You don't sleep well. You have that dream again. (Even if your brain laid dormant, you don't think you would have slept through the night). Elijah sets you up in a guest room and you don't see Klaus for the rest of the day. There must be some mercy in the world. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say. Distance makes the heart grow less fucking angry is more accurate.

Kate is less easily placated.

You call her, viciously aware that everyone in the house can hear what you're saying, and have the most painful conversation of your life.

("You CANNOT scare me like that!" Her voice crackles over the phone, too loud for even speaker-volume to handle, "Do you know how worried I was?"

You wince and try to tell her that you're okay. You mention that your house is going to be emptied soon, she shouldn't worry.

You suspect she will anyway. You're counting on it.

She demands your new address and you evasively promise to give it to her once you're settled.

When you hang up the phone, the house is still).

You wake up slowly. The first thing you remember as your senses return to you is Elijah's promise to have your new house set up tomorrow. With any luck, you won't have to see Klaus again before you leave. You can last a day. Hopefully. The bed is warm, and the room outside seems cold. You curl tighter underneath the feather-stuffed comforter. You can spend the morning in bed. There's nothing else you have to do.

"I know you're awake, your breathing changed."

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

You fall out of bed and Kol leans over the edge.

"I thought we already had this conversation," Kol says, propping himself up on his elbows, "I feel insulted you think we're that old."

You groan and press your palms into your eyes. You wonder how he got in your room without you noticing. Or how long he's been there.

"Now is not the time."

"Hm, I know that look. What did dearest Nik do now?"

"Standard Klaus antics. Remember when you took me to the restaurant?"

"And you were acting supremely suspicious," Kol finishes. You blow a sigh through your nose.

"Yeah, that time. Klaus found out."

"Ah, I see. Does that mean I get to know what your evil plot was?" Kol asks with a mischievous grin. "Please tell me it involved murder."

You roll your eyes. "It did not. I gave my friend a spare key to my house and told her to clear it out if I died."

Kol deflates.

"That's it? You're incredibly boring."

"I'm glad you finally got the memo."

"Did Nik really get angry because of that?" Kol asks in disbelief, "It's so… tame."

You think back to yesterday. You deliberately don't mention the part where you indicated you regretted ever meeting Klaus and his family. "You should have seen him, Kol."

"He'll get over it eventually, don't worry. Nik can hold a grudge, but he does have some form of self-awareness."

He can wait to get over it, because you don't want to see him for a long while.

"Remember when I let you stay the night so you didn't have to see Klaus?"

Kol's eyes drag down your prone form on the ground. He makes a humming noise in the back of his throat.

"Vividly," he says.

"Any chance you can help me avoid him today?" You ask hopefully.

Kol's eyes brighten and you almost regret asking.

"I can do you one better. How would you like to spend the day with me at my apartment?"

Your brow furrows. "You have an apartment?"

"Obviously. I need some place to escape to when Nik is being insufferable."

"So you needing to sleep over at my house was…"

"A ploy, yes."

You breathe a sigh through your nose.

"You're terrible."

Kol grins wickedly. "Is that a yes or no?"

You bite your lip.

"… I accept."

Kol reaches out a hand to help you up and you take it. He pulls you so hard you fall into him. You don't back away immediately.

"I'm glad you're okay."

His eyes scatter over your face for a moment. You had heard him and Rebekah the night Klaus took you here; Klaus had said he was okay and you had taken his word for it. You didn't realize you hadn't believed him until right now.

"I didn't know you felt this way," he says and you roll your eyes, spell broken.

"If you don't want me to beg your brother not to dagger you again, keep talking."

Kol pauses. "So he did tell you, then?"

"The Salvatores did."

"Hm," he says, "I suppose I should have seen that one coming." He takes one look at your face before continuing. "What else did they tell you?"

It's not a question.

"… They told me about Klaus. And your mother."

"Ah." Kol's face grows uncharacteristically solemn. "And you still stood up to Nik for me and Rebekah, even knowing his temper?"

You avert your gaze. "It was nothing."

"I suppose I should say thank you."

"You don't need to."

"Thank you."

"Really, it was no trouble," you lie.

"Liar." Kol finally releases you. "Go get ready, you look a mess."

You wrinkle your nose at him, but he turns away before he can see it. Elijah left clothes for you in the dresser. You take a pair of too-nice dress pants and the biggest sweater you can find. Outside, it's getting colder. You sense snow in the future.

The cold can't dampen your anticipation at getting to leave (the house, whatever tantrum Klaus is throwing, the oppressiveness of this manor: take your pick). You desperately hope Elijah wasn't being ridiculously optimistic yesterday. You want to move into your new home so badly you could burst.

A real home. You've never had that before. Shitty rentals with poorly painted walls do not a home make. You fix your hair with something like hope in your chest.

"Where's your apartment?" You call to Kol from the bathroom.

"Richmond," he answers easily, "I prefer to be in the city."

"More people to drain?"

You reenter the bedroom and he cracks a grin.

"Something like that," he says, "Nice sweater."

"Thanks."

Kol hums. "Shall we?"

He offers you his arm and you take it. You get down one flight of stairs before someone stops you. Must be a record.

"Were you really going to take off with her and leave me in the dust?" Rebekah demands.

"Well, now that you mention it," Kol says blithely.

You stop Rebekah from hitting her brother.

"Rebekah," you say as sweetly as you can manage, "Would you like to join us?"

There are only so many tantrums you can deal with in such a short space of time.

"I suppose I don't have anything better to do." It's such a stereotypical Rebekah response you can't help but roll your eyes. "Though," she tacks on, "I have been missing your baking. Those bagels were quite satisfactory."

You glance towards Kol, inspiration striking.

"Well," you say, "If you have a kitchen I can do one better."

Kol does have a kitchen. Albeit, it's empty. You send him to the store with a basic list of ingredients. You wonder if he only lives off of blood. (You can't imagine living without cooking, without food and warmth. Without comfort).

You'll leave him leftovers.

"I hear we have you to thank for our conspicuous lack of daggering," Rebekah says the minute Kol is out the door. You shift your weight.

"I didn't really do anything."

Rebekah cocks her head. "You must get better at lying, sweetheart," she drawls, "We know you were there the other night, darling. Vampire hearing, remember?"

Your chin ducks.

"I didn't do anything," you insist, "I just talked to him."

It's true, mostly. There's not much distinction between yelling and talking besides volume.

"Still," she sniffs, "I suppose we ought to be grateful."

"I wouldn't go that far," you say dryly.

"I dislike being in the debt of others."

"I accept cash or debit."

Rebekah cracks a smile. "You would never accept it."

"No, I wouldn't."

"Most people wouldn't go to those lengths for me," Rebekah admits, "And we're not that close."

"I'd like to be."

Rebekah looks at you strangely.

"… I suppose it wouldn't be a hardship."

"Thanks," you say dryly.

She keeps looking at you in that odd way. You would give almost anything for the Mikaelsons to act like normal people every once in a while. Something they seem impervious to.

Rebekah's in the middle of an animated tale involving three witches and one compelled designer when Kol comes back with your ingredients. You arrange them in his bare kitchen cabinets and explore the kitchen. Shockingly, Kol has a stand mixer. He tells you it came with the apartment when he acquired it. You're assuming some other poor baker lived here and was murdered for their living quarters.

How easily that could have been you.

You brush the thought aside. One day you're going to have to empty all the thoughts from your mental dustpan. Today is not that day.

You don't fry things often. You love yeast doughnuts, but you don't love the oil smell that permeates your house no matter how many windows you open. Thankfully you don't live at Kol's apartment, so you don't really care. Rebekah sits at the Kol's breakfast bar, sipping from a glass of what you suspect is blood and bickering with her brother. You ignore them and add softened butter to your beignet mixture. The mixer dial clicks as you set it to medium.

"How close in age are you?" You ask, interrupting an argument about an (opal?) necklace, "You two act like you're twins."

They exchange a look.

"Almost," Kol answers, amused, "We're less than a year apart."

"I think you call it 'Irish twins'."

"I'm guessing you're the youngest?"

Rebekah's brow furrows.

"How did you know?"

"Oh you know," you say and politely decide not to mention the myriad ways she acts like a youngest sibling, "Kol seems like a middle child."

Kol's eyes narrow.

"How would you know," he snipes, "You don't even have siblings."

"Then it must be very obvious if I managed to pick up on it," you say and even manage to keep a straight face.

"I will ruin your beignets," Kol threatens.

"Here I thought you liked my baking."

Rebekah cracks a smile.

You finish the beignet dough while they bicker. This isn't quite what you expected from the Mikaelsons. Part of you thought they would live as far apart as possible. They argue so much that sometimes you wonder if they hate each other. But then there are moments like this; bickering in the kitchen over doughnuts and you start to wonder if this is what having a family is supposed to be like. Envy overtakes you. You wind it up in a ball and toss it aside.

The afternoon sun streams through the window. They need to be cleaned.

"What next?" Kol asks, "Should we get the oil started?"

"I don't trust either of you in the kitchen," you say dryly, "And no. It needs to rise for an hour."

Rebekah inclines her head, agreeing. You're surprised Kol even offers. He wasn't particularly helpful when you made madeleines. Though, you think, he also choked you up against a wall so it's hardly the worst thing he did that day.

"In that case," Kol says with a malicious grin, "Bex, please fuck off."

"Why on Earth would I do that?"

"I'll tell you where I hid your fire-opal necklace."

"You told me that wench Rosalie took it! A hundred and fifty years ago!"

Kol shrugs unapologetically. Rebekah's eyes narrow. You watch on in mild amusement. You refrain from reminding her she could just buy a new one.

"Kol," you say, "Should I be afraid of you trying to get me alone?"

"Not at all."

"Probably," Rebekah says.

You sigh.

"Rebekah, I forgot to tell Kol to get us coffee grounds. Would you mind?"

'This will got a whole lot faster if we just go along with your idiot brother' is what you don't say.

"I am not your errand girl," she snipes.

"Beka," Kol groans.

"I hate this family."

She doesn't take her coat before she leaves.

"I feel like being a teenager for eternity would be a nightmare," you comment.

"You have no idea."

"Would you like to tell me why you kicked out your sister?"

"I have something for you."

"Oh boy."

Kol must read the trepidation on your face. "It's not an apology gift. Promise."

Some of your tension releases.

"Suspicious," you comment, "What is it?"

He pulls out a necklace with a small gold pendant.

"An amulet," Kol continues, "It brings good luck. There's a basic protection spell woven in it. Witches won't be able to scry for you while you're wearing it."

"It's beautiful," you admit. It's understated enough you can get away with using it every day. "Thanks for not putting any diamonds in it."

Kol cracks a smile. "I figured I wouldn't be able to get you to wear it if it did."

"Smart man." You reach out your hand to take it, but Kol pulls it away while tutting.

"Turn around, I'll put it on for you."

He's grinning, but you can tell he's not joking. Slowly, you rotate. He places the necklace around your throat. Unbidden, the memory of him strangling you pops back into your head. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You haven't known each other that long, not really. So much has changed. Almost too quickly.

If the Mikaelsons engrained themselves in your lives this fast, how quickly could they leave it?

Despite the Mikaelsons' protestations, you know this won't last. You think dying would hurt less than the knowledge that they saw who you were and chose to abandon you purposefully.

Kol clasps the necklace and doesn't let you go. The heat of his hands sink into you.

"Thank you," you say and your voice is too soft, "Did you really have to get me alone to give me this?"

"We wouldn't want Rebekah getting jealous, now would we?"

You inhale sharply and step out of the protective circle of Kol's arms.

"Kol—" You start. Something flashes over his face before fading into an easy smile.

"Relax, beloved, I meant nothing by it."

He's lying and you know he's lying, but you let it go. You turn away and pretend to check on the beignets. The dough has risen a few inches.

"So, how do you know so much about magic?"

Kol, thankfully, accepts the subject change. He takes a seat on one of the barstools and watches you putter around his kitchen. You wash the set of measuring cups Kol almost certainly didn't buy.

"I was a witch, when we were alive."

You hesitate. Kol's tone stays carefully passive. You see through it.

"What was it like?" You ask carefully.

This time, Kol's the one who pauses.

"Wonderful," he says bitterly, "Too wonderful to last."

You swallow down any comfort you could offer. Something tells you it wouldn't be well received.

"Tell me about it."

He looks at you with new eyes and tells you. You've never seen Kol like this before: wistful and wanting. He tells you about a connection to nature, the pure and sweet power of being able to manipulate energy.

Kol says a lot more than he means to. His tone says even more.

A slam interrupts your conversation. You jump.

"Am I allowed to come back now?" Rebekah asks snottily, apartment door swinging in the breeze.

"Since you asked," Kol says, "No."

You roll your eyes.

"He means, yes. Did you get coffee?"

She did. You start up the coffee maker. You've never been a coffee person, but you can't have tea with beignets. Kol looks at you, horrified, as you put in salt with the coffee grounds.

"Your water is too filtered," you explain, amused, "Salt makes it taste better."

"You're full of shit," Rebekah says. You stifle a grin. The machine beeps when it's ready. Kol looks skeptical, but he blinks when he tries it.

"Told you," you say.

He nods in respect to your superior kitchen knowledge. (As he should). Rebekah grudgingly admits you were right.

When the dough is completely risen, you get the oil ready and tell Kol to cut the beignets into squares. Rebekah gets another cup of coffee.

"I've spent a thousand years avoiding the housewife stereotype," she says, "I'm not going to start now."

Fair enough.

Kol is terrible at baking, but you let it go. His squares are more like parallelograms. One is more of a triangle. You put them in the oil. Even the exhaust hood can't funnel all of the fumes away. You open a window.

"Bon appétit," you say wryly. You sprinkle the beignets with powdered sugar. It sends them into fits of nostalgia for when they apparently lived in New Orleans. You think that's the best compliment they could give you. You bite into one.

They're pretty good.

You take a sip. They're better with coffee.

Kol and Rebekah continue to bicker. It seems to be a staple in the continuity of their relationship. The beignets whittle down until there's only a few left. You leave them for Kol. He's the one who's going to have to deal with the oil smell. (Plus, a person needs more than blood to sustain them: vampire or not).

They barely notice when you wander off to explore Kol's apartment. Normally you wouldn't, but you've come to the conclusion you can stand to be a little rude. He's already gone through your medicine cabinet. This hardly compares. Kol's bedroom looks barely lived in. (It's used, you can tell. His bed is rumpled and there's a CD player in the corner. But it's not lived in. There's nothing here that shows you who he is).

You wonder what it's like to run and run and run, never being able to put your feet down. You don't think your apartment would look lived in either.

You finish your coffee and leave the plate on Kol's bedside table and browse his movie collection.

Today is what you needed. Away from Klaus and all of his tantrums, you feel more in control. Gratitude towards Kol and Rebekah floods you. Time away will do you both some good. You're still not ready to face Klaus any time soon.

"What would Kol say if he caught you in his bedroom?" Rebekah asks, jolting you out of your thoughts. You didn't hear her come in.

"Probably something suggestive."

Her lips twitch. She presses play on Kol's CD player. You don't recognize the song.

"I wish you were easier to hate," she says eventually.

There's not a good way to respond to that.

"Why?"

Rebekah shrugs. "This happens every few centuries, but never quite like this."

Something in her tone makes you pause.

"What are you talking about?"

"I've never liked any of my family's infatuations much. They have terrible taste. Or tend towards murder plots."

"I don't know what you mean."

She rolls her eyes. "You cannot be this bloody oblivious," she snaps and you jump.

"I know, I know," you bite out because you do, you think you've known for a while, "But I can't deal with it right now."

"Then when?" She says as she corners you. You back away, "This is not something you can avoid. I know my family."

"I know," you admit, "I just—" You trail off.

"If you can't make a decision, then I will." She gets a spark in her eye you don't like. "I'm tired of being the last choice. Maybe this time I'll beat them to the punch."

You open your mouth to say something but whiplash hits you. You come to sprawled on Kol's bed, Rebekah straddling you. It takes you another belated moment to realize her lips are pressed against yours. For one brief, thoughtless moment, you kiss her back.

Then you remember yourself.

"Re— bekah, Rebekah," you mumble against her lips, fruitlessly trying to push her away, "Get off."

She doesn't. You're panicking and you don't know why— Rebekah wouldn't hurt you, won't hurt you. You don't even really mind her kissing you. Your body obviously isn't getting the memo because the ball of stress in your chest you call a heart snaps. Then something worse happens. You burst into tears.

She jumps off of you, wide-eyed. You're full on sobbing when Kol bursts into the room and you don't quite know why.

"What did you do?" He growls.

"I just kissed her!"

"You WHAT?"

You can hear them arguing, but you can't quite understand what they're saying. By the time you come to, Rebekah's gone and Kol's kneeling in front of you with concern etched on his face.

"— It's alright, it's alright," you realize he's saying.

"Sorry," you mutter, wiping the tears from your eyes, "I don't know why that happened."

He looks at you for a moment, thumb stroking the side of your face. You flinch.

"… You've been going through a lot, haven't you?" He says eventually.

You choke on a sob. Understatement of the year.

"Yeah," you say.

He just looks at you. You break eye contact.

"Lets get you to bed."

It's too early to sleep, but Kol gives you pajamas anyway. You crawl in his bed and he turns to leave.

"Where are you going?"

He eyes you. "You seem like you need to be alone right now."

Relief melts through you. Then you feel so guilty over being relieved that you almost start crying again.

"Thank you," you whisper.

He gives a small half-smile and closes the door behind him.

You go to sleep.

We've moved onto the second phase of our story! Pastry is completed and now we are firmly onto Cake.