Elijah looked the same. No, he never looked exactly the same, he was the steadiest person she knew and yet she knew him so well she could pick out each detail in him that had shifted in their time apart. His hair was styled a little differently, he had a set of cufflinks on that she'd never seen before and he had a hint of stubble on his chin.

His eyes were the same, underneath the shock at her presence they contained all the unfettered affection they always did, staring at her as if she were holding up each star in the sky.

"Frankie," he stuttered out eventually, "What on earth are you doing here?"

She stepped back, his words hadn't been cruel but they felt like a slap in the face, every expectation she'd had for the evening shattering. Her expression fell and Frankie felt her chest clench with pain. She'd been an idiot, believing Klaus and Cami that Elijah didn't hate her for how she'd toyed with his heart. If she were a vampire blessed with supernatural speed she wouldn't have replied, instead now she would've flitted from the room and likely never have returned.

"Oh," she said softly, noting that Hayley was taking the opportunity to slide away, "Shit, sorry I shouldn't have-"

"No," Elijah protested quickly, his hand shooting out to grab her hand gently, "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. Please don't leave."

Frankie nodded tentatively. Even without supernatural hearing she was sure that Elijah's heart was racing almost as much as hers. She curled her fingers around his that gripped hers and he used their hands to tug her closer to him. His free hand rose gently, thumb brushing across her check tenderly while he studied her.

Even with everything so different in her she felt the most familiar thing in the world to him. He could smell the perfume she always wore, the woody musk that had dissipated from his bed far too soon after she left him.

Her hair was longer and darker now, where before her ends were tinted blonde with grown out roots, now it was all brown, glossy and shiny. The dress she wore was wonderful too. She'd always been the most beautiful woman he knew but she quite literally shone in what she wore this evening. It was long and red and he couldn't stop his eyes flicking between the red on her body and the red on her lips that matched.

"How are you," he asked at last, "Are you okay? You look- you look wonderful."

"I'm good," she replied, blush tinting her cheeks as a surprising amount of nerves enveloped her, "yeah. How are you?"

"Better now."

Frankie beamed. Every frightened nerve that Elijah would hate her was slowly being put to rest the longer he looked at her like that. Their hands were still clutching one another and she could feel his thumb brushing across the back of her hand. This was something she'd missed, how every second with Elijah settled her more and more, as though just by being beside her he absorbed each element of anxiety.

She missed this, she'd known she missed Elijah a lot but it was only now she was here again that she realised quite how much. She felt like a teenager with a crush standing here holding Elijah's hand, not quite sure what to do or say but just happy to have him beside her.

"Let's get a drink," she said, unlinking their hands and turning to look for the bar, her heart pounding in her chest, "you can tell me what this party is all about and why people won't stop staring at you."

Elijah was disappointed by the sudden cold as their hands separated and as he turned to lead her to the bar he held his elbow out for her take. He wanted her close by him, he always did, but now it was because he needed to know she was really here and not only an illusion.

"Oh that," he said nonchalantly, "Well, I'm kind of a big deal around here."

"God I definitely left you with your brother too long," she teased, taking his arm and letting him lead them both to the bar, "What about you inspires such reverence, aside from the obvious of course?"

"Of course," he smiled softly in amusement, holding up two fingers to signal to the bartender, "Almost every vampire here is descended from my sireline."

"Right," Frankie nodded, vaguely confused about the relevance of this, "is that a big deal?"

"Unfortunately," he grimaced, passing her a glass of champagne, "Many centuries ago I had wanted to assemble minds curious about the world and eager to improve it. My desire was to create an elite brotherhood devoted to a new, better civilisation. It was naive. Eventually I was forced to abandon them once I realised I'd cultivated a legion of ego-maniacal sociopaths."

"What delightful company," Frankie replied, wrinkling her nose and glancing around, "Is that Marcel?"

Elijah watched Marcel with a shocked expression on his face, his body tense with concern. As he placed the pieces together in his mind, Elijah half considered calling someone to take Frankie home, worried about the events he had no doubt would occur tonight. He knew of course that no member of the Strix was insane enough to consider harming someone he clearly cared about but nonetheless he wanted her away from the chaos that would unravel.

"I should've known," he murmured to himself as his eyes followed hers.

"Should've known? Elijah what is it?"

"You must promise me you'll stay by my side tonight," Elijah pressed, turning to face her, worry etched across his face, "Promise me."

"I promise," she agreed with a frown, "What is it? What's going on? What's wrong with Marcel being here, Hayley's here too and she's not from your sireline, what's it matter if Marcel is?"

"Because this isn't a party, it's an initiation."

Elijah's explanation had been brief and it was confirmed when Tristan de Martel, the one who'd sent her the invitation, stepped up and announced just that. That Marcel, a potential recruit for the Strix and the first of a new sireline for the group, had had his daylight ring stolen, giving him until morning to retrieve it.

Frankie felt ill.

In Mystic Falls, although her brother was a vampire and an original she'd had virtually nothing to do with the supernatural. She'd lived her life almost normally, death wasn't something so relevant to her and she'd forgotten what it was like being in a world where life and death were a game.

She'd turned to talk to Elijah, but that too was an issue. With so many vampires, and powerful ones at that, it was hard for Frankie to know just how much they could hear. Her body faced his now, the heels helped her, she spoke softly to him with her lips practically pressed by his ear. His arm circled her waist to hold her steady and he leaned in closer, just as concerned as she was by who might be listening.

"You're not going to let him die are you?" Frankie asked quietly, "You'll step in before they hurt him. You must, you know what it'll do to Davina or Klaus if he dies. I know your brother acts like he doesn't care but you know it'll kill him."

Elijah gave an almost imperceptible nod. He couldn't say anything out loud, he knew just as well as she the lions den in which they lay and so instead his hand rose to her cheek, thumb brushing gently across her, silently agreeing that he'd step in before things got too bad.

Frankie hadn't been all that close with Marcel but she did care for him and she didn't want his death. She knew what he meant to others, Cami and Davina and Klaus and she knew that it would hurt them if anything were to happen to him and that was what scared her most.

Stepping back with a sigh, Frankie grasped her champagne flute again, "This is fucking ridiculous. How is he even supposed to win, these vampires are ancient."

"With guile," a voice joined them, amusement in its tone, "courage, perhaps a bit of trickery. Admittedly, it's a long-shot, but then, sometimes the new candidates surprise us."

Tristan de Martel in all his cocksure glory turned to grin at them at this point. His lips quirked up in amusement at the look of distaste she seemed to be giving him and at the way Elijah's hand that a moment ago had been leaning against the bar was now curled protectively around her waist.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tristan de Martel," as he spoke, Tristan's hand reached out, grasping hers and tugging it to his lips, "and you're no doubt the elusive Francesca Rossi. It's remarkable, you really are identical."

The silkiness of Tristans words nor the ease of his smile did anything to comfort Frankie. She felt her lips curl into a frown and as he compared her to her predecessor she jerked her hand back. Though it was clear Elijah knew Tristan more than well, he seemed to have tensed too at that and she was sure that he hadn't expected that Tristan knew Francesca.

"The pleasure's all mine I see," he grinned, turning to Elijah just as easily, "Elijah! When I sent your invitation, I didn't dare think you'd come. Tell me, as our founder and patriarch, what do you make of our latest candidate?"

"Well let me see," Elijah said sarcastically, his hand that wrapped around Frankie's waist traced small circles and she leaned closer towards him reassuringly, "Marcel, he's arrogant. He's stubborn. Prone to self aggrandisement. He should fit in perfectly."

"If he survives," Tristan added with a smirk.

Frankie let out a scoff of disgust. Tristan had more than rubbed her the wrong way already but the way he was practically joking about Marcels death was revolting. Pointedly looking at him and rolling her eyes she held her glass to her lips, gulping the remainder down in one before returning to look at him disdainfully.

"I take it Mr. Gerard is a friend of yours?" Tristan turned back to Frankie.

"Mhm," Frankie forced a smile, "I haven't seen him in a year so I wouldn't place him at the top of my myspace but I'm not quite so prone to delighting over peoples deaths as you seem to be."

"My dear you barely know me," Tristan chuckled, "Allow me to remedy that, and, in doing so I can explain our methods."

Tristan held out his hand towards her as though inviting her to dance. Frankie could feel Elijah tense beside her and she crossed her arm over her body so that her hand could land on his that circled her waist.

There wasn't any way she could say no and she knew that. It wasn't as if Tristan would do anything to her nor that Elijah would let anything happen but she had no intentions of tolerating his charm that filled her with distrust. He spoke smoothly but she had no doubt that he was someone who would take down anyone he could for his own success. She was sure he knew each and every piece of both her and Francescas stories and that the invitation for her to come had been meant to throw Elijah off.

"Please," he added, pointedly looking towards Elijah, "Just one dance. If it's not an intrusion."

Frankie looked to Elijah, a long look where she tried to make it clear that if the dance lasted more than one song she might slit her own throat. His head tilted to the side and he held out his full champagne flute for her. She downed it quickly before passing the two glasses to him, pointedly pulling a face of disgust before turning to Tristan.

"Why, of course," Elijah smiled. A smile filled with faux politeness as he watched Frankie take Tristans hand reluctantly allowing him to tug her towards the dance floor and into his arms.

"I'm glad you came, Francesca," Tristan said smoothly, "I was surprised when I saw you here, I'd heard you were estranged from our dear sire."

His hands held her gently like Elijah's did when they'd danced in the past but she didn't feel any of the comfort that she had with him. Instead she could feel the stiffness in her limbs, each muscle clenched tightly as though she was fighting the urge to writhe away from his grip.

"It's Frankie," she corrected, "Are you so repugnant that your invitations often get no response? First Elijah surprised you and now me?"

Tristan let out a chuckle at her venom before frowning a little, "Invitation?"

"Yeah," she nodded, tugging out the paper in question from the pocket on her dress, "this gaudy little card offering a night of exquisite excess. Your note talking about our mutual friends though I'm beginning to think that list is rather short."

The card itself was far from gaudy truly. It was elegant and refined but Tristan placed such a terrible taste in her mouth she wanted to push each and every button she could to insult him.

His eyes flicked to it and something flitted across them as he landed across the note, surprise or realisation perhaps. Tristan grinned and Frankie tucked the note back inside her pocket again, reluctantly returning her hand to his shoulder.

"Of course," he replied a little too boisterously, twirling her away and then back again towards him, "Well I'm simply surprised after all that family put you through you've returned perhaps, though I suppose the Mikaelsons have always had a particular affinity to their family disappearing and reappearing."

"I'm not a Mikaelson," she rolled her eyes.

"Perhaps," he conceded, "but like it or not when one refers to the Mikaelsons, they're referring to you as well, just as they did with Francesca before her untimely demise."

"You knew her?"

"Not quite," he glanced away nonchalantly, noting Elijah's eyes fixed to them attentively, "But I did have an opportunity to see her before she'd been too ravaged by the elements."

"You saw her corpse?"

"You're quite like her, it really is remarkable. There are few known cases of reincarnated soulmates, and rare that they return like you, a true beauty."

Frankie froze, an expression that passed disgust was on her face now and instead of continuing the dance as a matter of politeness she tried to pull away from his grip.

"Now, don't be like that," he chuckled, pulling her back closer and is step with him again, "It can't be the first time you've been called a beauty. You're truly-"

Fortunately at this moment, a commotion occurred, two drunks stumbling obscenely into the room. It caught Tristans attention and Frankie took the opportunity to pull herself away from his grip, moving to watch what was going on, relieved that his hands no longer sat on her arm and waist.

"Are you alright?" Elijah said, suddenly near and stepping towards her, "I should've said no."

"I'm okay," she nodded, rolling her shoulders back, "I just need a fucking shower. Did you hear all that? Did you know he was there after she died? Like he went to look at a fucking corpse."

"My god it's a room full of Elijahs," a voice boomed loudly, catching their attention with a laugh and then the sound of them stumbling.

Both Frankie and Elijah turned to the noise but while Elijah's face turned irritated, Frankie's only seemed to flood with confusion. The noise that had allowed her to pull away was that of a beyond plastered Klaus and his friend.

The pair were accompanied by a half a dozen women, all equally as drunk as Klaus and his friend though all wore a lot less clothes than the men seemed to.

"I had that exact same nightmare once," Klaus laughed loudly, stumbling a little as he spoke. His eyes flitted around the room in a way that seemed noncommittal and lazy but to Frankie who'd spent months with Klaus she knew it was an analytical gaze, assessing his surroundings.

"Go and grab us a drink, love!" Klaus' friend said, pushing one of the women away condescendingly and grinning as she did as requested, "Feel free to fetch one for yourself."

Klaus locked eyes with her and for a half a moment, Frankie could've sworn he winked but a moment later he'd turned back to the girl walking away and added with a slur, "One for me, please! And one for her, and her, and her. . . "

"Is your brother actually that plastered?" Frankie asked, turning to Elijah who watched the scene now with his expression somewhere between amusement and annoyance, "Is this a common thing now?"

"Apparently so."

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