Rebekah's POV:
Dawn crept through the curtains of the Salvatore boarding house's guest room, painting golden stripes across Rebekah's still form.
She hadn't slept, but had spent the night still, listening to the rhythm of the house around her.
The soft creaking of the mattress in the master bedroom. The occasional whispered words between Stefan and Elena. The steady heartbeat of the doppelgänger that both irritated and fascinated her.
Rebekah rose in a fluid motion, bare feet silent against the hardwood floor as she approached the window.
Mystic Falls sprawled before her, a town simultaneously frozen in time and utterly transformed.
Shop fronts she remembered from the 1920s remained, yet housed businesses she didn't recognize.
Automobiles that would have been marvels of engineering in her day now looked commonplace, even mundane.
Ninety years.
Gone in what felt like a blink.
"Ridiculous," she murmured to her reflection in the glass, fingers tracing the outline of her lips. "You're a thousand years old. What's ninety more?"
Yet it wasn't the lost time that haunted her. It was the look in Stefan's eyes when she'd kissed him upon awakening - recognition without reciprocation.
The memory of his lips not responding beneath hers while his hands gently but firmly created distance between them.
The sound of water running through pipes signaled Elena's morning shower. Rebekah's enhanced hearing picked up Stefan's movements in the kitchen below - the clink of mugs, the rich aroma of brewing coffee.
Once, those domestic sounds had included her. Once, he had prepared coffee with her preferences in mind, had handed her the cup with that half-smile that made her heart flutter.
She dressed with deliberate care, selecting a blue blouse that brought out her eyes and dark jeans that hugged her curves decently.
Modern fashion was still a novelty, but she'd adapted quickly. Survival required adaptation - a lesson learned across a millennium of existence.
The shower stopped. Drawers opened and closed in the master bedroom. Rebekah waited, counting Elena's heartbeats until the girl descended the stairs. The front door opened and closed, Elena's car engine starting moments later.
Only then did Rebekah emerge from her room, timing her descent to intersect with Stefan's path from kitchen to study.
They nearly collided at the bottom of the stairs.
"Rebekah." Stefan stepped back immediately, maintaining a careful distance. Always careful now, always measured. The space between them might as well have been an ocean.
"Good morning," she replied, noting how he shifted his weight slightly away from her - a subtle movement most wouldn't notice.
But she had spent every moment they had cataloging his every gesture, every micro-expression. "Elena's off, is she?"
"Class," Stefan corrected. "She has an early lecture."
Rebekah smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "How domestic."
Stefan didn't rise to the bait, simply nodding toward the kitchen. "I made coffee."
She followed him, observing the easy confidence with which he moved through the space. This had been their home once - hers and his - though briefly. Now it belonged to him and Elena, with Rebekah the interloper.
"The house has barely changed," she remarked, trailing her fingers along the familiar countertop. "I remember that weekend we spent here in '22. You played the gentleman host, though your intentions were anything but gentlemanly."
Stefan poured coffee into a mug, adding precisely four sugars and a splash of cream before handing it to her. "You remember how I take it," she said, genuinely surprised.
"Some things stick," he replied, his expression softening momentarily. In that brief instant, she glimpsed the Stefan she remembered - the one who had looked at her with equal parts desire and fascination.
The moment shattered when his phone vibrated. He checked the screen, his posture shifting subtly as he read the message.
"Nik?" she guessed.
Stefan nodded. "Witch business. I need to shower and head out."
As he left, Rebekah remained in the kitchen, cradling the perfectly prepared coffee. Such a small thing - remembering how she took her coffee after all these years, remembering despite his memories, being thrown back to him at once by Nik.
Yet it sparked hope in her chest, a dangerous feeling for someone who had learned the pain of disappointment across centuries.
With Stefan upstairs, Rebekah wandered through the house, reacquainting herself with spaces both familiar and changed. The library remained largely as she remembered, shelves filled with volumes Stefan had collected across his lifetime.
Near the record player sat a collection of vinyl, meticulously organized. Her fingers skimmed across the sleeves until they found what she sought - a jazz album from the 1920s. The same one that had played at Gloria's bar the night Stefan had first approached her.
She placed it on the turntable, lowering the needle with care. The scratch of vinyl preceded the first notes - melancholy trumpet, followed by piano.
Rebekah closed her eyes, and the music carried her back...
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Flashback:
Chicago, 1922. Gloria's bar after hours.
The club stood empty save for them - glasses upturned on tables, chairs stacked except for those they occupied. Gloria had left them the keys, as she often did when Stefan was in one of his moods.
"There's something missing," Stefan said, twirling his empty glass between long fingers. Blood stained the rim - their last victim had been a pretty blonde who'd made the mistake of accepting Stefan's charming invitation for a private party.
"Missing?" Rebekah leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You've fed. You've killed. What more could you want?"
Stefan's eyes - those beautiful green eyes - held an intensity that belied his relaxed posture. "Completion."
"You're being cryptic, love." She reached across the table, running her fingers along his forearm. "And I'm not in the mood for riddles."
He captured her hand, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. "I've been thinking about what we discussed last month. About identity. About the nature of self."
"Your philosophical tangents." She smiled indulgently. "Go on, then."
Stefan leaned closer. "What if the division isn't necessary? What if the ripper and the... other me... could coexist? Integrate?"
Rebekah tilted her head, studying him. "You mean your humanity? The part you've switched off?"
"Yes." His eyes gleamed with excitement. "What if I could maintain the freedom, the power I feel now, without losing the capacity for genuine connection? What if I could be whole?"
"That's not how it works, Stefan. The humanity switch exists for a reason. On or off - there is no middle ground."
He shook his head. "I don't accept that. These two aspects of- my coldness, ruthlessness, and humanity itself aren't contradictory.
There are gradients, spectrums, possibilities between the two. One can love his closeones and be, murderous to his enemies.
Yet... Why is it me, who's heart bleeds so easily for the innocent? Why can't I be like the others, and not care about the cattle?"
Rebekah had lived long enough to recognize the dangerous glint in his eyes - the look he always has when he has one of his theories. "What are you planning?"
"I need your help," he said, voice dropping lower. "I want you to compel me."
"Compel you to what?"
"To feel again. But not to be consumed by it. To integrate rather than switch."
She pulled her hand away. "That's not possible. Compulsion doesn't work that way."
"How do you know?" Stefan challenged. "Have you ever tried?"
"No, because it's insane," she replied. "Stefan, when your humanity returns, all the guilt, all the pain - it will crush you. You've killed dozens since Chicago alone."
"I've considered that." He reached for her again, his fingers encircling her wrist. "I believe I can rationalize it. Accept what I've done without being destroyed by it. But I need you to help me."
"You're asking me to break you," she said softly.
"I'm asking you to help me become whole." His eyes held hers, intense and pleading. "Will you do this for me? Will you help me try?"
She should have refused. Should have recognized the danger in his request. But she had never been able to deny him anything.
"Yes," she whispered. "But not here. At home."
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Their apartment, later that night. Candles illuminated the space, casting long shadows across Stefan's face as he sat before her on the edge of their bed.
"Are you sure?" she asked one final time.
He nodded, eyes clear and determined. "I've thought about this for weeks. I believe I can rationalize my actions, maintain perspective even with my humanity intact."
"And if you can't?"
"Then you'll turn it off again." He took her hands in his. "I trust you, Rebekah. Only you."
Something in his words made her chest ache. In her thousand years, so few had truly trusted her. Even her own brothers kept secrets, maintained vigilance around her.
Yet here was Stefan, placing himself entirely in her hands.
"Alright," she said, meeting his gaze. "Look into my eyes."
His green eyes locked with hers, pupils dilating slightly in anticipation.
"I compel you to feel again," she said, her voice gaining the hypnotic quality of compulsion. "To experience your humanity fully, but to remember your convictions. To try and integrate rather than fracture."
For a moment, nothing happened. Stefan remained still, expression unchanged. Then his breathing hitched. His hands, still holding hers, began to tremble.
"Stefan?"
He didn't respond. His eyes widened, pupils contracting to pinpoints as his breathing accelerated. A sound escaped him - not quite a laugh, not quite a sob.
"Stefan," she repeated, concern mounting.
The sound grew louder - a broken laugh that raised goosebumps along her arms. It built in intensity, his body shaking with it, until suddenly it transformed into something else entirely.
Tears streamed down his face as the laughter- a mad laugh, that felt like it was going on for eternity- became... sobs.
His body pitched forward, and she caught him as he collapsed, cradling him against her as they slid to the floor.
"I killed them," he gasped between sobs, his face pressed against her neck. "All of them. I killed them and I enjoyed it."
"Shh," she soothed, stroking his hair as he shuddered against her. "It's alright."
"It's not alright," he choked out. "It will never be alright. Their faces - I remember all their faces. Their terror. Their pleas."
His tears soaked through the silk of her dress as he clung to her like a drowning man. Rebekah had never seen him like this - had never seen anyone so utterly shattered. The powerful, confident ripper reduced to this broken creature in her arms.
"I'm a monster," he whispered. "A monster."
"No," she insisted, though the evidence against her words lay in the blood they'd spilled together. "You're not."
"Make it stop," he begged, pulling back to look at her with devastated eyes. "Please, Rebekah. I can't bear it. The guilt - it's too much. Make it stop."
She hesitated, torn between her promise and the agony etched across his features. "Stefan, you wanted to try-"
"I was wrong," he interrupted, voice raw with pain. "I can't rationalize this. Can't integrate it. I can't. I can't. Please, Bekah. Please make it stop. I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, I can'tI can't, I can't, I CAN'T!"
Tears filled her own eyes as she cupped his face between her hands. "Look at me," she commanded gently.
His tear-filled eyes met hers, desperate.
"I compel you to turn your humanity off again," she said softly. "To return to as you were before."
The change was immediate and stark. The anguish drained from his expression, replaced by the familiar detached calm of the ripper. His breathing steadied. He after a moment straightened, pulling away from her embrace.
The Hawk had stopped biting his broken wings.
"Thank you," he said, voice perfectly controlled once more. He glanced down at her dress, noting the tear stains. "I apologize for ruining your dress."
"Stefan-"
"The experiment was a failure," he continued, rising to his feet and straightening his suit jacket with precise movements. "But informative nonetheless. I'll need to reconsider my approach."
He offered her his hand, helping her to her feet with the impeccable manners that never deserted him, even in ripper mode. "We should go out. I find myself in need of a drink. The real kind."
As he turned to leave, Rebekah remained rooted in place, shaken by the transformation she had witnessed. The utter despair in his eyes moments before - the raw, devastating pain - haunted her.
"Coming?" he asked from the doorway, one eyebrow raised in perfect composure.
She forced a smile. "Of course."
But as she followed him from the room, she knew something fundamental had changed between them. She had seen him at his most vulnerable, his most broken. Had held the shattered pieces of him in her arms.
And she knew, with bone-deep certainty, that she would do anything to protect him from that pain again.
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The needle scratched as the record ended, pulling Rebekah back to the present. She opened her eyes to find tears streaming down her cheeks. Quickly, she wiped them away, irritated at her own weakness.
"That album always did make you emotional."
She turned to find Stefan in the doorway, freshly showered, his hair still damp. He wore dark jeans and a forest green henley that made his eyes seem deeper, more intense.
"You remember," she said, not bothering to deny the tears.
"I remember everything now." He moved into the room but maintained his distance, leaning against a bookshelf. "Klaus restored my memories, remember?"
"Not just the good parts, then," she observed. "The experiments too."
Something flickered across his face - so brief she might have imagined it. "Yes."
Rebekah moved closer, studying him with narrowed eyes. There was something different about him - something she couldn't quite place. Not quite the ripper's cold calculation, not quite the guilt-ridden vampire's brooding and sorrow.
Something... balanced.
"You've changed," she said, circling him slowly. "You're neither the man I knew in Chicago nor the martyr who I pulled out."
Stefan remained still, watching her circuit around him. "Time changes everyone."
"Not like this." She stopped directly before him, close enough to catch his scent - soap, coffee, the faint metallic undertone of blood. "There's something else."
His expression remained carefully neutral, but she caught the subtle tension in his jaw. After a millennium of reading men's faces, she knew when she'd struck a nerve.
"What is it, Stefan?" she pressed, reaching up to touch his face. "What's different?"
He didn't pull away from her touch, which surprised her. His skin was cool beneath her fingers, familiar despite the decades between them.
"Have you done it?" she whispered. "Have you finally achieved what we attempted in Chicago?"
Before he could answer, the front door opened. Elena's voice called out, "Stefan? I forgot my history textbook."
Rebekah dropped her hand, stepping back as Elena appeared in the doorway. The doppelgänger paused, taking in the scene with wary eyes.
"Am I interrupting?" she asked, gaze moving between them.
"Just reminiscing," Rebekah replied smoothly. "Your boyfriend has quite the collection of antique jazz records."
Elena nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced. "Right. I just need my book. We have a test on the Civil War."
"I'll get it," Stefan offered, moving past both women toward the stairs.
Left alone with Elena, Rebekah maintained her casual pose, though every instinct screamed to assert dominance over this girl who wore the face that had caused so much trouble through history.
"The Civil War," she remarked instead. "Stefan lived through that, you know. Has he told you his stories?"
"Some," Elena replied cautiously. "He doesn't like to talk about it much."
"No, he wouldn't," Rebekah agreed. "The past is... complicated for him."
Elena's expression softened slightly. "For all of you, I imagine. Living so long, seeing so much."
The comment caught Rebekah off guard. There was genuine empathy in Elena's voice - not the judgment or fear she was accustomed to from humans.
Before she could respond, Stefan returned with the textbook. "Found it," he said, handing it to Elena. His fingers lingered against hers for a moment, something that made Rebekah's chest ache.
"Thanks," Elena smiled up at him with such naked affection that Rebekah had to look away. "I'll see you tonight? Dinner at the Grill with Caroline and Tyler?"
"I'll be there," he promised.
Elena hesitated, then added, "Rebekah, you're welcome to join us. If you want."
The invitation, clearly unexpected by both Stefan and Rebekah, hung in the air between them.
"How... hospitable," Rebekah replied finally. "I'll consider it."
After Elena left, Rebekah turned to Stefan with raised eyebrows. "Your doppelgänger is either remarkably secure or plotting my demise over appetizers."
Stefan's lips quirked in the ghost of a smile. "Elena doesn't plot. She's genuine."
"Unlike Katherine," Rebekah observed. "Unlike all the others."
"Yes."
Rebekah moved to the window, watching Elena's car pull away. "She doesn't seem to mind me living here. In your home. With your history between us."
"Elena understands complicated relationships better than most," Stefan replied, joining her at the window but maintaining that careful distance. "She's lost too many people to take connections for granted."
Rebekah studied his profile, the familiar lines of his face that had haunted her dreams during her daggered sleep. "Is that what helped you?" she asked softly. "Her understanding?"
He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean." She gestured between them. "Chicago. Our experiment. Your attempt to integrate both sides of yourself."
Stefan was silent for a long moment, his gaze steady on hers. "I should go. Klaus is waiting."
"Always the loyal knight," she murmured. "But you didn't answer my question."
"Some questions don't have simple answers, Rebekah." He moved toward the door, pausing on the threshold. "Will you come tonight? To dinner?"
She considered him, this man who had once been entirely hers, now shared with a girl who wore the face of their ancient enemy. This man who had broken in her arms, whose soul she had seen shattered and remade.
This man who, somehow, had achieved what once seemed impossible.
"Yes," she decided. "I'll come."
After he left, Rebekah remained in the library, surrounded by the echoes of music long silenced. She thought of Elena's genuine invitation, of the subtle changes in Stefan, of the possibility that had begun to form in her mind.
She had always known how to share. Had never felt threatened by the women Stefan had taken to their bed in the 1920s. His body could be shared; his heart had been exclusively hers.
Until now.
Moving to the window, Rebekah caught her reflection in the glass - still beautiful, still immortal, still alone despite being surrounded by family.
"When did it happen?" she whispered to her reflection. "When did this man, whose heart I once held in my palm like a captured bird, gain such power over me? When did our positions reverse?"
She straightened her posture, a thousand years of pride refusing to let her crumble. If Elena Gilbert had somehow helped Stefan achieve what Rebekah could not - the integration he had sought so desperately - then perhaps she needed to reconsider her approach.
Stefan still loved her- still was in love with her, he can't hide that from her. Never.
But he loves Elena more...
Perhaps this... doppelganger was diferent than the others. One that truly heals rather than breaks.
Perhaps there was... room in Stefan's heart for both of them, in different ways. Perhaps she needed to stop fighting Elena and start understanding what she provided that Rebekah could not.
The thought was foreig.. Yet as she traced her finger along the spine of a book Stefan had owned since the 1920s, she found herself considering it seriously for the first time.
"Well played, Stefan," she murmured. "You always did know how to surprise me."