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Klaus was not a beast meant to be tamed.
The night Aunt Jenna had died confirmed that and every other belief Elena had cultivated over the years. Creatures of the night were trouble that followed your footsteps the moment they smelled weakness, or leverage.
She usually tended to be leverage. They took, then reveled in your ruin perpetuated by their very own hands.
Elena was so tired. Tired beyond words. But most of all, she was tired of playing Mary Sue, like she would not even allow herself to enter grey zone. Sick of getting reduced to a pathetic, crying mortal who still believed in good.
When she placed a single rose on her aunt’s grave, her fingers started tracing the engraving with feather-light touch as if she feared it would fall apart like everything else did. Her life. Her family. Her future.
All gone.
And so, she gave up on her last shred of hope. Hope that all could be good with a mere olive branch. It couldn’t. She had to fight back. Unethically, immorally, in the grey zone— she did not care. What now mattered, after all, was her. Self-preservation kicked in last moment, but she was thankful it kicked in at all before her foolish suicide mission had succeeded.
It took longer than expected. Finding someone on Klaus’ level. Old entries from witches and other supernatural creatures were scattered around her room, piling up like questions whether this was a good idea or not. She ignored her doubts, having long since come up with an excuse— it was the angel on her shoulder playing tricks on her, whispering sweet promises that if she ceased this change of heart, peace would reign on its own.
The angel who used to conquer all other senses, now using the last of its strength to stay seated where it once belonged.
It all came down to one name; Kol Mikaelson This must be it. It had to be.
She read an entry from an unknown person, presumably a witch from his time, with brain-racking scrutiny. Once the Gilbert had decoded the overly cursive handwriting on the crumpled piece of paper, the story became clear.
It circled back to 1914. A weapon strong enough to put Klaus down. Required witches. And the emissaries were instructed by someone called, as mentioned before, Kol Mikaelson. She jotted down the notes quickly, underlining the name twice.
Truth be told, she was petrified of what she would be met with. The only person she had told about this reckless scheme of hers was her best-friend, Bonnie. Bonnie, the one who had helped her with the entries and with finding the coffins, thanks to her location spell, Elena still refused any help when it came to the expedition. Partly because she wanted to prove she could be independent. That Lewis could have done it without Clark.
It was an underground facility when she entered the unfamiliar territory. The lights dimmed a heavy warm tone, some brighter than the others. She reached into her pocket to take one last look at the picture of what seemed to be a family gathering of the dysfunctional family that is the Mikaelsons back in the 20th century.
One might think his face would've been plastered in her mind with the amount of times she tucked her head behind the paper with torn edges, eyes zeroing in on the youngest brother. But her mind continuously replaced his face with Elijah’s, the shared features on their faces misleading her.
Her eyes seemed to burn through the soulless, thick sheet, like they were glued onto it as the thought of everything bad that would come crashing onto her passed like a warning.
She ignored it.
The click of her boots echoed through the hollow place, taking in the scene before realizing she stood before a coffin. Breathe, Elena. Breathe. With the last output of air, she reached the edge with trembling hand, hovering there for a moment.
To her fortune — or misfortune — it was the right one. On the first try as well, as though fate had already sealed itself with no chances to backtrack.
He looked desiccated, no sugarcoating that. Lack of saturation and his dry, statue-like skin confirmed her prejudice. He looked the same as he did in the picture. Same suit. Same perfectly styled hair, glued back like a traditional man. Like a younger version of Elijah.
A soft smile tugged on her lips at the similarity before her gaze drifted to the dagger, plunged right in the young man’s chest. She had undaggered the noble Original before, odds put aside, so why was she scared now? Her heart thumped against her ribs like a bird begging to be set free from a cage and the angel whispered in her ear again, the coo woven with honey and faux benevolence. 'Come on, Elena. We both know this is anything but a good idea. Let's go home.'
Her palm closed in around the dagger, the sound sharp and resonating across the entire room as she drew it out. Then, she put it aside hastily as the strip of her backpack slipped from her one shoulder, supported by her thigh. Her nerves were all over the place, yet it didn’t stop her from managing to take out a blood bag and remove the cover.
She jumped when his eyes snapped open. Focus on the mission, Elena. Her right hand cupped his face aside from the fact it shook violently against his stone-hard cheek, feeding him blood with the other hand firmly squeezing the bag. The blood painted color to his face, trailing deeper his body just the way an artist would bring unfinished art to life.
With a grip as tight as a vice, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer until he was certain she is what he hoped for — fresh blood, foolish girl.
“Wait.” She breathed out, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here to help.”
The scene changed abruptly, the Gilbert now pressed against a wall while Kol held her around the throat. Not enough to cut off all air, but to bruise. “If it isn’t Katherine Pierce.” He growled, his anger simmering beneath those ancient irises.
“No—No, I’m Elena Gilbert.” She choked out, her plea scraping against her throat. “A descendant. Doppelgänger.”
Kol, the paranoid vampire he had a proclivity to be, wasn’t so easily convinced by her half-assed explanation. Until instincts flared when the sweet smell of human blood dominated his senses, his eyes darkening with hunger. He parted his lips enough so Elena would catch a glimpse of his elongated fangs. Then—
“Interesting.” He muttered quietly before reclaiming his usual arrogant tone. “I personally have never given in to the doppelgänger allure, but this is bloody interesting.”
A relieved sigh evaded Elena’s lips when he loosened his grip, his tall frame still looming over her shivering body. “Are you Kol Mikaelson?”
“In the flesh. Now why, pray tell, have I been undaggered by an uncanny resemblance of the infamous Petrova line?” “I… I need your help.” He hummed non-committally, stepping closer to budge her to a more precise elaboration.
Warily, she reproached. “Do… do you mind telling me what you last remember? Anything to do with Klaus?“
“My bastard of a brother plunging a dagger in my chest with active aid of another one.” He smirked devilishly, a tender sin. His mirth cold from afar but the quiet rage boiling inside with a promise that if you leaned in close enough, it would burn you.
“Right. Yes— I’ve read the entries. 1914, was it? Wow, I… it’s been a century. Almost.”
“Cut to the chase, love.” He demanded softly.
“I need your help putting Klaus down. I know you had a weapon potent enough.” She breathed heavily, her imploring eyes searching for his as if they would provide the answers she needed.
“A century, you say?”
“It’s 2011.”
“Bloody hell.” He snapped his head sideways and hissed, keeping his teeth gritted. Slowly, he averted his gaze to her. Unreadable. His eyes narrowed, too suspicious to be mere amusement. “And why do you think I would help you, darling?”
“Please.” She breathed out, tears threatening to fall. She shook her head, stammering. “It will end his tyranny once and for all.”
He looked at her with a derisive gaze. “You want to be reprieved of his incessant torment, is what you are implying?”
“Reprieved— yes.” She sniffed.
“That’s naive of you.”
“Optimistic and naive are not synonymous.” She swallowed the witty comment instantly with a regrettable expression, waiting for his reaction. Even the air seemed to lean towards them, eager to witness his response.
He smiled at that, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Lead the way, mortal.”
The walk back home wasn’t how she’d expected it at all. Neither did it correspond to his expectations. It was the usual, for Kol, consisting of terms of endearment, flirty remarks and a mutual vengeance for Niklaus. Kol listened intently when Elena, the initially shaking-in-her-boots human now softening to his presence, told him about her incentive to her Modus operandi, though judging by first glance, wasn’t a very characteristic MO of her. He had gathered the essence of it, which was her reaching her absolute limit with vampires sneaking into her life and sashaying away after bringing it agonizingly slow to its ruin.
“Well, I suppose that makes me an exception.” He concluded, still in step beside her.
“You might be the first vampire I ushered into my life instead of sneaking inside yourself.” She agreed, a small smile tugging on her lips. “You know, you look a lot like your brother, Elijah.”
“He and I never really had much in common besides our dashing good looks. He’d much rather make a false pretense of being virtuous, only to assist the beast of our family to put me in a slumber.”
“For a century.” She murmured, sinking her gaze. He noticed the way she tensed. And she knew he noticed. If she were to be honest, she felt a little guilty she saw the most good in Elijah out of all the others, so much so that she’d always trusted him enough to be the first Original undaggered by her. Another procedure she’d gone through without the Salvatores’ permission. Another treason she committed for an Original. She was now a self-proclaimed connoisseur in this invented domain of hers.
“For a century.” He reaffirmed, watching her closely for any advances she would dare make. Not that she would succeed in them, but a guy had to be careful. Or paranoid, as others would describe it. He opened his hand suddenly.
“What?” She looked at his open hand, then back to his face. “Can’t figure it out on your own, love? I’ve been daggered for a century, surely you have another blood bag in there.”
She sighed, stopping in her tracks and sliding the straps down her shoulders. “No offense, but this is your seventh bag.” She looked at him while zipping the backpack open.
“I’m an insatiable creature. Rest assured you’ll get used to it.” He grabbed the blood bag from her, bringing it to his lips. As they fell into steps again, she observed—
“You’re saying that as if we’re going to work together.”
“Aren’t we?” He threw the empty plastic bag away in the woods, evoking an exasperated sigh from the human girl. His almost-smirk made a scandalous comeback when she bent over to pick it up.
“Not long enough to get used to a vampire’s tendencies, I hope.” She held his gaze, steady and with a warning. Keep your eyes to yourself. “Eyes on the path, Mikaelson.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And there is this thing called recycling.”
“I’ll adapt to this century later. For now, we’re Lewis and Clark.”
She let out a mirthful sound, something between a scoff and a chuckle. How ironic, the comparison.
Days bled into weeks, and yet no trace of a particularly psychotic Original and the it-girl of Mystic Falls roaming the night together lingered. Not because they were careful not to awaken the night with their hushed, planned-out approach to impale his brother with a perfectly fabricated and potent dagger, but mainly because no one suspected such treachery. Neither from Elena nor from someone who is supposed to be dead— well, asleep. Elena had told Bonnie the operation was a dead end and made her believe the usually dedicated doppelgänger had long given up. In the meantime, Elena’s friends used the last of their blood, sweat and tears to find a weapon against the hybrid, unaware that she was already two steps ahead.
The two hovered over a table in Kol's shady hotel room he had rented for a few days, only to eventually compel the scrawny man at the register to extend his stay with no further questions or complaints. Of course, a creature like him with abilities like mind control could have compelled himself a mansion built in the span of three days, but Kol was not a moron.
Currently, he had resided, even if temporarily, in a small, backwater town where his brother, who believed Kol was locked in a coffin, could visit anytime. Klaus outperformed his younger brother in the domain that is paranoia, and Kol could not afford risking another dagger in his heart when Klaus' intuition stirred an uneasy feeling that the newest doppelgänger stupidly awakened the wily Mikaelson.
"You look like you're in dire need of sleep, darling." The Mikaelson assumed with the usual swagger that is entirely his.
Elena nodded clinically and bit her lower lip, the kind of manners, as Kol had observed, she displayed whenever something has been bothering her. "It's not like my ex boyfriend is running about somewhere with your psycho of a brother and Damon has practically given up on saving Stefan." She listed the problems that had been gnawing at the very core of her being for some time now. "And it's not like I have to sneak out of my house every second night just to plan a futile assasination." She added with hesitation.
He sighed softly at that, eyes darting the New Orleans map. "Don't be pessimistic now, love. I have found a witch that can help us. And as for the place," He paused, stepping beside her. "I'm being careful, as you wished."
"A witch? A Clarice witch?" She asked and tilted her head to lock eyes with his, her brows furrowed with a dumbfounded manner. The transformation from desperation to hope flickering through her eyes made something stir in him.
"Claire," he corrected "and yes. I have found a Claire witch, capable of putting down a common enemy." His smirk broadened like it always did— lazily, drawling.
"Way to rekindle the flame." She smiled, soft and grounded, though her heart danced excitedly at the promise of payback. "Are you the flame?" He cocked an eyebrow, eyes glinting with mischief.
"I'm not falling for your trap, you have a tendency to twist my words and use them as a cue to flirt without shame."
"Then it appears we have worked long enough together for you to grow used to my tendencies." The edge of his curved lips softened just a tiny sliver, and yet it caused a humiliating flip in Elena Gilbert's stomach that had nothing to do with elation for revenge. "I promise you, darling, we'll plot our next moves in your room. Spare you the danger of walking alone at night."
She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "Too intimate." But there was no real bite to the rejection. “Damon will catch us.”
"Then let us be damned."
***
The night the sky painted beautiful hues of midnight blue and the stars were as clear as diamonds, the female Gilbert stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a lilac tank top and shorts. Without looking clearly, she let out a weary huff.
“I’m tired, Damon.” She iterated while picking up discarded socks from the day before.
A British accent suddenly dominated the small room, her heart rate picking up at the melody. “You wound me, darling.”
She stood upright, put the socks in the basket and stepped closer to the window. “Kol— it’s you. I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy lately.” Her hands slid the window door open, the cold breeze taking over the atmosphere.
“Not to worry, love. I have learned to contribute more when it comes to putting Klaus down. May I come inside?”
“Right, yeah. Come in.” She nodded, stepping aside as he entered in the manner that belonged to him only. Elegant, but not too pretentious. Effortless. “What’s in your hand?”
“Patience, love.” He stepped forward, their chests almost touching. “Close your eyes.”
“Right.” She crossed her arms, nodding incredulously. “And how do I know you’re not gonna put a dagger inside me?”
“Because there are better things I can put inside you.” He smirked like the devil he is. “But for now, close your eyes. I want to be a gentleman.”
“Bold. Really bold.” She blushed a deep crimson, letting out a scoff full with ridicule. When she closed her eyes, her heart rate turned steady, almost comfortable. Naturally, the unknown tended to agitate her. What would come next was always a question of life or death. But here? With Kol? As inane as the admission was, she felt safe. Safe that had very little to do with the fact he was weapon against Klaus, and very much with the fact he was now enveloping something cold and metallic around her neck.
His hands lingered on her back, his rough hands turning into soft caresses. An oxymoron. When he leaned in close enough to whisper in her ear, Elena shuddered at the warm air assaulting her neck.
“Open your eyes, Elena.” Lights seemed to have altered to an intimate glow when her eyelids fluttered open. She touched the necklace with the ancient patterned pendant, a hot, mahogany color, the liquid moving in waves.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Happy birthday.” He cooed just above her shoulder, watching her reaction intently and smiling triumphantly when her heartbeat sounded like gunshots. “The outer shell is vervained. Inside is my blood.”
“Your blood?”
“Keeps you safer than a fragile vervain necklace, darling.” The silence stretched, a self-deprecating smile reached her lips as her soft hand engulfed the gift that is now hers.
“Thank you.” She sniffed.
“Hey,” his boyish grin faltered at the sight of her tears. She had pursed her lips in an attempt to withhold them, but ostensibly without success. Without further explanation, her head burrowed in the crook of his neck, warm tears clinging to his skin. “Shh. I’ve got you.”
“It hurts, Kol. It will never be over. Stefan leaving a trail of dead bodies. Damon… hiding it from me.”
He kissed the top of her head, cradling her head into his chest. “I will take care of it, love. I will make my brother rot if you wish.”
“I just want it to be over.” She breathed out, pressing impossibly closer to him.
Kol stayed with her. What was initially supposed to be a quick visit turned into a long night with the Gilbert girl by his side, both figuratively and literally.
He didn’t sleep much. For the last few centuries at least, he had discovered that sleep evaded him more often than not. When the birds welcomed their glorious sun with chirpy notes, the wily Mikaelson considered leaving. It would have been a bit cold of him, he judged, but wasn’t that his whole persona?
Spend a night with a girl, whispering sweet nothings only to brush her off the next day as if all was casual. But they weren’t sweet nothings, what he whispered. It was more of a heart-to-heart, a conversation concerning both their past and future.
The two had a mutual connection with the latter. An understanding that neither believed they would get their happy ending, that it was a mirage always slipping through their grasp whenever they dared to reach for it.
Trust, Kol pondered, could be a gift. If only you had someone to share its vulnerability with.
He marveled at the thing he had never dared to dream of— not the Juliet to his Romeo, no, that was too cliché for his liking and too shallow for their bond he now realized they had scratched the surface of.
Lewis and Clark was too platonic, which should have scared him.
Bonnie and Clyde too gruesome for someone as benign as her.
Perhaps, and just perhaps, nothing could really compare to the bond they shared. Perhaps when all this was over, they could become their own notorious duo.
Elena and Kol.