I do not own TVD of TO.
1919
She leaned back on her chaise, crossing her ankles and laying the open book on her thighs. Distraction proved an impossibility; she burned with the desire to be downstairs where the excitement was about to begin, but it was a man's world.
Modern woman or not, there were lines she couldn't cross, and groups that would never allow her admittance.
She hated being the only girl with so many older brothers; she was not a delicate flower. She did not need to be protected; she was every bit as powerful as her brothers, and twice as conniving. They forgot that sometimes.
The century couldn't pass fast enough; she needed back up, support.
Girls had to stick together.
She tipped her head over the arm of the chair, abandoning her novel in favour of eavesdropping.
Nik's self-assured taunting held a greater appeal than the words of Edgar Rice Burroughs. She really wanted someone to put him down a peg or two – her brother, not Edgar.
She was only half listening to Elijah's Prohibition plans when a new voice joined the meeting. The Haitian accent swept over her and she bolted up.
"I am sorry," Elijah's clipped voice came, "but this is a private meeting."
"Yes," the response sounded with dark amusement, "for kings on the city, but I too, am a king, and I have rules."
She crept out of her bedroom and through the hall, tiptoeing down the stairs toward the meeting room. She stood on the edge of the room – hidden by the door jamb – as Papa Tunde exited, flanked by his twin sons.
She melted into the shadows as dread prickled the base of her skull, eyes drawn to the foreign mark etched into their skin.
She peeked into the room to where her brothers gazed into a medium sized leather case and her heart stuttered.
"Well," Nik sighed, "I suppose we'll need a new mayor."
She placed the red block with deliberate care so the paint lined up, creating a seamless wall and then slid back on her stomach.
Her bright eyes lifted, examining his thoughtful expression; perpendicular lines appeared between his brows.
"How's that?" She hedged a small smile on her lips.
He leaned back, stroking his chin. She recognized the moment he came to a decision by the short jerk of his head.
"It needs to be bigger."
"Bigger?" She reached with one hand for the box, tipping it up and peeking inside. "I hate to say it, but we're running out of pieces."
"But it needs to be bigger," Thierry frowned at the box, as if that might make the pieces multiply. "It needs to be huge," he motioned with his hands, showing her just how huge, "because our house is huge."
"Oh, we're making our house," Elena sat up. She pursed her lips and gave the box a shake. "We definitely don't have enough."
"Why's our house so big?" He pouted.
"Well, technically it's not our house, sweetie."
"But we live here," he tilted his head and the lines between his eyes returned.
She understood his confusion as the house was the only home he had ever known, and over the years it had become hers, but even after her years and memories she still found Kol's house too big. Had she possessed the means at the time she might have sought something different, but she hadn't and Rebekah had provided a solution.
"We live here because I work here, baby," she smoothed her hand through his hair.
"You work here?" His mouth popped open.
"Yes, I take care of the house," she smiled, "except for the chores you do. Maybe we could make a smaller house."
"I really wanted to make our house," he pressed his elbows to his knees and propped his chin on his fists. "Can we get some more?"
"You'll have to count your money and see if you have enough," she bit back her laugh when he jumped up and bolted for the stairs.
"Thierry Vanchure," she called, standing with her hands on her hips, "you get back here and help clean up your toys."
"Sorry mom," he smiled sheepishly.
Elena knelt and together they put the Lott Bricks back in the box; they came apart much easier than Lego. When the sitting room was clear she watched him hurry up the stairs with the box and moved towards the kitchen to start dinner, but stopped when the door knocker sounded.
"It's me," the quiet call told her she didn't need her glamour.
"It's open," Elena tucked her hair behind her ear.
Rebekah rushed inside. "We've got a problem."
"Is it a simple problem that can be solved with copious amounts of chocolate?" She cocked her head to the left, listening to the clambering steps of her son.
"The mayor is dead," Rebekah hissed. "The warlock delivered part of his body to the compound as part of a demand for tribute. I assume it was his head."
A chill raced down her spine, slinking over her hips to settle in her stomach as a slight quiver; her ring finger dragged along her palm.
"Thierry," she drew a slow breath, glancing over her shoulder, "go play in your room," a smile graced her lips when he started to protest; "I'll help you count after dinner."
She could feel the inquisitive gaze linger for a drawn out moment before he slunk away down the hall. Her eyes snapped to Rebekah as her hand gestured to the kitchen.
"Let's talk."
The mayor is dead; Elena rolled her shoulders back and her neck from side to side. She had never met the man and despised his politics, but then she disliked anyone who would have denied women the right to vote.
"Why Mayor O'Connell?" She opened the icebox and placed the dish on the counter.
"I believe he wanted to make a statement," Rebekah busied her hands by peeling carrots.
"What statement?" She scoffed, sprinkling breadcrumbs on the ham. "I'm all powerful and you should fear me," she dropped her voice in a poor imitation of a Haitian accent.
"You need to work on that. How do you want these cut?"
"Sliced is fine," Elena twisted, turning the knobs on the oven. The hiss of gas cut through the air. "That seems like a stupid way of intimidating Klaus." Her heart ached for the dead man and his family, but she doubted Papa Tunde's actions would have any bearing on the would-be hybrid. The only one who had come close to manipulating Klaus had been Stefan when he threatened to kill her if Klaus didn't leave town.
"Are you really upset about the mayor?" Elena filled a pot with water.
"I'm upset because you said he promised to smite the witches' enemies, and he made no move to smite," she dumped the carrots in the pot. "He proclaimed himself a King."
"Just what New Orleans needs," Elena placed the ham in the oven alongside a dish of scalloped potatoes, "another pompous man in charge, messing with the lives of everyone else."
"Woman should rule the world," Rebekah groaned.
"Give it time, sweetie," she patted the blonde's arm.
"Is that a hint?" Her eyes snapped to Elena.
She lowered her voice, being purposefully mysterious with a twinkle in her eye. "I would never reveal the future."
"Except that one time you did," Rebekah lifted her chin. "Come on, tell me something. It can be your apology for one day stabbing me in the back."
Part of Elena regretted telling Rebekah, but even after learning the decision had never been her's she had still felt guilty; Rebekah had proven understanding... for the most part. Every once in a while she liked to wave the fact over Elena's head.
"Fine, but you don't get to use that again for a month," she waved a wooden spoon as a pointer.
"How about a week?"
"How about I tell you nothing?" She moved the vegetables to the stovetop.
"Twenty-eight days?" She countered.
Elena pursed her lips, exhaling sharply. "I'll take it."
Rebekah leaned over the counter, an eager light shone in her eyes.
"In less than a year prohibition will be the law of the land..."
"Elijah had predicted that."
"Yes, but he doesn't know why. The law will take the country by storm aided in large part by the votes of women."
"Less than a year?"
"It should be on the floor of the house as we speak," Elena wiped her hands on a towel, "are you staying for dinner?"
"I'd love to, but I've got a shift at the sanatorium, and then there is a party at the compound."
"What's the occasion?"
"It's Nik, darling, he doesn't require a reason. Do you think you'll ever take a shift in the sick ward? Your herbs do wonders for pain, but I'm sure you could do more in person."
Elena collected a jar of herbs from the cabinet, following Rebekah to the door.
"I know I can't get sick but I don't want to risk carrying the disease home to him. The germs would cling to my clothes."
"Germs?" Rebekah tucked the jar into her pocket.
"The bacteria that carries the disease," she crossed her arms. "I'm pretty sure it's been featured in medical journals."
"That's not my idea of light reading," Rebekah shrugged. Her expression turned serious. "We need to keep an eye on this Warlock."
"Agreed."
2011
She flipped her hands back and forth, squinting through the gloom; fine runes stared back, so intricate they were impossible to make out in the dim basement. Breaking the iron bonds would prove difficult with the metal chosen specifically to halt the power of a witch and the runes reinforcing it; she would need a good look in bright light.
Unfortunately both were things she was unlikely to get.
In the far corner the stairs creaked and a light clicked on, blinding her with its brilliance.
That was fine. She knew who it was; there was only one person it would be.
She watched the dark figure. He stalked toward her slowly as his stormy features came into sharp focus. "What kept you so long, Niklaus?"
"I've been busy," his voice rumbled through his chest, "you've made a mess."
Her eyes danced over his healthy complexion.
"Kol is dying because of you."
She heard the struggle to keep his voice quiet.
"You should all be dying," she inhaled slowly. "I was thwarted by that doppelganger," she spat the words. "She should have died at your hand."
"Thankfully she survived," his fingers twitched, itching to curl around her throat. She had lied to him, turned and condemned him, denied him his birth right and tried to murder him; she tried to murder them all.
Her blood was already on his hands, covered under centuries of innocent lives lost. He could do it. She wouldn't haunt him this time. He wouldn't have to lie to his siblings.
"I suppose you've come to kill me again."
The simple resigned statement was more effective than if she had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. 'Again': how effectively it had worked the first time.
"If I do how long would it be before you rally support on the Other Side and come back stronger than ever?"
The ringing silence spoke volumes. A slow smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. "Better to cut you off at the source, don't you agree?"
Klaus waited long enough to flash an innocent grin before he lunged, biting into his wrist and forcing the blood into her mouth. He gripped her chin, registered the horror and revulsion in her eyes and then he crashed into the opposite wall.
When he looked up it was to see Finn standing in his way.
"There has been a change of plan, brother," he crossed the basement at a leisurely pace. "It seems Elena requires that our dear mother remain a witch."
"She was all for murder most foul this morning," Klaus got to his feet, brushing dust from his shoulders in a restrained motion.
A line appeared between Finn's brows and Klaus sighed. Rebekah and Kol would have found the reference amusing and even Elijah would have cracked a smile, but Shakespeare's words sailed over Finn's head.
"Why am I being denied retribution?" He strode forward, pausing only when Finn's hand hit his chest. He jerked his chin beyond his brother's shoulder. "She tried to kill us all!"
"Which is the very reason she needs to stay alive," Finn's eyes narrowed. "Elena has informed me that she requires two things from you to save Kol's life."
He glared at his mother, but rocked back on his heels, eventually turning his expectant gaze to Finn.
"She requires patience where mother is concerned," his jaw ticked when a low growl rumbled through Klaus. "Unless, of course, you don't care-"
"Of course I care!" Klaus cut him off, horror reflected in his eyes.
"You have a strange way of showing it," Finn lifted his chin. Only the fire in his eyes betrayed his rage, making Klaus take a small step back.
He straightened his shoulders, recovering from the shock quickly. Despite what Finn thought he did care what happened, and he would not lose another brother.
"What else does the doppelganger need?"
"Are you sure this is going to work?"
Elena spared Rebekah a quick glance – all she could manage without completely splitting her attention. This wasn't as simple as defeating Papa Tunde, or putting a stop to the Voodoo Queens. It was Kol; she had one shot, and if she failed – got so much as a syllable wrong – his life was forfeit.
"Your incredulity is a real confidence booster, Bex," she drew a thick line with charcoal, forming the rune with deliberate care.
"You'll find my faith tends to waiver when sweat forms on your brow," she scowled, crossing her arms.
"It will work." Elena grumbled. "It's just particular, so kindly shut up so I can get it right."
One second of silence ... two... three...
"Have you ever done something like this before?"
"Bekah," Elena's voice lowered to a growl.
"It's not an unreasonable question," she threw up her hands.
Elena finished the final rune and forced her hand to carefully put down the stick of charcoal; knowing Klaus it was some ridiculously fancy over-priced brand.
"Have I ever tied together two lives in order to prolong one?" She didn't wait for Rebekah's nod before shaking her head. "I have not."
"Then how do you know it will work?"
"Because I've seen it done," she reached for a knife. "It's the same spell used on Freya."
"How exactly is it going to affect me?" Kol frowned at the spell. All he could work out was the linking aspect; any further concentration and his head began to spin.
"When the moon reaches its apex tonight you will be dead."
"I was hoping to avoid that," he smirked, but it looked strained around the eyes.
"The spell," she nudged him with her knee under the table, "will put you to sleep so that you won't feel the pain and keep you alive by drawing on Rebekah; you'll be piggybacking off her immortality."
She took his hand, slipping her fingers up to coax his open, and drew the knife across the fleshy part of his thumb. Blood bubbled up, flowing down onto one of the runes. She repeated the process with Rebekah.
"Is this going to make me sick?"
"Careful, Bex, I might start to think you don't want me alive," he snickered.
"I'm just curious," she rolled her eyes, and then scrutinized his pale features. "You look like death."
"Flattering..." he broke off, hacking violently.
"There's a chance my math might be wrong." Elena swore under her breath. She had been hoping for a moment before putting him to sleep for a month, but arithmetic had never been her strong suit.
The town of Mystic Falls, situated around miles of forests, failed to leave the impression of a bustling lumber industry, yet the evidence lay sprawled out across the table; everything since 1914 when Elena swore a great white oak stood. The map she drew placed the dreaded tree in the vicinity of its predecessor, but she told him not to waste time in the woods. It was long gone; chopped down for lumber shortly after its power had granted her immortality, or so it seemed.
Many of those early buildings burned to ash in a fire that swept through the town. Twenty-four hours earlier he would have been pleased to leave it at that, but now he needed the only weapon on earth capable of ending his existence.
He loosened his tie, popped the top button of his shirt open and reached for the next record book.
"So, was historian researching the town history not a cover story?"
Elijah's eyes snapped up and he paused mid flip, mouth turning down as Caroline Forbes dropped into a seat across the table. How she had managed to sneak up on him in heels remained a mystery.
"Is it your actual job?" She reached for a heavy book. "Do you have a job? There's got to be something. Eternity would get boring without a sense of purpose. It hasn't been a year and I'm already bored," she flipped through pages, "I wanted to go into journalism – broadcast – but that's clearly not an option anymore. At least not in front of a camera; maybe production..."
"Miss Forbes," he cut her off mid-ramble, impressed when she didn't take a heaving breath. "What are you doing here?"
"Elena texted," she shrugged, "said an extra set of eyes at the archives was needed, and since she is nowhere to be found I assume she wanted me to help you. So, what are we looking for?"
She heaved a sigh when he just stared at her.
"Look, Elijah," she placed her book on the table, "I could have died last night, and the chances of me and a lot of people I care about dying are still pretty high so believe me when I say that I am here to help. Now," she met his eyes, "what are we looking for?"
"White oak," he finally said.
"To destroy, I assume," she nodded.
"Most of it," he lowered his eyes to his book, "but, Elena needs some of it to save Kol."
She had started off disliking Finn, but she grew fonder of him by the minute. Her affection for the eldest brother increased every second he kept Klaus from slaughtering their mother, and out of her hair. It was hard enough to concentrate with Kol dying; she didn't need Klaus yelling in her ear at the same time.
Had Finn been able to keep Klaus away indefinitely then he would have a achieved perfection in her eyes, but alas, nobody was perfect.
"Blood!?"
She had barely gotten Kol on the bed before the roar echoed through the house. There was a time when his tone would have filled her entire being with extremity numbing dread.
She was made of tougher stuff now.
She adjusted his arm from where it draped over the edge of the bedspread, placing it at his side. He looked so peaceful he might have been sleeping.
Klaus barrelled into the room, tearing the oak door from its hinges.
"You want your blood!" He bore down on her, expecting her to cower or at the very least flinch.
"No," she lifted her eyes, held his gaze and put extra emphasis on the proper words. "I don't want my blood; I need my blood."
"You're lying," he growled, advancing until they were toe-to-toe, "using trickery so I'll part with the only blood that –"
"How did your mother turn you?" She crossed her arms, nodding when he fell silent. "She used my blood – Tatia's blood; a substantial amount if what I've been told is true, and I will need that blood if I'm going to make this work; keep it from me any you forfeit your brother's life."
Her voice cracked toward the end, and she wasn't sure if it was her mostly calm demeanour or wavering tone that prompted his sharp nod, but the second she saw it relief flowed through her.
Klaus' eyes cut to where Kol 'slept'. "His coffin is downstairs."
"I'm not putting him in a coffin," she shook her head. "It's morbid."
"It would be more convenient..."
"Screw convenience."
"... and safer."
"Is that what you always told yourself?" She muttered.
"What if we have to flee at a moments notice?" He countered, ignoring her dig.
"From who? You killed Mikael, and Esther is tied up in the basement." Something flashed in her eyes when she met his gaze again and motioned to her lover. "The next time that he leaves this room he will walk out."
And with that she left the bedroom to prepare.
The tip of her finger drew a line under the Latin writing and symbols, muttering words under her breath and cringing at what even she knew was horrible enunciation. She was stressing the wrong syllables and she knew it.
With a deep sigh she sat back on her bed, resting her head against the wall. She could practically hear the voice in the whisper of wind that fluttered through the curtains, scolding her for getting involved in vampire business and going against nature's will.
She liked to think that Grams was watching her with the exasperated look she used to because of her actions, but she couldn't stop now. Even Grams had worked with vampires when it was in the interest of nature and it was certainly in the best interest of nature to get involved now and undo what she had done.
Now if only she could find the right spell.
I was thinking of doing a time jump in the future portion of the chapters to when Kol wakes up, and Elena fills him in on what happened over the course of the month. Thoughts.