[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.]
[ 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.
[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.]
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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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]