She opens the front door with clammy hands, her breath coming out in pants. She tells herself it's because inviting him into her home is a risk - he might find out about her part in Esther's plan.
She knows that isn't true.
She steps inside and opens the door properly, and he enters her house easily. She still remembers how he'd wrangled an invitation for himself, how he'd greeted her casually as if he didn't see her as a lamb to be led to a slaughter.
His significance in her life, brief may his presence have been, is too much, too big, and she has no words to explain it, only the beating of her heart, and the flush clinging to her skin.
"Um, can you wait just a minute? I'll change into something more comfortable."
"Alright." There's a glint in his eyes as he moves to the couch and she wonders why he accepted her invitation. Wonders why she invited him at all.
She walks to the kitchen, a split second decision, and pulls the bottle of bourbon Alaric left, pours a drink into one of her dad's old whiskey tumblers. Hands it to him before she's rushing up the stairs.
She can feel his eyes on her back the entire time.
She shuts the door behind her with the gentility of a sledgehammer and starts pulling at her dress. It's all too much, she's helping someone to kill five people.
She's helping someone kill him.
Her eyes sting but she ensures herself it's the makeup remover. Her stomach's in knots as she finally removes the large dress and steps out of it.
She bites her lip as she decides what to wear.
It should be an easy decision, after all, she is going to sleep after this. And yet, she's conflicted. She pulls out one of her long sleeved tops - it's almost similar to the one she was wearing when she first met him, and a pair of shorts that aren't too short.
She sees herself in the mirror, and tells herself that none of this means anything. She's just going to talk to him and then he'll leave.
(She cleans up her bedroom anyway.)
The flowers on her desk seem to taunt her but she decides to leave them be for the moment.
"Sorry it took so long," she says when she's in the living room again, her tongue suddenly heavy.
He's standing by her wall of family photos.
She wants to tear him away from them, he's responsible for Jenna's death and yet, she can't.
(It's been so long since anyone other than her has really looked at them.)
He turns when he hears her, and she feels her breathe catch at the way he looks at her.
(She's in over her head.)
"I'm surprised to see that there are no Salvatores here." He says as she walks towards him.
"It doesn't matter," because it doesn't. No one's here, and nothing seems to matter anymore. She moves through life because dying is not an option and lives alone with ghosts.
"Elena," He says it like he's reproaching her, and she feels heat crawl up her neck.
She doesn't know what to do now that he's here, now that they're alone.
She's dreamt about this so many times; she's always been a bit enamoured by him. Him and his stupid suits and his half smiles. The way his cheekbones stand out.
She's never confessed it to any one, but his proximity makes her feel more than just fear.
She wonders if he knows that.
"I've been fine on my own." It's what she tells everyone.
"Have you?" His gaze is intense as it cuts through her skin, and she wants to see more of him. More of his emotions. More than what brief, fleeting looks in his eyes tell her.
"What about you? How are you….adjusting?" She asks instead, even though she knows his answer has the potential to hurt her.
He sighs like he's indulging her, "oh, it's been alright. Niklaus is hairs breadth away from daggering Kol again, who of course, cannot stop goading him. Rebekah moons over a high school boy," he says that with the derision only a disapproving sibling can manage, "and Finn requires help in all areas of this century. Mother remains elusive as ever."
They've entered dangerous territory, and Elena bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting.
"I asked how you were, not everyone else." She sees the way his lips part as he turns to her, eyes fixed on her.
"I have been….managing everyone. Which means, of course, haranguing everyone so that they don't fight."
"In a house with Klaus? That sounds exhausting." She says teasingly and he smiles ruefully at her before looking around.
"How long have you been living alone?"
"Elijah…" she doesn't want him to ask, she doesn't want to delude herself into thinking that he cares more than he actually does.
"It's a perfectly reasonable question Elena. You look tired."
"I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to say that to anyone."
"I'm merely saying that you need rest."
"Yeah, well, you're brother doesn't make it easy." He purses his lips like he wants to argue and she shakes her head. "I'm gonna get a drink. What do you want?"
"I thought bourbon was the drink of choice around this place."
"Yeah, but…" he raises his eyebrows in question and she leads him to the kitchen. Propping a chair against the counter, she climbs it easily. Acutely aware that he's standing behind her. Probably getting a good view of her ass.
This is of course, purely an accident.
She snags the bottle after a few minutes of futile searching in the overhead cabinet and turns to look down at him.
Holds the bottle of single malt scotch like it's a prize.
"My dad used to sneak in a drink after work. I figured it out when I turned fifteen."
"And then?"
"I used to sneak in a drink around midnight." He's trying, and failing, not to smile and she finds herself smiling back easily.
It's nice to have someone else in the house.
Climbing down, she almost falls, but his arms reach around her waist to steady her and she feels hot all of a sudden. His eyes on hers and his fingers searing into her skin through her thin tank top.
She wants to kiss him and smear her lipstick all around his mouth.
She settles for pressing into his side.
For one night, she wants to be a selfish teenager.
(She tunes out the voice in her head that tells her it might be her last chance to spend time with him.)
"I'm gonna get a glass," she disentangles herself from his side, and by the time she gets back to the living room, he's already settled into her couch.
(He'll be dead soon, a voice whispers, and she'll be responsible for it.
She pours a generous helping of the drink for herself and downs her thoughts along with it.)
"It seems my mother was quite intense." She sits down next to him, closer than she usually would, almost touching, and hands him his glass.
"Is that what you want to talk about? Your mother?" She watches the emotions play on his face, and she knows what she wants.
(She'll probably go to hell for it, but given who she is, it's always been a possibility.)
"What do you wish to speak about then?" She thinks of telling him about the champagne, but there's a wall in this very room. And it's filled with pictures of all the dead people in her life.
She thinks about mundane subjects that mean nothing.
"I missed you."
It's an honest admission, a difficult one, and yet it falls from her lips so easily. Because she has missed him.
The night Klaus found her alive, she knows Elijah wouldn't have let him go that far. Or Rebekah. She thinks she wouldn't have minded being under Klaus' 'protection' if he'd left Elijah in Mystic Falls instead of Rebekah.
There's more to it though. She's missed talking to him, whatever limited talks they had were always so…consuming. She'd be in a constant state of fear, until one day she wasn't.
That's a mistake, she thinks.
He's still scary.
And yet, she's not afraid.
"Did you?" Something ticks in his jaw and her hands flint over to it instantly. She watches the muscle relax as her fingers fan over the sharp angles of his jawline and cheekbones.
"Yes." He looks at her searchingly before sighing.
"Elena."
"Elijah, I-" she knows how he feels about her ancestor, about her face, and it strikes her that she's doing the same thing to him.
And she can't.
So she pulls away, even as something hurts within her ribs. Before she can move away though, he encases her hand and pulls her back into him.
She thinks he's going to kiss her (wants him to kiss her) instead he brings her wrist up to his lips. She sighs when he presses his lips there, over her pulse point, and then over each of her fingers.
(She's never been touched this reverently before, not even with Stefan.)
His actions are soft and yet, his gaze his burning.
She'll turn to ash if he keeps looking at her like this.
(She's not sure it's a bad thing.)
When he lets go of her, she clutches at his bow tie. "It's crooked," she says but instead of fixing it, she pulls at it until it comes undone.
He watches her and she catches the instant something shifts in his gaze. Suddenly he's clutching at her wrist and pulling her towards him, the distance between them turned to nothingness as he tugs her into his lap.
Before he can think twice about this, before she can, she leans down and presses her lips against his. The kiss is messy and desperate as he shifts her so she's straddling one thigh.
(The voice inside her head is intense now, guilt churning low in her gut, so she drowns it along with the sounds he makes in his throat.)
His thigh presses up so that it comes into sharp contact with her clothed centre, and she gasps into his mouth. Hands settle on both sides of her neck, pressing just enough so that her chest heaves, but not so hard that it's uncomfortable. She's driven by desire when her own hand lands near his clothed erection, her breath shuddering.
She looks down at him, hazy brown eyes gaze back at her, pupils blown wide and it's as though her hips have a mind of their own. Gripping his thigh and rutting along it. His fingers spread so that his thumb is pulling at her lower lip, and she sucks it into her mouth. Wraps her lips around it like she wants to do to his hard cock.
She moves against him desperately even as he leans back, holding her upright with the hold on her neck.
"Elijah…" this time her voice is a shuddering moan, and he looks up at her.
"You look quite perfect like this dear, is this what you've wanted all night? Why you invited me here?" Words fail her and she nods, the grip on her neck tightening, ever so slightly. "Speak."
The tone of his voice makes her lips part, "yes. I….yes."
He looks satisfied with her answer and his grip relaxes. She clutches at his shoulders, fingers digging into the strong muscle.
"I want to watch as your beautiful features twist with ecstasy. I want to hear your breath shatter as you come for me, from this alone."
She's not sure what's changed, but he's suddenly a lot less restrained than he was just moments ago.
Or he's finally showing how he really feels.
She can't help but admire his control.
The way he holds her in place.
The way he can move her.
How his hands grip her neck and yet, she isn't afraid at all.
She feels herself building and one arm slides down her neck and his thumb, wet from her mouth, brushes over her nipple through the shirt. He's skilled with his fingers, she realises, breath coming in pants as the heat inside her belly builds. She chases her release now, desperately, his other hand fisting into her hair and pulling, making her moan.
It hits her suddenly then, his dark gaze pushing her over the edge as her jaw slackens, even though she can't make any sound. It takes her a few minutes to come down from the high, but when she does, she collapses in his strong arms. Her face is buried in his neck, as he soothingly runs his fingers down her spine.
(She's not sure what she's going to do now.)