◤ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖎𝖝: ❛ but you're not mine ❜ ◢
✧
THE HARDSHIP OF SPENDING FIVE HUNDRED YEARS AS A GHOST WAS FINDING YOURSELF WITHOUT A MARK ON THE WORLD. Though she had seen the formation countries, fall of others, the prime of arts and theatres, political activism and rights for people increase for the centuries, she hadn't seen herself leave a mark on the world. Maybe in a few people she had seen the change she brought, but not the world. Even in what she loved the most.
When women could finally attend universities, she sought to gain an education, to enjoy that type of life for a little while. To have a different pace of life and understand the world in a different way because she had lived for so long and would be living for longer if she had any say. And she had chosen art history. So many nights writing endless essays about why artists painted their masterpieces, why the movements arose, what characterized them, why artists gained prominence. Even now, at her job, when she stared at the work and the unwavering portraits who stared back, she only saw what humans left behind and what she hadn't, though she lived undoubtedly longer.
She had so many chances to take up this trade, to try her hand at painting and gain the skill, but never had the patience for it, only the patience for understanding the theory and writing about it. For researching it rather than doing the act itself. Watching the tragedy portrayed in the paintings instead of bearing her emotions on the canvases for the world to witness.
And it was not to say she hadn't done anything with her time. She had learned many languages out of necessity. Italian was her mother tongue and English her second when she moved to Britian with Magnus when he was a baby. Her third French, and so forth. Not every language was sharp anymore, but still some phrases remained ready on her tongue whenever she needed.
She was a master at creating her own clothes, though nowadays she bought them instead of creating them. That too came from necessity of her younger days, when money was scarce and it was commonplace for women to make clothes from fabric, but still she maintained the skill for a longtime until she had more than enough money and likeness to just buy stuff from shops.
But those didn't leave marks. Still, Marisol Bigora was a ghost to the unsuspecting world at large, and while that a terribly lonely thought for her, it was still better. She wasn't supposed to be known, after all. She was a cursed werewolf who was over five hundred years old, too old, and she had originally been running from the Original Hybrid who would've killed her if he had known where she was. Marisol Bigora was supposed to be a ghost. She wasn't supposed to known.
"It's getting late, isn't it?" Carlotta walked up next to her, pulling the strings of her coat into a knot to close it.
Marisol blinked, snapping of her trance before nodding. "Yes, sorry. Guess I forgot the time."
"Are you meeting Elijah at the bar tonight?"
"I always do."
"How sweet. I always think that's so cute. I mean, it's been years and still you always go to him rather than going home after work," Carlotta smiled, "Don't you ever get tired?"
"No," Marisol shook her head, a small smile gracing her lips. How could she get tired of seeing him when he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen? Why would she rather go home when that could've been her last chance to see him? No, she was a greedy woman and she soaked up every second with him. "I love him. I love every minute with him."
"And yet there's no ring on your finger," Carlotta mused, "And no children. Have you and Elijah ever talked about children?"
Marisol laughed a little. "No, we haven't. Um, Elijah can't have children. And I raised my nephew, so I think that's more than enough kids for me."
Carlotta hummed. Marisol rubbed the back of her hand, thinking back to the merchant of Rome before clearing her throat. "Anyway, I've got to get going, but you have a good night. See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow."
She waved at Carlotta before turning around and exiting the building, heading to the bar where Elijah was waiting for her. And exactly where she knew he would be, he was; sitting at the piano, lost in his world of music, lips quipped upwards was her lover. Her Elijah. She leaned against the bar, watching him for a moment, reminded of the first time she came here. The first time she was Marisa Beauchamp and he was just Elijah, no one else. How heartbreakingly lovely it was to have a do-over.
She got a second chance with him, and he lost everything from before. She got to be selfish, and he got to be lost and then found but not know it.
When the song ended his eyes found hers and his smile brightened, making hers do the same. His arm raised, hand beaconing her towards him, and who was she do deny him? Never able to resist her Elijah, she followed, taking a seat on the piano bench beside him.
"Hello, darling," he kissed her softly and she hummed into it, "How was work?"
"Wonderful, but I'm better now that I have you," she told him earnestly. She loved her job. It was the first time in a long while she had held down work. Nowadays herself and Magnus merely traveled, taking up odd hobbies for weeks on end in cities that suited their fancies before going somewhere else. They didn't apply to jobs and hold one down, not like this. But she loved it, and she dreaded the day it would come to an end, because there was no way she would be staying at her job, let alone their town or France at all after Elijah left her.
"You always know what to say to make me feel good about myself," he kissed her again and she laughed.
"I just compliment you."
"Exactly."
"Marisa," he said her name so fervently, and she ached about how almost right it was. It was almost right; they were almost right, but not quite. "Marisa Beauchamp, seven years ago, you walked into this bar, and you changed my life. Seeing you...meeting you...it was like seeing someone I knew instantly I had already loved and would love again. And whoever I am now, I want you."
She stopped breathing as he turned over his palm, revealing a velvet ring box, gently opening it up and presenting it to her. "I want to marry you, if you'll have you me."
"Elijah..." she breathed out, when she finally could, almost choking out the world. She met his eyes. God, how wanting they were, how true they were. And how unwilling hers were. "I love you so much, but I can't. I can't marry you."
And she couldn't tell him why; he didn't know why. He didn't know how much she wanted to marry him, how much she dreamed of marrying him. How for five hundred years she dreamed of it. How Marisol Bigora centuries ago wanted to be his forever but thought she couldn't because of Magnus and her monstrosities. How Marisol Bigora fifteen years ago thought they could finally be together and wanted to so badly. How Marisol Bigora now wanted to be his but couldn't, because he wasn't her.
"I don't understand."
"I'm sorry," she managed.
"If you love me, why can't you marry me?"
She shook her head, turning away from him, "I'm going to get some air. I'll be right back. Please, don't leave. I'm sorry."
She stood up, willing herself not to cry as she exited the building out the back and wiping the tears that brimmed in her eyes. She breathed in the cold night air, calming down. "Marisol." Her head snapped to the sound.
"Klaus," she looked at the outline on his figure, still too far away to see his features but enough to see his shadow. Curious out won defense and she asked, "Were you listening?"
As he approached, she could see his head drop, "You rejected his proposal. Not unlike Rebekah did to Marcel."
She closed her eyes at the mention of them, remembering the phone call Marcel gave her as he drove back to New Orleans heartbroken. "Yeah, I did. I thought I told you to stay away."
"Under normal circumstances, I would listen, but plans changed. It's time for my brother to come home," Klaus explained.
Marisol stepped back, swallowing as her head tilted up. Oh. It was time. She was losing him forever then. "Freya found a cure," she realized."
Klaus looked off. "Not quite. Hayley's been kidnapped and we need the family together."
"What happened?"
"I don't know, but we need him."
Resolved, she nodded. "I'll grab him. You wait here, alright?"
She turned leave the alley and go back into the bar but he grabbed her arm. "Are you alright?" he asked in a hushed tone.
Eyeing him carefully, she tugged her arm away. She could only remember a few instances Klaus had offered her anything close to kindness, and it had only followed something short of tragic. Of course it would fitting to follow the pattern again. "I'll get your brother."
Back inside, Elijah had left the piano to go to the bar, downing a glass of what she presumed to be scotch, as had been his vice during their life there. "Elijah," she whispered his name, taking a seat next to him.
He didn't turn to her at first, so she repeated his name, which snapped his head to her. "You say you love me, and I believe you. We live together for seven years here, build a life together, and yet you won't marry me. I don't understand, Marisa."
She looked at him sadly, for a moment saying nothing. When he got his memories back, it would all make sense, and she could be the pathetic ex-girlfriend who used his amnesia against him. But right now, she was the woman he wanted to marry. Right now she was the woman he was in love, and he was the man she was in love with. He didn't know the rest.
"There's someone I'd like you to meet. He's out back. When you do, everything else will make sense," she told him softly, getting up from her stool and offering him a hand. He eyed the offer, not taking it as he stood up himself and went to the back door.
In the back alley, Klaus stood, reunited with his brother as Marisol stood in the middle as the mediator. Elijah looked between the two and Klaus looked to her to begin. Shamefully, she bowed her head.
"When I met you seven years ago, you said you didn't know who you were. That you didn't have any memories. And then earlier today you said that the moment you saw me it was like you had already loved me before so you knew you would do it again – it's because you had. I knew you before. I've always known who you were," she revealed, not willing to see what was on his face.
Not wasting a moment, Klaus continued, "Your name is Elijah Mikaelson. You may not remember yourself or your family, but we need your help. Our family is in crisis. I've come to take you back to New Orleans." After a beat of silence, "Say something, brother."
Elijah shook his head, "I'm not your brother."
"You are. And your family needs you home," Klaus urged.
"This is my home."
"This is not a request. You will return with me, willingly or otherwise."
"It'll have to be otherwise."
"Elijah, you should go," Marisol spoke up, finally looking at him, "Go to your family."
"We made a vow," Klaus continued, "Always and forever."
"You're talking about somebody else's life."
"No, this is still your life! You have responsibilities! You cannot just abandon them for a fairy tale, playing piano in the French countryside!"
"I'm just gonna stand by and watch as you destroy everything that I've built here?"
"Do you honestly think you have a choice? You have no idea the risk I'm taking simply by being here! There are consequences to us being together! Don't you see?"
"So leave!"
"I would never have come if the circumstances weren't dire."
"I don't care. Your reasons don't matter to me."
"You once convinced me that Hayley's life was worth saving, that my daughter's life was worth saving. Please, Elijah. Hayley is missing. Hayley. Even in your addled state, that name must mean something to you!"
"No more than the name Mikaelson."
"We are your family! You love us. You love me."
"I don't. I don't even know you."
"But you know me," Marisol broke in again, stepping between them to stand directly in front of Elijah, "I know you don't remember them, but there is a part of you that does them. That loves them so dearly that he would do anything for them. Anything."
"Why do you want me to leave? Why – Why aren't you fighting him with me to stay?" Elijah asked her.
"Because you aren't mine, you never were. I love you, Elijah, I always have. But that vow – always and forever – it was everything to you, and I would never betray that to keep you to myself. If I did that, I wouldn't truly love you," Marisol cried.
"I'm begging you, brother. You may not think you know me. Or Rebekah or Kol or Freya or Hope or even Hayley. But we are you family. We need you now."
"Don't waste your breath. I know exactly who I am. See, I ran into Marcel Gerard a few years ago in New York City. He tell you about? I didn't recognize him, of course, but he did say my name. And that was all that I needed to learn about my former life. So, yeah, I don't have all the memories, but I know all about you...and Rebekah, Kol, Freya, Hope, and even Hayley. And I don't care about any of you."
"You may have a wealth of knowledge at your disposal...facts, figures, names, and dates...but you lack all the feelings. The love and the loyalty. A thousand years of family!"
"Elijah Mikaelson spent every day of his wretched life trying to save you from yourself. I can't even imagine a more miserable existence. From what I understand, that poor bastard was lucky to find...any moment of pleasure. That's not me. That's not who I am. I love this life. I love it all. I love the quiet of the night. The taste of my prey when they truly embrace their demise. I worship every single dawn that I spend here, here where I'm truly, truly loved."
He didn't look at Marisol when he spoke, but she still felt guilty.
"Such poetry. But it means nothing without family, without purpose. You...were not unhappy. No. You were a king amongst men. We both were, standing shoulder to shoulder through the ages. We had glorious times together. And we will have more or them still. Please, Elijah..."
"Elijah Mikaelson is dead," he decreed. Without wasting another moment, he snapped Klaus' neck.
"Klaus!" Marisol cried out, bending over his body before looking up at Elijah.
"What did you think would happen? That after all our time together, he would be able to come back and I would go willingly? I would leave everything I – everything we built like it was nothing?" he asked, seething.
"He's right," she shook her head, "You lack the feeling. Because on paper, the Mikaelsons – your family, because they are your family – are monsters. But I knew them, and I loved them, as I love you."
Elijah shook his head, turning away from her and towards the street. "Let's go home. You can tell me about how we met, the first time around."
She stood up. "First two," she corrected, his head turned to her, "This is our third time. I first met you five hundred years ago, when I was young. We met again in New Orleans fifteen years ago. This is our third time."
"Then tell me about the other two."
"Okay," she nodded, "But after I do, you have to go back. You have to help him. However you feel about who you were and the Mikaelsons, I love Hope. I love Hayley. And she's in trouble, enough to where Klaus needs your help, so you're going to go back."
"I'll consider it," Elijah hesitated.
She shook her head. "That won't work. Promise me."
He stared at her. There was a beat of silence. Then, "I promise."
✧
FINISHING HER STORY, she leaned back in chair, hands still tied together on the dining room table as Elijah looked across at her, standing and leaning on the windowsill. He looked horribly disgusted with himself, turning away to look outside and she left him with the silence, instead turning to inspect their quaint apartment. She had grown to love their place, it's shame that they'd be leaving.
Of course, she'd have to call Magnus, but maybe she'd leave that for tomorrow and they would clear it of her stuff together and decide on where to go next. She hoped that they'd have more time, but of course she always wished for that.
"I told you that Hope was dead, and then I – I broke you with you?" he repeated.
She only nodded. "Yes."
"And you still came back here for me."
Her cheeks heated up, feeling embarrassed. "I had time, to process everything. I know why you did it. To keep Hope safe, the less people who knew, the better. And family always came first. I never hated you for that."
"And still, you're sending me right back to them for that damned vow," he shook his head, "I think it's done more damage than good."
"It's who you are."
"Who I was," he corrected, "We could run, go off together somewhere new, get married, be together."
She smiled at him sadly. "No. I ran from your family for five hundred years, I don't want to do it for five hundred more. And I know them. Maybe not Freya or Kol – I don't even like Kol, really, but he's still your brother even if you deny him. But I made a vow fifteen years ago to do everything in my power to protect Hope when I met Hayley, and I'm not breaking that. Don't make me."
Getting up, she joined him at the window, grasping his face on his palms. "I have been selfish, holding onto you here, praying for another day to keep you from your family because that was another day with me. But I always knew this day would come. I love you, Elijah, never forget that. And when you get back to New Orleans, you're going to get your memories back, and you going to remember how exactly your family makes your feel, how complete you are with them, and you won't need me. You won't need our little apartment in France, and that's okay. Because you'll have them."
"And what about you? What will you have?"
"I'll have Magnus. And I'll have Marcel. And I will find another place in the world to call my own. You don't have to worry about me, I'll be just fine," she smiled, giving him one last kiss, sealing their fates and saying goodbye.
He melted into it, opening his eyes to thumb her cheek and hold her one last time. "I'll go back, because you ask me to. But I won't go alone. I love you."
Before her features could mold into confusion, before she could question him, the gentle touch jerked her into the wall and everything went dark.