Author's Note: I wanted Klaus to be creepy and violent and powerful with something else creepy and violent and powerful. And Bonnie to worry about him while he did it because she's too good for this world. That's it. That's the show.
He's been standing in the same spot for two hours.
It isn't often that she feels this way, Bonnie notes. Klaus might be Klaus but he doesn't really flaunt his power very much. Not like this. It seems a simple task, too simple to specifically request the Original Hybrid handle it. Remove a nuisance alligator from a lake. There are people in Louisiana who make their living doing nothing but hunting alligators. What makes this one so special?
He has a name, for one. The French words she cannot recall, but Klaus translated them simply to mean "the Old One." Well over a hundred years old, apparently. Many a skilled hunter has tried, and all of them have failed to capture him. Lines snap, bullets ricochet, hands and arms get bitten, boats get rocked and The Old One lives to bite another day. All of those attempts on his life have made him smart. And smart gators live a lot longer than the dumb ones. They get a lot bigger too. Which means they need bigger prey to eat. Bigger prey could end up being a child, and that must not happen. Enough people go missing in the swamp as it is.
It's an elderly witch that summons Klaus. Old, but sharp. Everything in Louisiana seems to be old and sharp. She charges the hybrid with the alligator's removal. Not a human alligator hunter, not a vampire, not a werewolf. Klaus.
" I'm not foolin' wit' these hunters. Makin' all that damn noise in my lake an' not catchin' a damn thing. You send an old one to catch an old one."
As Bonnie stands there, though, a few feet behind him, a feeling blooms in her chest. It's warm, not like fear, but not happiness either. Not quite not-fear. It's something different that she isn't quite sure is magic. Maybe it's just instinct.
Whatever it is, the feeling only increases when she steps closer. Klaus isn't quite on the edge of the bank, but he is near it. The lake water laps at the loose ground right in front of his boots. She only intends to skirt the edge of the grass where it is dry and there are less bugs. What she did not account for, was snakes.
She could not say what kind of snake it was. The whole thing was too fast. It wasn't there. Then it was. Then so was Klaus. Two flickers of movement and she couldn't follow either one. The Original Hybrid stands before her with the snake's solid black body wriggling from his bare hand. The head is in his fist, and when he tightens it, the wriggling stops.
" Careful, little one," warns the hybrid as he looks over the dead snake. " You'd do well to keep a healthy distance. You know the only predator allowed to bite you is me."
The Louisiana sun is hot on the back of her neck, but she still manages to blush under it. With her head ducked down, she takes a careful step or three backwards.
Satisfied, Klaus seemingly returns to his post. The dead snake is still hanging useless from his hand. It isn't useless for long though. To her eyes, it's a casual swing of his arm, a light toss one might make to transfer car keys to a friend. But the snake body sails clear to the center of the lake before it hits the water.
Klaus is motionless again. Hands in his jean pockets, eyes fixed on some point in front of him that Bonnie can't see. It's all lake water, white birds and the occasional rustle in the brush. He's really taking this seriously.
Somewhere off to the side is the sound of gravel under tires. Male voices, one or two females.
They settle off to the side. Far enough away that she can hear them, but not as close as she is. Two of the trucks that pulled up have boats attached to them. They must be the alligator hunters who have come before. Come to see the show. Come to see the hunter that was called in to do what they could not. Come in good spirits, expecting to see him fail too.
The same spot the snake body landed explodes into movement and teeth. A small snack for a creature so big. Probably just enough to give him a bad attitude. But he takes it, eyes them on the bank, and then sinks back down into the murky swamp water from whence he came.
Almost immediately after, Klaus starts walking forward. One foot in front of the other, right into the water. He keeps going until the water covers his head. And then he too is gone in only a few ripples. His Henley is white. His hair is blond. But Bonnie cannot see any sign of him underwater.
" Did that motherfucker jus' walk into th' lake? That's crazy!"
" Girl, you 'bout to be reeeeal single!"
She knows the hunters are talking to her. There's no shifting her attention though. Now she is the one that is motionless and watching. The lake water is tranquil and still. She doesn't like it. Klaus cannot drown, he doesn't tire, he has no natural predators. Bonnie knows all of this, and she still begins to worry.
She's almost relieved when both of them violently rise out of the water. But the sight of Klaus' arm locked in the jaws of a real, live alligator makes her feel faint. The rest of him seems to be on the gator's back. She isn't sure who has who. Then the rolling starts—death roll, that's what the hunters call it—and there's savage splashing everywhere. Growling and snapping, wild, vicious noises that could be either the hybrid or the gator are all she can hear.
" I'll be damned if that crazy motherfucker ain't wrestling a 500 pound gator!"
She wants to call out to him and tell him. . . what exactly? Be careful? To kill it already? How exactly does one kill an alligator with their bare hands? It's something she hasn't considered until just now. How strong is a 500 pound alligator? What if he's as strong as Klaus is? The Old One is already bigger, and heavier, and has home field advantage. She worries if Klaus has considered such things before he got in the water, or he just went with his impulse and started a fight with a hundred year old killer reptile.
Thankfully, at some point during the rolling, Klaus has pried the beast's jaws open to free himself. With what must have been a punch or a kick, the gator thrashes backwards; clearly stunned. Then Klaus does use his super speed to displace the water and get behind the creature. He puts the gator in some kind of head lock and to Bonnie's dismay, the rolling starts again. She doesn't know if it makes her feel worse or better that they go completely under this time.
How long they stay under, she could not say. Too long for her nerves. She lets out a startled cry when Klaus emerges from the lake water right at the edge where he disappeared. Water dripping, soaked from head to toe, a bit winded it looks like. But he's pleased with himself. More importantly, he's pleased with the alligator tail he's holding over his shoulder. The alligator tail attached to the alligator body being dragged out of the water. There's a smoky red cloud near the creature's head. A wound. It still bleeds and Klaus doesn't.
She now knows what that feeling is now. That warm, blooming sensation in her chest that is not quite fear, but not quite not-fear. A very certain sense of being human. Her human instincts—old instincts, genetic memory—warning her that she cannot hope to replicate what she's seen. She is bound by human limitations. She cannot out-strike a snake. She cannot penetrate an alligator's armored skin with her hands. She cannot then drag its 500 pound body from deep water to land with nothing but a grip on its tail. The fact that Klaus can do all of these things signals that he is not like her.
A blatant display of his hybrid otherness. Though both of them are supernatural, only Klaus is superhuman.
" Why?" She wants to know. He was capable of killing it that whole time, and he didn't. He let the alligator bite him. His sleeve has been ripped asunder where the teeth came down. The skin beneath finishes restoring itself before her eyes. It could have all been avoided. If he's fast enough to catch a striking snake, he can dodge the powerful jaws of an alligator.
Klaus smiles at her in that disarming, delighted way. The air of a happy child with a new toy more so than a predator with a dead thing. " It was bigger than me," says the hybrid as he drags the body further onto land. " Thought it was stronger. Thought its bite was stronger. Supposedly one of the strongest bites in the world."
" Oh no." He didn't. He wouldn't. Surely. Surely he is not so competitive. Surely, Klaus Mikaelson cannot be so petty. " Tell me you didn't bite it back, Klaus."
He's so offended. She can tell by the way his jaw ticks. " Of course I didn't put it in my mouth, Bonnie, I don't know where it's been. Honestly, the things you think of."
Right. He wrestles an alligator because nothing in New Orleans, and no one in New Orleans can be more powerful than he is. She asks if he bit said alligator and she's the ridiculous one.
She's taken her eyes off him. In her exasperation, she's taken her eyes off him, and only returns them when she finds herself in his tall shadow. His eyes are hooded, amber, on her in that lazy way he does when he is watching her do or hears her say something incredibly mortal. " I heard your heartbeat while I was down there. Were you afraid for me, little one?"
Bonnie's jaw tightens. She does not want to give him the satisfaction and instead turns her gaze to the ground. " No."
She is being petulant and they both know it. His hand tips her chin back up, and she can see two fingers are bloodstained. Their noses brush when she's looking at him again. He's managed to get even closer. Crowding her, invading her space and bringing her fully into his. He'd start purring if he could. " You were. Worried your hybrid lover would drown or perhaps end up gator food?"
" He'd spit you back out before you got too far." She should bite him. . .
Even his deep laughter is seductive up close. When their foreheads touch, his amber eyes shut. They've faded to blue by the time they open again. " I suppose I should be thankful he did not favor my taste as much as you do."
Klaus can't really feel it when she swats him. He reacts—largely for her benefit and his own amusement—but he can't feel it. He might not have even felt it when the alligator bit him. Bonnie can't decide if that makes her feel better or worse about the whole thing.
She doesn't have much time to consider it. As the next thing she knows, they are surrounded. The hunters have come to congratulate Klaus, praise him, praise his catch and insist both he and his girl attend their cook out. Because that's what you do in Louisiana when you catch a 500 pound gator. You invited everyone over that you can find and cook it and eat it. It doesn't matter that they came to see him fail. All that matters is that the lake is safer and there's plenty to eat.
Far too much for small witches like her though. She doesn't know the name of Klaus' new friend, the man who owns the house that hosts the bayou BBQ, but he is one of those people that believes in short and skinny people needing extra helpings. Every time she whittles her plate down, there's someone there with a spoonful of more grilled gator or potatoes or crawfish or something else she can't stuff herself with.
Klaus is much better at avoiding such offers. For being as big and tall as he is—though still somewhat skinny by swamp standards—no one forces a plate on him. He knocks back beer after beer, but his other hand is either in his pocket or wrapped around her. Every once and a while, she catches him popping a red potato into his mouth. But no meat. This puzzles her. Stefan might be the closest thing there is to a vegan vampire, yet there is no such a thing among werewolves. Likewise, Original hybrids are strict carnivores.
" Why aren't you eating any meat?" she questions after handing him her beer to twist open. Of course, she could open it herself. It's not even a task that requires magic. But he likes to do it, so she lets him do it. He can have whatever he wants if it'll keep him out of the water.
" Well I've been busy. Everyone wants to hear how The Old One ended up on the grill."
" Oh, I know." She purses her lips before taking a quick drink of her beer. " Every time you tell that story, he gets bigger and bigger."
The hybrid grunts, nonplussed, but fully aware she is making fun of him. " For your information, the only part of him I'm interested in now is the tail."
" The tail?" she parrots.
" Indeed," purrs the hybrid, shamelessly letting his hand trail up her leg before he gives her backside a squeeze. " That's where the meat is most tender."
People turn their heads to look when she squeals so loud. All it does is bring whoops and hollers and encouragement that Klaus does not need. He's already getting the alligator's tail, does he have to come after hers too?