A/N: Ah! I'm alive! So, because I took so long, I will cut this author's note short, and just get on with the chapter. There's also some big clues in this chapter. New character(s?) :)
Battle Born:
Paranoia
A pounding on the door. Someone pounding a hammer against her delicate temples. Gripping the edge of the porcelain sink.
Where am I?
Her vision was dark, light fading in and out. She didn't remember the door being picked, or the familiar voice urgently calling out to her.
"El…Can you…me?...you…ambulance?...Mikaelson…It's…Donovan."
She blinked, finding herself propped up against the wooden doors of the sink, cradling her head with a concerned blonde-haired man. His eyes pierced into hers, searching for any signs of a concussion.
"Can you hear me?" He asked, voice laced with utter worry. The moment he received the call from Mr. Mikaelson stating that she had not come to work, or even called out ill, he knew something was wrong. She was an intelligent girl, she knew that people would worry.
The second he saw her lying on her bathroom floor, pill bottle on the floor, a rush of dread coursed through his veins.
No, no, no. She wouldn't. Would she?
His grip on her shoulders nearly cutting off the blood-flow was unrelenting. His fingers shook from the sheer intensity.
Mustering her strength, she leaned forward. The pounding in her head grew. A groan escaped her, "I can hear you. For Christ's sake, keep it down, I have a killer headache." She kept cradling her head, trying in vain to relieve the growing pain.
"What the hell happened? Mikaelson was worried sick over you not showing up; he worked it into his head that that lunatic somehow got to you."
She paled, "That lunatic is my client. Calm yourself, Donovan, he's locked up," Taking his outstretched hand, she stumbled to her feet, "Nice to you too, by the way."
He shook his head, following her lead to the kitchen, "You didn't answer my question, Gilbert."
Elena shot him a glare, "I hit my head on the sink, no big deal." She shook her head, immediately regretting it as the pain grew in volume. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet above the sink, she placed it onto the platform of the coffee machine and switched it on. Nothing like fresh coffee, she mused.
He leaned against the counter, his uniform slightly restricting his entire upper half. Sometimes her stubbornness got her the best of her. "It is a big deal. You could have a concussion for all you know."
She scoffed, "A concussion? Come on, we both know I've done worse things to my head and never went to the hospital," She brushed past him, making her way to her bedroom to hop in the shower, "Remember roof jump into the pool?"
He laughed, "Good times, good times. Too bad we were in San Diego for the wrong reason."
They both shivered.
She wiped her mind clean of those thoughts and quickly muttered, "Let's just forget about that awful case." He nodded, watching her until she disappeared into her room.
"Where were you?"
Elena's head snapped up, finding Mikaelson standing there, eyes narrowed. She gulped before clearing her throat, "I had a, uh, little accident last night?" She scolded herself for sounding like a five-year-old.
He made a strange sound, caught somewhere between a growl and a laugh, "A car accident? Are you alright?" He sat on the edge of her desk, too close for her.
"Nah, I hit my head on the sink. I'm fine, really."
He stood, "Jesus, Gilbert, you sure you're alright," He leaned forward, pressing a finger to a darkening spot on her forehead, "Christ, that looks bad." Sensing her unease, he brought his hand back and crossed his arms, "Take it easy today."
She nodded, directing her eyes back to her computer screen as he walked back to his dim office.
Minutes passed as she robotically did paper work on her recent case. She was astounded to find that Damon Salvatore had a squeaky-clean past, minus the social service incident where he was removed from his father's home for threatening his father with a knife. But since he had been a minor it was not on his criminal record.
Still, the event unnerved her. She swiveled around to her filing cabinet. Opening the locked drawer, she thumbed to the S section where she found the Salvatore-Petrova case file. She swiveled back to her desk where she opened the thick manila folder.
Inside there lay gruesome crime scene photographs depicting every square inch of the scene. She swallowed as she came upon the photos of the area where he had sat in a daze on the floor in a puddle of blood before police came and arrested him.
In the middle of the photographs there was the bloody garbage disposal. Her heart pounded as she worked her way through the stacks of photos. In the very back of the folder was a copy of the coroner's report.
New York City Office of the Coroner
Coroner's Report
Classification: Homicide/Multiple Lacerations/Severance Case: 11-0815
Decedent: Petrova Katherine Isabel
Date Reported: 02-13-13 Time Reported: 0345 Hours
Date of Death: 02-12-13 Time of Death: Approx. 1032 Hours
AKA: Katerina (Family Name) Kat (Nickname)
DOB: 07-09-89 Age: 24 Years
Sex: Female Race: Caucasian Est Height: 5'3 Est Weight: 140
Hair Color: Dark Blonde Eye Color: Dark Brown
Social Security #: Unknown
Usual Address: Suite A Monarch Hotel, New York City, NY
Identified By: Unknown
Next of Kin: Unknown
Elena combed through the report, trying to remember the description the lead investigator had given her of the mysterious Katherine Petrova.
She wrinkled her brow. Katerina? Where had she heard that name before?
Her train of thought kept bugging her long after she had read the coroner's report. Deciding that research was crucial she clicked on the record browser on her computer. As soon as the customized search bar appeared, she typed in, KATHERINE PETROVA.
The search engine of the New York City police regularly use was her go-to mode of researching clients and cases. The engine searched through the millions of files, taking close to twelve minutes to fully search through.
Her eyes darted to the clock on her desk, finding that it was ten minutes before the firm was to close. She flipped on her desk light, and rubbed her tired eyes. Passing out didn't count as sleep, so her mind was beyond fried.
Just as the search engine refreshed to a page displaying the words, NO MATCH FOUND, Mikaelson stepped out of his office, followed by his arrogant son. They were talking in hushed tones, before the elder Mikaelson saw her desk light still on.
"Elena," He said, walking towards her desk, "You're still here?"
She meekly smiled, "Yep, just doing some research before I go home."
He returned the smile before turning towards his son, "You see this, Klaus," He gestured towards Elena, "This is hard work."
Klaus narrowed his eyes, and waited until his father had left the office. He leaned against the wall adjacent to her desk, rummaging through his pants pockets for a cigarette. Elena ignored his presence as he placed a cigarette to his lips, "You like making me look like an awful lawyer, don't you?" He flicked open the lighter and lit his cigarette. The puff of smoke caused her to stifle a cough as she scoffed at him.
"Please, I don't need to do that, you do it all by yourself." She quipped as she continued typing up her files on her computer's drive.
Before she could blink, he sped towards her, spinning her chair around and locking his lips with hers. Taken aback, she froze. As her brain began to jump to life, he stood up straight, flashed a cocky grin and left.
She jumped up, stomped her foot and gave a short, exasperated scream into the empty office.
Between reading up on her client and the deceased victim, and typing her own reports, she had caught herself going to blink and very nearly falling asleep. She scolded herself each time.
Just as she was going to read more of the police reports, her eyes drooped shut and her head nestled onto the ominous manila folder.
7 AM the Next Morning
"Well, well, well, look at Miss Hard-Working-Lawyer sleeping on the job."
Her eyes snapped open, eyes darting up to the smirking Klaus looming above her. She immediately sat up, glaring at him, "You…" She jabbed her finger into his chest.
"Me…" He chuckled, "I'll be in my office if you wish to have a sequel to last night." He walked away laughing, leaving her an angry mess.
She leaned back in her chair, thankful that the firm opened at eight. She shut her eyes to relieve the bubbling anger.
Ring!
She quickly grabbed her office phone, "Elena Gilbert."
"Yes, I know. You sound like a bowl full of joy this fine morning," She smiled, happy to hear Matt's voice.
"What's up, Matt?" She asked, forgetting the anger a certain Mikaelson had just inflicted upon her.
"Well, your office, for one. I'm waiting outside," There was a brief pause, "Or did you forget about me saying that I'll have to take you out for some good ol' coffee and donuts?"
She walked towards the window, and sure enough, Matt's cruiser was parked near the main entrance, "You never said that, liar."
His chuckle vibrated through the receiver, "Well, Gilbert, I believe I just did."
"Wow, you look like shit." He laughed as they drove the short three blocks to the coffee shop.
"Shut up," She lightly punched him in the arm, "As a friend, you're supposed to be encouraging."
"As your bodyguard, I'm supposed to be hard on you." He laughed again, this time sensing her ease.
She eased back into the seat, always finding his cruiser the most comfortable car, "Kill any bad guys lately?" She looked out the window, watching the houses fly by.
He glanced towards her, "Well when I have people like you keeping the bad guys on the streets, it kind of gets hard on the job."
She laughed, "You know that's not what I do. I defend the innocent; make sure they don't rot in prison for something they didn't do."
He pulled into the parking lot of the coffee shop, before turning the car off. She looked towards him in curiosity when he didn't get out. He looked her dead in the eyes, "Then why are you on this case, Elena? You know he's guilty."
She took his hand, "No, we don't know anything, Matt. Not a damn thing about him. Right now, he's just a face with a name. He may or may not have done it," She released his hand and opened her door, "But we don't know a thing."