Author's Note: I'm transferring this over from A03 - I'm quite proud of how it turned out, so I figured I would share it here as well, since there's never too much Elejah fanfiction out there. I hope you enjoy the story, and please review if you have thoughts or feedback about it!
Also, in case it's not already obvious, I don't own The Vampire Diaries. Trust me, I wish that I did.
"We need to talk," Says Elena.
She isn't quite sure why she says it - what's propelled her to seek out Elijah and pull him aside before the start of the dancing, but she thinks she should call it suspicion. Nothing good ever comes out of meeting in back rooms; and though Esther may claim otherwise, Elena knows better than anyone else what a mother's love is and is not. She thinks that he looks surprised when she says it; at least, as surprised as Elijah can ever get, which honestly isn't much. It's the slightest quirk of his lips and the faint raise of eyebrows he gives before his features settle, and then he is nodding at her.
"Do I need to keep your… guardians preoccupied?" Asks Elijah, and she finds herself shaking her head.
"I've got it covered," She tells him - if her suspicions are correct, they haven't even arrived yet. She has plenty of time to meet Esther and finally learn what she really thinks about Klaus.
"I don't trust her," Elena blurts out, not meaning to say it so bluntly - is met, again, with surprise.
"How do you mean?" Asks Elijah, "And - who are you referring to?"
"Your mother," She says, biting her lip on a whim, "I don't trust your mother, Elijah. She wants to meet me alone, and I just - I don't think it's going to end well. I wanted to warn you," She says. Huffs out a breath when she's finished and drags her gaze off of his. But Elijah is moving; he tilts her chin up with one long, elegant finger.
"You wanted to warn me," He tells her, "After everything I've done to you?"
"It's the right thing to do," Says Elena. And she wonders if he'll believe her, or if he knows the real reason why. But there is something more to it. Loathe as she is to admit it, she likes being close to Elijah. Likes having someone to trust who will let her make her own choices; because underneath everything else, all the lying and all the betrayal, he has always let them be hers. Elena steals a glance towards the doors to the mansion, sees two familiar forms entering.
"So," She says, "About my guardians -"
"I'll keep them distracted," He tells her, "While you learn my mother's intentions. First, though -" Elijah clears his throat, looking, for one moment, sheepish. Elena blinks; she's never known Elijah to succumb to something like nerves - but by the time she looks back at him, the awkwardness of it is gone, and he is holding a hand out to her. Smoothly, expectantly, she thinks. "Lovely Elena," He asks her, "Would you do me the honor of giving me your first dance?"
Of course, thinks Elena, A ball. She doesn't know what to tell him; she doesn't owe him her dances. She doesn't owe him anything. But she's already gotten this far. Surrendered this much of her to him. There are things, she realizes, that she's going to tell Elijah, that Stefan and Damon will never know about her. She thinks that she already has; in the way that she lives and the way that she loves and the way that she talks when she's lonely, as if nobody else were there.
"You scare me, Elijah," She tells him, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Then let me make it up to you."
"Elijah," She tells him, "I - I appreciate it, the offer. But I don't think that you can."
She watches his eyes and thinks that she sees his heart break.
"Nevertheless," Says Elijah, "I want you to feel safe with me."
"How can I?" Elena asks him. Pulls away before he can answer her, unable to look at his face. "Just - do me a favor and keep them away?"
Elijah snorts. It's the kind of low snort that Damon likes giving when he knows he's already lost, and Elena thinks about what it means, that Elijah is giving it now. It fills her with something that she's never felt in her life, and the rush of it nearly knocks her off her feet. She finds herself stumbling back. Worry creasing his brows as she holds up a hand to stop him from trying to come any closer. She thinks that she knows what Esther is planning, and Elena makes up her mind.
"Give me ten minutes," She tells him. "I can't promise you the first dance, Elijah, but if you can give me ten minutes, then I can give you the second."
Elijah nods, and everything in the world changes. A slow grin spreads across her face as she turns to duck through the crowd, weaving her way up the staircase. She looks behind her only once, catches his gaze over the balcony railing as he makes his way towards the brothers. She nods at Elijah, and Elijah nods at her again. I'm going to do this, Elena thinks to herself, Because it's the right thing to do. Damon would kill her for doing this, she thinks. Stefan would be disappointed. But there is no time to think about them, and so Elena does not. She gathers her courage and knocks at the door, smells the lingering sage. And thinks to herself, as Esther tells her to come in, that the worst thing she could do to him would be to break her own promise.
"So," He asks.
"I was right."
She didn't go back down the staircase. Not the way she'd thought she would. With her eyes and palms burning, she'd burst out the doors to the mansion, steeling herself with a breath. She'd heard them open behind her; felt the firm, gentle pressure of Elijah's hand on her shoulder. It makes her more frightened than ever, how quickly she knew it was him. She thinks it's the way that he's still. Offering her everything that he can give.
"What did she say?" Asks Elijah.
"I can't," Says Elena, "I - Elijah, I'm sorry, I can't -"
"Tell me," He says, in that tone of voice that she's only ever heard once. A shiver of terror rips through her - reminding her, wordlessly, that Elijah is still Elijah, the one thousand year old man who could easily have snapped her neck in the farmhouse, torn her heart out of her chest. Tears sting at her vision; Elena lets them drop down to water the ground with her anger.
"I couldn't stop it," She tells him, "Elijah," She says, "I'm too late."
A hum escapes from his lips, and, unbidden, sparks something warm in her chest. The hand on her shoulder tightens over her skin; the other wraps 'round her waist, settling low on her.
"Why don't you tell me," Elijah says, "And I'll be the judge of that. Come now, Elena - We're going to miss the champagne."
"The - The champagne?" She asks him, whirling suddenly. "You mean - you haven't had any yet?"
"No," Says Elijah, cocking his head to the side.
"Oh," She says, "Oh my God, Elijah, I thought -"
"From the beginning," He says, and the low ache of being apart from his body worms its way up her sides. The way that Elijah holds her; she thinks she could stay there forever. Hers, she thinks, if not Eljah's. And the manner in which he is looking at her, his tense body poised to receive, makes her think he might let her, if only she gets up to ask him.
"She wants to link you," She says, "She needed my blood, Elijah - to put in the champagne. She wanted to link you and make you all human, so that she could kill you tonight."
Elijah's lips purse.
"I see," He tells her, "And you aided her in this goal?"
"No," Says Elena, shaking her head vehemently. "I told her I wouldn't. She took my blood anyway."
Her voice has fallen deep, and a sob chokes its way up her throat. She hates how weak she must look. How foolish she must seem, to him - her, Elena, not able to stop herself crying from nothing save a quick pinprick. But she should know better than that by now. The fury that enters Elijah has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with Esther. She notices that, when his fingernails tensse and relax, and he holds that same hand out to her.
"Elena," He says, "It's alright. Thank you for telling me."
"You can't go back in," She says, "The - the others have -"
"Then I shall stay here," He tells her. "In case you haven't forgotten, you promised me your second dance."
A laugh tears through her body, and she finds herself throwing her head back, the sheer relief of it pulsing through her whole bloodstream.
"I haven't even had my first yet," She tells him. "Fuck," She says, "I was busy."
The laugh is like alcohol. She gets the same buzz off of it. Elijah stands back as she intimidates him, and it makes Elena laugh harder.
"It's ok," She says, "I won't bite."
"Elena," He asks - timidly, she thinks. Concerned. "Are you by any chance drunk?"
"Shut up," She tells him, "Let's dance."
And she launches herself into him; knows, now, that he will accept her. His arms close around her as if it is instinctual, and the heat of him curls around her. His fingers run up her spine, and his chin slots over her crown. She thinks that they must make an image.
"Okay," He tells her - as if, thinks Elena, he's swallowing down his own fair. "Alright," He tells her, "Let's dance."
"No," Elena says, feeling the world stop around them. "No, I - wait."
Elijah's hands still on her and she pushes out from under him.
"Elena?" He asks her, "You -"
"It's nothing to do with me," She says, "I just - I need you to know that I'm sorry."
Elijah gasps; an honest-to-goodness gasp, and it gives her the sense that nobody else alive's heard it. She stores that somewhere in the back of her head, to pull out later, when he's gone and she's back in the Boarding House, crying herself to sleep like she has every night since Stefan decided to leave. She knows that it's going to hurt her. Knows that she has to press on.
"Elena," He says, and his voice is a cool, calming river. "Whatever are you sorry for?"
"Killing you," Says Elena, "Stabbing you in the back. You deserved better than that."
"It's in the past," He says, "Forgiven. You saved all of our lives tonight - that's more than enough an apology."
"No," She tells him, "It isn't. If you were human-"
"What?" Asks Elijah.
"Then I would've killed you," She says, "And your blood would be on my hands."
She hasn't said it out loud, but it stalks through her journal, her nightmares; taunting her, mercilessly, with the picture of his graying corpse. Elena had known in that moment what it felt like for her heart to stop, even if she hadn't known why. She thinks, as the adrenaline fades and she starts to sob, that she' starting to understand. Elijah says nothing, but his there-ness, his nearness, steadfastly refuses to waver. He is so patient, Elena thinks, and she is so selfish, so cruel. Isn't that what everyone says?
"I am not human," He tells her, after a long, aching quiet. "Neither," He adds, "Are you. You did what you thought was right. It is why I admire you."
"Yeah," Says Elena, "I bet."
"Please," He says, "I insist. There are a great deal many things that are admirable about you."
"Like what?" Asks Elena, "My willingness to murder?"
"Let me think," Says Elijah, stroking his chin in that particular scholarly matter, "To start with," He says, "You are the kindest, most selfless woman I've ever met in my life. You care deeply for those that you love, and would do anything to protect them. You are not afraid of dying yourself to keep others safe, even if they have wronged you. You are brave," Elijah says, "Fierce. You know how to hold your own. And you have a beauty, Elena. I thought you'd have noticed by now."
"Noticed what?" Asks Elena. Her voice is failing her; he is looking so tenderly at her, and in this instant Elena doubts that she's ever loved anyone else - because that is, she knows, what it is.
She loves him, she knows, and she can't.
"You can do whatever you'd like," Says Elijah. "Far be it from me to deny you."
And yet, thinks Elena -
"I can't."
"Whyever not?"
"Stefan," She tells him. "Damon. What would they think about this?"
"It's none of their business," He tells her - sounding, once more, she thinks, guarded. She thinks of him lonely, his brothers and sisters in coffins, and feels a sorrowed pang bloom. Elijah needs someone, she thinks. Somebody who loves him truly, the way that she wishes she could - but she knows that it cannot be her. She is the doppleganger, and all she'll ever be is cursed.
"I'm none of those things," She tells him, breath hitching on her deceit, "Those things that you mentioned, Elijah - they aren't a part of my soul."
"Nonsense," He tells her, "I don't think you know your own strength."
"What strength would that be?" She asks him - knowing how desperate she sounds, and how wounded. He is making her too vulnerable. She needs to go back inside.
"The strength," Says Elijah, "To make deals with me. To give me your word, and to keep it."
"I -"
"You kept it," He tells her, "Tonight. Now - you have two choices, Elena. You can make me lose all of my respect for you by running back to the Salvatores, or," He says, "You can stay with me, and we can dance."
"I don't know how to dance," Says Elena. He clicks his tongue.
"You were the runner-up, I believe, in the Miss Mystic Falls competition?"
"I don't know how to dance with you," Says Elena. A grin spreads over his face, and he clears his throat once again.
"Well then," He tells you, "I suppose I'll just have to teach you. Give me your arm, sweet Elena?"
It is there - in that question, that answer, that she thinks she'd be happy to die. If it was Elijah who did it - if he fed her his blood first, bit his wrist open and let it flow into her mouth; coppery, flowery, thick, then she'd let her make them the same. Stefan and Damon are probably looking for her, but she doesn't care about that. There is only her and Elijah - the crisp, perfect white of his collar, the dark, tender gait of his eyes. Elena isn't a liar. She does not know how to do it, dancing with someone like him.
But God, does she want to learn.
And it is so fast for Elijah - so simple, she thinks, to deposit herself in his grasp as he poses himself at her ebow; nudges her up so her feet are on top of his feet. This close to him, Elena can hear his heartbeat. It's off, she thinks - this much off from what a human's should be, but it's beating away all the same, and she thinks that it is the world's most beautiful sound. A tear escapes her unbidden - he reaches upwards and swipes at it with the pad of a thumb, waiting for her to explain.
"It isn't you," Says Elena, "I just - I haven't done this," She says, "Since my dad died."
"You never told me how," Says Elijah, as he begins to spin them. Elena goes taut; her eyes and her ears are filled with the blue thrum of water, but he pulls her back to herself. "You don't have to tell me," He tells her, "But I am sorry for your loss."
The sentiment of it shoots its way through her nerves, and any reticence that she had fades in the wake of its truth; Elijah knows the story already, but she has never wanted, she thinks, to tell it to anyone more.
"They drove off of Wickery Bridge," She says, "Stefan found us, there in the water. He could only save one of us, and my dad made sure it was me. I was fifteen, Elijah. And I thought - God, I was so young then, I thought that I'd live forever."
"Shh," He says, brushing a stray hair back, smoothing his palm down her face. "You still can," He says, "If you'd like."
"I think," She tells him, exhaling a sigh, "It's not all its cracked up to be."
"Perhaps not," Says Elijah, "But my offer still stands. If you ever find yourself wanting an eternity, all that you need do is ask."
"And if I don't?" Elena asks. He is taking them in a box step. She wishes he would let her down and spin her; tug her into the planes of his chest and skim his hands down her thighs. Get his fingers all up in her tresses, and kiss her, and pull.
"Then you should leave them," Elijah says, nodding over his shoulder. "They're never going to stop, you know. And you don't want it, Elena. The way that they love you - no one should love you like that."
"Like what?" Asks Elena.
"Like you are something to win," He tells her, "Instead of something to treasure."
"That's not how it is," Says Elena.
"Isn't it?" Asks Elijah. "They fight over you. They do not respect your decisions. They are tripping over each other's feet. What do you think will happen," He asks, "When one of them finally gets you?"
"Nothing," She tells him. Sees the world form in her wake, as if it were her all along. "Neither of them are, Elijah. I belong to myself."
"Good," He tells her, "Then answer me as yourself, for a change: Why do you care about them?"
Elena sighs. It trickles into the dark warmth between them, perfuming the humid night.
"Stefan," She says, "Stefan saved me. Not just from dying, but from wanting to be dead. As for Damon - he treats me differently than he treats anyone else. He's not the worst man in the world, once you've gotten to know him."
"But neither of them respect you," He tells her, "Surely that hasn't escaped you?"
"It doesn't matter, Elijah. I was born here. I live here. And I look just like Katherine."
"You aren't Katherine," He tells her. "You are nothing like Katarina, do you understand me?"
He hasn't stopped swaying them, but Elena knows they've been missing too long. They won't be alone for much longer.
"I have to choose," Says Elena. "And every choice I make will kill me. What does it matter, Elijah, if I'm respected or not?"
"It means everything," Says Elijah, "It's everything you have left."
"Apparantely not," She tells him.
"Elena," He says, exasperated, "Haven't you been listening?"
"Elijah," She says -
"You have mine," He says, "My respect. You have always had my respect. How could you not understand that? You do not need the Salvatores."
She wrends herself from him. Meets his intense, lingering glare.
"Isn't that my choice?" She asks him, "Or are you just like them after all?"
"Elena," He growls, "Whatever you're telling me. Don't."
"I can say what I want," Says Elena, feeling the blaze of her anger in her, a torrent of it. Enough to match his, she thinks, if that is what it comes down to. "I can do whatever I want to. I could live for myself, if I wanted. Oh - don't give me that. Who do you think I'm doing it for? I'm no one, Elijah. I'm a Petrova. I'm cursed. And you think I live for myself."
"I think that you should," Says Elijah, "Before it's too late for you."
"Save it," She tells him. "It's always been too late for me."
"Just like it was for me?" He asks, "Even though I'd not drunk the champagne?"
"This is different," She tells him.
"No," Says Elijah, "But you are. You are different, Elena."
It is then that he does it; cuts her off from his body, the feel of him around her. Elena feels as if half of her soul has died. And Elijah - Elijah, he only looks sad. Devoid of his safety, his comfort, the things that she's told him stab her, twisting into her gut.
"You know where to find me," He tells her, "When you change your mind about them."
But if he is going to leave her - if she is going to choose this - Elena thinks she needs to know.
"What do you want, Elijah?"
She does not know who makes the first move. One second they are distanced, the next he's devouring her. He tastes like the champagne that he didn't drink, and the slide of his tongue is a bane. He's a thousand years old and he knows it. He holds her as if she belongs to him - as if he knows, just as deeply as her, that the pain of the life she has been thrown into has tempered her so she can't break. But I can break, she thinks, I can. The threat of it makes her want to scream. But the promise of it - the promise of it - makes her kiss him back fiercely; and fleetingly wonder just who has been saving who. It was Elijah, she thinks, who has kept her safe all these months. Elijah who's kept her alive. She wonders what he did it for. He could care about her, thinks Elena, or he could want to possess her; to make her arch under him and scratch long trails down his back in the slick, heady, lamp-lighted bedroom. He could want nothing from her save this one night with her body, and Elena thinks she wouldn't mind. She lives for the way that his teeth nip and scrape, the bruises he's chosen to leave. She lives for the way that they fight in the darkness. For they are at war with each other, and Elena knows she can't win. What were you thinking?, her mind yells, Going up against Elijah? Elena does not rightly know, but she will not surrender to him. If they are equals, then they will be equals. Even in hatred, Elena thinks to herself. Even, she thinks, in love.
"Elijah," She groans, keening into his parted lips. His bruising grip on her lessens, and then she is just what she's wanted; the girl that he loves in his arms. Elijah's breathing is heavy. Heavier than hers, somehow. He looks as if he is ashamed.
"God," He says, "Did I hurt you?"
"No," Says Elena, in one fluttery, breathy gasp, "It's fine, Elijah. I'm fine."
More than fine, Elena thinks. I want to stay here with you. Elijah, I just want to stay. She will not say it to him, and thinks that it's why he loves her - because he knows, as well as she does, the price that she's willing to pay, if it means that he will be safe. Love has wounded Elijah before.
She will not let it again.
She will hold onto the taste of him, though; the way that he loves her, so precious and inevitable. And someday, when Stefan and Damon decide that she is too fragile, she'll give her eternity to him. Follow him there, to the edge of the Earth, to each one of its four corners. She will be there with him, holding his hand. They will wade in the ocean and skip through the sidewalks of cities in Europe; in the evenings, Elena will sit on his lap. He will read novels to her, in his lilting mahogany voice, with a fire ablaze in the hearth. They'll share lingering kisses and long, grazing touches; when it is dark out, he'll press her down into the mattress and stretch her warm wetness around him. She will give it all and more to him, and she'll never need anyone else. But this night is not their eternity. There's an arm at her, pulling her off him; she vaguely registers Damon raging at her.
"What were you thinking, Elena? You went to meet Esther, alone?! You told him about her plan?!"
"Ahem," Elijah says - and in the stillness, the power he holds brings Damon to a grinding halt. "I do not recall inviting you here tonight."
"Whatever," Says Damon, "I'll see you back home, Elena."
"Yeah," She calls out, "Back…. Home."
She waits until he is far out of eyesight before she opens her mouth, but Elijah is there, slipping his finger against her lips to make sure that she keeps silent. He does not look mad at her, she thinks, but that disappointment is back, the one that says that he yearns for her not to need them; aches for her to go with him - anywhere, everywhere, that she's willing to let him take her. He bends his lips to hers one last time; this time, she thinks, he is pleading her with his body, and she is the one who pulls back.
"I know where to find you," She tells him.
And then, like the spring, he is gone.