What's At Stake, Part Sixteen

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Damn. When Elijah slips back into BAMF mode, he doesn't eff around about it. *gulp*. o_O
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Elijah poured Jenna another glass of red wine. She picked it up absently and drank, staring shellshocked into the fire that crackled in the big stone fireplace. He had offered her something stronger, but she had refused, laboring as she was under the misconception that she would be driving home tonight. He had tried to convince her to ride with him, up here to the house that he had bought when he'd come to town, but distrustful, she had opted to follow him instead.

The expansive lake house sat high over the water, perched atop ledge on a promontory that jutted out into the lake. From its tall, dramatic windows, Elijah had 360-degree views of the landscape around him; habits from a thousand years as chief of security died hard. While he had no intention of remaining in Mystic Falls any longer than necessary, this house of stone and air and light had called to him, peering down at the world from the top of its lonely hill. It reminded him somewhat of his penthouse in Manhattan, but instead of the noise of the city bustling beneath him, here it was silent save for the occasional call of a bird of prey swooping down on its quarry, or the sighing of the wind through the trees. So instead of picking up a modest, easy-to-turn-over house in town, he had paid a ridiculous sum for this lakeside retreat. He couldn't say he regretted it.

Seating himself on the other end of the leather sofa, he studied Jenna's profile in the flickering light. Having quickly ascertained that she'd been informed about vampires only in the context of the Salvatores and Isobel Fleming, he had told her the rest of the story. All of it. The doppelganger, Katerina, werewolves, witches, the Curse, himself... she was as up to speed as any of them at this point. She had heard it all out, indignant at first that they had kept still more from her, then with increasing concern as the dangers inherent to the situation had begun to sink in. By the time he had finished the part about Klaus and the sacrifice, she had been stunned into a shocked silence. "Are you all right?" He asked finally, breaking that silence.

Jenna took another deep swallow of wine, considering. "I don't know," she answered at last. "Up is down, down is up, and the monsters under the bed are real. And everyone knew it but me."

"Well, not everyone. But I'll concede that it must feel that way." He picked up his own wine glass, drank. "They thought they were protecting you."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Do you have any concept of how humiliating that is?"

He frowned. "Humiliating?"

Jenna ran her finger around the rim of her glass, circle after slow circle. In sharp contrast to her earlier outrage, her voice was quiet, subdued, eerily calm even. "My sister. My brother-in-law. My niece. My nephew. My boyfriend. My friends. Not one person in my life thought that I deserved the truth."

"I don't think it was a question of 'deserving', Jenna. They care for you."

"Mm-hm. They do." She took another sip. "You know what you 'care for,' Elijah? Plants. Pets. Children. You 'care for' those things. But you don't respect them."

Jenna took her glass and crossed the room to look out the window, though with the dark outside, only the distorted view of the room behind her was visible. "My sister was twelve years older than me. Did you know that?"

He shook his head.  "No."

"Mm. Miranda was one of those people that just... had everything together, you know? The perfect daughter, popular, pretty, good grades, smart... She graduated from college, married a doctor, raised kids, ran committees... She got everything right."

"It sounds like she cast a long shadow." He knew something of standing in shadows.

She nodded, turning away from the window, and wandered back over to the fireplace, staring once more into its flames. "Me... I was the screw-up. I said weird things, laughed at inappropriate times, ruined my good clothes just before church because Billy Moseley dared me to ride my bike down that steep hill, and the tire got caught on a tree root."

Jenna turned to face him, shrugging a little, a small, sad smile on her face. "Mom and dad never really got mad at me; they'd just pat my head, say, 'Oh, Jenna' and go about their day. What else did they expect, right? Then they died, just after I started college, and left Miranda to do the head-shaking and the eye-rolling, because God knows I was still a screw-up."

"Jenna..."

"I had no idea that Grayson and Miranda had named me as Elena and Jeremy's guardian. Not until John and I were sitting with the lawyer, and he read the will." Tears shone in her large, dark eyes; one spilled over and ran down her cheek. "I was shocked; I mean, yeah, John's a douchebag, but it never occurred to me that they would have named me as legal guardian over him. Then, about two seconds after the shock hit, the terror set in. I couldn't keep a cactus alive, and suddenly I was supposed to raise kids?

"But even with the shock, and the pants-shitting terror, there was this... wonder, and... and pride that they would trust me – me! – with Elena and Jeremy."

Jenna set her glass on the mantle and crossed her arms in front of her, two more tears spilling over. "And what have I done with that trust? I've let my niece have overnights with her boyfriend – her vampire boyfriend – although just the 'boyfriend' part of it is bad enough, really; I've stood by while my nephew smoked pot and did God knows what other drugs, because who the hell was I to cast stones about it; I've had my boyfriend – who is their history teacher – stay overnight at the house, leading to the infamous Chunky Monkey incident..." She shook her head at his questioning look. "Don't ask.

"So it's no wonder they don't respect me. Why would they? Why wouldn't they think I needed to be protected? Aunt Jenna, the big screw-up."

Jenna took her glass from the mantle, finishing the wine in two big swallows. Pushing her hair out of her face, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and squared her shoulders. "That ends now," she announced.

Elijah stood and followed her as she strode through the dining room, to the foyer. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Jenna – "

"Home, to do what I should have been doing this whole time: be a parent. It's my job to protect them, not the other way around."

He took her hand as she reached for her purse and keys. "I understand. I do," he said, overriding her protest. He brought his other hand up, tilted her chin up so she faced him. "But you can't protect them, not from this."

"I have to try."

"This was always going to happen, Jenna. Whether your sister were still alive, whether you cracked the whip over curfews and homework, whether you knew about vampires or not. Elena is the doppelganger; this was fated to happen." He released her hand, so he could cup her face with both of his. "It's not your fault."

Her eyes welled again. "It will be if I fail them now."

Every instinct in him warning against it, he pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head as one hand stroked her hair. She stiffened momentarily, and he cursed himself for touching her when he good and goddamn well knew better, but then she relaxed against him, laying her head on his shoulder as her arms came up to lightly encircle his waist. "Jenna," he murmured into her hair, settling her more firmly against him when she sniffled.

I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be doing this! he thought, repeatedly, even as he stroked her neck, her back; even as he kissed her hair and nuzzled his chin against her temple. She tightened her arms around him and pulled her face back a little, looking up at him with those big, dark eyes, eyes that he could – that he would – drown in if he didn't pull it together and get away from her.

He might have pushed her away then, if he hadn't heard a car start up the long, long driveway to the house, and known that he had this one, single, solitary chance to taste her – the last one he would ever have before she hated him, probably forever.

Keeping his eyes on hers, closing them only at the last possible moment, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. The lightest of caresses, until he was sure that she wouldn't resist; then he kissed her more firmly. She returned the kiss, pressing against him as it deepened. He felt her lips part, and flicked his tongue over them, drawing a low moan from her. The sound arrowed straight to his groin, and he gripped his fingers in her hair so he could tilt her head back and access her mouth more fully, her tongue dancing with his as he slipped it inside.

She pulled back with a gasp when she heard a car door slam. "Who...?" she asked, breathing deeply, her cheeks flushed bright red.

Elijah stepped back from her, regret knifing through his chest, sharper than any blade. "You can't protect them, Jenna. Not from Klaus. But I can. I need you to let me do that. And I need you out of the way, and safe, while I do."

"What – "

Jenna turned, startled, as a man and a woman walked in. The man was tall and blond, and looked to be in his mid-twenties; the woman had dark hair and an olive complexion, and looked to be the same age. But with vampires, looks were deceiving.

"This is her, I take it?" the woman asked.

This is she, he thought inanely, mentally correcting her grammar. "Jenna, this is Sophia. The gentleman is Marcus. They'll see that you have whatever you need to be comfortable during your stay."

"What the hell?! I'm not staying here!" She took a step toward the door, only to be blocked by Sophia. Jenna pushed her; the vampire didn't budge. "Elijah?!"

Elijah gestured Marcus toward the door. "I'm sorry, Jenna. Klaus would use you against me, against Elena, if he could, and I can't have that. I'll protect them. You have my word on that."

He followed Marcus out the door, closing it firmly on her protests, confident that Sophia could keep her contained without hurting her. Marcus looked from the door to Elijah, raising an eyebrow. "Whatever she wants – food, books, entertainment... just keep her here. No phone or internet. She's not to come to any harm."

"Understood," the other man nodded. He eyed Elijah speculatively. "You're really going to throw down with Klaus?"

"That's the plan."

"And what do we do with her if you don't come back?"

He glanced toward the door, behind which she was still objecting strenuously, cursing his parentage in fairly explicit and creative terms. "Take her home. And pray that her family is alive to greet her there." Elijah turned and gripped his arm briefly. "Thank you."

"We owed you," Marcus said simply. "You called, we came."

"And I appreciate it." Elijah walked to his car as Marcus went back inside, renewing Jenna's string of invective when he didn't return as well. He gave the house a last, long look as he got in and drove away.

To town, to explain to Elena why Jenna wouldn't be coming home for the next week. And why he would be staying at their house in her place.

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elijah found a place to park and strode off down the street the next morning, annoyance clinging to him like an itchy sweater. He was annoyed with Elena, who had first berated him for telling Jenna the whole truth about what was happening; and then argued with him well into the night about sequestering her before finally – finally! – ceding to logic and packing her a bag, to be picked up later in the day by Sophia. He was annoyed with Jeremy, for trying to slip a cell phone into said bag, even after being warned not to, which had necessitated Elijah having to sort through the bag, item by item, to make certain no other contraband had been included. He was annoyed with Stefan, for being there even though Elijah himself had assigned him there; and for... well, basically, for being Stefan. Most of all, he was annoyed with himself, for giving in to temptation; for getting Jenna to trust him, only to betray that trust; and for skirting perilously close to have actual... feelings about the entire matter.

Consequently, Elijah was in absolutely no mood whatsoever to walk into the coffee shop and discover Klaus in it. But there he was, a newspaper tucked under his arm, chatting up a young woman of some indeterminate Asian lineage as she put sugar in her coffee. Only centuries of hard-won, iron control kept him from having any outward reaction. Klaus waved at him, gesturing toward an open table by the window. Elijah took his time ordering coffee, feeling the weight of Klaus's stare as he nonchalantly added some cream and sugar before finally putting the plastic cover on the cup and sauntering over to Klaus's table. The girl he had been talking with slid away as he approached. "Elijah," Klaus invited. "Join me?"

Elijah took the seat opposite, watching the girl through the window as she left the shop and walked down the street. "Did you order that to go? Because she's going."

Klaus shrugged nonchalantly. "Chinese food. It never stays with you." Klaus slid the newspaper over toward Elijah, pointing at a photo of the crippled nuclear plant in Fukushima, Japan. "Such a tragedy. Did you know that you can send a message to this little number here to donate to the 'humanitarian effort'? I sent mine in."

Elijah quirked a brow at him and took a sip of his coffee. "How generous."

"I'm a great humanitarian." Klaus leaned forward, winking, "My diet consists solely of humans."

"Clever," Elijah said, his voice bored. "How long have you been waiting to use that line?"

"Longer than I like to admit, truthfully. I was saving it for you. No one else has any sense of humor these days." Klaus folded the paper and tasted his own coffee.

Elijah leaned back as far as the hard wooden chair would allow, crossing his legs. "So, to what do I owe this visit? Come to watch me break the curse? Since, you know, you couldn't."

"Yes, I heard that you've been putting together quite the list of party favors. I must say, I'm hurt: Was my invitation lost in the mail?"

"Since when have you ever needed an invitation?"

"True." Klaus sat back, mirroring Elijah's posture. "You know, though, there's one thing that's been bothering me."

"The fact that your tailor can't fit a jacket to save his life?"

"Mee-ow! You always were such a clothes horse. It's one thing you and Katerina had in common. How is she, by the way?"

"Wouldn't know; I haven't had her."

Klaus smirked. "Not for lack of effort on her part. But no. What's bothering me is this new little doppelganger you just magically scared up. I mean, you went to so much trouble to end the line by killing the Petrovas. And yet, just a few short years after you leave me, here you are, with a doppelganger." Klaus lost the smirk. "Someone less trusting than me might think you had been holding out the entire time."

Elijah just smiled at him over his coffee cup, and remained silent.

Klaus took a different tack. "Have you sampled the new one, at least? If it were me, I'd try both she and Katerina. Compare and contrast to the original, see whom you most prefer."

He didn't rise to the bait. "You know, I've missed conversing with someone who knows when to use 'whom.'"

Chuckling, Klaus lifted his coffee cup in salute, and smiled his charming smile. "Eh, just admit it. You miss me. It has to be lonely, out there on your own, since you flew the nest."

"Tell you what: Since you've come all this way, please do join us for the ritual next week, for old times' sake." Elijah put on a smug little smile. "I'd love for you to watch."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it," Klaus assured him. Klaus stood, leaving the cup and newspaper on the table. "It was good to see you again, Elijah." A tall, Nordic-looking blond picked up a coffee and pastry, and headed out the door, catching Klaus's eye. Klaus smiled down at Elijah, roguish. "I think I'll try the Danish. It looks delicious." With a wiggle of his eyebrows, he left, catching up with the blond out on the street, engaging her in conversation on some pretext or another.

Elijah shook his head and heaved an inward sigh of relief. He had not only survived the opening volley with Klaus, but had actually acquitted himself quite well. Although, he thought ruefully, Klaus hadn't been off the mark altogether; sometimes he did miss him. Not the unstable, increasingly paranoid Klaus of the last several decades, to be sure. But there had been a time when they had been friends. Long winters spent talking in front of the fire, sorting personnel, planning campaigns... there were many times when he had been happy where he was. Now, knowing what he knew, all of those good times were retroactively tainted by the knowledge of what Klaus had done to Irina, what he wanted yet to do with all of them. Elijah wasn't certain which thing he hated Klaus for more – causing Irina's death in the first place, or rendering Elijah's whole life from that point forward nothing but a mockery.

He glanced up as someone approached his table. John Gilbert came slithering over, not waiting for an invitation before claiming Klaus's vacated chair. "Well, that looked cozy," John smarmed, drinking his coffee.

Elijah set his cup down and folded his hands on the table. "Something I can do for you, John?"

"As a matter of fact, there is." He drummed his fingers, the good ones, on the table. "I seem to have missed my invitation to the big meeting the other night."

"No, you didn't miss anything. You weren't invited."

"See, I find that curious. Especially considering that it's my daughter's life at stake."

"Your 'daughter' has no use for you, John. Nor do I."

"Well, that's a mistake, Elijah."

"I don't think so."

"Oh, trust me. It is." John drained his cup and set it aside. "Where is Isobel?"

Elijah shrugged. "Carrying out a little research project for me." It hadn't been difficult to convince Isobel to conduct her research in person, not when he'd thrown in a tidy sum of money for her troubles, and offered the use of his personal jet for the flight.

"Where?"

"I suspect she's somewhere in the British countryside by now." Literally 'in' the countryside; Elijah had been certain to have someone waiting there to take her out. It was unfortunate; she was quite a gifted researcher, but she was under Katerina's thumb, and there were things that Elijah couldn't chance having discovered and reported to her, not if his plan were to succeed.

"She's not taking my calls."

"Somehow, John, I doubt that you're a stranger to the concept of women avoiding you. Your relationship with your ex, or lack of same, is not my concern."

"Actually, that's exes. Plural. I can't seem to reach Jenna either." John sat back, arms crossed, watching Elijah closely.

Jenna was his ex? Jenna? With this buffoon?

Some flicker of expression must have betrayed him. John shot him a self-satisfied smile. "Oh yeah. Jenna and I go way back." Having scored a hit, he rose from the table. "I sure hope I hear from her soon. I'd hate to have to raise the alarm, get people searching for her. There's no telling what they might dig up." Smirking, he discarded his empty cup and headed into the men's restroom.

Elijah remained seated. For about 0.0003 seconds.

One moment, John was standing at the urinal. The next, Elijah was suddenly there next to him, one hand grasped firmly around John's balls.

John started, then froze with a muffled shriek as the movement brought with it a considerable amount of discomfort. His eyes went wide, his breathing shallow as he tried to keep from moving any more.

"You really aren't very clever, are you?" Elijah said, conversationally, as though he addressed him in some fancy parlor somewhere, and not in a public restroom, with the man's testicles in the palm of his hand. "You think, because you're accustomed to wheeling and dealing with the likes of Isobel Fleming, and the Salvatores, that you are of some greater significance to me than that fly on the wall over there?"

John broke out into a sweat. "Elijah – "

Elijah increased the pressure in his fingers infinitesimally; John sucked in a sharp breath. "I'm speaking," he said mildly. "I think it might be a good idea if you left town, John. You needn't worry about Jenna, nor about Jeremy and Elena. I'll be staying at the house with them. Don't go back there. Are we clear?"

John glared, but nodded.

"I can't hear you," Elijah prompted.

"Yes!" he spat.

"Well that's good. And John?"

"What?" he ground out.

"Don't ever threaten me again." He leaned in, close to his ear, and whispered, "You don't have the balls for it." With a quick squeeze, he clenched his fist and crushed the other man's scrotum, slapping a hand over John's mouth to stifle his scream. Elijah didn't release him until his cries became whimpers; then he let him slide to the floor, where he curled up in a fetal position, retching, hands pressed to his mutilated groin.

Stepping over him, Elijah went to the sink and washed his hands thoroughly, then took his time drying them before walking calmly out the door.