Work Text:
1922
Rebekah Mikaelson.
She whispers her name in his ear, kisses blood off his lips. She makes him feel something, which is new. He thinks it might be fear. He can tell she’s old, not afraid of being discovered, not afraid of him. But when he asks her, she smiles. “A lady never reveals her age, Stefan.” And she lets herself be whisked away onto the dance floor with someone who is “more polite, though not quite as handsome.”
She is afraid of someone, though. So Stefan has the good sense to be afraid of him too.
She calls him Nik, like it’s her own special little word for him, but he never tells Stefan his name. He isn’t tall, and if they weren’t what they were, Stefan would be sure he could take him, but Nik’s got an air about him – inherently threatening, commanding, a little self-important. He yanks Rebekah away from him, night after night for weeks, and Rebekah doesn’t resist. “He’s dangerous,” Rebekah tells him, when Nik’s getting drunk alone at the bar.
“Not to me,” Stefan assures her. Rebekah rolls her eyes, and Stefan thinks she’s probably right, but what he means is: he doesn’t care if Nik kills him; at some point, the fun has to end.
Even Nik is afraid of someone. Someone who could make the violent lunatic who makes Stefan look tame in comparison sound so small when he tells Rebekah: “He’s followed us here. I know he has.”
“No, he hasn’t,” Rebekah says. They’re being quiet, talking low enough that they probably think, even in a bar full of vampires and witches, they won’t be overheard. Rebekah sent him away to get her a drink. He drinks it now, watching them, catching the end of their conversation. She sets her jaw, purses her lips. “This is about him. About Stefan.”
There’s a long silence, filled with the chatter of the crowd around him, the clink of glasses, the thump of human heartbeats. About Stefan.
“I love him, Nik,” Rebekah insists. “Father can’t have found us here.”
Stefan laughs under his breath. At least it makes sense. Their father.
“He’s found us everywhere, of course he could find us here,” Nik hisses. He slams his fist on the table, making Rebekah flinch. “He found us where we were supposed to be safe, where we were safe for centuries.” His voice is strained and he looks up from Rebekah, making eye contact with Stefan from across the room, snarling at him. “Especially with that ripper running around, leaving bodies everywhere he goes.”
Rebekah stands up. “You’re not exactly being discreet either,” she says, storming off, swiping the drink from Stefan’s hand, and storming out. He thinks she’s trying to tell him to follow her, but the fun is in here, and Nik is brooding and drinking at a table alone, which – well, Rebekah is fun, if a little crazy, but Nik is...he’s something else. Whatever kind of threat their father is, Rebekah is right about one thing; he’s not exactly being discreet.
Stefan slides into the booth next to him, a bottle of gin between his fingers. “What was that all about?” he asks coolly.
Nik rolls his eyes. “Rebekah – the drama with that one,” he says. But there’s an edge to his voice Stefan doesn’t like, something cagey and uncertain. His usual jibes about Rebekah are pointed, playful. This is – different. Sullen and afraid. He looks up at Stefan squinting. “You know, of all her little boyfriends, you I get.” Stefan raises an eyebrow, surprised by this assessment. He was under the impression that Nik didn’t like him very much. He’s been territorial over Rebekah and about details of their life. Not like Stefan cares. But if there’s someone that even the two of them are afraid of, then Stefan thinks he better keep any eye out. Plus – Nik is fun and he makes Stefan look like a frigging saint in comparison. “You can keep up with us,” he elaborates, grabbing the bottle from Stefan. “It makes you a liability.”
“Because of your father.”
“She told you.” His voice is flat and resigned. “She must really like you.”
“She didn’t have to,” Stefan says. “You’re not exactly being discreet.” Nik spares him something that’s either a snarl or a smile and takes a long drink, but Stefan doesn’t think too much about it.
“I like you, ripper,” Nik says at last. “But you cannot take Rebekah from me.”
“Wasn’t trying to,” Stefan says, choking on his drink. “She’s the one throwing around words like ‘love’. I’m just having fun.”
“Well,” Nik says, pouring himself and Stefan another glass. “Shall we have some fun?”