Chapter Thirteen – April 1951

"Have you ever experienced something so profoundly wonderful that when it was taken from you your life felt unbearable? […] I believe that when you love someone and that person loves you in return you're uniquely vulnerable. They have a power to hurt you that's like nothing else."
-Elijah Mikaelson in "Après Moi, le Deluge", The Originals

The feeling was there before he opened his eyes, before he was even aware of the fact he was awake. And as much as he prided himself on his eloquent word choice, on his ability to describe more or less anything he saw, heard or felt in a comprehensive way and in multiple languages – for this he could hardly find an appropriate term.

Was it dread?

Was it sorrow?

Was it some kind of advance homesickness?

He couldn't tell. All he knew was that it was certainly not a good feeling – in fact he felt about ready to choke on it, as if his heart had swollen to twice its normal size and got stuck in his throat somehow.

It took an incredible lot of effort to open his eyes, for as long as they were shut, he could pretend he was still asleep. And if he was still asleep, he could not get up, and if he could not get up, he could not leave. And if he could not leave, he obviously could not die.

So as long as he was asleep, they were all safe, weren't they?

In this moment, he didn't know why he had put his name on that goddamned list in the first place – he was in no way suited for this, and he was all but enthusiastic about it all.

Defend your country, they said. Be brave for your people.

For King and Country, young man.

Well, in peace times they were all patriots. But Elijah had never been brave, Niklaus had always been the brave one, even Rebekah was far more courageous than he had ever been.

And deep down, he thought King and Country could go to hell for all he cared.

Avenge your loved ones, they said. Blood for blood. Make them pay.

Send 'em fucking Germans right back to hell where they came from.

They were all so determined to believe it, and he had not dared to ruin their mood, knowing men like this were the reason the Germans were losing… but in the end, he wondered whether they really could not see the truth:

No matter how many pints of the enemy's blood they shed, it would not bring a single of their lost ones back to life.

His fingers clenched around the pillow.

For King and Country, he thought sourly. For honour. For your family if nothing else. Get your sorry arse out of here.

He slowly crawled out of the warm safety of his bed, one last time, stared at the suitcase that stood next to the door, waiting for departure.

He wanted to cry, but he didn't. Instead, he put on the uniform that felt wrong and strange on him, with slow, deliberate movements. For a moment he stared at his reflection in the mirror, thinking he looked a right clown and just like all those light-headed idiots that he'd watched in town.

Then he picked up the suitcase, straightened the jacket and left the room.

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~ö~ö~ö~

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It was that fateful morning that he thought of as he stood in front of the mirror, taking an eternity and a half to shave. He'd really learned nothing since then – there was no way to delay such things.

Almost six years had passed, but he remembered it as if it had been just yesterday. He'd felt just as miserable, just as sick, just as incapable to do what he had to as he did now.

The afternoon that had followed the meeting in his mother's study was just as present, much to his chagrin – but he'd never been good at forgetting the nasty bits.

.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, staring at her feet. They were sitting on "their" wall in the forest, but though they sat just as close as they usually did, he had the feeling they were miles apart. He wasn't sure who of them was responsible for that distance, though he knew he probably had his part in it – he felt oddly numb, almost as if he was in shock, and he'd hardly said a word since they'd met in the forest. He hadn't kissed her, though he'd wanted to –

"Sorry?" he repeated softly. "This was your dream, Katerina. You've been at this school for seven and a half years, you've worked so hard…" He shook his head, looking at her for the first time that day. "Why should you want to apologise? Your hard work paid off."

He could almost feel the distance between them growing at his words. He hated to say them, but it was what he needed to do – she'd made her decision. He needed to accept it and she needed to believe that he accepted it.

"Because… because I'm just leaving," she replied quietly, looking right at him this time. "Just like that and… I guess I should have told you beforehand. Care's furious with me, too."

He looked at her for a moment, taking in her pretty face, her skin almost the shade of porcelain now after the dark winter, the big eyes, brown like chocolate, the full soft lips. For what felt like the millionth time, he was grateful for his spotless composure – he'd worked hard for it, and right now it took all he had to hide what he truly felt.

He forced a smile on his lips, knowing it would look convincing.

"It's your decision; none of us should have any part in it. It wouldn't be right," he answered.

Her eyes seemed to cool down another ten degrees, but then she laughed a little. "You're not gonna hold me back?"

Good God, if you had any idea how much I'd love to –

"If it's what you want, darling, then who am I to keep you from it?" he replied instead, relieved to hear his voice sounded calm and honest.

For a moment, he thought he could spot a tear shimmering in her brown eyes, but then she smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Thanks, Elijah."

There was an odd touch to her voice, it sounded hollow, but he couldn't find the strength to ponder about it. Now the realisation hit him full force – once she was gone, he would probably never see her again.

He was glad she had already turned to leave.

He didn't want anyone to see him cry.

.

He flinched as the razorblade drew blood. He cursed, dropped the razor into the sink and pressed his hand to the cut, begrudgingly fascinated by the scarlet liquid welling out between his fingers.

Images flashed in front of his eyes at the familiar sight, so much blood, such anger and such fear…

Angrily, he tore his eyes away, wiped the blood off and finished his shave.

.

He had hoped to slip out before his mother returned, but of course she came in before he'd even put on his shoes. She eyed him critically from head to foot, her eyes resting on the car keys in his hand.

"I don't think that's appropriate, Elijah," she said quietly. "She ought to take the train-"

"Don't be ridiculous, mother," he gave back in a cold voice. "I'll drive her. It's the least I can do."

Esther scrutinised him once more, her sharp eyes seemed to look right through him just as they always had when he was a little boy. "Don't hold her back," she said, her voice cold and firm.

"I wish I had that possibility," he scoffed, shaking his head and searched the drawers for his briefcase and the wretched driving license that he had a habit to "misplace", trying to avoid the damn car.

"Don't be so accusing, Elijah," his mother scolded, still in the same tone. "You got yourself into this mess all by yourself."

"I didn't chose to, mother," he replied irritably and pocketed his papers.

"Of course you did. I expected better of you."

"Better?" he repeated disbelievingly, frowning at her. "For Heaven's sake, mother, there is no need to talk to me like I had done something condemnable-"

"Well, I honestly don't know what else to call it, taking advantage of a girl your sister's –"

"Take that back," he said sharply, shocked himself at how cold his voice was. "You take that back. How dare you accusing me of such things – you might have forgotten, mother, but after everything that happened, even now – I am still your son."

If she was surprised by his reaction, she did not show it, merely raised a perfectly plucked brow at him and asked: "Well, if it was not what I think it was, then what was it?"

His fingers closed firmly around the car keys, clutching them tighter and tighter until it hurt. He shook his head at his mother, then replied somewhere between resignation and defiance:

"I fell in love, is that so hard to believe?"

An odd expression flashed across his mother's beautiful features, a deep-seated, old sadness, a trace of disappointment, bordering on self-abhorrence. For a second he thought he'd seen tears glistening in her brown eyes.

"You?" she asked, her voice suddenly slightly hoarse. "Yes, it is."

He looked at her for a moment, stunned silent, then turned away from her and walked out of the door without another word.

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~ö~ö~ö~

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He didn't get out of the car to open the door for her, though he knew he should – knew it was rude not to. He didn't know why he couldn't bring himself to do it. Maybe it was the image of his own mother realising she'd lost her faith in her own son and his ability to feel, perhaps just the idea of her fragile figure brushing past him.

Either way, all he did was stare ahead through the windshield, motor running, he didn't even turn to see whether or not she was coming.

The car boot was opened and closed, then she slid into the passenger seat. "You didn't have to do that for me."

"I know, why does everybody keep telling me that?" he muttered and put his foot down, pulling out of the driveway much too fast. "Are the Salvatores going with you?"

"No, they've gone back to New York two weeks ago," she replied and Elijah scoffed.

Typical. This was just so typical.

"What?"

"Does nobody, neither your parents nor your future bosses nor my mother, who is responsible for you, notice the fact that you are going to be alone on that ship for days on end? Doesn't that bother you, Katerina? That you are in danger?" he demanded, his voice more harsh than he'd meant for it to sound.

Katerina frowned at him and gave a disbelieving little laugh. "You really don't trust me at all, do you? I'm not weak, I can take care of myself. I did survive without you for seventeen years."

"You misunderstand me, Katerina," he replied irritably, still going too fast. "I do not doubt your ability to take care of yourself, I am merely pointing out the fact that you and God knows what kind of creatures are going to be packed like sardines in a tin with nowhere to run to. If that prospect does not scare you then I fear for your survival instinct." After a moment of hesitation, he added through gritted teeth:

"Open the glove compartment."

Her frown deepened at the tone of his voice, then she did as she was told.

"There should be a knife in there."

"So what?" she asked irritably and he wondered at what point everything had turned so cold between them.

"If it fits into your pocket, I want you to keep it," he muttered, staring out of the windshield.

She turned the knife in her hands, ran her thumb over the blade, then shook her head. "It's yours, I don't want it."

"I don't set my heart on weapons, Katerina, and it's not like this was some kind of sentimental parting gift. I said keep it."

Her beautiful eyes flashed angrily in his direction. She shoved the knife into her pocket and said: "I'll think of you if I have to stab someone with it, Elijah."

Her voice was acid, and her words hurt. Dear Lord, he hadn't expected her to be able to hurt him like that.

He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and tried to concentrate on the driving.

Suddenly he realised they were both punishing him with this – why she was so angry with him, he had no idea, but he was certainly doing it to chastise himself for his never ending cowardice.

And for the fact that he was hurting her – her, the one person he wanted to hurt least of all in the world – trying to protect his family.

God knew it was always about his family.

Either way, he'd come to the conclusion that Niklaus was not entirely right: it was not that Katerina was bad for him.

The problem lay in the fact that he was essentially a bad person, and falling in love had dragged all those things he kept buried so deeply back to the surface. He was the problem. Right now in the icy silence between them it was so obvious: He wasn't good for her, he would do nothing but hurt her. Katerina deserved so much better.

Yes, leaving her hurt and once she was gone, he would certainly feel her absence like a physical injury.

Yes, he wanted nothing more than to make her stay.

Yes, he wanted to be with her, no matter what it did to him.

Yes, he wanted to be selfish and wanted to keep her with him, forever if he could, regardless of what it might do to her. And there always was this little voice in the back of his head, that selfish little thing that kept asking: You want nothing but to make her happy, so who is to say she would not be?

But he couldn't. He just couldn't, for the sake of his own sanity, his budding career; for the sake of his family that would never stop needing him; and for her sake, too. She was better off without him and he had to let her go.

It was the right thing to do.

And that was what people expected him to do, what he expected himself to do, wasn't it? It was what he claimed for himself: that he did what was right, regardless of his own wishes.

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~ö~ö~ö~

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They arrived in Southampton after what felt like a few hundred years in his father's cursed car, much too close and much too far apart at the same time. He drew a desperate breath of the mild air that tasted of salt, fish and gasoline.

Heavy clouds were forming over the grey sea that sparkled in the last rays of sunlight, screeching birds were circling over the surface.

Katerina got out of the car, took two attempts to close the heavy door, and stepped closer to the edge of the parking lot, taking in the scene in front of her with wide eyes.

For the first time since she had decided to leave, he felt that familiar surge of warmth at the sight of her and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, taking another deep breath. Then he opened the boot and, after a fleeting look at Katerina who was still admiring the view, he shoved two small objects into her suitcase.

When he lifted it out for her, he almost laughed – there had honestly been no need for him to do it, it was so ridiculously light that he couldn't help wondering if she was taking anything with her at all.

"Thank you, I can find my way from here," she muttered and reached for the suitcase, her fingertips brushing over his hand. The touch gave them both a start and for a moment, she looked up at him, the hostility gone from her eyes.

She looked so lost there in her old coat and her curls dancing in the breeze and his heart broke a little more.

"I've got time," he replied softly, a shaky smile on his lips, and abruptly turned away from her, busying himself with locking the car.

He had expected her to argue, but she didn't. They walked side by side, close enough to touch if they'd wanted to, and neither of them said a word.

He wanted to, desperately so, but somehow the English language had eluded him completely.

Reste là. Je ne veux pas que tu partes, je ne peux pas le supporter, s'il te plaît, je t'en prie, ne pars pas, reste là, reste avec moi, je ferais tout ce que tu veux, s'il te plaît…

Before he knew it, they'd arrived at the pier. When she turned to face him, it hit him that she looked scared.

Tu ne dois pas le faire, Katerina. Tu peux rester ici, avec moi, n'aie pas peur, je vais t'aider…

Her dark eyes wandered over his face, as if she was scared she might forget what it looked like, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and keep her from leaving. Again, his eyes were stinging and he blinked away the tears.

Geh nicht, bitte geh nicht, das kannst du nicht wollen. Bleib hier, du musst das nicht tun, ich kann dir helfen, ich tue alles, was du willst, Katerina, bitte…

If only her eyes would let go of him, he would be able to go before he said something stupid, before his mind spelled out what he wanted to say so badly in a language she could understand. He had to go – he had to – right now, but her dark eyes held him.

Ich will nicht, dass du gehst. Ich ertrage es nicht, bitte…

She stared at him, visibly unsure what to say. Then she placed her fingers over his around the handle of the battered suitcase and said, her voice barely audible over the screeching of the gulls:

"Thank you for driving me."

Reste ici, pour moi, j'ai besoin de toi…

"It was my pleasure," he replied, his voice a little hoarse, and tried to smile but this time failed miserably.

Bitte bleib hier, für mich, ich brauche dich…

She bit her lip, a hundred contradicting emotions flashing in her eyes, and after a moment of hesitation she added in an even quieter voice: "I'm sorry."

His throat felt tight. "I'm sorry, too," he replied and didn't even know what she was referring to. Hell, he wasn't sure if he knew what he was referring to, but he was sorry. He was so, so sorry.

"Goodbye, Elijah," she muttered finally and wanted to leave, but he pulled her closer, feeling like he was drowning, and kissed her.

It was their first kiss in a month. One of them was crying and he couldn't tell who, the screeching of the seabirds made his head spin and his fingers caressed her face, tangled in her silky hair and held on to her for dear life. He didn't want to let go, he couldn't – the moment he let go, she would leave, and then what would become of him?

Je t'aime, tu ne peux pas partir parce que je t'aime…

The first raindrops splashed on the concrete, but neither of them took any notice of them.

Ich liebe dich, du kannst nicht einfach gehen weil ich dich liebe …

Much to his surprise, she didn't pull away, didn't just freeze – her hands gripped his jacket and pulled him closer, and it almost felt as if she didn't want to let go, either.

But in the end, that was probably wishful thinking.

.

But eventually, he found the strength that had almost left him, all that sense he prided himself on, and let go of her.

It was better that way.

A hand still buried in her hair, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and stepped away from her. He caught a last glimpse of that chocolate brown and when he smiled, he almost meant it.

"Goodbye, Katerina."

By now, it was raining heavily, everyone around them had quickened their steps, but they just stood there, eyes locked, searching for words.

It could have lasted hours for all he knew.

Then she returned his smile. It was shy and a little sad and it reminded him far too much of the Lockwood's ball. She bent down to pick up her suitcase and walked away with slow steps, apparently oblivious to the driving rain.

Suddenly the words were all there as he watched her walk away from him, now that she was already too far away to hear them.

Please don't leave.

Please don't leave, I don't want you to go.

Please don't leave, I never told you, but I love you.

He closed his eyes for moment, took a deep breath, then he turned and made his way back to the car. He didn't look back.

She stood outside on the deck for what were probably several hours, her clothes completely drenched, allowing the rain to soak her hair and her shoes until she finally couldn't tell the difference between her tears and the rain anymore. Katerina watched the British Isles fade away through the silvery veil of the driving rain, longingly staring after those lands that had become her home.

But she had to start over; it was the only way she could go on, the only way to do what she did best – survive. So she returned to her cabin where she stopped in front of the mirror, put up her hair and tasted the new name on her lips. Though familiar, it had a strange sound to it, but she liked that name. She opened her suitcase to change into some dry clothes and her heart almost stopped when she found two things lying on top that had definitely not been there when she'd packed it.

The first was a small box, a grey, nondescript little thing. Inside she found a frail silver bracelet set with a deep blue stone. It shimmered softly in the light.

The other was a book. It was in quite a dreadful state, worn down with crumpled edges. She didn't need the name and the date written on the inside of the cover with pencil to know who it belonged to or what it meant to its owner.

"You should see the book I took with me to war, it's all but falling apart now but I can't bring myself to part from it."

She wasn't sure how she was supposed to understand this gesture – this was by far one of his most prized possessions and now he was just giving it to her, knowing he would never get it back.

There was a note on the first page, hurriedly scrawled across the cheap paper, the black ink smudged in places – suddenly she remembered the black stains on his left hand and realised he must have written it moments before their departure. There was no appellation, no pet names, no lots of love, not even a signature – they had never been that kind of lovers.

I have told you repeatedly and you never believed me, but now you'll have to – I am a pathetic coward. There are a lot of things that I wish you knew, but I know I won't be able to bring myself to say them and writing them down here instead would be an even greater cowardice, so –

I wish you all the best and I hope you'll be happy. I'll have you know that I'll miss you terribly – but let's not do this to ourselves.

Good luck, Katerina.

*Author's Note* Again, this turned into a little monster – I just couldn't resist giving Esther and Elijah a moment, I quite like how it turned out, actually. Please tell me what you think of this chapter, it's obviously quite an important one! A big thanks to everyone who's reviewed the last chapter!
To the guest reviewer: I agree, my summary is awful, but it's all I could manage I'm afraid. As to more Klaroline, however, this is a Kalijah story and if you would like to read a Klaroline one, I suggest you try another story. I can't just change the main plot of a story that I've started, it doesn't work like that.