Floating In The Deep.
A Kol Mikaelson/OFC story.
It must be a cruel joke of nature that people who are so bad for us, make us feel so good.
Detroit, Michigan - 1962. Because Klaus needs something to make the sixties stand out, doesn't he?
The Michigan wind was cold, whipping against the brick alley walls to cyclone down the dead end, lifting stray papers and wrappers. The air was stained by the scent of rotten food, cat piss, and unwashed human. Klaus wrinkled his nose, casting judgemental blue eyes around the darkened alley. "And here I thought witches had class," he murmured into the air, an amused smirk twisting his lips. The witch beside him brisled, causing his amusement to mount. Klaus, as a rule, respected witches, but even he had his limits, and meeting in a dank alley for some miracle weapon to kill his father was stretching those limits.
"We just don't want to draw any attention," Morgan defended, mousy voice almost lost in the echo of the wind. She was a good witch of average power, but she wasn't one of his. More like a friend of a witch that belonged to him.
"So we're meeting in an alley - in Detroit, mind you - like some covert drug deal?" he asked sardonically, shooting the witch a dry look. "A cop's been following us for fifteen minutes, now, love. It's not a problem for me, but considering you live here…" he trailed off with a shrug, watching the way she snapped around, frantically looking for the cop that was settled in his cruiser at the end of the block.
"He can't be here," she hissed, shooting a nervous look at one of the side doors that lead into the alley.
"Relax, love, he won't be a problem," for me, he added silently. He didn't particularly care about Morgan, and the witch that was meeting him. "Tell me about this weapon that can kill Mikael," he demanded, shoving his hands in his coat pocket and flashing the brunnette a charming grin.
"It's more than just a weapon," she corrected, her dull brown eyes catching his fiercely, "This isn't something to be played with, Niklaus. She's -" Morgan cut off, shaking her head angrily, "Look, Dianna will explain, I don't really understand it much myself."
"Call me, Klaus, love," he instructed, fighting down the urge to make her tell him what he'd left New York for. He'd enjoyed the city life - a pretty girl was always on hand to be used, and so much could be looked over. It made him yearn for New Orleans, the home that Mikael had run him out of. He felt a wave of homesickness. He wanted his family back - wanted Rebekah, with her temper, and Kol with his impulsive behavior, and Elijah, with his moral high ground. Even Finn, the dull sod. A part of him screamed for Henrik, for the little, naive brother he'd lost.
Two heartbeats sounded near the side entrance door; one palpated unhealthily, no doubt caused by a blood clot, something many humans suffered from nowadays. The other was soft, barely noticeable, but it belted out a staccato beat that was akin to a hummingbird's wings. The knob turned, and Morgan caught her breath, her heart pulsing rapidly. He felt a spike of amusement - this entire thing was so dramatic. He loved it.
The door opened, and the witch he assumed to be Dianna stepped out first. She was rail thin with thick, greasy blonde hair that hung limply to her shoulders. She had dull blue eyes that were sunken into a malnourished face that proclaimed sharp cheekbones and thin lips. She could have been pretty, once, but he could smell the rot on her - the rot of drugs, and black magic gone wrong.
How was this supposed to help him?
Dianna reached back into the building, roughly yanking on something. A child stumbled out, barefooted and dirty. Klaus felt shocked for the first time in decades. Why was there a child?
The little girl with the hummingbird heart. She had knatty brown hair that was pulled into a sloppy bun, and a thin jacket had been pulled over a dirty pink dress. Her face, which should have been chubby with baby fat, was thin and pale.
Klaus had done many things in his long life, killed thousands and he never regretted anything. But he had never forced a woman into his bed, and he had never harmed a child. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make Elijah think him redeemable. Seeing the fragile little girl, her tiny little toes disappearing into the snow, made him rage. Children were meant to be loved, cherished, not - "What is this about, then, hm?" he asked slowly, doing his damndest to keep the anger out of his tone. The girl looked up, displaying large blue eyes that matched that of Dianna. Mother and daughter?
"Because I was told I was getting a weapon, not a malnourished child," he continued, shoving Morgan deeper into the alley. Dianna flinched, and he saw her eyes flit to the child, familiar disgust written on her face. She wouldn't be leaving here alive.
"It's not a child," the blonde spat, lip curling at the little hummingbird standing silently by her side, "It's an abomination," the familiar curl of hatred twisted in his stomach, "It's an Antichrist, and it's the weapon I promised you."
"A child," he pronounced slowly.
"An Antichrist," Dianna corrected.
"I've never heard of one of those, love," there was no way he was leaving the child, and there was no way Dianna was getting out. Could he drop her off at an orphanage, or perhaps a hospital would be better? The little thing looked sick.
"You wouldn't have, they're more religious myth that anything."
"Obviously not a myth, if you claim you have one," he countered, circling around her. The girl tilted her head back to look at him with her luminous blue eyes. "Hello, little bird," he cooed crouching down in front of her. "What's your name?"
"Kenzie," she nodded, like she was proud of herself for remembering. He remembered a time when Henrik was the same way, when his youngest brother's chest would puff out like a peacock when he remembered his age or how to spell his name.
"What a pretty name, Kenzie. Do you know how old you are?"
Dianna shifted, her frail legs practically shaking. Drugs, he was glad he never got into them. "I dunno, four?" Kenzie answered, shrugging one of her little shoulders.
"Well, aren't you a big girl," he gave her a grin, "Would you like to know how old I am?" he whispered conspiratorially, shooting a quick look up at the blonde witch that wouldn't survive the encounter. She was pointedly looking away from the two of them.
Kenzie nodded, widening her eyes at him and what he knew was referred to as the 'puppy dog face.' She was absolutely adorable, "Well, I do believe I'm a little over a thousand years old. Do you know how much that is?"
"A lot, like the stars," she told him dramatically, pointing to one of the few stars visible through the Detroit fog and lights.
"Exactly," he agreed, "Do you like the stars? I can tell you all sorts of stories about them, little love."
"Would you?" her excitement was tangible; it lit up the alleyway like a physical light, bright and happy and breathtaking. Klaus knew there was no way he was letting this girl go.
"Promise," he nodded gravely, scooping her up to rest on his hip like he'd done with Henrik so many years ago, when Klaus was still human and vulnerable and his soul was still salvageable.
"Now, tell me about the Antichrists?"
Dianna nodded, softly explaining in harsh words what an Antichrist was, and what it could do. Klaus listened, Kenzie's head resting on his shoulder and her hummingbird heart thumping against his chest, and he knew one thing - there was no way he'd be able to do this alone.
Well.
Elijah had always had a soft heart.
AN: lolol, I have no idea. Let me know if you like it, or if you have any ideas, or if you spotted an error.