Elena Gilbert stood before the stove.

Carefully, she placed the slab of salmon against the skillet and set the oven timer for ten minutes. She made sure she had all the seasonings; salt, pepper, parsley and Italian. She felt as if she were missing something but when she turned to the far counter she gasped when a towering, dark figure entered the doorway.

She placed a hand on her heart. "Elijah. I didn't expect you."

Elijah smiled systematically. "I apologize. I didn't mean to scare you."

Elena tended back to the fish, poking it with the spatula. She could feel his stare and it burned vividly through her back. "Is there something wrong?" She wondered.

Elijah cleared his throat before replying. "Damon asked me to check up on you,"

Elena rolled her eyes. Damon had been watching her like a hawk since the day of her transformation. Lately, she had been doing fine. Completely fine, as a matter of fact. She hadn't touched a single human-being…yet.

"Thank you, Elijah…" She started. "But I don't need a babysitter."

"All the same," Elijah replied.

There was a brief silence as Elena quietly dressed the meal for Jeremy, focusing on the smell and remembering the days when Alaric had done the cooking and she would be the one at the kitchen table.

"Cooking, are we?"

Elijah's voice inched closer to her and she abruptly turned as a reflex. She came face to face with the oldest Mikaelson; his eyes a stunning black, just barely twinkling in the sunlight. Elena swallowed hardly before smiling as a reply.

When had he gotten so brave with her?

"Well, you're doing it all wrong." He admitted.

Elena's eyebrows furrowed. "How?"

Elijah rolled up his sleeves, carefully motioning for her to step-aside. She did so and found herself watching as the tendons in his arms rolled back and forth as the time passed. She carefully averted her eyes away. She couldn't afford that. She wouldn't do it.

"What are you doing?" She wondered suddenly.

Elijah had sprinkled an Ethiopian spice called Berbere, a zest her mother had collected during her travels, on the pinked meat before he asked, "Where do you keep your olive oil?"

Elena, bewildered, sauntered towards the cabinet next to the freezer where she retrieved his olive oil. He beamed brightly, carefully taking it from her hands.

"Olive oil is a healthier alternative to butter," He told her. "Personally, I think it tastes better."

Elena nodded mutely. She couldn't imagine Elijah eating and here he stood, cooking dinner on her stove so naturally. She observed as he raised the slab with the spatula and prudently let the olive oil spill against the pan. When he decided there was enough, he set the fish back against the pan.

"I didn't think you of a chef," She murmured, standing beside him.

"On the contrary," He started. "I am very talented if I do say so myself."

Elena raised an eyebrow, pleased. "I suppose you are. I think you've saved my fish."

Elijah chuckled, turning it thoughtfully. "I believe I have."

Ten minutes later, they were dancing.

Dion's, "Runaround Sue" was now resonant through Elena's laptop, which sat comfortably against the dining table. Elijah continued to hold base at the stove while Elena chopped up garlic; both of them continued to sing obnoxiously and Elena subtly swayed to the loose paced beat.

There was laughter. Lots of it. Elijah had made her laugh. Who would have expected that?