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Part Three: haven't thought about you

Something shifts.

Klaus does not know whether to blame his overstimulated senses or his paranoia but either way, he will not ignore it. He stands, his head tilted slightly. When his ears pick up a slight thud from the second level, the corners of his lips turn up.

It is about time Sleeping Beauty wakes up.

He is quick to move towards Rebekah's room. There is a sarcastic quip on the tip of his tongue and he is ready to feed it to her the moment they lock eyes.

He blinks instead.

Did she just…?

He doesn't think; he moves forward in a flash. His fingers snag the front of her shirt before she can completely disappear out the window. For a second, she hangs there, saved only by his tenuous grip on a piece of fabric. Their eyes meet and he swears she is daring him to let go.

(he is so confused by this that he almost does)

The shirt goes taunt and he hears a telltale rip. Lucky (or unlucky) for her, he is able to easily lift her back inside the Abattoir. If anything, he has saved some poor soul below from becoming a landing pad.

She wiggles enough to get free of his grip, pitching herself forward in the process. She hits the side of the bed with all the grace of a drunken gazelle and then quickly pulls herself to her full height. There is an arrogant tilt of her chin.

(now that - that is familiar)

Klaus is off balance now. He had intended to lord over her the moment he saw her. Instead he has just saved her life, quite possibly for the second time in less than twenty four hours. This is not how he pictured any of this (and yes, on some nights his mind is so black that he cannot think of anything but revenge against those who have wronged him).

"What do you want?" Bonnie blurts out, her voice flat which leaves him no edge to grip onto.

He stands there, the humid breeze at his back, feeling as if she has disarmed him in some way. "Need I remind you that you are in my house."

"Not of my own choosing," Bonnie retorts.

There is a slight tick forming in his jaw. "True, I could have left you in the bayou. With the insects to keep you company. The snakes. The wolves…"

Something in her eyes flashes. "The wolves wouldn't have hurt me."

She's right, he knows this. They may have handed her over to maintain a tentative peace with him but they would have left her to her own devices otherwise. "The point, little witch, is that I did you a favor."

(wait, no he hasn't - or at least he hadn't intended to)

"Yeah, well, I guess I owe you one. Join the list," she says, her eyes sliding to the door (a foot does as well). "I can be out of your hair. You can go back to doing whatever it is you do in New Orleans - are you still the king? And I can…" That spark in her eyes fizzles out. Her grand finish loses its shine. "...be gone."

He looks at her, really looks at her - clothing ripped and stained, hair going every which way, dirt smeared on her skin. She is thinner than she should be too. Putting it all together, there is a dullness about her that is wholly unnerving.

This is not a Bonnie Bennett he wishes to claim victory over.

That Bonnie Bennett is full of life. She fights tooth and nail (and without any regard to rules) for who she loves and what she believes in. There is a fire in her and it refuses to be stomped out - at least not without significant effort. That is the Bonnie Bennett he wishes to see (because he can, with good conscious and absolute delight, grind her into the floor).

Perhaps the desire to coax that Bonnie out pushes him to do what he does next.

"Where's the rush?" He asks. "After all, what kind of host would I be if I didn't offer you a hot shower and a bite to eat?"

X

It is all a power play, she knows this. Still, she accepts it. A chance to shower, food in her stomach? She needs these things.

Sometimes you have to concede the battle to win the war.

Bonnie stands for a long time under the hot stream of water. She watches as the dirt and blood mingle on the pristine white tiles before being washed down the drain (out of sight, out of mind). She takes advantage of all the products lining the shower wall, not caring that she is going to come out of it smelling artificial. She just relishes the fact that she is clean (and that for a few moments, she is peaceful).

When she emerges, the water has run cold and the room is full of steam. She freezes.

Those are not her clothes folded neatly on the counter.

Her eyes slid downward to where she had discarded them in a pile. The floor is empty. Her anger is immediate, taking her over before she can even think it through. With it comes power, pure and unbridled for the first time in days. There is a loud crack and she turns her head to watch lines like spider webs start at the bottom corner of the mirror and travel upwards.

The sight is enough to suck the heat out of her mood.

She feels a slight twinge, and she holds her breath. Her fingers automatically move to trace the raised skin at her hip. Down the line and then back, as if she can soothe it into being quiet. She needs to be careful. She can't afford too many more screw ups.

She slips into the borrowed clothes. They are too big for her, draping around her in a way that almost makes her look childlike. But they are clean and as she runs a hand over the fabric, she feels just a hint of magic. Definitely not Rebekah's clothes; although, in truth, the earthtones were her first clue. Her hand moves to stone around her neck (she finds herself infinitely glad that she never removes it) and she closes her eyes for a moment to find her bearings. Her magic is still swirling around inside of her, begging for another moment to be set free. She only opens her eyes when she is sure that she won't give into it.

She takes in her reflection, splintered into a dozen different views thanks to her handiwork. She looks better, certainly not her best but there is something to be said for the healing power of water.

She is ready for round two with Klaus Mikaelson.

She finds him in the center of the courtyard, sprawled over a piece of furniture. His pose is no doubt deliberate, a non threatening act of dominance. If it is meant to intimidate her, she has bad news for him.

(it takes more to shake her now)

Bonnie chooses to sit directly across from him. It is her best option since this is a chess match and she wants to keep her eyes on her opponent at all times. She doesn't feel the need to splay her limbs out as far as they will go. Instead, she curls her feet up underneath her and does her best to look relaxed.

Something flickers in his eyes. "You look more presentable."

"I appreciate that," she says, although her tone is anything but grateful for his condescending words. "Thank you for the clothes by the way. They're your witch sister's right?" There is a smug feeling on her part as he realizes she is not so far out of the loop.

"Freya," he says simply.

"Freya." She plays the name over in her mouth, eyes drifting upwards to the balcony for any sign of the newest (or she guessed oldest) Mikaelson. Then she pins Klaus with her gaze. "Although I would have appreciated them being handled to me before I got into the shower." She will not dwell on the idea of him coming in and swapping her clothes out for them - mostly because if she does, she will think about how she has let her guard down long enough for something like that to happen. "Where are my clothes by the way?"

"I am afraid their condition was grave. I had them disposed of," Klaus explains, and if possible his arms stretch out even more. "I do hope they held no sentimental value to you."

No sentimental value but they did represent one of the few things on earth she could still claim ownership of. She does not let this fact show on her face. "I guess your sister is down one outfit then," she tells him.

"She has a credit card, a new concept to her a few years ago. I don't think the luster has worn off yet," Klaus replies and rolls his shoulders into a shrug.

"You said something about food?" Bonnie prompts. She is starving and she suspects that he has a Michelin Star chef tucked away somewhere doing his bidding. Although she wouldn't put it past him to serve her bread and water. Just to prove some point (the joke is on him, she'd still enjoy the hell out of it).

"I did say that." He claps his hands and she can't help but laugh. She covers the sound quickly, turning her head to the side merging it with some attempt at a cough.

Three women appear, each carrying a silver platter which they set on the table between the pair. There is fruit, vegetables, cheese, crackers, an assortment of cold meat - Bonnie's stomach quickly reminds everyone that it exists.

Klaus raises an eyebrow.

With little care to how it looks, Bonnie hooks her fingers under the lip of the table and drags it closer to her. The sound of metal scraping across stone echoes through the courtyard. Out of the corner of her eyes, she watches his fingers tighten and then flatten against his legs.

This is almost too easy.

X

She is constantly reaching forward to snag a grape, a cube of cheese, anything she can get her hands on. For a time, he watches with an almost morbid curiosity at the amount of food she tucks away in that small body of hers. It confirms one thing - she is in a bad spot.

(what on earth has Bonnie Bennett eating gleefully with her enemy?)

He clears his throat once but she ignores him in favor of reaching for a glass of water. He huffs and then extends his leg forward to pull the table back to his side. Her head snaps up and he is treated to the rather odd sight of her glaring at him with her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

"I think it's time we have a little chat," he says. "I have provided you with room and board. A little tale as to how you came to be in New Orleans is all the payment I ask." However, like any good proprietaire, there are hidden fees of course. He has seen the cracks in her veneer. He just wants to be sure that he is going to press on the right one to make her crumble.

Thankfully, she chews and swallows the rest of her meal before she opens her mouth. "Maybe I wanted to see Mardi Gras for myself…"

Something in him rattles just enough to tap against his temper. "Your smart tongue is going to get you in a world of trouble, little witch. I am no fool - the truth will serve you far better in his moment."

Bonnie is silent for a moment, her face shifting into something more solemn. "New Orleans is full of magic. It's everywhere you turn - in the covens, the air, the ground. I needed to tap into that."

An alarm bell goes off in his head (as it always does when he hears of anyone's desire for power). "For what purpose?" He asks, arms falling off the back of the sofa. He leans forward. "Why do you wish to consort with the witches of New Orleans?" She doesn't answer quickly enough for him (and maybe, just maybe he reads too much in the way her eyes widen at the question). "Are you planning to attack?"

She blinks and then bursts into laughter. It only serves to further boil his blood. Then her head is shaking. "Oh God no. I hate to be the one to break it to you, Klaus, but the world does not, in fact, revolve around you." She takes a deep breath, setting her glass aside. "I haven't thought about you properly for years now."

(that stings him; he'll never admit it - has he really left so little of an impression?)

Klaus believes her. She is devious and clever but the truth is plainly written on her face. "Then why?"

"Because I've got witch problems," Bonnie answers. "And if I am going to find someone to help, I think coming here, with its abundance of magic per square mile, is a safe bet."

He decides that for now, he will take her story at face value. He knows there is so much more lurking beneath the surface. "And the bayou?"

"Sometimes you need to convene with nature," she tells him. She slides her feet out from under her body and mirrors his movement, leaning forward just a little. "I am sure some part of you understands that right? You must get the urge to go for a run and just howl at the moon every now and then?"

He does, and he indulges in it. That is not what she had been doing and they both know it. "You are not telling me everything."

"Of course not."

For a moment, he contemplates shoving the table aside and pulling her to him. He can make her tell the truth. She may have forgotten him but she will soon remember just how destructive he can be.

"Dad…."

Bonnie's head tilts up and Klaus immediately swivels. He can make out Hope's frame standing in the doorway of her room. "What is it, lovely?" He calls, not realizing just how much his voice changes. Nor does he realize that behind him, Bonnie is standing.

"I need your help with something," Hope tells him.

The sound of footsteps momentarily distracts him and he looks back to find Bonnie nearing the exit.

"I'll get out of your hair," she says, and she is eyeing him closely. No doubt trying to gauge his reaction.

He nearly steps towards her. Nearly bars her way. But then Hope calls for him again. He turns.

And goes to his daughter.

X

Bonnie doesn't breathe a sigh of relief until she is a block away, mingled in with the crowds heading towards the bars of Bourbon Street. She is jostled every now and then by someone who already had their fair share of alcohol and she nearly shoves one back on reflex. It is too loud, she realizes. The laughter and shouting cut into her, making it nearly impossible for her to think.

She needs to get out of here.

(but where will she go?)

Bonnie briefly thinks of Mystic Falls and the boarding house. Caroline will be there, taking charge of everything around her. She will not rest until Bonnie is in the clear - but Bonnie can't do that. She can't bring this problem and lay it at her best friend's feet.

She'll find another way (she has to).

Bonnie turns the corner with the crowd. Then stops as her eyes fall on a familiar figure across the street. There is a sharp intake of breath and already she can feel her heart bouncing against her ribs. "Lavinia…"

She doesn't waste any time. She begins to push her way through the crowd, bumping her elbows and hips against those that are bigger than her. She gets pushed and cursed out in return but it doesn't stop her. She breaks free on the other side and immediately picks up speed. She glances over her shoulder but gets no clear picture of where the other woman is.

That can't be a good thing.

She walks away from Bourbon Street, feet tracing a strange path through a city she does not know. She only hopes that Lavinia is just as lost. She is breathing heavily, fear threatening to press down on her windpipe until she can't get any air at all.

And then suddenly, there she is.

Bonnie skitters to a stop to avoid running full tilt into Lavinia. She has no time to backtrack. Lavinia is reaching for her, hands coming to cup her face. Her fingers turn in just enough for her nails to scrape across Bonnie's skin.

For a moment the two women stare at one another; a strange tableau for passersby.

Then Lavinia smiles and despite everything, it is warm and genuine. "There you are."

There are black spots in front of Bonnie's eyes. Panic has settled so deep in her that she is having trouble calling on any other emotion. This is her fault - she has been so careless. The circle in bayou. The mirror. She has brought this on herself.

"I was so worried," Lavinia croons, almost as if she needs to soothe Bonnie like a mother would a child. "I thought I lost you."

The idea sparks something in Bonnie. Lavinia isn't speaking of the kind of worry you have for a lost child. Despite her warm eyes and soft voice, she is speaking of losing property - an object.

Bonnie breathes deep. This is not how she will go out. She will not die on this dirty street in New Orleans. She has tried to be careful (although she has not always been successful). There is no reason to now. She opens herself up, lets her magic circle around her limbs. She takes everything she has and levels it in Lavinia's direction.

Only for Lavinia to grow hazy and then fade away all together.

Bonnie stands there long enough for the adrenaline in her body to turn to confusion. Then cold dread. She has really done it, hasn't she? She has underestimated the reach that Lavinia has (stupidly so because she has seen Lavinia in action).

If Lavinia didn't know where Bonnie was before, she does now; Bonnie has practically lit herself up like a supernova.

This time there is no twinge. This time it feels like someone has lanced her side. She doubles over, her knees hitting the pavement hard. There is bile in the back of her throat. She presses a hand to the burning pain and closes her eyes, hoping the nausea will pass soon. She can't linger like this. She has no answers - and now she has no time.

She needs something big. Something that will make Lavinia cower.

It hits her.

She needs Klaus.