Waltz in A Minor
by Sandrine Shaw
"May I cut in," Klaus says, and Elena feels Damon's arms tighten around her waist and watches his expression darken. In just a few seconds, she knows, he's going to do something stupid that will most likely get him or someone else she loves hurt, if not worse.
She puts her hand on Damon's arm in what she hopes to be a gesture that serves to both soothe his temper and warn him, before pulling herself free and turning to Klaus who's regarding her with an amused expression. It's a familiar look on him - he only seems to have two default expressions: amused and furious, and sometimes Elena wonders if that's really all there is to him or if he's just very good at putting a mask on and hiding behind it.
When he holds out a hand to her, her mind flashes back to the night of the ritual. She shuts the memories down before they can take hold. She can't think of that now, not when she's expected to remain composed and let him twirl her around the dance floor like he did with Caroline before. (Caroline, who seemed more comfortable in his arms than she should have been, and Elena doesn't know what to make of that.)
With a smile on her face that she's sure looks every bit as forced as it actually is, she takes the offered hand and allows him to pull her towards him. His other arm slips around her waist, and suddenly he's too close. Close enough to hear her heartbeat. Close enough to smell her fear. Close enough to sink his teeth into her throat if he wanted to.
Panic washes over her, a tidal wave of mind-numbing fear. She only realises that her fingers are squeezing his hand so tightly that her knuckles have turned white when he squeezes back in return. It's an almost gentle gesture, startling her out of her stupor.
When he starts moving them across the floor, she instinctively falls into step and follows his lead.
It's some kind of waltz, and she tries to distract herself by counting the beats. Left-two-three. Right-two-three. She holds her head rigidly straight and stares into the distance, past the face that's so close to her own (the mouth that's so close to her neck).
"There's no need to be afraid, love. I have no intention of seeing you harmed." His lips brush against the shell of her ear as he speaks. When he chuckles, it sends a shiver of vibrations along her skin. "Unlike you, my dear, who no doubt would like nothing better than to drive a stake through my heart if you thought it had any affect whatsoever."
Her head snaps around to look at him, but despite the accusation, his expression, like his tone, remains lighthearted and nonthreatening. It's enough to provoke her into an honest response.
"Can you blame me? Since you've come here, you've done nothing but hurt and kill the people I love and make me miserable. I just want my life back."
The hint of something crosses his face, gone in a split second. He doesn't break step, but there's a new strain in his stance and the hand curved around the small of her back tenses.
Elena wonders of she should have kept quiet after all, but all Klaus says is, "You want your life back? Get in line."
His voice is hollow, and there's so much bitterness in his words that it barely sounds like him at all.
What is she supposed to do with that? Say, 'I'm sorry. Maybe you shouldn't have killed your mother then.' Or, 'Maybe you shouldn't have kept lying and backstabbing the family you claim means so much to you.' Perhaps even, 'Maybe your life wouldn't be so horrible if you weren't a sociopathic jerk who keeps resorting to violence and blackmail.'
But then, it's not that easy. Klaus is as much what circumstances made him as anyone else. Stefan, Damon, Katherine, Rebekah, Elijah... they're all testament to the fact that, even if time and circumstances can't alter your features, they will still take hold of you and change you from the inside. Elena can't be sure that she could hold on to her humanity for centuries, and neither does she care much to find out, if there's a choice (but then, experience has taught her that life is rarely kind enough to offer this sort of choice).
She settles for a simple, "I'm sorry," in the end, even if it sounds less like the compassion it's meant to be and more like an apology he doesn't deserve.
Klaus doesn't respond or otherwise acknowledge her words, and when she tries to catch his eye, he's staring straight ahead over her shoulder into the distance. It's a crack in his facade, and it's making her curious. Should she try to pry the mask further away or let him retreat behind it again? She still isn't sure which way this is going when she defies every instinct in her body and forces herself to relax in his grip. She lets the music wash over her and puts her head on his shoulder.
It's a calculated gesture, but it's easy enough to lose herself in it. To actually relax instead of just pretending to. To lean into him and let him hold her and feel safein his arms, absurd as the notion may be.
Left-two-three. Right-two-three. Left-two-three. Right-two-three.
His cheek brushes against her face as he turns his head, five o'clock stubble catching against her hair. A shiver runs down her spine because it's such a startlingly intimate sensation - much more so than the feel of his arm curved around her waist or the warmth of his fingers against hers.
"You cannot fix everything, love," he says.
It sounds... She doesn't know how it sounds.
Almost... kind.
Sad.
Defeated.
Like he wants her to contradict him.
"I'm not going to stop trying," she tells him, with conviction. Halfway between a threat and a promise. Because, the thing is, he wasn't quite right before: unlike Stefan and Damon and Bonnie, she doesn't necessarily want Klaus dead. She doesn't want anyoneto die. But if that's what it takes to keep her friends safe, she will help make it happen. If there's another way, though, she'd prefer that. Have everybody walk away from this mess alive. Fix the situation, fix Klaus, and fix her own life along the way.
Tomorrow morning, she's sure, this will seem like an impossible feat and the weight of the world will press heavily down on her shoulders again. But tonight, floating over the dance floor like she's walking on air, she thinks she could do it, if she only set her mind to it.
Right-two-three. Left-two-three.
Klaus has turned to look at her.
"You really will, won't you? Try to fix it all. Even if it kills you." She thinks he's aiming for mocking and misses it by half a mile, sounding bewildered more than anything. His steely-eyed look seems to try to look inside her head, focusing her with a new kind of curiosity.
She holds his gaze unflinchingly.
Suddenly, it feels like her world has been thrown off its axis, literally, as Klaus dips her backwards. A startled sound escapes her lips and she winds her arms around his neck to steady herself. Above her, he is laughing.
Mischief is gleaming in his eyes. "Careful, love, you might lose your footing along the way," he says, and she's sure he doesn't mean the dancing.
The song ends. In the sudden silence, her breath is loud and uneven. Klaus pulls her up again, a little too fast, and she almost falls against him. Her arms are still wrapped securely around his neck and her pulse is racing a mile a minute. She feels agitated and euphoric and so, so alive. She leans in a little closer and stands on her tiptoes to whisper her words against his ear.
"Careful, you might lose yours."
And then - under the watchful eyes of Damon and Stefan and Alaric and Bonnie and Elijah and everyone else - she presses a soft, lingering kiss to Klaus's cheek. She feels him sharply draw in an unnecessary breath, and his hands fall away from her as if she had burnt him.
She keeps her eyes locked to his as she steps back.
"Thank you for the dance," she says, the corners of her lips twitching.
He inclines his head, composed as ever, but she believes that his smile is a fraction warmer than it used to be. "The pleasure's been all mine, Elena."
End.