Hey everybody. It's been a while. Thanks to everybody that still reads this. You're amazing!

This chapter (like all others) has not been betaed. If you find any errors, please, tell me so I can fix it.

I'm not too sure about this chapter. Sure, it has some Elijah/Bella interaction and the Scooby-gang being, well... the Scooby-gang, but...

Edited: 31/03/18

Chapter 5

Elijah woke with a shuddering breath. It took him a while to get his bearings, and oh how he utterly despised the sensation of being daggered! The peculiar and maddening feeling of being trapped inside his mind with absolutely no way out! It was the closest he could get to the Other Side without dying. He recognized it at once.

Looking down at himself, he saw the spot where the dagger had gone through. Seeing as he had been facing Damon, and the two women and the Gilbert man had been taking care of the dishes, that left Alaric Saltzman as the only option. That wannabe hunter had stabbed him in the back and goddammit, it had hurt!

(It always did. Especially when Niklaus did it, because added to the physical pain was the emotional one; the pain of being betrayed once again by his little brother, to whom he had dedicated his life.)

He looked around. He was in a cellar. So, they had dumped him and removed the dagger. He felt his lips curling. Foolish children. They would pay for this deceit.

Faster than the eye could see, he tore out of the house and kept running until he reached his warlock's house.

"What happened?"

He ignored the man's obvious concern and focused on what he wanted accomplished. "I need you to find Elena. Now!"

Once he had what he had asked for, he walked away, ready to make his way to where the doppelgänger was hiding away with her vampire pet (Elijah was not in a charitable mood at the moment. Besides, the description fit, because that was how the Petrova doppelgängerinnnen treated the men in their lives), when he caught a whiff of vanilla and roses in the air. He paused and tilted his head. It would seem that she had really ditched the strawberry scented lotions, he thought absentmindedly.

The reminder of her presence in the Boarding House earlier made his eyes narrow. Had she told them about the daggers? That would be the most obvious assumption. Though, even if she had, that still didn't explain how exactly they had acquired one of them and the ashes. They were all supposed to be in his brother's possession, after all.

Making a split-second decision, he followed her scent. Whoever had told Damon and Alaric about the dagger, knew enough to have warned the young vampire against utilizing the dagger himself, so it stood to reason they would also know he was awake once they found out about the dagger being removed from his chest. Which meant they would tell Damon. And Elijah was quite sure that once Damon realized he was gone, he would rightly guess that Elijah would come after Elena.

Well, let him and his brother fret, mentally exhausting themselves while waiting for him to appear for their precious double. Elijah had some important matters to attend to.

He followed her trail to the local hotel and realized this is where she was staying at (a far corner of his mind wondered why she wasn't staying at the Boarding House). He blurred to her door – it wouldn't do for someone to see his bloodied shirt – and knocked. He heard some shuffles from inside the room, and a curse when she stumbled on something while walking to the door. The door opened and he saw chocolate brown eyes lighting up when falling onto him.

"Elijah." Bella smiled at him, though it faded when she took him in; his unkempt appearance and the blood smearing his shirt. Concern filled her eyes and she stepped closer. "Are you alright? What happened?"

He looked closely at her. Her worry was genuine. "Your relative happened," he ground out, still angry with the insolent boy and his friend. They had absolutely no honor, having to resort to underhanded tactics to best him. Elijah didn't care that they would be no match against him in a fair fight; he had made a deal with Elena and, as such, had expected them to respect it (and the choice she had made). As it stood, they had just irrevocably voided their deal, and Elijah would not hesitate if they were to stand in his way. Fortunately for him, they hadn't known that the dagger had to remain in his chest if they wanted to keep him down, which gave him freedom to plan his next step.

He saw her eyes widening. "Damon did this?"

"No, not Damon, though I don't doubt it was his idea," he said. "It was his pet hunter."

"There's a hunter in town?" She asked absentmindedly, her mind no doubt working furiously as she tried to figure out what had happened to him.

"Alaric Saltzman."

He saw her staring at him blankly for a few moments before she pieced it together, realization dawning on her – even though he hadn't really said anything. Her eyes widened and her face went white in horror as she grabbed him, and he let her pull him into her room. Once he was inside, she closed and locked the door.

"They daggered you?" She asked in a harsh whisper, and the flash of anger went a great way towards abating his suspicions. "But how did they find out about it?" She started pacing around the room, and it was highly ironic how her rising anger was doing wonders in calming him down. "Or how did they get their hands in a dagger?" She turned to him. "I thought your brother had them all." She resumed her pacing.

"Apparently not," he said, still observing her. After a moment, she stilled and regarded him, regally seated in the only chair this room had.

"You thought I had told them." It was not a question, and Elijah had to marvel at the manner her brain worked.

"I did." Pause. "My apologies."

She made a gesture with her hand, dismissing his words, and he wondered why it still took him by surprise, her forgiving nature. "Completely understandable," she said. "You had just seen me exiting the Boarding House the same day – mere hours before – they tried to kill you." She went to sit at the edge of the bed, facing him, elbows on her knees and head supported by her hands. "Fuck," she sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

He curled his lips at her language but didn't say anything. He was as frustrated at the night's events as she was. "Just what the hell were they thinking? You don't go against someone who is at least ten times stronger than you!"

"They were trying to protect Ms. Gilbert from me," he answered her. She raised her head to look at him, her tired brown eyes clashing once again with his.

"The Petrova doppelgänger?"

"Indeed."

:::

Isabella nodded her head at his answer and sighed because what a mess! She had known it was a bad idea to come back to Mystic Falls. There had always been the possibility that Stefan and Damon would choose to reappear in town, even if it had been improbable, as they had been around in the 1990s.

But this was how her luck worked, apparently: by putting her in the shittiest situations possible. Why couldn't she have been born a few years down the road? Her life would've been infinitely easier! By the time she went back to Forks, the Cullens would have already left…

It was a nice fantasy, Isabella having a life in which she hadn't met the Cullens. A life in which she hadn't been left broken by the actions of a thoughtless boy.

But even if it was a nice thought, Isabella discarded it because her luck would still have been shitty and she would have been left unprepared when she inevitably came face to face with Damon and Stefan. Because they would still have come back and killed Zach, and she would have had no idea of how to deal with them. At least, this way, she got to meet her cousin before his demise.

She glanced at the Original and felt her lips twitching. If she were a few years younger, she wouldn't have met him when he went to Forks, if he went.

Done with all the moping, Isabella cast a glance around the room, eyes searching. Not finding anything with which she could further her plan, she frowned. Her eyes locked on the glass sitting at the bedside table, and she decided it would suffice. Standing up, she reached towards it – feeling Elijah's eyes on her all the time – and knocked it to the ground, shattering it.

"Bella?"

Ignoring the vampire's inquisitive tone, she crouched and picked one of the glass shards. Standing up, she used the sharp edge to slice the fragile skin of her wrist, before turning and walking towards him. She stopped in front of his stunned visage and extended her arm, offering her blood to him – all the while breathing through her mouth so she wouldn't smell the nauseating scent of the liquid that was dripping on the carpet. One would think that, by this point of her life, she would already be used to the smell. (Absentmindedly, she wondered how she would explain the blood stain if asked. She would probably say that she cut herself while trying to clean the broken glass. Not that far from the truth.)

Elijah raised his eyes to hers in silent question. She just remained where she was, returning his look unwaveringly.

She watched as he stood up, his hand reaching for hers and pulling until it was level with his face. Slowly, eyes never leaving hers, Elijah brought his mouth closer to her wound and licked the blood that marred her skin. Isabella's eyes widened even as she felt a blush forming on her cheeks. She had not expected him to do this. It was followed by a gasp when he did, in fact, bite her. She saw his eyes closing as he sucked her blood, as if savoring the taste, and bit her lip to keep any noise that may want to come out inside – Isabella had forgotten the effect that willingly offering her blood had.

After a few moments, she felt his lips releasing her skin and his tongue licking the excess blood that had escaped. She felt her arm being released and opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) to see him biting his own wrist and offering it to her. She grabbed it and brought it to her mouth with no hesitation, already used to this little process. She lapped up his blood until the wound closed and felt the gash on her wrist knitting itself.

Isabella released his arm and stepped back. She could feel his dark eyes on her, though she avoided looking into them. They were on the edge of unexplored territories and she didn't know if she was comfortable with where it could possibly lead them. It all seemed too sudden. She bit her lip, wondering what his next step would be. She didn't know if she should feel glad or disappointed when all he did was return to the chair.

"You didn't have to give me your blood." She heard him say. She raised her eyes, looking at him through her lashes and saw him regarding her with an unreadable expression. She decided not to look too deep into it, settling on shrugging in response.

"You were daggered. The closest you'll ever come to die without a white oak stake. I just assumed you needed blood." She made her way back to the bed and retook her seat.

"I see," he said, his face acquiring a pensive expression.

They remained in silence for a while longer, each lost in their thoughts. Suddenly, Elijah stood up and went in the door's direction. He opened it and stopped, turning to Isabella, who had followed him and now stood a few feet away from him.

"Are you going to be okay?" She asked him. He raised an eyebrow, clearly asking her to elaborate. "They still have the dagger and the ashes…" she trailed off and watched as he frowned. That would certainly put a little hitch on his plans and the way he would have to approach the others.

"Well…" he uttered slowly, "I did promise to kill everyone Ms. Gilbert cared about if she or her little vampire pets decided to cross me," he finished with a smirk, much to her exasperation.

"What's with you vampires and the 'don't cross me or I'll kill everyone you love' death threats?"

He just chuckled at her annoyed tone. Then, all signs of mirth drained from his tone and he regarded her seriously once again. "I'll have to reconsider my plans."

Her face also turned serious in response to that and she crossed her arms.

"It's clear that I can't go after Elena directly. They would have certainly given her the dagger to use against me. And I'm sure that, by now, they have realized that the dagger must stay in my heart for me to remain… out of commission."

She couldn't help the grimace that crossed her face when he mentioned the dagger piercing his heart. She cared for him. Perhaps a little more than she should. "Well," she started to say, a plan forming in her head. "I'm not glad to say that I'll serve as a distraction while you plot," she said in a dry tone.

He narrowed his eyes at her, and Isabella liked to think he cared enough to not like where she was going with this. Still, she was already at risk and she had always been the kind of person who would do anything to keep the people she loved safe. So, Isabella ignored Elijah's disapproving glare and leaned against the wall to the side of him. "I'm sure that you already know it, but our little interaction at the Boarding House did not go unnoticed." She ran a hand through her hair and observed as he stiffened at her words. "Do you really think they won't come after me, asking questions?"

Isabella would be the first to admit she hadn't expected such a strong reaction from her words. The way Elijah's eyes darkened and his lips curled away from his elongated fangs, and the snarl left him stunned her. "If they even think of harming you, I'll rip them apart," he growled.

She stared at him, surprised at the barely contained violence. He didn't give her time to answer. He simply left, closing the door after him.

She just stood there, eyes still fixed at the spot Elijah had previously occupied, his threats still echoing in her mind. What was it about her that made others want to protect her?

:::

Damon made his way to the Grill, still exhausted from the previous night's events. They had waited all night long for Elijah to make an appearance, confident that the Original would come after Elena after what had happened at the Boarding House, and so completely on edge that every small noise had been enough to make them jump. Needless to say, he was not only physically exhausted, but mentally too. And while he wanted nothing more than to waste the day away on his bed, he was a man on a mission and his objective was, according to Barbie – who had told Elena when she had asked – to be found there. So here he was, making his way to, hopefully, a few glasses of bourbon and answers.

Entering the establishment, he casted his eyes around, searching the place for the elusive brunette that had refused to leave his and his brother's thoughts since the day she came to town. He found her seated in a booth at the very back, typing on her cell phone. On the table, an open book and – surprise! – a glass of bourbon. Who drank at this time of the day, anyway (other than him and Alaric)?

He made his way to her and took the empty seat in front of her.

"Isn't it a bit early to be drinking?" He asked in a teasing tone that didn't let through the turmoil that he felt on the inside. She raised her eyes and met his.

"Says who?"

He saw the corner of her mouth lifting and couldn't help it when his lips formed a smirk, amused despite himself.

"Everybody," he said, moving his arm around, gesturing towards the room. She looked around them, face pensive. Then, she returned her eyes to his and raised an eyebrow before, very deliberately, bringing the glass to her lips and drinking the contents. Oh, such a delight she was! He could feel his lips expanding in a grin.

But he couldn't let himself forget the reason why he was here, so he ignored the mirth dancing inside of him. "We need to talk," he said, grin disappearing. She chanced a glance at him and sighed.

"Not while I'm sober," she answered, and he blinked. Say what? Did… did she just invite me for a drink? Damon looked at her, puzzled, but she didn't offer him any explanations. Isabella just closed her book, put it in her bag, stood and made her way to the bar. After a few seconds of just staring, he followed.

They had a few drinks, and he wasn't surprised that she was more than a little tipsy – not when she seemed to share with him the habit of start drinking early in the day. It was then that she decided that she was all set to go, so here they were now, making their way to the Boarding House after he had called Stefan to appraise him of the situation. Needless to say, he wasn't happy with what Damon was planning, but was willing to play along if it was what it took to keep Elena safe.

(Damon hadn't forgotten the flash of betrayal on Stefan's eyes when he had mentioned that Isabella was on friendly terms with Elijah (he had decided long ago that no one was allowed to hurt his little brother but him). He also ignored that Stefan's reaction had perfectly mirrored his own.)

After they had arrived and exited the car, Damon watched as Isabella looked around at all the other cars that were there and the way her lips curled in a mockery of a smile. She didn't wait for him. She simply went ahead, opened the door and entered, back straight and chin raised. He didn't say anything, just followed in her footsteps until they reached the living room, where Stefan, Elena Caroline and Alaric could be found. Isabella stopped and just looked at all the faces that regarded her with both suspicion and curiosity. To his utter surprise, she decided to ignore all of them, going to the carafes while making a humming sound in her throat and proceeding to pour herself a drink.

Damon snorted, entertained, because she was acting exactly like him.

"Nuh-uh," he chastised her, trying unsuccessfully to keep the laugher out of his voice, and made his way to her, taking the glass out of her hand. She turned her big brown eyes on him. "This," he referred to the drink he was holding, "is older than both of us combined. Costs a fortune, you know?" He fought a grin at seeing her pouting, and damn her for getting these reactions out of him!

"But Damon," she started, just short of whining, "you wouldn't want me to face the High Inquisition while sober, would you?"

His face went carefully blank. No, no, no. Nope. There was absolutely no way he was going to fall for her very effective puppy eyes. No chance! Damon was quite confident he would be able to resist them. And then she slumped and looked down, and he swore he heard the crack his resolve made when it fell to pieces when faced with her kicked puppy look. He would forever deny the pained sound that left his lips.

And that was how he found himself giving Isabella back her drink.

She looked up, surprised at getting it back. "Thanks," she mumbled, and he wanted to rage. Why did she act as if she didn't know how compelling her actions were?

At least, now that he was in a funk, he wouldn't feel the need to sympathize with her for having to face this little band of misfits – of which he was not a part of, he told himself. He knew firsthand how incredibly annoying they were capable of being – and that was on a good day! When they put it in their mind they had to do something for 'the greater good', they had the capacity to become even worse.

Drink now in hand, Isabella turned around and went to seat herself in one of the couches, then looked at them expectantly. It made Damon wonder how predictable their group was if this slip of a woman was capable of divining what they were planning on doing. That would mean she had been expecting either him or Stefan to come after her. He sighed. These last few days just didn't seem to go as he wished they would.

Stefan cleared his throat then, and Damon could see that he was clearly uncomfortable to be doing this to her. Honestly, he could relate. There was something magnetic about the way she had interacted with them, how she hadn't treated them as the monsters they really were – that she knew they were – but as people. But, unlike his brother, Damon was able to disregard his heart by focusing on what he thought was important.

"So," Stefan started, and once he was sure he had her attention, he continued. "How did you and Elijah meet?"

Isabella regarded him curiously, head tilted to the side. "Straight to the point, then." She made herself more comfortable on the sofa. "We met when he went to my hometown," she answered.

When it was clear she wouldn't say anything else until asked, Damon intervened. "Care to elaborate?"

She hummed and took a sip of her bourbon. "He arrived in town, claiming to be a writer," she replied. Damon snorted; it was the same excuse the Original had used here. "Since it was a small town and I am the Chief of Police's daughter, I got roped up on being his tour guide," she shrugged.

"That doesn't explain you being friendly-touching."

"Why, are you jealous?" She raised an eyebrow, and he could feel his metaphorical hackles raising. That he could see the others looking between him and Isabella and then exchanging glances from the corner of his eyes didn't help matters. In that moment, he hated her for being able to heckle him so easily.

"You wish," he forced a smirk to show on his lips.

Isabella scoffed, clearly not believing him. Damon wanted to rip her apart. If he killed her, she wouldn't be able to draw any more responses from him.

Moments passed and their eyes were still challengingly fixed on the other's. Until someone cleared their throat and tore her attention away from him. She blinked and looked at Stefan. It took her a few seconds to get back in track.

"He saved my life," she said and leant back against the couch, closing her eyes. That caught everyone's attention.

"And that was enough to make you trust him?" Damon said in a mocking tone that was meant to imply he thought her an idiot. He wanted to get a reaction out of her. He was annoyed and he wanted to share the misery.

Her eyes snapped open and he saw them darkening when they settled on him, her lips curling as she straightened in her seat. Yes! His inner beast crowed, anticipating the fight. What Damon hadn't expected, though, was for the words that left her mouth to cut him as deep as they did.

"And I suppose you want me to trust you," she snarled, and he was taken aback by the venom she was suddenly spewing. He heard the others shuffle but ignored them, his focus solely kept by the furious brown orbs that glared murder at him. It was a complete one-eighty from their previous interaction. And it hurt something deeply buried inside him, because now she was looking at him and seeing the monster, not Damon. He was, now, nothing but the monster that had killed Zach.

:::

Stefan watched from his place in front of Elena how something in Damon shifted. He knew his brother well enough to know that the glint that had suddenly appeared in the raven's eyes meant he was about to lash out. And he also knew that whatever he was about to say was going to put Isabella in a rage, thus ending her cooperative mood. And Stefan really, really didn't want to have to resort to harsher methods of extracting information. So, he intervened just as Damon opened his mouth.

"You said Elijah saved your life," he said quickly, drawing Isabella's murder-filled gaze away from his brother, who threw a glance his way that Stefan was glad to ignore. She nodded tersely. "How?"

"There was a deranged vampire after me," she answered promptly. While Stefan was relieved she didn't seem to want to draw this out, he wished she wouldn't be so blunt when he heard the gasps that Elena and Caroline couldn't contain. He looked around. The girls were exchanging uneasy glances, and Alaric's frown mirrored his own. But what made him pay attention was Damon's expression. Despite the anger Stefan knew he was harboring, he had managed to ignore it for the time being (to probably be revisited later on), now that Isabella was talking, to focus on her with an intensity Stefan knew he only reserved for things that interested him greatly. Stefan couldn't ponder over it much, however, because Isabella went on. "He destroyed her."

Such interesting choice of words… destroyed, not killed.

"Destroyed?" Alaric asked softly. It seemed that he hadn't been the only one to catch onto her word usage. Isabella just hummed in answer.

"But what does it mean?" Caroline asked, slightly confused, though still clearly spooked by the way the Swan had chosen to word her phrase. Stefan sometimes forgot he was surrounded by children. Despite their fierce response to everything that threatened their loved ones, they were still unaccustomed to the sheer violence that was a part of the supernatural world. "Did he stake her in the heart, ripped her heart from her chest or decapitated her?"

"Oh, nothing of the sort," the brunette answered, her voice just a bit too casual, bordering on disinterested. Too much like Damon, Stefan thought, when he's about to say something that will clearly shock someone. A sense of dread filled him. "He tore her apart and burnt the pieces," she sent a wicked smile in the blonde's direction.

Caroline whimpered. Elena's hand was shaking as she gripped his shirt. He chanced a look at her; she was ashen and breathing heavily, her other hand holding one of Caroline's in a death grip. The blonde herself had brought her free hand to her mouth and her face was displaying her horror for all to see. He looked the other way. Alaric, while bone white, was clearly more composed than the girls, though it was clear that the answer had sickened him. Damon… to Stefan's confusion, Damon was sending Isabella a look that was a mix of amusement, calculation and even a smidgen of pride, as if he knew exactly what she was doing (and Stefan was reminded, once again, that Isabella was acting exactly like him). Stefan saw him open his mouth and the question that came forth only served to confuse him even more.

"Does it have any relation to the scar you carry on your wrist?" The blue-eyed vampire asked, smirking smugly. Isabella snapped her eyes back to his and stared at him, face going carefully blank.

Scar? What scar? The thought circled inside Stefan's mind as he watched his brother and cousin stare off, theories running amok in his brain. Unfortunately for him, he was missing pieces of this puzzle, pieces that Damon had apparently found.

"What scar?" He finally asked, trying to understand what was happening.

Damon suddenly stalked forward and stopped a few inches away from the sitting brunette, who had gone stone rigid at his approach. She sat there, posture stiff, as he took the glass from her hands, putting it on a side table, and grabbed her right hand. Surprisingly, Stefan noted, his brother was being gentle (with the way they had been glaring at one another, he had expected Damon to be quite rougher). Not that it mattered to Isabella, who had gone even tenser, if such a thing was possible, at the contact. Though she did not shy away. It occurred to him, then, that she had probably expected this to happen from the get-go, even if she was clearly uncomfortable with where things were going.

He watched as his brother rolled the sleeve away from Isabella's wrist before angling her limb in a way that would allow him to show whatever it was he wanted to show. "This scar," he finally said, and Stefan could finally see what had his brother so intrigued.

When his brain finally processed what it was he was actually seeing, he felt his eyes widen and his breath catch in his throat. "Impossible!" He whispered. Before the thought had finished forming in his mind, he was standing in front of Isabella (absentmindedly, he noted that she had not even flinched at the sudden movement), his long fingers running over slightly colder and harder skin repeatedly, even as he stared at the woman in front of him in wonder. "How are you alive?"