I do not own TVD or TO.

This is going to be two chapters long. The next chapter will be up shortly.

If she were capable of emotions she would cry. She would cry for her parents and her brother. She could cry for the people she had loved and lost, for the ones she had loved and never had. She would cry for her own lost innocence, and all of the things she could never get back.

If she were capable of emotions she would scream. She would scream at the witch who started it all. She would scream at her companions, at herself. She would scream at him and the unfairness of the world.

If she were capable of emotions she would be afraid. She would be fear the encroaching past and the unending future. She would fear the stainless steel in his hand; fear for her life.

If she were capable of emotion… but emotion laid beyond her reach.

She was incapable of emotion because of him. She was incapable of emotion because she showed too much of it. She was incapable of emotion because – once more – he abused the sire bond to circumvent her grief.

She would be angry if she could; the fact of the matter was certain. She would feel so much rage that she would never speak to him again.

She thought she might not speak to him anyway. Eternity without the Salvatores sounded more than appealing, and it would be an eternity because without her emotions she has the one thing everyone always said she lacked.

She finally has a sense of self-preservation. The only thing that mattered now was keeping herself alive and her past at bay, sealed behind a brick wall.

Damon and Stefan were certain the girl they loved still resided inside her, hidden behind a wall in her mind, but she knew the truth; she knew that girl was gone. The girl they had loved was nothing more than a construct and she had been gone for a long time. If she ever existed at all she was dead now; resting in a watery grave.

He had said she couldn't blame them for having hope, and he had been right. In order to place blame on anyone she would have to feel anger, and thanks to Damon that was impossible.

Besides, she could see their hope slipping away with every cut. Each knife they embedded in her skin severed another of her puppet strings.

Their hope was growing tenuous, and it was only the finest of fibres that tied them together. She needed to leave before the last of the tethers snapped. She needed to leave before they succeeded in doing what they always did and took things too far.

She knew what would make them stop, but that option was not on the table. The tiny switch in the back of her mind would remain in its current position because if she let even one emotion in the bricks would crumble. Everything would rush back. The barrage would be overwhelming. She can't deal with the grief and the guilt anymore, she won't.

"Is that all you've got?" She drawled. Blood dripped from her mouth onto the handle of the blade protruding from between her ribs. The knife sliced through her heart, shredding the muscles, with each weak heartbeat.

"Turn it on and I'll stop," Damon yanked the blade free.

"Ya know," she sighed, licking her lips, "I should be surprised at you…" she spat a stream of blood from her mouth, "… but I'm not. Your first instinct has always been violence."

He lodged the blade in her thigh.

A scream ripped through her throat. The knife severed her femoral artery. She stared, fascinated, at the blood pouring from the wound; they have spent so long torturing her that her body doesn't possess enough blood for the injury to spurt as it should, so she stared as it poured out to slowly drip onto the floor. The bright red liquid soaked into the dirt where Elijah had once lain; she doubted he would have resorted to the Salvatore's tactics.

"We tried appealing to your better nature," Damon crouched in front of her. His voice reached her through a long tunnel, drawing her attention from the floor. "We tried reasoning with you."

"Oh, spare me," she scoffed, shaking her head. "That little stunt at the prom reeked of Stefan, but you…" She looked around at the dirty cell and grinned. The look was completely feral. "You've been wanting to tie me up for a while now… overpower me… establish dominance…"

He took another knife, driving it through her stomach. Her body mourned for the lost blood, but her eyes fixed him in a calculating glance.

"Was it Katherine?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Are you projecting your rage onto me?" She leaned forward as far as she could. "She used you and moved on, so just get over it already because this whole Katherine 2.0 thing is getting old."

He broke a piece of wood off her chair betraying the nerve she struck. That worked just fine for her as the wood he broke was from the arm.

She slipped her wrist out of the vervain soaked ropes.

Adrenaline roared through her veins gifting her with the speed needed to grasp his chin and force his head to the left. His neck twisted with a sickening crunch.

He fell onto her legs and she shoved him away.

Gritting her teeth she tore the knife from her stomach and used it to cut away the rest of her bonds. She yanked the second knife from her thigh and dropped to her knees.

She strained to flip Damon onto his back and straddled his thighs. Her hands patted him down, searching every pocket. Her energy faded as the blood-loss and starvation caught up.

Her search proved fruitless and she couldn't help but release an annoyed huff.

She took a deep breath and lowered her eyes, spotting his daylight ring. It wouldn't work for her, but she took it anyway and stood up, tucking the ring into her pocket.

She stumbled from the room, making sure to lock the cell behind her and moved deeper into the basement. The cellar was easy enough to find, but that was as far as her luck extended because the blood cooler was empty.

She sighed, flexed her exhausted muscles and flashed through the house, doing her level best to avoid the setting sun where it streamed through the windows.

She would have smirked at how easy locating her ring was if she weren't so hungry. Damon thought he was so clever – hiding it amongst her necklaces – but he was being predictable by using his 'moonstone in the soap dish' mentality.

She slipped her ring on her finger and dropped Damon's in the sink; it swirled around making a tinkling sound before sliding into the drain.

A smirk lifted the corner of her mouth. She hurried back into the bedroom and changed into a pair of sweats at the top of her suitcase before racing out into the coming night in search of sustenance before Stefan could return.

She found the road easily enough, or rather it found her. She had barely stepped out when she was clipped by a large blue truck. She registered the concrete as her body hit it with a jarring thump.

She pushed herself up onto her hands as the vehicle came to a stop and the driver jumped out. The rich smell of his blood reached her; she heard it rush through his veins.

Her fangs elongated as her mouth watered. She caught a glimpse of blue on his hand a split second before his features came into focus.

"Elena?" His eyes widened.

She jumped to her feet, slipped the ring that didn't belong to him from his finger and buried her teeth in his throat, all before he could blink.

The blood exploded over her tongue, flooding her mouth; tainted with vervain as it was his blood was still the best thing she had ever tasted and it took all of her will power not moan; though she wasn't sure if she managed it. She had every intention of draining the euphoric substance from her ex-boyfriend's body, but before she could large hands twisted her neck.

She dropped in a heap onto the pavement.

"Okay, Mattie," Damon rolled his eyes, "next time we tell you we've been starving Elena what do you not do?"

"I didn't know it was her," Matt muttered, pressing his hand to his bleeding neck. He dropped his eyes to the wet patches on Elena's clothes; he recognized the look of blood when he saw it. "What have you been doing?"

The wind whistled through the trees, masking the sound of crunching foliage.

"Hunger wasn't working," Damon shrugged, "so we moved on to fear."

"You've been torturing her," Matt's eyes widened, his voice emerged in a horrified breath.

"She knows what she has to do to make it stop," he snapped, bending to pick her up. "Now if you'll excuse me this sleeping beauty has a date with the sun."

"I think not."

The elegant voice, smooth as silk, made Damon stiffen. He turned with Elena in his arms to glare at the previously empty space.

Dark eyes cut to the woman in Damon's arms. The strong jaw ticked before his lips lifted in a dangerous smirk.

"There are two ways this can proceed," he stepped closer, unbuttoning his jacket, "the easy way in which you give her to me and we go our separate directions, or we can do this the hard way."

Matt swallowed, glancing at Damon's stiff shoulders. He knew 'hard' translated to 'violent', and that Damon was foolish enough to choose it.

"She's not going anywhere with you," Damon dropped Elena in the back of Matt's truck and turned to back around.

He moved too quickly to be seen and plunged his hand through Damon's chest. Matt moved back as he squeezed Damon's heart.

"I believe you have that backwards," malice glittered in his eyes, "Elena is not going anywhere with you."

He glanced at the brunette, dropped with little regard to her well-being; she looked as though she could be sleeping, but he knew better.

He made a few quick, decisive, movements and Damon dropped with his heart still in his chest.

"You didn't kill him?" Matt cleared his throat, glancing down at Damon.

"No; she once called him friend and for that he may keep his life." He stepped around Matt and slipped the large ring from her thumb. He held it out, frowning when Matt shook his head.

"It might help her."

"How so?"

Matt eyed the ring before looking to Elena, serene in her temporary death. His voice was quiet when he spoke again, calm.

"It was Jeremy's."

"Very well," he pocketed the ring. He slipped his right arm beneath her knees and his left behind her shoulders lifting Elena from the back of the truck. His eyes found Matt. "Are you going to get in my way?"

"I called you, remember?" Matt crossed his arms. He rolled his eyes at the pointed look. "One of you anyway."

"Because we're all the same to you?" He smirked.

"No, but this is better," Matt shrugged.

"Why?"

"Because for whatever reason you've always tried to help her," he held out his hand before an explanation could be given. "I don't care why; all I know is that you won't manipulate her with some stupid plan to make her kill one her friends. You've always helped her, so please help her now."

"That is not a request you need to make, Mr. Donovan." He turned his gaze to the woman in his arms. His muscle tightened, ready for whatever might come. The promise he makes is for her ears, whether she can hear him or not. "I will do all I can to ensure her safety," he met Matt's eyes for a moment before looking back to Elena. "You have my word."

How long had they been torturing her, starving her?

She was young, an infant by vampire standards, and as a result her healing was not as fast as her friends, but even a baby vampire recovered from a broken neck within a few hours; she had been 'dead' on his front seat for nearly eleven.

Her body lacked the needed blood, and what little she had bore the remnants of vervain.

The last time he had seen her was two weeks before when she had emerged from the mansion in her stolen prom dress wearing an indifferent expression. He suspected the only reason she had gone to the insipid dance was Rebekah because he had insisted that his sister prove she could behave as a human and Rebekah had wanted a witness to her actions. Like his sister, he had assumed Elena had left Mystic Falls in a cloud of dust; perhaps that was why Rebekah had chosen to call him.

Two weeks, he flexed his fingers, glaring at the road. His pulse pounded in his ears. He should have never left her in Willoughby, and that he should have gone after her sooner. He should have known that something was wrong.

Her heart stuttered to life.

He released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding since Georgia. He took one hand off the steering wheel, reached into the back seat and retrieved a blood bag from the cooler; he placed it on her lap and took the wheel again.

He watched her from the corner of his eyes, listening as her bones snapped back in place. The excruciating process lasted for ten minutes before she finally sat up with a gasp.

Her neck was broken – healing, but broken – leaving her paralyzed from the neck down. She figured she would be lying still or chained up to something, but her body vibrated; the movement thrummed through her healing body.

She jerked, blinked, swallowed. Her throat burned. Her body longed for sustenance to heal. After her lengthy imprisonment her senses were dull, so it takes her a few minutes to make sense of her immediate surroundings and her new companion.

"Elijah?" She blinked, as if that would disperse the mirage in the driver's seat. She was dreaming; she had to be dreaming, but if she wasn't then she was hallucinating. It wouldn't be the first time since her torture began.

"Elena," he glanced at her. His intention was for a quick nod, but once he met her fevered eyes he found himself unable to look away. Her gaze had once held nothing but compassion – a compassion that had led her to save the lives of those she despised.

She saw something flash in his eyes, and the look was so intense that she had to look away before she did something stupid like jump out of the speeding car or flip that little switch that seems closer to the surface than it has in months.

"You should eat."

His voice sounded thick to her ears.

Her eyes fell to the bag in her lap, narrowing at the thick red fluid. She had been handed blood many times over the last few weeks.

Elijah saw her glaring at the bag as if she expected it to turn into a snake and bite her.

"It's not poisoned."

"Why should I believe that?" Her head swam with hunger. She couldn't stop herself from poking at the bag; it was a childish impulse that she couldn't be bothered to curb. The blood bag jiggled like a bowl of jelly; she wondered if blood Jell-O was possible.

Elijah's calm voice drew her back to the present.

"Why would I poison you? For what reason would I continue this perverse torture you've endured?"

Her response came without hesitation because he had always stood for one thing and one thing alone: family above all.

"I killed Kol."

"Your brother killed mine," he stared out the windshield, afraid to look at her and risk running off the road. "I cannot hold you fully responsible for any decisions you made under the influence of a sire bond." He smirked, turning a few inches to finally look at her. "If I wanted to kill you I would have done it in Willoughby."

If she were capable of emotions – and if she had blood in her system – she would have blushed. She would have blushed at the memory of their last meeting. She would have blushed because she could still feel his fingers in her hair and his tongue in her mouth. She would have blushed for the fantasy she had dreamt of when he didn't realize who she was because that kiss had been full of promise. She wondered if there was any possibility of her imagined scenario, but quickly shook away the thought; he was too noble, too honorable, to settle for a woman he doesn't truly want.

Every lover she had ever had knew Katherine first; that used to give her such a complex, but now it didn't matter.

She glared at the bag for another quarter mile before she allowed her shaking fingers to unwrap the plastic tubes. The liquid rose slowly to hit her tongue. Her muscles tensed, fighting the urge to sink her teeth into the bag and make a true mess of Elijah's car because despite being starved for weeks on end she was not a wild animal.

The blood was gone too soon.

He glanced over, chuckling at the glare that had turned into an adorable pout. He barely got out the words before she twisted around and reached into the back seat for the cooler.

Twenty minutes of silence and six bags later he took a ramp to change highways.

"Are you feeling any better?"

She sipped the last of the blood and licked her lips. "I prefer 98.6," she sucked in a deep breath. Since she had flipped the switch she had buried the manners her mother had instilled in her at a young age, but in that moment she didn't bother to try. "Thank you."

Elena knew he was wondering if her response came from true gratitude or if the words were habit; she wondered too. Something warm bloomed in her chest.

"Why did you kidnap me?"

"I prefer the term 'liberate' over 'kidnap'," he smirked, passing a slow driver, "however if you are set on the negative outlook then the proper term is 'abduct' as you are over eighteen."

"Elijah," she sighed.

"I couldn't leave you behind once I knew what they were doing," he admitted.

She bypassed the question of how he found out. "Liberate, huh, does that mean I'm free to go?" She turned to face him, arching an eyebrow.

"You may leave at any time – although I would recommend waiting until the car comes to a complete stop…" Elena rolled her eyes. "Or you could stay."

She knew that if she left it was only a matter of time until the Salvatores came looking, and a life on the run was no life at all. She had no desire to spend her eternity looking over her shoulder.

"They know you've taken me?" She didn't need to clarify who.

"Yes," he nodded, "I took you directly from Damon. You know as well as I do that they'll be on your trail soon enough."

"With Bonnie's help it'll be sooner rather than later," she turned her eyes to the road. There was more than enough stuff left behind for a locator spell.

Miles of highway stretched ahead of her. She watched it pass by and made her decision in a split second.

"Where are we going?"

She heard the surprised skip of his heart, but his voice came out level and strong.

"New Orleans," he nodded to the Louisiana line. "There is a witch in the city conspiring against Niklaus."

"Ah-ha," she clicks her tongue, "so it's big brother to the rescue."

"Yes," he gave her a wry smirk, "that is my role."

She leaned against the stone wall and stared out over the busy streets, counting no fewer than fifteen vampires amongst the humans.

"I thought New York was the city that never slept," she remarked, twisting her wrist around to make note of the hour. The watch was old, but everything else was new; curtesy of Elijah.

"New Orleans is home to a different form of nightlife," he chuckled.

She watched his eyes flit over the street in search of his brother or the witch had had been told about. Klaus would be easier since neither of them knew what the Devereux woman looked like. She could easily have been the woman three feet in front of them, or the leader of the tour group; the caramel skinned goddess had certainly caught Elijah's attention.

She felt a prickle at the back of her scalp.

"Old friend?" She nodded to the woman's lemon yellow top.

He blinked as if coming from a daze and turned his full attention to Elena while shaking his head.

"I've never seen her before in my life," he frowned, glancing back, "but there is something familiar about her…"

An annoyed voice rises from the alley behind Rousseau's. She nodded in that direction when she heard the name being bandied about; counting to three she followed Elijah into the alley.

By the time her feet tough down there was a vampire staked halfway up the wall, another missing his head and a heart in the middle of the cracked pavement. In the midst of the horror stood Elijah, adjusting his cuffs as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just ended the lives of three vampires threatening his witch contact.

There was something undeniably attractive in his cocky smirk he flashed at Sophie Devereux, and somehow she knew that this was the Elijah that taunted faceless assailants and who fears nothing; she supposed that made sense since Klaus had the only weapon in the world that could have killed him.

"I'm Elijah," the shadows played over his features, "you've heard of me?" He advanced when Sophie nodded frantically. He nodded over her shoulder in turn. "This is Elena; now why don't you tell us what business your family has with my brother?"

What do you think? I've always wondered what Elijah would have done had he known what the Salvatores were doing to Elena.