[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?
[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.
[ 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.
[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.
[ 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.
[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.]
[ 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.
[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.]
[ 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. ]
[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 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. ]
[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.]
[ 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. ]
[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.
[ no, it has not been his mirror's first. it's not the first time he has heard the details of his mirror's terrorization and strategies. he's heard them from caroline. he's heard them from rebekah. he's even experienced his own himself, from his sister's alternate ego.
klaus is not foolish enough to not believe his mirror didn't make his mark. he's making his mark now, evident in how camille trembles, how thirstily she drinks, in how even he falters and flounders hearing the description of what befell her. klaus swallows thickly, his eyes dropping and searching the space beside them. he considers: all the notes were hit. every terrible, heartbreaking one.
it wrenches him inside, the pain disguised by the attempted evenness in her voice. it wrenches him, feeling her pain as his. it is his because what hurts her hurts him, and what's more, he shares that wrath and will that flares in her; he meets her eyes as she meets his.
(of course his reflection would. he wouldn't stand to have his worthlessness; his lack pointed out so plain. he wouldn't, once upon a time. it's the first he's heard of someone, anyone, exploiting, let alone perceiving that invaluable weakness.
his eyes fill and his lips quiver as his jaw works: it's rage, for his mirror. it's pride and admiration, for her.)
klaus reaches to stroke her cheek with his thumb. he rises to sit beside her. ]
Then he made a terrible error, believing he could shake you.
[She's shaken, sure, but not broken. What Klaus's mirror had gotten most wrong had been his sense of timing; a few weeks ago, a few months, and the words would have cut so much deeper, perhaps shed the blood he intended. Yet with the benefit of time passed by, instead his blade struck the shield she's built around her heart against the harsher truths of her world. His mistake had not been to pick at those wounds, but to rather wait until they had healed, to try and push his fingers into scars rather than open flesh.
Still, there has been damage done. She finishes off her bourbon, sets it aside as Klaus joins her on the bed. Cami can't fall into the pit of emotion now, the dark fears she feels each time she closes her eyes and sees those same words scrawled on the glass. Klaus is angry, and that's good. She needs fire instead of frailty, and no one can provide that better.]
He's going to come after me, Klaus. The mirrors don't cross over often, but it's happened before. [Once in Klaus's time in Wonderland, more often in Cami's. Moreover, unlike the last time when a mirror crosses, their real is typically sent to the other side.
She meets his gaze head on, for here is the worse truth: if Klaus' mirror comes to find her, then Cami can't rely on her lover's protection.]
I need to be able to defend myself. At least enough to get away.
[ his fire was forged in frailty, as so many fires are. this kindled pyre is no different. he has lost her not once but twice and that agony will be his strength. for her, he would make it anything it need be.
what he needs to be now is decided. what she needs is someone to protect her at any cost, and to help her protect herself. he is no stranger nor coward to those worser truths, and the words she speaks aloud he knows bone-deep.
everyone he loves is a target. it is not he who will suffer his mirror's wrath past anxiety and grief. it's his sisters. those he loves. it's camille. the tips of his fingers weave into the hair cascading over the nape of her neck. there is fear in his eyes as she vocalizes what they both know, a hard rock of horror in his throat, but it blends and dissolves into the resolve they both need.
the resolve he has in spades and in centuries, for her. ] So we will build an army around you, and we will figure out a way.
[He’s afraid, terrified for her. Cami can see it, even as Klaus resolves himself to not letting her suffer yet again. It matches her own fear, twin flames that they both refuse to let conquer them. She has not forgotten that she’s mortal, or how easily she might die. The hand that cradles her now, brushes through her hair to offer comfort could so easily tighten, snap her bones with a simple twist and leave her a crumpled heap on the bed.
(On the floor. The first time she’d died, her body had been left on the floor.)
She covers his wrist with her hand, her thumb brushing over his skin as she holds his gaze. He promises her that safety, and Cami believes him. She believes in herself, because she’s already died too many times.
She won’t let it happen again. She won’t suffer—and she won’t be used as a tool to make others feel such pain.]
I know. [Perhaps her confidence is foolish, but it stands genuine. There is a lot to consider, plans to make, weapons to potentially obtain from the vendors. What she wants in this moment, however, is to regain her sense of control. She hates feeling powerless and weak, moreso now than ever before.
Nearly as much as she can’t stand the idea that it’s Klaus’ reflection that has made her feel that way.
It’s impulse that drives her forward, a mix of fear and anger and need that has her leaning forward to insistently press her lips against his.]
[ he needs no weapons from the vendors. the weapon is already here, hidden away in the recesses of wonderland where only klaus knows to look. he knows what will kill his mirror; what will stop himself. anything else or less is simply a distraction. a tool.
something flickers in his eyes at her surety, at her faith so decidedly and fully given, for however he has failed her and can fail her now, there is nothing in the world he will not do to protect her, to save her, and there is strength to take from her belief. his chin lifts. his fingertips rub gentle and unthinking caresses into the skin at the nape of her neck, into her hair: small circles that begin to twine wisps of gold.
what he's not expecting is the ferocity of her kiss, the softness and heat of her lips urgent against his. it's instinct and months—years and centuries—in the fullness of his heart's and the electricity of his body's desires to respond, his breath caught as her lips capture his, his own parting over hers.
he's not expecting it, but in her needy, seeking pursuit perhaps he should. she is frightened, upset, and after a moment of unease considering what her motives might be, he lifts a hand to touch her wrist and pulls away: to look at her, to discern her. he doesn't know what she wants, but he can guess. (the blindness of distraction. the immersion of intimacy to numb or conquer all else.
he would understand it, but he does not want to make love to her to forget.) ]
[At first he responds, caught off guard by her sudden demand, and why should he not be? They’ve kissed before, shared a bed but only in the most chaste sense, and what she silently suggests with her parted lips is a leap further--one they have yet to take together. It’s not for lack of want on either of their parts, however; she doesn’t believe their romance is a fairytale, a sweet story of fantasy and happily ever after.
Yet the simplest reason, the purest one, is that world has never turned in just the right way to bring them the right moment for what they could share.
It hasn’t still. He stops her with a touch, pulls away and Cami doesn’t attempt to follow. Instead she presses her lips together, her eyes open but cast down as her thoughts catch up with her.]
Right. That...wasn’t, uh. [Her cheeks flush red, and Cami grins helplessly as she tries to swallow back that spike of shame. She loves him; she wants to be with him, but not like this.
Klaus has offered her his shelter, but he is far more than her escape.]
You know, it’s funny. I can hardly remember the last time I had sex when it wasn’t--that. [With Sam and Marcel both it had been a grasp for control--something good and normal, when nothing else seemed to make sense. Oh, she had cared for both men, deeply. But Klaus is different. He always has been, and even if it’s only in her own perception, she wants this to consume her every bit as much as he has.
[ they are not alone in this room. there are figures and forces at work. at another time, when they are in another place, perhaps he would not hesitate. he would indulge what they both long for and need. but not now. the world has never turned in just the right way to lead them to that moment; the longing he feels for her and that intimacy has only begun to build again. he has only begun to let himself want and reach carefully for that joy and the exhilaration of loving; of being loved, of being with her for all she is and all she is to him, inextricably tied to each other and that moment.
she's right. it wasn't, but that doesn't mean it won't be, that he doesn't want it with every breath inside of him, including this one. she grins and his lips curl up, bashful and stirred both as he too glances down. there is a new sort of fear in his eyes: but it is passionate and eager. he's not about to comment on her sex life (or his own for that matter) but— ] Well, it'd hardly be a chore. [ gaze bright and sweet, he tucks hair behind her ear, smooths and feels it against his fingertips again and again in soothing caresses.
he wants her and he wishes there were words to tell her so, to reassure her. instead, he exhales a shallow breath, his eyes roaming down to her lips and then back up to her eyes. ]
[He need not fear her knowledge of his desire; in all the things she has questioned, timing and motivation and what disaster is about to befall them, Cami has never doubted that he wants as she does. Still, it is sweet to see in the way he looks down, the shy grin his favors her with. Klaus is the master of the calculated risk, of keeping his guard well and set to protect all that truly matters to him.
And yet for all she's seen in him, Cami's never quite seen him like this. Klaus truly letting himself be in love, and even better, be in love with her.
At least, right up to the point in which he opens his mouth again. That gets a laugh out of her.] It'd hardly be a chore? You've been alive for over a thousand years, and that's the best you can do?
[Not very romantic, Klaus. Yet she loves it, even if Cami won't ever admit it. The silly, ridiculous words that are entirely wrong, that help her laugh--
That steal away those last dregs of fear and unease sparked by his mirror, at least for now.
Her giggling tapers off, just in time to savor the soft strokes of his fingers over her hair. She catches sight of where his eyes move, to her lips, back up to meet her gaze. She's always thought he has the most stunning eyes, ones she could lose herself in as she tries to understand everything she sees in them. When she closes the gap between them again, it's with a much gentler intent this time. A chaste brush of her mouth against his, to silently promise that things are still as they should be between them, even if now is not the time to make them more.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
i feel so special
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?
;)
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.
Re: ;)
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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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klaus is not foolish enough to not believe his mirror didn't make his mark. he's making his mark now, evident in how camille trembles, how thirstily she drinks, in how even he falters and flounders hearing the description of what befell her. klaus swallows thickly, his eyes dropping and searching the space beside them. he considers: all the notes were hit. every terrible, heartbreaking one.
it wrenches him inside, the pain disguised by the attempted evenness in her voice. it wrenches him, feeling her pain as his. it is his because what hurts her hurts him, and what's more, he shares that wrath and will that flares in her; he meets her eyes as she meets his.
(of course his reflection would. he wouldn't stand to have his worthlessness; his lack pointed out so plain. he wouldn't, once upon a time. it's the first he's heard of someone, anyone, exploiting, let alone perceiving that invaluable weakness.
his eyes fill and his lips quiver as his jaw works: it's rage, for his mirror. it's pride and admiration, for her.)
klaus reaches to stroke her cheek with his thumb. he rises to sit beside her. ]
Then he made a terrible error, believing he could shake you.
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Still, there has been damage done. She finishes off her bourbon, sets it aside as Klaus joins her on the bed. Cami can't fall into the pit of emotion now, the dark fears she feels each time she closes her eyes and sees those same words scrawled on the glass. Klaus is angry, and that's good. She needs fire instead of frailty, and no one can provide that better.]
He's going to come after me, Klaus. The mirrors don't cross over often, but it's happened before. [Once in Klaus's time in Wonderland, more often in Cami's. Moreover, unlike the last time when a mirror crosses, their real is typically sent to the other side.
She meets his gaze head on, for here is the worse truth: if Klaus' mirror comes to find her, then Cami can't rely on her lover's protection.]
I need to be able to defend myself. At least enough to get away.
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what he needs to be now is decided. what she needs is someone to protect her at any cost, and to help her protect herself. he is no stranger nor coward to those worser truths, and the words she speaks aloud he knows bone-deep.
everyone he loves is a target. it is not he who will suffer his mirror's wrath past anxiety and grief. it's his sisters. those he loves. it's camille. the tips of his fingers weave into the hair cascading over the nape of her neck. there is fear in his eyes as she vocalizes what they both know, a hard rock of horror in his throat, but it blends and dissolves into the resolve they both need.
the resolve he has in spades and in centuries, for her. ] So we will build an army around you, and we will figure out a way.
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(On the floor. The first time she’d died, her body had been left on the floor.)
She covers his wrist with her hand, her thumb brushing over his skin as she holds his gaze. He promises her that safety, and Cami believes him. She believes in herself, because she’s already died too many times.
She won’t let it happen again. She won’t suffer—and she won’t be used as a tool to make others feel such pain.]
I know. [Perhaps her confidence is foolish, but it stands genuine. There is a lot to consider, plans to make, weapons to potentially obtain from the vendors. What she wants in this moment, however, is to regain her sense of control. She hates feeling powerless and weak, moreso now than ever before.
Nearly as much as she can’t stand the idea that it’s Klaus’ reflection that has made her feel that way.
It’s impulse that drives her forward, a mix of fear and anger and need that has her leaning forward to insistently press her lips against his.]
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something flickers in his eyes at her surety, at her faith so decidedly and fully given, for however he has failed her and can fail her now, there is nothing in the world he will not do to protect her, to save her, and there is strength to take from her belief. his chin lifts. his fingertips rub gentle and unthinking caresses into the skin at the nape of her neck, into her hair: small circles that begin to twine wisps of gold.
what he's not expecting is the ferocity of her kiss, the softness and heat of her lips urgent against his. it's instinct and months—years and centuries—in the fullness of his heart's and the electricity of his body's desires to respond, his breath caught as her lips capture his, his own parting over hers.
he's not expecting it, but in her needy, seeking pursuit perhaps he should. she is frightened, upset, and after a moment of unease considering what her motives might be, he lifts a hand to touch her wrist and pulls away: to look at her, to discern her. he doesn't know what she wants, but he can guess. (the blindness of distraction. the immersion of intimacy to numb or conquer all else.
he would understand it, but he does not want to make love to her to forget.) ]
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Yet the simplest reason, the purest one, is that world has never turned in just the right way to bring them the right moment for what they could share.
It hasn’t still. He stops her with a touch, pulls away and Cami doesn’t attempt to follow. Instead she presses her lips together, her eyes open but cast down as her thoughts catch up with her.]
Right. That...wasn’t, uh. [Her cheeks flush red, and Cami grins helplessly as she tries to swallow back that spike of shame. She loves him; she wants to be with him, but not like this.
Klaus has offered her his shelter, but he is far more than her escape.]
You know, it’s funny. I can hardly remember the last time I had sex when it wasn’t--that. [With Sam and Marcel both it had been a grasp for control--something good and normal, when nothing else seemed to make sense. Oh, she had cared for both men, deeply. But Klaus is different. He always has been, and even if it’s only in her own perception, she wants this to consume her every bit as much as he has.
Not to use him as her distraction.]
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she's right. it wasn't, but that doesn't mean it won't be, that he doesn't want it with every breath inside of him, including this one. she grins and his lips curl up, bashful and stirred both as he too glances down. there is a new sort of fear in his eyes: but it is passionate and eager. he's not about to comment on her sex life (or his own for that matter) but— ] Well, it'd hardly be a chore. [ gaze bright and sweet, he tucks hair behind her ear, smooths and feels it against his fingertips again and again in soothing caresses.
he wants her and he wishes there were words to tell her so, to reassure her. instead, he exhales a shallow breath, his eyes roaming down to her lips and then back up to her eyes. ]
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And yet for all she's seen in him, Cami's never quite seen him like this. Klaus truly letting himself be in love, and even better, be in love with her.
At least, right up to the point in which he opens his mouth again. That gets a laugh out of her.] It'd hardly be a chore? You've been alive for over a thousand years, and that's the best you can do?
[Not very romantic, Klaus. Yet she loves it, even if Cami won't ever admit it. The silly, ridiculous words that are entirely wrong, that help her laugh--
That steal away those last dregs of fear and unease sparked by his mirror, at least for now.
Her giggling tapers off, just in time to savor the soft strokes of his fingers over her hair. She catches sight of where his eyes move, to her lips, back up to meet her gaze. She's always thought he has the most stunning eyes, ones she could lose herself in as she tries to understand everything she sees in them. When she closes the gap between them again, it's with a much gentler intent this time. A chaste brush of her mouth against his, to silently promise that things are still as they should be between them, even if now is not the time to make them more.]