Bite-Sized

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except these words.


This time he won't fight his brother for the hand of a Petrova, loving her from afar will be enough for him.

Even as he makes this vow to himself, he can hardly believe it– especially because, he realizes with a jolt, he's completely in earnest. He really will leave her to her happiness.

How was it that he'd lived through all those centuries more or less unchanged, and yet in the course of a single human lifespan, he'd grown old?

He knows the answer. Can hardly think on the daughter who'd been born and grown and eventually died without feeling the loss of her afresh, the first real loss he'd experienced in his immortal existence.

When Elena had arisen from her enchanted slumber some eighty years after he'd last seen her– human, confused, frightened to discover a world where there were no more Salvatores waiting for her with open arms– but oh, so very lovely and brave, still– and sought him out, he had felt the first true interest in anything at all since his daughter's death.

He had been living in Canada then, in a stretch of tundric wilderness remote enough to make even Thoreau happy. Her finding him at all had been a feat of stubborn impetuosity. Despite his better senses urging him to turn her away, he let her slip inside, a beautiful ghost from his past, and tell him her story. Found himself telling her his without meaning to.

They were both very sad, and somehow, being sad together felt like the thing to do.

She didn't leave that night, or the next, or the next. It never occurred to him to ask her when she would.

The course of events that led to her moving in with him, to spending all of their endless, spare hours together, had been as natural and gradual, as devastating in its aftermath, as the shifting of tectonic plates. He had fallen in love with her without noticing until it was too late.

But he had time. All of the time in the world, literally, unfortunately. He would wait for Elena's heart to be ready.

And then came the day that Elijah found them, taking a place as the third in their little home without hesitation or preamble. He had not even bothered to feign astonishment at finding Elena alive and hale– only satisfaction. Elena had smiled for his brother, that first night, in a way she had never smiled for him, and Klaus realized that she had been ready for some time now– just not for him.

Elena seems happy, now, with his brother. Their love affair had sprung up seemingly overnight, but Klaus understands that it's a thing that had been planted long ago, when he had cared nothing for Elena beyond the certainty that her blood in his mouth would free him.

He'd been wrong about that. He is no freer now than he was then.

Therein lies the issue. To his mind, he is as linked to Elena now as he was for all the long years preceding her birth and her first death. His heart would not be so pierced by the mere thought of her if it were not so.

The time was, he would have fought Elijah for her.

Now, though, he is content to love her from afar. To let her to her happiness.

He's packed his bag. He'll be gone on the morrow.

And maybe, he hopes, he dreams, he holds his breath– she'll come looking for him again.


A/N: Thanks for reading, y'all.