Immortals [Klaus Mikaelson]

12

"I know pieces, nothing worth talking about right now." I smile, eager to change the subject to something lighter, "You were asking me questions. I'm sure as a history teacher, you may want to pick my brain a bit?"

He nods, moving on with me, "Actually, yes."

His eyes flicker between our hands and my face quite often while we talk. He asks about every major historical event he can think of off the top of his head, which is a lot even for a history junkie. From the French Revolution to the JFK Assassination, he questions the hidden supernatural impact on anything and everything. I don't leave out a single detail.

I absolutely love talking openly with him about my experiences as I have never been in a conversation like this before. He's so eager to learn and I have to warn him multiple times that he can't slip up when he teaches the human version to his students, but I trust him with all of it anyway.

I am struggling to read him, both with my magic and with pure instincts. I can't even tell if he's flirting with me, or just happy to be in my presence. Am I really so out of the loop in the men category that I don't know the hidden meaning behind touching palms across the couch? Even worse, am I flirting back?

Blame it on the alcohol, my heart tells me, you deserve to feel wanted by a man every once in a great while.

We sit like this for a long time until Damon brings Elena down for Alaric to take home. As soon as we hear them conversing on the steps, we split apart like two rebellious teenagers who are about to be caught making out.

But it wasn't like that. Alaric is my friend who just happens to be extremely handsome and an all-around great guy. What more do I need to say?

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When I wake the next day, I find myself in an absolutely beautiful room that I'm pretty sure I didn't fall asleep in. It's midday, and the hangover behind my eyes is fierce and ready to revolt if I look directly into the light. It's a fitting punishment, considering Damon's going to need a new dry bar.

After Alaric and Elena left, Damon and I stayed up another hour or two drinking and talking. From what I can remember, our conversations went from coherent to completely separate simultaneous monologues of topics that we must have been pretty confident about.

Elena, Elena, Elena. That's all I remember from Damon's side of things. He must feel pretty confident about openly talking about her with Stefan in the house now that he doesn't have emotions. I can't imagine he would be exactly content with it normally, but I guess I don't really know him.

I do not have any recollection of what I dragged on about last night. I hope it wasn't anything too memorable. Maybe if I cure this headache, I'll be able to get some memory back.

Opening my eyes to the light of a new day was a struggle, but I was able to do it. At one point, I felt my temperature spike drastically as if I suddenly have a fever, but I ignore it the best I can. My room has its own bathroom, so I shower and do my usual spell to instantly transport an outfit onto my body from the suitcase I stashed in Chicago.

When I make it downstairs, I feel refreshed, but not exactly cured. I follow the fresh scent of daisies and Stefan and Damon's voices to the parlor, eager to join in on their rivalry.

"Holy shit," I curse as soon as I see the two brothers. "Damon, you should know that it's kind of weird to show your kinky side outside of the bedroom.

In the center of the room, Damon is tied to a chair with a fire stoker impaling his stomach. Stefan leans against the wall, his expression satisfied and unwilling to help.