Warning: Mentions of illness, child abuse and child neglect in this story, as well as some instances of adult language.
"Stefan cancelled on me. Again," where the first words out of Elena Gilbert's mouth as she unlocked the door of her boyfriend's apartment, immediately divesting herself of the shiny black heels she'd squeezed onto her feet for the evening and relishing in the feel of the lush carpet under her toes.
The man occupying the couch gave her a lazy, languorous once-over, crystal blue eyes sweeping across every inch of her. "Yes, I can see that, love."
"This is the third time, Klaus. What's the point of having an anniversary if you don't even celebrate it on the actual day? A day I made sure I had off three months in advance! Then, I managed to get tonight off, for which I had to promise I'd work a double shift tomorrow, and the man's nowhere to be found!" Pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation, she let out a deep sigh before letting an easy smile settle across her face. "Anyway, what are you up to?" Elena wondered as she surveyed the comfortingly familiar interior of the apartment, cluttered in that way that was entirely unique to those of a creative mind -Stefan was a writer, and therefore the only other person who could put up with Klaus' tendency of leaving precarious messes in his wake. "Working on your latest piece?"
"Procrastinating for my latest piece would be more accurate, I'm afraid," Klaus admitted heavily, drumming his pencil against the overstuffed arm of his chair. "My well of inspiration is running a tad dry at the moment."
"You work too hard. Coffee?"
Klaus grinned appreciatively. "God yes. And, I don't work nearly as hard as you, Elena. Tell me, what miracles did our little angel work today? Despite your well-founded frustrations with our dear writer, you've got that sparkle in your eyes, the one you get on your good days."
Rummaging through the cupboards, Elena set out two mugs -the one with tulips on for her, the black one for him (that secretly revealed a Slytherin serpent when you poured hot water in that she'd gotten him last Christmas)- and flicked on the kettle. Although Stefan and Klaus shared the apartment, and the coffee machine was perfectly functional and made a decent cup of coffee, Klaus refused to go near the thing, saying it offended his noble British sensibilities, the snob. But she didn't mind, really.
"I helped save a little girl," Elena acknowledged softly, her words almost eaten up by the clinking of spoons against ceramic. "She'd been sent home from school because she was sick, and everyone thought it was just one of those seasonal bugs, but it wasn't. It turns out she's been in the early stages of undiagnosed type one diabetes for some weeks now, and we almost didn't catch it in time."
"But you did," he said, tone brimming with pride as he perched himself on one of the barstools by the breakfast bar, pencil still clutched between his fingers. "Is she going to be okay?"
The kettle boiled, and Elena concentrated on pouring the hot water into their mugs before giving him an answer. "I won't lie, it was really bad, Nik. She was so sick, and she was so sweet to me and all the nurses that came in. She's no even ten, and already she's got a life-changing condition she's got to now learn to live with. But I also think that she's really brave, too, and that, in time, she's gonna come to terms with it all. Of course, she was only on the our ward for a little while before she got transferred to some specialists, yet everyone wanted to know how she was doing."
"Sounds like you had quite the day, then."
"Yeah, and all thanks to you," the brunette reminded him gently as she handed him his coffee, fingers wrapping around her own mug, welcoming the warmth after the chill night air of a frigid Chicago December.
Klaus discarded his mug, and her remark along with it. "Sweetheart, I assure you, I did little to help in the trajectory of your career."
To other people, Niklaus Mikaelson came off as intense, temperamental, explosive, and somewhat hostile, yet with her, he expressed a secret side of vulnerability; he really did believe everything he was saying to her. As if, that night five years ago in an A&E in New York hadn't meant a damn thing to her. But it had.
Oh, she could remember it like it just happened yesterday. She'd been a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed resident working the Christmas shift, as most interns did when the senior staff got the pick of the holiday draw. Klaus had come in, bloodied and bruised -he'd later confess that it was his father who landed him in such a state, after an argument at the annual Mikaelson Christmas gathering, where Klaus had announced the ending of his engagement to a wealthy heiress, Tatia Petrova, who's family had had a long-standing friendship with his parents, and that he intended to move to London to pursue his art career more seriously, and Mikael had lost it, shaming his poor son not only with his venomous words, but his brutish fists- and she'd been the one to patch him up. He'd been on his way out, leaning heavily on his older brother, Elijah, when he'd noticed the little girl in the waiting room, wide-eyed and silent as her parents had argued in the corner.
He'd never shared what had compelled him to do so, but Klaus had marched back into the emergency room -more like hobbled, really- and demand that Elena see to the little girl. Of course, how could he not help but see himself in the small child? Helping that little girl, sitting with her and talking to her as she went about fixing her broken arm, was when Elena realized she didn't want to be a surgeon, as her father had always wanted to be. She wanted to help children, like that little girl, Natalie, wanted to, as she'd once said to Klaus, "help fix people, rather than cut them open."
That hadn't been the end of her involvement with Klaus, though. The next week, he came back, inquiring after the little girl's health...and if she was single.
But that was a long, long, long time ago now. Old history, ancient history, best left alone in the past. She was with Stefan, and he was dating Caroline Forbes, her best friend since the cradle, who was now a successful Broadcast Journalist and living the life of adventure she'd always wanted. They were all in love, and they were all happy.
Right?
"Okay, enough about me. Let's figure out this problem of yours." Finishing off her coffee, Elena reached over and plucked the pencil from his hand, using it to tap him on his head of golden curls lightly. "Your talent is all in here, Klaus. You just gotta find the right way to channel it."
"But I have!" he whined petulantly, even going so far as to pout at her in a way that sent Elena's insides into a fluttering tailspin. "I had multiple concept pieces that I was perfectly happy with, then when I went to put them on canvas...they just didn't come out how I was hoping they would."
"You're too much of a perfectionist."
"And you are too kind for your own good, Elena Gilbert, since you can never say to my face when my art is sub-par, no doubt in some ludicrous effort to spare my feelings."
Elena arched a brow, planting her hands on her hips. "Do you want my help or not?" she inquired briskly.
"Yes, I do," Klaus conceded, following her to the spacious living room and handing over his sketchbook. Taking a seat on the cream corduroy couch, Elena began to look over his drawings, trying to survey them as critically as she could -it helped that her brother, Jeremy, was such an artist, and her parents had always had art hanging up around the Gilbert home, as well as the Lake House they used to spend their summers in. The technique was all there, as it always was with Nik, but they felt...off. Flat. Lifeless. Hollow. Like they were missing their spark.
"These are all great," Elena began diplomatically, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, a nervous habit she'd never quite been able to shake.
Klaus rolled his eyes at her statement, promoting her sharply, "But?"
She set the sketchbook down, running her fingers over the supple black leather that made up it's cover, stroking the great beast that was Klaus' artistic expressions. "*But, I don't feel you in them, Klaus. I've always loved how you made your art come alive, how it leapt right off the page and forced you to look at it whether you meant to or not. Yet this...you really are having a dry spell, aren't you?"
He hung his head, flopping into the seat beside her, smashing a deep purple throw pillow under his head -it had tassels on, so was no doubt a present from his youngest sister, Rebekah, since Freya wasn't one for throw pillows, and would have picked out something more practical. "They're saying it could be a White Christmas this year, and snow is technically just frozen water, so maybe that will mark the end of my creative drought," Klaus mused, an undercurrent of bitterness running through the stream of his put-upon cheer.
"Maybe," Elena chuckled, narrowing her eyes as she noted the shadows of defeat darkening his expression. He wouldn't rest until he got results, she knew, would push himself to the brink just to prove to the world that he could, that the praise and faith he'd garnered from the artistic community had not been misplaced, his need to show his father that he'd always been wrong about his 'bastard son' bordering on sadistic. Stretching her arm out along the back of the couch, the brunette also noted that his vinyl record collection, usually kept meticulously clean, was beginning to accumulate a worrying amount of dust, clinging like dark storm clouds to the pristine plastic sleeves.
"Since when do you let your records get dusty?" Elena couldn't help but ask him, only to be met with a shrug, and a Klaus that couldn't meet her inquisitive gaze.
He replied evasively, "I've had other things on my mind," which she would never take as a good sign.
Okay, change of tactics. Swinging her bare feet into his lap, Elena poked his jean-clad thighs with her toes, red nail polish catching the light steaming in through the bay windows, cast by the surrounding buildings, sprinkles of light buzzing like fireflies in the blackness of his gloomy mood. "Tell me what's going on with you, Nikky." He was the only one who ever let him call her that. "Please. I hate seeing you like this."
"We all hate things in life, Elena," he rebuked her harshly, sharp and jagged and begging her not to push him, not now. "Doesn't mean we can do anything to change them."
If there was one thing Elena Gilbert couldn't stand, it was seeing people in pain, especially those who didn't want anyone to help them with it, who felt they didn't deserve it. Like hell would she ever give up on him, not after all he'd been through.
"Bull shit, Niklaus Mikaelson!" Elena spat angrily, huffing out a breath that rattled the stray curls by his neck like glasses on a shelf. "There's only one thing that can put you in such a mood." With a heavy heart, she reached out and grabbed his hand. "When are they coming?" was all she needed to ask him.
"Christmas Eve," he murmured exhaustedly, the mere thought of them coming here to his city, invading his space, his home, enough to sap him of all the bright energy that made him who he was, his palm settling on her knee, long artist's fingers stroking the bare flesh there absently. "They've decided their Perfect Family Puzzle isn't complete without it's infamous black sheep."
"Get me the duster," Elena instructed him softly. "And the glasses on the top shelf."
That was how they ended up on the floor of the apartment hours later, her feet still in Klaus' lap as she tickled him with the duster she'd been using to clean his records with only a few moments prior.
With a brilliant laugh -God, she loved hearing that sound- he stretched his arm, trying to snatch the duster out of her grasp, but she held it out of his reach, giggling drunkenly when he gave up and surrender his head into the sensitive crook of her shoulder, each shuddering breath warming the skin there drastically. Checking her phone, she realized she had completely lost track of time, and it was now well past two in the morning, that this was the most time they'd spent together, alone, in nearly four years. She needed to get ahold of herself. Fast. Why had she had so much to drink? Usually, she was always the sensible, level-headed one in any situation, could deal with anyone or anything as long as she kept cool, and calm, and above all, compassionate. When she was with Klaus, though...he made her let go, made the weight she seemed to carry around on her shoulders ever since her parents died melt away, until all that was left was this delicate, tender she'll he never shied away from digging his hands into; he'd always delighted in prying her open.
"How did we end up on the floor?" Klaus inquired with an adorable frown, looking at the half-empty glass in his hand as if he expected it to provide him with an answer.
"My boyfriend's cheap-ass bottle of rosé, that's how," she snarked unabashedly. "Wait... I bought this for him! Last week, when we were celebrating his new publishing deal. He didn't even open it! I went all the way up town for this!"
"He doesn't appreciate you enough, love," Klaus murmured, voice impossibly low and impossibly close, rasing goosebumps along her arms like witches raised the dead.
"Klaus," Elena sputtered weakly, her protest goassmer-thin, resolve deserting her with every second that ticked by. She knew she should be stopping this, knew she should be pulling away and putting the necessary boundaries between them, but it just felt so good, so right. He was right here, touching her -albeit pretty innocently- like she was the only woman in the world, like she was all he'd ever need, and it stirred in her every ounce of feeling she'd ever tried to lock away in the vault of her heart, repressed and regressed until she'd been able to wake up without him being the first thing she thought about, until she'd forgotten what it was like to be the axis of his world, and he hers. Or, at least she tried to convince herself that's what she'd done, because she truly believed that there was still some piece of her that woke up each morning and reached out for him across the bed, only to be crushed anew when it didn't find him.
But love isn't always enough sometimes. You can love someone until the day you die, but that isn't a guarantee you'll get your happily ever after.
Or that you even deserve one.
He coaxed her mercilessly, "Come on, love, you know it's true. It's your two-year anniversary with your boyfriend, and yet you've had no other option but to while the hours of this momentous night away with me, cleaning my shelves and getting drunk off this remarkably abysmal bottle of wine. You deserve so much better."
"Do I?"
Pushing herself to her feet, Elena gazed down at him, veins igniting with blazing fury. "What do I deserve then, Klaus? Do I deserve a loving boyfriend who'll remember things like our anniversary, who will take me to lunch and by me flowers and sit through every Fred and Ginger movie with me? Or do I deserve someone who made me feel like you did, someone exciting and passionate and wild and yet safe. Seen. Loved. Would you want something like that for me?"
"What makes you think I still care about your romantic endeavours, Elena?" Klaus bit back savagely, the wounded animal shielding a weakness with acerbic hostility. She could read him like a picture book, and therefore knew just what to say.
"Maybe you don't," Elena remarked agreeably, resuming her spot next to him, letting her head rest against the shelf of the bookcase behind her, letting the rough press of the oak against the back of her neck steady her, ground her in the moment, the present, where there was no longer a 'they' only a 'he' and a 'her,' split down the middle, splinters in their souls and an ache they didn't know what to do with, or how to express. "But can you really tell me, honestly, that you don't miss it? That night out in New York when we snuck onto Kol's boat?"
That year, Kol Mikaelson had gotten it into his head that he was going to be a professional sailor -perhaps after watching one too many Pirates of the Caribbean movies, Elena had always thought- and so he'd bought a boat, a thing of beauty he christened The Claire, after his girlfriend, Davina, and Klaus had convinced her to spend a night in it with him. They'd only been dating for a couple of months, and she'd been worried how his brother would react if he found out they'd borrowed it without permission -she hadn't met any of his siblings yet, except for Elijah, of course- but he'd waved her concern away in that airy way of his, his smile begging her to take a chance, take a chance on him, to do something crazy and wild and impetuous...something she'd never forget.
Each moment was engrained in her memory in bright flashes of colour, fireworks of dazzling passion and a searing connection. The swaying of the deck as they danced, with no shoes on, to a melody only the two of them seemed able to hear, the way he'd dipped her, and the night sky had framed his face in perfect, star-speckled clarity. The heartbreakingly gentle way he'd traced the scar on her collarbone from where the EMT had pulled her out of the car the night of her parents' accident on Wickery Bridge, tears in his eyes as she'd told him the story, how he'd gripped her hand tighter, shaken to the core by the idea she could have died and he would never have met her. Or later, how he'd spilt wine on her flimsy white tee when the boat shifted suddenly beneath them, the stain spreading out in a sparkling burgundy hue, how his arms had twined around her and held her to so impossibly close to his chest, the colour in her cheeks mirrored in his as the breeze off the sea tangles in his hair and made it impossible for her not to reach up and kiss him.
It was then, in that very heartbeat, that Elena knew she never wanted him to let her go, that she wanted to stay in his arms, like this, always and forever, the two of them tangled up together, an unbreakable force standing strong against the rocky current of the world, but knowing that no force could ever cleave them apart.
Until it had.
After an agonizingly silent pause, Klaus responded, "Of course I do: it's always a great day when I get to screw over one of my brothers, and I've always been of the opinion such occasions should be grounds for a National Holiday...don't look at me like that, Elena." He downed his glass in a savage gulp, slamming it onto the coffee table, hard enough to chip away at it's polished surface. "You know I can't say it. Please, love don't make me say it," he pleaded harshly, brokenly, and it made something in Elena break, too.
Was that all they had now? Stretches of silence, a road they could not walk and questions they could not ask each other? Too afraid to say something real, yet never wishing to seem false and disingenuine to the other. For so long, they'd danced to the same tune, the tune of being in love and being with each other, yet circumstance had forced them to switch up the music, until now all she had were glorious ghosts roaming the halls of her memory, ghosts she swore she saw floating in his eyes whenever he looked at her.
And she couldn't take it anymore. She wouldn't take it anymore. After all the pain Elena had been through in her just under thirty years of life, she shouldn't have to take it anymore.
So she decided not to.
"Fine, I won't," Elena retreated the troops of her verbal onslaught, instead holding out her glass to him expectantly. "But I think that entitles me to a refill, don't you?"
Klaus grinned, a flash of pearl-white teeth, fingers plucking the glass from her hand, being so careful now not to make sure his skin didn't brush hers accidentally. No, there would be no more gentle caresses, no more moments of casual friendship, innocent affection. That was dead, gone. She'd crossed a line tonight, pushed him too far. But it was so hard to not be herself around him, and being herself meant saying whatever was on her mind. She'd known him for five years. Dated him for less than one, not seen him for three, then seen him almost every day for two. "Most definitely. I usually keep a bottle of something that doesn't taste like it belongs in a children's tea cup on hand, for instances of artistic brooding, of course."
"Of course."
Elena took the opportunity presented by his occupation with the bottle of wine in the kitchen to slip on her heels, pick up her purse from the coffee table, sparing a single look back at him, at the face she'd once traced like a work of art, and couldn't bear to watch shatter as she left, and disappeared out the door before he could so much as even turn around.
"Dr Gilbert? Dr Gilbert? Elena!"
"What? I'm up!" Jolting awake, Elena narrowly avoided banging her her on the metal bars of the top bunk above her as she jolted back to consciousness, mind still half subdued in the mists of sleep. What had she been dreaming about? Oh, right. The dinner. More like a nightmare than a dream, then. Rubbing the sleep from the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand, Elena gazed up blearily at the nurse who had interrupted her much-needed slumber. She hadn't had much sleep the night before, but that was of course no surprise, given the events that had transpired between her and Klaus.
"Sorry to wake you," the nurse apologized kindly with a smile, blond ponytail bobbing over the shoulder of her pale scrubs, "I know how those medical conferences can really put you to sleep, especially with how many shifts you've worked this week, but I thought you should know there's a man at the front desk who seems very insistent on seeing you."
Elena took a moment to process her words. "Tall? Brown hair, hazel eyes, nice smile?" she inquired hopefully, only to be met with a decisive shake of the head. So, not Stefan, then.
"Yes to the tall, no to the eyes and the hair colour. This one's blond, with blue eyes, I think -at least they looked blue from where I was standing, well, technically sitting." She cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed by her ramble. "Should I tell him to go away?"
Groaning, Elena finger-combed her hair back into a respectable bun and re-tied her scrunchy before getting up and stretching her arms out over her head, hearing her bones realign with an audible pop. Ugh, these beds were so not comfortable. "No, it's okay, Janet, I'll deal with this one. Have those lab results come in for Mr Roberts yet?"
Janet shook her head again. "No, but I can speed it up if it's really important. Or if you need an excuse to get away," she remarked knowingly.
"You're too smart for your own good, you know that?" Elena said unhappily, only to be met with Janet's cheery laugh.
"Absolutely. Good luck, Dr Gilbert."
Klaus couldn't stop fidgeting. He kept checking his phone, then the clock on the wall, then playing with the zipper on his sleeve, and he was honestly driving himself mad. As a child, it had been one of his many faults, according to his father -stepfather, technically, if you were so concerned with genetics, but he had done damage only a father could do, to him and to his relationship with Elena- how he'd never been able to sit still, to listen, how he'd always wanted to go off and play or sit with his crayons and paints rather than pay attention to some boring diatribe about business and politics and all that nonsense, and he'd often been punished for it. Now, it only presented himself when he was truly nervous. Or angry.
Right now, he was both.
He'd had her. He'd had her, right there, right in front of him, and if he'd squinted his eyes and banished his common-sense to the recesses of his mind, he could almost imagine that they were back where they were four years ago, before that fateful dinner and all the hell they'd suffered afterwards. But no. While Elena was unforgettable, she never let him forget anything, and she just *had to make him feel like he was ripping his heart out of his chest with his bare hands as he tried so damn hard to act as if he didn't care as deeply, devotedly, as he did. That seeing Stefan -one of his first real friends in a long time- treat her so callously didn't make him want to rip the bloody bugger's head off and paint his canvases with the man's blood. Metaphorically, of course. She'd felt so good, so right, as they'd sat together, practically on top of each other, really, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling and God, was he angry at her. Why did she have to leave like that? Could she not stand to be around him that much, was their bond so rusted that she had to creep out of the apartment and leave him standing there, with a bottle full of wine but a heart empty of love, like the world's biggest idiot?
When Elena finally deigned to grace him with her presence, he immediately noted just how exhausted she looked, the shadows skulking about under her eyes, the worrying palor of her skin, a dull ash compared to her usually rosy, luminous hue. This place was running her ragged, and he knew she wouldn't have it any of other way and...he was such a fool! Here he was, about to give her a piece of his mind, and all he could do was worry about her!
"Is there anywhere we can talk?" Klaus inquired, reigning in his temper whilst in public: he didn't want to give any of her co-workers ammunition for gossip. "Privately?"
"Sure," Elena nodded wearily, setting a clipped pace as she lead him into what he could only guess was a supply closet of some sort, the light of the hallway glancing off industrial-strength bottles of cleaner and sponges and syringes and other such medical paraphernalia. Boy, had they had some times in these at the hospital she'd worked in while they were in New York. The thought made him smile, but that smile died a remorseless death at the expression on her lovely face: five seconds away from crying, but three from punching him if he said the wrong thing.
But he was Klaus Mikaelson: he always said the wrong thing.
Hands balled into fists in the pockets of his leather jacket -damn, was it a necessity of all hospitals that they be as cold as the ninth circle of Hell?- he watched her intently as she crossed her arms and stared him down, still able to look superior despite the claustrophobic setting.
The only way to break ice is with a pickaxe, and Klaus had always imagine himself to have much in common with a sledgehammer, so he bulldozed ahead, "Why did you sneak out like that last night?"
Elena shifted her weight, seeming to look down here nose at him despite his being taller than her. "That's what you came all the way down here for? You, who doesn't like hospitals, came all the way down here to ask me a question you already know the answer to?"
She was right: he did hate hospitals -had forever associated them with his father ever since the first time he'd had an 'accident' that couldn't be covered up- and he did know the answer to the question he'd just asked her, but Klaus needed to here it from her, from those carnation-pink lips he'd once called home.
The blond shrugged affably. "A gentleman never assumes anything."
Elena scoffed, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling, paint peeling away like the skin of an orange. "You're many things, Klaus Mikaelson, but a gentleman? That isn't one of them, I'm afraid."
"Come now, I have never been but the epitome of etiquette when it comes to you," he smirked, but he didn't get the reaction he was hoping for. If anything, it only seemed to make her even more guarded and standoffish. Why did he have to love a woman who was so bloody stubborn? Then again, he was just the same, so what right did he have to judge, really?
"Say what you wanted to say, Klaus. I have patients I need to see."
Leaning towards her, Klaus took great care in not tipping over the mop bucket by his feet as he tipped up her chin, murmuring softly, "You didn't answer my question, love. Therefore, how can I say what I want to say, since I don't know if you'll want to hear it?"
Tearing out of his grasp like a knife tearing through paper, Elena whispered heatedly, "You know why I snuck out last night, Nik! Things were getting too..."
"Complicated?" he finished for her.
She shook her head despairingly. "Too real. You know why we can't be together as well as I do. Besides, you're with Caroline, I'm with Stefan. We're happy, we've both moved on. It was wrong of me to let you make assumptions or for me to disregard the boundaries of our friendship and propriety."
Running a hand through his hair, Klaus confessed, not knowing how much it would change -possibly nothing, hopefully everything, or at least just something, "Elena, Caroline and I are no longer together."
Something sparked in her eyes. Oh, yes, it sparked, and he saw it: he was an artist, it came with the territory, seeing every microscopic flash on a person's face, and she'd always been his favourite subject.
"What?" she spluttered uncomprehendingly, like she couldn't imagine the idea of anyone not wanting to be with him, although he most certainly could. "Why?"
"She's cheating on me," was his stout reply. "I'm not sure with whom, but it's been going for a while. It was little things at first, things I could easily write off and not think too much about -missed dates, later hours, stuff in her apartment that I knew I certainly hadn't bought her, phone calls in the middle of the night. To be fair, I thought that I was just being paranoid, that I was making up excuses for myself so that I wouldn't have to feel guilty about..." Best not to finish that sentence. "Anyway, when I finally confronted her about it last week at the news station when we were supposed to be having lunch together -don't look at me like that, dear, I conducted my interrogation as cordially and as delicately as humanly possible- she got incredibly panicked, called me a bunch of unprintable names, told me in no uncertain terms that she never wanted to see my face ever again, then proceeded to storm out like a bat out of hell, complete with flapping handbag."
Elena slumped against the rickety shelving unit, the air leaving her lungs in one great exhale he felt as much as saw. "I'm sorry, Klaus. I didn't know. I had no idea that..."
"What?" he snapped angrily. "That we weren't happy? That I didn't love her, nor did she love me? Dear Lord, are you blind!"
Jabbing a finger into his chest, the object of every hope and fantasy and dream he'd ever had replied, "Well, people don't look into the sun, so why would I look at the two of you?"
"Are you saying I'm as bright and as captivating as the sun?" Klaus asked, unable to tamper his sizeable ego, even in a situation as important and serious as this.
"I'm saying seeing you together with my best friend was physically painful, Klaus. I'm saying that I loved you, and that I was going to be with you for as long as you'd have me, and then we weren't, and it wasn't even what either of us wanted, it was your parents, and that I tried to move on! I left New York, I went all the way to Chicago to try and forget you, but I turned around one day and you were right there. And not only where you my new boyfriend's roommate, the only guy I'd dated since we were forced to break up, but you'd somehow wandered into a relationship with Caroline, too. Did you really expect me to be your biggest cheerleader?"
"I don't know." His hands navigated down from her chin to her waist, splaying out across the small of her back. "But I wasn't exactly flying the Stefan and Elena flag myself, either. I'd see him with his hands on you, like this, and it felt like I was being torn to pieces. I would have preferred it, in actual fact, than to watching you smile at him. Do you know how beautiful you are when you smile? Every time I see it, it's like I can't breathe, Elena, how you hypnotize me into such a stupor that I forget my own name, and all I can think about is how much I want to make you mine, as I have been yours, ever since that night, our first date, when you dragged me to Bonnie and Enzo's engagement party since you didn't want to go alone, and how, despite being in a room full of your friends, you seemed to only want to talk to me. You saw me, every flaw and every scar, every dark thing that's ever happened to me and every second I've spent trying to be better than that darkness, and it didn't scare you. You're the only one I didn't scare."
"No," Elena agreed, reaching out to cup his face between her palms, thumb caressing his cheekbones so softly that it made him want to break down and cry, because she was the only one to ever show him such tenderness that was not borne out of pity, but of love and understanding, "No, Klaus, you never scared me. But you know what does scare me? Seeing you without your art. Me being out of a job. Nikky, they threatened to destroy us, remember? That Christmas, when you introduced me to them, when they saw how happy I made you, and you me, Mikael said he'd stop your art programme in London and file a fake malpractice suite against me, threatened to take away my license if we didn't break up. And we agreed, we both agreed it was the right thing to do. I'm not worth ruining yourself over, Klaus. I'm not worth losing your art."
"I'd rather have my heart," he reached out, wiping the tears pooling from her gorgeous chocolate eyes, "than my art. I turned down that job to be with you, Elena, because nothing has ever made me happier than the time I spent with you; it wasn't because they threatened me."
"And I'd rather have the memory of the man I loved more than anything else in this life, rather than someone we both know would only grow to resent me if he was kept away from what made him whole, the one thing you held onto your entire life, that got you through every bad day, and will get you through this, too. I'm sorry, Nik. But this is the way it has to be."
Silently, she slipped out, leaving the door ajar in her wake. If he held very, very still, he could feel the last traces of her warmth, smell the sweet scent of her perfume, no doubt pressed into the fibres of his jacket now, marring it for all time. But that was okay, that was what he needed: he needed to hold on to her, to how she'd made him feel. He was a rose, wrapped in a blanket of barbs; he'd never meant to prick her with his thorns, never meant to drag her into his pack of a family, their talons poised to shred them apart if given the slightest provocation, and his whole existence was basically one big stick, especially for Mikael. Four years ago, when he'd been in that dining room, gripping Elena's hand under the table as his parents ranted on and on, not one of his siblings had come to his aid, out of fear of that deadly temper being directed at them and their own lives, their own loved ones. Kol had already been written out of the Mikaelson will at this point, and Klaus could only commend his younger brother for his bravery about not giving two ducks about what Esther and Mikael thought or did. He only wished he had followed suite.
Maybe things would be different. Maybe he'd be the one celebrating something special with Elena, instead of having to watch from the sidelines of her life as she moved on, and further and further away. Who was he kidding, though? Elena was a doctor, for Christ's sake! She saved children every day, without a moan or a complain, going out if her way to make sure each patient she came across got the best care possible and did whatever she could to make their stay more pleasant, would drop everything for her friends when they needed her, and often had. She was the woman who had sat with Henrik in the foyer that fateful Christmas and let him show her his latest drawings and pulled out an extra cookie from her coat pocket for him, who he knew still sent cards to all his siblings despite only meeting them once, who lit up the room and chased everything bad away and made him not only a better man, but made him want to be better.
She was the only woman to ever truly take a chance on him, to chose him, knowing that he came with baggage and a broken home and more anger than he knew what to do with yet tried to turn into something less awful.
And he'd never, ever, let that go.
So he gave himself one moment. One, singular moment, staring after hollowed-eyed in the hallway as people moved around him, utterly oblivious to the agonizing torment slicing through every inch of him, one moment where Klaus allowed himself to cry, to let it all out as he held his head in his hands, one moment to grieve over every might of been, and for what might happen to the little piece of her he'd managed to have these past two years if she no longer thought he was worth the risk.
Elena knew it was him behind her. She could feel it, a coursing electric charge, a change in the air pressure like just before a storm hits you,only there was no possible shelter from this. Closing her chart, she slipped it back into the pile on the front desk, ignoring him completely as she did her rounds.
He waited. Over three hours, he just stood there, by the waiting area, eyes never once straying from her. He didn't say a word: he'd said all he wanted to already. Maybe she should have found it creepy, but honestly, it was more attention than Stefan had shown her in the last few months, so she secretly welcomed it, although Elena knew it was wrong of her to do so. Just because he was single know didn't mean she was, and their circumstances hadn't changed.
After checking on the last of her patients, Elena signed out of her shift, knowing she'd likely be back in a few hours, before heading down to the locker room and changing out of her scrubs. She was just trying to get the toggles of her coat through to their designated holes when a pair of strong hands halted her progress, dotted with calluses from multiple pens and brushes. She knew those hands, had traced those same marks on lazy mornings, wrapped up in bed together, her head resting perfectly on his chest Iike it was always supposed to be there.
"I'm not an invalid," she snapped, whipping her hair over her shoulder so that he'd get the full effect of her icy glare. "I can do up my own damn coat, Niklaus."
No. He hated being called that. He hated it, because that was what Mikael always called him and she knew that and...
...and he just smiled at her, powder-blue eyes as soft as the snow she could see begining to fall outside, glistening streaks of white falling down like shooting stars and brightening everything it touched. Just like he'd brightened every part of her, every part she'd thought had been lost or abandoned after her parents died and she was expected to uphold the hefty legacy they'd left in their wake. Oh, he'd made her feel so free, and alive, like she could do anything or be anyone, and five words of encouragement were worth more than a monologue from anyone else, knowing the kind of person he'd been before. Before her. "Are you sure about that, sweetheart? You seemed in need of rescue."
"I don't need rescuing," Elena protested, swinging her bag over her shoulder and smirking when he had to take a step back, lest his nose make a painful collision with it, Klaus the Red-Nosed Reindeer. It certainly was the season for it.
"Again, are you sure about that? You don't seem happy."
"Of course I'm not happy! You won't fricking leave!" Storming past him, Elena barged out into the blisteringly cold blue afternoon, the sun already on its way to abandon them for the day. Effortlessly, Klaus kept pace beside her, that insufferable smirk plastered over his face, a neon sign that just begged her to punch his lights out.
He'd always said that he was a a stick of dynamite, volatile and unpredictable, and that she was the flame that lit his fuse. Well, let's see how he'd feel if she turned some of that heat on him.
That was the thing with knowing someone for over five years: you knew every good thing about them, as well as every bad. And every way to strike and do the most damage.
And what damaged Klaus Mikaelson than being ignored?
So she did just that, lengthening her stride as the glittering evening light began to fall around them, snowflakes drying and dying under her shoes, settling in her hair and powdering the shoulders of her red coat in a layer of powdered-sugar white.
He did not take kindly to that.
"Elena."
She kept on walking.
"Elena!"
No response on her part.
Then, loud enough to startle a flock of birds into frenzied flight, "Elena motherfucking Gilbert, would you just stop? Please."
Elena stopped, transfixing him with what she hoped came across as a bored expression as she decidedly raised a brow at his choice of language. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"No, of course not," Klaus retorted immediately. "My mother is Medusa incarnate: you're not supposed to look her in the eye, let alone make physical contact with her." He paused, seeming to weight his next words with the utmost care before asking her, "Do you know how many days it's been since I last kissed you?"
She hadn't been expecting that. "What?"
"One thousand, four hundred and sixty, give or take a few. It's been nearly fifteen hundred days since I felt like I was whole, Elena."
Stefan was a writer: he said beautiful things all the time. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him, since she'd grown up with a burning love for literature, had kept a diary for over half her life, and had even entertained the idea of being a writer herself. And while Klaus' admission wasn't overly dramatic or prosaic or wordy, it was still the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard, because every word of it echoed in her own heart, a heart she had gifted him and never been able to take back since.
But she had to try. For the sake of her future, her sanity, her soul, she had to try.
"Nice Math skills. Impressive, since I know you almost flunked it."
Klaus looked like he wanted to explode at her flippant remark. She was driving him crazy, she could see that, a thorn digging into his side and burrowing deep. Good. Maybe he'd get tired of her. Maybe he'd go home and find someone else to make him feel whole and let her get back to trying to live without him. God, she'd been doing so well, and in one night, she managed to blow it all apart to smithereens. But that was Elena. She killed everything she touched. Her parents, relationships, friendships, him. Yes, let's not forget about him...
Shaking, the falling snow clinging to her lashes nearly blinding her entirely to his dark mass, Elena balled her freezing hands into fists -in her haste to put as much distance between them as possible, she'd forgotten to put them on- the brunette bit out through a mouth that didn't seem to want to work, tongue freezing around the words, "Go home, Klaus. Please. I can't give you what you want. I can't. After today, I haven't got anything left to give."
He didn't listen. Why couldn't he just listen to her, for once? Klaus reached towards her, and fir a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her -and she half-dreaded, half-cherished the idea if kissing him again, even if it was just this once- but he only pulled out the gloves sticking out of her coat pocket and pressed them into her hand, alpaca wool tickling her chapped skin, thin from washing her hands so many times a day.
"I wouldn't want you to get cold, sweetheart," was all he said, thumb stroking softly over her knuckles before he pulled away, gave her one last look dripping with longing, suspended like a plucked string between them, before turning around and walking away in the other direction.
Her heart hammered. A thunderous gallop, a horse plundering over open fields, uncaged and wild and free to burst. As a college student, Elena had once read about the Lynchpin Theory, of how one singular moment or event can set off a chain reaction that can irrevocably alter the world as we knew it, could cause untold chaos and destruction.
This was her Lynchpin moment. She could head home, back to her own apartment, order in some take-out and read some latest scientific journal or study as the TV blared quietly in the background. She could go to sleep, and wake up with the memory of him hovering over her like she did every day, and do it all over again until she died.
Or...
She could take a chance. She could risk it all. She could say to hell with his parents and their threats and live every day knowing it would be filled with love and joy and passion, so much so it was almost like pain and...
It wasn't a choice. It had never been a choice, not really. She was his and he was hers, always and forever, and Elena planned for them to stay like that for a very long time.
Racing across the icy street, glad she'd put on her most sensible pair of boots, Elena tore after him, dodging past people and strollers and bikes and dogs like a madwoman, spinning past corners in a wild blur of motion and...
...and ran head-long into someone's chest.
Without even stopping to look up -she was on a mission, dammit, and could worry about her conscience later- Elena breezed past with a murmured, "Sorry," and was backing away when the guy she'd just collided with called out in an arrogant, yet teasing, drawl, "Your bedside manner is atrocious, Dr Gilbert, if you can so callously plow into someone and not even stop to make sure you haven't caused any irreparable damage. It leaves much to be desired, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who thinks so."
Elena turned around, tears streaming down on her wind-kissed face as she looked at him. "I thought you'd left," she croaked out dryly, letting her pull him into his magnetizing heat, arms swooping around to hold her tight.
"Like I could ever leave you, my love," Klaus whispered into the crown of her hair, and then she was sobbing, rambling through her tears, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I was such an idiot to think that I could just walk away and leave you like that, that I could go on and live my life only half-alive because I wasn't with you and I don't care what your parents say or do I'll never let them break us up again I'll do whatever it takes, I'll rain hell down upon them, I don't care what I have to do-"
Klaus thoroughly interrupted her by capturing her lips with his own and pulling her off her feet, kissing her with four years worth of pent-up frustration and regret and grief and bitterness and desolation and loneliness and love, always love. "I'm sorry, too, Elena. I never wanted to break up with you, never, but i also couldn't stand the thought of my parents hurting you even a fraction of how much they'd hurt me. I'd do anything for you, even break myself into a thousand pieces, if it meant saving you from that kind of pain."
"I guess we were both wrong, then," Elena mused sadly, forehead resting against his, "since we've spent all this time in pain anyway."
"True. Where does that leave us now, though?"
Looping her arms around his neck, she purred into his ear, "Take me home, Nikky."
They spent the whole taxi ride back to his apartment kissing, no doubt making their driver morifyingly uncomfortable, but they didn't care. Fused together, the two fumbled up the stairs, Elena pulling the keys from his pocket and his mouth peppered the column of her neck with deep, long kisses that had her toes curling and her back arching into him. Waving her arm around blindly, she somehow managed to get the key in the lock and turn the handle as they staggered into the apartment and...
Found Stefan and Caroline. On the couch. Together. Having a make-out session of their own.
Turning around in his arms ever so slowly, Elena fixed her boyfriend and her best friend with a wilting glare. Caroline was the first to move, racing to pull her jumper over her head, shooting a kick glance at Klaus from under the fringe of her golden lashes. "I-I can explain," she stammered, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.
"There's no need, Care," Stefan urged her, a comforting hand on her shoulder, hazel eyes flashing protectively. "We should be asking them what they were doing. Klaus, I thought you had a meeting with your agent or whatever today."
Klaus was the first to open his mouth, and he didn't hold back. "I did, but I found a far more worthwhile way to occupy my time. I'm so sorry that my schedule wasn't adequately flexible enough for you to keep your little rendezvous with my ex-girlfriend a secret from me and your current girlfriend. You certainly have a thing for going after my leftovers, don't you, dear Stefan? Elena, Caroline...even Katherine, back in college. She jumped into your bed so fast after we broke up I thought time had gone backwards."
"Nik!" Elena admonished him, punching him in the shoulder lightly. "I am not a leftover!"
"Yes, you are," he assured her. "You're Thanksgiving leftovers, the best kind that you can make sandwiches out of for a week after and have them still be as good as the original. Now to you, sweet Caroline..." Klaus fixed her with a glare of his own. "You were cheating on me, with my roommate, one of my few actual mates, and thought I wouldn't put the pieces together?"
"You're hardly innocent!" the blonde spat indignantly, hands on her hips in her signature cheer pose. "When you came in here, your tongue was so far down Elena's throat I thought we'd have to call a search party!"
Klaus waved her question away. "That's not the point, Caroline. How long has this been going on?"
"Six months," she admitted, hanging her head sheepishly, blue eyes glued to the carpet, unable to look at either of them..
"Right. And I didn't start kissing Elena until ten minutes ago, so let's not play a game of 'Who's Been Cheating On Who The Longest' shall we?"
Stefan had been unusually silent, and Elena thought it high time he join the conversation. "Don't you have anything to say to me, Stefan? An explanation or an apology as to why I suddenly wasn't good enough for you?"
"It wasn't like that!" the Salvatore cried, running a hand through his hair in abject frustration. "How do you think it was for me, knowing about your history with him, wondering if you still had feelings for him, being insecure all the time that you'd be the one to leave me, for him? And Caroline was really there for me, and she felt the same way since it was so obvious Klaus was still in love with you!"
"He was not obvious!" Elena protested at the same time Klaus hollered, "I was not obvious!"
Holding out a hand, Elena called for quiet. "So, know everybody knows where they stand. Stefan, you have a week to find a new place. Caroline, I'll call you in a month when I'm not so pissed. Does that sound good to you?" she asked Klaus, watching as a smirk bloomed on his face.
"Oh, love, I think you're being far too lenient, as always, but I'll allow the bugger a week to get his affairs in order. It is Christmas, after all, and I'd hate for my girlfriend to think I was a Scrooge that couldn't dole out some Yuletide forgiveness."
"Alright. Now, you two, out." The two got up to leave, but at the last second, Elena caught at Stefan's arm.
"Stefan...I really did love you. It wasn't that you weren't enough for me, or that you didn't treat me right, because you did...he's just the other half of me, always has been, always will be."
He gave her a sympathetically contrite smile. "I know, it's okay, I'm sorry you had to find out like this: you tried so hard to make us work, and I could have tried harder if I wanted to. You also deserve to know that I was with Caroline, last night, our anniversary, when I should have spent it with you. It wasn't actually like a date or anything...she was actually trying to help me brainstorm the best way to break up with you. I know that's not much of a comfort but-"
"It's okay, Stefan," Elena said placatingly, touching his arm reassuringly. "I get it. We can't change the wants of our heart, and we shouldn't be in relationships that we know aren't really meant to be. I'm really sorry if I made you feel like you weren't good enough or that I didn't want to be with you, because I really did. You're a great guy, and I wish you and Caroline nothing but the best. Merry Christmas, Stefan."
He smiled, ever so slightly. "Merry Christmas, Elena."
Caroline tried to sneak out without receiving an earful, but Elena didn't want this to be how they parted ways at Christmas. Pressing a kiss to Klaus' cheek, Elena darted out into the hallway, catching up to her best friend easily. Sensing that they obviously needed a moment, Stefan left them and headed down the rest of the stairs.
"Caroline..."
"You have great taste in guys, you know?" the blonde chuckled awkwardly, fiddling with the sleeve of her blouse. "God, this is awful. I feel awful. Not about Stefan, 'cause I really care about him and I always thought he should be happy and stuff but...I don't want you to hate me. I didn't do this to make you hate me, it just...
"Happened?" Elena supplied knowingly.
"Yeah, it did. So, are we over? I'm I gonna have to return our friendship bracelets and all those comfy sweaters you let me borrow and that copy of Pride and Prejudice I stole from you in tenth grade because I liked all the pink highlighter you'd put in it?"
"I'd totally forgotten that!" the brunette exclaimed with a disbelieving laugh. "No, you don't have to return anything. You and me and Bonnie? We're forever, remember?"
Caroline arched a brow. "Just like you and Klaus?"
"Yeah," Elena sighed wistfully. "Just like me and Klaus."
"Well, I better let you get back to him, then. Merry Christmas, Elena. I'm glad you're finally happy."
"Me, too. Merry Christmas, Care. It's great to see you happy, too."
Slipping back into the apartment -was it really only this morning she'd walked out of here like a teenager sneaking out to a party?- Elena immediately welcomed the feel of his arms wrapping around her from behind, cocooning her in his warmth.
"Your compassion knows no bounds, sweetheart," Klaus said affectionately into her ear, his stubble tickling along the side of her cheek.
"It was the right thing to do. Everyone deserves to be happy, and if Stefan makes Caroline happy, who am I to stand in the way of that?"
"If that had been me, I would have torn him into little bitty pieces and fed them to my cat."
Elena shook he head fondly. "You don't have a cat."
Klaus shrugged, nonplussed. "Well, I'd just have to get a cat for that particular task, then let them loose into the wilds of Chicago."
"You're much more of a dog person."
"I had always considered myself more of a wolf type, but...whatever works for you, my darling girlfriend."
"I like the sound of that," she smiled, twirling around in his arms so she could kiss him once again.
"And do you know what I like the sound of?" he paused for dramatic effect. "Quite. Absolute quiet. Care do some things with me that are definitely going to make this place unquiet?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
Seven months later
"They're not going to like it."
"Klaus, honey, I'm sure they will. People have been clamouring to get in all night, and critics have been raving about your previews all month. Sweetheart, you've got this. But, if by some incomprehensibly bizarre twist of fate, they don't give you the response your art justly deserves... I'll still be proud of you. I am proud of you, and everything you've done, and the man that you are, always and forever."
Standing by the glass double doors of the gallery, Klaus looked down at his fiancé, feeling as if his heart would burst right out of his chest, unable to contain every drop of love and adoration he felt for her. The past seven months had been a heady, dream-like whirlwind, from taking her to dinner with his family -where he found out his father was getting arrested for tax evasion and that Esther had run off to Brazil with her yoga instructor- so it had just been the Mikaelson siblings and their significant others, and it had been the best Christmas he ever had, made even more perfect with having Elena by his side, none of which his brothers or sisters were particularly surprised at.
He'd proposed last month, when Elena took him with her to her quaint little hometown of Mystic Falls once again for a long Independence Day weekend -she had brought him there once before, the year they were first dating, and it was then that her aunt Jenna had given her the Gilbert ring that had belonged to her mother, Elena's grandmother, without even having to ask. Klaus had carried it around with him, in his wallet, for over five years, a fact that when he'd told his beautiful girlfriend had made her burst into a round of happy tears, and he couldn't be more grateful that the stars had finally aligned and let them find their way back to each other.
"What did I ever do to deserve an angel as wondrous as you?" Klaus mused, mock-philosophically, as he took her hand in his, eyes roaming every inch of her. She was a work of art, as always, resplendent in her silken red dress, chocolate curls pooling over her shoulders in light curls, unfairly, sinfully delectable. Maybe he should just cancel this whole thing and drag her into the nearest coat closet and devour every inch of her.
As if sensing where his thoughts had wondered, Elena tapped him lightly on the arm. "I know that look all too well, Mister. They'll be plenty of time for that later. This is your night, and I intend to show you off to the world. Are you ready?"
Taking a steadying breath, Klaus nodded, squeezing her hand as he opened the doors and greeted the awaiting crowd.
When it came to Klaus' art, she tried her very best to remain impartial, to treat every piece equally, but this time, with this new collection he'd been working on the past few months...she was totally biased. She knew it, and he knew it, too. While the last pieces he'd shown her had been bleak and dark and lacking their tantalizing energy, these were brimming with it, each and every one, such love and tender care put into every brush stroke and choice of colour.
There was one, though, that she loved above all, and she wasn't the only one, apparently, since it was the first one he got asked about, taking pride of place right in the centre.
A man and a woman, barefoot on a boat, dancing to a song only they could here, dipping her in a graceful twirl, her dress fanning out around her like a cloud of shining white, as a waxing, pearlescent moon looked down at them from a it's perch in a scarlet sky. So, he'd taken a few artistic liberties: it was still the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
"What's it called?" one of the ladies in attendance asked, peering at the painting curiously, perhaps noting the uncanny resemblance to the figures in the painting and the artist and his muse standing before them tonight.
Klaus was looking only at her though as he answered simply, "Maroon."
Author's Note: Hi, everyone! Welcome to my first ever Klaulena fic. I got the idea when I was, of course, listening to Taylor Swift's new album Midnights, and the the song "Maroon" in particular; I'd already been reading an amazing Klaulena fic called Fairytale Ending by adlyb on AO3 -if you want to check it out, you totally should- and I thought it totally fit for these two! Its a little darker, a little more real than anything else I've posted, and I really hope you liked it, since I know it is a controversial ship, and with December just around the corner I couldn't resist it being the backdrop for the events to unfold around.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and I'd really appreciate any feedback or thoughts you'd like to share. I had intended for this to be only a one-shot, but I'm so in love with these versions of Klaus and Elena, I was thinking of making it into a series, possibly writing out some of the scenes I mentioned -like the Mikaelson dinner or their night on the boat or how they met. Would anyone be interested in reading something like that? Let me know!
All my love, Temperance Cain.