Chapter 5

(Ryan)

Time was of the essence now—if he didn't get to Hope soon, he was sure she would drown. She wasn't born of this place—she wouldn't connect with Malivore as he had. Her peril was very real.

He kicked off his shoes, yanked off his jacket, and pulled his, utterly ruined, dress shirt up over his head.

He tied the sleeve of his shirt hastily around the lowest hanging branch he could find and pulled it tight. He waded into the sand, reaching blindly in front of him. He knew this was the spot, but he felt nothing.

Maybe he was too late.

He continued his search, reaching father and farther into the pit's center. Finally, he felt something solid—Hope.

He reached above him to grab the shirt's dangling sleeve and pulled up on the limp form from beneath the sand. He felt his muscles strain as he pulled Hope's body up above the surface. He put all his remaining strength into pulling on his makeshift lifeline.

His knuckles were white, and his arm was shaking; the pull of the sand was relentless and for a terrible moment he feared he may not be strong enough to pull them both out.

He looked down at Hope's unconscious form; he cradled her in one arm, barely able to keep her head from lolling back into the sand. The arm that held her against him was burning hot.

It was the same feeling he had experienced earlier, when she had inadvertently pressed her back against his—and then again when she touched his shoulder. He could tell that the sensations had unsettled her, but he couldn't help but be fascinated.

The domain of Malivore had changed so much since his last time here…the utter darkness and isolation had been replaced with a strange world, seemingly shaped by the thoughts, fears, and desires of the monsters that lurked here.

Throwing open the locks had changed this place in ways he had never anticipated.

He finally felt rock beneath his feet—he hauled Hope forward first, rolling her onto solid ground. He pulled himself out next, panting with effort. He dragged himself to her side and felt her neck for a pulse—it was there, fluttering weakly against his fingertips.

"Someone…help…" The thought came to him unbidden.

"Hope!" he called, shaking her unconscious form. Shit. Shit. Shit. He didn't know why his father asked him to bring her to him alive, but chances are there would be hefty consequences if he didn't obey.

He brought his head down to her chest and listened for her breathing. Nothing. He would have to try resuscitating her himself.

She seemed much smaller like this, without that fiery personality she wielded as a weapon. She was almost delicate—her long lashes stood out against her cheeks, even under a layer of muck. Putting his mind back to the task at hand, he brought his face down to hers.

Please, wake up.

(Hope)

She awoke with a start, coughing and disoriented. Agent Clarke was leaning over her, still covered in the sludgy sand, and suspiciously missing his shirt. His face was colored with surprise, despite the fact that he was the one looming over her.

"What happened?" she choked out; she could feel the grit of sand in her throat. It burned.

"I pulled you out of the pit," he replied, still looking bewildered. "Which is an ironic twist of fate considering I'm only in this mess because you pulled me into one."

She glared at him, even though she knew she should be grateful. Emma always said her eyes betrayed her during their guidance sessions. No matter how high she built her walls, she couldn't seem to keep her soul from leaking out.

"Look, I just saved your life. The least you can do is thank me," he said with a grin. The same stupid grin he had worn when he was bullshitting Dr. Saltzman and her in Kansas.

Gas company employee, my ass.

"I don't trust you," she said, looking him dead in the eyes.

She didn't know why he saved her, but she knew it wasn't out of the kindness of his heart. He had made it clear before she dragged him into Malivore that he would be all too happy to let her die here.

His smile remained in place, but she could detect a tenseness in his jaw.

Someone definitely has a tell.

"That's a wise decision, I am an excellent liar," he said as he backed away from her to retrieve his discarded items of clothing. While his back was turned, she pushed down the intense desire to reach out for him.

Wait, what?

It was the same feeling as before, during their encounter with the wailing phantom and again when they entered the forest, but this was much worse. He had said it was because Malivore made you crave the contact of another being, but this was just too weird.

Would the universe ever tire of screwing with Hope Mikaelson?

"Of course, it takes one to know one. Right, Jessica?" he asked, facing her once more.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"A liar," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Did the sludge find its way into your brain?" he asked.

Jerk.

"How did you escape?" she asked. There's no way that he should have been able to find his way out of the pit without help of some kind.

"That's a secret," he replied, giving her a wink. Ugh.

"You do realize that makes me trust you even less, right?" she asked, trying in vain to wipe the rapidly drying mud from her skin.

"You shouldn't trust me, Hope," he said, suddenly serious.

Something about the way he was staring made her feel strangely vulnerable. She couldn't forget that this man was still an immortal, much older and shrewder than she was likely giving him credit for.

"Well, I'm glad we're in agreement," she said, still a bit uneasy with his change in tone.

He smiled in response, but it didn't reach his eyes. She guessed he had slipped back into that weird mask he liked to wear. Creepy.

"We need to find somewhere to wash off this mud," she said. She still felt like her magic was being suppressed; it flickered oddly inside her, like an improperly tuned radio station.

"You were here before; do you remember anything about this place?" she asked.

"I was never here—not like this," he said, his whole face darkening as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. "It was only blackness before… complete isolation."

She remembered what she had learned about Malivore from Seylah; it sounded horrific.

How long had he been trapped here?

"Well, I guess we should just start walking again," she said. "Unless, I need to use another spell?" she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Save your energy—I currently have nowhere else to be," he said, walking up the path.

Alrighty then.