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                                     'Blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine' 

Today had been a disaster of unsettlingly epic proportions. While Klaus was no stranger to trying times, he really hadn't expected his stay in Mystic Falls to be so rife with difficulties. He certainly hadn't expected that Stefan, of all people, would try and kill his doppelgänger, the woman he was supposed to love more than anything, who he'd fought so hard not to hurt. And while at the time Klaus had found that devotion to be a nuisance...it saddened him to see his old friend throw it away so easily. Because he had, thrown it away. Elena would never forgive him for that. What he did to her tonight...it was an act that she would never be able to move past from, no doubt ranking higher than Klaus' killing of her aunt, Jenna, due to the weight of the betrayal, the love she no doubt had still held for him.

But what did she expect? Life was not kind, only cruel. Love did not heal you, just bled you dry, as he had drained her of all her blood the night of the sacrifice.

Just as she was now, apparently, attempting to drink the entirety of his wine cellar.

She hadn't been very stealthy, tumbling in through an open bay window, clearly confused by the unfamiliar layout. She'd found the alcohol just fine though. It seemed Elena Gilbert was his kind of girl, and it truly surprised him, as few things had the power to do these days. She was a quandary, a paradox in an enigma wrapped in the deceptively meek package of an eighteen year old girl, harmless and need of protection from all her supernatural companions. But her mind was almost as sharp as his, coupled with a devotion to family that rivaled his brother's, and it painted quite the polar opposite picture. Her moral compass had more bearing on her actions than most teenagers he'd encountered, and yet she seemed content to defy him at every turn.

She wasn't scared of him, and Klaus didn't know how to make her scared. Or if he even wanted to. Elena was an inevitable, inexorable part of his life now, and this whole thing would go down far smoother if they could be cordial, civil. As would some ice in that glass of hers.

"Did you find my collection to your liking?" Klaus asked her, arms crossed, lurking in the doorway of the kitchen, cobalt eyes staring at the prone form of Elena, legs spread out in front of her like a broken doll, clutching a bottle limply by the neck, having abandoned the pretext of politeness and simply chugging from it straight rather than using a glass.

Elena nodded, a sardonic smile curving her lips, sharper than any she'd previously given him. It suited her. "Definitely. But I think the cherry one's my favourite; it pairs well with my bitter, heartbroken, raging mood." She squinted her eyes at him, doe-eye brown clouded with a haze of alcohol, pupils blown impossibly wide, a stark contrast to the redness ringing her eyelids, the tip of her nose. She'd been crying. Oh, you poor girl, he almost thought to say to her. Don't you know love isn't anything worth crying over? "Aren't you going to kick me out?"

"Now why would I do that? You seem to be enjoying yourself," Klaus replied, shifting down gracefully onto the floor, his back pressed up against the fridge, it's vibrating hum thrumming through his back as if he was sitting next to some great sleeping creature.

"Exactly. Isn't it your sole purpose in life to make me as miserable as humanly possible? Plus, not to mention the whole 'breaking and entering' thing," she insisted, and Klaus refrained from letting out a snort at her likely unintentional adorableness: she really thought he, Klaus Mikaelson, cared that she'd tumbled in through an already open window.

Klaus waved a hand airily, simultaneously waving away her concern and asking for the bottle.

Elena handed it over without protest, gaze never leaving his as he took a generous swig.

"I really don't care about your somewhat reprehensible entrance, love. And as for your first point of concern...I think you've had enough misery for one night, mmh? I don't wish to add to it," he told her, as genuine as he'd ever been. The admission itched, cloying and uncomfortable like when he'd been human and the marks Mikael left on him, the cuts, scabbed over and he always wanted to pick at them and Elijah always told him not to, but his brother hadn't understood, he'd wanted every trace of it, of him, of his weakness gone and...

"That's awfully nice of you. It's probably the nicest thing you've ever said. Actually, it's probably the nicest thing I've heard in a while. God, isn't that pathetic?" she asked him, swiping the bottle back from him and draining it almost to the dregs.

Klaus simply shrugged, the fabric of his heather-grey Henley pulling up against the fridge. "I choose to take it as a compliment."

"You do that."

Silence settled for a moment. Elena lent her head back against the kitchen cabinet, the one where he kept all the cleaning supplies, but he felt no compunction to tell her that, although her head was a dangerous few inches shy of the handle and...

"I'm the person you hate most in the world, right? I mean, after your abusive asshole of a father who was literally the most evil guy I've ever met and who I'm super glad you killed, by the way. I'm Numero Uno on your 'God she's so annoying, she ruins all my plans, my life would be so much better without her here' list. Aren't I?"

He hadn't expected that. Hadn't expected such bitterness -even though she herself had said she was, moments ago- or the way she sounded almost...eager about it. What was this? Who was this, sitting with him in his kitchen with no light on, drinking his wine and talking to him like he was an actual person, with actual opinions she cared enough to hear? Klaus' first thought was that it was a ploy, some kind of trap, some roundabout attempt at lowering his guard...but he'd seen that look in the mirror too many times to count, had spent so many nights like this, wondering what the point was.

Because that was what she was doing, wasn't it? It was what she was implying. Why haven't you killed me yet? Why am I still here? Why is this all happening to me? What did I ever do to deserve this...?

"Would that make it easier?" Klaus inquired, the tips of his paint-splattered boots knocking against her knee-high rust-red ones, a single point of contact he couldn't help but focus on, be drawn to. "If I hated you, would that give you an excuse to hate me?"

"I hate what you did," Elena began, eyes catching his and then flickering away, temperamental as a candle flame. "I don't know if I hate you; I don't know you enough to hate you, if you know what I mean. You've done awful things, I know, but so has almost everyone else in my life, in one way or another. I'm no saint, and I'll never pretend to be, not even when I'm drunk," she added with a tiny grin. "You killed Jenna. You could have killed Katherine instead, and I would have thrown you a damn parade. Well, Caroline would have organized it, and Damon would have paid for it, but I'd have definitely been enthusiastically supportive..." Elena rambled, head bobbing along on her neck with every word. She seemed to come back to herself, shaking her head like a wet dog, and why did the wolf part of him want to laugh at that, liked that and...

"But you didn't. But it was supposed to be Caroline, it was supposed to be Tyler. And I know that Jenna would have done anything in her power to protect them both, even if it meant dying herself. Because that was who she was. She was a -albeit adjacent- Gilbert, and it seems we can't go five fucking minutes without putting our necks out, dancing on the wire, knowing we're gonna fall off...but knowing that everyone's watching, everyone's holding their breath, waiting foe us to overbalance, to topple, to let the greater force that is gravity lead us to our deaths...and that's in me. It's in my blood, as much as the Petrova survival gene, as much as my brown eyes and my hair and my (albeit former) love for cheerleading I got from a mom who didn't want anything to do with me..."

Elena let the thought die out, instead turning to him, head tilted like a curious bird, like the hummingbird in the Andies. "Aren't moms the worst? Like, you think that being a parent is all about love, and protection, and being there. Because it is, isn't it? From that first minute, when you hold them in your arms, you're supposed to feel this instant connection, this overwhelming, overriding need to protect, to defend, above your own inherent, innate need for survival as a living being. It becomes all about them. But not her, not either of them. They both died, right in front of me. My real mom...that wasn't her fault, she didn't choose that, but Isobel...she took off her daylight ring, right in front of me. She burned, and made me watch. She didn't tell me to go. Didn't think about watching my own mother die would do to me. No. They never do. All these people who are supposed to love me and they just keep doing stuff to hurt me. They keep doing it and doing it and when does it end? When can I stop? When can I stop watching as everyone leaves me, hurts me. When do I get to say I've had enough? You vampires may all be 'monsters,'" she murmured, putting ironic air quotes around the word, "but when do I get to roar?"

Klaus didn't know what to say. So, for a moment, he didn't say anything, anything at all. He only looked, and listened, and felt. He looked at the smudges of mascara clumping her eyelashes into points like on a child's star, he listened to her heartbeat, thundering like a war drum, pumping the blood that was both his catalyst and his curse through her veins, and felt his heart break, his soul reach out, his sharp edges yearning to scrape against hers, even if they didn't fit, especially if they didn't fit because he didn't want perfect, he never had, Klaus just wanted something real and there was nothing more real than a messy work of art, beautifully misunderstood, catastrophically misguided and foolish and reckless.

So, for the first time since he'd known her, Klaus took her by the hand with no intentions to harm her, his thumb sweeping against the ridges and valleys of her knuckles. "You can always get roaringly drunk with me, Elena," he said, the humour of his words disintegrating in the fervence of his severity, his sincerity. "I won't ever tell you how to feel. I don't care how you feel about them."

"Right," Elena nodded, something like resignation -disappointment?- settling over her features. "All you care about is my blood."

His fingers darted out, capturing her under her chin, the echo of her pulse radiating out to his fingertips, and he leaned in to the feel of her skin, warm as a fire, as the bonfire in their village, this village, all those thousand years ago, but this was not Tatia before him, and he would never treat her as such; he didn't need, or want, to. "If I only cared for your blood, sweetheart, then I would have asked for if by now. If that was all I wanted, I wouldn't be sitting here with you, on the floor, while you drink my wine and I drink in your secrets."

It was true. With every word out of her mouth, he burned for more, because when did anyone ever confide in Klaus Mikaelson of all people? When did anyone ever trust him so blindly with something so personal, without expecting him to use them against them, even if he had no intention of doing so? Everyone assumed the worst. Everyone was usually right.

Just not all the time.

Sometimes there really was good in him; sometimes he just needed the right person to bring it out.

Like her. And her secrets were delectable, a forbidden fruit, like faerie fruit in tales of old, where the more you had, the more you wanted. Klaus wanted more. He didn't want her to stop talking. It was nice to hear another voice, to just talk, even to a drunken teenager who he was supposed to hate, who he'd killed, who he'd held in his arms for longer than he should have that night, had brushes her hair back and lingered like a man taking one last look at his homeland before venturing into the unknown. All of this was new to him, foreign territory, even though he'd known both doppelgängers of the last thousand years, he didn't know her.

He'd like to. But it wouldn't be easy. Because how did you get someone to lower their guard? By lowering yours first, and Klaus' was an impenetrable castle, with a moat and a drawbridge and a sleeping dragon and a million flaming archers along the turrets. And she was the warrior princess astride her snowy mount, blazing sword held aloft, demanding to be let in, to have an audience with his insecurities and most private vulnerabilities, and Klaus didn't know how to call them all off. He wasn't Elijah with his noble declarations, didn't fall in love like Bekah did, didn't put people at ease with Kol's easy charm. He was himself, and nothing more. Brutal and bloody and violent, a raging tempest, pouring out his pain onto canvas our making it rain someone else's blood.

And so he said, "I killed my mother when I was twenty three and I lied about it. I told my siblings it was Mikael, but it was I who did it. I tore her heart from her chest with my own hands. She died cursing my name, saying I'd become everything she ever hated. And I still miss her."

Klaus waited. He waited for the shock, the horror, the revulsion, the how could you do that, Klaus, to your own mother? He waited for the condemnation from the almighty, pious Elena Gilbert. But it never came. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, elbows colliding awkwardly with the fridge, fingers settling in the hair at the nape of his neck. Her mouth found his ear, a feather-light brush of lips as she said, "I already know. And I don't, I won't judge you. But I don't know what you need right now." He didn't even know himself. He only knew that, oddly, he felt everything inside him was still, and Klaus wasn't sure if it was the calm before the storm or just...calm. He didn't need to fight her, she wasn't here to fight him, there was no need for masks and grandiose villainous theatrics. He just needed to listen. "Do you need me to be angry for her?" Elena continued, raising her chin defiantly. "Because I'm not. She wanted me gone, too, so she's not exactly high up on my Christmas card list. And no one should ever put their children through what you and your siblings endured, especially with Mikael. This sin is not yours to carry, Klaus. I killed my dad, both of them, by living. Grayson wouldn't let Stefan help him out of car until he saved me, and John died so that I'd come back. We both have blood on our hands."

Her arms retracted, palms spread on her knees, peering down at them as if she expected to see them covered in scarlet. She would make a stunning Lady Macbeth, he thought, but it seems she is forever destined to the the Ophelia to his Hamlet, drowning and dying, beautiful and ageless and haunting. "You didn't kill your mom. You killed the thing that looked like her, but it wasn't her. I know that dark magic, the kind that she used, the kind that disrupts the balance of nature, it changes you. Corrupts you. Bonnie told me about it. But regardless of that...she shouldn't have cursed you, shouldn't have made Elijah hold you down."

He must have made some noise of surprise, for her mouth quirked up at the edges. "Did you not know that I know it all? Elijah's quite the storyteller. I think he needed to get it off his chest, after all this time," she whispered conspiratorially, as if Elijah was about to appear around the corner any second, even though they both knew that was impossible. Stefan had made sure of that. "No one lives in Mystic Falls without getting hurt on some way or another. It's like Derry."

Klaus shook his head, chuckling softly. "Ah, but I'd never be caught anywhere near a clown costume," he said, a silent acknowledgment of her literary reference. "Yes, Elena, I know who Stephen King is," the hybrid answered before she could even ask. "Just because I'm a recluse doesn't mean I'm an ill-educated one."

"Then why did you build such a big house? People are gonna expect you to host parties in it, especially if you're in cahoots with the Council."

Shrugging, he plucked the bottle of wine from her lap, drinking it with one hand, since somehow his left, traitorous appendage that it was, had retreated back to Elena's comforting warmth. "And this should bother me why? I'm not here for people to like me."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I have no where else to go, and this is where you are. It's our home."

For the first time all night, Elena smiled, that real, happy smile, the one Rebekah has shown him on the phone at Senior Prank Night, the one he'd caught glimpses of in crowded classroom hallways when he'd hijacked the History teacher's body. It made her eyes sparkle, yet was far more precious than any gem he could have procured from his various troves. This wasn't made, but given, freely offered.

He took it gratefully.

Elena looked down at the empty bottle between them. "More wine?"

Klaus snorted at her audacity, offering him his own alcohol. "Absolutely. How did you find the cellar anyway?" he inquired mildly as he brought her to her feet, catching her when she inevitably swayed, the ends of her hair tickling his cheek, wafting up tantalizing wisps of her shampoo, something floral, yet dignified.

"I asked. As it so happens, I went to school with one of your staff," she explained, rolling her eyes at the word like it was an unnecessary absurdity -she wouldn't think that if she saw the size of the place- "and I said I was a friend of yours. She led me right to it." That was what he got for hiring locals rather than outside professionals.

He found he wasn't as angry as he should have been, as he'd normally be, as he would have been, if he wasn't leading Elena down the steps, still holding her hand, still feeling like none of this was quite real and yet desperately hoping it was. He didn't want to have to pretend he was a decent person in his mind. Not bothering to flick on the light, he plucked a few bottles at random, all that same cherry wine she seemed to have taken a shining for, plus a bottle of rum to keep it interesting. As they made their way back to the kitchen, he caught sight of a mark hiding under the collar of her shirt, an ugly red scratch, and something tightened inside him at the sight.

Before he even realized it, he'd let go of her hand, the pads of his fingers tracing the mark. "Is this from..." Klaus couldn't finish the words, so he didn't, just waited expectantly for her to do so for him.

But she didn't. She just stared, and stared, without seeing him. Then, in a rush, she pulled up her collar like that would somehow reverse it, out of sight and therefore out of her mind. "It's okay. I've had worse."

He knew that. Of course he knew that. But still..."It looks like it hurts."

Elena snorted, so unladylike it made him grin wildly, fishing a corkscrew from the kitchen island. "When doesn't love hurt?"

"It shouldn't."

"I know."

"It didn't, when I was in love."

She stopped, frozen, encased in ice and a curiosity he could almost taste on his tongue. He liked it, liked that she wanted to know. She'd gotten Elijah to tell their story, the family history, and it made him guilty preen to know she was just as interested in a story about him, and him alone. "Was it only the one time?" Elena wondered delicately, reclaiming her forgotten glass like she was unconsciously giving him to gather himself. He can't decided whether to be grateful that she'd read him so well or indignant over the fact that she can read him at all. His goal was to be unknowable, a looming shadow, the Boogeyman in the dark.

But Elena will want investigate every corner, turn on every light. Ane he hadn't seen light in so very, very long. So he'll let her.

"So far, yes. What I had with Tatia, your ancestor, I don't know if it was love. Looking back, it seems more akin to infatuation, convenience, intrigue-"

"Puppy love?" Elena snickered over the rim of her glass, lipstick-red smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth. Wow, what a joke. Truly original.

"I've killed people for saying worse things to me," Klaus reminded her, but by now she was no stranger to his cruelty; it's his passion, his humanity she had yet to aquatint herself with. He could only hope they'd get along.

"Oh, I know. But tonight's not about being scared of you or what you're capable of."

The hybrid couldn't help but press, "Then what is it about, sweetheart?"

She set down her glass, crystal clinking, boot steps butchering the quiet as she left the kitchen and marched across the parque flooring before landing at the front door. "If anyone tries to come through there and hurt me, you'd stop them, right?" she almost begged, hand flung out helplessly. "You wouldn't even let them through the door?"

"No." Instant. Involuntary. Painfully accurate. Vulnerable.

"That is what I need tonight," Elena insisted, hand falling back to her side, the tide of her breathing returning to normal. "I need to feel safe, and not have to worry about anything. I need to feel like myself, and I can only do that with someone who doesn't expect anything from me, who didn't expect me to show up in the first place. I need the scariest thing in town, with the best bottles of wine and the most intriguing stories and the most broken spirit I've ever seen besides my own. I need to not be alone."

"Then you won't be."

This is bad. So very, very bad. He could see it all, like it was a map laid out before him, imposed across the black and white chessboard-like tiles, all her moves and counter-moves, how the Salvatores had fallen for her, how Elijah had opened up to her. She was sweet, and merciful, and fiery and fierce and loving, so powerfully herself that he couldn't help but marvel, be in awe of her. Here was the great doppelgänger, the oldest yet, saying she needed him. Not wanted, but needed. It was intoxicating, headier than any alcohol, for this will not be a temporary buzz, an artificial high. Her eyes were no longer glazed: she was sober, and deadly serious.

He was supposed to be the deadly one, with poisonous venom, but she was the one he was afraid of, her goodness its own kind of poison, eating away at him. What would it be like, if he let himself indulge, just this once? If they shared another bottle of wine? It didn't have to mean anything, but it did, or he hoped it did and...

"I think you need this, too. I think you shouldn't think so hard. I'm not going to hurt you."

Oh, but sweetheart, that was half the problem: because if she was, he'd expect it, see it coming, be able to reflect and deflect and attack. He didn't know how to retract his claws; they were so much a part of him. They were the part he'd always liked best. How did he let that go?

"We can be people, just for one night."

The word left his lips before he could regret it. "Okay."

She took his hand, steering him back in the direction of the kitchen, but he soon took over, instead leading her up the winding spiral staircase, mindful of the parts still under construction -a work in progress, just like himself, and whatever this was- to his own room, opening the door of his ensuite bathroom, the light flickering to life.

Elena squinted, pouting at the brightness on her sensitive eyes. "Ow! Give a girl some warning. Not all of us have supernatural bat vision."

"Bats are blind, sweetheart," he reminded her softly, shoulders relaxing back as he chuckled. Maybe she was still a little drunk.

Elena kicked him in the shin. "I know that. What are you doing, anyway?" she asked, so adorably transparent in her diversion.

"Your seatbelt left a mark. Stefan pulled it off of you, didn't he?"

Wordlessly, she nodded, gaze shifting around the room, unable to meet his, landing haphazardly on things. The claw foot bathtub, the tube of toothpaste he'd left out, the china-blue towel on the rail.

Klaus continued on, "I'm guessing mine isn't the first stash you've raided tonight, so while the vampire blood in your system tries to combat that so your liver doesn't end up resembling camouflage, it means you won't heal as fast as you normally would. Plus, it's just good practice, especially if you develop an infection," he added, knowing she'd appreciate the medical logic of it.

"I don't need you to fuss over me, Klaus." It was the second time she'd said his name that night, the most he'd ever heard her say it, but unlike all those times before, it was soft, like a warm blanket on a cold night, and it seemed so more genuine, intimate, even though there not doing anything particularly note-worthy. He had a First Aid Kit in his hand and she was straightening up the counter where he'd strewn everything, tightening the cap on his toothpaste, and he suddenly wanted to hear her say it all the time, just like that.

Maybe he'd just had too much wine.

Or maybe he'll be forever drunk on her, and her kindness, her humanity.

Maybe there are worse ways to live, worse things to live with.

Setting the kit down, he gestured to the tub behind her. "Sit. Let me take a look."

She didn't put up a fight, but her fingers visibly shook as she tried to undo the buttons. His hand reached out, covering hers, only undoing the first few; there was no need to be improper, to overstep, she'd already had her trust violated by someone she loved tonight, and he knew that exact ache better than he'd like, an old companion he'd never quite mastered living with.

Gingerly, Klaus probed the mark, frowning at the split skin. Dear God, what had Stefan been thinking? He'd hurt her. There was a mark on her, and it was long and red and angry, and just because it wasn't made by a belt or a blade didn't mean he didn't, hadn't felt it, too and...

"Stefan will never lay a hand on you. Not while I draw breath," he vowed, forehead swaying dangerously close to hers, pulled in by her magnetic orbit. "I give you my word."

"That's the whole point, you dummy. Stefan wants you dead. Everyone does."

"And you? Do you want me dead?" Klaus asked her as he got out an antiseptic wipe and began cleaning the mark, watching as she didn't even flinch.

Elena put her hand around his, halting him, the other coming up to tilt his chin, a shadow of his earlier actions. "'Darkness cannot drive our darkness; only light can do that.'"

"'Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that,'" he finished for her. "You a fan of Dr King's, Miss Gilbert?"

"Dr King Jr," she instantly corrected him, "and yes, I am."

"As interesting as that little factoid is, you didn't answer my question."

Elena raised a brow, teeth capturing her bottom lip as she smiled. "Didn't I?"

Klaus rolled his eyes, finishing cleaning her chest. "Fine, I suppose you did. What you're trying to say is that you've had enough of violence, that killing me is pointless and that...that you're a confusingly optimistic person." It wasn't what he was going to say. He'd been thinking of saying instead 'That you'd miss me,' or 'We're opposites, always drawn to each other, unable to truly let go of the other,' but he didn't, because he didn't know if it was true. He needed her, her blood for his hybrids, but if they'd met under different circumstances, if this had been a thousand years ago, would he still be tending to her like some devoted protector? Would the flush on her cheeks look so inviting if the thought were not such a crime, an act carrying a sentence he wasn't sure he could endure?

Was he alone, and she just lonely?

If he cared about her, he was the biggest hypocrite who ever lived. Love is weakness, he'd told Elijah, over and over and over again. Aurora had made him weak, had exploited him and his family. She'd been human, and her love for Klaus had done him no favours. But Elena didn't want to be like him, wanted to be the antithesis of him, didn't want fangs and claws and bloodshed to override her nature. She didn't want forever, and he respected that as much as it intrigued him, surrounded by the supernatural as she was, how she could hold so steadfast in her beliefs when Klaus had never believed in anything but betrayal and fear, that the world was out to to get him (always and forever was destined not to last)...

But Elena just wanted to get him drunk.

And he was fine with that.

"There. All finished," he said, depositing the wipe in the bin and snapping the First Aid Kit closed with an audible snap. Elena flinched, just barely, but incredibly noticeable with his heightened senses -and the fact that he'd been staring at her. Her hand curled up against her chest, by her heart, like she could keep the stubborn organ together through sheer force of will.

"Stefan tried to kill me."

"I know." It was all he could offer her.

"Stefan tried to kill me," she repeated, a ghostly echo, face drained of colour, eyes brimming with pain, an oceans worth. He didn't want to swim in it, didn't want to get lost in those depths, but there was something about her like this, strong and yet vulnerable, honest and sincere, that he couldn't help but be drawn to. Pain is something he knew, that he could understand, could relate to, and he couldn't help but consider how few people had had the privilege of seeing Elena Gilbert fall apart, let go, and helped her but herself back together after, or just been there to really listen, without judgment, the same grace she affords everyone except herself. This was her confession, and he was willing to hear it, if only so he can plan how to properly punish Stefan when he got his hands on him.

"He was-he was going to turn me!" she gasped, gripping the rim of the tub in a bone-white grip, agony rolling off of her, crashing into him until he could almost feel it himself. Empathy was not his strong suit, but seeing her cry, when she hadn't even cried at her own death...

In a blink, he was at her side, an arm wrapping around her shoulders, urging her head onto his chest as she sobbed, "He was going to make me like him even though he knows that's not what I want! And-and after he made me do that stupid fricking hike and we-we watched the sunset and made me tell him that I didn't wa-want to be a vampire, that I wanted to grow up! And he was going to take that from me! He was going to kill me on the same bridge where my parents car...where they...where he saved me. All to get back at you." Her words were icy, hoarfrost coating her tongue, creeping into her eyes, making him feel far more guilty than he had when he'd gotten off the phone with Stefan and trashed one of -or many of- Mrs Lockwood's 'antique' vases. This was personal, sharp, piercing his heart, her tears and her fire scorching him with shame. This is his fault, his doing, and he doesn't need her to add to it but she had every right to.

Klaus expected her to go on, to link every terrible tragedy back to him, the lynchpin of her unhappy life, to pull away at least physically if not emotionally, but all she did was button up her blouse and wonder, "How can he hate you so much? His humanity's supposed to be off. When Damon first came to Mystic Falls, he didn't have his, either, and while he wasn't exactly Mr Good Samaritan and he killed a lot of people, it wasn't personal, wasn't a direct attack. Sure, he threatened me a little-" oh, sweetheart, he shouldn't have threatened you at all- "but he never would have turned me, I don't think. And then he didn't even-"

"-Love you?"

It wasn't his place to ask, to pry. He was a thousand year old hybrid, the most powerful being on the face of the planet; he had better things to do with his time than get involved with some moronic love triangle but...he'd been there. With Tatia, Elijah on one side and himself, fighting for her and fighting each other for her, in the hopes of impressing her, proving themselves worthy. And he never knew how she felt about that. She'd liked the attention, of that he was sure, but underneath all that...what had it felt like, to be fought over, fought for? What was it like, to know that someone would move Heaven and Earth just to catch a glimpse of your smile?

He couldn't ask Tatia, but he could ask her.

Elena nodded, swinging her feet back and forth like she was on some invisible swing -always seining between the Salvatores, between who hasn't hurt her the most that week? "I know he loves me. Most of the time, I wish I didn't. I never wanted to come between them, ever. I didn't want to be another Katherine. I still don't. It's one of my biggest fears, turning into that manipulative bitch. I think about it all the time, and lately it's just gotten worse, since she can play me so well, according to everyone."

"And what do you think?"

She grinned, wickedness incarnate. "I think that when you've been a vampire for nearly a hundred and fifty years, you should be able to tell the difference between a human and a vampire heartbeat. Don't you agree?"

"I do," Klaus said, arm slipping down her shoulders, tangling their hands and switching off the light. "I don't think I could see you as anyone but yourself. And Katerina really isn't that good of an actress." It was dark, and he was grateful for it, so that Elena couldn't see what a mess his room was -he knew she was the kind of person that abhorred mess, he could just tell, someone who felt the need for control, order, when their life seemed to be dominated by only chaos, unpredictable as a spread of cards. It felt too open, exposed, like cracking his ribs open and displaying his bloody yet still-beating heart. She wouldn't like what she saw, if she ever did.

He didn't like it himself. How he could love his siblings and yet be so angry with them. How he still yearned for his father's approval even though he'd watched him burn only the week before. How he wanted to be loved yet wasn't capable of it himself, not now, if ever again.

She laughed, merry and berry-bright. "And finally somebody says it! Honestly, I think I gave a better performance as Tree Number Two in my kindergarten play."

They'd reached the bottom of the stairs, and Klaus spun around, hands in the pockets of his jeans to resist reaching out for her again. "You were a tree?"

"Yep," Elena nodded, popping the 'p,' punctuating it by jumping down the last two steps. "We were doing a play about the different seasons, and I was so excited because I was autumn and it's my favourite season and I had the prettiest leaves and Caroline was so jealous even though I thought she'd be happy playing summer but...yeah. I had twig arms and actual leaves stuck to this bit of cardboard on my head. Of course, a spider just happened to try and make a bed out of one and it freaked Care out so much that she knocked into me during my big song and-"

And he lost it. Klaus bent double, howling with laughter, tears streaming as he thought of them as toddlers, rolling around on stage in front of the gathered parents of Mystic Falls. "Who won?" he asked, reining in his glee but unwilling to cover up his joy.

"I did. But then I gave her a big hug and helped her get it outside after the show. I don't think she even remembers it."

Klaus wasn't so sure. Having met her for the first time tonight...he knew that gleam in her eyes, that wish to be extraordinary, to get away and be anything you wanted. No rules, no limitations, only freedom and endless possibilty. Caroline wanted to run. Elena wanted to stay. She'd known Klaus was coming for her but she'd stayed anyway. She'd broken into his house, not wanting to come across him, but when she had, she'd stayed. And while he didn't think she loved this town any more than Caroline...it meant something else to her. She was willing to take the bad with the good, as she had been with the Salvatores, even with Elijah when they'd struck their deal -he'd gone in to his brother's mind when he was sleeping, curious as to what he'd missed, such as Elena calling his brother's bluff and stabbing herself, foolish (brave) thing that she was. She didn't give up anything without a fight, until she was down on her knees with nothing left but her pride and her eyes and the way she tilted her chin when she was being challenged.

She would make such a good queen. Why had no one seen that yet? Why had the girl with the bleeding heart not been given a crown to match?

"Are their pictures?"

"Do you really think Caroline would let evidence of such a catastrophes see the light of day?" She giggled, moving past him to the kitchen -she'd memorized the layout, clever girl, always know your way around a lion's den- and picking up another bottle of cherry wine. She considered it for a moment, turning it around and around in her palms like it was a stick and she was hoping to build a fire. But all she kindled was his puzzlement as she abruptly switched topics -or rather switched back to. "The woman that you loved, the one who wasn't Tatia. What was her name?"

"Aurora."

He hadn't said it in a long time. Hadn't thought of her in decades. There was a bricked-up picture in an abandoned home that he hadn't laid eyes on since the night he'd painted it. But he remembered it al too well. The red of her hair, the feel of his smile. The ache of her betrayal when Rebekah came to him and explained what she'd done, what she'd made her do. She'd wanted immortality more than she'd wanted him. She'd wanted power above that of her silly court and her insufferable brother. He had not been enough for her, even though she'd been enough for him, exactly as she was. Why hadn't she seen that?

Elena smiled. Gentle, genuine. "That's a nice name. Was she as pretty as a princess?"

Klaus shook his head, taking the bottle from her, drinking half of it before he remembered to save some for her. "Lady, actually. Lady Aurora de Martel, daughter of a Count, sister of an idiot."

"Is she still around?" she inquired, still so very gentle like she didn't want her line of inquiry to cause him any harm. Always so careful, this one. Always so compassionate. How was she not exhausted by it?

"She is," Klaus conceded sadly, "but I wish she wasn't."

"Why?"

"Because she was perfect as she was. She wasn't suited to vampirism, just as you are not."

She didn't seem upset by his words, only nodded in agreement. "How old were you?"

He let loose a faint chuckling, pulling her in by the hem of her shirt, palms settling against her jean-clad hips. Her breath fanned out against his lips, still smelling like cherries, and blood, and he leaned dangerously close as he murmured, "Why don't you ask what you really want to know the answer to, sweetheart, instead of beating around the bush?"

Elena didn't back down -of course she didn't. "What was she like? What were you like with her?"

Bold. Oh, she was so bold, his doppelgänger. She'd poke the bear and risk the teeth if she could get the nectar she seeks; she seemed addicted to truth. "She was beautiful. Beloved by all. My siblings and I had not been vampires for even a year. We infiltrated her court. She infiltrated my heart, then broke it when she cut herself so that Bekah would heal her, then threw herself off the balcony. She woke up cruel when she'd died sweet, or at least to me. She went mad, Elena. Love can turn to hate so easily, as you well know."

"I don't hate Stefan," she insisted, biting the inside of her cheek. Right, because Elena Gilbert loves everyone... "Hate doesn't even begin to cover what I'm feeling. Maybe I won't feel like this tomorrow, or next week, but right now I wish I'd ever met him."

Ah, finally. Finally, she roared. "Good. You should."

"Why does love hurt so much? You've been alive for over a thousand years, have you figured it out yet?"

"No, I have not," Klaus admitted, nose brushing hers the tiniest bit before he stepped back, gesturing to the bottle between them. "But getting plastered out of your mind really, really helps."

"I don't think that's a particularly healthy coping mechanism," she called out to his retreating back, cautiously following him, just a step behind, eyes on the rafters like she was trying to imagine what the place would look like when it was all done, like she can see the bones of it, what lies beneath the plastic and wood and various power tool spread about.

"I don't think you have much of a leg to stand on with that one, love, considering how you started off the evening." He emerged in the doorway, a red-green plaid blanket folded over his arm. "Shall I show you the rest?"

Elena followed him out the double doors at the back of the house, past the pool covered over with tarp, all the way to the sloping lawns of the garden. While he'd never had much of a green thumb -Rebekah had always liked to help their mother in the garden, and Kol had a near-encyclopedic knowledge of various herbs and roots and their magical properties- there was the beginnings of a rosebush, English roses of yesteryear, hyacinths and foxgloves and lavender. Wild things. Wild things for the wild beast.

He also just liked their colours.

Snapping out the blanket with a flourish, he knelt down and popped off the cork in the bottle of rum, patting the space beside him. "Sit. The fresh air will sober you up."

Elena obliged, lying on her back, jacket balled up under her head, gaze trained up at the stars. "Does this feel weird to you? Like, this whole night? My being here?"

Klaus snorted, choking down a mouthful of rum. "You're only just coming to that conclusion now?" he teasingly remarked, laughing as she smacked his arm.

"Well, no, but I've had other things on my mind, and stars always help me think."

"They do."

She nodded, eyes straying back to inky sky above, the tiny specks of dying light. "Yeah. My dad taught me how to spot constellations as a kid, when we'd go up to the Lake House. We'd sit out on the deck with a blanket just like this -although minus the alcohol, of course- and he'd teach me all their names and what they meant. Jeremy used to like it, too, but he'd always get impatient and give up after a while."

"But not you." It wasn't a question."

"No," she agreed, voice tinged with sadness, watering down her joy. "No, I don't give up. I'm far too stubborn for that."

Taking another drink, Klaus pointed out, not unkindly, "Stubbornness is just another breed of determination, and there's nothing wrong with that. There's nothing wrong with setting goals."

"What, and mowing down anyone who gets in the way of you achieving them?"

He gave a helpless shrug. "Lawns can always do with some pruning."

Another one of those laughs, this one with just a hint of disbelief -did she really think he couldn't be funny, that he was permanently set on 'Big Bad Wolf' mode? She shouldn't; Klaus considered himself hilarious.

"I know mine could. I usually get Jer to do it but..." Elena trailed off, covering up her silence with a gulp of wine.

Something in his head urged him to leave it be, to not rock the boat, to not ruin the most peaceful, interesting night he'd had in years...but he was Klaus Mikaelson, and he had a talent for self-destruction. "I'm sorry, about your brother. If it's any constellation, I knew that Alaric would most likely save him. I wouldn't have let him die."

Because she would have been inconsolable, and would have lashed out at him, and it would have, admittedly, been less fun to play with her if she couldn't fight back, didn't want to. He didn't want to break her, he only needed her blood -this will be his test for himself, he decided, that if this became a regular occurrence, if they could spend their time sipping wine instead of hurtling insults and making demands and dancing around all the other tedious, insignificant players in their play, he will see if he can try and not break her, if he was capable of anything but destruction.

If he could have one thing on his life he can't, or won't, ruin.

"Thank you. You're not the first to use Jeremy like that, and I'm sure you won't be the last, even though he's gone."

He'd noticed. One of his hybrids had reported it to him. When Elena went home, she'd be going back to an empty house, as an empty as his.

"I'm sorry. I know how much it hurts to be away from family."

"It's for his own good," Elena said, and Klaus couldn't help but wonder who she was trying to convince more: him, or herself. "It would have happened eventually, even without you around. It's better I send him away while he's still breathing, while he still has a chance. He's my baby brother, I'd do anything for him, even break my heart like this."

"I would have for mine as well."

He'd loved Henrik. So, so much. His little brother, constantly following him around, always curious, always happy to play with him. Klaus had taught him how to hold a sword and follow tracks in the woods and the best place to find flowers to make crowns for their sister. Kol had never really needed him, but Henrik...he'd loved being there for him, had protected him as much as he could. He'd been so innocent. He never should havs taken him to see the wolves, shouldn't have put his own need to give in to the connection that, at the time, he hadn't understood, should have put his safety first...

Maybe he'd still be alive. Forever twelve, never getting a chance to truly grow up. Maybe vampirism would have turned him into a monster, as it had the rest of them.

Slowly, Elena took his hand, squeezing tightly, a quiet I'm here. "I'm sure he knew how much you loved him, Klaus. Anyone can see how much you care about your family."

"I don't think everyone sees it that way. Especially my siblings."

"Love isn't always rational. Should you have daggered them, over and over and over? No. But they're still alive, which means there's always the possibility for forgiveness."

Klaus barked a laugh, bitter and resigned. "Weren't you cursing the name of Stefan Salvatore not ten minutes ago?"

Elena pouted, folding her arms over her chest. "That's different."

"Different how?"

"You're unkillable; I'm not. If you hadn't given in, I'd be dead." Spoken like a woman who was used to such an idea, forever the bait in everyone's trap, the magician's assistant diverting attention when she was the true prize, the real magic.

"If he'd succeeded in turning you, I would have killed him where he stood," he said, swallowing another gulp from the bottle.

Her eyes flickered. "I know. But then you wouldn't have been able to get your family back."

Klaus turned his head, grinning down at her wickedly. "Perhaps not. It stands to reason that after taking them as he did, Stefan would find some way of cloaking them. He'd need a witch to do that, someone he trusted, or at the very least who's hatred of me he trusted. And no one despises me more than Bonnie Bennett. If I'd killed him, I'd have gone straight to her."

The doppelgänger didn't move, didn't give even the vaguest hint that he was right or wrong either way. Such loyalty was admirable.

"I don't know where they are. I think Stefan was wrong to take them. If someone had taken Damon...even as he is, there wouldn't be anyone or anything that could stop him from getting him back. Even you."

"I know. I believe you."

"No one thinks I should know. They keep going on about 'protecting me'." She scoffed, rolling her eyes hard. "What a joke. Like I'm not a magnet for supernatural drama. If I don't know what's going on, how can I defend myself? Hell, I could just start guessing places where your siblings could be, and I might actually be right. I hate being treated like a child. I haven't been a child since the night my parents car went off Wickery Bridge."

"That's the one Carol Lockwood is lobbying to restore, isn't it?"

Nodding, she took the bottle in his hand, drinking it like her life depended on it. "That's the one." She looked down at the bottle, then at him, biting her bottom lip sheepishly. "Sorry. This line of conversation was beginning to require something a little stronger."

"No, I like it," he assured her. "You should always take what you want."

"Even at the expense of others?" Elena parried, handing it back to him. Klaus expected her to go back to the stars, but she put her head down on his chest instead, eyes closed like she was perfectly safe. And she was.

"You can't go through life with everyone you meet singing your praises."

"I suppose not. But I've seen so many bad things in my life, so much darkness. Even before Stefan and Damon rolled into town like twin freight trains of diaster and peril."

Great, now he was thinking of Stefan resembling a train out of Thomas the Tank Engine, complete with spiky hero hair.

"My dad was a doctor, and I'd get him to tell me about what he was doing, the patients he'd helped. People can do terrible things to each other, for each other, without any kind of magic or bloodlust involved. And while I think everyone wants to stay innocent as long as they can... there's innocence, and there's naivety. If I wasn't dealing with vampires and witches and werewolves-"

"-and Original hybrids with excellent taste in vintages," he couldn't help but interrupt.

Elena opened an eye, glaring at him like he was the world's biggest nuisance. "I'd still have some other problem or other. I wasn't happy here. I was safe, but I wasn't happy."

"But you're still not happy now. I can tell. It's hard not to see. Wouldn't you rather go back to ordinary life, to not knowing what goes bump in the night?"

She shook her head, the curve of her forehead brushing his collarbone. "No, I wouldn't. Now I know how precious everything is, to never take anyone for granted. Life is short, eternity isn't what it's cracked up to be and...the only thing I can really count on is what I believe, and what I choose to do, and how I feel about people. And the rest...I just have to roll with the punches and I hope I can always get back up again."

Her words drew him back to Senior Prank Night, to the gym, how he'd slapped her across the face, how she'd fallen to the floor, the first time he'd ever seen her impregnable will falter. "I'm sorry I hit you," Klaus confessed, feeling her body tense against him, rigid as a roman column, a wire pulled too tight. "I shouldn't have done it."

Slowly, she reached up, her fingertips trailing ever so slightly along the curving arch of his cheek. "Thank you for the apology. I can tell you meant it."

He did.

Her hand settled on his chest, right over his heart, transmuting him the courage to ask, "If Stefan apologized, if he begged for your forgiveness for what he did to you, would you grant it? Would you go back to being his girl, help him straighten himself out? Could you forgive him for being monstrous to you?"

She, who clung to love like morning dew clung to grass, mourning when that love vanished and left her with nothing but emptiness, left her cold. This time tomorrow, would her head be on someone else chest, her confessions whispered to another's ears? He didn't like the thought, not at all.

"I don't know," Elena replied honestly, brow furrowed in deep thought. "I said I'd never forgive Damon when he snapped Jeremy's neck in front of me when I turned him down," the bastard did what? "and he didn't know he was wearing the Gilbert ring. I told him he'd lost me forever, and yet I kissed him when he was about to die, I spent all summer with him. How I feel now, it might change, but it also might not. Because as awful as it sounds, everything Damon's ever done to me, he's done to keep me alive, even if it's as a vampire. What Stefan did...he was going to kill me, murder me in cold blood. I wouldn't have died right away, if we'd gone over the bridge. He'd have had to wait. He might have even held me down to make sure I...Damon's not capable of that. I don't think even you would be capable of that, not to me, doppelgänger blood or not. Tonight, Stefan said that killing you was all he had left, but I told him he was wrong. Do you wanna know what I told him?"

Klaus nodded.

"I told him he had me," she whispered, a few stray tears falling from her eyes, dampening his shirt. He held her tighter. "And he said that he lost me when he left town with you. And maybe he did. Or maybe it was when we broke up over Katherine. Maybe it was when I found my ancestor's diary, about him being a Ripper, all the things he'd hidden me. Maybe I never really had Stefan Salvatore, not in the way I thought. Pieces, yes, but not the whole. And isn't that what love is supposed to be about? Finding that one person who will give you everything, and who you can give everything to in return? It shouldn't be drips and drabs, waiting and hoping and not-knowing. He knew I was related to Katherine even before I did. He saved me that night on the bridge, but would he have tried so hard if I didn't look like her? Because I think a part of him still loves her, even more than it loves me. Damon wants to be good, but Stefan wants to be perfect, and I was the last part of the picture, the girl next door with her diary and her sadness who welcomed him in like he was home. And I don't want that; I just want to be me."

"And who is that?" Klaus asked her, now being the one to trace her cheek with his thumb. "Who is Elena Gilbert?"

"She's the girl that's gonna stay here, with you, and finish this bottle of wine and look up at the stars and try and find some peace."

"She sounds positively divine, sweetheart. And what about me? Who am I?"

She replied, as easy as breathing, "You're the guy who didn't yell at a sad, drunken teen. Who took her by the hand and cleaned her up and made the rest of the world go quiet, so that she could finally hear what her heart and her mind were trying to tell her. You're the guy who listened, and who shared things you probably haven't told anyone in a while, if ever. We're enemies who have put down their weapons, rivals who have come to a truce. It's thin, patchy like ice, and maybe it will give way under his, plummeting us into a killing, cold unknown. Or maybe we might both finally have someone we can really talk to, someone who finally understands. And if not..." Elena shrugged, beaming a wide grin. "We'll just be really weird drinking buddies. It's not like we'd be the first in this town."

"I can live with that." I like that.

Raising her cherry wine aloft, Elena clinked her bottle against his. "Cheers."

Not an hour later, Elena fell asleep on his chest, well and truly tipsy, face still stuck in an untroubled smile. After her little toast, they'd moved on to lighter topics, ranging wildly from their favourite colours to their most hated TV shows. She was easy to be around, had laughed at his jokes and asked a million questions, each thoughtful and insightful. He told of his favourite adventures, and she told him about the first time she rode a horse. Klaus shared the tale of how he got stuck in a room with Marie Antoinette, Elena recounted the story of how she got stuck in a tree when she was eight trying to rescue a neighbor's cat. It was the first conversation in years that didn't involve ulterior motives, where nothing was gained by either party except a better -and more entertaining- understanding of each other.

And now he knew, more than ever, that he'd never left any harm come to her. He'd deal with Stefan, get his family's coffins back. He might even throw a ball to celebrate, open up the house as Elena had suggested: 'It's a shame to let all that space go to waste, Klaus. A house like this deserves to be lived in, to see some excitement. Nothing so beautiful should be so closed-off.'

Scooping her up in his arms, Klaus made sure her head was tucked firmly in the crook of his neck before bending down to retrieve her jacket, shamelessly riffling through her pockets in search of her house keys so he could take her home.

Abruptly, Elena groaned, burrowing further against his chest. "Don't take me home. I won't feel safe there. Stefan can still come in and hurt me again."

It was true. The vampire blood would be in her system for at least another day, adding in the fact that she was drunk and wouldn't be able to defend herself...it was the logical option. It was what she wanted, what she'd asked him for. To protect her.

(It was, deep down in that darkened, charred, cherry-pit of a heart, what Klaus really wanted.)

So he opened the door on silent hinges, padding across the floor and up the staircase, taking care not to jostle her. Klaus briefly entertained the idea of putting her in one of the finished gutes bedrooms, then discarded it, depositing her on the bed in his own room. Better to keep her in his where she wouldn't be disturbed, where the hybrids wouldn't dare venture -at least without knocking first. He was planning on agreeing to Stefan's terms and sending most of them out of town, maybe keeping Tyler around, since he was a part of Elena's inner sanctum. And Caroline had seemed like a nice enough girl; she could consider it a birthday gift.

Easing off her boots, he placed them on the floor by the bed, in easy reach when she woke up and would no doubt come to her senses and run out of the house like a bat out of hell...but he hoped not. He made some excellent pancakes.

Klaus turned down the blanket, untangling the strands of her chestnut hair from her collar so that they fanned out on the pillow. For a moment, and not a second more, he contemplated kissing her, knowing her lips would taste like cherry wine, rare and sweet...but he wouldn't. For one thing, he'd gone from seeing her as a means to an end to something far more personal in the span of a few hours, and he himself was still adjusting. And the thing that swayed him the most...was the fact that it wouldn't be her choice, and she'd had enough of that, of people taking her choices away, making assumptions, decisions for her.

It would be all the more satisfying if she ended up being the one who came to him.

He could wait; he was a patient man.

(Fine, he wasn't, but in this, he'd certainly try.)

With one last lingering -longing?- look, Klaus turned on his heel, leaving the sleeping Elena be, when he felt a pressure on his wrist, urging him back to the bed. Her eyelids fluttered open for the briefest second, chocolate brown intent on cornflower blue as she said one word, sweeter than any kiss could ever be.

"Stay."

And so he did. And it should have been a crime, how right it felt, to curl up on the other side of the bed, Elena immediately folding into him, breathing deep within moments. Klaus soon followed suit, and his last thought before sleep pulled him under was that he'd never been more grateful for a bottle of cherry wine.

Chapter Text

       'Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
      Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
         Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
        I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door.'

'Please join the Mikaelson family this evening at seven o'clock for dancing, cocktails and celebration...'

Elena spun the gilt piece of cardstock in her palm, watching as the gold accent refracted the morning light coming in from her perch on her window seat, shimmering and ethereal. But the beauty of the invitation was lost under the threads of apprehension weaving through her, tightening her chest, making her head ache. Esther wanted to meet her, was throwing a ball under the seemingly innocuous pretext of a 'celebration,' but that seemed as likely as her newfound...whatever she had with Klaus. Esther, the woman who had, according to Rebekah, stood by while her husband physically abused her son and made the rest of their children live in constant fear of his temper bleeding through onto them. While she was glad that Stefan and Damon had finally returned the coffins, there was a part of her that almost wished they hadn't, that things could have stayed as they were.

There were new players on the board now, three Mikaelsons she had never met, and therefore didn't know what to expect, how to act. The eldest, Finn, had been daggered for over nine hundred years; he would have never known Katherine. But the other, Kol...there was a distinct possibility his aversion to doppelgängers would be as prominent as Rebekah's, or he might not care at all. The only thing Elena knew for certain was that Esther wanted her for something, and she didn't think it was for beauty tips or to catch her up on the ways of the New World. She had been the supposed weapon to kill Klaus with, after all, the Original Witch responsible for the creation of the vampire species...and the murderer of her ancestor, Tatia, if Damon's recounting of their dinner up at the mansion was true. She'd likely be furious that Klaus had not only used her to break his curse, but that she herself still drew breath, her heart still pumped the blood that was the key to her son's hybrids.

If Elena was a betting woman -which she wasn't, except when it came to gambling with her own life- she'd put all her money on that being the reason.

Which was why Stefan and Damon didn't want her to go, practically locking her in her own home like she was some swooning damsel in danger of tripping over her own skirts. If Bonnie wasn't with her mom, they'd have no doubt gotten her to spell her inside like last time.

Again and again and again. Around and around and around. We love you, but we don't trust you to take care of yourself. We want to keep you safe, but we'll still do something stupid that you'll have to either fix or pay for later in some awful way.

Klaus had never done that. All he'd done was ask her not to run from the sacrifice, from her fate. She hadn't. He could have done anything to her that night at the mansion, as drunken and in pain as she had been. He could have compelled her, could have done a million things, or asked her to do them, could have tricked her into some Faustian bargain where she'd have no choice but to give him her blood. She would have made the perfect bargaining chip against Damon, who would have gone behind Stefan's back to give him the coffins back. But he hadn't. He'd simply held her as they looked up at the stars and drunk some cherry wine, as they'd peeled back the layers of themselves like art restorers, revealing the foundation underneath, cleaning and repairing the damaged parts.

And they were damaged, Elena would readily admit that. Klaus was not her hero, and she was not his redemption. If they ever kissed - and she'd thought about it, since that night, of course she had- there would be no uplifting swell of music, no pall of incandescent light would descend upon him to reveal a dashing prince -she thought, secretly, that he was already dashing enough- and all would be forgiven, all sins sloughed away like shedding a coat in summertime. No, if they kissed, the only thing that would happen would be the act of kissing the lips of the man who murdered her aunt, who killed her, who had compelled Bonnie's mom and her friend to kill himself in order to get what he wanted, solidifying the fact that she was no better than Katherine once and for all.

And yet...she couldn't help but think of what Jamie had said, the fervor in his voice, how he'd been under strict instructions that no harm should come to her of any sort. It was more consideration than either Salvatore brother had ever given her.

What did that mean? That she meant more to Klaus than she did to Stefan, to maybe even Damon. They both claimed to love her, but did they even know what it was? Did she? Apart from Matt, she'd never been in any other normal, loving, happy, relationship. Matt had been her first teen love -puppy love, as she had said so teasingly to Klaus- and Stefan was her first love, the first time she'd felt truly alive her whole life. And when Stefan left, she'd leant on Damon so much, had indulged in his attention like a cat in a sunbeam, stretching out in the lazy, languorous heat, basking in it. But he could be cold, and brutal, and he never told her anything until after the fact, or until she'd coaxed it out of him in some roundabout way that left her feeling slick and ill, coated in shame.

Klaus had never lied to her, never misled her. He was a showman, enjoyed the spotlight, the spectacle, but he never made a fool out of her. He did what he said he would, showed every single emotion on that intriguingly sculpted face, in those brilliant blue eyes...and yet she hadn't even spoken to him since that night, not a single word. She remembered falling asleep on his shoulder in the garden, how he'd carried her up the stairs, to his room, how the sheets had smelt like him, something deep and woodsy, with an underlying note of fresh paint, how she'd asked him to stay. And he had. Elena had woken up in his bed, alone, and for a moment she was sure that she'd imagined it, that she couldn't have possibly had the guts to break into his house, to say all those things, to have studied the curve of his jaw so intently as he'd tended to her scrapes, at the hands she'd seen conduct such bloodshed, a maestro of violence, be so very careful with her.

He was a puzzle wrapped in a mystery tied off with a string of something...genuine, some residual spark, a flicker, of what could have been, what should have been, if nature had been allowed to take its course, if his mother had not intervened. And Elena had never met a puzzle she couldn't solve, had countless finished Word Search books to prove it, stolen copies of her father's morning papers with every Crossword filled in, even if it took her days. She was persistent, hungry, a bloodhound who wasn't satisfied until the truth, the joyous taste of success, dripped from her jaws.

He'd even made her pancakes. It had been such a normal, guy thing to do. Elena knew that it was modern code for 'I had a really good time last night, thank you,' usually after someone slept together, and, technically, they had both been asleep in the same bed, had exchanged stories and secrets and fond memories the way two people wanting to connect romantically would normally do...which was likely why it had felt so awkward between them, the easy camaraderie of the night before evaporating in the harsh light of day.

Elena had sat there at the kitchen island, eating her pancakes, but she hadn't been able to really enjoy them, to savor them, as heavenly as they had been -a thousand year old hybrid could cook; who knew?- because she'd been so tensed for the dam to break, for the status quo to realign itself, for the universe to dust itself off and put itself back together again, smoothing over whatever bizarre infraction had led to such an impossibility as the two of them being civil occuring in the first place. She'd barely been able to look him in the eye, unable to quell her embarrassment over how she'd acted, just waiting for him to open his mouth and tip them back into familiarly hostile territory.

But he hadn't. All he'd asked was if she needed a ride home.

She'd told him no, that she'd be fine, seeing if he'd push her on it -hoping that he'd push her on it- but he'd let it go, let her go -but not before she kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for far more than the breakfast. And while Elena was by no means ashamed of what she'd done, of finding comfort when she needed it -it wasn't a crime to have a conversation with somebody, to want to reach out and connect when you were scared and alone and just wanted somebody there, who you could trust, who you knew wouldn't hurt you and wouldn't let anyone else, either- it meant that she no longer knew where she stood with Klaus, and that wasn't something that sat well with her, a sheen of queasy oil lining her gut, waiting to be ignited.

Before, they had been enemies, plain and simple, the lines between them etched in heavy charcoal, clear and distinct. But now...

Discarding the invitation on her bed, Elena padded over to her dresser, prying up the loose floorboard there. Reaching inside, she pulled out the bottle -cherry wine, of course, it could never be anything but with them- she had found on her porch when she'd gotten home from school that day, no doubt put there by one of his hybrids, since Klaus wouldn't dare come himself, lest he have to see one of the Salvatores. Not that he was scared of them, simply that he found them as mercurial and mistrustful as she did presently.

They were both so full of crap! Stefan, having the audacity to say 'Be better,' not three days after almost killing her. Just because she'd picked those wooden bullets out of his chest didn't mean she'd forgiven him in any way, shape, or form. It had made her skin crawl to have him here that morning, sitting in her kitchen, acting as if nothing had happened. And Damon...why had he told Stefan about the kiss? It was a stupid move, especially with his humanity being as predictable as a hurricane, tearing through her life and uprooting everything. It had been one kiss, and to be honest she hadn't even thought much about it since that night at the mansion...

Before she could allow her thoughts to be ensnared in a rabbit-hole of self-doubt and insecurity, Elena took one last look at the bottle in her hand, at the number scrawled in blocky black ink, and began to type out a text.

Klaus had been waiting for this. It made him the most pathetic weakling to ever grace the earth, but when he saw a text light up the screen of his phone from Elena Gilbert, an undignified breath of relief left his lips, fogging up the inside of his glass of whiskey. She wanted to meet.

They hadn't spoken since that night, and while she had no doubt given little thought to their unexpected interaction, letting it slip from her mind under the onslaught of all the latest drama, he had not forgotten it, not a moment. Not the way it had felt to hold her, to fall asleep with her heartbeat reverberating slow and steady against his chest. He hadn't forgotten the way she'd laughed, so bright and without restraint, as if something inside her had been unleashed, let go, repressed for too long, much like his wolf had been. While he felt guilty for compelling Bonnie's mother as he had -especially after learning that she had been the one responsible for desiccating Mikael, that she'd protected Elena from him as a girl- it had been nothing personal, and he'd done all he could to make sure no one died, most of all her.

If Mikael had still been alive, he would have killed him all over again for daring to lay a hand on his doppelgänger, when she was a child no less. It seemed his family going after her was a recurring theme. Bloody Bekah and her tantrums. So what if she'd daggered her? It had been a brilliant move, and Elena had been the one to give her back to him in the end of her own free will. She had to be impressed, at least a little -he certainly had been.

It was easy to slip past the bustling waiters and caterers marching about like frazzled ants adhering to his mother's strict specifications, making his way to the garage at the side of the house. Despite the fact that Klaus had designed this place for the specific intention of living there with his family, it felt...wrong, almost. Too loud, too crowded. He'd gotten so used to living in quiet, his only company the sound of his own footsteps, the swish of a paintbrush against canvas, the soft notes of an old jazz record. The Mikaelsons had not been a family in a thousand years, if they had ever been one at all. It was going to require some adjustment.

He knew that, presently, Elena was struggling with the opposite, sending her brother away for his own safety, alone and isolated in her house full of ghosts, the ghosts of the people she'd loved who had left her, either through fate or by sacrifice. All because he'd tried to kill him. All to make a bloody point. He'd take it back now, if he could. Hindsight could be a real bitch, just like his sister having the audacity to go after what was his. If Elijah hadn't been there, anything could have happened to her. Klaus hated the feeling of being indebted to his older brother, but never before had he been so grateful for his brother's unrelenting affection for Petrova doppelgängers, even if a small part of him wished he could have been the one to save her, to prove that he truly meant her no harm.

That if she needed him, he'd be there, and would do whatever she asked, whatever needed to be done. That she could trust him, and that his actions were no double-edged sword, a thousand cuts that she tried so desperately to hide, as if it was her fault that the people she loved did the things they did, as if she was responsible for them, shouldering the burden, the blame, because they themselves refused to. They were kindred spirits, he and her, twin souls of anguish, loving and hating at an intensity that few others could understand or maintain. It would be the world's -or just his?- most unbearable tragedy to lose such a wonderfully complex creature such as she, especially when Klaus had only just come to realize just how much there was to her, what lurked beneath the surface, the secrets and the sorcery behind those beautiful doe eyes.

Slipping the key in the ignition of his car as he let his mind mull over her possible motives for contacting him. If she were going to yell at him, she'd have just come straight to the house, charged in like Joan of Arc, twice as righteous and twice as beautiful for it. Her desire for an outside location meant that she wanted to be away from prying eyes -and ears- which meant it had something to do with his family.

His heart, traitorous organ that it was, deflated at the thought.

Half an hour later, Klaus was parking his car on an abandoned road, senses stretching out to assess his surroundings. There was nothing but the chirp of autumn birds, rustling leaves and...a single heartbeat, instantly recognizable. Klaus was out of his car in a second, making his way down the deserted path snaking forward, passing tangled tendrils of ivy wrapped in an overly loving embrace around broken ornamental columns jutting up from the ground like stalagmites, like teeth. This had once been a plantation house by his guess, much like his previous home in New Orleans before the family had moved into the Abattoir, preferring to be at the heart of the city, closer to the life and breath and pulse of excitement and entertainment, the very center of attention, as always.

The hybrid found her at the heart of the ruins, hair floating around her face in the breeze, lost in thought. And he allowed himself one moment, one single, indulgent, excessive moment, to simply look at her, to really see her. She looked tired, like she hadn't slept much, but her eyes were not clouded; aware of everything going on around her. He wondered if that was something she often did, simply stopped and stared and reflected. If she had always been like that, or if the loss of her parents, her discovery of the supernatural world and her pivotal part in it, had conjured up a desire to take a step back, to make sense of everything as her beliefs were shaken again and again and again, a mishandled snow globe, tumbling her into swirls of confusion and doubt.

"In need of another picnic already, are we?" Klaus said by way of greeting, hands folded casually in the pockets of his long navy coat, brass buttons polished to an arrogant gleam, waiting for her to notice him. He was happy to wait forever; he had it.

Elena looked up at him, and smiled, and it was so honest, so genuine, that Klaus felt it in his heart, felt his own lips quirking in response of their own accord, unable to keep themselves from mirroring it. Dusting off her jeans, she jumped down from her spot on the half-rotted staircase, picking her way effortlessly through the undergrowth littering the once-likely opulent lawn. She didn't seem disconcerted by her surroundings, at the stark signs of neglect, at time eating relentlessly away. It seemed that nature was as much a part of her as it was him, something he never would have expected, that he felt privileged to know.

Autumn was her favorite season, after all.

Elena stopped a few steps away, hands sequestered in the sleeves of her red sweater -had she worn his favourite colour on purpose, or was he reading too much into things, looking for patterns that weren't there, like looking up at the clouds and swearing you see the face of that guy you broke up with last week when in actual fact it's really just some amorphous, indistinct blob?

"I'm sorry for the whole cloak and dagger routine, but I wanted what I have to say to stay between us," Elena explained, tilting her chin ever so slightly so that she could look him straight in the eye.

Klaus shrugged, fixing her with a soft smirk. "And here I thought I was the one with too much flair. Shall I run back to the manor and fetch you a trenchcoat, some dark glasses to fit the mood?" Speaking of which...look at you, out here without a coat. Are you trying to catch hypothermia?" he chided her, immediately unbuttoning his coat, giving it a liberal shake and then wrapping it around her, fingers lingering ever so slightly as he rescued her hair from the collar. Are you trying to make me worry about you?

If she was, it was most certainly working. He didn't really feel the cold, just liked wearing coats because they were stylish and made him look equal parts mysterious and dignified. And having pockets big enough to hide things in was remarkably handy.

"I didn't want to make it look like I'd gone anywhere in case Stefan and Damon came back to harass me some more," Elena elaborated, disgust puckering her mouth like she'd tasted something particularly sour. The taste of betrayal, no doubt; he knew its acrid flavor well. "I've got Dead Poets Society playing on my laptop in my room in case they get nosy."

"Careful, love, you're starting to sound like me," Klaus teased, his own personal litmus test, to see if she'd balk at the comparison.

Elena didn't even blink. "Nothing wrong with being cautious. It's why I brought you here."

Klaus let out a hum of agreement, surveying the area with an artist's eye. "I was wondering why you chose such a location. It's...pretty, I suppose, in a morbidly abandoned, Gothic sort of way. Very Wilkie Collins."

"Of course you'd bring up the author of The Moonstone. It's the original Salvatore house. No one except Stefan knows I've ever been here. Ergo, perfect place to talk...and," a scandalous grin crawled up her face like a tendril of vines at the word, "scheme."

Ah, how very, very interesting. "Scheming, you say?" Planting his heels in the dirt, Klaus tipped towards her like a falling chess piece, making a move of his own as he drawled, "Are you sure there's no other reason?"

He was rewarded handsomely for his efforts in the way of her endearing blush, at the way she splayed her hands, the large sleeves of his coat drooping over her palms. He really was so much bigger than her, and yet she seemed to take up so much more than space than him, making it impossible for him to focus on anything but her, at the bob of her eyelashes, the indent in her bottom lip as she teased the delicate flesh, no doubt willing to keep what she was about to say next to herself as long as she could, but knowing he wouldn't stop his quest to uncover it. She was a chest of such fascinating treasures.

"Maybe," she acquiesced, rising up onto her toes, riling him up, making his heart pound greedily in his chest, like it wanted to leap out and be closer to hers, betraying just how much she affected him, broadcasting his weakness for everyone to see, most of all her. "Maybe there is another reason. Maybe, if this was a different time, a different day, we wouldn't be meeting at the creepy old house of my ex boyfriend where my ancestor seduced him and his brother both. Maybe we'd be at yours with another bottle of wine, another night of laughter and shockingly easy conversation. Maybe you'd finally let me see that studio of yours. But today is not that day, Klaus. Unfortunately for you, you'll have to dredge down deep and scrounge up some of that patience you've been saving up for a rainy day, and wait. Because your mother wants to see me tonight, at the ball."

What a way to kill the mood. "Do the Salvatores know of this?"

Elena nodded. "Yes."

"Have they forbidden you from going?"

"Yes."

Klaus grinned, a flash of fang and ferocious approval. "What time should I pick you up?"

"I'd prefer to make my own dramatic entrance, actually, but your chivalry is both noted and appreciated. After Rebekah's little stunt last night, Elijah explained that all your mother wants is peace, for you to be a family again. Do you buy it?"

Sighing, Klaus collapsed gracefully to the grass, fingers carding through stray tufts, sifting them through his fingers. He paused, giving her question the consideration it deserved. For so long, he'd kept his feelings regarding the woman who birthed him, who condemned him to a life of miserable emptiness and a sense of being incomplete, in the very corners of his mind, hidden even to himself. What good did it do to dwell on her, especially when he was reminded of her every time Mikael appeared, every time he and his siblings had to leave at a split-seconds notice? When, every month, the full moon had come and gone and he had felt a tugging somewhere inside, begging for freedom, and every time he had been unable to heed it, forced to deny it, all because of her?

He'd dreamed about killing Mikael for years, but hers was the first life he ever took on purpose, the first time his hands were ever stained red, not out of a hunger for blood, but for revenge. He was a thousand years old. He was Klaus Mikaelson: he didn't want, or need, his mother, and yet he still found himself confessing..."I want to."

Elena joined him, leaning her weight on her palms. There was no disapproval, no condemnation. It was the same expression she'd worn when he'd admitted to killing the same woman in question. "I know," she replied, steady as a metronome, reliable for her calmly compassionate tempo. "I would as well."

He hadn't realized he'd needed to hear that until the words left her lips. It made him feel more human. "A thousand years is a long time, long enough to change anyone's mind," he commented, long fingers still picking at the grass. A small patch of daisies caught his eyes, their magenta strokes standing out against the cotton-pure white of their petals. An idea sprung to mind.

Elena tilted her head, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Naturally."

"But not my mother. If she wants you, I can't imagine it being for anything good."

"Which is why I came to you. I would love to believe that there's nothing family wouldn't forgive, that goodness exists in everyone and everything, that love can conquer any obstacle. But it can't, and I'm not naive enough to refuse to see that." Suddenly, she looked too old, too sad, for her simple eighteen years. She looked almost as old as he was, as he felt, and he wished for nothing more than to wipe it away. But, as skilled as he was, it just wasn't in his power to grant.

He didn't know what she needed, didn't know how to make this better for her; he'd never been relied on as a source of comfort -as a boy, yes, Bekah had often sought him out, but that was so long ago, and she'd been but a scared child, and he'd known her all her life.

He was snarls and subterfuge, trickery and mockery and cruel amusement, this constant undercurrent of anger running through everything, ruining everything, tearing and pushing everyone else away, a truly wounded animal. All he could do was make her a promise.

Klaus stopped his idle fiddling, body turning to stone, jaw closed shut like a tomb. "If she wants you, she can't have you." The words were a growl, a claim, a defiant challenge of anyone who would dare to do anything as stupid as incur his wrath. He had no doubt that she could take care of herself, that she knew when she was over her head and wouldn't let her pride encumber her sense of survival...but she was so good, and wanted to see it in everybody. That very moment, right then, with her hand inches from his, her throat millimeters from his teeth, so very trusting of him...she wouldn't notice the knife in her back until the hilt met bone, wouldn't scream or cry out, just pull it out and keep on going until she couldn't anymore. And then where would he be?

Her sigh tickled the hairs on his cheek. "Klaus..."

"No." He cut her off, beheading her protest as if it were a beast of ancient myth. "Saint or sinner, for good or for ill, if she tries anything, and I mean anything, with you, I'll be more than happy to divest her of her heart once again. She is a powerful witch, far stronger than anything you've seen or come up against before. I shudder to think what she could do with your blood."

Elena scoffed theatrically, rolling her eyes to the sea-glass-blue sky above. "Thank you for putting my mind at ease, I really appreciate it."

Klaus teased her right back. "All part of the service, love."

"And what service is that?" she wondered, voice a low, throaty purr, her smile saccharine sweet to match, honey on a razor-sharp blade.

"That depends," he supplied, mirroring her tone, scraping and dry like tinder, rubbing against their skin, the crackle and pop of incoming thunder. Oh, how he'd adore to be drenched by her. "What do you want it to be?"

Elena leaned back, and the spell broke, the band snapped, the thunder receded, taking her and her warmth with it. "I fell right into that one, didn't I?" She ran a hand through her hair. He could see it shaking. Thank the gods; it wasn't only him then, wasn't all in his head. "But do you really think now is the best time for this? Your mother will be suspicious if she finds you gone. Plus, don't you have to get ready for tonight?"

Excuses, excuses, excuses. This wasn't a game of Hopscotch, she couldn't leapfrog her way out of this like it was a bloody koi pond. He wanted to push her, everything in him practically screamed at him to push, to not walk away until he'd gotten an answer from her, one way or another. And if he did do that...he'd be no better than the Salvatores, a thought he could not abide by. There was a reason why she'd come to him -twice now- and not them. She believed him to be different. He would not dare destroy that belief just to satiate his own desires.

So, he settled on something else entirely.

"Are you suggesting that it takes," Klaus pulled her arm across her chest, into his lap, glancing at her watch, "nine hours for me to look presentable?" he quipped, hearing the chuckle bubble up from her lips like champagne and internally praising himself. It was just as satisfying to make her laugh.

"Hey, no judgments here. It'll probably take me half that time to get into my dress."

They settled into silence, a familiar groove like a well-worn notch on vinyl. Klaus would have been content to sit there, to listen to the birds and her breathing, but it seemed that Elena had changed her mind. "You're right, we do need to clear the air," she acknowledged, shuffling away from him so that she faced him head-on, knees pressed up against his, "but for now all I need is for you to answer one question: do you hate me?"

"No. I don't think I ever have." And what a dangerous thought that was. He'd been intrigued by her before he'd even met her, seduced by the idea of her ever since Katerina had escaped his clutches. The Petrova doppelgänger, his salvation, his savior from a life felt incomplete, without purpose, without the clarity of being whole. And then he'd actually met her in the flesh -well, the flesh of her history teacher and pseudo parent, but he really wasn't gonna get into that- and the first thing she'd done was correct him when he was wrong. Watergate was in the seventies, Ric. No one had ever had the audacity to correct him in decades. It seemed he'd had so much wrong, for so long. But how did he admit that? Should he even admit that? He was who he was for a reason, because fear had been the only one to get through to people, because if he was any other way, if someone actually genuinely cared for him...Klaus wouldn't know what to do with it. He was too rough, too intimidating, too impertinent and spontaneous and passionate and provoking.

He was unknowable, and the world would not ever understand him; he did not understand himself sometimes. How he'd dropped his guard so quickly for Elena, how it had taken one single, solitary night to shake him up, his worldview, like a kaleidoscope, the shapes refusing to make sense to him. If he gave her everything...she wouldn't accept it. He was her murderer, after all, the killer of her aunt, had slaughtered her distant ancestors when Katerina chose to defy him. He was not a good person, and he was deluding not only himself but her as well if he ever pretended to be otherwise.

But wouldn't it be worth it? Was it so wrong, after a thousand years of existing, to try that one thing he'd never attempted before? To be worthy of something like her? To prove Mikael wrong, that he was not a monster, even if it was only around her?

Klaus didn't need an army of people to adore him, after all. All he needed was just one person to protect his heart when he had long since forgotten it.

"Do you hate me?"

Elena touched his cheek, ran her thumb over his jaw like she was sculpting him, moulding him into shape, something new and unseen, even to himself. He leaned into her touch. "No. Not anymore."

She pulled away, and he captured her back, interlacing their fingers as he pressed, "You really don't wish to ask more than that?"

Elena shook her head, calm and serene as a still lake, nothing hidden at the bottom, no traps to snare him. "I don't need to know anything else; I have to trust that the rest will follow."

Fair enough. "Tonight, at the ball...save me a dance, won't you? I won't make it through the night if I have to dance with the desperate housewives of Mystic Falls," he added, letting go of her hand, picking at the grass instead, a sense of self-preservation rearing its head. He didn't want to look desperate. He wasn't desperate, was he? He was Klaus bloody Mikaelson, and it shouldn't matter if she wanted to dance with him or not, he shouldn't care if she'd thought about him as much as he'd thought about her the last few days. He was the Big Bad Wolf, the Original Hybrid, not a pre-pubescent teen trailing after the cheerleader then skulking off with their tail between their legs and playing Whitney Houston on repeat when she made her inevitable and atrociously cliche choice of the high school quarterback.

"Someone thinks mighty highly of themselves, don't they?" she smiled at him, and gods if he didn't want to sit there and paint it, to spend hours creating the exact shade of her eyes, the pink of her cheeks, the cherry-red of her lips.

Fuck.

What had she done to him?

Klaus paused -pretending like internally he wasn't reeling like an unspooling thread over the realization that he'd somehow ended up at her complete and utter mercy, and he didn't care one bit- considered, then said, "Yes."

"Who says you're not getting them all, Mr Mikaelson?" she wondered, tipping her head up towards the sun, as beautiful as the wisteria blossoms swaying in the breeze, as if even the plants wanted to be close to her, adored by her.

They could get in bloody line.

"Well, a gentleman never assumes a lady's intentions," he informed her primly, fingers finally stilling, setting something in his lap. "Close your eyes."

He expected some sort of rebuttal, or at the very least a mild interrogation, but Elena simply closed his eyes, trusting him as no one else ever had. Maybe he didn't need to prove himself after all.

Gently, Klaus set the daisy chain crown he'd made her on her head, tilting it just so, looping another one around her neck. "You can open them now."

Elena did, a hand immediately going to her head before glancing down at her chest, the white petals a sharp contrast against the navy twilight of his coat, a scattering of stars. "You made me a crown?"

Klaus swallowed thickly, ruffled by her scrutiny, the way she looked at him so thoroughly. He didn't think there was that much to see. "Every queen needs one, especially for a ball."

Rubbing the petals between her fingers as if each one was a bead, a prayer, Elena insisted, quiet but firm, "Klaus, I'm no queen."

"Says who?" he argued to her, completely serious. He really wanted to know, wanted to know what she thought was stopping her from greatness.

She laughed, high and bright and incredulous, just a little bit hysterical, a little bit flummoxed by his seriousness of such a seemingly ridiculous and inconsequential topic. "Mmm, I don't know, the world?"

"Well then, the world is even more stupid than I originally thought it to be, especially if it can't recognize such blatant royalty."

"And I'm supposed to take your word on this because...?" Elena trailed off pointedly.

Fingers snaking up her neck, tempting as that in the garden of Eden, drawn to that which was previously forbidden, he hooked them under her chin, drawing her face closer to his, her pulse jumped at his touch. "Because I've been alive for a thousand years, sweetheart, have been to every country, seen empires rise and kingdoms fall, dynasties born and destroyed in the blink of an all-seeing eye. I know something special when I see it, something destined for greatness. And you, dear Elena, are very much it."

"All I've ever been destined for is to die." Her hand went to her neck, to the scar there, his scar, that forever proof that he'd hurt her in more ways than one, had taken far more than just her blood.

"And you've already done that, which means you have the rest of your life to pursue world domination or whatever else catches your fancy."

"World domination?" she echoed incredulously. "You know a lot about that?"

Klaus shrugged, twirling a hand flamboyantly in the air as if he could capture her laugh, a summer firefly lighting up his usually tedious life. "Kol and I tried it once. It worked for about a week, we had most of Europe covered, and then Elijah caught us, the bloody buzzkill. Older siblings are the worst. Present company excluded, of course."

"Thank you for your consideration," Elena snarked, eyes fluttering closed as she let out a jaw-splitting yawn.

Klaus' brow furrowed, immediately concerned. "You sound exhausted, sweetheart. How much sleep have you had?"

"Not much," Elena admitted sheepishly, looking at him helplessly. "After coming home and having to kill Alaric -did you not know? There's a serial killer on the loose who apparently knows about vampires and Ric's stash of monster-hunting gear, since one of the murder weapons had my fingerprints on it- so that he'd come back, sorting out everything at the hospital, being choked by Rebekah and catching up with Elijah... don't pout, Klaus; jealousy doesn't look good on you."

The hybrid ticked off on his fingers, "One, I'm not pouting. Two, I'm not jealous. And three, everything looks good on me. You should really get some rest, you'll need your wits about you tonight. And to keep up with me on the dance floor," he spirited in with a wink.

"I wish I could, but I have lunch with Caroline at noon, she needs help finding a dress and if I go home I'll feel like I'm just waiting for Stefan or Damon to lecture me again."

"Then stay here," Klaus insisted breezily, as if he'd solved all her problems for her in one fell swoop. "If memory serves, I make a great pillow."

Her nose scrunched adorably, a surefire sign that she was about to argue, gaze narrowed as if she was weighing the pros and cons. And then, just like that, she caved. "...Fine. But just for a little while. I still have to call Bonnie and find Alaric's cufflinks for him cause he's got a date with Meredith and I haven't got a necklace to match my dress yet and..."

And she was out like a light, burrowing into his grey shirt as if she never wanted to come out. Stretching out his legs, Klaus leaned against the red maple tree behind him, getting comfortable, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "Sweet dreams, Elena."

Elena slept for only a couple of hours, and yet she felt more rested than she had in days. After letting Klaus vamp-speed her home, she'd taken a lightening-swift shower -but not before putting her daisy chain crowd in pride of place on her dresser, the necklace finding a home on the back of her door- before meeting Caroline for a short lunch at the Grill, because of even she, a non-vampire, could smell Klaus' cologne all over her after wearing -and sleeping in- his coat, there was no way in hell that Caroline wouldn't have picked up on it immediately. She let her best friend bemoan the Mikaelson's and their 'Cinderella fetish,' humming in agreement in all the necessary places, but her mind hadn't been on the conversation.

No, all she could think about was Klaus, his name swirling in her head like a litany, a chant, an incantation to summon something wicked. But he wasn't. His smile still was, as were those adoring dimples of his -even from the start, she'd found his face so deceptively innocent, angelic almost, carved out of something pliant and yet unyielding- but not much else.

Elena had grown up believing in science the way some believed in Santa Claus, putting all of her adolescent faith in it, knowing it could always give her answers, data that she could interpret and use. So, she'd repeated her experiment. She'd spent time with Klaus, removing the variable of her intoxication, wondering if it -but knowing, somewhere in her heart that it wouldn't- make a difference, if they would revert back to previous behaviors, Cinderella's coach turning back into a pumpkin, her footmen back into mice.

Conclusion: it hadn't.

If anything, she'd been able to appreciate the change in their dynamic more, no longer reeling from the horrors she'd endured that night, Stefan on the bridge and Caroline getting bitten by Tyler, then being healed by Klaus. He hadn't even mentioned it that night, could have gloated about how he'd saved her, one of her best friends, used it to put pressure on her staunch disinterest in giving him her blood. But he hadn't. She still didn't know why he'd done it. When she'd asked Caroline, she said that he loved birthdays, talked about all the art and music and beauty out there in the world, waiting for her if she'd just take it, take his blood. Maybe that was why she'd gone to the mansion in the first place, why, as soon as Damon had dropped her off, bruised and boozy and broken, she'd gone into Alaric's stash of Bourbon, needing to numb it all, re-reading Caroline's texts like she was trying to decipher some secret code, fixing on eight simple words.

He saved me, when he didn't have to.

Elena had always assumed that Klaus was motivated by want. A want for himself, to be free of his curse. A want for her blood to create his hybrids. A want for revenge against those who had wronged him. But that didn't give him nearly enough credit. He was far more human than she'd ever thought or realized, as she was now learning him to be. He could be sweet and gentle and tender, and he listened, really listened to her. It was so unexpected, like looking in a biscuit tin, thinking there's none left when in fact there's one more chocolate chip cookie right at the bottom. Not that she was comparing Klaus Mikaelson, Original hybrid, to a chocolate cookie. Was in no way saying he looked edible in any way...

"Elena? Elena! Have you been listening to anything I've said?"

Elena blinked, once, twice, reorienting herself. Crap. She shot her friend a deeply apologetic smile, liberally applying her charm. "Sorry, Care, I got distracted. What were you saying?"

"What were you distracted by, you already have a dress and like a billion others.  You know what? Never mind. Now, I was thinking of either the yellow or maybe the periwinkle, or maybe the violet. Ooh, this indigo would totally stand out..."

After another two hours of this, Caroline finally had her dress and Elena was finally getting out her own, ignoring her phone as it blew it up with texts of various demands to stay home from Stefan and Damon, each one becoming more menacing as she refused to answer. Jerks. Like she'd let them ruin the little happiness and enjoyment she was hoping to wring out of the night, evil witches aside.

She'd never been one for ball gowns, had always felt more comfortable in jumpers and jeans, but she had to admit that she loved the dress. It was the kind of thing her mom would have worn, opulent and elegant with a vintage feel, adorned in tiny sequins and crystals. While Elena stayed away from wearing black as much as she could -she'd forever associate the colour with cemeteries, with crying and casseroles and fake smiles and oh, my God, how am I going to hold on after this, how am I going to take care of Jeremy?- this didn't feel like all those times before. The colour was no longer wearing her, she was the one wearing it. Laying it out on her bed, she began tidying the space around it, almost tripping over her discarded jeans from earlier.

Huffing at her past self for doing her no favors, Elena collected up her discarded clothes, deciding to start a load of laundry while she got ready. Going through the pockets as she always did -a habit long since learned, after living in a house with an artistic brother who often left charcoals and pencils in clothes and forgetting about them, and Ric who had a propensity for leaving loose change in his pockets, but that was neither here nor there- she shook out her jeans, frowning when something clattered to the floor at her feet.

Bending down, Elena picked up the curious item, examining it in the light of her bedside lamp. It was a necklace, a locket, a golden rose studied with tiny blood-red rubies, like pinpricks of blood. Elena held it to her nose, catching traces of a familiar herb. Vervain. Klaus had given her a new vervain necklace -who else had had access to her pockets today but him (or had such good taste in accessories)?

She didn't know when he'd done it, if he'd gotten it when she was asleep because she'd offhandedly mentioned needing a necklace, or if he'd planned to give it to her all along, but she felt better having it. Whilst she tried to stick to a strict schedule of ingesting vervain every day in her coffee, human error was unavoidable. Looking at the delicate flower, known both for its petals as well as its thorns, she couldn't help but wonder if that was how Klaus saw her: as something beautiful, but also deadly, able to both intoxicate and inflict harm when needed, when not handled properly.

'Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under'th.'

It made her feel powerful.

Clasping it around her neck, Elena began to sort through the detritus and haphazard paraphernalia on her dresser. All she needed to do now was her make-up, curl her hair, put on her dress and her heels and her gloves and find an old lipstick tube and she'd be ready to go to the ball.

Elena was twenty minutes late. Klaus was getting restless. Both Caroline and the Salvatore brothers had already arrived, the former accepting his condolences over her father with a tight-lipped smile that screamed her dislike for him better than words ever could. He knew that she'd never say anything to jeopardize her title as Miss Mystic Falls, certainly not while out in public, surrounded by the darling Founding Families. He couldn't help but scoff at all the women in their too-tight dresses, eyeing him as of he was a buffet -that's behind you, ladies, right next to my idiot brother stacking the champagne glasses like Jenga cubes- as if he was some spectacle for them to ogle.

This was why he stayed away from humans unless he was feeling peckish. He'd had many friends -and the occasional lover- who were human over the centuries, but it was best not to get attached. An immortal vampire being so close to a human could only end in three ways: One, they broke your heart when they rejected you and all your 'creature of the night' tendencies and urges. Two, they wanted you to turn them, and things got messy. Or three, perhaps the very worst of them all...they died, and you couldn't save them, forced to carry on as they did not.

So yes, Klaus didn't like to get too attached to that which didn't last -it was why he loved painting so much, immortalizing images on canvas, being able to take them with him wherever he went (and protect them with a good preservation spell)- but every thought of doing so flew straight out of his head like a flock of doves at the sight of Elena Gilbert as she passed through the front doors of the mansion.

If his heart could have stopped beating, it would have been dead in his chest.

(As it was, it only skipped a beat. Or two. Or twenty.)

She looked...effulgent. Radiant. Utterly incandescent, limned in shadow and chandelier light, her dress clinging to her, understated yet seductive, hair curling around the left side of her neck, accentuating the slope of her neck. Had she done that on purpose, displaying the place he'd bitten her so openly, even if it was barely visible to anyone but him, wearing it like a badge of honor, a mark of her survival? And she was wearing the necklace he'd given her, and that possessive, needy, territorial part of him preened at the sight of it. It did really look lovely on her. He'd picked well.

Almost immediately, the Salvabores as he'd newly christened them, stalked towards her, twin grim reapers of fury and excessive hair gel, no doubt set on reprimanding her for having the audacity to think for herself and do what she wanted. Idiots.

Handing off her wrap to the coat check with a murmured thanks -always so polite, his doppelgänger- Elena glanced at the incoming vampires, face regal and composed, a queen in repose, unbothered by the palpable aggression roiling off the two, filling the room like smoke. They were both used to things burning. Those boys were going to cause a scene if they weren't careful. Honestly, it was a wonder the Council hadn't found out they were vampires before Carol and Sheriff Forbes took over; even he, werewolf and vampire both, did a better impression of a human than they did.

Elena stepped towards them. They stopped, rooted in place. She tipped her head up in that defiant tilt Klaus had come to relish, smiled politely, looking right through them, and kept on walking, dismissing them as if they weren't worth her time -of course they bloody weren't, why had it taken her so long to see that? All the way across the room she went, ignoring the whispers of greedy intrigue, clutching at the new and shiny morsel of gossip like overindulgent magpies with no impulse control -gods, this town was full of shallow busybodies- until she was standing at Klaus' side, her velvet-gloved hand falling into (it's rightful) place in his.

Klaus brought it to his lips, feeling the heat of her skin radiating through the thick inky-black fabric.

I'd prefer to make my own dramatic entrance, she'd told him that morning.

She certainly had succeeded.

"You're late."

"I'm right on time...for surprising you."

"And the rest of Mystic Falls, apparently," he remarked with a proud smile. His gaze swept over her, taking in every inch, committing it all to memory like one committed murder: wholeheartedly and without regret. "You're a vision, sweetheart."

"And you're far too dapper in that tux of yours. I assume the vultures have been swarming?" she inquired mildly, linking her arm through his, tilting her head to scan the room from the corner of her eye. Not noticeably, but enough to remind him that Elena was accustomed to being in the apex of danger, and that tonight was not the night for dropping guards, either of them.

Klaus nodded, rolling his eyes for her benefit. "In droves. Thank the gods you're here to protect me."

"Who says I wouldn't leave you to fend for yourself?" Elena teased, right in front of the Salvatores, in front of her friends and the town and her whole world. She did not look ashamed. "You're certainly capable. Maybe I'd just grab some champagne and watch."

His hand went to his chest, splaying over his heart. "Are you saying I'm a spectacle?"

She smirked, reaching up to straighten his bowtie, her fingers such a stark contrast against the white of his dress shirt collar. The irony was not lost on him; her dressed in black, him wearing white. She certainly wore it well. "I'm saying you're a lot of things, Mr Mikaelson. An idiot, for one thing."

"And why is that?"

"Your gift almost ended up in the wash," she exclaimed, the vehemence of her words undone by her lovely smile. "It's a good thing I'm so vigilant when it comes to laundry."

Klaus shrugged, tipping back his glass of champagne, pretending to be oblivious at the way she tracked his swallow, the faint blush on her cheeks. "I'd have just got you another one."

Elena shook her head, zipping the rose on its chain. "But I like this one." I like this one because you gave it to me.

He tried to shrug off her words, downplay them as if they didn't make his hands shake, his confidence falter, snagging another glass of a passing waiter. "You're easy to please."

She didn't seem swayed. "No, you're just remarkably sweet when you want to be."

She said it so easily, the words rolling off her tongue, lyrical and meaningful as poetry, chipping away at the lodestone that was his implacable persona of 'I'm Klaus Mikaelson, I don't give a crap about anyone or anything.' If she kept saying things like that, she'd bring him tumbling down, straight to his knees, right at her feet, prostrate for all the world to see.

Maybe that was what she wanted.

Maybe that was what he wanted, too.

But he wasn't there (quite) yet, and he intended to have some fun first.

"I think you just bring it out in me," Klaus murmured, lips dancing so very close to the skin of her neck, but not making contact, the epitome of gentlemanly restraint, "like the gold brings out your eyes. Drink?"

She ran a finger around the rim of his champagne glass, raising a disbelieving brow, no doubt trying to cover up her racing heartbeat. He almost told her not to bother, but it was endearing to see her try so hard. "This? With you? I feel like I'm cheating on my beloved cherry wine. He'll be so disappointed to see me imbibing another alcoholic beverage."

Klaus reached behind him, holding up a bottle. "I thought you might say that, so I came prepared."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you know me."

Her expression grew serious, contemplative, real, as she confessed, "Yes, I think I'm starting to."

"And what conclusions have you come to so far?" the hybrid wondered, effortlessly uncorking it and pouring her a glass, all the way to the top. This was a celebration, after all. And it had been a remarkable pleasure to meet Drunk Elena -Klaus owed her a debt; she'd led him to the real one.

"None you'd want any of your siblings to overhear, I'm sure," she retorted, words taking on a scandalized air. "Think of the damage it could do to your reputation if they found out."

"Found out what, love?"

"That, deep down, right in here," she tapped an index finger on his chest, ring glinting, "is a big old softie."

Klaus hummed, taking a sip of champagne. "A softie, you say."

"Yep. As cuddly as a Teddy Ruxpin bear."

"You mean that one from the eighties that cost an arm and a leg that played cassette tapes?"

Elena shrugged, taking a drink from her own glass. "I always wanted one."

"I'll get you one."

She rolled her eyes. "Money can't buy you everything, Klaus."

"No, but it can buy you the bear that you've apparently always wanted."

"You're incorrigible."

"No, just very incouragable. Dance with me."

She set down their glasses, going into his arms without hesitation, as she always had. "Is that even a word?" Elena puzzled as he began to lead her through the steps, easing into a rhythm effortlessly, as he'd known she would -she was Miss Mystic Falls' Handmaiden, after all. He'd seen the pictures of her on the parade float on the town website; she'd looked lovely in her yellow dress, like sunshine, but he much preferred her like this, comfortable in her own skin rather than the cumbersome cage of a corset. A beauty like her was not meant to be trapped, in anything. Be it a dress or a town or a relationship..."Damon's glaring daggers at you."

Speak of the devil and he will appear. "Good. Maybe I'll give him one in the chest."

"And then who would dance with me while you're off doing that?"

"I'm sure Elijah would be agreeable to a waltz, perhaps a small Lindy Hop if you ask nicely." His teeth clenched at the thought. It was pretty, and ridiculous, but look how the last two had turned out, he wouldn't go through that again, not with her, he couldn't, it might just break him entirely and...

"You're turning green, Klaus. Like the Grinch."

Klaus spun her out for a twirl. "Jim Carrey was great in that movie."

"The man who claims to have no heart at all, promoting he who's grows three sizes big? That's a little hypocritical, don't you think? And I never pegged you as the holly jolly Christmas type."

Her chest collided back with his, her fingers running up his silken jacket sleeve.

"Even Original hybrids like Christmas, Elena. And Christmas movies...of which Die Hard is not among them, just so you know."

Her smile was far too knowing, far too irresistible with mischief. "And if I said it was? You'd kick me out of the club?"

"What club?"

"The Daisy Chain Club, of course, of which you're Chairman. I'm in charge of finances," she said as if it were common knowledge, as obvious as the chandelier hanging above them like a glistening moon, the way that Caroline Forbes kept looking over at them like her friend had lost her god-damned mind. Her dance partner, the ever amused Kol, looked quite the same.

"Financing what?"

"Peace and goodwill."

He let out a chuckle, moving her effortlessly as the song picked up speed. "Of course, I shouldn't have expected anything else. Finn's staring at you, by the way."

"Tall, long hair, tugging at his cuffs, looking like he either wants to cry or sneeze?"

A nod. "That's the one."

"You're prettier," she blurted out, biting on her bottom lip like she'd retract it. But she didn't.

He hoarded the compliment like gold. "Thank you, love."

"But so is Elijah."

Klaus spluttered a laugh, people looking around at the sound. Let them. "You're a menace."

"Yeah, but I'm the menace you've been waiting to dance all day with, so I think I win here."

"Who says I'm not the winner?" the hybrid proposed, watching as a small frown creased her brow. Did she not get it? Did she not see? He'd make her. "I am dancing with the most enchanting girl at this ball, let alone the entirety of Mystic Falls and the greater Virginia area."

"You're gonna make me blush."

"That's the plan, sweetheart, and all my plans always go without a hitch."

"Except becoming friends with me, of course. I bet you didn't anticipate that one."

Klaus stopped. Elena faltered a half step, caught up in the riptide before she eventually came to a halt while the sea of dancers carried on around them. It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. He'd been thinking about things far more intense than friendship for most of the day, so really, in the grand scheme of things, but he still needed to know. "Is that what we are? Friends?"

Elena nodded. He swept her back in his arms, wanting to hold her close. "We're certainly not enemies, Klaus, not anymore. As for anything else..." but he never got to hear what she intended to say, for, as per the rules of the dance, he was forced to spin her out, right into the awaiting arms of his youngest, most mischievous brother.

"Hello, darling. My, aren't you a pretty thing," was the first thing out of her new partner's mouth, and immediately her hackles raised, a cobra readying to strike. After everything she'd been through this last year, after so many comparisons to Katherine, after being tossed around from hand to hand like a hot potato, few things made her angrier than being made to feel like she was lesser, less than herself.

"Wow, what a thing to say to a girl of the twenty first century, that she's a thing," she drawled sarcastically, knowing she likely shouldn't be provoking an Original vampire -of course she knew who he was, he looked so much like Elijah, only younger and more wild, the untamed fox to his stalking lion- but the night on the bridge had been her last straw. No more Miss Meek Elena. No more biting her tongue. It was time to start biting off other people's. And if she had a little fun while doing it? So be it.

"I've been daggered in a box for ninety six years and as of yet haven't got around to replenishing my knowledge of modern culture and conversation."

Elena softened, eyes scanning the room with Klaus, finding him dancing with Caroline. His gaze met hers -because of course he knew when she was looking- and she offered him a wordless smile of good luck. He'd need it; he was about to be interrogated within an inch of his life. "That's alright, I know Klaus wouldn't have left me with you if you were a complete asshat." And he had saved her from having to dance with either Stefan or Damon -two non-options of there ever was- both of whom had made unwelcomed grabs towards her when they switched partners. She got off lucky.

"An asshat, mmm? That's a new one. I'll remember that. I'm Kol."

She dipped her head, curtseying as best she could while still maintaining her steps. "Elena Gilbert."

"Didn't feel like taking Katerina's last name?"

"No." Elena shook her head, veins burning and melting and thawing and aching at the mere mention of her. "If I knew where she was, I'd douse her with vervain and light a match."

"Feisty. And violent. You officially just became my favorite person here." His smirk was sharper than Klaus's, making him look less human instead of more, manic chaos glinting in his eyes like light shining off a blade in a horror movie, juxtaposing the beautiful with the macabre. He'd be the one to look out for, the predator in the dark, waiting in the shadows. If Klaus had really left him daggered for so long, he'd hold a grudge, want to get back at him, and therefore wouldn't care that he needed her alive -now wanted her alive. He might even hurt her just for the hell of it, the thrill. So if he wasn't close with Klaus, what about the rest of his siblings?

"Even though Rebekah tried to kill me only this morning?" she puzzled, seemingly innocent, just making small talk, masking her true curiosity. She needed to know how this family worked, or she just might not survive them, no matter what Klaus said or did.

Kol unfurled his hand, spinning her out, then puking her back in, the movement more forceful, less fluid, then Klaus' had been. "My sister has a temper and doesn't like to be upstaged, or fight for Nik's attention, of which you have in spades." He seemed infinitely intrigued by the concept, as if it were some unsolvable formula, an unnatural occurrence -much like their own vampiric existence. He continued on, almost jovially, "So, a little wolfie painter told me that Mummy Dearest wants to have a chat with you. He also tells me that those two charming gorillas over there have forbidden you from doing so, am I correct?"

"On all counts."

Completely ignoring everyone else around them, he led her into a dip that definitely was not part of the dance, leaning over her slightly, his nose inches from hers, his arm the only thing keeping her from landing on the floor. A demonstration of power? "Then let me offer my services to you."

Showing off his skill, then. "To do what, exactly?"

Kol set her up right again, smirk blooming on his face. The whole family had perfected the art of them, apparently. "Well, that depends. Are you against permanent dismemberment or..."

"Kol!" she swatted at his shoulder, not caring that he was a thousand years old, that she was human and he was not; he shouldn't go around saying things like that, especially within hearing distance of those he was threatening. It was just bad manners.

"Temporarily incapacitated it is, then."

Elena frowned, inclining her head in the direction of the two Salvatores. "Can't they...?" she trailed off pointedly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Nope." He pulled on his jacket, the tiny gem on his lapel glinting softly like banked embers. "This little beauty -a genius invention of mine, by the way- creates a magical loop of feedback, so that every time one of them tries to listen in, all they hear is us talking about the weather or how good Klaus is in bed or something equally boring."

"Kol! That's not- we haven't- we aren't-" If she could see herself, Elena knew her cheeks would be cherry red, flaming with indignation and embarrassment; just because Damon and Stefan couldn't hear them didn't mean anyone else, say a certain hybrid, couldn't.

"Oh, sorry, did I poke my nose where it wasn't wanted? But come on, doppelcakes, you've got eyes: you must see how Nik looks at you?"

"And how does he look at me, exactly?" Elena challenged, listening as the final notes of the song echoed around the room, as a few couples dispersed for refreshments or other things. Esther would be coming for her soon.

For the first time that night -since she'd met him- Kol looked completely serious. It didn't suit him, didn't suit his boyish, almost Peter-Pan-like nature, and she couldn't help but be reminded of all they'd lost, each and every Mikaelson.

"Like he's been living in a cave all his life, and the sun's finally risen. Like you're the most precious and mystifying thing he's ever seen. For a moment I thought he'd been replaced by some creepy automaton but then I poked him and he growled at me and I was like, Yeah, that's Nik. My point is, it's disgusting, and it makes me want to retch, but..." he pulled his jacket away, ever so slightly, revealing a familiar silver dagger, its handle peeking out like a winking eye. "He gave this to me and promised he'd never use it on me, ever again, if I helped you with this itty bitty little thing. Elijah, too," his voice seemed to soften, his surprise at the gesture still visible, and her heart twinged with a pang of sympathy; no one should decide your fate but you, and it was a horrific thing to not feel in control of your own life. Even if Klaus had done it with the best intention: protecting the people he loved most, his family. "It seems you've been upgraded to the Ultimate Original Bodyguard package. Enjoy it, darling. We come with snacks, too."

Elena let Kol lead her into a side room down the long, labyrinthine hallways, away from the crowd and curious looks veiled behind placid sips of champagne and too-slow blinks. She hated having to plot during these things, having all those eyes on her, judging her, as if they knew exactly what she was doing when they really didn't have a fucking clue. Opening the door, he ushered her into what looked like a personal study, dominated by a walnut desk and oak bookcases, shelves crammed with books like a teenager cramming for finals. She took one look at it, at the glass globe and the inkpot and jade green curtains and knew it belonged to Elijah.

Klaus would have paintings everywhere. There'd be at least two different types of alcohol on at least two different surfaces. There'd be mud on the carpet like Hansel and Gretel's trail of breadcrumbs, leading her on an unknown trail. It would smell like paint and pine and pain and possibility, a path through the forest when she couldn't see the wood for the trees.

How did she get so attached so quickly?

Kol situated himself behind the desk, lounging in Elijah's wing-backed chair, making the most of his own personal impromptu throne. Elena took a seat opposite him, toeing off her heels and planting her feet up on the desk, crossing her legs at the ankle, her skirts a waterfall of sequined fabric, catching the light of the banker's lamps.

The youngest Mikaelson brother grinned, sharp as a shark with an equal appetite for blood. "A little rebellious, are we? I'm sure you know my brother wouldn't approve."

"Ah, but Elijah's not here right now, is he, and my feet are literally dying in these heels; he'll just have to sacrifice his beloved etiquette in the name of the greater good just this once."

She didn't know what to say to him, felt so analyzed under his gaze, the ant under his magnifying glass. Elena tried not to fidget, to display any sign of weakness. Bodyguard or not, she wouldn't trust him after twenty minutes and a few dances; she wasn't built that way. Instead, she looked at the clock resting on the table, heavy and ornate. "How long do you think we've got?"

Kol steepled his fingers under his chin, considering. "Two, maybe three minutes. Four at the most. My money's on the dark-haired, scowling one. I think the spikey, frowning one will just tag along for kicks. Or to watch his brother get pummelled."

"Stefan loves his brother; he'd die for him, even as he is now." God, she was a broken record, wasn't she? Always rushing to their defence, no matter what they'd done, arguing their case like she was the defense attorney of their innocence, trying to prove that they were still good, didn't belong in a jail of hatred and resentment.

Kol cocked a brow. "Which is?"

"With a fried humanity switch."

His mouth pressed into a hard line, clearly unimpressed. "Mm, that pesky little thing. Never saw the appeal. What's the point of killing people if you don't enjoy it? If you're going to be wicked, it might as well benefit someone." He blinked at her, owlishly, eyes large, fathomless depths. "You don't seem surprised."

"I stopped being surprised by the actions of your siblings a long time ago. Besides, I very much doubt you want to hear my opinion on the matter."

Kol chuckled, the sound reverberating through the room. It was Klaus' chuckle, only less restrained, more bold, a streak of black paint on a white canvas, not caring if it ruined anything. "What makes you say that, darling?"

"Because if even Elijah, with his infinite patience and devotion to your family, hasn't able to curb your lust for bloodshed in the thousand years you've been alive, then I doubt some choice words from the human doppelgänger are going to suddenly set you on a path to enlightenment and a more stable moral compass." She was used to vampires not caring about her opinion; it was an unavoidable fact of her life, tragic as it might be. Compared to their 'infinite wisdom,' they didn't expect her to understand. All they'd have to do was ask to realize that she did.

"Too true. Spoken like a woman who knows when to pick her battles."

Elena shrugged, settling farther back in her chair, into the flow of the conversation. "It's served me well so far. I've lost too many people to act any differently. I'd never let my pride get in the way of saving a life."

"How noble." Kol planted his elbows on the table, chin propped up on a closed fist. "I must say, I thought Elijah would be more to your taste, especially if you operate on that particular line of thinking."

"Elijah said he'd never make the mistake of caring for a doppelgänger again, and he hasn't. Besides, he's been daggered for nearly half of the year; not a lot of time to bond," Elena quipped, evasive as she possibly could be. She didn't owe him an explanation of her sudden...attachment to Klaus. In truth, she didn't even have one herself, couldn't explain it or rationalize it: it simply was.

And for once, she'd let it be. She was simply grateful for its existence, the strength it gave her to face what lay ahead.

"And I can see Nik was more than happy to fill that role." Unfurling himself from the chair, Kol flicked an imaginary speck of lint off his jacket, straightening her hair clip has he passed her. Did the guy have no sense of personal space? "Showtime, doppelcheeks," he murmured, right before teh door swung open, almost unmoored from it's hinges, banging into the wall with an ugly clatter. "Gentleman, good evening," Kol drawled, smooth as a polished river stone, and just as cold. "I hope you're enjoying tonight's festivities."

"Where the hell is Elena?" Damon barged in, Striding across the room like he owned the place, too blinded by anger to even notice that she was right there.

Elena cleared her throat, tapping her foot impatiently. She wished that she still had on her heels, feeling like she could do with those three extra inches of height with the way Damon was looking down at her, but this was her fight, and she wasn't going to be scared of him, or worried how he'd react. It was time to lay everything out on the table, once and for all.

"Elena, what the fuck are you doing with this psycho?" Damon growled, fangs bared in a menacing snarl. God, how had she ever started to fall for him? He was staring at her like she was the enemy, like she was in the wrong.

"Having a civil conversation, Damon. Ever heard of one of those?"

Kol whistled under his breath, the sound swallowed up by Stefan's encroaching footsteps, his polished dress shoes squeaking slightly as he pushed the door ajar behind him, nodding curtly.

"Damon. Elena. Whoever you are."

The Original offered his hand. "Kol Mikaelson, the devilishly handsome one. Or just the most devilish, depending on who you ask." Stefan didn't take it.

"Get lost, Floppy," Damon dismissed him, as if he didn't use humour like that all the time in fraught situations. "Elena and I have some things to discuss."

Elena ran her tongue over her teeth, hiding a frown, the true extent of her anger. "Such as?"

"Taking you home, for starters. You shouldn't be here."

And so it started. "I was invited, Damon. I want to be here."

"Oh, so now you want to put yourself in danger? You want to be Mama Mikaelson bait?"

"I want peace, Damon," Elena insisted heatedly, trying to make him meet her gaze. But his sapphire eyes remained firmly fixed on Kol; he couldn't even be bothered to look at her when he was belittling her. Figured. "And I'll do whatever it takes to get that." Well, not really, since she really didn't trust the woman, but she wasn't about to go broadcasting that to Damon, was she? Not if it put anyone else in danger.

Damon shook his head, silent warning brewing in the horizon of his eyes. "Don't make ultimatums, Elena. It doesn't suit you."

Stefan took a wary step forward, brow pinched with irritation, a permanent thumb mark in the clay of his forehead. "Damon..."

Elena steamrolled right over him. "Don't make demands of me, Damon. I'm not your girlfriend, I'm not your anything. I've trusted you, again and again and again, and been disappointed almost every single time. But that's over with now."

"Elena, he's just trying to do what he thinks is right."

"And do you agree with him? Do you think I should be bossed around, tossed around, between you, like I'm some rag doll? Even without your humanity, can't you see that this is killing me, that I don't want to live like this anymore? I've had enough, Stefan, of both of you."

"Elena, you can't listen to a word they say! I'm trying to keep you safe! If you want to talk to the psychiatrist witch so bad, fine, but don't be mad at me when I haven't done anything wrong! I'm only doing this because I love you."

"And that's supposed to, what? Excuse you? Give you a clean slate? Oh, it's okay if you've hurt me, hurt my friends, killed my brother, right in front of me, just because you were pissed at Katherine? For you to do the same with Ric, the only kind of parent I have left? It was okay for you to give me your blood, force me, not just when you thought I was going to die, but so you could get Emily Bennet's grimoires from Stefan? You say you love me, Damon, but that's not love. Not the kind of love I want to be a part of. And even if you really do love me, which I'm not even sure if you do...love does as much harm as it does good. Look what Esther did to her children, Damon, all because she loved them. She killed them, and then made them carry the consequences of that decision for the rest of eternity. I don't want to suffer like that; I won't."

The sound of the door opening punctuated her statement, Klaus and Elijah slipping softly into the room. Klaus gave her a conspiratorial wink. Elena tried not to smile, to remember where she was, what she was doing -this was her moment, after all- but those dimples made it really damn difficult.

Squaring her shoulders, she discreetly slipped her shoes back on, crossing the distance between her and the Salvatores in a few heartbeats. "It's time I make the decisions around here."

"Elena, stop, you're being ridiculous. You're just you."

"You're right, Damon, I am just me. And now I'm deciding it's time for you to say goodnight. The both of you."

Elena inclined her head, mouth set in a grim line, feeling rotten, fruit left out to spoil. In a blink, Klaus moved, snapping Stefan's neck with brutal efficiency. Before Damon could get a word out, he was crumpling to the floor beside him, narrowly avoiding a collision with the edge of Elijah's desk.

"Damn, Nik, you are so whipped," Kol exclaimed gleefully, clapping his hands like an overexcited toddler, obviously in his element.

The brunette pierced him with a glare, sharper than any dagger. "I thought you said you hadn't caught up on the twenty first century yet."

Kol beamed, as unrepentant as the sun rising in the morning. "I lied."

Klaus sighed, immediately pouring himself a drink, gesticulating his tumbler in the general direction of the floor. "Just get them out of here."

"Fine, fine, I'll be your errand boy. But only this once, and I expect some new grimoires out of this," the Mikaelson complained, hauling the pair up by the ankles as Elijah oh so kindly opened the door for him.

"Kol?"

He turned around at the sound of the hybrid's voice, huffing impatiently -perhaps he should have been the Big Bad Wolf of the family. "What now?"

"I wouldn't be...displeased, if they happened to wake up with a few more broken bones to add to their collection. All obtained by accident, of course."

Kol grinned, dropping Damon's leg to give Klaus a mocking salute. "Aye, aye, Captain."

"He is so weird." God, did she sound fond? He had a dark sense of humour and was oddly endearing with his indeed floppy hair. She reckoned he'd probably get on well with Jer. The thought scared her.

Klaus shrugged, pouring another drink. "He has his moments." Handing the glass off to his brother, he came to sit beside her on the desk, a large, callused hand coming to rest on her bare shoulder. She leaned into the heat, suddenly feeling cold all over. "Are you ready for this?"

Elena chuckled dryly. "Do I have much of a choice?"

He didn't even hesitate. "Yes. Say the word, and I'll take you to Cabo. Maybe Hawaii. I could do with some sun; I'm looking a tad pasty."

"I think you look very handsome."

Kol came back into the room, saving her the task of trying to explain why she'd just admitted that, but she definitely didn't dodge Elijah's probing looks, staring at her as if he didn't recognize her. Oh, the irony.

"Who's Esther's favourite?" Elena asked without preamble, getting back to the matter at hand.

"Finn," all three Mikaelsons said, without a speck of hesitation, resigned to it almost, as if it were a simple, unavoidable, fact of life, like gravity or never finding a cab when it's raining.

"So he's the one that will take me to her?"

Kol nodded, snatching Elijah's drink from his hand, much to his brother's noticeable chagrin. Siblings. "He's already looking for you now. I can hear him talking to Rebekah down the hall."

"What's she saying?"

Clearing his throat dramatically, the former witch began in a high, false falsetto, "'Why the hell should I bloody know where that doppelbitch is? Nik made his intentions very clear this morning after I tried to kill her; I'm not allowed to go near her. What do you want with her, anyway?"

"'Mother wishes to speak with her.'" He deepened his voice appropriately, sounding very much like he was trying to do a Batman impression. God, her life was so weird. At least this was more entertaining than scary.

"'Regarding...?'"

"'A personal matter. It's not for you to know, sister. Perhaps she rejoined the dance.'"

Klaus intervened threateningly, "Don't you bloody dare repeat that, Kol."

Kol ignored him. "Oh, I will. 'Or she's snogging Stefan's face off. I wouldn't blame her, he looks delicious in that tux." Bleh, Bekah, just gross. He's not even that pretty. Did you really date that guy?"

"He usually has a heart of gold; just have to find it under all the hair gel. Speaking of which, how long does it take a regular vampire's body to heal a broken neck?"

Elijah answered for her, "Fifteen to twenty minutes at most."

"So I better get a move on, then," Elena sighed, picking up her skirts in one hand, doing up the buckles on her heels with the other. Kidnapping Klaus' glass, she downed it's contents in one go, grimacing at the strong burn but appreciating the liquid courage; she needed all the bravado she could get tonight. She set it back down, smiling faintly at the imprint of her lipstick, a simple reminder that she'd been here, that she'd left a mark, even if it was on some random glass, that if she died tonight, she wouldn't be forgotten about. She couldn't ask for anything more; not everyone was so lucky.

Silently, she made her way to the door, ignoring the looks of sympathy from the two dark-haired Mikaelsons. Of course, Klaus couldn't let her go without saying something, always so eager to get the last word in. He took her hand away from where it rested on the doorknob, holding it in his, just like he had that night last week, like it was the most precious thing he'd ever held, fragile but not breakable. "Wait." He tipped up her chin, eyes a catastrophically mesmerizing shade of blue, like cerulean straight from the tube. "I want you to promise me, that no matter what, no matter what she says or what she asks of you, you don't put up a fight about it. While your bravery is both adored and applauded, tonight is not the night for it. Agree to whatever she wants, so long as it means you come out of there in one piece. Anything else we can deal with."

I can't lose you.

And as much as that meant to her..."Klaus, I have my principles. I won't abandon them just because your mother clicks her fingers or says some harsh words. You know me better than that."

His hold on her chin tightened ever so slightly. "And this is not up for discussion."

"Elena, we're doing this for your benefit," Elijah chimed in, no doubt noticing that they were going around in circles and that time was not on their side; she appreciated the brusque, business-like tone. It reminded her of simpler times. Simpler times being when his brother was going to sacrifice her. It felt so long ago now. "Esther will most likely have a privacy spell in place; we won't be able to hear you, won't be able to intervene if she tries to hurt you."

Elena inquired sadly, heart breaking for them, "You really think she means me harm?"

Elijah hung his head, a hangman's noose of doubt around his neck, weighing him down. "I wish I could be sure...but it's been a thousand years, Elena. I simply don't know anymore."

"Okay. It's a good thing I brought this, then," she declared, reaching into the bodice of her dress and pulling out her phone, as well as her tube of lipstick, smirking when Klaus' pupils darkened ever so slightly. She'd file that away for later.

Klaus shook his head as if clearing it of cobwebs. "I don't think you'll be able to fight off my mother with Scarlet Temptress, sweetheart."

"It's Cherry Red, actually, but that's not the point." Elena unscrewed the top, revealing a clear liquid inside.

"Vervain."

"It won't do any good against a witch, of course, but if she gets Finn to step in, it could buy me a few seconds."

"To what?" Klaus growled, running a troubled hand through his hair, missing up his perfect curls. "Think of some fitting last words before you die?"

Elena reigned in a sigh. She'd known he was the most passionate, outspoken one of his siblings...but it hurt to see him so worried. "Even the smallest of advantages could tip the balance in my favor."

"I suppose you're right."

"Can I get that in writing? Maybe with a nice frame?"

Klaus slipped his other arm around her shoulders, pressing a delicate kiss to her temple. "I'll write whatever you want so long as you come back to me in one piece."

"As if I'd ever leave you to deal with the hungry housewives of Mystic Falls on your own."

She took one last look at him, pulling out of his embrace, abandoning his safety and his warmth and that damn smirk and those blue eyes that saw all of her.

"Caelum denique, Elena dearest."

Elena raised a brow, confused. "What does that mean?"

"Google it when you get home."

Shaking her head, she bit her bottom lip, grinning up at him impishly through the dark fringe of her lashes. "Nah, I'll just make you tell me later. I can be very persuasive."

"I look forward to being persuaded by you," Klaus said, and let her go. Each step down the hallway felt like a mile, her breath sawing out of her chest. She could do this, the Mikaelson's believed she could do this. She was Elena fucking Gilbert, daughter of Miranda and Grayson, niece of Jenna, Jeremy's big sister, his protector. And, for them, she wouldn't be scared.

"Niklaus..." Elijah began before the door had so much as finished clicking shut. Klaus resisted the urge to bang his head against it. Couldn't he give him just one single second before he began his inquisition? Kol settled behind the desk, an spectator waiting for the performance to begin. He'd always been a fan of plays.

Klaus decided to stall his older brother with his most powerful and effective weapon: diversionary humour. "I know, I know, I know. The vacation was a bad idea; you know I'd never leave you to uncover Mother's nefarious plots yourself."

"No, brother, that's not what I meant. My weighty sigh of disapproval was in regards to your treatment of Miss Gilbert."

"Treatment?" the blond echoed disbelievingly. "I thought I was perfectly gentlemanly. I wished her well and everything."

Elijah raised an eyebrow, a clear, 'That's not what I meant, stop being obtuse on purpose, it's irritating.'

"You were flirting with her!"

Kol sniggered very, very quietly. He was about to get a whole lot quieter if he didn't keep his trap shut. "Is that suddenly a crime now?"

"No, but Niklaus...it's Elena," Elijah said, as if that explained everything. It did, but Klaus was having too much fun with this, and it had the added bonus of distracting and stopping him from marching down the hall and grabbing Elena like some primitive Neanderthal and whisking her away, out of his mother's reach.

"Yes, I'm very well aware."

"The doppelgänger," his brother continued, leading up to something, of what Klaus couldn't begin to fathom. "Who you despise."

"It's true," Klaus conceded with an indulgent smile, "I don't always like the company she keeps, but despising her? No, never."

Elijah sighed, kicking Kol out of his chair, looking up at the ceiling like the answers he sought were carved into the wooden crossbeams and mosaic tiles. "I don't understand it. I'm daggered for not even half a year, and yet when I awaken, you're looking at her like she's ensorcelled you."

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'You have bewitched me, body and soul,' I will throw you out the window. Of your own private study, no less."

"I just want to understand it, is all. I haven't seen you love, truly love anyone, since Aurora." Kol's head bobbed in agreement like an apple at Halloween. Ah, the pleasures of being ganged up on by ones family.

"I flirted with Katerina."

His expression turned hard as flint, immovable as stone. "You used Katerina."

Gods, was he still upset about that? He'd done him a bloody favor! Elijah could do far better than that manipulative excuse of a woman, her feelings as fake as her Jimmy Choos and her hundred and one shiny bangles that clinked with so much noise whenever she moved, so desperate was she for everyone to notice her, to not be forgotten. Well, she got her wish; Klaus will never forget how she used his brother. That, without her, he could have been free five centuries ago.

But then he would have never come to Mystic Falls. He never would have met Elena...and what a deplorable shame that would have been, like missing out on the Parthenon, never discovering a new continent, never hearing Bach perform live. So, maybe she'd had her uses.

"And there was that werewolf in New Orleans..."

The resident trickster immediately perked up, scenting a new story like a reporter -but the only thing he'd be reporting on would be what it felt like to get kicked out of a room if he couldn't take any of this seriously. Klaus almost envied him his unflappable calm. "Ooh, who was that? I don't know about that one."

"You were in a box at the time."

Kol tipped up his glass, disappointed to find it empty. "Makes sense."

Elijah waved a hand, dismissing his history of romantic conquests -and Kol's contribution- as if it were no more than a bothersome fly. "A mere dalliance. That is not what this is, Niklaus, and you know it."

"How do you know that? I don't even know what this is! I just know, that when I think about anything happening to her...it feels like I can't breathe, 'Lijah." His eyes skated to his, revealing a chasm of vulnerability, a bottomless pit he always tried so desperately to hide. He felt. He hurt. He'd hurt for a thousand years, and now he'd finally found someone who made that hurt go away, at least for a while. It was as simple as that.

"Niklaus, she's a child."

Snarling, Klaus flashed across the room, hauling his brother up by his collar. "Elena is not a child. She's an adult, and deserves to be treated as such. Don't you dare dismiss her like that, even if she's not here." Klaus loosened his grip, scowling as Elijah straightened his tie.

Kol, wisely, scenting danger on the air like smoke, left the room.

"And what were we?" Klaus wondered, barely more than a murmur, a puff of breath, dispelled air. Dispelled grief. He slumped to the sliver of carpet by Elijah's desk, resting his head against it's many drawers. "What were we, Elijah? Old age pensioners? Kol could hardly even shave! Rebekah could still fit into the same dresses she was wearing at thirteen! We were children once, Elijah. We loved and were good and innocent. Before Esther took that from us. Her, and Father. And Elena...she makes me feel like I can be that way again, like there's something in me worth seeing, worth knowing. Gods now why she ever would..."

Elijah reached out, clasping him on the shoulder, that touch he associated with love and promise and acceptance. "And does Elena know of this feeling you have for her?"

Klaus snorted, choking on a laugh. "You make it sound so simple, brother. I can't just pass her a note saying, 'Hi, I'm sorry I killed your aunt and drained you dry like a bloody Capri Sun, tick yes or no if you like me."'

"You're right," Elijah grimaced in agreement, "that isn't particularly eloquent."

"It's probably for nothing, anyway. For all I know, I could be dead by tomorrow."

His brother sighed heavily, used to this song and dance. "Ever the pessimist, my dear brother."

Klaus didn't miss a beat. "Ever the stalwart believer, brother mine."

"How about you try something new?"

He raised his head. "Such as?"

Elijah smiled slightly. "The fuel of heroes, the death of evil, the thing that dreamers rebel for and despots fear above all else. The thing that your Elena has, more than anybody else I've ever met: hope."

Elena pursed her lips, gloved fingers digging into the bare skin of her upper arms like she could claw out her mounting anxiety, pulling out an infested, infected weed. But weeds always came back, as did fear, and there was nothing she could do to kill hers. Fear meant she was alive, that she still had things to lose, that there was still love in her heart.

The eldest Mikaelson found her easily, chatting away to Mrs Lockwood, stearing clear of the topic of Tyler but not hesitating to gush over the generosity of the Mikaelson's like a broken sink valve. "You must be Miss Gilbert. I'm Finn Mikaelson."

Immediately sensing that she wouldn't want any part in this, the Mayor politely excused herself, but not before throwing one worried glance over her shoulder. She'd been close with her mom for years; she'd looked out for all of the kids, in her own way. But this wasn't her fight. It was no one but hers.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Mikaelson," Elena greeted him warmly, watching as surprise spread out across his face like a freshly-watered flower. Not used to niceties, it seemed. Or maybe hed simply anticipated her to be more wary, more hostile at his appearance, which certainly didn't bode well for her.

"My mother has informed me she wishes to speak to you." Not a request, not with that tone.

Elena smiled demurely as if she was used to such frigidness. She was. "Lead the way."

Turning on his heel, Finn cut his way through the small microcosms of people gathered around the staircase, leading her up and up, to the second floor. Which was weird, considering the distinct feeling Elena had that he was shepherding her down to hell instead, or at the very least the lair of some prowling beast. And her role, as always, was that of sacrificial lamb.

She turned on her phone, dialing Klaus' number, and prayed.

"Elijah, for Christ's sake, she's not mine-"

Klaus' phone rang, buzzing on the desk. The hybrid lunged for it, almost knocking the annoying device to the floor. Fingers shaking ever so slightly, he answered the call, hearing nothing but the soft shuffle of footsteps, the swishing of skirts against marble and Elena's raucous heartbeat.

A door opened. Klaus strained his ears, bypassing the chatter and clatter of the party goers, focusing on the rooms upstairs. The second floor, right down the end of the hall.

And then he heard it. His mother's voice, so falsely welcoming that it made his teeth ache, and he could so easily picture his smile in the eye of his mind, stretching her face like a morbid, rictus grin. Esther Mikaelson had not been made for smiling. That had died along with her first child.

"I see you got my message, Elena. Thank you for joining me."

"Your note didn't imply that I had much of a choice. It is no small thing to turn down the request of a Mikaelson." Gods, she was glorious. Respectful, yet still holding her own, walking the tightrope of propriety, feeling her out. She would have thrived in the courts of Medieval Europe.

"Thank you, Finn. That will be all." He heard the door click, lock. Leaving Elena alone with their mother. "I apologize if my children have given you that impression. Truly, I mean you no harm."

"And your little stunt with Vicki Donovan was, what? A hug from the great beyond? She tried to kill me. Matt had to say goodbye to his sister all over again. Do you have any idea what that's like, the pain you put him through? Using someone when they were at their weakest, who just wanted to be alive again after their life was cut too short? Therefore, you'll forgive me if I'm a little dubious about the durability of your word."

Esther clicked her tongue, the sound doused in disapproval like a perfumed handkerchief. "You sound like my son, Elijah."

The Original in question raised a brow. "And you sound like every other bad guy I've come across, gender notwithstanding. What do you want from me?"

"Perhaps I simply wish to talk, to share with you my side of things," his mother said, and Klaus didn't buy it for a second. Neither did Elijah, if his barely audible sigh of annoyance was any indication. "I know Rebekah has told you some of our history, but I'm sure an inquisitive girl like you must have questions."

"And you couldn't do that over a cup of tea or a nice chai latte because...?"

Klaus held in a snort at that. "Because you might not have agreed, and I very much needed you to do so."

"Like that doesn't sound threatening at all."

"Threats are my children's forte, not mine. You're free to leave here at any time."

"At which point Finn will no doubt drag me back inside until you get what you want, of course."

Esther paused. Something glass wobbled; Elena had caught her off guard. "You're cleverer than I'd anticipated."

"Haven't you been watching over this whole soap opera on The Other Side TV screen? If have thought you'd have realized that by now."

"And it has been a difficult existence, nature's way of punishing me for disrupting the balance. I'll admit, I have taken a special...interest in you, over the past year. Your exploits with the Salvatore brothers have been most entertaining."

"I'm glad I could provide a source of amusement to brighten up your afterlife for you."

Elijah began typing away on his phone, then held it up for Klaus to see. She will, undoubtedly, fit right in here when you pull yourself together and make your romantic intentions clear.

The hybrid smiled.

"Careful with that tongue, Elena. I have no patience for mockery."

"And I have no patience for mothers who hurt their children, who curse them and then make it near-impossible to break that curse, who let their father beat them all because of your infidelity. God, how do you sleep at night?" She was a whirlwind of incredulity and curiosity and outraged, and it warmed something in his long-cold heart to hear her come to his defense, despite all he'd done. He'd anticipated this, had known that she would fight for what she believed him...but it still took his breath away that she would ever think he was worth fighting for.

"Burdened by the weight of mistakes, I'll have you know. One of which I seek your help in rectifying."

"Well, unless you have a time machine laying around here somewhere, I'm not interested."

"Not even at the idea of eradicating your aunt's killer? Her name was Jenna, wasn't it? A lovely woman, an unfortunate casualty of your existence."

Wrong move. Not even he would stoop so low. Esther may have come back human, but she certainly didn't act like it. Yet it was Elena's voice that almost didn't seem human as she growled darkly, "Jenna's death was not my fault. Don't you dare guilt trip me, use her memory as an excuse."

Her heartbeat began to slow, like she was coming out of whatever feeling had possessed her. Clearing her throat, she began at a calmer module, "I know that you were the weapon meant to kill Klaus. We were confused when we found you in that coffin, learning you were his mother. Naturally, we all assumed that you wouldn't, couldn't kill him, not your own child. I guess we overestimated your humanity."

"I love my children, Elena, but they are an abomination. I've had no choice but to draw power from the Bennett bloodline, to come back and right my wrongs, especially now that Niklaus has broken his curse and is able to create hybrids. How can you not see that this is the right course of action? I saw you dancing with him tonight, the way he looked at you. I must warn you, my son does not care about anyone but himself and furthering his own goals." It was nothing he hadn't heard before, nothing Elijah hadn't heard before, or any other if their siblings, and yet...this was their mother.

Elijah pressed a hand into his shoulder. Klaus' own reached up, encircling it, clinging to it, tethering the broken kite of his anguish.

Elena didn't miss a beat. "And yet he healed Caroline. He let Stefan live. He made sure that Damon got his blood when he was dying of a werewolf bite."

"Are you defending him, child?"

"I'm only saying that everyone is capable of goodness, that no one person is truly bad or good," Elena replied logically, not revealing a thing, how much she really cared. "And even so, you made them what they are, that was your choice. And now you're suddenly taking it back? How is that fair?"

"Haven't you learnt by now that life is not fair? You, the daughter of love and death, watching your parents die before your very eyes. Loved ones sacrificing themselves for you as if you are the most precious thing in the world. Isn't it time you put all those you care for out of harms way. If you give me your blood, you can. Your brother can come home, and you can live the normal life you crave so badly."

"How do you know about Jeremy?"

Klaus went very, very still. "My daughter was kind enough to share with me some of the world's most recent developments, such as this marvelous thing called Facebook. He seems like such a happy, talented young lad. I would hate to cut his life short prematurely, all because you could not agree to my simple turns."

He was going to murder Bekah. He was going to put her in a box and-

"You leave my brother alone, you heartless crone!"

His sentiments exactly. "Give me but a drop of your blood and I will. If I'm willing to kill my own children, you know I'll kill him to get what I want, to restore the balance. Your brother himself should have been long dead by now, brought back by your friend Bonnie with magic. I could very easily reverse that."

"You lay a hand on him and I'll make you regret it." Gods, she sounded like him. He didn't want to ever hear that tone again from her; she shouldn't be forced to change her nature, to forsake her compassion just to keep those she cared for safe. That burden was his, and his alone.

"Such violence from one so young; it saddens me. Tatia would be so disappointed to see her progeny degenerate so much."

"From what I've heard, she was a two-timing, cheating bitch who strung Klaus and Elijah along like a grandma's knitting needle, so I'm not particularly worried. I'm not a monster. I don't care what Klaus has done, what Elijah or Kol or Rebekah or Finn have done; they don't deserve to be killed by their own mother. No one is beyond redemption, not even your children."

"You only say that because you care for Niklaus."

"I care about all of them, actually. I'll save them all for the sake of saving one. Klaus would never tolerate otherwise, and neither will I."

Silence filled the air. Elijah's clock ticked away. Klaus didn't move, hardly even breathed. Eventually, his mother demanded, "You really won't give me your blood?"

"No, I won't."

"Very well, Elena. Then I shall take it."

It took every ounce of strength, every minute fibre of Klaus' will, to not cry out when he heard Elena scream above the sounds of a knife slicing through flesh. He didn't even realize he was by the door until Elijah stopped him, gripping his arm, face paler than he'd seen it in years. "The essence will be in the champagne toast tonight. All five of them must drink it in order to complete the ritual and be linked as one. If you interfer in any way, if you tell but a soul of what I've done tonight, there will be consequences. Remember, Elena: Jeremy is all the way in Denver, but there are plenty of other people here in Mystic Falls who I can get to. Thank you, you may go."

Klaus waited a heartbeat. Two. Ten. Thirty. And then he was wrenching the door open, flashing up the stairs, not caring who saw him, searching for Elena. She was by the door, blood streaming down her arm, a copper-red gauntlet encircling her eight glove. As if she felt him near, she raised her head, ever so slightly, brown eyes brimming over with apology.

The next thing he knew, he was holding her in his arms as she cried.

Klaus took her outside, and Elena let him. She didn't have any more fight left in her, and she felt a little better to be out of the mansion, away from Esther. She knew they couldn't miss the champagne toast, that Esther would know of her deceit, especially if Klaus wasn't there, but she needed a minute before she could brave the crowds once again.

Draping his jacket over her shoulders, Elena clung to it like armor, like it could offer her some protection against the events of the awful night. Klaus was going to die. Klaus was going to die and it was all her fault, she hadn't been strong enough and now he was going to lose everything and she was going to lose him even though she wasn't even sure if he was hers to loose and...

"Shh, love, come on, it's alright, don't cry. You're far too pretty to be crying over me," he murmured, voice taking on a teasing lilt that on any other occasion would have made her smile. Tonight, it only made her angrier, knowing that this could be one of the last time she saw the true face of Klaus Mikaelson.

Her head snapped up, eyes shining with accusation like lanterns in the dark. "How can you say that? Klaus, you're mother's trying to kill you as we speak. How is any of this okay?"

"Because we'll stop her. Somehow, someway, we'll end this, once and for all. There has to be a way."

He sounded so calm. Too calm.

"And if there's not?"

"Don't think like that."

So he was scared then.

"And if there's not?" Elena repeated, voice wavering on the precipice of yet more tears. She was so sick of crying, she was so sick of everyone dying.

Gently, Klaus claimed her hand, rolling down the top of her glove, tender flesh rippling with goosebumps at the onslaught of cold air. With more tenderness than she could have ever possibly conceived, he pressed a handkerchief to her arm, wiping away her blood as he replied evenly, "Then I'll die, and that will be it. All will finally be well in Mystic Falls. You and your friends won't ever have to worry about me."

She batted away his hand, capturing his chin instead, his stubble scraping against the material of her gloves. "But I want to worry about you. I don't want you to die, not like this, not now what we've..."

A world of unasked questions swirled in those china-blue eyes. "That we've what, sweetheart?"

"Connected. Seen each other. Understood each other. For so long, I thought that there could be nothing good in you, that you'd ruined my life and that I wouldn't ever forgive you, that you didn't deserve it. But I was wrong. You were there for me, when no one else was. I was alone, and miserable, and I just wanted the pain to stop, for all of this to go away. That night, I looked over at the bridge and asked myself why I was still here, why everyone tried so hard to keep me alive. And maybe I don't have an answer, not yet. But all I know is...you offered me a bottle of cherry wine, and I got a so much more in return. And whatever the reason I'm still here, whatever it is I'm supposed to do with my life...Klaus, I want you in it."

This was the moment. She could feel it, anticipation fluttering her insides, a swarm of butterflies taking flight. Elena leaned, tilting Klaus' face towards hers and..."So, you like horses then?"

Instantly, the pair spun around, peering out behind a hedgerow. Caroline was standing there in her indigo dress, petting a midnight-black horse. With Kol Mikaelson standing right next to her, an impossible grin on his face. "I do. I haven't ridden on one since I was little, but there's something beautiful about them, I think. Being so free."

"Ah, but they're not quite so beautiful when they kick you in the ribs."

"That's Caroline."

Klaus chuckled softly. "I know, Elena, I have eyes. And ears."

Elena elbowed him in the ribs, straining to hear her friend's response. "I thought Original's were supposed to be durable."

"Oh, we are, darling, in lots of ways. Doesn't mean that we don't feel things, even pain, however fleeting. All those busybodies inside kept mentioning your father. I'm sorry, for your loss."

The brunette watched her shoulders tense, grief settling over her like a shawl; she knew it well. "Thank you."

"Is it your first as a fledge? A newbie vampire?"

"Yeah, it is."

"It'll be hard at first. But soon, you'll start to feel better." Kol's voice was serious, sympathetic, much different from his aloof, blase mockery from earlier. She didn't take it too personally; Caroline was a lot easier to be around than her, plus she had the added bonus of not looking like any of his brother's ex's.

"And you know this how? I thought you were the crazy psycho one who didn't care about anything."

"Depends on the day. On Wednesdays I like to throw in a little humanity, just to keep things interesting."

"Is Kol...flirting with Caroline?"

"It appears so, yes." He seemed just as shocked as she was, maybe even more so. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back, a hand covering her mouth...and laughed. Really laughed, tears collecting at the corners of her eyes, letting some of her stress out a long with it.

Klaus didn't seem disturbed by her outburst, on the contrary he seemed to have been expecting it, waiting to greet it like a hostess. "And there's the laugh. I can't believe my brother's pitiful attempts at wooing your best friend brought it out rather than my charming self, but...it's just nice to see it. I better go haul him in." Clambering over a patch of frostbitten grass, the hybrid hollered at the top of his lungs, "Kol! Kol, you git, stop chatting up women who are far too good for you and get your arse inside; Mother's about to make her toast."

"Too true." The youngest Mikaelson peered over his brother's shoulder, gaze meeting up with hers. He winked.

Caroline was far less forgiving. "Hey, I was having a perfectly nice conversation there, you dick!" she yelled, hands on her hips in her cheerleader stance, clearing having none of it. Any other night, Elena would have found it funny, but there was so much at stake, more than she knew.

"It's fine, darling, I best be off. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Forbes. I hope you to see around," he said, offering her a bow before going back inside, whistling off-key.

Klaus turned to Caroline, exasperated as only a sibling could be. "Trust me, Caroline, you're better off. Kol makes me look like the Easter Bunny."

"Like I'd ever listen to your advice."

God, she was so gonna freak when she found out about them two. That was if he survived, of course. Or if she did.

And that hurt. She could see it in his stance, read it, him, like a favorite book. Which was why he undoubtedly said, just to be petty, "Why not? Elena certainly does," and sauntered back over to her, offering his arm, the fairy lights casting a false halo around his head.

Elena sighed heavily. "Was that really necessary?"

Klaus pondered a moment before insisting, "Absolutely."

"She's gonna ask me a million questions," Elena insisted, already picturing it in her mind. Her, Caroline, a tub of ice cream and a rom-com, complete with the awkward silence that comes from admitting you might -who was she kidding? Of course she did- have feelings for the vampire who killed you and your only living relative. She couldn't wait to pencil it in on calendar.

"And you can tell her a million nice things about me." He smiled, and damn of it didn't make her knees weak, didn't make her think of how much she would lose if she lost him. But she didn't want to make it worse, he wasn't oblivious to what was at stake.

And so, she played along, teasing him sweetly as she helped him out his jacket back on, "Are you sure? I think I can only come up with a couple thousand at most; I might need some help."

Straightening the fabric, he pressed a kiss against her cheek. "Like I could ever refuse you." Elena melted.

They'd passed back into the main foyer, and Elena watched as Esther made her way across the banister, gliding like a ghost, regal and composed in her long dress, not a hair out of place. She didn't look like a woman about to condemn all her children, but Elena suspected she'd made peace with it a long time ago. If she was looking for a conflicted woman, she would not find it in Esther Mikaelson.

Elena took a glass, actions mechanical and far-away. She barely heard her speech, too engrossed in the thundering sounds of her heartbeat, as if it wished to leap out of her chest and knock the glass of champagne from Klaus' hands. Blue eyes met hers, telling her not to worry, that it would all be fine.

"Bottoms up, sweetheart," he said, and signed his death warrant -and those of his family- with a sip.

Elena wanted to get out of there right away. She just wanted to go home, to burn the dress and cry and scream and stop this aching feeling that seemed to have seeped into her bones, her very marrow like a mist, weighing her every step. But no, the universe couldn't allow her even a moment's respite, the hits had to keep on coming.

The next came in the form of none other than Damon Salvatore, neck healed but temper very much intact.

"Finished your chat with Mama Mikaelson?"

Elena steeled her spin, readying for conflict. "I have."

"Good."

Taking her by the arm, he hauled her down the stairs, her heel catching on the steps, a mockery of Cinderella. This was no prince, and she was no princess; all she wanted to do was run back to the castle, even if there was an evil witch inside and a family of so-called monsters. At least they didn't try to hide who they really were.

"Damon, let go of me!"

He didn't move an inch.

"I said, let go!"

Damon spun her around, her feet sliding on the wet, uneven grass, a fitting metaphor for their relationship -they hadn't been on solid, equal footing in a long time.

"You know, I've been alive for quite a while now, have woken up in some pretty weird situations. But imagine my surprise when I wake up in a coat closet with a menagerie of broken bones with my temporarily dead brother beside me. A coat closet, Elena! Thrown away like I'm a Mento at the bottom of someone's purse! How could you do this to me? To Stefan? All we've both ever done is love you and keep you safe, and this is how you repay us? By teaming up with the Mikaelsons, the ones responsible for everything that's gone wrong lately? We're the good guys, okay? They're the ones in their drafty villain lair twirling their villain mustaches! I thought you were smart enough to see that."

"And I thought you were smarter than to drag me outside in the hearing range of three different Originals."

Like she hadn't seen this coming. Like she hadn't seen Klaus go off to talk to Bekah and caught Elijah's eye, just in case. "She's right, Mr Salvatore. Kindly release the lovely Elena and let us settle this like civilized individuals. Or is that too much for your juvenile sensibilities to handle?"

Damon shook his head, black hair spraying, mouth coloured in disgust. "God, why can't you talk like a normal person?"

"Because I'm not," Elijah merely replied, cool and calm and collected. "Now, don't make me ask again."

"Like hell am I gonna listen to you," Damon snarled, bringing her against his chest, her forearm pressing against her neck. A wave of vertigo, of déjà vu overtook her, and Elena wondered just how many times Damon would put her in danger and call it love.

"And what about me?"

All the air seemed to be sucked away, despite the fact they were outside. Damon finally seemed worried. But Klaus only had eyes for Elena, not even sparing a flicker of interest Damon's way. "You alright, sweetheart?"

Elena nodded, hoping to maintain some vestige of her dignity, making sure her voice didn't waver. "I'm fine."

"Good." Hands deep in his trouser pockets, he sauntered down the steps, every inch the Apex predator, and wanting everyone to know it. But she wasn't scared. This performance wasn't for her, it was for Damon, to make him think twice about pulling something like this again. Klaus was not to be messed with, certainly not tonight. "How would you like to die, Damon? Werewolf bite? Beheading? Barbeque?" He ticked them off on his fingers, smirk growing by the second. Oh, he was enjoying this. So she let him. "Or how about a sword to the chest, I hear it's all the rage these days. I could even shoot you. And wouldn't that be beautifully poetic? I, who saved your life, ending it the same way your father did all those years ago."

"Is this little speech coming to a point any time soon?" Damon drawled, covering up his unease with brittle sarcasm, as always. She used to find it charming, that whole 'Spitting in the face of adversity' thing, having the guts to go toe to toe with whoever decided to threaten them that weak. Now it just made her sad, especially when everyone gathered knew he was outmatched, himself included.

"Elena has been through enough tonight. Release her, right now, and I'll let you keep your pathetic excuse of an existence."

"Why? You're not exactly a charitable guy."

"No, I'm very much not," Klaus agreed amicably, stopping in the grass several feet away, hair shifting with the night time breeze, "but Elena cares about you, and I care about her, and I hate seeing her cry. So, one more time: let Elena go, Damon."

"Since when do you care about her? You only want her for her blood to use to make your freak army."

Klaus shrugged, effortlessly nonplussed. "Believe what you want."

Ever so slightly, he raised a brow at her, pressing his lips into a thin line.

With her free hand, Elena carefully reached into her dress, careful not to jostle Damon's arm. Pulling out her lipstick, she flicked the cap to the ground, hoping that Damon would one day forgive her if they were ever friends in the future, and poured the vervain over his arm, the skin immediately burning, bubbling like hot pavement in a New York summer. Jerking back, he let her go, holding his injured arm to his chest, the epitome of a wounded animal.

"You vervained me?" he screeched, more angry than pained, betrayal written all over him, glowing in the dark.

Elena nodded sadly. "Yes, I did. Were you really going to take me, against my will?"

"Maybe. Maybe you deserved it. Maybe I just wanted to see if your head was screwed on straight. Stefan! We're leaving."

Appearing out of nowhere, Stefan skidded to a halt, taking in the scene with wide eyes. "Elena, are you okay?"

A laugh escaped her, broken like a snapped branch, dark as the colour of the blood still clinging to her arm like a second skin. "It's a little late for that, don't you think? Don't expect to see me at the Boarding House any time soon." Klaus' palm settled on the small of her back, Elijah on her left, Kol coming in on her right, a declaration if there ever was one.

Elena was officially under the protection of the Mikaelsons, always and forever.

For however long fate decided that would be.

Chapter Text

'If I was born as a blackthorn tree

I'd wanna be felled by you

Held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies'

Elena watched the moonlight through half-lidded eyes, seeing the world but not quite seeing it, body limp and liquid in the passenger seat of Klaus' car. She watched the light, the way it ribboned and twirled, dancing like a coin trick, highlighting the shadows across the hybrid's face, bouncing off his curved jaw, repelled by the tension it found there, that filled the car. Elijah was silent in the back, no doubt trying to come up with some impossible solution to match their equally impossible predicament. Kol had stayed behind at the mansion, hoping to catch Esther in the act, or at the very least gather more details about the spell she was intending to use.

Use to kill them. Her children. Her children.

She'd been there in the room, had sat across from the woman, listened to the words seep out of her mouth like a dam of poison, but her mind still refused to wrap around it, like trying to force on a t-shirt you know no longer fits, is too tight, stops you breathing.

Elena wasn't a parent, but she'd been lucky enough to have many people fit that role. Jeremy had never lived a day in his life without her watching over him, protecting him, loving him. Even when Miranda and Grayson were still alive, she'd often had to play the role of parent if they were too busy. She made sure he always did his homework, that he didn't swap out his snacks at school for something out of a vending machine. Every day at recess, she'd always made sure he had someone to play with, or invited him to come sit with her when he didn't. Elena hadn't meant it to be overbearing or overprotective, but she'd seen how special Jeremy was, how sweet and kind and sensitive, and she'd wanted to make sure everyone else saw it, too. She'd been proud of him, and she still was.

The thought of doing anything to hurt him, to hurt her family...she couldn't stand it. There was no if, there was no maybe. There was no but what about. It was like trying to put two ends of a magnet together, and each one was North; an instant and complete aversion, so strong it made your hands ache, shake.

And Esther...she'd been so calm. A block of ice, as if she was still a corpse, still stuck in whatever grave Klaus and his siblings had buried her in, a thousand years ago. Maybe being on the Other Side for so long had made her forget what it was to be human, to care, to love. Maybe what she'd felt for her children was now a distant memory, like remembering an old song you heard on the radio on a car trip years ago, the taste of a stolen slice of birthday cake from a party of a friend who's face was now lost.

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she was going to do it, and it was up to Elena to fix it. The Mikaelsons wanted to survive, but Elena wanted to fix it. For them. For Klaus. Because she couldn't stand the way he wasn't looking at her, the bone crushing, orchid-white grip he had on the steering wheel despite the fact that he was going under the speed limit -which in a small town like Mystic Falls was barely above a snail crawl. She didn't know how to help him. That was the worst part. It seemed her blood was always hurting him, cursing him once again. Only this time, he wouldn't love through it, wouldn't be able to carry on, even as a vampire, as half of himself. He'd be dead. This challenging, curious, exciting, ill-tempered yet good-mannered man who'd stopped her heart and then taken it when she hadn't even realized she'd offered it, right to him on a silver platter, on the dark floor of an empty kitchen, on the counter of a fluorescent-light bathroom.

He'd taken it, and she didn't want it back. Elena wanted him to keep it, so long as she got to keep his.

But he wouldn't even look at her.

She knew why. Of course she knew why. It wasn't about her. He wasn't mad at her, didn't blame her; she'd done exactly what he'd asked of her, to give Esther whatever she wanted, so long as she left that room alive. He was trying to be brave, trying to act like he didn't care only because he did, too much, and it scared him, and he knew that feeling as he did was only going to make what followed a million times worse, a billion times more painful. Make it a trillion times harder to let go, when you'd only just started to allow yourself to hold on.

So yes, Elena knew why. It didn't mean, however, that she liked it, that she approved. This self-defense mechanism, this shutting down, barricading himself away in a fortress of his own feelings; it didn't help him. His walls were so high, but she'd breached higher. Her own had been towering pillars of solitude and grief before Stefan had come along. She knew that it would be worth it, what she found on the other side of those walls, that broken boy who wanted to be loved so badly that he pretended like the emotion didn't exist at all. Her killer, her sweetheart, her mirror, the man who had once prowled facelessly through her nightmares and who's features she'd now memorized. Love was worth any climb. Her legs may buckle, her arms might ache, and she might never make it over to the top.

But she'd try. Even if she only had today, she owed it to herself to try, and she owed it to him to let him know he was worth it.

The car stopped. No one moved.

Elijah was the first to get out, opening the door, letting the sound of the crickets and the wind, mingling with her harsh breathing before cutting off abruptly, and she could feel the vinyl of the seat, suctioning against her bare shoulders, forcing her in place, begging her not to go the way she knew that Klaus couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't. It does not do to fall in love with the beast everyone wished to slay, it will forever only end one way: dead at its hand, or theirs. Given up on or given back.

Elena didn't want to go back. Didn't want to go into that empty house waiting for her like Count Dracula inviting his guests down to dinner. Yes, please come in, enjoy me in my solitude, with the rooms you can no longer enter, full of memories of dead people yet who are so alive in your nightmares. She didn't want to be alone, couldn't he see that? Couldn't he see that this, none of this, scared her? He was the only one who understood, he'd been just as lonely as she has been, when she'd broken into his house that night. She'd seen it in his eyes, felt it in his touch, hesitant and possessive all at once. He didn't want to be alone; no one wanted to be alone.

'We accept the love we think we deserve.'

But what about pain? Did Klaus really think he deserved this, that his siblings did? After a thousand years, after a life spent conquering anyone and everyone and everything, had his mother's words truly made him feel, made him think, that he was not worth anything? Not even her comfort, that she'd give to anyone in a scenario such as this -but especially to him, she couldn't help it, it felt so good to be needed, not for what she looked like but what she could offer- despite it's uniqueness?

Had the mighty, indomitable empire of his ego finally fallen after one single blow?

Wordlessly, Elijah held her door open, expression so very blank, bleached, restrained, patchy in places, thinned out, mishandled. Trying too hard not to show that this hurt him, too. And it would. The protector, the defender, the most steadfast and unwavering champion of their family's redemption, and it was his own mother that believed that even he was not worth, did not deserve, to live. He held it open, but Elena didn't get out. Instead, she turned to Klaus, eyes begging for him to talk to her, to say something, anything, to let him be there for her. If he still needed proof of her intentions, if he was still unsure of her sincerity...there was no better way to show him that she would not abandon him, not now, than this.

"Klaus..."

He shook his head, a minute gesture, yet enough to crack her heart wide open in her chest, shattering her already tenuous hold on her tears. Elena bowed her head, fists clenching in her lap, dried blood raining down in rusted flakes onto her dress, settling in the spaces between the sequins, black and red and gold.

The red of blood. The black of despair. The gold of his eyes that she had never, ever forgotten, despite only seeing it once, the night he killed Mikael.

"It's late, love. You best get inside."

Clipped like a nail, right down the quick. High as a bluff, looking down at a deep blue sea. Untrue as a kiss, a promise of forever neither had ever wanted to keep.

"Is that really what you want?"

Finally, finally, Klaus turned to look at her, head swiveling incrementally slow, eyes twin blue pools of such bitter, soul-shattering anguish and rage and betrayal that it stuttered the breath in her lungs, like she was the one dying inside, rather than him. Oh, Niklaus. Just what had she done to you?

He held her gaze, reflecting her own, desperate face back to her. "Yes, Elena, it's what I want."

The passenger door hung open, gaping like a question. Careful not to trip over her skirts, Elena stepped out, slamming the thing closed hard enough to make her teeth rattle like dice in a cupped palm, fate throwing out hit after hit after hit, never giving her a break, never letting her win, adding to the symphony of her broken heart, her deepest wish. Her wish for someone to pick her, just once. That love was real, and didn't have to hurt. That she could be enough for someone who had lived more lifetimes than she had tears. Storming past Elijah and his upraised brow, her pulse a ragged, pounding tempest she wisely chose to ignore, Elena flipped the porch mat backwards, snatching up the spare key and jamming it into the lock, directing all her anger into the tiny sliver of metal.

"That doesn't seem any awfully wise place to hide that," Elijah began, hands deep in his pockets, leaning against the rail by the swing, so casually at home outside hers, if she could even call it that. This was just where she ate, slept, plotted, waited for her phone to ring and the next show to drop, the next funeral to sort, the next person to miss and mourn and hate, just the tiniest bit. Hate for leaving, leaving her to deal with all this, leaving her alone.

The thought was selfish, unkind, all the things people expected Elena Gilbert not to be. Didn't make it any less true. Maybe they didn't really know the real her; maybe she didn't even know herself.

"Like my choice of spare-key hiding place is going to stop anyone from getting in if they really wanted to."

Elijah sighed, breath fogging like smoke, the weary sound of a old dragon, too used to huffing and puffing, no heat left. "Elena...don't take it personally. This is just how Niklaus is."

"Who says I'm taking this personally?" Elena barked, a wild thing, a hurt thing, jamming the key in harder. God, why wouldn't the stupid thing open? Why couldn't she get in? Why couldn't the world just let her hide away? "Maybe I don't care. Maybe I don't care at all. Maybe I'll leave all of you to get on with this while I skip town. I hear Fiji's nice this time of year."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to call your bluff, Elena."

Elena tilted her head, looking at him from the corner of her eye. "And why is that?"

"Because it doesn't take a vampire to see that you're crying right now."

The lock finally clicked. "Seasonal allergies."

"To what?" Elijah replied mildly.

"Original hybrids acting like idiots," she said, wrenching the door open before promptly slamming it in Elijah's face.

Silence reigned. Elena stood on the other side of it, of that door and that silence and the tumbling whirr of her own thoughts, catching up to her, clawing at her, begging for her attention. They couldn't have it. For once in her life, she didn't want to think. Well, that wasn't exactly true, that wasn't the first time, she'd had that very thought lots of times...but the only occasion she'd ever indulged it had been last week, and that was what had got her in this ridiculously painful mess in the first place. She could talk a big talk, stand toe to toe and bluff to bluff with some of the world's supposedly most evil and wicked and diabolical beings without flinching...but at the end of the day, she just wanted somebody to come home to. She wanted someone to put their arms around her, to tell her sje was home, that she was safe and loved and that nothing could ever hurt her, never again, that they'd make sure of it.

Klaus had been the closest person to ever make that a reality. Stefan had tried, of course, but he hadn't understood, hadn't known loss on the scale that she had; his was a miniature, a figurine on a made-up battlefield. Hers was the whole damn army, waiting to make her lose, lose it, give up, give in to the grief. To stay under the covers, nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat, feeling her own breath warm on her face. But then the guilt would come, just as cloying, just as suffocating. She'd hear Jeremy in his room, listening to music, the melodic scratch of his pencils and those expensive colour pens he loved to spend nearly half his allowance on, and she'd think about how he was still willing to get up, to create beautiful things, so the least she could do was shower. Then make him breakfast. Then check his homework, make sure he got to school okay. And then, if she was already there...she might as well be, too. To keep an eye on him, to keep him safe.

It wasn't always like that. Jenna had done so much for them. But she was gone now. Then there was Ric. And now there wasn't, since he was off doing whatever with Dr Fell, who Elena really didn't like, or maybe she just thought he could do better, deserved better. Maybe she just didn't want her to die, like the rest of them. Like the rest of them would, sooner or later. It never used to scare her before, had been such an abstract concept, intangible, unknowable. She'd read a poem about it in class, look over a play that caught her eye, would get out highlighters in pastel pink to mask the darkness of the subject as she scribbled down 'What does it mean?'

What did it mean?

What did it mean that she'd grown these feelings for Klaus so quickly, sprouting up like cactuses in the barren desert of her heart, so very dry, the air acrid and burning lungs with each inhale? Unwatered, untended, they'd grown everywhere, an infestation of want and need, blotting out the indifference she'd felt, bypassing the sharp trellis of her once-upon-a-time anger, red as roses, as the rose around her neck. And what did it mean that he'd done the same, that he'd come when she'd asked, that he'd held her in her sleep not once, but twice, and it was 'a far more restful sleep than she had ever known?'

Damn, she must be exhausted if her mind was quoting Dickens at her, and A Tale of Two Cities no less. But what had happened at the end of that? Sidney Carlton, hung and dead. Lucie Manette, off with Charles Darney, happy but not fulfilled, a glass half empty when it should be brimming over with joy. An itch, an inkling, a what might have, forever staying in her mind, a permanent resident of regret.

Elena didn't want to live with any regrets. Life was so short, too short. Klaus might not see it, but she did. And if they really didn't have much time together...wasn't the best thing to enjoy it? To try and wring out the last drop of happiness that they could, even if it would result in more tears later?

The doppelgänger kicked off her heels, let her heart thunder in her chest, pulsing and pulsing, pulling her in two different directions. Her feelings has never stopped anyone from doing what they wanted before. Her voice has never been loud enough or strong enough to convince the vampires in her life into taking the better path, the more considerate one, the one that felt like she wasn't betraying her conscience so much, wasn't betraying that girl she used to be, who had died going off Wickery Bridge two years ago.

One beat. Two. Ten.

Stay, or go.

She'd never liked being told what to do. She was everyone's mediator, expected to mediate herself, too, the war between what was right and what was expected, what was hard and what was worth doing, worth fighting for. Stay on the straight path, don't venture out, don't get distracted by the glint of light on those sharp teeth, those teeth are not for you, they will bite you, hurt you, cut you open til you're redder than any cloak, deader than any slain wolf.

She didn't want to slay the wolf. She wanted to put her arms around it and hold it, feel it's breath on her cheek and it's tears on her skin and know that it was a monster, her monster, but not to her.

Leave him be. Let him sit, let him wallow, let him shut her out like Stefan did, snap at her like Damon had, loving her but simultaneously too scared to let her in.

It could be a mistake. He could say no. But the car was still there, engine still running, hope still had a chance of winning. Elijah hadn't moved, like he was waiting for one of them to do it for him, the betting man waiting to see if he'd backed the right horse, waiting to see if he was wrong about her, that she was not like all the rest, was not what had come before, twice over now.

Tatia had not wanted him. Neither had Katherine. But that was okay. She didn't want to share.

Elena unlocked the front door, opened it. Walked down the steps, thud, thud, thud. Padded barefoot across the grass, sucking at her feet like the voice of all her doubts, doubts that seemed to wither away, the closer she got to him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared Klaus down, the windshield little more than a formality under the heat of her gaze searing into his.

"If you don't get out of the car in the next five seconds, I will be as mad as all hell at you for proving every single person in this town right."

She didn't need to raise her voice, knew he'd hear her just fine.

"About what?"

"That I don't mean anything to you." The words were hard to say, but worse to think. She'd rather know now, rather know if the secrets and the flirting and the wine and the way he hadn't stopped taking her hand every possible chance he got meant nothing, if it was all a game or if he just didn't want to care, if he was too stuck in his ways, in himself, to ever be truly vulnerable with her for more than a passing moment, a firework lighting up the night before falling back to earth, fizzled out and forgotten by morning, even if she'd remember the blaze forever, replaying behind her eyelids, a fire that would never die.

Klaus got out of the car.

Her knees almost gave way.

But he was there to hold her up, just like he had the night of the sacrifice, was as gentle now as he had been then, arms fitting around her like all he'd ever been born to do was hold her, make her whole, even though she'd been the one destined to do that for him, make him a hybrid, make him whole. But there was many ways to complete a person, as many ways as there was to love someone. Maybe she should have always known that their story would start and end and start again with her in his arms.

"If I said everything I felt for you, the true breadth and depth of my affections, everything I want to do to you and everywhere I want to take you...sweetheart, we'd be here for all time."

"Sounds pretty thorough."

Klaus smiled, open like a favourite book. "I am nothing if not thorough." He cupped her cheek, fingertips smoothing over her skin, blazing a trail like a tail of a comet, burning her where she stood. "I shouldn't stay."

It was her turn to reach out, to reach for him. To grab him by the lapels of his jacket that smelled like her hairspray and her perfume and haul him in close until she could feel the buttons of his shirt pressing into her front, could reach out and trace the freckles on his neck like a newfound constellation. "I don't care. I'm scared and I don't care. I just want you here, with me."

Elena never said that, not to anyone. To her, being scared meant defeat, meant surrender, meant relinquishing to the fact that, yes, she was human, and she was not unbreakable, untouchable. But she wanted Klaus to know. Not for him to do something about it...but to let him know that she trusted him, not just to keep her safe but keep her from feeling ashamed about it, about needing someone, needing him.

"Then there's no where else I should be but here. I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."

Klaus never apologized. He'd thanked her, right before he'd taken her blood, but to actually admit that he'd been wrong...Elena held him tighter.

"It's okay. Your mom wants to kill you; that's no easy thing to deal with. You process it however you need to. Just please...don't shut me out, okay? I may not know exactly what you're going through, but that doesn't mean I can't help. Even if it's only to provide an entertaining distraction."

His arm migrated to her shoulder, pulling her in close so he could press a kiss to her temple. "Come now, love, don't sell yourself short. I'm sure you make an entirely adequate distraction. Right, 'Lijah?"

Elijah nodded, the dawnings of a smile making itself known on his face. "Most notably, the time you threw a vervain grenade in my face. I hadn't anticipated that."

Klaus spun her around, mouth hanging open in comical shock. "You threw a vervain grenade at my brother? How do I not know about this?"

Elena began to defend herself, hoping she hadn't destroyed whatever progress they'd just made, "Well, he'd just kidnapped me, so what else was I supposed to do..." when the sound of his laughter echoed through the night, raucous and roaring like his favorite decade. "Gods, I wish I could have been there to see it! Are there pictures?"

"Why do you always want pictures of these things?" Elena exclaimed, leading him into the warmth of her house. "Honestly, Klaus, it wasn't exactly a Kodak moment! I'd just been kidnapped after just being stabbed multiple times because Katherine linked herself to me and Stefan and Damon were trying to kill her. So there I was, tired and in pain, only to get carted off to the middle absolute fricking nowhere and..."

Klaus had never had the desire to watch anyone sleep. Quite honestly, he'd never seen the appeal; people were much more fun when they were awake, after all. But he had to admit, there was a certain...vulnerability to it, being so open and trusting. And he'd found himself doing so for the third time, for the same woman, passed out on his shoulder, ball gown still on, breathing softly into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, warning him like no fire ever could.

He'd been wrong to think he could stay away from her. Wrong to think that he could, and should, deal with his mother and the repercussions of her actions alone. But it was what he'd always done, was what he knew best. Like when he had preferred to mix his own paints rather than buying the new ones invented, trusting only himself to get the colours just right. Elena knew the exact hue of his pain, the shade and shape and consistency of it. And the feel of her pressed against his side, safe and at peace, was infinitely better than being alone in his studio, knowing his own mother was plotting to kill him and his siblings right above his head.

Klaus took a meditative sip from his mug on the coffee table, eyeing Elijah speculatively over the rim. Elena had barely taken off her gloves and invited him in -and to the supply of blood she kept in the fridge- before collapsing into the couch and the clutches of sleep. Poor girl. She'd had to kill her stepfather and wait for his magic ring to revive him, take him to the hospital, get choked on the way out by his sister and then saved by his brother, meet with him about the ball and be there for Caroline then go to said ball and have to deal with his mother and then him all in the span of twenty four hours. She needed her rest, deserved it. And she looked so, so sweet. Like that young girl he'd never got the pleasure to meet, the one untroubled by loss and the weight of responsibility. But that was alright; she was perfect, just the way she was, right then and there. He wouldn't change a single thing about her.

"You're looking at her like she's going to disappear."

Klaus turned his head in the direction of the armchair Elijah was presently occupying. "Good things don't tend to last in this family, or rather because of it."

"You're scared that you'll ruin her?"

Reaching out, he tucked the blanket he'd thrown over her more tightly around her shoulders, confessing to her rather than to his all-seeing brother, "Absolutely bloody terrified."

Elijah set his cup of coffee down, clinking it against the no-doubt-antique saucer. "Good. It means you'll take this threat seriously, then. And..."

"And what?" Klaus inquired, albeit needlessly: he knew where Elijah was taking him with this, leading him to the conclusion like he'd led him to the falls as a boy to watch the sunset, so that he could paint it in all it's fiery glory. He'd spent hours like that, just watching him, happy to sit beside him on the bank of dying leaves as Klaus sketched and painted, matching and mixing like he'd never been meant to do anything else in this life but make art. At the time, he'd cherished those quiet times with his brother, but it later soured under the revelation that Elijah had sat with him so that in the event of his father discovering him, Klaus wouldn't be alone, that he could make excuses for him. The sheen lost some of its lustre.

"And that there's still hope for you." Elijah leaned back, contemplating their long and sordid and exceptionally bloody history like he could see every action and reaction and overreaction spread before him, his mind a museum of Klaus's many -all- transgressions, the chronologist of his crimes, the stenographer of his sins. "I admit, I was worried, after you killed Father. I thought you would never be happy. It was your ultimate goal, for a thousand years, and yet once you'd obtained it, you lacked...purpose, direction. Afloat in a sea of hatred and resentment; killing Mikael has not soothed your ragged soul, not erased his heinous actions towards you, the rest of our family. And we all know how you like to pass the time when you're bored."

"By watching the Discovery channel?" the blonde couldn't help but quip, a biting edge to his words. He hated to be analyzed, most of all by Elijah; he was usually right, and Klaus hated to acquiesce to the smartest person in the room.

"Murder and mischief and mayhem, usually. Sometimes a spot of theatre, just to keep things interesting."

Klaus rolled his eyes, huffing out a darkly amused breath. "My, my, was that sarcasm I detect? Coming from you? What have you done to my brother?"

The Original shrugged, an elegant lift of his even more elegantly tailored shoulders. "What can I say, Niklaus? I'm stressed; my iron-clad restraint is somewhat dubious at present." He smiled at him over his cup, every inch the predator. "Don't worry, it shan't last long."

"I suppose I'll just have to enjoy it while it lasts, then." The current of the room suddenly changed, tipped over, a weather vain spinning harder, warning of trouble and coming storms. It was an inevitability, with them. They couldn't put it off any longer. "What are we going to do?"

"For starters, convince Rebekah of our mother's intentions. We need our siblings on our side for this."

"All of them? You really think you can persuade Finn to not go along with her scheme?"

Mouth a hard, weary line, Elijah nodded gravely, voice gravely. "I have to try."

"I could always kill her again." He meant it. There was no love lost between them -he'd lost his love for her a long time ago, the same time she looked across a burning fire at him, flames dancing in her hair, her eyes, not even watering from the smoke, from the sight of her own child howling in pain and betrayal as a part of his soul, his very essence, was locked away. He suspected that was the moment her love for him died, too, the only way she could cope with what she'd done. Klaus didn't believe what she'd told Elena, that Esther Mikaelson still loved her children. Because he believed in Elena, about what love really was, that which was unconditional and was not reliant on anything but a deep connection and understanding, for family was not always even about blood; Marcel had proved that numerous times.

None more so the night he died, and Klaus felt his heart break and harden all at once, a stone thrown over the side of a gaping abyss, never to reach the bottom.

Until now. Until her.

"Must your first instinct always pertain to violence?" Elijah wondered as if he wasn't perfectly aware of who he'd shared the last thousand years with. "Diplomacy goes a long way, Niklaus."

"Yes, well, this isn't bartering for an extra head of cabbage at the market, Elijah! This is our bloody mother and our bloody lives and the possibility that we could all be dead by day's end!" Christ, this wasn't the night for debating the methods of getting what they wanted! They needed a plan, they needed...

"Aren't you just full of sunshiny optimism," Elena mumbled, propping herself up on an elbow, swooshing back the curtain of her hair rather dramatically.

"I thought you were asleep," Klaus replied mildly, nimbly dodging her remark like it was a poorly-tossed knife. Although it did smart, just the tiniest bit, if only because it was true. But he'd see too much of the world, witnessed and partaken in too much wickedness to maintain hope like she did. It was endearing, truly, but unrealistic, a model not made to size, leaving too much out.

Rubbing at her eyes, she offered him an unimpressed glare. "I could hear you arguing in my head. Thought I'd offer my fifty cents."

"I think your contributions are worth far more than that, but please, do go on."

So she did. "I think Elijah's right."

Elijah sat up straighter in his chair. Klaus resisted the urge to tip him over it. "But I also think you're right. We need a combination. Elijah, Klaus is right. You'll never convince Finn, and if you try to approach him, you'll be showing our hand and tipping off Esther. However, the civil, diplomatic approach could get us what we need without Esther ever suspecting our involvement. Well, yours at least; I'm sure she'll scent me all over this like a cheap aftershave."

"Over what, sweetheart?" Klaus said, watching her intently, the calm that settled over her face, as if she were relieved to be taking control of the situation. Or to be included in the first place.

After this, he needed to pay a much-needed visit to the Salvatores; he had some marvelous decorating ideas for their dungeon. Specifically, them hanging from chains inside it, bleeding out like the bastards they were.

"Your mother was a powerful witch, right?"

Elijah was the one to answer, nodding with a hesitant, "Yes..."

"Would you say as powerful as Bonnie?" She tilted her head at Klaus, bottom lip caught between the trap of her teeth as she reminded him, "You saw what she's capable of when she tried to kill you."

"But it almost killed her, didn't it? I could hear her heart struggling." He remembered that night so clearly. Elena, pounding at the door, over and over again. Screaming, begging, pleading for her friend to stop. How a light had seemed to grown dark in her when her friend collapsed to the floor, haloed by a corona of sparks that had had nothing on the electric vengeance in her eyes that had said, 'I know I'm going down, but I'll take you with me, I swear it.' He'd been taken aback by that outrage on her friend's behalf, had never seen it's like in Katerina, or even Tatia, both of whom had been too consumed by their own agenda to ever really build such tremendous bonds like that, other women around them too jealous or unwilling.

But not Elena. It seemed she made friends the way he made enemies, she stayed true while he remained dishonest, evasive. There had been times, over the long, languorous stretch of centuries, where he'd been tempted, found a rare soul who he thought, hoped, might understand his. But only ever in parts, like getting a few loose pages from a book, some of the whole, but not all, never that.

If anyone ever wrote a book about him...it'd be longer than War and Peace, and a thousand times more bloody, with very little peace in it.

Yes, Elena Gilbert had very much hated him. And look at them now. Side by side on her couch, in her home, the pictures of her life behind them, comfortable together like they'd never spent a single second apart. Her hand curled over his chest, right over his heart, like she could protect it through touch alone, like it was hers to guard. He'd never much cared for the thing; he'd happily hand it over to her, let her find a better use for it.

Elena glanced up at him, as if she could someone divine his thoughts, and smile with all the warmth Klaus had never known he could he want from another person. "Right. So, Esther can't do the linking spell and whatever other magic she needs to perform in order to kill you, alone. If she channeled the Bennet line to come back, then I'm guessing she'll do the same for this spell, too. So, all we need to do is convince either Bonnie or Abby not to do it. Abby's pretty much a stranger, so she won't listen to me, but Bonnie...she's basically my sister. I'd do anything for her, and she'd do the same for me. Therefore, all I have to do is tell her all about you and how the thought of you dying makes me wanna tear at the walls and scream until my lungs give out, and we'll be good. I'm gonna head upstairs and change; this dress was so not designed for sleeping." Kissing him on the cheek, Elena departed in a rustle of skirts and a tired yawn, leaving Klaus board-stiff on the couch.

Elijah cleared his throat pointedly, draining his mug of coffee to the dregs.

"I'm gonna..." Without even finishing the thought, Klaus was upstairs, bracing an arm on her closed bedroom door, trying to find some order to his chaos-dipped thoughts. She'd made her declaration so...flippantly, so nonchalant, like she hadn't just admitted that she felt so strongly for him that the idea of him dying caused her actual pain. Like she hadn't just made it seem like she needed him, almost as much as he was beginning to realize that he needed her.

Klaus knocked once, twice, heavy and brisk as a December snowfall. "May I come in?"

"Sure."

The hybrid opened the door, finding Elena pulling a lavender coloured t-shirt over her head, a hairbrush in one hand, a bundle of hairpins sticking out in the space between her knuckles like claws.

This was the first time he'd ever been in her room. He savoured the opportunity as if drinking from an old bottle of wine. The horse above the bed, the photos taped to her mirror, some curling with age, others still crisp from the camera. The books and the awards and trophies, the textbooks and bags and scarves and jewellery scattered about, silvers and golds and gems and hearts on chains. And the journal, left out on her unmade bed, pen tucked between the pages. He wondered if he'd find his name in there, in what capacity she had scrawled it. Anger? Pain? Hatred? Or perhaps during this mercurial, unknown state they were currently floating in where they pretended like the sight of her before him in her shirt and her sweatpants and her pink polka dot socks didn't make him want to kiss her and haul her close, to feel her hair tickle his cheek and her heart beat beside his. Or like she wasn't staring at him, still in his tux, tie coming undone like a plotline, desire darkening her eyes, eclipsing all else?

He didn't know where to sit. The bed seemed too intimate, too presumptuous, and she really did look exhausted. Klaus moved to her window seat, moving the stuffed koala with the floppy ears onto his lap when Elena shook her head, taking his hand and urging him onto her bed.

"If you sit there, I'll just think about the time Elijah sat there as we negotiated the terms of my imminent demise," Elena explained, no doubt going for cool and adjusted, but all it did was shoot a stab of guilt through his veins, clenching his hands into apologetic fists.

"I'm sure you gave as good as you got."

"Oh, I did. Of course, that was before Damon tried to dagger at him and then I stabbed myself so..." Elena let her words peter out, setting her hairbrush down on the bed, careful not to sit on her diary. "What did you come up here to say?"

"Who says I wasn't here to see the elusive bedroom of Elena Gilbert?" the blond teased, equipped with his trademark smirk.

Elena shook her head softly, indulgent but not falling for his crap. "Are you sure? You didn't come here for an explanation as to what I said?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"If you have one to give. Or if you even want to share it."

She stared down at her diary. Ran a finger over the smooth, supple, sage-green leather, the initials E.G. embossed in the top-right corner. "I would...but I don't want you to think I'm doing so just because everything seems so uncertain right now, that I'm doing it thinking nothing will come of it, that I won't have to stand by what I say, what I choose. If I say it, I want you to believe me."

Fingers reaching out, they laced with hers, palms squeezing together, two books, two hearts, trying to occupy the same space. "Ever since I met you, I've never doubted a word you've told me. I won't start now."

"Alright. Just give me a second." Padding to her door, Elena threw it open, calling down to the second floor unexpectedly, "Elijah, do you need anything else from us tonight?"

Within a blink, Elijah was on the landing, hands clasped gentlemanly behind his back, so very much the polar opposite to her casual stance. But that was Elijah; always posing for an invisible painter, trying to present himself in the best light...if only to receive their enemies of his true wickedness. "No, I think we've done as much as we can for the time being. Can I trust you two to behave?"

"Elijah, come now, she's the doppelgänger and I'm an immortal hybrid; were adults. It's not like we have a bed time."

"Yes, but we all know how cranky you get when you don't sleep. An absolute terror," Elijah whispered conspiratorially to Elena, eyes never straying from his brother's. "I thanked the Lord profusely the day coffee came to these shores."

Klaus scowled deeply at his brother for betraying him so grievously. "I hate you. With a burning passion."

"Like that ever lasts long. Goodnight, Elena. Thank you for everything." The elder Mikaelson wasn't just talking about tonight. Klaus could see it in his smile, worn but genuine, feel the weight of the moment settling between them like something he could tangibly hold in his hands. Elijah was thanking Elena for taking a chance on his notoriously unlovable brother, and not walking away when it got hard, and messy, and disastrously complicated.

The thanks was very much warranted, and deserved.

Reaching up on her toes -Gods, they really did tower over her, didn't they?- Elena embraced his stalwart brother, tone just as earnest as she replied, "You're welcome, Elijah. It's my pleasure to take down your mother and keep you all alive."

"Yes," the Original conceded with a faint nod and an even more transparent smile, "I'm sure it'll make a most interesting story to tell during the holidays. Don't ruin this, brother," Elijah warned him darkly before closing the door and vanishing, leaving the two of them alone in the house.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Elena fretted, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other toying with the rose on her necklace, running a nail over the tiny garnet crystals like they could soothe her worries. "I can't imagine it must be easy, going back to the mansion, having to pretend that everything's fine when it's not."

"My brother has an impeccable poker face. He won't give anything away."

A gentle sigh escaped her lips, fluttering the stray hairs around her face as she rebuffed him, "That's not what I'm worried about, Klaus, and you know it."

"I know."

It amazed him, the depth of her charitable compassion, the way she drew it up from within herself like a pale in a well, this bottomless supply that she could conjure from nowhere within seconds, hand it out like it could cure all the ailments of the world. The way sincerity dropped from her tongue like honey, sweet but not saccharine, light and colorful but not without depth. Elena truly cared for Elijah's mental well-being, the effect the nights events must have had on him. On all of them. She was the maiden venturing into the cave of monsters, not unaware of their claws but unperturbed by them, undeterred, still willing to see the good even through the blood and piles of bones. Not so long ago, Klaus would have labeled it naivete, stupidity, disdainful foolishness.

Now he saw it for what it was. Bravery. Idealism. Hope.

It seemed she found it easier to love beasts than she did to love herself, to forgive herself.

Klaus hoped to one day change that.

"Are you sure you don't...want to go with him?" Elena wondered, walking into the bathroom and coming back out with her dress and a garment bag, scanning his face for the answers she sought as she hung the dress inside and opened her wardrobe with her foot. "Be there for him?"

Before she could make another move, Klaus was at her back, shouldering the door open wider for her, a gossamer-thin excuse to be closer to her, to purr softly in her ear, "Are you sure you're not just trying to avoid spilling your little not-so-secret secret to me?"

"No," Elena dragged the word out indignantly, hands on her hips, chest brushing against his in a teasing, provoking caress. "It's just...I know how important family is. It maters as much to you as it does to me."

"Most people think otherwise."

She smoothed a hand over her dress, reaching past his broad frame to turn off the main light with a click, plunging them into semi-darkness, the only source of light her desk lamp and the moon and her sparkling brown eyes. "Most people don't know you like I do."

Oh, she'd set that up so nicely for him, a trap within a trap within a taunt. Elena did know him, as hard as it was to fathom. She might not know everything, but she knew enough. She didn't need to know of the good when it was the bad that would truly decided her, would make up her mind. If she thought he was beyond redemption, beyond love, then she wouldn't be standing there, and neither would he. She'd invited him into her home. There was hardly any space between them, physically or emotionally. This was what he'd always wanted, what he had not had with Tatia, with Aurora, with the countless women who had caught his eye and then dropped his interest like a shattering glass, obliterating the illusion that Klaus Mikaelson could ever let someone in, would ever be willing to be so vulnerable, to offer himself up like a sacrifice, every bad thought and deed and every rare good one. Every regret, every torrid, shameful thing he'd done and made others do simply to perpetuate his own amusement.

She knew, and yet she stayed anyway. She'd seen it first hand, felt his hand on her cheek, his teeth in her neck, but she still gazed at him like he was the only thing worth looking at, danced with him like they'd been doing it for centuries, intuiting and intuitive and daring, startling him with it's ease. So few things were ever easy with Klaus Mikaelson.

He'd never imagined that love would make itself onto the list.

Still, he had to know..."Really?" the hybrid asked of her, the tip of his finger migrating under her chin, a blush swarming her cheeks, her neck, her chest, as his voice wavered with a fervent, devoted need, "Then who am I, Elena Gilbert? Who am I to you?"

Pupils blow open like a dam, sould laid bare like an offering as she murmured lovely, lovingly, "The guy I really wanna kiss right now, but I can't, since I did promised you I'd share my explanation first."

"Want to know a fact of life?"

Elena quirked a brow. "What?"

"Sharing is so very fucking overrated," Klaus growled before snaking an arm around her waist, chest colliding against his like a supernova, hand sinking into her hair whilst hers gripped his shoulders, hauling him closer and closer, the idea of any space between them unbearable. He drank her in hungrily, tasting the wine and the lipstick, the ragged breath in her throat, the sweet sound of her moans as he kissed and kissed her, as she kissed and kissed him.

Gods, why had he waited? Why had he waited so long to do this? How the hell had all those boys she'd loved before -and that was what they were, adolescent upstarts who couldn't handle, didn't know how to treat a woman, a goddess, like her- ever walked away from this, ever done anything else but this, night and day?

Now he'd had a taste of this, how was he ever supposed to stop?

Because she asked him to.

"Wait, wait, wait. Back up a sec."

Breathing laboured, Klaus took a step back, examine her face. She didn't seem angry, only determined. Sweetly, she ran a thumb over his bottom lip, collecting the remnants of her lipstick like a red-soaked tear. "It's not that I don't want to have my way with you...it's just that I feel like this isn't something I want to rush. Before, it was always rushed, always this looming cloud of awfulness hanging so low over me it's like I could almost reach out and touch it, and at times like that, it's easy to find comfort in forgetting. So, when I'm with you...I don't want it to be about that, about forgetting everything else. I just want it to be about you, and me, and what we feel about each other. Is that okay? Does that make sense?"

"Elena, love, it makes perfect sense. You mean too much to me for this to ever be about anything else. Plus, you look rather dead on your feet, and I intend to have you fully awake when I ravish you entirely."

"Wow, you sure know how to set the bar," she chuckled, her breath on his cheek, his hands on her hips, and then her lips were fusing against his, insistent and aching, and it took all of Klaus' considerable willpower to pull back, to try to think clearly, to respect her wishes. Some things were worth the wait, she chief among them.

"We should probably not have a repeat performance of that of we want to get some sleep," he advised her, voice heavy and rough and just this side of wanton.

"Right, right. Sleep. Need energy to defeat evil witch mother's and foil their nefarious plans."

Klaus shook his head, chuckle rumbling through his chest, his own particular brand of amused thunder. Elena pouted in indignation like she'd spotted clouds on a sunny day. "What?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. It's just, you're the only woman I know who would use the word nefarious at one in the morning."

"Good. I hope I'm the only woman impressing you with their vocabulary at ungodly hours of the night."

"Don't worry," he assured her earnestly, "you are."

"Good. Cause there's no one else I'd rather be impressing at one in the morning." Locking her fingers around his, she pushed him backwards onto her bed, giggling at his startled huff, setting her diary on her bedside table, arm a comforting band across his chest as she stretched to switch off the light.

Then it was just him, and her, and the moonlight. The rustle of the duvet as she pulled it over them both, right over their heads, shutting them away from the rest of the world, even if it was only while they slept. He appreciated the thought, but he knew he couldn't escape his fate. He and his siblings might have been immortal, nearly unkillable, but that didn't mean they could live in peace.

But it seemed Elena had found hers as she pressed one last kiss to his lips, murmuring a quiet, "Goodnight, Nik," before drifting off to sleep.

Nik.

Nik.

Nik.

The hybrid held Elena tighter and followed after her.

In the morning, the first thing Elena noticed was Klaus' jacket thrown over the back of her chair, one sleeve trailing almost to the carpeted floor below. She took a moment to just look at it, at the tiny signs that he'd been there: the rumpled pillow, the dress shoes he'd somehow managed to get mud on sitting by her door. Or, less noticeably, but more meaningful, her sense of complete and utter calm, of unblemished contentment. She hadn't had any nightmares while she'd slept beside him, her head resting against his chest. Like it still was now.

He hadn't left. Not this time.

Hopefully she could make a habit out of this.

Klaus -Nik, she wanted to use it more, she liked it, the name used by his family, the people he loved and who loved him in turn (and there was no way she was calling him Niklaus, that was Elijah's thing)- was still asleep, lashes a spread of spider-webbing blond against his pale cheeks, dusting them like pollen, all traces of the thoughts that she knew plagued him so deeply in his waking hours gone, washed away by a tide of unsuspecting happiness.

It wouldn't last long. It couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't when it came to her, she had a streak to maintain, a reputation as a vapid manipulator who his behind the biggest set of shoulders and the sharpest smirk to uphold, according to everyone else.

But they didn't understand. Elena loved with her whole heart, with everything she had. She committed to love the way priests committed to God, giving herself completely over to it, holding nothing back, keeping no secrets except the one where she knew they would one day leave, finding her too much or not enough.

The brother who loved me too much, and the one who didn't love me enough.

Katherine had said that the night of the Masquerade, according to Caroline and her enhanced hearing. History had indeed repeated itself, but also not. Both Stefan and Damon had loved her too much in some ways, but not enough in others, like a palette of paint with only half it's segments filled in with colour.

Elena didn't want any blank spaces in her life. No gaps, no edges, no corners that bruised, no holes that leaked. She wanted something...new. Elena wanted easy and sweet and soft. She wanted fire and passion and excitement. She wanted to laugh until she cried and kiss him until her lungs screamed, wanted to hold him while he told her all his secrets and feel him cup her face when she told him hers. She wanted a partner, an equal, someone always in her corner, but who never put her in one. She wanted a crazy big family and his crazy one and she wanted to make it work.

Her mother had said she'd be doomed if she had a Salvatore on each arm. It only seemed right that she had a Mikaelson holding her in his instead.

Carefully, lest she wake him, Elena reached out, brushing his curls off his forehead the way he moved his brushes over his canvases, with loving, delicate strokes. Like this, it was almost impossible to imagine that he'd ever been anything but vulnerable with her, that there had existed a time and a place where such things as pushing away his hair and smiling as he seemed to subconsciously lean into her touch were so out of the realm of possibility -even to her- that they didn't even deserve any thoughts given to them. He was Klaus, the Big Bad, the Evil Hybrid, the road block on her route to happiness and normality. And that history was still there. He was still the person who had done terrible things to her, because of her and her blood. But so had Stefan. And Damon. And that had never stopped her loving either of them. Love had never been the problem; it was what they'd done to it, and what they'd thought it had entitled them to do. To make decisions for her. To leave her out of things at the grand and meaningless claim of 'protecting her,' even though they seemed to be bested time and time again.

By Katherine. By Elijah. By Klaus himself. Hell, even Bonnie could drop either one to their knees in two seconds flat, and she'd only been a practicing witch for a little over a year now. And yet they thought themselves impervious shields against all who meant her harm, or who they thought meant her harm. It was ludicrous. Stefan and Damon hadn't been able to stop the sacrifice, hadn't stopped Caroline from getting killed, or Ric losing both his wife and the love of his life.

It was time they took her seriously. Time they saw the real her, the one not blinded by her love for them. She'd always care for them, yes, but now...

There was either her team, or everyone else. And she couldn't afford to be merciful if it meant someone she lovee playing the price. It was time someone else started footing the bill.

"If I'd known you were so affectionate in the morning, I definitely would have stayed the first time around," Nik murmured, one marble-blue eye open, the other still clasped tight, pressed into her pillow.

Elena grinned, didn't stop running her hand through his hair. Could have sworn he made a noise almost like a purr. He really was a big old softie. But she could also detect the truth shining through his words like a shadow box, revealing just another kernel of truth for her to gnaw on.

He'd been worried how'd she'd react after getting drunk with him, looking up at the stars. Had been as scared about her being upset as she'd been by how not upset she'd been. How spending time with him was like spending time with herself, only she laughed more and cried less and got her hands on some far better quality alcohol.

"I doubt I would have had the guts to do this even if you had," Elena admitted, feather-soft, nose brushing against the tip of his.

Sleep-warm hands grasped her hips, pulling her towards him so that she was resting against him, on top of him, forcing him to gaze up at her. And gaze, he did. Elena wondered, absently, if he'd ever realized how much those dazzling eyes of his revealed, how they really were windows into what he was thinking, feeling, the blinds forever drawn open, letting in all that light. That love.

They hadn't said it yet, it was too early, for both of them. But that didn't mean it wasn't what that was, what was there.

If Elena had a mirror in that moment, she had no doubt she'd see the exact same.

"My sweetheart, admitting to being chicken? Never," he grinned, and damn if it didn't make her heart flip like a domino, setting off a chain reaction of affection all throughout her body.

Idly, she chased a finger around his collar, the tangle of necklaces at the hollow of his throat. Placed a kiss there, just because she could. "Do you remember, last night, when I was talking like a grown-up and being all responsible? Well...I've changed my mind. Recent events such as this," she gestured to her being on top of him, "have definitely changed my mind. So, I hereby decree that we are not moving, all day, for anything. Do you find my terms agreeable?"

"I think your terms are splendid," Klaus agreed readily, kissing her cheek, her eyelids, the column of her neck, making her sigh happily, only giving her further evidence to support her idea...and then he stopped, lips still glued to her shoulder. "But, I also know you as well as you know me. After about an hour, two at the most, that darling conscience of yours will berate you soundly and you'll get up anyway. At least if you do it now there's still time for breakfast."

"You're really turning me down?"

"Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are. I'm usually the one doing the tempting. Must be all your noble hero-ness rubbing off on me."

Elena tilted her head, considering. "And is that good or bad?"

"Good for the sake of my soul, I suppose. But my patience...let's just say I'll make the day an official holiday to celebrate once we sort this mess out. Now come on, up you get."

In one fell swoop, Klaus scooped her up into his arms, twirling her around before setting her on her feet. She took a moment to simply stop and look at him, the shirtsleeves haphazardly rumpled back, the crooked but authentic grin, the spiked hair and the soft eyes.

Fingers gripping the space between the buttons of his shirt, Elena tipped towards him, capturing his lips in a slow kiss, tongue tracing over his lip like a kid doing a crayon etching; with enthusiastic abandon.

After a minute, she pulled away, resting her forehead on his chest before looking up at him. "Did you say something about breakfast?"

Going back to the mansion felt like going back to the scene of a crime, knowing who was at fault but being unable to do anything about it. As Klaus made his way up the stairs to his room, his mind was filled with a barrage of thoughts, most -of course- pertaining to Elena. He'd been apart from her for barely half an hour, and already an unsettling ache had settled within him. He missed her, was worried about her. After helping him make breakfast -a domestic activity he had apparently underappreciated, if this morning (and the kiss she'd given him before he left) was anything to go by- Elena had laid out her plans to convince Bonnie of Esther's untrustworthy-ness, as well as it's many off-shooting branches if that failed.

Mouth full of blueberry waffles, her legs bracketing his hips as she sat on the counter, she'd laid it all out with military precision, and Klaus had hardly needed to make any suggestions or improvements. It felt...odd, to be included in one of her schemes, rather than being on the atypical receiving end of it. Even if she was unable to convince Bonnie, she promised not to come back empty-handed, to, at the very least, find out the timeline for Esther's spell so they could peruse their options.

While he didn't doubt the sincerity of Elena Gilbert's Puppy Dog Eyes -an extremely lethal weapon, he had been informed- and the weight and gravitas of a fifteen-year-long friendship, Klaus didn't think she'd get what she wanted, what she was hoping for. Bonnie Bennett hated him, end of story; her mind wouldn't change. It didn't matter if Elena thought he was an angel on earth, to her he would always be the devil incarnate, a monster that needed to be stopped. Nevermind the fact that none of them, he and his siblings, had asked to be turned, to be forced to live off the life force of others, to crave it so desperately that almost all other thoughts became null and void. That he was frozen at the age where he'd still loved art and making trinkets for Bekah and telling Henrik stories by the fire, where his heart had still beat a normal rhythm and his hope had still burned, that dream of getting away from Mikael never dying, only growing more potent with time, aging like a fine -albeit acidic and likely poisonous- wine.

He'd only finished getting out of the shower when he heard the front door bang open, the clatter of heels on polished marble. Bekah.

Suddenly, Kol barged into his room, making himself comfortable on his bed as Klaus pottered about for a clean shirt. "Looks like little sister's finally returned from her night time endeavours."

"Yes, Kol, I know, I do have ears."

"Which means she doesn't..." his youngest brother trailed off pointedly, curling his hands into imaginary claws and shaking them about wildly. Klaus got the idea.

"Was that meant to be the Thriller dance?"

"I have one word for you, Nik: YouTube."

"That explains it."

"Speaking of the walk of shame...you seem in quite the hurry this morning," Kol smirked, absently flicking through Klaus' open sketchbook, mouth downturned at the etchings of landscapes and night sky's and cityscapes, escapes; not nearly scandalous enough for him. As if Klaus would ever leave anything of the sort for one of his siblings to so easily stumble across. "Did the darling Elena keep you up all night?"

"Say anything like that ever again and I will pluck your eyeballs from your skull and feed them to my cat."

Kol rolled said eyes, the flopping snap of the sketchbook closing shut accentuating his annoyance. "You don't have a cat."

"I'll buy one, just for that particular purpose. Don't think I won't."

"Fine, fine, I yield...for now." Head listing to one side, his brother scanned him like he was a page in one of his beloved grimoires, translating the features of his face into the emotions of his heart. Sometimes Nik really didn't give him enough credit, a mistake many had made in times past. As violent and psychotic as he could be, Kol never missed a single detail, not a flicker of emotion. He was just less liberal in sharing what he'd gleaned, hoarding it for later, letting it accrue interest to cause the most damage -or benefit him more greatly. Still, his tone was not void of surprise as half accused, half marveled, "You must really care about here if you're willing to invest in feline company; you've always been such a dog person."

"One, for the love of everything holy, shut up. Two...yes. Yes, I care about Elena Marie Gilbert," Klaus confessed, spreading his arms wide, a bird freed from a cage of it's own design. "Sue me, crucify me, poke fun at me for all eternity. It will be time we'll spent, I'm certain."

"You know her whole name? Sometimes you didn't even remember half their first."

The hybrid shrugged a shoulder. "She has a lot of cheerleading trophies."

Kol spluttered a laugh. "Lame."

"And she won the Spelling Bee when she was ten."

Cackling, Kol clapped his hands, the picture-perfect portrait of glee. "My, aren't you the boastful boyfriend."

"No comment." There was only so much of Kol's mockery he could take, so he changed the subject dramatically, "Do you want to be here when I talk to Bex or are you just here to meddle?"

"Who says I can't do both?" Kol inquired mildly, crossing his legs at the ankle, an illusion of unbothered boredom.

Klaus affixed him with a look, penetrating that overly-cavalier shell. He cared. He knew he did, if only because he didn't want to die so soon after being undaggered, after spending almost a hundred years in a box.

His youngest brother had never taken betrayal well.

Kol folded, trailing a finger down a feathered pillow, gathering his words like plucking herbs from a garden. "I'm not sure. It might make you seem more credible, but I also don't want to be in our sister's line of fire when she tries to tear your head off...or some other part of you." Covering a moment of honest vulnerability with sarcastic humour; he really was a Mikaelson. He sounded like him. The thought didn't sit as comfortably as it would have two weeks ago.

"Nice. I'm really feeling overwhelmed by brotherly affection right now," Klaus replied, hand pressed dramatically across his chest, a caricature of pain. "Please, I can take no more."

"Arsehole."

He didn't miss a beat. "Git."

"Bastard."

"Prick."

Kol grinned wickedly, skirting the periphery of sincerity as he said, "Oh, Nik, I love you, too. By the by, she seemed nice, this gal of yours. Genuinely smitten with you, heaven knows why. And she was perfectly polite towards me. Easy, she's not my type," he defended off of Klaus' incendiary look. They couldn't just have one single, brotherly moment, could they? Would Kol ever be able to look at him without seeing a silver dagger? The vampire continued on, "You know I never shared your and Elijah's doppelmania. I prefer something a little more...original."

A long-suffering sigh left his lips, followed by a vehement insistence of, "That was a terrible pun."

Kol was unperturbed. "It's 2010, Nik: terrible puns are in." Hand flailing in a mocking salute, his brother left him to his own devices, closing the door behind him in a rare moment of forethought. While their sibling banter was enjoyable, it did little to dampen his guilt over what he was about to do, what he needed to do. Out of all of them, it seemed that Rebekah was the one who had brightened the most at their mother's return, at her act of all-forgiving love. Despite her centuries, she was still just a girl, still looking for love, trying to replace it with mediocre relationships with men who hadn't really cared about her, known the real Rebekah Mikaelson. Marcel had come the closest.

At the end of the day, she'd always want her mother. Some part of Klaus still longed for that woman, too, the woman of their past, who's loved had been complicated but ever-present as the trees and the moon and the falls and lashes of a whip across his back, burning, burning, burning.

But longing was not forgiveness, nor was it love. He'd despised Mikael, yet still yearned for his approval. It hadn't stopped him from plunging the stake into his chest and watching him become ashes floating in the wind.

Forearms draped over the railing, Klaus scowled down at his sister, eyeing her bedraggled state with owlish, unblinking disapproval. "Rebekah?"

Pivoting slightly, his baby sister glared up at him through an unruly tangle of hair. "Before you make fun of me, I'd like to say that I'm a thousand bloody years old, and a woman, and that I can do whatever the hell I want with whoever the hell I want and there's nothing you can-"

"Why do you smell like you slept in a tub of hair gel then took a bath in a distillery?"

Rebekah smirked, absently straightening a non-existent wrinkle in her dress, words dripping with coy amusement. "Damon Salvatore likes his drink."

"You slept with him?" Klaus queried, thundering down the stairs, looming above her like an enraged specter. "Jesus Christ, Rebekah, how could you!"

"He was lonely and pining and licking his wounds after your bloody bitch gave him a tongue-lashing. So I decided to use mine for some far nicer things."

Klaus made a face like he'd just been forced to watch the second Twilight movie.

Rebekah smacked him in the arm with her purse. "I meant kissing, you wanker. Honestly, it's not like you're a saint when it comes to your choice of companions, or do I have to remind you of Princess bloody Aurora."

"Lady, and no, you most certainly don't." Anger deflating, the hybrid took up a spot on the stairs, hands dangling dejectedly in the space between his knees. Every time. Bekah did this every single time. "He doesn't deserve even a moment of your attention."

"Obviously," the Original agreed without a seconds hesitation, hair flipping over her shoulder as she sat on the step below him, "which is why he won't be getting another. But the one guy I did happen to tolerate wants nothing to do with me, so..."

A brush of fingertips along her shoulder, an apologetic smile that reached his eyes, turned them an electric, remorseful blue. "I'm sorry, Rebekah. Truly."

Another pair of blue eyes, this time alight with grateful surprise. "You are, aren't you. Why?"

"Because what I'm about to say next isn't going to make any of that better. It'll only make it much, much worse."

Rebekah crossed her arms, pouting like every girl who didn't get their Malibu Barbie. "You mean the fact that you've fallen for yet another one of her?"

"We'll get back to that, but no; the fact that Mother is plotting to kill us."

Elena had gathered them all at Caroline's house, knowing that Sheriff Forbes would be on duty -therefore, there'd be no witnesses but them to the inevitable argument their conversation would unleash. It was going to be bad. Really, really bad. Worse than telling them about kissing Damon (both the deathbed kiss and the front door kiss) or the time Elena had borrowed Caroline's pink sweater for a date with Matt and got ketchup all over it (even though it hadn't been her fault that their waiter had been new and very nervous, and subsequently very clumsy) and hid it in the back of her closet when she couldn't get the stain out.

Caroline was at the foot of the bed, Elena had her back up against the mound of pillows, Bonnie sitting crossed-legged in the middle, a metaphor brought to life of there ever was one.

Caroline holding them up yet resenting being at the bottom, Bonnie in the middle, the glue, the negotiator, the bridge. And Elena right at the top, the star of the tree, reflecting everyone's light at them since she didn't have enough of her own, the tip of the pyramid, the sharp point, when all she wanted was to be on solid ground, cloaked in shadowed obscurity.

But Elena wasn't made for that. None of them were. Weren't meant for small towns or small lives or fading loves. They loved each other too much for that.

And that moment might have been the last, the last time they'd ever be that close, with Caroline organizing her coursework binders and Bonnie tapping a pen on her knee under the guise of 'helping,' but in reality everyone knew that they were waiting for the silence to tear Elena down, to make her spill her secrets like a necklace of pearls, each one shiny and new and damning.

"These past two weeks, I haven't been completely honest, with either of you."

A quirked brow, a pursed mouth. Oh, really, their twin expressions exclaimed. I'm hurt, I'm upset, it's not like you to keep things from us, 'Lena.

"You've both had a lot going on. Bonnie, you got roped into helping Stefan with the coffins and reconnecting with your mom and Care, I know you've been worried about Tyler whilst he tries to break the sire bond and losing your dad like you did. I didn't want to add any more of my drama to it; you guys put up with enough as it is," Elena murmured, eyes on the floor, blame resting their, too, right by her sneakered feet. Sometimes it took more courage than she could ever say just to look the pair of them in the eye because, no matter what happened, Bonnie and Caroline were there first. Before the Salvatores, and long after they left -which they would, at some point, Elena knew it in her heart like she knew her own name- they would still be here best friends, and she'd still have ruined their lives. Caroline was a card carrying member of the undead because of of her, then was almost sacrificed, had been tortured on numerous occasions and had her safety compromised to ensure Elena's.

Bonnie...she'd lost the woman who pretty much raised her, was put on retainer to get them out of every bad scrape, had faked her own death to help Elena, and been threatened almost as much as she had. All of that was on her. Because she fell in love with vampires.

Once, twice, and now a third time, with the biggest bad of them all. But it was in her blood, as much as the magic, that Petrova fire, etched into the very DNA of her cells, her soul.

Elena couldn't love anyone who might break. Because then who would hold her up when she fell apart? Who would carry her when her knees gave out? Who would fall to their at the sight of her in pain and swear unholy vengeance on her behalf?

Who could love the girl with the broken, bleeding heart but he who's heart (almost) no longer beat?

"But I don't want to lie to you anymore, it's not fair. And it will make what I ask of you a little easier to understand."

Breath in, breath out. Blue eyes, cherry wine, a gasping laugh, lipstick on his cheek and kisses on her tongue and I think this is the happiest I've ever been, love.

Truth. "Two weeks ago, when Stefan tried to kill me on Wickery Bridge, I was a mess. Damon drove me home. I got drunk. I broke into the mansion and Klaus found me in his kitchen, drinking his wine and on the verge of breaking."

"What did he do?" Caroline, leaning forward, eyes big and round and curious, because if anyone understood the allure of darkness, it was her -they all knew she preferred being a vampire, that she was so much more herself than she had been as a human, as lovely as that girl had been.

Elena smile was a tender thing, like holding a butterfly in your cupped hands, waiting for it to fly. "He pulled me back from the edge. He saved me. And helped me save myself."

"You're lying." Exploding to her feet, their moment of calm and affection dissolving like sugar in tea, leaving nothing but bitterness behind, Rebekah turned her back on him, hands clenched into tightly-wound fists, anger shaking her small frame violently, a tree in a hurricane. He'd almost forgotten how she could go from zero to sixty in a blink, changing emotions the way other women changed their shoes.

"What reason would I have to lie?" Klaus insisted, following after her, nimbly moving past the decorative side tables and antique vases, a few of them wobbling precariously in his sister's wake.

Rebekah whirled around, jabbing a finger into his chest like she could split him open and find the truth she seemed in his sternum. "I don't fucking know! To trick me, to turn me against her, to win back my trust after you revealed the fact that you'd killed her and then lied about it to us all for the near-entirety of our existence! Our mother is many things, but she is not a killer."

"She killed Tatia." He still thought about it. Not as much as he used to, and not out of any lingering feeling, but simply as a reminder of what Esther Mikaelson was capable of, what she'd do in the name of 'protecting her children.' It seemed killing them outright was not absent from the list.

"Tatia got what she deserved, Nik. She was stringing you and Elijah along like her own personal puppets, acting you out in her own bloody play because she couldn't grow some balls and just pick one of you. It's like Katherine and her Salvatores." She paused, eyes shifting into something hard and impenetrable, a steely blue that she had perfected in all her years with him, because of him. It was the look she got before she went in for the killing blow, when she'd found the chink in the armor, the most vulnerable and exposed spot, and decimated her opponent. "History seems to love repeating itself in this miserably insipid town."

A long breath. A flash of gold irises, glinting like newly-minted coins for an old anger. Fangs baring themselves in a vicious snarl, Klaus prophesized darkly, "If you're suggesting what I think you are, I beg you to reconsider before you say something I will be forced to retaliate to. Violently."

Rebekah was unfazed. "Like you'd ever pick that girl over me."

"It's not a competition, Bekah," Klaus insisted, but even as the sentence left his mouth, he couldn't help but think back to last night, to what he'd overheard Kol say to Elena: 'My sister has a temper and doesn't like to be upstaged, or fight for Nik's attention, of which you have in spades.' He couldn't deny the truth in that, but still..."Just because I care for her doesn't mean I care for you any less."

"But it does! She daggered me, Nik!" his baby sister screamed, so much betrayal and heartbreak and resentment in her voice that he was amazed she was still upright, that the weight of all this that she'd been carrying around hadn't brought her to her knees, Original or not. "She pretended to be nice to me, to get along with me, I told her all about us and our history and what we'd been through and she still stabbed me in the back."

Ah, so there it was. Bekah had liked her, had wanted to be her friend. It wasn't about Klaus' feelings for Elena, but Rebekah's. The fact that shed reached out her hand in friendship only to reel it back in when she got bit by the beast of betrayal. The fact that she'd let her guard down in the first place.

Gently, he reached out, mindful of her vulnerable state, wishing to offer her some kind of comfort. But she took a step back from him, like he was the one who had hurt her feelings, betrayed her, and the hybrid couldn't help but snap, "Like you can't understand the desire to protect those you love."

Which only made it worse. "So now you're defending her?" she screeched at an inhuman pitch, a foundation of hysterical tears starting to build at the corners of her eyes. Then she just...stopped. Wiped at her face. Shook her head. Looked up at him and laughed, dry as a desert, hollow as a carved-out tree. "You know what? I take it back: you're perfect for each other. Truly, a match in heaven. No one but that bitch could ever love a bastard like you. And while you're at it, if you say another word discrediting our mother, I'll go after her, and no one will be able to swoop on and save her this time. Elena would look just darling in mother's coffin, don't you think?"

"You touch her and I'll put you back in yours. See if you like waking up in 2077."

"It'd be worth it to see that girl pay, pay for what she did to me," Rebekah seethed, features shaded by the ominous clouds of her fury. She even went so far as to play into his paranoia, his own beliefs on loyalty and betrayal. "Nik, she plotted to kill you! Multiple times! You've beheaded people for far less."

She didn't see it. She didn't understand. None of that mattered now, was in the past, as forgotten as an abandoned language, a civilization in ruin, nothing but an echo of an earlier time, and one he didn't need to hear. "Elena's different; she's special."

"Why? Because you drank her blood? Because you used her in the sacrifice and she's the key to making your beloved hybrids? Because she knew you were the Big Bad Wolf but still came to the door and gave you her goods anyway?" she taunted, lips curved in a sword-sharp smirk, like the one that had run her through and killed that sweet girl he'd loved so much, who would never have dreamt of saying such things to him. "Because you're so desperate for someone to love you that you'll settle for the first woman who doesn't run away screaming at the sight of you?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"Because she just is! Because I know. I've always known, since the moment I first saw her."

"Known what?"

"That she'd be the ruin of me." It felt good to say it; it felt right. Rebekah of all people would understand it, the urge to ruin into the flaming throes of love, knowing they could be burned but wanting to feel the fire anyway, wanting to try. "And that even of she was, I'd die with a smile on my face. Because we were not made for story-book lives, Rebekah, and neither was she. And just because we weren't...doesn't mean that we won't be extraordinary, that we can't find some small iota of happiness. That after a thousand years, there is still so much out there, things we haven't done, things we haven't felt. That this existence is not a cursed one, and that even if there is only one single person in this world of billions that remembers us as anything other than monsters, that sees the good in us...then it will be a life well spent."

Rebekah smiled, putting her arms around him. Klaus brought his up, holding her tightly, sighing like he'd just put down a burden he hadn't even been aware he'd carried. "Nik?"

"Hmm?" he murmured into the crown of her head.

"You've lost your bloody mind."

Pulling back, he surveyed her fondly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Maybe? Who can say? I suppose it doesn't matter much; I'll lose everything else soon enough."

"Mother doesn't want to kill us, she loves us." But...her resolve had weakened. He could see it, hear it, a change in pitch, a shift in her melody. She was starting to believe him, either because if his words or their mother's actions, things she had no doubt noticed and brushed away, not wanting to see them, to admit that kind of truth to herself.

"Didn't stop her the first time, Bekah. It won't stop her now. I know I have kept things from you, been deceitful and dishonest, but you must know that when it comes to your safety and that of our siblings...I take nothing more seriously. I'm sorry, sister, but not is all as it seems in this house. Our happy reunion is a final goodbye."

"So let me get this straight...you got drunk with Klaus, who then tended to you like some teen romance hero, and then you spent a couple hours looking up at the stars and getting more drunk and telling each other stories like you're re-enacting The Notebook, after which you fell asleep on his chest and he carried you up gallantly to his bedroom where he was going to leave you, but you asked him to stay, and then you cuddled."

Elena nodded at the blonde, taking a sip from her glass of water and setting down on the coaster resting on Caroline's bedside table; spilling your guts was thirsty work.

"Wow. Just...wow. Wow."

"Can you stop saying 'wow'?" Bonnie grimaced, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else, listening to anything else, "It makes you sound juvenile." And it hurt. It was like walking through a forest, relying on someone to be beside you, as they always have been, only they drop your hand and turn around, leaving you alone in the dark with no way out.

Elena didn't know how to be if her and Bonnie weren't best friends.

"Don't care. This is a wow-worthy conversation." Turning back to Elena, the reigning Miss Mystic eyed her with eager excitement, as if the story of Elena's life was her favorite soap opera, craving the drama of her latest plot twist. "So then what happened?"

The brunette continued on, "I woke up. He offered to make me pancakes, I let him. All the while I was internally freaking out over what I'd done, ashamed because I wasn't ashamed. I left, and we didn't talk. But he left me a bottle of wine on my porch with his phone number on it."

"Oh, that's classy. Real nice. Super smooth. God, why do all the evil psychos have to be the best romancers?" Caroline remarked, sighing up at the ceiling, no doubt thinking of Tyler, who had never been known for his great displays of romance even when he was here, let alone when he wasn't and was barely returning his 'girlfriend's' calls. Was no doubt thinking of Kol, who she'd seen her sneak off with at the end of the night.

"Because they've had lots of time to practice it on innocent people?" was Bonnie's taught reply, ever the rational one. It used to work well, balance out their dynamic, but she wished that for once, just this one time, the witch could put herself in Elena's shoes, could see how she'd been through so much, too much. That love was complicated, and irrational, that you could no more pick who your heart called out to than you could pluck a star straight from the sky.

"Bonnie!"

"What? It's the truth! What you did was stupid, Elena. You let your guard down; he could have hurt you."

As if it would be the first time.

"But he wouldn't. He needed, and still needs, my blood to make more hybrids." He wouldn't, because he looked at me this morning like he'd never let me go, because I slept in his arms three times and yet never had a nightmare when every other night I wake up screaming, haunted by ghosts who aren't here, haunted by my choices and my mistakes. Because there's a darker side to me, one I don't ever let you see, but that he does, he does and he understands. He never makes me feel like I need to be good all the time, to be perfect, not like I feel like I have to when I'm around you, because I never want to see you look at me with disappointment...like you are right now.

"Like that would matter if you crossed him," Bonnie insisted, eyes brewing a dark anger, patience fraying, strings pulled too tight, about to snap entirely.

"But I haven't. The little coffinscapade was your and Stefan's thing, remember? I didn't even know until after," Elena reminded her, not even attempting to masquerade her bitterness into anything more palatable, more appropriate. Honesty was the theme of the conversation, after all.

"We were trying to protect you." A back-pocket excuse, creased like an old love letter, a family photograph, soft from top many foldings, thinking it would make her fold.

Not this time.

"And yet Stefan was the one I needed protection from. You know what being on that bridge is like for me, how traumatized I was. Bonnie, you were there in the car with me when that crow hit the window on our first day of junior year. Stefan knew that, used to it to his advantage. And the only one who protected me, who got him to back down, was Nik."

"Ooh, he's Nik now?" Caroline interjected, a shot of sunshine-levity, but they both blazed past it, heading down the road of conflict, a collision in the making.

Mouth hanging open, Bonnie clambered to her feet, staring her down like an enemy. "Yeah, he's Nik now? The freak hybrid who killed Jenna, who's terrorized us for months, who we spent all our time and energy trying to stop, to kill, all to keep you alive? The monster that has no doubt killed thousands upon thousands of people, most of whom were likely innocent, just caught in the cross-fire. The bastard I almost died trying to get rid of, who started all this when he tried to kill Katherine five hundred years ago. Elena, he killed her entire family, the people you're descended from. They're all dead, because of him. And so is John, since he only gave his life so you wouldn't lose yours."

Elena got up as well, right up in her face, her own force of nature. "That was his choice! I never asked him to do that! If I'd have known, I never would have let him go through with it!"

"It wouldn't have mattered! That's what love is! True love, not whatever facsimile you have of it with Klaus!"

"How would you know! You weren't there, you haven't seen what he's like with me!" Screaming, breath hitching, hands shaking. No, no, no. She needed this, she didn't want to go back, she didn't understand, that wasn't what this was. Only they knew. Only they knew what they did to the other, how they just fit, like they'd been disjointed all their lives and suddenly everything was in perfect alignment, a bone set right, finally healing after so many breaks.

"And you're not seeing at all! Whatever his endgame is, whatever he's planning, it's not for you two to ride off into the sunset and have 2.5 kids and drive a minivan, Elena! For one thing, he can't even have kids. What kind of future could you ever possibly have with him?"

Elena parried with, "The only kind of future I need: a happy one."

"And one I'll happily give you, sweetheart." She felt him come up behind her, take the phone she'd palmed when Bonnie started yelling. I need you here, please come. Two minutes. He'd gotten here in less than two minutes. "Bonnie, I believe you have a few things you wish to say to me?" Klaus smirked, one arm snaking around her waist, his touch grounding her.

She leaned into him, letting him keep her upright.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Bonnie exclaimed, before turning accusing green eyes her way. "Did you text him? You can't even talk to me without calling in your boyfriend for back-up?"

"Well, we haven't DTR'd as you kids today say...but yes. A threat to Elena is a threat to me. You come at her, you come at me."

Bonnie shook her head, disgust coating her like a visible second skin. "I'm not threatening her."

Nik cocked a disbelieving brow. "No? So you're screaming at her for fun then?"

"You're suddenly an expert on friendship?" The Bennet crossed her arms, looking so much like her late grandmother ot almost made Elena do a double-take. "And here I thought the daggers you stab your siblings with were your best friends."

The hold around her waist tightened protectively, the only sign of weakness he'd ever let show. "Be careful, witch. Elena may love you, but I must say you're certainly not inspiring anything of the sort in me."

"Klaus, that's no way to get what we want," Elena chided him, running her fingers up his back soothingly, lingering a moment in the curls at the nape of his neck. "Look, Bonnie, I know this is a lot to take, and I'm sorry, but it's not just Klaus. Every one of the Mikaelsons will die if you do this. Elijah tried to save my life with the elixir, protected everyone until the sacrifice. Rebekah just wants to be a normal girl and live a somewhat-normal life. And Kol...well, he probably just wants to have some fun and stir up trouble, but I don't think Caroline's very opposed to that. Right, Care?"

"Thanks for throwing me under the bus, 'Lena."

Elena smiled remorselessly. "Better to be under it than get hit by it."

"Fair enough. But just to set the record straight, we just talked. And drank some champagne. And had a staring contest. I won," Caroline added, wearing her achievement proudly, an invisible emblem of her awesomeness. Trying so hard to act like she wasn't sitting as farthest away from Klaus as physically possible in her small room.

"As touching as all that is, I'm sorry, Elena, but it's done. There's no way. Even if I wanted to -which, for the record, I really don't- it's too late."

The doppelgänger's gaze hardened, Medusa on a warpath. "Too late? Why?"

"Esther's doing the spell tonight, harnessing the power of a celestial event: the full moon. She's gonna draw on the magic of the Bennett line to do the spell," she explained tiredly, as if even saying the words sapped her of some of her strength. Indeed, those were sleepless circles under her eyes, the splotches of pinkish anger in her cheeks the only colour on her face.

If things had been different, Elena would have put her in bed and made her soup, watched old movies until they both fell asleep.

But things weren't different. Bonnie may be tired, but so was she. In her heart, her soul, she was so tired of this. She wanted to be selfish, wanted to tell everyone to go to hell, it didn't matter what they thought or felt or wanted or expected. She wanted to roar until her throat bled, sink to her knees and scream until her lungs have out like they had that night in the car.

So she did.

"No! Bonnie, no! No! You can't let her! I won't let you!"

"Why not!?" It seemed Bonnie did, too. "Look at everything they've done! For a thousand years, that family has wrought nothing but death and destruction. For God's sake, Elena, this guy you claim to care so much about killed you, killed Jenna. How can you move past that?"

"Because I need to! Because I don't want to be sad forever, Bonnie! Because I'd rather forgive him and be happy than hold a grudge ans be miserable for the rest of my life, wondering about what I could have had."

Panting breaths filling the silence, Caroline looked up from her binders, waving slightly. "Can I just say that I totally called this? I always knew you were secretly not vanilla when it came to dating."

"Not helping, Care. I'm doing the spell, Elena, and that's the end of it."

"But it's not! Please, Bonnie. Please. Please, please, please. I can't lose him, I can't. I've never asked you for anything, not a single thing, but I am begging you here. Please, I'll do whatever you want. Just...please." Elena buried her head in Klaus' chest, sobbing uncontrollably, struggling to get air in through her spasming lungs, choking on her own despair. What could she say to convince her? Bonnie hated the Mikaelsons, and she wouldn't stop for Elena, especially since she saw them all as a threat. But what would she stop for? If the spell put one of them -her and Caroline- in danger, definitely.

Silently, Elena wracked her brain, Klaus' fingers carding through her hair helping her to think, how he pressed his lips to her forehead as he murmured, "It's okay, Elena. It's alright, I'm right here, love. I'm right here."

Linking spell. Blood. Mikaelsons. Love. Family. Linking, turning, magic...

And then it hit her.

Squaring her shoulders, Elena lifted her head, chocolate brown sparking cobalt blue, and announced, "Because the linking spell didn't just link all the Mikaelsons together, Bonnie. Esther used my blood, doppelgänger blood, the most powerful magic ingredient of all; she wouldn't have needed that to link five vampires, even Originals. She needed it to link them to every vampire they've ever turned. She said it herself, vampires are abominations, a perversion of nature that disrupts the balance. So she wants to get rid of all vampires, not just her children."

"But that would mean..." Bonnie trailed off in horror, dawning realization of death breaking through.

"Caroline would die. So would Stefan and Damon. Maybe everyone walking around with vampire blood in their system." That was a bit of a stretch, but Elena knew she would buy it; Bonnie would never get innocent people be put at risk like that."

Nothing else, nothing else but that lie would get her to do what Elena wanted, needed. It made her feel awful, but it would be worth it, so long as they all lived.

Bonnie hung her head, a knight admitting defeat, falling on their sword in resignation to an unbeatable foe, the unstoppable force that was their love for each other. "Alright. I'll do it. I'll try and stop the spell, see if there's a way to break Esther's connection with me and my mom and all our ancestors."

"Fantastic. I call this meeting of the Midnight Society to a close," Klaus decreed before disappearing out the door, holding Elena firmly in his arms. He didn't stop until they were in the woods, far enough away that she could feel some of the stress leave her body as she inhaled the fresh air, greedy gulps, like she's stealing from the cookie jar rather than taking in necessary oxygen. Like she was supposed to drown, always and forever, even on dry land.

Klaus still had a hold on her, hadn't let go, one hand on her waist, his heart bleeding in through the fabric of her coat that he'd somehow remembered to snatch up on their way out. "A sire line spell? Really?"

She couldn't tell what his tone was, couldn't bother to understand it.

"It got the job done, didn't it?" Elena barked, jamming the palm of her hands against her eyes until she saw stars, searing bursts of light playing out against her eyelids like the film reel of her betrayal.

He pried her hands from her face, the world coming back to her in a blur, in drips and drabs of blue and green and blond. "You misunderstand me, sweetheart. I'm applauding you; that was some marvelous thinking. Your friends will be working round the clock."

"Good."

"Elena?" Tugging on the end of her scarf, wrapping it more securely around her neck, rubbing the silken monochrome fabric between his fingers, effectively getting her attention. "You did the right thing. You just saved my life, and those of my siblings."

"And just damned myself to friendship hell for the rest of eternity."

He cupped her jaw, face so close to hers she could count his eyelashes like stars in her own personal universe, voice cruelly teasing, "If you ever ended up in hell, you know I'd be right beside you to keep you company."

"How chivalrous." Bumping her forehead against his, Elena allowed herself a moment to simply breathe him in, the smell of turpentine and coffee and spice, warm and alive and real. "God, I hate that I had to do that. I don't like manipulating my friends. I don't want to be like..."

She couldn't finish the sentence. Didn't want to, or need to. Unspoken understanding flowed between them, binding them to each other. It was what had attracted her about him in the first place, that first night, how he'd taken a single look at her and figured her out, not because she was easy to read, but because she was a reflection of everything he felt and endured.

"It could be true," he tried to placate her, and if she hadn't fallen for him already, then Elena would have in that moment, with the kind smile and the open expression and the fact that he was comforting her, wanted to make her feel better, just because he could, because he wanted to. Because he himself had always held such a high prize for loyalty, and it broke him every time he didn't get it. "You never know; it's the sort of thing my mother would do, expunging her guit in one fell swoop."

It really did.

Setting it aside, Elena weaved his hands in hers, taking in the trees and the fading leaves and the glimpses of sky above. "It's so nice here. Still. Quiet. Is that why you picked it?" she asked, although she had her suspicions to indicate otherwise.

Klaus shook his head, gaze trained on the earthen floor at their feet. "Yes...and no. Yes, I thought it might help calm you, but it wasn't random. I was planning on paying this spot a visit today regardless, given everything that's going on."

Paying this spot a visit today.

Everything that's going on...

"This is where you buried her, isn't it?"

Oh, Nik...

He was so, so still. Didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't even look at her, frozen in his shame and his grief.

"We -myself, Elijah, Rebekah- had thought about making a funeral pyre, burning her, as was the Viking custom, but we knew she wouldn't have wished for that. She would want to return to nature, be a part of the earth, that connection she'd felt to every living thing through her magic. Now I know it was always her plan to come back, to try and kill us, to rid herself of her abominations.

"I came back, a hundred years after I turned. I found her exactly the same, not a hair out if place since the day we put her in the ground. I had got my hands on the daggers, used one for the first time. On Finn. Vowed to never do it to the rest of my family, although of course that didn't last long. I felt...guilty. And I didn't want to leave her for Mikael to find. He burned our old village down, once, in an attempt to smoke us out. So I dug her up, put her in a coffin beside Finn's. I thought her spirit would appreciate it, being near him. He always was her favourite, perhaps because he reminded her of better times, when her eldest child, Freya, was still alive, before she died of the plague. I've always wondered why she never tried to bring her back to life, or Henrik; she's a powerful dark witch, and she had no qualms with turning us into vampires. Surely she would have resurrected them if she were capable. Or maybe her obligations to nature were more binding than her obligations to her children, her flesh and blood. I guess some things never change."

Leaves swirled in the breeze. Somewhere, a bird took flight. Tears streamed down both their faces, twin tracks of heartbreak.

Pushing back a sob, Elena dropped Klaus' hands and whispered, "Nik, sweetheart, come here."

He didn't so much go into her arms as crumble into them, a bulldozed house being torn down, supports obliterating as he buried his head against the crook of her neck and cried.

No one else. No one else would ever get to see him like this. Billions of people on the planet, and Elena Gilbert was the only one who Klaus Mikaelson would allow himself to fall apart in front of, to hear him cry like his pain was tearing him apart on the inside, a howling, wild beast he had been trying to tame for a thousand years, ten long centuries of trying to pretend that he did not miss his mother. And that her plans for him and his family did nothing to change that, even if he could and would not ever forgive her for them.

Elena held him, held on to him, with everything she had. Neither Salvatore brother had ever let her see them in any state of distress even remotely resembling this. Stefan was always so stoic, bottling everything up, and Damon covered his with flippant remarks and bottles of Bourbon. They never wanted her to see them as anything but her noble protectors, always being strong for her, always there for her.

But Klaus...he let her be there for him. Leaned on her as much as she'd leaned on him. And she'd never trusted him more, felt closer to another person than she did right then, with him clutching at her coat and his tears catching on her hair like snowflakes, cold and glistening.

Pulling away, the hybrid swiped at his face, opening his mouth with a timid expression. "I'm-"

Reaching up on her toes, Elena put a finger to his lips, halting his words. But the intimacy of the gesture was undone by the steel in her voice as she exclaimed, "If you try to apologize for crying, I will punch you. And it will hurt, because I've been practicing."

Klaus smirked, ever so slightly. There it is. "Well, I suppose if I've been so thoroughly warned..."

"Exactly." Fingers trailing down his sleeve, she raised his hand, placed a delicate kiss on his palm. "You don't ever have to apologize for how you feel, not to me."

"Still, it's not exactly sexy when you start blubbering all over the girl you fancy."

"First of, I find you totally sexy, in any and all emotional states. And second of all, fancy? Really? That's what you're going with?" Elena teased him, bumping her shoulder against his, settling into their familiar rhythm, comforting as the beat of her heart. "And here I thought I was playing tongue hockey with a walking Thesaurus."

Nik rolled his eyes fondly. "You're hilarious."

Elena curtsied primly. "Thank you. I try."

Stillness hung around them like a curtain, closing them off, bringing them closer.

Tilting his head, face striped in rays of dying daylight, Elena watched him take a long breath, savouring the moment like it was a favourite song, a good meal, an excellent bottle of wine. Eyes open, gaze now on nothing but her, he took her hand, leading her out through the maze of trees. They'd just reached the edge when he stopped, turning towards her, thumb stroking over her chilled cheek, a steady cadence that matched his words as he began, "That night, you mentioned about you and Stefan taking a hike, watching the sunset. How he made you confess that you didn't want to be a vampire, that you wanted a chance to grow up. I've thought about it often in the time since, trying to pinpoint the when and the why. But today...it finally made sense. It was the day of the sacrifice, wasn't it? When Damon had forced his blood into you, ensuring that you'd come back, that he wouldn't lose you."

Elena nodded, burrowing into his touch. "Yeah, it was. It was meant to be my last day as a human, before everything was supposed to change. Stefan made me spend it hiking." Elena pulled a disgruntled face. "It was a nice gesture, and I appreciated it at the time, but..."

"It wasn't how you would have chosen to spend your last hours," Klaus finished for her, intuited her.

She nodded once again, eyes shadowed with memory. "If it had been up to me, I would have been with my family, my friends. We would have sat on the couch at home and watched movies and baked cookies and just been, been together, one last time. I would have slipped out, left a note. I don't do goodbyes too well," she admitted hoarsely, unsurprised when she felt a tear slid down on her cheek, disappearing down his shirt cuff.

"I know, sweetheart. I only mentioned it because, if today is indeed my last day...it was far better than I could have ever imagined, or thought I deserved. Because I spent it with you."

When Elena kissed him, he almost looked surprised. How could he be? How could he expect after a declaration like that that she wouldn't attack him like her life depended on it, or his? That she wouldn't clutch at his hair and sink hee teeth into his bottom lip, trying to capture as much of him as she could.

Klaus was just as voracious, as desperate, clinging to her as if he'd never let her go, like he was already dead and she was the only thing keeping him alive.

She might very well be.

Prying herself from his grip, Elena smoothed a hand along Nik's chest, resting it on his heart, the beginnings of a plan taking shape in her mind like one of his canvases.

"There's something I need to do. It's dangerous, and likely very stupid, but I think it will get us what we need."

She waited to be rebuffed. Waited for him to yell or threaten or get angry, tell her she was crazy and that she shouldn't put herself in harm's way, that he couldn't worry about her as well along with his siblings.

None of it happened.

Just a kiss on her temple and a soft, "What do you need, love?"

Elena's grin was brighter than the sun, than every star in the sky, brighter than the whole galaxy. "What's your mom's favourite flower?"

Standing at the front door of the mansion, dressed in her most sensible Founding-Family-approved pastel pink sundress -that Klaus had taken one look at and almost laughed himself off of her bed, saying she looked like a cream puff, which, with it's puffy sleeves and skirt, Elena had to agree- hair still retaining a slight curl from the night before, armed with a bouquets of fresh dahlia's, Elena faced down the heavy knocker, internally debating the merits of her spontaneous plan; this wasn't her kind of thing. Spontaneity was notoriously bad. Just look at spontaneous human combustion, and Elena knew Esther was certainly capable of it, if not eager after their encounter the previous night.

But she needed to know. If only to soothe her troubled conscious; this was the only tonic available, no matter how unsavory, but life couldn't always be chocolate-flavoured. Knuckles wrapping firmly on the wood, Elena waited for someone to answer.

And was rewarded with the frowning face of Esther Mikaelson. Plastering on her most plastic smile, Elena greeted the other woman, all honey doe eyes and inviting smile, "Mrs Mikaelson, good afternoon. Do you have a moment to talk?"

The frown intensified, grew barbed thorns thick as tree trunks. "I'm afraid not, Miss Gilbert, I'm terribly busy at present. Perhaps some other time."

Yeah, terribly busy trying to murder your own children, Elena thought but of course didn't say; she had far more tact than that. Instead, she lowered her head slightly, posture slouched with regret, the sad little orphan girl desperate for an ounce of motherly affection. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I only wished to apologize to you. I feel just awful about yesterday and how I spoke to you. I bought these as a peace offering," Elena supplied, gesturing to the flowers in her hand, the blood-red blooms. "Rebekah told me they were your favourite, about how she used to help plant them in your garden when she was a girl."

Lie, lie, lie. But it seemed to do the job, Esther visibly softening at the sight, anger wilting as she acquiesced, "Very well. I suppose I can spare a moment."

"You're too kind."

Elena followed her through the mansion, leaving her coat on a passing armchair, keeping her purse slung over her shoulder, her phone tucked safely inside. Esther led her to an ornately furnished parlour, full of buttery sunlight and white-painted lawn furniture, all intricate swirls and curlicues, a circular stained glass picture window occupying the attention of the room, a porthole into another world.

"I was just having a spot of tea," the matriarch said, gracefully flitting about the room. "Would you care for a cup?'

Nodding, Elena took a seat, folding her hands in her lap. "Yes, thank you, that would be lovely." Thank God she'd sat through so many cotillion and etiquette lessons, most under the hawk-sharp gaze of Carol Lockwood, back when all the woman had to worry about was pageant planning and making sure her son's -and her husband's- antics didn't become fodder for the town gossip mill, back when the biggest threat to Mystic Falls was a bad snowstorm or not having enough swords for the Willow Creek re-enactment.

Accepting the china rose cup, Elena took a sip, trying not to wince at the scalding temperature -and the lack of sugar, but that was no surprise, coming from her; the woman wasn't known for her sweetness. "Like I said, I wish to apologize for my behavior yesterday, Mrs Mikaelson. I was out of line and incredibly rude, and it is not my place to tell you how to deal with your own children."

Esther examined her dubiously over the rim of her own cup. "Really? You seemed most adamant on the subject."

Elena waved a hand airily. "The misguided notions of a confused young woman. Truth be told, this past year has been so overwhelming; I don't know what to believe anymore." A lip trembled, a slight shake to her hand as she set the saucer down. It was the little things that made a performance believable. And maybe it wasn't all fake. "After losing my parents like I did, and my aunt, my uncle...I've been so lost, and all I've had to comfort me are vampires, filling my head with their poison. When you lose the people you love so suddenly, you cling to the first bit of kindness and affection you can, even if it's wrong for you."

The Mikaelson witch nodded, as cooly detached as a severed limb. "Yes, I can only imagine your pain."

"And Jeremy's so young, and I want to do right by him, thought that the vampires could protect him when I can't; I'm only human, after all." Look weak, look vulnerable. It was the same as 'Sit still, look pretty, smile with your eyes' and 'Elena, dear, look at you, you're filthy, covered in pen, what would your mother say if she saw you like this? "I don't have their speed or their strength. But I don't have their morals, either, can't stomach taking a life so easily."

Truth. "I tried to distance myself from Stefan and Damon but they just won't leave me alone, especially since they've been invited into my house, violating my life like an infestation. Stefan even goes to school with me, so it's not like I can even avoid him there. I spend all my time with monsters, trying to pretend like I'm not appalled by their terrible deeds, by all they've done to me. And Klaus...he promised to protect me, to keep me safe." This was the hardest part, the most difficult to sell, especially since she could still taste his kiss under the taste of the bitter herbal tea, could still feel his hand in hers like he was sitting right beside her. "He's the only one they're scared of. I thought if I stayed close...they'd never hurt me."

'Esther was taken by Vikings,' Klaus had told her on the drive over, when she'd asked for everything he knew about her. 'They invaded her village, killed her parents. It was just her and her older sister, Dahlia (hence the flowers). They protected each other, loved each other. They were barely older than you, thrust into a way of life they hadn't asked for. Of course, no one told her to go and marry one, so I can't say I hold much sympathy for her...'

Reaching out, Esther grasped her wrist, nails digging into her flesh like tapered claws. "Don't worry, Elena. After today, you'll never have to fear for your safety again. You won't ever have to be afraid." She sounded like she was doing her a favour, undertaking some great deed. As if she were a hero, killing the wicked dragon to save the town from destruction. But a dragon is still a living thing, a being with a heart and a soul, and it cannot help that it breaths fire, or that people are not immune to the flames.

It didn't mean it should die.

"But-but how? I thought your spell was only about killing your children?" Here it was. Elena was practically vibrating, waiting for the magic words -pun intended.

Esther sat back, crossing her legs demurely, triumphant smile creeping across her face. "Ah, but what you don't know is that every vampire is linked to their sire. Sometimes, this connection can be so strong it presents itself as a sire bond, like Klaus with his muts, but it happens between ordinary vampires as well. If one Original is killed, so is everyone they've ever sired, a glorious domino effect. And since all my children shall be linked...every vampire on the face of the earth shall be dead by the time the moon rises tonight."

"Wow, that's incredible," Elena remarked breathlessly, awed. "You must be such a powerful witch." A little buttering up never hurt anyone.

"You flatter me," she insisted, but Elena saw the tender sprigs of greed, of vanity and narcissism behind her eyes. If Klaus had taught her anything, it was that those in the Mikaelson family wanted to be noticed, especially for their talents, craved appreciation almost as much as blood. "I must say, I'm glad you've come to your senses. I always knew you were a sensible girl. It must be the magic in your blood."

That threw her for a loop. "Do you mean the doppelgänger magic?"

"Not just that. You see, being on the Other Side, I've seen everything, talked to spirits from all walks of life. Katerina, or Katherine Pierce as you know her, had a child with a type of witch known as a Traveler. Her father was one as well, ironically enough, so the magic of their people flowed in that child's veins, and through those of every descendant. The coven is a despicable bunch, saying my type of magic is a perversion, but I don't care for the words of nomadic hypocrites who can't even grow corn without enacting a biblical flood. Given time, the proper training...you could be a very powerful witch. Not nearly as strong as me, of course, but close."

"I had no idea." She really hadn't.

Esther nodded sympathetically. "I take it Katerina was not forthcoming?"

"She's never liked me very much, yet she seems to fool everyone when she pretends to be me." Truth mixed in with lies. A spoonful of sugar helping the medicine go down, getting her what she wanted. Subtlety went such a long way, moves and counter moves, back and forth, bartering and trading, swapping and placating. It all came naturally to her. Maybe, a year ago, it might have scared her. But not now. Not now when it was the best weapon she had: who expected the girl in the pink dress with the heels with bows on to be anything but a pretty little thing, a doll waiting for someone to pose them, create the picture they wanted to see?

The thousand year old witch was no different than anyone else in this town.

The thought was almost comforting, in a very morbid and depressing way. The fact that no one expected Elena to act any differently.

Perhaps reading the discomfort on her face, Esther reached out, tucking away a strand of her hair. It took everything in Elena not to pick up the knife on the tray and stab her with it. "Don't fret, dear. After today, you'll never be plagued by her again. You will be the last Petrova doppelgänger, and a mighty one at that. Cucumber sandwich?"

Elena had just finished typing out a text to Klaus, 'I was right. Every Original linked to vampire they sired, and who they sired and so one,' when she felt a hand come up over her mouth, the other grasping the back of her neck with vice-like strength.

"Try to scream, and I'll snap your neck like a wishbone," drawled none other than Rebekah Mikaelson, out of her ball gown but still retaining her murderous expression which she wore just as well.

Nodding helplessly, Elena held in her sigh, wishing that this day would be over with soon.

Removing her hand, Rebekah took a step back, brushing imaginary lint from the cuffs of her black leather jacket, flicking her braid over a shoulder. "It's time you and I had a conversation about my brother."

"I loved these woods as a girl," Rebekah reminisced as Elena walked through the woods for the second time that day, only this time far less well-equipped. These heels were torture on her feet, not to mention making it ten times harder to navigate all the treacherous roots and twigs and fallen branches. If Rebekah wanted to kill her, Elena wanted to tell her not to bother; the shoes were gonna end up doing it for her. "Mother always chided me about getting my skirts dirty, making extra work for her, but I loved the freedom of it, chasing around my brothers. It made me feel like an equal, rather than just their baby sister."

"I can imagine it must have been hard, growing up the only girl in a house full of boys," Elena commented, bypassing a fallen tree, smiling at a little robin hopping along it's length. She wanted to sympathize, find some common ground, some equal footing. Ironic, given their current setting, but Elena and always prided herself on being an optimist.

"You have no idea. Food disappeared before it had a chance to hit the table, Kol always took all the hot water, Elijah used to steal my nice-smelling soaps and Klaus broke my hairbrush trying to get twigs out of his hair on more than one occasion."

Elena halted, mouth agape. "Klaus had long hair?"

Rebekah shrugged nonchalantly, but a hint of amusement tugged at the corners of her mouth, a little sister unable to stop herself from poking fun at her big brother. "It was the style then."

"I know, I know. It's just... sometimes its easy to forget that he's been alive so long; he fits into the present so seamlessly," the brunette said, seeing the other girl's face darken slightly.

"He's had lots of practice. We all have."

"I take it you didn't bring me out here solely to tell me stories of your past." Not a question, merely a prompt: today was a busy day. Mother's to thwart, vampires and witches to corral, episodes of Gossip Girl to catch up on, not to mention the four chapters of Physics with her name on them...

The blonde rolled her eyes dramatically, unimpressed. "An astute observation. Come." After a few minutes, they stopped at a makeshift clearing, complete with an ominous hole in the ground. The Mikaelsons always took her to such lovely places. "What? Scared of a little jump?" Rebekah teased her tense silence.

Elena shifted her weight, stood up straighter, lifted her chin. "Never. I've jumped higher in gym class."

"Good. Then you won't mind getting down unaided, then," Rebekah chirped before dropping down to the earthen floor below, wiping a stray clot of dirt from her knees. Craning her neck, she looked at Elena above, no doubt watching her take in a shallow breath, could her her heartbeat, rapid and frantic, before she closed her eyes and lept, a small cry of alarm escaping her sealed lips before her feet reconnected with something solid.

Treating Elena to another eye roll, Rebekah caught her before she could do any damage, setting her upright with a curt huff. "Klaus would do unspeakable things to me if you got a hangnail, let alone a broken leg."

"I'm sorry is my closeness with your brother bothers you, but honestly that's not my problem."

"I know," Rebekah remarked sullenly, "which is why I'm making you my problem. What are your intentions with my brother?"

"Seriously?" Elena let out a disbelieving chuckle, the sound echoing off the walls of the...cave? It looked a little like a cave. "You brought me all the way down here and made me jump into a creepy hole for this? Your own version of the shotgun dad talk?"

The Original shook her head, confused. "I don't know what that means."

With the patience of a saint, Elena explained slowly, "It's a cliché. Teenage daughter brings her new guy to the house to meet the parents, dad answers the door with a shotgun and tells the boy that if he hurts his previous baby girl, he'll kill him."

"Yes, that is what I'm going for. Do you love him?"

Taking a step back, Elena conceded vaguely, "It's complicated."

Rebekah was unconvinced, pacing towards her, pouncing like a jungle cat, majestic, as dangerous as she was beautiful. "It's not complicated. You either love him, or you don't. Yes or no."

"That is not a yes or no question," Elena ground out, clenched fists shaking, desperately trying to hold back, to keep this one thing to herself.

"Do you love Niklaus?"

But she didn't succeed. "Yes! Yes, I do. I love him. I'm in love with him."

Then it dawned on her, the enormity of what she'd said, confessed, felt. "I'm in love with Klaus Mikaelson."

A rare, genuine grin broke out on Rebekah's face, the first of it's kind -at least in Elena's presence. "Good. Just wanted to know." And just like that, all was forgiven, all past sins brushed aside like snow on a windowsill, wiping the slate clean. Come on, I'll help you up; don't want to be late for your big meeting." When the Original realized that she wasn't following, she frowned, peering at her with concern. "I didn't break you, did I?"

"I wanted him to be the first one to hear it," was all Elena said, surprised when Rebekah reached out and patted her on the shoulder, albeit awkwardly.

"Don't worry, love. I'll take the secret to my grave."

Last night, Elena had told the Salvatores to not expect her at the Boarding House anytime soon. Standing in the living room, still in her pink dress, flanked by four Mikaelsons and her two best friends, she felt like a bit of a hypocrite, but there wasn't anywhere else they could talk without worry of Esther overhearing. Plus, it made quite the statement, or so Klaus said. He'd even angled her armchair to be backlit by the fire, giving her a hazy outline of fiery authority.

She couldn't believe she'd fallen for such a drama queen. Couldn't believe that she'd fallen in love with him so easily, as if a part of her heart had known, long before she herself ever did, that he was the only one for her, and her for him.

The dramatics seemed to have the desired affect, though, with Damon and Stefan stopping in their tracks, almost banging into each other with comical hilarity. But Elena wasn't laughing. She didn't move, didn't blink, just kept her chin held high and her eyes unreadable as she greeted them, smooth as glass, "Afternoon, Stefan. Damon. Won't you sit down?"

Chapter Text

'Do you think I'd give up

That this might've shook the love from me

Or that I was on the brink?

How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily?

Now that it's done

There's not one thing that I would change

My life was a storm, since I was born

How could I fear any hurricane?'

Over the course of his long life, Klaus had been fortunate -or unfortunate, depending on how you looked at it, if you were a glass half empty kind of person, or the kind who didn't bother with a glass altogether and simply drank straight from the bottle- enough to meet an elaborate array of people from all walks of life. Kings, queen, dukes and lords and knights, peasants and politicians, artists and thinkers and dreamers, some who looked to the stars for inspiration and guidance, and others who couldn't see two feet in front of their face, blinded by the veil of their chosen vices. But, he had to admit, Damon Salvatore made a considerable bid for the oh so majestic title of 'Biggest Idiot Alive' when he took one look at Elena and growled in a tone that was most likely supposed to be dangerous, but was more in the vicinity of petulant and annoyed -a diluted, distorted after-image of threatening- "Katherine, if this is some game..."

"That's your first thought?" Unable to keep the scowl off her face, her mind no doubt operating on a similar train of thought, Elena's knuckles tightened on the armrests of her chair, hard enough to almost splinter the delicately crafted wood; it was a nice chair, went well with the Persian rug -he hoped Stefan had picked it out, and not the elder Salvatore, for Klaus would never be caught dead complimenting that bastard on interior decor. Honestly, the depths of the vampire's stupidity was baffling, near-inconceivable almost. How could he not tell? How had Damon not picked up on the human heartbeat, at the very least, noted the scar on her neck -put there by Klaus himself- or the way she sat, head tilted slightly, yet her eyes still alive with her daring, darling compassion, even as he flung such a torrid insinuation at her?

Or, most notably, if it were in fact Katerina Petrova staring the brothers down with an assemblage of Mikaelsons at her back, she'd have been dead before she could utter a single word?

...Fine, perhaps not dead, but definitely dismembered in some way, with an unspoken guarantee of various tortures to come. She'd been the one to lure Elena's aunt to the sacrifice, after all, had come up with the idea in the hopes of impressing him -as if her diabolical, sociopathic disregard for humanity was something to be proud of, an ambition worthy of his praise- exchanging Jenna's life for her freedom like she was swapping out a pair of shoes that hadn't fit. But then again, no one had forced him to implement it, had they? It had been convenient, and he'd been so desperate to break his curse, once and for all, after so long...

"I don't fall down at the sight of you, so I must be Katherine. God, is that what you really think of me?" Elena accused, the flames of the fire behind swirling in her eyes, molten brown and cherry red and citrus orange, a melting pot of conflicting emotions. Anger, betrayal, resignation, the same song with the same dance partners, the tempo forever frozen, unchanging as their features. Even now, with Klaus' hand curled possessively over the back of her chair, his thumb brushing her neck in a silent reminder of, 'I'm here, you can do this, sweetheart,' she had still held on to a glimmer of hope that they might not react as she'd anticipated, that even with how distant their relationship was at present, at least some of the strings that had tied them together, the three of them, for this past year would remain attached, unchanged.

Elena was still disappointed, because they had let her down.

It must have been so hard for her. To be here, surrounded by these men who had claimed to love her, for her, and yet be so readily compared to her malicious, manipulative, murderess of a twin. For every conversation to be imbued with such history, like they were telling a joke at her expense, a secret club she couldn't get into. Klaus might have had the advantageous benefit of knowing both doppelgängers as humans, had spent five hundred years tracking down Katerina, studying her patterns and preferences and tendencies, he the hunter and she the prey...but these people were supposed to know Elena, had spent more time with her than they ever had Katherine; why was it so hard for those around her to discern the differences, yet so easy for him to do?

"Forgive me, Elena, but you're not usually one for the whole Blowfeld routine," was Damon's terse response, making sure to put careful emphasis on her name. Prick. Oh, how he'd love to pluck that treacherous, traitorous tongue from his head, to not bristle at the way the Salvatore so openly appraised her now, frosted blue gaze sweeping over ever inch of her, a half smirk warping the edges of his mouth into something dark and twisted and loathsome.

Klaus had seen many men give his sister Rebekah similar looks, right before they lost their heads. And then their other body parts, with a little help from him.

This had been Elena's plan, to gather them together, lay everything out on the table. He'd been more than happy to follow her lead, to trust her and her instincts, but he wouldn't be Klaus Mikaelson if he hadn't had any doubts whatsoever. Some people just wouldn't listen to reason, not even from someone as well-meaning and loyal as she; didn't want to admit that there was more than one way of thinking, one way of doing things, that the hard way was not always the right way. He'd once acted in such a manner, ignoring logic and sound reason -usually from Elijah- and insisting he knew best, that his way was the only way.

Elena had made him see things differently. Made him want to see things differently; he wouldn't have her insulted by a pathetic weakling like Damon Salvatore, a vampire hardly worth the gift that was her attention, or her forgiveness.

Bless her glorious heart, Elena didn't bat an eye, merely straightened her spine and surveyed the Salvatore with a look of her own, flicking her lashes up as if she found him wanting, unworthy. Like she'd finally realized that there was more out there for her, someone she would never have to hide how she felt, or be forced to hide behind. Like she'd finally realized that, yes, life was hard, and love harder, but one should not be covered in a litany of bruises from it, external and internal, trying to hold yourself together through sheer force of will. That promises shouldn't break like bones and that safety didn't always mean settling with what was familiar.

Like she'd finally found herself, where she belonged: with him. "Sorry, left the cat at home today. Doesn't like to be around arrogant vampires with control issues."

Across the room, Kol let out an appreciative snicker, drawing everyone's attention to him like a black hole, sucking out some of the tension in the room. "Nice one, darling. Kitty really has sharpened her claws; I'm impressed."

Damon's face grew even darker, storm clouds coalescing threateningly, so unused to her using that wicked little tongue of hers on him, as if he'd poked a bear and only now realized that it has claws that could shred him to pieces, scattering him like so much paper on the wind. "What do you want, Elena?"

"A truce," she said simply, hands folded nearly in her lap, calm and in control. And loving every minute of it, no doubt. "For today and today only, you get the grand prize of staying alive in exchange for a little bit of assistance."

"Why?" the youngest Salvatore finally spoke up, showing the first bit of interest since the two had entered the room, hazel eyes sweeping over them, lingering longest on Elena, on Klaus' proximity to her, a feeble attempt at trying to ascertain her motives, that if he could reason with her, use her morals against her, he could gain the upper hand. Which was ridiculous, seeing as she was doing this because she had morals, because Klaus knew that, even in some parallel universe where they weren't together, she would still try and stop the sacrifice in whatever way she could, would want to spare them, stay their mother's raging hand, if only because of what Elijah had done for her, saving her life, making deals to protect her loved ones. Because she knew how important family was, and didn't want anyone else to lose theirs.

Which the Salvatores, of all people, brothers for all eternity, should have understood

"Because Esther Mikaelson did a spell last night with my blood, linking every Original together," Elena explained, gaze straying to Rebekah when she turned her head away slightly, gaze lost in the flames of the fire. "If one dies, they all die."

Damon's expression became that of a boy who'd just been told Christmas came early, crowing with excessively jubilant glee, "Fantastic! Stefan, get the champagne; this needs to be celebrated in style."

Elena carried on as if she hadn't been so rudely interrupted, "But, if she succeeds, she won't just kill them, but every single vampire in existence. Including you, and Stefan, and Caroline."

A record scratch, wonder turning to worry. It lasted only a second, thought, before the vampire sauntered down the steps, claiming the chair across from her, sticking his feet up on the coffee table, a blatant sign of disrespect as he insisted, "You're bluffing."

Raising a brow, Elena replied evenly, "Am I? If memory serves, it's never worked out well for vampires when they've claimed that." She tilted her head, smile saccharine-sweet, honey and vinegar and vengeance, as she grinned at his brother inquiringly, "Isn't that right, Elijah?"

The Original inclined his head, a smile of his own dancing in his coffee-brown eyes. Gods, family holidays were going to be hell if they decided to turn that little act on him. "Quite right, Miss Gilbert. My Armani suit never did recover from that encounter."

"And we mourn it's loss deeply. As it so happens, I recorded my conversation with Esther this afternoon; I knew you wouldn't take me at my word, no matter what I said. You never do."

Holding out her hand, Klaus reached into his jacket pocket where he'd been keeping her phone since her dress, as she'd frustratedly grumbled to him on the way over, didn't have any pockets. With a smile of thanks, Elena unlocked the screen, and a few seconds later the haughty, holier-than-thou voice of their mother proclaimed, dripping with movie-villianesque satisfaction, 'If one Original is killed, so is everyone they've ever sired, a glorious domino effect. And since all my children shall be linked...every vampire on the face of the earth shall be dead by the time the moon rises tonight."

With a flick of her wrist, Elena tossed her phone on the coffee table near Damon's mud-caked boots, rattling the plastic device with a clatter as it skidded to a halt. "Need anymore proof?"

"No, we don't. Right, Damon?" Stefan interceded, dropping down beside his older brother, a crease already beginning to pinch his brow. Stefan was always the more cautious one, four steps ahead when everyone else was still at the start. He was often underestimated, overlooked in the face of his brother's striking looks and bombastic temperament. If anyone was going to care about ensuring their continued survival, even at the expense of working with the Mikaelsons rather than against, it was him.

And, somewhere, deep, deep down, Klaus still hoped that their friendship back in the twenties meant something to Stefan, as it had to him then, and all these decades later. He'd reminded him what it was like to have a brother, to find and cultivate a real connection with someone, someone who saw him as more than his rich-red history. Then again, Stefan's had been almost as bloody; he'd accomplished a name in fifty years that had taken Klaus a good century and some change to perfect; he hadn't had anyone to keep him in check, whereas Klaus had had not only a brother but a sister who still loved him and wished to hold on to their human goodness.

Perhaps that night with Elena was the wake-up call they needed -that they both needed- to help him get back to himself, the hero that everyone adored; Stefan was not made to play the Big Bad for long, his conscience wouldn't allow it. Neither would his supply of hair gel.

Circumventing his question, the elder Salvatore narrowed his eyes, arms spread out over the back of the couch as he demanded petulantly, "What do you need us for?" He stabbed a finger in their general direction before gesticulating it over the four Originals, Elena, and Bonnie and Caroline. "Your dance troop entourage back there should have enough juice to take out one lousy witch."

"But she'll be expecting a direct attack from us," Elijah stepped in smoothly, ever the mighty strategist -even though Elena was the one who deserved the credit for this particular scheme. She was a mastermind after his own heart. "What better asset than those she'd never expect, those who hate her children and want them gone almost as much as she does."

Damon rolled his eyes, the clink of glass as he poured himself a drink grating accompaniment to his disbelieving scoff. "I wouldn't bet on it."

Gracefully, Elena rose from her chair, coming to sit on the table in front of him, forcing the vampire to meet her gaze. "Damon, be reasonable. Do you really want to die just because Esther Mikaelson wants you to, because she can't face what she did a thousand years ago? Don't they deserve a chance to be happy, to be a family? To mend everything that broke, just like you and Stefan have been able to do? Do you really think anyone deserves to die at the hands of a parent, the one person they loved, and trusted to love them in return, no matter what? Can't you put yourself in their shoes and see how heartbreaking this must be for them?" she pleaded, soft and warm and persuasive, taking his hand in hers, doe eyes out in full force, shining like headlights in the night, earnest and so trusting, urging him to see sense, to make the right decision. "You of all people should know how much a mother's love means; I know I do."

Oh, she was good. So very, very good. She was making him see what he wanted to see, this ever-kind, ever-needing girl who wanted him to be better, who saw the good in him and found him worthy, who wanted him to life and be happy, telling him with the pressure of her fingers and the bob of her lashes, 'This is the right thing, Damon, this is what you should do, you should help us,' her own form of compulsion, fuelled not by magic but by something far more pure: love, and hope. She wanted to save them, wanted to save everyone, and would break herself to ensure it, a martyr to her morals, and would do whatever it took to make sure of it.

To anyone else, this would have looked like a rare, genuine moment between the two. But Klaus could see the stiffness in her shoulders, hear the way her heart rate had sped up since she'd gained proximity to him, her mouth tight with the effort of her smile as she put on her performance. She could have changed her clothes after her tea with Esther, could have picked something else, gone with a very different image, but Elena had known for a very long time that Stefan and Damon had never loved all of her, had picked and perused the many facets of her personality and only accepted, wanted, what they liked, wanted. The sweet girl next door who always saw the good in them, who was generous to anyone and everyone who crossed her path, who handed out forgiveness like a mother handing out cookies at a PTA meeting, dusted in hope and sprinkled with redemption.

That was not the kind of love she deserved, though: no one deserves to be loved like that. It certainly wasn't how Klaus loved her. He saw all of who she was, the parts of herself she tucked away and those she held on full display, and treasured every single one of them, even if she didn't herself, because they were all her. Just as she saw him for all of who he was, and had accepted it without horror or protest.

Damon snatched his hand back, but it was a slow gesture, a pretext all of it's own: everyone wanted to be loved, most of all the broken ones, and it was no secret that he had always loved her, had trailed behind her and Stefan (and Stefan's back) for scraps of her affection; Klaus had learnt of it even before he ever laid eyes on either of them, internally amused at history's deep desire for repetition. "Say we help you," Damon entertained, swirling the ice on his glass in deliberate circles, the epitome of the Lord of the Manor -i.e. wasting everyone else's valuable time. "What do we get in return?"

"Your head staying attached to your spine?" Klaus supplied, fangs snapping, veins crawling across his cheeks like tendrils of night. He was really going to play games, with them? Even when his own life, and that of his brother's, was on the line? Was he really that stupid, or was it arrogance that drove him, jealousy over the fact that Elena had sided with the Mikaelsons and abandoned their little trio, had finally had enough of being pulled between them like a bloody chew toy and found someone who would not only always put her first, but respect her choices and how she wanted to do things after living a life not of his own choosing, and knowing the scars such an existence could leave?

"Nik," Elena reprimanded him, head whipping around to give him a sharply-pointed glare. He merely shrugged his shoulders, claiming her unoccupied chair, fingers templed under his chin and a leg casually folded over the other. "What? Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

Her mouth twitched, ever so slightly, the only sign of her amusement she'd let show -it was adorable how committed she was to being professional- as she answered honestly, benevolently, "What do you suggest?"

Damon bypassed Elena completely, the full might of his stare on Klaus. "You leave Elena alone," he said, holding up a hand when Stefan made a murmur of protest. "You don't call her, you don't talk to her, you definitely don't take any blood from her for your freaky hybrid army...and we'll make sure you and your psycho family stay alive, if only out of our own self-interest."

He didn't need to think about it. Didn't need to pause or weigh his options, Klaus just opened his mouth and spat out the truth like a knocked-loose tooth, blood and root and all, "I'd rather die."

Damon grinned, twisted and sardonic and gloating. "Then I'll guess you'll get your wish in a few hours. Bet that'll be a fun conversation in hell: sorry I let you die, I was hung up on a girl, who wants to roast some s'mores around a bubbling lava pit?"

"Damon, you can't ask her to do that! Their relationship has nothing to do with you!" Caroline yelled, crossing the room in a flash, pushing Elena behind her, protecting her. Klaus admired the effort, leaning back in his chair, content to watch. Waiting.

"She's right, Damon," Bonnie chimed in angrily, the pressure of the room dropping, her emotions bleeding out onto their surroundings. "We might not like it, might not understand it, but if she's happy, then it shouldn't and doesn't matter. Are you really so self-absorbed that you'd make sure Klaus and his family, and yours, died, all so he couldn't be with her?"

"The Bennett Witch is right." A raised eyebrow,a grateful nod; it was a rare moment when Rebekah Mikaelson agreed with anyone, let alone someone she had previously been so vehemently opposed to, if only by association. "I might have been in a coffin for ninety years, but that is no way to treat someone you care about, in any time. You're a possessive caveman, and I can't believe I slept with you last night."

Caroline's cornflower eyes went comically wide. "You slept with Damon?"

With as much reluctance as a thousand years old vampire could manage, Rebekah reiterated, "As I said, a lapse in judgement."

"I think we're getting a little sidetracked, there is a pressing matter at-"

"Elijah's right," Elena said, effectively silencing the mounting chatter, parting the waters of their escalating argument like Moses could have only ever dreamed of. "This is no time for arguing. Damon, Klaus will agree to your terms in exchange for your help."

And there it was.

And there he caved. "Cool! Jumping up from the couch, Damon poured himself another drink, carelessly dripping liquor on the carpet like blood. "Then let's get this creepy teamwork party started."

But Klaus didn't want to stay for the show. Instead, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was standing on the roof, the entirety of Mystic Falls stretching out below him, woods and building and shops and people, all utterly oblivious to his current plight. Taking a seat, his lungs pulled in an unnecessary, ragged breath, his head swimming although he hadn't been afraid of heights in a long, long time.

Elena has agreed. Elena had agreed, just like that, for him, because she knew he would never say so himself. Yet again, she thought her heart was worth less than protecting the people around her, that what she wanted was inconsequential up against the pressure and responsibility of making sure everyone came out unscathed. Klaus knew it was the only way...but it still hurt. To not have her fight it, fight them. To give in so easily to their demands, as she probably had a hundred times before, in ways big and small. She'd played them all expertly, but it appeared that he was the biggest fool to think that maybe, just maybe, she might put herself and what they had, this bright and amazing and wondrous and intoxicating and challenging but so gods-damned worth it thing, first.

Because in that moment, Klaus knew he'd rather die today, knowing he had her, than love for another decade, another century, another millennium, without her snd they light she had so unexpectedly brought into his life, the home and warmth and acceptance he'd found in her arms.

Distantly, the hybrid heard a window open, creaking like a world-weary back, a heavy sigh, the sound of someone taking off their heels and shimmying up onto the roof, a pale arm grasping for support as they hauled themselves off, dusting pollen off the hem of their skirts, cascading to the ground like specks of gold. Walking barefoot across the sun-warmed shingles to stand in front of him, haloed in a haze of twilight amethyst, they didn't say a word, didn't need to.

Klaus looked up, eyes the tragic blue of a defeated, broken hero at the final act, who had been so sure and yet had lost it all, as he rasped hollowly, every letter aching with a near unbearable anguish, "Elena..."

"If there's no other way, there's no other way," his love began without preamble, taking a careful seat beside him, her head falling naturally against his shoulder, the key to his lock, the last piece of the puzzle that was his once black and bitter heart, the one that now beat only because of her, for her, "You know that if it comes down between me and you...I will choose you, always and forever." It felt oddly surreal, to hear his sacred family motto falling from her lips, how the weight of settled between them, around them, cocooning them in the warmth of her promise, her devotion. To him. It still didn't make sense: this, her, them. He'd been so, so wicked, had committed almost every sin under the sun and then created a few more, just for hell of it, his hands were so red with innocent blood it was a wonder they didn't glow in the dark like those stick-on stars children were so fond of putting up in their ceilings, a warning to all who saw to stay far, far away from Klaus Mikaelson, lest your lifeblood be added to the tide.

And she...she was everything he was not. Brave where he was selfish. Kind where he was cruel. Gentle where he was impatient. Holy where he was damned. Klaus did not consider her a prize, or his redemption, something he could only earn if and when he changed his ways...but he still had to wonder. Why fate would pair her with such a monster. Why, with a slew of men who would break themselves just in the hopes of seeing her smile, it was he she chose to bestow them open so voluntarily, who she had just defended in a room of her closets companions.

His family had been like her, once upon a time. He had been like her: innocent. And with that knowledge came a fear, newborn but undeniable, inescapable, that the world -or, worse yet, he-would take that last thing from her, that thing she tried so hard to cling to, her decency and civility. If his darkness was a stain, a transmutable entity, corrupting her the more time she spent with him. While Klaus knew the strengths and depths of her goodness...not everything lasted forever, and his demons had such sharp and hungry claws. Maybe what Damon had suggested was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better if he let her go, let her live a normal life, love a normal man, grow old and have children and everything her previous doppelgängers never got to have, had been deprived of because of him, and his family.

With shaking hands, she hooked a finger under his chin, turning his face, directing him to meet her wildfire gaze, leaving his protests as nothing but ash. She didn't have to; he couldn't keep his eyes off her if he tried, if he wanted to. "I won't be the reason you lose everything."

The words camed, unbidden, sneaking in like a thief in the night, robbing him if his senses and all previous thoughts as he cupped her face in turn and declared boldly, "You are my everything."

Immediately, she pulled away, folded in on herself, arms banding around her waist as if she needed to protect herself from this truth, his truth. "Klaus, you know that's not true," she insisted, voice carrying to him on the dying wide, jaw fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, beautiful and desperate for freedom. "You daggered your siblings to protect them and carted their coffins around for centuries; your family is your heart."

"Yes, once," he agreed swiftly, "but not anymore."

Elena shook her head, glossy curls spraying about her face in a shower of hazel. "You don't have to say that," she murmured, backing further away from him, lone tear sliding down her cheek hitting him like a (wooden) bullet to the chest. "Don't say it if it's not true."

"But it is! Elena, Elena!"

She was on her feet, so very close to the edge now, and Klaus felt like he himself was dangling from a precipice, clinging to a ledge of which there was no return from. Once he said this, there'd be no going back, no way to undo it. It would be out there in the world, forever, and she would always know that he had lain himself at her feet, that she had brought him to his knees, that she had indeed breached the castle walls and that she had bewitched the monster lurking inside, had made him fall for her with her broken smile and her lips of cherry wine.

"Elena Marie Gilbert, I love you."

Love.

Love.

Love.

He loved her. He did. It was such a small word, not nearly big enough for what he felt, but the truth of it rang through him like a bell, like a call home on a dark night, like he had not truly broken his curse until he confessed to her the very depth of his heart, his soul.

She stopped, turned. She was like a ghost, an apparition, and yet he'd never felt anything more solid as she walked towards him, as she put a hand over where his heart was, as she gripped his chin and looked right at him, in him, examining for any traces of a lie, of deceit. "You do?" She'd find none.

Klaus nodded, almost on the verge of tears himself as he replied, "More than I ever thought I could love anything, more than I probably should. More than my heart can sometimes take."

"I-"

Saving her the trouble of coming up with a reply -or breaking his heart and rejecting him, although it would be the most sensible cause of action, and Elena's intellectual capacity was nearly as deep as the passionate depths of her heart, and really, how could he ever expect her to love him, to need him as much as he needed her, to long for her and her goodness and the light she brought out in him when he could do none of those things for her- Klaus brought her in for a kiss, long and soft and lingering. "There's no need to say anything, sweetheart," he assured her against her parted lips. "It was a rhetorical exclamation, if anything. I just wanted, needed, for you to know, in case things don't go our way tonight."

She smiled, and it made his whole chest spark, and his mouth was inches from hers again when he heard Rebekah holler, "Nik! Elena! Get your arses back in here! We think we've got a plan."

"Is it a good one?" Elena called, eyebrow arched with deep-rooted suspicion. Klaus chuckled, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

He could almost hear his sister shaking her head. "Not at all."

A sigh left her lips, warming the air between them. "So, no different from usual, then."

Klaus held up his hands, walking backwards along the length of the roof, darkness fully upon them now. "Your words, not mine, my love."

Reaching out, Elena pulled him in by the tangle of necklaces by his throat, voice powerful and assured, projecting a confidence even he himself didn't feel. "It'll just have to do. Cause I want to hear you say that again, and again, and again."

Inclining his head, Klaus kissed her once more. "As my queen wishes."

As the nine of them began putting their plan into motion, splintering off into various groups to go about their tasks, Elena felt incredibly removed from it all, like she was observing everything through a warped pane of glass.

Love.

Love.

Love.

Klaus loved her. Was in love with her.

And he hadn't let her say it back. She would have, would have told him in a heartbeat, and the admission itched at her throat, as if she'd swallowed a million cotton balls, had had too much cotton candy at a carnival, leaving her mouth sticky and dry. This might not work. He might die tonight. He might die not knowing she felt the exact same way. That, against every instinct, every rational reason alive, she'd been swept away by him since that very first night, that he'd been able to give her something to hold on to, a life raft in the storm of her life, had made her feel like a human being who mattered, despite seeing her as nothing but a human blood bad before then, a pernicious obstacle always thwarting his grand plans, ruining his partner in crime with her love, the doppelgänger that just didn't seem to stay dead, no matter how many times it came calling for her.

Waving to Rebekah and Caroline as she got out of the car, Elena vowed that she'd tell him, tonight. Before everything happened, she'd make sure that she told him, that he knew that he was loved.

Slotting her keys in the door, she went up to her room to finally get out of her pink monstrosity of a dress -although it had served its purpose twice over now- flinging it into the laundry basket with unnecessary vigor, watching as it missed it by a good foot, fluttering to the floor like a petal-pink flag of defeat. Awesome.

After a shower and putting on her usual winter wardrobe of jeans and sweater ans boots, Elena felt much more like herself. Untangling her rose necklace from the collar of her sweater, she was in the process of reaching for her phone to update Ric on what was going on when she heard a knock at the door.

Her heart stopped. Stopped, and restarted, jackhammering against her ribs like it could hide somewhere while the rest of her was brutally torn apart. Because no one knocked, not ever. Klaus would have just walked in, Caroline would have texted and Bonnie was on her way to the old witch house. Every other vampire in her life had an invitation. All, except...

Finn.

An amalgamation of adrenaline and panic flooded her system, making everything around her spin. Think, think, think. She couldn't tip him off, couldn't let him catch even the vaguest hint of what they were doing, what they had planned.

Another knock, another year off her life with the stress boiling in her gut like roadside tar.

He was here for her. He was here to take her; it was obvious.

Esther hadn't believed her, or she'd had her own suspicions beforehand and was using her as a bargaining chip, leverage against Klaus, the one who, given his hybrid status, posed the biggest threat to her.

"Come along, Miss Gilbert. My mother doesn't like to be kept waiting."

So she went? Because what other choice did she have?

Whenever she walked to her death, she always had to be escorted by a Mikaelson; it was the rules, and she could do nothing but follow them and hope for the best.

The clock on Klaus' phone ticked closer towards nine o'clock, the eerie white-blue light filling the car, bouncing off their carbon-copy expressions of apprehension and regret, each second an excruciating eternity, counting down to the possible end of theirs. Silence prevailed, the four Mikaelson siblings unable to form a single word. What was there to say? What words existed out there in the cosmos of creation that could possibly make any of this better, take away any of this pain? Platitudes and promised would not work on them, they never had. All their lives, they'd always known better than to lie to each other, even at the expense of sparing the other's feelings; life was not made to be sugar-coated, a frosted sugar-spun confection that looked good on a plate but would crumble if you so much as breathed on it. Since the night their mother cursed him, since Klaus looked into her eyes and saw only seething hatred, a glisten of vengeance rather than that of tears, Esther Mikaelson had been dead to him, had become a stranger he no longer recognized despite sharing so many of her features, her blood.

He would not be who he was without her, and not just because she'd given birth to him, raised him. She had been the one to set him on this path, all those centuries ago, had hid her indiscretions from Mikael rather than telling her husband the truth. Perhaps if she had, things might havs been different. Mikael never would have accepted him, loved him, of that there was no doubt, but maybe his other father might have. Perhaps he would have grown to be a different man, a better man, had he not been consumed by his burning hatred of the man he'd called father, yet who had never cared for him as a son.

There was nothing to be done about it now, of course...but Klaus still wondered. It was hard not to, after hundreds upon hundreds of sleepless nights, of looking up at the stars and wondering if his heart, his soul, would ever know true peace, if the waters of his anger would ever lie still, if there was still a man behind the myth, how he could look back on the events of his life and wonder what tiny alterations could have made such a drastic difference, what was and what should never be. They never should have lived this long, any of them. Klaus shouldn't have been able to be a hybrid. He never should have fallen for Elena, a thousand years younger yet a thousand times brighter and better, the vibrant star he'd hold close to his chest, always and forever.

They shouldn't be walking to their deaths tonight, hoping for even more borrowed time than they'd already stolen so greedily. But forever was not a long time, not nearly long enough, not when the world was still so new, and so was love.

Above them, the wind howled in the trees, a melancholy, mournful ballad, whipping about the branches in a violent frenzy, a precursor, a warning of things to come. Eyes skating to the rearview mirror, Klaus locked his gaze on Rebekah, then Kol, back to Elijah, and offered his family what he could. "I'm sorry, sister, brothers. I never thought it would come to this."

Rebekah smiled wanly, cheeks sallow as she fought to hold in her tears. "It's okay, Nik. We have each other; that's all that matters."

Kol smiled, sharpened edges rubbed raw, sanded down by the pain of betrayal. "Always and forever?"

Elijah nodded, then Kol, then Klaus. "Always and forever," the four of them echoed gravely, before getting out of the car, the sound of slamming doors like that of coffins falling shut.

Twigs and fallen leaves crunched under their collective heels as they made their way towards the clearing, feeling the heat of the torches before they saw them, five points of light shimmering in the dark, their light making long, mangled shadows against the denuded trees, surrounding them, cutting them off. The stage was set, all it needed now was the actors to fill it, or more accurately as the case was, the puppets, sacrificial offerings to absolve his mother's guilty conscience.

Why couldn't she just build an orphanage or adopt a rescue dog like everyone else?

Reaching into his jacket, Klaus checked his phone, one last time, heart sinking when the screen remained dark, reflecting the silvery sphere of the waxing moon overhead. Still nothing from Elena. It worried him. Almost as much as the sight of their mother, standing tall and proud in the nucleus of a pentagram, the torches creating an impenetrable ring around her, detailed with a generous line of salt, head tilted back towards the sky, strawberry-blonde hair reflecting the flames around her -it was still so strange, to see her like this, with the short hair and the dark coat flapping like the wings of some great beast, so at odds with the picture of her he'd carried in his mind, his heart, all these centuries.

Five torches, one for each of them. For the children she planned to murder tonight.

Kol shook his head, taking a step back. 'Boundary spell,' he needlessly mouthed, as if they didn't know what one looked like by now, after a thousand years, after growing up with a witch for a mother. Hands tucked casually into his pockets, it was the youngest brother that spoke first, making their presence known with a typical taunt. "Where's Finn? I thought your little sacrificial lamb would be eager to get in on this ever-so-touching family gathering."

Expression like marble, cold as a corpse, Esther seemed unaffected by the four of them, making no attempts to hide her machinations. Good; the time for games was far past. "He has been otherwise occupied, collecting a very special item for me," she supplied vaguely, eyes hardening as she gave her wiley fox a piercing look. "And you'd do better than to speak of him with such disrespect, Kol; your brother knows virtue of which you could never imagine, is making a noble sacrifice for the good of nature, maintaining the balance."

"Is that what you're calling it? That is your excuse for killing your own children, committing such a vile atrocity, all out of preserving your precious balance?" Elijah shook his head, disgust dripping from every line of his body, the impenetrable wall of his emotions laying in broken shards in his eyes. "Niklaus was right to end you as he did."

"No, Elijah, it is I who should have ended you a thousand years ago. I never should have upset the balance, but I have learnt from my mistake, and tonight I shall set you all free."

He heard it before he saw it. They all did, zeroing in on the sound, the only human heartbeat in the vicinity. Steady, strong, enraged, but trying to keep calm.

Like they'd been in this situation before. Like getting kidnapped was just a regular Tuesday. Like everyone in the supernatural world wanted her, the ultimate bargaining chip, the winning spread of any card game, Queen of the deck.

That sound, that heartbeat that he now knew better than his own, that had once irked him but now was the sweetest kind of music...it almost sent Klaus to his knees, his name dying in her throat, a ragged gasp, a plea.

No, no, no. Not... "Ah, and there he is now. Finn, why don't you bring over our special guest? She deserves to have a front row seat to tonight's offering; her blood made this all possible, after all."

Face flickering menacingly in the torchlight, Finn hauled his beloved Elena inside of the circle, where none of them could reach her, pushing her roughly to her knees. Bound and gagged as she was, she landed awkwardly, unable to brace herself as her cheek connected with the dirt, the rest of her body following. She didn't cry out, didn't make a single noise, but her eyes connected with his, and the fear in them...

Klaus saw red.

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, hauling her upright, Esther brushed her fingers across Elena's face, a mocking caress, digits coming away wet with his love's tears. "Such a pretty, pretty face," she crooned, and in that moment there was nothing human in her, not a single speck of that mother he had once adored, who had made him feel so special, who had given him a necklace and told him that she would always be with him, would always come for him, no matter what. "And such a pretty liar. Did you really think you could fool me?" Esther cried, backhanding her across the face, a gruesome parody of Klaus' own actions on Senior Prank Night, and now he knew the agony Stefan must have felt, seeing the woman he loved being hurt, being helpless to stop it. God, how had he not killed him in that moment, hybrid or not? How had he withstood that kind of volcanic, corrosive rage? "That I would fall for your silly little act? You underestimated me, Elena, to your own peril."

Scrunching her lower jaw, Elena was able to get the gag out of her mouth, inching it down so that it hung like a noose around her neck, a necklace of tattered handkerchief. Lips curving in a vicious snarl, Elena spat at her, saliva dripping down his mother's porcelain-pale cheek like a tear. "Rot in hell, you bitch."

Esther tutted, flinging Elena to the dirt once more, circling her in predatory circles. "Such language from one so young, it's very unbecoming." His mother raised her head, gaze on him now. "Isn't that right, Niklaus?"

"I will kill you," he vowed, not caring when Rebekah flinched, when Elijah looked away, when Kol grinned as if his declaration where the world's most amusing joke; he meant it. "I will take my time, make it slow, make it agonizing. You will beg for death. But I won't allow it. I'll cut you open in ways you couldn't imagine, will flay you until you bleed, I will laugh as you beg for my mercy..."

Flicking her hand, the Original Witch brought him to his knees, pain exploding through his head, expression bored like a teenage trying to find something to watch on Saturday night TV. "Yes, yes, I've heard it all before from you, my son. You and your idle threats. I am your mother: you cannot kill me. Mikael, yes, but me...I was the one that raised you, that loved you, I protected you from his rages and his fists whenever I could, tried to better shape you into a boy he could love...my efforts were for nought, however; he never could have loved you, he senses the darkness in you long before I ever did. I was blinded, blinded by my love for you, and your true father, Ansel. How he would weep, to see you like this."

Every breath was agony, every twitch of his muscles sending torrents of fire through his veins. Moving his head was impossible; Klaus did it anyway, he wanted, needed to look her in the eye as he said, "Elijah raised me with more love and compassion than you ever did. While your love waxed and waned, his was a constant, for over a thousand years. He raised all of us when you were too busy locked in your workroom with your spells and your secrets. You may be the author of everything I am, mother dearest, but Elijah was the one that believed i could change my narrative, that there was still goodness inside me, inside all of us, that none of us were behind saving. Unlike you."

Esther smiled, a wicked slice in the dark. "How touching. Now, shall we get on?"

"No." It was Rebekah who stepped forwards, tears streaming down her cheeks, hitting the forest floor with an audible splash, as if the whole woods around them amplified her grief, felt it, too. "No, please, don't. Mother, it's us, you're children. We love you."

"As I you. But this must be done, Bekah. Now please, be quiet; you're distracting me," she chastised her, before sending her to her knees as well.

Finn shook his head, a glint of a knife in his hands. "Mother, please, there's no need for that. You said you wouldn't hurt them."

Kol chuckled, a disbelieving, bitter thing. "Oh, so it's alright to kill us, but a little boo-boo is unacceptable to you? That's rich. Stupid and hypocritical: two of your most discerning traits, Finny."

Finny. None of them had called him that since they were children, it had always wound him up, he'd always considered it a sign of disrespect.

It seemed time had but changed that.

"I am doing what is right!" Finn cried, chests heaving with unnecessary breaths, someone else's words spoken with his voice, the voice of a zealot, manipulated and warped to be what Esther needed him to be. "We are a curse, brothers, sister! We must be stopped before more people die because of us. We were never supposed to be in the first place. In death, we shall all find peace."

"Is that what you think?" Getting woozily to her feet, Elena stared the eldest Mikaelson sibling down, daring and defiant and so very, very brave, and Klaus had never loved anything more than the sight of her, blazing with her own righteous fire, raining down a hailstorm of truth, piercing the veil of his ideology and despairing conscience. "Take it from someone who's actually died; death is no picnic. It's hard, and messy, and it's a fight. But so is life. No one wants to die. No one wants to look back on their life and have regrets, experiences they missed out, things they never said." Her eyes latched onto Klaus', as if she were trying to say something to him, communicate something with the force of her stare, but what, he wasn't sure. He held it anyway, like he'd held her every time she'd fallen asleep in his arms.

"I know that being a vampire is hard, that it's a life you never wanted. I know that being in that coffin for all those centuries must have been unbearable, right? To feel like you were forgotten, that you were unloved? That after everything you and your siblings went through, they left you, their eldest brother, who was supposed to protect them, so you feel responsible. Am I right?"

Finn nodded.

"And that's okay. That feeling will never go away. You hate them so much only because you loved them so dearly, and always will. But this isn't just about them, Finn, this is about you, what you want. So, I'll ask you this: do you want to die tonight? Do you want to, after nine centuries in a coffin, finally wake up only for it to be all over in a matter of days? Isn't there anything, not even a single thing, that makes you want to stay alive?"

"Finn, my boy, don't listen to her," Esther warned, pulling him back from the circle, tone frenzied and desperate. "She's a Petrova; you know their ways."

Elena shrugged, an elegant move despite her bonds. "Everything I've said is the truth, it's all sage advice I'd want someone to give me if I was in the same situation."

Sage.

How the hell did she...

"And it will be the last words you ever speak," his mother insisted, taking the dagger from Finn's outstretched hand. "I don't like the idea of having you around much, another doppelgänger being born to meddle in the affairs of nature in the future. You are as much a blight on this world as my children. It seems only fitting for you to die as well, an end to the Mikaelson dynasty, once and for all," she said, and began to chant.

Last summer, before everything happened -everything being vampires and werewolves and witches and doppelgängers and impossibility she had never fathomed- Elena had tried out to be a lifeguard. She didn't pass, the job went to Bonnie instead, because she'd applied months before, before her parents died, before she hated anything to do with water, but she still remembered all the breathing techniques she and Bonnie had gone through, ways to stay calm, to hold their breath. And as the flames grew higher, as Esther's changing intensified, Elena cycles through them as her panic spiralled, as seconds passed with her connection to the Bennett line remained intact.

What the hell were Stefan and Damon doing, playing 'Rock, Paper, Scissors'?

She was running out of time. They all were. Her gamble with Finn hadn't worked. It had been a long shot, but still...

Elena trampled through the borders of the woods, Rebekah walking along beside her, the silence easy now that everything was out in the open. Unexpectedly, she turned to her, blue eyes open like a still spring lake, reflecting nothing back but clouds and endless waves. "Love has never come easy to those of the Mikaelson family. Being what we are, Original vampires with short fuses and long memories, we build enemies quicker than it takes for you humans to build condominiums. With Elijah, there was Tatia, Celeste, and Aya, and Katerina of course -I don't need to tell you how that story ended. Finn loved only woman, Sage, who was also the only vampire he ever turned. He was besotted with her, utterly enchanted, and she the same in turn. She hated us vehemently, by the way, just in case you ever happen to run into her."

"Because you've kept him daggered for nine hundred years?"

Rebekah smiled appreciatively. "You catch on quick. That will serve you well. Nik had Aurora-"

"I know, he told me all about her-"

"He did? Christ, he must be gone on you, and then there's little ole me and my tragic string of paramours, each a tiny firefly in my otherwise dark and dreary existence..."

If this was it, if Elena really was going to die, she didn't have any regrets, except one. Luckily, it was in her power to fix. Inching across the circle, Elena got as close as she could, cheek pressed right up against the barrier, feeling the sizzle of magic on her cheek, heedless of the flames around her, tremors raking her body like earthquakes as she whispered, "Klaus."

He didn't say anything. He was arguing with Elijah, gesturing to the dilapidated house behind them, face contorted in a snarl...

"Nik. Nik."

That got his attention.

In a flash, he was before her, kneeling like a repentant knight, broken sword in his hand, nothing to give now that everything had been taken.

"Sweetheart..."

"It's okay," she promised him, fingers stretching towards him like vines searching for sunlight, desperate to feel the warmth, his warmth, once last time. "It's okay, Nik. It's not your fault. We tried, okay? We tried and it didn't work. It's not important now. What is important is what I need to say to you, before it's too late."

Elena wished she could take his hand, touch his face, feel his heart beat under her palm and count the flecks in his heartbreak-blue eyes as she sobbed, "I love you. I love you, Niklaus Mikaelson, and I can't die without you knowing it, without you knowing how I feel. That no matter what, no matter what she thinks of you, I think you're worth something, I think you're worth everything. You are worth all of this. And I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry that we had to end like this, that we had such little time together, but I loved every minute of it, and I'd do it all again, even if we ended up like this again, I'd still do it, I'd still choose you, I'd still love you, and I will, I will love you always and-"

The words died in her throat. Died, fell to the ground, crushed by the weight of someone pulling her up, gripping her, and she couldn't think, couldn't breath over Esther's chanting, the heat of the flames, suffocating her, and the screaming, so much screaming, she'd never heard anyone make a sound like that, like they were being torn apart, eviscerated, at an atomic level.

It was all screaming and screaming and her name and her love and his blue eyes as Finn raised his hand, blade shining high, cresting like a wave, falling like a comet, down, down, down, all the way into Elena's chest.

Klaus' vocal chords gave out long before the knife hit home. They healed instantly. He did not. He almost didn't notice when Esther stopped her chanting, when her screams replaced his own, echoing with a primordial wrath that shook the very earth beneath them.

He didn't care. Didn't care that the Salvatores had held up their end of the deal, that they'd broken the link to the Bennett line, he only cared about Elena, bleeding out, the sound of her heartbeat slow, slow, impossibly slow, too slow.

Klaus didn't look up when Finn pulled his mother back and disappeared into the trees, didn't blink when Rebekah put her arms around him, cradling him, tears on her own face. Didn't make a sound when Elijah tried the barrier but found it remained intact. His gaze only flickered when Kol disappeared and returned seconds later with a crying Bonnie Bennett, obviously grieving the loss of her mother. He wanted to tell her to get over it, that at least her mother would come back, that she knew she'd be okay, when Elena was dying and he couldn't reach her, hadn't been able to hold her, kiss her, and she'd told him that she loved him, the first person to do so in over a thousand years, in all his life that had ever mattered, and now her lifeblood was spilling out onto, into, the same land that had tasted his blood ten centuries ago, a growing pool of crimson he couldn't stop looking at, even as Bonnie dropped to her knees beside him and worked her magic...

Elena, Elena, Elena. Love, love, love. Blood, blood, blood. Broken, broken, broken.

His fault, his fault, it was always his fault...

Gasping, Bonnie tipped forward, a steady stream of blood dripping from her nose, mingling with the collection splattering the forest floor as she choked out a harsh, "It's down."

Faster than light, faster than thought, Klaus was beside the doppelgänger's body, teeth tearing into his wrist, cradling her to his chest as tipped back her head, parting her lips, every second a long-suspended agony as he waited for her eyes to open, her heart to beat, her face to break out in that wondrous smile that never ceased to amaze him, knowing it was for him.

Nothing happened.

Nothing.

There was too much blood, staining her coat a deep purple-black, sticking the ends of her hair like the bristles of a paintbrush, carelessly maintained, oversaturated with too much paint, too much blood...

"Where the hell is Elena? Is she okay?"

Over the body of Elena, Klaus's eyes, a lupine, predatory gold, shone darkly into those of his eldest brother. "Get him out of here."

And so he did, taking the Salvatores and leading them back into the house, murmuring to them quietly, explaining the situation, the fact that the woman they both loved so dearly was dead, and there was nothing they could do.

They'd give up, but Klaus wouldn't.

Interlacing his fingers, he put them to her chest, pumping away, willing her heart to start beating. He was Klaus Mikaelson, fearsome hybrid, loathed brother, hated monster. He was the phantom in the dark, the shadow that quickened people's step, made the hairs along their neck stand on edge, knowing they were being watched but not knowing who or why or how, he'd survived battles and brutes and brothers and betrayals and lost almost every single part of himself that mattered, looked in the mirror and saw only the ghosts of everyone and everything that had gotten in his way, that he'd dealt with so horrifically.

He was not a good man, or even a man at all, but he was going to be damned if he wasn't the one to save Elena Gilbert's life.

He couldn't live with any other alternative.

Life was not kind, only cruel, Klaus had wanted to tell her that night. But he'd have been wrong, so very wrong, because Elena had reached out her hand to him, had trusted and loved him when he could not love himself, had seen goodness in him that he had not know or ever hoped still existed, and he was far too selfish to ever let her go after hearing her say she loved him only once.

Ten, twenty, thirty. His mouth on hers, breathing into her lungs, his tears coating her face, his sobs breaking his own chest, but he didn't stop, couldn't stop...

And there it was. One, two, three, beat. Chest rising and falling, eyelids fluttering, surging upwards as she coughed, struggling to breath.

And for the second time that day, Klaus cried like he had not done in over a thousand years.

Weakly, Elena's hand rose up, gingerly cupping his cheek, shaking like a leaf but she was there, she was alright. "Hey, sweetheart. You alright?"

Klaus chuckled thinly, scrubbing a hand over his cheeks, biting into his other wrist. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"

Elena shrugged, taking his arm without protest. "I like to be contrary."

"I'll have to change your name to Mary, then."

She grinned around a mouthful of his blood. "I don't like silver bells, and I'm not much for the pretty maid thing, either."

"You two are so bloody weird."

Glancing up, Elena caught Rebekah's gaze, a tired smile gracing her face as she acknowledged her with a soft, "Maybe. Or maybe I just get him like no one else does."

Sweeping her up into his arms, sweeping a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her hands twining around his neck, feeling like he could finally breath, was finally home, Klaus couldn't help but agree.

Dressed in one of Nik's charcoal-grey t-shirts, all traces of blood and mud erased by a heavenly warm shower, back propped up by a mountain of pillows, Elena stared down at her phone, re-reading Bonnie's text over and over until her eyes blurred painfully.

Elena, I'm glad you're okay. I know what we did today was to save you, and I know you've been through a lot...but so have I. My mom's in transition, and I need to be there for her, and let's face it, you don't need me, you have a whole family of Mikaelsons who adore you, pretty much. I'm all my mom has. Caroline's gonna be helping me get her settled. Please, I know you'll want to fix this, apologize, and I know you mean well...but the best thing you can do for me is just stay away, okay? I need time.

I love you, and I'm sorry. Watch your back.

The words settled within her, each one a stone through the fragile glass house of her mental state. Even as she was saying how much she cared, Bonnie still had to throw in a dig about the Mikaelsons. She knew that Sheila had told her to always be wary of vampires but...they'd saved both their lives. They very well could have chosen Bonnie over Abby, not that Elena would have ever stood for that of course, yet the fact remained that they were both safe, and breathing, and Bonnie hadn't been used for a spell that very well might have killed her.

At least her mom got to come back. It was a horrible, selfish thought but...Elena had no one, not one single parent left, especially now that Ric hadn't even returned any of her calls, not even when she told him about Finn stabbing her under orders from Esther. She held no animosity towards the eldest Mikaelson sibling, no desire for revenge or reparations; he loved his mother, and that was not a crime. She only hoped that, one day, he'd be able to find his way back to himself, build a life that was solely his, come out from his mother's monstrous shadow and find out who he wanted to be.

Distantly, she heard the faint strains of conversation, Klaus' full of a bone-deep, weary ache, Elijah's composed but pulled taught, thin, on the verge of breaking. She'd almost had to physically shove him out of the room, so determined was he not to leave her side, possibly for the rest of forever. But Elena had understood that they needed to talk, things that needed to be said, decisions to be made. She had a feeling that Esther's betrayal had affected them all in different ways, ways that may not present themselves until later, riding on the coat-tails of shock and anger.

For so long, Mikael had been the monster to their family, the wicked to their mother's wounded yet nurturing presence. Now to find out that neither parent no longer held any sort of love for them...that was so much to deal with, to absorb, whether you were human or not, ten years old or a thousand. Elena considered herself lucky, in a way, that she had had such love in her life, that her parents had passed, but left behind no shred of doubt that they had loved her. Even after learning she was adopted, that John was her biological father, it had not dampened that love in any way.

And she felt just as strongly about Klaus, simply in a different way. When Damon and Stefan had come out of the witch house, seen her covered in her own blood like she was Haloween-ing as Carrie, looked at the way she clung to Klaus, the way he carried her so close to him, like it was as natural as breathing, how he hadn't even looked up, hadn't taken his eyes off of her, not for a nanosecond...they'd known. That it was over, what they'd had. The battle for her heart was over, and in the end neither one of them had gotten it. It was for the best; she had never, ever wanted to come between them, it had just...happened. There was bits of them both that she loved, and likely always would...but she loved all of Klaus, and that made all the difference in the world.

What was wrong with that? To her, absolutely nothing. He had killed her aunt, after all; only she could decided if she could forgive him, and she had. She'd forgiven him the moment he took her up to the bathroom not five feet away, had looked after her with such care, like she was precious and important but not breakable, something rare and unique but not fragile. He saw the steel in her eyes not as something to frown upon, but applaud, saw her love for her family and friends not as some martyred death-wish, but a primordial need to protect, to defend, to stand at the door and let no one pass, no matter what, even at the cost of her own life, underlined by a selfish need to shield herself from further grief, further loss.

She just wished she could help Bonnie see that, too, and then merely wished that her friend could trust her, or not make an apology into a dire warning that made her angrier than ever, set her teeth on edge until her jaw pulsed like a second heart, sharp enough to cut.

Hurtling the phone across the room, Elena watched as it bounced off the closed ensuite bathroom door, thudding to the carpet with a tiny crash.

"My, my, it seems someone's in a mood," Rebekah greeted her breezily, setting a cup of tea down on the bedside table, the crystal-cut glass cradled in her other hand filled with a dark liquid that Elena guessed was definitely not chamomile.

"Sorry," Elena murmured contritely, running a frustrated hand through her still damp-hair, pulling at the strands like they could relieve her of some of the tension still strumming through her veins like a live wire, insistent and buzzing and unavoidable, despite the danger having passed. She knew from experience that the adrenaline unceremoniously dumped into her system during and after events like this took a long time to dissipate, as if, even though she knew that she was safe and intact and the love of her life was one half-shout away...she was still scared to let her guard down. And she should be. Esther and Finn had vanished, leaving no trace behind; it wasn't exactly the comforting 'slaying the beast' ending she'd been hoping for. "I just...had a moment of helplessness, is all."

"Bonnie won't talk to you?"

Shaking her head, Elena inched back towards the headboard, making room for the blonde Original. Something flashed in the other woman's eyes -gratitude? Kindness? Sympathy?- as she took a seat, staring deep into her glass with a carefully contemplative look, no doubt weighing the benefits of being open, vulnerable, with Elena, given their dismal history in similar moments. Rebekah didn't want to be betrayed again; Elena had every intention of gaining her trust properly -since she doubted she'd ever really had it in the first place, not in the way she hoped to have moving forward. She was Klaus' sister, and not only that...Elena had felt a kind ship with her, two young woman who had wanted nothing more than to be normal and protect those they loved, only to be forced into things, choices, they never could have dreamed of themselves making.

Besides, if she was really intent on staying in Mystic Falls, then Elena wouldn't want her to do so friendless.

"Friends are awfully complicated, in my experience," Rebekah began, tone slow and measured, melancholic, so at odds with the sneers of disgust and hateful quips she'd previously subjected her to. "Especially when it comes to witches. They always seem to get so easily swept up into all our supernatural drama, and yet they have none of our imperviousness. They also judge more harshly, being brought up the way they are, the preciousness of their gift and maintaining nature's scales of justice or whatever.

"About a hundred years ago, I was friends with a witch, in New Orleans. Her name was Genevieve. We were both nurses, looking after wounded soldiers coming in from the war. That kind of experience, being around so much pain and suffering and death...it bonds you. I also didn't have to hide who I was like I had to do with the other girls; everyone knew who the Mikaelson family were, that we were the rules of the city and had been for over two centuries. She took quite the fancy to Nik, I must say, but after Mikael came in 1919, I never saw her again. I don't even know if she's still alive," Rebekah admitted sadly, shaking her head like she could banish the tangled cobwebs of her memories. "Anyway...Bonnie was your friend long before she knew she was a witch, correct?"

Elena inclined her head, reaching out to take a sip of her tea. "Right. We've been best friends since forever. Her mom was best friends with my mom; we've never lived in a world without each other," the brunette explained, a pang of regret searing her like a solar flare, an influx of guilt pummeling her from all sides. Her best friend's mom, her own mother's closest friend, was a vampire because of her, could never do magic again because of her, so soon after reconnecting with it and her daughter...

"Her loyalties are being tested, but I'm sure, with time, she'll see that you mean far more to her than any spell or incantation or whatever. Friendship is its own kind of magic."

Shaking her head, Elena snuffed out the kernel of hope the blonde's assurances evoked, revoked them as she argued back, "Even more than her own mother? The one she's been missing for so long, who she's spent the past decade wondering about?"

"But you were there for her; Abby is still a stranger. Family is, after all, more than blood."

"Why did you say it like that?" Elena frowned, leaning forward slightly, careful not to jostle the cup of still-hot tea in her hand.

Rebekah blinked at her innocently. "Like what?" Faux innocence more like.

"Like you're trying to tell me something," Elena accused, albeit lightly, discarding her tea and crossing her arms, pining the Original with her most inquisitive, abrasive stare, as if she could pull the truth out of her like a magician pulling a rabbit out of their hat; through sheer force of will and belief, and knowing when the audience isn't looking.

But Elena wasn't the only one with a few tricks. "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Who am say?" She may have looked like a teenager, but those eyes, that mind...they spoke volumes of how old she truly was, how much she'd seen and done and learnt, most of which she'd no doubt shared to few others. Once your guard went up, it was infinitely harder to bring it back down, had a lot in common with the saying, 'It takes a lot less time to fall apart than it does to put yourself back together.'

She might not ever say it, not outright, but still... "Rebekah, if this is your way of giving me your approval, I must say, its pretty unorthodox. And convoluted," Elena added for good measure.

"We Mikaelsons like to play with our words as well as our food," Kol announced dramatically, opening the door and flouncing onto the bed, making himself comfortable -even though he couldn't be, draped over her blanket-covered legs like that.

"Kol! Get the hell out of here!" Rebekah barked, swatting at her brother like he was a bothersome fly, only to have him expertly dodge her attempts, laughing all the while. God, she saw so much if Jeremy in him; she'd been just like that with him. He'd never listened, not when she told him to pick up his toys before their parents got home or to not try and press his luck with an extra slice of cake or an extra ten bucks of pocket money. That teasing, exasperated, 'You annoy me so much sometimes but in truth I wouldn't want you to be any other way.'

She'd missed it. Maybe, now that things were better, she could think about bringing him home, if he wanted. If he'd even want to be around her once he'd learnt the truth, that she'd gotten Damon to compel him, had taken away his choice, just like Bonnie had said on Caroline's birthday...

"Sorry, did I interrupt a girly moment?" He steepled his fingers under his chin, elbows digging into Elena's shins. She let him; the guy deserved some fun after the day he'd had. "Want me to go away so you can braid each other's hair and do facials and you can tell Elena about how dreamy you find that Donovan boy...?"

Rebekah knocked him upside the head, jaw clenched murderously tight. "You git! You swore you wouldn't tell!"

"Didn't you two used to date, Elena darling?" Kol inquired mildly, a tell-tale smirking dancing across his lips, clearly aware of the facts already put having too much fun playing with them.

"And you know that how...?" Elena trailed off, promptly answering her own question after a seconds thought: "Caroline." Of course. She just really like him. Elena could see why, with his dark wit and easy charm, the shadow to Care's sunshine. She'd be a good influence on him, and he'd no doubt get the notorious control-freak to lighten up, to live a little like she'd been so eager to do now that she'd acknowledged that her human life was over. Oh, the possibilities for double dates...

"She told me quite the tale of your romantic history, full of twists and turns and-"

"Alright, alright, we get the bloody picture." Rebekah was suddenly quiet, twiddling the glass of blood between her palms in...nervousness? "You don't...mind, do you?"

"Of course not!" Elena insisted, moving Kol off her legs so she could embrace her properly. "Why would I mind? Matt deserves to be happy, and so do you. I think he'd be good for you, help you feel a little more settled, connected here. I know you didn't get the warmest of welcome's and I know this place isn't exactly high up on excitement outside of all our supernatural drama, but it was your home once. I'd like to help you find that again."

"I'd like that. Besides, someone needs to stick around and keep our arse of a brother in check; we all know you certainly won't."

Settling back, Elena let out a laugh, ringing bright with defiance. "Hey, just because we've declared our undying love for each other doesn't mean that I'm afraid to give him a piece of my mind if I think he's wrong or doing something stupid or dangerous or just plain immoral. That's not how we work."

"And I wholeheartedly second that." Leaning in the doorway, taking in the scene with an intensity that stole the breath from her lungs -like he'd just walked in on a perfect moment, like he wanted to paint it, like he wanted his future to look just like this- as Klaus smiled. "Hello, love. My siblings being a nuisance, are they?"

Shaking her head at his antics -there was no way he hadn't been listening in on the entirety of their conversation, even as he conversed with Elijah- Elena defended them fervently, "Perfectly nice, actually."

"Yes, Nik, must you really assume the worst of us?" Kol frowned, the picture of scandalized hurt. Okay, maybe that was a bit much.

"It saves a lot of time and energy better spent elsewhere..." Klaus remarked, gaze snaring on Elena's, endearing her, those gorgeous blue eyes she could never summon enough willpower to look away from, and now never wanted to.

"Gods, you're disgusting. Seriously. Come on, Kol, I need a drink after seeing that," Rebekah declared, hauling her brother up to his feet and exiting the room, his disgruntled voice carrying through the hall..."Just one? I need five, or possibly a whole damn bottle."

It was just the two of them. Just the two of them, once again, in his room, only this time there was no awkwardness, no concealment of how they felt, how much they wanted each other. He was standing right there, and she was right here, and she'd told him two hours ago that she loved him and he hadn't brought it up, yet still he asked her, "How are you?"

"Better, now that you're here," was her sweet reply as she set her cup aside, expecting something equally saccharine from him, but...Klaus raised a brow, clearly unimpressed.

"What?" Elena sputtered indignantly "It's the truth." There wasn't anything to worry about; she was fine, better than fine, even. Yes, she'd had a traumatizing day, but honestly...getting stabbed hadn't been the worst of it. The fear, the worry for him, that had cut her deeper than any blade, damaged her more than any blow ever could. Tissue could heal; her heart could not, would not, without him.

"Very well," Nik relented, taking a seat again the foot of his bed, seemingly strangely ill at ease, fingers drumming absently on his thighs like his hands itched for a paintbrush, an outlet for his emotions, jumbled as they were. "I was...worried, I suppose," he began, eyes not on her but the carpet, flecked here and there with paint like he'd been dripping it and hadn't noticed (or most likely bothered to clean it) "that after tonight, and the last two days in general...that you might change your mind."

Elena sucked in a breath, readying herself for what she was about to say, all she needed to tell him, assure him. "Nik? Nik, look at me." He did. And there was such unshaded vulnerability there, such fear that this was it, she'd had enough, that she was going to abandon him, that she'd deemed him too dangerous or their love not strong enough. As if that would ever happen. Clambering over the bed, she settled in his lap, straddling him, holding onto his face so that he had no chance of looking away as she poured her very heart and soul and spirit out to him, "I love you. I am not going anywhere. Do you really think that some psycho witch with a god complex is enough to scare me off? That getting stabbed is all it would take to make me change my mind about you, about us? To give up on this amazing thing that we have? I'm the doppelgänger; my fate was decided the minute I was born. Dangers always gonna be around the corner, they'll be more people like Esther trying to get my blood or get to you, and all we can do is live our lives in the quiet, in the peaceful in-betweens."

Her lips ghosted against his, once, twice, three times, each one an affirmation, a promise, a plea for him to listen, to take her words as the truth that they were. No, she had no doubts. No, she wouldn't walk away, wouldn't give up. Yes, she knew it likely wouldn't always be like this, that he had a temper and that she could be as stubborn as a boulder in a creek, but that was life, that was love. And all of it was worth it, worth fighting for.

She'd forgotten that, in the months after Stefan left, when the memory of their love faded like a sepia-worn photograph, almost unrecognizable, once beloved features now indiscernible. But Klaus, he brought it all back, with startling clarity. Her fire has been dimming, on the verge of dying out, and with one night, one look, he'd brought it back to life, brought back her. So now, when she saw her face in the mirror, she saw her: the girl who had loved, and lost, and still reached out. Who had bluffed with Originals and tangled with vampires and was still here, still had people she would do anything to protect. All hope was not lost, just misplaced, held in the wrong pair of hands, sequestered in the wrong heart.

All along, it only should have ever been with him, only he saw her for everything she was and everything she could be. And with him, she could be so very, very much.

"Come on, Klaus, have you ever known me to scare so easily?" Elena wondered of him, smoothing a hand through his hair, settling it on his cheek, wanting to reassure him with her touch as well as her words. "To run from a fight when I know something's worth fighting for? That I'd suddenly decided I wanted a normal, apple-pie life after dating a vampire, and a Ripper at that, and everything that happened with Damon? All this stuff is a part of me now, and I can't, and won't, walk away from it. I wouldn't change anything about us, not for anything in the world. This is where I want to be, with you. As long as you want me."

"Forever," he murmured into the heart of her palm. "I want you forever."

"Then forever it is," Elena said, convicted beyond doubt, pressing her lips against his one final time as she tried -and failed- to suppress a yawn.

Prying her off his lap, he twisted her so that she was back under the covers, him resting on top of her, the tip of his nose caressing hers as he urged her, "You should sleep."

Elena shook her head, peppering kisses along the line of his jaw. "I'm not tired."

"Right, says the woman who almost cracked her jaw like an egg with that yawn."

She stilled, stopped. Took a breath. Considered hiding it from him but then decided not to, shw knew he'd understand, and if she didn't she'd just make sure she explained it really, really well..."I-I always have nightmares." She carded her fingers through his hair, letting the motion calm her, drawing strength from his (tantalizingly, temptingly) close proximity. "I never really talk about it with anyone -we seem to just sweep stuff like this under the rug, you know? Move on before the next show starts and we do it all over again, going through the motions that is life in this crazy town of ours- so I usually just tire myself out, doing homework or catching up on things that need doing around the house until I literally can't stand up anymore-"

"There's no need for that," he murmured, one hand gravitating to her waist, the other resting over her heart, eyes impossibly earnest as he asked, "Do you trust me?"

She could have said, 'Of course I do.' Could have said, 'Duh, I wouldn't have been kissing you and sitting in your lap and confessing all my deepest feelings to you if I didn't,' but she knew, instinctively, that wasn't what he needed to hear. What he did need to hear was, "I trust you," and so she did, because she did, trust him. Had trusted him long before she'd loved him, even if it had only been his desire for hybrids, which required her whole and hale.

"Close your eyes, my love."

Elena closed her eyes, melting into the pillows, the heat of him along her front, searing every inch of her, but in a good way, the best way. She felt his hands skating along her neck, reaching behind her head, there and then gone. She leaned into him, feeling utterly safe, as his amused chuckle rasped in her ear, her mind, "Alright, you can look."

She did, and her gasp died in her throat, mainly because she was asleep, and Klaus was in her mind. He'd taken off her necklace, then, and with the amount of blood lost she'd suffered, all the vervain in her system would have gone. Standing in a field of wildflowers, nothing but trees and rolling green hills stretching on forever, Elena tipped her head back, basking in the imaginary sunlight. Glancing down, she noted happily that he hadn't tried to put her in a fancy dress like someone else might have, she was in her usual sweater and jeans, trusty Converse on her feet. Flinging out her arms, Elena caught him to her, almost sending the hybrid tumbling to the grass, kidnapping his laugh with her mouth. "This is incredible. Thank you."

Klaus smiled, the kind that lit up his entire face, setting it aglow like a sunrise, something being born rather than dying. "You're welcome, Elena."

"I love you." She wished she was saying it to his face, in real life, but for now, it was close enough. She'd have time to tell him tomorrow, and the next day, and the next...

"I love you. And I'm in awe of what you did today, how brave you were. I've never seen anything like it. I've never met anyone like you."

It hit home. With her insecurities about Katherine -let alone finding out that there'd been another before that, Tatia, whom both Klaus and Elijah had loved- it meant everything that he saw her for who she was, not who she looked like. Who saw her soul, and wasn't distracted or intimidated by the packaging -in this case, reused thrice over (that she knew of).

"You're pretty Original yourself, Mr Hybrid," Elena teased, giggling when he he spun her around again, grass swaying around them like a round of applause, like an eager audience that got the ending they wanted.

"That was truly terrible. Really."

"Yeah, but you love me for it."

"That I do, Elena Gilbert. That I do."

Content in her field of wildflowers, Elena let her body relax, drifting off to sleep.

Only...she didn't wake up.

He never should have gone back downstairs. Never should have spent the rest of the night arguing with Elijah over their next course of action, over what to do about their mother and eldest brother. If he had, Klaus knew he would have noticed sooner, might have been able to do something...

Because when he tried to wake Elena up in the morning, she didn't stir. She hadn't moved all night, blankets still tucked around her the same way as when he'd kissed her forehead before he left, making sure to tuck her necklace in his pocket so he could give it to her when she woke. She was so, so still. A sheen of sweat darkened her brow, loose strands of hair sticking to her neck like tendrils of deep-sea seaweed, the chestnut brown a stark contrast to her increasingly pale skin, the high flush arching across her cheeks.

He didn't know what to do.

Klaus put a hand to her forehead, swearing at the heat that radiates from her like a miniature furnace. This wasn't an ordinary cold or flu. He knew it in his bones.

He tried calling her name once last time, gripping her hand tighty in his own. "Elena? Elena, sweetheart, it's me. Wake up." Not a blink, not a flutter. Her heartbeat was still there, but irregular, erratic, far too distressed for someone in the midst of sleep, especially with him controlling her dreams as he had been until an hour ago, when he and Elijah had finally called it a night -despite it being six in the morning.

What was wrong with her? Had there been something on that knife when Finn...

There was no time for speculation now. Letting go of Elena, Klaus did what he always did when he was in trouble and didn't know how to get out of it:

"Elijah! I need you!"

His brother was there in an instant, immediately on alert at his brother's panicked tone; Klaus never panicked, never worried when he had the power to change any situation to his desired outcome and had the patience to back it up. "What is it?"

"Elena won't wake up."

Elijah narrowed his eyes, ever so slightly. "Have you tried..."

"Short of upending a bucket of water over her head then yes, I have tried everything, otherwise I wouldn't be calling for you like the house is on bloody fire! Something's, wrong, 'Lijah. I tried to enter her mind but something shut me out." His voice cracked, impossibility small. He once would have thought it pathetic, to be so linked to another person, so dependent on their happiness and well-being for your own. Now, he only saw it as a strength, the strength of his connection to her, the love that had bloomed almost overnight and yet he couldn't be sustained without.

It only meant that Elena was too wonderful to lose.

Elijah frowned, gazing at Elena's still form curiously. "Did you notice this?"

"Notice what?" Klaus snapped, scowling when Elijah took a breath like he was losing his patience, cutting him some slack as he said slowly, "The mark on her neck."

Bending his head, Klaus inspected the area Elijah was alluding to, noticing for the first time a petal-shaped mark on the side of her neck, previously hidden by her hair.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...

Klaus' phone started ringing. He knew who it was before he picked it up. "It wasn't enough to try and kill me and the rest of our family? You had to poison the love of my life as well?"

"A counter measure," Esther Mikaelson replied smoothly, unruffled by the burning-the-world-down fury in her son's voice, "just in case things didn't proceed as I'd planned. There was always the possibility -albeit slim- that you would foil my plans. If that was the case, I intended to make you suffer for it. And, as you said: she is the love of your life. What better way to hurt you than through her? I knew you'd recognize it from when you were a boy -your birth father was the one who collected it for me, he was such a kind and gentle soul...but it's been such a long time since the Merlock orchid grew in that area. I doubt it still exists there. And I may or may not have given her the dose I usually poured out for Mikael...a grown man...over twice her age, her weight, her strength..."

"I hate you." It was meant to be the worst thing a child could say to a parent, the ultimate kind of betrayal that was near-on-impossible to take back, and even if you did...it lingered, an after-taste of shame and regret, a line breached.

Klaus was not ashamed. He did not regret it. Not to her, never for her, not after what she'd done to Elena. Not after he'd promised to keep her safe, always and forever...

"I know," Esther replied, a mocking grin evident in her voice, gloating and ghoulish. What kind of parent delighted in breaking their child like this? Killing them was one thing, but dismantling him so irrevocably, taking out his parts like dissecting a watch, knowing how it worked better than almost any other because she'd made it...

"You took everything from me."

"And I'll take her, too. And I will keep on taking until you are dead at my feet, every single one of you, my wretched, wonderful children."

"Would you accept a trade? If I came to you, would you heal her?" He'd do it. He'd do it in a second, less than that-

"Even if you did, there's nothing I can do. Without the root of the Merlock...Elena will be dead by the end of the day, most likely sooner, after being injured as she was. That's why you're so scared, isn't it? She still has your blood in her system; she will die, and come back as a vampire, as one of you. No longer your sweet, brave girl, but a twisted, evil monster. It's almost like I planned it." She adopted a wicked, taunting tone goading him, baiting him, belittling him. "Almost like I drugged her tea when she came to see me, then took the knife with her blood on it so I could activate the poison whenever I pleased, even from a million miles away..."

"She's innocent!" Klaus screamed, gripling the phone so hard it almost snapped in two; he knew the feeling, was experiencing it at that very moment, this fraying of himself, sanity pulling away at the seams. "She hasn't done anything wrong, not a single thing in her entire life..."

"Then you should have thought better of falling for her, of allowing yourself a weakness I could so easily exploit," Esther snarled viciously, before changing into a more sympathetic cadence, donning the costume of doting mother, "It's just good strategy, Niklaus, nothing you wouldn't have done."

Klaus shook his head, although if course she wasn't there to witness it. "That is not who I am, not anymore."

"And how long do you think that will last, after she dies? A week, a month? A decade? How long before you're knee-deep in blood, a parade of corpses of innocents all around you, all like your darling lover? I doubt it will be long."

"You know I will hunt you down for this. You know that coming for her means your death-"

Esther cut him off, an insidious swipe of her barbed-wire claws, "Then it shall be worth it, just to see you suffer. You must learn, my son, that nobody crosses me. Nobody makes a fool out of me. I have all the cards, and I shall always win. Give my best to Elijah and the others."

The phone fell from limp fingers, clattering to the floor. He resisted the urge to join it. "Get Bonnie Bennett."

Of course Elijah thought now was the most prudent time to be testing his patience, and his limits. "Niklaus, she won't see any of us-"

"Get her here! Break down the door if you have to!"

Unexpectedly, his bedroom door blew open like a hurricane, emitting a whirlwind of blonde hair and high-pitched incredulity. "What the bloody hell is going on in here?"

Two words, a noun and a verb, a beginning and an ending, a hope and it's destruction, amd the end of all of Klaus's fleeting happiness, that dragonfly-wing-delicate thing he'd tried so hard to protect, to avoid at any and all and every cost. "Elena's dying."

After ensuring that Elena was in the capable hands of his sister, Klaus went on the warpath. Flashing down the stairs, he tore into his mother's private rooms, bypassing the neatly made, antiquated, four-poster bed and going straight to the armoire on the opposite wall, filled with bottles and tinctures and various spell ingredients, looking for any trace of the Merlock orchid. She had to have got it somehow, either found it here in town or procured it from someone; it didn't just appear out of thin air. He searched everywhere, broke every draw and box and satchel, upended every grimoire and candle, tearing through every possible nook and cranny like a man possessed -because he was, possessed by fear and horror and rage- but couldn't find a single trace of it.

Fingers digging through his hair, Klaus poured over every inch of their conversation, any possible hint or clue that could help him, but he could hardly hear himself think over the pounding of his heart, echoed by that of Elena's upstairs, irrevocably tuned in to her suffering...

Tea. Esther had said something about tea.

Crashing through the solarium, Klaus stopped dead when he saw the tea set, left out, like it was waiting for him, like she'd planned this moment exactly, a prophecy of old, Macbeth and the witches and his doom and his greed, because Klaus had been greedy, so greedy, all his life, with his need for love and approval then for blood and respect and loyalty and the terrified screams of others, and now this time with Elena, his love for her, and she for him...

Grabbing the cup, dusted with a trace of Elena's lip gloss, Klaus ran a finger around the bottom, a gathering of purple granules clinging to the pad of his finger. She wouldn't have noticed, wouldn't have had any idea that it wasn't just some herbal tea...

Biting down on his knuckles, dropping the cup to the table, Klaus repressed a sob. Oh, gods. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, he'd already lost her once, and now he was going through it again, and he felt like he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, a feeling of utter helplessness and rage clawing at his insides, tearing the walls of his self-control to shreds.

"Why don't you go sit with her? You look like you need a minute."

He hadn't noticed his youngest brother appear, too preoccupied by his spiralling thoughts, the control spiralling away from him like a lady in a dance, getting further and further out of his reach, taunting him, haunting him with memories of who he'd been, of he'd never let anyone or anything affect him.

Klaus shook his head at Kol, not even turning to face him as he growled lowly, "I'm fine."

A hand came out, forcing Klaus around to meet his brother's blazing gaze. "No, you're bloody well not. The woman you love is dying, and it's our own mum's fault, and we have no idea if we can save her or not." He took a breath, such compassion in his voice that it made him want to weep, made him want to fall to his knees and never geg back up, because it really must be bad if Kol Mikaelson of all people was trying to comfort him. "Nik, you have every right to not be okay right now."

"But I have to be!" Klaus insisted, too far gone to hide his tears. "I have to be, for her. I can't fall apart now! I have to find the orchid-"

"You're saying it like we won't help you, like we'll just bugger off and leave you to sort this all out on your own. Nik, I know we don't always act like it, but we are a family. And we all love Elena."

The hybrid shook his head, a dark, disbelieving laugh clawing itself up his throat, choking him. "Kol, you don't even know her! You've never cared for anyone if you didn't find some value in them, usually in whatever scheme you were concocting."

A blink. A smirk hiding a blow. A joke. "True. Hurtful, but true." And he almost wished he could take it back. "But...it didn't stop you, did it?" Kol inquired, expertly turning the tables, forever understated, underestimated, those bright eyes seeing everything, missing nothing, knowing what buttons to push to get Klaus to open up, to redirect him, if only for a moment. "You've been together for, what, a day? And already you can't live without her." He said it so easily, so casually, like Elena's presence was already a part of their life, their family. Like maybe his siblings had needed someone who understood them, supported them, as much as Klaus had. "And, for the record, I do know her: she's the woman you love, and that's all I need to know. Besides, anyone who manages to make you a half-way decent person most certainly deserves to be kept around," Kol added, jaunty smile firmly in place, a welcome reprieve back to familiar territory. "And she laughs at my jokes."

It shouldn't mean what it did. He'd never needed his siblings' approval on anyone, let alone Kol's, but the fact that he cared enough to be here, right now, for him, for Elena, without expecting anything in return, no tricks up his sleeve or metaphorical dagger to stab him in the back with -because thank god he'd never finished his actual one- brought tears to his eyes once again, spilling onto his brother's shoulder as he clasped him in a tight embrace, finally allowing the surge of terror and despair that had been cresting within him since Elena had not opened her eyes.

"I know, I know," Kol said sadly, but not without a slight essence of humour, given the sheer improbability of the moment. "Let it all out."

Dragging himself away, Klaus swiped at his eyes, biting out a harsh laugh that echoed around them. "What are you, Oprah?"

"Nah, just emotionally invested. I like you when when you're not daggering me. I like it when you're happy. Reminds me of who I used to be, before all this. So. You, upstairs with your girl. Me, traipsing through the forest."

Striding into the room, Elijah's gaze immediately went to him, eyes softening at the obvious signs of his tears. Damn it; he'd wanted to keep this to himself, to pretend, at least externally, that he could handle this, could project confidence and clarity of mind even if on the inside he was so very removed from such emotions. "Bonnie's here."

The hybrid nodded, moving up the stairs in a blink, finding her outside his closed bedroom door, anger carving deep furrows in her face, along with grief. He knew that, of she were awake, Elena would give him hell for summoning her friend here like this, of depriving her of the time she both needed and deserved after everything she'd sacrificed. But Elena came first, and she always would; she could yell at him all she wanted when she awoke, and he'd take it all with a besotted, achingly grateful smile. "Hello, Bonnie. Thank you for coming."

She didn't bother with niceties, cutting right to the bone. "Elena's sick?"

If only. If only it were that simple, that easy, that treatable. If only she had a cold and he could make her some tea and soup and watch all those historical dramas she secretly adored under the covers and know that in a few days she'd be as right as rain...how did he tell her that she was dying, slowly, in agony, and that it was his fault, for loving her, for having the audacity to even contemplate a future of happiness and light...

He didn't. Because Kol suddenly pushed him aside, arms crossed tightly over his chest, like he could protect his older brother from the simmering ire glowing in the witch's eyes like sparked coals. "Dying, actually," he corrected her with a lazy, sharp-edged grin. "But we wanted to see if you could help us. She was poisoned by a very old, very rare flower, the Merlock Orchid. My brother did a very thorough inspection of the house, but the only traces of it we could find are in this cup." He jangled the offending item in his hands, spinning it like a top between his palms until the sides blur, a rainbow of blue and pink and white. "We were hoping if you could do a locator spell, match the specimen to any that may be in the area, since they grew here in Mystic Falls we when were still humans. And...see what you can do for Elena. It seems she's in a lot of pain, and we want to buy her, and ourselves, more time to search."

"And you can't buy this plant off of eBay?" Bonnie huffed, bypassing the seriousness of the matter with pointless humour, setting Klaus' teeth on edge, a roar coalescing in his chest like encroaching thunder, wishing to eradicate everything in its path.

Kol tapped his foot, the only sign of his impatience and disapproval. "Would I be standing here if I could just FedEx it?"

"Alright, alright," the witch agreed wearily. "Can I see her?"

"Of course." Leading the way into the bedroom, Klaus had a front row seat as he saw Kol since at Elena's deteriorating state, the flushed cheeks amid paper-pale skin, her chest rising and falling in-between shallow breaths. He turned his head, ever so slightly, amd was every inch the psychotic madman history had made him out to be as he vowed, "Don't you dare make this harder for my brother, or there will be consequences. She may be your best friend, but she's his soulmate, and the heart of this family. He does not deserve your wrath, and I refuse to let Elena die because of it. Understood?"

With a tone like that, Bonnie could do nothing but nod in agreement, and Klaus was so very, very proud of his baby brother.

"I'll start in the woods where they used to grow. Let me know if you come up with anything more specific," Kol asked of him, squeezing his shoulder fleetingly before exiting the room, leaving the two of them in a hair-pin-drop silence.

"How long as she been like this?" Bonnie questioned him, laying a palm on Elena's forehead, frown intensifying, puckering the corners of her mouth with needle-pricks of worry.

His voice was hoarse, like he'd been screaming his lungs faw. Or crying his heart out. "An hour, maybe longer. She was fine before she went to sleep and then...I found her like this." Klaus' gaze flitted all around the room, an imprisoned bird looking for escape, unable to hover on the heartbreaking image on the bed. "How's your mother?"

Bonnie arched a brow, planting her hands on her hips, the pose so very Elena that it choked a desperate breath from him. "Elena's dying, and you're asking me about the mom you helped kill?"

"If I look at her any longer, I'll lose it, and believe me, that is not something you want to bear witness to, witch," he answered her honestly, hating to show weakness to someone he so vehemently disliked, yet more than willing to do it for Elena's sake. What was the death of his pride compared to that of his truest love?

"Okay, okay." Absently, she glanced at Elena's phone lying on the bedside table, screen still open to their last exchange, voice exposed like a stripped-down wire as she wondered quietly, "Was she...was she upset? About what I said?"

"What do you think?" Klaus asked, not unkindly. It was more than she deserved, more than he personally believed she had a right to, especially at that moment, but he wanted to prove, if not to himself than to her, that he was capable of goodness without promoting, that Elena really had brought out the best in him, that any genuineness on his part was not a show to impress her, trick her, lie to her.

Klaus was so very tired of lies.

Bonnie nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed, expression seeming as old as he was. "Yeah, most likely. I know I would have been. I said some pretty harsh things. I told her to watch her back, because I didn't trust you."

"I have never been an issue when it came to Elena's safety. I have always wanted to protect her, and she has always known that." He just hadn't known what if meant; forgive him for being a little slow on realizing the most important person in his whole damn life was actually the one he'd killed.

"Her blood, not her," the Bennett instantly corrected him, no doubt trying to convince herself rather than reprimand him in any way. Why did Elena have to value stubbornness so greatly? "Until a couple weeks ago, you didn't know the first thing about her."

A scathing insult, punctuated by the rasping breath of Elena behind her. And as much as Klaus loved a good argument..."We don't have time for this." Elena didn't have the time for them to sit around and squabble, squawking at each other like ruffled parrots. Bonnie thought he wasn't worthy of Elena? Fine. But it could wait.

"Make time for it, because I'm still not convinced it wasn't you or one of your crazy siblings who did this to her, using Esther as a convenient scapegoat since she isn't here to defend herself."

An interesting piece of fiction. Interesting, but wrong all the same. "I knew plenty." Arms braced on the footboard, face inches from hers, Klaus took savage delight on the witch's visible flinch, feeling like he was finally back in control, driving the conversation where he wished it, going on the offensive all the while defending himself and his love for Elena. "You forget I spent time in that History teacher of yours' body, saw how she was with you all. With you in particular, her very best friend, who she would have died for in an instant for, and still would. As would have you for her. The darling girl next door, friend to everyone, favourite of every teacher. I sat through many a tale in the teacher's lounge, listening to them all signing her praises, wondering just who was this girl I was meant to sacrifice, who was destined to give me everything I ever wanted."

"She didn't actively seem the attention like Caroline, but I'm sure she's always had her own kind of pull, hasn't she? Everyone either wanting to be her, or be with her. How it must have hurt, standing on the outskirts of all that, watching on, feeling left out and abandoned, then being delegated to little more than tech support when your friends needed magic done. Is that where all this has come from?" Klaus goaded her, a triumphant smirk marching victoriously over his features -there is a special delight in petty cruelty, one he had almost forgotten. It was swiftly coming back to him. "This distance from her, even as she lay dying?"

He could see it in her eyes, how she could not deny the truth of his words. So she made excuses for them instead. "It's different now. You don't get it, Klaus, we spent so long trying to get rid of you...and then she falls for you. Not just a crush, not just a one-time thing, but actual I-would-die-without-you love. I've known her almost her whole life, and I've never seen her feel so intensely about anyone. I was accepting of Stefan, to a point, and I never wanted her with Damon, but you...you're nothing compared to them. The number of people you've killed..."

"Is tremendous, and no business of yours," he cut her off, tone clipped, end of discussion. "Hate me all you want, Bonnie, I honestly don't care. But don't hate her, don't hate her for trying to be happy, for realizing that she deserves better that those idiots who were pulling her apart day by day without even realizing it. Or maybe they did; maybe they just didn't care. Or worse yet, they liked it, her fighting for both of them the way dear Katerina never did or could be bothered to."

"And who says you won't?" Bonnie challenged, hard and frustrating and unyielding and closed-minded as stone. "Just in a different way?"

The thought made Klaus pause, made a primal, soul-deep sense of wrongness, of no, never, I couldn't do it, not in this life or any other, not again, never again, filling every inch of his being. Grip tightening, almost splintering the wood under his callused palms, Klaus hung his head, looking at Elena, his words a gift to her and not the witch who'd asked, who anticipated such evil of him. "Because, if I ever hurt Elena...there would be nothing left for me, of me. No hope, no goodness, no light. I would be the monster you so desperately believe me to be, and I would be glad of it, because I wouldn't care. I really would be lost. I have walked this earth for centuries, each one spent more alone and broken than the last; you can't understand that. You've been surrounded by love your entire life, will always have people to call on in times of need, people who believe in you unconditionally. She is all I have."

"Hand me the cup. I'll set to work on the tracking spell."

Elena dreamt of cold hands, of fire and lightening singing through her veins, burning everything it touched, burning her from the inside out. Someone was taking to her, around her, a familiar sound, known since childhood, and she tried to reach for it, but it slipped through her fingers like sand.

So she held on to what she could. To the cold hands that made everything just a little bit better, the feel of them on her face so very far away, why was it so far, she wanted to go to them, knew that with them, she'd be safe, she'd always be safe...

"It's not working."

"Try again."

A roll of emerald eyes, shimmering with annoyance and a speck of self-frustration. "I've tried it four times now, even using her blood. Either this plant has a mind of its own and doesn't want me to find it, or Esther cloaked it with magic."

"But she would have done that when she was still linked to your ancestral line, correct? It would be within your powers to eradicate such a block," Elijah proposed, arms crossed neatly over his chest, posture casual but tone anywhere but as he lounged in Klaus's desk chair. Klaus was exactly where he should be, beside Elena on the bed, holding her hand, tidying the hair from her forehead when it tangled. When she trashed, like someone or something was burning her from the inside out, the purple petal mark blooming more aggressively as time ticked away, mocking their negligible progress.

"I'm not powerful enough to do something like that, not after she channeled me yesterday and all the days before that. And even if I was, she has a thousand years more experience with magic than I do; I wouldn't even know where to start on figuring out what spells she used, how to undo them in the time we have. All I can do is some spells for the pain, get her temperature down a little, hope it stops the spread of the poison some."

"That's not good enough."

Elijah held up a placating hand. "Niklaus..."

"No." The word was a growl, the word of the wolf, the one shining in his eyes, the Alpha, the threatened mate, the frantic man at the end of his rope. "You can't give up, you have to keep trying, you have to..."

Klaus trailed off, darting across the bed when his phone began to vibrate, hardly letting the thing ring once before answering. "Please tell me you have it."

"I'm sorry." It was a bad day in hell when Kol started a conversation like that, or said it to him at all. "I went to the field you told me to, but I couldn't find a damned thing. I couldn't feel any magic, either."

"Bonnie says they're cloaked."

"Than she'd either wrong or...I'm in the wrong place."

"They never grew anywhere else. She always harvested them from that same field. If there had been another source, she would have used it more. Sometimes there wasn't even enough flowers for her to make a single dose and she had to come home." And leave us to Mikael's wrath.

"I know." Kol sighed wearily, but all he said was, "I'll keep trying. I'll search the whole town, turn the whole thing bloody upside down if I have to."

"Don't." Klaus shook his head, although of course Kol couldn't see it. But Elijah could, could see the defeat, the death of hope. "Come back to the mansion, and bring Caroline with you. Just in case."

"I ran into Mr Saltzman on my way here. He wanted to know if I knew anything about Elena not answering her phone."

"Bring him as well," Klaus instructed, and hung up, letting the phone sit limply in his hands. Eventually, his eyes met Bonnie's. "Do what you can for her pain, then come downstairs."

"Why do we need to go downstairs?" she asked, hands already setting to work.

For the first time all morning, Klaus's smile was genuine. "Because we're going to need some space when you kill me."

Chapter Text

'I'll tell them put me back in it

Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I'd go through it again, ah, ah

I would still be surprised I could find you, darling

In any life

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah

I would not change it each time (I would not change it each time)

Heaven is not fit to house a love (Heaven is not fit to house a love)

Like you and I (like you and I)

Footsteps hounded his descent down the stairs, a stampeding rush of impatience and exclamations of incredulity -and lunacy- punctuated by the staccato rapid-fire of his sister's heels, the quiet slide of his brother's brogues against marble, the breathless, rushed squeak of age-worn sneakers, all of which Klaus easily ignored with the single-minded focus of a man who would not be dissuaded by arguments of logic, pleas of reasoning or demands for practicality. He'd meant what he said: he was going to die today. But only for a short while, only long enough to get the information he needed from the Other Side, and then come back and cure Elena. After which, he'd give that detestable prick Damon Salvatore an ultimatum regarding his ridiculous demands over their relationship, see how he liked it, when the shoe was on the other foot.

Elena may have agreed to his stipulations the heat of the moment, spurred on by her need to keep the peace, blinded by her passionate need and belief that there was no singular thing more important than family, that there was no cause worth putting the weight of herself above -even if he believed far to the contrary- but Klaus was far less understanding, and would make his feelings known with such colourful vengeance that it would have made Pollock's eyes swim to behold it. There was no way, after all of this, that he would not be with her, no way that he would let the love of his immortal love slip by simply because some young vampire couldn't get his head out of his own selfish, jealous arse and be happy for her, still delusionally clinging to some gossamer-thin hope that someway, someday, somehow, she'd choose him. That there existed a time and a place where he could get everything he always wanted, everything he believed he was entitled to, that he would have finally changed his ways enough as to be deemed acceptable, to be worthy of the prize he believed Elena Gilbert to be.

Hadn't he learnt by now? Hadn't any of them learnt that love did not work that way? It never had, and it never would.

Because if Elena had ever truly loved Damon Salvatore, she would have accepted him, all of him, a long time ago, Stefan or not. Because if Elena really wanted something, she fought for it, with every fiber of her heart, every inch of her soul. And, contrary to popular belief, she did not want an easy love; she'd picked Klaus, after all. And he was by far the most complicated being to walk the face of the earth, of that the hybrid would and could readily admit, damaged and twisted and torn-apart like old parchment, gaping holes in his morals and a threadbare sense of humility. He did not know how to be anyone but himself, this raging, violent thing that seemed to make the very earth quake with his mere presence; Elena was not asking him to. Had never asked him to, not once, not out of fear but because she knew that that kind of change had to come from himself. He had to want it, if he ever wanted it to stick.

Still, he had no idea about the confines and parameters and stipulations of a modern relationship; she was supposed to show him, had been working solely in the dark these last few days. They were meant to work it out, together.

Elena was supposed to teach him the one thing Klaus had never learnt: how to give your heart to someone, and entrust them to keep it without breaking it.

So everything would work out. It had to. Because he himself was selfish, and jealous, had spent so many centuries watching his siblings falling in love, over and over again, seeing how it transformed them, tempered their sharp edges and their claws, but never had he truly experienced it for himself, until now. Until Elena Gilbert with her smiles and her secret sadness and her need to please and her desire to love and the aching loneliness that had so deeply resonated with him that night, two sides of the same coin, equal and opposing faces, forces, coming together, falling together, falling for each other like fate had already laid out every single step of this for them, so they could end up here.

Lady Fate was not a mistress one easily ignored; Klaus had no intentions of denying her her scheming.

"Niklaus, would you mind explaining yourself and just what exactly you're up to?" Elijah demanded, one hand reaching out to still him in place, spinning him around on the tiled kitchen floor.

Klaus shrugged off his brother's grip, proceeding through the house as he called over his shoulder ambiguously, "I'm going to get a bottle of wine."

At first, he hadn't known where best to keep the damned thing. At first, he'd had no idea why he'd even chosen to hold on to it, to take a knife and carve a tiny, disc-shaped sliver of Mikael's white oak stake, no bigger than a loose button off a coat. Maybe as insurance, a future bargaining chip, something he could negotiate with. Or maybe something else, something darker, like if he was ever cursed by The Five again. If he ever turned into Mikael. If he decided that this existence as the hated, evil hybrid really wasn't worth living, and to finally call it a day. Or...as a reminder, that he could still be killed, that he wasn't invincible, and should live every day accordingly. Because life was so very much more intense when it was fleeting, each chance more appealing, each crazy idea and risk more delicious when there was no safety net to catch you.

Whatever the reason, Klaus was glad of it now as he traversed the gloom of the night-dark wine cellar, a chill creeping up his spine despite his imperviousness to temperature fluctuations, right hand immediately going to a now-familiar spot, plucking the empty bottle of cherry wine he'd saved from his and Elena's first night. Taking out the broken cork, he tipped the bottle upside down until the remaining shard of white oak fell into his awaiting palm. It hadn't been big enough to be used as a proper stake, would barely even pierce his heart, but for what he had planned, he didn't need it to be, only needed it to incapacitate him long enough and gravely enough so he could reach the Other Side. And have a conversation with the man he could have called father.

Klaus gathered them all in the living room, waiting until both Caroline and Alaric -and Damon Salvatore, who supposedly just couldn't bear to be left out of anything, apparently- had converged in the collection of plush armchairs and sofas before explaining what exactly he had in mind.

"For those of you who don't know, Elena has been poisoned by my mother," he began, gently, if only for the sake of Caroline and Elena's pseudo-parent (who Klaus was mightily ticked off with for his callously irresponsible disappearing act over the course of the past few days). "It's fatal, and we've looked everywhere in Mystic Falls for the cure, but Bonnie was able to discover that the plant we need, the Merlock orchid, is being cloaked by magic. As a boy, I only remember it growing in one place. So I have to ask someone who also knew of its existence, and has used it before."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Damon's eyes went stormcloud blue, lightning sparks of fury dancing in their depths. "Woah, hold on a second. Elena's dying? Because of your mom? Oh, that's just terrific," he purred, a cruel little smirk crawling its way onto his face like an unwelcome insect. "Didn't I say this would happen? Didn't I say it was a bad idea for the mangy hybrid mutt to get his paws anywhere near Elena?"

"If you're fishing for validation, you won't find it, mate," Kol warned him, calm tone belying the ice in his expression, far colder than that currently swimming within the depths of his glass of bourbon. "We all know that neither of them were ever going to agree to your little deal. And if you thought otherwise...you're even more stupid than you look, which is a mighty fine achievement."

The elder Salvatore rolled his eyes, a default defense against criticism, Klaus had swiftly realized. "Piss off, Psycho Boy."

Klaus felt Rebekah tense at his side, a barely-suppressed growl locking her jaw as she snapped, angry and fast as a shark scenting blood in the water, "Don't speak to my brother like that, you wanker!"

"Yeah, what she said! Only in American," Caroline chimed in, never one to be left out of a good round of Damon Salvatore bashing. It still made him oddly curious, the apparent history that lay between the two. Klaus had his suspicions -he'd known many vampires with an attitude eerily similar to that of Stefan's brother, knew their tricks and their games and their traps for pretty prey- but knew it wasn't his place to pry. He doubted even Elena knew the full extent, otherwise Damon would have been removed from the inner sanctum long before this.

Ah, if only.

"As I was saying, I need to get in touch with someone familiar with the Merlock Orchid, only they're on the Other Side. So I have to die." Plain, simple, effective. An easy sequence of rational steps, culminating in one singular desire, one guaranteed outcome: making sure Elena lived. Everything else in-between was inconsequential.

"I'll take photos, make it my new lock screen wallpaper," Damon mocked arrogantly, leather-jacketed arms crossed over his chest, the picture of unruffled nonchalance. He hadn't even asked about her, if he could see her, if she was in pain or how she'd even been poisoned in the first place. No, he was chucking out quips like he was at a sunny Sunday barbeque, without a single care for...

"For God's sake, Damon, shut the fuck up! Elena is upstairs right now, dying, suffering from some magic poison that we might not be able to cure her of; now is not the time for making jokes!" Chest rising and falling from his startling outburst, Alaric turned to Klaus, expression somber but unwavering as he said, "I don't get what you mean by that, that you have to die: you're an Original, the Hybrid. Only the White Oak stake can kill you, and that burned along with Mikael."

Klaus tossed the piece of wood on the table, into the bowl he usually reserved for coasters as he merely replied, "Not all of it."

Alaric shook his head, fingertips tracing the rough whorls and swirls of wood. "Why can't I go?" he wondered, the words tripping over his tongue in their desperate rush to get out. "I could use the Gilbert ring, go to the Other Side like I normally do when someone kills me" -a pointed glare in Damon's vicinity, oh there was some lingering bad blood there- "and get whatever you need instead, with a solid guarantee I'll come back, unlike you. This could actually kill you. Permanently." The History teacher Klaus had formerly inhabited sighed, carding agitated fingers through his sandy hair, making it stick up in frenzied peaks, and Klaus felt for him in that moment, deeply and truly, seeing him in such clear distress over Elena, feeling bonded by the shared source of pain. And beyond that, he was grateful that even after losing two fathers, she had not lost a father's love.

"I don't get why you'd do this for her," Ric admitted, eyes skirting around the assembled group confusedly. "I don't even get why she's here, or why your siblings look like they're going to burst into tears. Did you all become friends or something while I was gone?" A dry chuckle, heavy with disbelief, absurdity, as if that was the strangest incident imaginable, even in this crazy town of theirs.

It was Rebekah who spoke up, voice firm yet soft, a happy-sad smile on her face as she corrected him, "No, not friends. Family. We love her like our own. Besides, if we showed even the slightest lick of disdain for her, Klaus would be putting us all back in coffins. But...she does grow on you, kind of like a weed, only prettier and with a sort of inspiring tenacity, especially when she's not letting the Salvatores dictate her every move like bloody puppet masters."

Damon made disgruntled murmurs of protest. Bekah happily ignored him, finishing with a heartfelt, "She's braver than I could have ever imagined a Petrova to be, and being here for her now is the least we can do to repay her for putting up with our darling brother."

"I quite agree, Bex. She's officially part of the fold, old sport," Kol added with his own bright grin. "We've practically adopted her. I'm sure Nik has every intention of changing her last name to Mikaelson at some point in the future..."

Silence held the reins of the room, relinquished when Alaric breathed out, barely audible, barely there, "You're...in love with my sort-of daughter?"

"Yes, very much so." No use lying. No use pretending. Curse the heavens and the stars, the deepest oceans of the earth, Niklaus Mikaelson was in love, and here he was, sitting in a room full of people who usually hated him, in a town he himself had hated, asking this man to trust him, trust in the fact that he would do anything for this young woman he called, claimed, as his blood, for no other reason than that he wanted to, had to, needed to, in order to continue living anything remotely resembling a fulfilled and worthwhile existence.

Ric nodded, seemingly satisfied despite the blunt answer. "And she feels the same?"

"Yes, she does." That was harder to say, even though she'd told him as such, had used her last moments during the spell last night to tell him so, deciding that out of everything she could have possibly said, any message she could have requested to be relayed to family or friends, any promise she could have extracted from him, that he would have moved mountains to achieve, and all she chose, all she had wished him to give him was the greatest gift of his immortal life: being loved by somebody, and knowing it to be true.

Alaric nodded again. Reached out, took Klaus' untouched glass of scotch, drained it dry, thumped it on the table. Swallowed like he'd just drank a bottle of acid and said, "And I still can't do this instead because...?"

Klaus tried not to let his relief show at the words, the lack of hostility, the quiet but no less meaningful acceptance. It was likely the only sign he'd from the man, after what he'd done to Jenna, that he now, selfishly, regretted, because it has caused Elena pain. But he'd been blinded, blinded by a thousand years' worth of waiting, of coming so close, right up to the very edge of satisfaction, only to be denied it. He'd been thinking only of himself, of making himself whole, and not of the family he was consequently tearing apart. "Because the person in question might not talk to you, but they most certainly will to me." He hoped. He prayed. Even if it was out of idle, parental curiosity, he hoped that Ansel was truly nothing like Mikael had been, that he really had been the kind man his mother had spoken of with such deep fondness and affection, even a thousand years after his death, love undimming despite all the havoc it had wrought on them all to varying degrees since then. "This is the only way we can get the information we need. Once I find the location of the orchid, Bonnie can remove the cloaking spell and we can harness the root for the antidote, since I unfortunately can't bring back any physical specimen. I have to find it there so that we can use it here."

An accepting nod from Alaric. "Okay then. So how are we doing this?"

Smiling tiredly, Klaus picked up the remaining piece of the white oak stake, spinning it deftly between his fingers, over his knuckles, a magician doing an elaborate coin trick, appearing and disappearing and reappearing, a similar feat to what he would soon be attempting. "With a little magic, some luck, and a great deal of faith, I imagine."

Half an hour later, with much bickering over crumbling grimoires and spell ratios, scattered remains of drunken bottles of alcohol used to calm raging nerves and fraying tempers littered like rubber skeletons in a haunted house attraction, after being forced to watch Kol and Caroline sitting so close on the sofa she was in danger of changing her postal address to his lap, the vampire hanging onto his brother's every word and sideways smirk, and making so many trips up to Elena's room -because he couldn't bear to not have someone with her that he'd almost made himself dizzy- Klaus was staring down into the mouth of a glass vial, full of a viscous liquid in an alarmingly off-putting shade of red. It reminded him of the berries he'd crushed as a boy to make red paint with, how his mother had always warned him to never eat them, that they were for the birds and would make him sick if he did. Oh, how things changed. How a mother could go from nurturing and protective to violent and destructive, could metamorphose into a being no longer capable of looking at himself or any of other children with any modicum of love.

Was he really so irredeemable? Klaus knew, given time, he would always forgive his siblings for any transgression or slight, knew that if Elena chopped his head off or ripped out his heart or set his paintings on fire he'd still kiss her just as sweetheart the next morning. If he could forgive, why couldn't she? Why could she not face the reality of her actions? This was what she wanted, what she asked the spirits to help her achieve; it wasn't their fault if she didn't read the fine print, didn't think there'd be consequences.

Later. He'd think about Esther later -if he ever even wished to spare a moment for her after all of this.

Gazing down at the thing in his hand, Klaus was hit with a vertiginous wave of uncertainty, bombarded by all the questions he currently had no answers to. He had no idea how long he'd be dead for, if it would even be enough time, if his body would repair itself too quickly and he'd return before he had the information he needed. He had a bottle of vervain and one of wolfsbane beside it, to slow the healing process, but it was just guesswork, a fool's gamble, a shot in the dark...

But he'd do it anyway. For Elena, for the one person who had seen him at his worst and brought out his best, he would gladly do this for her, put everything on the line, court uncertain death once again if it meant saving her from a very certain one.

He would do it, yes, but not without saying goodbye to her first.

Entrusting the vial in his older brother's capable hands, Klaus wordlessly left the room; everyone with a brain knew where he was going. Easing through the pulled-to door, Klaus made his way over to the bed, looking down at Elena through a misty haze of tears, clinging to his lashes with a force equalled by his grip on her hand, looking so small and fragile and pale in his.

It was the scariest thing he could have never imagined, this great woman who had stared down death and fangs and him, completely unafraid, beautiful as a sunrise, every colorful emotion in the sky, still so young and idealistic but still so wise, who had and felt things in ways Klaus never had, not even in all his years of life. Her stubbornness matched his own, her loneliness and love for her family echoed his. She was, truly, the bravest person he had ever met, and at that moment, he wished for a little more of it himself as he took her hand, thumb sweeping over the ridges of her knuckles, more pronounced and sharp than they'd ever been, her skin sticking to his with a sheen of fevered sweat as he watched the darkening tendrils of her veins, infected by his mother's poison, killing her with every beat of her heart.

With a shaky breath, the hybrid began. "Hello, sweetheart. I don't know if you can hear me or not. I don't know where you are, or what you're feeling. But I want you to know to not be afraid. I want you to know that I'm going to fix this, all of this, so that you can wake up, can be well again. I won't stop until I do, and we both know I'm the most determined, often pig-headed creature to ever roam the face of the earth. If I say I'm going to do something, I always do it. I will not let you die, Elena," Klaus promised her, stumbling over the word like he'd stumbled the first time he'd picked up a sword, as of yet unaccustomed to the weight but knowing he had to learn to bear it, would not survive if he didn't, "and no force of heaven or hell could or will ever stop me. This isn't even about us being together, about how we feel for one another. If this worked, if I cure you, and could only have you love by never seeing you again...I'd do it. I would. It would break me like nothing else, but I will never be the reason you suffer, never again."

Because he'd been wrong, earlier. Idealistic. Vain. Selfish. Because looking at her like this, with a spiderweb of purple-black veins marching across her skin like an invading, conquering army pillaging her of her strength and the rasping rattle of her breaths like brittle branches bombarded in a blustering gale that barely lifted her chest and the small whimper contorting her lips into a line of disorienting dismay as she tried to hide her pain even in the midst of her unconsciousness...yes, he would agree to Damon's terms, would let her live out a long and happy life, full of light and joy and all the wonder she could ever want, so long as she was here to live it, him and his loneliness and his need for her be damned as so many believed his soul to always, and forever be, if they even thought he had one at all.

It was the least he could give her, and was the most fitting punishment for a thousand years of cruelty and bloodshed.

"If I don't come back...I do not want you to blame yourself, for any of this, you hear? I don't want to be watching over you from the Great Beyond only to see you alone and miserable because of me." It was meant in jest, a teasing quip, but Klaus meant it, with all of his heart. If he did not make it out of today alive, he could only go in peace knowing that she would survive this in all ways. She'd be alright, he knew it in his bones. She would survive his loss, if it came to it. She'd survived the death of her parents, both adoptive and biological, had seen Jenna die and buried highschool friends and born witness to her brother's death almost as many times as he'd daggered his own. He couldn't go through with this if he didn't, if he didn't believe that he needed her more than she needed him, otherwise he would hold her in his arms for all time and never, ever leave.

Lightly, he touched her cheek, ran the back of his hand over her flushed skin. Could have almost sworn she smiled despite her abject agony. And it gave Klaus the strength to continue on, to bite back his tears like he'd bitten into so many necks as he felt a prickling in his own of unshed tears, "I want to thank you, Elena, for everything that you've done for me, everything you've given, for bestowing upon me the deepest love that I could have ever known and yet never believed myself worthy of. I want to thank you for your kindness, the truest gift I have never and will never deserve. And I want to thank you for the fact that wherever I go...I will have the memory of your light and your love with me, and keep it close, always and forever. And if I die...I will wait for you, wherever that may be, no matter how long it takes for us to be reunited, and every second of the wait will be worth it, for you, my Elena, my heart. Never forget that to me, you are unforgettable, and always shall be."

He pressed a kiss to her lips, felt his tears staining his own, and, for one, brief, butterfly-wing beat swift second, felt her stir beneath his touch, ever so slightly. Violently, Klaus pulled back, wrenched himself away from her, almost stumbling backwards, the process, the loss of contact more painful than transforming into a wolf had been that first moon, not far from here, feeling like he was losing something vital as he turned his back on her, made his way down the stairs without realizing he was doing so, no sound in the manor but that of his shallow footsteps, echoing dully like dirt being shoveled onto a grave. Wiping at his face, the hybrid cleared his throat harshly before swinging open the sliding doors of the sitting room, eight pairs of eyes staring at him with an intense, needling sympathy. He did not want their pity, only their help, and their promise that if it all went to hell, Elena would not be alone in the aftermath.

It's one of the things he knew she hated the most, being alone. That, and the constant waiting, the sword hanging over her head, never knowing when and if and how and who it will strike because she had never been afraid for her own life, only those of the people she deemed to necessary, to vital, to live without.

It was a strange thing, to know that somehow -and not just someone, but Elena Gilbert, former cheerleader and forever champion of goodness and honesty and courage- could ever believe that he was worth such a sacrifice, that Elena had walked to her death willingly once again, this time *for him rather than because of him. The thought had been on his mind for several hours, as he sat by her bedside, held her hand as staunchly as he held in his tears, why she'd gone with Finn last night. He hadn't had an invitation to the house, she could have waited him out. But in that time, he could have hurt someone else to get to her. Bonnie, or Caroline, or even Jeremy. Matt the human bartender or Liz Forbes the mortal sheriff.

Elena loved to many people to keep them all safe all the time, although Klaus did love watching her try, once out of amusement but now our of pride and respect for her stubborn determination, how she thought she could hold back the wave of death with little more than the palms of her hands and the grit of her soul.

She was too good for this world, certainly too good for him, and yet she had united him, him and his family and hers rallying under this same banner, this shared goal of her survival.

Even when she wasn't there, she was still making his life better. The least he could offer in turn was the promise not to kill anyone there.

"Stefan. I see you've joined the party. Are you here to celebrate over my still-warm corpse?" Klaus asked the most recent guest conversationally, raising a slightly amused brow when his old friend merely looked at him stonily and crossed his arms; the re-emergence of Brooding Stefan. How wonderful.

"You know why I'm here." I'm here for Elena. "What I don't know is why I was the last to know."

"Jer doesn't know yet. Alaric's telling him now, in case this goes bad," Bonnie remarked calmly, setting up a clockwise circle of candles, sizzling anger in her green eyes as she stared at Stefan. The wound of Abby's unwilling transformation was still too new, too raw, and Klaus suspected it would be a long time before she could look at either Salvatore without contempt, even though it had been a joint decision between them all.

"Personally, I wouldn't have told you at all," Klaus swooped in, diverting the vampire's attention and allowing Bonnie a moment's reprieve -she needed all her energy for the spell, after all, not to expel it on useless grudges- "but I suppose your brother is too much of a blabbermouth to resist. I bet he just loved making me out to be the villain of this particular piece, didn't you, Damon?"

Damon grinned, wicked and slow like a knife to the gut, twisting the blade in ever deeper. "You know I did."

"Why?" Stefan wondered, seeming to be genuinely hurt by the hybrid's implication, as if he could not possibly fathom any crime he should be punished for in the form of this denied knowledge, this impenetrable guarding of Elena. "Why wouldn't you want me here?"

In a flash, Bekah had him pinned to the wall, the raven surveying the worm it was about to clamp its beak around. Stefan was smart enough not to struggle, knowing from times past that it would only entice her appetite to spill a little blood. "Does he really have to spell it out for you?" his little sister seethed, spitting venom in a way he had not seen since he had forbidden her from being with Marcellus a hundred -and every other time before that- years ago. "You went after Elena. You kidnapped her, fed her your blood and were about to run her off the road where her parents died, where she almost died. I may have not been her biggest fan up until recently, but even I would have never done anything so twisted and cruel. Nik prizes loyalty and trust above all; he will never forgive you for breaking Elena's. And neither will she. It's how they started off in the first place."

"How do you mean?" The words were little more than a gasp, agonized by the torturous prospect that he had driven his 'great love' into the arms of his greatest enemy, that the Almighty Stefan had finally done something wrong that he could not blame on his Ripper. It was something Klaus had never done, never pretended that a hero lurked beneath his monster. There could, after all, be no darkness without light.

Gods, he was never going to get Elena out of his head, was he?

Gods, why did that no longer scare him, but make him feel loved like never before?

It was the hybrid's turn to answer flatly, "You left her stranded in the middle of nowhere after tossing her phone out the window. She had to ask Damon to come get her, who didn't even notice she was five seconds away from breaking. She needed to forget, and she needed to be somewhere she felt safe, where she knew that nothing bad would happen to her. Which is why I'm doing this. Because I made her a promise, one I will gladly die to uphold. Because that is what you do when you truly love someone, Stefan Salvatore. It's not just about being willing to do whatever it takes, to put yourself in the line of fire for them -we are immortal, the laws of nature do not apply to us anyway- but about being there. It's about honesty, and equality, and trust and respect. Love is a choice, one you make every day, over anyone and everyone else. Something you, old friend, could never and will never do for her. You're too scared of turning into a monster, of letting go. I'm not. I know who I am, and I'm at peace with it, because of her. And that's how I can do this, and know that I shall succeed."

Bonnie moved her head, a shallow nod. It was time. Making his way to the chalk-drawn circle -he really hoped that was the water-soluble kind, that hardwood floor was barely two months old- Klaus paused when Elijah reached out to him, gripping his shoulder in an embrace of iron-like intensity.

"Niklaus..." His brother began, then tapered off like the train of a floor-length dress, like one breath wasn't enough room to contain all that he wished to say to him.

So the hybrid spared him the trouble. "Time is of the essence, brother; be quick about it."

Elijah nodded, let go, straightened his already pin-straight green tie with a slow flourish. "Of course, I only wished to say...that I'm proud of you. And that I love you, always and forever."

And if Klaus Mikaelson had had any more tears left in him that day, he would have shed them at that, at the light in his brother's eyes -light, not disappointment or anger or frustration or horror, but everything good and true he knew his brother had ever wanted for him, and that Klaus had wanted for himself as well- and so he plunged into the depths of his not-quite-so-dead heart and murmured, "I sentiment I most heartily return."

"And I as well," Rebekah smiled at him, gaze clouding with her own tears.

An expectant haze hung over the room like a burgeoning full moon, helped along by Bekah as she swatted at their still-silent brother.

"Ow! That hurt," Kol pouted, rubbing at his shoulder dejectedly before huffing out an exasperated, "Yes, yes, we all love Nik! Happy now?"

"You just fulfilled my dying wish." Klaus smiled at them all, this family that they had fought and bled and died for, that had started wars and caused chaos the likes of which even Loki himself would turn bashful at, who had reigned together for a thousand years but not been together in the ways that truly mattered, shattered and fractured in their own ways, consumed by their own darkness. But no longer. They had a home and a future and a family, and nothing would stop him from coming back to that...and making Elena a part of it.

And so, with no drop of hesitation, Nik upended the contents of the vial into his mouth, the low murmurings of Bonnie's magic drowning out his swallow.

For a moment, nothing happened. And then...pain.

So, so much pain, slicing through every part of him, every atom and particle, enough that it brought him to his knees, clawing at his chest like he could somehow get it out, gasping like he was underwater -was this what drowning was like, what Elena had gone through, what Stefan had mercilessly taunted her with that night?- like he'd been plunged into an unforgiving fire even while everything inside him went cold as ice.

Dimly, as if from far away, he heard a scream, realized it was his own and that his bones were shifting, changing, altering his form into that of his wolf...before everything just...stopped.

And Klaus Mikaelson lay dead.

"Come on, Nik, you're acting as if this is a big deal. You know they love you and are more than happy to have you here; they wouldn't have invited you otherwise."

"Ah, but you forget, sweetheart, that we are quite the package deal these days. If they wanted you, they had to resign themselves to suffering with me."

"Since when you are so prone to self-doubt?"

"Since your parents invited me to spend Christmas with you all and there's, as you well know, quite a big secret we as of yet have not divulged to them, even though half your bloody dorm knows already. Makes a bloke fear for his life, just a little."

"Don't worry, Nik: you know I can protect you from anything."

Klaus' first impressions of the Other Side were...surreal. He was in the exact same place and position of which he'd died, and yet he hardly recognized his surroundings, awash in a disorienting haze of blue-white light like he was on the set for some low-budget sci-fi movie. It wasn't exactly comforting, looking down at his hand and seeing it in a pale, half-dead light. He knew he should have retained some sense of surprise, waking up in his own body when he distinctly remembered shifting right before he died, but he had far more pressing matters on his mind.

Like the man standing before him, arm braced against the mantle of the fireplace in a move that was so eerily similar it was like looking in a mirror, slightly warped and flecked with age yet still uncanny. But this was no true reflection of himself, of course. The man's hair was dark, face noticeably tense and expectant, even shadowed in profile as it was. Dressed in a light cotton shirt and dark trousers reminiscent of centuries past, he was neither ordinary nor extraordinary; he simply was. Like he'd always been her, in this exact place, waiting. Waiting for him.

He didn't look anything like Klaus, in the hybrid's opinion. If anything, looking at the man only exacerbated his own likeness to Mikael, something that had often plagued Klaus once he'd discovered his mother's infidelity. He shared no blood with Mikael, yet looked more like him than he did his real father; it was a hard pill to swallow, even now.

Ghostly flames leapt in the grate as the seconds trickled by, shedding little illumination but adding to the overall Gothic and untouched feel of the place, abandonment and hopelessness cohabitating despairingly close, mingling like an embrace of tragic and star-crossed, life-cut-too-short lovers.

So, this was death.

Klaus wasn't exactly impressed.

Hauling himself to his feet, the hybrid dusted off his clothes like he'd just taken a tumble down a grassy summer hill rather than imbibing a magical poison that had stopped his heart, hands clenched into sharp fists to hide their traitorous tremor as everything inside him began to scream that this was wrong, wrong, wrong, that he shouldn't be here, it wasn't his time yet...and stared at his father. Ansel, his mother had said his name was. In another life, he could have, would have, should have been Niklaus Anselson. He didn't know what to make of the thought, so he shoved it aside for later rumination like he did most things he couldn't figure out what to do with.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Klaus demanded of the looming figure, watching in numb fascination as the man nodded, turning around to meet his gaze at last, revealing a face he had never seen and yet felt familiar to him on some unknown yet intrinsic level, tugging at him with incessant hands of *kin, like how he knew that if he saw Henrik again by some miracle, if there was a place his soul existed as a child who had been able to grow up, he'd still recognize him in an instant.

"Yes, I do," were his father's first words to him. "You seek the whereabouts of the Merlock orchid. You need it to cure your love, Elena."

His gaze was steady, clear, so different from Mikael's, who'd hardly ever been able to look him in the eye, too embarrassed and ashamed by his gentle-hearted weakling of a child, his greatest disappointment, so unworthy of him or his name or his love that he had only ever had for Freya, that name that he both loathed and yearned to know of...

"Will you help me locate it?" Klaus hated asking for help like that, sounding so weak and crazed with desperation, so exposed and laid-bare, couldn't honestly remember the last time he'd asked for any sort of assistance or help except...

"You look a little bit out of your element there, Nik," Elena teased him, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, head cocked and eyes glowing, her grin a gunshot to his chest -because he knew that even if he had a lifetime of moments like this with her, a lifetime of love and happiness, it would still send a jolt of surprise through him, each and every time, when he realized that look was for him- as she watched him try to make waffles for her.

"I'm a thousand year old hybrid, love; I think I know how to work a bloody waffle maker," he insisted, the effect of his words underscored by the machine's egregious bleeping.

She came up behind him, arms around his waist, murmured lovingly in his ear, "It's okay to ask for help, you know. I'm not gonna suddenly change my mind about you just cause you haven't yet learned how to use a waffle maker."

"Fine," he'd kissed her. "Elena, light out of my life, will you please help me with your ridiculously complicated waffle maker."

Another kiss, another grin. "It'd be my pleasure."

"Do you really think I'd turn you away in your hour of need?" Ansel inquired firmly, tone tipping dangerously close into the confines of hurt disbelief. "You, my son, my only child, the last living joy of my heart?"

"I don't know you, was never given the chance to, the chance to call you father. Esther may have extolled your numerous virtues...but let's just say her opinion no longer holds much weight," Klaus replied diplomatically, hands folding themselves leisurely in his pockets, concealing his emotions with them. He wished that he didn't have to play pretend, wished that he knew this man well enough to simply be honest and not fear treachery at every turn, but it was Elena's life at stake, and he would not and could not afford any risks, any unforeseen actions that might jeopardize her welfare. He would never forgive himself if she died solely because a part of him still longed for a (good) father.

"It's true, your mother is no longer the same woman I fell in love with all those years ago. Time and regret have warped her into something unrecognizable. But I believe there is still goodness in her, somewhere, however small. That one day, she could be redeemed."

Everything in Klaus seems to freeze at the admission, his mouth subconsciously hanging agape, a black hole he wished to command to swallow up those words and eradicate them from existence so he'd never have to hear their like ever again. "If you really think that, then you are disgustingly deluded!" the hybrid exclaimed, hope slowly dying as he stared at the man before him; if he was really so insane to still be in love with Esther, then he would be of no use to him. "She tried to murder her own children, her very flesh and blood like we were, are, nothing..."

Ansel held up a hand, the gesture so very much like Elijah -despite the fact they did share blood- that Klaus paused in his diatribe long enough for him to expand, "I didn't say it was right, Niklaus, I just said I still loved her and have hope for her. Something I'm sure your Elena could understand."

Pain tore through him like a white-hot poker, searing his insides with a bubbling, primordial rage at his "father's" audacity, his blindness. "Elena is nothing like you! She never would have abandoned a child of hers to a monster such as Mikael-"

"That was not my choice! Esther forbade me from seeing you, ever! I had to wait! All those years, I lived off of brief glimpses of you, sustained by the knowledge that one day, you would trigger your wolf, that you would need me, your father, the one that had loved you and would never stop, to guide you on your new path."

"Then where were you!?" Klaus couldn't help but roar like the wounded animal he often felt like he was, the words pouring out of that still-broken place inside of himself that would never go away. "Where were you when I needed you most? You could have saved me from Esther's magic; I could have kept my wolf, not been subjected to a hundred lifetimes of misery! Of being alone."

Ansel's eyes shimmer with regret, and the sight only serves to further irritate him, rubbing up against all the raw parts of him. Instead, Klaus simply takes a breath and shakes his head, dejected and tired and weary. "You know what? It doesn't matter. I don't care about your reasons, I only care about finding that damn flower. Can you do that, or do we need to have another argument to assuage your parental guilt?"

His father gave a painfully reluctant nod. "Of course. I know I have much to make up for, things I know I can never put right, but I want you to know that you have my support, Klaus, that you don't have to do this alone. It is a trait of Mikaelsons, I have learnt, to want love so desperately and yet simultaneously be so scared by it. You will do anything for each other, anything for family. Even your own mother...she went to great lengths to ensure she could get everything she desired."

"I don't understand." The hybrid shook his head, riddled with confusion at the riddle.

"You will."

Suddenly, the fire died in the grate, winking out like an exploded star. "After a thousand years, you learn a thing or two about how this place works," Ansel explained off of his son's half-curious, half-suspicious glance. "With your flair for the dramatic, I thought you would appreciate it."

"It was...mildly impressive, yes" He'd try, was trying. Because he could hear Elena voice in his head, as if she were standing right beside him, chiding him in that gentle but forcefully impassioned way of hers with something like, 'Klaus, you know I'd give almost anything to have an opportunity like this, to talk to one of my parents one last time. And in a way, I'm lucky; I have so many good, loving, happy memories of them. Don't deprive yourself the same opportunity, even if you're both technically ghosts right now: it doesn't mean your time together has any less substance or importance.'

Who was he to not listen to such sage advice? (Even if it was only in his head)

Ansel nodded, a silent thanks for his effort, like he knew that this whole situation wasn't easy for Klaus because it wasn't for himself. "Thank you." And Klaus inexplicably wondered if his father had imagined them ever meeting here, like this, of he had conjured up multiple scenarios over the past thousand years about how he might finally meet the child he never got the chance to raise, but still the chance to love, even if it was from afar, and then from a separate plane of ghostly existence.

A web of quiet between them, suspended like an ornament on a Christmas tree, silken strands rubbing at Klaus' too-sensitive nerves. He wanted to fill that quiet, fill it with something meaningful, memorable, but all he could bring himself to say was, "Where should we start looking for this blasted flower?"

Thankfully, Ansel did not protest the abandonment of friendly conversation, instead simply turning in the direction of the front door as he explained, "There was once a grove, near the center of the woods. Hopefully it still remains there."

"Hopefully?" Klaus echoed as he followed after him, teeth grinding like a mortar and pestle in his jaw, jagged stumps of incredulity. "How reassuring."

"I know it's not much to go on, but we don't have much choice."

'We.' Klaus liked that, liked the fact that he hadn't said you, that he'd made them sound like a team, like he wasn't on his own. It was oddly comforting, and with the thought came the notion of familiarity, of family, of how he could so easily get attached and let Ansel fill the void that had been created since the moment of his very birth. But he couldn't. Because his time was short, and -hopefully- the rest of his life afterwards very long, and it would hurt all the more when he inevitably had to leave the man behind.

Gravel crunched under their boots in the driveway like chucked dice, noisy and chalky and far too loud. Over the decades, Klaus had grown so accustomed to the ambient noise of modern life, of the ever-flowing stream of traffic and chatter, made all the more noticeable with his supernatural hearing -even in the country no vampire truly ever had peace and quiet. But the Other Side was devoid of any such signs of civilization, despite the placement of familiar buildings and landmarks, how the trees still swayed the same ways, the inky depths of the forest still calling out to that primal part of him, of his wolf. He wondered if Ansel could feel it, too, but didn't know how to ask. So they continued on in silence, not uncomfortable or grating but...contemplative, respectful.

After several minutes, Ansel unexpectedly turned directions, leading him on a path that even Klaus, with all his explorations of these woods, had never been on before. Pushing aside a wayward branch, his father turned to him with a hesitant yet hopeful smile as he asked wonderingly, "What's she like?"

Pausing, Klaus narrowly avoided a confrontation with a leafy frond, mouth pausing at the out-of-the-blue question. He knew who he was asking about, of course -it was glaringly obvious- but that wasn't the problem. The problem was the fact that despite their shared genetics, he was still such an unknown element to Klaus, and he was not the most open of persons to even those who knew him well. Elijah was the one he always turned to in such matters, trusting his level-headed and well-choreographed approach to all things whilst simultaneously knowing the heart of a romantic lurked under every three piece suit. So, he decided to buy himself a little time, deflecting with a tactful, "What do you mean, what she's like? Don't you have the Mystic Falls Cable Channel on 24/7 around here?"

Ansel smiled indulgently, one eyebrow quirked in amusement as he conceded, "Yes, but I want to know her from your perspective. I want to know about what you, my son, saw in her, why you fell in love with her, after all this time."

"You mean after two other doppelgängers?" Klaus wondered, bitterness coating his throat like a layer of dust, momentarily choking out the instinctual happiness thoughts of Elena now brought him.

"That as well."

"I'm...not sure," the hybrid admitted slowly, words as methodical and cautious as his steps. "I've never thought about putting it into words. This whole 'falling in love' thing is still rather new to me."

"Try, for me. Indulge an old man's curiosity. Unless you'd rather talk about your many murderous exploits," Ansel suggested with a decided tilt of his head.

Klaus grinned harshly. "Touché."

The trees began to thin out, thin trunks giving way to older, thicker trees, signaling an entrance into a more neglected part of the forest. Glancing up at the hazy light through the dense foliage, he found himself wondering to the sky, "Is this really how you want to pass the time? Some imitation of a father-son conversation, two beers on the back of a sun-scorched porch and listening to John Denver and the chirping of cicadas?"

A hand fell on his shoulder, heavy like a brand, welcome like an act of kindness, longed for in a way that Klaus never let himself think of since he'd found out so long ago that he could have had a different life, that he had had another father who might have given him the love he had so desperately craved. "Is it really such a shock that I want to know you, Niklaus?" Ansel murmured, so much pain and regret lingering behind his eyes, as clear to him as a reflection in a lake, a perfect mirror of a thousand other moments, a hundred other faces that had directed such expressions at him, usually under entirely different circumstances. "That I want to know about the life you've led? Yes, I may have seen it, may have borne witness to your every atrocity, but I also know what you value. Family, love, loyalty. That some -if not all- of your happiest moments were the simplest, the purest. Summers in Europe with your brothers, riding through fields on horseback. Sitting with master painters and sculptors, so eager to learn and appreciate. Christmases with your boy, Marcellus, watching him open a present for the first time. And Elena. Sharing heartaches and looking up at the stars together and seeing a possible future mapped instead. That is the man who I know to be my son, who I am proud to share blood with. I would never turn away from your darkness, Klaus, but it is your light I most enjoy, my son, it is what I wish to see of you now."

And so Klaus inquired, aching and raw and dying for the possibility of healing like a man dying in the desert, "Where should I start?"

"Where every love story starts," was the answer he received. "At the beginning."

"Elena? Elena, can you hear me? It's Jeremy, your brother. I know you're in pain right now, I know you're sick, and I'm sorry, 'Lena, I'm so sorry I can't be with you right now. But I'm gonna talk to you, okay? I'm gonna stay on the line for as long as it takes, even if I rack up a crazy phone bill. 'Cause you're worth it, you're my big sister, and I love you so much. So, so much. You're my best friend and...God, I can't lose you. I can't lose the last piece of our family, of my heart. I won't survive without you, Elena..."

As soon as he started, Klaus found the words flowed far easier than he'd imagined, like he was talking to himself rather than a near-stranger he just happened to share DNA with. What with the bluish, bioluminescent glow over everything, it was hard to keep track of the time by the passing of the sun, but soon he found he settled on a rhythm, his footsteps matching the tempo of his words, each one more surprising and yet adoration-dripping than the last.

"The moment I first saw her, I was filled with such loathing and joy of equal measure that I could do nothing but stare at her. I was so used to thinking of doppelgängers in the past, who were of the past, yet to see that face in a modern context, to encounter that familiar spirit yet housed with a different, better heart...it almost made me doubt myself, if only for a second. She was an innocent, her fate decided by the scribes of destiny long before she ever drew her first breath, and here I was about to sign her death warrant for my own selfishness. Of course, that didn't stop me, but I was more careful than I'd originally intended to be. I found myself not wanting to hurt her more than I already was, even if only in a physical capacity. Killing her aunt, right in front of her, though, the last of her family...that was something Mikael would have done. Looking back, I hate myself for it, and no matter who much she loves me, I don't think Elena will ever forgive me entirely for it; there will always be some part of her that knows me as the killer of her last hopes of family, and I don't blame her."

"It's why this is all such a surprise, really. She was the princess in the tower, surrounded by a bevy of knights and warriors and even a dragon or two. But she climbed out, all by herself, and still she found me. Maybe it had something to do with the curse, with our blood, calling out to each other from across distance and time and the rationality of the universe. Or maybe you can only really trust someone who you know has hurt you before, rather than waiting for a blow from someone you trust. All I know is that Elena was in a dark place, one I unfortunately had a hand in putting her in, and she came to me, wanting nothing, asking for nothing but a barrier against the world and someone who would listen, just once. Such a simple request, well within my capabilities. It cost me nothing, could mean nothing -or so I tried to convince myself. And so I gave it to her. I gave it to her without much thought of consequence or subsequent events, how it could start us both down a road to something I think I had always been trying to avoid."

A sad, too-knowing sigh from his father. "And what was that?"

"Attachment. I lost Henrik. I lost my wolf. I lost the chance at knowing you. I lost my innocence and my kindness. Mikael killed my favourite horse, then my favourite joy centuries later. Rebekah betrayed me even though the fault was mine. I wiped Stefan's memories and let him live his life without knowing there was someone who understood him. I never saw Aurora again. Katerina took my brother and left behind someone who could hardly look me in the eye for years. When I cling to something, I choke the life out of it. I don't even mean to, but I'm just so scared of letting go, or being let go of. I'm possessive to a deathly fault, and even as I felt myself growing closer to Elena...I could not bear the thought of extinguishing that bright light once again, of snuffing out something so beautiful. And she is so, so beautiful. And kind. And courageous. She can be stubborn like you can't believe, but she feels everything with such an intensity that even as a vampire, I can only marvel at it, never hope of replicating it. But I try. There is darkness there, too, and loneliness. Anger. Hatred. Vengeance. She's like a well-crafted sword: perfectly balanced. The perfect blend of mercy and damnation. She is everything I never thought I could want, or want to need. But there is no other love I'd rather die for than her."

Just as the words fell from his lips, the hybrid felt an odd tingling in his chest, like there was a rope tied to himself and someone unseen hand was tugging at it. Instinctively, he knew it was the calling of home, that the spell must be wearing off and that he would soon be forced to return, with or without the information he needed. Already he could feel spasms of pain dancing through his limbs, reminding him of the agony he would no doubt face when he awoke. He hadn't even realized he'd stumbled until he felt strong arms wind around his shoulders, supporting him against the side of a tree.

"We have to hurry," Klaus gasped out through a clenched jaw, eyes swimming slightly as they gazed up at the concerned face of his father, blurred like a waterlogged photograph.

Ansel nodded solemnly, absently smoothing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. It was such a little gesture, and yet it made him feel like a child again, that there was someone there for him, watching over him. "I know, son. I know."

After a few moments, Klaus regained some of his strength, although Ansel's arm remained across his shoulders, steering him through the littered debris of the forest floor. But with each step, he felt that strength draining away, the tugging inside himself becoming more persistent and agitated. He tried to tamp it down, tried to ignore it like he'd ignored so many other things in his life -mainly good things and happy memories that became too painful to recall- but his father remained resolute, urging him on with a soft, "Keep your eyes open, Klaus, we're almost there. You just need to hang on a little longer, son." And so he tried, legs feeling like they were cloistered in cement, lungs aching like he was underwater, head spinning like that time he'd drunk half a tavern with Kol and...and then he noticed that dry, crumpled leaves had given way to soft, uninterrupted earth, dotted with violet-pink flowers like the first blushes of sunset, like hope given colour and texture and life.

The Merlock orchids. He'd found them. He hadn't let her down.

Gingerly, he reached out to stroke on of the velvety petals, silently counting the flowers; more than enough for a cure, then extras to keep in case Esther tried something like this again -which he doubted, she was too inventive for that, wouldn't reuse something if she knew the danger of her threat could be diminished by a ready-to-hand cure- or someone else did. But his jubilation was short-lived, because now that he'd reached the end of his quest, he had no reason to stay, except one, except his father standing before him, the man who had surprised him and comforted him and made him ache for everything he had never had, everything they had both been denied and deprived of. Klaus may have lost his father, but Ansel had lost his son, and that was a pain that, even through all his many centuries, despite loving Marcellus as his own (who at least he had been given the chance to raise) he could not imagine.

Klaus was not ashamed of the tears that fell, blurring the world around him, dripping onto the petals beside him like the first drops of rain, the first stirrings of a sorrowful sky.

"Have I really made the almighty Klaus Mikaelson cry?" Ansel asked wonderingly, a hint of teasing embroidered into the melancholia of his voice.

A watery chuckle escaped him, swallowed up by the silent forest. "Wonders never do seem to cease around here," Klaus acknowledged with a smile that was more of a grimace. He'd never been particularly good at goodbyes, at finding the right words to say. When someone left him, it was either out of boredom or of fear, but the situation at hand involved neither, only the feeling that Klaus had stumbled across something infinitely precious and that he longed to take back with him. And maybe he could, one day. He'd said it himself; wonders never ceased in Mystic Falls. Was conjuring the dead really such a stretch? But even if it could be achieved, what right did Klaus have to rob his father at his chance of peace, of moving on from whatever limbo the Other Side existed as and being, finally, at rest? Didn't his father deserve that after the death Mikael had dealt him and the tears spent watching and waiting and grieving?

Yes, yes he did. So, knowing that this would most likely be their last moments together, Klaus did not hold back the truth he felt in his heart, in the very marrow of his bones, "I'm glad I got to know you, even if it was only for an hour or two."

"And I'm glad I got to see the goodness I always knew was inside of you for myself," Ansel replied, hands cupping both sides of his face as he looked into Klaus' anguish-blue eyes. "And I want you to know that, despite everything you've done, the persona of the evil hybrid you have created, I am proud of you. Proud that you did this, that you opened up your heart and finally let the light into your life. Please don't ever lose it, my son. Please don't ever forget that you were born out of that same kind of love, that you're capable of it, too, every day. That I will love you every day, even though you can't see me, I will never leave you."

"And I will never forget you," Klaus insisted, sealing his vow with a gentle squeeze of his father's wrist.

"Do you remember the way?"

The blond nodded.

"Good." Ansel stepped back, surveying him like he wanted to catalog every detail of him, his son, to memory, and Klaus couldn't help but wonder how many times his father had done so before, how many partings they had had that Klaus was unaware of, too young or too oblivious to remember.

Distantly, the hybrid could make out voices, seeming to echo from the trees himself, chanting his name, calling him back, and as much as he wanted to tell them to go to hell, as much as he wanted to stay with his father...Elena needed him, needed him back. And this was not his place, nor his time to die. There was still a world out there, waiting for the two of them to fill it.

"Son?" Klaus looked up, frowning at the smile on his father's face. But he soon found out when Ansel confessed, "There's just one more thing I need to tell you: according to the spirits, because of your werewolf genealogy...the Original hybrid can still have children," before the world faded to black around him, and took Klaus with it.

The world came back to him in a dizzying rush, disallowing him even a moment's reprieve as Klaus felt his eyes open, afternoon light stinging his eyes. Growling, Klaus tried to get to his feet, only to realize he was curled up at the foot of a bed and, most notably, still in his wolf form. Almost immediately, he picked up the sound of Elena's heartbeat, even fainter than it had been several hours previous; it wasn't non-existent, though, they still had time. Klaus reached out a paw to her, gently nuzzling at her face in lieu of a kiss. It was the only time he allowed himself with her before shifting back into his normal form, putting on clothes at rapid speed before swinging open his bedroom door...and finding everyone huddled in various positions on the floor, looking up at him with expectant faces like children hoping from presents with Santa. Luckily, Klaus was in a position to deliver.

"I've got it. I know where the flowers are."

Kol and Bonnie immediately rose to their feet, the former carefully extracting a passed-out Caroline from across his chest. It seemed the near-death of a close friend really did make people reconsider their own lives, made them not want to waste time, even if they were vampires and had an abundance of it. Klaus just hoped they could alternate holidays on who had to deal with his baby brother's antics.

Klaus gave them the directions he'd memorized, and soon the two were off, Bonnie grumbling about the queasiness of vamp-speed but diligently agreeing that time was of the essence. With nothing else to do but wait, the hybrid left his family and acquired guests and headed into his studio, locking the door behind him. The smells of paint and wax and charcoal and turpentine assailed his senses, enveloping in a faux sense of comfort and security. He knew he would only truly feel those things when Elena awoke, but this would just have to do for the time being. Walking his long fingers over the various bristles of various brushes, he let his mind wander over the events of the day -not even a day, really, the clock said it was barely after three forty- and how different he felt. He hadn't realized how much he'd needed to see his father, how much he'd needed to hear his reassurances. He'd finally found answers to some of the questions that had plagued him ever since he'd first turned, when Elijah had found him in the woods and they'd come to the painful but inevitable conclusion that they did not share the same father.

It had changed some things, but in his heart, Klaus knew he was a Mikaelson and would be one always, and forever. That Mikael had been the one to shape him into who he was, but only Klaus himself could decide who he would be. He knew he would never be Ansel, would never exude such kindness and respect and sincerity to all he met, but he could let some of the traits Mikael had instilled in him go, could learn to be better, both for himself and for Elena. Life was a precious thing, fragile and delicate, and it made no sense to squander it simply because he could, because he wanted to. He could not undo every bad thing he had ever done...but maybe there was a balance to be found, a way to be something new. Elena deserved no less. And if what Ansel had said really was true, if he could one day know the joys of fatherhood...

A well-timed knock shattered Klaus' ruminations, stalling his derailing train of thought. In a blink, Klaus was opening the door on the weary face of Elijah, rumpled and stressed but with a faint glimmer of relief lighting up his eyes. "Kol and Bonnie successfully found the orchids and removed the cloaking spell," Elijah began without preamble, knowing that anything resembling exposition would not currently be appreciated. "The antidote will be ready within the hour."

"Thank you," Klaus murmured, sagging against the doorway as he felt his own sense of relief course through him. "Soon everything will be set to rights and we can forget this horrible past few days."

"Agreed."

Crossing the room without invitation, Elijah made himself at home in one of the plush armchairs situated by the window to make better use of the daylight. Fingers steepled under his chin, his brother was quiet for several moments, mulling over his thoughts with a contemplative tilt to his head, gaze trained on the high-polished shine of his shoes.

"I know that recent events must have...troubled you, especially after what occurred with Mikael not too long ago, old wounds that might have reopened. While I know that your primary concern at this moment is of course Elena, I only wished to remind you that you cannot take care of her if you are not taking care of yourself, if there are things on your mind you need to work through. I know it is different with me than it is with her, I know you feel like you have to live up to some sense of expectation I have put on you, intentionally or otherwise, but I am still, and always will be, your brother, and I will never let you suffer when it is within my power to remedy that anguish." Not again, he did not need to say, brow pinched with fingers of sorrow and regret.

"This is when we break out the ice cream and have a good ole heart to heart?" Klaus snarked, automatically masking and undermining the heartfelt gesture as he tried to compose himself. He couldn't remember the last time he and Elijah had just been...brothers, rather than just vague allies or worse, opposing forces, holding up lists of indiscretions and pointing accusing fingers. The hybrid may have forgiven him for sticking a hand in his chest the night of the sacrifice, and Elijah may have been mollified by the undaggering of their siblings, but in the face of all they'd done, all they'd done to each other, he had neither expected, sought out or initiated any deeper sense of reconciliation.

Maybe Elijah was doing this now because he believed that Klaus never would, that it would always fall to him to extend the olive branch any time their bond snapped. Maybe he didn't think Klaus was capable of admitting when he was wrong, that his pride and ego outweighed his love for him. Admittedly, it had, many times in the past. But after recent events, after they all came so close to dying at their mother's hands...none of those seemed excusable, justifiable, important. After seeing the woman he loved almost die in his arms twice in one day, he could not beat the thought of any of his family not knowing that they came first, always and forever.

Elijah smiled, brief and fleeting, evidently not surprised by the maneuver. "I believe Rebekah has some raspberry ripple in the fridge if you were so inclined, but in all seriousness...is there anything you'd like to talk to me about?"

He did. He did and he didn't. But if Klaus didn't say it aloud to someone, he thought he might just go crazy -permanently, of the non Hunter's Curse variety. So he took a seat opposite his brother, bracing his hands on his thighs, feeling the coarse fibers of his jeans under his fingertips as he confessed, "Right before I...came back to myself, my father, Ansel, said something to me that I haven't been able to stop thinking about."

"Something about Esther?" the Original guessed cautiously.

Klaus shook his head, loosing a long breath that curled all the way up to the ceiling. "No. About me. According to the spirits of the Other Side -who are suddenly experts in such matters- because of my status as both vampire and werewolf...he claimed that I could father children if I so desired, that I'm not longer sterile like the rest of the vampire species because of my lycanthropy."

"I see."

Elijah leaned back in the couch cushions, looking like he was dying for a drink. "So the magic of your wolf nature counteracts the biological effects of vampirism. Of course, any such child would not only be part vampire and werewolf, but witch as well. Not just from you-"

"But Elena as well. With her Traveler heritage."

Brows scrunched in skepticism. "Does she even know of that?"

"I have no idea," Klaus replied truthfully, slinging his legs over the arm of the antique armchair, leather studs digging absently into the backs of his knees. "I don't know what Katerina did or didn't tell her during her oh so merry sojourn here; it was only by accident that we ourselves found out when one of the coven members tracked us down and tried to kill us."

"You have to admit, there would be a certain irony of you were the one to carry on the doppelgänger line," Elijah mused dryly, lips quirking in appreciation of the universe's twisted sense of humour, the idea of a Petrova doppelgänger, somewhere down the line, with Elena's face and his last name.

"Which is not lost on me whatsoever. But it wouldn't be about that, it isn't about that. We've not even been on a date, 'Lijah! How the bloody hell am I supposed to bring this up in casual conversation? Loving me is one thing, but to have a child together..." Klaus sighed, running an agitated hand through his hair, mind swirling like a tornado, unable to latch onto anything for long before tossing it away. The thought of little girls with his blue eyes and her button nose, or boys with his blond hair and her brown eyes, and then he couldn't help but think of Henrik, of Marcel, of the countless children he had left parentless, forced them to struggle alone in the world...

Like one might approach a tiger, Elijah delicately broached, "Are you saying that because you don't want to...?"

"Because she might not want to." Deciding to let the subject drop, Klaus rose to his feet, shaking stray paint flakes off his shirt. He really needed to clean this place more. "Regardless, all that matters right now is that she gets better."

"Niklaus, you can't dare dream of keeping this from her," his brother warned, blurring to stand before him with a pensive and disapproving expression. Ah, much more familiar.

"Of course not. I'll just wait a decade or so and bring it up then," he dismissed mock-cheerfully, heading in the direction of the door.

"Brother..." Gods, he could feel his brother massaging his temples in frustration from here.

Exasperated, Klaus stopped but didn't turn around, choosing to address the marble statue of a griffin in the corner instead. "I want her to be happy, Elijah, I want her to do what makes her happy. I want her to graduate and pursue her interests and go to college or travel the world or live in a fairy cottage and raise border collies; whatever it is, I want it for her. I'm not taking anything else away from her."

"Incidentally, that's what you'll be doing if you keep this to yourself. You know that she'd make an amazing mother, far better than ours ever could have been."

"I know that," the hybrid interjected immediately. "No child of hers would ever doubt that it was loved, not for a single second."

"And neither would yours," Elijah argued, tone soft like he hadn't heard it since the seventeen hundreds, since he'd knelt in the burning grass of a burning village and tried to put a horse back together that was long since dead. "You are not Father, Niklaus. While there may have been times where you were in danger of becoming him...you have not. You raised Marcellus with as much love as any biological parent would have-"

"But that didn't stop him from dying!" Tears raced from his eyes, leaping down his cheeks with the force of a waterfall. Today had been too damn long and too damn hard to keep them in any longer. "And as much as I loved him and always, always will, the thought of losing another child, to lose one with Elena...I couldn't bear it, Elijah. I already love her so much..."

"I know." An arm came around his shoulders, pressing his nose into Elijah's collarbone. Klaus allowed himself to be held, knowing that there was no shame or weakness in admitting he needed him right now. "Talk to her about it. There is, after all, no rush." He pulled away, smile turning from melancholy to mischievous. Sometimes it was easy to forget who taught their youngest brothers all the best tricks. "But please bear in mind that the contest for 'Best Uncle' begins early, and there is no chance in either heaven or hell that I'd let Kol take that mantle."

"You're not...upset? Angry? Secretly jealous?" Klaus wondered with shock. "You've always been the most caring of the two of us, and it was Bekah that has always wanted a family...so why me? Why am I the only one of us to be gifted with this opportunity?"

"I don't know, Niklaus. All I know is...I think you finally deserve it."

The cure was finally done. Everyone was downstairs, although Klaus suspected that if he opened the door, he'd find both Bonnie and Alaric lurking, sitting in an anxious silence while Caroline kept the peace in the living room.

Klaus had the sudden and inextricable feeling of being on a tightrope, of an acrobat with a thousand eyes upon them, each one waiting for them to either perform miracles or plummet gruesomely to their death.

Gingerly, he began to apply the paste to the side of her neck, careful to keep it out of her hair. Once the handkerchief was empty, he took up residence at the head of the bed, situating her head in his lap so he could monitor her for any changes, and also because he just wanted to hold her.

After two hours, when the swelling went down, her fever broke, and yet she did not wake, he called for Elijah and Bonnie. Five minutes later, the two came to the same conclusion: "You need to go into her mind?"

"Why?" Klaus immediately questioned them both. "This illness was physical, not mental."

"Yes, but given how long she was unconscious for, how much pain she was in..." Bonnie trailed off, Elijah dutifully claiming her train of thought. "It's possible, in the effort of protecting herself from her ordeal, Elena may have retreated into her own subconscious for escape. So while she may be physically fine and well...her mind doesn't want to process it. Perhaps this is the final straw for her."

"No. I refuse to believe that. I refuse to believe that Elena would ever give up like that."

Bonnie crossed her arms over her chest, green eyes sad and weary. "Klaus, you haven't lived her life. She's had a thousand years worth of drama and heartache crushed into a single year. Who wouldn't want to escape that?"

"She would never leave Jeremy," Klaus insisted with a pained growl, knowing it was a cheap shot but currently not giving a damn.

"I know, but right now she's not in her right mind."

"Then I guess I'll just have to pull her out of it," he exclaimed fiercely and before a word of protest could be uttered, before he could be told of ever danger, every risk that he already knew -but didn't care about, because it was Elena, and her pain called out to him like a song he had been listening to all these years, the hybrid was closing his eyes and..

and...

Klaus is standing in four feet of snow, fingers frozen by frigid torrents of blustery air battering him from all directions, a merciless siege of soul-sucking cold. The only source of warmth to be found is the sight before him...is of Elena, lashes swept up in flurries of snowflakes, tangling in a monochromatic embrace with her mascara as she turns to him with a teasing smile, absentmindedly brushing down his shoulders like she's done it a million times before, looking so very, very alive that it almost sends him to his knees right then and there in the snowbank, in the indentions of steps he did not remember taking and knows he never has.

Trees hug the landscape in every direction, capped in hats of freezing snow and the sky is a painting of spotlessness, not a cloud to be seen. He has no idea where he is, or where he's supposed to be, all he knows is that Elena is right beside him, alive and well, looking at him with such love it's almost unreal.

Because it's not real; she's looking at him like she's loved him for years, like this is a song and dance she knows well and she's puzzled as to why he's not following along with her foot work.

Klaus flexes frozen fingers in leather gloves and wonders why he feels so cold, why he can't hear Elena's heartbeat or the chittering of forest animals. Just where has she gone, in the great labyrinth of her mind? What manner of castle has she retreated to in order to wait out this particular invasion?

"Come on, Nik, lose the whole 'deer in headlights look.' You know that we Gilberts can smell weakness a mile away." When he fails to respond to her joke she leans in closer, smelling like pine trees and spice and home, but not. Because she doesn't know what he thinks of when he inhales her familiar scent, she doesn't know what he sees when he looks at her -the whole world laid before him, every impossibility made possible by the touch of her hand and the depth of her smile. "Everything's going to be fine, okay? I promise. Christmas is the most magical time of the year, very well known for its miracles. Making it through the night without argument isn't, therefore, outside the realm of possibility."

He just shakes his head at her, cold wind whipping the tips of his ears. He'd forgotten what it was like to be cold, to feel this particular kind of cold, gods, all the winters he was sent out to collect firewood in the snow as punishment by Mikael, breath crystalizing in his lungs as he trudged through trees in Elijah's old boots...

"Elena, what...?"

"Here goes nothing," she says breezily, opening the door and letting out an influx of light and colour and sound he feels like a blow across the face. Christmas carols crooning from the kitchen, laughter from the living room, fairy lights and festive garlands adorning every possible surface, a fire crackling merrily like none of these people have ever been burned by flames both seen and unseen, evils of every fire and flavour, most of them his doing. "Hi, everyone, it's the return of the prodigal daughter and her incredibly charming boyfriend!" Elena calls out happily, dragging him by the hand across the threshold without invitation, and of course he slips past the barrier like a knife in butter even though he's never actually stepped foot in the real Gilbert Lake House -he's catching up now, catching on, it's the only possible place she'd go, her house is full of too many bad memories for even her subconscious to be able to re-dress that stage into something palatable- because he's in her head and he can't figure out why, why she won't come out even though she'd been given the antidote, why her mind has brought them to this...until he does.

Until two figures approach them, immediately wrapping Elena up in a tight and loving embrace like the arms of a sweater, tutting over how cold she is like a pair of worried parents, keeping her cozy and safe and warm.

Because that's what they're supposed to do. Because they are her parents. Or, what Elena has imagined them to look like if they'd lived, if their car had never gone off Wickery Bridge. Under the threat of poison, hovering at the brink of death, she'd retreated into the ultimate fantasy, the conjured safety of love and family and...him. He's still here, right there beside her, and it warms him to no end, to know that she believes he belongs at her side as much as he does, even in the midst of her unconscious mind, that he feels like such a permanent and vital piece of her life that he stands pride of place alongside her family. Miranda Gilbert stands tall and proud, brown hair lightly dusted with grey like a layer of powdered sugar, smile open and inviting. Grayson stands at her shoulder, his arm around her waist and a cup of hot cocoa in his other hand, eyes twinkling cheerily behind his glasses like the ornaments on the tree he can see behind him.

Oh, Elena.

"I'm so glad you guys could make it in time, the roads are just awful. Poor Jenna and Ric almost got turned around."

Elena squeezes his hand, beaming up at him with a wide smile. "Lucky for me Nik is a very good driver. Is Jeremy here yet?"

"In the kitchen helping Jenna 'test' the cranberry stuffing," her father winks conspiratorially and it's all just so very, very strange, so domestic and picturesque, like something out of a Hallmark movie, a Christmas card with stitched stockings and gold filigree and a pre-selected message with hardly any space to write your own. "Hopefully there'll still be enough for tomorrow. Are those for us?"

Suddenly Klaus notices she's got a stack of presents bundled under one arm, sporting name tags in both of their handwriting because apparently they're one of 'those couples' in her mind, the kind that drive everyone crazy by doing everything together and be so very nauseatingly obvious in their adoration and love for the other. It's the thing he finds easiest to stomach in all of this. Elena rolls her eyes playfully. "No, me and Nik just found a bunch of empty boxes and wrapped them just for fun like normal people do."

"Well, they are very well wrapped," her mother plays along with the joke, taking the presents from her daughter like the good hostess she was meant to be, that everyone said she was, that Carol Lockwood could never quite live up to, or so the housewives said.

"When I see 'we'...I mean that my boyfriend has exceptional artistic ability and I'm just really good at tying bows; it was a team effort, but Klaus deserves most of the credit. Especially for how much tape I got everywhere. We'll probably still be finding it in the couch this time next year."

"All the best relationships are, honey. Come on, you kids get warmed up and I'll put these under the tree. Dinner should be ready soon, if I can ever get into the kitchen again."

"Thanks, mom," Elena replies, and there's something in her eyes, a brief flicker, a sudden weight to her words and for a minute Klaus begins to hope, but then it's gone just as swiftly as it appeared, taking his chances with it as he follows her into the kitchen for another round of enthusiastic greetings. Seeing Jenna Sommers alive and well is by no means a pleasant experience, if only because he knows this will be the only happy memory of her he will ever have, that there will be no more Christmases like this for her, all because of him. And then he looks at Alaric, and realizes this is the first time he's ever seen the man really smile, his face the mirror opposite to how he last saw it half an hour ago, and his heart breaks for Elena, a china vase smashed with a ball pein hammer, shattering shards flying in all directions, tangling in the strings of fairy lights, visible only to him.

She looks so happy, asking her brother how he's doing at art school, teasing Jenna about where all the mulled wine's gone and stealing a cookie right out of Ric's unsuspecting hands. How can he pull her out of this? What right does he have to dispel this illusion when he knows this is all she's ever wanted, ever since the night her parents died? Because he's thought about it, too, had his own version of dreams like this where his brother Henrik was still alive, that he'd never been cursed, that Mikael had never laid a hand on him and they could have been a real family. Scenarios he's played out countless times like well-worn records, so much so that he can still hear that conjured laughter in his heard, the chirping of birds and the splash of the Falls as he chases his brother through woods that are not dark and never will be, never be stained red with blood. He's dreamed as many alternate lives as he's lived, and he knows their pull all too well, and for all the strength he knows Elena to possess...he doesn't know if it will be enough this time.

He does not know if she has the strength to fight herself.

Jeremy comes towards him, clapping him brotherly on the shoulder. "Hey, man, I know Elena told me to keep it on the down low and everything...but congratulations. I'm so happy for the two of you. I feel like everything is finally how it's supposed to be, you know? My sister's always at her best with you by her side, supporting her and...well, I can't imagine having anyone else as my brother in law. I'm just thankful it's not Damon."

He agrees, of course he agrees, but all of this is just so wrong, Klaus has no idea if Jeremy even knows about their relationship back home, can never imagine him saying such things even if he did. But Elena can. Elena wants them to get along. Elena wants them to be one big, happy family that has dinner and snowball fights and stays up late by the fire telling stories, she wants the ring and the wedding and the house and the kids and he wants to give it all to her, whatever she wants...but he wants it to be them. He wishes he could give her her parents back, her aunt back, all these things she's lost and doesn't know how to find or even that's she's lost them in the chaos of the last year...but he can't. No one can.

So as Jeremy turns around to tell her all about the new teaching assistant job at her Gram's university, he decides to wait. To bide his time. To bite his tongue. To sit through dinner and smiles and conversation, to fake it until he makes it, makes it to the right moment to tell her. It's not after he catches her stealing bites of his pumpkin pie. It's not when her mother finally notices the ring on her finger and her eyes go very, very wide. It's not when Elena shoots him a sheepish '*Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag now, might as well tell them' grin before telling a tale of moonlight and candles and rose petals and a dorm room almost burned to the ground that he does not know. It's not when her father screeches his chair back across the hardwood floor and gives a rousing toast, welcoming him to the family -that he definitely doesn't tear up at because it's not real, for God's sake. It's not when he helps her load the dishwasher, not even when she kisses him as she drags him into her childhood room and shuts the door. It's when he finds her at two in the morning, outside on the porch in a thin T-shirt with no socks or jacket and he knows she can't, won't get hypothermia, but he still darts into the living room anyway, still takes the crocheted blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it around her before helping her into a pair of slippers, pulling her firmly against his chest like he can keep every bad thing away.

"I had a dream," she says into his bare chest. "I had a dream where I died. There was fire, and trees. You were there." She looks up at him, eyes scared like a cornered doe that sees the crossbow bolt and knows it is destined for their heart. "You...you had these fangs, and your eyes...why would I dream something like that? Why would I ever possibly think you'd do anything to hurt me?"

She's breaking his heart. She's breaking his heart because he has, he's hurt her so many times in so many ways, as many ways as he now loves her and...

"Klaus? Why aren't you saying anything? Why are you so quiet?"

He's not. His thoughts are drowning in his ears, a cascading flood that he can't see past. He can't see any way through this but plowing right down the middle. "Elena, love, that was no dream. That was a memory." Better to rip off the band-aid and blah blah blah.

Elena shakes her head, taking a step back from him. "No. That's not right. I think I'd remember something like that."

"But it is right, Elena! It's this that's wrong! None of this is real!"

She gasps, floored by his raised voice. She's never had cause to see a wolf before, let alone the biggest and baddest of them all.

He takes her by the shoulders, careful, only doing so to make sure she can't hide from his gaze or the truth of his words. "This is not real, Elena. Your parents are dead, they died in an accident on Wickery Bridge in May 2008, when you were sixteen. A vampire saved your life, a vampire you fell in love with. You found out that John Gilbert is actually your father, that your mother was Isobel Flemming, that she was Alaric's wife and she'd been willingly turned into a vampire. She was a teenager when she had you so she gave you up, to Miranda and Grayson, where they loved and raised you as their own. Bonnie is a witch and Caroline is a vampire and so are Stefan and Damon. Elena, you're a Petrova doppelgänger, the last human one, and I'm the world's first hybrid, vampire and werewolf, and you're remembering that I killed you to break my curse, that I killed Jenna, that John gave his life to save you-"

"Stop, just stop!" Her breath comes in ragged, panicked pants, she's close to hyperventilating, Nik, please, what you're saying...it's not true! It's crazy! My parents are Miranda and Grayson Gilbert, they're alive, they're right inside and Jenna's with Ric and he was never married before her and-and vampires and witches and werewolves aren't real! They're not! They're fictitious constructs to-" She runs a hand through her hair, the blanket slipping down her shoulders. Finally, her brown eyes meet his, and in a coaxing, sympathetic tone that feels so false coming from her it makes him ache -its the voice you tell someone in a movie that what they're seeing isn't real, but it's okay, you'll make sure they'll get the proper help they need, don't worry, it's the voice of surprise-twist killer who was masquerading as the best friend all along as they unravel the fabric of your whole world piece by piece- "I know you've had a hard year with your parents passing, that you're still coming to terms with what they did to you, but believing in delusions isn't healthy, Nik!"

Now she's crying, now she's shouting at him, gripping at him and shaking him like she thinks she can keep the shards of his sanity together through kinetic force alone, tears in her eyes and her voice freezing like mercury drops of ice. "You have your brothers and your sisters to look after, who need you! I need you, I need you to stop this, honey, please just stop..."

He grasps her wrists, holds her like he did yesterday morning -Gods, had that really only been a day ago?- as he cups her chin, barefoot in jeans and bare in transparent honesty, as he murmurs with utmost conviction, "Sweetheart, I love you. I love you more than anything in this world or any other. Which is why I'm doing this, why I'm saying this, the truth. I'm a vampire, Elena, the original hybrid, I am what I am because you helped make me and then remade me into something better. These things are real, Elena, and in the real world, we deal with them every day. It's scary, and tragic and so very, very bloody and I'm so sorry for everything that I've ever done that has led you to it...but I can't regret it. I can't regret knowing you, or loving you, the real you. Because this...this is not who you are. This is what you could have been, but we will just never know. But I like who you are, I love who you are, that with every hardship thrown your way that you have always, always got back up, that they forged you into the hero that you are. That after your parent's car went off Wickery Bridge that night-"

"No, no, my father swerved! He swerved and we stopped and we didn't go over! We didn't, we didn't, we didn't-!" Every word a pound on his chest, every tear a scythe to his very soul as she runs away from him, away from his words, out into the snow that she thinks will save her. But he pushes through. He pushes through because if this was Elena in his place right now, she'd find the right way, the right words, every time he'd push her away she'd come right back because she can't leave well enough alone, can't leave him alone just like he can't leave her, can't live without her now.

"You tried so hard to keep everything together. That you're still trying. You're still so loving and caring and compassionate, you're still giving monsters like me a chance even if we don't believe we deserve it because all that matters is that you do. Elena, I know it's nice here, it's quiet and peaceful and no one we love is dead, and while I would love to someday soon give you a ring like the one you're wearing right now...this love, this lie, it's not us, Elena. It's not you or me. We are not these people. We are not these idyllic versions of ourselves. We're messy and broken and complicated and amoral and selfish and sacrificing and self-sacrificing and as wrong as you may think that is, it is what brought us together. A house such as ours could only be built on a rocky foundation, my love. A love like ours can only bloom out of a soil drenched in storms and hellfire and tears. And it can only survive if you remember, if you let it all in. Let it in, Elena, and let me catch you. Let me catch you before you fall. Let me help you save yourself. Let me bring you back to where you belong, to the people that love you. Elena, you have so much love, so much love still left. And it will never, ever replace what you had for your parents, for Jenna. But they wouldn't want this for you, my love, they wouldn't want you to hide. Don't hide from the light, Elena. I did. I hid for so long that I didn't even recognize it when I first saw it, when I first saw you. But I do. I see it now, Elena. And you have to see it, too. You do not belong in darkness, Elena. You do not belong in a half life of shadowed ghosts. Elena, my forever love, please come back to me."

He can see it in her eyes, the moment it comes back, feel the way she shudders and suffers, the way her whole body seems to morph along with it, curling up and under all this weight she carries. Suddenly, she's Elena, she's Cinderella turning back into the downtrodden servant. She's the orphan who feels like she will never get a happily ever after, never live happily ever again. "I don't, I don't, I don't want to! I want to stay! Niklaus, please, don't make me go back! I won't go back! I won't! I won't!"

She falls to her knees, arms wrapping around herself as she screams, and screams, and keeps screaming, so hard it feels like it'll shatter the whole world apart. Maybe that's the point. He kneels with her in the snow, arms going around her shoulders, his forehead pressing against hers.

She doesn't stop screaming.

Lights go on in the house.

But then there is no house.

In the blink of an eye, everything moves backwards, snow rising up from the ground to return back to its home in the sky. The cars parked in the driveway disappear, popping out of existence like soap bubbles. The trees die, shriveling away, and then the ground is the next thing to go. The last is the sky, the stars winking out until they are floating in perpetual black, still clinging to each other. This is the bottom of the abyss, the void of her grief. He thinks it's the loneliness place he's ever seen. He thinks -he knows- he has one just like it.

Elena has stopped screaming. She's crying, sobbing instead, clutching at him so hard her nails break his skin, the cuts already healing even as she makes them. He doesn't care. Let her spill his blood, he's already spilled so much of hers.

"Elena." He says it, over and over again. Elena, I love you. Elena, I'm not going anywhere. Elena, you're my everything. Elena, I'll help you through this. Elena, you don't have to be scared. Elena, I'll stay with you until the world burns down around us, and even then, I'll still be holding you. Always.

"Klaus."

Her eyes are dry. Suddenly, she's back in the clothes he last saw her in, the ones she's been in all day since he found her this morning.

She presses her lips to his, long and slow like she's knitting her soul back together with every stroke of his tongue against hers. She cups his face, looks deep into his eyes, and says, "Thank you," before everything else goes away and...

Klaus jolted upright with a gasp, so forcefully he almost broke his own neck. Instinctively, he reached out for Elena, heart hammering at a wild gallop in his chest. And there were no words ever written or to ever be written that could describe the pure joy he felt at seeing her lashes blink open, to see her gaze latch onto his, full of a million grateful pleas. He did not need a single one of them. He only needed, now and forever, her.

"Hi."

He smiled. "Hello."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

What else was there to say?

Once being deemed medically and magically healthy, Elena kicked everyone else out of the house and called her brother. Klaus sat with her the whole time, hand never straying from hers, blue eyes filled with such wonder she almost felt the urge to look over her shoulder, to see who he was really looking at. But it was her. Every time, it was always her. She told him everything, everything she saw, everything she felt, how real it all was, how much she missed him, and about everything Klaus had done for her, now and in the last few weeks. How, after all this time, she was finally happy, but would be happier still if she could share it all with her little brother. He made a promise to be on the next flight out of Denver. Klaus immediately offered the use of his private jet, since apparently it was the least he could do after almost getting him killed. Jeremy accepted.

Rebekah made her a cup of tea. Kol offered her a piece of toast. Elijah set aside a first edition copy of Emma for her to read when she was feeling up to it. She put her arms around all four of them and finally allowed herself to cry. Not for her dead, but for herself, for everything that she'd been through, everything she'd tried so hard to keep hidden. She cried for herself and she cried for them, children still after years and claws and layers of losses. She cried for daughters and sons, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers and aunts. Those that they had loved too much and those that had not loved them enough, for family by blood and by blood that had found them, forged them, fitted them into a family. She kissed the love of her life with salt on both their lips and felt like she was, finally, out of the car, that she could finally breathe. That she could finally say goodbye, that her place and her peace was among the living, and not the dead.

Elena Gilbert was no longer the sad little girl who lost her parents. She was the hero of her own story, who had faced the hardest parts of herself and come out the other side. She was unexpected, and new, a tale still in the process of telling, not set in stone and no longer carved from it or building walls of it around her heart.

She was the woman who never wanted to let go of Niklaus Mikaelson's hand.

And so she never did.

Elena gave herself five days. Five days of settling into a new normal, of packing all her stuff into boxes and bags and moving it into the mansion for good, five days with school and the joyous return of her brother, five nights falling asleep in Klaus' arms what was now their bed, five mornings of arguing over the Lucky Charms with Kol and sharing exasperated smiles with Elijah and planning lunches with Rebekah before she finally braved the Salvatore Boarding House, the first place on her list. It was not the last.

She found them in the living room, just like she always did, each in separate corners, just like they always were. Both turned at the sound of her approach, just like she knew they always would, because even if she told them everything she'd planned on saying, every new desire of her heart...she didn't think they'd ever be okay with it, that they'd ever let go of the love they had for her. But that was not her fault, nor her concern. Her only concern was clearing the air and letting them know she'd let go of hers.

"Elena," Stefan smiled, steadfast and quiet and patient, the diplomat who thought his kind smiles would win him the long game, would win him her. They wouldn't. "It's good to see you up and about. We were all really worried about you."

"Yeah, next time an evil enchantress comes round for tea, do the smart thing and run in the other direction." Five days, it had been five days since she'd almost died twice, and Damon's first words to her are a joke, at her expense no less. It hurt her more than she would ever let on.

"Thank you, Stefan. I'm doing much better." Oh, how she detested small talk. "Have you got some time to space?"

"Sure," the younger Salvatore agreed instantly, hope springing to life in his eyes. "We can go to my room and-"

Elena swiftly cut him off. "Actually, what I have to say relates to the both of you."

"Uh oh, this seems serious. Better pour the adult drinks."

Her lips curled into a smirk, the wicked one she knew neither of them liked, because neither wanted to think of her as anything but pure goodness, even though every person on the planet was made up of both, good and bad, had the capacity for both. They couldn't stand it when she disobeyed the rules of her programming, when she coloured over the lines of their picture-perfect idea of her, the doppelgänger who went haywire, no longer innocent doe-eyed Elena but not like Katherine, either. She was her own person, always had been, and always would be. And she needed them to see that, needed them to see every part of her, most of all the one that was happy, happy without them fighting over her, happier that she wasn't in love with them like she had been.

Damon smirked over his shoulder. "Are you sure you can handle it, Elena?"

Yes. But all she said was, "Why don't we find out?"

Several minutes later, after the drinks had been poured and coasters rearranged on the coffee table -Caroline's influence, no doubt- Elena looked up at the both of them, these men who danced into her life and swept her off her feet and buried every previous misconception she had about the world...but also made her bury friends, and parents, and family, even if they didn't mean to. And while she was so, so thankful that she had Klaus in her life now...she will never forget that if she had never met them, if they had never been intrigued by her, Katherine wouldn't have come, either, Rose and Trevor never would have found her, she never would have made her deal with Elijah and...absently, she smoothed out a crease in her jeans, picked at a fleck of paint in her sweater she'd gotten from two nights ago when she stayed awake to watch Klaus paint. That little speck of him gave her the courage to open her mouth and begin, "Stefan, I loved you since the first time we kissed. Damon, I hated you from the moment you tried to make me kiss you."

The elder Salvatore's face darkened, clouds of frustration blocking out the rays of apology.

"Both of you, please don't say anything. Please don't interrupt me until I've got out what I needed to." She won't ask again. She won't wait for them. And so she doesn't.

"Stefan, I hated you when you drove us onto Wickery Bridge, when you forced me to drink your blood, when you used my life as a bargaining chip to get what you wanted, what was most important to you: revenge on Klaus. A hollow, pointless crusade, especially against an Original, let alone a hybrid, who has over eight hundred and fifty years on you in every aspect. Damon, I knew I loved you for sure when you gave me my necklace back for my birthday. It was the most selfless you had ever been, and it meant so much to me that you tried to put your own feelings aside to give me what I needed most: hope. It showed me the goodness that I know is inside you, the one you try so hard to hide from everybody, most of all yourself."

"Elena..." they said in unison, but the doppelgänger shook her head, tipping back the dregs of whiskey in her glass before she hurled it into the fireplace, the antique glass immediately cracking and melting with the intensity of the flames.

Damon rolled his eyes. "That's coming out of your paycheck, missy."

Elena's grin was a savage thing. "Bill it to the Mikaelsons. As I was saying...I've felt everything for the two of you. I've been everything for the two of you. Friend and allie and adversary. I've held you at your lowest points and let you hold me in mine. I've told you both things that at the time I'd never told anybody else. You changed my whole world and brought the truth of who I was, where I came from, to light, and I will always be grateful for that, for every time you saved me, every time you saved my friends. But you've also put them in danger. You've been willing to sacrifice them at my expense, because you somehow think their lives are worth less than mine, that I'm more important, and I am, but only to you. You've gone against my wishes countless times and kept so many secrets from me under the guise of 'protecting me.' But no more. It stops. Today."

"Elena, you really can't expect us to agree to any of that crap, can you? You're acting like a spoiled brat, complaining about how we've kept you alive for the past year! No one else could have done that, and unfortunately it forced us to make a few sacrifices along the way-"

"Sacrifice?" Elena bolted out of her chair, gripping the arm rests of Damon's as her eyes bored into his, her fire threatening to eradicate his ice. "Don't you dare talk to me about sacrifice, Damon. Don't act as if you've lost anything that really, truly mattered to you in the last year! Because we all know that Stefan is the most important person in your life, as he should be! He's your brother, your family. I am not. I'm just the physical copy of the girl you used to love who broke your heart. I used to be your friend, but that wasn't enough for you, wasn't good enough for you anymore. It was what I needed from you after Stefan was gone...but it wasn't what you wanted after he came back. You needed to reassert yourself as my favourite, to flaunt it in Stefan's face to mask your insecurity. Am I right?"

Damon sighed wearily, so perfectly unruffled it made her ache, made her jaw clench and her nostrils flare. "Elena, enough with the psychology-"

"Am I right?"

"Elena." Stefan reached to wrap his hand around her wrist, tugging her away from his brother as his other hand landed on the side of her face, his skin feeling like ice water against hers. "Calm down. That's all in the past now."

"But it's not! It's not, Stefan!" Elena jerked away from him, banged her shin on the leg of the table. But she didn't care. She didn't care if it hurt, if hearing the truth was too painful for them right now. It was now or never, because otherwise they'd try to talk her out of it, to prolong the inevitable for as long as they could, and they had forever. But she did not. And she would not spend the rest of hers thinking of the two of them apart, eternally at odds. She would not see one more family broken, especially not at her own hand.

Her nails dug into the skin of her palm, ruby-red crescent marring her flesh, reminding her that she was strong, that she had claws, too, and that sometimes she needed to use them. "I love Klaus. I know what he's done and I love him anyway. And I know that I promised to stay away from him, that we'd break up if you helped us with Esther, but I won't. And I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry that I'm going back on my word when you've both gone back on yours. I'm not sorry that while I love you both, I'm in love with neither of you. But I am sorry that because of me, you've wasted so much time you could have devoted to fixing your relationship instead. Destiny brought Klaus and I together, but it is my choice to love him, for us to love each other. I know it will be hard, likely the hardest thing I've ever done. I know he's not perfect, but I don't need him to be. Because, out of everyone in this whole damn town, he was the only one that saw me, for what I was and how I felt, and that's what matters."

The two continued to stare at her like she was a ghost, an apparition, like she'd just torn their hearts from their chests and laughed all the while.

Elena let out a bone-weary sigh, slumping back into her spot on the loveseat. "And so, I'm proposing another deal. Stefan, you are free to carry out the rest of senior year with us. But after graduation...I want you and Damon out of Mystic Falls."

"That's bullshit, Elena!" Damon immediately exploded, rage volcanic and sulfurous, sucking all the oxygen from the room. "This is Stefan's home. Our home! Our family helped found this damn town and-"

"And technically the Mikaelsons were here first," she replied with an easy shrug, "but this is not a battle of semantics, Damon. I was what brought Stefan here, what made you stay after Katherine. And now I'm telling you both to go."

"And what do we get out of it?" the dark-haired vampire sneered, already pouring himself another drink. Hopefully when he's gone she can convince Alaric to cut down, to get help. She doesn't need anyone perpetuating or instigating bad behavior, certainly not when it'll be his responsibility to look after Jeremy.

"Klaus and I will leave as well. For good. Of course, we'll visit, and you're free to do so as well, but not for months on end. We go out separate ways, all of us. We're growing up; it's what people do. We say goodbye, we do what's best for us, not for other people. I need a fresh start, too."

They'd talked about it at length, her and Klaus, before opening up the debate to the rest of their family. Everyone agreed that it was time, that as important as Mystic Falls was to them...home could be anywhere, so long as they had each other, loved each other. Home was no longer a place, but the people she made them with, that they both did. It was time for somewhere that could be just theirs. They'd talked about all the cities he'd been to and the countries she'd always wanted to visit and then one night he'd sat down with her in the grass like they had that first night and told her The Thing, the thing she can hardly imagine, hardly think about, that she forces herself to skirt around the edge of but had not left her thoughts for a moment, the impossibility of it almost too much and yet the idea of it so very, very enough for her, all she'd ever wanted and..

Stefan frowned, arms crossed tightly over his chest, brooding and incredulous. "You're not going to Whitmore like Caroline and Bonnie? I thought that was what you wanted, that you guys had been planning it for years..."

"That's my whole point, Stefan," Elena interrupted him, not unkindly, reaching out to take his hand in both of hers, eyes bright with freedom and possibility. She was getting through to him, she knew how to win him over. "Plans change, people change. I don't want to die in this town, Stefan. I want to live, I want to have adventures, I want to see the world and find my place in it."

"Just not with me."

A shake of the head. "No. Not you, not Damon or Matt. Just Klaus. He's all I want."

"He'll kill you, you know," Damon interjected, the first words he'd spoken in minutes, tone paced and measured like he was doling out cruelty. "He may not sink his teeth into your neck again and feed on you until your heart stops, but he'll kill every good things about you, everything that makes you, you, I guarantee it. You won't even recognize yourself. And, if there really is a life after this one, your precious parents and beloved Jenna won't either. "

"Who says my turning into a vampire wouldn't have done that as well?" Off their baffled look, Elena barked a laugh, harsh and brittle, agonized by their blindness. "Oh, come on, don't act as if that wasn't where this was going, what both of you wanted! You wanted me, forever. But I don't want forever with you, either of you. Maybe one day I will with Klaus, I don't know, I can't know the future...all I do know is that he is my choice, today and tomorrow, next week and next month and five years from now, and I won't let either if you stop me, or let you take that away from me. And I hope, somewhere down the road, we can find it in ourselves to be friends like we used to be. I can't stop you from thinking what you do, and all I can say is that I love him, and I trust him, and he's killed me once before and I came back, that he's saved me from death and from my grief and my guilt, and every good thing you think he'll take away from me, I know that's exactly what he'll strive most to protect because it means even more to him. We're not the prince and princess riding off into the Technicolor sunset: we're the two warriors, bruised and battered and bloody, putting down our swords and going home, together."

She dropped Stefan's hand, rising gracefully to her feet. Staring them down in her blue sweater and jeans and old Converse, Elena asked the two men she'd loved and whose love she was now happy to lose, "Do we have a deal?"

The next stop was Caroline's for a sleepover. Huddled in a sea of blankets, Elena told her best friends everything, the things she hadn't told Stefan or Damon, about Klaus going into her mind and what he saw there, how he helped her pull herself out of it. She told her friends that she wanted to start therapy, that there was a specialist in New Orleans, Camille O'Connell, that Klaus had put her in touch with who supposedly had lots of vampire patients and her own tale of family tragedy. She offered them the number, and both of them took it. Elena knew that there were things she didn't know, things involving the Salvatores that she either didn't know or had made them feel like they couldn't tell her. She wanted that to change. She wanted them to get back to the people they were, the bright young things who didn't have to look over their shoulders for things on the night with fangs, only older and wiser and more aware of their bravery and their voices.

It was a start.

She told them about her deal, about leaving Mystic Falls after graduation, that she was sorry that she wasn't going to Whitmore with them but that she knew this was where their paths diverged for now, but she also knew they'd cross again, and keep crossing, as those who were so tightly entwined as the three of them were always fated to do. She told them that they were sisters, each and every one of them, as her tears dripped into her bowl of ice cream and Anne Hathaway kissed Chris Pine on the TV screen behind them, and that nothing, not even her loving The Big Bad Wolf himself, could or would ever change that.

They believed her.

That night, they fell asleep, heads in laps and pillows on the floor, old wounds knitting and new ones feeling less tender. And when a breakfast basket piled high with pastries and chocolates and designer coffee arrived on Liz Forbes' doorstep bright and early the next morning, it was Caroline that said, "Maybe dating a Mikaelson really does have its perks."

Two months later, Elena's steps echoed across the marble mansion entryway as she unwound her scarf at the end of a frosty December day, neatly hanging the trailing cashmere fabric up on the coat rack beside her boyfriend's thick wooden jacket that she definitely didn't keep stealing because 'Nik, you're an Original, you don't even feel the cold and no matter what you say I don't look sexy even as a frozen popsicle.' "I'm home!" she called out, blowing on her chilled fingers as she kicked off her shoes, mind already full of thoughts of cuddling by a fireplace with a hot cup of coffee and a Klaus-shaped pillow.

"I'm in the study!" she heard him call out distantly, and immediately curiosity began to thrum through her. Klaus hardly ever used his study, he said he felt too much like Elijah, which was apparently just too unacceptable. Making her way through the halls that she now knew like the back of her hand, Elena found the door of the study, grasping the handle without need of invitation. None of the doors there were locked to her, and with everyone's Original vampire senses they'd hear her coming a mile away, but it meant a lot to her, the faith and show of trust, the openness and lack of secrets. Smiling instantly at the sight that greeted her, of Klaus seated at the desk, fingers steepled thoughtfully under his chin, face awash in the glow of a laptop, obviously intently ruminating over something.

Coming around the behemoth of a desk -because Klaus Mikaelson never did anything by half, if the new library built solely for her on the second floor was any indication- Elena leaned across, balancing her weight on her palm as she brought her lips to his. Klaus returned it hungrily, fingers diving into her hair as his other hand cupped he cheek. Her nose brushed against hers, scrunching when it met the rosy-red tip. "You're freezing, my love. I can't believe you turned me down for a ride home."

"I know, but someone had to help Caroline put up all the decorations for the Freshman Holiday Formal in the cafeteria and I had no idea how long I was going to be and someone's sister who shall remain nameless was supposed to be helping me but instead snuck off to the Grill to meet up with a certain bartender..."

"And my girlfriend has a wondrous, bleeding heart and is too charitable to be human, I know." His hands gripped her waist, swinging her about so that she laid diagonally across his lap. Her arm draped itself around his shoulders, the movement as easy and thoughtless as breathing now, his warmth instantly seeping into her. "What're you up to?"

"Well, seeing as today was your last day and the official start of winter break...I was thinking about how we should take a vacation. We did mention it, after all, right before my mother tried to kill you and everything went to hell."

"You're kidding."

"I know we're not a normal couple, but I think it's important that we still try to have some sense of normalcy in our relationship..." Klaus adorably rambled, misunderstanding, studiously not meeting her gaze and fixating instead on a point over her shoulder.

Elena shook her head, brushing a sweeping kiss against his temple tenderly as she pulled her phone from her pocket, scrolling to the last page she'd been looking at. "No, sweetheart, I want to. Which is why I was looking at vacation ideas all through my lunch break."

Klaus' face broke out into a beaming, dazzling, breathtaking grin, the one he saved only for her, that made her feel so loved and so alive it was almost unreal -and yet was so very, very real, she knew that for sure now, all of this was real. "Great minds think alike." It was his turn to kiss her, murmuring sweetly against her lips, "Where do you want to go?"

Her answer was immediate. "Anywhere, so long as I'm with you."

Her boyfriend laughed, the sound rumbling through her chest as he shook his head exasperatedly, "That's not exactly helpful, Elena."

Glancing out the window, she took in the sight of the frozen driveway, of the trees gilded in snowflakes and the sleeting drizzle beginning to fall from the sky. "How about somewhere warm? Then again, I've always wanted to see a beach covered in snow, but it's not like Hawaii's going to be much better than here at this time of the year..."

"Australia is still warm around now, and I know how fond you are of koalas..."

Elena shut him up with a kiss. "You know me so well, don't you?"

"I really do." He dipped his head for another kiss. "I love you."

Her heart raced as it always did, every single time he said it, as she knew it always would, an endearment that, like him, would never age and that she would never not love, because this was her life now, their life, as rare and sweet as the cherry wine she'd come here for, only to find so much more. "I love you, too."

"Australia?"

Elena nodded with a kiss. "Adventure."

Chapter Text

'You only feel it when it's lost

Getting through still has a cost

Quietly, it slips through your fingers, love

Falling from you drop by drop

What I had left here

I just held it tight

So someone with your eyes

Might come in time

To hold me like water

Or Christ, hold me like a knife.'

The sun had died. Well, only for the day. Tomorrow it would be birthed anew, colouring Elena's new bedroom in lemon bright curls of sunshine, glinting off the onyx buttons on a discarded shirt, picking out the blue-grey grain of a pillowcase, merrily bouncing off the new flamingo-fuschia phone case she'd treated herself to. But tonight, the sun was in repose, the moon a great big beast that had swallowed its light. And, apparently, Elena's ability to sleep along with it.

Ever since she'd recovered from the Merlock orchid poison four days ago, ever since Klaus had saved her life and then saved her heart and soul, she'd had a hard time adjusting, of letting go. Sometimes she thought about that other place, that other life, with such a deep-seated longing it almost scared her, the way it seemed to go on and on, meandering darkly into eternity, into a lightless abyss that she did not know how to navigate. She didn't know if it would ever stop hurting. Not a day went by that she didn't think of her parents, but the memories had shortened in the last year and a half, burning down from near-constant reminiscences to brief flashes, a road flare lighting up the darkness in fluorescent scarlet sparks before diminishing into the void of night, of routine and responsibility.

It did not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, after all.

But dwell she did. She dwelled like she could carve a new home inside them, even though she still had one here, had two in fact. She dwelled like she was the soul survivor of the universe, the sole being to be burdened by survivor's guilt despite it not being an anomalous affliction. Elena was not special in her grief; if you lived long enough, statistically you were bound to experience and suffer the enormity of loss. But she didn't think anyone was meant to endure it so many times, almost to the point of irrevocable and irreversible insanity. She wanted her family. She missed her family. She still felt guilty every time her and the Mikaelsons sat down to dinner on a Friday night and told stories well into the early hours of the morning, talking and joking and laughing and knitting themselves together in a way that she marveled at, most of all because of how seamlessly they'd included her, how she was not some intruding, protruding bump on their family tapestry. She felt bad for abandoning them though, abandoning their ghosts to their graves while she lingered aboveground without so much as a visit in months. Tried to tell herself that it was okay, that Jeremy didn't either, that they wouldn't want her to be stuck in the past...

Where else could she go, though, when they had been robbed of their future? When Jenna would never finish her thesis, her mother would never hold her first grandchild, her dad would never make chili and bring it over to her new house. When John would never get to really apologize, and she could hate him for a little while and then give in to the love she felt because he was still her dad and the reason she existed and she still had so many good memories associated with him and also wanted to have newer, better ones of him.

Where else could she go when she felt so overwhelmed by it all, what else could or would ever understand her but the dying sparks of the cosmos, balls of fire and ice and gas that had perished long before her eyes ever looked towards them? Sometimes she felt like that, that everyone looking at her was looking at a ghost, at something that had already died and couldn't, wouldn't let go. Elena didn't want to think like this, didn't want to feel like this, but she didn't know how to stop herself. All she knew for sure was that love and loss were warring in her chest, no lone victor among them, each laying duplicated and despairing claim on her conscience. She loved Klaus so much she ached with it. She feared she'd let her parents down so much she burned with it. What would they think of the innocent little girl they had raised who had found a home for herself amongst supposed monsters? How coud she agree with her parents' beliefs when Kol made her hot chocolate at two in the morning and put little marshmallows in it, when Elijah told her tales of Nik as a bright and happy boy?

Was it wrong to look past the things they had done and instead focus only on how they treated her? Was it wrong to give someone a second chance when so many had been deprived of even a first one? Was she destined just keep on making excuses, for other people but above all herself for allowing and needing those people in her life in order to feel complete?

"Starlight, starbright, I wonder what's keeping my sweetheart awake tonight." Klaus' footsteps were barely more than a murmur, a susurration rippling out through the grass. He didn't immediately come to sit beside her, but she could feel the warmth of him radiating outwards to her back, through the thin cotton of the T-shirt she'd picked at random from their shared closet. Even if it was now officially winter, Elena never wore anything heavy to bed, had garnered enough experience from countless mornings and nights where she woke up in a cold, cloying sweat not to want to get weighed down by wet fabric, to not feel like she was back in the car, to not feel like she was drowning in her own blood from her numerous kidnappings and near-death brushes.

She'd learned so many things she never thought she'd know.

The knowledge of the man standing behind her is the only one she really likes, that she cherishes like she once cherished praise from her father or a beaming smile from her mother.

Leaning forward, Elena rested her sharp chin on her knees, tone honestly apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." Stefan had never had much of a front-row seat when it came to her bouts of insomnia, the worst being after the sacrifice, but when he had his feelings of helplessness had morphed into frustration, which then pivoted into Damon offering to go inside her head and change her dreams. She'd wanted neither, knew that this was the way her brain was trying to cope with all the trauma. Elena didn't enjoy it by any means, would rather be able to sleep through the night peacefully...but it also meant that she was human, still. That she still functioned like any other normal person who'd been through awful experiences despite the fact she felt so removed from the rest of the world, living in Mystic Falls, living hand in hand with the supernatural.

She had to cling to what she could.

"Nonsense. I'll always notice when you're gone." He said it so offhandedly, like there should have never been any doubt that he wouldn't, that Klaus Mikaelson, 'The Villain,' never one known for his sensitivity, wouldn't bee able to sense when there was anything remiss with her. Like her presence was such an integral part of his being it became immediately obvious when it was no longer there, or in distress, or both. His hands find her shoulders, calloused palms so much warmer than anything else around, rubbing tiny, soothing circles into her tense muscles with his thumb, a feather-light thing, not crowding her, just letting her know he's there, offering his strength and his love and his ear for her to bend. "Besides, this isn't the first time it's happened. Its not even the first time this week. And it won't be the last, Elena, and that's perfectly fine. You've been through an enormous ordeal; you need time to process it all."

"Do I? Can't I just say I'm okay and that be enough?" Elena craned her head up, looking at her boyfriend haloed by the moon, shining silver, and she felt a rush of something, the disquieting knowledge of something you've never been told but know anyway, that it was the exact replica of the shade of his fur when he shifted, moonlight shot through with black and grey and gold, the colours of the night and buried, secret things, things uncovered and yet to be discovered. Even now, like this, he was a portrait in darkness and shadows, should have been the antithesis of the stalking predator, but all she could do was gaze into those watercolour-blue eyes and feel nothing but love, pure and simple, her orbit and her home and her safety.

"If only wishing made it so, my love. Things in life would be a far deal better, and easier. But it's not."

Klaus had never, ever lied to her. It trumped everything else he'd ever done to her, made it fleeting and inconsequential, a tiny speck of sand on the beach of their history. Yes, he may have killed her to break his curse. Yes, Stefan and Damon had never done that, but the lies...oh, they told so many. So, so many. But so did she. The greatest one of all was the one she told herself, that promised she would always be in love with them, no matter what, or who. It's something she knows she'll have to deal with when she sees them tomorrow, when she puts everything she is and everything she wants out on display for them to see like the antiques at one of Mrs Lockwood's Historical Society parties, letting the Salvatores peruse and pick over her heart's desires, praying to any god that would listen and urging them not to break them, break her.

Like vines seaking out water, her hands sought his, tugging him down until he sat beside her. This close, she could count the starred points of his eyelashes, the subtle flecks of forest green amidst his eyes. "I don't want you to worry about me," Elena implored, thinking back on all the people in her love who had done so and paid dearly for it.

Nik reached out for her, pulling her into his chest, her head fitting perfectly under his chin like puzzle pieces snapping together, the picture she'd always wanted but never expected to have. "Of course I do. Your heart is my heart, your happiness my own. I just don't like seeing you in pain; it makes me feel so helpless, and you know how well I cope with that," he added teasingly, conjuring a alight chuckle from her. A beaming smile arced across his face at the sight, easing away some of her tension with it.

"I do. It's...hard. And it has nothing to do with you-" she hastened to say, only for him to calmly assure her, "I know it doesn't, there's no need to tell me so. I was there, I saw everything, Elena. I saw what you wanted. To be honest, it's...comforting, the fact that you just wanted me, how I was exactly the same, just minus the fangs and the fur."

Elena knew it must have taken a lot of effort to admit that, not just to her but to himself, to analyze his desires with such unabashed scrutiny, to confess to wanting to be loved more than he wanted power or prestige or loyalty. But love was it's own kind of loyalty, Elena had learnt, binding people together in immutable, unshakeable bonds.

"I think you'd have fangs in any reality, Nik. And I love you for it. It's a part of who you are." She didn't remember much of the Klaus her mind has created from before, before her Klaus came in to save her, and she suspected the only reason he hsd been a regular -but still extraordinary, still special, if only to her- human beings was because of her parents, And maybe, just maybe, she'd liked to imagine a Klaus that had had a better life, one with less pain and betrayal, one where his little brother Henrik was still alive, one without the fraught history marring and scarring all the Mikaelson children.

Her wishes had not just been for herself, but him, too.

"Still. You know my ego was grateful to preen over it."

Humming noncommittally, silver-limned fingers trickling through the webs of dew-slick grass, watching the beads of moisture gather on her skin like pearls or pinpricks of blood. It was easier, so much easier to attune her focus to all those other things when she asked haltingly, "It didn't...freak you out? The...being engaged part?" She could hardly get the words out, could harder still believe that her subconscious mind had betrayed her so completely, that he'd seen such a selfish, adolescent dream that she had never, ever admitted to herself aloud. Promising forever to a vampire was one thing, but making that promise in front of friends and family and the rest of the world?

Klaus may have been alive for much longer than her, had seen and done almost everything on earth...but she knew he'd never been married, that matrimony was one of the few things he'd yet to tick off his mental To-Do list, if he had such a thing. Was that even something he'd be interesting in rectifying? Was that an experience he was more than content to miss out on? Did he not want her like that, to be so bound to another person when he'd already spent a thousand years within the power of his mother, subjected to the cruelty of her curse and her locking away such a vital part of himself? Like any wolf, he hated being trapped, being tied to, being hindered by the will of another, would this be any different for him...?

"I think Jeremy showing me a modicum of brotherly affection was the most frightening aspect." When she refused to meet his gaze, Klaus loosed a long breath she could feel stir the stray hairs on her cheeks like a puff of wind blowing dandelions. She took felt like she might float away, like this might not actually really be happening, that she was still asleep upstairs, wasn't getting grass stains on her knees, not-looking at the man she so desperately loved and needed as she asked one of the most important questions she could ever ask in all her life.

The backs of his fingers brushed her cheek, a charged touch, a flash of electricity in her veins, a magnetic attraction that was impossible to ignore. Finally ensnaring her warm brown eyes, Klaus gripped her chin with the barest touch, the black hole of his pupils nearly eclipsing his irises as he rasped lowly, "No, Elena, it didn't scare me. Why would my hearts desire ever scare me? You have never scared me. I wish I could only say the same for you in turn, but I can't erase what I've done." His artist's fingers stroked her cheek, but she couldn't tell who the gesture was meant to soothe and reassure more, him or her.

Unconsciously, she tipped forward, ending up in his lap, arms snaking around him on instinct. His own were tense as bowstrings, singing a sad song of grief that she could feel brushing up against her own like a cat wending around her ankles, desperate for attention and acknowledgement in that way of all living beings. That was fine; she never could or would ignore his pain, equal and echoing to hers in so many heartbreaking ways like doppelgängers, same features but different personality. "That was the hardest part: it reopened old wounds for me, too. Not just what I did to Jenna, but about my own family, my father...both of them. He seemed to be very fond of you," he remarked, voice an interesting mix of dry and fond, oscillating between the two like a sky that doesn't know whether it wants to rain or throw sunshine, "not that I blame him. You are a marvelous creature, after all. An arresting, enchanting beauty, inside and out."

Her cheeks flamed, blood rushing to the surface that he could no doubt feel, let alone see. "Nik," Elena croaked out, foggy with embarrassment, still so unused to the melodic, poetic depths of his compliments. It was no secret that Klaus Mikaelson was a connoisseur of beautiful things, had an eye for everything unusual and interesting and unique not just as a painter but an appreciator who had sampled every delicacy of almost every age, that his flamboyance and theatrical dramatics were an unequivocal part of him...but they weren't just words to him, when he said things like that to her; the sincerity behind them was almost always as beautiful and touching as the words themselves.

Stefan may have been no slouch in the romance department, had made quite a few grand proclamations himself...but they'd always hinged on a moment, a pivotal lull before some kind of danger. 'Just in case there is no later.' Making her dinner and saying, 'If you're going to dump me, then you should know who you're dumping.' 'You are the woman that I love,' right after he'd told her she might be related to the one he'd loved first that just so happened to share her face. Perhaps if there'd been less drama, he would have said things like that to her regardless, but she couldn't help what she'd experienced, the conclusions she'd drawn, the expectations and hopes she'd had that she'd soon had to abandon like an artist and their painting, having to let go, knowing there is nothing more you can do to make your vision how you want it without ruining it.

When Klaus said things like that to her, Elena didn't feel like she had to live up to them; she felt like she already was them. He made her feel like that.

"A goddess among mortals. A tigress among mewling kittens," he continued on saying, solemn as a sunset, dimples flashing like flares as she giggled in his arms. "Don't let Caroline hear you say that; she'll have Bonnie turn you into one," she warned, but Klaus merely shrugged, so unbothered by it all it was almost comical. Especially when she'd never, not in a million years, ever let anyone hurt him, her protective need for him so entrenched in her, taking root and burrowing deep into the very core of her, housing beside her similar feelings for Jeremy, that fire to protect what was hers.

Devotion could be scary, but so could she.

"Let her try. I am serious though; you shine so bright the whole world can see it, Elena, even the dead. They know, my love, they know how good you are, and they're proud of you. How could they not be?"

"Because I'm not going to medical school?" The words came to her, unbidden, sneaking past her guards of their own volition, wreaking havoc on her self-control, stirring her heart into a stampeding gallop and her eyes into shimmering with fresh pools of tears. Her emotions were like the shards of a shipwreck, bobbing along so close to the surface, churned about by outside currents, unforseen and unexpected. "Because I dated one vampire and then promised forever to another, to the Original Hybrid of all people? Because I love you so much that I'd do anything for you, and I can't even pretend to myself otherwise, that there isn't a law or a moral that I wouldn't break or bend for you? That being with you, building relationships with your siblings, it's the happiest I've ever been in my whole life, even before all this, before they died and it makes me feel like a traitor, a betrayer? That I've finally found my place in the world, but it just so happens to be at the right hand of monsters and it doesn't bother me? Not even a little bit, not even at all."

He did not rush to reassure her; Klaus never rushed a masterpiece. Nor did he try to offer her meaningless platitudes on a false silver platter, did not try to distract her or cajole her into a more agreeable line of thinking or warp her to his will as others had before him. He only said to her, tone crisp and even as a winter breeze, "I could say the same for you," and took her hand, the decoration of his daylight ring winking up at her, moon-blue and jagged, beautiful but unpolished just as he was, as Elena was beginning to realize she herself was, too. "I was never supposed to fall for another Petrova, you were only supposed to be a means to an end, and now you mean everything and my life would end without you."

Casual, like a request for the weather or a cup of coffee.

Honest like the raw matter of a shameful secret only your own heart will ever know.

Pure like the laughter of the children they had been...

"That's what love is, Elena, it flies in the face of reason and expectation and approval; if we really, and truly, love someone, no one and nothing can stop those people from being together." A pull on their clasped hands. "Case in point."

Hair snapping out like a banner, she began the terrifying process of laying all her insecurities at his feet like sacrificial offerings at a temple to honor long-lost beings, wrapped in the certainty that his wraith would never smite her or deem her unworthy. "Doesn't that scare you? Doesn't that make you worry? I know that I'll love you for the rest of my life, but you...one day, I won't be here anymore. What will you do then?" She didn't want to think of it, of one day leaving him alone, that there might come a time where no one on earth will remember how bright his dimpled smile is, how he can be sweet and thoughtful and patient, that history will only know the lie of Klaus Mikaelson and not the beating, loving heart of her infinitely precious and priceless Nik.

Glib and self-effacing as only he could be, "Go off into the woods, build a house like Peter Pan and life off the land. Perhaps adopt the Stefan Salvatore Bunny Diet." As if an answer like that could or would ever satisfy her, should put at ease someone who loves him. But she cared, she cared and so she'd dig, keeping digging til she struck bone, struck home.

Her eyebrows puckered together like threads, pleating her brow with folds of annoyance. "Klaus, I'm being serious."

He was useless to weathering her disapproval.

Their eyes clashed like comets, sparks flying in all conceivable directions with his rasped retort of, "I know. In truth, I can't think about it. I can't entertain, not for a single millisecond, the idea of not being with you every day. I just can't. I love you too much." His voice, stripped raw like an atom dissected and deconstructed to its basest elements, honed to a subatomic level of unbearable, breakable agony. She could feel it, rolling off him like a tide rolling back from the shore, spilling out into the great big bowl of the ocean and the rest of the world, too much for even a being as mighty as he, immortal hybrid, to contain alone.

Alone, alone, alone. None of them wanted to be alone. It was one of the first things she'd learned about him, before she'd mapped out the planes of his chest or shifting aurora of freckles on his bare back as she hugged him from behind on sugar-sweet Sunday mornings. It was the foundation so many of her first impressions were built on, laying the groundwork for their animosity -not because of it, but the lengths he'd go to in order to stave it off like a religious man warding off the devil. It was what made her ask, "Just not enough to turn me?" but not hold her breath for the answer.

She did not need to worry. He did not make her wait. They'd both spent and lost too much time waiting for things -for each other; the right person to love.

"No. Not when it's not what you want. Not if you're scared of it. If you ever changed your mind then we would obviously discuss it," tossing the idea out like one tosses tarps over a roof even if they don't think it will storm, diligently precautionary, "but until then, if such an occasion raised, it has never and will never be my choice to make for you."

Her hand squeezed his, tiny ruby-splatters of pressure sinking into his skin before fading away -he felt her all the same, Elena knew, knew that with him, sometimes the little things, like that, say more than any words she could dredge up from her soul- before she let go. "And just when I thought it was impossible to love you any more." She meant to come off light, teasing, but her voice carried a weight to it, a genuineness, an unexpected confession even if it was no great sin, not to her. Elena was no saint, but that didn't mean she didn't believe that love wasn't a universal truth; she had more faith in it than she did in any god, was her rock and her anchor and the former albatross about her neck, weighing her down and sawing her in half, leaving her raw and bloody and burned. There love was not like that, could never be like that, not between two people who had been through what they had, endured atrocities and been the cause of them as well, who knew pain like it was an old, hated friend but would stand on the precipice of it and plummet into its depths to shield the other from it in theory, but in practice would be right there beside them, entwined like the red webs of fate.

Smirking, Nik planted his hands behind him in the night-blackened lawn, shirt rippling over his chest, the proud peacock with the glorious feathers, a study in the richest colours, always so vibrant and alive. He was the most alive person she'd ever known, undead or otherwise. Every movement, every expression, every slice of the jagged, abused flesh of his past and every smile of their searingly joyful present, he was always so close, so near, tangible. "What can I say, love? Defying expectations is a favoured pastime of mine. And gazing up at the stars and worrying is yours." His shoulder knocked into hers, a double-edged sword of 'I think it's cute' and 'Don't ever feel like you need to hide and suffer anything alone, not when I'm here for you.'

"This is our spot," Elena parried, because it was, and he knew that very well -its was his favourite first, it was why he brought her there, so what was once his could become theirs, a permutation that had grown and grown to include everything else around them, in them. "It makes me feel...calm. Like I'm most myself. Like I can take out all the things I won't and can't let myself think about in the day, can examine them in the dark before putting them back. Like how...no matter what, I feel like I'm doing something wrong, like I shouldn't allow myself to be so happy, that something will happen and take it all away. And I don't know how to get past it." Admitting the truth hurt. Sometimes, Elena almost wished that she didn't feel everything so intensely, as if spending all her time cotton-wool-wrapped between vampires had infected her with their heightened emotional spectrums, playing every high note on the piano at once.

But when she looked into those blue eyes, the shade of summer waters and winter gas-fireplace flames and spring-shower skies just before a rainbow showed up...she was not so scared, knew that her secrets had never been in better hands, despite all the bloodshed they'd wrought, the things that they'd broken. But, at the end of the day, Elena wanted him to know who she was as much as she craved to know him, completely and utterly, two hearts forming a bigger, better, albeit battered whole.

In less than a month, Klaus had driven away those dreams of romance-movie loves and fluffy happily-ever-afters. Or, even more, he'd helped her realize that she'd grown out of them in a way she knew Stefan or Damon or anyone else ever would have thought to, would have tried to preserve and conserve her innocence like a relic behind glass. But the glass slipper no longer fit. The kiss of a near-stranger no longer roused her from slumber. Elena was the one with the horse and the sword, facing down the dreaded beast...before telling it that dinner would be ready in an hour and to please not get paint all over the floors.

"We take it a day at a time. Together. You will never have to go through anything alone ever again."

Nik will never not have the power to reduce her to grateful tears.

"And what about you? Will you ever tell me what's been troubling you for the last few days?" she wondered, gathering her composure as she peered at him curiously, instantly knowing she was on to something important when the blond obfuscated hastily, "Elena, I really don't think this is the best time..."

"Is there ever a good time for anything?" his girlfriend rebuked him, logic undeniable, a history of chronological examples waiting behind her teeth. "Whatever it is, it might help to talk about it. Talking to you always helps me." Fine, it was a shameless piece of flattery, but it was for the greater good, his good and...Elena still remembered what it was like when she was the only one who knew Stefan's secret, when she was burdened by trying to keep it from everyone she loved -to keep them safe, and look how well that turned out- and she would always want to try and spare Klaus that awful feeling whenever possible.

But she also knew that, should it prove too painful, she'd happily back off until he was ready, their unspoken but potent and prevailing agreement to respect each other and be mindful of boundaries, that it wasn't a lack of trust that prevented them from sharing things sometimes but simply not feeling ready yet, to examine old wounds and hurts and regrets.

"I doubt that. If anything, it might make it worse."

Well, that really boded well.

"All the better that I know now, then," was her insistent answer. Gingerly, Elena slotted her arms around his shoulders, knees settling around his thighs as her nose grazed his in a soft caress. "Your troubles are mine too, remember?" Elena prodded him, heartfelt and determined. "No monopolizing them; share in the angst."

A chuckle rasped out of him, eyebrows high with bemusement as he teased, "Because a problem share is a problem halved?"

"Exactly! You're learning." She beamed a wide smile, but it faded like vapour as she felt the gravity of the moment surround them, felt like they were hurtling towards a precipice, some chasm that would cleave them into a Before and After, a shift in the very foundation of everything they'd ever thought they had known.

Regardless, it did not deter Elena from the truth in her heart, the one she desperately implored to him. "There is nothing in the world that you can't say to me, no fact or dream that will turn me away or taint what we have. I'm yours, Klaus, always, in all things."

He nodded, a swift, jerky motion of his head, chest rising and falling in rapid successions; she couldn't remember ever seeing him so scared, except for that night where his mother tried to kill them.

When he finally found the strength to tell her, it all came out in a dizzying rush. "When I was at the Other Side, as I was being pulled back here, Ansel told me that because of my hybrid nature, it would be possible for me to have children."

If Elena had to make a list of every time her world stopped, she'd be sitting there for hours. Still, at that moment, everything felt so close yet so far away, faint, she felt faint, like she could float, like she could fly, like she weighed everything and nothing, that the impossible was possible and that there were no limits to the surprises of the world, every lined blurring into an indistinguishable middle where no rules or sense of order applied.

She was surprised.

Was shocked.

Was confused by how it could be like only a girl of science could.

But above all, Elena was happy. So ridiculously happy, like finding out that you really could just get off the ground and fly, that magic was really and nothing was out of their grasp...because it wasn't, with them. Because their very existences defied explanation and nature and causality, because they'd both come back from the dead and been born a thousand years apart and yet they'd found each other, they'd always found each other, her blood calling out to him and his broken heart howling for her own.

And that one thing, that one thing she'd known she'd never have with Stefan or Damon, not just because of biology but because there was that tiny voice in the back of her mind that, after the events of the summer, after seeing Stefan as a Ripper, made her doubt and reconsider...she could have it with Klaus. They could have a family, be a family, even more than what they already were.

God, she was feeling so much at once and...

"Please say something, Elena. Your silence isn't doing any favours for my disposition, love-"

And Klaus thought she was worried, or scared, or unhappy.

Daring and bold, she grabbed him by the back of his head and savaged his mouth with her own, unable to get enough of him, to properly articulate just what she was feeling in that moment, the fullest spectrum of every effervescent and wonderful and incandescent emotion that sizzled in her veins like the most dazzling kind of lightning.

"I'm so, so glad you told me," she choked out, peppering his face with kisses, every inch of him that she could reach being lavished with intimate attention. "But I want to know how you feel about it before I say anything."

"Elena, this isn't something to be taken lightly, and you should never feel the need to calibrate your answers to what you think I want to hear..."

"I know," Elena smiled at him. "It's just that you've had more time to think about than I have, and you've actually raised a kid before so you know what it's like and after what happened to him...I just want to know what you think about it, Nik."

Tears gleamed like unspooled starlight on the fan of his lashes. "I think...I think that it's a miracle, one I most certainly don't deserve but will forever treasure to have with you. I think that it would be the hardest, greatest shame imaginable to never hold a little girl with your eyes and brilliant smile. I think that I've been alone a very, very long time, if not physically than emotionally, but you make me want to be better. You do make me better. And if someone had said this was possible a few months ago, I likely would have laughed in their face before ripping their heart and secretly crying over what I couldn't have. But now...yes, Elena, my answer is yes."

"And so is mine. Yes, yes, yes."

How could she not kiss him after that?

"Just not before you finish college at the very least," he said as his lips trailed down her neck, nipping over her collarbone. "And in the meantime we'll have to take precautions..."

"Nik?"

"Yes?"

"Stop planning and just kiss me."

And so, happily, he did.

Chapter Text

                                         'And, Lord, she found me just in time

She's gonna save me, call me "baby"

Run her hands through my hair

She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily

Better yet, she wouldn't care

We'll steal her Lexus, be detectives

Ride 'round picking up clues

We'll name our children, Jackie and Wilson

Raise 'em on rhythm and blues

Lord, it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime

Me and my Isis growing black irises in the sunshine

Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside

We'd sit back and watch the world go by.'

May, 2011

"Elena, love, we're going to be late," Klaus Mikaelson reminded his beloved girlfriend as he stood at the bottom of the winding staircase of their family mansion, attention unevenly split between adjusting the cuffs of his newly-tailored navy blue suit and the texts blowing up his phone every few seconds with mounting desperation and persistence. Caroline Forbes was a force of nature, one to be reckoned with and handled with the utmost caution and delicacy, and he really didn't feel like getting into yet another row with her, not today of all days. Not on Elena's day, the one she'd worked so passionately and patiently and tirelessly to achieve all year long, and even more so the last few months, which had mercifully been mostly absent of supernatural shenanigans and magical mischief -to the couple's mutually delighted surprise. 

Except that one time when Kol almost blew up the house teaching Bonnie a new spell. And when Esther and Finn came back to Mystic Falls and tried to finish what they'd started and kill them all, but were of course unsuccessful and the former was sent back to the dark, desolate plane of the Other Side while the latter was reunited with his former paramour, Sage, who were now off living in Florida of all places, but Klaus supposed that after spending the better part of nine hundred years trapped in a coffin, an abundance of sunlight would not be a luxury one would be inclined to readily spurn, even if it meant enduring an overabundance of Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts. 

"Is Caroline texting you every twenty seconds again?" He heard her voice call somewhere from the depths of their bedroom, light and warm and mellifluous, and Klaus privately rolled his eyes at the fact that she was obviously unoccupied enough to respond to him and yet couldn't just hurry the hell up so they could get this over with and start the rest of their lives together as he was so eager to do. 

"If only she were so magnanimous. Really, sweetheart, I know my penchant for making dramatic entrances has somewhat rubbed off on you -don't pout, you know I speak only truth- but since I really would prefer to keep my head attached to my shoulders..." 

Thankfully, seconds later the hinges of the door squeaked shut and the hybrid trailed off, letting out a relieved breath when the click of her heels against the polished mahogany flooring picked up soon afterwards. It was something he hadn't tired of, the simple domestic intimacy of hearing her footsteps in the hallway or the sound of the shower first thing in the morning, the steady hum of the coffee maker at two in the morning when she was up late studying for her SATs and he had the pleasure of carrying her back up to bed when he found her asleep at the table, cheek creasing the pages of a biology textbook or an overly dense history tome. Nothing major or earth-shattering in the grand scheme of things, but to him...they were the precious pieces that made up the picture of their life together, the one he'd never expected himself to want, let alone physically achieve. The one where was granted the supreme wonder of knowing he was truly and completely loved for who he was, scars and snarls and all. 

In all honesty, he'd thought it would be far harder, sustaining a healthy and loving relationship. Not because Nik doubted her capabilities, of course, only himself, and the hope that he hadn't removed himself from the human being he'd once been so much so that he couldn't even remember how to love one properly, that the darkness of being turned and having his wolf suppressed for centuries combined with the merciless violence he had so naturally gravitated towards had stripped him of such capabilities and that he would be unable to love her in the way that she deserved, deeply and wholeheartedly. In the way where he woke up every morning and felt like he should be thanking some deity out there when he saw her head still resting besides his on the pillow. But it was easy. So, so easy, because it wasn't really all that different from when they'd been friends, only now there was the added mind-blowing sex and hand-holding and the anniversary-remembering and lavish weekend dinner dates to Paris at the drop of a spontaneous, impulsive hat. 

It hadn't been so much as an adjustment as a reawakening, an unfurling, an extension of what they'd already had into something even more treasured and wonderful. 

That was, of course, when the darling love of his life was on time. 

But, as always, every thought and feeling and idea took flight like a flock of raucous starlings from his brain the instant his eyes landed on her, struck as always by the lighting bolt that was her beauty -her beauty, not anyone else's, not Taita or Katerina or whoever else might have been both blessed and cursed to share that same face, that same fate, no, it was all her, it was always her, and every time he looked at her, he felt like a boy again, huddled on his bedroll of furs, giddy and lovestruck as he discovered a new mix of colours, knowing there really was magic in the world beyond that in his mother's dusty grimoires. 

In the grey sea of humanity, she was the brightness, the lightness, the rainbow that illuminated his shadows and changed the ugliness into something oddly beautiful, imperfect and yet painfully honest and raw, stripped away of frippery and pretense. A difficult process, yes, but one Klaus was endlessly grateful for, and he enjoyed showing her just how grateful he was at any and every opportunity. 

And that cap and gown were not going to have a long life, not if he could help it. 

"Sorry, sorry, I know I kept you waiting but I couldn't find my earrings and I swear I left them out for today so that I wouldn't have to go hunting through all our boxes...It appears you've lost your tongue instead of your head," Elena teased him playfully, leaning her bare forearms casually against the railing as she gazed down at him, the mischievous grin dancing across her red lips drawing a similar and immediate one from his own. 

"You are fantastically radiant, as always; any other reaction would be unjust. It seems Caroline actually knew what she was doing when she insisted on the red rather than the blue." He did have a particular weakness for his girlfriend in red, it was true, ever since his birthday when her present to him had been nothing but her in a fitted red dress and a signature bottle of cherry wine. 

"And you are a consistently shameless flirt, Niklaus." Descending the steps, she paused before the bottom, the elevation combined with her heels giving her an unexpected but welcome height advantage, especially when she sank her fingers into the golden curls at the nape of his neck and anchored her mouth to his, leaning them both into the honey-warm shaft of sunlight cascading down from the skylight above. 

Growling low in his throat, his arm came around her waist to pull her closer, fingertips brushing against the satiny fabric at the small of her back. "Weren't you worrying about Caroline having your head thirty seconds ago?" Elena inquired breathlessly as he trailed kisses along the slope of her jaw, and Klaus merely shook his head in response, teeth nipping at that spot below her ear in that way he knew she couldn't resist before reclaiming her mouth once again; he could hardly respond in full sentences, not in a moment like this, too engrossed in the feeling of her lips, the sugary-sweet slide of her tongue against his, this feeling that he chased all day and that nothing else could ever satisfy but her. "It'll grow back. I think. Don't know; never tried. I also don't care right now." 

Elena let out an amused hum, fingers knotting in the material of his silk-printed tie, but there was something in the tilt of her head, the shine of her eyes, the way her pulse was hammering in her neck... His fingers folded around here, restraint a long-forgotten notion as he brushed a lingering kiss to the heart of her palm. "Caroline can damn well wait, my love, especially when something is bothering you as it is now." 

She pulled away, but only slightly, a bare sliver of space that allowed them both to catch their breath and resume cognizant thought. Her dejected sigh fogged his lips like condensation on a mirror, that same feeling hollowing out her expression as she screwed her eyes shut tightly like she could keep her secret from leaking out of her magnetic irises through sheer power of will alone, and the sight of it made him howl inside, made him want to crush whatever the source of it was under the heel of his boots and smash it's loathsome face in...but he was trying to be better than that, didn't particularly even like being that anymore. Yes, sometimes it was necessary when various enemies of the Mikaelson family came knocking, but otherwise...he had more to fulfill him these days than needless, endless bloodshed. 

Besides, Nik also had the feeling that this wasn't the sort of problem he could go out and fix with his fists, or that he himself could fix at all. 

In a blink, Elena was dropping down onto the stairs, graduation gown pooling like a crimson puddle around her, the hem of her pretty white dress just peeking out shyly underneath. She didn't say anything for a moment, and Klaus was more than happy to wait for her, knowing she'd speak in her own time. So he took up a spot beside her, finger stroking ever so slightly against hers in their shared space, unable to resist the urge to try and provide some sort of comfort for her, to her. For so long, she had been such a stoic presence in his life, even more so than Elijah, given the fact that he had the advantage of a thousand years of seeing through his brother's every facade and faked expression. Yet Elena...she had always been so guarded with him, and rightly so, after everything he'd done to her, that she'd endured because of him. But now, he knew her like he knew his own heartbeat, like the curve of the sunlight glittering over the falls, like the feeling of holding a paintbrush in his hand, and all three came him the same incomparable feeling of peace that could not be replicated by anyone or anything else.

Once, Niklaus had seen such admittances as vulnerabilities, a tactical error that opened you up to attack and eventual defeat, just as Mikael had always taught him, as he had passed on to his son Marcel in his ignorance and paranoia. Now, he saw it as a strength, a victory to have earned the privilege of being the one Elena turned to and shared her secrets with, as he shared his, and how she kept them safe as she did everything else in her life; with steadfast determination, unwavering patience and the most infinite supply of generosity and tenderness. 

"I'm...nervous, I guess," Elena breathed out in the sunshine-filled silence hanging between them, her head coming to rest comfortably, comfortingly, against his suit-clad shoulder. "Not about us, just...well, everything but us, to be honest. Out of all of this, that is the one thing I'm absolutely sure of." 

He knew that. Taking a look across the foyer, at the steamer trunks stacked high like ancient monoliths and crowned with cardboard boxes scrawled in her  Sharpie-d hand with things like Poetry Books and Family Heirlooms and Miscellaneous Knickknacks, she didn't have to tell him she was sure.

But he appreciated it all the same, insecure hybrid that he was. 

"Before all this, before we all learnt the truth about vampires and witches and werewolves, there wasn't a lot holding us together outside of school and the general expectations that came from living in Mystic Falls and upholding our ridiculous familial traditions. Life was about who was dating who, what was going on with the football team, partying out in the woods 'til the crack of dawn and copying each other's notes to pass our weekly pop quizzes because we were too busy staring at some guy or too hungover from the night before to pay attention. And then when we did...it's like we found the heart of who we were as people. That when you brushed everything else aside and focused on all the things that really mattered, we would always pull together, always be there for each other, no matter how hard that might be. And I know I ruined a lot of it with my choices this past year and a half, what I put people through with my Salvatore tug-of-war. And we've all worked so hard to fix all that these last few months...but what if it doesn't last? What if it didn't mean anything? What if, with time and difference and a warped outside perspective, it doesn't hold up and we go back to quietly resenting each other for things that we can't change? What if, in five years time, ten years time, it'll be like we never even knew each other at all, let alone would have laid down our lives for one another? What if we're like strangers, vague recollections of searingly heartfelt moments floating around like ghosts in the backs of our minds, passing each other on the street and just keep walking?" 

"Do you feel like you'd ever do that?" 

The brunette gave an emphatic shake of her head at his query. 

"Then you shouldn't have so little faith in your friends, Elena. Some of them are...somewhat decent, I will begrudgingly admit. At the very least, I will always be grateful that they kept you safe for so long, long enough for us to meet." 

"And for you to kill me at the proper moment. And then for us to fall madly in love."

A smirk pulled at his lips, softer than its signature predecessor. "That too. Truth be told, I've never been particularly good at maintaining connections myself, not if it didn't benefit me in some tangible way, be it support or secrets or some other profitable medium. Even as a human, I was never like you, didn't hold out my hand to everyone I met. There were children I knew in passing from the village, those of the men my father would go hunting with, but I always preferred my own company or those of my siblings to anyone else's. I always felt different, and I often resented them their happy lives, their sense of completeness and contentment, no lingering sense of otherness residing in their souls. But you..." 

Fingers floating like in a dream, Klaus brushed the pad of his index finger along the smiling curve of her cheek, resting it against the ridge of her chin to tilt her face closer to his. "You, my wonderful Elena, are with the effort of friendship. You are worth fighting for, and worth the love of your friends they always so ardently and unreservedly displayed. You could never be forgotten, not by anyone, nor could anyone who truly loves you ever forget any part of you, past or present. You are who you always have been, and the supernatural has and could never change it, only amplify it and draw your bravery into starker focus, your compassion in colours of greater clarity. And if not, I'll compel the ever-loving daylights out of them until they remember how bloody grateful they should be to even have their numbers in your contact list." 

"Bonnie's immune to compulsion, though," his girlfriend reminded him, to which he patiently parried back with, "But not to bribery. I'm sure she'd be plenty amenable after a year's less student loan fees and some Taylor Swift tickets." The Bennett witch and he would never be friends. Too much bad blood, a whole sea of it, none of it under the bridge so much as engulfing it in a crimson tsunami wave, unbreachable. But they endured each other's unwavering presence in Elena's life, how the love of a friend was just as important as the love of a...well, lover, and vice versa. Neither were going anywhere, so they had little option but to get on with it and try not break any furniture in hearing range of Elena. 

He just hoped that if Kol and Caroline ever decided to tie the knot, he wouldn't be best man, or in that eventuality, the blonde vampire didn't pick Bonnie as her Maid of Honour. If the two of them had to dance together, a conflagration would be as guaranteed as the scathing exchange of banter. 

"True. And you're right. I know you're right. And for the record, I like to think that if I'd been around rather than Tatia, I would have made an effort to be friends with you." 

"Just friends?" Klaus quipped with a lascivious wink, her subsequent chuckles wrapping around his shoulders like a warm blanket, but unfortunately his phone started chirping in his pocket once again, puncturing their perfect moment like a pin lancing through a soap bubble. Growling low in his throat at the interruption, the hybrid fished it out of his pocket, anger subsiding when he saw who it was ruining their sweet bliss. 

Elena wordlessly lifted a brow, intention clear. 

"A selfie from Jeremy, pointedly reminding me of the vacant seat beside him," Klaus explained, a chuckle of his own escaping his lips at the boy's cheek. He really was so much like Kol. 

"Jeremy saved you a seat next to him and Ric?" 

He nodded in confirmation, touched at the small gesture but also its larger implications. That he was accepted as someone important in Elena's life, and therefore in theirs. That he had earned his place to be there on Elena's big day. That they wanted him there. "Apparently. I'm just glad that I won't have to sit in the general vicinity of my trickster brother. He has been nauseatingly insufferable since it was announced that Caroline was in the running for Valedictorian. Rebekah still has her money on you, by the way." 

Elena huffed lightly, nearly all traces of earlier uncertainty wiped away like clouded breath on a mirror. "I appreciate the show of familial support, but you know that stuff doesn't matter to me anymore. I was thrilled when Bonnie was named Prom Queen. The only queen I'm interested in being is yours. And I can't believe I just said that out loud; all this nostalgia and sentimentality is corrupting my brain and making me corny. Thank God none of your siblings heard that; they'd tease me forever, and that's a very long time with you lot." 

"Indeed it is," he agreed, taking her outstretched hands and pulling her to her feet, using the proximity to swoop in a quick kiss to her cheek before linking his arm with hers, ever the gallant gentleman proud to be seen with his lady. "I remember one time when we came across our dear brother Kol in the most compromising position with the Dowager Empress of..." and launched into another family tale of intrigue, scheming, stolen royal jewels and an unfortunate incident with a copper pot from a castle's kitchens that lasted them well into the drive there.

By the time the SUV pulled up into the Mystic Falls High parking lot, the sun was cresting high in the sky, a cheerful yellow marble amidst the enamel-blue sky. Streamers and banners wrapped around every available doorway like autumn ivy, signaling a true changing of the seasons, adolescence into adulthood. While the spectacle seemed a little overwrought for Klaus's tastes, he could admit there was a certain American charm to it, the blurring masses of red and white and blue, the high school marching band serenading away from one corner of the field in their polished livery, drums and trumpets attempting to compete with jubilant explosions of laughter tinged in defiant relief. 

Still, he much preferred the Decade Dances. Not that he'd ever tell his sister that -or Caroline for that matter. 

The pair had barely set a foot out of the car when the former Miss Mystic descended upon them, a riotous display of perfectly cultivated curls and a harangued expression. "Took you guys long enough! Couldn't you have just vamp-sped over here? It would have been so much quicker and saved me almost getting a stress ulcer!" 

"And miss the chance to annoy you, Caroline? Never." 

Elena not-so-subtly elbowed him in the ribs, the motion undone like an unfurling ribbon by the fact he could see she was holding in her laughter like a breath. 

In an attempt at expediency -and to shield his girlfriend's privacy- Klaus capitulated, and lied. "Fine, fine. Yes, we're late. Yes, it's my fault. Yes, you can pick something from the family vault in recompense for my crime -later. I believe we have a ceremony to be getting on with, do we not?" 

Caroline bobbed her head, blue eyes now a calming sea. "We do. But we have something to take care of first," she said, ensnaring Elena's arm and trailing her behind her like a kite, calling breezily over her shoulder, "Don't worry, she'll be seeing plenty of you later!" before he could offer up the proper protest. Huffing in annoyance, Klaus had little choice but to get to his seat and try to make 'small talk' with other people -joy of joys. However, he soon found his footsteps shadowed by someone else, a presence at his back like a hand on his shoulder. 

Klaus turned without prompting and exclaimed, "My girlfriend has just been kidnapped." 

Elijah frowned, suited form eclipsing the bright sun at their backs. "Friend or foe?" 

Nik chuckled dryly at the question, how they were the kind of family that needed clarification on such a thing. 

"You can't blame me for asking, brother, given both our family's track record and Elena's own," Elijah postured, smoothing a hand down his cherry-red tie, the only sort of fanfare he'd indulge in to show his support for their little sister's first ever graduation. Klaus knew that he'd probably bought it just for today and would likely never don the silken neckwear again, its colour too much like spilled blood for his tastes. He'd always favored the darker, moodier colours as the centuries rolled by and it became less in fashion for men to wear summer greens and sunshine yellows and russet reds in their brocade jackets and hose, lines sleeker and sharper like those of a predator. 

He knew that Rebekah would appreciate the gesture though, the fact that he'd tried something different for her sake. That, and the fully-stocked private jet awaiting her use at the Richmond airport once she was done with today's celebrations, destination anywhere and everywhere she wished. 

"Touché. Caroline. I think they're doing some sort of 'Hey, guess what, we're all still alive! Sort of,' group hug experience. Ugh." Klaus shuddered in distaste. "I really won't miss this place." 

Elijah clicked his tongue, omniscient as a god of old. "Yes, you will, Niklaus, and you cannot convince me otherwise. No matter what happened, this will always be where our story truly began. Yours, and that of your love for Elena. That will always make it special to you. Not quite as special as New Orleans, perhaps, a different kind of story for a different kind of love, but a home all the same. He reached out to Rebekah, did you know? Invited her to spend the summer in New Orleans." 

A tip of the head, an acknowledgement of an invisible presence, a long-believed ghost. "We talked about it yesterday. She has yet to make up her mind on the matter. And she is still very smitten with the Donovan boy. I don't think she has quite forgiven him for allowing her to believe him dead, even if only for a handful of years. To be completely honest, Elijah, neither have I. If I had known Marcellus still lived, that one of the rare and wonderful things I loved that I did not destroy with my own two hands had lived...perhaps I might have been a different man for all those decades." 

Niklaus faced his brother, let some of the mask bleed away and crumble, far less of the hybrid now than there was of the man who had died too young, too violently, lived too cruelly and yearned for more too desperately to be seen as anything but other. "Perhaps I might not have let our bond suffer so. Wouldn't have fallen into paranoia and outrage and neglect if I'd still had him to hold on to. But you should have been enough. My stalwart guide, brother and confidant and best friend. The fact I still had you should have been enough, and yet it wasn't. And for that, I'm sorry. I raged so much about you and our siblings abandoning me, but in truth I abandoned you as well to save myself the burn of a possible rejection. Because I was petty and selfish and thought I could and should control everything." 

It was hard to admit, even now, hard to admit that he wasn't always right, that ultimate power did not come with it ultimate perfection, that Mikael had been right in some of his vitriolic musings on his bastard son, but Elijah deserved the truth from him all the same. Without him, he wouldn't be where he was at that moment, standing in the sun with love beating in his heart and a smile on his lips as he heard the melody of Elena's laugh on the summery breeze. 

"Be careful, Niklaus, you are frightfully close to sounding like an actual human being, and a sentimental one at that," Elijah warned him with a smile, a rare gem of a thing, incomparable and priceless. It seemed the hybrid wasn't the only one who had been softened these last few months. 

Which was great for Nik, because that meant he could make fun of him for it. 

"Well, we can't have that, can we? Hmm, how about..." Klaus affected a high-pitched, swooning tone, "'Oh my God, Elijah, you're so annoying, and stuffy, and your song-and-dance with Katerina is so tedious, and if you were a real man rather than a robot you'd go to New York and profess your undying love, perhaps with flowers and a box of chocolates or a dripping human heart or something...'" 

"And now you sound like Kol. I have no intention of pursuing Katerina, brother. That ship, as the children say today, has long since sailed." 

"Bloody crashed and burned like the Queen Anne's Revenge more like. Are you sure, brother?" Klaus probed at the subject like a broken tooth, an architect checking for structural damages, a general assessing weak points in a strategy. "You seemed so happy to see her when she blew into town looking to barter with the location of the cure." An experience he was all-too willing to forget, the way she'd materialized in the Mikaelson mansion like a summoned genie not two days after Klaus and Elena had gotten back from their winter vacation, telling the family that she had information on the cure and was eager to negotiate with it, her price being her immediate freedom from his wrath, of course. She'd known that Rebekah wanted it, in that uncanny way she seemed to know everything, but after a family meeting it was ultimately decided that she be turned away, a few broken bones dearer. But not before Elijah disappeared for an entire day, whereabouts unknown. 

Regardless, Klaus never would have agreed. Not for her transgressions against himself, or even Elijah, but for Elena's sake. For the aunt she'd compelled to stab herself, then helped him trick to get to the sacrifice. The mind games she'd played with her and Stefan. The fact that she'd ever made Elena doubt who and what she was, made her feel like a cheap copy when her soul was as original as they came, no other equal to it. 

Elijah picked his words carefully, every sentence an intricate puzzle, telling much and yet showing so little. "I was happy to end things with her, for good. To make peace. I will always love her, I think, some small part of my soul carved out just for her, but it has no bearing on the larger whole. That is reserved for other, better, brighter things." 

Their family liked secrets too much. "Dare I ask what, exactly?" 

"That's for me to keep to myself for now, I believe. It'll be nice to surprise you for once." His brother tilted his chin, eyes the brown of sun-warmed soil. "I believe your precious cargo has been returned to you," he said, just as Elena came bounding over the grass, feet barely touching the ground as she gave a brief wave at his brother. 

"Hi, Elijah! I like the tie. Now you, Mister, better get to your seat," she ordered him playfully, poking a finger into his solar plexus. "You don't want to miss the show." 

Klaus sighed but dutifully obliged. Not without reminding her, though, "Your surname is in the middle of the alphabet, my love. Even if I was ten minutes late I wouldn't have missed you." 

She smiled affectionately. "Aww, that's sweet." And then abandoned it. "Also, I don't care. You will sit there, and clap, and pretend like you're actually invested just like the rest of us. Okay? Now, you. Seat. Go. Elijah, I'll see you after?" 

Elijah's mouth curled in amusement at her no-nonsense handling of him. "I look forward to it, Elena." 

Hand in hand, she dragged Niklaus over to the array of seats as he quietly murmured to her, "Did Caroline drag you into some kumbaya group hug?" 

Elena nodded, rolling her eyes in an action he presumed was more reflexive rather than born out of any true annoyance. "Yes, she sure did. But it was nice. It felt like an ending, but a beginning, too. Closing the book on life as we know it. But the great thing about books is that just when you think you've found one you couldn't love better, you suddenly do." He knew what she was talking about; she knew that he knew what she was talking about, because they were Nik and Elena, two halves of the same whole, simultaneously opposites and mirrors existing within the very same heartbeat. 

Klaus squeezed her hand, just once, fingers pressing into hers, meshed knuckles like the intricate lattice work canopy of trees that presided over the Falls they had both grown up playing in, centuries apart, and agreed, "Life does tend to surprise me that way. And I hope it always will." 

Caroline Forbes hated endings. She hated saying goodbye, to anyone or anything, and her bedroom was a testament to that, a shrine to adolescent boy band CDs and jewelry she hadn't worn in years that she thought was still pretty so she kept it around for nostalgia and to aid her shiny aesthetic. Now, sitting on her plush purple comforter, the room around her looked barren, stripped-bare, a house that had once been a home, rather than just a pile of bricks and flicks of paint, naked like a mannequin with no clothes. 

And it was all Kol Mikaelson's fault. 

Because he just had to give her a room at the mansion two months ago that, in hindsight, she hadn't even really used since she always ended up in his by the end of most nights anyway. And then he just had to mention that since Klaus and Elena were moving to jolly old England and Elijah was taking up residence in one of their apartments in Paris and Bekah was going on vacation with Matt so he was going to take a trip of his own to Italy...and that he didn't want to go alone. Specifically, not without her.

Like she'd ever be stupid enough to turn an offer like that down. 

But it meant that everything was moving so fast, and there were so many goodbyes and last-times and well-wishes, and she wanted to remember them all, didn't want to forget one single thing about this town that had raised her and killed her, where she'd emerged from the ashes of her former self like a blond-haired phoenix, becoming the person she was always destined to be...

Just because she had forever didn't mean that everyone else did, however. In five years' time, ten years, she might not be able to come back to this place, this point in her life where no one noticed that she hadn't aged and had a sudden affinity for wearing the same gaudy blue ring every day without fail, that she always winced whenever she had a cup of coffee or an iced tea from the Grill when the water supply was laced with vervain. People would begin to notice, and suddenly, she wouldn't be Caroline Elizabeth Forbes anymore, former cheerleader and Miss Mystic, the Sheriff's daughter who organized charity drives and raffles, disposition as sunny as their acclaimed Virginia weather. She'd be Caroline Forbes, a vampire, a monster, a predator who preyed on the innocent to perpetuate her immortal existence, a scourge to be eradicated, a blight to be removed like a slug off Mystic Falls' otherwise idyllic vista. 

And that day scared her. 

Caroline knew, rationally, that this wasn't the end, wasn't the be all and end all. She would see everyone here again; of course she would. But it would be different. They'd be different. She'd be different. And that was a hard thing to come to terms with. She'd already changed so much in the past eighteen months; she wasn't sure if any more would be a good thing. 

"Just what is going through that darling head of yours to make you wear such a serious expression on such a joyous day?" Kol's charming voice teased her, posture easy and languid in the doorway, smile wide and brimming with mirth like an overflowing cup. But if she looked closely, she could see that his eyes were serious, intent, and it was one of the things she'd come to love most about him, how there were so many angles and facets to him, that he only let people see what he wanted them to see, and hid the rest away behind walls and layers of nonchalant humour. 

And that, despite the fact he was over a thousand years old and she was still a baby vamp, despite all the no-doubt hundreds upon hundreds of women he'd been with throughout all that time that he'd never lasted with, never looked back for, he wanted her to see everything, all of him, completely and truly and without guile or facetiousness. 

And she did. 

Pursing her lips, Caroline dragged her fingertips down the tassel at the end of her discarded mortar board, wrapping the shiny golden cord around her ring-clad index finger as she told him honestly, "I'm just thinking. About endings. And things changing. And how many more dresses I can fit in my suitcase before it gives up the ghost and rebels on me." 

"That's an easy fix, sweet Caroline: we'd just get you a bigger suitcase. You can never have too many dresses, only too little room to put them all," he said, pushing off the doorway and crossing the room in an easy step before claiming his usual place beside her, his presence an immediate balm to her troubled mind. Taking the cap from her hands, Kol situated it on his own head, cocking it at a rakish angle, one of those impish grins curling up the edges of his mouth. It always made her happy to see him smile, never failed to send a thrill racing through her when she happened to be the cause of one, too, the novelty of someone *wanting her around never losing its luster. 

She'd always kinda hated when people called her that, though, 'Sweet Caroline.' The immediate assumption that just because she was blonde and liked floral sundresses and strappy sandals and still knew all the words to 'Part Of Your World' that that was all there was to her, that she could be so easily and stereotypically defined, that there wasn't a thing of claws and teeth and wanting that existed inside her, that ached for adventure and newness as much as she now needed blood. (Also, she found the song super annoying and didn't even get English football, it all seemed so dumb and boring to her.) Coming from Kol, however, she'd never minded it, knew that he actually meant it, not as a degrading, trivializing remark but as a genuine compliment. That he saw all of that, all of her, and liked it, too. The sweetness and the bitterness, the sass and the softness, and wanted it in a way he never had with anyone else before, or so he'd confessed to her early on in their relationship, those early days where they'd been trying to figure out how this might work, the Trickster and the Perfectionist, before realizing just how simple it all was, that they both wanted the exact same thing: to be seen. 

Kol Mikaelson hadn't believed in love and goodness for a long, long time. Until he met her, and she did what she did best, and changed his mind.  

A laugh bubbling from her lips, she rescued her hat from him and scooted back against the headboard, making room for him on her lavender bedspread. In seconds, his head was in her lap, her fingers winding through the strands of hazelnut-hued hair, the silver band on her finger peeking through like a shy deer in a forest glen every few seconds. 

"Are you having second thoughts about agreeing to go with me?" 

Something else she'd learned about the Mikaelson's since she'd started dating one: they acted all tough and monstrous on the outside, but in reality, they were just as vulnerable and tender as anyone else on the inside, harbouring a soft and gooey inner center like a chocolate chip cookie. They needed reassurance just like humans did, and certain blonde vampires, too. 

"No, Kol. No second thoughts," Caroline promised him, fingers still sliding through his hair. "Just happy first ones. It's just...I only ever left Mystic Falls for the occasional visit to see my dad or to the Richmond mall when our one here didn't have anything I liked. It's a big change. And then I'll be going off to Whitmore with Bonnie and Elena will be thousands of miles away for the first time in our entire existence." She paused, took a breath she didn't need, admitted cautiously, "Everything's changing, but I'm still the same. I'll always be the same. And everything is so perfect right now. I have you and I'm happier than I ever thought I could be for a person who's gonna be a perpetual teenager and have to compel themselves into every bar until I can crack the perfect make-up combo so I look old enough to know what a gin and tonic actually is, let alone order one." 

Reaching up, his fingers encircled her wrist, thumb running along the pale blue network of veins currently pumping around someone else's blood, voice a low, soothing rumble as he replied, "I understand where you're coming from, dear. I was only nineteen when I turned, lingering on that uncertain and frustrating cusp between manhood and adolescence, never taken seriously either way." 

"So how did you get over it?" 

Something else she'd learnt: Kol was far more perceptive than people gave him credit for, most of all his idiot siblings. While they all compared him to a jovial, flippant prankster, there was a well of genuine and heartfelt emotion resting below the surface, a wisdom and a sense of experience that, whilst might not have exactly been garnered from living a choir-boy lifestyle, didn't make any of it less true or insightful. 

"By trying to forget about it, or feeding when I couldn't. Not exactly a coping mechanism I'd want you to replicate, my sunshine girl. You shine far too brightly for such darkness. And I have the utmost faith in you: you can handle anything, Caroline Forbes. There's not a single thing in this world you couldn't conquer if you set your mind to it, and I'd be more than happy to stand on the sidelines and watch you do it, preferably in one of those delectable miniskirts of yours.." Kol trailed off, face lighting up with one of those deliciously wicked smirks that Caroline just couldn't get enough of. 

"Hmmm, I do like the sound of that. You know, my mom won't be home for at least another two hours," she informed him slyly, opting for a tone of idle nonchalance even as her fingers toyed with the jet buttons on his black button-down, a knowing glint in her own eyes. 

"There's lots of things you can do in two hours. Watch a film, read a newspaper, indulge in a little light piracy…or make out with your unfathomably gorgeous girlfriend," he grinned, before his mouth moved to cover her own, melting away the last of her worries along with it.

Yes, she was going to be just fine. Because, for the first time in her life, not just as a vampire but as a human being, too, she had someone who loved her absolutely for who she was, was not even a first choice but an only choice, a one-and-done. As he was hers. 

Which was lucky for her, since he was a really, really good kisser. 

And being in his arms…it was the safest place she'd ever known. 

Somewhere ahead of her, perched on one of the branches on one of the many trees that made up the fairy-tale-like forest, an owl was waking from its slumber, feathers ruffling on the summer breeze, it's gleaming gaze no doubt drawn over to survey the once-grand, now thoroughly dilapidated house in front. It was a desiccating behemoth of a thing, and like so much in this soul-sucking town, it had been left to rot and ruin and no one had ever cared to fix it, content to let it be consumed by nature, as was only natural. After all, who would claim such a house, where witches long since passed walked the cobwebbed hallways, gauzy and ghastly like spectral Miss Havishams, frozen in time and in death? There had been rumours floating around that the Mystic Falls Building Commission had wanted to tear it down and open up a new summer attraction sight, one of those pop-up carnival things with sticky funnel cake and rigged water gun games and dizzying tilt-a-whirls. She couldn't imagine anything more horrible -except owing Klaus Mikaelson a favor when he inevitably compelled the money-gluttonous lot to leave the house be, and signed over the deed to entire property and surrounding lands to her, pressing a key and a set of signed documents into her palm with a smile he'd no doubt intended to be friendly, and yet had made her conscience feel anything but eased. 

It had felt too much like a bribe, a placation, a cheap toy from the gas station to soothe the irate toddler on the way home from a long drive. Here, take this and shut up. Keep your stupid and entirely valid opinions to yourself and leave us all in peace. You're not needed anymore. 

There was a bag perched on the passenger seat beside her, full of incense and candles and sage, her family grimoire and a half-empty bottle of sunscreen, her phone charger and the empty CD case of The Cranberries reflecting the light of the waxing full moon above. The car in question was brand new, a joint graduation gift from both her parents as Bonnie Sheila Bennett embarked upon her newest -and hopefully the first of many- adventure. 

After all this time, after so many deaths and dastardly deeds and wicked schemes, Bonnie had gotten the memo: she was finally leaving Mystic Falls. For the first time in forever, for no other reason than simply that she could, that she wanted to, Bonnie was letting this crazy town fade in her proverbial rearview mirror and was going to drive down to Whitmore to begin the process of going through Grams's office there, followed by an impromptu road-trip to look up some of the other covens out there that her cousin Lucy had recommended she get in touch with to help her explore her powers further. After everything that had happened with Shane, the way he'd tried to take advantage of her magic and manipulate her…she never wanted to be in a position like that again. Never wanted to feel so helpless and vulnerable and used like that. She'd come so close to giving in, so close to abandoning the values that Grams had taught her and embracing the dark arts of Expression. If she'd been in a different place, if her friends hadn't fought so hard for her…she might have. 

For all the years she'd witnessed first-hand what compulsion could do to a person, the way their will could be so entirely subdued by another being, their sense of self wiped away like taking bleach to a wall, she'd always felt safe and protected by the knowledge that no one could ever do that to her, the security blanket she cocooned herself in like armor that had allowed her to go toe-to-toe with some of the worst creatures the supernatural world had to offer without flinching. 

Now she knew what it was like, though, what Tyler must have endured, being sired to Klaus. How Caroline must have felt, being compelled to do Damon's bidding what felt like eons ago but was only eighteen months prior. 

And it terrified her. 

But as it was, the psycho had failed in his mission to resurrect Silas and had his memories of anything relating to the supernatural completely erased thanks to some compulsion courtesy of Elijah. She'd deemed it a more fitting punishment than death, having his entire personality obliterated, his magical raison d'etre little more than a distant dream like a long-forgotten song. The memory of him still lingered, though, a stain on the beauty and wonder that her powers had always been, a source of strength and comfort -an unbreakable connection to her ancestors, the many Bennetts who had come before her so that she could be here now, staring out the front window of her shining silver Lexus at the looming house beyond, surrounded by the mixed perfume of new-car and summer-blooming wisteria and night.  

She hadn't been back here since the incident with the coffins, since Damon turned her mo-Abby (don't forget, she always winced when you called her mom, she didn't like it, couldn't handle the guilt of what she had done) into a vampire. And while it was indeed very spooky and creepy and some of the floorboards sagged with bloodstains old and recent…she still had a tether to this place that she just couldn't let go of, at least not without saying goodbye first. Because this house wasn't just built in bad memories; she'd spent nights with Jeremy here after faking her death, the two of them hunched over grimoires like crooked saplings that hadn't grown straight, teenagers bent by the weight of fate and responsibility as they pressed their bony hands into their shoulders and urged them to hurry, to find a way to save everyone -Elena- before it was too late, sharing kisses and take out coffees and stress, everything made heavy and romantic by the light of a hundred burning candle wicks, back when fire used to mean heat and pretty shadows rather than watching her best friend get trapped before a sacrificial altar. 

Bonnie had been thinking about it a lot lately. The sacrifice. Elena and Klaus. Klaus and Elena. Kol and Caroline and Matt and Rebekah. All her friends, her family, who she had fought and bled for and died for, all moving on. Swapping indignation and disgust for diamond bracelets and ski trips to the Alps and summering in Italy or whatever the hell Caroline thought she was going to be doing while her boyfriend, the vampire, sunk his fangs into some innocent tourist's neck while she was preening over espresso martinis and gelato, gazing at him wistfully from the back of a moped like she was Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. There used to be sides, for God's sake, a clear Us V Them mentality that had served them just fine! Back in the beginning, Elena had dumped Stefan because he was a vampire that fed off of bunny rabbits, and now she was a hop, skip and nanometer jump away from being Mrs Klaus freaking Mikaelson. 

And yet…she was happy. So, so happy. So much she glowed with it, brighter than the sun and the stars and a million supernovae burning at once. And Caroline; Caroline finally had someone who put her first, never diminished her or ran hot and cold with her like a malfunctioning sink tap as Tyler had, someone who helped her not only accept but embrace everything about herself, even the parts of Pre-Vampire Caroline she'd been so eager to gloss over after her transition.  

Her and Jeremy were well and truly over, and he was dating April Young now, the pastor's daughter whom he'd helped save. Everybody had someone. And what did she have? A cardboard box in the trunk and a CD with a scratch in it, a lot of resentment and anger and bitterness that she wanted so desperately to let go of. For so long, her friends had been her everything, the orbit of her lonely little planet, their magnetic pull undeniable, resistance not even a thought that crossed her mind. She'd never had any other friends but them, everyone else thinking she was too weird and strange, the woman with the absentee mom and the crazy grandmother like something out of a storybook, the Bennett house that no one else wanted to play at because don't you know, that's where the witch lives? 

It was time to see who she was outside of that, what she was as her own separate entity, her distinct and unique self outside the influence of everyone else's demands. She'd do magic because she wanted to do it, not because someone else needed her to do it for them. She'd sleep in 'till noon and make sweet tea the right way, rather than the instant stuff out of the packet because she didn't have the time to stand around and brew it properly on account of his somebody was always dying or trying to kill them all or the team were plotting to return the favor. She wouldn't be washing blood out of her clothes, not her own or anyone else's. She'd dream of new cities and new adventures, rather than the monsters of old, the returning actors of her nightmares, things with fangs and fur, eyes black and red and golden and even the blue, which was somehow worst of all. 

No, Bonnie would never be happy that her two best friends had fallen in love with the Mikaelsons. And yet, at the same time, she would never begrudge the Mikaelsons for falling in love with them. 

Because, at the end of the day, so had she, a million years ago on the playground, recess whistle trilling in her ear as hands clasped, and held, and kept holding, even when wiser people would have let go, and had. Darkness was drawn to light, it was an immutable fact of the universe. 

And if anyone, alive or dead, possessed the will and the strength and the single-minded determination to bring out the humanity in a family of centuries-old killers, it was Elena Gilbert and Caroline Forbes, of that Bonnie would always be sure. 

Below her, the floorboards gave a groan as if in answer, in approval. Permission to let go. 

But that wasn't the Bennett way. That wasn't her way. 

So she'd go, but only for now. She'd be back, somehow, someday. Only on her terms, though. Only as someone new, this person she wasn't yet but couldn't wait to meet, to explore. Like the taffeta-skirted transformations of her youth, turning from six year old to princess to fairy godmother to tiger when she'd gone through her animal phase. Like donning a cloak and picking up a sword, slicing through the brambles and barbed wire that had caged her spirit so dispassionately and for so long she'd forgotten how to exist in any other way, as anything else. 

Reborn, the only way she knew how: acceptance.

If Stefan Salvatore had a nickel for every time he'd graduated high school, he'd have seventeen nickels, and while that couldn't buy him much in the grand scheme of things, it would certainly be an impressive and noteworthy collection. 

It was funny, how he both had and hadn't thought this day would come, over the last two tumultuous years of his eternal life. He'd made plans with Elena -only within the confines of his mind- way back when, and yet Stefan never really expected he'd actually be around to see it, to stand in his atrociously red cap and gown, his arms around Caroline and Matt as she made them all pose on the green for a group photo, the same stretch of lawn where Tyler had thrown a football at his face on that very first day, and here Stefan was, shaking his hand as he stepped down from the stage. Damon was in the crowd somewhere, lurking as usual, the occasional flash of sun-warmed black leather that Stefan would know even if he forgot his own name. 

The Camaro was waiting for them back at the Boarding House, freshly waxed and gleaming the same pristine enamel-blue as the cloudless Virginia sky, bags packed neatly into the trunk like the flower beds their mother had once meticulously presided over, like the gravestones of all the dead they were responsible for in this town. 

Elena was right, as always: they needed to get out. Needed a fresh start, if they ever wanted to find their way back to being not only brothers, but best friends again. And they'd really tried since last winter, tried to repair some of the holes they'd clawed open in their relationship, wounds left unattended and hodgepodged together with the metaphorical duck-tape that was uniting over a common cause, usually that of self-preservation or scheming schemes against the next Big Bad, but there were only so many bottles of bourbon in the world and trips to the Mystic Grill for soggy french fries dipped in milkshakes, so many silences you could fill up with idle chit-chat before you sounded like Mrs Lockwood at one of her garden parties. He hoped that by getting clear of Mystic Falls they could clear the air between them, make the necessary apologies without any of the unnecessary excuses, their reasons always so crystal clear to each other and yet never any less hurtful because of it, this merry-go-round of fights and betrayal and spilled blood and spilled secrets and stolen kisses and twisted lies. 

But Damon would always be the first person he wanted to call if he had a problem, just like he always had since he was four years old, right down the hall rather than a continent away. He would always be the big brother that taught him how to tie his shoes so he didn't trip and snuck him extra dessert when he was sad. His first memory would never be of Mother or Father but of him, blue eyes and scruffy black hair and an embrace he'd always felt safe in, even if it was one that'd been used against him, used to hurt him. Over and over again. So was he, though, he was no blameless angel, no Michael to his Lucifer. They were both abominations of nature, and they'd both broken by all they'd done, just in different ways. They might have both endured the trials of vampirism, but their scars did not align, weren't two butterfly prints on a page but two entirely separate tales written in ink and blood, blood of the innocent and the blood of family, the people they'd loved and lost and let go of. 

Or at least tried to. 

Because it still hurt, seeing Klaus spin Elena in his arms, laugh like the liquid gold of ambrosia, like the warmth of the home he had always been searching for and only found once for a flickering heartbeat of time. Seeing the smile painted on her face, a true work of art, and being able to admit such an expression had never been cultivated by his hand in all their time together. That he'd never seen Elena Gilbert so completely herself, so effortlessly content and weightless as she was with the Mikaelson Hybrid. 

He'd planned to be the one to hold her like, from the moment they met until the end of time -either his or hers, it wouldn't have mattered. He'd wanted that casual affection and glittering spark and the way she always tipped her head back right before she kissed him. And he'd ruined it. Ruined it all, as he was destined to. Katherine had said to him when she'd sailed into town a few months back that there was a rumour within her people that the doppelgängers were fated to be together throughout the long and complex dance of time. He wasn't sure why she'd mentioned it in particular, or why she'd felt the need to suddenly reveal that she came from a distant line of witches called Travelers, whoever they were, if it was out of some half-hearted ploy to insinuate they would forever be in each other's lives in some distant, unspoken capacity or because she just found the tidbit interesting, but personally Stefan didn't hold much stock in it. Because even if it was true for him…it wasn't true for Elena. 

She was meant to be with Klaus, simply because out of all the men that had paraded in front of her -himself included- laid themselves prostrate and vulnerable at the altar of her goodness, he was the one that made her the happiest, and that was exactly what she deserved. Their own relationship had been tense and dramatic, epic in scale and soul-crushing in its propensity for despair, the dominoes that fell in the wake of their love, the wheels they set in motion that clambered over all they held dear. And whatever had or hadn't happened with her and Damon…Stefan liked to think he knew Elena well enough to know that she couldn't love someone who wouldn't own up to who they were, all of it, that didn't have a line they simply wouldn't cross, no matter what. Someone who would hurt her in the name of trying to save her, when the only person Elena needed was herself, as she'd been telling them all along.

Stefan finally got the message, but he doubted that Damon ever would. He was still glaring at Klaus like he was imagining all the ways he could rip his head off and watch it grow back like a slow-motion nature documentary, and that would likely always be the case. He couldn't find happiness in her happiness, not if it wasn't with him, and not if it was with Klaus of all people. 

He hadn't known him back in the twenties though, hadn't known him in the wake of New Orleans and Mikael. Klaus had filled a void in his life that his brother had made, a hole in the plaster foundation of his soul that even all his Ripper bingeing had done nothing to minimize or mitigate the ache of. Nik deserved this, too, the lonely guy clapping him on the back in the booth of a bar, eyes a little too real and a little too raw, underneath it all still the boy wishing someone would or even could love him, or at the very least accept him for his faults and foibles and attempts at fratricide. 

Maybe that was why he wasn't all too surprised when he got back from the Post-graduation party at the Grill to find the Original there, lounging beside a lit fireplace in spite of the sweltering May heat, inspecting a bottle of Scotch with an aficionado's eye. Speak of the devil and he shall appear and all that. Think of old friends and they shall emerge, raiding your alcohol and looking at you with the smuggest expression known to mankind. 

"What are you doing here?" Stefan asked dimly, not enough energy powering the statement to give it an edge of any conviction because deep down, he knew. He knew why he was here, and, truthfully, he didn't mind. Not saying goodbye might have been his brother's style, but it wasn't his. 

(He never got to say goodbye to his father, or to Zak, or to Valerie or Lexi or even his own self, the boy he'd once been, the innocence he'd lost and the innocence he'd taken from his own brother.) 

(Maybe he really did need a drink if he was already this maudlin at four thirty seven in the afternoon.) 

"Technically, felony trespassing. Existentially, the only way I know to make peace: get everyone drunk. It works wonders at the mansion whenever someone has a hissy fit, although of course I won't go naming any names," Klaus offered with a lilting grin, and it was still such a shock to the system, like a bucket of vervain-laced water, just how human Klaus looked these days, that customarily hunted, predatory gait he'd carried around like he'd forgotten the weight of it after a thousand years of constantly looking over his shoulder had melted away, thawed out by something as simple and simply wonderful as the discovery of true love. 

"The only way to bury the hatchet is to unearth the alcohol," the hybrid continued on, the sharp points of his face softened into tempered fragility, and Stefan could almost pretend it was ninety years ago, framed not by firelight but hand-blown glass lamps, the spray of a champagne bottle and the catching comet-tail spark of a cufflink replaced by an amber-glistening Scotch and a Cartier watch worth more than the living rooms' furnishings put together. "I should put that on a T-shirt," mused the Mikaelson ruminatively, and just like that, the spell was broken and Stefan was staring down a man that had betrayed him with the mere act of making him forget him, even if it had been for his own good. Not to mention making him turn off his humanity, feed on his girlfriend and drive him to the brink of insanity after a whole summer of following him around all because Damon had needed his stupid magical blood. 

Was there anyone in the world he could have a normal relationship with? Someone he couldn't bear the sight of and yet still opened the door to let them in every time, where feelings were clear-cut and well-defined as a zebra crossing, telling you not to walk there lest you want to tempt fate. And that was what this was, tempting fate, pushing the boundaries, inviting the monster in and not even telling him to wipe his feet on the door mat. "Come on, Stefan, you know I won't take no for an answer," as if he ever needed a reason to remember, as if he'd ever forget it. 

Fine. Maybe he was angrier at him than he'd realized. 

"Won't you?" Stefan replied darkly, arms crossed and brow pinched, crease deep enough to drop a dollar in like an old couch cushion. 

The threat vaporized in Klaus's repentant chuckle, the diligent dip of his head as he acquiesced, "Fine, I will, but I will be most aggrieved about it and ruin everyone else's evening and you will be entirely at fault, old friend." 

Scoffing -a thing he never used to do until he first heard the last name Mikaelson- the Salvatore ventured over to the bar cart, fully stocked as always, and held out a set of glasses almost half his age, uselessly expensive and just the sort of thing he knew the blond would approve of. Better to ply him with alcohol until he'd given whatever inevitable, grandiose, verbose speech he'd cooked up and then left for his big mansion full of family -that weren't out drinking with their sort-of ex's sort-of father- and then off on a grand adventure with said ex likely never to be seen again…

"Okay, Magneto, I'll have a drink with you. For old time's sake." 

Klaus didn't miss a beat. 

"How magnanimous of you, Charles." 

It was confusing. 

"What? Don't look so surprised, Stefan," Klaus drawled as if such a reply had been perfectly reasonable and not totally out of character for a man who, last time he checked, was still using a stylus for his smartphone. "Kol has spent the last three months systematically watching ever superhero movie ever made and trying to rope in as many of us as possible into sharing the 'life-changing experience,'" he explained with exaggerated air quotes before adding a moment later, "I didn't have the heart to tell him that I actually watched Batman and Robin when it came out. The things we do for family, eh?" 

Stefan rasped thickly, "Yeah, I'm familiar," like it wasn't the biggest fucking understatement of the last two centuries -his two centuries.

"I see Damon isn't around to spend your last night together," the hybrid mused with misplaced cherubic innocence and damn, Stefan was such an idiot, shouldn't have let his guard down like that, he'd forgotten how well Klaus could read him, or was he just making a big deal out of nothing, it was obvious that Damon wasn't in the house otherwise there'd be broken bones and bottles and furniture and someone's zygomatic arch would be crushed to pieces and Stefan would be cleaning blood out of the rugs before they left and…

"He's still at the Grill with Alaric, no doubt spending his time in a much similar fashion." 

A vague, disinterested nod. "Right." Accompanied by a casual shrug. 

Far too casual. 

Before he knew it, Stefan was already reprimanding him with an exacting, "Klaus…" sharp like the tip of a dagger, of fang piercing flesh, of the hundreds of thousands of times he's had to defend his brother and his decisions, soothe away betrayed stings and venomous jabs insisting and insisting and persisting and praying and hoping that Damon was more than the weight of their disappointment and judgmental stares, and his, for he was not blameless either, and never could be, could never be faultless or pristine in the tale of his brother's destruction and desecration of humanity, of his humanity, not when his fingerprints were smeared all over the blueprints of his vampirism, his hand the one that dragged him to the proverbial poisoned well and did not stop until he'd drunk deeply from it. 

He'd thought, once, that love could save them both. That so long as there was something to fight for, to be for, then they would not wholly be monsters. Yet here they were, Stefan enduring the condescension of the Mikaelson Hybrid rather than face the grueling emptiness of a hollow silence, absolution and admittance in alcohol and the way he couldn't quite reach Klaus's gaze, knowing there'd be too much there to see, too easily decipherable: even with his switch flipped, Stefan Salvatore had never perfected the torturous art of casual blankness, expression scrawled with devastating detail like the pages of his beloved journals, every tragedy written there stark-faced, unforgettable. 

The blond held his hands aloft, glass pitched precariously between two crooked fingers, beckoning the invisible. "No judgment," he assured hastily, and for once Stefan thought he might actually mean it with a degree of sincerity, consequently knocking him off-kilter as if he'd had five bottles rather than half a glance, surprise compounded with his continued, "It's just…if you were my brother, I'd respect how important today is for you. You're leaving, Stefan. Finally letting go of the teenage pretense and putting your own needs first: Damon can get drunk with History teachers whenever he wants," tone walking the dubious high wire of softness and determination, eliciting and enticing him to see his own worth. 

A very dangerous thing for him to consider, in his own mind. 

"I thought we weren't allowed to come back here for a while though," he said reflexively, reflectively, content to stow away the flash of kinship kindness and parcel through it as he was watching Mystic Falls fade in a freshly-polished rearview mirror.

A sweeping, unconcerned amendment of, "Correction: Elena said you couldn't stay for over-extended periods of time. And Mr Saltzman is, of course, more than welcome to get in his car and cross the town line to see you both whenever he so wishes. Elena is already talking about having him and Jeremy over for Christmas." 

"In London? I'm sure he'd like that." And because he apparently couldn't help himself, he just had to know…"He hasn't tried to say anything to her, has he?" Stefan doesn't insult him with a clarification; Klaus's mouth took on an unsettled edge, pinched and grim, harsh as memories best left forgotten -or have been tried to, at someone else's behest. "I haven't noticed him go up to her…but I'm not exactly around twenty four seven like you are." 

A belligerent, dimpled grin. "Quite. And no, he hasn't. Thankfully. I'd hate to divest him of anything important after maintaining the peace around here for so long." 

Moments without Klaus threatening someone: right back down to zero. And to think he'd been doing so well. "Nik…" 

"Stefan…I can never forget what he did, nor can I ever forgive him, never forgive him for what he did to Elena, how he treated her." His tone was like polished steel, adamant and slicing, pearls of blood beading up from a surface as liable to inflict pain as it was to invite and excite conflict in others. A tone that immediately raised hackles, yet also lulled the accused into compliance, knowing there was no real hope of a rebuttal in the face of such gut-curdling rage. Inexplicably, though, it changed, all that vitriol being directed internally as he murmured, confession-booth soft, "And I'll never forgive myself, either, for I know I'm equally guilty of inexcusable behaviour. But I try to make up for it. Every minute of every day, I try to show her that there is no single thing in this whole world that I care about more than her. That I'm still just as narcissistic and machiavellian and frustrating as I was the day she met me, but now that's not all there is to me. She is my heart and my humanity, my love and my soul and my conscience, and if someone offered me a redo on my life but it meant changing even a single moment of the last seven months we've spent together…I wouldn't take it. I wouldn't take it," Klaus repeated devoutly, "because it wouldn't be worth it." 

A moment passed. Two. Collecting on his fingers, the transparent, ardent sentiment of Klaus's words settling on his shoulders like a dusting of snow, or something heavier like stone, encasing him in the emotional severity of the moment and weighing down his limbs with a particular flavour of guilt that only the mention of Elena could manifest. "Careful there, Klaus," the youngest Salvatore cautioned him impossibly, improbably, the million-to-one jackpot that no one with such blood on their hands as they would ever dream to win. "You're beginning to sound as sappy as me."

The hybrid shrugged and replied simply, "There's no shame in having feelings, Stefan. Besides, if you repeated it to anyone, who would believe you?" 

A scoff lodged in the other vampire's throat, an apple pip of incredulous disbelief. "Um, anyone who's seen you look at Elena or been in the same room as the two of you for over ten seconds?" Stefan drawled, swirling the bourbon in his glass and observing the way it refracted the bonfire-bright spark of flame. "I hate to say it, but you're pretty obvious when it comes to her. It's actually very sweet, you know," he continued to ruminate with less animosity than he'd anticipated, so infinitesimal it was virtually negligible, a non-entity of what had once been a full-bodied, live apparition, a specter that beat in his breast more ardently than any heart. "She deserves it, the way you look at her. I'm just sorry it took her so long to find it. That she had to deal with so much grief and trauma, mostly because of Damon and I. Bet you're glad to see the back of us." 

Hindsight was twenty-twenty, and a bitch, and he'd love to think he would have done things differently if he'd known how this production would play out, but like Nik has said, he didn't regret what he'd felt when he'd felt it, and for whom, and all he could do now was try to find a way to live with it. 

As was his way, the Mikaelson pulled out a surprise at the last second like a magician's scarf, a sincere unwinding of thought and explanation and accountability, of generosity in the form of honesty. "Not as much as I'd thought. You were there for me at a point in my life where I had lost almost everything, Stefan. I don't know if I ever told you this, but back in New Orleans…I had a son, Marcel. Elijah and Rebekah and I -and sometimes Kol when he behaved- raised him like our own, as one of our own. And Mikael killed him, burned him alive right in front of me. Or so I'd thought, because now apparently he's alive and attempting to woo my sister from across state lines. But that's not the point." 

Right, because a secret son was so obviously worth skipping over. 

"The point is…I never thought I'd be happy again, after that, that all my capacity for it had died with him in that fire as we fled the home we'd forged and fought for. And then I met you. And you were the absolute worst sort of vampire and I thought you were an absolutely deplorable match for my sister, and then I got to know you properly and realized what a rare soul you were, and still are, Stefan. Your passion and verve for humanity is unequalled, even by your bloodlust. You care. You care about everything, and that is no small feat, old friend. No small feat at all. You could have kicked me out today, but you didn't."

Stefan shook it off with all the inebriated dignity he could muster, offering up an unflappable refrain of, "Honestly, I didn't want the karma. Starting off my new life right and all." 

"Are you sure that's all it was?" Klaus asked with a thickly probing blond brow. "No lingering fondness for our prior friendship?" 

"You mean getting black-out drunk and insulting people and toying with humans for our own entertainment? Now what would I miss about that?"

"The company?" he ventured, and, oh, if he'd ever used that same look on Elena, it was no wonder she'd fallen for him, that kind of stark, hungry, soul-sucking loneliness that only she -and maybe Stefan- would ever understand. They were souls that could not exist in solitude, had been born to belong as part of a pair, a matched set, a linked hand, with siblings and then with lovers. 

(Atomus: could not be divided.)

"It was certainly memorable," Stefan agreed, before throwing caution and duplicity to the wind and saying outright, "Maybe I do miss it, a little. Caroline's going off with your little brother and she's the only other person still alive that I've ever felt at peace with what I am when I'm around them. Who I never felt like was judging me, despite being on opposite ends of the vampire diet control spectrum." 

"It is one of the most remarkable things I've seen, how strong-willed she is. Our family is lucky to have her." 

"Not that you'll ever tell her that, of course." 

Klaus inclined his head, conceding and condescending all at once. "Of course. At least not until Kol gets it into his head to marry her, then I might be magnanimous enough to slip it into my best man speech. So long as Elijah doesn't beat me to the punch. I mean, I have set more fires with him than our resident stick-in-the-mud, that must count for something." 

No other answer seemed applicable except: "You people are so weird." 

"So we've been told. Multiple times, in fact. Elena says it because they're jealous of our free-spiritedness." 

A bitter, darkly sarcastic drawl. "Well, then she's clearly lying to you, isn't she?" The sound of a door closing that he hadn't even heard open, for once not attuned to every threat and nuance of his surroundings. Letting his guard down, for once, and forgetting what always happened when he did that -or, more accurately, who happened. 

"Damon," Stefan said, rising to his feet, insides constricting with a sudden onslaught of red-faced shame like a child caught doing something they shouldn't -not that such a feeble simile could measure up watching an R-rated movie against hanging out with your former murder buddy who was dating your former girlfriend. "You're back." 

"Top-notch job stating the obvious, Stefan." A hazy, drunken blink of blue eyes, calm waters turning frosty and arctic as they surveyed a similar design. "Baby bro, you know you're supposed to take the trash outside, not leave it in the living room and paw through our stash." 

Like the needle of a temperature gauge on a nuclear reactor, the muscle in Klaus's jaw ticked, and ticked again, warning of imminent and catastrophic meltdown as he remarked with corrosive savagery, "Was that a dog joke?" 

"Woof," His brother intoned, utterly deadpan. Needlessly mocking. Hurting just to hurt, just because he was in pain and wanted everyone else to feel a modicum of it, too. 

And Stefan was tired of it. So, so tired, too tired to keep that moral exhaustion at bay as he pleaded, no doubt pointlessly, with his brother, hands clenched into fists he knew he could and would not use to strike. "Damon, please don't start. Not tonight. We're leaving in the morning. Do we really have to mark our time here with some useless fight where we'll both inevitably and deservedly lose? Is that what you really want?" 

"Maybe," Damon uttered, mutinous and churlish, opening his mouth once again to no doubt compound on the tension of the situation with an unnecessary sentencing of the many and varied ways Klaus had betrayed them, the many reasons why there was such a fine demarcation between the two vampire families of Mystic Falls and make everything so overdramatically Shakespearean…until someone else slipped on to steal his moment. 

"What's going on here?" 

It was habitual, to turn at the sound of her voice, the echo of her heartbeat. The action was written in his bones, perhaps encoded in his very DNA, a programme he could not disobey simply because he'd never found a reason to, even after all this time. They were still friends, after all, and nothing would ever change that, both because Stefan had so few and Elena was extraordinarily stubborn and refused to quit, even on lost causes such as himself. 

With seamless grace, Stefan fell into his usually-assigned role of defender and apologist, rising from his chair and moving towards Damon as if he could shield him from the consequences of his own idiotic actions. "I can explain…"

"Does the situation really need explaining?" Elena mused ruminatively, hair sliding over her shoulder as she rose up onto ballet-flat tiptoes to plant an innocent kiss to Klaus's cheek, gaze so far away and starry-eyed it suggested she'd forgotten anyone else was in the room entirely; they were on a planet all their own, colonists and cultivators and curators of the other's dreams. And it hurt to look at them as much as it did to stare directly at the sun, but Stefan still did it anyway, either out of warped masochism or the unending, forever-intact urge to see her smile. 

"Hi, honey, you ready to go home?" 

A smile that reached equally besotted blue eyes. "Definitely."

Behind him, Damon slammed a glass down on the sideboard -God, Stefan hadn't even heard him pick up the bottle, they really needed to get this sorted out, it was getting so out of hand- and pushed his hair back in one sweeping, choreographed I-don't-give-a-fuck (but really I do) move. "And that's my cue to be anywhere else but here…" 

"No, wait. Stay," Elena requested, mindlessly entwining her fingers with Klaus's, eyes wide and beseeching, the look she always gave them, because they were always doing something she didn't agree with, something she felt she needed stop, to put right, and it seemed she wasn't done doing so, even on her last night here in the town that had raised and razed her, born and reborn and reforged into someone capable of standing at the side of an Original and exuding just as much carefully controlled dominion -or perhaps she had always been like that, had merely not had the right outlet and the right opportunities and the right hand to hold, no less blood-specked than his but infinitely more capable of living with it. 

"Just for a minute. Just one. Please? I want to say this while I still can, while we're all still in the same place." 

He'd guessed rightly, then. The brothers shared a glance, marred and matted and braided with so much history, with old hurts and fresh wounds and sharp guilt and the many reasons this wasn't the best idea, especially when neither was sober, but ultimately knowing one simple, impenetrable and irrevocable fact: Elena had asked, so they would say yes. 

They'd both wanted to be with her forever; they could give her five minutes. 

Damon said brusquely, "Get it over with, Elena," and parked himself in the chaise across from the fireplace, Stefan returning to his earlier seat, wood offering up minor protests as he attempted a posture of similar ease. 

She didn't join them. She never let go of Klaus's hand. But neither did she raise her voice as she told them, with all the beautiful, unabashed and spontaneous eloquence and sincerity of her heart, "I miss you. Both of you. I miss us, the way we used to be, when I wasn't dating or involved or whatever with either of you and we were friends, as brief a period as that time was. And I wish you all the best with whatever you both decided to do next and I hope that, one day, we can be like these two over here," a flick of the chin at him, then at Nik, "and get together and share a drink and remember how much we used to like each other rather than how many pieces we'd like to chop the other into or anything -myself included." 

Damon's expression flattened, rolled out and pulled taught, liable to split at the slightest provocation and spill out God knew what. "Still mad, then?" 

"I'll always be mad," Elena said in reply with startlingly little inflection. "But that will also never stop me being glad I met you both, because otherwise I wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't have this," a pointed pull on someone else's hand, a squeeze from someone else's fingertips, a loving blink from under someone else's lashes, "and this means more to me than I could ever hope to explain in just words. And I hope you find something just as powerful and meaningful in your own lives. That you can go back to being brothers, just as I've always wanted and you've always wanted to be, deep down. Family matters. Love matters. Being happy with yourself and your life and your choices matters. And it's hard, and that is exactly why it's worth doing, and worth doing right. It's why we're leaving, why I'm leaving. It's too much and not enough, too many ghosts and not enough kindness."

She always did hand in the best essays in their English class. 

"Goodbye guys. I wish you all the best." 

When it became obvious Damon would remain silent, Stefan spoke up for the both of them, knowing he would regret it if he didn't -and he already had so many regrets when it came to her, tottering like the perennial tower of books he usually kept by his bed, now all packed away or donated, handed out for others to love and find joy in. Was there a metaphor in there or what? 

"Bye, Elena. Take care." 

The couple was almost gone by the time Damon got to his feet, frame rippling in the firelight, spilling over his face…and his outstretched hand. "You must be Elena." 

Elena paused, shifted her weight to pivot on her heel, mouth curling like the smile of a private joke, an in-house quip no one else was privy to -it was easy to forget that once upon a time, he had been her touchstone, her anchor in a thickly churning ocean of uncertainty, of a summer spent worrying and hoping and chasing shadows and ghosts alike, that there were things and experiences Stefan would never know about, a history he had no part of, haunting the narrative of an ephemeral, indistinct what-might-have-been. 

Ultimately, it was not abandoned, was grasped, and held, something soft and restorative in the gesture, and Stefan could almost imagine one of the many, many fissures standing on both sides coming together, just the tiniest bit. Just enough for hope, hopefully, to one day slip through, not a weed scourging a sidewalk but a prison break, a rescue attempt, winding through the cracks and the bars and the hard truths and saving something that had once been so precious and powerful, as friendship always was. 

"And why's that?" wondered she, whisper-soft, whittling away at the sourness of his expression until all that remained was a resigned sort of acceptance, a placating peace. The only thing either of them could give her, and know she'd willingly accept. 

"Only you could rip my heart out and put it back together in the same breath." 

If Elena was alarmed by such a declaration, she did not show it. "Sounds painful." 

Damon agreed with brittle transparency, "It is. But it's worth it." By some mutual, unspoken agreement, the two pulled apart, rearranging back into proper, natural form, of Elena holding onto Klaus and Damon holding his arms crossed, as if his forearm were a barricade for his broken heart, a humanly futile exercise of self-preservation. Rounding on the hybrid, his eyes narrowed with a thunderously scorching intensity, like he could burn his promise right into the Original's flesh so he would be physically incapable of forgetting it, an invisible Mark of Cain to haunt him for the rest of time. "You hurt her, you die. Capiche?" 

"If such a thing ever comes to pass, I'll hand you the stake myself." 

Not that anyone had to worry about that, of course. 

Playfully, Elena rolled her eyes, reaching into Klaus's pocket with the casual kind of possessiveness that only came from true and implicit trust as she tossed out his keys. "So dramatic, honestly. I'm moving to England with the world's biggest drama queen." 

"More like a drama king, love. We all know Miss Forbes holds the title of drama queen in an irrefutable white-knuckled grip." 

"...I hate it when you're both funny and right." 

"Do you? Do you really?" 

The ruse didn't last long. "No. Not even a little bit, not even at all." 

"Elena, my love, you'll make me blush."

"Good," she said, in love. 

After they'd gone, Damon didn't hang around to ask, "Wanna open another bottle, brother?" 

Why not? 

Stefan shrugged, angling himself away from the closed front door, the interchangeable traces of Elena and happiness whispering around in the balmy early-summer air. Letting go was hard to do, but it had to be done. They'd meet again, someday, maybe a decade or two or five from now, when hover cars were real and nobody remembered what it was like to stand in a queue for a CD, when she was old and grey and he was always the former but never the latter, she would still be the love of his life, in love with someone else, but maybe he'd have stopped looking for her everywhere in other people, and started trying to find some of her innate goodness in himself, if he possessed such capabilities. Maybe they really all could be friends, and the memories would no longer hurt so acutely and would simply serve their ultimate purpose of reminding him that for a time, Stefan Salvatore had been loved, and it had been epic. 

"Sure." 

And that was definitely something worth looking forward to.

Kol had a nose for unrest, a fact that had forever held true, even as a fresh-faced mortal. Like a bloodhound, he could scent the odor of trouble from miles away like the piercing electric tang of ozone from an oncoming storm, so it was no wonder when his 'Spidey senses' began to tingle and he followed his whims from the bedroom where he'd been packing away the last of his belongings to the kitchen, he found his sister in the middle of a tectonic-sized freak-out, blonde hair astray around her shoulders and screeching like a banshee that had stubbed it's foot, "The canapes aren't done yet!" 

Time for a stupid question. "The what?" 

"The canapes, Kol! The ones I specifically put in the microwave and cooked for twenty to twenty five minutes like it says on the bloody box but they're not done yet! Elena promised to do all the decorating and was leaving vague hints all week about Klaus patching things up with Stefan so he'd be out of the house and we could get on with everything -and I think so shed have an excuse to say her final piece, too- so I said I'd handle the food and I wanted it to be something special and make it all perfect but now this whole thing is a bloody fucking disaster and I don't know what to do!" 

Throughout the centuries, it was an unwritten rule of the Mikaelson household that no one except Elijah was ever entrusted with something like this -read: open flames or electricals- and why the matter of food was usually covered by private catering staff or they just didn't bother because they were vampires or weren't even worrying about eating because they were desiccating in a polished mahogany coffin with a silver dagger in their chest, but Bekah was obviously upset, and Kol had some decency beating around in his thousand-year-old chest, so he pulled his sister into a hug, smoothing out the manic strands of her hair and tucking them behind her ears as he soothed, "Alright, alright, no need to elevate your non-existent blood pressure. We'll just…think of something else, alright? I mean, who's going to be paying attention to the food, Elena and Nik will be making moon eyes at each other as usual and Caroline will be so blindingly dazzled by my radiant self she won't even notice if the…kitchen is on fire," he trailed off, watching in frozen dismay as smoke began to appear from the closed door of the oven. 

"Shit!" Running for a tea towel, Rebekah swatted at the thing until the flames abated somewhat, pulling out the metal baking tray and surveying the black hockey pucks that had once been expensive roundels of filo puff pastry. "Oh, this is a mess." 

She was crying. His sister was crying, and while it might have been over something as meaningless as dinner, it still genuinely unnerved him, to see his big, strong sister, who had run after the boys at every opportunity and finagled her way into every game because 'I'm just as good as you, in fact I might actually be better, you'll see,' was never far from her lips, who had been daggered and subsequently reawoken more than any of them and never wavered in either faith or love, struck him more than any vase over the head or saber to the chest. That had been his fault, after all, he should have known better to tease her when she was holding a blade. "Bekah, what is this about?" Kol attempted to puzzle out, leading her away from her culinary disaster and onto one of the breakfast bar stools still remaining. "Really? And don't say anything food-related or I might just clobber you with those Prada heels of yours." 

She didn't answer right away. She'd always been much like Elijah in that regard, choosing her words with care, mindful of their impact and import whereas he and Klaus had always been kin of speaking first and apologizing never, rushing headlong into angry tirades like tornado chasers, uncaring of the winds or the ruin. 

Eventually, however, Rebekah managed to explain it to him, laying it all out with bleakly morose clarity, "What if this is our last night together? What if this is it, and in a year or a century we go back to hating each other and plotting to kill Nik every other week and Elijah is always glowering at us with disapproval and you're trying to set something on fire and I'm the one that's left to pick up the pieces if Elena dies and Nik is still here and…" 

Oh. Um…"You're worried about 'Lena?" 

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. 

(At least he'd known for next time, which with Rebekah there invariably would be.) 

"Of course I'm fucking worried about Elena! She loves our brother so much, and we all know he'd go to hell and back for her. Mortal life is so fleeting, and they treasure it all the more so. But we're Mikaelsons: we treasure each other being here. Together. As a family. And I can't bear to lose anyone else, not after what happened with Mother." 

Thinking about the woman who had birthed them was very much like what he remembered of pressing a bruise, an ugly, bloated, rotting purple that made the insides of his mind beg for a clean-out like a kettle full of scale, which was apt given her cold-blooded, lizardy attitude, and Rebekah was at her peak of emotional volatility so it probably wasn't best to ask, "Have you spoken to Finn?" but Kol did it anyway. It wasn't that he was particularly concerned with how his oldest sibling was getting on -Elijah would always be their big brother, no matter the differences in age- yet he knew it would serve the dual purpose of both distracting Bekah and clearing him of any allegations of familial disinterest. 

"He won't answer my calls. Sage keeps me updated. Supposedly she tried to get him to go surfing and he sulked the whole day because he slipped over as soon as he put his foot on the board despite having enhanced vampire coordination." 

"God, I hope there's pictures. But on a far more serious note…Elena might choose to transition one day. Nothing is set in stone. But even if she doesn't…that doesn't mean we'll love her any less, or that she will be any less a Mikaelson. One of us, always and forever. And whether the canapes are burnt or the creme brulee is soggy won't change that. It doesn't have to be perfect, Rebekah. Lord knows that none of us are," he said, darkly comic, and nonetheless able to pull the minutest of smiles from his sister, flickering with gentle sweetness like the flame of a lighter, mesmerizing in its realism. Not the vapid curl of the cheerleading co-captain or the Original who stained her lips with men's heartblood, but his baby sister who fretted and worried and had insecurities like anyone else, who wanted to love and be loved and hold on to those who's affections she coveted, rather than watch them die in an angry haze of red, shades of violence and betrayal and abrasive jealousy, the ropes of family that had once chafed so direly and constricted them all to the Mikaelson name but now felt more like tethers, like twine, twining them together to reassure them they were never alone, no matter how far apart they settled. 

That family was as constant as the tide, that they always had a place to come back to, one full of light and laughter and decidedly limited slaughter than previous incarnations and failed configurations of familial units. They'd been playing pretend before, dressing up, acting out when it inevitably and prophetically fell apart, but this…this was the right combination, the correct alignment of personalities and humours and ideas and morals, finding similar pieces of themselves in the people that had miraculously chosen to stand by them, like finding beautiful shells at the beach, glistening with a nacreous sort of hope that after a thousand years of loneliness was too irresistible a temptation, too enticing an offer -to be happy, complete. Completely happy. 

As if their hypothetical ruminations had summoned her, Elena came breezing into the kitchen with a cheerful hello, waylaid by her usual route to the fridge by the landscape of utter chaos Rebekah had unleashed in her well-meaning Martha Stewart delusions, mindful of landing her humidity-waved hair in the mess of a mixing bowl situated just by her elbow. "I smell burning and a heartfelt conversation going on here." 

"We were just talking about you," Kol informed her unashamedly, figuring there was no point in hiding it. Besides, if the shoe was on the other foot -a great saying, he really loved that saying, it made so little sense and was hilarious when the debate of sizes and logic came into play- he'd want to know if his sister (or just anyone) was discussing the particulars of his personal life behind his back -as she often did, although he believed it was something the kids referred to as 'trash talking,' whatever that meant. 

Rebekah, however, obviously seemed to think that was a misstep, like doing the snake hips in the middle of a waltz.

"Kol! Shut! Up!" She hissed vehemently, punctuating each word with a swipe from the charred tea towel still clenched in her fist, smearing muck along his luckily black shirt which would therefore not show up any noticeable stainage. 

"Bekah! No! Never!" 

"I'm really gonna miss moments like this. The house on fire, you two squabbling like five year olds. Really warms the heart," Elena ruminated wistfully as she calmly reached for the fire extinguisher waiting on the wall, installed perhaps not for this very purpose and for something more prudent such as Kol setting fire to the absolutely horrid pink shirt he'd found in Elijah's wardrobe the other week and had no choice but to burn on sight in the back garden; the fate of the fashion industry had been depending on him, time had been of the essence and pesky things like highly flammable fibers and hedgerows hadn't seemed like much of a priority. 

But, like now, it had all been fine. 

(Because Elena had put that fire out, too, although with far more swearing and harangued gesticulations in Kol's general direction and vague mutterings on the integrity of his psyche which, out of the infinite goodness of his heart, he chose not to take offense to. Or a fence, seeing as she was human and fallible and all.) 

Waving away the last of the clouds of carbon dioxide, Kol continued to explain to her, "Rebekah's worried about you dying one day and leaving us all alone to deal with a grief-stricken Nik." 

Rebekah kicked him in the shin. Hard. And declared scathingly, "I am never telling you anything ever," voice as sharp as her heels. Ouch. 

"What? She deserves to know." 

"He's right, Bex. I do. If something's bothering you, I want to know about it, okay? Especially if I can help. And with this, I can." Always so rational and level headed, the epitome of patience and empathetic concern. Her and Nik should have been like oil and water, like fire without a spark, and yet it was that very same compassion that had put the light back into his eyes, the one they'd all thought had died the day he found out that Mikael was not his father, and what followed in the wake of it. But both revelled in rebelling and defying expectations, so maybe that was all that was needed to make such diametrically opposing forces come together as one singular, often nauseatingly affectionate, entity. 

Taking a seat across from the pair and completing the angst-ridden triangle, Elena nervously twisted the heart charm on her necklace and took in an audible shaky breath. "So. I know that I'm well-known for my stance on becoming a vampire. And I've always made a big thing about arguing against it, especially after meeting Katherine and already having too many similarities with her as it is, but lately I've been thinking about it and…"

"Really? What the devil? You're seriously considering vampirism?" It didn't seem possible for Rebekah to appear any more shocked. Kol, however, since he'd seen this very thing coming, was not shocked, and was instead trying to see if there was anything salvageable left in any of the other bowls laying about, poking suspiciously at a lump of what might have been chocolate as Elena hastened to add, "Not right now, no, but…I'm moving on with my life, Rebekah. I'm going to university and pursuing my writing career, letting go of this town and all its expectations both of me and for me. Finally, I'm building a life for myself, one I actually like and want to live, am excited about living. I wake up every day, knowing that the people I love the most in this world are safe and happy, or at the very least working towards it. And ever since Klaus told me that we could have kids…all I can think about is the future, the future I want with him, and all of you. And I'd be lying if I said that six or seven decades would be enough for me. I'm not sure if six or seven hundred years would be long enough either…" a flash of her teasing, wicked grin,"...but just think about all the more trouble we could get up to if I did."

Kol took a bite. 

It was definitely not chocolate. 

Kol put it back and pretended like he'd been listening very, very intently to something anyone with enough patience and accumulated run-ins with the two of them in various states of decency could have figured out. 

"Your mother said that the Petrova line isn't just special because of the doppelgänger anomaly, that I have magic of my own. Any child that Klaus and I had would be part witch, part werewolf and part vampire. Virtually indestructible. And I was so young when I lost my parents…why would I put a child of my own through something like that when I know how it feels, what it feels like to have grief completely ruin you? When Klaus never got the chance to know his biological father? I'm not saying I'd do it for that reason only…but it is something I've definitely been thinking more and more about." 

"And does Nik know about this?" 

Elena nodded, shoulders loose and easy. "He does. There are no secrets between us, Bex, you know that." 

"And no clothes most of the time," she grumbled, indicating that, no, it wasn't just him and, yes, Nik and Elena really needed a place of their own. 

"I'm so getting you back for that!" 

"You're more than welcome to try!"

"Our darling sister: the world's biggest meany-pants."  

"God, who let you watch Cartoon Network?" 

"Like you could stop me. Well, if you do plan to go through Nik knocking you up and me finally getting to prove my chops as Best Uncle In the Galaxy, 'Kol' works great for either a girl or a boy, just so you know. I'm diverse and equal-opportunity like that," the Original supplied helpfully, going into the adjoining pantry and rooting around; he had a sudden craving for chocolate chip cookies. 

Elena threw her hands up, apparently able to handle kitchen fires but unable to handle a conversation full of such complete fabulousness (it was alright, he knew his sheer level of brilliance could be overwhelming at times). "No. Thank you, but no. I'm not naming my -currently completely hypothetical- child after you. For one, it would be so confusing and, let's face it, you'd be jealous that someone with your name was getting all the attention when you weren't." 

Kol hadn't considered that, but now that she mentioned it, it did sound like a reasonably atypical response from him, so he graciously (or so he thought) conceded around a mouthful of biscuit, "Fair. Brutal, but fair," and switched onto the topic of other things he could name after himself. "Maybe a cat, then. Or a motorbike. People still name their cars, right? I think there's a famous one called K.I.T…" 

"I'm never letting you near a TV remote again. Here, hold this," she instructed, thrusting both the used mixing bowl and the tray of calcified canapes at his chest, already moving for the kitchen cupboards where they kept the 'normal people food.'

His wonderful girlfriend chose that precise moment to sneak up on him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and propping her chin on his shoulder, surveying the carnage laid out before them and the top notes of seriousness in the air. "What's going on in here? Kol, babe, did you leave toast crumbs in the toaster again? Because I keep telling you that you need to empty it out after every use so that-" 

"For once, my dearest ray of sunshine, I am not at fault," Kol assured her, leaning backwards into her touch. So what if he was a hypocrite? At least he was a happy one. 

"I tried to cook dinner by myself," Rebekah supplied by way of explanation, and therefore nothing more needed to be said. 

Because she was a pearl beyond price or equal, Caroline flounced out of her white cardigan and pulled up her hair into one of those flippy ponytails Kol liked because they seemed to have a (sassy) mind of their own. "Right. Okay. Time for a Forbes & Gilbert Plan™ then." 

"Did we really trademark that term?" puzzled Elena over her shoulder, already in the process of procuring several cutlery implements that Kol couldn't have named for love nor money, of which he had both. (And still couldn't believe the former.) 

"If we didn't, then we totally should. Elena, you're on savory duty, I'll do dessert and the appetizers." 

"You mean because you're such a snack?" He couldn't help it, she was just so gorgeous when she took charge -which was all the time- and he'd be a fool of the highest and hideously ordained caliber to ever let her go a single moment without finding an opportunity to either show or tell her, or ideally both. 

"And you are such an idiot," Caroline replied like she was thinking of getting a child lock on his mouth -but like she was going to kiss the life out of him in private. "Alright, get to your stations people: we have a dinner to save."

The formal Mikaelson Mansion dining room looked lovely, bedecked in an understated sort of elegance that Elijah's minimalist sensibilities vastly appreciated, silks and stargazer lilies in crystal vases and bishop-fold napkins, and which told the Original a myriad of things. 

One: Elena must have decorated (for although he loved his sister unceasingly, subtlety was not among her repertoire of attributes). 

Two: This was not going to be a casual dinner. 

Ergo Three: He had best wear one of his better suits. 

Brushing off one of his more refined three-piece ensembles in a softer shade of grey and a complimentary cerulean tie, a present from a new acquaintance who enjoyed haranguing him about his lack of sartorial colour diversity. Her exact words had been, 'Why do you always look like you're dressed for a funeral?' and so, naturally, Elijah had replied with, 'Because in my family, it's best to be prepared for any eventuality,' to which the werewolf had predictably rolled her eyes even as she smiled at him. 

It was a very nice tie. He liked it even more because every time he saw it folded in his armoire, he thought of her. 

"Elijah!" Caroline greeted him warmly, backing into the room, arms laden with a heavy silver serving tray. "Good, you're early. We had a slight um…dinner emergency, but everything's fine now. Totally fine. Couldn't be finer, honestly," she rambled, setting down the tray with a reverberating thunk before surreptitiously dusting off her mint-green skirt. If he squinted, he could detect the faintest hint of char on her forearm, and thus, the mystery was solved. 

"Rebekah tried to cook dinner, didn't she?" 

The younger vampire blushes guiltily. "Maybe…but in her defense, canapes are hard, okay? Puff pastry is one persnickety bitch, and it's the thought that counts, right?" 

Elijah inclined his head, smile pleasantly amused as he replied, "I'll take your word for it, Caroline." 

Within minutes, his various siblings swaggered in, all dressed with varying degrees of formality. His sister in a pomegranate-hued cocktail dress, Kol in a shirt that mercifully had all it's buttons and wasn't covered in anything nefarious, Elena looked beautiful in her periwinkle summer gown and Niklaus was actually wearing a proper jacket and actual cufflinks in a shade that wasn't red or black. 

Wonders truly never ceased. 

So far as Mikaelson dinners went, it was one of their better ones, since nobody perished, there were no diabolical plots at work, no ulterior motives simmering away below the surface or hostile grudges being hidden amongst placid requests to pass the salad dressing. While of course it wasn't the entirety of their family, all together in one room like they had been at Esther's ball…Elijah wouldn't have changed a thing about it. Finn had made his choice, after all, and if he did not wish to be here, to be amongst them, to share in the laughter and the jokes and the quiet teasing, then that was his loss. He would always be their blood, always be a Mikaelson…but this was Elijah's family, all around one table, all sharing one last meal. And there was a definite mien of sadness to it, as there was in all partings, there was an underlying thread of hope and celebration, an unbreakable chain of certainty that this wouldn't be the last time they shared in such happiness. A concrete assurance that, for once, their family really would endure, just like this. 

And as was his way, he wanted to share the thought with them. So just before Elena and Kol went off to bring out the cake, Elijah procured the room's attention with a subtle clearing of his throat, all eyes immediately landing on him as he rose from his chair. "If I may, I'd like to make a toast." 

Down the line to his right, Kol inscrutably slid a hundred dollar bill Elena's way across the starched table linen, surreptitiously hiding it in the folds of her napkin. Klaus gave her a conspicuous wink, and Elijah would have groaned in exasperation where he not both a) in the middle of a toast and b) secretly amused by their childish shenanigans and most importantly the fact they thought they could keep anything a secret from him. 

"For over a thousand years, our lives have been full of partings and goodbyes. We have said goodbye to each other, to people and places, homes and friends and loved ones we have been lucky enough to know. And for a very, very long time, I never dared to hope that I would ever have the privilege of dining with you all like this, of being with you all like this. My siblings, my blood, my dearest and most frustrating companions in all things." 

A collaborative, corroborating laugh from them all; the brimming success of a joke well told, even if it wasn't a joke, not to him. 

"If someone had told me this time a year ago that we could all come together like this, I would have thought them deeply misguided and utterly delusional. But so much can change in a year, and for the most part all those changes have been for the better. Elena, Caroline," he caught their gazes in turn, holding them, praising them, thanking them, "our family would not be what it is today without you. How you both manage to put up with my brothers is one of life's greatest mysteries, one that even if I never learn the answer, I can still be eternally grateful for it. And although this night marks the end of an era for us all…we will always be a family, and I will always love you all with everything I have, and continue to do so until my last breath." 

Elijah raised his glass, finding his eyes suspiciously and traitorously damp. "To family, always and forever." 

As one, they raised their glasses. "Always and forever."

Later, Elijah found Elena in the kitchen, still in her dress, only this time her accessory was a pair of rubber gloves rather than a seventeenth century diamond tiara that once belonged to a Belgian princess, up to her elbows in soap suds as she washed up the dishes and the detritus from Rebekah's earlier cooking attempt. 

"Lovely Elena, haven't I told you on innumerable occasions that we have professionally hired people for tasks such as this? And a fully-functioning dishwasher as well," Elijah reminded her wrly, yet still flicked off his jacket and rolled up his own sleeves to set a stack of plates on the drying rack as she handed them to him. 

"And as I tell you every time, I like doing it myself. Besides, did you ever consider the fact that maybe I wanted an excuse to talk to you?" 

Not this again. 

"Elena, I'm going to be quite well on my own in Paris. It is not the first time I have led a solitary life, as you very well know." 

Rinse. Dry. Repeat. "I do, but this is different, Elijah. We've all been together for so long now…" 

"I will confess, the thought of not having you all around is a strange and disquieting one," Elijah said, finding the experience of unveiling that singular speck of honesty akin to the mortal experience of going to the dentist or the immortal one of cleaning up a sibling's accidental cult: supremely uncomfortable, and best approached with exacting swiftness until the situation had passed. 

"See! I knew it! Doesn't it feel better to finally admit it out loud?" She quipped at him, compounding it all with a teasing poke to the arm. And Lord help him, but Elijah actually found himself saying, "Perhaps. But I am only saying so to you because I know you would never do me the discourtesy of holding it over my head for the next millennia or so." 

"Because you think I won't turn or because I'm so morally sufficient?" 

"Either. Both. You tell me, Elena." 

There were no more dishes left to dry. No menial chores left to barricade herself with or excuses to hide behind, and they both knew it. And because, as ever, Elena Gilbert never ran from a fight she knew she could win, she pulled the plug out of the sink and watched the soapy water dissolve down the drain, waiting until it all vanished, and then…."I'm thinking about it." 

"A considerable step forward, given your previous adamancy on the subject, your complete and total opposition to ever transitioning." 

"Things have changed, Elijah, just like you said in your speech," she insisted with shake of her head, peeling off her gloves and hanging them over the tap handle to dry, filling the sink with the occasional plink of pattering water. "I've changed." 

Elijah was not going to disagree on that front. "And so you have. So have we all, because of it. Because of you. You brought this family back together, back from the brink when we did not even consider ourselves a family, merely a collective of individuals who happened to share blood and similar life experiences and grudges and foibles. The irony of it all, how the doppelgänger is what first divided us, and is yet now what makes us whole. You are the beating heart of this family, Elena, and it has woefully little to do with you being the sole wielder of mortality amongst us, and everything to do with your nature. Your compassion is a gift, Elena, and you will carry it with you for the rest of your days -however many you decide on enjoying," he promised, pausing with poignant emphasis. "No matter what happens, there is no sin or secret or vice or vendetta could transmute you into a shape where you do not fit as perfectly into this family as if you have always been here, always belonged here, with people who value you and cherish you as you deserve." 

In one heartbeat, she was standing in front of him. The next, she was putting her arms around his shoulders and guiding him into a hug, not their first and definitely not their last. "I'm really going to miss you," Elena murmured thickly into his shirt front. 

Dropping a kiss to a brow, Elijah returned the embrace with brotherly affection, voice just as soft and endearing, words ringing with resounding rightness -after all, he had spent his entire life missing her, missing out on what his family might look like we're it happy and whole, every puzzle piece filled in and every heart full. "I'm really going to miss you, too." 

There was, after all, sweetness still to be found in bittersweet endings.

At the back of the Mystic Grill, behind the shelving unit where the tubs of extra bar pretzels and napkins refills and paper towels were kept, was a secret storage cupboard that nobody knew about. Well, no one except Rebekah and her boyfriend, who was currently in the process of pouring her a strawberry milkshake fresh from the cooler under the utility sink, a greasy plate of fries balanced between them on an upturned soft beer crate. For someone so accustomed to lounging in the lap of luxury and sampling every fine thing life had to offer, there was something enduringly charming about sneaking out at midnight, a secret thrill in the knowledge that Matt had closed down the Grill early just for her, just for one more night of artificial-strawberry-sweetness. 

She'd had men throw stones at her window and wage duels in her name, write ballads and bards and try to cut away at her barbs with rusty swords they didn't know how to hold, much less wield correctly; she didn't need any of that with Matt. She didn't want any of that with him. 

For once, Rebekah didn't need grandiose declarations of love: she just needed someone to be there, which Matt invariably was. Blonde hair and blue eyes like something out of a Taylor Swift music video, the boy next door who never, in his wildest dreams, would imagine himself falling for the baby sister of the oldest and most revered vampire family to ever exist. He was kind and gentle and loving, and he had declined her invitation for dinner for the very same reason she was sitting here: because they both knew this wouldn't last. And for once, Rebekah was okay with that. She was content to enjoy what she had when she had it, rather than scrabbling and scraping and scratching at love, trying to hold on to it even as it slipped through her fingers or she watched through her hand as her intended suitor got beheaded or poisoned or pushed off a balcony.  

Matt would never chose to turn, and Rebekah had no intention of ever changing that. If what Katherine had said was true, and a cure really did exist, somewhere out there in the world, maybe she could take it and come back one day, and see if the spark was still there. But for now, it was bright and alive and shining in twin blue eyes as they clinked their plastic cup together, tipsy with laughter as she giggled out a bubbly, "Cheers." 

"Cheers." 

Oh, she so loved his smile. It made her feel warm and safe like a woolen blanket, like sitting in front of the fire pits as a girl while the other villagers danced and braided her hair with wildflowers. Like being in love, wanting something for herself, was okay. 

"So." Grinning, he set down cup, fingers running over the knees of his jeans in a noticeable pattern of nerves she'd come to recognize. It was plain as day, settling in the corner of his mouth like an unwelcome visitor, twisting his lips into a warped bow of apprehension as he stuttered out, "I, um, I did some research-" 

"A phrase I never thought I'd hear you say-" 

"Hey, I like books plenty, thank you very much, just not textbooks and cramming like my whole life depends on remembering the difference between osmosis and diffusion…anyway, as I was saying, I did some research, and I made a list." 

"A list?" Rebekah laughed, popping a fry in her mouth and delighting in his squirming flush. "Now I'm thinking I just be dating Elena-" 

"Shut up, would you? So. Me. List. All the places I want us to go. Sound like something you'd be interested in?" 

It was. "Let me take a look at it," said Rebekah gingerly, so as to let him know that she was taking this seriously, that she didn't think it was stupid or silly or whatever worries he had gotten himself so het up about. It was, if anything, amazingly touching, that he'd taken such time and effort for her, on her. That he was just as excited to go as she was; even though she'd been to Europe a million times, stood at the sides of the metaphorical cradle of so many countries in their infancy and witnessed their trials and triumphs, their successes and sorrows and everything in-between…it felt new to her, imagining it with someone else, having someone to share it with. Being able to stay at a hotel for a week or six months without having to look over her shoulder anymore, without having an overbearing brother breathing down her neck and critiquing her life choices. 

She was free, free to do whatever she pleases with whomever she pleased, and she was going to take lots of pictures and buy out lots of boutiques and make everyone else very, very jealous of her Bohemian lifestyle. 

Carefully, Matt extricated a piece of paper from his shirt pocket, marred with creases like the laugh lines of a fruitful poet and spattered with a few errant blobs of grease, handing it over with all the fragility of cradling a newborn. 

"It's just a start, I didn't have much free time what with graduating and all, so I mainly did it on my breaks…" 

Rebekah gazed up at him through her lashes, over two empty milkshake cups with striped straws and a plate of fries that would inevitably go cold once she was through with him. "It's perfect, Matt. I love it. Actually, have you got a pen on you, I've got a couple suggestions to make…"

He'd picked a white dress shirt and a matching suit jacket, the kind of thing that was almost begging to be stained by something, something sharp and red like lipstick or wine, lasting and pigmented with permeance. His gaze had never strayed far from hers for the entirety of dinner, and she had held his just as tenderly, buzzing with good champagne and even better company and too many wondrous prospects to name.

When he pulled her out into the garden once everyone else had gone to bed, Elena did not protest. 

When he kissed her under the light of a thousand swimming summer stars, she felt the earth stop, unfold, time unwinding like thread on a runaway spool, holding them in the moment as long as possible. As his lips spilled against hers and her hand slid into his hair, Elena thought about magic, and fate, about longing and love and poetry, about heroes quests and daring pilgrimages, about walking until your feet were bloody, wondering what everything was for and then, inexplicably, realizing some rewards are daring to reach for something greater than yourself to begin with. Holding out your hand, not knowing who will take it, who will shun it, who will draw first blood and who will promise to never spill yours and forever break it. About the shapes fate could take in, obstacles and disguises masquerading untold, untouched wonder. How the world was weird and strange and unpredictable, the one of the supernatural even more so, that she'd never been clairvoyant like Bonnie, but from the first moment they'd touched -the first real moment, she amended in her mind, not the sacrifice, or Prank Night, but when Stefan pulled her into a car and pulled out her heart and left her stranded like a marooned damsel at the side of the road, his blood still coating the back of her throat and burning her all the way down, scarlet rivulets like the scratches on her chest, when Klaus took her hand foe the first time, was the first person promise that he wouldn't ever tell her how to feel, that it was okay to be angry at the people who had hurt her, especially when they had always preached and promised the complete opposite. 

When she pulled him up the stairs, there was a mark on his collar, and Elena licked her lips in satisfaction, knowing it would never come out. 

Knowing that some things are meant to stay. 

(And she was one of them.)

They said their goodbyes in stops and starts, falling away like leaves on a tree, singular clumps of swirling colour departing and scattering to the four corners of the world. Elijah was first, a teary and bleary-eyed goodbye on the steps of the Manor at a truly ungodly hour of the morn. He had unsurprisingly little luggage, so Klaus didn't have that as an excuse to linger as he pulled his older brother and closest friend into what would be their last hug for quite some time. Even to an Original vampire, seven months could be a long time. Maybe he'd have to sneak a visit in somewhere, should the fates allow, fly out to France and see what excitement his brother was getting up to. 

By the way Elijah clasped him just as tightly on the shoulder, it seemed he was vacillating on a similar, therefore familiar wave of thought. 

Next came Kol, arm in arm with Caroline for one last lunch at the Mystic Grill, surrounded by the patrons of Mystic Falls, not a dry eye in the house as Sheriff Forbes gave a inspiringly heartfelt speech that sang her daughter's many praises. Rebekah and Matthew followed soon after, and Klaus was worried that for a moment he'd have to separate his sister from his person with a crowbar, but her smile when she pulled away was more than worth it. It always was, whenever he saw his sister truly happy. 

Then, it was just the two of them, lingering in the emptying doorway as dusk drew its thick curtain over the sky, the final curtain call on their time in Mystic Falls. 

"Are you sure this is everything?" Alaric asked Elena one more time, hands on his hips as he attempted to catch his breath. Klaus didn't blame the man: Elena had a lot of books, all of which she'd insisted on taking in the move. After living with Elijah so long, Klaus knew better than to get between a bibliophile and their books, so he gladly left them to it, knowing the good-natured griping was part of the process, their own way of saying goodbye. 

"Yeah, because don't think we're shipping you anything if you accidentally leave some super obscure book behind that you haven't read in like, three years, and just suddenly need, okay? Unlike you guys, us mere mortals aren't made out of money." 

"Very funny, Jeremy. And yes, I'm sure I've got everything." 

It was odd to see the Mansion so bare. Even when he'd been in the midst of constructing the place it had never been so quiet, nor so empty. Dust sheets draped over the furniture so they stood out like malformed and misshapen ghosts, icebergs floating in a lonely sea. He couldn't even hear the refrigerator going, now that everything perishable had been disposed of. It was Tyler Lockwood of all people who had agreed to check in on the place every now and then -who he was thankfully on much better terms with, especially after he and Elena got stuck working on an English assignment for three weeks and was therefore drawn into the Mikaelson orbit and gave Klaus a chance to make his apologies- so there would still be electricity and running water and such, but the rest…all.gone. This haven, this home that he had painstakingly crafted with his own two hands, was empty. 

And it just meant he had the chance to make a new one all over again, this time as a far better man than he was before. And it was for that very same reason Nik pressed a kiss to his girlfriend's temple and proposed, "Why don't you check anyway, sweetheart, and then you can rub it in their faces when you come back?" 

Elena hummed, kissing along his jaw while her brother pulled a faux-disgusted face behind her back. "An excellent suggestion. I knew there was a reason I kept you around." 

"You know me, love: I aim to please." 

"Oh, I'm well aware," she beamed before darting under his arm and heading up the steps, the sunset catching in her hair like a coronet for the briefest second, and all he could think and feel and breath was, I am so lucky to love you. Shaking his head in recrimination of his own sappiness, Klaus turned to face the two gentlemen hoisting yet another trunk between them, sculpting his expression into something he hoped was appeasingly open. 

"Alright, I could tell you wanted a minute. What's on your mind?" 

It was Ric who spoke first, letting Jeremy take the weight of their load and coming to sit on the staircase, just a step down from him so he could look him straight in the eye, presumably. "I just wanted to say thank you, I guess," was his simple yet emotive opener, stark with a sort of unrefined genuineness Klaus could and did appreciate; the fact he was speaking from the heart, and hadn't planned out what to say. "For everything you've done for Elena. For giving us back Elena, by helping her find herself again, who she really is. What she wants out of life. I know we haven't always seen eye to eye-" 

Klaus couldn't help but quip with a wicked grin, "Maybe that's because I'm taller than you-" 

Ric pretended like he hadn't been interrupted, which was probably for the best, "But I've always known that when it comes to Elena, you and I are on the same page. I've never seen her so happy, not since the day I first stepped foot in this town, and honestly I'm so happy she's getting out of it. Not just because of everything it's done to her, but because it's so obvious to see she deserves something bigger, greater. And you're giving that to her, because she wants it, and you want her to be happy." 

"I do." It was hardly a state secret, after all. 

"And I think, so long as she's with you, she will be. So, I guess…thank you for taking care of my daughter, for loving her and protecting her ." 

"Nothing in my entire existence has ever brought me so much joy as seeing her smile." Nothing he could ever say to the man that had had a hand in raising and guiding and protecting the woman he loved beyond reason would ever be true than that. 

"You know, we should have seen you two coming from the start; Elena can never resist all the Mr Darcy fancy talk." 

"Hey, I told you that in confidence!" Elena shouted down unexpectedly from the balcony, reappearing half a minute later with her hair every which way, leading Klaus to deduce she'd stuck her head under the bed to check for any waylaid belongings. Gods, she looked adorable. "When I was thirteen!" 

"So five years ago then," Jeremy smirked, narrowly dodging a stub of half a pencil lobbed in his direction. 

"Almost six, actually. Don't worry, that needed binning anyway. Honey, I can't believe how many pencils we had under our bed," Elena lectured him lovingly, sliding onto the hardwood beside him, resting her head on his shoulder in a charming mirror of their pose from yesterday. "It was like they'd multiplied and built their own fully-functioning arts and crafts city with motorways and teenage hangouts!" She exclaimed, handing him a bunch of pencils tied together with one of her hair ties. "You're welcome." 

"What would I -and my art supplies- do without you?" 

She tossed him a quarter-shining wink. "Get very dusty, I'd imagine." 

Elena glanced up at her brother (that was really technically her cousin) and her father (who was more a pseudo-parent and almost-uncle). For so long, Klaus had never had to contend with mortal parents, and even when they had all been human, his mother had seemed larger than life, completely fearless, while his father dominated so much of his it seemed he was incapable of frailty of any kind, that he would always be there, a permanent shadow blotting out the sun of any potential happiness for Niklaus. But Elena…she had almost lost them both so many times, and Alaric only recently when she learned it was he who was behind the murders in town, that the Gilbert Ring was actually cursed and could only be used so many times, and how Esther had tried to use that to her advantage and turn him into a vampire Hunter like Mikael. She'd been unsuccessful, of course…but the fear lingered, now that she knew she wouldn't be here to protect him. 

Good thing there were plenty of teaching jobs in London, should it come to that. 

What was precious to Elena was precious to him, her burdens were his privileges and her loved ones were his to protect, too, because Nik knew she'd do the same for him in a heartbeat. She might have -both purposefully and inadvertently- daggered his siblings, but she'd never hurt his family. Klaus, however, could not say the same. And perhaps that was what propelled him to reach out and take Alaric's hand in his own, the memory of Elena up at five that very day, saying goodbye to her family of graves, the fact that some wrongs, no matter how much he loved Elena, Klaus could never make right. 

But he could, at the very least, apologize for them. 

"I'm sorry," he began, and when the words choked his throat, he said them again. "Im sorry, to both of you, to all of you, for what I did to Jenna. I know I can never be absolved of that, and quite frankly I don't deserve to be. What I did was unforgivable, and all I can say is, if I had the chance now to fix it, I would. All I can promise you is that I'll love Elena until I die and whatever comes after death, and that she'll never be alone." 

A heartbeat. Two. Ten. Then, so quiet he hardly heard it…"I think that would be enough for her. Seeing Elena so happy, I think that would have been enough for her to forgive you. You're right, Klaus, you can't fix it, but you can make it hurt less, make it mean something, by making sure that you never forget this version of yourself, no matter what happens," and it was enough. 

"I promise," Nik replied, and meant it with everything he had. 

After that and a barrage of bone-crushing hugs on Elena's part, they were alone once again. From somewhere in the ether -or perhaps right behind him, hidden by a truly garish vase he definitely didn't remember buying- Klaus pulled out a bottle, tipping it Elena's direction and topping it off with a magnetic, irrepressible grin. "Fancy one last drink before we go?" 

"I believe I could be persuaded, yes," she smiled around a mouthful of laughter, giggling further as he pulled her further into his arms, allowing a closer vantage point of the bottle. 

"Oh my God, is that…" 

"Cherry wine? Like anything else would do. Same vintage, from the very same batch, in fact. Right next to our first down in the cellar." 

"Let me guess, waiting for the perfect moment?" Like a match, her hand struck out to capture the fabric of his shirt, fingers digging into the dangling v-shape as she reeled him in for a bruising, intoxicating kiss, far stronger than anything out of a bottle. "Oh, my Nik, you do know how to charm me," Elena breathed, and Klaus was five years old again, learning the names of constellations, realizing there were entire worlds out there that he didn't know -but he had the most important one here, standing right in front of him, pushing back his hair with a hand he planned on making sure wasn't bare of adornment very, very soon. 

"A talent I intend on thoroughly perfecting to my fullest capabilities, I'll have you know." He pressed the promise into the seam of her lips, knowing she'd keep it safe for him, caring for it with the humility and diligence and generosity she did everything else. 

She somehow managed to find a set of glasses somewhere, along with a picnic blanket to spread out over the grass, and it was déjà vu and déjà vecu all over again, past and present overlapping like waves crashing into the shore, the cork of the bottle flying and getting lost like a memento, an artifact of their ardently unexpected love story, proof that it was all real. "I don't think you could get any more perfect than this," Elena mused, tone as heavy and prominent as her pour. "Than us, right now and this moment that I feel like I've been waiting my whole life for. Like I was waiting for you." 

He took the glass, then her hand, dropping kisses along the back like a trail of fireflies alighting on a branch, paltry luminance compared to her unending brightness. "I was waiting for you, too. In fact, I think I win at the Waiting Game, since I had to go a full thousand years without you whereas you only had to put up with a measly less than two decades…" 

Swallowing, she tipped her head back, laughter ringing through the field like a bell. "That's how you wanna play it? Okay, I can take it. I think I win because…" 

And they talked and they laughed and they joked, they kissed and they cuddled and they debated what colour wallpaper to put up in their new bedroom and whether or not they should get a pet, she asked him for stories of his past adventures across the pond and he told her of misty mornings and double-decker buses bright as cherries, of debutante balls and world wars and that time he was pretty sure he bumped into Kit Kennedy and her brother. 

After a while, Nik found himself saying into the dark, "I can't believe that only half a year ago, I didn't even know what your favourite colour was. That I didn't know how you take your coffee in the mornings, that you hate and love. I can't believe there ever existed a point in the sordid tapestry of my existence where you weren't so dependably and desperately woven into every part of me. I can't believe I didn't know you, but I also…can't believe this is real. What did I ever do to deserve you, Elena Gilbert?" He asked her, genuinely and not rhetorically, because if anyone could give him an answer, if anyone could make sense of all this wonder, she could, he would always believe that. To him, she was omnipotent, the keeper of all sense and logic, viewed through a lense of irreplaceable and beauty and optimism. 

She told him, "Love isn't always about who deserves what, Klaus. It's not about keeping scores and hoarding mistakes to throw in someone's face in a bad moment. It's not about who's done what to who, who's gained and who's lost and who's left standing in the rubble. It's about who holds your hand when you need someone, who sits with you in the dark when you're scared. It's about opening up a piece of yourself and having no clue how it will be received and perceived but deciding to do it anyway because you feel like it's right, like it's the most natural thing in the world. As natural as, for example, sharing a drink with someone you know you're supposed to hate, but in reality, when you get right down to it, you can't blame them for the way they act. That you can hate what they've done to you, to people you care about, but hating them…seems so incredibly impossible, when you look over and see someone so human it takes your breath away. And who makes you feel it, too. Not a doppelgänger, not a toy to be thrown around and back and forth, not wrong or unloved or unsure. Just you. 

"I love you because when I'm with you, I'm me. I'm every version of myself, the best version of myself, the truest version of myself. Someone flawed, yeah, but someone I'm proud of, considering how long I spent trying to perfect this persona where everything was fine and like I couldn't make it through a single day without breaking down. And you've never made me feel lesser because of that. Your own parents treated you…God, there aren't even words for what they did to you, but you still get it, more than anyone else I've ever met. You get me, which is why you have me, always and forever. You have me, Niklaus, and you don't ever, ever have to doubt that." 

She wiped away his consequential tears with her thumb. He held her close, grateful beyond measure, beyond thought, beyond everything. 

For so long, Klaus Mikaelson had been no stranger to trying times, and while he really hadn't expected his stay in Mystic Falls to be so rife with difficulties, neither had he expected to find true love, either. 

And so he swapped the glass against her lips for a kiss, whispering, "I love you," as he tasted every cherry-wine sweet inch of her mouth. 

"I love you, too," said Elena Gilbert, threading her hand through his and leading him into a bright and brilliant tomorrow.