Warning: Use of language in this chapter.

Nobody Here's Perfect

Working at the Mystic Grill wasn't like any other bartending job. Yes, it involved the same long hours, the same menial tasks of restocking peanuts and straws, cleaning menus and washing up plates and making sure the alcohol was locked up tight every night like any other bar, but it also involved much more. For example, like making sure there was a ready supply of vervain on hand, mixed in with the morning batch of coffee, or cleaning up the place after a vampire picked it as the place to have their villainous stand-off. It also meant, apparently, watching vampires drink through half the Bourbon and listen to them ramble on about their problems like Matt was their damn therapist or something. Did this look like a nineteen forties New York gin-joint where the people were as open about their troubles as they were open with their wallets? Well, Damon Salvatore sure seemed to think so.

It was the third time he'd been in here this week, the first sans Mr Saltzman, and he seemed more sour and aggressive than usual, which was really saying something. After pouring him another round, Matt watched on in equal parts admiration and disgust as he downed it in one go. He knew he had a vampire constitution and all, but that could not be good for anyone, living or dead. Maybe it was because he was having his own crisis, or maybe because he'd been in this town way too long, but Matt planted his elbows on the bat and pretended to be cleaning the counter as he broached, not unkindly, "Do you feeling like talking about whatever's got you in here at eleven in the morning, drinking like there's no tomorrow?"

Damon narrowed his eyes, piercing blue and angry, almost as of he hadn't even realized Matt's existence, both here and in the universe at large, until this very moment. "What's it to you, Donovan? Last I heard, you were a firm flag-flyer of Team 'I Hate Vampires' as well as camp 'I Would Watch On Happily If They All Went Up In Smoke, So Long As They Don't Make A Mess On The Packet Ketchups.'"

"First, screw you, asshole. Second, while you and I can and will not ever be any kind of friendly, I know you care about Elena, like, crazy-care about her, and if someone like you is capable of that kinda feeling, well then I guess you can't be entirely awful, can you?"

"I don't know," Damon mused darkly over the rim of his glass, "I think you'd be surprised the depths of awfulness I can plummet to."

"Does this sunshine attitude of you'd have anything to do with that missing brother of yours?"

"What, as opposed to my other brother, the one drinking Pina colada's and taking long walks in the rain? Or perhaps you were referring to my other, other brother, the city boy, born and raised in South Detroit, taking a midnight train going any-fricking-where?"

Matt raised his hands in supplication. "Okay, okay, you made your point. But still...that's not an answer."

Damon tossed his head back, exclaiming in what he thought was probably the most sarcastically bewildered tone known to man, "Yes, Matty Blue-Eyes, my current attitude and level of intoxication has everything to that American Hero we call Stefan Salvatore, Saviour of the Forest Folk and friend to recyclers everywhere."

"Can you even recycle a blood bag?" Matt wondered aloud as he wiped a glass clean was a rag that had seen better days, just like most things here, including himself, if he was being honest.

"No, we usually take turns putting them in with all the medial waste at the hospital -i.e, I usually force Caroline to do it, since I can't be bothered- and then no one's any the wiser," Damon explained. Like Tinker Bell, it seemed Damon couldn't function when he wasn't the focal point of attention, for he soon drawled bemusedly, "Buuuut, back to my life falling apart at the seams, I am not in a good mood, and therefore don't wish to deal with whatever scheme you're cooking up with by being nice to me."

"Does anyone taking any interest in your welfare and general mental state instantly have to mean some sort of ulterior motive? Can't I guy just be nice to you, with no strings attached?"

"Usually? Yes." The vampire paused, considering, before relenting, "Unless, of course, it's coming from..."

"Elena," Matt finished for him knowingly. "I swear, she'd hug the Big Bad Wolf himself and cite wrongful mistreatment and cruel stereotypical associations and whatnot, then invite him to breakfast."

Damon cracked a crooked grin. "Yeah, she certainly would. She'd even apologize for looking like an appetizing snack after he inevitably took a bite out of her rather than the pancakes."

"Or, maybe that's what he needs," Matt posed insightfully, "someone to see that he's not a monster, for once in his Big-Bad life."

"But, try as she might, the monsters around here stay monsters, Matthew. You and I both know that."

"Maybe," Matt conceded, "or maybe not. But one thing is for sure: you and I both know she'll never stop trying to see the good in any monster she comes across, including you. And I think that kinda scares you, I think you think it's easier if she hates you, that way you can do whatever you want and not feel like you're disappointing her. Because, take it from a guy who knows, there a few feelings worse in this world than feeling like you disappointed someone like Elena Gilbert."

"I'm sure you never disappointed her, Donovan. I mean...look at you!" the vampire exclaimed, all mock-cheerfulness. "Blue eyes and blonde hair and football star and well-mannered, helping old ladies cross the road and making babies smile and all that crap." Dear God, did Damon really think he was being helpful with any of that? He sure was acting so. "You're an overall swell guy, Matt. I know Caroline certainly thought so," he remarked with a waggled eyebrow, and Matt let out an internal moan of displeasure.

"Did you really have to bring her up?"

"Hey, if I'm talking about my relationship problems," Damon tipped his glass in his direction, before pointing it at Matt, "we are most certainly covering yours as well. Why haven't you talked to her?" He seemed to almost genuinely care about his answer, and Matt could only guess he was doing it for Elena's sake. Or, plot twist, Damon Salvatore had a heart under all that leather after all.

"How did you know I haven't been talking to her?"

Damon rolled his eyes as if he were being as dense as the packing cardboard the shipments of sparkling water came in. "Dude, I have ears. Caroline will literally not stop talking about it, both you and her birthday party-planning fantasies for Elena. She's still holding on to the hope that she'll be back by the end of the month, in one piece, and that you and her will be on speaking terms by the end of the decade, which I think is incredibly optimistic and exceedingly stupid on both counts, but who am I to get out a ruler and measure people's lengths of stupidity? God knows I haven't been all that smart lately." He downed the rest of his drink, hanging his head in what could perhaps be described as shame, if one didn't known him, but since Matt did, he'd diagnose it as a case of perhaps mild regret.

Matt sighed, tossing the rag over his shoulder before hooking his feet around the extra bar stool he kept handy, just in case they needed a spare -or he had to smash a vampire in the face with one, or, smash a smashed vampire in the face with one if they tried to take a bottle, which he could totally see happening at some point in the future.

"It's...complicated," he admitted hesitantly. "And weird. I've known Caroline forever, and I've always known what to expect with her, you know? Then, when we started dating, everything was going so well...and then Vick's body showed up, and she started to get insecure 'cause I was spending all this time with Elena, then we had that disastrous double date, which your brother managed to salvage pretty well, all things considered. Her and I talked, and it was all good. After that, we had Founder's Day and she was in the hospital, and it was like one step forward, three steps back. Of course, I didn't know why, and now I do, and I totally get it; I can't imagine what she must have been going through. But...it was difficult for me, too. To have her pull away like that, then she and Tyler became this inseparable duo and I felt left out. My girlfriend and my best friend were kickin' me out of the proverbial tree-house, and all I could do was watch as they built forts and made paper airplanes that only went two feet."

Damon raised an eyebrow.

Matt rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, I momentarily forgot you grew up in ye olden days, and therefore do not know what kids now consider 'fun' when they're ten years old."

"Save it, Donovan, I'm not so out of touch." He waved a hand lazily. "Continue with your moping. This is making me feel so much better about my own life; glad to know I've still got some time, and some dignity, before I reach where you're swimming at."

"Nice, man, real mature. Anyway, I know she's still the same Caroline, deep down, but after what happened to Vicki...more importantly, what you did to her," Matt thundered with a murderous glare, "I don't know if I'll ever feel entirely comfortable around her again."

Damon pointed out smugly, "But you're sitting here, chattin' away to little ole' me; isn't that kind of hypocritical?"

Matt shook his head, "Its not the same," he insisted fervently, because it wasn't.

"How so?"

"Well, because I don't like you, for one, and I've never made out you, for another."

Damon smirked, that self-satisfied, cat with the bowl of cream smirk. "You don't know what you're missing, Donovan."

"Somehow I think I'll survive. Come on, you're telling me you wouldn't feel different if Elena was turned?" Matt asked wonderingly, then almost wished he hadn't.

Fear. Pure, genuine, undiluted fear seemed to glow in Damon's eyes at the mere idea; not of Elena turning, but at her dying, in any way. And, for a split second, Matt kinda got what his friend saw in him, that under all that bravado and talk, Damon was as human as the rest of them, especially when it came to his emotions. "I would not feel any differently if Elena was turned." He said it slowly, methodically, leaving no room for interpretation or doubt. "I guess its no secret around these parts that she makes the very short list of people I wouldn't let die," Damon remarked off-handedly, a little too off-handedly to be entirely convincing, and Matt had to clamp down on a disbelieving scoff at the lame showing, "and although I know if it came down to it, she would never choose it for herself willingly, my feelings for her could never possibly change, whether she was a human or a vampire or a koala."

"A koala?"

"Elena likes koalas," the vampire defended heatedly. "She's got a stuffed one that sits on her window seat."

It was Matt's turn to smirk. "And I suppose you know that from all the times you've sneaked into her room."

"Yeah, like you never did."

"Actually, the front door was more my scene, but I can appreciate the romanticism of having some stalker tapping on your window like Pennywise the Clown at two in the morning," Matt chuckled, rewarded with a sour look and a grumbled, "Screw you, Matty Blue," that he chose to take in stride.

"You're really worried about Stefan, then, if you're so worried about where you stand with Elena."

Damon's brow furrowed. "How do you figure that, Freud?"

Matt refused to rise to the bait, instead merely, answering with, "If you thought he was coming home any time soon, you wouldn't be so freaked about rocking the boat with her. If Stefan really doesn't come back, you would, at least in theory, be free and clear to sweep her off her feet. That is, of course, if Elena was suffering from a concussion and consequently thought your sorry ass was worth more than the time of day."

"Hey, me, and my perfect ass, thank you, resent that very much," Damon flustered indignantly. "Besides, we both know that isn't ever gonna happen: Elena won't step a foot back in Mystic Falls without Stefan wagging his tail behind her."

"She may not have much choice in the matter," Matt broached carefully. "I can't imagine spending any sort of time with Klaus is good for you, especially if you're a vampire like Stefan."

"Meaning?"

"Well," the bartender began with a shake of his head as he topped up Damon's glass, "I doubt Klaus is going out and drinking from deer every time he gets hungry, and even I know what happened last year and why you stepped in for your brother at the Miss Mystic Pageant."

"God, I miss those days."

"Of dressing in a tux and showing off your dance skills?" Matt asked, surprised.

"No, Matt, I miss the days when I didn't care so damn much, when I could have packed a bag and got the hell outta here and never looked back."

Matt got out a glass, poured himself a drink, then downed it in a single shot, feeling the alcohol burn his throat, and apparently burn through any sense of self-preservation or rational thought, because he declared proudly, "That's a load of crap."

Damon didn't seem convinced. "You think so?"

"Oh, I know so," Matt assured him. "I may have watched Stefan and Elena date this past year, but do you wanna know what else I've seen?"

The vampire leaned back, splaying his hands wide. "Enlighten me, oh wise one."

"The way you looked at her when you thought no one else was watching, like your heart was breaking just by being in the same room as her, yet you wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

"Matt?"

He raised his head to meet his steely blue gaze. "Yeah?"

"You're way too fucking perceptive for your own good, and have way too much time on your hands if you've noticed the way I look at your ex girlfriend. Speaking of your most recent ex, go talk to her," Damon implored selflessly as he polished off his drink, "tell her how you feel, even if it's that you need time or some space or a vacation to Tahiti, just tell her what's going on in that head of yours, and figure out where you all stand."

"Why?"

"Because, like you so astutely observed, no one can hide their feelings entirely, and it'd be a shame if you lost not only your girlfriend, but also your friend." He stuck a hundred in the tip jar. "This is for the Bourbon," Damon clarified, "and not in thanks for talking your ear off. We got that, buddy?"

Matt smiled, perhaps his first real one in the guys presence, picking up their empty glasses and giving him a half-heatedly mocking salute. "You got it."

Elena opened her eyes, and she immediately freaked out. It wasn't that she wasn't used to waking up in weird places -be it from kidnapping, motel-hopping, or the fact that she had grown frustratingly accustomed to not having a clue what was going on- but the last time she'd checked, she hadn't been anywhere near the ocean. But now, she could clearly see it's frothing waves, the pearlescent sheen cast by the scorching sunlight as she gazed out the open windows of what looked to be an incredibly expensive hotel room. The bed she was lying on was massive, swallowing her in down and yet still crisp, keeping her from getting too hot. That, and the air conditioning someone had kindly turned on for her. Sitting up, Elena tried to recall the last twelve hours -she knew it had been that long from the ornate clock hanging on the side of the cream-painted wall- from the muddled recesses of her still half-asleep mind.

The diner, the waitress Elijah and her had gone to talk to, the one he'd compelled. They'd gotten back on the road, arriving at the motel...and dealing with Damon. Elijah had made him forget that he'd ever seen the two of them -well, the Original and who he'd thought was Katherine- before making him believe that he'd gone to the diner and found nothing of use. When she went to to their room, she took a shower and then came out to find Elijah reading the note from his brother, a look of such grief and pain and regret marring his face that she'd become instantly concerned, but he'd refused to let her get rid of the thing for him. After that, she'd been so physically and mentally exhausted that she'd decided to close her eyes for a while, and then...here she was. Wherever here was.

"At least you've got a gorgeous view," she muttered to herself in an effort to raise her spirits, but really, she just wanted to know where she was, where Elijah was, and what they were going to do next. The waitress, Denise, had overheard Klaus questioning the woman over someone called Ray Sutton, who Elena suspected was a werewolf, maybe even an Alpha, a leader of a pack -or so Tyler had told her they were called the one time they talked about all this- and therefore Klaus wanted to know where the rest of the wolves were. A knock sounded at the door, and Elena bolted to her feet, careful not to knock into, or over, anything in the unfamiliar terrain of the room. She flung it open, and was greeted with a smiling Elijah, hair swept back of his face, making him look impossibly young, wearing a black jacket and a light blue shirt with a dark purple tie, and holding out a bag of...bagels.

"I'm glad to see you're awake," he greeted her pleasantly, then gestured to the pastry bag. "I thought you might need a bit of a pick-me-up."

Elena grinned, snatching the bag and digging in without hesitation. "If it were anyone else, I'd feel incredibly insulted," she remarked as she stuffed her face without a care, "but coming from you, I'll let it slide."

"So, I am rewarded a unique brand of exemption from your tirades, then," he smiled amusedly. "Good to now."

Closing the door, Elena perched on the arms of an overstuffed chair, swinging her legs as she munched. "While I really appreciate the food, and the room, I'd kinda like to know what you're up to with all this."

Elijah began rummaging in the cupboards, his back to her as he said, "Can't an Original vampire just do something nice for you, since you've been nothing but the epitomy of gracious company since you took the time and effort to save me?"

"Of course," the brunette told him, "but the last time I had my eyes open, I was in a motel in the middle of nowhere, and now I'm by the ocean, in a hotel that likely cost triple the budget of the Mystic Falls Preservation Society."

"For a town so old, you'd think they'd designate more funds to the upkeep of their sacred heritage," Elijah commented absently as he turned around with a mug of coffee, "and as for the price, you know money isn't of any particular concern for my family."

"Yes, Mr McDuck, I'm aware, but stop avoiding my question or I'll," Elena thought for a moment, "throw my bagel at you," she finally decided on.

Elijah cocked his head, grinning at her over the rim of his cup. "I must say, I thank that's the most absurdly creative threat I've ever received, besides maybe the piranhas."

"Piranhas?" Elena parroted quizzically.

"A story for another time. I believe you were trying to threaten me with bodily harm through the use of a breakfast pastry?" he politely prompted her.

"Oh, no," Elena shook her head before elaborating, "I'd never dream of hitting you with the thing: we both know you'd catch it before I could inflict any kind of damage. I was, in actual fact, threatening you with the hellish prospect of picking out crumbs from your pockets for like, the next year, at very least, if you don't start explaining what's going on."

"Well," Elijah drawled, "we can't have that now, can we?" Draining his mug, he placed it in the sink before slinking down onto the couch and waving a hand for her to join him, which she did. Before he could even open his mouth, Elena pounced on him -not physically! But with questions! God, as if she'd ever...- "Why are we here, Elijah? Why aren't we on Ray's trail?"

"Who says we aren't?" he asked innocently but she wasn't buying it, and he knew it. Elijah shifted slightly, almost like he was uncomfortable, unsure how she'd react. "We will be going after Mr Sutton, just not today."

"Why not?" she interrogated instantly, confused by the unexpected delay, coupled with Elijah's odd behaviour.

"Because it's not fair on you, Elena. Because for the last year, your life has been nothing but a cycle of fear and blood and death. Wash, rinse, repeat, as the saying goes these days. After what happened at the morgue, and yesterday at the diner, I suppose I only wished to give you a reprieve from all this awfulness. I think," he added slowly, as if afraid to admit so aloud, as if he feared sounding weak, even if it was only through his choice of words, "I need a break as well. I know you wish to find Stefan, but I think he can wait an extra day: your happiness, on the other hand, cannot."

"Elijah?"

"Yes?"

This time, Elena did pounce on him, enveloping him in a fiercely grateful hug as she rasper, slightly muffled against his shirt, "If anyone ever says you don't have a heart, just send them my way, and I'll tear their eyeballs out."

Elijah chuckled, his arms holding tight, hand rubbing comforting circles on her upper back. "That sounds remarkably extreme -not to mention overly violent- but I appreciate the sentiment. But I don't need a heart to know that yours could do with a time-out."

Pulling back, Elena surveyed him with an openly curious expression, excitement beginning to bubble up within her. "So, where did you decide to take me on this spur-of-the-moment escape?"

"As it so happens, our last conversation contained mention of the ocean, so I thought I'd start from there. Welcome to Burbank, California, Miss Gilbert."

Elena gaped at him. "You're joking."

"I'm not joking," he promised, straight-faced as ever.

"I really slept all the way through the drive to California?"

"No," Elijah corrected her, "you slept through the drive to the airport, then the flight here, then the drive from the airport to the hotel we are currently residing in. You're a heavy sleeper, which is entirely useful in situations such as these."

"Thank you." It was the only thing left to say.

"You're most welcome. So, is there anything in particular you feel like doing while we're here?"

"Beach, beach and more beach!" Elena clapped her hands together, already making a beeline for her luggage, deposited neatly in the corner. "It's been forever since I went to the beach."

"So long as I don't get buried in sand like a bone, I'm more than willing to take you," Elijah offered, and she was yet again struck by just how much she hadn't realized about him when they'd first met, all these different layers of emotion and personality Elena was starting to find she enjoyed uncovering, one by one -probably more than she should, given the circumstances.

"Come on, Elijah, you may be old, but you're not that old," Elena teased mercilessly, getting out a canvas tote she'd stowed and filling it with a towel, sun screen, the paperback book she'd brought on her first day out of Mystic Falls, a stake as well as a vervain grenade, and a waterproof mascara - a prayer of thanks to the Almighty Caroline for that. Her trainers were parked under the bed, so she decided to toss those back on, and pulled out an extra white tee to wear over the top of her camisole and shorts.

"A glowing compliment. But I'm serious, Elena, I will not commit to sandy shenanigans of any kind."

Elena nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "Duly noted."

Elijah, perhaps from just general life experience, or the fact that he'd grown up with four rambunctious siblings, was not convinced. "You don't plan on listening to me at all, do you?" he sighed heavily.

She shook her head, grinning fiendishly as she plopped her sunglasses in the dip of her top, reminded if when her mom took her to the park and she'd do the same, a little Elena laughing whenever they clattered out onto the grass.

Another sigh from him. "Alright, I can see when I'm fighting a losing battle, and I therefore admit defeat. Elena Gilbert, I give you permission to get me covered in sand, so long as it's not in my shoes, as that's just bad form.

"I can agree to that."

"And that I get at least one of the ice creams you will likey rope me into buying."

"My favourite's mint choc chip," she informed him happily as she shouldered her bag, but in the end that turned out to be unnecessary, because he told her, "I noticed that already, sweetheart."

Right, when she'd gotten back from the morgue and downed it like it was water. Speaking of which..."Thanks for noticing," ducking her head so that he wouldn't see her blush, Elena pulled out a few waters from the fridge and stuck them in with the rest of her things. "By the power vested in me by the universe at large," she declared dramatically, "I call this beach break to order." She motioned to the door. "Shall we?"

It was a little before noon, so the beach was mostly filled with children and their parents, out of school and ready to get up to trouble. Elena seemed to have her heart set on buying every stuffed sea-themed toy she laid eyes on, claiming they were 'for friends,' but Elijah suspected the lady doth protested just a little too much to be sincere, as well as a plethora of other beach-related paraphernalia she deemed essential. It was actually rather adorable, the way she'd squeal and fawn over a pointy claw or a fluffy wing, and he decided, for this day and this day only, not to fight the impulse to make her happy, to be near her and see her smile, to look on in begrudging amusement as she tugged on his hand and indeed did make him buy copious amounts of ice cream that could really not be good for any human to ingest all at once; even Elijah Mikaelson knew about brain-freeze.

He shrugged out of his jacket and, in lieu of a blanket, draped it across the hot sand and rested against it, rolling his sleeves to the elbow and discarding his tie. Strands of her ponytail dancing out between the fingers of her left hand, Elena held out the bottle of sunscreen awkwardly with her right since she was covered in the stuff and asked politely, "Would you mind putting some in the back of my neck for me?"

"Of course not."

He motioned for her to turn around and she did, sitting down on the sand in front of him, exposing the smooth, graceful line of her neck, the delicate dancer-straight arch of her spine. Praying for mercy from whatever God delighted in punishing him so, Elijah spread out the sunscreen on her neck and shoulder blades just under her shirt before handing the bottle back to him. Elena patted him on the cheek, using their sudden closeness to smear a blob of cream on his nose.

He scowled at her playfully. "Why do I always seem to end up in sticky situations with you?"

"Hey, they're not always sticky. Sometimes they're soapy, or dangerous, or funny, or a combination of all three," Elena listed breezily.

"Fair point. Go, go out into the world and make beautiful sandcastle art you'll no doubt be crying over by the end of the day when it inevitably gets washed away and I end up buying you another stuffed octopus to cheer you up."

Elena saluted briskly, "Aye, aye, Captain!" before darting off into the sand, already staking out a spot with her blanket, using her bag to shield her paperback from sun damage, which was just like her.

After about an hour, she took a break, seemingly satisfied by her creation and cracking open her book, pure content etched into her serene face.

"Oh, your castle's so pretty!" a little girl came racing up to Elena, awe evident in her dazzling smile as she gazed at her sandy creation. "I love all your shells!"

"Why, thank you. I'm rather proud of it, myself." Stashing her book, Elena diverted her attention to the girl in front of her, seemingly unperturbed by having some random child come up to her when she was trying to relax. "Have you made one, too?"

"Yeah, my one's that one," she pointed behind her to a sandcastle -to Elijah's untrained eye- that looked almost identical.

"Wow, that looks awesome! You've even got a moat! I'm super jealous."

"I can help you make one if you want?" the girl offered easily. "Every great castle should have a moat, and a drawbridge."

"Right," Elena nodded as if that made total sense, before adding, '"cause we need to keep the dragons out."

"Only the bad ones!" the girl admonished. "The good ones can stay, like the girl dragon in Shrek."

"You're absolutely right. So, where do we start, oh fearless sandcastle leader?"

Once upon a time, in the dead of night, after a particularly harsh row with Niklaus in regards to Marcel and their love for each other, Rebekah had confided in him her want for a family of her own. And while that desire never went away for her, it was one Elijah had to confess he'd not shared with her at the time. Raising Marcellus, teaching him right from wrong, how to play the piano and how to read, had been more about familial obligation than about want, and in the end he'd had to give even that up in the hopes that fatherhood would reignite in Klaus his compassion and forgiveness, his tenderness and his reasoning. And it had, for a time: loving Marcel did indeed make Klaus a better man. But looking at Elena as she knelt with that little girl in the sand, her smile the brightest and most pure thing he'd ever born witness to, Elijah admitted that there was some long-abandoned part of him that might want that, a family of his own, if he ever put theirs back together. A silly, trivial notion, an impossibility...but still there, like treasure buried under the sand of an unremembered island, a barest glimmer visible to the eye.

"Hey, Elijah!" Elena called out to him, releasing him from his reverie, hands on her hips and a warm light in her eyes, "You're seriously missing out on some major sandcastle action here. Wanna lend a girl a hand?"

"As if a gentleman could ever refuse such a tantalizing offer," he remarked dryly as he padded across the sand, surveying her work with a critical eye. "That wall needs to be thicker," he pointed to the south wall, "and that moat needs to be about an inch farther back."

"Why's that?" the girl asked, likely deeming him safe to talk to since he obviously knew Elena.

"Because," Elijah explained kindly, "when we pour the water in, it's going to splash everywhere, and we don't want it to ruin the front of the castle."

"Wow, that's really smart. Are you like a professional sandcastler or something?"

He shook his head with a chuckle, picking up Elena's discarded bucket. "No, but my brother's an architect."

The girl tilted her head. "Archawhat?"

"Someone who makes buildings, Daisy," Elena told her. "They draw them out on paper, then get lots of people to help make them real."

"I think I'd like to do that when I'm bigger," Daisy commented with a smile, and Elena gave her a fond one in return.

"When you grow up, Little Miss, you can be whatever you want."

Elena might be a little biased, but by two o clock, she though her, Daisy and Elijah had made the best sandcastle in the world. The Original had been a little apprehensive at first, but he soon fell back in to old brotherly habits, and Elena couldn't remember for the life of her the last time she'd seen one man smile so much. Or herself, for that matter. It was easy to forget your troubles when you were around kids: their light and innocence was infectious, and it soothed the raw and jagged parts of her that had become blunt over the last year after all she'd been through. Daisy had thanked them to no end when they helped her remake hers, too, as did her mother for taking such good care of her daughter, who they learned had been sick recently and her parents had taken her to the beach to try and cheer her up. It was almost like Elena was a magnet, drawn to seek out people in similar boats as herself, and trying to help them navigate the rough tides when she couldn't control her own. She just hoped the little girl stayed okay, and never lost her caring, happy nature.

After that, Elijah took her to lunch, a look of comical dismay on his face when he went to pay for the bill and a load of sand pyramided out of his wallet and into his lap. Elena was still laughing about it.

"Come on, Elijah, it was hilarious," Elena giggled as they took the elevator to their room as the setting sun kissed the horizon, bathing his face in pinks and gold's, as well as highlighting his still-indignant frown.

"It was not," the vampire protested passionately as the elevator carried them up to the top floor. "I looked like an idiot."

"You didn't look like an idiot," she assured him, "you just looked like a guy who had an unfortunate incident with a sand dune. A sand dune that liked you so much it wanted to stay in your pocket and be with you forever. How about that? Now, it sounds sweet rather than embarrassing. And, at the end of the day, the restaurant got their money, so all is right in the world."

The elevator dinged and Elena stepped out, barely making it a foot when Elijah grasped her elbow and whirled her around, her chest colliding with his with a soft thud. Swallowing heavily, Elena had the insane thought He's going to kiss me. After all this time, he's finally going to kiss me, but of course he did no such thing, only said amusedly, "If you think I'm going to let you track sand into our hotel room, dear Elena, you are most sorely mistaken. Shoes. Off. Now."

Crossing her arms, Elena pouted. "But the floor's cold."

Elijah shrugged, unaffected by her whining. "Then I'll carry you. I am entirely serious, Miss Gilbert: once you get sand in the room, we'll be finding it everywhere."

"Fine," she relented, hopping on one foot as she took off her shoes, letting them dangle from the laces. "Happy now?"

"Immensely," Elijah smirked before holding out his hand. Elena accepted it, holding her breath as he swept her off her feet and into his arms, taking her shoes in his right hand which was under her knees, holding her to him with his left, and somehow getting the room key in the slot and kicking the door open in the span of a few heartbeats. Dropping her shoes by the door and depositing her gently on the bed, Elijah planted his hands on his hips and said with an air of supreme satisfaction, "Mission accomplished."

Elena undid her ponytail, rolling her eyes. "Don't look so smug, 'Lijah, I know your weakness now," she sing-songed, watching as colour stained his cheeks.

"I thought we promised never to discuss that," he warned darkly, but her days of being scared by a scary tone were long gone, so she carried on mercilessly, "Who would have thought the mighty Elijah Mikaelson was afraid of seagulls."

"I am not afraid," he corrected her instantly, taking off his jacket and draping it over his arm, "I just don't like them. They're messy and loud and try to take the food of innocent bystanders without a care that it doesn't belong to them."

"So, to sum it all up, you're pissed a seagull stole your ice cream, and now hate the lot of them?"

Elijah pondered for a moment, before acknowledging her with a grumbled, "Yes."

"Not all of them are evil incarnate, you know. The one in The Little Mermaid is actually super nice, if a little slow on modern developments. He thinks a fork is used for brushing your hair."

"But that's ridiculous," he spluttered. "The number of knots you'd get from all those prongs..."

"That's what I always thought!" she exclaimed approvingly. "But Bonnie and Care said that I thought too much and should just watch the movie, rather than trying to apply real-world logic to a cartoon."

"Well, I don't think you think too much, if that helps at all."

"It does."

"Considering there is," Elijah consulted his watch, "five and a half more hours left of our break, is there anything outstanding on your list?"

"Just one." Steepling his fingers under her chin, Elena inquired with the most serious expression she could muster, "Elijah Mikaelson, how do you feel about s'mores?"

Some moments, you wish to preserve in amber, to keep them still and contained, suspended in perfect bliss for all time, and Elijah had many moments like those from over the centuries, be it with lovers now gone or friends long lost, or the rare occasion his family was together, whole and happy, most of which had occured in New Orleans, like their 1914 Christmas Party -before Klaus daggered Kol, of course, for his treachery and conspiring with the witches to see him falter- but he wasn't sure, in a hundred, five hundred, a thousand years from now, just what he'd do with this memory. Would he preserve it, frozen and unmoving, or would it be more like a painting, something to gaze at to remind you of the beauty of life and it's simple pleasures? Or would it be too painful to look back on, to know he'd had such perfect happiness, then had to let it go free, released like a bird back into the wilds, never to grace him with it's loving presence again? He couldn't say.

Which was why he decided to merely let it flow over him like the tide that now surrounded them as Elena, huddled in a blanket to fight off the oceans chill, sat beside him in front of a small-burning fire and instructed him on how to make s'mores. He was familiar with the concept but had never partaken in the activity himself, and after hearing this Elena seemed to make it her goal to teach him. But really, he only watched her, how her hair glowed in the firelight, illuminating the curve of her nose, the dip of her chin, the sweet line of her cheeks and the hollows at her temple he longed to place a tender kiss to.

Ten days ago, he'd been starving and murderous, enraged at his brother, but mostly himself for believing Niklaus would keep his word in the first place. Nine days ago, he'd been rescued by a brave woman who saw the world in a way he never had before, but was beginning to, to relish in the quiet moments and let them sustain you in the chaotic ones. While she had never shied away from the reality of his nature, she'd also not let it define her treatment of him, and had chosen to have faith when many others would have outright refused or gone so far as to stake him and run like hell. He owed her so much, but above all he owed her his thanks for reaching out her hand to him, and not letting go since.

She was not extraordinary because she was perfect, she was perfect because she was extraordinary, in every sense of the word, and she didn't even realize it herself.

"Your s'more is drooping," Elena noted, something in her expression implying she was well aware his mind was occupied elsewhere, but wouldn't pry unless he made the choice to open up.

"So it is."

Scooting closer on the sand, she angled his stick above the flames so it wouldn't burn. "I think you're the best s'more student I've ever tutored," she regaled him proudly, "since God knows Jeremy never had the patience, and would go around stealing everyone else's."

"You're a good teacher...and I'm not just talking about this," he waved the gooey sugared confection currently turning a golden brown for emphasis.

"Elijah, you really don't need to say that," she tried to refute his praise, but the Original was intent on saying his piece, perhaps before he lost the nerve to do so.

"No, I do." Propping the stick up against a nearby log, he sucked in a fortifying breath before reaching out and cupping Elena's face in his palm, thumb stroking over her cheek of its own volition. "When we first met, I was not a nice person. I used you to my own ends, and I'd go back and change it if I had the power, but I can't. I was so frenzied in the pursuit of my family that it blinded me to anything else, to the damage that I was causing you and your loved ones, damage you did not deserve by any means, and after all I put you through, I had nothing to show for it but a dagger in my heart.

"Maybe I would have carried on that way. Maybe, after a week or a month or a decade, Niklaus could have awoken me, and I might have forgiven him if he brought back our siblings. But that's not how this story played out, and for that I am grateful, more than I could ever express, that I got to go on this crazy adventure with you, that you've allowed me to lean on you as much as you've lent on me, if not more, that I learnt all these things about you I never would have discovered otherwise. I think..." I think I'm starting to fall for you, and that terrifies me, but I'm equally terrified of the prospect of having to watch you walk out of my life and never being so close to you again, that these will be the only moments of a real connection I'll ever experience, and that I'll never be able to move on from you. He couldn't tell her any of that, so he murmured instead, "I think I've been dead for a long time, in more ways than one, but I'm starting to see things, feel things, differently now, and I want you to know that you are the reason behind that."

For a fleeting second, something seemed to pass over Elena, a cloud of undefinable emotion, but it disappeared as quickly as it arose, and he was soon distracted by her further leaning into his touch, her own hand curling upwards around his wrist. "Can I say something now?"

Elijah nodded.

"I think...that despite everyone worrying I'll get hurt because I'm human, people forget I actually am. That I'm not invulnerable, that there is a point where I'll get hit and just won't get up again, won't want to get up. After losing Jenna and John, then everything with Damon, then everything with Stefan, I think I'd reached that point. I needed out, needed out before I just gave up, on myself and everything. My first day out of Mystic Falls, I felt freer than I had in months, but I doubted that would have lasted long, because at the end of the day I like having people around me, people I know care. And while I never would have considered you being on that list...now I can't imagine you not on it. I set out with this plan, and you came in and threw it in the window in the best possible way. You've taught me so much about myself, about who I am and who I want to continue being, and the time we've spent together, the perfect moments like this one and so many others, these are what I'll think of when we find Stefan, when I need to believe in something real and good again."

Her hand fell from around his wrist, and he let his hand drop from her face. Reaching out, Elena picked up her own s'more, holding it out to him. "Cheers?"

With a smile laced with a hint of sadness, a lot of gratitude, and the tiniest bit of awe, Elijah nudged her stick with hers. "Cheers."

Author's Note: Greetings, everyone! This chapter...kinda ran away from me, much like the Gingerbread Man after he comes out of the oven and gets chased by townsfolk, but in a good way. Elijah Mikaelson having beef with seagulls? Totally canon in my mind now. I wanted to take a break from all the doom and gloom, shake it up a little; I hope you guys are okay with that, and that you enjoyed this. The Damon and Matt scene was AWESOME to wrote, and I definitely want to do more of them together in the future. And, yes, Damon was referencing 'If You Like Pina Colada's' and 'Don't Stop Believing' because you can't tell me he wouldn't watch Glee at least once, if only to make fun of it -although, it hadn't started airing yet in the summer of 2010, I'm not sure, I could be wrong, I'm probably wrong: Someone correct me if I'm wrong, okay?

Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I wish you all a lovely rest of your week!

Until next time!

All my love, Temperance Cain.