This is WAR!!

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I am hereby formally declaring war. 

Sweet potatoes, it used to be that I encountered you only once a year.  You were those disgusting, orange lumps my sister insisted on bringing to Thanksgiving. I ignored you, knowing that, once the football was done, the pie was demolished, and my brother-in-law was snoring in the living room, you would disappear from my life again for the next year.

Then you started cropping up in restaurants, first as an alternative to the standard baked potato.  I glanced disdainfully at you from the corner of my eye, not wanting to dignify your presence with a response.  But, discontent with your lot in life as an oblong, misshapen, baked tuber, you decided that a makeover was in order.  You realized sex sells, and you remade yourself into, of all things, French fries!

I should have seen this as a warning, as the shot across the bow that it was, but still I clung to the belief that good Americans would see through this ruse, and know you for what you are.  Sure, you talk a good game about being all sweet and innocent, but 7 ounces of you only has 12 fewer calories than 7 ounces of your white counterpart, and only 2 fewer grams of carbs.  You have less protein, less phosphorus, less iron, less potassium, and MORE sodium.  Sure, you have more calcium, but so does milk!

Still, I could have agreed to disagree with you, could have learned to co-exist, but this is the last straw:  The Food Depot is now advertising Sweet Potato Puffs.  That’s right.  The potato puff, long recognized as the sole domain of the white potato, has now been invaded by the sweet potato.

I can ignore you no longer.  This is war.  Cease and desist.  Take your fake-tanned, lumpy tuberosity and STEP AWAY from the potato puffs, you usurping, orange freaks!!  Do you hear me?  It. Is. ON!!

Just Enough Rope, Chapter 14

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Writing this scene while having rampant, mutant, ninja PMS was not a good idea. Memo to self: add tissues to the shopping list. Also, vampire fiction is awesome to write when you are a history geek.

Fanfiction.net link:  http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6910203/14/Just_Enough_Rope

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Paris, France – 1751

Elijah shook his head in amused exasperation as Klaus drifted upstairs with five of the ladies at Madame Genevieve's.  Klaus's excesses were guaranteed to keep him, and by extension Elijah, there at the Parisian pleasure house well into the morning hours.  Which meant that he would need to send the rest of the men back to the townhouse before them so as to avoid the sunlight.  Which in turn meant that Elijah was destined to spend several hours with no company save the Madame's girls, and he expected little in the way of conversation with any of their ranks.  Not that he couldn't avail himself of the hospitality and pass the time not talking, but he generally found that the feigned arousal and disingenuous satisfaction of such creatures left him more lonely for companionship, not less.

So, with the men dispatched, Elijah found himself a drink and settled into one of the high-backed chairs before the marble fireplace, slipping a book out of his doublet.  He was in the habit of carrying a volume with him, the better to amuse himself while Klaus made merry. Tonight’s treatise was a recent work by one Denis Diderot, a little work entitled Lettre sur les aveugles à l'usage de ceux qui voient.  It had landed the French man of letters briefly in Vincennes Prison, though he had since regained his freedom, and Elijah found himself curious to see what the fuss was about.  The backward-thinking, dual-edged sword of monarchy and church that fought against all advancement of knowledge and enlightenment continued to both amaze and appall him.  Still, men such as this Diderot and his compatriots continued to push at intellectual and moral boundaries, and water, once spilled on the ground to nourish its growth, could not be put back into the pitcher. 

He was perhaps a third through the book when the rustle of petticoats signaled the approach of one of Genevieve’s ladies.  Prepared to brush off the usual come-on, Elijah was surprised when she remarked, over his shoulder, “You’re reading Denis’s work, I see.  His thoughts are intriguing, no?”

Elijah turned in his chair to see who addressed him. The girl was petite, with lustrous, dark curls, olive skin, and a trim, tidy figure.  Her eyes were large and dark, and showed a lively intelligence he didn’t often see in women of her station. To be sure, the girls at Genevieve’s were typically more educated than their lower-class counterparts, rutting in the gutters of the Parisian streets, but it was rare to find one who was educated beyond the basics.  This girl was likely some aristocrat’s by-blow, orphaned before she could be married off in some backroom gentlemen’s arrangement.

“Indeed,” he answered, rising and gesturing her toward the other chair.  “Do you know of it?”

“I do, my lord.”  The girl sat, smoothing her skirts and folding her hands into her lap demurely.  “I found his discussion of perception shaping reality to be quite illuminating.”

So she had read it. “Are you in agreement with his assertions, then?” he asked, reseating himself.

“As a philosophical paradigm, I believe the idea to have merit,” she said, watching the flames dance over the hearth as she considered.  “Brought down to the mundane level, however, one cannot define reality solely by one’s own perception, to the exclusion of others’.  Else, we would never agree upon anything.”

“One might argue that we rarely do agree.”  He smiled at her, encouraging the discussion. 

“That is true.  But as the five senses must work in concert to define our perceptions, so too must the experience of being in the world be shaped together by the minds of men.”

“And of women.”

She smiled back at him, a genuine smile.  “And of women,” she agreed.  She nodded toward the book, which he had put aside.  “You would have heard, of course, of Monsieur Diderot’s most recent literary undertaking; his passion for philosophical discourse has not been dulled by his recent misfortunes, nor has his voice been silenced.”

“One must make noise if one is to be heard.”  One of the serving girls came and discreetly refilled his drink.  “It is uncommon to find a woman so well-read in such an establishment,” he said, when she had gone.

“As uncommon as it is to find man reading therein, I dare say,” she returned, one delicate brow arched eloquently.

“Touche,” he allowed, smiling.  “Might I have the privilege of your name, mademoiselle?”

“Of only my name?”

She was beautiful.  Also bright, and articulate.  He could perhaps be charmed by this one.  “To begin with,” he decided.

“I am Sophia, my lord.”

~~~~~

“Watch out!”  Jenna’s warning snapped Elijah’s attention out of his reverie and back into the present.  He swerved to avoid the deer in the road, narrowly missing two of its kindred who had joined it in its roadside folly.  The Rover wanted to fishtail, but he quickly brought it back under control.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Jenna pull her fingernails out of the armrest and rub circulation back into her hands.

Privately, he hadn’t really wanted Jenna to accompany him on this trip, if the truth be known, but she had insisted.  Though she had only known the vampire for a month – and her sole relationship with her had been that of jailer and captive – Jenna had nevertheless come to like Sophia and evidently considered her to be somewhere in the realm of ‘friend.’  Once Elijah had described the inevitable outcome of the situation, Jenna wouldn’t be talked out of visiting.  Not, he supposed, that it should surprise him.  Jenna so blatantly wore her heart on her sleeve, and she was quick to extend her liking and friendship.

And her love.

Elijah squirmed inwardly.  The last thing he had intended was for Jenna to fall in love with him, as she so clearly was doing.  The fact that he should have foreseen that outcome did nothing to improve his mood or assuage his guilt at having allowed it to happen.  It was a complication that he could well do without right now, honestly, and he could see no graceful way to extricate himself from the situation.

Are you sure you want to?  You did tell her about Leah.  The inner squirming intensified.  What on earth had compelled him to talk about that?  He had only ever spoken of it to Irina, and then only after she had been with him for well over a year.  Then again, Jenna being pregnant did lend a certain immediacy to that particular topic that hadn’t pertained to Irina.

“Is it really so hopeless?” Jenna broke in, her voice subdued.

"Sophia?  Yes, I’m afraid so.  There is no cure for a werewolf bite."

"Not even if she fed from an Original?  I mean, you guys are immune, right?"

"We are, but that immunity doesn’t transfer.  For a normal vampire, a werewolf bite is a death sentence."

Jenna reached over and put her hand on his leg.  "I'm sorry."

"So am I," he murmured.  Sorry he had pulled Sophia and Marcus into this whole mess.  This was his fight, not theirs.

"How...long have you known her?"

"Long enough."  Elijah slowed and pulled into the Salvatore driveway; Damon and Marcus had brought Sophia there after her call had alerted them as to what had happened.  Parking in front of the garage, he got out of the vehicle and went around to the passenger side.  Jenna had already slid out before he could open the door for her, and she tucked her hand into his as they walked to the entryway.  Elijah pulled his away to knock on the door when they reached the entryway.

Damon answered quickly.  Elijah raised on eyebrow inquiringly.  How bad?  Damon shook his head.  Bad enough.  Elijah glanced away, nodding acknowledgment of the point.  He stepped into the foyer as Damon moved back, Jenna bringing up the rear.  Elijah could hear Sophia and Marcus talking in low voices in the great room and, squaring his shoulders, he made his way in.

The conversation stopped as he cleared the archway, Marcus turning to look at him from where he sat, side-saddle on the edge of the sofa upon which Sophia reclined, his expression half-accusatory, half mad hope that the Original could do something – anything – to make this awful thing not be true.  Sophia met Elijah's eyes and tried to sit up, only to be pressed back down by Marcus's hand on her chest.  "It's all right," Elijah told her.  "Lie still."

Sophia took Marcus's hand in her own, and moved it away from her, pushing herself up so she sat, her back against the arm of the couch.  "I'm not dead yet," she told him mildly.  Laying her other arm on the back of the sofa, she held the hand palm up to him.  "Elijah."  Her eyes were clear and calm.  She understood the truth, even if Marcus didn’t want to accept it.

Elijah crossed the room and took it, raising it to his lips.  "Sophia."

Looking past him, she noticed Jenna standing uncertainly in the archway.  "Hello, Jenna.  It's good to see you again.  I wish it could be under more pleasant circumstances."

"Hi," Jenna said, moving awkwardly into the room to perch on the edge of one of the chairs facing the sofa.  "I'm so sorry," she told her.  "As inadequate as it sounds, is there anything we can do?"

"Perhaps you could make some tea?" she suggested.

"Yeah, of course."  Jenna stood, brushing her hand along Elijah's arm on her way toward the kitchen.

Sophia turned to Marcus.  "Would you go into town and pick up some of that wine that I like, love?"

"What?  No, I'm not leaving you," he refused, his mouth settling into a stubborn line.

 "Please," she said, giving him The Look when he would have protested further.  "I would like to enjoy it once more, while I still may.  And I would speak with Elijah."

Marcus hesitated, at war with himself, and when he did rise to leave the look he shot at Elijah was just shy of mutinous, but he finally went.  Elijah pulled the ottoman over next to the sofa as Marcus stormed off into the hall and out the front door.  He sat, facing her.  "Let's see it," he told her.

Wincing, Sophia pulled her shirt up to expose an ugly wound on her stomach, a wound that roiled under the surface as the black, tainted blood sluiced through her veins, slowly poisoning her.  Judging by the size of it, Elijah thought the wolf must have had her by the waist, full in its jaws.  "Tell me," he said grimly, as she lowered the hem of her shirt.

"You know I overheard the professor say something of a meeting he needed to attend.  I followed him, away from campus.  I assumed he would meet with someone in town, but he went in the other direction, toward the old quarries," she told him, leaning back gingerly and letting her head rest against the back of the sofa.  "Once he stopped, I continued on in the car and parked where he wouldn't hear me, doubling back on foot.  I didn't realize at the time, of course, that he could smell and hear me coming anyhow."  Sophia laid her hand in his palm.  "When I drew close enough to the quarry to see them, one jumped me from behind.  This wasn't a meeting of conspirators, Elijah.  It was a pack gathering."

Elijah digested that bit of news.  Of all the possibilities regarding the professor, that was one he had failed to consider, focused as he was on the other Originals and any impending challenges that might come from those quarters.  In hindsight, it seemed so obvious.  Jenna had told him that Mitchell's questions focused primarily on the werewolf mythologies she had outlined, as well as on the Sun and Moon curse.  It also explained the professor's odd behavior at the meet and greet.  Werewolves could sense vampires; unfortunately that ability didn’t hold true in reverse.

"A pack," he repeated.  "How many?"

"I counted at least five, though there may have been more in the woods.  When I realized they were transforming, I tried to retreat, but the one who caught me had mostly transitioned.  The others shifted while I struggled with him.  I killed two, maybe wounded a third before this," she said, glancing at her stomach to indicate the bite.  "I thought they'd kill me then, but I think they wanted you to know.  The professor mentioned the 'big vampire in town' earlier.  Since they failed to kill you with the bombing, perhaps he thought to send you a message."

Pale, Sophia sank down a little lower onto the sofa.  Elijah tucked an errant piece of hair back from her face.  It clung to her skin a little; she was beginning to sweat.  "I shouldn't have pulled you into this.  I wouldn't have, if I had suspected."  If I had been paying attention, and not let myself get distracted by matters better left alone.  "I'm sorry."

"As am I."  Her face tightened and collapsed as sudden tears filled her eyes.  Careful not to disturb her wound, Elijah reached down and pulled her gently to him.

She clung to him for only a moment, breathing deeply to still the threatening sobs.  "I can't do this," she told him, wiping a hand over her face as she struggled to regain control.  "Marcus.  I have to be strong for him."

Elijah settled her head more firmly against his shoulder, loosening her hair where it was gathered in a loose knot at her nape, and brushing his fingers through it.  "Marcus isn't here right now," he whispered to her.  "You needn’t be strong for me."

He felt her yield a little, letting him draw her against him.  Her small frame shook with sobs she refused to release, to give voice to, as she put her arms around his waist.  Saying nothing – what was there to say? – he held her to him and let her cry, realizing as he did that it was the only time he had ever seen her do so, though he had spent much of her first 80 years as a vampire in her company, after he had turned her.  And before they'd met Marcus.

"Do you remember, how we found him?" she asked, as though reading his thoughts.

He nodded, kissing the top of her head.  "Yes, I do."

~~~~~

Manhattan, 1834

The night air was heavy, and pregnant with the promise of the summer soon to be, balmy even at a half past midnight.  They had spent an evening at the newly opened Niblo's Garden on Broadway and Prince, opting to walk back to the elaborate Greek Revival home that he had purchased on the trendy Bond Street.  They had stopped for a quick 'bite' on the way home, and Elijah had definite ideas about how he wanted to spend the rest of the hours until sun-up.

"How long do we have before Klaus arrives in New York?" Sophia asked him, bending to purloin a brightly colored flower from a pot of them that someone had set out on the stoop.

"A week, perhaps a fortnight before his ship arrives."  Slipping the stem from her fingers, he tucked it into one of the combs holding her hair back from her delicate face.  Not that that exquisite face required any additional ornamentation.  Oh yes, he had very definite ideas.

Sophia slipped her hand through his arm and continued walking.  "What did you think of the entertainment this evening?"

He shrugged.  "The music was good, and well-received.  The poetry readings, rather hit or miss."

"Agreed.  Though there was the one fellow..."

"You wouldn't happen to be referring to the young – emphasis on young – man who all but prostrated himself before you during his recitation."  Her silence was eloquent.  "You are!" he laughed.  "What was it that he was butchering, a sonnet?"

"I thought he was sweet," she bristled.

Elijah leaned down so his lips were close to her ear, brushing it almost.  "Perhaps you can sample his blood tomorrow evening, and know for certain.  If they'll have him back, which is admittedly a gamble."  He moved his hands to her waist, intending to pull her to him for a smoldering kiss, but the ringing clatter of hooves on the paver stones, followed by a loud thud and the sound of shouts as window sashes along the street were thrown open, had Sophia moving toward the corner to see what all the mayhem was in aid of.

When they reached the intersection, a man lay in the street, groaning as the sound of hooves receded.  As they neared him, Elijah could see a wheel track across the youth's chest from where the carriage had run over him.  Closer inspection revealed several hoof prints as well.  One arm was twisted at an impossible angle and looked to be crushed just below the elbow.  Blood flowed freely from his mouth, where his head was turned to the side; heavy internal bleeding, by the looks.  Likely a crushed lung and shattered ribs.

Sophia knelt next to him, her back to the windows from which the awake and the curious looked on.  Blocking their view, she extended her fangs and bit into her own wrist, sliding her other hand under the youth's head to turn it upright so she could feed him.  Elijah heard her gasp, and looked more closely – the same young man whom they had just been discussing, Sophia's hapless poet – was the man now dying in the street.

~~~~~

"I don't think we had even reached the house before you were ridiculously besotted," Elijah smiled into her hair.

"We both were, he and I."  Sophia pushed away from him, brushing the tears from her cheeks.  "I need to ask you for something, Elijah.  Two things, actually."

"All right."

"Take care of him, this next little while?  He'll need it." 

Elijah nodded, though privately he thought the chances of Marcus allowing him to do so were slim to none at the moment.  "And the second?"

Sophia drew in a shaky breath, released it.  "When the time comes..."  Two more tears coursed down her cheeks, and she batted them away impatiently.  "When the time comes, I want you to do it.  Please don't let him be the one.  It would kill him..."  She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the sob.  "Please."

He pulled her to him again.  "You have my word."

"Thank you."  She let him hold her until she was once again composed, pulling away only when she was in command of her voice and her emotions once again.  "It was worth it, you know.  Loving him.  You should try it."

"I don't think Marcus is precisely my type."

"Don't be obtuse," she chided him, glancing meaningfully in the direction of the kitchen.  "You know what I mean."

He did know.  And if the present circumstance wasn't a perfect example of why it was unwise in the extreme to fall in love, he couldn't imagine a better one.  "I'll take it under advisement." 

Hearing footsteps and the rattle of teacups against saucers coming down the hall, Sophia sat back against the couch.  Jenna came in with a tray complete with the cups, teapot, sugar bowl and creamer; setting it on the coffee table, she poured tea and milk into one of the cups and pressed it into Sophia's hands. Elijah left them to talk and made his way out onto the terrace, wanting nothing so much as to commit an encore performance of the mass destruction he had leveled there a few weeks prior.  But he would save that, for a more opportune time.

For starters, he had a pack of werewolves to kill. He planned to enjoy that, and to make it as drawn-out and painful as possible.  Then there was the matter of the other Originals.  Perhaps Hilda had been right; perhaps he should call a conclave, gather everyone together to hash over matters, air grievances, come up with a plan to address certain situations that Klaus had refused to deal with.

He would do so, he decided.  Plan it around the long weekend built into the school schedule that he had rather ridiculously committed himself to, a schedule now rife with meetings and parent-teacher conferences, and the faire that Caroline had asked him to oversee.  What had he been thinking, involving himself in all of this when there were far more pressing matters that required his attention?  Clearly, he hadn’t been thinking.  Or rather, he had been – about Jenna.  About staying in town to pursue her.  Remaining to watch over the doppelganger had been a consideration, for sure, but if he were to be honest with himself then he needed to own that she had been the primary factor in his decision-making.

And where had that gotten him?

Walking around the side of the house, he let himself in through the kitchen door, taking the back stairway to the second floor, and down to Damon’s room.  The door was open; Damon lounged inside, tumbler in one hand, the remote control to the large, flat-screen TV in the other.  Elijah leaned against the door frame.  “We need to talk.”

Damon emptied the tumbler in one smooth swallow.  “About?” he asked, not turning to look at him.

“Alaric Saltzman.”

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Okay, all kidding aside, I need to level with y'all.  I started this story with a fairly solid outline in my head.  At this point, though, the characters have taken that outline, crumpled it up, and tossed it out the window of a moving bullet train.  It's causing MAJOR pacing problems, and I fear dropped plot threads may follow.  I'm tempted to give it up as a lost cause, except that I'm a little bit curious just where the hell these people are leading me.  Which is to say, I know this story has issues.  My apologies for that.  I hope some of you are curious as well to see where this is going to go.  

Fanfiction.net link:  http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6910203/13/
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Inside my skin, there is this space.

It twists and turns; it bleeds and aches.

Inside my heart, there's an empty room.

It's waiting for lightning, it's waiting for you.

Muscle and sinew, velvet and stone,

This vessel is haunted – It creaks and moans.

My bones call to you, in their separate skin.

I make myself translucent, to let you in.

For I am wanting,

And I am needing you

Here, inside the absence of fear.

                        Jewel, "Absence of Fear"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jenna popped the last bite of her s’more into her mouth and licked the melted marshmallow from her fingers before pulling her hands under the blanket and leaning back against Elijah's bare chest.  The night was crisp with autumn, but the fire in the outdoor fireplace was warm, and the bright, full moon overhead had made the balcony an awfully romantic place to be.  Throw in the cozy fleece blanket, the s'mores, and the comfy chaise that they had just had superior sex on, and she couldn't think of anyplace in the world she would rather be.

Elijah was warm too, where she snuggled against him.  He must have fed before she had gotten there.  Which was probably just as well; she wasn’t sure how often one should feed a vampire.  Was it like donating blood, where you were supposed to wait 56 days in between?  Someone really needed to write a manual for dating a vampire.  Everything You Want To Know About Your Undead Lover, But Were Afraid To Ask.

With her mind meandering down that path, a thought occurred to her.  “You fed me your blood last night.”  God, had it really only been last night?  “Will that have any effect on… you know?”

“On the child?”  Elijah stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, his arms wrapped over hers.  “No.  It will pass harmlessly through your system – it probably has already, actually – and out again.  How did Jeremy and Elena take the news?”

"Better than I did," she said, rueful.  "Elena didn't really say much.  Jeremy was sorta 'WTF?' for a minute, but then I think he actually was getting a little bit into the idea of having a baby around.  Which is weird."  She turned onto her side, so she could see his face.  "That is weird, right?"

"Why would it be?"

Jenna shrugged.  "I don't know... I guess I just figured teenage boys were allergic to babies or something.  Of the two, I would have thought Elena would be more likely to be open to the idea."

Elijah pressed a kiss to her forehead.  "Elena is a worrier.  She's already no doubt worrying about the logistics of having an infant in the house, the midnight feedings, the diaper changes, the added vulnerability to the family that a small child brings, the additional responsibility, which preschool to enroll in... it's college fund..."

Jenna gave him a poke to the ribs.  "Great.  Now I'm worrying about those things."  He was probably right, though.  Elena worried about everything.  And now here she was, adding yet another wild card to the constant chaos of their lives.  It probably didn't bode well for her parental instincts that she found dealing with vampires, werewolves and witches to be less terrifying than the prospect of one small infant.  And what about Elijah?  He hadn't really given her any indication of what he thought about the whole mess.  “Can I ask you something?  You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” she assured him hastily.

“Of course.”

She took a moment to pick over her words, for once choosing them with care.  “You said that you had five children, when you were…”

“Alive?”

She nodded.  “How old were they when you turned?”

“The eldest was eleven; the youngest, two.”

“Boys?  Girls?”

“Yes,” he answered, grinning impishly when she poked him in the ribs again.  “Two boys, three girls.”

“Was it very different, after you turned?  How you felt about them?”

Elijah was silent for a while, and she thought perhaps he wouldn’t answer at all.  “No,” he said at last.  “It didn’t change how I felt.”

Jenna stroked her hand along his side.  “How did you handle seeing them grow up and grow older, when you didn't age?  Was it hard, or were you glad that you were able to be there and watch over them?”

 “I didn’t," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "See them grow up, I mean.” 

She saw his throat work, and regretted having asked him.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He pulled her to him more tightly, resting his chin on her head.  “No, it’s all right.” Taking her hand absently, he brought it to his lips and brushed a kiss over the backs of her fingers, then tucked it against his chest.  “When someone turns, the transition can be… well, it can be devastating.  Heightened emotions, lack of control over the bloodlust, the feeling of being a stranger inside your own skin…  It’s particularly difficult to be with the people whom you care about.  I couldn’t stay with them.  I was afraid of what else I would do.”

Sitting up, she tilted her head and asked him, “What else?”

He was quick to hide it, but the expression that flashed for a split second over his features hinted to her that he perhaps hadn’t meant to say that much.  “Nevermind,” she told him.  “You don’t need to answer that.”  Jenna took her arms out of the blanket and started boxing up the graham crackers and marshmallows, intending to run everything in to the kitchen.  God, Jenna.  Insensitive much? When it comes to killing a mood, you are Jack the Fucking Ripper. "I'm sorry," she told him, standing to gather the food.

"No, don't be.  Come here," he told her, pulling her back under the blanket and settling her onto his lap.  "I've had over a millenium to come to terms with what I did.  It doesn't cripple me anymore, or define who I am.  I've learned to shoulder it."  He tucked her hair back, where the soft breeze had blown a tendril of it across her face.  "I just don't normally talk about it.  In fact, I think I've only ever told one other person."

"It's okay.  You don't have to – "

"Shh."  He laid a finger gently over her lips.  "I know I don't.  But for some reason, I find I wish to."

Looking into his eyes, Jenna found herself nodding slowly, praying that she had the strength to hear what he was about to tell her.  Cold, from more than just the night air, she pulled the blanket tighter and wrapped it around the two of them.  "Okay."

He paused for a moment, perhaps not certain of where to begin.  "The ritual that changed us took place on the eve of battle, so the bloodlust that came with it had a natural outlet at first.  I'm not certain we truly gave it much thought while we were engaged in war.  It wasn't until afterward, when the battle was done, that it became evident that our basic natures had changed, had taken on this new, darker dimension.

"By the time I returned to my home, I knew that I had this thing inside me, and I feared what would happen if it took control – and it often did, in those early days.  So to keep it from my family, I absented myself from the household as much as I could.  But I only got away with that for so long.  Leah, my wife... she wasn't a woman to be ignored.  She made it plain that she wouldn't tolerate my continued absence and, for a time, I thought perhaps she could help me bring it under control."

"But she couldn't," Jenna murmured.

"No."  He grew quiet, staring into the fire, though she suspected he wasn't really seeing the fire at all, but rather something that had occurred over a thousand years ago, and remained with him still.  "One day," he said, after a time, "Henry, my eldest, did something to anger me... I don't even recall what.  I could feel the control slipping away from me, and I wanted to...  well, I'm sure you can figure out what I wanted to do.  Leah came upon us and, when she saw what I was about, she clubbed me with something.  Not enough to do any damage, of course, but enough to divert my attention from my son.  She told him to run and interposed herself between us."

With a pit opening in the bottom of her stomach, Jenna could see where this was going.  She didn't want to hear it.  Well, no, that wasn't exactly right; it wasn't that she wanted to deny it.  It wasn't about her experience of the story.  She didn't want him to have to say it.  She was making him relive this horrible thing with her stupid questions, and she was sorry – so sorry.  "Elijah –"

"Hush," he repeated, shaking his head.  "Let's finish it."  He settled his arms around her waist and pulled her more firmly against him.  "Leah tried to talk me down, to reason with me, but there was too little reason left at that point.  Her attempts to fight me off were ineffectual, to say the least.  She might have run; if she had, perhaps some small shred of control would have kept me from pursuing, but I think she feared that, if she did, I would go after the children."  Elijah caught her gaze and held it.  "So she stood her ground.  And I killed her.  Her, and the child she carried."

"Oh..."  Jenna covered her mouth with her hand, wanting to say something – anything! – that wouldn't be inane and wholly inadequate, and unable to imagine what it could possibly be.  A tear ran down each cheek, making her feel stupid and ridiculous.  It was his memory, his pain.  Not hers.  Pinching her lips together, she did the only thing she could think to do:  she put her arms around his shoulders and simply held onto him.  Sitting on his lap as she was, she was slightly higher than him, and she held his head to her shoulder, her fingers stroking the back of his hair.  His body slightly tense at first, she felt him gradually relax against her as she sat and stroked, trying to give him whatever comfort he would take.

He eased her back, after a time, taking her chin in his fingers..  "I've made my peace, Jenna.  I'm not haunted by it; it is what it is.  I just... found I wanted to share it with you."

Jenna drew in a shaky breath.  "Thank you.  For trusting me enough to tell me."

Elijah gave her a small smile and slid his hand down her back.  "Do you want to go inside?"

"No."  Taking his face in her hands, she pressed a kiss to his lips, soft and warm and chaste.  Twisted from being sideways on his lap, Jenna resettled herself so that she was straddling him and faced him head-on, pulling back to just gaze at him for a bit, her fingers brushing the hair back from his temples.  Elijah quirked a brow at her, his expression quizzical.

She wished she could explain to him what she was feeling, but words failed, as they so often did.  So she kissed him again, more deeply.  Teasing his lips with her tongue, she darted it into his mouth as it opened under hers, and he kneaded her hips as he stirred again between them.  As she leaned back to adjust her position, the blanket slid a little way down her shoulders, and the crisp air tightened her nipples almost painfully as it whispered across her skin.  Folding her legs into a lotus position around him, she pulled the blanket back up, enclosing them in a cocoon of warmth as she took him inside her, into her own warmth.

Jenna didn't know if this was supposed to be tantric or Kama Sutran or what; she just wanted to be close to him.  The night before, as well as their earlier tryst this evening, had been all lust and fireworks.  This was intimacy.  No gymnastics, no one-upsmanship.  A slow rocking, deep kisses, heart pressed to heart as they embraced.  It lasted forever, or maybe time just stilled – she didn't know.  She just knew that she wanted to give him something.  They moved, as slow and steady and inexorable as the tides, and when they crested together, she looked into his eyes, and knew she was lost to him.

Later, when she lay in bed with him, drifting off to sleep, she wondered why she wasn't afraid of him.  Part of her, albeit a small part, warned that she should by all rights be terrified of this vampire who had lived for over a millenium, who had done God only knew what over that time, who had by his own admission slaughtered his own wife and unborn child.  Just as she should be terrified that she was falling deeply and profoundly in love with him.

But somehow, she wasn't.

~~~~~

Sore in all the right places from a vigorous round of morning sex, Jenna peeled herself out of bed while Elijah showered and, buttoning his discarded shirt around her, padded down the hall to the other bathroom, humming to herself.  The essentials taken care of, she headed to the kitchen to see what she could scare up for food.  Culinary ineptitude notwithstanding, even she couldn't screw up breakfast too badly.  Rolling the long sleeves up and out of the way, she inhaled deeply of the shirt's collar, breathing in Elijah's scent.

Oh girl, you are so in trouble.  You have got it bad.

Well, she wouldn't think about that.  Just like she wasn't going to think about Alaric, and how despite her protests, her conscience prickled at the idea of not telling him about the baby.  Though why should she?  It sure as hell wasn't as if he hadn't kept plenty of things from her.  She didn't owe him anything.

That's a little bit different, her conscience chided.  He was trying to protect you.

Elijah was protective of her as well, but he didn't lie to her to do it.  He respected her enough to tell her the truth, trusting that she could handle it, even when she herself wasn't sure about her ability to do so.

Tell you the truth, then lock you up so you couldn't do anything about it.

'That was different,' she silently mocked.  He had done that to keep her from being harmed, and had protected Jeremy and Elena as he'd promised he would.

Alaric loves you.  And he deserves to know he has a child.

"I don't care!"  Great.  Now she was talking to herself.  To busy herself, she found the coffee filters, measured out the grounds, and started a pot of coffee.  She would be like Scarlett O'Hara – she'd think about it tomorrow.  And when tomorrow came, she'd put it off until the next tomorrow, and so on.

Pulling open the fridge, Jenna found that Elijah had done some grocery shopping.  She took out a carton of eggs, cheese, cream, tomatoes, and some... long, skinny, green, vegetable-looking thingies that she was going to hope were:  a) scallions; and b) something that went well with eggs.  She poked through cabinets until she came up with a cutting board and a frying pan, then pulled a knife out of the block and chopped the tomatoes and the thingies.  While the pan warmed, she cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them with some milk.  She debated making an omelet, but that seemed tricky.  Perhaps she'd stick with scrambling the eggs with the other ingredients rather than trying to be fancy.

Once she'd gotten that going, she opened the fridge again to see what else she could come up with.  She spotted a package of strawberries; she could serve those with cream, maybe a little brown sugar if she could find any.  There were a couple of pears...  toward the back there was a plastic grocery bag.  Wondering what was in there, she pulled it out and set it on the counter, leaving it momentarily to give the eggs a stir.  That done, Jenna unwrapped the top of the bag from around the contents and peered in.  She couldn't really tell what it was.  Some kind of meat?  If so, it looked like it had already been cooked.  Reaching in, she pulled it out for a better look. 

And screamed as she dropped it to the floor.

Elijah appeared around the corner almost at once, shirtless but dressed in slacks.  "What is it?" he asked, glancing down when Jenna pointed in horror at the thing on the floor.

"Is that...  It's a...  Why do you...  Oh God!"  She ran for the bathroom, afraid she was going to be sick.  She leaned against the sink, taking deep breaths, and gagged once or twice, but she managed to fight it down.  Remembering that she had touched the thing, she scrubbed her hands under the hot water until they turned red and started to feel parboiled.  She sank down on the edge of the tub as she dried her hands, hoping fervently that it would be gone when she went back out to the kitchen.  So much for making breakfast.

She heard Elijah walk down the hallway and pause outside the door.  "Are you all right?"

Sighing, she stood up and opened the door.  "Yeah.  I think so.  Is it gone?"

"I took care of it, yes."

"Elijah, what the fuck?"

"I can explain."

"Please!  Explain."

Elijah took a step back and held a hand out, motioning her down the hall.  Crossing her arms, Jenna stepped out and went back to the kitchen.  Thankfully, there was no sign of the bag or of what had been in it.  He had rescued the fry pan from the stove.  The egg scramble looked respectable, even if she didn't feel like eating it now.  She pulled one of the barstools out and sat.

Pouring coffee, Elijah added cream to one and set it in front of her before leaning back against the counter.  "I asked Damon and Marcus to keep an eye out for any unfamiliar vampires who might show up here in town.  One appeared, and they... took him into custody.  That's why I was at the Salvatores' yesterday."

"Into custody?"  Jenna took an experimental sip of coffee, and decided she was good to go.

"Anyone showing up randomly right now is likely to be a spy for someone else, so yes, into custody.  When I questioned this particular vampire, he had been compelled to resist subsequent compulsion.  He had a suicide capsule inserted into one of his molars."

"Like a cyanide capsule that spies in the movies have?"

"Same idea.  Whatever was used was highly effective.  I want to have the residue examined to see what the substance was.  Hence..."  He made a hand gesture to indicate the thing.

She supposed it made a certain sense, when he explained it that way.  Which should probably indicate to her just how far off the rails her life had gone.  "Did you find out anything from him?"

Elijah slipped a couple of plates out of the cupboard.  "Not really.  But the fact that he was here, and so clearly equipped for espionage, tells me something in and of itself.  The others are mobilizing.  Whether for good or for ill remains to be seen."

"Was it the one you were talking about, do you think?  Sebastian."

"Doubtful."  He pushed some of the eggs out onto a plate and sampled a bite, an expression of surprised approval on his face.  "This is quite good."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."  He held the other plate up to her, questioningly. 

She hesitated, then nodded.  "So there's someone else after you now?" she asked, taking the plate when he handed it to her.

"Mmm... probably more like performing reconnaisance."

"All right.  New rule:  No nasty human-slash-humanoid body parts in the fridge without suitable warning given.  Deal?"

"Deal."  He leaned on the island, a mischievous look on his face.  "Nice shirt.  What's under it?"

"Uh-uh, mister.  I am going to eat breakfast, then I'm going to take a shower, then I'm going home to work on my abstract."

Elijah stalked around the island and slipped his hands around her waist, sliding a couple of fingers in between the buttons.  "I can think of other things to do today..."

"Behave!  Don't you have papers to grade, or something?"

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, pressing his lips to her neck.

She giggled.  "I mean it. We are not spending the entire day in bed."

Flicking a button open with his thumb, he slipped a hand inside the shirt and cupped her breast.  "It wouldn't have to be in bed.  We could mix it up.  Try the counter, the table..."

His phone buzzed, vibrating against the ceramic bowl that held his car keys.  Sighing, he slid his hand out of the shirt and went to answer it.  Jenna took advantage of the reprieve to retreat to the bedroom and into the shower, half fearing, half hoping that Elijah would join her in it.  He didn't though.  When she had finished and dressed, she found him in the living room, fully clothed, his expression unreadable.  "Everything okay?"

"No."  He looked grim.

Her stomach filling with dread, Jenna wondered what new emergency had come up.  "What is it?"

"It's Sophia.  She was bitten by a werewolf last night."

Just Enough Rope, Chapter 12

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

I hate this.  I should know better than to take a hiatus from writing, even for a few days of dog shows.  My brain goes mushy, I lose what little semblance of continuity I have, and my characters punish me by refusing to do what I want them to.  Harumph.  I am Grumpy and Out Of Sorts, people.

Fanfiction.net link:  http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6910203/12/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER TWELVE

The call from Damon could not possibly have come at a better time. The officer investigating the bombing had been easy enough to compel into believing that the investigation was over and done with, but getting to that particular gentleman had been a veritable obstacle course of peons and red tape, so much so that he had at one point begun to consider the massacre of everyone in the building an actual, viable option.  After that experience, he was looking forward with particular relish to the opportunity to “interrogate a hapless subject.  Slipping his phone back into his breast pocket as he exited the police station, Elijah unlocked his new vehicle – a Range Rover this time – and headed toward the Salvatore house, where Damon and Marcus were sitting on an unknown vampire that they had dragged home during the wee hours of the morning.

Elijah had spent the first half hour or so after Jenna left berating himself for the mess he'd made of things.  Not that he could imagine any scenario in which a woman would prefer to be informed by her paramour of such matters, rather than the turnabout.  As if the baptism-by-fire into the world of the supernatural weren’t enough, now Jenna had this all too human situation to contend with.  The one, he would do all he could to protect her from.  The other… well, the choice of how to handle that would be hers, and hers alone.

And what of the child’s father?  Elijah was in no way anxious to see a return of Alaric Saltzman to Mystic Falls.  True, Jenna had thoroughly disavowed any desire to have further relation with the man, but that was before the whisper of a new life had tethered them inextricably together, in ways he doubted either would fully understand or appreciate immediately.  He had little doubt that Saltzman would leap at any opportunity to crawl back into Jenna’s life.  The only question was in what capacity Jenna would allow it.  And where exactly would he himself stand in the equation?

Where did he want to stand?

Question for another time.  Elijah shook it off and turned his attention to matters about which he could do something.  Such as their little “friends” on campus… He would need to somehow convince Jenna to stay away from there until the professor and whatever cohorts he had could be dealt with.  He didn’t believe for a moment that the location of the car bombing was a coincidence, especially when the professor himself had handed Jenna the parking pass for a reserved space.  That, coupled with his strange behavior and his digging at Jenna for information, made his involvement highly probable.  The question was at whose behest.

And yet… something felt off.  Of all the ways for another vampire – another Original – to come at him, a car bomb wouldn’t have made his list of top one hundred guesses.  It was too public, too indiscriminate, too unsubtle… and too ineffective.  But if Mitchell wasn’t in league with Sebastian or one of the others, why the full court press?  Surely Jenna’s scribbled notes regarding the supernatural weren’t enough to draw such a target on her back that a bombing was the de facto solution.  Either way, it was time he took a more proactive approach to dealing with the problem.  With that in mind, Elijah took his phone out again and began a series of phone calls.

~~~~~

Elijah's last call as he neared the Salvatore house went to Jenna’s number.  He was expecting to get her voicemail, so he was more than a little surprised when she answered with her usual, “Hey.”

“Jenna.  I wanted to call and check in.  How are you?”

“Pregnant.”

“Yes, I… think we covered that earlier.”

“I took a test anyway, just to be sure.  Well okay, I took six of them.”  He heard her sigh.  “Couldn’t you have been wrong, just this once?”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah.  Me too.  I think the donuts and the girl-talk have averted the five-alarm freakout.  I’m progressing to the ‘holy shit, what the hell do I do now?’ phase.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Not unless Originals can alter the space-time continuum.”

“Sadly, no.”

“I figured.  What are you doing today?”

“Right now I’m headed out to the Salvatores’.  You?”

“I’m headed home shortly.  Conner has been fighting a nap for the last hour and he’s working himself up to a full-blown tantrum.  I’d prefer to spend a little more time in denial before facing the fact that I’m going to have one of those tantrum-throwing things.”

“Do you want me to come by later?”

“Would you be mad if I said no?  I want to talk to Elena and Jeremy, let them know about… you know.”

“Of course.  I understand.”

“How about later tonight, though?  I could drive up to your place.  I somehow doubt I’m going to be able to focus on my abstract anyway.”

“About that… I think it would be wise for you to stay away from campus until we have a better handle on all of the factors in play.”

“I don’t think that’s an option.”

“Neither is getting yourself killed.  Work from home.  The panel will accept your abstract.”  He’d seen to that.

“Can we argue about this later?”

“I prefer to think of it as a discussion.”

“Whatever.  And Elijah?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t even think about locking me up in your house again.”

 God, it was tempting.  “How about a vacation somewhere?  You could take Jeremy and Elena, go someplace warm…”

“I’m not running.  Or hiding.  Deal with it.”

“Duly noted.”  Elijah signaled and turned into the Salvatore driveway.  “I’m here.  I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yeah.”

Elijah ended the call and let himself into the house.  Damon, Stefan and Marcus were in the library.  He didn’t need super-hearing to hear the protests emanating from the cell down in the basement.  “Gentlemen.”

Damon rose and went to the bar to pour him a drink.  “That was quick.”

“I wasn’t far.  So, tell me about your guest.  Where did you find him?”

“Actually, he found us.  Showed up at the Grill after Caroline left.”  Damon shot Marcus a sidelong glance.  “He hit on Sophia.”

“It follows.  She's a beautiful woman.  Was she able to glean any information from him?”

“She might have, if Caveman here hadn’t gone all He-Man on him and invited him to step outside.”

Marcus shifted uncomfortably.  “He was all over her.”

“He had a hand on her elbow!”

Stefan leaned forward on the couch.  “Why don’t we go downstairs and see what he has to say?” he interjected, forestalling further argument between the other two vampires.

Elijah made an ‘after you’ motion, following the Salvatore brothers down the basement steps, Marcus bringing up the rear.  As they rounded the corner, the captive directed a string of invective in their general direction, invective that sharpened when he saw Marcus.  Damon threw the bolt on the door with a “yeah yeah yeah.”  The captive, outnumbered four to one, wisely chose to stand rather than making a break for it.

Saying nothing, Elijah casually slipped his jacket off and hung it on a hook outside the door.  Unbuttoning his cuffs, he made a show of rolling up his sleeves.  Not until he’d done so did he step forward and address the unknown vampire.  “What is your name?” he asked, conversationally.

“What the fuck is it to you?”

Too fast for the other vampires to see, Elijah shot his foot out, shattering the man’s left knee and bending his leg backward to about a 45-degree angle.  The vampire let out a loud shriek and sank down onto his good knee, fighting to stay upright even that much.  Elijah examined his fingernails, then asked, in the same tone of voice as before, “Your name?”

“Geoffrey Landan,” he spat out.

“See, that wasn’t so difficult.  Do you know who I am, Geoffrey?”

“Should I?”

With a roll of his eyes, Elijah wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him up so they were eye to eye.  "Perhaps I should explain how this works.  I ask you questions, and you answer them.  Without editorializing.  Now, I'll ask you again:  do you know who I am?"

The vampire eyed him contemptuously, but resisted the urge to smart off.  "No."

"Why are you here?"

“Because these assholes grabbed me and threw me in here!” he answered, glaring at Damon and Marcus in turn.

"Why are you here in town?"

"I was just passing through.  Jesus, is that a crime?"

Elijah gave him a small, cold smile and patted his cheek as he released the vampire's neck and set him on his good leg – only to kick it out from under him.  "I believe I warned you about editorializing."  Crouching down, Elijah balanced on the balls of his feet to put them at an even height, and tried to catch his eyes.  As he exerted his will, he could feel the younger vampire resisting him, setting off a mental tug of war between them.  Not vervain; the vampire's mind would have slid harmlessly away from his if he were dosed with the herb.  More likely he had been previously compelled to avoid further compulsion, or to resist Elijah specifically.  Landan kept his gaze on Elijah's though, giving him a strange smile.  He shifted his lower jaw to the side, grinding his teeth together.

A bright light flared from the vampire's mouth as it dropped open, giving his face a strange, eerie, lit-from-within effect and drawing a startled yelp from Marcus. A split second later, flames poured out of his mouth, nose, eyes and ears as his head was consumed in a flash inferno.  Elijah shot backward, away from the intense heat, as the chest split open.  Fire flowed like magma down over Landan’s ribs, igniting clothing and flesh as the flames fed greedily on the vampire’s corpse.  Hungry fingers of it reached out, seeking other materials it could use as fuel.  The rock floor and walls offered it nothing, but it made a couple of leaping grabs for the wooden beams overhead.    

Damon zipped around the corner and back in with a fire extinguisher.  Pulling the pin, he aimed and sprayed a layer of foam over what was left of the body, adding a chemical smell to the aroma of charred flesh.  Suffocated, the fire quickly sputtered and died out.  Damon remained poised with the extinguisher, watching for secondary flare-ups, but none sprang up, and he gradually relaxed his stance.

Once assured that the fire was indeed out, Stefan and Marcus crept closer to the body, peering at it with twin expressions of confusion.  Marcus cleared his throat.  “I think I speak for all of us when I say:  What the fuck just happened?”

Elijah sauntered closer, making a slow circle around the corpse as he studied it.  Globs of foam oozed off of the charred remains, taking with it blackened flakes of clothing and flesh.  Little remained of the vampire’s head; the skin and hair had burned away completely, while the skull had split from the sudden heat and its accompanying pressure, leaving the lower jaw swinging loose from one half as he stooped and picked up the two pieces.  He pulled the lower jawbone away from the upper and studied it, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.  Tossing it down next to the body, he flipped the pieces of the upper jaw over, squinting at the nubs of bone that had been teeth.

There.  On the left hand side, one of the back molars had been hollowed out.  If he looked closely, Elijah could see blackened, molten fragments of what had at some point been some sort of capsule.  He would have to have it examined to find out what it had held that could have caused the vampire to combust so quickly, but whatever the material used, one thing was clear – whoever had placed it there had gone to great pains to ensure that this particular minion would not talk if captured.

Elijah tossed the irrelevant half of the skull away and held up the part with the hollowed-out molar for them to see.  “Suicide capsule.”

“Capsule of what?” Damon asked, giving it that wild-eyed look of his.

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

“Vervain wouldn’t do that,” Stefan pointed out.

“No,” Elijah agreed.  “Some chemical that ignites when exposed to oxygen, perhaps…?”

Marcus stepped forward.  “Whatever it was, that light it gave off at the beginning was ultraviolet.  I felt it burn when it hit my skin.”

“Whereas we all have sun rings so it wouldn’t have affected us,” Damon finished the thought.

Elijah lifted his brows as he examined the upper jaw again, nodding in appreciation.  “How perfectly elegant,” he said, impressed.  He would most definitely have to have someone analyze the compound used.

“Elegant?” Stefan sputtered.

“Ultraviolet radiation to guarantee a rapid death and consumption.  Like a tiny sun, devouring him from the inside,” he breathed.  “It’s almost… poetic.”  And terribly, terribly clever.  Oh, he wanted some!

“You want some alone time with that?” Damon snarked, going across the hall and coming back with a large plastic tarp.  “A little help, here,” he added, shooting a look at Marcus and Stefan.

One corner of Elijah’s mouth lifted in a small smile.  “No, but I’ll be taking this with me.  I have people who can analyze what was used.” 

And hopefully duplicate it.

~~~~~

Dusk was just falling by the time Elijah and Damon returned from disposing of the body.  Elijah had secured his ‘prize’ at home, where it would await pick-up.  Stefan and Marcus had cleaned the room in the basement while they were out, and were settled in the great room, in front of the fireplace.  Damon broke out a new bottle of whiskey and passed four tumblers around.

Marcus accepted it and pulled out his cell phone to check it, huffing out a sigh and tossing it onto the coffee table when it showed no messages.  Downing the whiskey, he rose and refilled the glass, this time to the brim, before settling back onto the sofa.  Elijah lifted a brow in inquiry and tried to catch his eye, but Marcus was apparently settling himself in for a good long sulk.

“Sophia told him off and left him high and dry at the Grill last night, after the attack of the green-eyed monster,” Damon offered, by way of explanation.  “Speaking of women,” he continued, turning toward his brother, “where’s little miss Elena tonight?  Isn’t Saturday ‘date night?’”

“Jenna asked her to stay home this evening.”

“Cock-blocked by her aunt,” Damon drawled.  “Guess it’s just you and the five pointer sisters tonight.”

Stefan raised his glass to him in a mock salute.  “I’m sure you know them well.”

Damon settled into the wingback chair and put his feet on the ottoman.  “So I’m guessing we have this Sebastian guy to thank for our fiery friend?” he asked Elijah.

Elijah had been considering that.  “I don’t think so.”  Like the car bombing, it didn’t strike him as a move Sebastian would make.  Whereas the bombing was too loud and showy, this level of sophistication and elegance argued for a cooler and more subtle head than Sebastian’s.  “I would say Edmund, if I were to guess.”

That pulled Marcus out of his reverie for a moment.  “I thought you and he got along?”

“We do – to a point,” Elijah said, sipping his drink.

“I’m guessing not so much, now that you’ve killed his lackey,” Damon put in.

Elijah shrugged.  “Happens.”  His phone buzzed; Sophia, according to the caller ID.  He pushed the button to answer it.  “Sophia.”

Marcus sat bolt upright, looking at him expectantly.

“I think I may have a lead on where your professor and his little plaything will be this evening,” Sophia told him.  He could hear lots of background noise, as though she were at a party, or in a rather raucous bar.  “It sounds like they’re going to a meeting of sorts.  Shall I follow up?”

“Please.”

Where is she? Marcus mouthed at him, sotto voce.

“Marcus is here, Sophia.  He’d like to speak with you.”

“And I would like him to grow up and stop acting like a 203 year-old imbecile, but we don’t all get what we want, do we?”  No need to repeat for Marcus’s benefit; they could all hear both sides of the conversation perfectly well.  “I’ll call you tomorrow, Elijah.”  Sophia disconnected the call.

“Oooh, burn,” Damon muttered into his drink.

Marcus shot off of the couch and went back to the bar for another refill.  “You know, there was a time when women knew their place and did as they were told,” he spat as he seated himself again. 

Elijah snorted.  He was absolutely certain no such time had ever existed, and he had lived through many different times.  “Sophia is perfectly capable of handling herself with respect to the opposite sex.  In fact, as I recall, she was handling herself eighty years before you were born.”  Sophia’s calm and self-possession were two of the qualities that had made her stand out from amongst her peers at the expensive and highly exclusive French pleasure-house where Elijah had found her.  Two qualities that had eventually led him to turn her.

“Chill, Romeo,” Damon told him.  “And show some respect:  that’s good whiskey, not a ‘whine’ cooler.  How long have you been with this chick, anyway?”

“A hundred and eighty years.  Since she turned me.”

Damon let out a low whistle.  “No wonder.  Wait, you’re not saying you’ve been monogamous this whole time, right?”

“Yes, we have.”  His expression turned dark.  “Or at least I have.”

“I don’t understand; if you’ve been together for so long, why would you worry about some jerk in a bar?” Stefan asked.

Marcus looked like he was about to bolt his drink, but after a sidelong glance at Damon, he took a discreet sip instead.  “I think I’m losing her,” he admitted morosely.

“A hundred and eighty years is a pretty good run.  Don’t you think it’s time?” Damon asked.

“No, I don’t think it’s time!  I turned so I could be with her forever.  If it’s not forever, what was the point?”

Elijah stood, straightening his jacket as he did so, and fishing his keys out of his pocket.  “’Forever,’ when applied to love, is a concept meaningful only to those for whom there is zero possibility of it.  The rest of us would do well to simply appreciate what we have, while we have it.”  Seeing himself out, he planned to go and do just that.