Disclaimer: Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.
A/N: Hi, all! Thanks so much for all the follows, favs, and reviews. Your support definitely makes this more enjoyable to write. I felt like the last chapter wasn't quite up to par, so thanks for sticking with me. This chapter, I think, has gotten this story more on track, pacing-wise. Emotions run high in this one (particularly for our leading lady), so just sit back and enjoy the ride.
Also, many apologies for the delay – you would think unemployment would give me more time to write, but no dice. It's actually a very stressful time in my life, so I appreciate your patience. I thought about waiting to post this until I wrote a bit more of Ch. 5, but I think you guys have waited long enough ;)
There's a longer A/N at the end to clarify a few things, but right now, on with the story!
Life is brief
But when it's gone
Love goes on and on
– Love, Nancy Adams
Chapter 4: Through the Looking Glass
"What do you mean Alaric's body is gone?"
Damon rolled his eyes at his brother's need for clarification. Did the phone line separating them interfere with his ability to understand basic English?
"I mean," he ground out, squeezing the phone tighter against his ear, "he's missing, absent, not there, AWOL, Elvis-has-left-the-building, gone. And I seriously doubt Virginia just got its first zombie, although nothing would surprise me at this point."
"And you're sure he's not just… somewhere else in the storage unit."
The Camaro roared and lurched forward as Damon's foot bit down on the accelerator. Stefan's inquiry was just a tad too… calm for his liking. Just this side of skeptical. Like the kind of placating response a parent gave their child who claimed their favorite toy was lost—you know, the annoying "Are you sure it isn't where you left it, honey?" question.
"Why no, Stefan. I figured I'd just cut corners and give you a ring because you're such a great conversationalist."
In predictable fashion, his brother side-stepped the sarcasm, opting to focus on the issue at hand. "You think someone took him."
By George, I think he's got it. "Bingo. Feel free to place your bets elsewhere, but my money's on the Original sister, seeing as her brother's crispy corpse was nowhere to be found either."
"Rebekah? But why?" Elena chimed in, sounding faintly like her vocal chords had gone through a cheese grater. One of the many lovely perks of prolonged thirst… but the full significance of that fact would have to be filed away until later. "What could she possibly want with Ric?"
Damon could practically hear the cogs turning in that overactive imagination of hers.
Still, it was a fair question—one that he had asked himself when he first inspected the storage facility, expecting to find the remains of his former drinking buddy, and instead found the site as empty as his gas tank.
At first, he had thought maybe, just maybe, Alaric had been right: that law enforcement had finally caught up and done its job for a change. But that scenario just didn't wash.
For one thing, if the area had been properly processed, the police would still be here, snapping pictures, taping off the crime scene, and whatever other CSI crap they did. But there had been none of that. Everything had looked exactly the same as last night—everything minus the two missing bodies.
The area had even smelled the same. See, humans have the rather (un)fortunate tendency of leaving distinct scent trails wherever they go. Not that they were necessary. There wasn't exactly a shortage of people to eat, not to mention that super speed and strength essentially made hunting a no-brainer, enhanced olfactory senses or no.
On occasion, though, bloodhound tracking capabilities did come in handy. Which is exactly how Damon knew that there had been no humans in that storage facility since he'd fled last night.
The list of suspects narrowed significantly after that, and Rebekah fit the bill to a tee.
Non-human? Check. Knew the location of the bodies? Check, check. Vindictive little bitch with a score to settle?
Well, the implication spoke for itself, didn't it?
"Alaric did kill her favorite brother right in front of her," Damon reminded them. "Maybe Barbie Klaus needed an appropriate target for the hissy fit she's bound to throw."
There was a pause as they considered the theory.
Elena broke the silence first; in spectacular fashion, too. "That's—that's horrible! We can't let her do that!"
Stefan's response was a bit more composed. Like both halves of one mind, those two. "What are you going to do?"
"Well, normally I'd say to hell with the grave robber, but our reunion's a bit overdue as it is. I'll handle it."
"Listen, about Rebekah—"
"You can unclench, Stefan. As much as I'd like to, I won't kill her. I'm not an idiot."
In lieu of a Maury-esque vampire DNA test that ruled out the Original sister as the sire of their bloodline, his retribution might have to get a little… creative.
"Although I am tossing around the idea of finishing what the quarterback started and running her over with my car. It's unhealthy to let resentment bottle up, you know."
"Damon—"
"On second thought, there's no way in hell I'm going to add my damaged wheels to her list of casualties over the last twenty-four hours." He patted the steering wheel fondly. "My baby's way too good for that."
"Damon, listen." Elena this time. "She was here. At my house."
That sobered him up instantly, as evidenced when he nearly jerked the car off the highway. "What the hell did she want? Scratch that, I don't care. Did she hurt you?"
With a renewed sense of urgency, he pushed the car faster, ignoring the needle on the speedometer as it climbed ten, twenty, thirty mph above the speed limit. He didn't care. Compulsion worked wonders against speeding tickets. It was a remedy even more effective than a hot chick's crocodile tears.
"We're both fine," Elena assured him, but he didn't buy it. She still sounded shaken. "Rebekah's still not invited inside, but it doesn't matter because it's not me she's after. It's you."
Damon's eyebrows lifted. "I take it she didn't want to sell me Girl Scout cookies."
"She's after the white oak stake, she knows you have it—"
"And made it pretty clear that she's not leaving town without it. She'll do whatever it takes to get it, including kill the three of us and everyone we've ever met."
It was times like these that Damon sincerely appreciated his brother's ability to… unsweeten what didn't need to be sugar-coated.
"Rebekah? Making nasty and oh-so-obvious threats?" he scoffed. "I'd say I'm surprised, but you know what they say. Tigers, stripes, blah blah blah."
Not mollified by his attempt to lighten the mood, Elena's voice nearly shot up a full octave. "Damon, seriously, don't go picking a fight with her! She's pretty pissed that I'm still alive, and I don't put it past her to take her pound of flesh from you out of pure spite!"
"Elena, relax. I have absolutely no intention of dying today. Or ever, for that matter."
Briefly removing his hand from the wheel, Damon palmed his jacket pocket where he knew the indestructible Original-slaying weapon was stashed inside. Rebekah wouldn't kill him just yet. Not until she got what she wanted.
Unfortunately for her, he wasn't exactly the giving type.
He smiled wryly. "Besides, she and I still have business to settle."
He had told Elena that he would bring their friend home so that they could put him to rest. It seemed like the least he could do for her, given the circumstances. And he certainly had no intention of breaking that promise and coming home empty-handed just because the Original Brat decided to throw a tantrum of apocalyptic proportions.
And hey, if he happened to get a few shots in while he was pulling a Mission Impossible, so much the better. Whoever said you shouldn't mix business with pleasure obviously hadn't read the Damon Salvatore Handbook.
He heard Stefan sigh—whether in resignation or in simple acknowledgment, he wasn't sure. "Be careful, brother."
"Have a little faith, Stef. And Elena?" The wheels screeched as he swerved to the right, taking the exit leading back to the little dystopia known as Mystic Falls. "Don't you dare set one foot outside that house."
Without waiting for a response, Damon tossed his phone away and floored the accelerator.
Deep within the tranquil woods of Mystic Falls, the hybrid's face snapped to the side with a sharp, satisfying crack!—a sound Caroline knew she would replay in her mind over and over again whenever she needed a quick pick-me-up.
She'd probably pay for her right hook in a minute, but right now?
So worth it.
"You can drop the act, Klaus. I know it's you in there."
"Clearly," he huffed, rubbing his jaw with grim amusement, and dammit, he didn't even look like he was in pain at all!
As if guessing her thoughts, his face relaxed into that familiar grin he gave her whenever he was trying to be charming—a look that was so typically Klaus, it was a wonder she ever believed him to be her boyfriend—and continued with, "You know, you have impressive strength for such a young vampire. How's your hand, love?"
Love. The nail in the coffin. Not that his ruse really needed one anymore, but still. Confirmation.
Seriously, though, why couldn't he just succumb to pain, anger, or humiliation like any other hot-blooded, testosterone-fueled guy? (Was being smug even allowed after someone punched you in the face?)
Caroline knew it was beyond reckless, but deep down she so badly wanted him to lash out at her, for him to be affected and feel something. Hell, she'd take a fully transformed, rampaging wolf—anything but this maddening tough-as-stone routine!—if it meant that she'd wormed her way into his head the way he'd wormed into hers.
Still seething, she gave him a terse "fine" and lucky for her, he didn't call her on it.
His perception was dead on, though: her hand did hurt like hell. In fact, she probably broke two fingers from the impact (hard-headed jerk), not that she could really tell anymore. Her bones had nearly finished knitting themselves back together thanks to her supernaturally quick healing abilities.
Too bad pride didn't heal as easily. Hers was somewhere on the ground with… Crap.
Ignoring the heat flooding her face, Caroline quickly retrieved her discarded blouse and yanked it over her head so hard she nearly ripped the fabric. Turning back to Klaus, she noticed a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Caroline clenched her fists at her sides. She was sorely tempted to punch him again, but right now what she needed more than stress relief was answers.
"What the hell did you do to Tyler?" she demanded.
"Nothing that will leave permanent damage, I'm afraid," he drawled, looking very much like he had more to say on the subject, but then thought better of it, adding seriously, "Actually, you have your witch to blame for my… predicament."
"Bonnie?" she frowned. "Why would she…?"
"Think, love. How do you suppose Tyler survived—how you survived—after Alaric staked me?"
"She did something," Caroline sighed in relief, anger briefly melting away. "She saved you, which saved our entire vampire bloodline. Huh," she mused, "you really weren't lying about being our sire."
"You know, I find it a little insulting that that's the part you find surprising," Klaus commented with mild irritation, "considering Bonnie Bennett is a self-proclaimed vampire hater who would give anything to keep precious Elena from joining the ranks. Whereas I, despite whatever misguided opinion you seem to have of me, rarely find occasion for lying. And why would I, when other methods of persuasion can be far more effective and straightforward?"
Caroline scoffed. "Right. Because mind control, threats, and acts of violence are much kinder." Not exactly the way to endear yourself to me, genius. "And for the record, Bonnie doesn't hate vampires, she—wait. Hold the phone," she stopped herself, latching onto a new thought with an urgency she didn't quite understand. "What did you mean, Bonnie would give anything? What exactly is she doing to save Elena?"
When he didn't answer immediately, Caroline feared the worst because let's face it: Bonnie's track record for playing the sacrificial lamb wasn't exactly squeaky clean. She really would give up everything for her friends, including her own happiness. And her life.
No.
Klaus simply stared back at her, watching her put the pieces together, as if her distress was some kind of fascinating drama that he couldn't wait to see play out. And even though he watched her through Tyler's eyes, she could instinctively sense (with an insight of his character that disturbed her on a much deeper level) that there was more to his scrutiny than idle amusement.
He was hiding something. Which meant that he knew. He knew what Bonnie was planning, and still he wasn't saying anything! Was this some twisted form of punishment for hitting him and wounding his ego? Keeping her in suspense until she cracked?
Not in the mood for his games, she leveled the Original hybrid with her best, most withering Queen Bee glare.
"Klaus," she hissed. "What. Is. She. Doing?"
The first thing Bonnie sensed as soon as her eyes flew open was an unexpected feeling of control.
It wasn't like waking up first thing in the morning. She felt no grogginess, no disorientation, no sense of contentment after getting a peaceful night's shut eye.
No, it was like being plunged face-first into an ice cold bath: shocking, scary, and utterly real. She had landed here abruptly and without warning, and it was all she could do to keep her feet on the ground.
After a moment, though, when her mind had had a chance to catch up with her senses, her perspective shifted. Being here wasn't scary or strange, at all; in fact, it felt bizarre by the very fact that it didn't feel bizarre. It felt normal.
Normal because she knew exactly what was happening and why she was here. She remembered everything leading up to this moment with surprising clarity: her conversations with Jeremy; her risky plan to keep Elena human; her living room ablaze from the effects of her spell; the last breath she took before she died. Because that's what she was. Dead. She knew that. Even now, as she moved about her surroundings, she knew that she wasn't literally here.
What she didn't know was why here looked exactly like the Gilbert's living room.
Strange. Either she had completely messed up the spell somehow, or the Other Side actually looked like—oh.
Elena. She was here, lying right in front of her, asleep on the couch.
Even in unconsciousness, Elena looked miserable. Her breathing was steady, but the audible rasping grabbed Bonnie's attention.
Most people probably wouldn't have noticed, but Bonnie had had too many sleepovers with her friends not to know that Caroline was the snorer, not Elena. Elena internalized, rather than vocalized, her pain. But at least she never had to suffer alone. None of them did.
Maybe misery really did love company, but for the three life-long friends, slumber parties were about so much more than blowing off steam. They looked out for each other. They drew strength from each other. They always had. Somehow, being together was a balm for the nightmares from which they all suffered: Elena, ever since the death of her parents; Caroline, from the post-traumatic stress of being tortured on numerous occasions; and Bonnie herself, the undesirable side effects of inheriting the Bennett family legacy.
It was one thing for nightmares to invade her dreams; if one of her witchy ancestors or freaky premonitions wanted inside her head, there was really very little she could do to fight them off. Her friends were another story. She could watch over them, protect them, comfort them. They didn't have to suffer her fate.
Which is why Bonnie usually stayed awake until she knew that Caroline and Elena had already drifted off into peaceful slumber before she allowed her own eyes to drift closed. Even then she had a difficult time falling asleep, knowing what might await her on the other side.
Speaking of the Other Side…
Bonnie looked down, taking a closer look at Elena's haggard appearance, and her stomach dropped. Transition was already taking a much heavier toll on her friend than she'd feared.
Bones protruded from Elena's face and joints, giving her the look of a girl who hadn't eaten in a week. Her normally rich, olive skin had turned deathly pale, as if her very life force (blood)had been draining from her body ever since she woke up from death. In sharp contrast to her pallor, dark circles framed her eyes, squeezed shut in discomfort. Some indecipherable battle raged behind them that Bonnie could neither see nor stop.
It was awful.
To anyone else, Elena could have been sick with a bad case of mono, or something equally mundane; not the horrible, supernatural metamorphosis that Bonnie knew it to be. And this was only the beginning. Within hours she would be worse. Much worse.
Suddenly uneasy, Bonnie looked away, pausing when something else caught her eye.
On the coffee table beside her sleeping friend sat the remnants of a turkey sandwich, exactly one bite taken out of it, along with a rolled up napkin. Looks like Elena, too, was desperate for a way to circumvent reality. As if human food could satisfy what her body truly craved.
She couldn't blame Elena for trying, but denial wasn't going to solve anything. And that's where I come in.
Squaring her shoulders, Bonnie strode over to the living room windows and peaked through a gap in the curtains. The sun was high; early afternoon, probably. Not good. Given Elena's time of death last night, Bonnie figured she had maybe ten hours, tops, before intervention became impossible. Less than half a day to perform a miracle.
(On the bright side, if her plan succeeded here and now, she wouldn't need the extra time.)
She was on her way back to the couch, when—
"Bonnie."
The voice was soft, muted, but Bonnie whipped around like someone had put an air horn up to her ear.
No one was there.
"It's Stefan."
Much as she was relieved that the mystery voice was at least a familiar one, she still had no idea how he could even see her, much less talk to her, while she was on the Other Side. Only dead-dead people were supposed to do that.
Anxiously following the voice to its source, Bonnie found Stefan in the Gilbert's kitchen.
He was leaning rigidly against the island with one hand, the other held up to his ear. He wasn't looking at her.
She called his name, a sound that seemed to ring in the silence, but he gave no indication that he heard her. Not even a flinch.
"Just calling for an update," he continued, and Bonnie dimly realized it wasn't her he was talking to, but her voicemail. "Elena, she's… Well. Let's just say time isn't exactly on our side. I guess I don't have to tell you that." He sounded every bit as exhausted as he looked. "Give me a call when you can. And no matter what happens, Bonnie, thank you. Just… thank you." He ended the call.
Bonnie reached out, wanting to answer him, only to stop and retract her arm. Stefan didn't even know she was here. Beyond the veil, everything she said fell on deaf ears. Everything she did went unnoticed.
Everything except one thing. The reason Stefan thanked her. The reason she made this trip. The reason she needed to move… now.
With an about face, Bonnie marched back into the living room.
Standing in front of Elena this time, she suddenly felt nervous. Not to mention clueless. It wasn't like her Grimoire had a necromancy tutorial with step-by-step instructions. What on earth was she supposed to do now?
Deciding to let her instincts be her guide and hope for the best, she reached out for Elena…
And stopped cold when she felt a firm hand grip her shoulder, pulling her back.
It was done, game over. The witches found her. She failed.
Dreading the sight that awaited her, Bonnie slowly turned around to face her fate.
She gasped.
"Grams?" she whispered, her heart bursting with joy. "What's going on? What are you doing here?"
"Bonnie, you need to stop," Sheila commanded sternly—a far cry from the warm Southern drawl Bonnie had grown up hearing. Now her grandmother radiated authority with a force that would have given her pause, if not for the touch of real affection in her eyes. "Leave this darkness behind you, child. It's not for you."
"But Elena—"
"Is no longer your concern. Nature has decided her fate. You need to respect that."
"I can save her," Bonnie argued.
"No, you can't. I won't allow it."
Bonnie's jaw dropped. Her Grams had discouraged her from dangerous spells before, but never had she outright forbid her from anything. Not even when Bonnie had sought to free Stefan and Damon from the tomb spell, knowing full well that the magic required was beyond her granddaughter's skills at the time. Instead, though it violated her principles, she had actually helped, exhausting her own magic past the point of recovery.
Sheila Bennett had sacrificed her own life in support of a decision she never even agreed with; how could this decision, one that would save Bonnie's best friend, be over the line?
As if realizing she had been unduly harsh, her grandmother's eyes softened. "We have all lost people, Bonnie. Your pain is not greater, nor does it deserve more mercy, than the rest of ours. Just because you have the power to change something, baby, doesn't mean that you should. People die. That's nature's way. It's something we all have to come to terms with, sooner or later, and unfortunately for you, that time's sooner than most."
Bonnie felt shamed, but she shook her head decisively. "I—I can't. Grams, I'm sorry." The words felt weak in her mouth. "Elena's like my sister. I would do anything for her."
Sheila opened her mouth to respond, but the soft voice that came out was not hers.
"I sincerely hope you mean that, Bonnie."
Alarmed, Bonnie spun towards the source of the new voice—and froze.
The ghost of Emily Bennett stared back at her.
"No."
Eyes downcast, Caroline slumped in bitter acknowledgment of the tale she had just heard. Considering the source, it would have been easy to argue it as another deception, but she knew better. This was exactly the sort of thing Bonnie would do.
Klaus shrugged indifferently. "I'm afraid so, love. Same old song and dance, only this time it's a Bennett witch volunteering to play the latest fool in a long line of Petrova doppelganger would-be-saviors. Never turns out well for them, does it?"
Caroline, still too horrified to even defend her friend, remained silent.
"If she is successful," he went on, a bit too brightly, "dear Elena will be human, I will once again have my key ingredient to make more hybrids, and Bonnie will put me right again, as promised. Speaking of which," his voice lowered, wistfully, "you seemed to solve that riddle rather easily. You figured out who I really am."
When she still didn't respond, Caroline felt a gentle finger lift her chin, coaxing her back to the present—an innocent gesture, maybe, but if the electricity flowing between them was any indicator, it was anything but. Her eyes snapped to Klaus, wary.
His gaze was admiring and intense, filled with a million burning questions. If the eyes really were the gateway to the soul, then she was totally screwed. Hers held no secrets, left no ambiguity. In her raw and emotional state, she might as well have been an open book in an x-ray machine. And Klaus was looking at her like she held all the answers. Like he was seeing deep into her core, discovering something that she never even knew existed, and he liked what he found. It was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
"That's what I enjoy about you, Caroline," he whispered, breath warm against her cheek. "So much more than a pretty face."
At that, alarm bells wailed inside her head, severing the connection between them. She felt the loss more than she cared to admit.
God, it was sickening, the deceptions this man would dress up in sincerity—when she was vulnerable, no less!—just to win her over. The subtle touches, the seductive tone, the freaking wolf-dressed-in-sheep's-clothing routine…
Caroline had no doubts that these cheap tricks had worked wonders on his list of conquests spanning the last millennium. And, she reluctantly admitted, they probably would have worked on her a year ago when she was still a pathetic, human attention-whore. But that time had come and gone. She would never be that girl again.
Stepping out of his proximity, Caroline shrugged off the compliment. "Actually, it wasn't all that hard to figure out. You gave yourself away, in the end."
"Oh?" He looked genuinely surprised, as Caroline knew he would be. One didn't exactly gain a reputation as the master of manipulation by being easy to fool. Especially when the victor was a young, inexperienced, small town girl—Vampire Barbie, no less. "Enlighten me."
Caroline smirked at him, savoring the brief shift of power back into her corner. "Well, you didn't contradict me when I mentioned my first kiss with Tyler, which, by the way, was on my front porch, not at Elena's birthday party."
She had to admit, she was pretty proud of herself for that verbal maneuver. Not only had she managed to trick the almighty Original hybrid with it, but she also had the added bonus of witnessing his discomfort as she vividly recounted an intimate moment shared between his traitorous lapdog and the girl he fancied. Jackpot.
"Ah…" Klaus seemed to reach the same conclusion. "Truly, love, I'm impressed, although I'd expect nothing less from you. I am curious, though…" His gaze sharpened, regarding her in that bewildering way of his, yet again. "Given that you were testing me, you obviously suspected that something was off. What, did I not accurately portray Lockwood's brutish charm?"
Caroline rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored the slight to her boyfriend. "I've known Tyler for most of my life. It didn't take a genius to figure out that you were somebody else," she said, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. It wasn't even an outright lie.
But one look from him told her that that lame half-truth wasn't going to fly.
"Come now, sweetheart. A vague response like that is a rather transparent attempt at deflection. No, something tipped you off to the truth. Something subtle. A tell that only you could detect. Perhaps," he mused, eyes glittering with mirth, "something you would prefer to keep to yourself?"
Whatever affirmation he sought from her, he must have found it because now it was his turn to look smug. She automatically braced herself for the ax to fall.
"So tell me, Caroline." He was outright grinning now. Jerk. "What was it?"
And there it was. The question she was really, really hoping he wouldn't ask because the answer was far too personal, and embarrassing, and so not his business!
She folded her arms over her chest and sighed. This was ridiculous. She wasn't some dewy-eyed little girl, for crying out loud! She had secured Miss Mystic Falls (over the Elena Gilbert, to boot), organized the best dances this town had ever seen in record time, and was living proof that Council-mother/vampire-daughter relationships could work. No challenge was impossible for Caroline Forbes.
So, despite the traitorous blush rising on her cheeks, she lifted her chin and locked eyes with the Tyler look-alike.
Which, given what she was about to confess, might have been a mistake. "When we were kissing, you, um…"
"Yes?" he prompted softly, obviously relishing her discomfort. He leaned forward, invading her personal space. Seriously, hadn't this guy heard of boundaries? "Go on, love. What did I do?"
She hesitated for a second more, then blurted, "You kissed my neck."
A moment of horribly awkward silence, and then—
Klaus smiled, realization dawning. "Where Tyler bit you."
"Where you made him bite me," she corrected.
He waved that off. "And I'm guessing that the young Brutus has since been exercising a certain amount of… caution in that region out of consideration for you. A pity, that he still doesn't quite trust himself, even after he went to all the trouble of breaking my sire bond. How noble of him," he remarked with derision. "And how careless of me to overlook it."
"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, Klaus," she said coldly, turning away and putting a few mandatory paces between them. "It must have been really tough to think clearly, what with your tongue down my throat and all."
"No need to be crude, love," he replied coolly. "It's hardly a capital offense. Let's not make an opera out of it."
Caroline spun around to face him, eyes widening with incredulity. His nonchalance rendered her speechless, a ticking time bomb, and then—
The fuse ignited.
"Are you freaking kidding me?" she exploded. "You're actually going to stand there and defend your actions because, what? You didn't take as far as you could have? My hero!" she mocked, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Let's get something straight, mister. I am not some kind of trophy that you can just steal out of spite or greed. I will not be the pawn in whatever petty revenge scheme you're planning against Tyler—"
"This was never about—"
"And," she cut across him, "whatever tenuous… understanding we had? Consider it gone."
"And what understanding would that be, hm?" he shot back, his own anger rising. "The one where I gift you with a priceless heirloom worth more than a castle and you, in a petulant fit, throw it at my feet like garbage? Or the one where you bat your eyelashes and flash a bit of skin to distract me while your friends dagger my brother? Or the one—"
"Oh sure, make me the villain, when we both know that your Evil To-Do List makes Hitler look like humanitarian of the year!"
"Evil," he spat the word like it was laced with vervain, "is a rather immaterial term for vampires. You're not human, Caroline, and you're not a child, so it's time you give up your naïve notion that the world we live in is so black and white. Give it a few decades," he challenged, "and you will learn that evil, as you call it, exists not as one extreme, but in many different shades. It is rather exhausting, not to mention futile, to condemn every single one of them." He sent her a look, adding, "Especially when the sin merely amounts to desiring your company in the form of a few stolen kisses."
She let out a rather undignified snort. "Is this the part where I thank you for your not-particularly-solicited, not to mention disturbing views on vampire morality? Seriously?" She tilted her head, a new thought occurring to her. "I don't know why I'm even surprised."
"And why is that?" Klaus prompted, genuine curiosity laced with something darker. A warning.
She spoke without hearing him. "You even said it yourself," she recalled. "'Other methods of persuasion.'"
His eyes narrowed. "I don't follow."
"Romantic drawings, diamond bracelets, and let's not forget, using the sire bond to play the hero—" she ticked each failure off on her fingers "—didn't work. Idle chit-chat outside the Grill was a bust—" another finger "—so now you've resorted to impersonating my boyfriend to score with me? What, were you too proud to compel me, and body snatching was just a convenient loophole, too good to pass up?"
Klaus' jaw clenched. "Enough, Caroline."
But it was too late. She felt herself gearing up for Round Two, and the insults rolling off her tongue tasted too good to stop now. Besides, her mouth had always had a mind of its own, overriding reason and silencing any self-preservation instinct that screamed shut up now. Not even Helios himself could rein in the verbal assault.
Caroline bridged the gap between them, her voice gaining strength along with her confidence. "How does it feel, knowing I only gave you the time of day because I thought you were someone else? Someone you despise."
Gold flared within the brown of Tyler's eyes, but the fury was all Klaus. "I suggest you stop," he growled, "before you say something we both regret."
She ignored him. "Did you really think it would work? That I wouldn't figure it out? Or that I would, but not until you'd had enough time to do whatever the hell you wanted? What kind of monster—I can't even…" she spluttered, her momentum screeching to a halt as words failed her for the first time in her life.
She forced several deep breaths through her lungs to settle her rage, as she finally realized it was pointless, the whole ordeal. She could beat this dead horse till the sun went down, but Klaus would always be a stubborn, amoral jackass. He was beyond remorse, but never beyond the sins that create it.
The sin merely amounts to desiring your company, he had said to her.
Laid out that way, it sounded so… innocent. Like it wasn't a true sin at all, but merely a sad, unrequited longing. Like loneliness.
Her voice softened in spite of herself. "Are you really that desperate for someone to love you?"
She asked the question without thinking and was surprised to find that her curiosity burned for the answer.
Not that she expected to get one.
If looks could kill, then her heart should've already been on a pile of leaves by now. Klaus looked like he was using every bit of restraint he possessed to keep himself rooted to the ground, fists clenched firmly at his sides. His eyes flared gold again, stronger this time, and his breathing came hard and fast, giving him a feral look. Honestly, he looked downright freaky, and Caroline was already cursing whatever stupid sense of vengeance made her poke the bear.
Okay, this was bad. But she could fix it.
She just had to give him an out.
"You know what? I don't even care. I've said my peace. So unless you have any other creepy vampire lectures or artificial seduction techniques you'd care to try, I'm leaving."
And with that, Caroline spun on her heel and stomped away, leaving a seething Klaus in her wake.
"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.
"I'm going to drag Bonnie back here so she can fix the mess she created!" she snapped. "Don't follow me."
Without looking back, Caroline quickened her pace.
Before Bonnie could even decide how to react, her grandmother stepped in front of her, blocking her from the intruder.
"Why are you here, Emily?"
Their ancestor's eyes sparkled, but her face was otherwise an unreadable mask. "My apologies, but this matter is one that concerns us all, not just you and your granddaughter."
"I told you," Sheila said evenly, "that I would handle this."
"Yes, you did. I am simply here to make sure it is handled properly." Glancing past her, Emily added, "Your grandmother is right, Bonnie. What you are attempting is very dangerous. And completely against nature's plan." Despite her words, her tone held no hint of a reproach.
Sheila crossed her arms. "You're stepping on my lines there, kid."
If Emily found it offensive that her descendent was treating her like the young girl she embodied, she made no mention of it. She merely gazed back at the woman placidly.
Bonnie glanced between the elder Bennett witches with an odd sense of amusement. The situation was strange, all right, and made even stranger by the fact that they were exchanging lines right in the middle of the Gilbert's living room with a sleeping Elena right beside them, oblivious to it all.
Stepping out from behind her grandmother, Bonnie addressed Emily directly. "What did you mean before, when you said that you hoped I would do whatever it took to get Elena back? What does she mean to you?"
"Nothing at all." There was no malice in the reply; if anything, it just sounded like a blanket statement of fact.
"O-kay," Bonnie said slowly. "Then why the words of support?"
"I have an offer to make you. I am willing to give you what you want," Emily explained, "if you are willing to return the favor."
Bonnie's curiosity piqued as fast as her uncertainty.
She couldn't help but recall the last time she did a favor for her ghostly ancestor: holding a séance and inadvertently inviting her to use Bonnie's body as a living vessel to prevent Damon from releasing the tomb vampires—all in the name of 'protecting her family,' of course. Never mind the part where she nearly got her own descendent sucked dry by the very guy she was trying to stop. How's that for gratitude?
Still… Devious as Emily was, a compromise was far better than an outright refusal, and Bonnie knew that without her cooperation, Elena didn't stand a chance.
"You want to make a deal," Bonnie clarified, still leery.
Her grandmother seemed to be thinking along those same lines. She stepped forward again. "Enough. I mean it, Emily, no more of your trickery."
Emily, too, moved closer to the pair. "I am sorry, Sheila," she said, though she didn't particularly look it, "but given the circumstances, I believe it is best if Bonnie and I continue our conversation in private."
Next thing Bonnie knew, her grandmother had vanished from the scene in the span of a finger snap.
"Grams? Grams!" she called, glancing wildly around the room. She whirled on Emily. "What have you done?"
"I've only sent her away for the time being. She is fine, I assure you." Bonnie still wasn't convinced, and Emily seemed to sense that. "Consider the state of things, Bonnie. The longer you remain on this side of the veil, the closer to death you become. Therefore, it is more prudent if our negotiations are conducted without further interruptions."
At the reminder that time was not on her side, Bonnie glanced uneasily between the ghost who couldn't be trusted and the friend who desperately needed her help. She felt the scales tip back and forth.
Deciding that it couldn't hurt to hear more, she relented. "Go on."
For the first time, Emily smiled. Bonnie wasn't sure why, but whenever her ancestor did so it made her look… well, creepy. Unintentionally so, like it was simply the only other expression she had.
"It is as you have said: I would like to arrange a deal between the two of us. One that will help your friend here." She gestured to the still-sleeping Elena. "Will you hear it?"
Bonnie was sorely tempted, of course, but she recoiled with mistrust. This was a mistake. Every encounter she shared with the ghost only reaffirmed that instinct.
And yet, all she could see right now was her best friend dying not five feet away from her, and Emily as the lone obstacle between them, offering the very thing Bonnie had journeyed to the land of the dead to find.
For a price.
Bonnie had already risked her life. Was it really possible for Emily to raise the stakes even higher?
But even if her terms were agreeable, could she be trusted? Bonnie knew that she had already reneged on one deal, the one promising Damon Katherine's freedom in exchange for his protection of the Bennett line. Could she guarantee that Emily wouldn't go back on her word this time around?
And did any of Bonnie's doubts even matter, when the alternative could mean Elena's death?
The choice was hers, and it had to be made now. There was no time to hesitate.
Sealing their fate, Bonnie locked eyes with the elder witch…
And nodded. "I'm in. Tell me how to save her."
Elena was drowning. Again. At least, that's certainly how it felt.
She didn't even know how she landed in this… what? Pond? Lake? Or, God forbid—the tributary beneath Wickery Bridge again?
She choked, her lungs burning from lack of oxygen, and her arms flailed wildly, seeking refuge from this hell. It was all she could do to figure out which way was up. Bubbles swirled around her, obscuring her vision as they floated in a unilateral direction—and mercifully pointed the way to her salvation.
The edges of her vision already fuzzy, Elena used one last burst of adrenaline to kick her way towards the surface, but she could already tell she would never reach her destination before the darkness claimed her. It was too far. The last of her air and energy stores were depleted, and her limbs had already begun to betray her, floating uselessly around her. She was dying.
Desperate, her fingers stretched towards the surface…
And a firm hand grasped them, yanking her free of her aquatic prison. Elena fell to her hands and knees on solid ground, coughing at the haste with which she gulped air into her system. She felt pain and relief, simultaneously.
Her soaking-wet clothes weighed heavily on her weakened body; the cold water dripping down her hair and skin left her shivering; and her lungs still felt like they were trying to turn themselves inside out. But despite all of that, Elena couldn't remember a time when she had felt more grateful to be alive. Someone had rescued her, yet again.
When she finally felt her equilibrium approaching normal, she looked up to thank her savior, who had so far remained silent while she got her bearings.
If she weren't still trying to catch her breath, she would have gasped at the sight that greeted her. I'm dreaming, she realized, but she didn't care. She hoped it would last forever.
Her mother's loving smile beamed back at her. "Hello, Elena."
It that moment, Elena had never missed her more.
She looked just the same, better even, than on the day she died. Miranda Gilbert had always had a sort of youthful beauty, with her flowing chocolate brown hair and infectious smile—the same smile that Jenna had, too. The one that invited you to unload your problems as you would to a close confidante, not necessarily a stern parental figure, though she certainly knew how to be both. It was that unique balance that underscored the close bond Elena and her mother shared. Not exactly conventional, sure, but it was theirs. It was perfect.
And until now, Elena had thought she would never experience it again. Her mother's death had parted them; but her own, apparently, had brought them back together. For that alone, she couldn't bring herself to regret the events that had led her here.
"Mom?" she gaped. "Oh my God… It was you? You saved me?"
Miranda nodded, looking somewhat amused at her daughter's astonishment. "Of course I did, honey. I love you."
Before Elena knew what was happening, she was in her mother's arms, drenching her clothes and sobbing half-hysterical apologies over and over. Her legs trembled again but her mother's embrace was solid, lifting her up.
With one hand on her daughter's back, Miranda rubbed slow, comforting circles, just like she used to do when Elena was a child. "Honey, why are you apologizing for almost drowning?"
Elena swallowed thickly, struggling to get the words out, but they felt like glue in her mouth. "B-because I'm the r-reason you and D-dad are d-d-dead…"
"Elena, no—"
"It's because of m-me!" she cried. "I bailed on family night, I went to the bonfire, I needed a ride home! If I hadn't been so selfish, we'd all still be a family!"
Despite her mother's protests, Elena continued bawling into her shoulder, tears mingling with the dampness on her shirt. Miranda let her get it all out, never halting the soothing motions on her back.
Elena felt like she was back in grade school, after she had confessed to taking Bonnie's Barbie doll in a jealous fit. The guilt had gotten to her, of course, and she had broken down in similar fashion with full-on water works and blubbering. This time, of course, her sin was far greater.
After several minutes had passed, Elena felt her tears begin to dry up, but only once she stopped hiccuping did she venture to speak again.
"Now Jeremy has no one… because of me." Her voice was muffled against her mother's skin.
"What do you mean?" she asked. "Jeremy's not alone. He still has you, honey."
Elena sniffed audibly. "No, he doesn't. Not anymore. Not really." She exhaled deeply, sagging against her mother's chest. "I'm dead."
Miranda stiffened. "Not completely," she whispered. "Not yet."
Still shaky, Elena pulled away to lock eyes with her mom. There was no hesitation or judgment in them, just honesty and love. And perhaps a touch of grief.
"How can you say that? How can you be okay with me becoming… one of them?" She couldn't bring herself to say the word. "You and Dad were on the Council, you grew up hating them, you trained to kill them… How could I live with myself, knowing I've become the very thing you and Dad hate?"
"Elena, listen to me," her mother said firmly, and she knew the tone well. It was the one nobody, not even her Dad, could argue with. "Part of being a parent is accepting who your children are, and loving them no matter what they do or who they become. We couldn't stop loving you, or Jeremy either, even if you decimated an entire town."
Elena balked at the (all too real) possibility, but her mother just continued smiling at her. "Love is love, sweetheart. It's unconditional, a force much stronger than any logic. You love the bad with the good because in the end, they're your reason for being."
Nodding dimly, Elena felt a pleasant warmth building in her chest and spreading to her extremities. She hadn't even realized she had long since stopped shivering.
Her mother's counsel swirled around in her head. She was right about one thing, at least. Love certainly was a powerful force. She saw as much every day.
How else could people as unyielding as Sheriff Forbes and Mayor Lockwood cast aside generations of prejudice in order to embrace their newly immortalized children? How else could Elijah save Klaus, or Damon save Stefan, after decades and even centuries of bad blood between brothers? How else could Jeremy look her square in the eye and promise that he would support her even if she weren't human—the same claim that her mother had just made?
Love was strong, all right, perhaps the strongest force in existence. Elena only hoped that it was enough to get her through this. If it didn't, nothing would.
On the verge of feeling overwhelmed, she felt the pangs of another sob forming in her throat, but she swallowed it down. Time with her mother was already tragically short; she wouldn't waste any more of it on tears.
"Is this actually happening?" Elena asked suddenly. "I mean, are you really here, or am I just going crazy?"
"Do you want it to be real?"
That wasn't an answer. "Of course I want it to be real!" she said fiercely. "Do you know how many times I've cried myself to sleep, wishing that night never happened? How many times I've begged to talk to you, or even just hear your voice? And now you're actually here… At least, I think you are." She shook her head in bewilderment. "I just keep waiting for the catch, for the universe to say 'Sorry, just kidding,' and take you away again now that I've found a moment of happiness."
"None of this is fair, honey, and I'm so sorry." Elena started at that; why was she apologizing? "I'm sorry that we left you, and that you've had to grow up so fast and deal with so much pain. It's far more than anyone your age should have to go through."
She reached out a hand, and Elena took it instantly.
"But you've always persevered," she went on. "You've always come out the other side fighting, no matter how hard it was. You've done a beautiful job taking care of Jeremy all the while going to high school and hitting every supernatural curveball thrown your way. Elena, I couldn't be prouder to call you my daughter.
"My daughter…" she repeated, pensively. "You've probably been wondering about that, haven't you? About why your Dad and I never told you about your birth parents."
Elena shook her head. "It's okay. I mean yeah, I was curious when I first found out, but now it just seems so… I don't know, trivial. I know Uncle John isn't actually my uncle, and I met my birth mom…" She hesitated. This wasn't exactly a road she wanted to venture down.
So she ended it. "They're not my real parents. You and Dad are."
Miranda gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Do you know why we named you Elena?" she asked, taking her daughter by surprise. "It means 'light.' And that's exactly what you were to us: our little miracle, a light in the darkness. You still are."
"But I'm not." Elena tried to keep the despair from seeping into her voice, but judging by the look on her mother's face, she was doing a horrible job. "Now I'm part of that darkness. I'm a vampire, Mom!"
But Miranda was already shaking her head. "Not yet," she emphasized. "But even if you decide to make the transition, it doesn't mean you'll be lost to darkness. We both know you're strong enough to fight to be whoever you want to be."
Elena felt as if the air had retreated from her lungs again. "Are you saying… are you saying I should do it then? Transition?"
"No one can make that choice for you, sweetheart. You have to do what's right for you, and no one else."
Elena sighed in frustration. Couldn't she see that that was the problem?
"What if I don't know what I want?" she asked. It was a distant echo of a question from another lifetime. "I don't want to leave Jeremy alone, but… Mom, I never wanted this. I was supposed to grow up, start a family, and live a human life. I'm not meant to be a vampire."
Her mother regarded her for a moment, considering her response. "If that's your decision, then I will support you. I'll always support you, sweetheart, no matter what. But let me ask you something." She dropped Elena's hand, taking a couple steps away and gesturing towards the watery almost-grave she saved her from. "When you were in there, why did you try so hard to reach the surface? Why not just… let yourself die?"
Elena blinked in surprise. "I… I mean, it's basic instinct, isn't it? Survival?"
"Exactly," Miranda confirmed. "You reached out. You fought to live. Which tells me that you're not ready to fold your hand just yet." She returned to her daughter's side, placing her hand on her shoulder. "Honey, if you're uncertain about what it is you truly want, then my advice is to listen to what your heart is telling you. It'll guide you, if you know how to listen."
Nodding in understanding, Elena pulled her mother in for another hug. Once upon a time, she believed her mom's hugs could cure anything—a knee scrape, a bad grade, even heartbreak. She wished it were enough this time. But even love couldn't stop death.
"I'm scared."
Elena spoke the words before she could stop herself, but found that she didn't regret them. For anyone else, it might have felt like an admission of weakness; but here, with her mother as a safety net, it felt like sharing a side of herself that she dare not share with anyone else. It felt good. Safe.
"I know, sweetheart. But you're a Gilbert, and you're strong. And most importantly, you're not alone."
"I just wish you and Dad were still with me," Elena sighed.
"Oh, honey. Me too." Her mother's fingertips ghosted across her back. "Then again, who says we aren't?"
Elena smiled. Perhaps death had met its match.
Vodka martini in hand, Rebekah plopped down onto her favorite designer lounge chair and sighed, the sound echoing throughout the cold, empty halls of her brother's mansion. Her mansion, now.
Lord, that sounded awful. Niklaus was dead, actually dead, and since her other brothers were nowhere to be seen, the deed to the property would likely fall to her by default. As if she wanted to stay in Mystic Falls—a blemish on the face of the earth if there ever was one.
Nothing good had come from this town. Nothing. Like a pathetic puppy, she had obediently followed Klaus to the birthplace of the latest doppelganger—the very girl who later stabbed her in the back and destroyed her faith in her brother by exposing him as their mother's true murderer. Even the reunion of her siblings couldn't erase the horrible scars this town had left on her. And now, there was nothing and no one left in it. Why on earth would she stay?
As soon as she acquired the white oak stake from Damon, she was setting this horrible, memory-stained house ablaze and getting the hell out of dodge.
Swirling her drink idly, Rebekah observed her lavishly decorated surroundings with mild distaste.
The only thing in this room she actually liked was the very chair she sat on—a gorgeous modern piece with cream-colored cushions, an asymmetrical arm, and a curved back that molded perfectly with her own—and she had to fight tooth and nail just to have that much say in the décor. ("It's far too large for this room, Rebekah, and the material hardly fits the color scheme I've already established." "I don't care, Nik! It's comfortable and tasteful and it's the one thing in this bloody house that's mine!")
In the end, though, her brother had finally relented. Whether out of exasperation or out of a subtle desire to make her happy, she didn't know. It hardly mattered now.
Rebekah ran her fingers over the smooth upholstery, savoring the feel of each and every fiber. She sighed again. Beautiful though it was, Klaus had been right. Just as she didn't belong in this town, her chair didn't belong in his house.
In all honesty, she had never really agreed much with her brother's taste—far too garish and impractical, if you asked her—but then again, she had never possessed the artistic lens through which he perceived everything. Klaus viewed the world as a blank canvas, ready for him to sketch and cover in whatever image he desired, even if he was the only one who got it. That's what Rebekah disliked most about art: the hidden meanings, the secret agendas. She preferred a more… honest approach.
Now that she thought about it, perhaps her craving for candor in the world resulted from the backlash of dealing with deception and betrayal on a daily basis at home. From the outside looking in, it must surely seem to the ignorant masses that the Mikaelson siblings, the legendary Original family, were a strong, united front standing above the rest. That was good. That was exactly the image they strove to project, no matter how much it clashed with the harsh reality, because it discouraged any errant notions of rebellion.
But despite whatever fairytale the public saw, the truth was that they were a family divided, a group of pretenders living together, promising loyalty, always and forever, only to turn on each other whenever it suited their needs. Even Elijah, with his sense of honor—an attribute that failed him whenever convenient—had broken her trust more than once over the centuries.
None of her brothers, though, had hurt her more deeply than Niklaus.
Strange that he was also the only one who never left her. Then again, perhaps that was more a curse than a courtesy.
A millennium spent wandering the earth together, and somehow, the two siblings still never seemed to get it quite right. They were a pair doomed to forever misunderstand one another. It always ended the same: both alone and miserable, with her sealed in a coffin for the unforgivable sin of daring to live her own life. Like the last time in Chicago, when Mikael had closed in around them, and rather than choose a brother whose love was poison, she chose a new love. A pure one. Stefan.
Klaus, as per usual, made her decision all about him.
She really should have seen the dagger coming. He practically wrote the book on abandonment issues, and leaving him for another had never exactly worked out in her favor before. Not once did he ever trust her enough to come back to him; and deep down, Rebekah never truly trusted that he would let her go.
That sort of toxic magnetism had always defined their relationship. For better or worse—the case often being the latter—neither could conceive of a life without the other.
And look how well that turned out, Rebekah pondered, sourly.
It was irony at its cruelest. Two mismatched siblings thrust together by the same misguided force that pulled them apart. A lifetime of endless disappointments, empty promises, broken hearts… With so much bitterness between them, had love ever really stood a chance?
Rebekah pursed her brother was dead, but here she was, still feeling haunted by his ghost. It wasn't fair. The one consolation of his passing was that she had finally secured her freedom, completely and unconditionally. No more running. No more daggers. No more dealing with his catastrophic mood swings. She could go anywhere. She could make a life outside of this family. It was her choice. So why did she still feel suffocated?
And then it hit her. She was suffocated by grief. She missed him. She actually missed the bastard.
Hating her brother had always been so much easier than risking her heart, forgiving him after each betrayal, but that had never stopped her from repeating the same mistake over and over again. The proof was inside her right now: despite the resentment burning deep in her gut, she still cared. She still hurt. She longed to see him again. Though she truly hated him, she had long since accepted that loving him was an inevitability that transcended everything fair and rational and healthy. Apparently, that's what it meant to be family.
Family above all, they had said, time and again. Always and forever.
Forever sure hadn't lasted as long as they thought.
"Damn you, Nik," she whispered, swiping at a defiant tear. "You promised."
Standing up, Rebekah took a small sip of her neglected cocktail, hardly tasting it. Then she hurled it across the room with an anguished shriek.
Shards of glass ricocheted against the far wall, the force of her throw scattering them throughout the sitting area. Several pieces grazed her flawless skin, but she barely felt anything. (Being a vampire conveniently increased one's threshold for pain, after all.) However, she smelled the blood that resulted. Blood mixed with vodka with just a hint of…
Hm. Interesting.
She knew that particular scent. It belonged to a certain someone she loathed and needed with equal measure.
Rebekah's lips curled in spite of her outburst. "Took you long enough," she muttered, although she knew the intruder heard her just fine. She glanced over her shoulder to gauge his reaction. "Are you here to avenge your damsel? Because I've skipped to the end of that particular chapter, and spoiler alert: It doesn't end well for you."
Damon's jaw clenched. "Oh, we'll get to that. But first," he flashed over to her side, "hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to take things that don't belong to you?"
A/N: First thing's first: How awesome is it that TVD Season 5 has started? And The Originals. What do you guys think of the new seasons so far?
Aaaand now the aforementioned items I want to discuss. I apologize in advance for the length of my rambling, but there's a few things that I feel need some clarification:
Item #1: Just to reiterate, this story is primarily plot-driven, meaning that Elena's struggle as a vampire and the upcoming fight against the Big Bad will take precedence. The Delena arc is just that—an arc, set in a much bigger story. It's a very important arc, yes, but it's not the only aspect of this story. I'm saying this now just in case anyone finds the slow pace of the romance frustrating.
Item #2: Concerning the actual romance, this Delena story is more of a read-between-the-lines, one-step-forward-three-steps-back pace and will be a long, slow burn until the end. If you're not a fan of those, then I'm sorry, but I'd rather be honest now than unintentionally mislead you. I'm certainly not trying to discourage anybody from voicing their opinions, but at the end of the day, I've got to write the story I envisioned. If I succeed the way I hope I do, then I think it will be worth the wait.
Item #3: There will be a healthy dose of Stelena in this story. It's canon, folks, so we gotta resolve it before we get to the good stuff. Keep in mind that according to the timeline I've established, it was just last night that Elena picked Stefan when Damon forced the issue, and even though she clearly has deep feelings for both, don't expect her to just switch teams overnight simply because we want her to. We'll get there, just not right away, and not without a few bumps in the road first.
Item #4: The time frame for vampire transition has always been a little ambiguous on the show, so that gives me a little artistic license. For anyone who's keeping track, I've determined that transition has a maximum of 24 hours in this story – i.e. if Elena doesn't feed on human blood within the 24 hours following her drowning, then she will die permanently. I've tried as hard as I can to keep this close to canon, and as far as I can tell this seems like a reasonable estimate. I haven't found anything on the show or through research that would suggest anything significantly longer/shorter than that. Even in the real 4x01 (which doesn't entirely exist in this story), Elena lasts until the night after she drowns, although she is very weak when she finally makes the transition. So with that deadline in mind, it's going to be several chapters down the road before we see Elena fully transition. I'm going to do my best from now on to keep you updated on how much time she has left.
Item #5: Updating will be a bit of a wildcard for the foreseeable future. As always, real life has to come first, and I can't predict the way mine will go. I've got this story plotted to the end, so unless I've got some serious writer's block, I'll continue this story… just at a slower pace.
Whew, what a mouthful! If you made it through all that, you deserve a life-size cutout of Ian Somerhalder. Shirtless. Mmm. Wait, do they actually make those? Now I've got myself wondering…
Thanks for sticking with me thus far. See you at the next chapter!