Loss
Klaus spends a longer time than he'd like to admit pondering what this aching in his chest means. He writes it off as that negative after effect Freya was talking about. He no longer has Cami to dissect his psyche and argue otherwise, so he believes it.
After all, what else could it be? He's still Klaus Mikaelson—still a king, even bereft of his kingdom.
He hates relying on Elijah and Marcellus for protection. Elijah insists on it; Marcel refuses to leave. They cite his current physical weakness, but he's been caged far too many times to not know better. They're afraid of what rash acts he commit, what wrath he may rain upon the innocent and guilty alike.
They aren't too far off.
Still, his brother and his progeny keep vigil, ears and eyes open against any prevailing threat. Despite his annoyance, he exchanges a look with his brother, one that communicates their mutual acknowledgement of a truth learned through a thousand years of pain. Whatever shall come to destroy him now will not come from the outside.
They stand guard anyway. Klaus retreats behind his castle's walls. He paints vivid scenes of bloodshed and death, savage acts of rage, and the fury of betrayal. All nightmares in which he starred as the villain with victims that would be all too happy to shoot his chest full of white oak bullets.
He's strangely void of possible plots or avenues he could take to avoid the backlash of this. He feels defenseless like he hasn't since he was a boy being beaten. His family wouldn't—couldn't—protect him then; they won't—can't—protect him now. He glances around his room at the leftover debris from the last attack or temper tantrum (he doesn't remember which) and at the clutter of over fifty morbid paintings.
This room is a portrait of my sins, he thinks.
He doesn't even have his mind on his side anymore.
Freya checks on him. He asks her about the lingering hurt in his heart. She gives him a look he can't decipher but suggests working through another few blood bags anyway.
Hayley visits (even prisoners get visitations, he thinks, then chuckles to himself as he realizes that he's been confined in the end for his own protection after all, the identity of his jailers the only difference—the devil's in the details, Nik) bringing Hope.
(The literal—but also the metaphorical?)
Surprise skitters across his face when she lets him hold their daughter. He cradles her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His baby girl's skin will be the most precious his lips will ever touch. He tightens his grip on her, adjusting it only slightly when she squirms.
"Stop it."
He frowns at Hayley. "Stop what?"
She glares at him, folding her arms. "Stop looking at her like it's the last time you ever will. I didn't–Stefan and I didn't risk our lives just for you to throw in the towel when things got rough. You have a little girl depending on you, so quit hiding and face this head on."
Normally he would've snapped at her, shoved threats in her face, maybe snapped her neck for her insolence. Today he smiles. It's not the widow or the Queen of the Crescent Wolves, Elijah's Shakespearean-style love or the sole unsired vampire/hybrid in existence that stands before him. It's his equal in the only measure that matters, his partner even if they've been going about it as enemies—the mother of his child. The only one of his "queens" who has ever truly been worthy of the title.
"You pretend like you're alone, that you have no one to rely on to help you, but Elijah and Marcel are right outside. Freya is working on a way to deal with the rest of that damn prophecy," she continues ranting, "while you're in here pouting because you don't have your army anymore!"
"What about you?" The questions falls from his lips accidentally.
"I don't want Hope to grow up without her dad," Hayley answers.
He shakes his head, a faint smile teasing at his mouth. "That means you are on Hope's side. What about mine?"
"Yours?" she scoffs. "After all you've done to me and my family?" She blanches, lower lip wobbling. Her face contorts for a second with suppressed sadness before she schools her expression and pushes it away with the skill of a Mikaelson. "God, Klaus, why does everyone around you have to be as fucked up as you are in order for you to be happy!"
Her eyes flash yellow, voice a growl. Glimpsing the wolf suddenly changes her whole appearance. He notices what else grief stole. How gaunt she is. And now how she shakes and reaches for Hope (the literal or the metaphorical is still the question). Klaus balances her on one hip and grips Hayley's shoulder with his free hand, keeping them both upright. Hope bursts into tears, wailing for all three of them.
They console her together and end up sitting side by side on the balcony with a bottle of bourbon between them. Hope sleeps with her knight behind them in the crib she'll soon outgrow.
The liquor does its job. He finds himself gazing over the city, pathetically maudlin, wishing they weren't facing yet another demon so Elijah could be here to share witticisms. Hayley fills the silence.
"I hate the quiet. Jackson was never just quiet. He was humming or talking or doing something with his hands so that there was always background noise even if Hope wasn't crying. And living in the bayou—never quiet. Now I can't put Hope to sleep or go home because it's just too damn quiet." She grabs for the whiskey only to find it drained. She dangles the empty bottle over the edge by two fingers around the neck like a cigarette. Klaus removes the bottle from her grasp.
"What about you?" she slurs. "What's driven you to drink and paint freaky shit?"
"I felt them leave," he echoes to her his words to Elijah. The four syllables aren't any easier to pronounce now. He doesn't understand the ache in his chest. He didn't know or even remember all of his sires. He hadn't even been consciously aware of that connection. Yet now that it's gone, he feels the absence all too starkly. What he can't understand is why. He chokes out, "Why do I feel so empty?"
She turns to look at him. They're both far too raw.
"It's called loss, Klaus," Hayley says. "It's when a part of you is taken that you will never get back."