They go to New York the next day. Klaus charters them a private plane, because of course he does, and when she steps out of the shower the next morning there's already hotel staff packing up all her things. She changes quickly – she doesn't have a phone, so she can't check the weather in New York, but she guesses it's colder than in Washington – and she dries and straightens her hair. She puts on makeup, because damn it, she's going to New York, and by the time Klaus gets back to the room she's ready to go.

They take a black car to the airport and walk straight through security. The plane ride is short; Elena's never been on a plane before, though, and it shows. She stares out the window as the city grows smaller and smaller beneath them, and the world-famous buildings look like toys from the sky. She doesn't peel her gaze from the window until they are up in the clouds, with nothing to see.

She hates herself for being so clearly excited by something so simple, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she still thinks, now I won't die without having flown.

When they start their descent into New York, she's even more entranced; the pilot circles the whole city for her benefit, and she gasps when she sees the Statue of Liberty. Klaus laughs at her, but she tries to ignore him. If nothing else, she deserved to enjoy this moment.

They're driven into the city, and of course it's amazing, but she tries not to let it show too much. The hotel lobby is luxurious, and when they arrive at the penthouse suite there's a bottle of champagne waiting in a bucket of ice. Someone pops it for them and pours the first glasses, while someone else unpacks their things, and then, when everything is taken care of, they're left alone.

It's all too wonderful. It makes her afraid.

After a couple of glasses of champagne, he takes things a step further, and gives her leave to call her family.

That's when she snaps.

"Why?" she asks.

Klaus laughs, but there's something dangerous in his tone. "I'm sorry, love?"

"Why all of this?" she asks. "I don't understand, I don't know what you want. Why–"

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?" he asks her.

"Wasn't Persephone trapped because she accepted a gift at face value?" she shoots back, and a dark grin flits across his face. She knows a part of him likes it, when she has a backbone, but she also knows she can't push him too far.

"Am I Hades, then, sweetheart?" he asks, and spreads out his arms. "Or are you looking for a way out?"

"Of course not." She sinks back into her chair. "I just don't understand. I don't know what you want, and I don't know what's changed–"

"What's changed?" he asks, and he seems livelier, somehow. "What's changed, love, is that Elijah found you because I left you alone, which means from now on, I'm not letting you out of my sight for a minute. So what I want is to ensure I'm not trapped listening to hysterics, or bored to death by a sullen doppelganger, or forced to witness the sorts of dramatics Katerina was prone to. Of course, I could easily compel you to do as I say and behave as I say, but you're a doppelganger, love. I'm much more interested in what you do on your own."

"Haven't I proven myself by now?" she asks.

He smirks. "You have, haven't you?" he asks. "Which bring me to the second thing that's changed. See, I've realized, Elena, that you aren't the worst company in the world. In fact, your presence can be rather enjoyable, when you're inclined to be charming." He takes a sip of champagne, and she's scared of where this is going, what it could mean for her if Klaus has taken too much of a liking to her. "And since I've already resolved to keep you in my company at all times, I'm of a mind to enjoy it."

"What does that mean?" she asks, even though she's afraid to.

Klaus rolls his eyes. "It means that all you have to do is drink your expensive champagne and smile your pretty Petrova smile, and provided your inclination to martyrdom doesn't begin to grate on my nerves, you'll find the last few weeks of your life to be rather pleasant."

"Just like that," she says, dubious.

He grins, and raises his glass to her. "Just like that."

She stays still for a moment, taking that in. Part of her thinks she should rail against him, refuse to make him happy, wallow in her own tragedy until the time comes for her to die, but she knows there's nothing to be gained from that.

She can be charming for three weeks. She can keep him happy for three weeks. She can be the best company in the world, if it means he's in a good enough mood to let her call home.

She knocks back the rest of her drink and offers him her best smile, the one she's flashing in every yearbook photo of the cheer squad, and heads into the bedroom to call home.

John picks up the phone this time. "Hello?" he asks, his voice careful.

"Uncle John," she says. "It's me."

"Elena." She can hear the relief in his voice, and it's difficult, hearing that much affection from someone she still so deeply resents.

"Hi," she says.

"Jeremy's not here," he says, the words coming fast, "so if you only have permission to talk to–"

"Uncle John, it's fine," she says. "I'm allowed to call my family."

He sighs.

"When will Jeremy be back?" she asks. "And, um. Do you – did you move in?"

"Right after you… left," says John. "Jeremy's at school right now, but I can call in and excuse him–"

"It's okay," she says. She doesn't know what to say to him, her father, so she swallows. "Is Jenna around?"

"She's on campus," John replies.

"How is she?" Elena asks. "Does–"

"Jeremy… explained some things to her," says John. "She's… she's adjusting."

"Yeah," says Elena. "Adjusting." She doesn't want to think of what that looks like, and, as always, she doesn't know what to say to John.

"How are you?" he says. "How are you being treated?

"I'm good," she says, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. She's sure Klaus is listening in.

"Where is he keeping you?" he asks.

Elena's chest constricts. "John, I can't tell you –"

"I don't mean geographically," he says, and she sighs. "Is he feeding you? Do you have clothes? Is–"

"Yes," she replies. "Yes, I'm–I've got everything I need, you don't have to worry about that."

There's a long silence from John's end. "Has he…" She can hear him struggling to speak. "Has he… hurt you?"

She knows what he means, even though he can't say it.

"No," she says, and she tries to sound as sure and confident as she can, so that he isn't left worrying that she's been lying. "No, he hasn't. I'm fine, honestly."

"I'm going to find a way to get you out of this," John says.

Elena closes her eyes. "Please stop saying that."

"I know you don't want to get your hopes up, Elena, but–"

"Don't you get it, John? I don't want to be saved," she says.

"Is Klaus with you?" John asks, his voice suddenly sharp.

Elena frowns. "He's in the other room," she says, and for a moment she's worried that she's giving too much away about where she is.

"Can I speak to him?"

"You want to speak to him?" she says. She's stunned by the request, yes, but she's also sure to repeat it aloud; she's sure Klaus will hear her say that, and will come in if he wants to. She isn't going to ask him otherwise.

"Of course he can speak to me," comes Klaus's voice from the doorway, and Elena looks up, unsurprised. "In fact, I'll do you one better than that. Hang up for a moment, won't you, sweetheart?"

She frowns. "Give me a minute," she says to John, and then does as she's told. She looks up at Klaus, and he grins, beckoning for her to follow him out into the other room.

He turns on the TV, and Elena's about to ask him what the hell is going on when she realizes he's making a video call.

"You have John's number?" she asks.

He laughs. "I've got every number on your phone, sweetheart," he tells her. "Now, be good, won't you? Don't make me regret being so benevolent."

She sets her jaw, ignores the goose bumps she feels forming at his words, and sits in the middle of the couch, facing the TV. Klaus sits in the corner of the couch, a few feet away.

It's a few moments before John picks up, but when he does, it's clear that he went and opened his computer. "Elena?" he says. He looks thinner than she remembers, but she hasn't seen him since he was in the hospital, and there are bags under his eyes.

"So you're the famous uncle father," Klaus says with a grin, and John looks over to him, eyes widening. Of course John's never seen Klaus before; Elena wonders at the fact that Klaus is even letting John see what he looks like. He must be awfully confident in his victory. "Tell me, does your darling Elena look healthy enough for your tastes?"

John looks between them for a moment, and then leans in toward the camera. "Please don't do this," he says, and Elena sighs, clasping her hands and pressing them against her forehead. "Isn't there another way to–"

"John," says Elena, trying to inject a tone of warning into her voice. He can't speak to Klaus like that, she knows he's upset but he can't put all his cards on the table, can't put himself at risk like that, can't put her at risk like that, not after everything she's done–

"Oh, don't worry sweetheart," says Klaus. John flinches visibly at the word 'sweetheart,' and Elena can tell Klaus enjoys his reaction. "I won't hold you accountable for whatever he says; you've proven yourself more loyal than most, by now."

"What does that mean?" asks John. He seems so much more frantic than Elena is used to; it frightens her. She's been counting on her image of him, cool and arrogant and always in control; she doesn't want to think of what this means for the state of the rest of her family.

"John, don't–" don't let him get you riled up, don't rise to his taunting– "I told you, everything's fine."

"Listen to your daughter, John," says Klaus. "Everything is just as it should be. And, since you were foolish enough to ask, no, there is no other way. I've been waiting longer than you could possibly imagine to break this curse. Why shouldn't I take what I'm owed?" His voice has grown mocking and vicious, and Elena tries to keep her heartbeat steady. "Because she's your daughter? I've killed countless men's daughters before, why is yours any different?"

Elena looks to him, and his expression relaxes a little, a lazy smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Of course, she is different, isn't she?" he asks, and slides along the couch towards her. "What a face." He moves to tuck her hair behind her ear. She can't look at him while John watches on, and she can't look at John with Klaus so close to her, so instead she casts her gaze downwards, impassive as a statue. His body is right alongside hers, and when he speaks next, his mouth is at her ear. She looks up despite herself.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather I kill her?" Klaus asks John, and his breath is too warm against her neck; she wants to squirm. "Imagine what I might do if I got to keep her."

"Klaus, stop it," she says. She knows he's just trying to get a rise out of John, knows he's counting on the fact that he knows she'll never pull away, but his taunts hit even her too close to home. John doesn't deserve this. She looks up and meets her father's eyes. "Uncle John, I'm fine, I promise."

Something in Klaus seems to shift; he sinks back into the couch, throwing an arm around her with an air of old familiarity. "She's telling the truth, John. I've made an honest woman of her."

He's just kidding around now; she knows him well enough to know she's not upsetting him when she rolls her eyes and shoves him with her shoulder, far too light to be taken as aggressive. He laughs, but doesn't move. "Stop messing with my father, Klaus," she says, and then looks back at John. "I'm fine," she says, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "Everything is fine. I'll call you again when everyone's home."

"Oh, will you, now, sweetheart?" asks Klaus. There's still a laugh in his voice, but there's also an edge to it now.

She looks at him, deferential, peering up through her lashes. "May I?" she asks.

He looks down at her for a moment, and then a satisfied smirk stretches across his face. "You may," he says, magnanimously.

"Thank you," she says, her voice quiet. "Can I have a moment with my father, please?"

Klaus looks at her a moment longer, his eyes lowered. "If you like, sweetheart," he says. His grip on her shoulder tightens for just a moment, and then he stands, and steps out to the balcony.

John looks lost and furious and not at all like the man she's so comfortable hating– and yet, she's still mad, but mad about the way he spoke to Klaus, mad about the fact that he let his fear and desperation get in the way of his common sense. She swallows.

"John, I'm fine, I promise. Don't let him get to you."

John looks at her, and after a moment he collects himself, his face growing cooler. "You told me he wasn't hurting you."

"He isn't," she says. "He's trying to get a rise out of you. He knows I won't stop him."

"Why not?" asks John.

Elena's jaw tenses. "Because one of us has a brain, maybe?" she says. "What were you thinking, John?"

John presses his lips together. "I'm thinking that there must be something to bargain with–"

"Well, stop," she says. "Stop before you ruin everything." She turns to look out the balcony window, half-expecting Klaus to be gesturing for her to finish up. He isn't, but she doesn't want to try him. "I need to go before he gets impatient," she says. "But I'll call again when I can – sometime when everyone's home."

When she'd been on the phone with Jeremy, John had had Jeremy tell her he loved her. Now that they're face to face, neither of them can quite get the words out.

"Take care of yourself, Elena," John says to her.

She takes a deep breath. "You, too," she says.

John looks at her for a moment longer, and then hangs up.

Elena isn't entirely sure how to work the TV, so she leaves it be and stands up. She's wearing a black sweater with a white camisole underneath, and instead of her usual converse she's wearing black leather boots. It's chilly outside– she should probably throw on a jacket, before they go anywhere–but for now, she heads straight out onto the balcony, wrapping her arms around herself when the wind hits her.

Klaus turns to her and smiles; he looks genuinely pleased to see her, but there's still a dark glint in his eye. "Sweetheart," he says, "come here."

She walks over to where he's standing, at the edge of the balcony, and looks out at the city. This is the tallest building she's ever been in, she's sure, the highest place she's ever stood. She feels like she's in a fairytale; a real, old fairytale, where the little girl is eaten by the wolf, where the mermaid dies at the end, where the damsel wakes up to find her whole family dead and her whole future stolen. She's the princess locked in a tower, and no matter how many people try no one can save her from the dragon.

Klaus puts his hands on the railing, on either side of her, so his chest is pressed against her back. He's warm – she hates herself for taking even the slightest bit of comfort in that, no matter how cold the weather – and she stands still and looks out at the skyscrapers. Klaus props his chin on her head, and she's acutely aware of the fact that he surrounds her in every direction, that her shoulders are encased by his broader ones and that his arms have her all but locked against him. Inside, on the couch, he'd sat close and stroked her cheek to mark his property in front of John; now, it's his subtle reminder to her.

To anyone else, looking over at them, they would look at ease, domestic. There's nothing painful in his hold, and there doesn't need to be. She knows as clear as day what Klaus is telling her.

Stay still. Don't run. Look how easy everything will be if you only do as I say.

She wonders if this is what his grip will feel like when he kills her.

. . .

When they were freshman, Elena, Bonnie, and Caroline had planned out their graduation trip to New York. They'd had it all figured out; they'd put on little black dresses and big sunglasses and take photos outside Tiffany's; they'd tour the NBC studios, where Caroline would inevitably be working as a broadcast journalist; they'd get tickets to see the Rockettes dance, and then be even better at the routines when they practiced them together later.

Of course, Elena wasn't going to bring up any of those things to Klaus when he asked her what she wanted to see. She knew he'd be happier – and everyone would be safer – if she let him do as he pleased.

He takes her to a top-floor restaurant with a brilliant view of the city and, predictably, excellent food. She thinks that after this he'll take her to another museum, or to an expensive bar, but instead, he takes her to a jewelry store near Central Park, someplace British, and she's pretty sure you actually need a consultation to go in (that is, if you can't compel your way through.)

He buys her a necklace with more diamonds and rubies on it than she's ever seen in her entire life. It had to be rubies, of course; he told the man helping them that he likes the color against her skin (and even if it sounded sweet to anyone else, she knows exactly what he means by that.) He actually pays for the necklace, too, uses a credit card and everything, and he makes sure she hears how much it costs.

(She didn't know that there were necklaces that cost millions.)

Klaus is putting on a show, of course; he always is. She's a doll he's playing dress up with, a prized toy he's putting on display, and when he clasps the necklace behind her neck, his fingers brushing against the base of her head, it feels like being branded. When they get back to the hotel, Klaus has had someone go out and buy more clothes for her, designer shoes and dresses and handbags Caroline once would have died for, but the sight turns her stomach. He tells her to put on something nice for dinner, and she does, now as terrified as ever.

This isn't like a boy giving a girl gifts to win her affection; this is Klaus marking his territory. Everything she wears, everything she eats, every bed she sleeps in belongs to him, and it has since the beginning, but it's much harder to forget when everything comes with the kind of price tag that makes bile rise in her throat.

She wears the necklace he bought her – how could she not? – and a strapless red dress, and pulls on nude heels that she knows will kill her feet before the night is out. She wears her hair down and straight, because she can't risk reminding him of Katherine anymore than she always does, and throws a black coat over her arm.

Klaus looks her up and down when she walks into the sitting room, and grins his approval. She hates it, hates being on display for him, hates needing to try and gain his approval over and over again. After a moment, he stands, takes her coat from her and helps her put it on, and then offers her his arm, knowing she can't refuse it.

She takes it.

They do go to an art museum, now; there's some sort of gala at the Met, and while she's sure he's sincere in liking art, she's right in assuming he didn't drag her out here just for pleasure.

"Nik," says a male voice, and Elena turns to see a young man who looks–well, who looks a lot like Klaus, quite frankly–walk toward them. "How on earth did you manage to get a girl who looks like that on your arm?"

He could mean that she's beautiful, be speaking the way men sometimes tease each other about women; he could mean that he knows she's a doppelganger, and he's congratulating Klaus on his victory; this could all just be a test, set up by Klaus; Elena doesn't know anymore, doesn't trust anything anymore. She offers a close-mouthed smile.

Klaus grins, with what seems like genuine pleasure. "Lucien," he says. "Allow me to present the lovely Elena."

"Elena," says Lucien, saying her name with the slightest accent. He places a hand on her waist and kisses her cheek, and she returns the gesture, the picture of etiquette; she wasn't in the Miss Mystic Court for nothing. "Beautiful name, beautiful girl. Tell me, Elena, does your family happen to be from Eastern Europe?"

She doesn't know if he's genuinely asking, or alluding at knowledge about Katherine. Either way, her chest constricts at the question, at the fear that it'll make Klaus think of Katherine's origin.

Klaus went to Bulgaria to slaughter Katherine's family, once.

She forces a smile. "Once upon a time, I think, but we've been stateside for centuries." She turns to Klaus, makes herself giggle, just a little. "And thank you for my introduction, by the way."

"Sorry, sweetheart," says Klaus with a laugh. "This is Lucien Castle. Ignore everything he says; he's a scoundrel, through and through."

"And yet don't you love to remind me that you taught me everything I know?" Lucien asks. Elena laughs, as though the entire exchange is terribly charming. "Not to be rude, but I actually have some clients here, so I'll have to excuse myself." He points a finger at Klaus. "Drinks. Tomorrow," he says, and then nods in Elena's direction. "I hope to see you there as well."

After he's slipped away, Elena looks over at Klaus, and raises her eyebrows, just a little.

"An old friend," he tells her, and doesn't say more.

They walk around the museum a little longer, Klaus prattling on about certain painters or movements; she knows the Met has art from every corner of the world, but Klaus is focused on European art, and she isn't going to challenge his elitism. She likes every iteration of Madonna and Child, even though they're all pretty much the same; maybe that's why she likes them all, the certainty of the narrative, Mary's image repeated again and again through time, her face branded onto the collective history of humanity by powers beyond her control.

When they get back to the hotel, she hardly has a choice but to wear one of the nightgowns Klaus had bought for her. She's pretty sure he didn't actually pick everything – she refuses to contemplate the thought – but she knows she has to seem appreciative, and if wearing the clothes he buys her means she gets to talk to her family, she doesn't need to think twice about it. She chooses a black nightgown; the back scoops a bit low for her liking, but the dress falls to her ankles. There's no such thing as a dress that doesn't show her cleavage, but this neckline doesn't fall low enough to make her uncomfortable, so there's that, at least.

She's ready to pass out, and her ankles are blistered and killing her, but she's not done quite yet.

"Klaus?" she says, stepping out into the living room. "Are you still here?"

He appears in front of her in a flash. "'Course I am, sweetheart," he says, and then looks down at her nightgown. "It suits you."

"When are we getting drinks with Lucien?" she asks.

The look he gives her says he doesn't know why she's asking him now. "Mid-afternoon, I suppose."

"How do you want me to look?" she asks, and he raises an eyebrow.

"Why do you ask?" He's smirking, now.

"It's clear you've known him for centuries," she says, and he smiles at that. "Does he know about the doppelganger?"

Klaus frowns. "Honestly, I don't know," he says, and then grins at her. "Just look lovely, sweetheart. I'll handle the rest."

That does seem to be the arrangement, these days.