Possession
by adlyb
Disclaimer: I own nothing except these words.
Summary: She knows her jealousy is irrational. Yet there it is. Elena notices Klaus dancing with Caroline in 3x14.
Spoilers: Through 3x15, All my Children
Rating: T
A/N: Written for TheOneTrueBear, who left the 100th review on Fairytale Ending and who gave me this amazing prompt:
She has a Salvatore literally on each arm. It should be enough. Yet watching him dance with Caroline she feels an unwelcome stab of jealousy because he is hers. Her Enemy, her hybrid, her murderer. Hers since long before she was even born. (Mikaelsson ball)
The only thing that is on her mind when she sweeps into the Mikaelson mansion is figuring out how to get a meeting alone with Esther. Naturally, Damon spots her right away, and their eyes meet, and there's this little ping of electricity between them, as there always is these days, like the earth might split apart at their feet. And of course, Stefan spots her at just the same time, and it's all very familiar just how confusing it is, and, as always, the only thing for it is to take both of their arms and let them lead her in.
Except, there is another feeling inside of her that is shouting that the jolt she feels from Damon is small, and has been growing smaller because she is growing larger, a hurricane to his thunderstorm—and there is another feeling, a sense that she and Stefan are moving further everyday into the past, this slow march into memory and finally forgetfulness, until, finally, the distance will be too broad for either of them to leap.
Both of these are niggling feelings that she has worked hard to quash, but which flare bright and hot when she takes their arms.
These are the wrong arms, her mind whispers.
It's not until later, when she spots Klaus with Caroline, that the bolt of jealousy strikes her out of the clear blue.
She's never thought of herself as a jealous girl. How could she be? She's got too many people falling all over themselves for her to have the chance.
But there is Caroline, radiant in a dress she suspects Klaus bought for her, trying hard to pretend she doesn't like her dance partner, while he looks at her like she is everything, and the strange thought slithers through Elena: That is supposed to be me.
Too well she remembers when he had looked at her like that.
Damon spins her, and round and round she goes, memories swirling through her amidst the swish-swish of her gown.
Fire lapping against her throat, and a hand caressing her face, the prelude to the most intimate moment of her life. The moment she had fulfilled her destiny, a dark voice whispers across her mind.
A flash of blue and gold shimmers at the edge of her vision.
Elena cranes her neck to watch Klaus whirl Caroline over the dance floor.
He never even glances her way.
It's not right, she reflects, vaguely, as she argues with Damon. Klaus had always been hers. Her enemy. Her hybrid. Her murderer. Hers since long before she was even born. Her birthright and her fate. These connections are far too visceral and deep for her to simply give him up.
And now he is dancing with Caroline, and suddenly, even though he had become the very center of Elena's world, it seemed that she is no longer at the center of his.
She feels a little regretful when she gives Esther her blood, for Elijah, and for Klaus. But only just a little.
The impact of what she has done only truly hits her after the toast. She doesn't want to kill Elijah, but she has decided to do it, and done is done. She finishes her champagne and quickly replaces it with another, and then another. She loses track of how much she has to drink.
It is sometime after the toast, but before Damon picks a fight with Kol, that she stumbles outside onto the balcony for some fresh air. The ground lurches under her.
A strong pair of arms catch her before she falls. "You're looking a bit peaky, sweetheart." Hearing that voice, the guilt nearly pulls her under like the deadly current beneath a wave.
Elena shuts her eyes. Klaus is still holding her.
"What was that with Caroline, earlier?" she asks him, unable to suppress herself now.
"Hm? What's this now?"
She shakes her head, trying to think through the haze of alcohol. "Stay away from Caroline. She's innocent in this."
Klaus actually laughs at her. He steadies her, and lets her go. "You lack your usual bargaining skills tonight, Elena." Sensing her retort, he rolls over her. "Oh, never fear, your friend's not very fond of me. But you're right, she is innocent. There's a certain… light about her." The adoring look is back on his face, the one that she had found so profoundly upsetting earlier in the evening. It inspires the same reaction in her now.
"You're not supposed to say things like that."
"What, because I'm a monster?"
"No, because you're my monster." She says it before she can stop herself.
Her words take him aback. He studies her openly, seriously. "Careful, now. You almost sound jealous."
She leans against the railing and looks down at the grounds. Overhead, the stars are very bright. "So what if I am?"
"The Salvatores aren't enough for you anymore? Must you capture every heart? How very Petrova of you. If it makes you feel better, I think you have Elijah's."
She turns to him, and realizes that he has stepped back into her personal space. Something like déjà vu strikes her—she feels like she has stood like this with Klaus a thousand times before, even though no other instance comes to mind. "I just have the feeling that I'm the one you're supposed to be dancing with," she whispers.
"And whyever is that?"
"Because," she tells him like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Tonight, right now, with the champagne fizzing through her veins, it is. "You belong to me, just as much as I belong to you. That's fate, and you can't slip out of it any more than I can." Even in death.
Klaus stares at her, lips parted, caught by her words as she had in the past been caught by his. "You've had too much champagne," he tells her, finally.
"So?"
"You don't know what you're saying."
"I do. I know it here. In my blood." She holds her gloved hand up to her breast, where her heart thunders.
"Elena—" He leans toward her, caught, maybe, by the same magnetic charge that draws her to him.
There's a crash, then, followed by a chorus of telltale screams. They never finish the conversation.
Klaus comes to her after Esther's failed attempt to murder them all.
She's been expecting him for some time now.
"So much for fate, I suppose," he remarks from where he stands browsing through her bedroom bookshelf. There's something accusatory, and underneath that hurt, in his tone.
Elena crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. She's in her pajamas, and not feeling dressed for a fight. Her hair is still wet from the shower; she's only just washed the gasoline smell from her skin. Bruises mottle her arms and legs, and her palms itch from the scrapes that will take days more to heal. "I don't know what you're talking about, Klaus. Who invited you in, anyway?"
He ignores her question, refusing to be distracted his chosen topic. "Just the other night. You said we were bound by fate. Yet you take the very first opportunity to destroy me."
Vaguely, she recollects saying something of the sort, though the champagne had prevented her from recalling too much of what happened between the toast and getting home. An uneasiness worms through her. What had she said to Klaus, precisely? She hadn't been thinking straight that night at all—the stress and the… surprise of seeing Caroline as Klaus's date had confused her, shaken her up, and made her think all sorts of crazy things that she normally only thought in her most fevered nightmares. To utter any of those thoughts out loud would damn her entirely.
"Did you ever hesitate to murder me last spring?" she finally asks him, coolly, praying her flippancy will make him drop this.
"Touché."
When he doesn't seem ready to say anything else, Elena decides there's nothing for it but to continue getting ready for bed. To try to do the impossible: to ignore him.
Yet, she cannot help but stare at him from the corner of her eye, at the way the yellow lamplight catches the gold in his hair, at the way his long fingers play over the objects in her room as he looks around. He looks troubled, thoughtful. There's something alarming about his behavior, and the terrible thought starts to form in her mind that whatever she said to him the other night has had a lasting impact.
She slips into the bathroom and hopes he'll be gone when she comes out. But when she emerges, teeth brushed and hair combed out, he's sitting on her window seat, head bowed. She stands on the other side of her room, waiting for him to speak.
"Caroline would never have done what you did the other night," he says quietly. There's no accusation in his tone, only fact.
"I know." She, too, is only stating the truth.
"But I would have."
"I know."
"I had not considered before that we may be birds of a feather."
She hopes this does not mean he thinks they should flock together.
"I'll keep you in mind," he tells her, standing. He strides over to her and grabs her hand. Presses his lips to her palm before she can protest. "Goodnight, my dear."
He vanishes from the room as though he had never been at all.
My dear. It's what he had called her the night of the sacrifice. The night the bond between them had been made complete, irreversible.
Are you ready, my dear?
She shivers. Tightens her fist until the palm Klaus had kisses is completely enfolded. She is ready. But for what?
A/N: Thank you for reading! I think it is safe to say that Elena started something that may be tricky to finish. If you enjoyed, please leave a review.