Thanks for your patience, friends. I've split my time lately between writing this and getting my other Matt/Rebekah fic, Gifts, published through Kindle Worlds. If you haven't read it (or even if you have), please consider a trip to the Kindle Worlds ebook store! Special thanks to Creeping Muse for continued consultation and support, and to Wild Yennifer (Happytwinflames) for mobilizing her vast tumblr connections to answer a pressing question about TVD details.
Chapter 6
The sun shines full and hot on Matt's face through a window just above him. The smell of garlic wafts in, and murmurs and shouts in a language he doesn't know. Clinking, car horns, and the revving of engines. Before he opens his eyes, his hand flies to his neck. He remembers that someone bit him.
No wound. But the skin on his neck feels new, raw. Even the bones… it was more than a bite. Someone broke his neck. That crazy French woman, Veronique. Where is she? He convulses into a crouch. "Veronique?" he calls into the room.
"She's gone," Rebekah confirms, just a voice from a shadow in the corner.
His shoulders are sore, but the ropes are gone. He's on the floor somewhere in the heat of day, near a window, on a loud, busy street. Over a restaurant?
"Rebekah?" Matt asks, squinting into the dark.
"You're okay," she says.
Memories flash like snapshots out of order. A goblet of blood, a defeated Rebekah chained to a chair. "What happened to you?" Matt asks, still grasping for his bearings.
"Veronique ran, left us there. She's been hiding from someone… guess they found her."
It's rushing back now, that she let it all happen. "No, you. Why didn't you fight back?"
"Wasn't it obvious?"
It wasn't. He sits up, rubs his neck, and peers into the corner. As his eyes adjust, he can make out Rebekah's form, knees folded into a hill in front of her, head lolling back against the wall.
She finally takes a slow breath in. "As soon as I saw her face, I knew what was coming. It's amazing she didn't rip that ring off your finger. I would have thought she'd know about something like that, considering…. Anyway. She managed to knock me out with a powerful shot of vervain. Must have been concentrated somehow, I don't know, but she bled me nearly dry while I was out. When I woke up I was too weak to break the chains. At first. And then…" She drifts off, studying her knees.
"And then what?" Matt prompts, trying not to sound as angry as he's beginning to feel.
"I couldn't face it. Her plan may have been to torture you, to mimic what I… what I did to Pia…. But Veronique's real revenge was telling you in the first place, showing you exactly how horrible I am. I lost you the moment she told her story, if I ever had you in the first place. What was the point of fighting if you were going to die hating me?"
"Seriously?" His anger is like a comet, unstoppable, huge and made of ice.
She appears to be shrinking into the corner. Probably just the light.
"You just gave up and let her torture me and possibly kill me because you thought I wouldn't like you anymore? You were going to let me die because you were too busy pouting? Jesus, Rebekah!"
"No, not…. That's not what happened."
"Sounds like you did the math and wrote me off. I was going to hate you, so screw me."
"No, Matt -"
"That sucks."
Matt glares at her, daring her to look him in the eye. She doesn't.
His anger and her guilt marinate in their shared silence until practicality wins out and he gives standing up a try. "So where are we?" he asks with a slight, lingering edge.
Rebekah mirrors him, standing warily. "Around the corner from Veronique's place. First place I could find."
He leans out the second-floor window to watch the bustling street. The aroma from below – tart and roasty and herby – makes his stomach growl. "What next?" Matt asks.
"You still have your passport. It's been two days since Paris. No doubt Veronique's friends in the area are still watching, just in case, so you shouldn't go back. But I'll arrange for your ticket home."
He turns around and glares impatiently at her. Again?
She sets her jaw for another stand-off. "It would be safer to leave."
"It would be safer to move to Montana and put all vampires firmly in my rearview mirror. But safe isn't exactly my highest priority right now."
"It's not? What is?"
How is it possible that this stunning, ancient creature can be so insecure? So quick to give up? Or is it just that she sucks at trust? She made a mistake, yes – an enormous mistake that would have cost him his life if he didn't have the Magic Ring of Not Dying – but he's not just about to give up on this, on her. He takes the room in a few steps but stops just short of arm's length from Rebekah. "You, you idiot."
She's already shaking her head, preemptively refusing him. "I'm fine. I can take care of myself."
"And what if I want to stay? With you?"
Her gaze darts from his feet to his shoulders. "I really did do those things, Matt. Me. I tortured Pia. I could do it again."
"Do you want to?"
She rolls her eyes. "No."
"Then I think we're okay," he says, leaning back slightly on his heels.
She laughs, a little bitterly.
Matt shrugs. His body feels like it's coming back on line, like the resurrection reboot is pretty much complete. "I've died three times now. I figure every minute I'm alive is gravy. So let's close this chapter and get on with our trip."
"She'll keep coming after us."
He stretches his arms at his sides, flicking his wrists once to get rid of a few last kinks from their ordeal. "Why? She thinks I'm dead. She got her revenge, even if she did blow the dismount."
"She's obsessive, always was. She must have been looking for me for centuries, waiting for the right circumstances. And since her plan didn't go the way she wanted? She won't let it go."
"But now we know that she's running from someone else. She'll be too busy saving her own hide to come looking for you again."
"Maybe, for now…"
"Look, all we can do is enjoy our trip and if she shows up again, fine, we'll manage her then."
A car honks. The bright mid-day sunlight blinks on Rebekah's cheek, and finally she gives him a somber nod. "All right."
When they get to Roma Termini station Matt votes to head whatever direction is the opposite of Rome: north. A few hours later, they arrive in St. Moritz, just inside Switzerland. While Rebekah makes a phone call, Matt gazes up at the Alps that surround the station. They are mystically, geologically old. He's never seen anything like them in real life.
She hangs up and turns to him, all business. "Veronique is the normal kind of vampire, stuck inside during the day. If she's slipped her pursuer, she could come after us tonight."
"Relax. She's too busy running from past crimes to commit any news ones."
Matt waves for a cab and wills her pessimism to drift away on the late afternoon breeze. A compact little taxi swerves and stops in front of them.
"I hope you're right," Rebekah says, climbing in. "But I'm locking you inside before the sun sets."
Matt lets the water run over him from a shower head rising on a pole mounted against the middle, not the end, of the white tiled bathtub. Europe is so similar to America in some ways, and then in others, just… weird. But the water is warm and the soap washes away the film of old sweat and death that he carried with him all the way from Italy.
The sky outside is dark when he comes out of the bathroom. He's wrapped in a white fluffy robe, like he's at some sort of spa. They'll have to shop for clothes tomorrow. He vows to himself that as soon as he's got something else to wear, he's burning the shorts and t-shirt he's worn the last few days.
Rebekah unloads the contents of a tote onto the kitchen counter: three bottles of wine, a paper bag full of apple-sized lumps, a baguette, some cheese.
"Find a grocery store nearby?" he asks, leaning against the back of a soft brown leather sofa.
She laughs. "Delivery. I couldn't leave you alone here, not with Veronique after us."
"After you, and last I checked she still needs an invitation to come in," Matt counters, a little smug.
"Nope, not for rented rooms, not to mention that I'm the one who rented them, so…."
Crazy magic loopholes. Doesn't matter: Veronique is too busy fleeing from someone else who hates her to bother with them. He takes a deep breath, then another. It feels good, like he's been thirsty for air without even realizing it. One more deep breath.
"You seem tired," Rebekah says.
He rubs his forehead. It's been days since he's slept in a bed. But he's more hungry than tired, so food first. He smears soft cheese on a hunk of baguette while Rebekah pours two glasses of wine. "Want some food? I can make you one of these," he offers, stuffing the end of his makeshift sandwich into his mouth.
"I'm fine," she assures him, settling into an armchair, swiveling it so it faces out the huge wall-to-ceiling window.
He takes a sip of wine. It's good, for wine – he'd prefer a beer, but this will do. They drink in silence for a few minutes, and before he knows it he's scarfed down his food. As he heads back for seconds, it occurs to him that Rebekah hasn't had blood since Paris.
He doesn't know how to ask this. "Are you… hungry?"
"No, really, nothing for me," she insists, watching the night.
"That's not what I meant."
"Oh." She doesn't turn to look at him, but he swears her ears are flushing red. "I'm fine."
"It's been a long time since you had… any."
"I'll survive."
"But honestly -"
"Matt, stop," she says, swiveling around to face him. "You can't even bring yourself to say the word 'blood.' But rest assured, it's none of your concern." She swivels back toward the window. "I am fine."
He shakes his head, for no one's benefit. He can say it. He's been through too much to be squeamish about this. It's not like it even bothers him, exactly. He knows, rationally, that it's just something she needs, like food, like medicine. He knows and is fine with it. How could he not be? Of course, it feels weird, feels wrong if he really admits it to himself, but his instincts in this area aren't fantastic. He's way past this.
"Blood," he mutters. "There, I said it."
She toasts his reflection in the glass and drains her drink.
Rebekah has a capacity for stillness that Matt has only ever seen in inanimate objects. She stares into the night, keeping watch for Veronique despite Matt's assurances. "She's probably already dead by now," Matt tells her. "She's shivering in a cave in Siberia as we speak," and later, "vampire snorkeling, five miles off the coast and two miles straight down." Nothing makes a dent.
Under other circumstances – if, for instance, they were still happily frolicking around Paris – he might try to touch her, kiss the curve of her neck. Get her mind off of this, and his. But right now, there's no way. Her vigilance is like invisible armor.
"So this is it?" he asks, setting down the last of the English-language magazines on the low coffee table in front of the sofa.
"You wanted to get on with our trip and we have."
"Every night then, you're going to stay awake and watch for her."
"If she sees you, she'll know you've got some magic on your side. She'll come after us twice as hard, and I could take it, but you… it's just a ring."
"So, hiding."
"You could go home."
He folds his arms behind his head. He really is exhausted. "Hide or give up. Seems like a shitty choice."
"You're distracting me from saving your life. Could you please shut up?"
"Okay, I get that you are sorry you almost let Veronique kill me."
She huffs at his reflection in the window. "I did let her kill you."
"Yes, true."
"But that was the last time."
Maybe it's that he's recently recovered from being deceased, or that he needs about twelve hours of solid sleep, or maybe it's elevation sickness, but he is running out of patience. He stands up, tightening the tie on his robe. "Yeah, it was. Because we are going after her."
"So she can twist your arm off and then kill you for good? No."
"Look, even if we remain perfectly hidden while we're here, we can't stay in Europe forever. She can always hop a red-eye and come looking for you in Mystic Falls, or Hawaii, or wherever you decide to go next. Hiding sucks and leaving isn't a solution. We have to find her and straighten this out."
He sees her roll her eyes in the window's reflection. "Exactly how?" she asks.
"Talk to her. Explain."
A bright laugh tears through Rebekah's calm exterior. "That's insane."
"Says the woman who plans to stay up all night, forever."
She holds her now empty glass up to him for a refill. "You can't talk a person like her out of something like this."
He pours purple-dark wine into her glass, then tops off his own. "Here's the thing: she is driven by love. Means there's hope. Her love for Pia, betrayed love for you -"
"She's driven by hate."
He hands her her drink. "I don't think so. That's too simple."
"Fine, maybe at one time it was love. But now it's something different."
"But you're different too. You're not that person anymore, the torturing, jilted girlfriend she really wants revenge on. That's the Rebekah she wants to hurt, but that Rebekah is gone. I know she's gone," he tells her, his voice softening.
She sips her wine slowly, never taking her eyes off of Matt. "You're going to tell her that I've changed and so… what? Now there's no point to her plans?"
"Pretty much."
"Like I said, insane."
"Why? She's not stupid. She has to see that her revenge won't be able to change you, because you've already changed."
"That's not really what revenge is about, Matt. Trust me. I'm an expert."
He sets his wine on the counter and folds his arms across his chest. "I think it's worth a try," he insists.
Her lips twist into a sideways smile, as if she's trying to hold it back. "All right, but what if she rejects your argument and attempts to give the whole torture and killing thing another go?"
It's a good question. "We would have to prevent that."
"How?" Rebekah prods.
Matt searches the window's reflection for an answer. "Hand her over to the person who's tracking her down?"
"And who is that? How do you propose finding that out?"
There's got to be a way, but he's too tired to do any coherent planning. "I don't know. Maybe we don't. Maybe we just kill her."
Silence gapes between them. "Matt."
"Look, I'm sure we won't have to kill her. People change. Vampires know that better than anyone, right? She'll listen to reason."
"But if she won't?"
"I've killed a vampire before." As soon as the words are out, the truth of it hits him like an avalanche. He stops breathing as the memory spools out in his mind: lurching up the steps in the alley behind the Grill, Elena by his side. Sage's cry. Flames engulfing the body. Somehow, the actual who hadn't mattered before, but it does now. Rebekah's brother. Does she know it was him that did it?
He has to tell her. She has to hear it, from him. Now.
"Rebekah."
"Yes, haven't we all, but that's not—"
"I have to tell you something." He wishes he was wearing anything but this ridiculous robe. At least a pair of jeans. He wishes they were somewhere familiar, surrounded by friends. He wishes Elena were here; it feels like that would help. He wishes there were a way to make what he is about to say just not true. But it is. "I killed Finn."
Rebekah doesn't turn toward him. She just leans back into her chair, almost slumping. It's as human as he's seen her since everything happened with Veronique. She looks deeply, heavily weary, even as she continues to stare out the window. "Finn was a sanctimonious pinhead, but he was a good guy," she muses, her voice suddenly quiet. "He would have been on your side if you'd given him half a chance. The one you should have killed was Kol."
Matt opens his mouth but has nothing to say to that. It closes. He swallows.
"The way I heard it, you all worked as a team. But it was you?"
He nods gravely. "I grabbed the stake where it fell and I…"
He doesn't say the next words but they both hear them. "Yeah," Rebekah finally says.
"I'm sorry, Rebekah. I am."
She forces a smile that is ninety-eight percent grimace. "People change. We're different than we were when all that happened, right?"
Her reaction is not what he expected. He doesn't know what he expected. Rage. Tears. Not this.
"Right. And for the record, I hate your plan," Rebekah tells his reflection, standing up. "But I know where to start looking for Veronique."
"You do?"
"Vienna."