A/n: Here's the second installment. For anyone who does and doesn't care. It might just be a shout out to the void. Or someday, years from now, somewhere, someone might find solace in reading this. I am certain an intricate love like Klaus & Camille will stand the test of time and mental fatigue from the monotony of our everyday life. Cheers!
...
She stayed rooted to the spot, arms hovering midair, letting what had just transpired trickle into her consciousness, and in a flare of recognition, she darted to the balcony, and called his name as loud as she could.
"Klaus!" She sounded more desperate by the minute, and she did not care. "Klaus, I know you are still here. Talk to me!"
"And will we ever
End up together?
No I think not
It's never to become.."
The only responses were the night breezes, and the song she had been playing on repeat, utterly apathetic. Cursing under her breath, she snapped the offensive laptop shut, and sprinted out of her apartment and into the night, cold air like a slap on her face. She, lost to the outside world, did not know what possessed her to keep walking blindly, the fervor of wistfulness in his voice before he disappeared being her only tether to sanity. Mustering all the heartbreak she has sustained ever since they first met, she screamed his name at the top of her lungs again.
Came the reply in the form of her voice echoing back at her, all alone in the dark alley. Heedless of warning bells in her head, she pressed forward in the dark, and tried to reason with the hybrid who was nowhere to be seen. "I know you're there. We need to talk right now. Not tomorrow. Not in another two weeks when we can sweep everything under the rug."
Leaning against the cold wall, shrouded by darkness, she paused to catch a breath, looked upon the minuscule silver dots in an otherwise raven sky and whispered, never for a second doubting her instincts. "We both need to stop running the instant a conversation gets tough, Klaus, so I am not leaving."
She mentally counted…1…2…3, and his voice cut through the eerie silence, as gruff as she expected. "What makes you think I do not have a say in the matter, Camille, especially when you keep putting yourself in hair-brained and uncalled-for danger repeatedly?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him running a hand through his hair. She heard his aggravated sigh. In an instant, he appeared in front of her.
"You are well aware that the snotty Guerrera's police dogs are prowling all over the French Quarter, and one would think that brief taste of their pitiful harassment 'd instill in you some sense of caution."
He was breathing loudly. She knew she had to interject. "Leave them be, Klaus. You tortured them enough."
He looked at her, murderous intent made guttural. "I should have snapped their necks and permanently crushed their impudent maws for daring talk to you that way."
"And I asked you not to. I thought we went over this." She countered, not particularly pleased with where the conversation headed, but it must be said, again. " Besides, how many times do I have to tell you that I can take care of myself?"
"Yet you seem determined to contradict yourself, and continue to be frivolous about your safety and your well-being." He roared, catching her off-guard, but she refused to budge.
He stepped closer to her, and scuttled backward as if losing balance. His eyes, shining bright in the dark, swept the surrounding wildly. His two hands clutching his head, he paced back and forth, mumbling more to himself. "What would have happened…what would you have done… had I actually left…I cannot even bear the thought."
"I know you didn't." She kept her voice steady.
"That's not the POINT." He stopped pacing instantly, slipping into her personal space again.
"The point is you cannot keep watching me forever, Klaus. You have to trust me to take care of myself." She was certain that a lecture about safety was not what she came out here for, and all too eager to end this digression.
All at once, his right hand found its way to her cheek. He stared deeply into her eyes, pained resignation evident in his face. It came out as a tremulous whisper, and she wouldn't have heard it, had he not been so close. "Camille O'Connell, you don't know what you are doing to me."
"Then tell me." She challenged, but it sounded more like a soft plea. Her right hand landed absently on his waist, and upon feeling the leather, she tugged him forward. Her left hand slid up his chest to where his heart resided. Her eyes drifted to his lips, and back to his eyes, where laid bare a battle of fear and yearning, and a flicker of hope. She pressed closer to him, their chests flush. He was leaning down, his other hand curling around the nape of her neck. Her eyes flew shut, every crease of his lower lip still vivid, setting hers afire.
Suddenly a loud bang shot through the air, followed by dogs barking, and someone's car alarm going off in the distance. Hardly had she let out a gasp when he whisked them into a hidden corner, holding her tight to him. She burrowed her face into his neck, while he strained his ears to listen. Before long, the commotion died down, and dead quiet engulfed them again, but he did not slacken his grip, her body lithe in his embrace. Surely, he must be thinking what she was thinking, that they could pick up where they were so rudely interrupted. Warmth spread from her bosom when she felt his lips right next to her ear, his stubble titillating her skin.
"You want to talk?" He inhaled deeply. "Fine, but not here."
She nodded her assent. He hooked his arm under her knees, and lifted her up effortlessly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, rested her head on his shoulder, and when her lips inadvertently stretched into a smile, she felt him stiffen before asking huskily. "Ready?"
Another nod, and she felt as if she were being hurled into the ground from the highest roller coaster. It was terrifying, but she nuzzled further into his warm chest, focusing on his strong heartbeat, and before she knew it, they were back to the balcony of her apartment. She dimly hoped the trip would last longer, and while gazing up dreamily at him, she thought roller coaster rides to which she was strongly averse would be drastically more pleasant in Klaus' arms, and she beamed at the prospect of putting her mundane theory to the test. His eyebrows raised, he looked amused. She flashed him a demure smile to say 'secret's all mine' prompting a soft chuckle from him.
"Okay, let's get you settled in."
He carried her inside, and gently laid her on the couch, the exact same spot she had been sitting before he showed up.
Back to square one. How did they get here, again?
She had wanted to talk.
Talk-one word reverberating in her head, powerful enough to diffuse the fog of lust.
Or so she thought. Her ruminating mind was back, but the raw thirst still hung thick in the air, as she watched him down his hitherto untouched bourbon, admiring his profile like a work of art. Not a moment too soon, he turned, catching her staring at him, and she was once again trapped in a limbo, incapable of looking away, but not knowing how to move forward, with a brick wall between them, the wall he insisted on building even higher by averting his gaze so sharply that he might as well have given a thousand needlesticks into her chest.
He strolled into the living area but kept a careful distance from the couch. She set her sightline upon the bottle of bourbon on the kitchen counter, where it was unexciting and uncomplicated.
The silence must have dragged too long for his liking, so he tried to draw her attention by chiding softly. "Have you realized that you ran out into the street, in the middle of the night, in naught but mere intimate apparel, essentially inviting all degenerate nitwits to pounce on you?"
She was made aware of the distinct absence of bra, and fleshy mounds of her breast, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered.
"Same song and dance, Klaus." She shrugged half-heartedly, hypnotized to the amber liquid of bourbon. "Was busy catching up to you, no time to get changed."
"With all due respect, Camille, I was catching up to you, all the while attempting to comprehend what it is that you want to talk so urgently that threw you in such a bewildering frenzied state," he sounded more and more frustrated, "putting your life yet in jeopardy!"
Exasperation wouldn't even begin to describe what she was experiencing. She buried her face in her hands, feeling light-headed with the onslaught of mute emotions.
"Camille?"
She did not miss the concern in his voice, and there was a time she felt butterflies whenever she heard that peculiar passionate concern reserved for her, but currently, she just felt desolate. Was concern the only thing he allowed himself to feel when it came to her? And it did not help when he was so vexingly vocal about it. She held out an arm to stop him from coming closer, and decided to stand up to his eye-level. She knew not how to begin, so she was just winging it, and ending their tiresome pattern, once and for all.
"Camille, you should not stand." There went the demanding concern again. "You should wait before the vamp-speed effect wears off."
Her body betrayed her when the room started to spin a little, and instantly, he was next to her, grabbing her arm, stabilizing her, but she dismissed him as quickly. "I'm fine."
He looked skeptical, but said nothing. She pulled away, folding her arms across her chest.
Exposed to his heated gaze, his readiness to catch her again, she blurted out, mostly to stave off the awkwardness that was about to burst. "You could have come out of your hiding place, you know, saving me all the trouble."
"I thought you would have let it go," he had the decency to appear guilty, his face downcast, "and had the foresight to come back to the comfort and safety of your apartment, when I made rather clear that the conversation left nothing to discuss."
"Perhaps to you," she fought the petulance when she affirmed, "but not to me."
"Camille." He uttered his telltale drawl, with a touch of weariness, but the vehemence was promptly back in his subsequent declaration when he looked up to command eye contact. "Forgive me if I wish for no more of you talking about your time with my adopted son. I already presumed to end it on what I hoped was a mutually satisfying note by giving you my word that I will consider leniency with your beloved Marcel, out of my…duty to you, client to therapist."
"Technically, you didn't. You were rather nonspecific." She quibbled, knowing it's entirely unnecessary, yet she needed a way of coaxing him to talk. "Also Klaus, why do you want to extend forgiveness to those who are important to me?"
"I will not harm a hair on Marcel's head if he does right by you. There you have it." He said with conviction, still looking deeply into her eyes, though it did not escape her notice that he conveniently ignored her question. "And my offer still stands. I will make an exception and allow Marcel to visit your apartment. No more venturing across the river for you, between the Guerrera plotting rebellion, and Marcel's pretentious army of lackeys, it's too risky."
Not expecting it to be easy, but hoping against hope it would not be this tricky either, she furrowed her brows, musing on how to change the trajectory of the talk. He probably took her frown as some sense of unease about his offer, because Klaus Mikaelson suddenly looked uncomfortable and uncharacteristically unsure of himself, a rare sight to behold.
"And you don't have to worry." Uncertainties tinged his words. "I intend…uh…I'll try not to…keep watch when you spend time with Marcel here. I will give you the privacy, Camille." He then met her eyes, "but mark my words, should anything happen to you, the traitorous son would have to answer to my unending wrath, and I wouldn't be able to afford any more contemptible pity."
"Does me seeing Marcel bother you?" She kept it simple, before he further overwhelmed them both with more comical misassumptions.
He blinked, not foreseeing her bluntness, but still managed to be smoothly emphatic. "My feelings toward the matter are not relevant."
"But I do care about your feelings." She said fervently, the adrenaline pumping in her veins."Tell me, how do you feel about the idea of me and Marcel? "
He fell quiet, his eyes fastened to the floor. To an outsider, he might make a perfect statue of pensive repose, but she was not fooled. She could see his shoulders shaking ever so slightly, his unyielding stance exuding the heat so intense that her pulse quickened.
"Klaus?" She pleaded weakly.
He snapped his head up to look at her, his face contorted in a mix of rage and grief. "I loathe it. The thought of you intimate with him or any suitor made my blood boil."
He snarled, perhaps hoping to scare her away, but she at that point had been too accustomed to his tantrum to even flinch, her expression stoic. Her facade soon cracked, though, once they inopportunely happened to steal glances at each other's lips at the same time. The familiar pull of his lips, as crimson as her cheeks, as strong as gravity, left her powerless, and as if having a mind of their own, her feet pulled her one step forward, her arms coming undone. She was on the cusp of throwing herself to him with abandon when her head was reeled with a sharp intake of breath, followed by a thunderous punch to the wall.
"Please, Camille!" He groaned, his voice taut, shaking with fury. "All I can think of is a million ways to drive his fiendish little face into this bloody wall, to twist every bone, to maul every organ in his pathetic bestial body."
"If it so upsets you," she wondered out loud, "why do you still allow it?"
"I think I'm done for the night." He raked a hand through his hair, visibly perturbed. "I am exercising an inordinate amount of restraint here, and in no condition to quench your thirst for psychoanalyzing the original bastard."
He made to leave. She shot out her right hand, gripping his arm to stop him. "Don't you dare walk away from me again!" She spoke firmly, willing him to look at her, to understand that she would not take no for an answer. "Answer me, if it infuriates you so much, why do you let me be with Marcel?"
She noted that he winced briefly at the mention of Marcel. He put one hand onto hers, paler from the sheer force she was clutching his forearm, and smiled wryly. "Always so tenacious, Camille."
She instinctively tightened her grip, and they stayed in that position, him looking sideways at her, her staring up at him, unwavering. After what it seemed like an eternity, he gently removed her hand from his arm. Threading their fingers together, he turned to face her fully, and she almost fainted with relief.
"Because you wish it." He cupped her face, his thumb ghosting the skin of the apple of her left cheek, hip lower lip trembling before the words came tumbling out, increasingly steady and feverish as he spoke. "Because I cannot stand to see the light die in your eyes, and the smile wilt in your lips, when you are bereft of the mutinous callow vampire, who doesn't deserve you, but you deem capable of granting you pleasure and comfort."
With long fingers still molded along the contour of her face, his thumb trailed down to her mouth, gliding across her lower lip like how a flamingo skimmed over water, and ended up quivering above her Cupid's bow, which drew in a soft pout effectively pressing into the warmth of his thumb. Feeling him freeze under her lips, she was brought to a standstill, riveted to the panic swirling in his eyes, that was mirrored in her emerald orbs the moment she saw resolve drape over his countenance. His thumb jerked away, all fingers retracting so fast that a vision of the Sun touching a vampire without daylight ring crossed her mind. He untangled their clasped hands as if he were holding fire, leaving her face burning, her lips cold, her throat dry.
He pulled out of her personal space, and even though every inch of her aching body screamed for her to crash into him, she stood, immobilized, watching him gape at his right thumb as some close sibling who had just betrayed him, his shoulders slumped carrying the entire weights of the supernatural world.
For the first time that night since she had rushed into the cold night calling his name, she felt an inkling of regret, her heart lurching painfully upon seeing him in this much of distress because of her. It hit her. No matter how deep, her desires paled in comparison with his wants and needs, and she would do anything, even if it means having to swallow all this heartache on her own, to ease off his troubles.
"I am sorry, Klaus…" she started, but faltered, unable to finish the sentence…for pushing you…hurting you with my selfish needs.
He looked at her, whether in awe or fear she could not tell. "Why?"
She stared out at the balcony door, seeking comfort and courage in the beautiful crescent and twinkling stars. "I did not plan any of this. I was not looking for it. It just sort of happened. It's like it..." she paused, searching for the right word, "…found me." And once it struck her, like a broken dam she couldn't stop, the call of being earnest as sweet as the breeze that lingered in the tendrils of her consciousness.
She sighed contentedly, and turned back to look at him with all sincerity and tenderness she was feeling. "I tried to fight it, Klaus. God knows I tried, to no avail. Each day it just got harder and harder, to the point of nigh impossible. It's like fighting against some Divine will, something that is supposed to happen, something that is meant to be…" Her eyes welled up in tears, she found renewed perseverance gazing lovingly into his eyes. "But for you, I'll continue to fight. I don't ever want to trouble or hurt you in any way."
She was in hurt so deep that existential crisis started to loom over her, and she would talk in riddles. It's an old habit that's irksome but not destructive enough to shake. Plus, she knew him well enough to know that he would understand, and he did. Almost.
"You told me you don't love him." She caught the glimpse of understanding beneath the sheen of unshed tears in his magnetic eyes. His sotto voice was devoid of accusation. "Yet, you are saying Marcellus is your Destiny."
"Oh my God!" She choked back a sob, her hand clutching her throat, but tears were fast falling. She looked up her ceiling, seeking some answer in The Deity's name
"Camille. My kindest and bravest Camille." She heard him say her name softly, desperately, before she was pulled into his embrace. Bliss, unadulterated bliss settled in her, she molded her body against his, her arms wrapping around his neck, her tears staining his T-shirt, and she recklessly placed a kiss on the damp spot, anxious to taste his skin. If he felt it, he didn't stiffen or freeze or let go this time. He kept one steady arm around her waist, his right hand stroking her hair soothingly.
He pressed his lips to her temple, still stroking her hair, lulling her to some magical dreamy land, then he spoke, his voice seemingly faraway when she was so intoxicated with his scents and his warmth. "Go be with Marcel. You cannot sacrifice your happiness for my sake. I will not allow it."
"You've got it all wrong," bubbled up her throat and catapulted into space when she lifted her head to look him in alarm.
"My dearest Camille, fear not for me." He shifted to lay both hands on her shoulders. "I am Klaus Mikaleson, the cruelest and scariest. I'll survive this minor inconvenience of a broken..." He trailed off to give her a lop-sided grin that did not reach his eyes, and went on "...of temporary madness."
She made to protest but he squeezed her shoulders, and professed, his voice laced with sadness but the mightiness it carried was unmistakable. "If I am not the one who bestows on you the utmost ecstasy of being wholly cherished, and the security of a long-lasting joyous future, then so be it. If I can only watch from afar someone else making you the happiest woman in this topsy-turvy world, then so be it. Camille, I promise you, I will not intervene, on one condition," He cupped her face, his thumb reaching up to catch a stray tear from beneath her lash, "that you will let me safeguard your survival."
"Klaus..." She was robbed of all breaths.
"I don't trust any other unworthy scoundrel to protect you adequately." Pinning her under his heated gaze, he shook his head lightly, telling her that he had already made decisions for both of them. The room temperate dropped when he enunciated, his mouth curled in a lethal sneer. "And if I find him already in a heap of meat and bones, I don't much care for missing the opportunity to kill him myself."
She wanted to let it go, to pick a better battle, yet she heard her reprimand before she could stop. "Why do you even bother asking for my permission then?"
"Because it's important to me." He responded without missing a beat, the venom in his voice gone. "Because it's the only thing that grounds me when I let you go. Because I am asking this favor of you as a friend." Stepping closer to rest his forehead against her, he urged. "Camille, please!"
"Okay." She breathed, not trusting herself to say more, acutely aware of the oxygen they shared.
She heard him draw a shaky breath. The mouth just inches from hers artfully formed the words. "Thank you!"
He withdrew, and she, not ready to handle the distance just yet, reached up to wrap her hands lightly around his neck. "First things first, the badmouthing has to stop." She ordered, half-joking, but turned serious when she locked eyes with his. "I will be the judge of whether the man I choose is worthy or not, you hear me, Klaus?"
Pain flitted though his expression, before he acquiesced tersely. "All right, no unwarranted badmouthing."
She raised her eyebrows questioningly, and he silently stood his grounds, showing no repentance.
"Fine, I guess that's progress." She shrugged teasingly, but her lips inadvertently tugged into a smile that brightened in unison with his mocked grimace, which was now morphed into wide grin, suffusing her with warmth and an added twist in her chest. A flurry of fondness she was beginning to believe she never wanted to do without. Not that she had a choice. It was made for her, and she had told him that much.
The harmless playful moment receded, leaving them yet again singed with sparks so flammable that if one just as much blinked, one would set them both on fire. She fought the urge to glance down his lips, which has proved time and again a futile endeavor. "Must have been one heck of a therapy I gave you to garner this extraordinary improvement, Klaus Mikaelson." She tried to quip, but only managed to sound wistful.
"Surely you must know it's much more than just therapy."
He clutched both sides of her waist so fast that she gasped out of surprise, his eyes a turbulent blue pouring into hers with incredulity and hurt that started to fray at the edges, revealing what could be read as unabashed admiration, making her cheeks flushed.
"For an immortal hybrid with thousands years of experience under his belt who boasted expertise in courtship, you can be so daft, Klaus." She said affectionately, enlivened with his touch.
If her comment astonished him, he did not let it slip. There was a glint of insight in the way he was looking at her, however, signaling for her to elaborate.
Instead, she let one hand drift slowly and deliberately to his left chest, her palm flush against his pectoral muscle, the vulnerability in her sea green eyes belying the nonchalance in her tone when she asked. "You promise me you will not leave me bereft of true love and happiness?"
His gaze flickered down to where her hand rested firm on his chest, then back up to her, giving her the reassurance before he voiced it, moving his hand nimbly to enclose hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"I make it one mission of my immortal life, Camille."
And she believed him. With all her heart, with every piece, fragmented and whole alike, of her mortal being. There was no more reason for stalling, so she took a leap of faith, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest, not from nervousness, but from joy, joy that painted each word she uttered.
"Then you will not deny me the audacity of falling in love with you, and being loved in return?"
It was an affirmation, not a question, and he knew it.