A Quick Heads Up: This contains spoilers for things that happen/ are revealed in season one of The Originals, so if you haven't watched it you'll be spoiled.

When you live for a thousand years, you find the same words are often repeated, an endless cycle of the same litanies and false sympathies and false adages. To Rebekah Mikaelson, the worst one of all was, undoubtedly, 'Time heals all wounds.'

What a load of bloody bollocks.

As she stood on alone on Wickery Bridge in the acursed town that was Mystic Falls, Virginia, holding a bouquet of flowers for a grave that did not exist, Rebekah had never believed in that more. She didn't feel healed, as she gazed out over the water, the surrounding tree line bobbing up and down in the light gust that had kicked up, didn't feel any less destroyed than she had on this day 91 years ago, the day the love of her life lost his. Marcel Gerard. Her friend, her love, her fiercest ally and most loyal defender, second only to Elijah himself. He had been her whole heart, her greatest happiness, the brightest future she could ever imagine being the one where she woke up to his dazzling smile every day. And she could have had it. They could have had it, all of it, if they'd only waited six bloody months until Klaus gave them his blessing.

They'd waited decades upon decades to be together; why didn't they hold on, just a little while longer? Why did she have to ruin it all by proposing they summon that beast of a man, her father, who she had loved and hated all her life, in equal measure. Because, Rebekah had also learned, you can only truly hate those you have truly loved. As a child, it had felt like the greatest achievement whenever she got Mikael to smile, the greatest gift when he told her stories or simply sat with her and stroked her hair on the evenings he came back from a hunt and she'd missed his presence. Until she saw the bruises on her brother, and the blood on her father's clothes, until she saw such coldness and hatred in his gaze, and while he never directed it at her, that was almost worse, in a way: to still see the love when she'd seen the anger, to have them exist so close to each other and not know what to expect.

And then he forced immortality upon them, and all hell broke loose within the family, Klaus' werewolf nature finally making itself known, as well as the truth behind it. It had never mattered to her; a part of her was glad that Niklaus didn't have to share blood with such a vile creature, that his real father had been someone kind and loving and brought joy into their mother's life. But none of that changed what they'd lost. A thousand years, running. Running and running and running and then...they stopped. The Mikaelson family, at long last, found somewhere to call home. And they'd been happy. The real kind, tangible and fulfilling, and while there were still fights and daggers and resentments and deaths, she'd been able to survive it, so long as she had him.

Marcel Gerard may have been dead for over ninety years, but she'd spent every one of those years bar one in a coffin, and when she awoke she felt like she was losing him all over again. The same pain tearing at her heart, clawing at her insides with razor-sharp talons, stealing the breath from her lungs just as the years had been stolen from her life. It was all her fault, she was more than aware of that fact. She'd brought the monster of monsters to their door, then practically left it open for him with a side of milk and cookies. He'd been so good, so full of light and love and happiness, and because of her and her family it had been snuffed out without mercy. And yet, as much as she loved and still loved him, Rebekah had to be honest with herself: Marcel had been far too good for her, for her family. Since the day they'd found him, he'd wanted nothing more than to be a Mikaelson, to be one of them, but it was a goal he never would have been capable of achieving, even if he'd lived for a thousand years; he never could have plummeted to the depths of darkness and cruelty that they had reached, some of them intentionally, others helpless against the allure.

Since Nik had pulled the dagger from he heart, she'd already terrorized a girl who wasn't much different from herself, to be fair, a girl -who stabbed her in the back in both the metaphorical and literal sense- that didn't ask for any of this supernatural nonsense, just as Rebekah had not, and who only wanted to protect the people she loved. Of course, she was trying to protect those loved ones from the people Rebekah loved, so there was no chance for hair-braiding and friendship-bracelet swapping in their future, unfortunately, but she would at the very least tolerate her -especially if Elijah continued to act like Elena hung the moon whenever they were together- when the situation called for them to interact. Perhaps they were more similar than either realized, tangled up in grief and loss and unsure how to go one, unsure if they could go on, but knowing it was what their loved ones would want for them, to never give up, to keep on living when they themselves could not.

But in a way, they were lucky. They were free, at peace, and didn't have to feel so cold and alone and empty without them there, to hold them and to guide them. Because when you love someone, they leave a mark on you, become woven into the very tapestry of your being, your history, and if that thread is cut, it feels as if the whole thing will unravel.

That's how Rebekah felt, as she gripped the stems of the marigolds and honeysuckle and lilies in her gloved hands, flowers that reminded her of him, and of their home. Of days spent out in the city, and of secret nights out in the gardens, the moon the only other witness to the love that they'd shared. A love she'd tried to replace with Stefan Salvatore, and failed spectacularly at. When he wasn't being a Ripper, he was indeed sweet and kind and noble, but he didn't make her heart race, didn't make her feel like she was simultaneously the most powerful woman in the world whilst still being something to treasure and protect. Marcel had known every part of her, every terrible deed not only of hers but of all her siblings, and he'd still given his heart to her and her alone, without hesitation, knowing full well the repercussions if Niklaus found out because he'd loved her that much.

And while Marcel may have loved that she was a vampire, Rebekah had never felt more human than when she'd been with him.

Now, she didn't have anyone -or anything- that made her feel human. Her heart had turned bitter and cold, dessicating in her chest even while the rest of her remained unblemished. She may have a fleeting moment with her brothers or share a warm smile with Matt, but Esther's betrayal, aided by their eldest brother, had fractured their family greatly. It was hard to look at Elijah these days and not see Finn, watching over them as they played, or see Kol's eyes alight with mischief and not think of the hours their mother had spent teaching him the inner-workings of magic. They all had parts of her, were all what they were because of her, and it wasn't just the fact that she was the reason behind their immortality and everything that went with it: she was their mother. She'd given them life, then taken it away and then replaced it with something else, and when that wasn't to her liking she decided to get rid of them altogether.

While she may have some choice words where Nik was concerned, she knew that he would never have done that to Marcellus, not in all his considerable lifetime, partly out of the fear of turning into their father, but also because he could never hurt someone he saw so much of himself in, had had a hand in shaping and creating.

The tempo of the wind increased, trying to snatch the flowers in her hand, but Rebekah held on resolutely, unwilling to loose them as she had the man she'd come to honor today. She wasn't the only one in pain: Nik had locked himself in his studio, the only noise coming out from the door that of obnoxious punk and metal music and the occasional screech of splintering wood. She'd wanted to say something, to help ease his heartache, to tell him that she missed Marcel too, and that he wouldn't want them to suffer so, but she also knew she didn't deserve to help her brother.

Because she was the very reason his son was dead.

And Nik could never, never find that out.

If he did...God, she couldn't even contemplate the destruction he'd enact, the torture he'd bestow upon her for her treachery and betrayal. It had been done out of love, yes, but he wouldn't see that, his paranoia and fear of being alone warping her intentions until he could justify her end at his hand. Now, with the white oak stakes in play, he'd be more than capable of ending her long existence. And as much as losing Marcel hurt, as much as every time she looked in the mirror and saw the same teenage face hurt, as much as being close to the flickering flame of humanity without being able to feel it's warmth hurt...she didn't want to die.

Once, after he'd returned from the war, when they'd been planning out their future together, Marcel had asked her what she wanted, and Rebekah had merely told him, "You." He'd laughed, his happiness seeming to coat the very air around them, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "While I appreciate the thought, there's gotta be more to it, Bekah. You've been alive over nine hundred years, and have known me for not even two hundred of 'em. So come on, tell me what you want. Dream a big dream for me."

"What for?"

"So I can make it come true, of course," he'd whispered, and then he'd kissed her.

It was one of her favourite memories of the two of them, one she'd revisited often in her time in the twenty first century, when she was in need of a reminder that happiness could still be found, that even when her mother wanted to kill her or Stefan wanted nothing to do with her or Nik was only interested in making more of his mangy Hybrids, there were still things worth living for, that she had to keep her humanity, and the heart Marcel had had so much devotion for, that only she, of all the women in the world, could carry the memory of his love, and to be loved by him.

And that was more rare and powerful and beautiful than being second choice for a bloody Salvatore brother any day.

With an elegant toss of her wrist, the flowers she'd been holding on to cascaded down in a waterfall of gold and purple into the current below, sparkling in the hazy sunlight and fanning out amongst the rocks and the rapids. Pulling her coat tighter about her, the Original braced her forearms on the rail and said into the waters below, "I miss you, Marcel Gerard. I think of you every day, and know I will continue to do so until the end of my life. Our time was so short, and you above any other deserved so much more of it, but it means just as much to me as if we'd lived a thousand lifetimes together. Do not worry for me, as I do not worry that you are without peace, for it would be impossible for a soul as wonderful as yours to have not found it. And even though you no longer stand beside me, you are in my heart, and I promise to keep on dreaming in your name, and to try and be happy as you wished for me. I love you, always and forever. Until we meet again."

Wiping the tears from her face, Rebekah exchanged one last look at the water below before turning on her heel and heading for the end of the bridge, feeling lighter and clearer than she had in weeks, but she was stopped by the scent of someone else's tears, and a familiar heartbeat: doppelgänger.

Elena.

If it had been any other day, Rebekah would have raged, would have spit fire at the interruption, at being accosted when she was most vulnerable. But not today, and not when she saw Elena on the opposite side of the bridge, watching a video on her phone, tears on her face gleaming as fresh as her own.

Marcel had wanted her to dream big, and she'd dreamt of being human, and if she intended to be human and humane, she knew she should comfort the girl she'd seen go toe to toe with Original Vampires and Original Witches without even blinking, who now looked as if a strong breeze would blow her over.

So that's what Rebekah did.

At first, she couldn't think of what to say, so she remained quiet. But that was okay, because it seemed Elena didn't need words, only a person to hear her own.

"It's my aunt's birthday today," Elena informed her, throat thick and heavy. "Everyone forgot, or didn't know, except Jeremy and Ric. And sometimes when you're all grieving the same person, in the same house, you can't think of anything else. It was all over their faces, her loss, as I'm sure it was all over mine. But- but I knew she wouldn't have wanted that, wouldn't have wanted us all cooped up in the house making each other miserable. So I walked about, and then, like fate, I found myself here. It's like when I'm in pain, this place calls out to me, past hurt drawn to present agony like a magnet. You'd think I'd be used to it now, right? Almost everyone I know has died at least once, including myself, and yet today...on her birthday. Birthday implies life, and celebration, and happiness and family. But we don't have any of those things anymore, and I don't think we're ever going to get them back. God, I'm sorry," Elena apologized, wringing her hands nervously. "Here I am going on about me when you hate my guts and couldn't care less. I don't know what I was-"

"I care," Rebekah interrupted her before she knew what she was doing. "I care when I see someone in pain. "I feel it, too. Especially today of all days. I suppose you won't know this -why would you?- but before Mikael found me and Nik in Chicago, he chased us from New Orleans, our home. Our one, true home. But not before burning it, or before he killed someone we loved very dearly. That I loved with all my heart."

"What was his name?"

Damn, that girl was too smart.

"Marcel," she murmured, letting all her love and hopes out in that one word.

Elena turned towards her, stretching out her arms and gripping the rail behind her. "I won't tell you I'm sorry," she began, quietly but firmly, "because you probably won't believe me, since I didn't know him and don't know your pain. All I will say is that, he must have been pretty extraordinary, to have been loved by all of you."

Rebekah confirmed readily, "He was."

"Everyone who lives in this town who knows about the supernatural has been harmed by it in one way or another," the other girl mused seriously, a contemplative look etched on her face, "and we all have our stories of people we've loved and lost. But we don't talk about them enough, I think, either because it's too painful or it feels like tempting fate for more tragedy. But also think sharing it, acknowledging the fact we all feel this way, is the only way to heal." Elena held out her hand, in apology and acceptance and friendship and comfort, and her tentative smile was one of the most genuine Rebekah had ever seen, and in that moment she did not begrudge her eldest brother his feelings for the latest doppelgänger. "Would you like someone to talk to about him?"

She'd never dreamed of hearing such an offer from her, had not expected for them to ever move passed their animosity and indiscretions against the other, and yet here they were, one celebrating a day of life while the other mourned on a day of death. Marcel Gerard had been too wonderful a man for his story not be shared.

Rebekah took her hand and shook. "Yes, I would."

Author's Note: Hello, fellow TVD fans! So, this little thing came out of nowhere, but I'm so glad it did. I've never written a scene with Rebekah and Elena before, and it was an absolute pleasure to finally do so, as I'm such a big fan of their friendship in the world of fanfiction, and think the writers could have done a better job of bringing the two together under better circumstances. They get along when Elena has her emotions just fine! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, ans if you did, please feel free to share your thoughts with me.

I hope you all have a lovely rest of your week!

All my love, Temperance Cain.