If not for Elijahs hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently awake with a frown on his face, Frankie wouldn't have realised she'd been crying as she slept. She'd been whimpering too, that was what had drawn his attention, shaking and whimpering and he could even hear her begging softly, pleading with her brother.

"Francesca," Elijah said quietly, a frown covering his face as she flinched away from his words, "Frankie darling, please wake up."

Though her heart was pounding and she was terrified as she slept, when she finally stirred awake it was as though everything had magnified, her heart speeding up faster and her breath catching in her throat. She barely tugged her eyelids open before she was forced to squeeze them shut again, blinking desperately as though trying to escape from the nightmare that was reality.

The moment she realised she was awake was the moment she realised she was dying, that she couldn't breathe with her breaths catching in her throat quicker than she could force the air down. Her heart was racing so quickly she knew it was only moments before the force of its effort tugged itself from her chest. The tears running down her face were almost innocuous though they surprised her as the splashed onto her hands. With her breath catching in her throat, it was as though with each desperate gasp for air she was tugged deeper below water.

"Breathe Frankie," Elijah said beside her, his words steady and smooth, "breathe."

Elijah was in the seat beside her now, the armrest had been raised up so there was nothing between them and his eyes were locked on her while hers were glazed over, unable to return to reality as the terror of her dream ran over and over in her head.

"I'm dying," she gasped out at last, a slither of air entering her lungs, enough to push her desperate pleas out, "I can't breathe, I'm dying."

"You're not dying," Elijah told her softly, moving slowly as he tugged her head towards his chest and wrapped his arms around her, "You're having a panic attack, you'll be alright soon. Listen to my heart Frankie, focus on my heart, can you hear it?" here he paused for a moment, his hand was moving slowly through her hair and he felt her nod softly though she still couldn't speak, too focused on gasping out, on trying to breathe, "Good, good, count it out. Count the beats out."

"Make it stop," she begged, "I can't breathe."

"You're going to be okay, I promise you, I will never let anything happen to you. Long deep breaths, focus on my heart and the sound of my voice. You'll be okay. You'll be okay."

Elijah's eyes were shut as his fingers ran through her hair, he continued to whisper softly to her but with his eyes shut he could focus on the sounds, focus on the sound of her racing heart begin to steady, of her desperate breaths evening out.

"I'm sorry," she murmured she finally emerged from the anxiety, when she realised that she was alive and that she wasn't going to die from her terror. She couldn't bring herself to tug her head from his chest, she couldn't face the embarrassment that was going to encompass her body when she saw the pity in his eyes.

Frankie still felt the remnants of the past half hour, her hands were shaking and she still felt like there was a chance that if she tried too quickly to stand that she'd fall. The dream had involved Ric dying, her brother dying as she watched on and did nothing, as she let it happen. The worst thing about the dream is that it wasn't just a dream, wasn't just a nightmare, he was dead. Ric was dead and she hadn't been able to do a thing to stop it.

"You don't ever need to apologise to me, I will always be here for you. Do you want to talk about it, the dream?"

"No," she said, sitting up and turning her head away to surreptitiously wipe the tears that sat on her cheeks, "Is there a bathroom here?"

By the time she'd returned, the events of the past half hour were invisible bar some redness in her eyes and a flush on her cheeks. She averted her gaze from his when she returned, sitting in a different seat, now interested in the view beside them, watching the desert as they flew over and approached the city she once loved.

Now came another problem that she hadn't thought through last night when she'd been so desperate to leave the town her brother was dying in and to find the last gift he gave her.

Mitch

The reason she left her city, her home.

The reason she got so caught up in all of this to begin with.

Her phone was destroyed and even if it wasn't she couldn't exactly find out whether Mitch would or wouldn't be home without asking him. She knew his work schedule, she would just have to hope that in the six months she'd been gone that he hadn't changed it, that he hadn't moved her stuff, and that she could get through this.

She didn't know what, if anything, Elijah knew about Mitch but she wouldn't be surprised if Klaus and his big mouth let it all slip out. She remembered Elijah had been the one to address the bruises that marred her skin when the first met, blaming Klaus for their existence and she wondered briefly if Elijah had come with her with this in mind, knowing what waited for her in California.

The plane was circling the tarmac and she could feel Elijahs eyes on her, waiting for her next move. She didn't know what her next move was, she'd been so wrapped in mania the night before she hadn't the time to process it all. Thinking of the night before made her think of her brother again and her breath caught in her throat so she pushed it down, pushed it away. If she didn't think of him, she didn't need to think about the fact that she'd never see him again, the fact that he was dead.

"Where would you like to go now?" Elijah asked.

The plane had finally come to a halt and while the pilot had wordlessly exited the cockpit and opened the ladder, Elijah had stayed in place, watching her and waiting to hear what she needed next. She didn't answer, her fingers which had been fiddling with the wheel of her skateboard, spinning it mindlessly, froze, curling up into tight fists as she considered.

"If you like," he suggested, reading her more clearly than she realised he could, "we could go freshen up first. It's been a long night, why not go clean up before we collect your dress."

"We?" she asked, a little more harshly than intended, "You can't come with me."

"You can't honestly believe I'll wait outside."

"I do," she said sharply before softening, finally turning to face him, "I think it would be good to change, I think my friend Maria would be cool with us showering there."

"I know a place," he told her, dismissing their disagreement, "I know a place we can shower and wait until you're ready to go home."

The place that Elijah knew of was much nicer than Maria's studio that she'd been planning to turn up on the doorstep of. She almost had to catch her breath when he fit the key in the lock and the door swung open, she knew that he was rich, that all of them were with their millennium of wealth accumulation and with the aid of compulsion but she often forgot he was this rich.

The apartment wasn't necessarily large, but it was clear that that in itself was a choice not made with financial considerations but stylistically. Every inch of the place was impressive, so perfectly Elijah, with a rich leather couch and an armchair that could've been made a hundred years ago if not for the pristine condition they lay in. There was a bookshelf too and it was hard for her eyes not to widen as she approached and noticed some of the titles on the shelf, so many matched those that resided in her collection too and almost all of them contained such battered spines and thick pages it was clear they'd been read dozens of times.

What surprised her most though was a portrait, the picture was small, only a little larger than a book but placed in an ornate golden frame with vines and flowers surrounding it. The portrait was so lifelike that if she didn't know any better she'd have sworn it was a photograph.

"Is that," she asked quietly, pointing at the frame that took pride of place in the centre of the bookshelf, "that's her?"

Elijah nodded, "Niklaus painted it for me, a little after she. . . passed."

The portrait contained the face identical to hers, the one Elijah had fallen in love with. If not for the curling paint and dated clothes she could've sworn it was her, painted days ago. Francesca was dressed in a blue gown, more luxurious than anything she'd ever worn and her hair was long and dark, her natural colour, not the highlighted mess with growing out roots she had now. It could be her though, it was astonishing how absolutely identical they really were to one another.

No wonder Klaus and Rebekah and even Elijah had reacted the way they did when they saw her, the only differences between them were the ones she caused, her hair and her piercings and the mass of freckles that covered her own face because of how much time she spent at the beach when she could.

"Wow."

"Indeed," he nodded awkwardly, clearing his throat and turning, "the bathroom is through there. There should be towels there already but if you need anything let me know."

Frankie nodded, half relieved to have a moment to think alone again. Tugging her backpack with her she dumped the contents out on his bedroom floor, searching for something clean to change into. While Frankie showered, Elijah had summoned one of his assistants who he knew was in the area, sending them off with Frankie's shattered phone to get it repaired.

It took her a while to emerge from the bathroom, clean and refreshed, as refreshed as one could be after the previous day of course, though she didn't let herself think about that. It was nearly five by the time she was ready to leave, Elijah was in one of the armchairs reading but as she entered the room his head shot up instantly, the look on his face the reverential one he often possessed looking at her.

"I think I'm gonna head now, I'll meet you back here later. Thanks, Elijah."

"I'm coming with you," Elijah told her, standing and returning the book to its place on the shelf, "You may not want to talk about it but I know what awaits you at that apartment."

"I'm fine," she rolled her eyes in annoyance, "I'm a big girl, I can deal with Mitch. He shouldn't even be there, he works Saturday's."

"Wonderful," he told her, pulling the door open and holding his arm out for her to go first, "Then it shouldn't matter if I come. What's the address, I'll drive."

It was clear this wasn't a battle Frankie was going to win, no matter how stubborn she was, Elijah's urge to protect her overrode it tenfold. Flicking her hair behind her shoulders in annoyance she brushed past him, reluctantly giving him the address. They drove in silence but with each mile they drove she grew more nervous, her fingers clenching into fists that Elijah noticed but pretended not to.

"The lights are off," she said, more for herself than for him, "he probably isn't home."

Elijah nodded, his face was stony as he parked the car, rushing around and pulling the door open for her before she could reach it. They walked to the door in silence, her heart was pounding in her chest and Elijah's hand fell to the small of her back in reassurance. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that he wouldn't let anything happen to her but he stayed quiet, allowing her to process in silence.

"Come in," she said softly as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The apartment itself was in disrepair, it looked as though it literally hadn't been cleaned since she left. There were dishes piled so high in the sink that when she pulled a cupboard open curiously it was entirely empty, all the dishes waiting for someone to care for them. The living room was no better, there were pizza boxes sitting on the couch with a cluster of empty liquor bottles beside it and she could even see a pink sports bra that wasn't hers balled up in the corner.

"Would you like to retrieve more than just your dress?" Elijah asked gently, clearly as shocked by the state of the apartment as she was, noticing the tense tightness of her shoulders and the frown covering her face.

"Yeah," she stuttered, pressing a weak laugh out, "Yeah, the uh, the bedroom is through here. I'll find the dress, maybe you could like, grab some books and stuff. I don't know, I don't really care about my clothes, just grab like whatever I can't really replace."

They were in the bedroom together, when she heard the sound of a key in the lock.

The bedroom had been in as bad a state as the living room though remnants of her still remained here at least. Her clothes were ripped from the hangers and balled in the corner of their closet as though tugged off in disgust. The only element of the room that seemed untouched since her departure were her books on the shelf gathering dust.

"Don't let him see you," she whispered, quietly though she knew he could pick it up. She didn't turn to look at him but he caught look of the terror that filled her face as she emerged from the bedroom just as Mitch pulled the apartment door open.

"Six months and you're crawling back," Mitch said, a snarl of amusement was on his face as he entered the apartment, dumping his board and keys on the dining table and kicking his shoes off messily, "You think you can just fuck off for half the year and I'll take you back, fat chance."

"I'm not back," she told him, though she had an argumentative note to her tone, her voice was still softer than it usually was and she wasn't sure she could push it louder even if she wanted.

If Klaus could see the way she was practically shrinking away from Mitch as he approached he almost wouldn't believe it. Against the most powerful creature in the world she'd happily stamp on his foot or yell in his face but with a scrawny skater kid from Michigan it was like she couldn't make herself small enough to avoid the heat of his disdain. She didn't know what it was about him but it was like each word he spat at her poisoned her, causing her to shrink further away so he'd leave her alone.

"So what?" he asked with a laugh, "Like I give a fuck. You're a psycho anyway, the lies you told some of the guys about me when you left, you're fucking delusional."

"I never lied," she argued, flinching back when he grabbed her wrist suddenly, tugging it harshly and causing her eyes to shoot to his.

"You did," he growled, his fingers tightened on her wrist, "You're nothing without me. You're an embarrassment," here he laughed cruelly, using his grip to tug her forwards and cause her to stumble, "what're you doing now? Spreading your legs for a place to sleep?"

Frankie knew Elijah was listening to every word and that almost burned her with shame more than the words themselves. She could almost picture the frown on his face that was going to occur, the disgust he'd look at her with now he'd heard what Mitch said about her, she wanted to argue back at him, to spit or yell but instead she didn't, her mouth sewen shut as she flinched back from his words.

"Look at me you stupid bitch," he growled again, his hand coming up to grab her chin roughly and tug her eyes to his, "Christ, how fucking dumb are you? I know your waste of space mother got away from you as early as she could, but surely she taught you to look people in the eyes when they're talking to you."

This Mitch was worse than the one she'd imagined while she was away from him. She didn't know if it was her memory that was warped and that he'd always been like this but the cruelty that he spat at her seemed worse than she'd ever endured from him.

While before he would spit disdain at her, comforting her afterwards, hugging and apologising that he let her actions upset him, now there was no hint of kindness. Each word he spat was poison embedding itself deep inside her veins, the regret at her actions overwhelming her.

"That hurts," Frankie said, she was speaking more softly now, no hint of an argument in her voice as she conceded. She tried to step back and away though his hands still followed her, still tight on her arm and chin, "Please let go of me. I'm just getting my dress then I'll go, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" he laughed cruelly. His face suddenly twitched in surprise as another figure entered the room, "Wow you really are spreading your legs huh? Some Wall Street suit was all it took for you to open them up?"

"I believe she told you that you're hurting her," Elijah spoke sharply, his face furious at the terror she was clearly feeling, he could hear the racing of her heart and though he'd tried to hide away like she'd asked, he couldn't stand it any longer, couldn't stand listening to her endure the unending abuse spat from his lips, "Might I suggest you remove your hands from her."

Mitch's hands did release her and Frankie took a grateful step back, Elijah steadying her as she stumbled into his chest in her eagerness to retreat. Elijahs hand stayed where it had fallen and she pressed herself back into him securely, comforted by his presence despite her being who hadn't wanted him to come. She felt more foolish than ever that she was here, she'd left for a reason and now she was back, dragging herself back down with Mitch's anger.

Mitch looked between the two with a scoff and a laugh, "You know she's a fucking psycho," Elijah seemed less than impressed with each word Mitch spoke, "she's a compulsive liar, trust me dude in a month you're gonna realise she's nothing more than tits and ass."

"As wonderful as I'm sure that assessment is," Elijah said cooly, "I highly doubt the word of someone with morals such as yourself. However if you'd like to continue speaking about her in this manner," here Elijah tugged his suit jacket off, beginning to roll his sleeves up when Frankie caught his arm.

"Don't Elijah," she said, "lets just leave. He's not worth it."

Elijah seemed torn, the desire to rip Mitch's heart out didn't even seem fitting, he wished he could tear him limb from limb but her hand on his arm tightened and after a moment he met her eyes, nodding quickly. She returned to the bedroom, grabbing the bag that they'd packed before returning to the living room where Mitch and Elijah were stuck staring angrily at one another, Mitch with more amusement while Elijah was literally bristling with rage.

He took the bag from her easily, before leading her to the door, ensuring that he was between her and Mitch each step to the exit, pleased when he was able to slam the door behind them forcefully.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned by her silence as they walked to the car, "I believe I packed your dress, it was the only one I could find."