I Need A Big God
4
Mikaelson Compound, New Orleans
1st May
A plate of cold pizza clutched in one hand, Freya raised the other and rapped sharply on the door in front of her. There was no response, as she had predicted, but if she strained her ears then she could just about make out the sound of shuffling emanating from the bedroom.
"Come on, sweetheart, I know you're in there," Freya finally called out, adding almost hopefully, "I brought pizza. Meat feast with pineapple."
Several seconds elapsed and Freya was met with no response. When she was poised to set down the plate in front of the door and walk away, a voice finally greeted her from the other side of the barrier.
"I'm not hungry."
Freya blew out the breath she had been holding from between pursed lips and puffed cheeks. She supposed even a handful of words was progress from stony silence and weeping.
"You have to eat, Hope," she reasoned, wincing as she realised how pathetic her plea sounded. She had been in Hope's position; the one struggling to stay afloat in the sea of grief, when all she had really wanted was to allow the current to drag her down too. Eating had seemed like a trivial idea to her then also.
The door was wrenched open before Freya had time to blink, revealing Hope on the threshold, her eyes red rimmed and raw. She had pulled her hair up in a haphazard bun, and over the top of her pyjama pants she wore Hayley's favourite Nirvana t-shirt.
A tiny smile twitched on Freya's lips as she gestured down to the picture stretched out over Hope's chest.
"Your dad partied with Cobain once, you know," she stated, both arms still encircling the plate of pizza as though it might protect her from Hope's wrath, which had been prone to rising from nowhere of late. "I bet he'd like to tell you about it… well, the PG-13 parts anyway."
She was met by a blank stare, and Hope moved as though to toe the door closed.
Out of desperation, Freya called out, "We could listen to some Nirvana together if you want? Have ourselves a little slumber party? I'm really more of an early Britney kind of girl but…"
"I don't like Nirvana," Hope interjected, tone as flat as her expression, "they were overrated. I picked it out of Mom's hamper. She didn't have time to do laundry before… well… It just still smells like her is all."
Freya swallowed hard, and suddenly the smell of the pizza made her own stomach roll. She didn't want to give her niece false hope but she needed to at least bring her some comfort by revealing that maybe, just maybe, they had a way to put things right.
"I haven't given up yet, Hope. I promise. If there's a way to bring your mom back home, we will."
Hope stared down at the floor, her fingers absently twisting around the doorknob as she asked, "So… your friend… she's like some bad-ass witch, huh?"
Freya nodded, "She is. And you know what's better than one bad-ass witch? Two."
Gesturing down to herself she smiled, pleased to at least have coaxed at least a mildly positive look from the young girl.
With a deep sigh, Hope consented to accept the plate of pizza, "Yeah, well she sounds like Mary Poppins."
Freya watched her toy with the edges of the crust, concerned that at least some of it might end up in her stomach. If they did indeed manage to bring Hayley back, she'd almost certainly be furious if her daughter hadn't been well taken care of. And of course Freya doted on Hope as if she were her own anyway.
"She does," Freya whispered, pressing a finger to her lips and rolling her eyes towards the end of the hall where Ethan and Vanessa slept. Hope smiled briefly, realising her aunt was playing along purely to try to cheer her up.
"She could be the answer to our prayers, Hope. And if she can help us… I know she will."
Nodding her head, Hope took in a slow, unsteady breath, determined to swallow down her tears in favour of the determined spirit she knew her mother had possessed.
"Okay," she leaned forward awkwardly over the plate of pizza and sought out the comfort of her aunt's embrace.
Hope remained that way for a few moments before finally drawing away and peering down at the plate with a slight rumble of hunger in the pit of her stomach. Still not entirely certain as to whether or not she could stomach the pizza, she lifted up a slice for closer inspection.
"Did you get extra cheese?"
"You think I'd forget the cheese?!" Freya slapped her hand to her chest as if physically wounded at the accusation that she could possibly forget how her beloved niece liked her pizza. Hope chuckled and suddenly all of the effort to tempt her to a cold, fast food dinner seemed worth it.
Letting her slip back inside her fortress, Freya proceeded to her own bedroom, her steps a little lighter. For the first time in days, she dared to feel her usual optimism return to her. Perhaps this time, things would be okay.
x-x-x
Ethan sat on the edge of the impossibly grand four poster bed, his eyes trained on the woman perched in front of the dressing table, brushing out her dark mane.
He untied the laces on his boots and kicked them off, as he did so his eyes connecting with Vanessa's through the glass of the mirror she sat before. A long look exchanged, he rose to his feet and began to cross the room.
Placing the silver brush down on the dresser, Vanessa allowed her fingers to trace over the intricate pattern on the back of the handle. Her mind wandered to an almost identical set that had rested on her dressing table in Grandage Place. The idea that all of that – along with Sir Malcolm himself – was long gone, brought a spasm of pain to her chest. She thought that maybe when their task was completed in New Orleans, she would endeavour to find out what had happened to those they had once shared their lives with.
Ethan's hand landed on her shoulder, and she closed her eyes as she leaned her head against his arm. He bowed down and pressed a kiss to her cheek, smiling against her lips when she turned to seek out a more lingering kiss.
With narrowed eyes Ethan regarded their reflections in the mirror, and his happiness at what he saw was evident.
"How is it that, even after holding you in my arms for a hundred and twenty years, I still can't quite believe that I get to wake up with you each morning?"
Pretending to ponder his question for a second, Vanessa rose and slid her arms around him.
"Well…" pressing closer, she caressed the back of his neck and teased his lips with her own, "we were not naked in the cave, Mr. Chandler, whereas this morning I awoke completely removed of my nightgown…"
She arched an eyebrow, as if to appear scandalised by the idea, although she had certainly been a willing participant in their lovemaking when Reggie had stepped out to get coffee.
Ethan's laughter rumbled against her chest and he nodded in ready agreement.
"Well, there is that, I guess."
They moved back against the bed as one, arms and legs entwined still and lips locked together. Vanessa's calves hit the bed frame and she tumbled backwards, although there was a certain dramatic facade to her movements. Ethan went with her, careful not to crush her as he landed on top of her. He used one hand to support his weight against the mattress and the other he smoothed down Vanessa's hip, watching as she shuddered in pleasure at the contact.
However, the couple paused in unison when the sound of voices emanating from the hallway drifted beneath their door. They could just about pick out Freya's words but Hope's mumbled replies were lost to them, especially given the noises of traffic from outside which filtered in through the open window.
Immediately Vanessa's expression darkened, and Ethan withdraw a little on instinct, sensing that the mood had altered. He couldn't find it within himself to be resentful though; their friend was hurting, and there was a child who had lost her mother under the most vile circumstances.
They heard a door close and then quiet footsteps padded down the corridor, suggesting that Freya had retreated back to her own room. Ethan supposed she had been attempting to foist some sort of sustenance on her niece, who had remained locked away in her proverbial tower for the whole evening. She hadn't even joined them when the pizza delivery man had arrived, carrying three of the largest boxes of the most delectable cheesy, doughy concoction that Ethan had ever tasted. Freya had tried her hardest to coax Hope from her self-imposed exile but she had been met with silence until she had resigned herself to giving up for a little while.
Over dinner and a few more drinks than could really be described as merely sociable, Freya had poured out her story to her friends. Dahlia, her escape, finding her siblings, Klaus and Hayley and their magical, miracle baby… and then had come the Hollow. The name in itself was enough to draw a shudder from Ethan, who was somewhat familiar with the legend that had been passed down through the werewolf line. Freya had filled in the blanks for him, and the tale she had told had not had a happy ending.
"Well," Vanessa had declared once Freya had finished, "it is clear what the first obstacle we must surmount is."
They had discussed a way in which to banish the Hollow once and for all long into the evening, until Reggie had been reduced to a snoring mess on a turn of the century chaise lounge and Ethan had felt his own eyes drooping. A combination of liquor, a full belly, and near a week of travel was a lethal combination indeed. As soon as Freya had noticed her guests flagging she had apologised for being a poor host and insisted they retire for the night. Vanessa had seemed poised to argue but had apparently realised her own limitations before agreeing, and then vowing to take up their quest once again in the morning. Ethan did not doubt her sincerity for even a moment.
"So what do you think… about the girl?" Ethan asked, rolling onto his back and sinking down onto the mattress, which he had to admit was perhaps the most comfortable experience of his life.
"Hope?" queried Vanessa as she leaned up on her elbow above her lover in order to peer into his face. She preferred being able to see his expressions when he spoke, so that she felt more able to read him.
"Hope," repeated Ethan, something about the name striking him as ironic, "what do you make of her being the hybrid's kid?"
Vanessa appeared to mull over the implication of his question, perhaps slightly surprised that he would have asked such a thing. "We cannot hold the child accountable for the wrong doings of the parent. And… perhaps fatherhood has tamed his… impulsive urges."
Ethan nodded thoughtfully, sighing in contentment as Vanessa lay her head on his shoulder and pressed herself into his side, her palm splayed over his chest. He placed his hand over the top of hers and brushed his thumb over her warm skin.
"No, I… I guess I was thinking about it more from her perspective. What it's like growing up knowing that you're father's a…" he floundered, apparently unwilling and unable to use the word that was on the tip of his tongue; there was a familiarity he found in Klaus' story that struck far too close to home, reawakening his own sense of self-loathing.
"Hell… a father who's a monster," he said quietly and quickly, his eyes affixed on the ceiling in order to purposefully avoid Vanessa's probing gaze.
Vanessa turned her head, propping her chin on his chest as she looked up at him mournfully. She knew immediately to whom he was referring - she had seen and heard the revulsion he felt towards himself that night at Grandage Place; the night he had chosen to leave, mistakenly thinking he was saving her from his curse.
"Hope loves her father," she said simply, shuffling to lay on her side against him. Extending her hand, she caressed his jaw, her eyes roving every inch of his face as her fingertips followed their path across his skin. "But I suspect we are no longer talking about Klaus Mikaelson."
Ethan remained silent but he found his eyes drawn to hers, and he allowed his fingers to trace the elegant line of her neck, where he felt the thrum of her pulse beneath his touch.
"Melancholy does not become you, my love," Vanessa whispered. "That was always my natural inclination, and I do not recommend it."
He smiled at her good-natured teasing, finally huffing out a deep sigh as he wrapped his arms around her.
"I guess a wolf just thinks about these things…" he joked, although his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"We are all the monster in someone's story, Ethan," she said, voice a mere murmur against the vibrant backdrop of the New Orleans evening.
The surprise that coloured Ethan's expression was unbidden but still he recognised the truth in Vanessa's words. To some he was indeed a beast, just the same as the ancient hybrid that he now contemplated. And yet to others like Vanessa, he was a kind of saviour, and he supposed that in Hope's eyes the very same could be said of Klaus.
"Do you really think you can help them with the Hollow?" asked Ethan, hurriedly finishing, "not that I'm doubting your abilities for a moment, darlin'."
A light laugh escaped Vanessa's lips and she affixed Ethan with an amused look that made him feel like he had barely just evaded a scolding.
"I believe that particular issue will be the easiest to deal with," she answered diplomatically, something in her tone suggesting to Ethan that, whilst she may be confident in her ability to banish the Hollow, she was not as equally certain about solving other problems they faced. More specifically, the resurrection of a certain hybrid queen.
"If Hayley Marshall has found peace…" began Vanessa, biting her bottom lip as she so often did when she was anxious over something, "then there is no power short of the Lord himself that could return her soul to this earth."
"But the visions," protested Ethan, scrunching his features up in concern as he considered Vanessa's revelation, "does she seem like she's at rest?"
"No," Vanessa admitted, leaning up on her elbow as the details of her reoccurring dream – or indeed, visions – were recalled. "I feel great pain… and loss. Now of course I understand why. She is mourning being parted from her child. It is perhaps the longing for her daughter that prevents her from being at rest… and that may allow us to retrieve her from the demimonde."
Ethan lay still as Vanessa sat up and began tugging at the bow tied around the high collar of her blouse. It was a Victorian styled piece that one of Reggie's sisters had found in a Good Will store and had thought would perhaps be appealing to Vanessa. Beginning to work on the small, black pearl buttons, she halted as she felt Ethan watching her movements intently.
Sitting up, Ethan reached out and began to twist his fingers through the loose curls in Vanessa's hair.
"You thought about what we're going to do? After we've broken a few ancient curses and raised the dead, of course."
Vanessa shook her head, sensing that he had perhaps thought about their future; and if the expression in his eyes was any indication, he'd apparently thought about it at length.
Encouraged by the hesitant smile he thought he imagined tugging at her lips, he ventured, "I thought maybe we'd find a little house somewhere off the beaten track, you know? With a garden, maybe some animals… Hell, maybe, you could finish teaching me how to dance…"
Vanessa giggled, the hesitancy and nervousness in Ethan's voice causing a flutter of butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Licking his lips, he rambled on, tugging on a single ringlet that remained in her freshly brushed out hair.
"Then I figured maybe we'd get married… if you want to, that is. And… well, I kind of had my heart set on some kids… if you want to, that is…" he repeated nervously.
Vanessa's smile was the most radiant he'd ever seen grace her pretty face, and she simply stared at him for a few moments, her heart practically aching for the life he had described; the one the demon had once offered her in exchange for her soul. It was everything she had always secretly desired, and to perhaps have it within her reach was unimaginable.
Brushing at the tears that had begun to trip her cheeks, she bobbed her head, conveying her joy in a curious combination of muffled sobs and a beaming smile that momentarily perplexed Ethan.
"Vanessa…"
"I do. I do want those things…" she confessed, moving into his arms. He pulled her onto his lap and she sat astride his knee, momentarily distracted by the restrictive sensation of the denim jeans she wore. Sliding his hands up to her waist, Ethan began to trail a line of kisses up her neck. His fingers made short work of the remaining buttons on her blouse whilst she hurriedly tried to tug his shirt over his head.
With the notable absence of Reggie, and a large, comfortable bed all of their own, it seemed an opportune moment to utilise their solitude; especially after having only been able to explore the new, intimate aspect of their relationship twice since awakening.
Pausing to catch her breath, Vanessa whispered into his ear, "Although perhaps we can negotiate on the dancing."
She shivered at the puff of laughter he released against her collarbone then dragged him back up to initiate another searing kiss.
Ethan grazed his teeth over her shoulder in retaliation, rejoicing in the sound of her laughter as he rolled her over and she surrendered to his kisses. The sense of freedom she felt in this new life of theirs was overwhelming and, for the first time in decades, Vanessa Ives was determined to pursue happiness.
x-x-x
It was beyond late but Freya had made a vow, and she certainly was not prepared to start breaking those now.
She flipped up the lid of her laptop and opened the Skype application, the fingers of her free hand toying almost nervously with a ribbon that hung from her nightgown. In just a few hours, Hope would turn sixteen, and her mother would not be there to see it – would not be there to kiss her head or cook up a special breakfast of M & M pancakes or take far too many pictures whilst Hope tore the wrapping off her presents.
Freya knew that there was a pile of gifts hidden in the darkest corner of Hayley's closet, already wrapped and primed with oversized bows. Hope's card was in the top left hand drawer of her dresser, and the cake Hayley had ordered from the award winning bakery in the quarter would be arriving around breakfast time. Freya just wasn't certain how to handle it all.
Hope's moods were tumultuous lately, and understandably so. But that meant it was impossible to predict whether it would do more harm than good to recognise the day that marked the 16th year since her birth, or whether Freya should just let it pass without a whisper of it being spoken aloud. She dearly wished teenagers came with a manual. No. She dearly wished Hayley was there. Even though she would no doubt have kept Freya up far too late in order to enlist her help in decorating the compound ready for the birthday girl. The thought evoked a slight smile and Freya sought to banish it before she finally clicked on Klaus' name on her computer screen.
He answered far more quickly than usual, which Freya supposed was a testament to just how badly he was seeking good news. She did her level best to ignore the dark circles ringing her brother's eyes, and also the more than slightly dishevelled appearance of his hair. At least a few days' worth of stubble peppered his jaw, which was uncharacteristic to say the least for Klaus, who usually prided himself on his appearance.
"How is Hope?" demanded Klaus in place of a congenial greeting. Swallowing down any prickle of annoyance she felt, Freya found herself merely nodding her head.
"She's… as well as can be expected," she finished lamely, barely managing not to wince as she completed her sentence. Klaus' sour look suggested that he hadn't bought her lies anyway.
"Considering her mother is dead, her father is absent - with part of the spirit of an ancient evil locked inside his body - and in a few short hours it's the sixteenth anniversary of approximately the one hundredth time that the witches of that godforsaken city have tried to murder her… then I'll wager that's probably not very well after all, sister."
Clearing her throat, and trying to dispel the sense of urgency that Freya found overcoming her, she announced, "She's here, Klaus. The witch I told you about? She's here. She just… came looking for me."
Klaus was silent for a moment but surprise was evident in his eyes. His sister could tell that he was trying to dampen down any expectations or hopes that the witch's arrival may prompt before he dared to speak.
"She will help us?"
But all too soon his suspicious nature got the better of him, and he began to ponder just why a stranger would volunteer to come to the aid of the feared and loathed family of which he was patriarch.
"Tell me, sister, why would this woman want to help us? What possible motivation could she have for assisting in resurrecting a dead hybrid?"
Growing tired of his constant cynicism when there was some small spark of hope on the horizon, Freya rolled her eyes.
"She's not a stranger, she's my friend. I helped her once… a long time ago… to be with the man she loves. A wolf, actually."
Klaus sat back in his seat, eyes sparkling with curiosity, "A crescent wolf?"
"Does that matter?" demanded Freya, cocking her head as she peered levelly into the camera of her laptop. Klaus stilled under the weight of her gaze, shifting just so into the light cast from a nearby desk lamp, which cast a beam across his features. The dark circles beneath his eyes hinted at both a lack of sleep and sustenance, which Freya knew not to be in her brother's character at all. In fact, if the history books and journals of long dead hunters were to be believed, when faced with a crisis Klaus generally loved nothing more than to gorge himself on the blood of the innocent. But it appeared that perhaps he had changed after all; following centuries of violence and murder, his ways were slowly but surely altering. Freya knew that in part such a character development was down to Klaus' desire to be nothing like the father who had abused him, but she had suspicions that Klaus was also effected by his seldom spoken feelings towards the mother of his child.
"Perhaps not," mumbled Klaus, rubbing a palm across his eyes as though trying to physically push away his fatigue.
"You need to rest, Klaus," Freya gently chided, leaning into the screen. She would have dearly loved to pull her brother close, to hold him and assure him that she would and she could fix everything – but there were no such assurances in life, even with the addition of magic.
"I will rest when it is done. When she is home, with her family, where she belongs," Klaus replied.
Freya watched him lick his lips and then sit back from the screen, momentarily lost in a dream. Freya thought that was perhaps for the best, as she had no response to offer him that could guarantee Hayley would indeed be returned to them.
"She will help us?" Klaus asked again, almost hesitantly, and for the first time since the siblings had been reunited, Freya detected a trace of uncertainty that made his voice grow hoarse.
Offering her brother the most encouraging smile she could, Freya continued, "We're already working on dealing with the Hollow situation. Rebekah's on a flight back to the US as we speak, and Kol's headed back to the city... we..."
Klaus pursed his lips, irritation flashing in his eyes as he asked sharply, "And Elijah? Where is my ever valiant big brother? Contemplating his role in the death of the woman he professed to love, or perhaps congratulating himself on making his niece a virtual orphan?"
"Klaus..." Freya began diplomatically.
"No matter," Klaus waved his hand, his jaw set with unchecked rage as he allowed his thoughts to linger on the oldest Mikaelson brother for perhaps a few seconds too many. "The wolves... I hear rumours that there is unrest in the bayou?! In Hayley's... absence... they will be looking to Hope as their leader. I will not allow my daughter to be a pawn in their power struggle, but nor can we let them appoint their own alpha. Perhaps someone who is less motivated to adhere to the conditions of the truce we all so uneasily follow."
Klaus arched an eyebrow, as he pondered over the issue at hand. "Maybe our new wolf friend might be so inclined as to lead negotiations on our part?! I'll wager his strength is perhaps twice that of the runts his unfortunate bloodline has become diluted down to."
Freya folded her arms across her chest, regarding her brother with an air of suspicion.
"How did you know..." she began, perplexed by the fact that Klaus seemed to know anything about Ethan's heritage, which made him an almost direct ancestor of the wolves who inhabited the New Orleans bayou. It had been the curse unleashed by the native tribes that had first given birth to the half man, half wolf creatures. As one of the first and only survivors of that, it stood to reason that Ethan Chandler was decidedly stronger than the descendants who had been born under the same affliction.
Klaus smirked, shrugging as he added off-hand, "A little birdy might have told me."
"Ugh, you need to stop your men spying on me, Klaus," Freya sighed, her lip curling at the thought, "I'm trying to help here and I don't do well with half witted… lackeys… breathing over my shoulder."
Nodding his head, although he didn't appear chagrined in the slightest, Klaus cast a glance at the expensive Rolex adorning his wrist.
"I should let you go," he admonished, recognising the hour. Freya attempted to stifle a yawn behind the back of her hand, although the smirk on Klaus' lips and the twinkle in his eye told her that he had noticed.
"Sleep, sister," he encouraged, voice softening as he added, "and thank you for taking care of Hope whilst I am unable to. I know you have sacrificed much already for this family. Perhaps it is time that your efforts were no longer ignored."
"I help because I care, Klaus," assured Freya, "You know how much I love my niece.."
"And what about your old brother?" inquired Klaus, just the wisp of a roguish grin playing across his lips before it faded quickly away and he remembered his bone deep sorrow.
The mood grew flat and sombre again, such as Freya had become accustomed to in recent times.
"I hate to bring it up now but I don't really have a choice," Freya began diplomatically, pausing to gnaw on her lip as her anxiety got the better of her and claimed her voice.
"Hope's birthday is tomorrow," Klaus managed to choke out, clearly already aware of exactly where Freya's questioning was leading.
"What do I do?" demanded Freya, desperation suddenly alive in her features and voice. She wrung her hands out in front of her chest, continuing in a rush, "Hope is like a magical ticking time bomb right now, not to mention a typical hormonal teenager, and I have a stack of gifts hidden away that I have no idea if I should give to her or not… plus there's the decorations and cake that Hayley ordered… but God… it's not even been a week since she lost her mom and I…"
Klaus pressed his palms together as if in prayer and then rested his chin on the top of his fingertips. "You know her almost as well as her mother, and I am certain far better than I... You will do what is best for her."
Freya sighed resolutely, debating how to tackle the coming morning and the potential tears and fresh pangs of grief the occasion would likely prompt. "And I should tell her to expect a call from her father?"
"Of course," Klaus agreed, "Hayley and I picked her gift out together some weeks ago. I confess I am not familiar with the wants and needs of teenage girls."
"I'll make sure she gets it. And that she knows it was from both of you," Freya smiled sadly, realising how important it would be to her young niece to know that her parents had taken the time to purchase a gift together; that in some respects, they had been a normal, loving family. Pressing her fingertips to her lips and then against the screen, Freya smiled weakly, "I'll call when I have more news. Goodnight, Niklaus."
Klaus appeared to be struggling to swallow, his eyes tearing as he simply bobbed his head at his sister and slammed the lid of his laptop closed to disconnect the call. Freya could well understand his reaction; love was a foreign concept indeed to Klaus Mikaelson. It was the one thing he had been starved of his whole life, until such a point that he had been irreparably soured by its continual absence. Finding Hayley, gaining Hope, had been perhaps the first wholly positive experiences he had endured.
Wiping at her own suddenly moist eyes, Freya shut down her laptop and set about turning back the covers on her bed. It was a characteristically balmy night in New Orleans and she probably had no need for the heavy embroidered eiderdown but in the absence of another body to share her bed with, she thought that maybe she could use the weight.