A/N 1.0: ERMERGERD. DEAD. I'm dead and gone. This show has done me in with it's amazing writing, flawless acting, and just altogether badassery because DAYUM. I'm so proud to be a Groupie alksdjfla;kjfla;skdjfal;sjasdf. anywho. if, by chance you're an older reader of mine side-eying me for, seemingly, abandoning my other fics just know that I haven't. I'm very, very slowly working my way through them (mainly the epilogue of SPE). you can blame school for just sucking any inspiration I have right out the window meh.

but, here we go with Klayley deleted scene nummer zwei. Enjoy:)

Disclaimer: I do not own The Originals. but man what I would give to be involved somehow.

There is love in our bodies and it holds us together
But pulls us apart when we're holding each other
We all want something to hold in the night
We don't care if it hurts or we're holding too tight

~Hardest of Hearts: Florence + the Machine~

1x08: The River in Reverse

She hates him. In fact, she doesn't think she hates anyone more than she hates him. From the stench of bourbon, leather, pencil shavings, and pine permeating the interior of the Range Rover to his stupid cheekbones, pouty lips, and expressive eyes, everything about the hybrid makes her want to puke, gauge her eyes out, rip her hair out, cut his dick off. Something because she hates walking on eggshells around him, waiting for him to snap when she freaking breathes at the wrong time. Because, heaven forbid she breathe out of sync.

Yeah, Klaus Mikaelson is that bad.

But what really blows is the fact she can't figure out why.

Okay, there's the obvious reasons: he's a sick bastard, a leech, a parasitical, controlling and manipulative jackass with major abandonment issues and that alone makes Hayley snort since he'd once pinpointed her 'charming bravado' on her own abandonment issues but there is nothing and she repeats nothing charming about Klaus' attitude.

Then there's the fact he quite possibly- probably- no, without a doubt will use their bouncing bundle of joy to create another army. But, even then, jokes on him 'cause those stupid things will be sired to her. Or maybe it's really her baby but whatever. As long as said failure monsters aren't sired to him. Her little princess can have her own army to protect herself from her psychopath of a father and Hayley gets a front row seat to watch it all unfold. I mean, seriously. The look on this cocky asshole's face will be priceless.

Lil' Ass Kicker: 1. Bratty Original Hybrid: 0.

-insert evil laugh here-

Hayley's smirk fades into her reflection as she watches the streets framed with ancient trees and decorated with fragmented patches of sunlight go by as he whisks her away into the heart of the French Quarter like she's some kind of war prisoner.

She chances another glance at him, ready to peg him with yet another glare only to find the hybrid staring stoically ahead, one had on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. He doesn't pay her any mind and why would he when he made it abundantly clear the only thing she's good for is the kid she's carrying but she continues glaring at his softened features on the off-chance he glances at her out of the corner of his eye- eyes that are filled to the brim with tears.

They roll to a stop, the silence looming over them, around them as it consumes everything from her anger and disgust to his frustration and guilt.

A tear slips down his cheek.

She looks away when he raises a hand to swipe at his face and remove the evidence that the devil does, in fact, cry.

He doesn't deserve her sympathy.

"I took the liberty of having your belongings packed and brought over," Klaus says as he gives her the grand tour.

It's not the museum of art, knick-knacks, and other artifacts he lived in back in Mystic Falls. Nor does it possess the Old World grandeur of the plantation house. It's simple and familiar and it's been modernized since he was evicted it but it's home- it's his kingdom, his palace.

She only offers a noncommittal shrug, making her disdain and apathy known as she trails after him through the courtyard, the kitchen, and other rooms he deems essential to her needs.

It maybe his home but as far as Hayley's concerned it's her new prison.

"Let's cut the crap and get to the part you lock me away in the forbidden tower already," she snaps when he shows her which room is his and where it is in relation to hers.

The door slams in his face and reverberates through the silent halls before he can reply. Deciding arguing with her isn't worth his time, he stalks down the hall and busies himself with the first decanter of scotch he can find.

If she's going to be difficult, she doesn't deserve his hospitality.

Not even the chill of the ground offers solace from the white hot agony tearing at his flesh as bones snap and mend as his body tries to turn itself inside out.

A hand plunges past bone and muscles, tears through flesh, arteries and tissue and grips the pounding organ.

"Elijah."

He screams.

Broken, beaten, abandoned.

"You betrayed me. My own sister."

Escape.

"Has history taught you nothing? We don't abandon you, you drive us away!"

Chains.

"I've had enough."

Escape.

He stumbles out onto the balcony, gasping for breath. Warm, humid breeze embraces sweat-drenched skin, lulling his pounding head and racing thoughts into serenity as if whispering sweet nothings into the shell of his ear.

He should know better than to relish in this false comfort. He should know better than to let his eyes flutter shut and let reality slip away.

Betrayed.

His breathing quickens.

Trapped.

Beaten.

The banister splinters under his grip- maybe the pain will bring him back.

Weak.

Bastard.

Abandoned.

A door opens, creaking on the hinges in the silence of the courtyard. Someone groans. He wretches his eyes open and whirls to face the intruder.

"Oh," he breaths, finding the wolf girl peering at him through burning hazel eyes.

"Just when I thought you'd finally stopped your moaning and groaning you're still here bothering me."

He turns away, leans against the banister, gripping it tightly as if it were a lifeline whilst he fought for control and composure against the onslaught- the pain, the rage, the frustration, the disappointment; desperation, fear, helplessness.

And through it all, one sound breaches it all. The smallest of fluttering, quieter than a hummingbird's wings, pounds in his ears- his own personal symphony.

It had once been Elijah, the voice of reason drawing him back, holding tightly to his leash only to let it slip through the cracks time and time again.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

There's the softest rustle of fabric and Hayley turns to leave

"Stay."

"I'm not babysitting your ass because you have nightmares. Grow up."

He whirls on her and he doesn't miss the way she flinches as though he's going to advance on her, the way a momentary fear flashes through her hardened eyes as if she's expecting his wrath. He retreats further into himself, shrinking against the railing. "Please."

It's a desperate and broken plea and he doesn't even recognize his own voice when in infiltrates the stagnant space between them. But he needs her, needs the heartbeat floating around in his head and keeping him sane, pulling him from the destruction of his own mind and, for once, the vulnerability breaking through the cracks of his thick skin, like his siblings, doesn't matter.

"Pretty sure you're gonna find more comfort in your stupid paintings or alcohol or draining someone dry. You can jump off a bridge for all I care."

Defeated yet again, his eyes drift downwards to the hand resting on the swell between her hips, the place where her child- where his child, his daughter, their baby grows- and he focuses on the sound of her innocent heart as it drowns out all the music of the New Orleans night, thundering away, unheard, into the cityscape. He turns away before the burning sensation plaguing the corners of his eyes becomes too urgent. And he fully expects her to leave him alone in his misery just as everyone else has.

"It's moments like this where I want to believe what Elijah said."

"Pray tell, what sage, heart-felt words spewed from the noble liar's lips?"

"The meaning of the word 'broken' implies something can be fixed."

"And what do you think, little wolf?" he asks once his breath isn't lodged in his throat and he's not stumbling over words, choking on them as they form on his lips.

"That it's something to hold on to. Goodnight, Klaus."

Her words are no more than a whisper that mixes with the melodious thrumming that's ringing in his ears. Looking over his shoulder to watch her disappear into the depths of their new home, he reaches out, grabbing her words and latching onto them, anchoring himself to them as he strains to hear the comforting lull of his baby's heartbeat until the softest click indicates the barrier that's been placed between them and he's left, standing on the balcony that overlooks his kingdom with nothing but echoes.

A/N 2.0: yeah, idk really. kinda just ran away from me. i also don't really know what else to say other than I just saw 'Catching Fire' and I'm really mind blows and lakdjf;alfjda;slkdfja;sdfljs and that I've got family coming to my house later for holiday shenanigans and that I think my fish is dead wahhh. so I'm just gonna stop talking now that you've had a completely irrelevant update on my life and say thanks for putting up with me while I'm ahead.

and, most importantly, thanks for reading! review if you have a second- it's much appreciated:)