◤ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖔𝖓𝖊: ❛ the consequences ❜ ◢

✧

THE TICKING CLOCK HAD NEVER SOUNDED SO LOUD, POUNDING IN HER EARS NOW AS SHE STARED AT THE GLASS OF WHISKEY SHE POURED FOR HERSELF. Though the clock tried to remind her, time escaped her as she just stared, wondering how long it had been and how long it will be until the Mikaelsons would be free from the graveyard. She had yet to take a sip of her drink, stopping every time she was about to bring it to her lips.

         She was scared.

         Truly, for the first time since Klaus had found her there in New Orleans, she was scared. She didn't fear when Elijah choked her in a hallucinated state due to the werewolf bite, she didn't hold this fear when Davina died, but now – now – there was fear.

         Fear of Klaus because he was unpredictable. And because he was unpredictable, he was dangerous. She knew the violence Klaus took when his siblings wronged him – when anyone wronged him. When Elijah accused him of using his child for more hybrids, he was given the bite. And now, knowing Rebekah's old betrayal in the twenties, he had bloodlust.

         He wanted her dead, and she knew that he would go through Elijah to ensure Rebekah's death. And that scared her. It scared her and it made her want to cry knowing she was useless to stop him. She was just a cursed werewolf, not a threat to Niklaus Mikaelson. She couldn't stop him, so all she could do was wait until morning and until Elijah came back to the Compound – back to her.

         She cared for him, and she was finally okay with admitting that. Letting him know how much she cared for him, and allowing him to care for her. She felt his lips against hers again for a moment, and the glass she brought into her hands began to shake again as her grasp faltered.

         Letting out a shaky breath, she steadied herself and knocked back the whiskey without thinking, allowing the bitter taste to overtake her for a moment and grimacing when it was over. It didn't help with her fear, but at least it was there.

         Placing down the glass, she took out her phone, dialing and placing her phone against her ear.

         "Marisol?"

         And, oh, it had been too long since she heard his voice. Only two weeks, really, but two weeks without hearing someone who had been around forever was too long. Unbearably long, really. But she had been busy, and she didn't want to take her calls with him at the Compound anymore, but at another location, and she really didn't get that much time alone.

         "Hey," she felt her lips turn upward as she forced back the tears, "Sorry, I should've called sooner. Or – or picked up your calls. I'm sorry."

         "It's fine. You've been a little all over the place the past few months. I get it, though. I do," he assured her, and she wanted to cry all over again, for another reason.

         "Magnus," she called out to him, because he was always the light at the end of her darkness – always, "I don't think you do. I'm scared. I haven't felt so scared in a long time because I think a lot of people who I care about are going to die."

         Elijah was standing in Klaus' way, not allowing him to kill Rebekah. And if he was too much of a problem, why wouldn't Klaus get rid of him? And Rebekah, although they weren't the closest, mattered to her. At least a little, and she didn't want to see Rebekah dead.

         And then there was Marcel. Klaus would have Marcel's wrath when he was free, and she had no idea where he was, but it wouldn't be far enough. Klaus had forever to find and kill Marcel, and if Rebekah was still in town, she suspected Marcel was too.

         She didn't want Marcel to die. That was her best friend, the greatest friend she had made in such a long time. And then there was Hayley...

         Hayley wasn't going to die, but she was still gone. When Marisol left the bayou with Elijah, it was over. Hayley was gone. She took the wolves over Marisol, and that shouldn't hurt as much as it did because it was expected. She knew that was going to happen, but not so soon, not now.

         "I'm sorry. I'll get a plane ride to New Orleans immediately if you want me to. I won't let you be alone," Magnus told her, with such fierceness she knew he was honest.

         They always came back together when one of them needed it, and she did. She wanted him here, so badly, to have in her arms. Her heart, her love, her light at the end of the darkness. But New Orleans couldn't take Magnus from her like it was taking everything else. Everything she had built these few months, these years. No, it couldn't have Magnus.

         She shook her head. "No. Don't come here. I'll – I'll be seeing you soon enough if they die. I won't be able to stay here."

         She heard his voice falter, starting a word but not finishing it, and then sighing. "Alright. I won't go, but I'm always here for you. Call me again tomorrow, just so I know you're safe."

         "I will," she promised, "I love you."

         He repeated the promise back to her, and she only felt a little lighter. But this was what she had. She had him, and she had his love and his promise, and she knew that he would still be alive in the days to come. It was a lot more than she had from anyone else.

         She looked back at the empty glass, cursing it for being empty, but took it again in her grasp. Drinking wouldn't solve the problem. It didn't bring Davina back, it didn't stop Papa Tunde or the other revived witches, but it numbed. It numbed.

         And feeling numb was a lot better than this fear, it had to be. She stood up, poured herself another glass, and downed the whiskey again. It coursed through her, but she still felt the grief and panic that overwhelmed her. As she poured another, her phone rang.

         She hesitated, but eventually put the liquor down and went to her phone, no longer hesitating when she saw Marcel's name.

         "Please tell me that you're long gone from here," she greeted him, a plea in her voice that she was hoping he would hear and take into consideration.

         "Sorry to disappoint, Mars, but I'm not leaving that easily," and, oh, he sounded so smug. Smug when he had no reason to be.

         "Klaus wants you dead, and you know that he won't stop until you are. You're a fool to stay here – a dead man walking," she spat over the phone, because if she couldn't be numb she could be angry. Anger was easier than fear.

         "Maybe, but I'll take my chances. Look...Davina's back. I got her back."

         Her ears began to ring. Davina's back, Davina's back, Davina's back...

         Oh God, it was just like Magnus. He was dead, then he was alive. And she was dead, now she's back. Oh God, oh no. No, no, no.

         Coming back had consequences, it had repercussions. No one just rose from the dead without anything. Without a bloodlust, without a gnawing feeling towards the grave again. There was always a price.

         No.

         Oh God, no.

         "What do you mean she's back?" Marisol cut him off, not hearing as he continued to ramble.

         "Just like you said. Find the witch who replaced her, kill them, and then she'll come back. And I did. I killed the witch that took her place, and now she's back. We're at St. Anne's Church. You should come. Davina's still a bit freaked out, I think you'll calm her."

         She looked at the whiskey bottle. Then, she looked away. "Yeah, I'll – I'll be there soon."

         She ended the call before he could say anything else, because she needed more of an explanation in person. It wasn't enough. But Davina was alive. There was no joy in the statement, at least not the joy that Marcel had, but there was worry.

         Concern.

         And she needed to see the young witch for herself, needed to see her alive again. She didn't waste another moment before rushing out the door, the night life greeting her as she raced for the church. Marcel had brought her there before, months ago, and she tried to remember the way to it.

         But then it was there, right in front of her. St. Anne's Church. She steadied her breathing before walking in, seeing the pastor with Marcel.

         "Marisol," and he looked so proud, so happy. Like he held all the cards, like he had everything in control, like he was victorious. He enveloped her in a hug and she took it, because she didn't know if it was going to be the last. "I'm glad you're here."

         "I'm not. You should be gone if you have any self-preservation skills," she said as she tugged away from his embrace. "Marcel, please, you have to go."

         "And leave my guys behind?" Marcel asked, "I can't leave them. Not after everything I built here."

         She raised an eyebrow. "So this city – your kingdom – is worth more than your life?"

         He grew stoic then. "I have no intention of dying, Mars. I have Davina again, and she'll destroy Klaus. I know she will."

         "She's a teenager. A-A teenager who died and just came back to life. What makes you think she'll want to enter this war you have with Klaus and end him?"

         The seizing fear came back, because if Klaus went down, so did Elijah. Elijah, who she cared for – who she just wanted back in her arms. And fear for Marcel, because there was no way he could win. Klaus was an Original – the hybrid, in fact – and he would not be brought down so easily.

         "Look, I know Davina. When she shakes fear off, she'll be angry at Klaus again and want him dead. He's done enough against her," Marcel sounded so sure of himself, and she wanted to laugh.

         "Davina wanted to wait until she had no more magic. She wanted to be a teenager – a regular, human teenager – not a witch. But sure, of course she'll wanna take down Klaus," she let it sit in silence for a second, "Where is she?"

         And now, now, Marcel hesitated, but eventually moved bringing her upstairs to the attic of the church, opening a door to reveal the young witch on her bed. Marisol stepped inside, taking in the sight of Davina, and flashes of her death swam in her mind.

         The blood, the limp body, the crying, the falling to the ground. It all raced back and she had to steady herself. She looked back to Marcel, "Leave us. I wanna be alone with her."

         He hesitated again but allowed her to be alone with Davina, closing the door. Marisol took an apprehensive step forward as Davina stared at her. She had a fierceness, a strong will and bravery but also a fear around her. She looked terribly shaken though she tried to conceal it.

         "I'm glad you're back," she said, earnestly, because despite the consequences, she was glad to have the girl back. But her eyes...her eyes were so much like Magnus' and she remembered sitting with him when he awoke after death, confused and scared, disorientated.

         "I don't wanna talk about it, if that's why you're here," Davina said to her coldly.

         Marisol didn't blame her, instead nodding. "That's alright. We don't have to. I didn't come here to make you do anything."

         Davina looked at her suspiciously, as if waiting for her to continue, waiting for a manipulation, but Marisol left them in silence. She didn't come here to ask anything of Davina.

         "Have you ever died before?" the young girl eventually asked.

         Regretfully, Marisol shook her head. "No. Not really. For a long time, I tried to die, but it never took, and I never really saw the other side. Or, if I did, I don't remember."

         "I don't want to close my eyes, because when I do, I'm dead again. And it's cold, lonely, and demeaning," Davina confessed, "The ancestors left me in the darkness because I used my magic against my own and they'll make me pay if I do it again."

         "Then don't use your magic. You have a second chance at life here, you can go back to school, have friends your age, and life a normal life. You don't have to use your magic, and you don't have to use it against her own," Marisol suggested.

         "But that's all Marcel wants. He wants me to kill Klaus, and he wants me to help him restore balance, put the witches in their place. He wants everything to go back to the way it was, but I...I can't do that."

         "Davina," Marisol stared at her, "Just because he wants you to kill Klaus, doesn't mean you have to. It is not your problem to deal with him or the witches. You are a child. Despite everything you've been through, you are still a child, and you don't want to do anything you don't want."

         "He'll be mad at me. I don't want him to be mad at him...he saved me," she whispered the last part and Marisol looked down sadly.

         She took Davina's hand, squeezing it a little. "He will be angry," she agreed, "But that's because he's foolish. You don't owe him anything, you don't have to do anything you don't want. I promise you that."

         The door opened again, and Camille came in. She didn't say anything to the woman, having just met her briefly that morning, but left the room so she could be with Davina. When she came back downstairs, Marcel was alone.

         She crossed her arms. "You're doing the wrong thing. Davina just died and the first thing you do when she comes back is asked her to be your great weapon against Klaus. You – you just wanna use her. You know, before, I thought you loved her. You tried to protect her from the witches, but now you're just using her. Using her to get what you want, but she's not some pawn or weapon for you to use. She's a person, Marcel, she's just a girl."

         "Marisol –"

         "No, you listen to me. Davina is scared. She is scared of her magic, she is scared of the witches, and the one person she trusted more than the world only wants to use her. You didn't offer her comfort when she came back, you brought her here and you told her that Klaus needs to go. Your first thought was so incredibly selfish! She died and you just want her to finally win over Klaus."

         "I don't," Marcel snarled before stopping himself, bringing his hand over his mouth and shaking his head, "I love her. She's like my daughter, and I love her."

         "Then why are you treating her like a puppet? You don't do that to the people you love," she asked.

         He opened his mouth before closing it, and did it again, but couldn't produce an answer. He stopped trying to defend himself, instead just sitting down on own of the pews, and she went to sit next to him. Despite her anger, he was still her friend, so she grasped his hand and held it tightly.

         Camille eventually came down and he immediately stood up, so Marisol went with him.

         "How is she?"

         "Depressed. She needs real help. Maybe a stay in an institution where she can get round-the-clock care and medication," the blonde woman offered.

         "No, no, no," Marcel immediately objected, "She stays in a place like that, she is never getting out."

         "You have a better idea?" Camille asked.

         Marcel hesitated, looking at either of them, before sighing, "I could take her back to her people."

         "What?" Camille and Marisol said in unison.

         "There are bigger things going on here. It's the only chance that she has," Marcel stated, grief wearing down his face.

         "We have to talk about this," Camille shook her head.

         He looked exhausted, out of options, only left with this, "I'm not asking for permission."

         There was another bout of silene between them, but then Marisol nodded. "That'll be good for her. The only good option she has. I'll go with you."

         "No," Marcel shook his head, "I'll bring her alone. This should be between just the two of us."

         "Are you sure?" Marisol asked, because she needed him to be certain. He was giving her away, back to people who wanted her dead before, but he nodded. It was his eyes that sold her; they were determined. Sad, but determined, and she knew then that he needed to be alone.

         "Okay," she accepted, "Okay."

         Marcel went upstairs, and he returned down he was carrying Davina's sleeping body. Marisol and Camille watched him go before leaving themselves. She went back to the Compound, poured herself another shot of whiskey, and sat.

         She waited for something – anything to happen – but the building was still. The world was a hurricane around her, but the building was still and she remained untouched in the eye of the storm.

         And then she heard footsteps, quickly leaping to her feet, and seeing Klaus. "It's not morning yet," she said in a confused tone.

         "Yet the barrier lifted," he stated before raising an eyebrow, "I would've thought you'd have had something to do with that."

         She shook her head, but had an idea about who had done it. "No," there was silene then as he walked in, took the whiskey bottle from her and poured himself his own glass. She watched him throughout it, searching for some indication of what had happened, but found nothing, so finally: "Is she dead? Did you kill her?"

         Klaus stared at her, as if looking into her soul, before setting down the empty glass. "No," he finally admitted, "I sent her away instead. She's free."

         Marisol breathed a sigh of relief. "And Marcel? Did you go after him?" she knew she was asking too much, probably anyway, but she had to know.

         "I found him," her heart sank, "Before I could act, Elijah banished him from the French Quarter. He won't be coming back here."

         Her heart was still in the depths, but it was better than death. She had been expected his head or heart on a platter, and while exile wasn't what she wanted, it was better than death. So there was still relief, and she could breathe easier. The fear that weighed her down lifted.

         "Good, good," she repeated before looking back at him, "I know you wanted to kill Rebekah, and I don't know what changed your mind, but you'll be glad. Later. You'll be glad you didn't kill her."

         He raised an eyebrow at her, sitting back. "Oh?"

         "I almost killed my sister once," she admitted to him, a secret she had never told another soul, not even Magnus, "I wanted to. So badly it consumed me sometimes. I even had it all planned out. How I would lure her away from her house, what I would say so she wouldn't suspect anything, how I would stop her from using magic against me. I knew it all.

         "And I was ready. I was more than willing, all I had to do was go back home to her. But...but I couldn't. When I stopped to think about it, I couldn't do it. Not when I knew I would never be able to forgive myself, despite everything she had done to me.

         "She...she cursed me. She took away my aging, made me effectively immortal. And I had fallen in love, or as close as I could have, with a human. But I had to leave him because years passed and he had more wrinkles but I looked the same, and he noticed that. I couldn't stay anymore, and I couldn't tell him the truth because then he would hate him. He would out me and the town would come and try to kill me."

         She stopped, staring at him. "I don't know if you've ever fallen in love with a human, but it's the worst feeling in the world. Because I can't make them immortal along with me, all I can do is love them and then leave them because they're going to grow old and die while I just look the same. And I hated my sister for doing this to me, so I wanted her dead, but I'm glad I didn't kill her now. Despite everything, because that just means I never stooped to her level, and that makes me feel good."

         She poured herself another shot, finally feeling the buzz, and allowing it to overtake her as he stared at her.

         "Now, I know it's not the same thing as what Rebekah did, but you'll be glad later. Maybe not now, but later. You'll be glad that she's alive."

         She stood up then. It was late and the time was wearing down on her now that she knew no one was dying tonight. She would have to call Magnus back tomorrow and tell him that everything was fine, and stop him from taking a flight from New Orleans again, but that would be for tomorrow.

         Tonight, she was tired. It had been a long day and a longer night, and no one was dead, but no one was there either. "Goodnight, Klaus," and she moved up the stairs, to her room and readied herself from bed.

         Half an hour later, there was a knock on her door, and she bit her lips as a smile threatened to appear. Now wasn't the time, but she couldn't help but smile at the thought of who could be behind the door. She got up, opened the door, and joy radiated through her body as she saw who she had longed for the whole night.

         Immediately, she brought him into a kiss because she could. She finally could, and she wasn't going to waste anymore moments without one, drawing him more and keeping him close.

         "Elijah," she breathed when they finally parted, "I'm glad you're okay."

         "I apologize for worrying you, and for keeping you up so late," he said and it made her laugh. Of course he would feel sorry, even when he had no reason to.

         "I'm just glad you're okay. I was worried, but it's okay now," it was okay as long as she didn't think of Marcel or Davina, but he pushed that out of her mind again. Tomorrow, she would think of them, and she would worry about them.

         But not tonight. Not now. Now she had Elijah and she wasn't letting him go.