Catch A Glimpse

Alaric 'Ric' Saltzman stared down at the grocery list in his hand, wondering for what was likely the hundredth time today just what the hell he thought he was doing. Since moving in to the Gilbert House -and by 'moving in' he meant sleeping on the couch and eating all the take-out in the fridge- he'd been hit with the stark reality that he wasn't very good at taking care of himself, let alone a sixteen year old boy knee-deep in the world of the supernatural who's only family was currently on the road looking for her vampire boyfriend. Elena had been fine about him staying, had in actual fact encouraged him to be with them rather than his apartment, as if sensing the suppressed signs of grief he was doing his damndest to hide and not wanting him to suffer alone, her tragically personal experience lending her an insight beyond her years. The first few days, he hadn't acted much differently around them than he had when he was dating Jenna, but with Elena now gone...

Someone had to step up here, and his was the only pair of boots around. So that meant buying actual, healthy food, meant keeping on top of bills and making sure Jeremy went to bed at a reasonable hour and didn't spend all his time playing video games, and that laundry got done and the house was kept tidy. Not that he could exactly blame the kid; who wouldn't want to escape the kind of reality they were in for a while? Isobel had always been very clear on her 'No Kids' stand even before they got married, and Ric didn't have any nieces or nephews that could have helped prepare him for this. His best friend was Damon Salvatore, for Christ's sake! If that didn't convey how ill-equipped he was for handling this, then nothing would.

All that culminated in him standing in the tinned food aisle, wondering what the difference was between 'Organic Tomato Soup' and 'Regular Tomato Soup.' And why was it so much more expensive.

"What are the tomatoes made out of?" Alaric grumbled as he examined the small tin. "Gold?"

"It's how they're grown," a voice drawled behind him. "Farmers don't use pesticides on their crops, supposed to make 'em taste better or whatever."

Slowly, can still clenched in his palm, he turned around, coming face to face with a tall woman, brown skin still seeming to shine even under the harsh supermarket lighting.

"Personally," she continued cheerily, "I think a tomato is a tomato, and if you're really that concerned with flavour just add a couple herbs and be done with it." She gestured to her own cart, bracelets jingling, showing off the many jars of herbs.

Bracing his arms on the handle of his cart, Alaric gave her an easy smile, the first he'd managed in a while. "I'm not much of a cooking guy myself," he admitted, "so anything that requires more than opening a cardboard box and I'm floating in foreign territory."

The woman smirked, and the expression just seemed to fit on her. "Clearly, if your choice of ice cream is any indication." She held up the the tub for his inspection, the label that read, 'Cookie Dough Fudge For Dogs' remarkably apparent.

"Yeah," he said, running a hand through his hair and letting a rueful chuckle slip past his lips. "Just trying to help cheer up a kid who's had a hard go of it lately."

"Is he goin' through a Michael J Fox phase? Or maybe a reverse Scooby-Doo thing? Cause that's the only way I can see that being useful."

Wrong founding family, Alaric thought as he stashed the ice cream in between two tins of canned peaches. "Nope, not that I'm aware of." He didn't know why he found himself saying it -perhaps it was because his life was filled with teenagers and their drama and it felt liberating to have a normal conversation with an actual grown-up- but Ric found himself telling the truth: "the last of his adult family just passed away. He's only got his sister left, and I'm just trying to do right by him."

"Well, it seems you already are. I'm Lucy, by the way." She offered her hand, and Alaric took it without a second's hesitation.

"I'm Alaric," he told her, "but most people just call me Ric."

Lucy smiled. "I'm not most people." She glanced down at his hand, still clasped in hers, narrowing her eyes at the ring sitting heavily on his finger. "And I can see you aren't most people, either," she sighed wearily, as if she'd suspected this, "You're one of those guys. It figures: a Bennett witch can't even buy groceries without stumblin' across somebody from the supernatural."

"Wait, hold on a sec," Alaric urged, his mind spinning in endless loops. "You're a Bennett? So you're related to Bonnie?"

"Distantly," she admitted, slowly, drawing her hand back and curling it around the strap of her purse. "I was in the neighborhood, figured I'd stop by and check up on her. We email, now and then, but it just ain't the same. The poor girls been through the ringer, and with Sheila gone...well, I just don't want her to feel like she doesn't have anyone she can talk to about all the magic stuff." Lucy eyed him up and down as if she could see right through him. "You're not a vampire, or a wolf," she observed with an intrigued brow, "so what exactly are you?"

"I'm a History teacher," he responded truthfully, "who also happens to be a vampire hunter, although my sort-of best friend is one so I don't exactly know where that leaves me."

"Let me guess; you're talkin' about Damon."

Alaric grinned sheepishly. "What gave it away?"

"The fact that Stefan Salvatore is more likely to take off his daylight ring and burn in the sunshine than get that brooding martyr stick outta his ass and make a friend," Lucy quipped with an amused light in her eyes.

Alaric snorted. "I'd say that's accurate. Listen, you should probably know, Bonnie's spending the summer out of town with her dad's family."

Her face fell but she recovered her amused air soon enough. "Well, thank you for telling me. Enjoy your organic soup, Mr History Teacher Vampire Hunter."

"Wait." Producing a pen from the infinity-reaching depths of his jacket pocket, Alaric lent on the plastic shelving as he scribbled on the back of his grocery list and handed it over to her. "Here's my number, just in case you're ever in need of any help; it's kinda what we do around here," he tagged on bashfully, suddenly feeling like he'd overstepped somewhat.

Lucy's smile was warm, and genuine, and made him feel like he'd made the right call, made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he might be able to make through his grief -and Jeremy's- alive. "I'll keep that in mind."

In a small mansion an hour outside Sylvia, Tennessee, Elena stared at the meticulously maintained marble flooring that made up the foyer, her feet seemingly unable to take another step further. It was like the vampire invitation, only backwards; she couldn't leave, couldn't get her body to move from it's rigid perch by the bottom of the curving staircase. She knew the reason behind it, why her body was so unwilling to leave the safety of the temporary haven: because if she left, she'd have to acknowledge all the suffering and pain that Klaus had caused, and only been able to cause because of her. She'd have to see it, touch it, feel it, rather than just reading about it from the safety of Damon's room where none of it could harm her. That wasn't any way to live though, was it? It wasn't how she lived: Elena had walked to her death with her head held high, and yet she felt so out of touch with that side of herself, as if when Klaus had killed her, he'd killed that part of her, too.

"Elena." Elijah called her name, and for a second she thought about hiding her expression, thought about putting on a brave face and acting as if all was fine. But honesty had always been apparent with them and Elena wasn't going to break that trend, so she let him see the hurt misting her eyes, the tight pinch to her lips and the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she fought to keep her breaths even.

"I'm scared." It was such a stupid, childish, undignified sentence, yet each each syllable was engrained with a sense of bitter truth; she was scared, because with the thought of Klaus came the thought of Stefan, and the consequent thought that this crime scene may not have solely been caused by the Hybrid.

"I know." He did not belittle her by acting as if she would do anything but get in that car with him, though. All along, since the day they'd met, Elijah had never once doubted her resolve, or her choices, had treated her with diplomacy and respect and done his utmost best to protect those she'd asked him to, and that was no different today, but now she saw more in him than she would have before, saw the kinship in his eyes and the tightness of his own jaw: he didn't want to do this, either.

Elena wondered just how many times he'd had to do this, how many times he'd had to stand at the sight of his brother's atrocities and take care of them, each one making him mourn his brother a little bit more, chipping away at his fervent resolve that he was still the little boy he'd loved beyond measure, and yet in the end never batting an eye at the task.

Too many. If the number was more than zero -which she knew it to be- then it was too many.

The keys to her car dangle loosely from his fingers, a silent reminder that time was not on their side, that they needed to leave and her putting this off wouldn't do either of them a lick of good. Elena reached out her palm but was quickly and effortlessly rebuffed.

"I'll do it," he insisted, expression open and easy yet underlined with an iron-hard resolve. "You've only just woken up, after all."

It was a paltry excuse, and they both knew it, but Elena was grateful for it anyway. Grateful enough that she blurted, "Thank you, by the way. For bringing me here. I know you wouldn't let just anybody crash in one of your places," rambling on, she twisted the cuff of her sleeve around her wrist as if the physical pressure could bleed some sense into her and get her to form a more eloquent sentence.

Luckily, Elijah didn't seem to mind. "True. And so long as you don't break anything, I think you'll do fine," he teased, a flimsy distraction but a distraction nonetheless, one she was happy to go along with for the time being.

"Darn, you've thwarted my big scheme," Elena declared over-dramatically, one hand planted on her hip, the other tapping against her chin in mock-thought as she mused, "Whatever am I going to do now?"

Elijah's tone was the farthest thing from playful, or light, or easy as he stated calmly, each word precise as the blade of a scalpel, cutting away at the dying flesh of her insecurities, "I think you're going to walk out of this house and to the car. I think you're going to have a million thoughts and a million worries, each of which I will listen to if you so desire. I think you're braver than you will ever know, and I think you're going to achieve what you set out to do and find the man you love. But that will only happen if you take that first step."

Elena took the first step towards the door. And another. And another. Until she was standing in front of the passenger door of the car, until her fingers were gripping the handle, until she was hoisting herself into the front seat and buckling her seatbelt, the pressure against her chest grounding her to the present. Elijah was right beside her, as he had been all along.

"Thank you." She wondered if she'd ever feel even with the Original who had shown her such kindness the last few days, wondered if her weakness grated on him as much as it grated on her.

He bowed his head, slotting the key in the ignition with an almost inaudible, "You're most welcome, Elena." Pulling out of the driveway, the two sat in silence for several heartbeats, neither one knowing quite what to say, but it seemed Elijah's wisdom didn't leave him struggling for long, for he tore his dark-eyed gaze away from the open road and fixed her with the full weight of his attention.

"No matter what we uncover today," Elijah began, soft and serious all at once, "remember two things Elena: one, that Stefan Salvatore truly loves you, and love is the most powerful force I have ever encountered in my long life, and also the most rare."

Elena dared to ask, "And what's the second?"

"That love cannot not always stop monsters."

The campsite was...ravaged. Blood soaked everything, sinking into the dry soil, coating the waxy underside of leaves, staining the tents still left out and even smearing on the yellow police tape as it fluttered in the wind, as if even that wanted to get away from the devastating site it was enclosing. It had taken mere seconds for Elijah to compel the officer on duty to let them through, and to relinquish the details of the investigation so far, every gruesome detail. Right down to the crime scene photos that would forever be burned into her memory, of the torn throats and mutilated limbs. And the decapitated bodies.

A soon as the memory rose in her mind, she could no longer hear the birds twittering high up in the trees, couldn't hear the sound of Elijah's footsteps beside her or the low music coming from the policeman's cruiser. All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears, making her dizzy and her legs shake as if she'd been drained of all her strength, just like the bodies of these innocent people had been drained of all their blood and left to find, tossed aside like so much garbage.

That was what humans were to Klaus, just things to be used then carelessly disposed of, and it seemed that he'd impressed similar ideas onto the vampire he'd coerced to his side.

Stefan had done this. Stefan did this. With Klaus. Together. And they'd liked it.

Wait, why was the world suddenly tilting like a rollercoaster, why did everything look upside down? Right, because she'd just collapsed at the thought of Stefan hurting all these people, but, above all, enjoying hurting these people.

Strong, warm hands enclosed around her, one at her waist while the other curled around the back of her neck, tight but not painful, keeping her upright, their owner emanating a violent desperation Elena didn't think even he was aware of. "Just breathe," Elijah tried to soothe her. "Just breathe, Elena. I'm right here."

The words were like a shock of ice water, slamming her back to the present, and she wrenched out of his grasp, foot almost tripping on an snaking root but she demanded, "Take me to the morgue."

"Elena." It was a plea and an apology and a warning all rolled into one.

She didn't listen. "Take me to the morgue, Elijah."

He took her.

Elijah Mikaelson was no stranger to death, but still, he'd be lying if he said that visiting a morgue didn't make him feel the least bit uncomfortable. Maybe it was more the thought of such confinement that unsettled him, or of being cut open and examined even if you were unable to physically feel such acts. He did not allow himself to dwell on such thoughts for long; he had for more pressing matters to attend to.

Like the fact that Elena had been staring at the decapitated body of one of the campsite victims for five minutes now without moving, the rasping sounds of breathing and the occasional blink the only outward indication that she was not among the dead. He wanted to reach for her, to take her hand and pull her away from the gruesome sight, but he understood that she needed to see this, needed to accept what shed been putting off for so long now.

"Klaus didn't do this, did he?"

Elijah did not disrespect her with a lie. "No, he didn't. While he may be violent with his kills, he never feeds with such...frenzy."

"The coroner's report suggested the killer had felt remorse, that hed tried to put," she faltered, but she eventually got out through gritted teeth, "put the bodies back together. I've only ever known of one vampire who felt bad for his bloodlust, who would give in like this." She finally faced him, a picture of crushing devastation, yet also...resignation. And anger, swimming amongst it all. Elena was angry at him. Good: he deserved her wrath.

"The other day, when I was talking about Stefan not wanting to let innocent people get hurt because of him, you knew. You knew that it wasn't just Klaus leaving those bodies, that Stefan was...was hurting people, killing them, draining them dry without a care. You weren't surprised. Why?"

"Elena, there is much that you don't know," Elijah murmured, knowing this was neither the time nor the place for this conversation, that she'd been through so much already, even just today, and anything more might ruin her completely.

"Then tell me!" yelling, she reached out blindly, throwing the first thing she came across -a metal surgical tray- at his head, the screech of metal as it slid against plaster and clattered to the floor as hollow as the sobs that erupted from her chest as Elena cried, "Tell me the truth, Elijah! Tell me why I'm standing in this morgue right now, looking at a lifeless body left by the man I love."

The truth would crush her. It could kill her, and it would certainly kill the faith and compassion and respect he'd so clearly beheld in her whenever she was in the room with the youngest Salvatore. She still deserved to know it, though.

Each footstep was measured and exact as he took up a spot beside her by the metal exam table, the only thing separating them the space created by her white-knuckled grip on its edge. Feeling his heart break for the irreparable damage he was about to do to her, Elijah only hoped she would not hate him for destroying her happiness when he said, "Because he is a Ripper, Elena. Because, before you knew him, almost a hundred years ago, Stefan Salvatore was prolific in the vampire community, second perhaps only to my brother himself in his thirst for human blood. But unlike my brother, he had no control, and apparently that fact has not changed with time."

Her breaths were remarkably even as she murmured, almost too low for him to hear, then growing louder with her disbelief, "Its been no secret to me that he was an addict, I know that he's always struggled with what he is, but this...this isn't him! It can't be!"

"Why not?" he posed to her ruthlessly, staring her down as he would any opponent. "Why are you so certain Stefan didn't do this, isn't capable of it?"

"Because how else can I save him? How can I justify rescuing him if he's not the person I thought he was, if I help him get better only for him to go off the rails again and hurt other people? In what world can I put my love for him above the lives of innocents, of my friends and the little family I have left? How would that make me anything but a monster, worse than your brother or Katherine or anyone else who's tried to kill me in the last year?"

Elijah answered simply, "You did not love them, though."

"No, you're right," Elena agreed, gaze faraway and as distant as the moon. "None of them ever held my after I had a nightmare, ever brought me flowers or left me notes in my locker when I was having a bad day. None of them could tell you my favourite movies or the fact I never wear anything yellow since the one time a bee tried to sting my when I was five because I was wearing a Beauty and the Beast T-shirt and it got confused. None of them ever made me feel happy and loved and like I had the strength to do anything I wanted, so long as he was with me. But he's gone. The Stefan I loved is gone, and all that's left is this," she gestured to the morgue around them, then to her heart, "and this, a crushing feeling in my chest, like he's ripped my heart out. How could he do this, Elijah? How could he?"

"It is not his fault," the vampire tried to argue, "the Ripper instinct is not something that can be so easily subdued, certainly not in my brother's company. This is not his choice, Elena."

"There is always a choice," the brunette insisted, that Petrova fire he'd come to admire so greatly burning bright within her, "there always another way. We know that better than anyone; you both tried to help me cheat death, and I'm standing here right now as proof of that. If this isn't what he wants, why hasn't he called? In the two weeks since he left, why hasn't he called anyone to let us know he's okay? The only way Damon knew he was still breathing was because of the bodies he's been leaving in his wake! Look around, Elijah! This room is filled with people. Fifteen people, nine of which have been decapitated because Stefan was so hungry he tore them open! How can I defend this?"

Tears pooled in her eyes, flooding down her cheeks as if a dam had burst within her, letting out every drop of pain and sorrow. And there was so, so much of it. The woman before him felt everything so acutely, so intensely, every fibre screaming at the injustice before her even though he could see that some part of her was still trying to hold on to her love for the man behind it. But even Elena Gilbert had her limits, and he was not shocked in the least when she backed away from the table, pushing open the double doors as she bit out rhetorically over her shoulder, "You know what? It doesn't matter, none of this matters. I'm done. If Stefan's so hell-bent on being this person, who am I to stop him?"

He didn't try to stop her, didn't attempt to get in her way. Elijah let her storm out of morgue, making sure only that the staff on duty forgot their presence and that she got back to the mansion in one piece.

The first day Elena didn't come out from his guest room, Elijah was worried. The only indication that she hadn't left the house was the sound of her heartbeat travelling to his ears -she must have taken off her bracelet- and the dwindling supply of ice cream in the freezer. He decided it best to give her space, to process and come to terms with everything and choose what steps she wished to take. But by the second day, dread was beating a rigorous tattoo in his chest and his concern mounted with each knock she left unanswered.

It was then that Elijah decided to get drastic. Revealing his partnership with Elena was likely only a ticket to getting daggered -Elijah knew how resourceful her loved ones could be -but he found himself with few other options. Reaching for his phone, the Original found himself dialling the first number on his mental list (he'd memorized all their phone numbers in case of emergency, or if he felt the need to lightly threaten them to get them motivated to bend to his demands.)

'Hello, you've reached the voicemail of Caroline Forbes. Obviously, I'm not able to answer right now, but I'll be sure to get back to you if I get time. Bye!'

Elijah tried the second number but was met with another voicemail. Letting out an undignified growl of frustration, he tried Alaric's number as well, but faired no better. He even tried -unrepressed shudder- Damon Salvatore, but each of his calls resulted in nothing but silence. There was one last number he could try; it was a long shot, but he was willing to try anything at this point.

The Gilbert house phone was picked up on the first ring. "Hello?" the worried voice of Jeremy Gilbert echoed into the receiver, and Elijah allowed himself a meagre smile at his victory.

"Hello, Jeremy. It's Elijah."

Silence reigned on the other end, the boy quite understandably shocked at receiving a call from the Original who had broken the trust of his sister and her friends and then vanished into the ether.

"Hi?" the teen offered weakly, making a valiant effort at concealing both his confusion and his racing heart. "I'd say it's nice to hear from you, but since the last time I saw you had just betrayed my sister and helped your Hybrid brother escape into the woods after killing our aunt, I think I'll just skip the pleasantries and ask why you're calling."

"I take it Caroline has already informed you of whom I'm currently with?" Elijah interrogated pensively, not doubting her supposed love for gossip and making drastic pronouncements.

"She has. Is she alright? Is she hurt?"

He was quick to banish the boys fears. "Physically, she's absolutely fine. Emotionally..." Elijah tapered off. "Not so much. She just discovered that the victims she had first attributed to Niklaus are not solely his."

Jeremy caught on immediately. "Stefan's been killing people?"

"Many," Elijah admitted to him, staring down at the shining varnish of the coffee table, reflecting his own tight expression back to him. "His bloodlust has gotten the better of him, no doubt due to my brother's coaching. He always liked the mad ones."

"How do you know all this? Actually, it doesn't matter: all that matters is making sure my sister's okay." Elijah heard him take a breath, as if steeling himself, preparing for the worst. "So, first off, what's missing food-wise?"

Elijah began taking inventory of the kitchen, knowing what should and shouldn't be there since he'd only restocked it three days ago when he'd first brought Elena here, knowing she hadn't had anything that didn't come out of a vending machine for quite some time and wanting her to feel more comfortable. And he was also fond of a decent cucumber sandwich himself. "Two tubs of Rocky Road, three of Mint Chocolate Chip, four water bottles, a jar of peanut butter and half a loaf of bread," he listed, fingers tapping on the draining board behind him with a restless kinetic energy.

"Good," Jeremy sighed, "so she's not far gone enough that she's forgotten to eat at least something not out of a carton and to keep hydrated, especially since she's obviously been crying. Now, what is she watching?"

"Is that really necessary?" Elijah demanded, hating to intrude on her privacy. How many times had he chastised Nik or Kol when they'd just waltzed into his room and badgered him about whatever was bothering them without even knocking first, or Rebekah using her hearing to spy on him when she was bored so she could find the perfect time to corner him when she wanted something?

"Trust me, Elijah, this could mean the difference between your body remaining intact or not."

The Original rolled his eyes. "Fine." He listened out. "It's a...history documentary on Ancient Egypt?"

Jeremy didn't seem the least bit unsettled, in fact Elijah got the impression he'd been expecting an answer of a similar vein, as it were. "Classic Elena: distracting he brain with new information in hopes of repressing unwanted thoughts and feelings. How else do you think she's kept up her almost-flawless GPA during all this supernatural drama?" Jeremy inquired, and Elijah conceded to himself that he hadn't even thought about how all this must have effected her academic career, blatant proof of how little he was in touch with his own humanity.

A thought for another time, he decided, and tore his attention back to the young Gilbert as he continued, "She likes to hide in things, Elijah, be it a young adult romance novel or a programme about penguin migration. After our parents' funeral, she didn't come out for over five days and the only person she talked to was me, because I knew how she felt. You just have to find a way to connect to her and help her face her problems head-on.

"Look, I've gotta go -interview at the Grill- but I promise to make sure a certain dark-haired vampire in need of some serious anger-management issues doesn't get wind of you hanging around her."

"Thank you, Jeremy, I'd appreciate that."

"But you have to promise me something first."

Like sister, like brother. Perhaps it was rash, but Elijah responded bluntly, "Name it."

"Take care of her, will you? And I don't just mean keeping her safe, I mean keeping her sane, too. I know this is a lot for her, and I also know that she never asks for help until she's on her knees and can't do anymore. She's my only family left, and I love her with all my heart, so make sure she looks after it."

"I had every intention of doing that anyway," Elijah informed him hesitantly, "but regardless, I give you my word that I shall not waver from your promise."

"Good. Now, go help her."

"Did you know that the ancient Egyptians often mummified their cats so that they could keep them company in the afterlife?" was the first thing Elena said to Elijah when he knocked on her door. She hadn't opened it, but it didn't need to be open for him to hear her, and she liked that physical distance, the barrier between them keeping her in check.

"Wait, of course you do: you know everything, supposedly." Did she sound bitter? She did, because she was. "Poor cats, being all tied up and having their organs stuffed in jars. I never had any pets. I wanted a dog, once, but my parents always argued about who would look after it since they both worked and I wasn't old enough to, despite my many protests, so the Gilbert household remained a pet-free zone. Except when Caroline brought over the class hamster, Pumpkin, who was all ginger and fuzzy and a total nightmare. He got loose, and we came up with the brilliant idea of getting out the board game Mouse Trap and reconfiguring it for a hamster, which of course didn't work. We found him under the porch, and Bonnie had to coax him out with some dried apricots. No more pets for Elena."

Surreptitiously digging her spoon into her last carton of ice cream, Elena stared at it blankly as the heat consumed it, turning it into creamy mush. Time eats away at everything, she thought. Not even ice cream is safe from it.

"I think," Elijah said slowly from the other side of the door, "that it is only natural to hold onto the things that we love -including cats, although I myself am more of a 'dog person'- for as long as we can, even in death."

Huffing, she tossed her spoon back into her ice cream, flopping backwards onto her bed and letting her gaze wander over the lavender wallpaper. "If this is your way of trying to make me feel better about Stefan, I gotta tell you, Elijah, that it isn't working. Nothing you say about love is going to change who he is and what he's done."

"What about you?" Elijah argued, "what if I tell you about who you are, the person I know you to be."

Elena scoffed, rolling her eyes at his persistence efforts. "You mean the mystical doppelgänger who's only useful for her blood and the fact she can make a mean bowl of chili?"

"That's not true."

"Isn't it, though? This last year, my life's just been one big battle after the other, constantly just fighting, fighting, fighting. What if I'm tired of it, Elijah? What if I just want to give it up? If I can't even save Stefan, the man I love, the man I died for and would die a hundred times over for, what's the point if there is no love, only pain and guilt? Why should I hold on when I know I'm only ever going to lose in the end?"

"Because I was wrong, Elena. When I made that first deal with you, I was wrong to make you choose your life over those of the people you love. You matter, Elena. Your life has only just begun, but I believe you will do so much with it, that your compassion will leave a mark on this world for the better."

Hesitant hope graced her voice as she whispered, "You really think that?"

"Do you think I'd be sitting on the floor, wrinkling one of my best suits, for just anyone?" Elijah asked wryly, and Elena chuckled, the first happy sound she'd made since she'd comeback from the morgue.

"No, I guess not," she conceded, and maybe the door between them gave her some newfound strength, or maybe it was because she believed he was the only one who would understand the depth of her words when she brokenly admitted, "I feel like he ripped my heart out, Elijah. Seeing those people...I feel like it tore something out of me."

Elijah didn't pull any punches. "It did, Elena. Seeing something like that, knowing someone you love so much is capable of such violence..I'll never forget the sight of Niklaus kneeling over his first kill, the anguish on him but also the spark of pleasure at indulging in his predatory instincts. And yet, I still love him, would still die for him, as you would for Stefan. That is not a mark against your character, Elena, but only a reminder of how beautifully stubborn you are."

"Elijah?"

"Yes?" he called out.

"I'm going to open the door now. Just wanted to give you a heads up in case I accidentally hit you with it."

"Thank you for the consideration."

Elena tugged on the polished brass handle, watching it swing open to reveal the Original vampire on the floor, back pressed against the opposite wall, legs crossed at the ankles and a warm smile on his face. She offered her hand and he took it readily, pulling himself gracefully to his feet, and she used their closeness to capture him him in surprise hug, reveling in the feel of his solid chest, the comfort of another person he'd so readily given her and she so desperately needed right now.

"I'm sorry you have to keep putting up with my emotional messes," Elena apologized regretfully into the fabric beneath her cheek. "I feel bad that you're having to take care of me."

Elijah tilted her chin, brown eyes searing her with sincerity. "Would you not do the same for me?"

"Sure, of course," Elena nodded at him. "But that's different-"

"I assure you, it is not." He smoothed back her hair, and she cringed at how greasy and unkempt it must be after nearly three days without a shower. "It has always been in my nature to take care of those closest to me, and as it happens, that applies to you as well, given our enforced proximity and newest deal."

"And because we're friends," Elena insisted, a small part of her balking at the impossibility of it and yet knowing that it was true. But she wanted to clarify. "We are friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, Elena, we are."

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! This was a long one, wasn't it? That wasn't my intention, but I hope to enjoyed it nonetheless. So...Alaric and Lucy. I think I just created a ship? Unless it existed already and I didn't know? I just want him to have someone who he can share all his supernatural life stuff with, and I really liked Lucy and I wanted to have a go at including her. Did you like it? Did you hate it? For those of you thinking it's too soon after Jenna, I inform you now that nothing shippy will be happening for a while. Like, a long while. I gotta get Elena and Elijah together first, who are now friends! *Does happy dance!*

The whole Stefan being a Ripper thing I wanted to explore, but more importantly how it would affect Elena and how she'd feel responsible. I didn't do it just so she'd run to Elijah for comfort, but because she is a genuinely caring person and we all know she'd take each victim to heart.

Anyway, please share your thoughts and leave a review for me to gush over!

Until next time.

All my love, Temperance Cain.

PS: The story about the bee? That actually happened...to me. When I was five. To this day, I have never worn yellow again. And the Michael J Fox mention was alluding to Teen Wolf, BTW.