You trip over wine bottles when you leave to go for work. They go scattering into the yard, but somehow none of them break.

What the…

By the time you've gathered the half dozen bottles up, you're already late for work. You don't have time to examine the labels. (Still, though, you can tell these are much more expensive than you can afford. Suspicious). You set them inside in your doorway and rush out to your car. You have no idea how those got there, or who could've given them to you.

Well, you correct yourself, you have some idea.

It seems out of character for Kol, from what little you know of him. You think maybe there's more there than meets the eye. It's… almost kind. You didn't know he had it in him.

(You recall an interesting tidbit from your intro to Psychology course; abusers, you are well aware, give gifts to their victims). You swipe the thought out of your mind. Kol, you tell yourself, is not the same thing. One violent interaction does not an abuser make.

But it sets a precedent.

Part of you ponders how fair it even is to judge a vampire based on human morality. How much difference exists between the two species? Are vampires genetically violent, or is it something that comes with time, a factor unique only to the ones you've met so far?

You're inclined to believe the latter. No one is born evil.

You realize belatedly you're still driving when you nearly pass the restaurant. You make a sharp turn and speed into your parking space, tires screeching. The door slams behind you.

"Hi, I'm sorry to disturb you," a man's voice says, "But I was wondering if you knew where—"

"I'm so so sorry, sir," you interrupt, "But I'm actually running late for—" You look up and immediately break off. "Fuck," you say, "It's you."

"Wow,'Sir'," the murdered man grins, "That's a new one. How polite."

The first and last time you saw this man was when you stepped over his dead body after Klaus killed him. Horrified, you wonder how he survived. Then you remember.

Stupid question, you think to yourself. You really need to get used to the supernatural if Klaus is going to make a habit of fucking up your life. And he probably is considering he's managed to infiltrate your life like a mold spore. The man looks impatient at your lack of reaction, head tilted to the side. You wonder if there's a way out of this. Well, you think, if half of what Kol told you is true, you don't stand a chance.

You're tired of being scared.

"You know," the vampire says, stepping towards you, "I heard you hiding in the kitchen before my neck got snapped, but the hell didn't he find you?"

You take a step back and almost hit the metal of your car door. "Luck," you lie, "I guess." He hums.

"Interesting," he says, "Because, from what I've heard, he sent his baby brother to your house for protection last night."

Your brow furrows. "Why the hell would Klaus do that?"

The vampire grins and you realize your mistake.

"So you do know who he is?"

You stay silent.

"Who the hell are you?" He wonders aloud, "He wouldn't send his family to just anyone, not when there's a white oak stake floating around." You don't know what any of that means, but you can tell it's not good. You shift uncomfortably.

"I'm no one."

"Are you really?"

He shifts like he's going to pin you against your car when something slams him off his feet.

"It's not very polite to attack a lady," another man says calmly. You can only see his profile, but he almost looks familiar.

"Elijah," the man growls, bracing himself against the hard concrete of the parking lot.

"Damon," Elijah says politely.

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Quite," he says, "Now, if you don't mind, I'm afraid I have business with this young woman elsewhere." You stiffen, unsure whether you should take that as a threat. You don't think you could make a get away in your car fast enough to escape from this mess.

"Don't you mean your brother has business with her?" Damon mocks, pushing himself off the ground.

Oh. You see the family resemblance now, though you think he looks more similar to Kol than Klaus. You relax and then wonder about the implication of feeling safe in the presence of another one of Klaus Mikaelson's homicidal brothers. Not good, you guess. You're supposed to be better than this.

"One could say," Elijah says pleasantly.

Damon snarls.

"I don't think so."

He races towards you with a murderous expression on his face. You hear a sharp crack and faster than you can blink, he's laying on the ground. A shrill noise escapes your throat before you can stop it and you clamp your hands over your mouth.

He's not dead, you remind yourself. At least you don't think so. You look in horror at the sharp, broken angle of Damon's neck. Bile rises in your throat and you have to look away.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion," Elijah apologizes. His sharp gaze sweeps the mostly empty parking lot, "We should go before others arrive."

"Um," you protest, "Not going to happen. I can't afford to miss work."

He levies a significant look to the corpse cooling on the concrete and looks back at you. Your cheeks rise to a mottled red.

"I think they'll understand this once," he says dryly, "I doubt a dead body will be bringing in customers. We should leave before the police get here."

You stand your ground, keys clenched in your hand until you make the mistake of looking back at the body. "Fuck," you grind out.

You feel like gagging.

"Fine," you snap, "Get in the car."

Elijah obeys, much to your surprise. He slides in your passenger side, calm and collected.

You start the car and peel out of the parking lot before anyone realizes you were there.

"So," you say when you get to the main road, "Are there any other members of your family I need to meet or is this it?"

He gives a half smile. "Just one more," he says, "Our sister, Rebekah."

You remain tense. "Well," you say cryptically, "At least it's not another brother." He laughs at that, a low and rolling sound.

"Completely understandable. My brothers are… difficult to deal with."

You snort.

"Yeah," you say, "I've noticed."

He smiles, hands folded.

Elijah so far is definitely your favorite, if just because he hasn't tried to kill you yet. (A winner by default).

You're not counting Damon against him.

"What's going to happen to the body?" You ask. You don't really have any friends you can call to get rid of a corpse.

Elijah pauses. "He'll be up within the hour, most likely."

"… So I am not going to be arrested for murder?"

"I may have exaggerated to get you in the car," Elijah admits.

You whip your head to the side to glare at him. You change your mind about Elijah being your favorite.

"Are you kidding me?" You demand, "I'm missing my shift for nothing?"

"Not for nothing," he corrects, "Damon will kill you if your paths cross again, make no mistake of that."

You don't know what the hell you ever did to Damon to make the vampire want to kill you so badly, but you're inclined to believe Elijah.

The trip back to your house doesn't take long. You lean your head against the car seat and sigh. Your boss is going to be pissed at you.

Fuck. Groaning, you get out of the car.

"Well," you say, "Here we are."

Elijah, you realize, with his fancy suit and crisp shirt collar looks very out of place in your shitty yard. You suspect the dissonance will only get worse inside your house. You unlock your door and go inside when you realize Elijah is still stuck at the doorway. You flush.

"Oh, I'm sorry," you say, "I forgot. Come on in."

He bows his head briefly and steps inside. He glances down at the collection of wine bottles accrued at your doorstep. Heat rises in your face.

"Those were a gift from one of your brothers," you explain, "I think."

His eyebrows lift in a facsimile of surprise.

"I see Klaus is trying to get into your good graces."

You bypass that odd statement. "Actually," you say, "I think it was Kol."

He blinks.

"That is," Elijah says, "Quite unlike him."

"Yeah," you say dryly, "I got that impression."

Elijah's eyes drift down to your poorly concealed strangulation mark. All the color-correcting concealer and foundation in the world can't hide it completely.

"I'm guessing that's his handiwork."

Your nose wrinkles. "Unfortunately."

He wanders closer to you and reaches out like he's going to trace over the mark before thinking better of it.

"Did Niklaus not heal this for you?" Elijah murmurs.

You push his hand away. This family really likes to invade your personal space, you note with some level of irritated amusement. "He offered," you say, "I'm not a huge fan of the way blood tastes."

His lips quirk up, but mostly he just looks concerned. It's so incongruent with the way the rest of his family acts that you can't help but feel the urge to pull away. Your shoulders draw back.

"Would you like some tea or anything?" You ask.

He smiles politely and withdraws.

"That would be perfect, thank you."

You smile nervously before filling up your kettle. Elijah stands with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes gazing over your messy house. You flush as you're suddenly painfully aware of your bare white walls you're not allowed to paint and hand-me-down furniture. Your living quarters don't hold up to his examination. (You should probably be more concerned with another murderer being in your home, you tell yourself, than class differences).

"You can sit, if you like," you offer, gesturing towards your breakfast bar.

"Thank you," he says, sliding into a seat, "You have a lovely home."

You snort. "Sure," you say, "Whatever you say." He makes no argument but continues to look around your home like he's peeling back the sides of your skull to look at your brain. It's unsettling.

"So," you say, "Why were you waiting outside my work this morning?"

"You make it sound so sordid," he says, amused, "I was following Damon Salvatore, who happened to be there."

You flush. "Oh," you say. You get out two mugs, taking the opportunity to look away. "Why does he want to kill me so badly?"

"I'm afraid you're just caught in the middle," Elijah says, "The Salvatores have been causing us trouble lately." You've heard that name before.

"Who are they?"

"Two brothers with a grudge against my family."

"But what would they want with me?" Your car is from 2004 and makes strange noises when it rains. High-profile target, you are not.

"Niklaus is less subtle than he thinks," he says, "The Salvatores got wind of him coming to visit you three times in a week. They are an unfortunately curious bunch."

Of course.

"If Klaus gets me killed I'm going to murder him."

Elijah, to your surprise, laughs. The low sound warms you.

"My brother does inspire that feeling in people."

"Kol doesn't seem like he likes him that much," you say and you're not sure why.

"They have a… tumultuous relationship."

You can see that. You wonder if Kol only left you alive to piss off Klaus last night. Or if by not killing you, you actually played into Klaus's hands. Your head hurts trying to untangle the threads of this family's dynamic.

The teakettle whistles and you pour out two cups. You wonder if it would be impolite to make vervain tea for yourself and decide against it. You don't want to accidentally offend Elijah. Especially on the off chance he has violent episodes like his brothers. You take out plain black tea and put a teabag in each cup.

"Do you want any sugar or anything?"

"No," he says, "That's quite alright."

You shrug and add honey and milk to yours. Steam rises and warms your cold cheeks.

"Here." You slide his tea towards him. He accepts it with a nod of thanks.

"So," you ask, "What other 'business' did you have with me?"

He hums. "Mostly making sure you stay alive." You blink.

"Not that I'm not grateful," you say carefully, "But why exactly do you care?"

"Klaus specifically requested it."

You pause. That makes… even less sense.

"Did he give a reason?"

Elijah leans back in his chair, warm lighting glancing off his jawline. Even in your cramped mess you call a home, you can tell he's beautiful. You look away and tamp down that line of thinking.

"The reason he gave is that he doesn't want the Salvatores to think they can touch what's his," Elijah says carefully.

You wrinkle your nose. You don't even like the idea of belonging to Klaus.

"And what's the actual reason?"

Elijah's eyes bore into yours briefly before looking away.

"I wouldn't presume to know my brother's every thought," he says, "However, I believe his motivation lays more in guilt than possessiveness."

You blink. "He's tried to kill me."

Elijah smiles wryly.

"It's little consolation, but if my brother truly wanted you dead you would be," he says, "There's scarcely a person alive who hasn't been on the other side of Klaus's wrath."

This does not sound like what you would call a 'healthy family dynamic'.

"Including you?" You ask.

He nods solemnly. "Including me," he says.

A wave of sympathy for Klaus's family washes over you. You dislike the feeling.

"Oh." You don't know what else to say. Thankfully, Elijah saves you from having to respond.

"Klaus will be stopping by later," he says, "I notified him about the Damon situation. He doesn't want you to be without protection for the foreseeable future."

You lean against the counter, arms curled protectively around your mug. You realize with a sharp sort of abruptness that your life has changed more drastically in the past week than it has ever.

"I see."

You wonder what Klaus's version of protection is.

You glance at the clock, "Do you have any idea when he's going to get here?"

"It's impossible to tell," he answers, "Could be minutes, could be hours."

You blink. "Well, that's not ideal," you say, "You don't have to wait here for him, I'll be fine alone."

His eyebrow quirks up. "Trying to get rid of me so soon?" You flush.

"That's not it," you stammer, "I just don't want you to feel obligated to stay here."

"I'm having a perfectly lovely time already," he says, taking a sip of his tea, "I'm in no rush."

That doesn't make you feel much better. You resort to your number one coping mechanism. "Well since you're here and I'm forced to take a day off, how does chocolate soufflé sound?"

Elijah, it turns out, is very agreeable to it. Unlike Kol, he ends up helping you in the kitchen once he finishes his tea. He takes off his suit jacket so he's just in his white cotton dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You have to physically turn yourself away from staring at his strong forearms as he whisks egg yolks and sugar for you.

Elijah, you admit to yourself, is ridiculously beautiful. You stop yourself from looking. You know that can't go anywhere good. (Repeating past mistakes, you hear, is the definition of insanity).

You melt chocolate over a double boiler for the crème pat and get out a heavy-based pan. Your stove clicks for so long you think it's broken. It finally lights.

"You're pretty good in the kitchen," you comment as you pour milk and cocoa powder into the pot.

"After a thousand years, one is proficient in almost everything."

You blink. "Are you really all a thousand years old?"

"Give or take about a decade, yes."

"What's that like?"

Elijah stops whisking and sets the bowl aside. He leans on the counter, hands gripping the faux-granite. "Years sometimes pass as minutes," he muses, "But mostly it's just long. Tiring."

He sounds weary. You have the uncomfortable urge to reach out and comfort him.

You shift uncertainly. "There have to be good parts too, right?"

"Of course. Meeting people across centuries, seeing humanity develop from villages to cities. The creation of new technologies and literature. The evolution of art."

"That sounds nice," you say wistfully.

He turns to look at you, half amused.

"You may have to get over your aversion to blood to become a vampire."

"Oh, God no. I'm not talking about that," you dismiss, "I just like the idea of living through history."

"It's less entertaining than you might expect."

The cocoa milk starts to boil and you turn off the heat.

"Temper the eggs for me?" You ask, handing Elijah a small bowl. He accepts and you put it back on the stove once he's done. He does a good job.

"So," you continue, repressed curiosity intensifying at meeting a vampire who actually answers your questions, "What's your favorite time period, then?"

He pauses to think. "Hm," he says, "It's difficult to choose. After a while, it all starts to blend together." He takes a moment to think and you take the opportunity to hand him the egg whites. You're curious if he'll get tired. Obediently, he takes the mixing bowl and a new whisk. "I was particularly found of pre-revolution France," Elijah finally says, "It was particularly hedonistic."

You snort. "I bet, if half of what we learned in my French history class is true."

"Parlez-vous français?"

"Seulement un peu," you say apologetically but Elijah looks pleased.

"It's a beautiful language," he comments.

You hum. "I regret not keeping up with it."

He flashes you a quick smile.

"I'll help you practice."

You flush at the implication of seeing him again. You need to pull yourself together. (It's a good thing you didn't meet Elijah first, you tell yourself, or else you would be far more likely to let the Mikaelsons get away with whatever they want). As it is, a part of you still likes his brothers despite their violent tendencies.

Hm, you're lonelier than you thought you were.

Averting your gaze, you glance at the egg whites. He's still furiously whisking as you add a fourth cup of sugar. Your arms would've given up by now.

"I wouldn't mind having you back if you want to be my sous-chef," you comment.

He hums. "I haven't actually baked in years. My talents usually lie outside the kitchen."

"I guess it wouldn't be super important if you just need blood," you muse. Then you realize you don't actually know much about real-life vampires. "Wait, do you have to eat regular food too?"

Elijah laughs. "No, we don't have to, but most of us enjoy it."

"So definitely not like a Twilight, regurgitating thing?"

"No, thankfully. I'm sure that would've made the centuries more difficult."

"More like unbearable," you say, "I don't think I could stand it."

You whisk the melted chocolate into the crème pat and take it off heat. You watch as Elijah vigorously whisks the egg whites into firm, glossy peaks. You brush him aside once you deem them finished and start folding in the crème pat.

"Get the soufflé pan ready for me?" You ask. You direct him towards some softened butter you left out on the counter and your sugar canister. He coats the inside in butter and rolls it in sugar exactly the way you would've done.

"How did you learn to cook?" You ask as you spoon the mixture into the mold.

Elijah leans against your kitchen counter. "A myriad of people and places. I lived on my own for a few years when I was human and I was forced to learn. There was a learning curve, there." You pause. You don't know why it hasn't occurred to you that Klaus and his family used to be human. Elijah is very open for someone you just met. "How did you learn?" He counters.

You shake off the realization and shrug. "My mom cooked a lot, I started baking when I was twelve and never stopped." It was the only favor your mom ever did for you. You put the soufflé mold in the preheated oven and set the timer on the side of your fridge. Elijah's eyes never leave you.

"You're quite good for someone your age," he comments.

You look at him derisively.

"You've never even tried my baking."

"That's not quite true."

You pause. "What does that mean?"

"My brother and I frequent your restaurant often enough. I'm fond of the dessert menu."

"I'm not the only one who makes the desserts," you correct, "Plus the cakes come from box mixes."

Elijah just laughs at that. He washes his hands and unrolls his sleeves back to his wrists. You mourn the loss. Maybe you need to go outside and touch some grass. Your grip on reality is slipping.

You wash up and start putting your dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Elijah helps. Your kitchen is barely big enough to accommodate him. Ah, you think, this is why you don't have people over often (even when they aren't vampires who invite themselves in). The door bursts open when you're in the middle of scrubbing dried egg whites off of your whisk.

"Ah," Klaus comments, "How domestic." His eyes slide by the collection of too-expensive alcohol collected on your doorstep.

"Good of you to join us, brother," Elijah greets.

You think 'brother' is a weird way to refer to your sibling, but then again you're an only child. Maybe it's a vampire thing. You should start a journal to catalogue all of the differences. You don't think you could get that peer reviewed.

"I couldn't let you hog all of our dear baker's attention." Klaus's eyes slide to you and you look away. You still don't know how to feel about him, but your manners win out.

"Hi Klaus," you greet, "Soufflé is in the oven if you want any."

"That's alright," he dismisses, "We have important matters at hand."

Klaus, despite his original protests, does have a slice of soufflé. He scoops bites out of it as he talks, sprawled in one of your arm chairs. You only have two in the living room after your roommate bailed and took all of her furniture, so you drag out one of the barstools for you to sit in.

"The Salvatores unfortunately have a powerful witch on their side, which makes this a little complicated," Klaus starts.

"Wait," you blurt out, "Witches exist too?"

Klaus rolls his eyes.

"Yes, they exist," he says impatiently. You want to ask what else is real, but you don't think Klaus would appreciate any further interruptions. "As I was saying, the fact that they have a witch would be incidental if she wasn't a Bennett. Since she is, this has to be handled a little more delicately."

You literally have no idea what he's saying. You may not be qualified enough to write a journal about them.

"So?"

"So," Elijah cuts in, "You won't be able to leave the house until we can… convince them to leave you alone."

"Absolutely not," you protest, "I can't miss work, they will fire me."

Klaus's eyes narrow in frustration. "I don't think you're grasping the gravity of this situation, love. The Salvatores aren't as nice as me."

"I find that hard to believe," you shoot back. Klaus's expression sparks an echo in you; a fear response you overcome out of sheer determination.

Klaus opens his mouth in a snarl, but Elijah beats him to it.

"We can compel your manager, no one will even know you're gone," Elijah bargains.

"That's nice and all," you say, "But unless you can compel my rent and grocery bill, then I still have to go to work."

Klaus looks like he wants to argue more, but once again Elijah interrupts him before he can.

"Done," he says.

You blink.

"What?" You ask, glancing startled at both of them.

"It may surprise you to note," he says dryly, "Money means little when you've lived this long."

That sounds like something only someone with an extraordinary amount of money would say.

"I have never met someone who's wanted to die as much as you," Klaus comments.

Your nose wrinkles. "Trust me— I don't want to be murdered either, but I also don't want to be homeless."

Klaus looks very much like he would like to take you by your shoulders and shake some sense into you. You ignore him and slide off the barstool to get more soufflé.

"Elijah, would you like any more?"

"That's quite alright," he says. He gives you his plate when you reach out for it. You leave Klaus's where it is. Your chocolate soufflé has deflated into something more resembling a pancake, but it's still good. Klaus and Elijah are conversing quietly when you return and Klaus immediately turns his attention back to you.

"I'm having a location spell put over your home," he says, "Vampires cannot enter unless you invite them, but the spell will keep you safe from their witchy and human allies alike. As long as you do not leave your house, no one will be able to find it."

You blink. "Does this mean I can't even go onto my porch?"

Klaus almost looks apologetic.

"I'm afraid so."

You kiss your teeth. "Well," you say begrudgingly, "I guess if I have to."

"It shouldn't be too long," he says with a sharp grin, "Think of it as a long vacation."

You suppose it could be worse.

"Fine," you say, and then because you remember you should be nice to someone trying to save your life, "Thank you." He's not even the one trying to kill you this time.

"You're very welcome," Klaus says mildly.

Elijah rises from where's he's sitting and adjusts his cuffs.

"If you put together a list of supplies you'll need, I can have them picked up for you," he says. You smile, genuinely this time. (You can't stop yourself).

"Thank you, Elijah." You think he even smiles back at you.

"Please forgive me for leaving early," he apologizes, "I should consult with the witches."

"Come back soon."

"I will," he promises. You like the idea of seeing him again, you realize grudgingly. Maybe you're a bit too starved for human interaction. (Well, vampire interaction counts, you think). You realize Klaus is looking at you, quite amused.

"I see you like my brother," he says, leaning back in your arm chair.

"As much as I can like any vampire."

"He is the best of us," Klaus muses, "Or so he likes to pretend."

You roll your eyes. "Don't you have better things to do than try to ruin my opinion of the one member of your family I somewhat like?"

"You mean you don't like me?" Klaus mocks, "I thought we had something special."

You give him a look, but then the pretense fades. You've left in a wave of uncertainty that you know will crash on a jagged cliff.

"Klaus," you ask quietly, "What are you doing this for?"

You know better than to overestimate your own importance, you know who you are beyond all fraction of a truth.

(Self-knowledge, you've heard, is sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse).

You meant it when Damon had asked. You are a no one.

His icy blue eyes meet yours.

"Call it a whim," he says and that clears up absolutely nothing. He must see something in your face (not disappointment, you convince yourself), because he continues. "When you've gotten to my age," he confides, "Whims are one of the few things left. An eternity is a long time to not indulge yourself."

"What happens when you change your mind?"

You find yourself unwilling to give up your control over your life. Even if it's a useless action stemming from desperation.

Klaus straightens and looks at you with an uninterpretable expression.

"Alright," he says, "You have my word that I will make sure you do not come to harm for as long as you need, disbarring the event of you actively or passively trying to harm my family."

You balk. "I would never."

Klaus tilts his head, examining you.

"It's always surprising to me how much you mean that," he murmurs.

"Well," you say, "Not all of us are serial killers."

Klaus just chuckles at that and backs away from you.

"I'll return soon," he promises. He pulls the Klaus Special of vanishing before you can blink, a slight breeze lingering in your living room.

Well, you think, you have house arrest to look forward to.

Hey guys, hope you're enjoying the fic so far. If you want to read it on an Infinitely Better Website, check out my Ao3! I'm always willing to issue an invitation if you don't have an account.

Also I had someone in my PMs saying that writing in second person was literal Child P*rn. What the fuck.