They say the passage of time will heal all wounds. But, the greater the loss, the deeper the cut, and the more difficult the process to become whole again.

Over the course of her young life, Imogen Claire had awoken in many different situations; Davina rushing into her bedroom early in the morning, bouncing on the bed while laughing until the older brunette pushed her over the edge; she had woken up with a mouthful of Davina's brunette hair, surprised to find that her sister had snuck into her bed in the middle of the night; during college she had woken up in unfamiliar apartments with unfamiliar people with only vague ideas of how she had come to be there the night before; once when she was travelling South America with Sophie, she woke up on the beach in only a novelty t-shirt that read 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish' on the front.

Imogen felt something heavy draped around her waist as she awoke from her slumber, the weight pinning her firmly to the mattress and it was when she shifted restlessly that she noticed the warmth behind her was coming from another person. She slowly blinked her eyes open as a small frown pulled at the corners of her lips, confused about who could possibly be in bed with her when she actively hadn't been going out to hook up with strangers since the night Elijah confronted her about her excessive drinking when Davina died. She turned her head slightly to look over her shoulder, careful not to move and wake up the person behind her before she could determine whether or not she wanted to confront them.

A small smile spread across her lips when she was meet with the pleasant sight of Elijah Mikaelson sleeping peacefully, a content expression on his features and her stiff muscles relaxed as she turned back around to get comfortable enough to fall back asleep.

The witch's gaze instinctively dropped down to the hand that was resting on her stomach and she slowly lowered her hand over the top of his, intertwining their fingers as she bit down gently on her lower lip to stop from grinning uncontrollably.

Over the course of the month since Rebekah's departure there had been numerous nights that Elijah had showed up at her doorstep uninvited with a bag of takeout food or an offer to cook her a homemade meal using the culinary skills had mastered over the centuries. After eating dinner together they would often find themselves sprawled on Imogen's couch together, watching classic movies or old television shows while sipping on wine. Most night Imogen would fell asleep curled up against Elijah's side, a blanket draped over her body or with her head resting on his lap as he gently stroked her hair and he would carry her bridal style into her bedroom before leaving for the night. Elijah staying over the night was only a new occurrence for them, one that had begun one evening when he was setting her on the bed and she grasped his hand tightly in her own as her eyelids fluttered open to look at him drowsily, her voice hoarse as she asked him to 'stay' in a quiet voice.

It was strange to wake up in bed with a man still wearing clothing, knowing that nothing sexual had conspired the night before but just like everything that happened with Elijah, there was an underlining rush of excitement that came with the unknown. It had mutual decision to take their 'relationship' slowly, to hold back on the sexual aspect and get to know each other on a deeper level before they took that step.

They were both emotionally damaged from their families and past relationships, they had been left with wounds that might not ever entirely heal and emotional scars that they would forever have to bear but they were attempting to move on with their lives.

Imogen let out a small hum of contentment as she snuggled deeper into her pillow, tightened her grip on the hand she was holding and she lifted her gaze instinctively to the framed photograph sitting on the bedside table. Her throat suddenly felt dry at the sight in front of her as she struggled not to cry and a forlorn expression fell across her features as she studied the photo intently with a frown, unable to help the longing sigh that escaped her lips.

Davina's stunning smile stared back from behind the glass of the frame, her blue eyes twinkling with mirth as she leaned her head against Imogen's temple and the sister's wrapped their arms around each other as they looked straight into the camera. The photo had been taken by Sophie Deveraux moments before the older witches had left on their vacation, only minutes after Imogen had practically smothered her sister in a tight embrace that nearly cut off her breathing and threatened to never let go until Sophie had to physically break them apart.

The pain of not seeing her sister for a month was a constant ache in her chest, a reminder that something conspicuous was missing from her life, but the knowledge that Davina was alive soothed the agony.

"Go back to sleep, darling." Elijah whispered quietly from behind her, his melodic voice rough with sleep as he tightened his hold on her waist and she let her eyes fall close for a moment as she relaxed into his embrace with a small smile.

The pain may fade, but scars serve as a reminder of our suffering, and make the bearer all the more resolved.

The flames from the bonfire bathed Imogen in a natural glow while she sat on a wooden log that had been repurposed as a bench for the bonfire and she rubbed her hands together in front of herself, trying to use the friction of skin on skin to warm them. The chill in the night air caused her to shiver slightly as she tugged her leather jacket tighter around her body and her brunette hair swayed untameably in the wind that bristled the leaves in the trees above.

Even through the coldness of the evening, an elated grin played on her lips as she observed the men, women and children gathered around the opposing bonfire on the other side of the camp.

Satisfaction coursed through her veins as she reluctantly turned her attention to the burning embers that smouldered in front of her, allowing them the privacy to celebrate their achievement in peace. The only reason that her presence had been tolerated that evening was because Hayley vouched for Imogen's discretion and the need for her abilities greatly outweighed their distrust of a French Quarter witch.

It had been a surprise for Imogen to return home to her apartment building that afternoon to find Hayley waiting for her in the lobby, but she was more than pleased to invite the pregnant werewolf in when she'd asked for a moment of time. After exchanging pleasantries while Imogen made them both cups of tea, the conversation had almost seamlessly transitioned to the fact that that night was the full moon and while most werewolves would be cursed to spend the night in canine form, the Crescent Moon pack would be human the first time that month. It was also the first full moon to occur since Hayley was able to obtain a counter elixir for the spell and in her words, she wasn't going to trust 'a mutli-faced, vindictive sociopath on a stupid quest based on jealousy'.

The moon was full in the sky above as Imogen shifted her weight uncomfortably on the wooden makeshift bench and she bit down on her lower lip nervously as she turned her attention to the wolves surrounding the cauldron over the campfire on the other side of the campsite. It had only taken a few minutes for the witch to cast a few spells that determined that the elixir wasn't poisonous and that the wolves wouldn't keel over the second the liquid touched their lips. Imogen and Hayley had both agreed that the probability of Celeste deceiving them was nearing a hundred percent so they were pleasantly surprised that the elixir was functions.

Jackson, the alpha of the pack, was standing beside the cauldron with Hayley and ladling a small portion of the potion into cups for every member of the pack to receive when they got to the front of the line. There were only a few members of the pack awaiting their turn to drink the mixture, whilst the others who had already taken the cure were enjoying the opportunity to socialize in human form for the first that month.

The sound of boisterous laughter echoed through the otherwise silent night, bringing a small smile to Imogen's lips as she watched the proceedings from the outskirts of the party. A sense of accomplishment swelled in her stomach as she watched the full moon faded behind a cloud in the sky and all of the wolves remained in their human form.

A loud cheer erupted from the campsite; the uproarious sound of people finally coming home from a long absence and joyous chattered broke out throughout the crowd as they went back to celebrating their liberation. Music started playing from the speakers of an old radio, the beat carrying in the wind so that everyone was swept into the festive atmosphere. A makeshift dancefloor was created in a moment as people separated from the crowd and began dancing as though they didn't have a care in the world. There was a freedom in their movements, a candour that only came from experiencing true happiness and contentment with people you cared about.

Imogen grinned to herself softly as she surveyed the scene in front of her with a sense of triumph building in her chest; she had helped to unshackle the wolves from the torture they were forced to endure and it was immensely satisfying to be able to use her magic in the pursuit of the greater good.

Act out in frustration. React with aggression. Give in to anger. And, all the while, we plot and plan as we wait to grow stronger...

There wasn't much Imogen wouldn't try at least once. When she was fifteen she wrote a list of things she wanted to attempt; some things on the list were easily accomplished like get a tattoo, go horseback riding, have a spa day, go skydiving, or learn to drive a motorcycle. While other items were a little harder to achieve but Imogen's adventurous spirit wouldn't rest until they were completed; things like travel to all over the world, learn to fly a plane, go rock-climbing, swim with the dolphins, or scuba dive off the coast of Mexico. Many of the items were crossed off the list during her sabbatical in South America, but she continued to live with a philosophy inspired by Mae West: 'I'll try anything once, twice if I like it.'

So when Marcel approached her out of the blue one day with the proposition that he teach her some advanced self-defence moves, she immediately agreed to the plan for more than one reason. After all that she had been through in her life, she refused to be cast in the role of victim and she wanted to embrace any advantage offered that would help increase her ability to protect herself.

Imogen hissed in pain when a particularly powerful hit was landed on the side of her abdomen, propelling her towards her hard ground with the force of the punch and she braced herself for the collision as she squeezed her eyes shut but it never came. A warm arm curled around her waist, keeping her body inches off of the floor as she blinked open her eyes in surprise and she gasped out loud when she noticed the short distance between the ground. Her fingers clutched the fabric of her saviour's workout shirt as she tried to regulate her breathing and an amused masculine chuckle reached her ears as she was slowly lifted back into a vertical position.

"That's going to leave a bruise." The witch muttered to her sparring partner with a small twitch of her lips so that he knew she wasn't truly upset and she took a moment to regain her balance before releasing her hold on his shirt.

Marcel grinned unabashed as he removed his arm from around her waist now that she was steady on her feet and she reached up to tightened her ponytail as he strolled over to grab her a bottle of water. Her gaze wandered around the spacious area of the loft the vampire had recently moved into on the other side of the river; his refuge from the French Quarter he had been banished from a month before. A large wall of windows overlooking the river allowed sunlight to reflect off of the glass, and Imogen accepted the half-empty plastic water bottle from Marcel as she wandered over to standing in the beams of sunlight.

"You doing okay?" Marcel asked her in a deceptively casual tone of voice as he strolled over to stand next to her at the window and she instinctively knew he wasn't referring to the growing bruise on her abdomen. It was a perk and a disadvantage of being best friends that she could detect the subtle turn in conversation. It made it easy to identify the concerned lilt in his voice and the almost imperceptible shift of his body that indicated his nervousness about addressing the topic of exchange.

"I'm fine, Marcel. It isn't like last time." she assured him softly as she lifted the bottle to her lips before taking a generous sip of the cool liquid and his lips unconsciously twitched doubtfully as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

Imogen could understand why he was sceptical of her declaration and she didn't blame him for worrying about how she was handling the distance. The last time she went without being in the presence of her sister for longer than a week, without hearing her voice or have some sort of contact when she couldn't physically see her, Imogen didn't handle it very well. The emotional turmoil of Davina's death had sent her spiralling into a dark oblivion. Most of those nights were a just hazy memories; some flashes of random people with blurred faces, the sound of glasses clinking together and the people chatting indistinctly until the voices were muffled, the scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke in the air. By the time Elijah was able to confront her about her acts, she was well on her way to being a borderline alcoholic and she was positive that her liver had sustained irreversible damage.

"Marcel, I promise. It isn't like last time." Imogen repeated firmly as she placed a pacifying hand on his bicep, drawing his attention away from the horizon on the other side of the glass. His dark brown eyes swept over her features, scrutinizing her sincerity as she offered him a small smile and he sighed loudly in surrender as he nodded his head slowly in acknowledgement to her words.

"Just – "the vampire started to say but hesitated to continue as he exhaled heavily and she narrowed her blue eyes at him when she noticed the look of guilt that flashed across his face. "It's just, I wasn't there for you the last time."

Understanding dawned on the witch as she tilted her head to the side with a compassionate smile on her lips and Marcel avoided looking directly into her eyes, instead keeping his gaze locked on the world outside the world. Guilt was a powerful emotion, one that was strong enough to overtake even the most level-headed of men.

Imogen grinned fondly at the man standing in front of her because that's exactly what he was and there was no way to deny that he wasn't a powerful vampire, he wasn't someone who once ruled an entire city, and he wasn't the leader of a rebellion. At that moment, he was simply a man standing in front of a woman and there was a humanity shining in the depths of his eyes, something so undeniably human that it was almost overwhelming to witness.

Affection flooded through the witch as she wrapped her arms around her friend's waist, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she revelled in the warmth he emitted and she smiled to herself when she felt his arms embrace her in return almost immediately. There was something about simply hugging your best friend, it was a reminder that they were there and that they would always be there when you needed them. It was the kind of security that Imogen had never experienced in her early life, and so it was something that she would never take for granted, that she would never betray or manipulate to her advantage.

"It's okay. You love her too, Marcel. You were grieving her too. And I didn't want help. I wasn't ready for help." Imogen whispered honestly as she closed her eyes, feeling a safety in his embrace that she had solemn experienced and he tightened his arms around her lithe body without a word as she continued softly, "It doesn't matter. This time is different. Davina is safe. Or as safe as she can be with the witches."

Marcel pressed a kiss to the crown of her head as he sighed heavily to himself and she kept her arms loosely around his abdomen as she pulled back with a small smile so that she could look at his face. There was a hint of mischief in her blue eyes as her lips twitched into a knowing smirk and he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously with amusement shining in his dark brown eyes.

"I may have done something when we dropped Davina off with the witches. I gave her a disposable cell phone so she could contact us in an emergency. I preprogramed it with my number, your number and Josh's. If anything happened, we'll know." she told him with a dainty shrug of her shoulders as she clasped her hands together on the small of his back and he raised an impressed eyebrow at her as a charming grin broke out across his lips as he wrapped his arms around her in return.

"Such deviousness, Miss Claire." he murmured teasingly as his shook his head in mock disapproval but the obvious happiness in his eyes ruined the effect of his scolding. Imogen threw her head back with a laugh as she wriggled out of his arms and grabbed the empty water bottle as she strolled back over the living room they'd transformed into a makeshift training area.

"You up for another round?" she called over her shoulder with an eagerness in her voice as she tightened her ponytail and he sighed to himself as he started to make his way over to where she was waiting.

And before we know it, the time passes. We are healed. Ready to begin anew.