And here is chapter eighteen^^ Enjoy!

o.O.o

Chapter Eighteen, Dangerous Liaisons

He immediately went for the door handle, opening the door to the passenger seat and my hands trembled, fingers tightly curling around the iron wrought fence and adrenaline spread through my chest and limbs. I couldn't outrun him, I couldn't fight him off, not really and I tried to focus. Biting my lower lip so hard I drew blood, I tried to think about what I'd learned in self-defence class.

There were rules. Run if you can, out of the question. Don't let him get on top— yeah, I didn't think he would let me get one over him by pushing my vervain necklace against his face again and—

Damon unfolded out of the car slowly, smirking and I made a gasping sort of noise. "What do you want?"

"Don't be afraid." He said slowly and his lips began to purse as if he'd consumed something sour.

"I'm not speaking to you," I hissed angrily. I had no idea when he'd ever been let out of the cellar.

"Oh, come on, Elena," he groaned, "you have to."

"Go away, Damon, please, just go away!"

He took a step closer, lightly straightening the collar of his black button-down shirt. My hands balled into fists, if I was going to die, it would not be like a cornered dog. He came to a halt when he reached me, blue eyes intense and alive. "None of this should have happened. Going after your friends was a low thing to do."

It sounded rehearsed, but moreover, it was not what I had expected, and my eyebrows furrowed tightly together. I tried to breathe more deeply and raised my arms to wrap them around my waist. There was a catch in my throat, and I felt hot. "What?"

"I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," he admitted and I tried to swallow.

"You shouldn't have reacted the way you did?"

"No."

"Damon, two people are dead because of this," I whispered, lacing my words with anger.

A blank expression crossed his face before it was hidden away behind one of his masks. "Yes, I wish that was different."

I ground my teeth together, swallowing the row of insults that was building into my throat. The last time he felt I'd pushed him he'd lashed out on me in the most horrendous way and I had no shortage of people who would have to pay the price for it. Inhaling deeply, I licked my lips. "Wishing things were different, doesn't make them different."

"Okay, fine, you're right. Could you please come with me?"

Son of a bitch, I thought but held my tongue, breathed in deeply and then met his bright, blue eyes. "No." I retorted flatly. "Absolutely not, I'd rather eat glass."

Raising his eyebrows in what I recognized as a challenge, he cocked his head to the side. "I thought you were this brave little heroine, dreaming to fight off evil, riding your judgmental white horse and all that?"

"I thought you were a psychopath on speed— oh wait— you are."

"See, brave, little Buffy." He sneered and I wondered if it was a genetic impulse to make that exact expression. I'd seen it on Stefan's face too. "Listen, honey, I need you to come with me. I'm not going to hurt you, scout's honor." He continued, unaware of my thoughts and I wondered if this was more of a dare than a challenge. It didn't feel like an intimidation tactic (he could have just told me he would kill me if I didn't come along) and I was unsure what I should do. Elena would have gone with him, wouldn't she? She might have not forgiven him yet, but she would have gone with him.

A breeze fluttered by, traipsing through the trees and I curled my fingers in my hair, forcing the strands away from my face. "Why?" I finally settled on. "What do you want from me?"

"Stefan and I want to discuss your suicide mission."

"Call Caroline, I already had an intervention."

"This is not an intervention. This is business." He told me and then his face became serious. "I could ask your father? Tell him what his daughter's planning on doing?"

"I could tell him where to look to find the animal responsible for the multiple attacks," I huffed drolly. The sun was sinking, and as the sky darkened, deep, grey shadows fell across the street.

"Fair enough." He pursed his lips. "Please, Elena."

"—I,"

"Elena," he needled in that whining way of his.

"Fine," I muttered, before meeting his eyes.

The sky was darkening even more, and I realized it wasn't just the inky darkness of night, but a swirl of several unvarying steel-grey clouds curling together. The wind had the promise of rain and I inhaled deeply. Damon grinned, opening the passenger for me.

I gave him a dark look. "You better feed me. I'm not missing dinner for some stupid intervention— Oh, I'm sorry to talk business."

Damon snorted, tilted his head to the side and nodded. "I'm a good cook." He lamented.

"Vegetarian chicken and parmesan," I told him, my eyes narrowing. "No discussion."

I'd fucking loved the chicken and parmesan (even after picking the chicken out) when Grayson had made it. Being alive for hundred-and-sixty years must have had its perks for cooking. And wasn't his surname Italian?

Didn't it mean Savior?

Perhaps, I shouldn't have gone with him craving food the way I did right now.

Him being Italian didn't have to mean he could cook. I somehow just thought it would fit him. Cooking that was. Evil mastermind and cooking seemed to be a thing, after all.

Damon snorted, "Chicken and parmesan, by all means. Elena, get in the car."

"I'm still on vervain," I warned him huffily.

"I can tell," he muttered and I stiffly settled in the passenger's seat of his Camaro.

I'd just buckled myself in when the first spots of rain spattered on the window-screen. Damon geared the car into the street. I hadn't even seen him taken a seat behind the wheel and peered out the window. He didn't say anything during the ride, our surroundings only a blur around us.

When we reached the boarding house, I struggled with the seatbelt for a moment and Damon gave me an amused look. "Elena?" Damon asked.

I'd curled my fingers around the door handle. "What is it now, Damon?" I asked annoyed.

"I'm sorry."

I peered into his eyes, peering as if somehow the title specks of brown around his pupils, or the curve of his lips. I didn't find anything. Or I didn't find anything remotely like deceit and averted my eyes. "Right, erm, thank you," I muttered and jumped out of the passenger seat and whirled up the gravel path towards the shadowed porch.

Damon appeared next to me, his hand settling on my shoulder as he pushed me inside the house and down the somewhat familiar hallway. He only let go of me once we'd arrived at the living room and he ventured further inside.

"Drink?" He asked while I settled on the arm of the couch.

"Sure." I managed through clenched teeth and Damon shuffled to the drink cabinet, picked up a crystal decanter and poured an amber liquid into a crystal glass. Bourbon I guessed.

I accepted one of the glasses with a frown, sniffing what I thought was bourbon. I knew it was the expensive kind (I remembered from the show that Damon kept very expensive bottles in his cabinet), but I'd never really appreciated strong liquors. Which meant that even the most expensive liquors were wasted on me.

However, I thought a good drink would settle my nerves. Drawing my thumb over the glass, I brought the glass to my lips and took a gulp. The alcohol went down and left a burning trail down my esophagus and I coughed at the aftertaste.

"Yeah, it's strong."

"No kidding," I mumbled. "What do you want, Damon?" I asked and blinked profusely. "Where are Stefan and Zach?"

"Stefan will be here soon enough." He answered, rolling his glass in his hands.

"And Zach?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"He's out of town," Damon answered drolly and I guffawed.

"You killed him?"

He waggled his fingers. "Don't be so judgmental, Elena."

"Oh, sorry," I replied sarcastically, "it just flares up in the nearness of psychopaths."

I considered the sofa as if it would bite me and then, irritated and not overly sure he wouldn't try and do something to me, stomped through the room, settling on the windowsill, drawing my legs up beneath my chin. I held my glass in white-knuckled fingers, peering at its contents with a frown. Regaining my courage, I stared Damon straight in the eyes. "Did you kill your nephew?"

"No." He sneered. "No, I didn't. I probably should have though."

"Acting without thinking— I don't think I get that when you can kill with the flick of your wrist."

"Hm." He replied.

I wasn't sure if it was in agreement or not and he took a step towards me. Cheeks flushing, I averted my gaze. "Where's the food?"

"You are a demanding one aren't you?"

"You made me a deal," I remarked and I liked his peeved expression far too much.

"All right," he finally conceded. "Damn, I feel bad for future little Gilbert spawn."

"Har har."

He moved away from the living room and I rolled the crystal glass through my fingers. Cradling it between both my hands I took a small sip and again, I winced. Perhaps it was a naive thing to do, to believe Damon wouldn't hurt me just because he'd said so. His word barely ever amounted to more than just an empty promise, but I wasn't going to make a presence I wasn't curious. Talking business, he'd said. Rolling my shoulders, I brought the glass to my lips again and took a large, clumsy gulp. Some of the amber liquid trickled down the corner of my mouth and I coughed harshly. Dropping the glass on the coffee table, I inched off the windowsill and moved forward. The fire was burning low in the large stone fireplace and the warm firelight threw strange shadows over the rug.

On a small table beside the huge bookcase, several yellow-paged books lay open. Dust obscured the titles and with a curious tilt of my head, I prodded through the pile. A few books, leather-bound and, as I realized later, written by hand, were still clean and my fingers twitched. "What are these?"

"A few of Stefan's journals."

"Ah!" I gasped, dropping both journals without another look and twirled around. "Damon!"

"Bad form Elena, you wouldn't really want to intrude on someone's privacy, would you?"

"I— I didn't know, I—" I started and flushed, "—you're one to talk!"

"Come along, Elena," he grinned and I followed him.

The smell of the food was heavenly, but it certainly wasn't chicken and parmesan. I frowned, slowly moving towards the small island stove. Definitely not chicken and parmesan and I frowned. "What is this?"

"Chicken Alfredo."

"Not parmesan," I mumbled, although it did smell wonderful.

"No, and I left out the chicken. I had no idea you didn't eat meat," Damon agreed and placed a plate on the island counter, "but it's really good."

I couldn't help but agree once I had my first bite. It was fantastic. Almost on par with the chicken parmesan Grayson had made. He must have noticed my contentment from the expression on my face because Damon almost glowed in pride. I ignored, having eaten— had I even had breakfast this morning? I wasn't sure and gobbling the pasta down. The sun had fully set, and dark shadows rocked across the walls. The front door opened; it was even audible to my ears as the front door slammed into a wall.

"Ah, the company is here." He grinned.

"Yeah, Stefan, I presume."

"Definitely," he agreed.

"Hm—" I mumbled and drew my fork along the rim of my plate, "—how did you get out?"

"Out of the cell you wished I would rot into for an unforeseeable time?"

"Well, yes!"

He smiled offering me a basket with what I assumed was garlic bread. "Well, I thought you'd figured it out by now." He drawled, leaning his elbows on the island counter. "I traded my freedom to your martyr story."

"Hm, yeah, thank you for that."

"You should be glad too," Damon cockily remarked and considered flipping my spoon at his head.

The kitchen door opened, and I straightened up and twirled around. My pulse thrummed beneath my skin, blood rising in a heady rush. Elijah's handsome face peered back at me, a pleasant smile curling his lips up. My cheeks flushed darkly.

"Elijah?"

"Elena," Elijah greeted easily, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket. "Good evening."

"What are you doing here?"

"Discussing the terms of our agreement." Elijah drawled dryly.

Elijah stepped further into the room, followed by a reluctant looking Stefan Salvatore and a stony-faced Jonas Martin. So, it wasn't an actual intervention, I supposed and nervously took the last bite of my pasta and forcefully swallowed it down.

"Are you okay, Elena?" Stefan asked, his eyebrows furrowed when he took in the pasta and I shrugged. "Did Damon—"

"He made this for me."

"She basically blackmailed me to cook for her. Wouldn't come otherwise." Damon drawled.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Stefan's face. "And she managed it too."

"It's all part of my elaborate plot to get her to sleep with me."

"Hm," I murmured, "I suppose that explains the part where you went after my friends."

"A temporary setback," he remarked offhandedly and I gave him a furious look.

"Asshole!"

Elijah cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back and stepped closer. I straightened to the point of pain in my seat and clenched my teeth together. He didn't seem to notice (or didn't seem to care) and cocked his head to the side. "Perhaps we should move this conversation to the living room?"

"Of course, come on Elena, Old-and-Creepy wants to have a word."

"I'm low-key disappointed Old-and-Creepy hasn't tried murdering you yet," I mumbled under my breath but all three vampires turned to me with various expressions of irritation or amusement.

While Damon moved to the enormous stone fireplace, poking the fire, I settled on the edge of the plush red couch. Mr Martin settled beside me looking as unhappy to be there as I felt. With some careful prodding soon, the fire was roaring in the stone hearth and its warmth prickled up my arms.

"So, why this get together?"

"The Martin witches have told me about your notion to desiccate, Klaus," Elijah said, steeping his long fingers together and crossing his long legs at the ankles. "A creative way to solve the Klaus problem, I give you that. However, I've been told a spell likes that take a strong foothold."

"Erm, I don't know the specifics but I thought with some vampire muscle, it would be possible?"

"Hm," Elijah retorted.

"How do you know these things, Elena?" Stefan asked as he sat down on the arm of the couch, a tad bit too close to me. "Are you psychic?"

My eyebrows narrowed in thought. As an explanation, I thought that would work. "I— yes, sort of. I don't see everything that will happen. It doesn't quite work like that. More often than not I only see parts," I explained and almost snorted at my description of only seeing parts. After the fourth season, I'd certainly only seen parts of the show on Youtube and had no idea what exactly happened in between the small parts I'd Googled.

I regretted that now. I knew even less of the spin-off 'The Originals' so the psychic explanation would have to do.

"Hm," Mr Martin remarked. It was the first thing he'd said all day and I slowly moved to look at him. "True psychics are quite rare."

"I suppose," I shrugged and averted my eyes.

"Klaus is no fool," Elijah said and I swallowed.

That was true. He was the Original, all vampires feared and that thought made my stomach roll. Although Klaus' reputation preceded him, he was a very complex man. Both a genius tactician as a man driven by impulse and instinct, which often proved deadly.

However, even after a thousand years, Klaus was still tormented by his psychological scars. Often seen as desperate for companionship, loyalty and above all love. Klaus learned from his parents' treatment the only way to stay physically and emotionally safe was to play up his dark side.

I remembered he'd gained a horrible reputation, even when he was on the run and I wondered— Did he take out his resentment and frustration at his situation out on the people around him? On the people around him, he perceived as even slightly disloyal.

With Mikael as his father, I could understand. The same man who went after little Elena to— well, murder her I supposed. Mikael, who was over a thousand-years-old and a vampire to boot was known as 'the vampire who hunts vampires'.

Klaus probably had to use every trick in the book to keep himself hidden. Had to use the taking-over-someone-else's-body trick repeatedly. It was also quite handy, I supposed. Hadn't these witches transferred his spirit into the body of Alaric Saltzman?

The show strongly implied that Klaus had a history of taking over others' bodies so he could stay hidden. I wondered without Alaric Saltzman if he would take over someone else's body again.

"—some dick, sacrificing Elena?" Damon's voice cut in and I forced myself to tune in onto the conversation again. "And what, some witch potion should bring her back to life? Why would we trust some dodgy potion with no expiration date?"

"It's a precaution, Damon," Elijah said, sounding rather bored with the younger vampire.

"In case, Klaus will get to her before we have a chance to take him out?" Stefan tried, looking sick.

"Hm, Klaus has been waiting to break this curse for a thousand years. He will come for her."

"You contacted Klaus?" I asked, or did he still not know where his half-brother was?

Elijah pursed his lips. "Indeed, I did."

Both Stefan and Damon straightened almost unnoticeable and again, I was reminded of Klaus' reputation. It certainly preceded him, yet the man lived up to the legend. I bit down my bottom lip nervously, "Does he have all the ingredients already?" I asked, because thinking of all the people he needed to kill as ingredients was easier. "Will he—"

"He acquired the moonstone," Elijah admitted and both Damon and Stefan tensed, "My guess is he will acquire all that he needs before the next full moon."

"I see," I mumbled, drawing in a long breath.

It had grown rather late and I twisted my fingers in the hem of my shirt, listening only half-heartedly to the rest of the conversation. With the raindrops spotting the glass, I could not see outside clearly.

A gauzy haze hung in the air of an impending storm and I drew up my legs and curled my arms tightly around my knees. I didn't understand why Damon cared if I lived or died. Not even why Elijah would bother, but it was all happening quickly. Too quickly.

And what if it went wrong? What if Klaus got wind of their plan and would go after people Elena loved in retaliation? Damon, Stefan and Caroline might be able to low-key stand up to him, would be able to run, but—

"Could you compel my parents and brother, Elijah?" I whispered, interrupting Stefan mid-sentence and stared Elijah down. I felt Jonas Martin stiffen beside me and a shocked silence followed. Stefan was looking at me as if he just saw me for the first time while Damon cocked his head to the side, looking as if he ate something that hadn't agreed with him. Elijah's expression was unreadable.

"You want me to compel your parents?"

"Yes," I whispered, my voice high and my cheeks flushing, "I want them away from here. Away from all of this when it goes down and preferably without them telling anyone where they go. I mean, if they're not here, they're less likely to get hurt."

"Elena, your parents are on the council," Damon tried gently, "they're on vervain."

"Lately, they haven't been as consistent with the vervain tea as before," I admitted.

"Of course, they are," Elijah said. "I'm the one who got them off it."

"What?"

He rolled his shoulders in what I assumed was a shrug and I blinked.

"How?"

"People see only what they want to see." he told me cryptically and I rolled my eyes.

"Right," I muttered, unsure if I should be upset or annoyed he went after my family. Doubt bloomed in my chest and somehow, he must have sensed it.

"There is time to overthink this more, Elena."

"No." I shook my head. "I want them safe." I continued and bit my lip. I wanted them out of my hair as well. "If they're away, preferably on a different continent—"

"Elena, compelling them, it's—" Stefan started and I gave him a long and hard look.

"Please don't tell me it's wrong, Stefan," I muttered and bit my lip. "I want them away from here."

Elijah held up his hand as if silence a rowdy group of little children. "If that's what you want, Elena. By all means." Stefan's tight-faced expression drew deep, hard lines in his forehead.

I breathed in deeply through my nose. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Elena." His eyes travelled over my face. "I should get you home."

"I can do that." Stefan immediately cut in and I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

"No," I croaked, "No, that's fine. Better now than when Klaus comes to town."

"You can think about this," Stefan started as if my idea was somehow unreasonable.

"No," I disagreed. "No, I rather not."

I got to my feet slowly and let Elijah lead me outside. I didn't look up to meet Stefan's prodding gaze and only looked back when Elijah's black Mercedes departed in a spray of gravel. I curled my fingers tightly around my seatbelt. "Does this make me a hypocrite? Asking you to compel— my parents? I mean I would normally be outraged if someone had their mind tampered with but—"

"I don't think you're a hypocrite, Elena."

"You can be honest."

"You're compassionate. Compassion is a gift. You must not lose it." He told me softly and I felt my eyebrows furrow. He'd told the real Elena something along those lines too, hadn't he? I sighed. This would probably prove to be the stupidest thing I had done till now or the smartest.

Only time would tell.

To be continued…

A/N: And that was chapter eighteen. What did you all think? Expected Non-Elena to ask Elijah to compel Elena's brother and parents away? And how did you like the nod to Hannibal? Whenever I think of fictial serial killers, I always think of Hannibal. Somehow I can see Damon being a cooking maniac as well.

As always, let me know what you all think.^^

This chapter was beta'd by HPuni101