The only thing worse than hearing the whys and hows of a fellow witch's entanglement with members of your own family, Abigail thought, was having your rest disrupted by visions of a man you finally decided wasn't worthy of your love and fidelity.
She couldn't wait until her blood left his system fully and the tie it created between them finally severed. It shouldn't take much longer, she assured herself as she listened to him wax poetic about unrequited love, being a better man - was he always so melodramatic and repetitive or was this a product of living so damn long - all while having a bubble bath with another woman. A distraction, he begged her to be his distraction, and Abi wondered if other women would look so pathetically encouraged by such a distinction. She thought she might advise him to take up reading, or perhaps knitting, if he needed something to keep him from murder and mayhem.
Steeling herself against another unwanted visit from her mother - instead she was pleasantly rewarded by a visit from Elijah - although after the reality of his branch of her family tree was reiterated by yet another outside source, was it a reward?
"You look uncertain," he didn't come closer, leaving her alone on the porch swing while Cat snoozed on the banister in a ray sunshine she knew wasn't real. "You should, I suppose, given everything you keep gleaning from everyone but me." He didn't look abashed, in fact he looked rather interested - as if he wanted to know whether she was processing the information in a positive way or not.
Pushing off from the floor of the porch to get the swing to glide, Abigail felt an odd sense of deja vu, although it was broad daylight in her dreamscape and Elijah didn't feel dangerous to her. "I wouldn't have to gather information from other sources if you were here." A truth she felt needed to be stated. Her tone barely hinted at the yearning to be truly close to him, in the real world where they could touch without the possibility of being interrupted unless they chose to be.
He considered her words, and nodded. "I agree," and then, as if she'd jinxed their dream meeting by even contemplating it - her phone trilled and she was pulled free, back to a real sun-filled day.
Groaning, she picked up the irritating rectangle and glared at the identity of her caller.
One day, Abigail promised herself as she prepared for the day with far less grace than she imagined herself condoning, one day very soon she would have to put her foot down on all of the imposition this town pressed upon founding family members. As she wandered through her house, putting things to rights after her evening visit from Jonas, she considered how best to work such magic - surely she could use the same persuasion she'd used on Caroline during their first conversation, but would she have to corner every member of the council - there must be more than just the acting mayor behind all of the forced volunteerism members were expected to attend to. The idea of both the latest event to claim a day on her calendar and how to assure those days were coming to an end was starting to give her a headache.
Damon knew the moment Abigail arrived at the Historical Society's Tea Party, hosted by the always pleasant Carol Lockwood at her home (wait, was all of this just a scheme to get people to constantly pay her compliments on the museum she lived in?).
Like a beacon she seemed to shine brighter than everyone else present - men, women, vampires, Original vampires - wait, damnit. Abigail shouldn't be anywhere near Elijah "Smith" as he'd heard Carol introduce the enemy. If he was as drawn to her as Stefan had been - but then her scent seemed to cross the room and hit him right in the chest. How could she be this damn powerful? The pull of her, even knowing that she'd rather he cease to breathe the same air as she did, was so powerful he felt as if he were compelled to watch her, watch over her.
She wasn't wearing anything too attention grabbing - black lace over what looked like perfectly placed blocks of black to keep her modesty with a black version of the gray leather jacket Anna had helped him pick out. Had it really only been months since she woke from the mental prison she'd been trapped in for 146 years? Even with the modest dress, even with the heels she must be wearing to give her a slight height boost, there wasn't a reason that he should still be so attuned to her presence, should there?
Abigail felt the creeping suspicion that Damon was around - as if she could feel his eyes on her as she walked among the crowd - slightly overdressed, but the jacket helped, she hoped. Carol Lockwood - or was it Madam Mayor - spotted her and then she met face to face with someone she'd only ever seen in her dreams.
"This is Elijah Smith," thank goodness she hadn't been taking a drink from the invisible tea she was expecting when issued the summons to attend what was apparently this generation's version of a tea party - spitting or choking to hide the nervous laughter that bubbled up at the absolutely generic last name he'd chosen would have created more of a scene than either of them wanted. "Mr. Smith, this is Abigail Morgan, she recently relocated to Mystic Falls, but she has deep roots here -"
"So you're a member of a founding family, Miss Morgan?" He didn't look as if he were struggling with their meeting, but then her eyes met his and she saw something not quite as calm and certain staring back, which made the interaction slightly less tense.
He was dressed in shadows, or so it seemed, and she realized they looked as if they had coordinated their attire - all black or close enough, and with the heels she'd considered not wearing she didn't have to tilt her head too far to maintain eye contact. A blessing, but after having to clear her throat and swallow to try to fix the dryness, perhaps a curse.
"Yes," she managed, feeling for all the world as if she'd rather have anyone as a witness other than the acting mayor, but then she felt Damon approach - perhaps a few more days for her blood's effects to wear off and she wouldn't be so aware of him - and realized she was wrong. "Yes, Mr. Smith was it?" Elijah smiled and a lurch of such yearning hit her that she wondered if she looked as unsteady as she felt. "I'm actually the last Morgan," Damon's warmth was beside her and she wished that someone, anyone would give her a reprieve, or at least a glass of something to kill the parched interior of her mouth.
"Saved the best for last," Damon offered, and she knew he was smirking, knew it without having to glance at his face - it practically dripped from his words. "Carol, I don't think I've been introduced to Mister -"
Carol made the introductions as Abigail watched as her past and possible future eyed one another - even Acting Madam Mayor seemed to feel the tension (or testosterone) and drifted away.
By some understanding that even with her avid attention focused entirely on the two she missed, they moved toward another room, and as if she were tethered to one or both of them, she followed. A room that was clearly private and a study, if the briefest glance she took around them was any indication.
"What can I do for you, Damon?" Was she imagining it, or did his gaze seem unable to leave her for long? Or was she feeling particularly hopeful now that they'd finally met?
Damon was acutely aware that Abi had followed them, watching with rapt attention, but he couldn't forget the danger in front of him. Never mind if she had to see the worst possible version of him come out to play - then again, what difference did it make? She hated him. So why was she here now?
Shaking free of the internal dialogue he was having, "I was hoping we could have a word."
"Perhaps I should go -" she finally spoke, and he couldn't even turn to reassure her, his focus had to stay on Elijah, in case he decided that Abi wasn't on Elena's asinine list of people to keep safe.
"Don't." It wasn't Damon's voice, and she knew that the tension only grew between the two men standing in front of her because of it. "Please, Abigail, I'd rather you didn't."
"And I'd rather she did," Damon sounded strained, and harsh. "Leave, Abi, now."
Elijah looked amused and a touch nonplussed by his tone. "I think it's her decision, actually." He smiled at her and asked whether she wished to stay, he assured her he wouldn't feel put out if she left.
"What the hell?" Was he in some alternate dimension? Why the hell did Elijah sound like he honestly cared whether Abi stayed or not, and he seemed to hope she would? "Did I miss something?"
"No," Abi offered, and he had to turn to see her - had to know if she was - he didn't know why he had to turn, but he did. "I just met Mr. Smith," the curve of her lip, a tell she didn't know she had when they were about to be caught and she tried to lie - which worked on whomever they were lying to at the time, but didn't on him. "And I think I'll stay," she took a seat in the desk chair. "Someone has to make certain that you behave like gentlemen."
Damon shook off the urge to remove her, lift her from the damn chair and deposit her outside this damn room, and refocused on Elijah, who was beaming at her like she was a wonder. Which she was, but damn it, not his wonder.
"Elena's with Stefan," he offered, like bait to get whatever Abigail and Elijah were silently sharing in front of him - an intimacy that two people who just met couldn't possibly have.
"Safe, hopefully?" The original bastard pulled his focus away, with what Damon hoped like hell wasn't really the reluctance he thought he saw. "You do seem to have a bit of a werewolf problem, I've heard."
Damon's gaze flashed to Abigail. How could he know that flippantly mentioning supernatural shit around her would be alright? Half the time he wasn't completely sure if it was.
"You did play hero in the beginning of that problem - your witch coming to the rescue and all." A terrible feeling was creeping into him. Was this how everyone else felt when he and Abi had been together before he turned? Like a very unwanted third wheel?
"You are welcome." Elijah managed to look smug, yet oddly modest at the same time. Something Abigail seemed captivated by.
"I'm confused about why you're here," Damon offered, trying to be easy and calm, but sure it came out more biting and irritable.
"Why don't you just stay focused on keeping Elena safe," he had to be imagining the way Elijah's gaze couldn't seem to leave Abi for longer than a heartbeat. "And leave the rest to me." No, probably not since he was in front of one of the first of his kind before he could think of blocking him from getting closer to Abi, stopping the half-step progress he'd made in her direction.
Elijah's hand was on Damon's throat, his back hitting the closest wall before Abigail found the words to protest against whatever was about to happen. Damon's hand tried to mirror or mimic Elijah's, but was met with resistance in the form of Elijah's free hand. Abi watched as he removed Damon's from his neck, flinching at the sound of bones grinding together, breaking without Elijah showing the least bit of strain.
"You young vampires, so arrogant." Dropping the offensive appendage from his own grasp, he focused on the issue at hand, so to speak. "How dare you come in here and challenge me?"
Damon reminded him that he couldn't kill him, Elena's deal made that a certainty -
"Silence." And like a spell Damon was speechless. A pencil plucked from the desk in front of her and then it was impaled in Damon's neck. The spell broke, he screamed in pain and Abi was on her feet as he fell against the desk. One hand clapped over the wound after he pulled the thin wooden wound from his flesh. Elijah, handkerchief wiping his hands, offered the swatch of linen to Damon.
"I'm an Original. Show a little respect." As Damon uses the piece of fabric to staunch the slowly closing wound, Elijah explains precisely how unimportant the other vampire is in the grand scheme of things. "The moment you cease to be of use to me, you're dead, so you should do what I say. Keep Elena safe." Damon glared at him. "Leave. Now."
A glance at Abigail made Damon wonder if she even noticed him, bleeding into a handkerchief and with a death threat laying at his feet. Her eyes weren't locked on him - no they seemed entirely focused on the one who threatened him.
He had no idea what was going on, but as he left the office he promised himself that he was going to find out.