Just because Abigail Morgan swore that she was over and done with Damon Salvatore and she put on a wonderful show of it in public, didn't necessarily mean that her mind took note of it when she finally fell into her dreams. It seemed as though, as she became more comfortable and confident in her true nature and power, that that very nature and power took over at her most vulnerable moments - sleep being one of those.
It shouldn't have surprised her, and it didn't if she was being truly honest with herself, when she drifted off after an evening of cleaning the kitchen and coddling Cat with bacon and enough cuddles to get him over the indignity of being coated with baking ingredients that she wouldn't be transported to a pleasant dreamland where she would meet a tall, dark stranger - or Elijah being enigmatic and magnetic - but instead she'd find herself on a dark road watching Damon reel in a victim.
Seeing him toy with prey wasn't something she felt keen to witness, but unlike when she battled wits with her mother, she couldn't force herself away from these visions. The blood she's given him had only made the dreams more potent, more powerful and more vivid - not dreams, she realized, but visions of what he either had done or was doing - and this time he was using his victim as a confessional. A poor mortal girl named Jessica - instead of a priest or pastor - she stood compelled to listen as he poured out his heart to her about how he wished that he could be a human and be perfect for -
Abigail wished she could cover her ears, but she wasn't listening with them, not really. The vibrations of his voice would have bounced through her no matter how much fluff she pushed into her ears. She was powerless in not having to hear that Damon wished he could be what Elena wanted him to be - human, better, on and on - when it was Katherine it was vampire, murderer, and on and on. Being Damon was never enough for him, not when it was simply enough for her.
She'd laugh, but it would only scare Cat in the real world - Damon wouldn't hear it, not here in this mimicry of a memory or a flash of what would come to pass. Why had she listened to her mother, to the ravings of a madwoman hellbent on forcing the future into whatever she willed it?
Because it wasn't just Mother who wanted it, a tiny voice that sounded suspiciously like her own murmured from deep inside of her, and this is the consequence.
The dream shifted when Damon finally finished monologuing to his meal - and the squeezing pressure that was holding tight around her heart released, thankfully.
Instead of the garden of her youth at the Salvatores', she was on the swing at her new home - Cat relaxing on the banister in the sunlight, his blue rimmed green eyes shining and the sun gleaming on his black hair. Calmness and light, that's exactly what she needed after that scene she witnessed with Damon -
"Your home is lovely," his voice was becoming as known to her as - "I hope to one day be invited inside."
Turning her head, she found him seated next to her, crisp dark suit and perfectly coiffed hair not at all out of place on the swing - as odd as it might be. She let her eyes roam over his face, trying to memorize the lines, the darkness of his eyes, the curve of his lips, how there was a smile hinting at coming out - "You keep saying 'soon', yet -" his hand moved up without her noticing and a finger brushed her lips, silencing her gently.
"I promise," he was staring at her face with the same interest that she was showing his, as though he was just as fascinated, just as curious. "I am coming for you, Abigail Morgan, I won't be deterred for much longer."
"I'm holding you to that," she was murmuring it against the pad of his finger, as he traced her lips. "I want to see you," it came out pleading, but she was past caring. She wanted to put to rest this dreamstate flirtation, it was time -
He nodded, his head dipping as if he couldn't stop himself, "wild horses," was the last thing she heard, and she could swear she felt the heat of his breath fanning her face as he drew closer, that he must be able to hear her pulse quicken -
The phone ringing pulled her out before his lips could touch hers and she nearly screamed as her eyes popped open -
She swore as she picked up the phone from her nightstand that if someone wasn't bleeding or dead, they just might be, but she shouldn't have dared fate like that, not living where she did and among those she lived among -
Caroline was taken by rabid werewolves because - it didn't matter, Abigail was not going to point fingers and assign blame. She was worried and upset for many reasons, and she was very upset because no one thought to protect the newly made vampire because of their own issues, and honestly "she was born for this" wasn't cutting it for her.
There are many options, plenty involving leaving Abi out of it, but for once Ric doesn't give Damon a say. Caroline is one of Abigail's friends, he reminds his friend, and she has a right to know. He knows he's right when she promises she'll be available for anything he needs her for - making it clear whose call she'll answer.
Ric calls when the plan is made and Abigail is staring at the phone - laying on the table on speaker while she's studying her book - with a look of complete disbelief. "The plan is to march into a camp of werewolves with the pup they want, in exchange for Caroline, brought to them by one who confessed to murdering their comrade and his brother?" Her tone was heavy with her faith in the success of the endeavor. "And how likely is it that Caroline walks out of this alive, Ric?"
If he noticed that she wasn't including either Salvatore, he didn't acknowledge it, "Not very," succinct and to the point. "Especially when you consider certain aspects of the temperament of the carriers of the package -" Code? Was Jenna close?
Sighing, she pulled the family grimoire closer and stared at the pages, willing a better answer to come to her. As if it were listening, there it was, glaringly obvious. "Ric?" Humming to tell her he was listening. "What if I told you there's more in play than the -" what was the word he'd used "carriers taking the package to them?" The quiet on the other end of the phone made her check to see if the line had gone dead or if her phone had. No, he was still there. She studied the lines that were appearing and smiled. "I think the odds are evening in Caroline's favor, but not quite in Tyler's." New pup indeed. The inhale came, but she couldn't help that, her power wasn't in changing what came, after all. "He'll be fine," for now, she added internally. "Just keep everyone on your end calm. Caroline's coming home." Not necessarily feeling all that wonderful, or at peace about wolves for a bit, but she'd be home.
"I don't know how you know," Ric sounded strained, but not nearly as uptight as he had when he first called. "But I'm glad you do." He told her he'd update her when he knew more, but he sounded like he might be giving her news that she knew before him anyway.
Staring at the book after the call, Abigail wondered how it knew - actually she wondered how she'd made it work the way she wanted it to.
When she'd studied it while talking to Ric, she wanted a better answer to how to help Caroline - wanted a better magical answer - and it had come. Not a spell or a tincture, not a vision, it was simply a family tree - not hers, but one with a name she recognized. Dr. Jonas Martin. She'd met him at the grocery store and felt his magic. And now she knew the loops and swirls that went from him, his son and a daughter and looped back and around - to Elijah. The werewolves were making a very poor mistake since Caroline was a friend of Elena. Elena was pledging her life to Elijah, and Elijah's witch friends were going to make certain they understood that they misstepped.
She'd told Ric that magic was family, and family was loyalty, and loyalty fought for loyalty. This is how it starts - she only hoped that it didn't come back to bite Elijah, since she wasn't lying about magic not being comfortable with being constrained by the other supernaturals. Magic wasn't meant to be owned or bartered - witches as a conduit for magic had to be free to give and go as they pleased. She was coming to learn far more about this as she not only read, but also by just growing into herself. It was as though her power was letting her know what it needed to flourish and she was starting to think that's why Gloria couldn't see her future - why it was open and unending - because it had to be.