The dagger slid from Rebekah's chest with a soft, wet sound.
Klaus held it up to the dim light, examining the blackened silver with detached interest while Stefan stood frozen, watching the first signs of life return to the desiccated form.
"She'll be ravenous when she wakes," Klaus remarked, setting the dagger aside. "Fetch one of the servants, would you?"
Stefan hesitated, his gaze fixed on Rebekah's slowly transforming features. Color crept back into her ashen skin, the gray veins receding like tide marks on sand.
"Now, Stefan," Klaus's voice hardened slightly. "Unless you'd prefer to offer your own neck?"
Stefan moved without further argument, returning moments later with a vacant-eyed woman in her thirties. Klaus positioned her beside the coffin, tilting her head to expose her neck.
"You won't make a sound," Klaus murmured to the woman, pupils dilating briefly. "No matter how much it hurts."
The woman nodded mechanically, her expression unchanged.
Silence fell over the room as they waited. Stefan counted his own breaths.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Rebekah's eyes snapped open.
In a blur too fast for human eyes to track, she surged upward, fangs extending as she seized the servant. Her teeth tore into the woman's neck with savageness, the sound of desperate swallowing filling the room.
Stefan watched, memories flooding back - Rebekah feeding beside him in Chicago speakeasies, blood dripping from her chin as she smiled at him over the bodies of their shared victims.
The servant's face remained eerily blank even as her life drained away. When Rebekah finally released her, the woman crumpled to the floor, dead before she landed.
Rebekah stood in her coffin, blood staining her lips and the white dress she'd been daggered in. Her eyes, wild at first, gradually focused as she took in her surroundings.
"Nik," she said, voice raspy from disuse. "You utter bastard."
Then her gaze shifted, landing on Stefan. Her expression transformed instantly, shock and disbelief giving way to desperate hope.
"Stefan?" she whispered, the name a question and a prayer.
For a long moment there was only silence.
Stefan cleared his throat, maintaining his distance. "Rebekah."
Her response was immediate. Moving with the speed of an Original- faster than Stefan could process, she launched herself from the coffin, crossing the space between them in a heartbeat. Her hands seized his face, her blood-stained lips crashing against his in a desperate kiss.
Stefan remained rigid, not responding to the kiss, raising his hand to begin to try and push her away. Before he could try, though, Klaus intervened, pulling his sister back with casual strength.
"Easy, little sister," Klaus chided, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Don't break your boyfriend. He's not as durable as we are."
Rebekah barely registered her brother's words, her eyes fixed on Stefan's face. Confusion clouded her features as she processed his lack of response.
"Why didn't you kiss me back?" she asked, hurt evident in her voice.
Stefan took a careful step backward, creating distance between them. "Rebekah, it's... complicated."
"What's complicated?" she demanded, moving forward again until Klaus's restraining hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Stefan, what's wrong?"
Stefan exchanged a glance with Klaus, who merely raised his eyebrows, clearly enjoying the awkward situation.
"Rebekah," Stefan began gently, "for you, the 1920s might feel like yesterday, but for me... it's been decades."
She frowned, looking between him and Klaus. "What are you talking about?"
"It's been eighty years, sister," Klaus supplied, releasing her shoulder now that the initial surge of emotion had passed.
"Eighty..." Rebekah's voice trailed off as she processed this information. She looked down at her bloodstained white dress, touching the fabric as if seeing it for the first time. "Eighty years."
Stefan nodded, watching her carefully. "A lot has changed."
"It also probably doesn't help dear sister that I compelled Stefan's memories of us away, till about five minutes ago." Klaus stated casually.
Rebekah froze, then whirled on Klaus, fury replacing confusion. "You did WHAT?!"
Klaus remained unperturbed by her outburst. "I was protecting him, Bekah."
"Protecting him?" she seethed, advancing on her brother. "By stealing his memories of us? Of me?"
"Think, sister," Klaus countered, his tone reasonable despite the danger flashing in his eyes. "Stefan was in love with you. Given his... possessiveness - a trait we both appreciate, I might add - he would have searched the world for you. And with you-know-who on our trail..."
He deliberately avoided saying Mikael's name, but the implication hung in the air.
"It would have spelled Stef's death," Klaus finished, using the nickname, now that Stefan finally remembered their brotherhood.
Stefan watched this exchange with a strange detachment, part of him acknowledging the truth in Klaus's words.
Even as the Ripper, stripped of humanity, he had felt something for Rebekah - a possessive attachment that might indeed have driven him to search for her across continents.
He could love, even then. As much as a humanity-less vampire could actually love.
Rebekah's anger seemed to deflate slightly at Klaus's explanation, though resentment still simmered beneath the surface. She turned back to Stefan, her expression softening.
"You must be disoriented," she said, reaching for his hand. "All these memories suddenly returning."
Stefan allowed the contact, though he didn't return the squeeze she gave his fingers. "I'm fine. But you've been in that coffin for eight decades. Let me help you adjust."
He gently extracted his hand from hers and gestured toward the door. "Would you like some tea? Something to eat besides..." He glanced at the dead servant on the floor.
Rebekah's eyes followed his, a flicker of something - not quite remorse - crossing her features. "Yes," she agreed. "I'd like that."
----------------------
The kitchen in Klaus's mansion was modern and pristine, clearly designed for show rather than use. Stefan moved through it with ease nonetheless, filling a kettle and setting it on the stove.
"Do you still make that amazing coq au vin?" Rebekah asked, perching on a barstool at the kitchen island. She'd cleaned the blood from her face but still wore the stained white dress, incongruous against the sleek marble countertops.
"I haven't made it in years," Stefan admitted, "but I remember the recipe."
"Make it for me?" she asked, a note of vulnerability beneath the request.
Stefan nodded, beginning to gather ingredients from the well-stocked refrigerator and pantry.
"Make mine too," Klaus called, entering the kitchen and leaning against the doorframe. "It's been far too long since I've tasted your cooking."
Rebekah shot him a glare. "You don't deserve Stefan's cooking after what you did."
Klaus merely smiled, unrepentant. "And yet, I'll have it anyway."
Stefan worked in silence for several minutes, chopping vegetables, the rhythmic sound of knife against cutting board filling the room. The familiar motions were almost meditative, allowing him to gather his thoughts.
"The world has changed considerably since the twenties," he said finally, addressing Rebekah as he browned chicken in a large pan. "Technology, politics, fashion... everything."
"I've been daggered before," Rebekah replied, watching his hands as he worked. "I'm adaptable."
"She is," Klaus agreed, helping himself to a glass of bourbon from a nearby decanter. "Bekah has a talent for reinventing herself with each era. You should have seen her in the 1700s - quite the aristocrat."
Rebekah ignored him, her attention fixed on Stefan. "Tell me about your life now," she requested. "What you've been doing all these years."
Stefan added wine to the pan, the sharp scent of alcohol filling the air before it burned off. "I've moved around. Stayed in Mystic Falls occasionally. Tried different lifestyles."
"Different feeding habits, you mean," she surmised, studying his face. "The animal diet?"
Stefan nodded, adding herbs to the simmering dish. "For a while. I'm back on human blood now."
"Because of me," Klaus interjected smugly. "Our summer together broke that particular habit."
Stefan didn't respond to the provocation, focusing instead on his cooking. The kitchen fell into another silence, broken only by the gentle bubbling of the dish and the occasional clink of Klaus's glass against the counter.
When the food was ready, Stefan served it on plates he found in a cabinet, the presentation as perfect as if he were in a high-end restaurant. He placed dishes before both Originals but made none for himself.
"You're not eating?" Rebekah asked, frowning.
"I'm not hungry," Stefan replied, cleaning up the cooking area with efficient movements.
Rebekah took a bite, closing her eyes briefly in appreciation. "Still perfect," she murmured. "Some things don't change."
She ate in thoughtful silence for several minutes while Klaus made appreciative noises over his own plate. When she'd finished half her meal, she set down her fork deliberately.
"Why didn't you kiss me back, Stefan?" she asked again, her voice quiet but insistent.
Stefan paused in his cleaning, setting down the cloth he'd been using. "I told you, Rebekah. It's been decades."
"That doesn't answer my question," she countered, eyes narrowing. "If Nik took your memories and only just returned them, they should be fresh for you. Your emotions should be...current."
She studied his face intently, her own expression shifting as understanding dawned. "No..." she breathed. "There is another, isn't there?"
The kitchen fell silent. Klaus watched with undisguised interest, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.
Stefan met Rebekah's gaze directly. "Yes," he admitted simply.
"Who is she?" Rebekah demanded, rising from her seat.
Before Stefan could answer, Klaus intervened.
"Elena Gilbert," he supplied casually, setting down his fork. "A human Petrova doppelgänger."
Rebekah went utterly still, her eyes widening before narrowing dangerously. "A Petrova doppelgänger," she repeated, her voice cold.
Klaus continued as if unaware of the tension. "Yes, quite convenient really. I used her blood to break my hybrid curse, but I still need her alive. Her blood completes the transition for my hybrids. Stefan the protector he is - especially as her beloved man - keeps her safe for me."
He fixed Rebekah with a pointed stare, his voice hardening. "So I'll remind you now, sister - no harming the girl in any way, or you'll find yourself back in that box."
His eyes flashed gold momentarily, the hybrid nature asserting itself - a reminder of how the power balance had shifted even further in his favor during her absence.
Rebekah's jaw tightened, but she didn't challenge the threat- taking in the fact that Niklaus is actually finally a Hybrid again. Instead, she turned back to Stefan, hurt and betrayal evident in her expression.
"A Petrova doppelgänger," she repeated. "Of all the women in the world, you chose another Petrova."
Stefan stepped forward, his voice gentle but firm. "Elena isn't Katherine, Rebekah. She's nothing like her."
"They're all the same," Rebekah spat. "Manipulative, selfish-"
"You don't know her," Stefan interrupted, a protective edge entering his voice.
"I know her bloodline," Rebekah countered. "This Elena is undoubtedly cut from the same cloth."
Klaus chuckled, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding before him. "Why do you say that with such certainty, sister?"
Rebekah turned her glare on him. "Because all Petrova doppelgängers are snakes," she declared vehemently. "The original played with your heart and Elijah's. Katherine did it with Stefan and his older brother Damon. And this Elena is probably the same."
Klaus's expression shifted subtly at the mention of Tatia, an ancient pain briefly visible before he masked it. "History does seem to repeat itself," he agreed, giving Stefan a pointed look. "Damon is quite in love with Elena, from what my sources tell me."
Stefan's jaw tightened. "Your sources?"
"Oh yes," Klaus continued, swirling his bourbon. "Besides yourself, I've heard how... close Elena and Damon became during the summer while you were away with me."
He gestured vaguely with his glass. "After you sacrificed yourself for your brother's life. Made a deal for a century of servitude to save him. How noble. And how ungrateful both were."
Rebekah's anger seemed to redirect, her glare shifting to Klaus. "You forced Stefan into servitude?"
"It was his choice," Klaus replied mildly. "Damon was dying of a werewolf bite. Stefan wanted my blood to cure him. I named my price."
Rebekah moved to Stefan's side, placing a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Stefan. Now that I'm back, I won't let anyone harm your heart like that again."
Stefan shook his head, gently but firmly removing her hand. "Elena isn't like that," he insisted. "She's good. Compassionate. Damon took advantage of that while I was gone."
"More naive than compassionate, I'd say," Klaus interjected. "But then, that's part of her charm, isn't it?"
Stefan's patience visibly frayed. He straightened, squaring his shoulders. "I should go. It's late, and Elena will be wondering where I am."
"We'll continue this discussion tomorrow," he added, moving toward the door.
"I'm coming with you," Rebekah announced suddenly, rising from her seat.
Stefan stopped, turning back with shock evident on his face. "What?"
"I'm coming with you," she repeated firmly. "I'll be staying at your house."
Klaus laughed outright, clearly entertained by this development.
Stefan threw him a desperate look, but Klaus merely raised his hands in mock helplessness, his expression saying: You're on your own.
"Rebekah, that's not possible," Stefan said carefully. "You can't stay at the boarding house."
"Why not?" she challenged, crossing her arms.
"Because Elena lives there now, and-"
"Perfect," Rebekah interrupted. "I'd like to meet this doppelgänger of yours."
Stefan shook his head. "The house is in Elena's name. She won't invite you in."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Rebekah's face. "Then I'll burn it to the ground."
"Rebekah-"
"If I can't enter, I'll set fire to the entire structure," she elaborated calmly. "Starting with the foundations."
Klaus cleared his throat. "As entertaining as that sounds, I must object. The doppelgänger needs to remain unharmed."
Rebekah rolled her eyes. "When the fire starts, Stefan will carry her out. He's quite fast enough." She turned back to Stefan. "Aren't you?"
Stefan ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "That accomplishes nothing except burning down my house."
"It accomplishes something," Rebekah countered. "It makes me feel better. And it ensures I can follow you wherever you go and live there with you." Her voice softened slightly. "Protect your heart from this... Elena."
Stefan's mind raced, calculating options.
He briefly considered using compulsion against her but immediately dismissed the idea. Even with his developing understanding of compulsion as reality manipulation, he wasn't yet powerful enough to challenge an Original.
And revealing such knowledge to Klaus would be disastrous before he'd unlocked his psychic abilities as Silas's doppelgänger.
Klaus if he knew the true power of compulsion would be able to do the same- no stronger, with him being an Original, A Hybrid and near on 10 times older than him.
Only by gaining the same abilities as the First Immortal, can he challenge the Original Hybrid on equal footing.
He was trapped, and they all knew it.
With a final desperate look at Klaus, who merely shrugged again with amused helplessness, Stefan conceded defeat.
"Fine," he said tightly. "But there are ground rules we'll need to discuss."
Rebekah's expression brightened instantly. "Of course. I'll get changed and pack a bag."
She disappeared in a blur, leaving Stefan alone with Klaus.
"You're enjoying this," Stefan accused quietly.
Klaus didn't bother denying it. "Immensely. Though I am curious to see how your precious Elena handles meeting my sister."
"This isn't going to end well," Stefan muttered.
"On the contrary," Klaus replied, raising his glass in a mock toast. "I think it's just getting interesting."
-----------------------
The grandfather clock in the Salvatore boarding house struck three as Elena paced the living room, anxiety building with each passing hour.
Stefan had been gone too long. Something was wrong - she could feel it.
The sound of a key in the lock froze her mid-step. Relief flooded through her as she rushed toward the entryway.
"Stefan?" she called, her voice betraying her worry.
The door swung open, revealing Stefan's familiar silhouette - but he wasn't alone.
Beside him stood a striking blonde woman in modern clothes: dark jeans, boots, and a fitted blouse that looked straight from an expensive boutique.
Elena stopped abruptly, confusion replacing relief. The blonde woman's eyes met hers across the threshold, a subtle smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken questions.
Stefan stood caught between them, tension radiating from every line of his body.
"Elena," he said finally, his voice carefully controlled. "This is Rebekah Mikaelson. Klaus's sister."
Rebekah's smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth that had torn out countless throats over a thousand years of living.
"Hello, Elena," she said sweetly. "I've heard so much about you."