"Eat." Marcel ordered sternly as he set a porcelain plate down in front of the brunette witch sitting on the opposite side of the counter and she pursed her lips in slight annoyance as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. The delicious smell of crispy bacon wafted from the plate set in front of her, coupled with handmade pancakes and fresh cut fruit, it looked as though it could've been photographed for a magazine. Normally, she would've been thrilled to be on the receiving end of one of Marcel's meals, having tasted one of his home-cooking more than once but she knew that he had only put in the effort because he felt sorry for her.

"I'm not hungry, Marcel." Imogen said in a small voice, the grief evident in her voice as she tried to push the plate back across the counter. There was a part in the back of her mind that knew his concern was probably justified, she hadn't exactly handled Davina's death with the class she normally exhibited.

Learning about Sophie's death had sent a sharp pain through her chest, like getting struck by an arrow out of nowhere but she buried her emotions down deep underneath the hardened exterior and compartmentalised it to the back of her mind to deal with at a later date. The French Quarter was in the middle of a civil war and she was one of the key players in the fight to rid Celeste back to the depths of hell. If she was going to be at the top of her game, she needed to think about everything logically and prioritise what was most important aspect of her life. Everything Imogen had ever done was for one reason and that wasn't about to change as long as there was a chance to bring Davina back to life.

"I said, 'eat'."

"And I said, 'I'm not hungry'."

"Imogen, come on. It will make me feel better." He told her innocently as he leaned his crossed arms on the counter across from her, tilting his head to the side with a small genuine smile. She scowled at him in exasperation, knowing that he was trying to guilt her into doing something that actually benefited her instead of him.

"Fine." She spat out through gritted teeth as she pulled the plate back towards her, narrowing her eyes at the smug grin that spread across his lips. She shook her head to herself as she took the fork he'd placed beside her plate, attempting to ignore his searing gaze and stabbed one of the strawberries with more force than necessary before popping it into her mouth, "You happy?"

"Thrilled." Marcel acknowledged in amusement as he pushed himself off of the counter and she grumbled under her breath with a roll of her eyes as she continued eating the food in front of her.

"Shouldn't you be out looking for Klaus and Rebekah?" Imogen asked nonchalantly as she picked up one of the freshly baked bagels from the bakery down the street and took a bite as she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I got people on it. But right now, I'm biggest problem is sitting right across from me." he remarked teasingly with a charming grin as he lifted his mug of freshly brewed coffee to his lips. She smiled sarcastically in response while continuing to chew and inclined her head as she held her bagel up slightly in acknowledgement. "Besides, when your best friend attempts to kill herself - "

"I didn't try to kill myself!"

"- you put everything else aside and make sure that she doesn't try again." He finished pointedly with a slightly raised voice, ignoring her offended interruption and she rolled her eyes at him as she took another almost savage bite of her bagel.

"I didn't try to kill myself. I made a calculated strategic manoeuvre." She reminded him with a quirked eyebrow, a playful lilt in her voice as she tilted her head to the side and he placed his coffee down on the counter as he matched her amused smirk. "It only works if Celeste continues to think I'm dead, so I'll be staying indoors for the foreseeable future. And I have to wait out the vampire blood in my system before I do anything stupid and life threatening."

"Or you could just not do anything stupid or life threatening."

"I like to keep my options open."

Marcel laughed at her nonchalant comment as he shook his head slightly with a wide grin and she shrugged her shoulders innocently as she turned her attention back to her breakfast. It always surprised him how resilient the young witch seemed to be when it came to danger and while he was impressed by her determination to win, it also concerned him that she was so indifferent in regards to her own safety. Some days he needed to remind himself that she wasn't the façade that she showed the world, the smiling carefree young woman who never complains but in reality she was wounded beyond belief by the actions of the people that surrounded her and she didn't want to look dramatic or weak so she kept everything hidden inside.

"Okay, pretty girl, I'm going to go get an update on Klaus and Rebekah. Stay here, finish your breakfast. Don't even think about straining yourself today." The former king ordered lightly as he strolled around the counter to stand next to the stool she was perched on and Imogen lolled her head around to glare at him half-heartedly. Marcel pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, inhaling the scent of vanilla to rid himself of the mental image of her unconscious body crumpled in a pool of her own blood.

"If you're in a 'do-whatever-for-Imogen', 'make-Imogen-happy' kind of mood, I wouldn't mind one of those chocolate croissants from Le Petite Café!" the brunette witch called out to his retreating back as he exited the kitchen and he waved a hand over his shoulder in acknowledgement, a grin spreading across his lips at the sound of her laughter following him.

There was something about Imogen's laugh that was contagious, something addictive in the undercurrent of sincerity in each bout of laughter. An undeniable innocence in a dangerous and treacherous world, her laughter was infectious to anyone who listened to the charming sound. It gave a cold-hearted man like Marcel hope that someone as damaged as him could be worth being in the presence of someone like the brunette witch.

Some of the daywalkers standing to the side of the courtyard caught Marcel's eye when he entered, gesturing for him to join them and he immediately started in their direction, hoping that they had information about the location of Klaus or Rebekah.

"WHERE IS SHE?!" a masculine voice thundered from behind him, the words vibrating off of all the walls in the cavernous room and causing every individual in the Abattoir to freeze in place. There was a chill in the atmosphere, an almost crippling apprehension over what was to come. Many of the vampires took advantage of their enhanced speed and fled the courtyard before the conflict could commence.

Marcel felt his blood run cold at the sound of the familiar voice, the tone causing him to flashback to when he was a young child but he gathered his courage and slowly turned around to face the eldest Original. "Elijah. What's happening?"

Elijah Mikaelson had never looked so savage. His brown hazel eyes were skirting around the room wildly, searching for something or someone in a frenzied manner. They seemed to never stop on one thing for more than a moment, something in his eyes haunted. His normally flawless brown hair was in a state of disarray, like he had run his hand through it more than once. There was an achingly troubled expression on his handsome face before his frantic gaze landed on the dark skinned vampire standing in the middle of the courtyard. An enraged snarl twisted his lips as his eyes narrowed dangerously and he used his vampire speed to cross the room, curling his hand around Marcel's throat as he slammed the younger vampire against the closest wall. "WHERE IS SHE?!"

"Where's who?" Marcel asked in confusion, his voice strained because of the pressure against his trachea but the question seemed to anger the Original more and he slammed the younger vampire's head back against the wall. The former king groaned in pain when his skull cracked and he squeezed his eyes closed for a moment before opening them to offer the Original an incredulous frown.

"Where is Imogen Claire?!" Elijah asked in a threatening whisper, his voice cracking with anguish and his brown eyes flashing with despair as his fingers around Marcel's neck flexed uneasily. Monique Devereaux's emotionless voice played in his mind like a record player stuck on repeat: 'Return Imogen Claire's body to us so that we can bury her and she can rest eternally with the ancestors.' The declaration leaving a gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to belong, a sensation he hadn't experienced since he had learned of his young brother Kol's death.

"Imogen? She's in the kit - "Marcel started to inform the Original with a perplexed frown but Elijah released his grip on his throat, dropping him on the ground in a heap before he could finish explaining the witch's location. He massaged his neck gingerly as he coughed slightly, watching as Elijah vamp-sped out of the room in the direction of the kitchen and he shook his head a little with a frown as he climbed to his feet.

Imogen sipped the last of her coffee as she hummed absently to herself, enjoying the feeling of peace that had washed over her when she realised that for the first time in a while she was actually safe. None of the witches were hunting her like they had been for nearly the last year and none of the vampires in the Quarter would dare harm her in fear of acquiring the wrath of Marcel or the Originals. In all of the chaos surrounding her, in the mayhem of the civil war, it was exceptional that she had found a small fraction of safety.

The sound of the kitchen door flying open, hitting the wall with the force behind the swing and the witch turned her whole body around in surprise as she instantly went on the defence. Some of the tension in her muscles alleviated when her gaze landed on Elijah, her features softening with affection at the mere sight of him.

A concerned frown spread across her lips as her blue eyes swept over his appearance, taking noticing of his distressed expression on his handsome face and the less than pristine condition of his designer suit jacket. The thing that bothered her the most was the frantic glint in his eyes, the tightened clench of his jaw as he looked around the room until his gaze came to rest on where she was sitting.

"Elijah, what's - "Imogen began to ask but the words were stolen from her mouth as he crossed the room in two large strides and captured her lips with his own, placing one hand on the back of her neck and the other on her cheek as he guided her head upwards. She gasped slightly, surprised by the sudden action but clung to the lapels of his jacket as she met the kiss with an equal amount of force. A fire was ignited in the pit of her stomach, a smouldering flame that wasn't like anything she had ever experienced. His lips were commanding, taking what they wanted from her without asking and she folded under his demands easily, sensing that he needed to control something in that moment.

The Originals tangled his nimble fingers into the brunette hair at the nape of her neck, using the leverage to guide her body closer against his chest and she made a muffled noise of surprise against his lips at the sudden movement. An animalistic hunger clawed at the inside of his throat, a thirst for her blood, her body, her mind, her soul and he took as much of her as he could in the one action. He kissed her like he was drowning in the ocean and she was the air, the very thing that would keep him alive. The kiss was a desperate and frantic desire to express themselves in the moment, a rushed manifestation of their suppressed lust after months of circling around each other.

Imogen reluctantly pulled back from the embrace when breathing became necessary, the burning in her lungs a reminder that she was mortal and the ferocious beating of her heart a reminder that she was human. Her eyelids fluttered open as he untangled his hand from her hair, sliding the tips of his fingers down her neck lightly and she tilted her head to meet his brown eyes as she focused on regulating her breathing. She was positive that her lips were swollen from the intensity of the kiss, her eyes glazed over from the delirious feeling she'd just experienced and brunette locks a tangled mess from his hands.

"Imogen..." Elijah whispered her name like a prayer, an almost silent plea to the universe and he focused on the feel of her velvet skin underneath his fingers, the rapid pattering of her heart within the confines of her chest. The repetitive pulsating of the blood flowing through her veins, a constant reminder that she was alive and safe sitting in front of him.

The sound of her name coming from his lips sparked a deep yearning inside of her, an ache that radiated throughout her entire body and she pushed herself upwards until her lips crashed against his own with a hunger she didn't know she possessed. Elijah matched the intensity of the kiss as he spread one of his hand across the small of her back, keeping her balanced as she raised slightly from the stool and she wrapped her arms around his neck as she pulled herself close enough to brush against his chest.

The witch withdrew from him slightly, panting to catch her breath as her nose grazed against his tauntingly and her eyes fluttered open as he rested his forehead against her own. His gaze swept over her features with a soft smile touching his lips as he cupped one of her cheeks and her lips quirked up in a small genuine smile as she tilted her head into his touch. He slowly leaned down to connect their mouths leisurely, taking the time to appreciate the assorted taste of strawberry lip-gloss, rich coffee and something indescribable, something that he never sampled in his millennia of living. But he knew that it needed to be savoured.

Imogen refused to acknowledge the whimper that escaped the back of her throat when Elijah withdrew from the kiss and a pang of lust went through the Original at the sound as he brushed his lips softly over her own.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?" the witch asked breathlessly as she ran her hands down to his lapels and smoothed her hands over the material absently. Some clarity had returned to her eyes as she looked up at him with a small smile, contentment and confusion warring in her expression.

"Why must there be a reason for a man to want to kiss a beautiful woman?" he asked her softly with a faint upturn of his lips as he gently traced his fingers down her cheek, watching in intrigue as a blush spread under his touch. She hummed in a mixture of amusement and pleasure as she leaned into his hand, a grin brightening her expression as his own widened at the sight.

"You never need a reason to kiss me, Elijah, but you came storming in here like I was returning home from World War II. There must have been a reason you were so...let's say, determined."

Elijah hesitated for a moment as he studied her inquisitive expression and he took a small step backwards to distance himself, his fingers falling from her face as he made the decision not to inform her of the catalyst. He didn't want their moment to be tainted in her mind, he didn't want their first kiss to be tarnished by thinking he only went forth with the kiss because he was distressed.

But he also didn't want to blemish their nonexistence relationship with lies of omission and he sighed slightly as he reached out to tuck a strand of brunette hair behind her ear with a small smile. "I paid the witches a visit this morning."

"Oh, if this was about Sophie, I know already know. Marcel informed me earlier this morning." Imogen told him sadly with a grief-stricken smile as she laid her hand over his heart and his forehead in befuddlement, confused by her seemingly nonchalant attitude towards her best friend's death. "I'm compartmentalising. And I have a plan to defeat Celeste. I should probably tell you before you find out through someone else, but I kind of orchestrated my own death."

Elijah's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she grimaced guiltily, her hand falling from his chest as she leaned back on her stool and she clasped her hands over her knee as she tried to appear innocent under his intense gaze. "I had a feeling Celeste wouldn't be pleased that I had survived the fire, so I cast a revival spell on myself as a precaution when I left here last night. Turns out my assumption was right because Celeste tracked me down on my way home and tried to kill me. Marcel found me and gave me his blood before bringing me back here. Anyway, now all the witches probably think I'm dead.

"Yes, I, uh, I was informed of your supposed death." He admitted softly, his melodic voice breaking slightly as the memory of pain echoed in his chest and he instinctively reached out to touch the delicate skin of her thigh with his thumb, a reminder of her presence in front of him.

"Is that why you were so troubled when you first came in here?" she asked him quietly as she focused on the feeling of his thumb tracing circles just above her knee. There wasn't any accusation or reproach in her voice, only mere concern over his state of mind as she offered him a small smile. It surprised him that someone could be so understanding, he'd never met anyone who could empathise with such ease and yet a twenty two year old woman could do what centuries old vampires could not.

In that moment he wanted nothing more than to declare his feelings for the young witch, to tell her exactly how the very sight of her caused his breath to catch in his throat, how she could make him smile even when she wasn't in the room. The desire to be completely honest with himself, with her, with anyone who would listen was almost too strong to resist. But another part of him was terrified of being dismissed. He didn't want to risk the chance that she didn't feel the same way and he didn't want to put the friendship that they'd developed in jeopardy because she'd become such an important aspect of his life in the last few months.

"Come along." Elijah urged gently instead of answering as he held his hand out towards her and she gave him a significant look as she slipped her hand into his without a word, allowing him to easily help her off of the stool. An undercurrent of electricity emanated from their conjoined hands as he led her out of the kitchen and she suppressed a smile behind his back as she hurried her pace to keep up with his long strides.

Marcel was standing to the side of the courtyard, speaking to two uniformed police officers in a hushed tone of voice and he turned his attention towards the entryway when Elijah and Imogen entered hand-in-hand. He excused himself from the officers politely, sending them back out to search the city and he crossed his arms over his chest as he waited impassively for the duo to reach him.

"Anything?" the Originals asked shortly as he walked towards the former king with purposeful strides, not pausing for a moment as he headed in the direction of the room he had claimed as his own office when they'd overtaken the Abattoir.

"They're putting eyes and ears out everywhere. Daywalkers are working every contact we've got. Cops, dock workers, guys in the Treme. Word is out: anyone trying to earn favour with me gets a lifetime of it if they find them." Marcel answered sagely as he narrowed his eyes at the pairs joined hands, a protective need to rip them apart swelling in his chest.

"Good. I need a pen and paper."