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[She hasn't been dealt enough blows to be able to suppress it, the pure emotion that ripples through her. Anger, hate, guilt. She can see in her mind's eye how it all happened, how she was duped, remember thinking something was a little off but not bothering to double check.

She thought she was safe. But here in Wonderland, they're never safe. They're just trying to find the illusion of safety so they can sleep at night.

Except apparently, they can come at them then, too.

Her eyes meet Elena's briefly, some strange sort of understanding passing between them.
Now it's three for three; they've all been dealt horrible blows, had precious things stolen from each of them in quick succession, both physical and otherwise.

She watches her friend leave, watches the door close, and she feels her walls settle into place, the control she's exercised on so many occassions. She hides behind it because the mirrors can hear, and she doesn't want to give him a satisfaction greater than she's already given away.]

They knew you were here. They waited until we were asleep. I thought it was you.

[She's lucky it wasn't worse than it was, and that might be what bothers her the most. The only reason it wasn't was probably because he didn't have time.

Her blood runs cold and her cheeks run hot as she wraps her arms around herself, as if that's going to keep her all in one piece. It has to. She has to. There is no other choice.]

I feel like I'm going to be sick.

[Her voice is barely a whisper. He'll hear her. Maybe, for once, the mirrors won't.]

[ elena leaves, and there's just them. there's just this. there's only her.

the rage that had been boiling beneath his skin, emanating for his every pore, recedes. it drains from him in a single rush, unneeded and uncalled upon from the moment the door shuts, the moment they are alone and he witnesses the crest of her reaction. (he sees that anger, that hate, that guilt. he sees her fear, his own horror paralyzing him as he watches her for only that moment, only for a one-second space of that unravelling.

he wants to tear anyone or anything that could make her feel this way apart. he wants to take her in with these hands as if the will and tenderness of his love will make it all right.

it slices through him. revulsion for what could have transpired, for what did, for knowing a twisted version of a man with his face hurt her. to see her pained, to know it's for touching her life, to bear the same anger and terror of this invasion.

there was nothing they could do.

not yet.)

he goes to her. he gathers her into his arms, against his chest, the sound of her small, reedy whispers a stab to his heart. they did know. they waited. he— klaus pulls back, the taste of bile in the back of his throat, and smooths back her damp hair. ] What did he—? [ his voice is a breath between them; his rounded eyes search hers, his hand cradling her face. ] Did he—?

[She's too busy in her own head for a moment, but comes back to herself as she feels his arms encircling her, pulling her in. She releases a breath that felt stale in her lungs, and she shudders once, a physical manifestation of her relief before she relaxes in his arms.

He speaks and she answers.]

No. [The word bursts out of her, as if she can't say it fast enough. His hands are warm against her cheeks, her own fingers lift to thread through his, as if by consoling him she's doing the same for herself. Her head shakes ever so slightly back and forth, her voice calmer when she repeats:] ...no.

[Her hands trail down his, her fingers curl around his wrists, her thumb strokes his knuckles.]

I woke up. I thought it was on my own, but now I'm not so sure. [Her eyes dart toward the mirror that was both covered and behind a closed door, wondering if he was trying to listen to all of this, if there was any real place that they weren't capable of being watched.

She looks at him again.] He just kissed me a couple of times. Held me as I went back to sleep. Something seemed off, but when I woke up I just thought it was because I was half awake, like I imagined it.

[She knew it wasn't just a matter of distraction. He'd been stalking her for months by now. He could have just let her sleep.

He could have just killed her.]

[ he could have compelled her. had she been on vervain that night? had it left her system? he could have snapped her neck, bit her, tore her to pieces; he could have done anything, but he did this. only this? he softened her with caresses, with kiss, with twisted intimacies. was that his end, to instill in them both fear? to practice his power and fool them both, when and where he could?

or was it more? what did they take?

it is this, regardless: a warning, a demonstration. the terror of it lodges in his throat, looking at her, touching her, each moment he does a respite as if each second will assure him she is here and she is in one piece. the relief of her denials is followed by the anxiety of his worries. it's followed by the unspent and foddering rage inside of him, working his jaw with the crush of its tide.

his fingers slip into her hair; they stay between the wet strands and her soothing touches.

he looks at her, his eyes darting away, his lips pursing as his thoughts race and circle and calculate: how best they tackle this. how best he protect her. she's precious; to him, that is what she is: strong despite the fragility his counterpart will exploit, kind and sharp in ways he can only cherish and awe, nestled in his heart in ways he does not desire to extract. (would it be better for her if he did? he wouldn't take that choice from her. it's too late for that. she's a target.) the next time—

(the idea chokes him.)

next time they might not be so lucky.

his eyes focus in all their intensity on her. he whispers. ] You can't stay here. I can't protect you. [ he didn't. ] There are only so many spells Freya can do. [ she been casting plenty, back in their rooms. even if she casted them here... ]

[The mirrors had wanted to teach their reals a lesson. No one could say they hadn't done that.

Her shoulders tense at the intensity in his gaze, her own eyes locked on his as she processes the words coming out of his mouth. At first, she's confused. This is where she lives and Bonnie put all kinds of spells on her room. All of her things were here.

Except Bonnie was gone, and her magic could very well be gone too.

At first, she's about to ask him the most obvious question; where was she going to go? But then he's talking about Freya's spells and it hits her.]

Are you asking me to move into your place?

[That's...an awkward way of putting it, but seriously? This is not how she expected to be convinced to move in with someone for the first time.

Solely by dangerous necessity. With their siblings.]

[ he doesn't know what he's asking, what he's implying, besides the obvious — it isn't safe for her here, floors away. he can't protect her, no matter what precautions or steps they take. she needs to be near him, where he can know she's all right, where they can be closer than this.

it isn't until she defines it in such plain terms that he realizes what else his professions might mean to her.

his eyes close, the slight wince of his features involuntary and for his own directness, for the toil he feels at the implication. (it's important to her.) he looks away, to the floor, and worries his lips. he considers: is he?

does that answer matter, if what he wants and what he needs are the same?

he looks back to her, decision in his eyes. ] Yes. [ if that's what she wants. if she wants a compromise, he could want that too. ]

Edited 2017-05-27 19:40 (UTC)

[At first, she thinks that maybe she read this all wrong, that he simply wanted her to uproot and resettle somewhere closer for convenience sake. Which would be fine, of course. That would make sense, beyond the fact that Freya probably couldn't cast that many spells whether she lived here or on their floor.

Or maybe, because she said it in that context, he's changing his mind. Little doubts always seem to worm their way into her mind, no matter how often she might be told otherwise. They're quieter these days, but they still exist, whispering at various opportunities.

And then, just when she's sure he's going to correct her, he does the opposite, and she isn't quite ready for it.]

Oh.

[She wonders if Rebekah and Freya will have anything to say about this if she agrees. Or more like when she agrees. It's not like they don't spend enough time together already, or live under the same roof.

Maybe she can convince herself this isn't as big of a deal as it is because she's sure making it feel like one.]

Alright, but only so long as you accept that I'm there to look after you too. And because I want to, not just because you think I need to. Got it?

[ there forms a light inside of him, from the moment he felt the decision solidify; an anxiety, from the moment he assents and knows he needs only wait. it's what they need to do, what he needs; that is what is priority above all else: her safety. but he would be a fool to not recognize he means the rest. he chooses to mean it.

he wants to be near her. he wants to be with her.

he wants this in all the ways it is possible, the desire and longing taking hold of him from not one moment of knowing her but from all of them.

he wants her to say yes. he wants her to want what he's always wanted.

always dreamed.

there's no time to consider it, to analyze and understand the flutter of apprehension and longing inside of him. later, he might countenance what these nerves are about before casting them aside for the fullness of their future. for now the dousing of relief at her acquiescence is all he feels, and he would agree to anything. not blindly, no. it's more than fair that she be there for him too. she has been, no matter how dangerous, no matter how he fears for her. it's fairer more that she want to be.

he shifts on his feet, his breath sudden and ragged, lips pressing together and eyes rounded. ] All right, [ he agrees without pause, and pulls her into him.

his heart is full; his gut heavy. it is relief and happiness, on the heels of dread and horror that is ever present.

klaus closes his eyes and tips his cheek against hers, to feel her. the side of his nose slides against her jaw. he huddles her close and his shoulders relax. ]

[Her voice is smaller and infinitesimally soft as she replies:]

Good.

[He gives her no argument, just acceptance. He understands her need to control this situation, to be in charge of what she does even with some degree of necessity involved. She has to decide, not be told. She wants this to be because of them, not because of some outside force.

And it is, even if that outside force exists, even if it sped this decision along faster than it might have otherwise.

She breathes out, cool air ghosting against his face as the tension in her body releases and she leans into him.]

Thank you.

[ he knows what she thanks him for her. he knows that she needs to take control of this endeavor; that she needs to be the one making this decision. he knows what she needs. he knows because he knows her, because his own needs are hardly different: he needs her to be safe. he wants with all his being for her to be happy. (to be happy with him.)

he stays still and comforted against her, his nose nestled against her neck, savoring her scent and warmth and touch. his arms are firm around her, wrapping her up. klaus lingers there, knowing with certainty that here, in these quiet, private moments, they can find some whisper of elusive peace. (it is harsh outside of this embrace. there is war beyond them.)

he pulls back, just enough to cradle her face in his palm. ] It'll be all right, [ he tells her, as if his will and promise could make it so. sometimes uncertainties armored in both are what is needed, and he wants her to hear them.

and oh, does he want it to be so. his lashes flutter; his brows lift as he tempers the sharp edge of how he wants too for this to be so: ] You will be happy. [ this should be. he wants to make her happy. ]

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