It's no easy thing to move a vampire. Not when you're human and they have years of experience and weight behind them. She's tried with Stefan and Damon both, pushed them, hit them, and every time it's like punching a brick wall or moving a boulder. With Elijah, it's like moving something made of heavy metal or iron, old bones hardened to something like iron; she remembers the grip he'd had on her the first time they'd met, the vice like band his hand had made around her arm.
But Elena's angry, here and now..
That's what she thinks moves him. Or lets her move him. Surprise at her boldness, at her quickness, at her anger and the level of ferocity as she throws herself at him.
He’s standing there in her room, in the breath it takes her to turn from putting her wet towel from her hair on its hook in the bathroom back to her bedroom, and there he suddenly is. Standing there as if he’d never left. The letter he gave to her is still in her room, tucked away in the top left drawer of her vanity, well worn creases in it now with how many times she’s looked at it. He looks unaffected; his suit is wrinkle free, as ever, navy striped tie in place, hair perfect, eyes unblinking as they stare at her.
Damn him, she thinks, curses, damn him, and she’s moving already, her brain stuck on her mantra of damnations, fist striking out to glance off his right shoulder, and then her palms going flat to push.
Elijah bows under her pressure. Surprise slides over his eyes as she forces his back against the wall. “Elena,” he says.
Her name uttered in such a slow, unaffected way. She strikes out again, teeth bared, and she’s just so angry and tired. Her skin itches, adrenaline, she thinks. .
He catches her wrists, vice like hands again, his middle finger touching his thumb in a circle. His hold is not as tight like the time before, but it’s unyielding still. She knows the strength in them, how he could snap her wrists with the tiniest of movements and amount of pressure.
Elena wilts, letting out the air in her lungs, staring at his tie.
His middle finger taps her right wrist. “Elena,” her name again, rolling off his tongue. He’s made no move to step away from the wall, continuing to allow her to keep him there. His dark eyes hold her own when she looks up at him. They’re both in some sort of stasis here. The itching under her skin increases under his gaze.
“You left.” Her accusation rings true. “You left.” Everyone leaves, she thinks. Or dies, but still leaving, always gone, and soon she will be all alone; she kills everyone around her, she is death. “And now everything has gone wrong. It’s worse.”
Elijah’s eyes don’t leave hers. There’s something like pity and sorrow in his irises; the trick is to watch closely for the emotions, there but quick to slide in and out with the stillness of the rest of his being. Everything about him is measured and careful. “I am sorry.”
Elena tilts her face towards him at his apology. Her hair slides off her shoulder, sloping over her neck.
He raises an eyebrow and continues, fingers tightening for a moment around her wrists. “Not for why I had to leave. But for what has happened to you, I do regret that.”
Of course he would not be sorry for his family. And she can hold no anger at him for that; she understands too well what family means, a weakness and a strength together. In fact, her anger has drained away as well. She thinks maybe she’d only wanted someone to be angry at, someone in front of her she could take it out on. She’s not herself most days lately, emotions threatening to spill over at any given moment and how she has to tamp them down, shove them away for later.
She nods, her understanding in the form of that gesture instead of words.
Elijah’s fingers have loosened in their hold, letting her hands drop away but not before allowing the digits to trace and linger over her skin before retreating completely. The look in his eye tells her the movement had been on purpose.
Elena’s suddenly aware then of how close they are, how their knees brush together, bare skin beneath her shorts touching the fine fabric of his pants, how if either of them were to shift their upper bodies would come into contact, the way he’s mimicking her inhales and exhales, matching her rhythm when he has no need to breathe at all, his face so close to hers she can count each individual dark eyelash if she wanted to. She hears the sounds of the night outside and how they combine with the still quiet of her bedroom with them in it.
Stasis, she thinks, and the air’s thick, the time stretching out like molasses around them.
Finally, she murmurs, voice soft, small smile on her face. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Elijah bows his head, giving her a small grin in return. “Will you fill me in on what I have missed?”
For the first time, Elena steps back. She goes to the window seat, watching as he takes up his position as well, folding his limbs in a precise way, at ease. He’s close enough that his knee brushes against hers where she kneels; she doesn’t move away from the touch. She’d like to listen to his voice. “Are we going to make another deal?”
His face is fond as he angles it towards her. “You would negotiate again?”
“Aren’t we always?” She wants some form of control back. Elijah is her pick.
His smile turns sharp, eyes narrowing. “Forever.”
(which I realize I didn't actually fully complete your prompt, so I suppose I shall just have to write you another fill!)
But Elena's angry, here and now..
That's what she thinks moves him. Or lets her move him. Surprise at her boldness, at her quickness, at her anger and the level of ferocity as she throws herself at him.
He’s standing there in her room, in the breath it takes her to turn from putting her wet towel from her hair on its hook in the bathroom back to her bedroom, and there he suddenly is. Standing there as if he’d never left. The letter he gave to her is still in her room, tucked away in the top left drawer of her vanity, well worn creases in it now with how many times she’s looked at it. He looks unaffected; his suit is wrinkle free, as ever, navy striped tie in place, hair perfect, eyes unblinking as they stare at her.
Damn him, she thinks, curses, damn him, and she’s moving already, her brain stuck on her mantra of damnations, fist striking out to glance off his right shoulder, and then her palms going flat to push.
Elijah bows under her pressure. Surprise slides over his eyes as she forces his back against the wall. “Elena,” he says.
Her name uttered in such a slow, unaffected way. She strikes out again, teeth bared, and she’s just so angry and tired. Her skin itches, adrenaline, she thinks. .
He catches her wrists, vice like hands again, his middle finger touching his thumb in a circle. His hold is not as tight like the time before, but it’s unyielding still. She knows the strength in them, how he could snap her wrists with the tiniest of movements and amount of pressure.
Elena wilts, letting out the air in her lungs, staring at his tie.
His middle finger taps her right wrist. “Elena,” her name again, rolling off his tongue. He’s made no move to step away from the wall, continuing to allow her to keep him there. His dark eyes hold her own when she looks up at him. They’re both in some sort of stasis here. The itching under her skin increases under his gaze.
“You left.” Her accusation rings true. “You left.” Everyone leaves, she thinks. Or dies, but still leaving, always gone, and soon she will be all alone; she kills everyone around her, she is death. “And now everything has gone wrong. It’s worse.”
Elijah’s eyes don’t leave hers. There’s something like pity and sorrow in his irises; the trick is to watch closely for the emotions, there but quick to slide in and out with the stillness of the rest of his being. Everything about him is measured and careful. “I am sorry.”
Elena tilts her face towards him at his apology. Her hair slides off her shoulder, sloping over her neck.
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Of course he would not be sorry for his family. And she can hold no anger at him for that; she understands too well what family means, a weakness and a strength together. In fact, her anger has drained away as well. She thinks maybe she’d only wanted someone to be angry at, someone in front of her she could take it out on. She’s not herself most days lately, emotions threatening to spill over at any given moment and how she has to tamp them down, shove them away for later.
She nods, her understanding in the form of that gesture instead of words.
Elijah’s fingers have loosened in their hold, letting her hands drop away but not before allowing the digits to trace and linger over her skin before retreating completely. The look in his eye tells her the movement had been on purpose.
Elena’s suddenly aware then of how close they are, how their knees brush together, bare skin beneath her shorts touching the fine fabric of his pants, how if either of them were to shift their upper bodies would come into contact, the way he’s mimicking her inhales and exhales, matching her rhythm when he has no need to breathe at all, his face so close to hers she can count each individual dark eyelash if she wanted to. She hears the sounds of the night outside and how they combine with the still quiet of her bedroom with them in it.
Stasis, she thinks, and the air’s thick, the time stretching out like molasses around them.
Finally, she murmurs, voice soft, small smile on her face. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Elijah bows his head, giving her a small grin in return. “Will you fill me in on what I have missed?”
For the first time, Elena steps back. She goes to the window seat, watching as he takes up his position as well, folding his limbs in a precise way, at ease. He’s close enough that his knee brushes against hers where she kneels; she doesn’t move away from the touch. She’d like to listen to his voice. “Are we going to make another deal?”
His face is fond as he angles it towards her. “You would negotiate again?”
“Aren’t we always?” She wants some form of control back. Elijah is her pick.
His smile turns sharp, eyes narrowing. “Forever.”
(which I realize I didn't actually fully complete your prompt, so I suppose I shall just have to write you another fill!)
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