quietly, and Elena didn't need telling twice. She fled.

Elena ran, with no thought to her son, who remained in his stroller exactly where Giulia had moved it.

Rebekah smirked, giving chase: Giulia darted forward and backhanded Rebekah as she raced after Elena, sending the vampire girl sprawling into the dahlias, giving Elena precious moments to hurtle out of the walled garden, in front of witnesses.

She hadn't taken her eyes off Klaus, who took his time - and then leapt for her.

He could never transform, not fully, but he could unleash the monstrous state, a vampire trapped halfway into a transition into werewolf: his face morphed, his eyes glowed, and Giulia gasped as he plunged his clawed, gnarled hand inside her chest, wrapping it around her thundering heart.

Excruciating agony exploded inside her chest, spread like wildfire through her body; and she unleashed her nature.

Unnoticeable fangs lengthened, sharpening with aggression; and Klaus snapped his head back, wolfish, his face shifting back to that of a man, only sharper, his expression shocked, as she hissed and peeled her lips back from her fangs in a sign of marked aggression. Black bled out from her pupils, flooding her eyes, which glowed an eerie onyx, her skin growing deathly pale, her blood withdrawing from the surface of her skin… Blood was strength, it was power; her blood withdrew from the surface, where it could be spilled, and flooded her organs, her heart, fuelling her transformation.

As she shivered in agony, her fingernails sharpened, lengthening, to strong, elegant claws - she slashed upwards, carving open his chest like butter, digging one hand into his throat in the next instant as he grimaced in pain, trying to snatch his hand away. She dug the claws of her other hand into his forearm, preventing him from yanking her heart out in reflex to the pain she was inflicting.

Out of the corner of her eye, a blur made Grayson's stroller shiver: The blur was gone, but Giulia could scent who it was on the air. Choking on his own blood, Klaus didn't notice.

"LET - GO!" she hissed, as her legs quaked, and blood soaked her t-shirt, and Klaus growled, snarling, choking and gurgling furiously, her arms quaking as she reined in the instincts that told her to prise his head from his body and be done with it.

How long would it take him to heal if she removed his trachea?

She gasped, and he growled, as he removed his hand from her chest, his fingers bloody; she withdrew her blood-soaked, claw-tipped fingers from his throat, and they sagged away from each other.

She hit the ground, exhausted, covered in cold sweat, as a crack disturbed the still garden air, Klaus blindsided, sent sprawling into a lifeless, bloody heap on the manicured emerald grass.

Lingering in excruciating agony, Giulia peered up blearily, a bronzed god striding up to her, his golden hair shimmering in the sunlight as he squatted beside her. She knew who it was by his scent, temporarily blinded by her own senses, the sun burning her oversensitive eyes. She closed them, hissing in pain, whispering, "Zita."

Where was her daughter?

At a playdate, Giulia's mind whispered. Zita was fine; she was far-removed from the Boarding House. Zita was her first thought; her only weakness.

Her heart was vulnerable outside her chest.

"The stroller…" she muttered. "Finn…"

"I saw him; he took the baby up to the house," said a rumbling, handsome voice, utterly relaxing, and Giulia raised her hand, peeking her eyes open as she put her blocks in place. Her chest was still ripped open, agonisingly healing. Carefully, he helped her sit up.

"Did you scent Elijah, too?"

"Sounds like he snapped Rebekah's neck."

"Did they see you?"

"If they did, they didn't believe their eyes."

"And Elena?"

"The human?" There was a pause, and Giulia focused on healing, on her relief that Finn had risked exposure to get Grayson to safety, away from his brother. "Someone called Caroline is trying to calm her down." Giulia sighed with relief.

She opened her eyes, gazing into the handsome, bronzed face of Willem. His blue eyes glowed, laughter-lines fanning from his eyes, pale against his tanned skin; and he exuded warmth, humour, the antithesis of his only full-blooded brother.

"Hi, Liam," she said tenderly, giving him a small smile as he propped her up. He had a duffel slung over his back, and wore a simple white t-shirt and battered jeans. Handsome and casual, relaxed: Giulia had never expected he would actually show up. "You have immaculate timing."

"I've been told that," he said, with a warm smile, only a hint of irony in his eyes. "Come on, let's get you some medicine."

"What about him?" she groaned, delicately flicking a bloody claw Klaus's way, as Willem lifted her effortlessly into his arms, which were thick as pythons and webbed with old scars.

He made Chris Hemsworth's Thor seem like pre-serum Steve Rogers.

And Liam was a nerd, in spite of appearances; he'd laughed at the comparison before.

"There's time…I'll come back for him," he shrugged, and Giulia hissed as the movement jostled her healing skin. "Where am I taking you? You need blood."

"Follow the lavender," Giulia hissed delicately, glancing down at her chest. Her t-shirt was ruined, and her breasts had stared to heal where Klaus's claws had raked them as he had dug through to her heart. It wasn't a pretty sight. Willem lifted his nose, caught the scent, and followed it to one of the barns, which had been renovated into a private garage for the family's cars and motorcycles, with a loft conversion, which Rose had claimed as her home. Willem carefully set her on her feet, at her insistence, at the bottom of the external staircase, around which lavender grew in profusion; he let her hold his hand as he steadied her up the stairs. He scooped up the spare key from the potted rose-tree outside Rose's front-door, and Giulia let them in.

Rose's attic loft was like stepping back in time. Built into the eaves, the floors were sanded wood covered with a handmade rug, the walls were panelled, or painted a crisp white. There was a vintage trunk, a rocking-chair, and the bed was an old-fashioned oak four-poster made up with fine linens scented lightly with rose-petals and lavender, and a glorious hand-pieced quilt. There were touches of embroidery, and the old books scattered around showed Rose's taste in subject-material, ancient anthropomorphic religions, philosophy and gardening. The only modern amenities were the cocktail-making essentials, and the kettle; Rose made a ceremony of drinking Lady Grey tea with homemade shortbread fingers.

Giulia groaned as Liam settled her down in the rocking-chair; she stifled her nausea, her body temperature rising, sweat soaking her, as her body healed itself. He didn't need direction; he followed his nose, and found Rose's blood stash in one of the refrigerator drawers.

"Want me to warm it for you?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Giulia groaned, fidgeting as her phone rang, trying to grab it from the back-pocket of her jeans. It was Rose.

She had to call back.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"There's blood on my hands; the touchscreen wasn't working," Giulia said, deadpan.

"Four questions: Why didn't you tell me Finn is a vampire; why did he bring Grayson to the house and tell me to stay inside; why do I smell blood in the walled gardens; and where is Grayson's nappy-bag?"

Giulia groaned, and answered briefly. There was always a bigger impact when Rose told her off: It was the accent.

"Finn's a long story; Klaus and Rebekah appeared; Klaus tried to rip my heart out, so I grabbed hold of his trachea; and Grayson's diaper-bag is hanging from his stroller, in the walled-garden where Elena left it." She gave a brief description of what had happened.

A pause, as Rose digested everything.

"Giulia, please tell me Elena didn't just abandon Grayson to run away from Klaus?" Rose said quietly, and Giulia remained silent, glancing at Liam as he approached, carefully handing her a steaming cup of blood, his lips pursed.

She mouthed 'thank you' to him and took a sip; she sighed in relief, as the blood worked its magic immediately. Her wound started knitting itself together faster, and by the time she had finished the mug of blood, the gaping wound had closed, and a puckered, rose-pink scar had smoothed, faded and disappeared into unblemished skin, now tanned and healthy as blood flooded her veins.

"You're going to tell me what's going on," Rose said sternly, and Giulia winced, but knew the conversation was unavoidable.

First, she healed.

"Arms up," Liam ordered, as she set the empty mug aside, and she frowned. He indicated with his fingers, and she raised her arms; he stole her ruined t-shirt, rinsing the excess blood out before dumping it in Rose's trashcan, leaving Giulia topless, examining her now-healed wound. It still felt like his hand was wrapped around her heart, which seemed to be pounding more furiously than she remembered it doing. Liam returned from Rose's bathroom with a white cotton washcloth drenched in hot water, and cleaned the blood off her chest.

It didn't seem to matter to Liam that she was topless in front of him: He was focused on wiping away the blood, ensuring the skin was healing properly. She smiled softly at him as he took care of her, the way she often did Zita; tender and methodical, unabashed.

"Thank you," she told him, and he smiled as he handed her one of the clean t-shirts from his duffel.

"Looks like I got here just in time for the fireworks."


A.N.: I hope you enjoyed this violent reunion! Please note Elena forgetting about Grayson; and Giulia shifting in reaction to Klaus's attack…