He was covered in blood.

His hair, his chest, his boots- it was all coated in red. And this was the moment she chose to walk back into his life. He should have left after the last time. He should have moved on. But each time he tried to the memory of her in this place kept him rooted here.

So now she stood, eyes wide, watching him. She was waiting for an explanation, he knew. She was waiting for something to make sense of the ruin he was drowning himself in. But how could he explain what he himself did not understand? He could explain the death- enemies his brother would not recognize. He could explain the seeming depravity- a message to those who might move against his family. But this- the complete loss of himself within the violence- a loss of control he had never allowed himself in his thousand years. That he could not explain.

Except that maybe she was a small part of it.

He didn't speak. He didn't ask why she had appeared in the night like a shadow. He turned away. Left the room. He didn't want this to be the way she saw him. Not anymore. There had been a time- before New Orleans, before a lot of things- that he would have reveled in showing her the monster he was. There was a time he would have wanted her to be afraid and repulsed and hateful and self-righteous. But that time had passed long ago

So he fled. Locked himself in the bathroom. But he could hear her breathe. And by some strange sorcery that she had only ever possessed, he found his own breathing slowing. He moved in time to her breaths- removing his ruined clothing, turning on the shower, letting the blood wash away. His every movement was to the measure of her respirations.

Then the door was opening and again she was where he wished her not to be. Where he only ever wanted her to be- close. He kept his eyes closed. To see her would be to feel shame. Not for the gore she had seen. Not for the death she had been made to breathe in. But for the want of her when he should not feel it. For even in this pit of self-loathing, this abyss of debasement, he wanted her.

And she could not be his.

Yet her arms were around his waist. Her forehead was pressed to his spine. One hand smoothed over his chest, while the other came to his temple. She was gentler with him than he deserved. And as he saw the images in her mind he found that she was kinder to him than he could bear. For her gift was their daughter's smile. Her gift was a life together, not apart. Her gift was the memory of his smile and the warmth it had given her. She showed him truths and dreams he had never imagined she could feel.

She was forever the one who gave him hope.

She took him out to dine.

Her smile was brilliant as she walked beside him down the streets of Vienna. Her eyes captivated him as they always had. Even now, there was mischief behind the laughter. Sharp intelligence showed itself in her wit. She was enchanting in ways that others could not be. Dark and light, warm and cool, soft yet strong and beautiful as a diamond- a Queen.

She stepped into the restaurant and requested a table with unfailing confidence. He watched as she took her seat. He took her in as she studied the menu. Each gesture held the grace and poise that he had come to recognize as solely Hayley. He thought of his daughter and knew that the woman before him held every attribute he hoped his child to have.

She was exquisite.

"I saw Elijah."

Her words reminded him of why he could not want her as he did. She belonged to another. She belonged to his brother.

He kept his eyes on the canvas before him. Suddenly the colors were muted- the vibrancy he had so loved, gone. Yet his brushstrokes never slowed.

"I think I needed to see him living without me. I think I needed it to really let him go." Her breaths were shaky and her voice held the faintest tremor. Anyone else would have missed it. He did not- he knew her too well. "I realized on my way back home that the person I fell in love with at the start didn't fit the person I had to become."

Now his hand faltered. Now he turned to her.

"And who fits this new version of you, Little Wolf?"

He let sarcasm drip from the words. He let unfelt mockery show in his eyes. Because this- her honesty- could damage the soft parts of him she didn't know she held. But when he looked at her- truly saw her- he couldn't let the façade remain. He set his brush aside. He moved to kneel before her- a King before his Queen.

"Tell me Hayley."

Her forehead touched his and he let her in.

He stood before her, the bayou bright around them. 'I do trust you. More than you know.'

She stood in the kitchen of the safe house in Arkansas. She bent to pick up a crumpled piece of paper. Anger had her unfolding it. -I wish Hope to be safe and know she is loved. I wish Hayley to be happy, always.-

She walked into his room at the compound. Freya's voice telling Hope a bedtime story reached her ears as she closed the door. She made her way to the bed slipping her shoes off as she went. Her pants were soon gone as well. She slid under the comforter and pressed her face to his pillow. 'I miss you, Klaus. I wish you were here.'

She pulled away.

She slipped passed him.

He was held transfixed.

He picked her up without waking her.

She was light in his arms- her body soft against him. She was beautiful.

He carried her to his room. He laid her gently in his bed. Her hair fell onto her forehead as she turned into his pillow. He brushed it away. Sliding in beside her, he took her in. The moonlight touched her skin- shadows wove between the strands of her hair. It seemed fitting. Light and dark-both claiming her- both so perfectly matched in making her.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. His forehead came to rest against hers. She let him in. Perhaps she would think it a dream. Perhaps she would forget this when the sun reached her. But here- in the night, with the moon and the shadows to surround them- he let her see his truths, his dreams.

He lifted her from the alter. Her skin was cool- he held her closer to give her his warmth. He sat on the steps and let her rest against him. 'You deserved better, Little Wolf.' A tear fell from him and landed on her cheek. He let it stay. One hand went to her hair. The other he let rest where their child had been. 'She will know that you were loved, Hayley. She will know, even if you did not.'

She pushed against him, blood on her face. 'Fight back! FIGHT BACK!' Her palm cracked against his cheek but it did not register to him. He took her in- this magnificent creature before him. This woman he thought unbreakable. And he saw that she was broken. His hands yearned to reach for her- to pull her close- to tell her… Her pain cut through him and became his own. And he would give anything to have kept her from it.

He watched her- kneeling in the courtyard, Hope resting in her arms. Vincent was telling him to leave, but he needed to see her eyes. He needed to know his little girl was alright. His breath died in his throat as Hope's little lashes fluttered. He had to go, he knew. To stay was to put her at risk. But he wanted-needed- this moment. Hayley- beautiful and protective and strong. Hope- innocent and light and safe. They were the center of his heart. And although his words were to Hope, his heart whispered them to Hayley as well. 'I love you.'

Her breathing was shaky and fast.

He pressed her closer- held her tighter.

Her breathing slowed- evened- fell in time with his.