[My first attempt at a Delena fic, even if it is an AU. Haha. All credit to Alfred Hitchcock, John Michael Hayes and Cornell Woolrich for the inspiration/source material. Please read and review!]

Somehow, even with a mutli-million dollar view, it was still insidious. She sighed as she blew a lock of decently curly hair out of her vision, her face the very epitome of boredom. What had she done to deserve this?

Well, besides getting drunk and assaulting a college student at a bar. But hey, she was a big-deal writer for a fancy magazine, Vanity Fair, in fact. That obviously arrogant student had been asking for it. It wasn't her fault her always clean and stylish Converse sneakers had seen fit to meet his crotch then face, he was just that annoying. And, well, Elena Gilbert had a low tolerance for annoying.

The result of this was 90 days of house arrest. Sure, it was in her family's seldom used, Upper East Side of Manhattan penthouse, but that still meant she was stuck indoors for three months. How was she suppsoed to write a good story or, Heaven forbid, keep her tan up?

Supposedly, her lawyer had been great and house arrest was almost a win, but it really didn't feel like it. With the City that never slept right outside, how was she supposed to stay sane? It was all just terrible.

The first week, thankfully, went quickly. The second week went slower than the hour hand on her watch. It was all so very unpleasant and weirdly repetitive. She tried staying up, she tried sleeping, she tried drinking. She even tried some really old weed her beloved little brother had misplaced some years earlier. All for naught, it was just too boring.

This was madness! She was 25, her whole life in the palm of her own hand! She was not meant to be couped up, even in someplace as expansive as her own home. It was cruel, plain and simple.

Rolling out of bed, a full moon above the endless, neon drenched skyline, Elena sighed. Though the city never slept, or even slowed down, at ground level, once you got above about 30 floors, the lights sort of turned off or at least dimmed some. It was a great play with contrasts; the bustling streets and the calm skyline.

She stood at the window, clad only in a black tanktop and less than classy short-shorts. It was hard to believe she had a Bachelor's Degree in Journalism from Yale University, or a byline for such a prestigious magazine. Curling a finger through her hair, her eyes darted around the skyscraper across the street. If her memory served her right, it was the pet-project of some amazingly eccentric architect. Elena creased her brow as she studied the very floor and its one long endless window that wrapped all the way around in a circular pattern.

"The Mikaelson's." Elena said outloud, eyes curious. She had met them once, at some sort of garrish midnight gala. It had been totally forgettable and somewhat unsettling evening, full of the couple's painfully obvious passive-aggression. Elene recalled the best part of the evening had been leaving. Awkward hadn't even begun to describe the marriage between Mikael and Esther. It was almost enough to make Elena want to swear off the idea of marriage for good.

She sighed as the lists of names of all the parties and functions she wouldn't get to cover, or even attend, rolled around in her head. It was nothing short of tragic.

Elena was snapped out of her melancholy by the sudden burst of interior light from the Mikaelson residence. The color of the curtains and drapes and shades presented an almost glowing neon green. She was more than a little startled by it as it had happened so quickly. She remained silent and motionless as she squinted to see two silhouetted figures enter through a door.

One was gesturing wildly and the other was doing their best to keep up. It was the most twisted form of Shadow Puppetry Elena had even seen. The figures darted back and forth as Elena stumbled around her living room. She managed to locate a camera with a good lens, another gift from Jeremy, and she was soon trying to focus in on the latest disastrous installement of the Mikaelson's domicility. In the back of her mind, she was beyond worried, but then again she knew they were very close to being total recluses. That made things weird, even for a reporter like her.

As quickly as it happened, the lights were out. But, Elena just couldn't shake the feeling that maybe this happened more than anyone would ever admit. Scratching her chin, she plopped down into a chair, eyes still not having broken from her locked-in gaze. Was there something she was supposed to do? Call someone? Maybe her probation officer, that'd be good for a few laughs.

[My first attempt at a Delena fic, even if it is an AU. Haha. All credit to Alfred Hitchcock, John Michael Hayes and Cornell Woolrich for the inspiration/source material. Please read and review!]

She chuckled as she picked up her phone and tapped at the screen, causing to to dial.

"Elena! How's my most favorite jailbird?" Caroline Forbes very nearly giggled. Sure, she was a cliche. Ultra rich little blonde girley who turned down her family's poitical power to instead go to law school and become a Public Defender in New York City. In fact, the giggley Southern 'Car-Bear' had been the subject of Elena's first real story.

"Bored, depressed, bored." Elena grumbled.

"Have you mentioned bored?" Caroline asked, teasingly. "Insomnia?"

"Yeah," Elena nodded. "Also...don't you know the Mikaelson's?"

"The weird architects?" Caroline said, almost sounding immediately nervous. "I met them once or twice. Both are just freaks. Why?"

"Just..." Elena paused, trying to think of a quality lie. "Remembered their names, and I was just curious is all."

"Well...there was one thing, about a year ago," Caroline said. "Some guy, works in the District Attorney's Office...almost dated him or something...he said there's a file on the husband. Big drinker and fighter back in college."

"Huh," Elena said, chewing at her lip. "Anyways, bring me some really unhealthy breakfast tomorrow morning?"

"It's a date." Caroline again giggled before hanging up.