Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or The Vampire Diaries. Written for fun, not profit.

Author's notes: I'm leaving the TVD setting for this story very open-ended, so you can apply it to a couple different times, if you so wish, but it's obviously after The Originals storyline comes into play and before that last season finale. BtVS is several years post series and disregards the comics. Okay, so basically, I wanted an excuse for these two to hang out…

"…Ah, yes, I've heard mention of the Originals—an ironic species name, as they're not, by any means, the original vampire race. Though, I suppose they are quite a bit more like the vampires of modern fiction, on some accounts. They're a very young race, not even two thousand years old. There's not much on them, I'm afraid, though the description of their species seems to indicate they were created by magical means, not demonic evolution. The Council, if I remember correctly from my early training days, referred to them in some texts as 'Mikaelson's Brood,' but I'm afraid the resources which might have explained that name have long since been lost…"

Giles' voice rattled on, and Buffy's grip tightened on the cell phone. She stopped herself from cracking it in two, but seriously? This flood of info was downright annoying.

"No kidding," she said, softly, her eyes set straight ahead.

"…It's actually very interesting that you should ask, Buffy—just recently, there's been rumor of an uprising amongst the race to which you're referring. Very odd indeed, as the breed was considered to be extinct not a century past. We hear their sudden reappearance might be related to the werewolf problems some of our contacts have reported of recent—" His voice broke off, and when it returned, it was filled with suspicion. "…Buffy, how did you hear about the name in the first place?"

Buffy frowned. "It came up in a discussion with a historian—gotta go. I'm on a date."

She snapped the cell phone shut, ignoring another question from Giles, and dropped it into her purse. With a sigh, she leaned back in her seat, studying the man across from her. The restaurant was reasonably quiet, no doubt due to the fact that her date had "suggested" that the waiter put them where they could have some privacy. It was a convenient move for both of them, Buffy agreed—if he wanted to kill her, fewer witnesses; if she wanted to slay him, fewer witnesses. See? Buffy Summers was a team player, these days.

"This couldn't just be a normal date, could it?" Buffy asked, unable to stop the small pout at her pink-stained lips. "I mean, is it really so hard to ask for a 'girl meets cute, successful guy while decapitating a demon' scenario without the whole undead thing coming up? I waxed my legs for this, you know."

The corner of the man's mouth curved, as if he were trying not to smile back. "I apologize for being such a disappointment, Ms. Summers."

"Buffy," she quickly corrected. "You can still call me Buffy, even if we might soon be in a kill-or-be-killed situation. Is your name really Elijah Smith?"

"Depending on whom you ask…"

He reached a hand out, as if to reintroduce himself. He had manners, Buffy had to give him that—the guy had even pulled out her chair for her, held the door, listened to her rant about hair products with feigned interest…If more Big Bads behaved this way, she'd have to let them win every once in a while. Buffy gripped his cool fingers tightly and gave one shake before easing back again, forcing herself to relax.

"Elijah Mikaelson, and, yes, I am an actual historian. Of sorts. Though I suppose anyone of my age might make such a claim," he finally finished. He paused, his eyes fixed on hers a moment. "You're not at all what I expected," he said, quietly.

"Right back at you," Buffy noted. Her brow wrinkled as she re-digested what he'd said. Had he meant that as a compliment? From his soft-spoken nature, she was going to say yes. Which was nice. She mentally chided herself—this was officially no longer a date. Time to quit thinking about how pretty Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dead was and get to business. "So, your kind…low on demon, high on magic, from what I hear? That's new. Also explains why you don't give off quite the same vibe as the demonically-enabled."

"Your friend is correct about our race. In truth, I wasn't aware that the vampires which you're more familiar with had been such a nuisance over the past few centuries. On occasion my kind find it necessary to help…lower their numbers. But only if it they become annoying."

Buffy bit down her smile. "Well, they stick mostly to the Hellmouths. And, I always find them annoying. Hence the stake."

Elijah chuckled gently. "If you have any other questions about my kind, you may simply ask me. It's not necessary for you contact your friends when I'm already at your disposal. I will not lie to someone whose aid I am trying to obtain."

And, Buffy mentally kicked herself, because she knew she was falling for his 'trust me' face hook, line, and sinker. He just seemed so sincere. For just a moment, she decided, she would actually believe him.

"How have I not run into you guys before?" Buffy muttered. She'd circled the damn globe over the past few years…And yet, new evils always seemed to appear to surprise her. Learning curve? Ha! What learning curve?

"We tend to travel, and we make sure to cover our tracks. If we don't wish to be disturbed, then we can remain hidden for very long periods of time. Even from someone as skilled as yourself." Elijah smiled, an endearing expression. "And, you have met one of us before. He was actually the one to recommend I seek your council. Slayers—and I mean this with no offense to you—have not proved to be threats in the past. Not to my family, at least. But, this vampire told me you were quite...capable. I believe you know him simply as Dracula?"

Buffy blinked. "Dracula is one of—" She paused, shaking her head. "And he bragged about my work? Okay, see that I find hard to believe."

Elijah leaned forward. "Indeed he did, Buffy." He was suddenly serious—well, more serious than before—and the light was gone from his dark gaze. Buffy could see what was just beneath, a deep sense of sadness. It was the expectation of a tragedy. "Dracula said that if I wished to kill what cannot be killed, you would be the one to contact."

Buffy sipped her wine, taking the moment to consider his words. She recognized his somber tone. Whatever he was going to ask of her, for him, it was personal. He would be hurt by whatever she did for him. There was no winning.

"This is why I don't date anymore," she said, smiling sadly.

"Right back at you," he echoed.