30. if you agree, i'll choose to go
He is made up of lean muscle, and in the silver moonlight she can see he has a finger resting against his temple.
He is made up of burdens collecting in his chest and words that are trying to catch up with actions, words that he desperately wants to match up to his actions.
He is made up of a guiding arm and the very sinews of virtue; of silent voices and still tongues. In the uninterrupted sound of the singing crickets (and because Elijah has a way of knowing-and letting her know-where she is, no matter how silent she tries to be, no matter how much she wants to take him by surprise. Always.), Rebekah knows something must be terribly wrong.
+ rebekah-centric
+ elijah, klaus, mentions of katherine
+set in England, 1492
a/n: i wrote this in an hour and a half, in one shot, from my inbox on tumblr because ishi_chan requested more rebekah+elijah. written on a whim, so... unbeta'd. all mistakes are mine, i apologize 5ever to my beta who's probably getting real tired of my shit ho ho ho.
edit: finally sent it to my beta, mistakes have been fixed, all is right in the world, i have fed my cats etc etc.
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if you agree, i'll choose to go
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The hallway is dark. This Rebekah does not find odd; their manor is always dark-but not because of the usual air of deception that hangs in the air like the plague, but because the torches have all been blown out-the door to Katerina's quarters is just hanging from its hinges and her room feels as if someone has left in a hurry - and this is what makes Rebekah worry.
Her bare feet pad soundlessly against the cold marble of the floor as she runs past the heavy draperies and mundane paintings, and up and 'round the stairwell. Her hair is curled from sleep (she'd been feeling thirsty, a hunger for something more than the usual goblet of milk and spices that Elijah himself makes for her each night-
for something hot and thick; for the syrupy smoothness of blood to stain her lips with red, thirsty for that moment when she closes her eyes and feels that irreplaceable hum settling in her bones, for that invigorating feeling as she opens her eyes again and feels the world crushed to dust in the palm of her hands and-her gums tingle and she can feel her fangs sliding out-
and that was what had pulled her from sleep in the first place) and she is in nothing but her flimsy chemise, but that doesn't stop her from bursting into Elijah's room.
There are breeches lying about his usually-immaculate bed, and his wardrobe has been haphazardly thrown open, the drawers hanging out, some even fallen to the floor. She swallows the doubt rising in her chest and takes a cautious step in. Elijah's nowhere to be found, but the door leading to the terrace is open: the white drapes sway in the night breeze.
She finds Elijah with his elbows propped up on the stone railing, with his hair falling about his eyebrows that are colliding in deep thought. She does not call out his name, does not make a sound - just stands there, hovering on that invisible line that separates his sleeping chambers from the outside world.
He is made up of lean muscle, and in the silver moonlight she can see he has a finger resting against his temple.
He is made up of burdens collecting in his chest and words that are trying to catch up with actions, words that he desperately wants to match up to his actions.
He is made up of a guiding arm and the very sinews of virtue; of silent voices and still tongues. In the uninterrupted sound of the singing crickets (and because Elijah has a way of knowing-and letting her know-where she is, no matter how silent she tries to be, no matter how much she wants to take him by surprise. Always.), Rebekah knows something must be terribly wrong.
"Where is Katerina?" she finds herself asking in a tone sharper than she'd intended.
If Elijah is startled, he doesn't show it. Instead, he pulls his elbow from the stone and stands his full height. "She has fled."
In the silence that follows, cotton seems to have found its way into her throat because she has to clear it before saying slowly (with just a tinge of fear), "I imagine Nik is rather upset about that."
She likes to imagine Elijah smiling in ire (she has to imagine it, since he would not face her). All he says is, "You imagine right."
Rebekah glances into her brother's room and back to his silhouette. "Are you going after her?"
Elijah's hand twitches and she expects some noble answer, but instead hears his voice break when he says, "I have no choice."
She's at his side then, and she claws at his shoulder until he turns to her - there's a haunting in her brother's eyes that, up to then, in her four hundred years of living, she had not thought possible.
"Why must you?" she hisses, digging her nails deeper into the flesh of his shoulder. "Let Nik deal with it, he is the one who made her run. He always makes them run."
She doesn't realise she's crying until Elijah reaches a hand out to wipe the tear away from her cheek. She shakes her head. "He will not make you run. I will not let him."
"Rebekah." Elijah's voice sounds like the wind. "We made a promise."
She searches his eyes and grasps him by the collar of his shirt. "A promise to stay together," she says through gritted teeth. Elijah gently pries her hands away from his neck and she can feel him slipping away already.
"Do not leave," she begs, "We have already lost Kol the way we lost Finn. I know not where Nik has hidden him, and every day I fear I might suffer the same fate." The wetness to her cheeks return and she's not just holding on to her brother-she's hanging from him, like he's the edge of the world and she's holding on by just a whisper of her fingertips. "Let Katerina go; what need do you have of that foolish slattern anyway?"
Elijah's eyes harden but he doesn't answer.
Rebekah takes in a great gulp of air.
"How long will it take?" She breathes in further and adds hurriedly, "that is, if you do go?"
Elijah looks at her without really looking at her before saying, quite honestly, "I do not know. But I have to find her, and bring her back. She..." Elijah shakes his head just the slightest, lets out the smallest of laughs, like all of this is mere happenstance. "She is one of us now."
All the blood drains from her face as she whispers, "Vampire?" Rebekah takes a step back almost fearfully. "What are you and Nik planning, Elijah? I've seen you two - closing the door in my face. Talking in hushed sounds. Sending letters that never get sent back." She pauses. "He puts the fear of God in you, our brother. So what is it are you two doing?"
Elijah is made up of truths. Elijah never denies her anything.
But Elijah remains silent.
She shakes her head and bites her lip, her eyes glassy and bright. "Sometimes I think of leaving, when you two do that. Just to spite you both. Just to see if you would come running." She lets out a scoff. "But of course Katerina is of more importance. Nik has hardly even looked at me in the past months."
Elijah still says nothing, so she continues: "The only time I see you is when we drink at night. Do you know how it feels like to wander the halls at night, Elijah? I put my ear to your door, to hear the sounds you make when you sleep. But there are no sounds." Rebekah closes her eyes, her shoulders rising and falling with every breath she does not need to take. "Does she keep you up at night? The girl with Tatia's face?"
She slams both hands onto his chest. "Answer me!"
Elijah looks away, and Rebekah wonders if this is what it feels like to bleed yourself dry. He seems to have made up his mind. She finds his hand in hers and brings them to her chest, watching his eyes watching the way their fingers twine together in such a way that there seems to be no end to their beginning.
Her hands feel hot in his as she holds on tight. "Remember the promise we made."
Elijah nods.
"And-and leave a list of the spices you put in my milk. So I will not-" she swallows a dry sob and feels Elijah's grip tightens around hers, "So I will not miss you too much."
Elijah presses a light kiss to her forehead. "I will be back," he says, his breath hot on her skin, like an assurance to her sanity. He leans forwards and his voice is low, coming out in a rush, his eyes bearing into hers like a fever. "Listen to me-and this is important. Do not let Niklaus make you do anything you do not want to. You are strong, Rebekah."
She nods and nods and parts her lips to tell him she knows, parts her lips to tell him to not be too merciful to Katerina; parts her lips to say good bye-
but then her hands are cold and she's staring at where Elijah had been standing just a second ago, and she knows he's gone.
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She does not let him see how the goblet trembles in her hand as she asks (too casually), "Where is Elijah?"
"Talking a walk through the gardens, I imagine," Nik answers in his preoccupied voice. He's pouring through some parchments he won't let her see. "You know how much he loves it."
"Ah," she says, her eyes never leaving his face.
Nik raises an eyebrow and looks at her, all hard lines and cold eyes. Perhaps he can feel the rancour in the hanging awkwardly in the air. "Is it not late for you?"
Rebekah narrows her eyes just the slightest, letting him know: I know. "I will sleep when I feel like it."
You will not make me run. Nik swallows.
She takes a sip of her warm milk and it's bitter: she had put too much cinnamon in. Her eyes never leave Niklaus's.
/
fin
/
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