A woman from across the street watched as the Mikaelson siblings moved through the mundane streets after exiting the mystic grill a few minutes ago.
"I must admit," Elijah began, adjusting the lapel of his charcoal suit, "The moment the matters regarding Mother are... settled, I find the prospect of departing this small, suffocating prison of a town to be increasingly intoxicating. It has served its purpose, but its charm has worn dangerously thin."
Klaus let out a short laugh, his hands swinging by his side as he moved with a slight contempt. "Cesspool is the word you're looking for, Elijah. This place has proven to be nothing more than a localized ulcer and unending trouble for a remarkably low return on investment. I've spent more time wasting my efforts here when I could be building my empire."
He paused as a distant thought came to mind, a thoughtful glint appearing in his pale eyes, "France, however... France sounds like a delightful palate cleanser. Perhaps a chateau in the Loire Valley? Somewhere with better wine and significantly fewer wooden stakes would do."
Rebekah, walking a half-step behind them, scoffed loudly as her heels clicked with an annoyed beat against the concrete showing just how pissed she still was, "And I suppose when you flee this 'cesspool,' you'll be taking your little souvenir with you? Or is the trunk of the car already packed with your useless mutt's brother?"
Klaus tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "And what 'souvenir' would that be, sister? Be specific. I have a collection, after all."
"Oh, don't play coy, Nik," Rebekah snapped, rolling her eyes. "I'm talking about that whining child with the back-stabbing tendency. Your precious human blood-bag."
Elijah raised a hand in a calming gesture, though his own lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Now, now, sister. There is no need to be quite so colorful regarding Niklaus's fascination with the doppelgänger. We all have our hobbies."
Klaus laughed again, "Oh, yes. Elena Gilbert. She is indeed my precious property, the cornerstone of my hybrid future. But no, Rebekah, I shan't be taking her to the French countryside. I have no desire to listen to her moralizing while I'm trying to enjoy a vintage Bordeaux."
He slowed his pace, looking toward the town square with a chillingly practical expression, "I will be leaving with a few dozen pints of her blood, carefully preserved. As for the girl herself? I'll leave her here to experience 'life.' Let her grow, let her marry a human instead of those tedious Salvatore brothers, and let her enjoy her quaint little mortality."
Elijah slowed to a stop, turning to look at his brother with a mask of polite skepticism, "How remarkably generous of you, Niklaus. Truly a patron of the human spirit." He paused before his gaze sharpened, "Let me guess the rest of the plan. She continues her bloodline, remains safe and fertile, until eventually, a century or two from now another doppelgänger is birthed for you to harvest? Am I right, brother?"
Klaus chuckled with a dark, paternalistic pride, "How astute, Elijah. Truly, you've always had a flair for the long-term investment. Why bother with the messy logistics of a kidnapping when I can simply let nature run its course and let a little bit of trauma do the gardening for me?"
Rebekah scoffed, "A lovely plan, Nik, but I suspect it's all for naught. You're forgetting one very inconvenient detail: the girl is hopelessly, tragically in love with Stefan. And we all know how the Salvatores love to play heroes."
Elijah nodded, agreeing with his sister, "Ah, love. The most potent of all catalysts for sacrifice. Stefan and Elena... their devotion is quite singular. I can easily envision a scenario where, a decade perhaps two decades from now, faced with her mortality, she begs for the turn. To stay with her love, to remain forever young in a world that's passed her by. Love makes people do the very things they once swore were monstrous."
"No," Klaus countered with a firm and defensive voice, "She wouldn't, the girl clings to her mortality like a drowning woman to a raft. She values her human heart far too much unlike Katerina, who took to the blood like a shark to the sea."
"Ah, yes. Katerina," Elijah mused and a flicker of something weary crossed his features, "You know, Niklaus, there is a striking similarity between the two of them, far beyond the uncanny resemblance of their bone structure. Both doppelgängers possess a certain... bite. An edge that reveals itself the moment they are cornered. In that regard, Elena and Katerina might end up being more alike than you care to admit."
Rebekah hummed in agreement, "Elijah has a point, they might have lived different lives, but the core is the same. Look at how Elena refuses to choose between those two brothers, dangling them both on a string while playing the saint. She's mastered the art of the 'victim personality', making everyone pity her so they'll die to protect her. At least Katerina was honest about her selfishness. She never hid behind anyone except her victims. Our 'perfect' Elena hides behind her own tears."
Klaus tilted his head, a smirk returning to his lips. "Well, if that's the case, it's a good thing the two Salvatore brothers are so willing to play the shield. Though, one does wonder how long that shield will hold."
"Ah, yes," Elijah added, "The elder Salvatore, however, seems to have shifted his attention elsewhere of late. His orbit no longer seems to center solely on the Gilbert girl."
Rebekah scoffed at the mention of Damon, but Klaus ignored the noise, turning his focus to his sister. "And what about you, Rebekah? When the dust settles and we leave this place for the lights of Paris, will you come with me? Or have you finally tired of your big brother's company?"
Rebekah remained silent for a few moments, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "No," she said finally, her voice was surprisingly steady. "I have other things to attend to now."
Elijah narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, "And these 'things' would happen to be Michael, wouldn't they?"
Rebekah didn't flinch after he said that and met Elijah's gaze with a defiant tilt of her chin. "And what if they are? He's the only one in this town who actually speaks the truth without a dozen layers of manipulation."
Elijah sighed as a small smile touched his lips, "I don't have a problem with it, sister. We all seek our own brand of sanctuary." He turned to look at Klaus, who was staring at Rebekah with an expression that was impossible to read, but if he were to guess, it looked like a mixture of betrayal and cold calculation. That certainly did not bode well.
Klaus stared at her for a long, heavy heartbeat before turning away. "Let's get through this mess with Mother first, shall we?"
————
"It's not a good thing to spy, you know. Manners are the first thing to go with age, it seems."
The voice came from behind the woman who was spying on the original siblings from across the street. She spun around, her hand instinctively reaching for whoever was unfortunate enough to sneak behind her, only to find Michael leaning casually against the pole beside her.
He was smiling at her with a sharp, knowing expression that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You're one to talk," the woman countered with a smooth and calm voice, but she didn't relax her posture. "You seemed to be doing the exact same thing."
Michael let out a soft, mocking huff before stepping closer to the woman, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I was merely admiring a nice, normal family having a very normal morning stroll through a perfectly mundane town. They were discussing such light, airy topics that's It's practically a Hallmark card."
The woman's eyes flickered toward the street where the Mikaelson siblings disappeared, "Oh, is that what that was? Deciding the fate of a girl who is currently clinging to her vampire boyfriend, blissfully unaware that her life is being weighed and measured like a piece of livestock? Your definition of 'normal' has always been a bit skewed, Michael."
Michael laughed, "You've grown cynical for a woman over nine hundred years old, Sage. One would think nearly a millennium of life would have taught you the value of a well-timed farce."
Sage looked at him, her gaze scanning the lean, dangerous lines of his form. "You're still exactly the same as the last time our paths crossed. Arrogant, cryptic, and draped in the scent of something burning. I see Brandon is still as uptight as ever, too."
"Brandon has his shell," Michael said with a dry shrug. "That's why he's the hammer. He doesn't need to be likable; he just needs to be indestructible. That's why Cara handles the social graces."
"But let's skip the nostalgia. I'm assuming you are here because Brandon told you the truth? That your beloved is awake again, walking the earth with a very heavy chip on his shoulder?"
Sage's composure faltered for a fraction of a second and her hand dropped from her sleeve, "So it's true. It wasn't just a ploy to drag me into your latest war?"
"Don't get so full of yourself, Sage," Michael said, turning around and beginning to walk away, "I didn't bring you here for a romantic reunion. I brought you here because you are the only person who can help me find Finn and, more importantly, get through to the idiot of the Mikaelson family. He is currently trying to sacrifice himself to a clearly demented mother who views him as a mistake to be erased."
Sage stood her ground with a raised eyebrow, "And what makes you think I'll help you go against what Finn wants? If he's chosen his path, even if it's a dark one, who are you to stop him?"
Michael stopped at the question. The air around them suddenly grew heavy, he turned back slowly to look at her.
His irises bled from their normal colors and into a terrifying, molten red. A low growl emitted from deep within his chest.
Sage froze as the air left her lungs, and her heart which had been beaten for centuries, felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. The power radiating off him was absolute.
Michael leaned in closer, the red in his eyes didn't fade and instead, pulsed like cooling lava.
"Oh, I think you will do exactly what is needed, my dear Sage," he whispered with his voice as low as a vibrating chord that seemed to bypass her ears and rattle her very marrow, "You see, there is a calamity waiting in the wings, a darkness that has been scratching at the door for centuries. I won't have a self-pitying child like Finn speed up a process that will throw this planet into a chaos capable of ripping it apart."
"And that is why, my dear Sage, you will help me. Willingly, out of love for that fool... or unwillingly, out of a very healthy fear of me. The choice is yours, but the result will be the same."
—————
A man was methodically wiping down a nearby table, he moved out of the way just as a striking girl with dark, messy hair and a sharp glint in her eyes stepped up to the bar. She leaned her elbows on the scuffed wood, looking directly at the young man sitting on the stool.
"What's your poison?" she asked, the young man shifted on his stool, "Uhh... beer. Whatever's cold."
The girl tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she reached for a glass and pulled the tap. She didn't look away from him as the foam rose. "You're new here."
The young man took the glass, offering a smile, "Oh, yeah? How can you tell? I thought I had that 'local hiker' look down."
She scoffed, sliding the beer toward him, "I practically know every face in this town and yours isn't one of them. You've got 'out of towner' written all over those expensive shoes. So... you just passing through? Or did you get lost on the way to a country club?"
The young man took a long, appreciative sip of the brew, feeling the burn in the back of his throat, "In the neighborhood, I guess. I'm here for something... important. Let's call it a business trip."
"Ohhh," the girl leaned in, her eyes dancing. "A man with a mission, huh? Sounds very cloak-and-dagger for a Thursday evening."
The young man chuckled, "Something like that. Not nearly as exciting as it sounds, I'm actually just an ordinary guy."
The girl laughed, "Ordinary is boring. Trust me. In this town, the real fun only starts when things get... unordinary."
The young man blinked, looking at her more closely, "Is 'unordinary' even a word?"
"Just go with it," she grinned, winking at him.
"Enough flirting with the customers, Hayley," the man cleaning the tables grunted without looking up, his voice gravelly and impatient. "The salt shakers aren't going to fill themselves."
The girl, now named Hayley, rolled her eyes at the man's back before looking back at the young man. She gave a small, apologetic shrug. "Well, duty calls. Gotta get back to work before the boss decides I'm surplus to requirements."
The young nodded, watching her move away from him, "I'm Tyler, by the way."
Hayley paused, looking back over her shoulder with a sharp, intrigued smile that lingered just a second too long, "Nice to meet you, Tyler."
She turned and moved off to attend to a group of rowdy truckers at the end of the bar, leaving Tyler alone with his beer.
———-
The black Camaro skidded to a halt on the gravel shoulder, kicking up a plume of dust that settled over the overgrown weeds of the property. Damon cut the engine, "Well," Damon said, stepping out and squinting at the modest, slightly weathered house. "I have to say, for the ancestral seat of the Bennett line, it's a little... underwhelming. I was expecting more gargoyles, maybe a moat. Does Mama Ursula at least have a crystal ball in there?"
Bonnie ignored him as she marched toward the front porch? "Her name is Abby, Damon. Try to keep the snark at a manageable level for at least five minutes."
They reached the door, and before Bonnie could even raise her hand to knock, it swung open. Abby Bennett stood there, her eyes immediately finding her daughter's, then flickered toward the man standing behind her.
"Bonnie," Abby said in a mix of surprise and caution, "I wasn't expecting you back this soon. And certainly not with... company." She stepped aside, gesturing for Bonnie to enter. "Come in."
Bonnie hurried inside, but as Damon went to follow her, he hit an invisible wall. He walked straight into the threshold and as he tried to move back, his body rebounding as if he'd slammed into a sheet of reinforced glass behind him as well, pinning him in place.
"Uhhh... excuse me? Hmm." Damon looked at the empty air, then at Abby, offering a tight, frozen smile that was clearly not amused, "I seem to be experiencing some technical difficulties with your floorplan."
Abby crossed her arms, standing firmly in the center of the doorway. "Vampires are not allowed in my home, Mr. Salvatore."
Damon's eyebrows shot up, "Ah. So you've heard of me? Oh, good. Fame follows me wherever I go."
"I've heard a lot about you," Abby countered with a cold gaze, "And none of it involves you being a welcome guest."
Damon chuckled while trying to lean against the doorframe, the part he was actually allowed to touch. "All good things, I hope? Look, whatever those sources told you, they probably exaggerated. I'm much more charming in person, and I only kill people on Wednesday's. Today is a very peaceful Thursday."
Abby remained unmoved, her only expression was a flat "mm-hmm" of disbelief.
Damon sighed, looking past her toward Bonnie, who was standing in the hallway looking amused, "A little help here, Bon-Bon? My ego is bruising as much as my nose."
Bonnie rolled her eyes, but she stepped back toward the door. "It's okay, Abby. Let him through."
Abby looked at her daughter in disbelief. "What? Bonnie, you know who this is."
"He's here to help," Bonnie insisted with a steady voice. "Just let him in. We don't have time for the 'Vampires are Evil' orientation today."
Abby sighed as she reluctantly released the mental hold on the threshold. "Fine, come in."
Damon stepped across the line, feeling the tingle of the invitation wash over him, "Thank you. Lovely place you have here, very... rustic."
As they moved into the living room, Bonnie glanced around. "Where's Jamie?"
"He went out an hour ago to pick up some groceries," Abby said. She turned back to Bonnie, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "So... umm... why are you really here, Bonnie?"
"I'm here because I need your help with something," Bonnie said, as her voice dropped into a more serious tone.
Abby frowned. "What kind of help?"
"The sire bond," Damon interjected as his eyes scanned through the shelves of the room.
Bonnie nodded, meeting her mother's eyes, "More specifically, we need to know how to break it."