XII: The Meanest Place You Can Imagine

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the abandoned campsite as Klaus indulged in his favorite pastime: monologuing.

Stefan stood there, his face etched with a mixture of annoyance and indifference, tuning in and out of Klaus' self-indulgent ramblings. He attempted to busy himself by watching Salem — the monstrous, demonic, hellish black cat Klaus simply had to adopt — as he jumped around, sniffing and chasing mice.

"Our furry friends seem to have gotten wind of our presence again," Klaus said, surveying the toppled tents and camping gear left abandoned by the werewolves. "Quite irritating."

"Or maybe they're just not as dumb as you think," Stefan grumbled for the sake of grumbling.

He doubted the soundness of his own words.

The werewolves hadn't been evading them by their wit, but just like the ruby red stain of blood on his mouth, cursing Klaus had become somewhat of a constant for him. In the course of a month and a half his life had boiled down to this decidedly infuriating man and his tedious machinations. It was difficult to believe that not that long ago, he actually had a life that wasn't merely a repetition of kill, eat, rinse, repeat.

"No doubt it is the work of that pesky little witch," Klaus went on, deaf to anything Stefan said. As was the case any time Reese was involved. He shifted from the campsite to the edge of the cliff, facing the sunset. "Ah, Reese. What a vexing creature — wouldn't you agree?"

Klaus's monologues always seemed to return to two particular topics: how very important it is that he created his army of slave dogs, and Reese Yung.

Once again, for what felt like the fiftieth time that summer, they'd traveled hours by car only to be faced with a dead werewolf body and the black origami raven resting on top of it. They practically had a collection of origami ravens now; Klaus didn't seem to be planning on throwing them out anytime soon.

Stefan cursed Reese almost as much as he cursed Klaus.

"You talk about her like she's your favorite soap opera character," he replied, silently wishing for a werewolf to pop out of the bushes and scratch out his ears. Salem answered his prayers by wrapping his tiny frame around his ankle and using him as a chew toy.

"Oh, she's much more intriguing than a soap opera character. An infuriating pain in the neck—"

God, kill him.

"But a delightful pain, indeed."

"I'm on the edge of my seat," Stefan bit out. He shook his leg hard enough that Salem went rolling toward the cliff.

Klaus bent down, scooped up the demon from hell in his arms, and continued on the Reese tangent, "You see, Stefan, she has this talent for turning the simplest of plans into chaotic masterpieces."

"Right." Stefan got up from the log he was using as a seat. "A delightful talent of scaring off werewolves. It's about to get dark though, and I'm hungry."

"Patience, my friend. All in good time. Now, about Reese . . ."

Stefan sighed, resigned to another round of his Reese-centric soliloquy. Every conversation with this man somehow circled back to her. He was beginning to think Damon hadn't been far off with his 'Original Boyfriend' comments. Although Reese seemed pretty fixated on making his life hell.

It started around a month ago, when one fine day, Klaus finally got a good lead on a werewolf pack. He expressed his ecstaticism in his own hybrid way; Stefan was certain that was the only time he hadn't mentioned Reese in every other conversation. Of course, all that progress went down the hill when they found their lead dead in his house with nothing except a black origami raven to give them a clue as to who hampered their plans.

Whatever this was, it was a far cry from his life in Mystic Falls.

The memory of his old life — the Salvatore mansion, Damon's infuriating presence, Elena's warmth —felt like a distant dream.

A distant dream he had to protect, nonetheless. He couldn't let Klaus know that Elena was alive and nullify the sacrifices all of them had made. That was possibly his only motivation to put up with his bullshit and not lunge at Klaus and die trying.

". . . she's not just a witch, you know. She's a force. A tempest that refuses to be tamed."

He rolled his eyes, finding Klaus' romanticization of Reese more absurd with each passing day. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes as he turned around, juxtaposing the ridiculous image he created with the cat nestled in his arms.

Stefan almost wanted to laugh.

As if Klaus read his mind, the next moment, he smiled, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Stefan, my friend, we're taking a detour."

Stefan's eyebrows furrowed. "A detour?"

"Clearly, it is impossible to catch a pack when the witches are working against us." When he was met with nothing but silence, Klaus asked, "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"Last I checked Reese was alone."

The revelation seemed to amuse Klaus even further. "Ah, Stefan, your narrow thinking should be cause for concern. Reese may roam alone, but the other witches, my friend, they move in covens. And I believe we've stumbled upon one that's been less than hospitable to our cause."

Oh, why would anyone oppose 'their' noble cause, indeed? "Oh, great, you have more enemies. I'm shocked."

"Exactly. And this one seems particularly irritable. We need to send them a message, don't we?"

Stefan wished Klaus would stop referring to them as a unit. It wasn't as if he'd consented to help him hunt down innocent people to forcefully enlist in his army, nor were they equals. "So, the Raven coven?"

"Oh, no. Not the Ravens — their enemies, in fact."

He was never much interested in the witch community, so he couldn't come up with an answer for that. But judging from the way Klaus smiled, he'd struck gold. What confused him was: "But it's not like you're going to kill Reese. So really, what's the point in hunting down the others? It won't change anything."

There would still be one party working against him — and if Stefan had learned anything useful from Klaus' stories about Reese, it was that she was unnervingly patient with her revenge plans.

Klaus grinned. "You underestimate the power of a well-placed threat. We shall make it abundantly clear that interfering with our pursuits comes at a cost."

"Okay — an entire coven of witches will back off because you've scared them a bit?"

"Not us."

"Do go on, Klaus."

"There's only one thing the Geminis fear more than a Raven," Klaus answered, shedding some light on the situation.

Which, honestly, did not clarify anything for Stefan because who the fuck are Geminis? But he played along . . . otherwise they'd be here for days. "Scorpios?"

"A rogue Raven."

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The biggest disadvantage of abandoning your coven, according to Reese, was the lack of access to magical resources. She had every volume written about every magical branch ever five minutes away in the library in Mykonos, and she never bothered to show up there. Classes kept her busy enough. She wasn't interested in more schoolwork beyond what she already had to do.

Back then, it was difficult to see how 'Curses and Hexes: Volume 330' could be useful when she was supposed to memorize the names of the thirty-six witches who contributed to the Butterfingers Curse.

Now . . . the scarce information she found online sent her down the why-didn't-I-pay-attention-in-class spiral. The majority of it was obviously fake, too; bullshit made up by wannabe magic performers, blissfully unaware of the supernatural world functioning in tandem with theirs.

The official Raven coven website was a new edition but required answering purposefully vague riddles in order to access it. She was doomed to stare at the royal purple web page:

Beneath the oaks where the spirits weep, a necromancer in eternal sleep. From ancestral ties, her power springs, in the cemetery, her melody sings.

God, she really, really, really, should've paid attention in history class. There've been so many necromancers in Raven history. Poor students. Are they truly expected to remember which necromancer in particular sang in the cemetery or some shit?

At the same time, she was unsure if Raven magic was the path she should be heading toward. Esther cursed her, which entailed a high possibility that she used spirit magic to do it. However, Reese wasn't feeling weak, nauseous, feverish, or throwing up every half-hour, but maybe curses worked differently. She came up with solutions only for logic to dismiss them minutes later.

She wasn't a source of endless magical knowledge, which is precisely what she needed at the moment.

The search for this year's magical black market wasn't gaining any traction either — yet another disadvantage of abandoning your coven.

Really, the only thing she was making any progress with was infuriating Nik.

And she was getting bored of that, too, since he wasn't retaliating in any way. Apart from tearing out the hearts of a couple of her minions — which didn't hurt her plans because they'd already delivered her the information she wanted — he'd remained suspiciously quiet.

Also . . .

"The werewolf killing is getting a little tedious," Reese spoke into the phone, clutched between her shoulder and ear. She was packing up to leave for her next destination, throwing her clothes into the suitcase. "Some of these packs are way too cultish."

"That's ironic coming from you," Damon replied. His voice was way less annoying over the phone, miles away in Mystic Falls.

"No, really — their loyalty to each other is unnerving." She wrapped her slippers in a plastic bag and dumped those in with the rest. "At least the Ravens had normal, human levels of selfishness."

"Shame Klaus didn't inherit that loyalty."

"He never had a pack," she said. "But even if he did, what good would that do to you anyway?"

There would only be more people for him to defend Elena against. With the trouble they had fending off just Nik— things would be much, much worse.

"Threaten the pack," Damon said, as if it was obvious. His ego had inflated too much since he'd helped with the spell. "He'd back off."

"Mmm... maybe if he was normal." Which was a pipe dream. "But a hybrid would have a hybrid pack."

Men will really break nature because they feel a little lonely before going to therapy.

"But they wouldn't be Original hybrids."

Therefore, killable. "You can test that theory when he makes his hybrids."

Reese assumed it would be happening sooner or later. Sure, she was stringing him along, baiting him, angering him — payback for his betrayal. He must have known she was not going to let him get away with it. Either way, she wasn't planning on keeping at this forever. For one, she wasn't immortal. For another, she had bigger fish to fry.

"Speaking of." Scuffling sounded over the call. "He's been in Pensacola for the past week. Not that far from you."

"Strange. He doesn't usually stay to wallow in his defeat." Maybe it'll humble him.

"Or maybe you overlooked something and he found what he was looking for."

"Now, that's impossible."

Let's say, hypothetically, she had overlooked a werewolf or two. Which she wouldn't, but even if she had, the other witches would have swooped in to protect them. Nik had broken the rules of nature, and so it goes without saying that nature's servants weren't too keen on him. Most witches disliked the Mikaelsons as a general rule and preferred to stay out of their way too.

But he took things a step too far.

Since she was tracking the werewolves via Ravens, she'd known they'd be there. She played an intricate game of evading their attention and sweeping away the wolves right under their noses. Hidden in plain sight . . . it gave her the satisfaction that despite her shortcomings when it came to specialized magic, she was still powerful. Still clever enough to play with the fire that was her coven and come out unscathed.

What she hadn't expected were the Geminis.

The Gemini coven was a touchy subject for her, same as it was for any other Raven. Despite technically being half-Gemini due to her mother, she had never considered herself one. Neither had the Geminis tried to reach out to her, unlike Diane who dealt with Marcel to obtain her. Bottom line was, the Geminis were a reclusive lot, save for where their arch-enemies were concerned.

She did not expect any other coven to interfere with this business when the Ravens were already there. The Geminis always serve as the exception but why they concerned themselves with this business . . . that was a mystery.

That was an oversight.

"I wouldn't be too confident," Damon said. "After all, if a young vampire like myself can figure out Raven business, then—"

"You haven't seen Raven business yet."

"You are Raven business."

"We're getting off-topic." Seemed to be a trend with the two of them. "If Nik hasn't moved, it means he's plotting against me."

By now he'd have assumed she was tracking him. Perhaps he had decided it was time to break his silence.

"That seems presumptuous."

"Either he's going to extend a gesture of goodwill, or he's going to make things worse for me. Which I don't see how he can do now."

Betraying her and handing her over to the Ravens — albeit to incompetent ones — was the lowest he could've gone. More than the intensity of the gesture, it was the implications behind it.

Who was to say if he did it once he wouldn't do it again?

Goddammit, she'd taken a drink from him.

The confidence she'd had in their relationship . . . that he wouldn't hurt her . . . it made her feel like a child.

"I'd ask why you're so confident about what he's doing but we all know the answer to that."

Reese zipped up her suitcase with a sigh. She was tired of the false accusations. Switching the conversation, she said, "He's predictable, Damon. Not in a boring way. More like in a 'I know exactly what kind of chaos he's likely to stir up' kind of way."

"In this case, chaos means more murder?"

"Possibly." She leaned against the dresser. "He's not going to stay quiet for long, in any case. So when I get a call, I'll let you know. Think of it as a gesture of my goodwill."

"See you in Pensacola, then."

A second later the dial-tone rang flatly in her ear. She tossed the phone on the bed, next to her suitcase. Her laptop screen was still staring at her, glowing purple. She would invest in a good history book the next time she got the chance. With no endgame in sight, it could only help.

True to her custom, she made a list in her head, in order of priority:

1) The Gemini coven. They persisted as the unexpected factor in this situation, so naturally, they assumed the priority.

She had managed to adapt to their presence and alter her plans. The Ravens had spared a scrapful of vampires and a witch for each pack, sounding an alarm for whatever the fuck was their miserable condition for now. They weren't ones to spare expenses, but they were mindful when it came to their people.

On the other side of the table, the Geminis went all out. There were at the very least a dozen of them stationed in this hotel alone. Their sudden interest in Nik was . . . concerning.

2) The Esther/Elena problem. She wasn't going into fits of blind annoyance now that Elena was out of the picture, so it had gone down the ladder. But whether she returned to Mystic Falls or not, she disliked the idea of being cursed. It felt too much like being controlled; like her choice had been taken away.

The best solution to that was the magical black market. And for that, she'd need a witch informant.

. . . how hard can it be?

3) Nik. Compared to her other problems, this was relatively simple. Whatever he was planning, she'd let him make the first move. If he wanted a fight, she'd give him one. If he wanted peace, she'd entertain the notion. At the end of the day, it was all about control.

As for her end goal . . . for now, she decided it was waking up Elijah.

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To Stefan's ire, Klaus decided the beach life was more his style — sand, surf, and mass murder. Pensacola Beach had become what the Salvatore house had been in Mystic Falls: the designated supernatural hangout spot. Only instead of those whose company he enjoyed, such as Elena, and even Damon at times, it was him, Klaus, and the demon come to life Salem.

For days they'd been stalking the Gemini witches, who had also decided that Pensacola Beach was the perfect place to tan this time of year. According to Klaus, they were working in tandem with Reese and the Raven coven to keep the werewolves safe from him. But the only thing they did all day was sunbathe, swim, drink, and hurtle vaguely insulting threats at each other.

Except for the collective punching of the dozen-strong group. She sat with them for meals but spent the rest of her time hiding in corners and sulking. He felt a pang of sympathy for her, mostly because her loneliness reflected exactly how he felt inside.

Other than that, they seemed to be harmless. They hadn't even realized he and Klaus were spying on them from the shadows.

A stark contrast from the stories Klaus told about them.

Today, they were engaged in a particularly competitive game of beach volleyball.

"What a fascinating bunch," he voiced his thoughts. "I don't think I can handle the suspense any longer."

Klaus smiled at him. Well, he stretched his bloody lips. "You underestimate them, my friend. In due time, you'll come to appreciate the brilliance of my plan."

They were lunching at a beachside restaurant that just happened to give them a direct line of sight at the witches. The sun was high in the sky; the breeze carried the increasingly unbearable scent of salt. He forced the noises of the humans around them — the blood rushing through their veins — to the back of his mind, convincing himself it was white noise. Nothing more.

"We've been watching them vacation," he said pointedly, "for days. And you haven't decided to share your grand plans, either, so forgive me for finding this a little monotonous."

Klaus leaned back in his chair, surveying the volleyball game. "You seem to be having an attitude problem, Stefan. Perhaps we should find you a new human to anchor your morality to — how about that quiet one, what's her name? Ellie?"

Because it's not like Stefan would be going anywhere for the next decade, he countered, "What use will I be if I have no idea what to do?"

A beat.

"Tell me, Stefan," Klaus began, attention shifting momentarily from the beach to him. "Have you ever been curious about the intricacies of witch covens? The alliances, the betrayals, the power struggles?"

"Not particularly. I've had my hands full with other problems." Exhibit A: You.

Klaus chuckled. He had sensed the implications behind those words. "Fair enough. But you'd be wise to know a bit more, especially when it concerns our dear Reese. The Ravens and the Geminis have a history as tangled as the most elaborate of spells."

Ah, storytime. Fun. At least this time he was babbling about witches in general and not just Reese and the jolly old time she killed his compelled minion/assistant.

"Centuries-old grudges, wars, secrets buried in the depths of their histories," he continued. "Until a rogue huntress managed to unite their efforts . . . for a while, at least."

"So they hate each other?" Stefan asked. "You'll pit them against each other again?"

Sure seemed like a convenient way of manipulating the situation to their advantage. Let their enemies fight it out with each other. That would still leave Reese, though.

"In any other context," he said. "Let's say Reese's presence switches things up."

That was Stefan's cue to go, "How so?"

Klaus leaned forward. Clearly, this was his favorite part. "You see, Reese is born of a forbidden union between a Raven and a Gemini, made all the more treacherous considering her mother was the one they were hunting."

"So her father was a Raven?"

"Not just any Raven. He was their leader. Harry Yung and Nam Duri; the prodigies of their time."

Well, there went her mystery. He knew for sure she was an orphan, though. She must've had some luck ending up alone even with two powerful witches for parents.

"And despite her disdain for the Ravens, she has her loyalties. She won't appreciate the interference of the Geminis in our little dance."

"Right." Interesting history lesson. "And the rogue Raven you mentioned — I assume that's Reese then?"

"Now you're catching on." He sat back, satisfied. "It's a delicate dance, and every move counts. We must keep our little witch happy, lest she decide to play more games. And naturally, if she's happy, the covens are miserable."

Stefan raised an eyebrow. "What's the plan then? Flowers and chocolates?"

And then Klaus dropped the bomb. "We gift her a Gemini."

He blinked. "A Gemini? What, like a pet?"

"If there's one thing she appreciates, it's power."

Fucking hell. This man just got crazier with every passing day. "Your grand plan is to kidnap a Gemini as an apology gift."

"A gesture of goodwill," he amended.

"You think she'll accept that?"

The inanity of this entire conundrum made Stefan think of when he met Reese for the first time. She'd been a force in high school as well — the resident mystery. A rich out-of-towner who dressed more like a childfree alcoholic forty-year-old rather than a girl of sixteen; aced every class and overshadowed the rest simply by being present. During the dinner that Damon crashed, Caroline hadn't been able to stop talking about her. He'd chalked her down as the unusually popular weird kid and moved on. After all, the doppelganger of his ex-girlfriend held his entire attention at the time.

Still, the revelation of her being a witch hadn't shocked him much. It made sense.

Then things got worse and he realized she was a useful ally. If only she'd pick their side. Damon was always at odds with her, but of course, her refusal to help them led to a growing resentment. They were stuck; she was too deadly as an enemy, too deceitful to trust, and too powerful to remove from the equation.

And in spite of that Stefan fostered a thin layer of confidence in her.

Being with Klaus, though, he realized she had always been beyond them. Beyond their problems and their knowledge. What was a gamble of lives for them was a game to her.

It sickened him.

His memories answered his question for him. Of course, Reese would accept.

"She could never resist a good show of power," Klaus said. "Besides, no witch is ever useless. A truth she knows very well."

"And what happens after you give her a Gemini witch? We all sit around a bonfire and sing kumbaya?"

"No, my friend, once the Geminis realize one of their own is missing, they'll turn immediately to their long-held enemies. And once Reese kills the poor witch after she fulfills her uses . . ." He cocked his head to the side, eyes silently urging Stefan to connect the dots.

"They'll be too busy fighting each other to worry about you."

And he'd keep his witch happy . . .? If Reese ever was happy. Personally, he couldn't see why she would need or want another witch. He obviously didn't know her very well, though. With that in mind, it was a brilliant plan. Take out all three parties at once . . . and he could hear Elena's voice in his head telling him that despite its cleverness, it involved too much bloodshed, and therefore it was a bad plan. Killing people was wrong.

But he supposed Klaus was used to starting wars just to get what he wanted.

─────────────

Elijah
Cupid's Diner. Tomorrow. 10 AM.

Reese
if you wanted to go on a date, you couldve just asked ;)

Elijah
It's better than a date, dove.

Reese
if youre not handing elijah over...

─────────────

Reese decided if there was one thing Nik could her give to make her happy, it was Elijah. She couldn't imagine what else he might have to offer her, other than a few snarky, weirdly poetic words and an arrogant smirk. Unfortunately, she also couldn't imagine a version of this situation where he did hand over Elijah, so she was back to square one.

Literally, back to square one.

Outside Cupid's Diner, Pensacola, nine years later. Funny how life works. Or scratch that — Nik's sense of humor, funny how that works.

Damon had his hands on his hips as he scrutinized the pink-and-white striped theme of the diner. As if it was an affront to his refined taste, he said, "Please don't tell me they're in there."

"Damon, dear, they're definitely in there."

"Guy's like, dirty rich. Can't he find a better spot for a reunion?"

"2001," Reese replied. "September 20th. This is where he tried to kidnap me for the first time and failed miserably."

"Point still stands. Isn't it embarrassing for him?"

"Probably. But he likes poetry — he failed then, but now . . ."

"— he's got Stefan," Damon finished, catching on.

The shiny BMW in the parking lot was a pretty loud giveaway too. Not like they needed one. She checked her phone for the time — 9:54 am. Too early. They should've pre-planned to be fashionably late. That would show Nik.

Anticipating that he might try something, Reese had retrieved the silver dagger from safekeeping. It won't kill him, but it would distract him long enough for her to kick him to the moon . . . honestly, even if he didn't try anything, she would still probably end up kicking him. Or throwing him. Her hands were jittery with excitement. She'd waited long enough for this.

"You look like a kid on the last day of school," Damon commented pointedly.

"What?" Reese asked, apparently not having tracked his reference. She fiddled with the tip of the dagger in her pocket and checked the time again. "Hm. Maybe being early would also be unexpected and dramatic."

Damon's eyebrows shot up.

"Considering I'm usually always late," she clarified. "Although I'd like to argue I've got a large enough presence for a dramatic entrance no matter the time."

"I take it back — you're like a high schooler with a girl crush."

"If what you mean is that I'm excited to throw him around the room, then sure."

"That's exactly what I mean."

"Shut up, Damon."

"You walked right into that one."

"I'll kill you."

There was a pause. Reese waited for the regular accusations of being flimsy and untrustworthy to follow.

Instead, with a sardonic smile, he said, "You've gotten nicer."

"Don't get used to it."

The interior of the diner greeted them with a mix of the saccharine scent of pancakes and the metallic tinge of blood. The waitress behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with a blonde beehive updo, looked up at the jingle of the bell. Her smile faded as she recognized Reese. It seemed the diner remembered its peculiar history. The multiple compulsions had been focused on keeping quiet rather than forgetting.

"I thought you said you knew how to keep your stalking tendencies under check."

The diner was strewn with dead bodies — over the tables, on the floor, bent in odd, unnatural ways. Blood leaked from their necks and wrists. A few had been placed on the sofa seats, a trail of red circling their necks. The walls had splatters on them. Ripper work.

Stefan had his teeth sunk into a girl, too high in bloodlust to notice.

Nik, though, was impossible to miss. He was smiling at her, mouth blood red, resting easily in a booth. Like it always did, the world narrowed down to just him.

"Can you blame a girl?" She sent him an easy smile and slid into the seat opposite. Already, she'd lost where, why, how Damon was, all her attention nailed on the man in front of her. "You organized an entire family reunion for me and didn't even let me thank you."

What happened to kicking him? Why wasn't she magically throwing him against the wall? Why wasn't she stabbing him?

"I do go to such extravagant lengths for your attention." He gestured at the carnage around them like it was an art exhibit. "I thought you might appreciate the flair; that is what you Ravens are famous for."

Damon's face twisted into an expression of disgust. "Not here to third-wheel, Klaus. Let's get down to business."

Nik paid him no mind, gaze fixed on Reese. "I see you've brought a companion."

"You wouldn't want me to be lonely while I plot my revenge, would you?"

"Well, it is much more enjoyable with a friend to share in the festivities." For a brief moment, as they bore into her, his eyes darkened. Just as quickly, he moved on. "But I must say, what subpar company you keep these days, Reese."

There it was.

Reese.

She was unsure whether she hated the way he said her name or loved it.

"I appreciate the concern." The weight of that dagger felt unbearable. "That's why you should give me Elijah back."

"Right, let's get down to business," Damon cut in.

He glanced at her. She tightened her grip on the dagger.

"Elijah or I stick this dagger where the sun don't—"

"Reese for Stefan—"

What an asshole?

"Damon."

His brother's voice finally seemed to have snapped him out of his daze. Stefan let go of the girl he'd been feeding on in favor of eyeing Damon, blood dripping down his chin and lips pulled into a taut frown. Brooding, as usual.

"Hello, brother." Damon calmly took in his dire state. "You don't call. You don't write. Consider my feelings hurt."

Stefan visibly deliberated his reply. "Why are you here?"

Klaus downed his drink and took on a maniacal smirk, relishing. Reese began to wonder what the hell she was thinking, agreeing to come here with Damon. She sighed, sensing an upcoming exchange between her leverage and Damon's life.

"So much for a gesture of goodwill," she told him. "I guess you'll just have to wait another year for your hybrids."

"Oh, let's not jump to any conclusions just yet, little dove." If she didn't know any better, she'd say his eyes sparkled. "Feast your eyes on the entertainment. No breakfast date is complete without it."

What a copycat, copying her best diabolical dialogues like a copying copycat. "You seem shockingly gleeful, Nik. Got tired of Stefan's brooding, have you?"

"On the contrary. I've wondered what would happen should Stefan's aggravating big brother show up." He slightly tilted his head forward, and added, "What's it going to be? Will I kill him, or will the Ripper do the honors himself?"

"I didn't come here to watch these two brawl."

"Would you like some breakfast, then?"

"I'd like to know why you called me here."

"You're no fun when you're angry, dove."

There was the familiar rage bubbling under the surface of her skin, hot and blinding. Her hand twitched. She reached over the table and grabbed ahold of the collar of his henley, pulling him close. "Tell me what you want, or I'm leaving."

He made no move to detach himself, blue stare dropping to her lips as he said, "Oh, the things I want are . . . complicated."

Fucking bastard. This is exactly why she left in the first place. He had a vexing habit of saying such. . . such. . . such flustering things. God. Fuck him.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, breaths mixing. And just when the urge to close the distance got irresistible, she broke the moment.

"I'm not here to play your games." What a lie. This had been nothing but a game, since the very beginning. "The dagger for Elijah. Unless you've got a better deal."

She sensed his smile through his eyes, refusing to shift her gaze.

"I imagine if you let go of my shirt, I might have better luck articulating my words."

Her heart was going a mile per minute. It was taking everything in her to keep its thundering concealed from his ears. Pity, because her magic was as wilful as her. Currents of nothing in particular enveloped them, effectively cutting off the noise beyond their little bubble.

She dropped her hands and turned to leave. Before she could take a step, he was in front of her, blocking her path.

"I thought we were past this lack of trust," he said.

She had to slope her neck up to effectively glower at him. "Because turning me over to the Ravens was such a trust-building exercise."

"Your loyalties change as quickly as the wind shifts in a storm, dove, you can see why I'd want you out of my way." A pause. "But let's not dwell on the past — let go of your petty grievances, Reese, and we shall be free to turn the tides of this battle."

"There's no battle—"

"I've extended my kindness as far as acquiring a Gemini for you," he declared grandly, as if he'd done her some great generosity out of sheer compassion. "Much less reprimanding than an Elijah, in my humble opinion."

Well.

She peered at the scene behind him: to embellish the crimson blood dispersed on the pink walls, Damon and Stefan had taken it up on themselves to break the furniture as well. The waitress was nowhere to be seen as the brothers strived to knock each other out, blurring from one corner to the next.

Purposeless brutality with these vampires, always. Raising her left hand in the air, she let the pent-up magic rush to her fingertips. She twirled her fingers, and both the Salvatores dropped to the floor, necks snapped.

Her answer came in the form of the silence that ensued. 

Author's Note:

Thx to aster for beta reading this. Probably won't be updating for a while after this.