Klaus POV

The crystal of the glass glows red. I'd like to believe it's from the fire light, it would be a romantic thought, but I know – with the lingering taste of iron on the back of my tongue – the reasons aren't nearly that innocent. I pour the glass half full with sherry and decant the last pint of blood with it.

"You shouldn't have so much," Hayley suggests from the doorway.

I purposefully take a long drink from the glass and she sighs.

"I've heard and done 'drinking away your sorrows' but this is ridiculous, Klaus."

The next sip half-drains the glass and sends fire down the back of my throat. "This, my dear, is enjoying a drink, there's nothing wrong with that."

She shakes her head and takes that first cautious step into the room. "I know denial as well. This is the third drink you've enjoyed today and it's only been a week since Leah left."

I bite down on the last of the liquid fire. "What are you saying, Hayley? Because clearly you're trying to say something."

One of her shoulders shrug and she splays her hands. I've seen this gesture enough times to know how this conversation would end; I lean back over my drawing-in-progress, intent on ignoring the wolf. "I think you know exactly what I'm saying, you're just too stubborn to listen."

"Do you not have better things to do?"

"Unfortunately, helping you understand yourself is part of my job description."

"I did not ask you to psychoanalyse me." My eyes squint down at a wrongly placed line. The shape should be fuller.

"You didn't have to ask me." Her footsteps change in weight – she's leaving the study again. "Just think about it, Klaus."

Alone once more, I sigh, frown dissipating as I stare at the drawing. She's beautiful. Somehow I accurately captured the hidden pain in her eyes, the annoyed tilt of her lips, and the way her hair's ends would curl just after a shower. I place a hand over the sketch, draw my fingers closed in a fist.

The picture lies untouched under my hand.

Unlike my sketches of Caroline, the imperfect, wrongness of it all, I cannot manage to crumple these. Even I am aware of the likeness the image bares to its inspiration.

Leah.

I honestly am not sure when they started, these drawings. Perhaps the first one was on purpose: the wolf's face had simply caught my eye when she knelt down to kindle the fire in my study. Her face, eyes, lips, and hair had been highlighted – the contouring lights of a photoshoot. It's the first picture that lines the bottom of one of my drawers; I wasn't able to crumble that one either. The others happened without my realising it, popping up between sketches of animals, trees, and, naturally, Caroline.

I still do not fully understand the significance of the drawings and their growing frequency, but I am accustomed enough to this world that I can realise the significance of being unable to throw any of them away. I had never been strong enough to throw my sketches of Rebekah away either, despite the betrayals, the hatred.

As I had told Leah: I was fond of her, although 'sister' might not have been the best word to use. Despite the wolf's penchant for acting like a flustered mother and occasionally a perturbed sister, I very much doubt I ever enjoyed the sight of Rebekah's bare shoulder as I did Leah's. I am certain I never thought of touching the throbbing vein in my sister's neck – and not only because she had none, but because that would be a terribly strange urge toward a sibling.

At the time I had no better description, no better comparison for the oddness of my feelings toward the shapeshifter.

I slip the image into a draw, atop a growing pile of similar drawings with only varying expression. This particular one was a rare sight, Leah's smile. The drawer closes, clipping back the light that illuminates her expressive eyes.

Leaning back in my seat, I stare at the crackling fire – the flames of which I had to kinder myself as Hayley knew not how to do it – frankly, they remind me of the shapeshifter and I'm hard pressed not to put out the flames to get away from her expression when she left.

"I'm going to Forks," Leah's voice, usually brimming with curiosity or irritation, sounded like the plead of a wounded animal. "Tonight,"

Despite myself, I did not look up at her. "You are leaving?"

The pause that followed had my hand tightening on the pen in my grip.

"Yes, my family, my pack-" she paused and cleared her throat, "Hayley is back, so you won't be alone."

Her pack, she says. I ignored the twisting of my gut and glanced up at her, she was standing in the doorway, with her head turned to the side. "I do not need company to function."

Leah's head jerked in my direction and her face twisted for a second before she nodded, expressionless. "Yeah, I know." Silence hung between us and Leah sucked in one of her cheeks, the familiar hint of pain in her eyes making itself known.

"Your pack," she flinched at my words or tone, I could not be sure. "You mean Sam, do you not?" I wonder if my voice sounded as bitter as it tasted in that moment.

"I…Yes, I mean, he is part of it, so, yes."

I nodded and lowered my face, the warmth of anger crawling up the back of my throat. She's crawling back to the man who threw her away and I'm not sure why it made me want to commit murder.

"I'll…come back, Klaus," the hesitation mades me painfully aware that she's not sure she will.

Just another, I allow myself to wallow. I'm accustomed to people leaving me, yet this isn't the reason for the darkness swelling my chest; it is the person doing the leaving which is the cause.

She closed the distance and placed a slim slip of paper on the edge of my desk. "If you, or Hayley, need anything-"

"We can look after ourselves, Clearwater."

From the edge of my vision I saw her flinch. "That's the landline number for a friend's house in Forks. If…you can…" She sighed, "They'll contact me if you call."

"It isn't necessary," I said, somewhere in the back of my mind a niggling sense told me to shut up.

"Yeah, I guess so." She continued to hover nearby. "Good-bye, Klaus,"

A second passed and she left the study. The pen jerked across the page, completely ruining the paragraphs of writing. I launched the pen across the room, failed to feel satisfaction when the stationary cracked open against the wall.

Although in retrospect I should have shut up sooner, I hadn't. Now she's gone. The paper, which in a moment of frustration I threw in the fire, still burns behind my eyes. I have not forgotten the number scrawled there nor the untidy handwriting in which it had been written – not Leah's.

I raise my glass but the crystal is empty.

'Just because Hayley isn't here doesn't mean you get to go around mistreating yourself. She means a lot to you…but you mean a lot to me. You might not acknowledge my imprint, but it's fucking real to me, okay?'

I lower the crystal back to the desk, a finger touching the rim thoughtfully.

'…no matter how many horrible memories linger here, you remain anyway, you stay because you know deep down that nothing will ever feel the same.'

So why do I feel so lost now, so empty? When Hayley had left, I will admit I overreacted, but at the time I was sure she was the only one who would ever care for me. But all the time alone with Leah showed me otherwise. 'Home' as she had so gallantly prattled about, could not be this lonely. If this place had been home before, it is not now. Loveless, cold, even with Hayley back in it.

And try as the hybrid might, she could no longer distract me from my thoughts the way Leah had.

Nothing would be the same without her.

A familiar prickling starts behind my eyes and I manage to gasp a breath before pain explodes over my back.

Leah…

The water, already cool from my too long bath, splashes around my ankles. It curls crimson against the porcelain tub and vaguely I'm aware it's going to be hell to clean it without any of the vampires or wolves in residence noticing.

I close my eyes, dragging in a sharp breath at the sting; it resonates down my spine and makes my toes curl.

Perhaps I've waited too long to do this – not that it would have hurt any less if I'd done it elsewhere – but enough time has passed since Emily and Sam got together that the marks on my back have become a bitter memory. An echo of Klaus's voice when I told him how I got the scars reverberates in my head: It's strange how you hold sentimentality for the man who trampled on your heart. You're a sucker for pain and it's pathetic

When he'd said this I was horrified and rightfully so. But all that time trapped in my body, unable to move, I came to realise how right he had been when he called me weak, when he said Sam's leaving me was sensible. It hurt, but it was true. I didn't have to like it, but it was true.

And still I waited so long for this moment.

A ripple of agony flares along my shoulder when my nails dig into my flesh. Tears, unasked for and hotter than the bath water, pour down my cheeks.

Emily is pregnant. Sam is happy. They've both moved on, I should too.

The murky red of the bathwater turns a deeper shade of crimson as blood streams from the open wound.

I'll be strong this time; I'll step away from the all-consuming thoughts of Sam, of Emily, of everything that's happened to them. It's no longer my place to bare Sam's mark or carry with me the reminders of his love.

A third lash of blinding agony flares across my back, this time muscles tare. My sight wavers and a small cry parts my lips.

The study snaps into focus and it makes a minute for my breathing to steady. Across the room the fire continues to burn, crackling quietly and sending off vibrant sparks of red and orange. Lingering pain decorates my spine and answering beads of sweat line my throat.

Hesitantly I reach up a hand and touch my shoulder, my shirt is dry and beneath it the skin is whole. The phantom pains persist.

With trembling fingers I pull open a drawer. The stack of sketches showcasing Leah shiver in my fingers when I lift them.

It's not the first time I've experienced this…vision type thing. Granted the previous never contained this level of physical pain, but they'd been enlightening and terrifying in their own way.

The wind catching at a wolf's fur. The warmth of Matt's welcoming hug. The amusement at Damon's love troubles. The nervous fidgeting as Elena toyed with black hair and the sorrowful conversation about children. In their own way the visions had been captivating, but for the fact that they all belonged to Leah.

Somehow, if my assumptions are correct, I have tapped into Leah's mind. Perhaps it's the doing of a witch – I have no doubt there are many who'd find joy in shoving my thoughts around – but why choose the wolf? And what were the chances she could visit my thoughts as well?

I run my fingers over the first drawing, the one I'd just completed, before setting it aside. I repeat this with the next few, only stopping when I land on the one from that night.

Leah's face stares up at me, her gaze a mixture of fear, determination, and affection. Her hair is spread over the carpet of my study, one side of her face illuminated by flames.

'You don't want to hurt me, Klaus, because I'm not going to leave you like the rest. I'm going to be here when you are livid or depressed or pleased or annoyed. I'm going to be here even when you decide I no longer need to be. I'm going to be by your side if the world goes up in flames or if you conquer it. I will never leave you. Never. So you don't need to worry about allegiance or whatever it is that has your head in the shadows. I'll be here whether you want me to be or not.'

Tightness squeezes my chest and I touch her pleading eyes, "Never, huh?"

So…yeah. Angsty Klaus kinda, sorta, maybe realising his feelings for Leah Happy New Years for two days' time.