a method to my madness.

elena tries to think about his question as it’s math –– as if she can swiftly produce an honest answer for him utilizing a formula from eighth grade algebra. y equals mx plus b, or something along those lines, something like that. she tries to come up with a set of rules, establish a system to calculate their own individual accountability. to do so she must ask herself what they are at fault for, what blame is theirs to carry forever and ever and ever. do the sins of their father’s fall on their shoulders? is he responsible for fairly compensating her for his brother’s crimes – for paying for his inability to ever do so? should she be held accountable for the atrocities of those whose face she wears? say she decides to be generous. say she decides to be unrealistic. say she decides to be both and insist that they should pay only for what they themselves have chosen to do to each other and to themselves, no matter how empty or righteous their reasons. who is in whose debt? who owes who an apology? 

the question catches her off guard. the question and the fact that he’s asked it, the fact that he’s still waiting for an answer as she ponders and opens her mouth to deliver what she suspects he would swear is going to be a – perhaps not killing, but certainly a devastating blow. it earns him a few points, earns him forgiveness for one or two of his worst transgressions. it earns him leniency is what she’s trying to get at. you could also say it earns him generosity, kindness, but the first descriptor might be more accurate, capable as she is of the second and third.

the numbers make her dizzy. the math makes her heady. both make the room spin a little bit, make everything a little off-kilter.  ‘ i wanted to save you. when your mother tried to kill all of you. ’ once she would have practiced better manners, put it more politely – but elena doesn’t think it makes much of a difference whether or not she tip toes around the truth or tries for gentleness.  ‘ i wanted to save you. ’  rebekah, too, but mostly him.  ‘ i don’t have an ‘i’m sorry’ for you. ’  that’s not quite the same as saying he doesn’t deserve one, but the fact remains.  the smile is harmless, nonthreatening – and so it dangerous, so it was lethal. lucky for him, she’s not always at odds with death. it is not always her enemy. sometimes it is her closest friend, her most faithful companion. it softens her this time around.  ‘ if it’s any consolation, i didn’t need it anymore. i remembered every word without it. ’  elena smiles, gently. to herself, to him.  

‘ we come from different worlds. in this one we don’t feel as obligated to lug around even our most sentimental objects. ’  a pause. it’s not a lie, but is it the truth? there’s still a bottle of her mother’s perfume at the lake house, and she’s grateful every day that it didn’t burn. mothers are different from lovers, though – and hers has always been seconds away from pulling the trigger on the gun pressed against her chest.  ‘ i mean, look at katherine. she lives out of a suitcase. she’s adapted to the times. ’   his question stirs something inside of her, reminding her that it exists, reminding her that it does not have to, that it never has to.  ‘ you should try, too. you don’t have to carry your regret with you. you can let it go. ’

" i'm glad. those words were important. " to me. to us. " i remember them too. "

elijah likes to walk into a room knowing everything. who will be there, what sort of defenses they are armed with, what kind of tongue he should speak in, where are the exits... he likes to know what will be said and what will be withdrawn, what truths will be disclosed and what truths will they choose to omit. he likes to know what role he's playing, what comes next, and how much more he will have to force behind that red door when it's over. he likes to know what he's up against.

none of this applies now.

he never knows everything with elena gilbert. he never knows anything. he may think he does, and it may stand for awhile, but it never lasts. and that proves true now because she's confessing, and he's dying to tear out of his skin. it isn't like he hadn't suspected it, her wanting to change the course of her decisions. she'd wanted to save them, but that had always been her problem, katerina's problem, tatia's problem. did they not realize that to love elijah was to love them all? to save elijah was to SAVE THEM ALL? written between the lies, a hidden clause. a clause... fitting.

" i knew it was you. " and at first, he thinks he means he knew it was her that wanted to save him. at first, he's certain he means he knew it was her that wanted to right the wrongs. however, the longer he emptied himself into the silence, the clearer it became. he hadn't known who was friend and who was foe. he hadn't known who was willing to see him crumble for the sake of peace. or rather, he hadn't known who was NOT. but he'd known one thing, once, long ago under the shade of a gazebo and the pressure of making amends.

“ oh, i don’t mind the floor, elena. ”

she’s a nice girl. this is a constant and consistent thought that flashes across the forefront of his thoughts each time she offers him anything at all. something nags miles behind it, an itch in the dark beacons of his mind he has not, up until now, wished to explore. she’s a nice girl. no matter how often he is reminded she is a woman, and his years count for nothing here. she knows more than he can understand.

“ you need a good night’s rest, and i - i’m not sure i’m prepared to sleep just yet. ”

he lingers anyway because she’s become his comfort zone so far away from his piano, and the further he drifts from either, the harder it is to know who he is. he has begun to discover these empty niches, these gaping voids, these dead ends that make no sense amidst the traffic of a thousand years. HE IS MISSING SOMETHING. but the more time he spends with her, the less it matters. he’s found something else. something better. or at least, something worth letting it fade. 

“ you would like to test that theory, wouldn’t you? ”

he feels like a ball on a string. a boomerang. flying right back to her after being cast out only to be cast out once more. and sometimes she reels him in, real close, allows him to feel the warmth of her palm JUST BEFORE SHE RELEASES AGAIN. does she have any idea the power she holds in those tainted palms? has she no clue that she is loved in a way that makes death bashful? for the first time in so very long, elijah is glad to be immortal.

for the first time in a long time, elijah longs for mortality. 

HE’S STANDING, staring at her. or he appears to be staring at her, but he is in fact assessing the situation. not the bed sitiuation either because she’s right. the two of them could fit there. the two of them could fit there comfortably. the two of them could fit there without touching even, but if they were to do all that then there would no room for this spark between them they refuse to snuff out and the demons at their backs that refuse to let go. 

she wants to test the theory. he doesn’t want to fit. he wants to be touched. 

and he wants to be touched now, like a civil disturbance or some kind of violence, the way those godforsaken boys taught elena to touch, the way his godforsaken brother made her believe was okay to touch HIM. and then he wants to be touched in the places that the ash can’t reach, places the ghosts won’t go. so does that mean he wishes to give her the best of him? or just another haunt? 

              “ how can i do that when your ‘ self destruct ’ function remains engaged? someone’s going to have to flip it off, and i doubt you can reach. ”

he’s an idiot, you know, bringing knives to gunfights and never bringing gloves to fight fire. and no matter how often he breathes in his resolve, it never quite STICKS. because he’s always running back here being a hero to the hero, or a villain to the illusion of the hero, or something else entirely because elena gilbert does love roleplaying. or she loves pretending, or she loves not pretending, or she just loves making elijah agonize over solving for x. which which which ??? and which questions is he cleared to ask outright anyway? there’s only one he’s truly interested in these days. 

                                            ‘ do you love life at all or only the idea of losing it ? ‘

                                 THE REACH FOR GLASSES WAS LAZY-METHODICAL, THIS ECONOMY OF MOVEMENT, Brandy glowing amber in the low light as it passed from cabinet to snifter.     ❝ I don’t think I’m being particularly brutal. Like I said, the details are up to you and that’s my mercy. An unbiased executioner is a kinder end than most people get. ❞    Instead of a roundabout return to her own chair, Meg notched a hip against the arm of his, chased crystal held out in tacit offering.      ❝ His father is Hedylogos, a lesser love god. As far as divine pedigree goes, not something to be overly worried about. The problem is he’s wormed his way into Persephone’s good graces. Among other things of hers. ❞  

elena shouldn’t begrudge him his love – or at least reflex – of performing, she knows she shouldn’t, but one of her favorite things about him is that this is not love and therefore she is not obligated to be anything resembling fair. love is fair, love is decent and kind and reasonable if nothing else, and this is not love, so she does not have to be any of those things. she has grown tired of those things. she tried so very hard for so very long to love people the way people should be loved, to be loved the way she should want to be loved, and it is a relief to not be preoccupied with the constraints of romance. for the record, though, she does recognize the hypocrisy. 

she does understand that it isn’t exactly fair of her to resent him for the suits and the smoke and the mirrors and everything he does to mask what is inside of him, to mask the very part of him that calls out for her and has since long before she was born, since what feels to her like the beginning of time, but she does. she does resent him, for all of it. she wants what she wants and she wants it now, and what she wants is full transparency without the expectation of reciprocation or retaliation, without the expectation of anything at all. elena suspects elijah is the same, and she resents him for that as well. who is he to ask this of her? who is he to ask anything at all? now he’s speaking of debt and she’s tired of debt, growing tired of him, almost as tired as she is lonely, as she is always lonely these days. amara and tatia and katherine and yes, elena’s, eyes follow his hands as they tend to his coat and look hungry as they often do.  

‘ do you want an apology? ’   

he’s asking her what she wants, she’s aware of that, but people rarely ask her what she wants and when they do it is usually because what she wants is wrong and she has not been good enough about hiding it, so she’s suspicious, reluctant to believe him.  ‘ for how mean i was to you with my humanity off? ’  she takes a brave step forward, like two can play at this game, like i’m starving,  ‘ because i wasn’t that mean to you, was i? ’  she remembers their kiss all the time. she remembers the way he looked at katherine and wanting it for herself. she remembers.

had it occurred to him that he had come for all of the wrong reasons? of course, and now that he stood before her, he could admit —to himself— that he was at least partially ashamed that he hadn't cared either way. why? the question he should have been asking himself as he drove down that all too familiar route towards this all too familiar place was why it had to be her. why was she the one he HAD to see? and why did the thought of being unable to do so make him ill?

and yes, he refused to ask the question, and he refused to asked the question because he didn't want to find the answer, and he didn't want to find the answer because he was afraid of it. that was the hard truth, and while he would neither confirm nor deny it, he knew it. and knowing was all it truly took these days, it seemed.

" do you feel you owe me an apology for anything, elena? "

he wants to give her this. he needs to. when was the last time someone had offered her a choice? he'd tried, yes. all of those years ago, he'd tried, and he'd succeeded, but at what cost to both of them? had it been worth jenna's life? had it been worth the hold on his own? but see, that's his problem. he would rather visit with ghosts than MOVE ON, and it has never served him well. instead, it away at more of his insides by the day, and he was powerless to stop it. sometimes, he feared he did not want to. but here he was, trying again to give her what he had never been given, and he can see it in her eyes. she hates him for it. that sits well with him.

he smiles in spite of himself, and it isn't a predator's smile but a BOY'S smile. bashful and budding, something forbidden that no one else would ever be allowed to see, not in this decade. " you were very kind to me, i think. apart from burning my letter of course. " one would think she'd torn open his heart to bleed it dry the way he dwelled on that letter, but had she not? had he not poured it out on the page, spelling it out for her in the most intricate way he could manage? this is the story we will never get to write — ours...

*       @acalculatedchaos          /          np.

❛   I’M  GOING  TO  BE  A  MONSTER  ,   ❜     she spoke with a certain EASE  ,   tone as light as the breeze that was caressing their children’s cheeks  ,   almost as if her words weren’t leaden by internal distraught  .   she holds her posture stiff   :   as if fear could not CONSUME her  ,   as if the world would not devour her  .   she had been stone at her surface once  ,   she could manage it again  .     ❛    i don’t want to be around the children UNTIL I’M CERTAIN THAT I WON’T HARM THEM   .    ❜    she doesn’t face him  ,   no  ,   not now   —   instead  ,   she observes their son  ,   their sweet boy in the flowerbeds  ,   cradling their daughter in his arms as she babbles to him in a language that only she is native to  .   they were A PICTURE OF INNOCENCE  ,   without care  ,   without fear or worry   —   a masterpiece she refused to taint  .   to maim  ,   if she could  .   a simper  ,   soft in expression   &   perhaps a tad bit watery  ,   tugs at the edges of her brims  .   she could do this   —   for them  ,   she would have to  . 

HE HAS MUCH TO SAY. doesn't he always? however, he allows her to work it out for herself first, to sift through the multitude of thoughts and concerns that have flooded her system. he can appreciate that. it was a moment that neither he nor any of his siblings were given, a moment to prepare for what was to come. no one could have prepared them for what was to come. " freya has - tended to the master bedroom, made it comfortable for your transition, and we can maintain it for as long as you need. " there is some guilt. he could never deny it, the doubt that swiveled around the pit of his stomach. they had come so far, so very far, had made many sacrifices, had endured trial after tribulation JUST TO MAKE IT THIS FAR. and still, they had a ways to go. still, he would have her endure more. the thing was, he had already been a monster for so long, he was not sure he knew how to be anything else. even for love. his eyes fall upon their future, their family, the children they have torn heaven and hell apart to protect, to coincide with. he settles. " i will make sure that you are as comfortable as can be. you know that. we will get through this as we have gotten through it all. together. "