Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries nor its characters. They belong to L.J. Smith, Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, The CW Network, and whoever else.

Note/Warning: Set sometime after Elena leaves Rebekah at the end of 3x08. Mentions if incest.

With These Truths I Cannot Face

There is a dull throbbing in her head that is quickly fading. Her eyes are burning and wet, but that will go away soon as well. Her throat feels tight, plugged up with a painful ball that she can't quite swallow. It will deflate any moment.

The crying is done. The realization, the truth - the awful fact of the matter has sunken in. The shock and horror has died, leaving only numb acceptance and a tiny voice in the back of her head reminding her, 'I told you so.'

It shouldn't have taken a thousand years and that doppleganger bitch shoving the truth in her face for her to find out what had really happened. It shouldn't have taken a thousand years and that wretched Petrova wench pushing and prodding and forcing her to face what she'd ignored for centuries - not leaving her until she was broken down by the barrier she had been building since the day she saw her mother's corpse.

Rebekah had always known. Deep down, she thinks they all had.

Nik's silence as she and Elijah pledged their alliegance. The way he stared blankly at Mother's grave as Rebekah tried to comfort him, tried to offer some kind of solace over what had happened - the tightness of his jaw and the harshness of his sorrow.

She had said it herself - Nik did not tolerate disappointment. Rebekah had known, always known; that started with their mother of all people.

But this was Nik. This was still Niklaus, not the bitter and possessive monster that kept snapping at her to stop calling him anything other than 'Klaus.' This was her brother, not the jealous and resentful vampire that spent centuries upon centuries building up his reputation while their father slipped into the background.

This was Nik, who loved and adored his family - even their father, his father - and would never do anything to hurt them, not on purpose. Not Klaus, who would slip his fingers through her hair and under her dress when no one was looking - but could easily see if they did.

The man who would take her to his bed and remind her they were not truly siblings, and he was not her real brother, if that made her feel better.

Had she known the kind of monster her brother would become - and she would love despite it all, despite the guilt that burned through her in sinful bliss every time his body crashed into hers - she would have known then and there that morning. Standing at her mother's grave. No pesky doppleganger, no photographs of proof.

It hits her again. The solid blow that takes her breathe away and leaves her crying again. The memory that her gut had tightened the moment she saw Klaus carrying mother's corpse as tears formed in his eyes but never fell down his hardened face. The initial thoughts that raced through her mind, knowing what Mother had done and who Father had slain for it to work.

It is not the shock that leaves her helpless on the floor in tears, like a child crying for her mother. It is the cold, hard truth that all this time, she has known her brother lied to her.