Notes: I'm not going to start this chapter off with any apologies, because I'm sure we're all sick of those by now. I will give you a brief explanation for why this full chapter was so delayed-I've been going through a really rough time in my life for the past couple of months. I worked my ass off for the opportunity of a lifetime and when I got it, I came to realize that I couldn't-psychologically or emotionally-hack it. That was something that spun my life into a complete downward spiral. I got so depressed I couldn't do anything but binge watch Netflix and scathingly criticize myself every night, but I got some help. I went to a month-long intensive therapy program and I've been doing a lot better with accepting my failures and understanding that opportunities are only of limited stock if you let them be. Needless to say, because of these impediments, I couldn't muster much energy to live a productive life, let alone write. My muse was all but comatose.

So, although I don't want to do apologies, please accept mine anyway. I never wanted to make anyone wait or let anyone down. I'm committed now to being better, and I know now that I have a more stable schedule and a more sound mind that I can do it.

This chapter is dedicated to all of you lovely people for still reading this story-I can't even imagine sticking with a story that updates so sporadically like this for so long. You're amazing, and every one of you mean the world to me. It is for this reason that I'm making a stronger commitment to this story from here on out. You guys deserve better.

Hope you enjoy. Please, if you have the time and you enjoyed the chapter or have suggestions, leave a review. Fanfiction is a two-way street. If I don't know my audience or what they like and dislike, it's a lot harder to gauge how you guys want things to go and implement that to the best of my ability.

Last Note: I realize that some of this chapter was previously posted as a preview. For those of you who read it and remember it and want to skip down, I'll leave a big marker where the preview ended.

All roads led nowhere but more frustration. He knocked back a swig of whiskey and wrinkled his brow at the papers in front of him, eyeing them as if they'd done him a personal wrong. He didn't indulge in excess amounts of alcohol often, but the circumstances of his dead-end research seemed as good an excuse as any. Even posthumously, his father—(and his unnatural creation, the nuisance otherwise known as 'The Five')—were haunting his every waking step.

It had been a long and tumultuous path to arrive where he was now, ripe with ambiguity and shoddy estimation, and he couldn't even be entirely sure he had the right man. Although the bloodline of the Five Families was shrouded in mystery, he was fairly confident that the man he was looking for went by the name of Clarke Smyth and had resided in Mystic Falls up until 7 years ago when he went so far under the radar that even Elijah's highly trained witches couldn't dig up his whereabouts.

Of course, if he was correct, all of his witches combined couldn't even create a worthy defense. He finished off the last ring of whiskey at the bottom of his glass and relished its sour taste as it slid down his throat with a harsh burn. He held the glass to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut in a moment of deep contemplation. The voice that echoed suddenly from his right startled him out of his reverie.

The amused smirk he was greeted with was not one he was used to seeing spread across the face of Jeremy Gilbert. The kid had never seemed comfortable enough in his own skin to exchange even a few words with the elder vampire, let alone brash enough to find humour in his discomposure. Perhaps in light of Elena's transition, his relationship with the eldest Gilbert wasn't the only one that had changed.

"You look like someone kicked your puppy," Jeremy drawled smoothly as he took the vacated seat next to Elijah at the bar. Elijah looked up suddenly, realizing that a few hours had passed since he'd last checked his watch, and the entire premises of the Grill was now wholly vacant. "So who's signed themselves up for an Original's ass-kicking wrath?"

Elijah chuckled, low and dark and raised a skeptical eyebrow at Jeremy; "We do not merely 'kick ass', Jeremy… we obliterate existences. We make the most meticulous murder look like a child's accident."

Jeremy laughed, unaffected by Elijah's chilling declaration. The vampire wondered whether this boy knew just how easily he could snap his entire body in two. Had his family really lost their edge in this town or was this boy simply too brash for his own good? "Alright then—you still haven't answered the question, Sir Bad-Ass Original. Whose existence is about to get obliterated?"

Elijah rubbed the temples above his eyes in exasperation. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Jeremy."

"Is it a threat to my sister? Because, if so, I'll make it my business." Jeremy's tone was sharp, his eyes cold, stern and resolute—a side of the youngest Gilbert that Elijah had definitely never witnessed before. It shouldn't be all that surprising however, as there seemed to be an ongoing trend in the Gilbert family for having the steel and resolve to surprise and befuddle even the most prepared of victims.

"I can assure you that I'm handling it, Jeremy. Your concern is noted."

"Noted?" Jeremy snorted, affronted, his nostrils flared in anger. "You want to know what else I've 'noted', Elijah? I specifically sought you out to help my sister through this vampire bullshit, and you've gone and let her gallivant 'round fucking wherever with only an unstable ripper for company. Why the hell aren't you interfering in that mess rather than drowning your sorrows at closing time in a bar like a goddamn Semisonic song?" Rather than let Elijah digest all this, Jeremy plowed on, "I was under the impression we were on the same page when it came to Elena's safety."

Trying to take Jeremy's anger with a silent sort of grace, Elijah dispelled the hostility and answered solemnly, "We are on the same page, Jeremy. I have things that require my immediate attention here, but worry not, I have sent someone to keep an eye on your sister and make sure she doesn't come into any trouble."

"Sent someone?" Jeremy's eyes were narrowed, more confused than angry now. "Like… one of your brother's leftover hybrid drones?"

"No—as in, I sent my brother."

"Your brother?!" Jeremy shouted, his voice strained. "As in… the one who would've gladly ripped out my jugular in Denver had I made the slightest wrong move?"

Elijah couldn't help the low rumble of laughter bubbling up in his chest—on a base level, he did sympathize with Jeremy's concerns for Elena, but the look on the young man's face was comically hysterical.

"Please, Jeremy—regardless of any impressions my brother may have left on you, I have only the utmost faith that he will carry out my instructions to the letter." A distasteful curl of his lips was almost instinctual as he even contemplated the idea of instructing any harm to come to Elena—"And you can be positively assured that I would never order the slightest harm to your sister, I think we've established this."

Jeremy's concern was now visible in the crevices of his frown. "And you can assure me that Kol will carry out your wishes?"

"He carried out Klaus' wishes to watch over you in Denver, did he not?" To this, Jeremy had no rebuttal. Elijah smiled, traced the rim of his glass with his index finger and averted his eyes from the large stack of haphazard paper in front of him. "As hard as it may be to believe, while my brother may put his own unique flair on things, he is devoutly loyal first and foremost to our family. 'The fortune of one is the fortune of all.' This was a lesson our mother instilled in us from birth, and Kol especially took to the concept. So, again, I assure you that I am handling it." A quirk of his lips now, and an almost taunting smile. "Any other concerns that you want 'noted'?"

"You haven't convinced me," Jeremy said finally after a long pause.

"This was not my aim."

"It wasn't?" Jeremy asked.

"No," Elijah admitted with a sad smile; "Jeremy, you took a risk when you convinced Bonnie to track me down. You did this because you had faith that I could be of help to your sister. You had faith in me, and my intentions towards your sister. But where's your faith in the ironclad will of your sister, Jeremy? Do you have doubts that she could be influenced into something she did not agree to?"

Jeremy considered this with a rueful smile on his face; "No, I suppose not. No one I know possesses the stubborn streak that Elena does."

Elijah smiled hesitantly, glad to quell Jeremy's wrath for a moment so he could think for himself. He was reluctant to tell Jeremy the truth of the matter for fear of his reaction; truthfully, if Elena was in danger, there was very little Elijah could do about it. He hadn't sent Kol to watch over her because he was otherwise occupied—there wasn't much more paramount to him than Elena's safety at the moment—but rather, because his brother was literally the only vampire on earth at the moment who stood a chance at subduing the danger surrounding her transition. It wasn't common custom for a vampire's sire to help acclimate merely due to tradition, no; it was common because the blood of the sire is the only method to subdue a new vampire's lust. With the added caveat of the inclusion of Original blood and Elena's strange behavior that night in the hospital, Elijah knew with a profound sense of dread that Mystic Falls' newest vampire's safety now hinged precariously on the erratic whims of his brother's temper.

"I'm sorry," Jeremy's voice cut like a slice through the deafening silence of Elijah's internal musings, "I shouldn't have taken all that out on you—I'm… worried about her, and you just got the brunt of it," he shrugged in apology.

"I know you're worried about her, Jeremy." So am I. "It's perfectly understandable." You have no idea how much. Steering the conversation topic away from uncomfortable subjects with a fluid ease perfected over centuries of cultured diplomacy, Elijah furrowed his brows to peer at Jeremy through his peripheral vision. "How is it going without your sister at home, Jeremy?"

Jeremy narrowed his eyes, looking for underlying subtext in the innocent question that didn't exist. He exhaled and wrung his hands together in nervous habit, "It's—lonely. Bonnie's been hanging around a lot of the time, but it's just not the same." He paused, unsure if he should continue his line of thought; "Without Alaric, it doesn't really feel like home anymore. He was the last person that gave this town any sanity," he declared without the barest thread of irony in his statement, just passionate conviction.

Elijah didn't offer any condolences on Alaric—truth was, he didn't find it his place to dispense them, and would've bet good money that Jeremy wouldn't have either. "You'll find a natural rhythm again—it's inevitable, life ebbs and flows all around you and you learn to adapt—that's the wonderful thing about humans, Jeremy, is their adaptability to new surroundings. Try not to get too caught up in change, and the next thing you know, you'll find yourself in an environment that you created without even enacting conscious will, and you'll be better off than you were before."

Jeremy was startled by Elijah's advice, but offered him a grateful smile anyway. "I should go… if Bonnie finds I've slipped away she'll go ape-shit on me." He scoffed and shook his head, "Talk about following someone's instructions to the letter, she hasn't let me out of her sight since Elena left."

Elijah smiled back, but it did not reach his eyes. "It's a wonderful thing to have people look out for your well-being, Jeremy. It would be a fatal mistake to forsake such a gift."

Jeremy hesitated, a rebuttal thick and heavy on his tongue, but he held it in and walked away. He already had mixed feelings about the Original Family and their involvement in his sister's life. He didn't need to insert his own problems and stir the already complicated pot any further.

"We're 'bout to close up in ten minutes." Elijah looked up, and saw Matt Donavon standing before him, the boy's blonde hair disheveled and sweaty, a kitchen towel draped over his left shoulder as he snatched the empty glass on the bar and began rinsing it with a perfected air of routine. "And I don't know what the hell you've been analyzing all night, but you look like you could use a break."

Elijah may come to regret involving a boy so central to so many important players in this town in something so pivotal to the safety of his family, but he needed a reliable source who had been around Mystic Falls long enough to know the truth, and both of the Gilbert siblings were far too curious to drop the subject once asked.

"I was wondering if you could answer something for me—" Elijah broke off, scrutinizing the way Matt's attention seemed to perk up all at once. "Have you ever heard the name 'Clarke Smyth' before?"

If he knew whether this Clarke Smyth had known about Elena's true heritage as the doppelganger, he could better prepare for how dangerous this could get. While it was true he was looking for a reaction, he wasn't expecting the one he got.

Matt's naturally smooth, carefree smile disappeared and his healthy skin tone turned into a deathly pale pallor in a matter of seconds. The glass he was washing smashed in the sink and he cursed violently as a stray shard of glass cut the inside of his wrist. His stammer of a reply only accentuated the intense reaction. "Wh-why the hell would you ask me that?"

Elijah did not attempt to quell Matt's reaction; he was too close to the truth now to dare redact the statement. "He was a man who lived here some time ago, and I have reason to believe he might be a danger to my family—and to Elena. Anything you could tell me about him and who he knew in this town would be a great help."

If possible, Matt's complexion paled even further at the inquisition. His shoulders slumped, his eyes bulged and a heavy sigh escaped his lips. "Clarke Smyth is my father—" he admitted with great difficulty, "He's known Elena since she was born—granted, he's a bastard and a prick, but where do you get off thinking he's a danger to her?"

"Fucking hell, Bennett, stab me with that thing one more time, I dare you!"

Bonnie set her hands on her hips and gave Tyler a withering glare. "It's a cotton swab, you big baby, and I'm only trying to help."

"Well try less," Tyler hissed bitterly. In the past twenty-four hours, he'd faced the inevitability of his own death, been possessed by his sociopathic hybrid sire, faced uncertain oblivion in the darkness of limbo only to be forcefully, brutally and painfully yanked back to reality by the most determined witch in existence. Bonnie Bennett was a force to be reckoned with, that was for sure, and any other day of the week he would've meant that as a compliment, but after the day he'd had, he'd rather she had left him dead dead.

"You're upset," she remarked dryly, "But I don't think you even understand what I had to go through to save you."

The scoff that escaped his constricted throat sounded deadly when it tore through his body. Did that bastard break out of his goddamn ribcage on the way out too, 'cause it sure as hell felt like it. "Dammit Bennett, of course I understand what you did, why the hell do you think I'm so pissed off?"

She was in his face momentarily, the throbbing vein in her forehead looking as if it were about to burst. "What's your issue, Lockwood? What the hell did I do that was so blasphemous—besides, y'know, the obvious of saving your life."

He winced as he stood up, but it didn't deter the power of his voice. "You saved Klaus! With all your bullshit about destroying the prick and getting everything back to normal or 'balanced' or whatever it is you witches spout about, you went and saved his ass!"

"To save yours!" Bonnie shouted back, just as loud. "I feel like you're missing this very integral part of the equation. You would've died, you moron!"

Tyler took a deep breath, staring at her as though she'd grown another head. His voice was softer now, but full of a powerful conviction he didn't know was inside of him. "So what?"

Bonnie stilled her pacing, pivoted and stared back at him, shocked.

"Klaus would've died, Bennett—been wiped off this earth, forever. Who cares if a whole orphanage of pudgy-cheeked babies would've died instead, it's Klaus. What part of that don't you understand?"

Bonnie flopped back down on the couch, visibly defeated. "Why am I repeatedly getting vilified for doing the right thing while everyone goes around attempting to enact their deepest, most secret death wishes?"

"Oh, cut the dramatics, Bennett. It's not a fucking death wish, it's just sensibility. Numbers—rational numbers. I'm one person, and—" he broke off, a sudden grin tugging at his lips and finally a hiccup escaping his lips as he could no longer contain doubling over in laughter.

Bonnie furrowed her brows, a concerned frown on her face. "What the hell is wrong with you? Did Klaus mess with your emotional responses too?"

"No, I just-" and without thinking, he commented, "Is this how Elena feels when everyone tries to shove her in the corner to save her from Klaus? Damn, no wonder she resents you all."

Bonnie looked down, and Tyler sobered to the reality of his comment. Even mentioning the eldest Gilbert's name struck a chord of regret with Bonnie lately. "Bonnie, I'm-" Tyler tried to apologize, his throat tight as Bonnie stared vacantly at the wall in front of her. "I'm an asshole, sorry. I just—wasn't thinking, I'm sorry."

Bonnie shrugged him off with a wave of her hand, "It's not your fault, it's just hard for me to think about her right now."

"It's not her fault, Bon, and you know it," Tyler declared adamantly. He moved to sit down and instinctually wrapped his arm around her shoulder, a move that caused her to turn so their sight lines were perfectly aligned. "Hell, I get why you don't like vampires, I do; it's embedded in your wiring, you just can't change the way they make your skin crawl, no matter who it's for." She widened her eyes in surprise, but did not speak. "You're not a worse friend for it, Bonnie, and that's just something nobody else is going to understand."

"You seem to understand it pretty well," she whispered.

"Well, consider me the anomaly," he joked with a broad grin.

"In more ways than one," she confessed with a chuckle. Tyler didn't move his arm, and Bonnie tucked her chin against the crook of his neck. It seemed to both of them slightly awkward in its unfamiliarity, but in no way unnatural, and the pleasant warmth it radiated throughout their bodies was too comforting to protest.

"What's that supposed to mean, Bennett?" He teased, lightly shoving his shoulder against her chest.

A light blush stained her cheeks as she answered, but her voice did not waver. "It's—well, to be honest, you were always such an asshole to us in school, and when Caroline started dating you, I was very vocally against it. Okay, let's be honest; I hated you."

"What changed your mind?"

"Who says I changed my mind?" She fired back just as quickly. He raised his eyebrows in suspicion; was she flirting with him or was he reading far too much into this?

"You chose to save my pathetic life instead of vanquishing the Dark Lord, Bennett. It connotates some form of favoritism."

If anything, this just made her rose stained cheeks flair up further into hot coals of red flame.

"You're not such a douchebag anymore, I guess—don't read too much into it, Lockwood, I'm not harboring a secret crush on you or anything, we don't need to inflate your ego any more than it already is. Oh God, don't give me that douchebag shit-eating grin or I swear I'll take back everything nice I've ever said about you—now, let's talk about that demon son of a bitch I just exercised out of your sorry ass."

Tyler's groan of displeasure was so over-exaggerated that Bonnie had to roll her eyes at his antics. "He was in control of my body, now he's not; what's to talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know, how about—what the hell are we going to tell everyone?!"

"Tell 'em all that Klaus is a fucking psychopath with nine-hundred lives, I don't know," Tyler sighed in exasperation. "Tell them anything you want, I don't care."

Bonnie shook off Tyler's embrace now and stood up, pacing back and forth with her forehead scrunched in thought. "We have to call them now—tell everyone, immediately; we have no idea what Klaus could be planning. He could be planning an attack on anyone, they all have t—"

"No," Tyler forcefully interrupted, "Dammit Bennett, stop pacing and listen to me for a second, you're giving me a migraine." This effectively stopped Bonnie in her tracks, but only to glare daggers at the one who interrupted her. "Frantically calling everyone in our Scooby-gang alliance is exactly what Klaus is expecting. Trust me, he's not pulling the moves on anyone until he assesses what he's up against, that's just how Klaus works." He huffed indignantly, put his arm behind his sore neck and shifted his body weight. "I didn't go through hell kicking that sire-bond bullshit to the curb and then go through the extra torture of having the bastard infiltrate my insides just to ruin my revenge with shitty strategy."

"Shitty strategy?" She mimicked back, more than a little hurt. "What's your big idea then, hot-shot? Tell, who, no one? … leave them all vulnerable to Klaus' games?"

"Exactly," he shot back proudly. At her dark look, he amended—"Alright, not exactly. But—what if we were to keep it from everyone?"

"Then we might as well stick a 'Team Klaus' flag hanging from our rooftop, kiss his ass and beg to switch sides because the likelihood of me doing any of that nonsense is as plausible as your idiotic non-plan."

Tyler grabbed Bonnie's hand and pulled her flat up against his chest so she couldn't wiggle her way out and lowered his voice. "Klaus' defenses are down, he needs to re-build. Which means he'll need to reconvene with his hybrids, his witches—he'll need a plan of attack. To prevent it, we need to be the only ones who know about it, Bonnie, I'm telling you. If we track our way into his inner circle, by ourselves, we've got a better chance of killing it from the inside. We're not as strong as Klaus, we can't handle a direct attack; we have to stamp it out before it even garners power."

Bonnie's breathing stilled, and she was no longer struggling to get out of his grip. "And we can't do that as a group? Don't you think we'd be better as a united front?"

Tyler disregarded the suggestion easily. "Too many people to trust, too much can go wrong; too much liability. It needs to be just us." Bonnie tightened at this and Tyler probed with a cheeky smile, "What? You don't believe in us?"

"I believe you're capable of a lot more than anyone gives you credit for," Bonnie admitted softly.

"So invest in that—believe in me."

"I want to—"

"So do it, Bennett. Problem solved. No over-analyzing. Just strategy. We'll start with his witches. You've got a commonality and trust me, they want to see him with power about as much as we do."

Tyler let go of her arms, but she didn't move away from him. She stayed huddled close to him and whispered, "We're really going to do this, take on Klaus, infiltrate his circle like a couple of rogue operatives?—"

"Are you scared?" He teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

She tilted her head so that their lips were mere inches away, and Bonnie sucked in a long, deep breath as Tyler watched the delicate rise of her chest.

"Bonnie? Tyler? You guys still here?" Jeremy's voice tore through the Gilbert house like a missile, and Bonnie and Tyler bolted away from each other immediately, falling back on the couch, a noticeably appropriate distance from each other.

"See, Bennett, I told you he'd be home by curfew. You're really taking this whole mother-hen thing to a weird level, 'specially since he used to be your boyfriend," Tyler teased mercilessly, a cruel smile on his lips and no hint of the flirtatious, comforting grin that had only seconds ago enveloped the whole room. If Bonnie hadn't known better, she would've thought she'd dreamt the whole thing.

"She can be like that, man, just ignore it," Jeremy teased back, but with a quick, light smile in Bonnie's direction. He plopped himself right in between them and grabbed the remote, flipping through his TiVo, oblivious to the nearly palpable tension permeating the air. "So what are we thinking, guys—Shaun of the Dead, Saving Private Ryan or Game of Thrones? Oh, or an infinite collection of Friends re-runs, but those are Elena's…"

Kol Mikaelson was—begrudgingly admitted, in Stefan's case—the most intoxicating enigma he could recall meeting in all the years of his life. On the one hand, he was a splash of colorful language and quick wit, drawing an easy parallel to Stefan's brother, but he suspected that this was only a sloppy mask designed to detract from a lurking vulnerability. Kol played the part to such immaculate perfection that it seemed as authentic as any, but Stefan was a close friend of deception and denial, and could sniff it out with ease. The youngest Mikaelson brother appeared as shallow as the quick jabs and hedonistic lifestyle that permeated his sinful scent, but Stefan's keen nose could dig further than that—could see something of a paradox in Kol Mikaelson. And it was this, above all else, that Stefan feared. Kol was a puzzle that tickled and lit a fire in his chest, begging to be solved. He nearly salivated at the thought.

There was a time, so long ago, when he'd lived for these kinds of people—a time when playing with his food had meant a pleasurable carousel of assessing the limits of a woman's treasured façade. He would get swept up in the thrill of it, equally enthralled by the blood pulsing underneath their hot, lively veins as he was by breaking down walls and defenses they never knew they had, pushing them to extremes embedded in the very core of their DNA, and then ripping their insides to bits when he could no longer find any other secrets to play with.

He refused to get swept up in Kol Mikaelson. That person was long dead and buried, padlocked inside the dark caverns of his mind, and Kol Mikaelson was the closest puzzle to ever poise the threat of releasing the chains he'd spent so many years creating. Klaus had never fully unleashed the ripper of decades past; he'd simply forced a manufactured, hollow imitation of the bloodlust. The ugly truth of it was that the bloodlust was only the beginning.

PREVIEW - NEW MATERIAL BREAK

The door opened ajar, only a sliver of an inch—just enough to peek inside, carefully concealing the identity of the intruder, but all three vampires turned instantly. "Mr. Salvatore?" The timid voice was soft and melodic, the detection of underlying nerves in its tone prickling the corners of Elena's new predatory instincts. She took a deep, slow breath and pried her eyes away from the tempting human.

Kol didn't seem to have the same idea. He was assessing the teenage boy with his head cocked in interest and an impish smile on his face. Unlike Elena, he didn't seem as enthralled by the blood pulsing beautifully underneath his veins, but rather by his unexplained presence.

"You called down for room service, Mr. Salvatore," the boy explained, unnerved by Kol's perplexing disposition. He held his ground, however, and kept his voice steady as he added, "I'm sorry it took so long, there was a mishap with some bags downstairs. Was there anything I could help you with, sir?"

The twitch of a smirk on Kol's face was enough for Elena to intervene before this boy ended up in the same position as the maid Kol had feasted on earlier—the one who was conveniently sprawled under the right side of the bed, out of view. "It's perfectly alright, we understand," Elena assured him with a sympathetic smile, hoping this would abate the tension of Kol's disconcerting advances. "My friend and I have made a long trip here, and we haven't eaten in hours. Could you please bring us a dinner menu?"

Kol's sudden bark of laughter rang through the room, echoing hauntingly through the silence left in its wake. "What an brilliantly splendid idea, Elena. Dinner sounds fabulous, I'm absolutely famished." With a few leisurely steps forward, he stood right in front of the boy, reaching out to brush a stray curl of blonde hair behind his ears, steady and confident, a lion stalking a meek gazelle before making a move. Elena tried to speak, but her throat was dry and her resolve weak, captivated by Kol's expert display of power. Kol put a finger to the boy's lips and slung an arm over his shoulder, his canines lengthening in preparation for the attack.

"Don't be greedy, Mikaelson," a familiar voice piped in from behind her, his pitch straddling the line of annoyed and amused; "You've already had your fill. Didn't your mother ever teach you to share?" Elena turned, startled to remember that Stefan was still there—she'd been so enveloped in Kol's intoxicating hunt that she'd nearly forgotten his presence.

Kol released his hold on the boy, Stefan's challenge too delicious to pass up. The boy was now making gasps of protest fueled by his newfound revelations, but Kol whispered threateningly, "Make another sound and I'll rip your head off your body. Wait patiently like a good little boy, won't you?" He threw his victim onto the bed and flashed face to face with Stefan, a snarl on his lips. "Well, Ripper of Monterey—please, show us humble servants what you've got up your sleeve."

Stefan ignored Kol's sarcastic jabs, hoisted the boy off the bed and locked eyes with him. "What's your name?"

"Gavin Frederick," and this time, his voice had lost all its soft intonation, leaving behind only the monotone drawl of compulsion. Stefan spared a glance at Elena, a small smile of reassurance etched into the curve of his lips.

"Hello Gavin, this is my friend Elena," he waved over to her in a sort of introduction; "Here's what's going to happen. You're not going to be afraid of us—of any of us—" he broke off, his eyes lingering on Kol's shadow "—and you'll allow Elena to feed on your blood. Engage her in conversation, treat her like you would an old friend you haven't seen in years." Elena's eyebrows arched in surprise, but Stefan made no indication that he'd noticed. "Then, when she's feeding on you, I want you to yell and fight if you are feeling weak, light-headed, or about to pass out. If you feel none of these things, then you are to remain silent. Otherwise, give her whatever she needs."

Stefan released the bleary-eyed blonde, letting him collapse back on the bed. The profound relief in Elena's pale features was undeniable; she was looking from Stefan to Gavin in disbelief, gratitude—and, if Kol's suspicious were correct, a lingering excitement. "Take him in the washroom," Stefan instructed as he extended a hand to Elena, "You won't be disturbed; Mikaelson and I will wait just out here, and we'll intervene if we hear anything that sounds like you've gone too far."

The light in Elena's eyes changed abruptly from gratitude to something that both men had a very intimate relationship with—hunger. "Five minutes—"

"Seven," Kol lazily interrupted. He was flipping the television remote in one hand, a devious smirk on his lips. "What do you kids call it nowadays—'Seven Minutes in Heaven'? We'll call this the refined version…"

Both of them looked at the eldest vampire in complete incredulity.

He shrugged languidly, shifting his legs to a more comfortable position. "The eighties entertainment industry is just so… charming," he quipped, seemingly unconcerned with their skepticism.

Elena grabbed Gavin's hand, her fingers twitching and apprehension written all over her face—

"Oh, and Gilbert?"

Kol's voice floated through the air with a perfected ease of nonchalance. "If you find yourself stuck, try catching him off guard in a position that allows you to physically dominate him; the predator gets off on seducing the prey in such a way, and it primes your instincts to prepare for the bite. Besides," he added, "your nature can no longer differentiate between actual appetite and sexual appetite. They simply—" he broke off, licking his lips, "feed off each other."

"No pun intended?" Elena shot back heatedly.

Kol's lip quirked. "You're sick," she admonished, with a disgusted grimace set in her frown. Stefan looked like he wanted to add something, but Elena didn't give him the chance as she entered the en suite washroom, Gavin trailing behind her, glossy-eyed and obedient.

Stefan sighed, ran a hand through his hair and addressed Kol with a terse, stressed tone, "Are the mind games really necessary?"

"No mind games," Kol dismissed truthfully—"That's a very valid piece of advice, Salvatore. She'll figure it out. Now…" he patted the space on the bed next to him and reached over to grab something off the dining tray. "Let's bond… get to know each other a little better. I got all this," he motioned to the elaborate spread of food, "from an Italian bakery a couple blocks down. I thought you'd appreciate the gesture."

Stefan raised an eyebrow in suspicion, and although he sat down on the bed, he made no move to get closer to Kol.

"Biscotti?" He proffered the treat to Stefan, a seemingly innocent gesture, and Stefan took it warily, staring at the closed door leading to the washroom in tense anticipation.

She couldn't say she was surprised to find that the en suite washroom in such a high-brow hotel was impressive in its luxury, but if she'd been at all awed by the sights in the suite, she surely wasn't prepared for the washroom. The landscape was a far cry from what she was accustomed to—polished marble and rough stone adorning every square inch, tastefully decorated, with a huge soaker tub, enormous rain shower and faucets that she could swear were actual gold.

Gavin hoisted himself up on the marble countertop, took one look around and declared with an impish smile, "It's a little extravagant for my tastes."

She must've looked as taken aback as she felt because he quickly followed it up with a concerned frown, his tight blonde curls falling into his eyes. "Are you okay?"

And then she remembered Stefan's words—'…engage her in conversation, treat her like you would an old friend you haven't seen in years.'

Her limited experience with compulsion had led her to believe that, in every instance, the victim was turned into an obedient, monotone, zombie-like slave, but this was very different. A good different, she supposed. It seemed that Stefan had carefully compelled this boy to act of his own free will—or some twisted variant of it—to make Elena more comfortable, and she felt a rush of appreciation towards Stefan for it, their previous grievance momentarily forgotten. She didn't think she could've gotten through this experience if she was meant to drink from some glossy-eyed zombie; hell, this was hard enough as it was.

Her throat was hoarse when she responded, "No, I'm fine." It was those full, plump lips, the shade of his blonde hair, those baby blue eyes—"You remind me of someone, y'know?"

He seemed to perk up at this, prodding, "A handsome someone?" with a warm, lopsided grin.

She laughed, lost in this quick, easy banter. She didn't think compulsion could ever be this easy, this simple—this normal, but his resemblance to her first boyfriend certainly helped set her mind at ease. Tucking her hand behind her ear now in an awkward trepidation, she admitted, "I'm sorry, I'm really new at this whole thing, and I—"

"Being a vampire?" He smoothly interjected.

She stared, startled. "Well, yeah—" she stuttered. "Doesn't that bother you? It should bother you…" she muttered, more to herself than to him. Even dulled and manufactured free will was still compulsion, and she knew with certainty she would never be at ease with this. The ethical implications of what she was endorsing—well, she'd never have endorsed them just a few weeks ago. What had changed?

Oh, right. Everything.

"Nah, I think it's cool," he dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"Excuse me? You think it's—what?" He thought the fact that every fiber of her being was screaming at her to pounce and rip at his lovely, glistening skin to get to the beautiful, sustaining life source under it was—cool?! She suppressed the unnerving urge to bare her teeth at him and show him just how dangerous the situation he found himself in actually was.

He shook his head, clearly reading her disbelief as something else entirely; "Not like… Twilight vampires or anything—old school, y'know… Dracula, Lestat… the Lost Boys?" His question drifted into uncertainty as he saw the look on Elena's face.

Elena shook her head in disbelief. "Fictional vampires, Gavin. You can't even begin to imagine…"

His cheeks flushed pink at Elena's sharp, almost reprimanding tone. To Elena, it was clear evidence that no matter how confident he seemed to be in his assertions about vampires, he was still just a kid. He was just a kid who hadn't been through or witnessed the appalling things that she had, who still had more than a sliver of innocence left and who hadn't been forced to grow up way faster than anyone should just because of a ridiculous magical destiny sealed way before his time.

God, when had she become such a cynic?

'Maybe around the time you found out you weren't even human—just a magical means to an end, an entity created to be killed,' her conscience supplied in a tone so icy it chilled her to the bone.

She gazed into the mirror, digging her nails into her scalp in agitation. She stared intently at the curve of Katherine's mouth, the distinct definition of Katherine's nose, Katherine's vibrant dark eyes that now just looked weary and dead.

"I feel like I've lost my identity," she laughed humorlessly; "If I even had a separate one in the first place…"

Gavin gingerly slipped down from the countertop, but was too nervous to approach her. "So… you regret becoming a vampire?"

"You can only regret choices, Gavin," she whispered. "And I do, God knows I do… I have a myriad of choices to regret." She broke off, tears in her eyes. "But yes… I—"

She turned away from the mirror and the tears in her eyes hardened as she advanced on him; "It's overwhelming, Gavin. I thought it was overwhelming before, but…" she broke off with a self-deprecating smile. "I was such an idiot, thinking that someday it'd get better. Someday, it'd just magically become normal again. I'd be that girl again, the cheerleader. The fucking stupid, idealist cheerleader who didn't care—didn't know—that there was a tomb full of rotting, desiccating vampires underneath the woods where she used to get smashed."

Without her noticing it, Gavin had steadily begun inching away from her until he had his back against the wall.

Elena plowed on, undeterred. "It was so simple, life—compared to all this at least. Get married—to Matt probably—go to college, become a grade-school English teacher, publish a book if you're lucky, white picket fence, 2 and half kids, y'know… the cliché. A dog maybe, Matt loves dogs."

"But this…" her voice raised with every word she uttered and she hadn't even realized it; "Death… I don't know how to do this! I've always known how to do things. Make a plan, have it blow up in your face, then put on a brave front for everyone else, assuring them that Klaus won't obliterate the world faster than an atomic bomb while you inwardly come up with a Plan B."

"Well, guess what?! Klaus is gone, dead—and God, I never thought I'd say this, but I wish he wasn't. You know why? 'Cause Klaus, I know how to deal with… I've figured it out. But vampirism… I never even entertained the idea that one day—" she choked out a sob, "—that one day I'd have to deal with this. Just kill Klaus… just kill Klaus… that was the mantra. It'll all be over when you kill Klaus."

She was actively pinning him to the wall now, her hands suspending his arms above his head, their chests pressed together because she was so close.

"And all I can think about is how fucking delicious you smell—that's disgusting, I know, but… Damon was always ranting about humanity switches, so where the hell is it?! I can't find it and all I can feel is… everything. I feel everything, in vivid color. You know what I feel right now?" She asked, with an unconscious tilt of her head and a sly smile. "Your pulse… it's skyrocketed through the roof since I started talking… I just… one taste, that's it, I promise. It won't hurt. It won't hurt," she reiterated again, in a soothing tone.

Her teeth clicked into place, and she didn't take time to contemplate the weird sensation as she had done up to this point. Maybe it was becoming normal to her now… this weird new paradigm of normal.

"I need a plan, Gavin. Just a small one, just to give me a general idea of what to do. And right now, the only plan I have is to take your blood and run it along my tongue, to savor and revel in the beauty of the way it runs down your neck… is that…" her voice got quiet suddenly, meek and timid, "is that okay?"

"Take whatever you need, Elena," he said, his tone monotone, complacent. Elena was beyond the point of caring.

When her teeth pierced the skin, she was at once overwhelmed as the puncture in the vein caused the blood to seep out uncontrollably and she couldn't swallow all of it. It dribbled out the sides of her mouth, onto her chest, down to her shoes and pooled around her on the floor. That was her last coherent observation before her mind became drowned in the blood.

It was the most beautiful sin. She had witnessed her fair share of horrors over the past three years, but she'd never been on this side of it before. She'd never even contemplated how elating it felt—the sudden burst of ego, the control…

'Control is the greatest wonder, Elena. It is to be treasured, coveted…'

Yes, yes… oh, God yes.

It slowly got easier to direct the blood flow so less of it was spilling and being wasted. Gavin started making whimpering noises, which steadily turned into louder cries of protest until he was actively fighting to get out of her grasp, his wrists bruised and red. It was the decrease in his pulse that finally snapped her out of it, and the moment she recoiled from him in terror the door banged open.

She looked at Gavin and down to her bloodied shirt in horror. '…try catching him off guard in a position that allows you to physically dominate him'… Had she really just…?! Stefan immediately bit into his wrist and fed it to a slumped, barely conscious Gavin and Elena jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and gaped up at Kol who just gave her a knowing smile. It wasn't one of superiority, or amusement… it was almost comforting.

It was this thought that made her shrug him off in disgust.

"Elena…" Stefan approached her slowly.

"It's okay," she gasped, trying to regulate her breathing with some difficulty. "I stopped, before he… I stopped. On my own."

He smiled hesitantly, and put an arm around her shoulder. "I know you did, Elena. You did well, and I'm proud of you. Honestly." When Elena still looked apprehensive, Stefan sighed. "You stopped—that's all that matters. You know that, right?"

She nodded weakly, not sure if she knew that at all.

As she stripped her clothes off and changed in the suite while Stefan tended to Gavin in the washroom, however, she couldn't suppress the aching nausea clenching in her stomach when she looked down at the bloodstains on her discarded shirt.

Truth was, she could've stopped much earlier. But something inside of her wanted to kill him, and it seemed far more vicious than just a vampire thirsting for blood. It didn't care about blood; it wanted something far more elusive—power. It wanted control over everything and everyone—herself included—and she had no idea how to stop it.

'That's all that matters.'

But was it really?

Meredith Fell had never had the pleasure of seeing Carol Lockwood's face this shade of anxious purple before, but then, admittedly, she had also never experienced the fireworks that ensued when you got Damon Salvatore and Katherine Pierce in the same room together.

"—is a disgrace to the legacy of our founders, and simply the fact that he'd suggest it is preposterous and clearly shows his lack of dedication and commitment to this council—"

"Oh, here we go again, Elena; certainly no one would dare question your dedication…"

"Well, if you hadn't dodged the question with evasive, ambiguous answers tailored only to make stupid, inane innuendos—"

"Do you actually take pleasure in disparaging my character, Elena, or are you being paid by the hour?"

Her lips quirked in a taunting grin. "Well, Damon, you just make it so easy…"

The ash-haired man at the head of the table finally slammed his fist, his eyes ablaze with frustration. "Miss Gilbert, Mr. Salvatore—please leave your petty grievances at the door if you mean to be a valuable asset to this council. If not, I will have you both expelled from your positions immediately, is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Katherine answered in a perfect imitation of Elena's demure, respectful apology tone. "I hadn't meant to start an argument, I was merely questioning why Damon would suggest such a barbaric strategy. This council was founded on some ground of ethical and moral principle, wasn't it? Shouldn't we be striving to maintain that? Otherwise, we'd be lowering ourselves to their level, and losing the entire meaning of this organization."

"You'll have to forgive us, Mayor, we're going through a rather tumultuous personal matter right now. You see," Damon stressed, his intense blue eyes narrowed in on the most subtle twitches of Katherine's façade, "Miss Gilbert just recently ended her relationship with my younger brother, and it was a rather grizzly affair." Bingo. Katherine's eyebrows arched of their own accord, and her ears perked so subtly he was sure he was the only one who noticed. He could practically read her mind, and he had to stop himself from the self-satisfied grin that was itching at his lips.

"It was very messy, sir. Hearts were broken, ice-cream was devoured, but you're absolutely right, we shouldn't allow their immature teenage angst to affect our behavior in this institution," he paused, turned to Katherine, and with a sheepish smile, added, "Should we, Elena?"

To Katherine's credit, her façade didn't crack even slightly. "No, of course not. Damon's right, sir—we're very sorry for letting our personal affairs derail the discussion."

Lawrence Kingswood, interim mayor of Mystic Falls and long-standing member of the Founders Council, surveyed them both with disappointment. "Yes, well—personal matters are named as such for a reason. You're both adults now," he stressed a pointed look at Katherine, "…and we expect you to act in such a manner that emulates this maturity. Now, moving on… Edward, you had a subject to address?"

Katherine gingerly put her hands in her lap and turned her attention briefly to Damon. He had to hand it to her, the Elena impression was immaculate. It was eerie, if he was being honest. The way her narrowed soft brown eyes briefly flared up in righteous indignation before mollifying into a tranquil, attentive gaze as she turned her attention away from him was scary. It reminded Damon of a bygone age—a more innocent time, really, when Elena's quick-tongued jabs and taunts about his ethics and morals was the very foundation for their every interaction.

Katherine mirrored it perfectly, right down to the forlorn grimace on Elena's face when she was forced to accept an ironclad stalemate or, occasionally—given that her tenacity to get in the last word was a genuine marvel—begrudging defeat. He couldn't help but wonder how Katherine could have such unsettling insight, she wasn't even there.

Admittedly, he'd never seen Elena impersonate Katherine—there's a thought, he pondered with a laugh—but he was beginning to think there was more involved to Katherine's uncanny ability to mirror Elena's every behavior than just quick thinking and keen observation.

Edward Young, the pastor at the local church—not that Damon had ever attended, of course—rose to the stand to give an elaborate speech on… something. Just as he began blabbering on about provisions he was requesting for the protection of his church against heathens and demons, Damon nearly jumped out of his chair in surprise.

There was a soft but firm pressure pushing against his groin, and his eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets. He glanced across the table to Katherine, expecting to find a devious smirk gracing her lips in an tenacious challenge, but he found that her eyes had never strayed from Pastor Young and his riveting speech. In fact, she seemed entirely unaware of his incredulous stare.

The pressure only escalated now, and Katherine wiggled her toes just enough that his manhood responded in spades. How the fuck had she flipped off her shoes without anyone noticing? Fully erect and sweat building on his brow, Damon was shocked silent, still staring. She finally noticed his intense glare, and shifted her body slightly—oh dear god—to address him with furrowed brows and a genuinely innocent expression.

Damon was fully experienced with Katherine's skilled sexuality, and it was of no surprise to him that she could affect more with one foot than most girls could with their mouth, but doing it under a table full of respected elders who regarded her as a chaste young woman of barely eighteen without the slightest hint of a tell?! How on earth…

"Is there a problem, Damon?"

Carol Lockwood's innocent question exposed Damon's discomposure as he squeaked out a barely audible, "Problem?" as Katherine's foot trailed delicately upward and took up permanent residence in his lap, her heels gently pressing into his balls. "None whatsoever, Carol," he asserted, his voice only slightly stronger than before.

Kingswood sighed, his displeasure radiating off his demeanor in waves. "I'm going to adjourn this very scattered and inefficient meeting and by next time we gather, I expect a more fluid and productive agenda… perhaps, one without interruption. Miss Gilbert, Mr. Salvatore… next time you enter these halls, I expect that your differences will be sorted out. Otherwise, do not bother to attend. The rest of you, thank you for coming. Your dedication to the cause is not something that goes unnoticed."

Damon grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, not sparing one glance at Katherine, and rushed out before Carol Lockwood could grab a word with him about some inane charity event or god forbid another eligible bachelor auction—you never knew with that woman.

But, as per usual, he found Katherine jovially trotting in step with him within moments of leaving the building. He turned to her reluctantly, a sigh escaping his lips. Her exaggerated pout was an old, tired game he was beginning to see in his sleep.

"Aw Damon, the big, forceful man scolded us." A delicious grin spread across her lips; "Comfort me?"

"I'm awfully sorry for making a scene in there, Elena," he teased pointedly; "I didn't mean to cramp your style."

As they were rounding a corner, he found himself backed against the dark crevices of a back alley wall, and she stood on her toes to give him a light kiss to the lips. "I get it now… you and Elena, I mean. Fighting over morals and ethics, righteous indignation versus sardonic quips. I never thought I'd give her any credit, but damn, it's hot."

Damon gulped, not entirely unaffected by the rough grit in her voice. "I don't do pity fucks, Katherine, and neither do you. If you're in heat, go compel yourself a nice out-of-towner." With a rough grasp on her wrists, he added, "And stay there."

"You really want me to leave?"

"Since the moment you arrived…"

"Now, we both now that's not true," she laughed, quick and tight; "I would say 'kiss me or kill me' again, but you've never had a problem with memory before."

"C'mon, Damon… one little kiss and I'll let you go. If it escalates, we'll take it from there. If it doesn't, I won't bother you again."

Damon's breathing was erratic and her hands were hot against the bare flesh of his taut stomach. "Why don't I believe that last part?"

"Because despite my best efforts to prevent it, you know me a little too well."

Hmm, finally… some honesty.

He leaned in and gave her the most chaste peck on the lips that he could muster, but she pulled him in closer the moment he leaned back, deepening the kiss, roaming one hand under his shirt and up his chest and the other through his impeccably styled hair. He groaned into her mouth, overtaken by a wealth of emotions he didn't know—didn't acknowledge—that he had for this woman.

"I feel like I'm kissing Elena," he spoke when they broke apart, trailing his gaze down from her flat-ironed hair to her worn keds.

Katherine gave him a curious glance and stepped back slightly; "That's bad, why? I thought you'd get all hot and bothered by the prospect… don't you have it bad for everyone's favorite princess?"

The gleam in her eyes was different than anything he'd ever seen before—hope, genuine, authentic hope—"Does that mean you'd rather be kissing me?"

"Am I interrupting something?" Both of them immediately separated, glaring in synch at the blonde standing poised and amused in the shadows.

"Only my peace of mind, blondie," Damon quipped.

Katherine came straight to the point. "What do you want, Rebekah?"

"Just a chat, Kat—y'know, girly stuff." She gave a pointed glare at Damon and crossed her arms, "That's your cue to leave, Damon."

Damon wasn't getting in the middle of this cat fight—he'd made a concentrated effort to avoid all the Originals lately and he wasn't going to stick his neck out on the line for Katherine. She could more than handle herself. Sending Katherine a cautious glance, he started walking towards the nearest bar—he needed a stiff drink, pronto.

"Walk with me, Kat," Rebekah extended her hand innocently.

Katherine scoffed; "Never call me that, bitch. And why should I, exactly?"

"Because I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse," Rebekah proffered with a wolfish grin usually sported only by her late brother.

"The Godfather?" Katherine teased scathingly.

"Excuse me?" Rebekah asked, offended and perplexed.

Right. Daggered for a whole century.

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Rebekah," Katherine declared adamantly, "So tell me what the hell you're propositioning or we're done here."

The blonde didn't seem deterred in the slightest. In fact, she looked positively gleeful. Whatever she had up her sleeve, she was definitely certain it would shake Katherine down to her boots.

"I want you to report to me on everything the Salvatores do—concerning your doppelganger, concerning my family, concerning who they speak to and why—"

"In return for what?" Katherine bit back, disgusted by Rebekah's gall.

Rebekah smiled ominously, "Refuge from my family—a blood oath that not only will we leave you alone, but you'll be protected in the name of the Mikaelsons wherever you decide to go."

Oh, Rebekah's self-satisfied smirk definitely was sure she had shocked Katherine stiff. The truth was much different. Katherine was eerily quiet before she answered, pensive and reflective.

"Klaus is dead."

"Those loyal to him are not… make no mistake, Miss Petrova, if you don't entertain my allegiance, his witches and my family will make a meal out of you," she snarled viciously.

Katherine stared down Rebekah, assessing the true motivation behind this sudden proposition. Truthfully, she was considering it. A blood oath was the most powerful and binding magic two vampires could preform—it was ironclad, no room for devious tricks.

Ice blue flashed before her eyes; dark, artfully mussed hair; a salacious smirk that twitched off the side of full, pink lips…

"I won't be your puppet, Rebekah," Katherine declared emphatically, her eyes ablaze with fire; "Fuck off." And with that, she turned on her heel and left the blonde gaping in her wake. Katherine couldn't quite blame her. She had just turned down freedom and protection for the rest of her life, and for what exactly?

'He's a weakness, Katerina. Cut him loose,' her conscience supplied.

She shook her head and rubbed her forehead of the stress. She needed to find a tasty, attractive man to swap fluids with—pronto.

Back in the alley, Rebekah whipped out her phone and texted:

09/14/12

8:53 p.m.

'She didn't bite.'

A minute later, her phone buzzed with a response, and she grinned.

09/14/12

8:55 p.m.

'She wasn't meant to, darling. It was only meant to get her guard up. It served its purpose.'

Stefan Salvatore was at a loss of what do about Kol Mikaelson. The intriguing ash-blonde haired Original was now sprawled out, asleep on the comfortable four-poster bed, the sheets luxury silk and worth more than his car. Gavin was healed and asleep on a chaise in lounge and Elena was taking a shower in the washroom.

It would be far easier to deal with Elena's struggle right now if he wasn't so consumed by what Kol was thinking, his next move, his bare chest…

Elena came out of the washroom with a towel wrapped tightly around her chest and stopped short when she saw Stefan standing perplexed over Kol's sleeping form.

"I thought you were asleep," she admitted sheepishly.

"You should know I don't tend to sleep much," he lightly quipped.

"Stefan, look—I wanted to… thank you," Elena said with a light blush staining her cheeks. He had just watched her rip apart a defenseless kid with sharp fangs and an even sharper hunger and yet, her innocence and beauty had never shone so brightly to him before.

"Thank me?" He echoed, genuinely perplexed. "For what, exactly?"

"For making me do this… for pushing me out of my comfort zone. I needed it, and you were right—I never would've learned any sense of control hunting animals in a park somewhere."

"So you're not still mad about…" he trailed off, uncharacteristically awkward.

Her lips quirked into a disconcerting, humorless smirk. "Oh no, I'm still furious about that. Believe me, I won't be getting over that so quickly. You really helped me out, with Gavin… with acclimating to this, but…" her voice lowered to an acidic bite that Stefan had never heard from Elena before and it sent a chill down his spine, "If you ever try to control my freedom at your whim and fancy, despite your reasons, I'll make sure you regret it. Got it?"

Stefan nodded, ashamed by his actions and startled by her fierce tone of voice. They both stared at each other for a moment, as if assessing this new stage in their relationship, and neither one of them heard the buzzing of Kol's phone that had fallen under the bed.

Elijah slammed the phone down and it smashed into tiny pieces on the curve of the bar. Matt was still looking deathly pale and shaken by the sudden shift in Elijah's manner. He had never seen the calm, composed Original so shaken or so furiously angry.

"Grab your coat, Matt. We're going to Philadelphia."

"We?" Matt croaked out, stunned.

The son of a Five hunter? He's indispensable.

"Would you do anything to save Elena's life, Matt?"

"Absolutely," Matt answered, this time his tone strong and conviction secure.

Elijah narrowed his eyes, surveying the truth in Matt's statement, before he reiterated, his voice cold and resolute; "Then grab your coat."

Note #1: For some reason, I really love Meredith Fell. I know that's not a hugely popular opinion, but I do. She's the only person I will begrudgingly ship Damon with other than Kat (not in this story, obviously) and she'll be making periodic appearances for the first half of this story and then obtain a larger role in the second half.

Note #2: I know I've been teasing the Kol & Stefan bonding experience where they discover a commonality they never would've guessed they had for a long time now, but I swear it's the very first scene in the next chapter. It just didn't fit into this one, sorry.

Alright guys, I know exactly where we're going now, so updates are going to be a lot faster due to the fact I'm so damn excited. Trust me, the next two chapters are going to be a whirlwind rollercoaster no one is going to see coming.

Next Up: Kol and Stefan bond over a commonality neither one of them would've guessed they had, Damon and Katherine's dance comes to a surprising head and things in Philadelphia take a dramatic turn when a group of dedicated and vicious witches go after the newest doppelganger. Will Elijah get there in time? The answer might not be as obvious as you'd expect. ;)

Thank you all so much for sticking with this. I'm forever indebted.