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[ he doesn't need this sleep, nor does he desire it this night. he remembers the last, his head resting next to hers, the weight and warmth and presence of her anchored to him through touch, through embrace.
time is a fickle, mortal thing, and he's long discounted its ticks; how it slows and speeds, grants each moment and denies the same with impunity.
time has denied him this, once. it has denied him her, and he has no intention of letting it slip by, unknown and unaccounted for, now. he would like to let his eyes close, but he wishes to stay with her more: to hear the steady tempo of her breath, the slowed beat of her heart. he wants to cling to both now, knowing he won't have to bear waking to the absence of both: to blood and terror and anguish instead.
he wants to fill that space, that memory, with something better.
she has turned away from him at some point, the space between them small, the nearness of her body to his a comfort; a cruel and sweet reflection of that morning. when the sun filters through the windows, golden and white and soft, he studies the cream and saffron and vanilla of her hair, close enough to touch his cheek, fragrant and soft. he thinks of her, and this, and them. he thinks of them here and what it will mean with an anxiety that strains and stoppers his breath.
he wants to do right by her, by them. he sees no other way.
he knows when she is waking, can sense it in her shallowing breath, in the small shifts of her shoulders. it's a relief that clenches something in his chest, what he'd truly been waiting for this whole night: a different ending. a new beginning. the weight of his still hand at her hip traces up into the curve of her waist. his fingers dip over her ribs, up her spine to her neck with slow, coaxing tenderness. he brushes under the silk of her hair, his palm warm as it moves along her shoulder, guiding her back from her dreams. back to him. ]
time is a fickle, mortal thing, and he's long discounted its ticks; how it slows and speeds, grants each moment and denies the same with impunity.
time has denied him this, once. it has denied him her, and he has no intention of letting it slip by, unknown and unaccounted for, now. he would like to let his eyes close, but he wishes to stay with her more: to hear the steady tempo of her breath, the slowed beat of her heart. he wants to cling to both now, knowing he won't have to bear waking to the absence of both: to blood and terror and anguish instead.
he wants to fill that space, that memory, with something better.
she has turned away from him at some point, the space between them small, the nearness of her body to his a comfort; a cruel and sweet reflection of that morning. when the sun filters through the windows, golden and white and soft, he studies the cream and saffron and vanilla of her hair, close enough to touch his cheek, fragrant and soft. he thinks of her, and this, and them. he thinks of them here and what it will mean with an anxiety that strains and stoppers his breath.
he wants to do right by her, by them. he sees no other way.
he knows when she is waking, can sense it in her shallowing breath, in the small shifts of her shoulders. it's a relief that clenches something in his chest, what he'd truly been waiting for this whole night: a different ending. a new beginning. the weight of his still hand at her hip traces up into the curve of her waist. his fingers dip over her ribs, up her spine to her neck with slow, coaxing tenderness. he brushes under the silk of her hair, his palm warm as it moves along her shoulder, guiding her back from her dreams. back to him. ]
[For Cami, this is the first night time has granted her to stitch together this memory, and she tries at first to make it last. Even as sleep pulls at her she fights it, holds her eyes open for just a few moments longer until she no longer can. Eventually slumber claims her, but even that is something sweet; there are few moments, after all, that she can color as safe ones, ones that leave her truly peaceful and content.
They have fought this for a long time, and with good reason. Later, they will have to think of those reasons, the truth of what this night and each after mean--but Cami is too tired, too happy when she drifts off. Those thoughts can be banished for a time in favor of the simplicity of this night.
She sleeps, and if she dreams she doesn’t remember--that in and of itself a blessing for someone haunted by nightmares. When morning comes she’s slow to wake, even as his touch coaxes her back from that blissful darkness. His touch reminds her of where she is, draws a smile from her lips as memories create her first thoughts: the eagerness of their kisses, the intensity of his gaze.
The heady rush that comes from surrendering to something she’s wanted for ages.
Cami doesn’t yet want that perfect night to end, even as the morning light colors what she sees behind closed eyes. But Klaus’s fingers make a tempting lure, and Cami slowly turns to close that small gap between them. Reality will set in soon, all the things they have to face now that this attraction has become something more. For now, however, she burrows close to him, presses herself against him with her head tucked in at the crook of his neck.]
“G’morning.” [Her greeting softly spoken, she slips a hand around his waist. She hopes that whether he’s spent his night sleeping or keeping watch, that this morning he still feels the happiness that she does, the contentment that has her smile simply because she must.]
They have fought this for a long time, and with good reason. Later, they will have to think of those reasons, the truth of what this night and each after mean--but Cami is too tired, too happy when she drifts off. Those thoughts can be banished for a time in favor of the simplicity of this night.
She sleeps, and if she dreams she doesn’t remember--that in and of itself a blessing for someone haunted by nightmares. When morning comes she’s slow to wake, even as his touch coaxes her back from that blissful darkness. His touch reminds her of where she is, draws a smile from her lips as memories create her first thoughts: the eagerness of their kisses, the intensity of his gaze.
The heady rush that comes from surrendering to something she’s wanted for ages.
Cami doesn’t yet want that perfect night to end, even as the morning light colors what she sees behind closed eyes. But Klaus’s fingers make a tempting lure, and Cami slowly turns to close that small gap between them. Reality will set in soon, all the things they have to face now that this attraction has become something more. For now, however, she burrows close to him, presses herself against him with her head tucked in at the crook of his neck.]
“G’morning.” [Her greeting softly spoken, she slips a hand around his waist. She hopes that whether he’s spent his night sleeping or keeping watch, that this morning he still feels the happiness that she does, the contentment that has her smile simply because she must.]
[ it's a strike to his chest, small but reverberating, to see her eyes closed in bliss, to see the tender reflection of that bliss in the soft curl of her smile, so tightly wound is his heart. it warms him, obliterating so much of the cold grief and uncertainty in his bones, suffused into his limbs. he can feel his features soften as she tucks herself into him, and it's with a slow exhale that he relaxes into her and lets his eyes close a moment later, lets her fill up every space inside of him that has been emptied and bruised by her absence.
by the violence and terror in which she was torn away. neither have happened here, and it's easy to pretend in this moment neither ever has. it is a healing, beautiful thing, to hold her and be held in return, his hand caressing into the dip of her spine, his lips finding the soft hair beside her temple, the curve of her cheek in slow succession.
the thoughts that had plagued him in the night have not abated nor faded into the recesses of his mind, but he is more than content to relent them to cherish her now. for her, so content; for himself, in his longing for it. its gravity; hers, pulling him in. ] I can't think of any one better. [ his voice is soft against her ear, his cheek resting against hers, raw with an honesty that defies its flirtatious melody. his fingers curl just so against her back. ]
by the violence and terror in which she was torn away. neither have happened here, and it's easy to pretend in this moment neither ever has. it is a healing, beautiful thing, to hold her and be held in return, his hand caressing into the dip of her spine, his lips finding the soft hair beside her temple, the curve of her cheek in slow succession.
the thoughts that had plagued him in the night have not abated nor faded into the recesses of his mind, but he is more than content to relent them to cherish her now. for her, so content; for himself, in his longing for it. its gravity; hers, pulling him in. ] I can't think of any one better. [ his voice is soft against her ear, his cheek resting against hers, raw with an honesty that defies its flirtatious melody. his fingers curl just so against her back. ]
Edited 2016-12-04 16:14 (UTC)
[Truth be told, it's been quite a long while since Cami spent the night with a man. Not in a sexual sense, given her relationship with Sam, but rather simply slept next to someone, then woken to find them warm and close. It's not really an attachment Cami's allowed herself to truly indulge since Sean's death, and her subsequent discovery of the truth of it. Logic would dictate this situation should be avoided, that she should find someone safe to be with, someone good, who lacks the struggles she knows war within Klaus--that when she opens her heart, it would be to a chance not fated to break it.
But love wills as it wants, and lately, Cami's had every reason to live for the present, and to savor the gentle trail of kisses he leaves upon her skin. She wants this, stupidly, wholly, and even if it's just for a little while Klaus seems just as willing to indulge in it, for however short a time. She hums softly when he whispers, words that might make her laugh or teasingly comment on a lack of coffee, safe for that thread of vulnerability woven within them. She turns her head to nuzzle her cheek against his, to press her lips against the coarseness of his stubble. Part of her wonders if they shared a morning like this in that terrible future, before everything fell apart.
She can't let her mind wander down that path, however. Not if she wants to preserve the lightness this morning brings.]
You know, I'm not sure if I can either. [Instead she focuses on this one truth: that for all the horror of her life, the fear of her certain death, the twisted opportunity provided by Wonderland? That on this day, this morning, in this place, she is happy and at peace with someone she loves, who has never spoken of his love for her but she's seen it in his gaze all the same. Only now does she pull back, enough to meet those beautiful, revealing eyes, to stare into their depths and smile as she raises a hand to his cheek.]
I'm glad we stopped running away from this. [Even if it must end in the worst way, they have the present, and that is a sweeter thing than she could have ever dreamed.]
But love wills as it wants, and lately, Cami's had every reason to live for the present, and to savor the gentle trail of kisses he leaves upon her skin. She wants this, stupidly, wholly, and even if it's just for a little while Klaus seems just as willing to indulge in it, for however short a time. She hums softly when he whispers, words that might make her laugh or teasingly comment on a lack of coffee, safe for that thread of vulnerability woven within them. She turns her head to nuzzle her cheek against his, to press her lips against the coarseness of his stubble. Part of her wonders if they shared a morning like this in that terrible future, before everything fell apart.
She can't let her mind wander down that path, however. Not if she wants to preserve the lightness this morning brings.]
You know, I'm not sure if I can either. [Instead she focuses on this one truth: that for all the horror of her life, the fear of her certain death, the twisted opportunity provided by Wonderland? That on this day, this morning, in this place, she is happy and at peace with someone she loves, who has never spoken of his love for her but she's seen it in his gaze all the same. Only now does she pull back, enough to meet those beautiful, revealing eyes, to stare into their depths and smile as she raises a hand to his cheek.]
I'm glad we stopped running away from this. [Even if it must end in the worst way, they have the present, and that is a sweeter thing than she could have ever dreamed.]
[ they did share a morning like this, bloody and terrible. they shared a night like this, perfect and wondrous, the quiet touches and lasting kisses awakening awe and radiating a force unlike any other into every part of him, every moment, until there was nothing else. he knows it now; knew it, then. but he has never known nor had this. he smiles, warm and small, feeling the affection of her kiss; remembering her joy—his joy—after he kissed her beneath those twinkling lights.
he feels it now, that joy. he's glad, not only because the horror that followed is unknown to her, but because they can feel it again, anew. yet the truth he knows settles in his heart, hard and heavy at the core of him, and not even the happiness in her eyes nor his can chase it fully away. he is glad, to have given into this here and now, thought he doesn't believe they was ever running away from this. even in the moments he would turn away, when she chose to do the same... his love for her was already living and breathing inside of him, pulling and riving him into her.
it was inevitable, how their story goes. how their hearts speak. how they want. his fingers reach to touch the hair at her temple, to feel it beneath his fingers. ] I don't believe we ever truly were. [ he will always find her, as they've found each other here. he loves her, as he always would.
his voice is captured; his breath stops looking at her. the bittersweet elation drops into his depths of his fears. he finds the will to breathe, ragged and audible, and moves his eyes away from her. his fingers curl over her shoulder, firm and desperate; he clings. ]
he feels it now, that joy. he's glad, not only because the horror that followed is unknown to her, but because they can feel it again, anew. yet the truth he knows settles in his heart, hard and heavy at the core of him, and not even the happiness in her eyes nor his can chase it fully away. he is glad, to have given into this here and now, thought he doesn't believe they was ever running away from this. even in the moments he would turn away, when she chose to do the same... his love for her was already living and breathing inside of him, pulling and riving him into her.
it was inevitable, how their story goes. how their hearts speak. how they want. his fingers reach to touch the hair at her temple, to feel it beneath his fingers. ] I don't believe we ever truly were. [ he will always find her, as they've found each other here. he loves her, as he always would.
his voice is captured; his breath stops looking at her. the bittersweet elation drops into his depths of his fears. he finds the will to breathe, ragged and audible, and moves his eyes away from her. his fingers curl over her shoulder, firm and desperate; he clings. ]
[Her smile mirrors his, warm and quiet, untouched by the experience of how this all went terribly wrong the first time. She wants to hear him finish the thought, to weave together the ways they hadn't run even as they fought what dwelled within them, that intense attraction and desire and connection, that overwhelming rush she feels every time she stands in his presence and sees who he truly is. He's made her heart skip with his words before he walked away, with his warmth and his touch before he spun her around, left her dizzy and alone.
This time that won't happen. This time they're together, acting on a mutual affection so strong, it feels like it must have always been.
Yet instead of sweet whispers, something different grips Klaus. Her sleepy delight turns to something more fearful when he tightens his fingers on her shoulder, when he struggles to breathe. She moves a hand to his face, her palm gentle, warm against his cheek to remind him that she is there still. She is there, alive, unharmed.]
Klaus? [Cami calls out to him quietly, wanting to beckon him back from his thoughts. She can guess why he suddenly feels this surge of fear and panic, but that wouldn't be fair to him. There is so much to the story he's lived that she still does not know, and as much as Cami doesn't want it to intrude on their morning, she has been unfair in all of this for too long.]
Klaus, talk to me. [So she silences her assumptions, her thumb brushing lightly over his skin as she asks for a different brand of intimacy. This is far from a simple thing for her, or an easy one--but today, she would face it, so he wouldn't endure it alone.]
This time that won't happen. This time they're together, acting on a mutual affection so strong, it feels like it must have always been.
Yet instead of sweet whispers, something different grips Klaus. Her sleepy delight turns to something more fearful when he tightens his fingers on her shoulder, when he struggles to breathe. She moves a hand to his face, her palm gentle, warm against his cheek to remind him that she is there still. She is there, alive, unharmed.]
Klaus? [Cami calls out to him quietly, wanting to beckon him back from his thoughts. She can guess why he suddenly feels this surge of fear and panic, but that wouldn't be fair to him. There is so much to the story he's lived that she still does not know, and as much as Cami doesn't want it to intrude on their morning, she has been unfair in all of this for too long.]
Klaus, talk to me. [So she silences her assumptions, her thumb brushing lightly over his skin as she asks for a different brand of intimacy. This is far from a simple thing for her, or an easy one--but today, she would face it, so he wouldn't endure it alone.]
[ for how long? for how long will she be here, alive and unharmed? their story lead to this, yes: to the delicate and perfect strength of this contentment and love, but he remembers its inevitable course. he trembles with it, despite the warmth of being pressed so seamlessly against her.
it led to her blood and her death. his story has led to darknesses he can hardly abide and must, every day. his hand grips her shoulder, her arm. she is so solid and real in his grasp, and in this moment he cannot let her go. klaus lifts his eyes; he knows it is from her selfless desire to care for him that she offers those words, that she offers this. but he is not so selfish to let her.
perhaps it pains him too much to say. perhaps he knows what he must say will pain her, and that is pain enough. resolve takes him. ] I need to get back to my daughter. [ the words are rough, pulled from his throat.
he cannot stay here with her.
his heart cannot. ]
it led to her blood and her death. his story has led to darknesses he can hardly abide and must, every day. his hand grips her shoulder, her arm. she is so solid and real in his grasp, and in this moment he cannot let her go. klaus lifts his eyes; he knows it is from her selfless desire to care for him that she offers those words, that she offers this. but he is not so selfish to let her.
perhaps it pains him too much to say. perhaps he knows what he must say will pain her, and that is pain enough. resolve takes him. ] I need to get back to my daughter. [ the words are rough, pulled from his throat.
he cannot stay here with her.
his heart cannot. ]
[In some way she feels she should have expected this confession, that the path his heart would demand has been set, and obvious. Cami isn't naïve; whatever they feel for each other, for thousands of years Klaus has put his family first, and even that love is trumped by his utter adoration for his daughter. She has watched him tear apart those closest to him, felt the sharp pain of his fangs in her neck, all in the name of protecting Hope. Klaus cares for Cami, perhaps even loves her—but she is not the one he lives for.
She knows this, and has for some time—yet that certainty cannot diminish the sting of truth, it's sharp strike that shatters that moment of happiness.
For a moment, she cannot hide the pain. The shock leaves her too open, the reality that's kept itself curled in the back of her mind once more flooding her thoughts. She is dead within their world, and only alive here. She only exists within a terrible space, a torturous life designed to rip their identities away.
A prison where she has to somehow fashion a final chance.
She swallows around the thick lump of emotion, her eyes growing glossy with tears—yet they do not fall. Cami won't let them fall, and despite that vivid reminder of her own agony she forces a grin, so slight for all the effort that she puts into shaping it.]
I know. [She knows, and she understands. The logic is simple, the rationale plainly seen. He cannot live for the dead, and Cami cannot ask him to. She will not be so cruel to someone who means so much to her. This can be nothing more than a moment; they can be nothing more than a dream.
A life to be forgotten, whenever Wonderland ends it.]
She knows this, and has for some time—yet that certainty cannot diminish the sting of truth, it's sharp strike that shatters that moment of happiness.
For a moment, she cannot hide the pain. The shock leaves her too open, the reality that's kept itself curled in the back of her mind once more flooding her thoughts. She is dead within their world, and only alive here. She only exists within a terrible space, a torturous life designed to rip their identities away.
A prison where she has to somehow fashion a final chance.
She swallows around the thick lump of emotion, her eyes growing glossy with tears—yet they do not fall. Cami won't let them fall, and despite that vivid reminder of her own agony she forces a grin, so slight for all the effort that she puts into shaping it.]
I know. [She knows, and she understands. The logic is simple, the rationale plainly seen. He cannot live for the dead, and Cami cannot ask him to. She will not be so cruel to someone who means so much to her. This can be nothing more than a moment; they can be nothing more than a dream.
A life to be forgotten, whenever Wonderland ends it.]
[Rebekah doesn't know Camille as well as the rest of her family does but she likes her well enough and her brother cares about her deeply and that makes her important. And she has been helpful to Rebekah and she can even remember the false memories of Hogwarts where they were seemingly closer. With all that in mind Camille will find a wrapped up book of William Blake's poetry (one of Klaus' favorites, it's not a coincidence, Rebekah isn't known for her subtly) along with a note.
Merry Christmas
Sincerely,
Rebekah]
Merry Christmas
Sincerely,
Rebekah]
[He won't have to wait long. Despite the existence of a whole other world on the opposite side of the glass, Cami still checks her hair and her make-up every day. She still looks in the mirror to make sure her outfit looks right on her.
She stops to read the scrawl, unable to keep her eyes from going wide, or her jaw from clenching at the
(true)
audacious claim written on the other side of the glass.]
Guess someone got bored. [She swallows back the pain, the jealousy that spikes at the assertion. Old fears; needless ones now, because Klaus has made his promise to her.] You really don't have anything better to do than play creepy stalker to some random person?
She stops to read the scrawl, unable to keep her eyes from going wide, or her jaw from clenching at the
(true)
audacious claim written on the other side of the glass.]
Guess someone got bored. [She swallows back the pain, the jealousy that spikes at the assertion. Old fears; needless ones now, because Klaus has made his promise to her.] You really don't have anything better to do than play creepy stalker to some random person?
[ true and audacious; that is his m.o.
and it always gets results.
his eyes are gleaming taking her in. he's smiling, at how she claims he's bored. ]
On the contrary, I hardly think you're random. Aren't you the fabled love of his life?
One of them, anyway.
I wonder where you truly rate. After his daughter of course, but before? Caroline.
Here, at least.
and it always gets results.
his eyes are gleaming taking her in. he's smiling, at how she claims he's bored. ]
On the contrary, I hardly think you're random. Aren't you the fabled love of his life?
One of them, anyway.
I wonder where you truly rate. After his daughter of course, but before? Caroline.
Here, at least.
[It narrows down the possibilities, she tells herself. Whichever mirror this is, it's someone who knows about her, about Hope, about--
Too much.
There are a number of mirrors who might, she thinks as if she doesn't already somehow know. For all she knows, Cami could be speaking to her own reflection.
She knows she isn't.]
Bored and sadistic. So is this what gets you off? Pick at their doubts, try and make them question what they have?
[She won't give answer to what he writes, even if her mind can't help but absorb them all. She knows how to defend herself. She hides her anger behind a wall, her uncertainty she buries even further down.
And she gives as good as she gets.]
You know, I've seen what the real version of you can do to someone they want to hurt. Guess I shouldn't be surprised that the knockoff just goes for cheap shots.
Too much.
There are a number of mirrors who might, she thinks as if she doesn't already somehow know. For all she knows, Cami could be speaking to her own reflection.
She knows she isn't.]
Bored and sadistic. So is this what gets you off? Pick at their doubts, try and make them question what they have?
[She won't give answer to what he writes, even if her mind can't help but absorb them all. She knows how to defend herself. She hides her anger behind a wall, her uncertainty she buries even further down.
And she gives as good as she gets.]
You know, I've seen what the real version of you can do to someone they want to hurt. Guess I shouldn't be surprised that the knockoff just goes for cheap shots.
[ there is a reason he has stayed away, besides the obvious strategic maneuvers: this. not only her spirit but how she can so viciously and ruthlessly cut to the quick; she opens him up and the blood spills with his rage. if he were there his hand could be around her neck; he could stifle all that she has to hurt him.
as it is, his fist finds the wall beside her image. he breathes. he lifts his pen.
he needs to be tender with her, sickly sweet and gentle.
all the ways his reflection loves her. ]
So loyal you are to the man you love, but I'm certain you've looked in the mirror. How convenient it is now; when we can both see the truth in your eyes.
You have nothing. You're hardly the present, let alone a future. And when you leave here, you'll be nothing. The world will pass by as you rot and decay until not even he will think of you. No one will think of you.
It's almost too sad to be cruel about.
as it is, his fist finds the wall beside her image. he breathes. he lifts his pen.
he needs to be tender with her, sickly sweet and gentle.
all the ways his reflection loves her. ]
So loyal you are to the man you love, but I'm certain you've looked in the mirror. How convenient it is now; when we can both see the truth in your eyes.
You have nothing. You're hardly the present, let alone a future. And when you leave here, you'll be nothing. The world will pass by as you rot and decay until not even he will think of you. No one will think of you.
It's almost too sad to be cruel about.
Edited 2017-02-07 04:01 (UTC)
[They're playing the same game, making the same maneuvers. Instead of bothering to defend--to admit they need to defend--both Cami and this fake both lash out, hoping to bring the other one down first.
Except he has an advantage. It's right there in his words: he can see her eyes.]
No; I'll have lived. [She fortifies herself, swallows back the thick lump of emotion in her throat as he spells out her deepest fears. He's wrong; she knows he's wrong. Klaus has promised her that form of eternity, that legacy that marks her life as something other than meaningless.
And it's not just him. She hasn't forgotten those people she loves--
At home, or here.]
I will have lived. [She says it again, and though her eyes grow wet with tears she smiles, angry and sure both.] Even if you're right and it'll all eventually be forgotten, I made a difference while I was there, and I'll do the same here. I matter, which is more than anyone can say about you.
[It's almost too sad to be cruel about, right? Yet that doesn't stop her from laughing.]
You're not even real. If Klaus weren't here, you wouldn't be so much as a thought in the Queen's head. So go ahead. Keep telling me that I'm just going to wind up ash and dust.
That's still more than what will be left of you when it's over.
Except he has an advantage. It's right there in his words: he can see her eyes.]
No; I'll have lived. [She fortifies herself, swallows back the thick lump of emotion in her throat as he spells out her deepest fears. He's wrong; she knows he's wrong. Klaus has promised her that form of eternity, that legacy that marks her life as something other than meaningless.
And it's not just him. She hasn't forgotten those people she loves--
At home, or here.]
I will have lived. [She says it again, and though her eyes grow wet with tears she smiles, angry and sure both.] Even if you're right and it'll all eventually be forgotten, I made a difference while I was there, and I'll do the same here. I matter, which is more than anyone can say about you.
[It's almost too sad to be cruel about, right? Yet that doesn't stop her from laughing.]
You're not even real. If Klaus weren't here, you wouldn't be so much as a thought in the Queen's head. So go ahead. Keep telling me that I'm just going to wind up ash and dust.
That's still more than what will be left of you when it's over.
[ rage has always been his flaw, but it is so often an unending, replenishing source. her words press with impossible weight on him; it's the weight of the truth: of his resentment, of his wrath and helplessness. for a moment he thinks he might implode from it. dark veins reach for his eyes and his gums itch. his fist smashes against the mirror and it cracks, the lines sharp and reaching upwards.
shaking, he replies. ]
I'm going to enjoy playing with what's left of your innards. Perhaps I'll string them up in his room along with your broken body.
But I think I'll present your heart. A lovely trophy of what's left of your love after I'm through with you.
shaking, he replies. ]
I'm going to enjoy playing with what's left of your innards. Perhaps I'll string them up in his room along with your broken body.
But I think I'll present your heart. A lovely trophy of what's left of your love after I'm through with you.
Edited 2017-02-07 04:49 (UTC)
[They're opposites but also reflections, and so a stray thought chides Cami for her shock when that crack suddenly appears in the glass, how she sucks in a sharp breath and takes a step back.
Klaus, blood-boiling, burning under his skin in heated rage--and Cami has been the one to strike the match. To make him lose control first.
It doesn't feel like a victory should. Not with the picture he paints for her so soon after.]
I guess that's all you have left, isn't it? Threats of violence.
[Promises. He means to uphold every word.
Is this what it means to be afraid of Klaus Mikaelson?
She reaches for the hairdryer on the counter, her eyes still locked on where his must be. He'll no doubt see the fear she can feel in them, but that won't stop her. She won't let it.
Cami steps back slowly, once, twice.]
Well, unfortunately, some of us don't have all day to waste away. Busy lives, you know.
[And with that, she hurls the hairdryer against the glass with all her strength, meaning to finish what he started.]
Klaus, blood-boiling, burning under his skin in heated rage--and Cami has been the one to strike the match. To make him lose control first.
It doesn't feel like a victory should. Not with the picture he paints for her so soon after.]
I guess that's all you have left, isn't it? Threats of violence.
[Promises. He means to uphold every word.
Is this what it means to be afraid of Klaus Mikaelson?
She reaches for the hairdryer on the counter, her eyes still locked on where his must be. He'll no doubt see the fear she can feel in them, but that won't stop her. She won't let it.
Cami steps back slowly, once, twice.]
Well, unfortunately, some of us don't have all day to waste away. Busy lives, you know.
[And with that, she hurls the hairdryer against the glass with all her strength, meaning to finish what he started.]
[ it would be a lie to say he has not been waiting for this moment: waiting since that moment with caroline at the ball and even before then. he has been waiting for his enemies, so prolific that haunt him even here; he has been waiting for the root of all that endangers and torments those he loves with baited breath: himself.
klaus cannot know it is the malevolent whispers of his mirror that causes that first crack in the glass, but he hears it, so sensitive and trained his ears are for trouble, and for her. he stills, rigid and unmoving in the space between crashes, his heart stunned. but he knows with dread that eschews denial, past the symphony of terror and concern, the moment he steps into the room a split second after. he sees the floor and the countertop covered in shards. he sees the mirror, destroyed.
his eyes move to her and then he does. ]
klaus cannot know it is the malevolent whispers of his mirror that causes that first crack in the glass, but he hears it, so sensitive and trained his ears are for trouble, and for her. he stills, rigid and unmoving in the space between crashes, his heart stunned. but he knows with dread that eschews denial, past the symphony of terror and concern, the moment he steps into the room a split second after. he sees the floor and the countertop covered in shards. he sees the mirror, destroyed.
his eyes move to her and then he does. ]
Edited 2017-02-07 15:00 (UTC)
[Her hands are shaking by the time he walks in. Her hands, her arms, her entire body. Cami can’t stop herself from trembling, and the sound of her door suddenly opening has her turning, the fear she refused to show (that she couldn’t hide within her eyes) making her jump even as she fumbles for something to defend herself with.
A fragment of glass, wicked and cruel as the man who inspired her to shatter her mirror. It cuts into her palm as surely as he has promised to.
Only when her thoughts catch up with instinct, when Cami reminds herself that the person coming towards her now cannot be anything but real does she throw that glass aside. She breathes out his name, desperate, needy, and moves to close that gap at the same time, uncaring of where her blood might shed as she throws her arms around him.]
A fragment of glass, wicked and cruel as the man who inspired her to shatter her mirror. It cuts into her palm as surely as he has promised to.
Only when her thoughts catch up with instinct, when Cami reminds herself that the person coming towards her now cannot be anything but real does she throw that glass aside. She breathes out his name, desperate, needy, and moves to close that gap at the same time, uncaring of where her blood might shed as she throws her arms around him.]
[ it doesn't escape his notice—it carves his heart out, just as the jagged dagger in her hand would—how it takes her a moment, a split second too long; enough that he falters in his tracks with a choking ache in his throat. (she is afraid, and he can only assume that means one thing.)
there are no words to describe the stirring relief, the humbled abatement that washes over him as she forswears that instinct with that loyal stubbornness only inherent to her. she accepts him in full and rushes to meet him; he breathes easier as she collides with him, into his arms, her body warm and tucked into his. his hand curls around the nape of her neck and his arm holds her close about the waist, his fingers needy and clutching over her shirt, squeezing her close. she shakes; all he feels is how she shakes. ] It's all right; I've got you, sweetheart. I promise. [ his eyes lift to the broken mirror; what an empty promise that may be. ]
there are no words to describe the stirring relief, the humbled abatement that washes over him as she forswears that instinct with that loyal stubbornness only inherent to her. she accepts him in full and rushes to meet him; he breathes easier as she collides with him, into his arms, her body warm and tucked into his. his hand curls around the nape of her neck and his arm holds her close about the waist, his fingers needy and clutching over her shirt, squeezing her close. she shakes; all he feels is how she shakes. ] It's all right; I've got you, sweetheart. I promise. [ his eyes lift to the broken mirror; what an empty promise that may be. ]
Edited 2017-02-09 01:56 (UTC)
[She swallows hard as she melts against him, buries her face against the crook of his neck and simply breathes him in, the unique scent and warmth that can only be the Klaus Mikaelson she knows. The tears unshed in her eyes could so easily fall now, but Cami won't let them; even as she shivers against Klaus, and the certainty of the safety he offers envelops her, Cami can't let herself be so vulnerable.
The mirror behind her is destroyed, but the glass is still everywhere. Shards of all shapes, some even wicked as a grin.]
I need to get out of here. [That son of a bitch has driven her from her own room, at least for the time being. It feels like a loss, but that's easier for Cami to bear than the sudden weight of the air in this place, how thick each breath feels in her throat. She doesn't care if he whisks her away at vampiric speed or guides her at the pace a human might walk.
She needs to be somewhere else.]
The mirror behind her is destroyed, but the glass is still everywhere. Shards of all shapes, some even wicked as a grin.]
I need to get out of here. [That son of a bitch has driven her from her own room, at least for the time being. It feels like a loss, but that's easier for Cami to bear than the sudden weight of the air in this place, how thick each breath feels in her throat. She doesn't care if he whisks her away at vampiric speed or guides her at the pace a human might walk.
She needs to be somewhere else.]
[ she need not say another word nor endure another moment; she is in his embrace and that is where she'll stay until they reach his room in a gust of movement and the blink of an eye. even as he does he knows he'll be back: he will make this disappear for her. he will clean up the pieces and tuck them away and when the mirror reappears, he will cover it knowing it is all he can do.
for now he quells the trumpets of alarm and terror in his heart. he quiets them with ease only practiced by imperative: to take care of her. to be there for her. klaus gently extracts himself from her, only enough to guide her to sit on his bed, and then reaches for the bourbon on his end table. he hands it to her, knowing if nothing else it will soothe her nerves, and lowers to kneel before her.
(his touch never leaves her. his palm stays at her neck, his finger move down her shoulder, and now his hands rest on her thighs.)
he's here, kind and worried eyes searching and trained on her face. ]
for now he quells the trumpets of alarm and terror in his heart. he quiets them with ease only practiced by imperative: to take care of her. to be there for her. klaus gently extracts himself from her, only enough to guide her to sit on his bed, and then reaches for the bourbon on his end table. he hands it to her, knowing if nothing else it will soothe her nerves, and lowers to kneel before her.
(his touch never leaves her. his palm stays at her neck, his finger move down her shoulder, and now his hands rest on her thighs.)
he's here, kind and worried eyes searching and trained on her face. ]
[She clings more tightly to him as he whisks her away, though in truth by the time she manages to strengthen her hold they’re already in his room. Still, she’s glad; dizzy from the sudden change in scenery but already so much more at ease just being away from there, from shards of broken glass and the words that had been written upon them.
Klaus has a bit of time pulling himself away; human though she may be Cami’s not exactly inclined to let go. It takes quite a bit of coaching inside her own head, because she knows he’s not going anywhere. He’s not leaving her, not about to suddenly be replaced by his mirror image. Still, it helps that he never breaks that contact with her, not fully. His lingering touch is what allows her to follow after him, to rest upon his bed and take hold of the cup he offers.]
Thank you. [She murmurs the words out of habit, curling her hands around the crystal. It would steady her, but only after her hands stop trembling enough to allow her to drink. To that end, Klaus provides a steady anchor; he kneels before her, and in spite of everything she manages a soft smile when she sees that worry in his eyes.
As much as his mirror wants her destroyed, the real Klaus--her Klaus—desires her to live.
She reaches out to him, to press her palm against his cheek. Things aren’t okay yet. But they’re better, because he’s there with her.]
Klaus has a bit of time pulling himself away; human though she may be Cami’s not exactly inclined to let go. It takes quite a bit of coaching inside her own head, because she knows he’s not going anywhere. He’s not leaving her, not about to suddenly be replaced by his mirror image. Still, it helps that he never breaks that contact with her, not fully. His lingering touch is what allows her to follow after him, to rest upon his bed and take hold of the cup he offers.]
Thank you. [She murmurs the words out of habit, curling her hands around the crystal. It would steady her, but only after her hands stop trembling enough to allow her to drink. To that end, Klaus provides a steady anchor; he kneels before her, and in spite of everything she manages a soft smile when she sees that worry in his eyes.
As much as his mirror wants her destroyed, the real Klaus--her Klaus—desires her to live.
She reaches out to him, to press her palm against his cheek. Things aren’t okay yet. But they’re better, because he’s there with her.]
[ there is no force in this world or another that could pull him away. not fully, not in the ways that matter. if it soothes her he lets her clutch at him, his hands caressing up and down her arms, coaxing and comforting when she doesn't relent; it's certainly no burden to do so. (he wants her to feel safe and it's a rare privilege to have even an ounce of that power.)
his fingers rest over hers, shaking against the glass, wanting and seeking to steady them. to steady her fears and suffering, the torment she's no doubt experienced. his hand lifts to hers reaching for him and stays it before it reaches his cheek, the copper and tang of blood filling his senses. he knew it before, scented it, but now the significance of the wound torn into her skin is a blow: it's a product of her, once again hurt, in the line of loving him. (and of being who she, so strong and resilient.) anger and the helpless need for retribution build in him, but klaus merely meets her eyes for a moment.
(an apology will do little, will accomplish nothing, for he is not sorry she loves him. but he can do this.) klaus lifts his hand draped over the glass of bourbon, his fangs dropping, his veins pulsing, and bites down into the heel of his palm. he presses it to hers, cradles her hand between both of his, and drops his lips to them, entwined. ] Tell me what he said to you. [ he knows. he knew. of course he did, and this is his confession. there is a promise of violence in his eyes, unmistakable. ]
his fingers rest over hers, shaking against the glass, wanting and seeking to steady them. to steady her fears and suffering, the torment she's no doubt experienced. his hand lifts to hers reaching for him and stays it before it reaches his cheek, the copper and tang of blood filling his senses. he knew it before, scented it, but now the significance of the wound torn into her skin is a blow: it's a product of her, once again hurt, in the line of loving him. (and of being who she, so strong and resilient.) anger and the helpless need for retribution build in him, but klaus merely meets her eyes for a moment.
(an apology will do little, will accomplish nothing, for he is not sorry she loves him. but he can do this.) klaus lifts his hand draped over the glass of bourbon, his fangs dropping, his veins pulsing, and bites down into the heel of his palm. he presses it to hers, cradles her hand between both of his, and drops his lips to them, entwined. ] Tell me what he said to you. [ he knows. he knew. of course he did, and this is his confession. there is a promise of violence in his eyes, unmistakable. ]
Edited 2017-02-10 01:00 (UTC)
[Somewhere between fear and relief Cami has ignored the pain in her hand; in truth she has no idea how deeply she's managed to cut herself, or what harm might have been done had Klaus not been so easily able to heal her. Yet once he stops her movement she remembers the sting, looks at the cup in her hand and sees the smear of blood upon it as well. God, how long has it been since this was her world, one with bloodstains everywhere that she doesn't even notice at first?
So much like home.
She watches in silence as Klaus bites into own flesh, drawing forth the blood that would mingle with her wound and cause it to heal. His lips press warm against her fingers, and she's offered a moment to breathe before he makes his quiet demand.
He knows. Somehow he knows, and Cami realizes with renewed worry that her visit from Klaus' mirror can't have been the phantom's first.]
He, uh. He was trying to pick at my doubts. [The words feel too dry in her mouth, and now at last Cami raises that glass, hungrily seeking the familiar burn provided by the alcohol. Only after a long drink does she continue.] He wants me to doubt you, myself. He brought up the fact I'm dead, or that I'm going to be.
[But the conversation hadn't been single-sided. She finds some of that earlier resolve, steel coming into her eyes as she takes a slow breath in, and meets Klaus' gaze.]
And he couldn't stand it when I told him that I'm more real than he can ever hope of being.
So much like home.
She watches in silence as Klaus bites into own flesh, drawing forth the blood that would mingle with her wound and cause it to heal. His lips press warm against her fingers, and she's offered a moment to breathe before he makes his quiet demand.
He knows. Somehow he knows, and Cami realizes with renewed worry that her visit from Klaus' mirror can't have been the phantom's first.]
He, uh. He was trying to pick at my doubts. [The words feel too dry in her mouth, and now at last Cami raises that glass, hungrily seeking the familiar burn provided by the alcohol. Only after a long drink does she continue.] He wants me to doubt you, myself. He brought up the fact I'm dead, or that I'm going to be.
[But the conversation hadn't been single-sided. She finds some of that earlier resolve, steel coming into her eyes as she takes a slow breath in, and meets Klaus' gaze.]
And he couldn't stand it when I told him that I'm more real than he can ever hope of being.
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