It was a soft sound, halfway between a growl and a purr. A sound of either immense frustration or pleasurable contentment; as yet, he was undecided. The undying, immortal, heathen mishmash of supernatural power, known as Klaus by most, wiped the soap suds from his face and wriggled his fingers through the lather in his hair as he soaked himself. Then he held his breath and went under again. The water gurgled pass his ears, warm and soft, and he imagined himself being in a pond somewhere warm and tropical. The hard tile stopped him when he reached the bottom and he lay there, slowly letting the air out of his lungs. He didn't need it. He was as immune to drowning as he was immune to sunlight and silver and ashy daggers. As immune to it as he was immune to werewolf bites, vervain, cyanide, heartbreak, bad Chinese food, and anti-freeze.

Talk about moving up in the world. There'd been a time when he used to stub his toe. There was a time when a stub toe would have hurt. Brought tears to his eyes even. Now… Well, now he had vampires breaking into his rib cage and crushing his heart, all with not so much as a smart. Not so much as a stab. Just a tingle. Just a tickle.

There was nothing in the world that could kill him, and he was bored.

Not to say that he needed some menacing danger looming over his head, mind. Not to say that he wanted to be hounded by a preachy puritan. Not to say that the hot breath of a hunter on the nape of his neck was a psychological prerequisite for his wellbeing.

Just that a slayer or two would have been nice.

And curtains.

They needed curtains. He traced his fingers through the mist on the glass. Klaus, Klaus, Klaus, Klaus, Klaus, he wrote. Then, Klaus was here. Klaus is here. Klaus will always be here. Klaus is bored out of his fucking mind. I need to buy curtains. I need– He swiped his hands over it all, clearing the glass and revealing the view from his penthouse bathtub.

A very nice view of some city or other, he'd forgotten where exactly. Names had never been a strong suit for him, and he'd come to the conclusion a couple centuries back that names didn't matter at all. The world and all its places boiled down essentially to 'here' or 'there'.

And there was always someone else about to take charge of all the pesky details, anyway. He'd had generations upon generations of servants. Big ones, short ones, fat ones, thin ones, smart ones, idiotic ones, and even once an albino. Now he had Maddox and Greta. Two of the very best. If he could keep them around for a while, a century or two, three maybe… That'd be nice.

Maybe he was going a little above and beyond when it came to them. Maybe he was making the number one rookie mistake of all time and becoming attached. Uughh…

But good company was so hard to come by.

Maddox had been a pain up the backside to recruit for one thing. He'd tried cajoling, seducing, corrupting, haunting, stalking… In the end, they'd had to work it out via check book. One hundred thousand Euros per spell. Rather simple, and considering that money did make the world turn, it should have been the first and most obvious way to go. The tally stood at… It was over ten million for sure, but Maddox wasn't pressing the issue of payment so much. Something about immortality made men less parsimonious.

Greta, well, she was another kettle of fish altogether. He'd done everything shy of offering free lollipops out the back of a panel van to get her. He'd had to wean her off daddy dearest. Wean her off little brother. Wean her off her whole fucking Dudley-Do-Right clan. Shepherd her out of Sweet Valley High, turn her down Temptation Boulevard and bait her into his arms.

"Will you walk into my parlour?"

He'd been the Spider, she the Fly, and she had walked in alright. Walked in and put down roots. Or laid eggs. Or whatever.

Caution, old boy. If he wasn't careful with her, he'd wake up some morning and find himself in some vile, twisted monogamous relationship. He'd have to find somebody else to fuck, and fast. Not a permanent somebody-else, of course, just a 'once or twice' somebody to remind his little hair-twirling witch that he was Klaus and he didn't do hand-holding, and cuddling, and love-making. He'd have to be cruel, especially cruel, and crush that affection in the bud.

Not that she'd ever threatened to hold his hand, thinking about it. In fact, he was hard pressed to remember the last time she'd even kissed him. She did what he asked her to do, disappeared or slept for half and then showed up to fuck him in the night. He could sum up their situation just like that. Not the most sentimental of persons, her. Not one to confess undying devotion. And just as well.

He was Klaus, and he didn't do love.

Although, he supposed he could, if he particularly wanted to. Some time ago in the ancient past, he'd had an argument with his goodly brother Elijah on the dangers of love and heartfelt sentiment. But that was then. Back when he was a vampire and vulnerable to a host of vulnerabilities. Things had changed. He was immortal in the truest sense of the word. There was no one higher up on the bad guy food chain for her to betray him to. No one to use her as a hostage against him. No possible way for her to become a weakness. In theory, at least.

Someday, possibly soon, he'd have to put the newfound immortality of his minions to the test. They had his blood in them- topped up to the brim and overflowing. Maddox was a frequent feeder, and Greta certainly hadn't been shy with the use of her teeth on him, but still….

That little issue of them being witches and servants of nature and all that bullshit had potential to fuck everything up. Could they survive a heart-ripping, same as him? Could they survive a beheading? A staking? Or would the great almighty fucking balance decide against it? He didn't need balance. The witchcraft had served its function. He was free of the infernal ball and chain, sun and moon curse. That's all he'd ever wanted from balance and nature and witchcraft. He didn't need witches anymore. Nature could fuck off now. Nature could go and get buggered.

Stop trying to correct every single thing I do! Stop trying to balance the scales every time I try to tip them in my favour.

His fists curled. He was complete and immortal and still so fucking…

So fucking what?

Alone?

He was only alone for a moment though. Greta had gone fuck knows where for fuck knew what purpose, but she wasn't far. He could still smell her. If he called, she'd be there in a heartbeat stripping off her clothes and getting in the tub with him.

And Maddox? Maddox wasn't far at all. Just in the other room. He could hear him breathing. Hear the muscle-bound heart beating. If he pushed the point really far he could have the dude stripping out of his clothes and getting into the tub too.

Aw… he chuckled, slid back into the soapy water, and grinned foolishly as big balls of air escaped him adding to the bubbles. "This is the neurosis that happens to all great men when they reach the pinnacle of their ambitions and start making stuff up just to kill time. Depression first, then paranoia, then I do something incredibly stupid just in time for the good guys to win."

...

"You don't look too hot," he said as he pushed the door to Maddox's lair open. "In fact, you look positively… human. Is that a heartbeat I hear thundering?

The witch's eyes went black, his fangs came down, and just to make his point he pulled out the claws too. "Witch, Vampire, Werewolf - it takes some balancing," Maddox grunted, giving him a feeble nod of encouragement. "It's all good. I'm just trying something."

Trying something, indeed. The witch had his knife out, his ceremonial carving knife, and was heating it over a candle. The scent of burnt flesh was high and disgusting in the air.

Klaus lingered in the doorway, half curious and half… half whatever the opposite of curious was. Aghast, maybe? He could ask a question, find out the particulars, but Maddox was a grown man. He didn't need some doddering hybrid pointing out that playing with knives was dangerous. "By the way this set-up here is less hygienic than a Guatemalan tattoo shop operating off a fishing barge, but…" he sighed, "I don't know if you've noticed, but the witch-bitch has put a spell on me."

"Greta?"

Huh. "No, the other one. The one we're going to kill? She-"

"How do you know? What kind of spell? Since when?"

Got your attention now? "Well, it doesn't fall within my range of expertise, but I'd go out on a limb and say it's either some kind of binding spell or a summoning spell. I've been getting this strange urge to go to Mystic Falls. I might almost say I feel compelled to go to her."

Maddox eyed him silently for a moment, thinking something, and flipped his knife over in the orange candle-flame. "Why would she do something like that?" he asked softly, more to himself. "You think she figured out that you're the last ingredient?"

"I'd wager heftily on it."

"But why try to summon you? I mean, she's not retarded, far as we know. She's bitchy, but not retarded."

"If I say that I'm intrigued it won't be a lie. I've been thinking-"

Maddox sighed.

"I've been thinking that maybe we've been approaching this from the wrong angle. I mean, what's our main problem? The Mystic Falls Salvation Army Trio, right? If we disrupt the Trio, we win. We don't necessarily have to kill anyone. I have a certain fondness for Steff-Steff and the witch-bitch can be… molded…to our way. The only thing better than having two witches at your beck and call is having three witches at your beck and call. Three's a lucky number, and I want three. She'll fit in marvellously well with us. It'll be as if I adopted a kid. Like a younger sister for you and-"

"I'm going to interject right here," Maddox set the knife down. Planted the tip in the wood of his desk with a solid thunk. "How do you intend to sway her over? Hmm?"

"This isn't my first prom, Maddy. I could sway a nun, if I had too. If Buffy were a real person, I'd be able to sway her to our side. I'd make her 'Buffy, the Human Slayer'."

"Klaus…" Maddox wrinkled his brow, "I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, but you're not as good-looking as you think you are. You're hot, but not that hot. You're not the smoothest talker on the block either. I've seen your game-plan in action. It's basically 'hello, my name is Klaus, I have a fancy accent. I might be rich - you don't know - and I want to have sex with you. How 'bout it?'

"It works."

"Does it? Does it really? You've had three run-ins with the bitch so far. One at a school dance where you tried to kill each other. The second time at the ceremony where she really put her back into it. And a couple of days ago when you amputated the boyfriend. She's on a mission to disembowel you-"

"As you mention it, how does that even work?" Klaus sauntered into the room taking a good look around, not missing the couple of corpses bundled up in a corner, not missing the congealed puddle of blood in the other, not missing a curious splatter pattern on the bed-sheets. "While it's flattering to be dubbed 'The Apocalypse Walking', I have some concerns about the gut removal part. When it says 'guts', what does that mean specifically? Something small like a biopsy? Or a real gutting – abattoir style?"

"I assume it's an abattoir style gutting. I think that's what we're working with."

"Okay then, here's what we do. I don't want to risk losing my entrails but at the same time I don't want to waste a good witch. Let me try my thing first. Seduce her to the dark side, if you will. And if she spits in my face, then we kill her."

"Or I could get in a cab, go to Mystic Falls and kill the bitch while she's tucked in tight."

"But where's the fun in that?"

"It'll be fun."

"Where's the fun in that for me? You and Greta do everything. I don't even hunt my own meals again. I need the exercise or I'll get fat. You won't like me fat, Maddy."

"What's the point of having super side-kicks if you still end up doing all the work yourself?"

True. "But-"

"Okay…" Maddox heaved resignedly and wiped his face in his hands. "I wasn't going to tell you about it, but I have a way to expedite our killing of the bitch."

"Hmm?"

"Yeah, something I've been working on. Well, me and the witch-bitch-"

"I'm not following. Greta?"

"Greta. Me and Greta. We have the cousin of the – Bonnie's cousin – Lucinda or some shit. We have her in a house in Calebrook, and Greta's going to possess her, worm her way in to the clan, get close to the cousin, meaning Bonnie, and then neck snapping time."

"That's a pretty solid plan… Except…"

"Except what?"

"Except, I want to do it."

"Do what?"

"The possession. Big duh. Stay on point, Madd."

"You want to possess the cousin."

"If anyone deserves the action, it's me. I've been holed up here since forever."

"The female cousin. You want to possess the female cousin? You think you'd be able to do that more convincingly than Greta?"

"Greta has the social personality of a Nazi. A Nazi terrorist, in fact. Worming into cliques isn't her thing. They'd spot her in an instant. This falls right up my alley. I've got the pizzazz, the sly cunning, the subtle sex appeal… I love undercover work. Really. It keeps me young."

AN: Hey, before Wednesday by half hour. Thanks for the reviews and the reads everybody! The plot just exploded in my head, so I had to take a pause moment to get it straight. A subdued Klaus introspection chapter just to set the groundwork for him so he doesn't come off as too crazy of a bastard later down. A Bonnie chap next, for 90% sure.