A.N. - There are only a few chapters left before this story will come to an end :/ I've been working on it for over a year, so it's time. Let me know if you guys want a prologue. I promised myself that I'd add some more Klauselle (ship name was left in a review by MayaVladkowski :D ), so expect some cuteness (with some drama, as per usual). Also, I'm sorry this is short. I promise the next chapter will be long! There's a lot I want to put in it. Anyway, I'm rambling now! ...
As always, please review and enjoy!
Song: RAIGN - Don't Let Me Go
The summer had taken its annual leave of absence, letting autumn have its time in the spotlight. Winter was only weeks away as Thanksgiving arrived. The Mikaelsons didn't usually celebrate it, but this year was different. Two dysfunctional families would join together for an evening of relative normalcy - well, as normal as things could be when Originals, vampires, hybrids, a miracle baby, and an eight month and something pregnant vampire would be seated around the table.
As chefs and decorators prepared things downstairs, Belle was upstairs painting the baby's nursery with Audrey. They swatched three different blue paints on the wall.
Belle stared intently at them, trying to decide which one would work best, her perfectionist side emerging. The furniture she had picked out was a mix of blues, whites, and grays with a slightly worn, vintage theme to coincide with the aged house. She stepped out of the room for a minute to ask Klaus for his input.
Since she had come home, like in most times of egregious stress and frustration, Klaus had thrown himself into his painting. She was sure it was, not only because of her condition, but because he couldn't find Sabrina, or Ester. No one could. It was like they had disappeared off the face of the earth. A cloaking spell, Davina suggested. Whatever the reason, everyone was on edge, waiting for a sign.
He groaned in frustration as he stood hunched over, struggled to stretch a canvas, the sleeves of his henley, stained with various shades of paint, pushed up to his elbows. He had at least a dozen blank ones scattered around the room. Mozart's Requiem Mass in D minor filled the room.
Belle put her paint-covered hands on her hips, fingers grazing her round, tumescent stomach. "Nik," she said. He didn't answer, too wrapped up in his project. She turned to her left and grabbed a stray paint brush from the table and threw it at the back of his head. "Nik!"
He caught it just before it hit him, and turned to face her with a scowl. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact you can." She stepped closer to him, eyes wandering to the cluster of finished paintings behind him. She couldn't make out what they were, but there were lots of dark hues. "I need you to come look at some paint swatches for the baby's room. I'm leaning toward aegean, but I'm afraid it'll be too dark."
Klaus ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sighed deeply. "Whatever you want is fine," he muttered dismissively.
She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Sure, you could give me that lazy, bullshit excuse, and stay locked up here in your study, or you could actually help me to finish painting our child's room." Her eyes drifted to the floor as she added, "I don't want to do this alone." She tried to disguise the hitch in her voice, but, judging from the look that came across his face, he heard it as clearly as the words that came from her mouth.
He put down the canvas and turned off the music, focusing his attention on Belle and Belle alone.
"I'm sorry. I'll help you with whatever you need." He spoke slowly, weighing his words, watching every minor change in her facial expressions. Apologies weren't his cup of tea.
A smile stretched across her face as her anxiety ebbed. "Thanks."
After a spirited debate, during which Audrey played the role of tiebreaker, they settled on aegean blue. One way or another, Belle always figured out how to get her way.
The room way perfect: an old, off-white rocking chair in the corner, a bookshelf cluttered with old books and a collection of velveteen stuffed animals (namely wolves and bears), one of Klaus' New Orleans cityscape paintings above the crib, an unnecessarily big dresser that was packed with tiny outfits for every imaginable event. They had everything ready for the baby's arrival.
Everything except for a name of course.
Belle had run a few ideas past Klaus, but, as expected, he shot them down. She wasn't sure whether it was because he genuinely didn't like them, or because he hadn't come up with them himself. She assumed it was the latter.
Her train of thought came to a halt and switched tracks when Marcel and Rebekah walked by the open door, heading down the hall, laughing like old friends. If Belle had given a rat's ass about Rebekah's romantic entanglements she would have read more into it, but the one thing that drew in her attention was the sour look that came across Audrey's face; her nose scrunched like she was smelling a dead animal, her eyes squinted like she was looking out a window on a particularly sunny day. Belle knew that look very well after centuries of watching Klaus parade hoards of slutty stuck-up women past her: jealousy. Audrey was jealous of Rebekah?
No. Well, not really.
Her eyes were locked on Marcel as she quite obviously lusted after him. Audrey was jealous of them: Marcel and Rebekah. She saw Rebekah with something that she wanted, a shiny toy at daycare, and, from the looks of it, she wanted it badly.
Belle's lips curled into a wicked grin. She was preparing a snarky comment to shoot at her sister, but Audrey abruptly fled the room like a bat out of hell, determined to be alone - probably to drink and cry, if she dealt with jealously the way Belle did.
Belle turned to Klaus, still grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "Did you see that?"
He chuckled. "Marcel's quite the charmer. You better be be careful, or he'll ensnare you too."
"Ha, right. I'm sure a pregnant woman, who happens to be lightyears out of his league, is a totally viable option."
Klaus put the used brushes and empty paint cans into a bucket and picked it up by the handle. He walked toward the door and motioned for her to go ahead. As they headed downstairs, toward the garage, avoiding the commotion of the holiday preparation, Klaus cleared his throat. "Have you thought of any other names?"
She eyed him inquisitively. "Are you going to shoot it down?" She raised an eyebrow and he rolled his eyes.
"Well, that depends on what the name is, love."
"I'm warning you now, it's a little...different. But hopefully in a good way!"
He glanced at her wearily as they stepped into the garage. "Go ahead." He flipped on a light and went to put the bucket on a nearby shelf that was cluttered with various tools they never used.
A thud echoed from the other room; someone either dropped a chair or slammed a door.
Belle took a dramatically deep breath, hopefully increasing Klaus' anticipation, assuming there was any. "Blade."
She watched with anticipation as he mulled it over. "Blade," he tested the word out, and tried it again, quieter this time. "Blade."
A smile played at his lips. "I like it."
Before she could even take a breath, his lips pressed to hers. It was a quick kiss, but as passionate as the one that had led them to where they were, soon-to-be parents. He cupped her face in his hands, his eyes dark in the dim room. His bright smile seemed to illuminate his face - and the entire room, perhaps. Or maybe it was just the surplus of hormones inside her. She didn't care either way.
"Blade Mikaelson."
Klaus furrowed his brows and took a half-step back, keeping one hand under her chin and tilting her head up so their eyes were locked. "Mikaelson? No hyphen? No Mikaelson-Campbell or Campbell-Mikaelson?" His tone was light, eyes showing no sign of anything but curiosity, but she feared that he was starting to panic on the inside. Maybe there was a reason he had never really had a "committed relationship" in the past.
"Yeah, and that reason is you, dumbass. He's been in love with you for centuries,'" Belle's thoughts reminded her. At least, she hoped that was the reason.
"Uhhh, I, I," for quite possibly the first time in her life she was at a complete loss for words.
He stood before her, amused, and closed the space between them, pressing his body flush against hers. "Good," he whispered, his lips mere inches from hers.
For a moment she thought he was kidding. She waited for him to say something else, to let her in on his joke, but he didn't.
Without another word, he released her, stepped back, and left her to contemplate his thinly veiled insinuation.
Of course she loved Klaus, but could she be his wife? Mrs. Niklaus Mikaelson?