Part 13

Ever since meeting Caroline Forbes, Rebekah had been shown up in a high school filled by creatures a fraction of her age, threatened about her superiority in organization and hosting, and been abandoned while bound at the back of a truck by a brother who swore always and forever to her.

Ever since Caroline Forbes came to their lives, Rebekah found she could use the baby vampire as leverage to cajole an attendance from a reluctant Nik, heard from her brother the loudest and most genuine laughter in a millennium, and experienced a leap of something so deep in her heart when she held those bloody, squirming little witches that had come along with her.

Before Caroline, Rebekah was the baby, the precious, the overprotected yet overcorrected, responsible for no one but herself. She heeded and followed her brothers unrewarded. Then she followed her heart and was punished, then forgiven even when she did not seek pardon.

And then Caroline returned, running to her brother to be saved, only to find that she needed to save them just as much. First, Caroline siphoned off the hex from her body, aided by the twins that she carried like a miracle they were. And then, after a thousand years of longing for a connection that was so elusive, a bond that was more than what she could ever find with the three brothers who she accompanied most of the millennium while Freya was lost and forgotten, Caroline saved her by being her sister.

Most of all, Rebekah recognized her salvation for all the wrong she had committed in the centuries came like a balm for the injustice of being the youngest of the Mikaelsons. It came the moment she knelt on the warm blood that pooled like a pagan circle around them, when she held the knife with a reluctant hand, and Caroline's circled around her wrist and urged her to look into her eyes.

She had tried to be brave, to have her head firmly on her shoulders, to be more than any of her brothers ever believed her to be. Her sister—even if she was too proud to have used the word before that night—lay bloodied and near dead. Despite Caroline's insistence of her immortality, Rebekah had seen enough vampires mutilated and brought down, decapitated, organs torn, thrown under the sun to burn, often by her own brothers, that she knew immortality was a myth that vampires liked to tell themselves.

Granted, she had never seen a vampire die in childbirth. She had never seen a vampire carry a child. That in itself was an impossibility.

She had lost too much over the centuries. Unwilling to lose her too, Rebekah offered her blood to her. And when Caroline refused, insisting that Rebekah remain at full conscious strength, Rebekah watched helplessly as the blue that tinged those lips shifted to a terrifying gray.

She remembered the reflection of the paragon diamond in Nik's eyes when Freya and Kol presented him with the spelled ring. The diamond glinted then, blinding in its beauty, like the future that Nik would only speak of in the intimacy of his bedroom, dreams that Rebekah dreamed but had no one to share with, dreams that were too bright that Elijah would have never dared think any of them deserved to dream.

And so the ring that was stained blood red on the hand that circled Rebekah's wrist mocked her, the shine as dull as Caroline's voice was thready.

And she hated her for begging. But Rebekah knew what Caroline did. And she hated that she was right.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this, Bekah."

And she hated and she hated that Caroline would be part of the endless injustice of the centuries, when Rebekah loved and everyone she loved was taken away. And when she loved, destiny punished her for daring. Monsters like her did not deserve love.

But her sister did not need to be burdened by the thought, not when she was slipping, not when she was her only hope for the babies she loved.

Without Nik, without Elijah, without Freya or Kol, Rebekah was the only one who could give a modicum of comfort.

"I love you, okay?" she whispered, the words torn raw from her throat, the first time she had ever professed the same to a soul that was not her lover. Not even once had she swore the same to any of her brothers.

It was that love that bordered the nightmares since then, when a gush of blood chased her fingers when she cut, her litany of whispered apologies were drowned by a jarring scream that marred her soul forever. And when she sat in silence in the NICU, sitting vigil over the babies that had since become her purposeful repentance, that same scream rang inside her head. And when she settled in the Queen Anne chair in the nursery that was supposed to be Caroline's, cradling the girls close to her heart, knowing hers had a different rhythm than that of their mother's, Rebekah could not be rid of the warm sensation of Caroline's blood drenching her skin.

It would have been easy to slip and fade into nothingness, to allow the overwhelming guilt consume her. But the girls were her ruin and her salvation. Such small precious witches, squirming in her arms with life—real human mortal life-boon and bane, a gift that took and gave at the same time. They would tear Nik apart, even if he would not admit. He loved them and he hated them, and hated them only because he loved their mother. And because he loved their mother, the hatred was fleeting and turned quickly to hurt.

They were so alive the way none of her siblings had been for a millennium, so full of life when Caroline lay so very still.

Those girls were hers. It was her hands that saved them by tearing them from their mother's belly; her arms that first cradled them in the world; her voice that first sang to them a lullaby.

And while Caroline slept, and Nik chose to live as if asleep, it was Rebekah and Kol that held together and took the weight of the children's care on their shoulders. Let Caroline's body recover. Give space for Nik to heal. She and Kol swore an oath to never waver.

And here comes this man, smelling faintly still of sweat and bourbon, claiming to have come for his children.

His children.

Was Alaric Saltzman referring to the twins for whom her brothers had spent the last half year massacring their way through traveling covens? Was he talking about the girls for whom Kol and Freya exhausted centuries of knowledge and power to build a rare magical object? Was he speaking about the babies that siphoned Caroline until she was consumed?

She wished she could say that she could hear a pin drop. Rebekah certainly could feel the tension palpable in the air. Any other time in the previous centuries, and these same circumstances happened, there would be no words needed. The terracotta underneath them would be running bloody without question, without hesitation, without another breath.

Klaus abhorred being placed at a disadvantage. While he would never be at a disadvantage against many supernatural beings, let alone a mere human like Alaric Saltzman, being caught off guard the way he had just been, would be irritating. Kneeling down, with an infant twin in each arm, his toddler being so close by to see and register any of Nik's actions, was a distinct disadvantage.

He was a monster to the rest of the world, but Nik very early on wanted only to be a father to his princess.

Alaric certainly was not ingratiating himself to her brother quite early on.

"I'm not one of the teenagers in Mystic Falls running around headless away from you, Klaus. I'm actually a grown man. I know I can speak with you rationally."

"Well, I appreciate that, Alaric." With the agile flexibility that came from the wolf inside him, he raised himself to his feet, unwilling to look up at Alaric a moment longer while on his knees.

Her brother's voice was soft. Too soft. Soft enough to put the other man at ease. Soft enough to raise Rebekah's guard up.

She turned to meet Hayley's eyes. "Take the girls."

The hybrid gathered Hope by her side even as the little girl attempted to pull away, loathe to put distance between her and the infant girls that her father promised would be hers always and forever. But Hayley's hold was as firm as it needed to be, as appropriately controlling as required over the months that she protected Hope while the Mikaelsons were imprisoned or sleeping.

At least with Hope, Nik could rest easy. It was Caroline's girls he needed to focus on now.

The farmhouse had been small, and it had been easy to overhear his promises. So many of them, and he had fulfilled them as much as he possibly could. Nik had eradicated the covens that traveled across the country. Rebekah vaguely remembered the mangled bloody mess that he had made out of Kai Parker. The Beast that was Marcel, her brothers worked together to trap and then bind in the very catacombs where he had imprisoned Nik.

But Nik had promised the young vampire more than a refuge from predatory witches or safety from her monsters. That promise, she doubted anyone outside that farmhouse would ever know.

Rebekah had always known she was beautiful, blessed beyond many other women. She had known it even when she was human. She knew it even more once the world began to revolve around her as she came to her sheer power and beauty through the ages as an Original, becoming more and more with the strength and wisdom that came with centuries.

But she had never been more jealous of another as she had been when she first heard her brother's offer to Caroline. It was far more than Nik ever allowed for her to have, more than any one of her lovers ever thought to swear to her. And his voice, thick and quiet and intimate, yet strong and certain—because of all of them Rebekah had been sure that while Nik meant his words for Caroline, he had also no qualms that his siblings would know his intentions—told her she had never coaxed the same devotion from the men that she had lost to time and circumstance.

Another day she would have appreciated the balls that came with Alaric Saltzman by daring to come traipsing in by his human lonesome to New Orleans, center of a supernatural community that was so protective against outsiders, and into the Abattoir. But demanding from the Mikaelsons her nieces swiftly warped that bravery into stupidity.

What the hell did Stefan tell the man—or more importantly, what did he neglect telling him?

"Go with them, Bekah," Kol's voice cut into her reverie. "I'll stay with Nik." The hint of danger in Kol's voice made for an easy decision.

"No," Rebekah responded firmly. She highly doubted the moment that Caroline woke up that she would appreciate Rebekah leaving Alaric Saltzman in the hands of both brothers. Two of them together was an army. Better that Elijah was far away. Three of them would be Armageddon. "You're with the twins. I'll stay with Nik. We both know you'll snap faster than our dear brother."

Kol had the wherewithal to look offended.

The teacher seemed to be taking a drastic approach—that of reasoning with her brother. This was a different approach from the Salvatores. His life may not be forfeit yet.

"You're a father too, so I know you'll understand."

Pleading to a side of Nik that he had never tested before, and pretty much new to most everyone, was a gamble.

"If someone took your daughter away without your consent, you would tear down the world. That is what happened to me when Caroline ran."

Oh.

Rebekah noticed the moment that Nik stiffened, his back straightening in defensiveness for his wife at the quiet accusation that edged Alaric's words. So much for the pacifying approach.

"Well fuck," Kol murmured under his breath. "It seems you're right, sister. I'm teetering on the edge, and I simply can't be chaotic anymore. I'm an uncle now. Thrice over."

There was glee in his voice. Blasted Kol could act respectable, but the little sadist still lingered, barely controlled.

Kol approached Klaus as if he were walking on eggshells. It was only with a slight hesitation that Klaus allowed Kol to scoop up each of the twins into his arms. When he passed by Rebekah, he gave a smirk. "Don't feel hampered by my choices, sis." With a wink, he was gone with Hayley, who held Hope and Freya, to whom he handed one of the twins.

But if Elijah was here, one could prevail upon him to be diplomatic. He would use his words. She really did not want to have to worry about the cleanup afterwards.

Klaus' eyes followed his family until they were out of sight. His eyes briefly met Rebekah's before turning back to Alaric. "You are correct. Anyone that takes a child of mine will not live long enough to regret it."

Run, Rebekah thought. You foolish, foolish man. Run, she thought, all the while knowing that there was no way his legs or his vehicle could outrun her brother if he chose to give chase.

"So you understand why I'm here," Alaric concluded, relief clear in his voice.

"The differences between you and me are endless, Alaric," Klaus drawled. "In this particular case, the problem is that you seem to be under the impression that I consider you the father of the twins."

Rebekah's lips slowly curved as realization dawned on the teacher's face. Her smile grew wider until it was nearly painful when Alaric's stance hardened.

"Whether you accept it or not is irrelevant. I am their father, and I'm going to fight for them, Klaus." More and more foolish. "They are mine and Jo's. You know as well as I do that Caroline just carried them—"

"Just carried them," Klaus repeated, slowly, doling out the words as it they were playing on his tongue and that they tasted disgusting. "When Stefan very helpfully shared with you the twins' location, was he able to tell you as well how much threat Caroline was under while carrying them? Did he tell you how many times she nearly died while she was pregnant?" His voice grew softer, if it was even possible. If Nik had not been so mercurial, Rebekah would have walked over to stand beside him, perhaps lay a hand on his shoulder the way Caroline would have if she were awake.

"Because the babies were Gemini. Because they were Jo's."

"And where we you through all this—given that you knew the threat that came with their blood?"

"I was grieving my wife," Alaric sputtered. "You wouldn't know the depths it can drive you—loving and losing like that."

She knew that Nik would never call the last two months grief, because saying it was meant loss. But lying down every night next to her, just because Caroline had insisted that she would never sleep anywhere else but with him, walking into her dreams to soothe away the ache of emptiness—Rebekah knew no other word for the half-life he lived.

But even through those months, without holding the twins, without so much as naming them, Nik had managed with Elijah to build an invisible fort around the children. Debilitating grief had nothing to her brother's paranoia, nor the profound sense of responsibility to babies that his heart knew were his the moment that Caroline walked back into his life, despite his verbal protestations to the contrary.

Being here, watching her brother grasp at the tenuous control he had, Rebekah's regard for Nik shifted.

"You say that Stefan told you what happened to Caroline, so you know she was a good as dead after the twins were born. Caroline's their mother," Klaus affirmed. "Let anyone that claims otherwise debate the matter with me." Then he nodded towards his sister. "Or any of my siblings."

Rebekah fixed a stare hard as flint at Alaric. "I assure you, they will lose every time."

Alaric's glare was defiant as he met their look head on. Rebekah could see in his eyes how his mind worked as he went through a myriad options, ways to object, a dozen oppositions.

Her chin thrust up, pride blossomed in her heart. However much her family had fought, and clawed, and daggered, and razed their way across the centuries, she was proudest of the way that they circled around this next generation and shielded the ones they found along the way. And when Nik stumbled and fractured after the birth, and buried himself in Caroline's dreams, they had rallied around him and ironed every detail. Elijah, as always, ensured they were protected even as he was spinning to drastically grasp at his own life. These human formalities, he had stated, could be mere inconveniences in the immortal lives, but were critical for the children to live with a semblance of normalcy.

"Nik is on their birth certificates. You know how anal Elijah could be." He had made sure they were filed along with the marriage. In the rush to the NICU, in that nearly forty eight hours where Rebekah operated numbly, she could remember every decision and action as clearly as if they happened only the day before. Yet she saw them as if she watched herself from beyond a veil, as if watching a movie, distant, unaffected, as if her mind functioned but her head was frozen.

Such sad birth certificates they were. Nik would have to answer to Caroline why her children's names were left blank, even if the state of Louisiana allowed for such registration. Rebekah would love to watch Nik's face when he found out that that would be the first day of many that his wife, despite her sweet vow to never sleep anywhere else but with him, could kick him out of the marital bed.

She could not wait for Caroline to open her eyes.

But for this conversation, Rebekah took this as a small stroke of luck. Despite finally being one of the Mikaelsons, she doubted Caroline would be able to stomach a confrontation with Alaric Saltzman, of denying the man. Love her as Rebekah might, she was first to admit that this was not a war that Caroline could wage.

They all had their little wars now. Alaric's claim to the children was Caroline's. Nik's was still sitting in the catacombs, undead, still bitterly beloved even if Marcel was the catalyst that brought Kai down to Louisiana, and the one that triggered Caroline's premature labor.

"I'll sue for paternity."

"Do you think we'll ever let you near enough the twins that you can take a sample?" And then she shrugged. "Besides, I can copy furnish you results today that confirms that Nik is the father." How well versed they all were by now in molding and manipulating these human ways.

Sensing that he would go nowhere with the Mikaelsons now, Alaric sent a desperate plea. "I want to talk to her. She's a levelheaded girl. She knows right from wrong."

"Caroline is currently indisposed, as you know."

"One of you can help, or I bring my own vampire who can help me reach her. Damon, or Stefan."

Rebekah's love for Nik had always been tangled with strands of fear. At the thought of the Salvatores or Alaric Saltzman being allowed to walk into her dream state, seeing and influencing and shaping that world that not even his siblings could dare visit now, Nik's stance grew more fearsome.

Unsettling, really, because even now he was quiet, coiled tight.

"No," was the cold, direct response. "She is getting some much needed rest. You are not getting anywhere close to my wife, Alaric."

At Alaric's look of surprise and alarm, Rebekah muttered, "Well damn Stefan Salvatore. He really just mouthed off bits of information that made you come running ill-prepared, didn't he?" She turned to her brother. "Look, Nik, I think news of your marriage broke him."

Never let Niklaus Mikaelson smell your fear. Never let him see your weakness. Rebekah had discovered it early in their transformation. But her emotional nature was too similar to her brother's that she could never control her passions enough to protect herself from Nik's wrath. She had suffered the consequences in their millennium together.

Unfortunately for the man in front of them, there was no love lost between him and her brother. Where Nik daggering her had been the tender, loving choice due to their kinship, there was no sense of loyalty or care to think of with Alaric Saltzman.

"I suppose it would be shocking to anyone from that little town," Rebekah considered. How Caroline had worked so hard then, only to come second

"We did not exactly get to throw a wedding fit for Miss Mystic Falls," Nik said, his voice tight, somber despite the light choice of words. He cocked his head to the side, regarding Alaric with hooded eyes. "Do you understand now, Alaric, that there is no way you are taking my daughters? There is no recourse—medical, legal, supernatural—for you. My family will shut it all down. In fact, the only reason you are still alive is because you are right. I am a father. I understand why you came. I understand why you tried. So I am letting you live. But know that it comes with the acceptance that the twins are mine and Caroline's."

"Are you insane?" Alaric bit out. "This is not finders keepers."

"No," her brother allowed. "This is not a game."

"I am not giving up my children. You're stronger. We're on your turf. But I know my way around the supernatural world, Klaus. I will never let up. One day I will amass enough allies and I am coming for them."

How much control did it take, Rebekah wondered, for Nik to stand as still as he stood during the teacher's tirade? Caroline had encouraged him to use his words, but even for her it was a challenge.

"When you read my daughters their bedtime story tonight, tell them they can look forward to the day their real father will come to bring them home."

Her sharp Original eyes did not miss the near imperceptible way that his jaw tightened.

"And when Caroline recovers, tell her she can spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder because I am coming to take back what she stole from me."

It was lightning fast, within the blink of an eye.

Alaric dropped to his knees, then toppled to the ground. Nik walked past Rebekah, blood-spattered, then handed her the still warm heart.

The time for words had come and gone, she knew, when threats begun. The twins were hunted since their conception, and since they were implanted in her Caroline had only experienced a semblance of peace when she found her way to her brother. Rebekah turned to look at the dead man in the courtyard. Without Elijah, it was her turn to get the family home cleaned up and the body disposed of, so there would be traces of Alaric Saltzman's fate when the children were taken the next day back to the courtyard for playtime, so that Caroline upon waking could come to the same spot where Nik had proposed to her and admire the wildflowers unburdened by the violence it took for Nik to give her the future she deserved.

~ o ~ o ~ o ~

The vibrant sound of the drawing bow across violin strings was at pace with her feet as she moved across the ballroom floor. She felt the music before she even opened her eyes. When she did, Caroline drew a sharp breath, in awe of the grandiosity of the bright crystalline chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. The hand around hers tightened, as if only now noticing her, as if he had only just grew aware. The hand pressed on the small of her back drew her closer so they were pressed together.

His scent familiar; his warmth that of home.

So when her gaze met his blue ones, it was like finding oasis in the desert.

Her lips curved. "This is new." Because every time he stepped into her dreams, Klaus walked into a world of her subconscious, and never created or shifted around even if they were well aware that he could.

"I thought I would show you a glimpse of your future, love, and ask you what you think."

Even bigger than the Virginia home's grand mansion, if the ballroom itself was any indication. His arms guided her through the dance, sweeping across the dance floor in the echoing emptiness. The wall carvings were intricate, and she was certain that they would put to shame palaces in France once Klaus took her there. Marble panels graced the walls to hold the sconces, and she swore the inlay was finely shaved gem stones. Her shoes thudded on hardwood floors.

While violin overwhelmed the sound of the orchestra, she could hear the rest of the instruments in the background live, but saw no trace of the musicians. Somewhere he had build an awning, and designed the coving to maximize the flow of sound. "I think your subjects will be impressed. It's fit for a king."

"I am not building our home for them." Children needed space to run, he told his family, in that quaint little farmhouse. The Abbattoir stood sturdy and untoppled for the kingdom. The plantation manor rose for the little family he would raise. "Remember, love?"

Her hand in his tightened to grasp back, and she gently propelled him to the opposite direction as the dance picked up in speed. She took back control of the dream and as they whirled around and around, the grand ballroom's walls drew closer, more modest, yet still far richer than any she had been before. Her imagination could only draw so much from her limited experience, so she knew even as she shifted the dream his hand was still firm and guiding her paintbrush.

"Do you mind?" she asked.

The dance slowed, and she placed a hand on his arm. Caroline walked at his side as they walked out of the yawning doorway and onto the corridors, admiring the appropriately surreal paintings hanging on the walls.

The home was far more than she had ever hoped for. Caroline wandered into a shared bedroom for the children, even if there were a countless doors and empty spaces. She looked back at him askance. "They will spend far too many years apart for my liking, once they grow up. Let them start their lives together." He pulled her close, flush against him. His palm warm as he placed it on her flat stomach. "Just like they were inside you."

Tears gathered in her eyes. For a solo child, living alone with nothing but her dreams, longing for a friend, every day and every night having a sibling so close was unimaginably comforting.

"They will be at each other's throats soon enough, wailing for their own rooms."

She reached up and ran her fingers through his waves. Other fathers would gray at the temples. Not him. Forever young. She could not wait to watch from the front seat how Klaus Mikaelson would be as a father. If he would be half as patient and a fraction as loving as he had been with her, it would be a sight to behold.

He drew her hand to his lips. The tender gesture of a kiss into her palm never failed to take her breath away.

"How long has it been when I last told you how much I love you?"

He shook his head. "It hasn't been long, but also too long ago."

"Well I do."

With a playful smirk, he replied, "Why?"

Playfully fishing, a version lighter than the one who forced her to admit her feelings in the woods, back when she was much younger and far less knowledgeable of who she truly was. Going to college, dating boys, having fun. As if any of them could compare to one day beside her husband.

She had told him she wanted a future that did not include him.

And now she could not breathe at the thought of being apart.

Her smile faded. He had done and said enough, proved enough the depth of his feelings that by some miracle was focused on her. Even before she was all that she was now, even before she had done anything to deserve him. "Because you gave me grace that I can fall apart, that I don't need to be strong all the time. Because you gave me faith that you will always be there for me, and that you'll pick up the pieces when I can't."

And there was that light that she adored, right in his eyes. She understood now the light inside her that fascinated him. They were the same fractures of crystalline light that emanated from him that made her want to be in presence.

His lips were on hers, his kiss firm and insistent. Her arms rested on his shoulders, and she pulled him close, taking the wedding kiss that she did not have the chance to have.

"I want to go home to you."

"I'm just waiting, love. Always."

Her eyes drifted shut, feeling the floor under her feet fall away and the mansion walls fade. And then, warmth. So much warmth surrounded her. The last she remembered of the world, she was surrounded in her own warm blood while her body cooled to freezing, back on that uncomfortable wooden planks of that fateful cabin, blinding pain throbbing from the gaping wound of her body even as she fought to stay awake.

And now, there was nothing but warmth and comfort and the familiar scent of home. She opened her eyes. The first thing she saw were the sheer, gauze curtains fluttering in the breeze. Her mouth was so dry. She licked her lips, but it did not help. Caroline swallowed deeply. Slowly, the world settled around her, setting itself to right. Those familiar arms around her tightened. She turned her head with effort, and she marveled at the brightness of those blue orbs when he opened them.

"Welcome back, love," he greeted warmly.

Reluctantly, he released her and sat up. He turned back to her with a warm glass of blood. Klaus helped her sit up. Caroline drank the blood slowly, letting the nourishing liquid spread throughout her body. She handed the glass back to him. His thumb brushed over her lips as he dried the traces of blood of her skin.

Caroline stood from the bed. She could see him watchful at her side, ready if she wavered. But her healing sleep, and her vampire magic had returned since the siphon. She turned to him and said, "I want to see my babies."

"I know."

She reached a hand to him, and only then did he step close and held her hand.

He opened the nursery door that adjoined the master bedroom. Caroline found Kol sleeping in the large chair. The two of them padded towards the cribs. Her hand flew to her throat at the sight of the pink cherub faces, the unmistakable golden hair so much like hers.

"What did you name them?" she whispered.

His arm wrapped around her waist. "I waited for you."

"Oh no," she said softly. That would not do. Such beautiful little angels to exist nameless. "That just won't do."

"How about," he said gently, touching the baby to the left, "Faith, for believing that I would always come for you?" He placed a hand on the baby to the right. "And Grace, because that is what you gave me when you looked past who I was and saw what I could be for you."

"Faith and Grace." She smiled. "Hope's sisters."

"Faith Elizabeth and Grace Caroline Mikaelson, for strong, beautiful mothers."

"I like that," she answered through the tightness of her throat.

tbc