The Mikaelsons settle into your life like they never left. Most of the time it's normal, but you start to see the hidden meanings and fugitive glances.
They're wooing you. What's more is you don't mind.
You put Marcel's number in your phone. Your conversation with him lingers in the back of your mind whenever Klaus looks at you with those heavy, icy eyes— like cold fire. More likely, waves of arctic ocean rippling before dragging you out to sea. You have a moment before you hit 'add contact' that you start to consider this is a bad idea. The idea of Klaus finding it in your phone…
Well, hopefully you won't find out.
You press the button and try to forget about it.
You keep drinking your vervain tea just in case.
Slowly, your body starts to recover from your month of insomnia. Finn drops off herbal remedies for you, courtesy of Freya. You take them four nights in a row before you start to miss dreaming. There are no witches, no more nightmares. Not even any hint of Maternal Mikaelson.
Surprising, honestly.
You still get phantom pains in your wrist and the ends of your ribs. Sometimes you wake up in cold sweat thinking your dreams have come back. They never do.
Different undead haunt your dreams.
Well. Haunting might be the wrong word.
You've never been a particularly sexual person. Low hormone levels, unhappy childhood and adolescence, lack of time to date— take your pick. To say you're handling the change well would be… well, lying. You wake up with a full body ache more often than you'd like to admit. Klaus catches you one morning.
(He wakes you early despite being uninvited. You didn't even know he was in your house until he finds you tangled in your sheets filled with left over want and yearning from some far off dream. You can't even remember who you were dreaming about. For a brief moment, you think he doesn't notice until his eyes flicker with hidden amusement and something much more primordial. You remember when you woke up in New Orleans with him holding you— the security you lingered in as you drifted back off to sleep. You haven't had anything like that before).
You avoid dragging him into bed by the skin of your teeth.
You start to eat again as January drags itself into February. You try new recipes that don't pan out. You keep your coffee dates with Finn. Rebekah shows up at your house whenever she feels like (though, somehow never when one of her siblings are there). You're starting to feel like they keep a calendar for who gets you. They don't go as far as claiming certain days, but you can nearly always predict who's going to show up next.
Kate drags you to a culinary seminar that's in town for the weekend and informs you that you're paying. ("If you have mob money, you may as well use it," she said. She's right. Mostly). You finally find a good knife sharpener and a few more people you could call if you ever wanted to go back to work.
(You don't).
Instead, you join a ceramics group that meets ten minutes from your house out of some latent desire to have actual hobbies. You're really bad at it. Your first creation explodes in the kiln. What does come out has jagged grooves and uneven glaze. You keep up with it anyway.
If nothing else, you muse, clay is compostable.
Your house feels less empty. No more eating alone. You have a constant stream of Mikaelsons ready to keep you entertained. Or, more likely, wanting to be entertained. Somethings stay the same.
"Elijah," you say, leaning against the door frame with tea in hand, "When I said I wanted built-ins, I didn't mean you had to build them yourself."
"I had the time. To be honest," he muses, checking his watch, "I thought I would be able to finish them before you got back. How was class?"
"Pretty good! I got some pinch pots back. We started wheel throwing today."
He looks at you with amusement.
"I'm sure you will excel."
You drain the rest of your tea. It's your third one of the day. Living large. (And highly caffeinated). You set the paper cup on your end table along with your bag of ceramics. You're not sure where to put them yet.
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," you say dryly, "Do you think I could foist some plant pots off on Finn? He's too polite to throw them out."
Elijah chuckles.
"I'm sure you could." He sets down his hammer that he definitely took out of your garage. "Would you like dinner? You cook often enough for us, it's only fair I return the favor."
You blink.
"That sounds great, thank you."
He smiles again and you hope to God he can't hear your heart flutter.
That would be embarrassing.
Elijah doesn't let you in the kitchen with him, even when you complain.
"At least let me help."
"Hm," he says, "I don't think I will."
You roll your eyes.
"You can't tie me to the chair, Elijah."
He looks up from his (your) cutting board at that.
"Don't tempt me."
You flush so hot you can feel it in your palms.
"You have got to stop saying stuff like that. You and your siblings are going to send me into cardiac arrest."
He smiles at you, closed lipped, but you can see the amused warmth in his eyes.
What a shame that would be," he murmurs, "Then I wouldn't get to see that delightful flush you get when you're embarrassed."
It takes twenty minutes for your face to return to its normal temperature.
"You're evil."
Elijah shrugs.
"Some would say."
You eat dinner at your breakfast bar (some kind of curry you've never had before. It's amazing. No surprises there. You wonder if Elijah ever gets tired of being so competent at everything).
"I haven't seen you in a while," you say evenly, "Where have you been?"
You still don't know much about what the Mikaelsons do when they're not eating you out of house and home.
Elijah leans back in his chair gracefully.
"I'm currently in the middle of dealing with an outbreak in Eastern Peru."
"… Not that I'm questioning your humanitarianism, but why?"
"You're correct to question it. I somewhat manage a blood transport web that encases the globe. It's the main source of our family's personal blood stash, as well as many of our allies. It helps us avoid draining hospitals dry as well as getting unwanted attention."
"That's strangely…" you struggle for words, "Benevolent."
"I also take an active role in it to maintain leverage over most of the vampire population. At least those with any modicum of political sway."
"Ah," you say, "That sounds more like you."
Elijah smiles mildly.
"I've been told I'm quite consistent."
"Ever hear of the McClelland human motivation theory?"
"I would hazard a guess you rank higher in need for affiliation than power. After all," Elijah says dryly, "You do maintain six different relationships."
"I feel like you just called me a whore."
Elijah chokes on his drink and you laugh.
"Sometimes I think you say these things just to get a rise out of me."
You grin and finish your curry.
"No one ever claimed you were stupid, Elijah."
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're going to be the death of me."
"That's unfair," you reproach, "Your siblings stress you out more than I do."
"That is a burden I am used to. You are new."
You grin again.
It's been a long time since you've had this kind of prolonged happiness. The only thing you can compare it to was that first week after moving out of your parents before you realized your roommates were the bad kind of crazy and that you needed money to live. There's still a part of you wondering when the jig's going to be up. But there's a larger part that's happy to have this kind of happiness, regardless of its ending.
"Do you want to go out tonight?" You blurt out because you're still heavily caffeinated and don't want to think about winding down for the evening, "I feel like going on an adventure. I'm relying on your compulsion to avoid getting arrested."
Elijah looks at you, amused.
"What kind of outing were you thinking? Usually there tends to be a bit of murder if I'm with my siblings."
"Honestly," you say, "I'll settle for breaking and entering. Maybe arson."
"Well," he muses, "If the lady insists."
Despite living here for nearly all your life, you haven't spent that much time in the city. You're going out more now that you have real adult money. But you had no idea that Richmond had an auction house.
It's enormous and strangely high-class. The building's facade carries echos of Grecian architecture with marble columns and wide, imposing stairs. There's a statue of a dancing woman near the entrance. Her eyes follow you.
"This used to be the old opera house," Elijah says behind you as you stand gawking at the front steps, "There was a fire in 1852 and they moved deeper into the city. The building sat empty for a while before the city turned it into an auction house."
"It's beautiful. How are we going to get in?"
Dumb question. Elijah shatters the doorknob with a flick of his wrist.
"Won't that leave evidence?"
"I'll reimburse them. I'm sure they'll be willing to forget in return for a sizable donation."
You roll your eyes and follow your vampire suitor deeper into the building. You cautiously scout the ceiling for cameras. You wave to whatever security person's going to watch these later.
"I don't know what it says about you that when I said I wanted to go out, this was the first thing that popped into your head."
Elijah turns around to look at you, amused.
"I'm not sure what it says about you that for our first proper date you wanted to commit burglary."
You stumble. You didn't categorize this as a date in your head when you first asked. Maybe you should have. It's not that you're opposed to the idea— very much the opposite— but a part of you still isn't used to the freedom you have with the Mikaelsons. You're allowed to think of them romantically. (Or even…). You realize you've been silent for too long. Elijah's expression doesn't change in any perceptible way, but the energy grows stiff.
"I thought our first date was the cafe," you say to break the tension and it works.
"That hardly counts," Elijah sniffs, "You weren't aware you were being courted."
You smile at him, a tad too soft for your usual wry nature. You follow Elijah into a room chock full of antiques. Your eyes catch on some solid oak bookcases. If Elijah wasn't already making you built ins, you'd want them.
"Who goes to this kind of stuff?" You ask aloud and then immediately feel stupid with Elijah standing there in all six-foot of his Armani suit. "Besides you," you tack on.
Elijah laughs.
"Collectors, old money, new money who full heartedly believe buying a Van Gogh sketch will entreat those with generation wealth to create connections with them."
You wrinkle your nose.
"Sounds exhausting."
"The rich often are."
"I'm assuming you guys just compel yourself a fortune," you muse as you admire an antique roll-top desk. The tambour catches in the tracks. Disappointing.
Elijah hums. "Partially. Compelling small amounts of money is fairly easy. Easier before the IRS and foreign counterparts, at least. Now we mostly fake income streams. Immortality doesn't hurt either thanks to the wonders of compound interest."
"Elijah," you mock, "I didn't know you were a criminal."
He chuckles again and leans toward you, yanking the thin wood slats of the roll-top desk into place. It slides easily now.
"You seem quite taken with the desk."
"I've always thought they were cool," you admit, "Why the hell is it so expensive?"
"Most likely it belonged to someone famous and their descendants are selling off the estate."
You frown, fingers tracing dark wood. You wonder what will happen to your stuff when you die.
(Hopefully Goodwill if Kate keeps her promise).
"That's kind of sad."
"Everyone dies eventually."
You level a look at him. "Bold words coming from an immortal."
"We will still find our end one day," and he's solemn despite your joking tone, "Despite my brother's insistence that we are inevitable."
"Which one," you say quietly, "Klaus or Finn?"
Elijah, uncharacteristically, winces.
"Has Finn told you the circumstances of his death yet?"
"No. Not yet."
Elijah's distant gaze tunnels a hole through a nearby painting to the wall behind it.
"When he does, I suspect you'll be angry with Niklaus. Try not to be."
"Why is it so important to you that I forgive him for everything?"
"He's my brother," Elijah says simply, "And I know the kind of man he is."
You wonder if Elijah knows the kind of man he is.
"I have someplace I want to show you."
His eyebrows briefly raise.
"Lead the way."
Elijah lets you drive his ridiculously nice car and doesn't comment on how you almost rear-end someone when it accelerates faster than you're used to.
You could kiss him just for that.
"The library?" Elijah comments when you pull into the empty parking lot.
You put the car in park.
"I used to spend all my time here."
"I would have thought your university would have a library."
You fidget with your hands.
"This was before college," you say, "I would come here after school as a teenager. They're open later than the one that was near my house."
"And where was that?"
You shift, leather squeaking beneath you.
"Why? Going to track down my parents?"
Elijah returns your gaze steadily.
"Only if you wanted me to."
"I don't," you bite out, "Don't say things like that."
His eyes remain calm.
"Alright."
You can't tell if he means it.
"Do you want to go inside?"
"I don't think even you could get us into the building without setting off the alarms." You say, unbuckling your seatbelt.
"I find it insulting you feel the need to question my abilities," Elijah says mildly, "I thought I proved myself remarkably well already."
You roll your eyes.
"Follow me."
You have the passing thought as Elijah follows you in the narrow alley way between the two parts of the library without any explanation that he's a good sport. You spider-man climb your way up the wall and use the lower edge of a window to push yourself up onto the roof. It's been years since you've done this, but the memory of it lingers in your muscles. You rest on your knees and the balls of your feet as you poke your head over the gutters.
"Coming?" You say. Elijah hides a smile. You very much want to see him in all his hand tailored suit glory try to attempt this.
"Of course, my dear."
Your face falls as Elijah leaps onto the rooftop in one smooth motion.
"I feel cheated."
"If I didn't know better, I would say you wanted to watch me fall."
"Only kind of."
Elijah laughs and reaches out his hand. He's so close you can see the pattern woven into the wool of his pants. You have a brief flash of recognition when you realize what it looks like right now, you kneeling at his feet. You take his hand before you let that thought deepen.
"My favorite spot is over here," you say, leading him across asphalt shingles to a corner between two stories. It's far back enough that the librarians couldn't see you when they left for the day, but open enough that you can nearly see over the horizon. You would linger inside the building— steadily reading through the young adult section— until just before close. You'd leave the warmth and silence of the building to come sit on the roof, watching the stars and fervently wishing you didn't have to go home.
You always did.
You sit down and lean against the brick wall, motioning for Elijah to do the same.
As usual, he obeys.
It's strange, being here with someone else.
"Thanks for putting in built-ins, Elijah."
"You can thank me when they're done," he says dryly, "Have you had a good evening?"
"Very. I didn't know auction houses were that easy to break into."
"Nearly everything is easy when you're a vampire."
A gust of wind blows around you, warped into a cyclone by the sharp edges of the building. It's cold up here. Whatever heat absorbed by the black shingles is long gone in the early winter darkness. Elijah offers you his arm and you rest your head on his shoulder.
"I want to apologize," he starts, "For my mistrust when we first met."
Your forehead wrinkles.
"Elijah, you don't—"
"No, you deserve it. I treated you with suspicion far longer than your behavior warranted. I suppose I couldn't find it in myself to believe anyone could act the way you have with my family."
You flashback to when Rebekah told you nearly the same thing.
"You guys aren't exactly trusting."
He laughs, a dry little thing.
"You could say that."
The two of you are silent for a long moment, winter wind filling the silence. You shift closer to his warmth.
"I want you to know that I'm not oblivious to what you and your family are," you say quietly, "I'm still here after being kidnapped and being haunted by your long-lost sister. You can trust that I'm staying."
Elijah turns and cups your head so you're facing him properly. His eyes glint in the moonlight with something heavy and impossibly lonely.
"I hope very much that's the case."
His thumb traces circles on your jaw and you're struck by how close the two of you are. Almost unwillingly, your eyes flicker to his lips. His thumb stills.
It's easy to close the gap, your hands still gripped on his suit jacket— his hand winding in your hair. Elijah kisses you like you're special, like he cares enough about you to make you built ins and go to one of your childhood hangout spots from a ridiculously lonely adolescence.
A rush of warmth too strong for what this is floods through you.
Eventually he pulls away. He doesn't say anything, just keeps looking at you with dark eyes and stroking your jaw. He levies a heavy sigh.
"What am I going to do with you?"
"I could think of a few things."
Your voice is raspier than you intended. Right now what you want to do is run your hands through his hair.
"This is a terrible idea."
You still.
"Why?"
Elijah pauses, mouth pressed into a solid line.
"I don't want to incur anyone's jealousy."
"Is this about Klaus?"
His gaze sharpens and you remember belatedly none of the Mikaelsons know about your conversations with Marcel.
"To an extent," he pronounces slowly, but doesn't ask any questions or elaborate.
You get the terrible feeling that Elijah is deflecting. He's shown less interest than his siblings in you before today. You misread this.
"I— I'm sorry. I should go."
Elijah catches your wrist before you can back away.
"Please don't mistake my hesitation as an indicator of my lack of interest. I would like very much to pursue this with you. Now is just…" He lets out a frustrated sigh, "Not the time."
Part of your hurt is satiated.
"When will it be time?"
His gaze flickers back up to yours.
"I'll let you know when it comes."
It'd be easy to be frustrated with the difficulties that come with (dating seems like the wrong word) the Mikaelsons. But you knew what you were getting into when you said yes. Maybe not the full extent, not yet. But you've always had the bare outline since Klaus ripped open your throat and healed you two days later.
You close your eyes and press down the hurt and irritation that threaten to overwhelm you. (It's pointless, you remind yourself, to be frustrated with Elijah for trying to protect his brother's feelings. It's like being mad at a scorpion for stinging).
"I understand. Thanks for being honest with me."
He traces the nape of your neck, eyes never moving away from you except for a brief moment when he closes them and gives a deep exhale. He presses a kiss to your forehead and clears his throat.
"You're freezing," he murmurs, "Lets get you home."
He drives back. Snow starts to fall.
Two days later, Lot #62, an antique roll top desk, shows up on your front porch.
Hope you guys liked the Elijah heavy chapter ! Thanks for waiting the extra week, midterms were hell :/