A/N: This was written for the Klonnie, Actually event on tumblr (go to the tag for more info) and is based on Love, Actually, more specifically the subplot about the prime minister (Hugh Grant) and the junior member of his staff who, in this version, are Senator Klaus and assistant Bonnie . So far so good. Now...this was supposed to be light Christmas rom-com fare with a small pinch of drama. And I...okay, this story starts out that way but somewhere in between it gets really extra and dramatic for no reason whatsoever. Well, mostly because I couldn't keep it goddamn light. So there is a bit of a dark undercurrent here (u know me), but it's not too heavy, no worries. My main concern is that it might be tonally confusing and might also reads a little OOC, but...oh well! Didn't know how else to adapt it. Apologies for any typos/errors, we're all real tired this Christmas lmao.

Enjoy! (?)

P.S. props to Anastasia-G for inspiring the title! and for being a supportive little buttercup.

-/-

Bonnie heard the groans from the adjacent offices. So, everyone had gotten the memo. No surprise there.

She propped herself against the doorway. "I told y'all he'd be pissed."

Tyler Lockwood threw his stapler against the wall. It didn't even break like he'd hoped. "It's December 23rd, for fuck's sake."

"Santa doesn't like swearing," she reminded him, coming over to sit on the edge of his desk.

A few cubicles away, Liv Parker was unsuccessfully trying to wipe a coffee stain from her blouse. She'd spilled her latte when she read the memo.

"You're not actually implying what I think you're implying," Liv grumbled.

Bonnie sighed. "I am. He's extra-sensitive this time of year. You should have included him in the Secret Santa."

Tyler scoffed. "Okay, but making us work on the Sunday right before Christmas, just because we didn't get him a pair of socks?"

Bonnie smiled. "That's your idea of a professional gift?"

"Everyone secretly wants socks. Think about it."

She tapped her chin pensively. "I have a feeling that's not gonna solve your problems."

Liv dragged herself over to Tyler's desk. She was soon followed by a raccoon-eyed Nora and a tie-less Matt. They looked like the classic definition of 'disgruntled'. In fact, their picture could be found in the dictionary next to the word.

"I hate to say it, but...we need to do some damage control. Make the guy feel special," Nora said, almost gagging on the word. "And by 'we' I mean Bonnie, of course."

Bonnie was appalled. "Wait, what? Why does it have to be me? I was the one who warned you guys –"

Tyler took her hand in his. "Come on, Bon. It's Christmas. The season of giving."

She yanked her hand away. "So? It's not like I can change anything –"

"Oh, come on. You're not even really included in the memo. You could go home right now and you wouldn't be fired," Nora argued with a pinch of resentment.

"That's not true. It's not like I get special treatment –"

"Really? Because you're the only one he can even stand. Strike that, you might be his favorite," Liv chipped in. "I mean, when's the last time he yelled at you?"

Bonnie huffed. "He doesn't yell because I do my job well."

"Riiiiight," Nora drawled, rolling her eyes. "I'm going to call bullshit on that. I've seen you fuck up once or twice and he only grunted something and went back to work."

Bonnie felt a blush coming on. Why was this a matter of debate right now? Klaus Mikaelson, the newly minted Senator for Virginia, was certainly not partial to her. In fact, he was colder towards her – she would've preferred if he showed more feeling. His reaction to her was always muted, almost like he was repressing something. She didn't like it. She could handle his outbursts. She wanted to be taken seriously, even if it meant disapproval.

"What do you expect me to do anyway?" Bonnie protested. "Waltz into his office with an apology card from all of us?"

Matt shrugged. "Hey, I'd sign it."

"No, it can't be an apology card," Liv muttered, biting her nail.

Bonnie exhaled. "Thank you."

"It's gotta be something bigger. Like, I don't know, an espresso machine?"

Bonnie groaned. "That's…somehow both expensive and cheap."

"How about a fancy tie?"

"Too personal. And lame."

"Well, what isn't personal?"

They kept shooting ideas back and forth without reaching much of a consensus. The problem was that Klaus Mikaelson was a cipher. They'd been working for him for three months and they still knew next to nothing about the guy, except that he had a pretty tense relationship with his father who was an attorney in DC. Bonnie had often blocked his calls on Klaus' behalf.

"Well, we can't put a hit on his dad," Tyler joked when that bit of trivia was brought up.

Bonnie laughed. She tuned out of the conversation and started thinking in earnest about what kind of gift would make Klaus Mikaelson….well, if not happy at least pleased.

She remembered last month she'd offered him some herbal tea her Grams had made for her. He'd taken the cup with a frown, hadn't even thanked her. But she'd found it empty at the end of the day and there was a post-it on her desk in his odd, complicated calligraphy demanding to know the brand.

She had emailed him, saying it was a family recipe. He had not replied. Should she make him a batch?

No, that was…for family only. Besides, it would only fuel more rumors about them.

Ha, there was no 'them'.

She had noticed that the senator seemed to have a penchant for art. His office was devoid of trophies and diplomas which he liked to kept hidden away. Instead, he'd filled his walls with as many oil paintings as possible. They were not the usual anonymous linear landscapes. They were…odd and slightly gloomy. Barren and twisted.

Like his soul, she snickered to herself.

At first, Bonnie thought they were an intimidation tactic for anyone walking in. But she'd often caught the senator staring at them wistfully.

She wondered if maybe he had painted some of them.

No…she couldn't picture him sitting behind an easel. He barely had enough patience to sit in his office and take meetings and calls.

But maybe he would appreciate something artistic.

Definitely not something made by her or the rest of his staff, though. He was not the kind of guy who stuck bad finger drawings to the fridge.

But buying him a painting was impractical. She huffed. This was getting needlessly complicated.

"Can we count on you, Bon?" Matt asked, trying hard to impress her with his baby-blue eyes.

"Pleeease, we'll love you forever," Liv and Nora chanted.

Bonnie pinched the bridge of her nose. Why did everyone think she was a miracle worker?

But she mumbled a quiet and resentful, "I'll think of something".

She still kept her pointes in a box under the bed. She liked sleeping on top of her lost ambitions. Not that they'd ever been realistic to begin with, but it was nice to have mementoes. Parts of herself stashed away but not forgotten.

She did not have many memories from the age of four. But one thing she remembered distinctly was the smell of rosin, the sticky pine scent of the powder which was applied liberally to heels and toes so they wouldn't slip on the polished dance floor.

She often did slip, she remembered with a smile.

She'd danced ballet for fifteen years before she was told she just wasn't good enough to be prima ballerina. Yes, she'd make an excellent coryphée, dancing her heart out in the background, lighting up the stage with her bird-like movements, but she was not cut out for the big parts and her professors were only being fair by telling her.

Bonnie did not feel so bitter anymore, but every year around Christmas she would experience a twinge.

She dragged the box from under her bed.

Maybe she had this in common with her boss, the irrational shame of accomplishment.

It felt odd to bring her old life into the office. She tied up her pointes with slightly trembling fingers. She couldn't quite believe she was doing this, though a secret part of her sort of relished it. She'd missed this cocktail of stage-fright and anticipation. It was like visiting a dark, warm room in an otherwise cold building.

Maybe she was being insane, but she had a hunch this would be the right gift for a man like him.

Klaus Mikaelson was a contemplative, melancholy bastard who'd only won his seat because he could turn on the charm when it was necessary. She'd seen it first-hand. He could be rakish, almost boyish in front of a crowd of thousands. But back in his lair he was like a lone wolf, stalking the halls without purpose. Sometimes she thought she was the only one who understood how such two personas could coexist.

And okay, maybe she had felt something strange simmering between them these past months. She remembered sitting in the town car with him alone on one or two occasions, passing documents for him to sign. She remembered his eyes and words sizing her up, like he was still wondering how to classify her. He asked her where she went to school and she smoothly left out her dancing career. He asked her if she wanted to be there, in that car with him, or if she'd rather be doing anything else.

Bonnie had lied, but maybe it hadn't been entirely deceitful.

"No, Sir. I'm happy to be here with you."

He'd smiled like he didn't believe her, like he didn't believe anyone.

Bonnie sighed. If this turned out to be a mistake and she got fired, maybe that was for the best. The unspoken tension between them would have to be solved somehow.

She slipped her coat over her figure and tiptoed in her pointes to his office, feeling like a fool, feeling like a prima ballerina.

She could see him typing furiously through the glass door, the blue light from the screen sharpening his already gaunt features. Christmas lights twinkled across the street from other office buildings. Snow fell in a chaotic flurry behind him. It was the perfect sinister winter tableau.

She knocked meekly and let herself in.

"Late night, Sir?"

His shoulders stiffened at the sound of her voice, but he tried to sound casual as he spoke. "Mm, something like it. I think I mentioned I don't want to be disturbed."

Because he was so intent on his laptop he didn't notice that she was not wearing her practical kitten heels.

"I made sure you won't be. But it's Christmas Eve and everyone deserves a break."

Klaus rubbed the back of his neck, still keeping his eyes down. "Do you want something, Miss Bennett?"

She tried to quash the strange feeling in her gut. He always made her last name sound like fingers drumming against wood - pure impatience.

"I…that is, all of us wanted to wish you happy holidays. And to make up for our…inattention."

Klaus' gaze finally lifted to hers. He frowned, opened his mouth, ready to dispense with whatever she had in mind, …and then remained quiet when he noticed her pointes.

Bonnie stepped forward and unbuttoned her coat with slightly trembling fingers. "When you asked me about my studies, I didn't tell you the whole truth. Consider this a gift from all of us, Sir."

She'd chosen the most conservative leotard and skirt from her repertoire. The latter was low-cut, flaring around her knees and falling in rivulets down her legs, freeing her movements but making her look presentable.

Because this was still an office and this was just one Christmas evening.

She noticed his sharp intake, the way he made to rise but couldn't find his footing.

No chickening out now, she thought with trepidation.

She took out her phone and propped it against one of the naive sculptures on the coffee table.

His voice came out strained, sifted. "Bonnie."

She realized he'd said her first name for the first time. She squared her shoulders and settled into position, trying hard not to lose her nerve. She looked beyond him at the falling snow.

"Please…don't say anything until I am finished."

And he did not. He could not when she began dancing.

The room was spacious enough, but she kept her movements small and sharp.

The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy looked simple at first glance. It was doll-like, which was rather the purpose. But Bonnie had learned there was something defiant and a little claustrophobic in the playful twirls and pliés and rondes de jambe.

There was something desperate and youthful and necessary in this childish dance. It was the hope of Christmas buried in the despotism of winter.

She danced gracefully, like for the first time, lowering herself, rising, bending, and making the room bend with her.

The world was a snow-globe and she did not want to break the glass.

Klaus watched her and watched her, his face like a funeral mask whose white chalk had been disturbed.

She did not know how badly he wanted to paint her, to capture the light between her limbs, seize the beauty and put it up on his wall.

He drank each movement, eyes following assiduously, straying only if she strayed too. She was an imperfect dancer, and she knew it all too well, but her missteps were like an invitation for him to look even closer.

The room grew smaller. She seemed to be dancing towards him. She pulled away at the last moment, retreated, did not trust herself.

Never had the Nutcracker been played or danced in such a climate.

The number was brief, the dance over before it began. It was a children's fancy.

When it was done, she stood panting in the center of the room, light sweat dappling her bare shoulders.

She held herself aloft, still en pointe, still suspended.

Klaus leaned back in his seat and cocked his head to the side. He ran his palm over the surface of the desk, as if brushing off his own inertia.

"Again," he said.

She had to embody the Sugar Plum Fairy two more times before he was satisfied.

Again, again, again…

She did it. She felt exhaustion creeping like teeth into her muscles and she welcomed it, welcomed the sweat becoming cool against her skin. She danced because it was Christmas, because it was him, because she had always wanted to be the leading lady, at least once.

When she stopped for the last time, almost swaying on her feet, he was not in his seat anymore.

Before she could fathom what was happening, he was walking towards her. Bonnie froze. He raised his arm but did not touch her. Instead, he picked up her coat from the chair behind her and placed it gently around her shoulders. He surrounded her, but left her untouched.

Bonnie breathed harshly. She felt unready for the moment, whatever it would bring her.

He was holding his phone to his ear, not even minding her.

"Have the car ready."

"Sir?"

Klaus looked down at her. It seemed as if he wanted to take off her coat again.

"You'll join me, won't you? It's Christmas Eve…and everyone deserves a break." He mirrored her words with a touch of humor. Even the word 'break' assumed multiple meanings but none of them frightened her.

Bonnie managed a small smile. "Yes, Sir."

Tyler Lockwood whistled in appreciation. "I don't know how she did it, but we've got an extra week off in January."

The whole office cheered. It was a Christmas miracle.