entrancelogs | [closed] maybe we're trying, trying too hard

( time passes. it has for him, every day and night for the past week crawling by in moments of restless, relentless continuance. that is all this is: a circle. a narrow passageway going nowhere, assuredly to the blank slate this place seeks. they say the passage of these moments may heal all wounds, but klaus has already survived time. he has not survived this.

(he wonders. how he'll fare, locked up for longer, enduring torment untold. how he did under the hunter's curse. he thinks of his daughter.

he thinks of rebekah. elijah.

then he thinks of what violence he may commit, what stratagem will free him.

the thought of clementine chokes him. stops him.)

he paints. he paints nothing, nothing but canvases streaked with colors both angry and bright and dark. he paints and leaves his works piled and some broken. it's the only action that lends him control, grants him respite.

he knows what it does to her. he feels that space. that gap, uncrossed, between them. he tries not to think of it.

klaus feels her presence. he doesn't turn but he tenses at the words, pauses for a moment, and then puts brush to canvas again. ) I'm clearing my mind.

[He doesn't even turn to look at her. Ice solidifies in her gut, creeps up into her chest.

She tries to recall the moment she realized something had changed. She can't pinpoint it to a specific moment, which makes it all the more confusing. He won't talk to her about it. He barely talks at all.

He just does this. She cleans. Drinks. Leaves and comes back.

She can't live like that forever. She can't live like that for as long as she already has, she knows, because she can feel the doubt starting to gnaw at her insides already.]

You're shutting me out.

( her words erect steel in his heart. they do shut a door. he feels aggravation at them rise; he feels the accusation. he feels the denial of them deep from his core, building into and mingling with his unceasing hurt and vexation: all he wants is to be left alone.

his huff is short, heavy, audible, and through his nose; his fingers re-grip and tighten into a fist around his paintbrush. he turns to face her then, looks at her level and in a pointed, thick silence, jaw tight and the look in his eyes challenging, as if to say: there. he's not shutting her out. is that what she wants? )

[It's a side of him she barely remembers, one that she didn't think she'd see again. She realizes that was probably really naive of her.

A lump forms in her throat as she finds it hard to speak now. Is this what she wanted? Of course not. He knows it, they both know it. She doesn't want to be stared at like she's some sort of burden, that she doesn't belong here. He wanted her here and now he's acting like she's a stranger, something no better than annoying.]

Did I do something wrong?

[She can't really fathom why this is happening, otherwise. But she also can't figure out what it is she could have done.]

( and isn't she? not a stranger but someone who does hardly know him, despite all they've been through. perhaps because of it. he has wanted her to. of course he has, because he loves her; sharing his memories, his home, their home, his heart. but how much has he let her in? how much could he in these short months, but a blink of an eye in his long life, amongst tragedy and estrangement and the shadow of another man?

he hesitates. he softens, however minutely at her question. he feels the hurt of it through his heart. ) No, ( the word is said with a certain, sure fierceness, but whatever is tender in it is evaporates. his curled hand shakes as he lifts it; his voice sharpens. ) But I can hardly concentrate between the constant interruptions and the mansion's incessant chatter.

[Okay, so it's not about her. Probably. She wishes that helped her feel any better, but it doesn't.]

Okay...

[It comes off more condescending that she means it to, but she has her own frustrations to bear. Something is wrong, and whatever it is, he's not sharing it with her, and that hurts too. If it were about her it would be something she could fix. If it's something else, well...]

Interruptions? You've barely left this room and I've given you plenty of space, space that you didn't even ask for, by the way. [She'd always told him what she needed. Why couldn't he do the same thing?] I just want you to talk to me. Is that really so wrong?

( the condescension is hardly appreciated nor is the criticism taken with less of the same. it sparks that agitation in him with recrimination and shame. it alights his anger despite the validity of any arguments she makes — and they are valid, but he is hurt and hurting and it is easier to lash out.

his gaze dark and half-baleful, he takes a breath and lets it out. the visible irritation trembling and troubling him quiets. his voice does too, strained only by the high-pitch of sarcasm he injects at turns. ) Well, perhaps I have nothing to say. Perhaps all I desire is space ( he gestures in a wide arc to the room ) and your accusations are hardly conducive to what I need.

Edited 2017-10-16 22:26 (UTC)

You think I can't tell when you're lost in whatever's going on in your head? Do you really think I'm that oblivious? I know why you paint, alright, and all this is- [She points around the room as well] -it's scaring me.

[And it's really obvious that whatever's going on in that head is dark and messy and maybe even terrifying. She can see it in the violence of his brush strokes as if he'd rather take it to something else entirely. Something living and breathing.]

Then tell me what it is you need! [She practically shouts it before she exhales deeply, trying to collect herself. She's hurting too, and they're both throwing it out there in ways that aren't helping.

She looks down at the ground, willing the stinging in her eyes to calm, before she looks back up, voice calmer.] I'm not accusing you of anything, okay. But you can't just act like I don't exist and not tell me why.

( he didn't want to burden her. he didn't want to tell her of the anguish inside of him, knowing how it would score. how could he look into her eyes and tell her — tell her he was beginning to fray at the seams, that nothing and nowhere felt safe and familiar, that with rebekah gone, with the illusions of elijah and reminders of his failures fresh in his mind, his sister freya close but hardly the touchstone he needs, with knowing hope... losing clementine...

how could he admit what he barely wants to admit to himself? (he's weak. ineffectual. perhaps better-off for all he loves, rotting here.)

her words hit him. they hit the shield he's erected over himself, but there's truth to what she says that sinks into him. there's truth in her anger. there's something he can pinpoint in her fear. it's easier than acknowledging her earnestness, than unburdening himself as she asks, as he fears. ) But aren't you?

( tears sting his eyes. he shifts on his feet. ) You know what this is about, so say it. ( there's accusation in his voice now. deeper than accusation, it's certainty. ) You're afraid of what I'm going to do. ( he lifts an arm, points to her and takes unhurried steps forward. ) The immortal bastard you invited into your heart: you think of what I'm capable of and it frightens you. ( that hurts him. ) Hm? Say it.

Edited 2017-10-17 00:59 (UTC)

[Her expression hardens because, for once, he's wrong. She's not afraid of him, hasn't been for awhile. If she were still afraid, she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't be sleeping in his bed at night, worried about what he might do the next day.

He's better than that. She knows he wants to do better than that.

It's not him that she's afraid of right now.]

I'm not afraid of you. [She points over his shoulder at the dark mass of swirling colors that he's been attacking for hours on end.] I'm afraid of whatever could have done that to you.

[He's so rarely this affected by anything in her memory. He's been through so much and never bats an eye. He shakes it off and he moves on, sometimes like nothing ever happened to him.]

And I'm afraid of myself because I want to find whatever caused this and rip it to shreds.

( the anger and wrath and loathing filling up every corner of him, blinding and deafening him to all else, slips away like water over a rock; it would escape his fingers even if he reached for it: he deflates, his breath heavy and shaking, the storm-blue of his eyes wide and clearing with awe. all he hears is his shaking breath as he calms, as he sees.

his lifted hand slowly falls. his pretense slips away.

she loves him.

perhaps he hadn't known it until this moment, hadn't truly believed it until now. he knows now with unquestionable certainty she does: she knows him. she knows him now, and she loves him.

he's been a fool.

he's before her in no time at all, his hands cupping her face, his lips pressing to hers in a hard and breathless kiss. )

Edited 2017-10-17 01:46 (UTC)

[She can see it, the moment that she gets through to him. She doesn't know what it is she said, or what changed. Maybe he hadn't understood her at all. Maybe he'd been so caught up in the worst case scenario that he couldn't see it as anything different.

How many times had he known her before she knew herself? Why did it have to be this one time that he believed the opposite of the truth.

They're the same, in all the ways that matter now. Neither of them are perfect, but they're both trying, for each other and the people they love separately.

Still, he manages to catch her by surprise, the suddenness of his form in her personal space, the intensity of his kiss. She's stunned, relieved and frustrated all at once, but she also finds his emotional reaction impossible to resist, and only a moment passes before she rests her palms against the sides of his throat, returning the gesture almost desperately.]

( she responds, that moment before she does rife with a desperation that blooms with warmth and need once her lips part and move against his. his kiss relents enough for him to suck in a gasp; he releases her face to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her in, the act as demanding as it is quick. he leans into her, bends her back, and then reaches to sink his fingers into her hair.

his kiss is unyielding, breathless. he only pulls away when he needs that breath, his eyes half-hooded and looking down into hers. his voice is gruff and deep, thick with tenderness and undulating with the same. he tucks a lock of her hair back. ) I love you. ( he feels it more than he has before, in ways he hasn't, with an intensity he didn't know he could. )

[Her heart skips and then thunders in her chest. Warmth blooms in her face as her eyes sting further. What he says is something she knows, but something he doesn't say, and hearing it out loud always carries with it an intensity that she finds hard to manage.

They're not words she's heard very often.

And maybe she thought that, for whatever reason, he might not feel that way anymore. Or, worse still, that she might not want to understand whatever it was he was dealing with inside his head.]

I love you, too.

[She says them back so easily it astounds her, but she knows it's true, in all its frightening possibilities.]

( he doesn't say the words often, nor does he hear them; there are hardly and rarely moments that warrant such a depth of feeling — but he means them with her. he wants them with her. (and he knows. he knows seeing the tears in her eyes and the flush of her skin, they carry a weight for her too. he senses her yearning for them, reflected by the wonder and craving of his own.

she says them back, so freely his throat closes with emotion.) that passion and tenderness overwhelms him, possesses him, and it is all he knows and feels and sees.

all he does until he recalls the days he's spent, estranged and pulled away, and how they have hurt her. how so clearly he has hurt her.

klaus sucks in a breath. he looks down, between them, trouble furrowing his brow, and lets it out. the truth is he has needed this space. he has needed this time. he can hardly put to words the grief and horror weighing him down. he's not sure if he could. ) I don't know ( he pauses, searching in vain for expression ) how else to confront ( what word could encapsulate— ) everything. ( this is all he's done, his recourse from tragedy: quiet. solitude. )

[He's struggling, that much she knows. She doesn't know precisely what with, but whatever it is has shaken him to the core, so much so that he can't even find the words.

It seems fitting that he would see it as a confrontation, working through whatever is plaguing him. She's not always the best at dealing with things herself, let alone help someone else, but she can try.

She can listen.

Her fingers brush gently through his hair, her eyes search his.]

Why don't you start with telling me what you've been thinking about?

( everything is a confrontation. in all his years, his difficulties have amounted to nothing less: he is klaus mikaelson, the immortal hybrid with a thousand enemies, and he has acquired and laid waste to them all for a reason.

his eyes widen and round, not at the soothing comfort of her touch, but at the answer to her question, large and terrifying, sitting on the tip of his tongue without words. this what he thinks: there is nothing he can do. there has to be something he can do. some method, some angle, some weakness or subterfuge he can exploit, taking into account every single obstacle and variable. he does not think in terms of his anguish, his grief, but simply leaps over each and every affliction knowing there is but one solution: not only destroying this place, but making it suffer in ways only he can.

he shifts, licks his lips. ) I've been thinking about this place. ( the words are gruff, thick. a confession, not only to her, but to himself. ) My daughter. Clementine. ( his gaze flits away, full of tears. ) I think of Rebekah. The last time we were all happy together, as a family. ( christmas. standing in front of the fire, elijah and rebekah at his shoulders. his daughter, hayley, freya, and camille, opening presents under the tree. before everything.

his expression darkens. ) I think of what I will do now that this place has threatened all of it.

Edited 2017-10-20 01:22 (UTC)

[It doesn't have to be, no matter what he thinks. She understands why he does, though, considering everything he's had thrown at him, all the things he's thrown back.]

You're not the only one that thinks like that, you know.

[She thinks about her mother all the time, how things used to be. She thinks about what Wonderland has taken from her, from her friends, from him. She thinks about all the things she wishes were possible, how even leaving this place will take something away from her.

She's not innocent either.]

( her response stills him inside. it takes a moment of short, naked hurt to brush it away; after all, she's hardly wrong. (he is not the only one who has lost something. he is not the only one who has something he would fight to the ends of the universe for.

he can be instrumental in this fight, and his ire is not the only ire that can be put to use.) just as his emotions turn to anguish and freeze, so do his features. ) No, I am not.

( he pulls away from her and turns back to his painting. he doesn't consider what may motivate her, more than minutely and with the sharpness of compassion and understanding; what he considers is collateral damage. what he considers is she does not need to be used for those ends. (this isn't about a confrontation, no matter how he perceives it. this is about the grief he is drowning in despite his efforts to keep it at bay, and her reminder feels more like a dismissal than commiseration.)

he plucks up a brush, dabs it in paint, and applies it to canvas. his voice, authoritative and cutting, leaves behind the intensity of his despair from just a moment ago. ) I need to make more alliances, manipulate more players. Luckily this place is like an open book; very few seem concerned with keeping secrets.

[She can tell when she's said the wrong thing, because he physically pulls away even as he does so emotionally, and she frowns behind him, taking a breath to keep herself from taking it too personally right from the get-go.

She wants to tell him he doesn't have to manipulate anyone, that nearly everyone here is on their side; all they have to do is ask for help with something and they'll get it.

But she doesn't. She knows how that will go and it won't get to the root of whatever's bothering him.]

Something happened during that event, didn't it.

[It isn't a question. She knows, at the very least, that he and Elena went through something terrible, heard about it in passing. Maybe she should have asked about it sooner.]

( perhaps. perhaps asking for a simple favor would do the trick, but in his experience people usually don't give up their lives for priorities that are not their own. wherein lies the conundrum: despite their common enemy, priorities do not always align. he needs someone who is interested in fulfilling his own —

so yes, that is how it will go. it's not the root of this problem that even he doesn't, or doesn't want to, admit.

he stills at her words. his brush hovers in the air and his heart drops to his stomach. he thinks of saving claire. the nightmare of illusions; elijah's face. seeing hope. holding clementine. he answers, his voice flat, because if he waits another moment too long it will be apparent.

it is already apparent. ) You'll have to be more specific. Many things happened. ( he half-turns back to her, his face in profile, and dares to let his eyes find hers: because he wants to tell her. because he knows too he is difficult, because the strain in her voice pulls at his heart and she hasn't come here with anything but hurt and love. beneath the deafening roar of his emotions now quieted, he knows this. )

Edited 2017-10-22 16:54 (UTC)

Then I want to hear about all of it.

[She moves slightly around him, out of the corner of his eye, gaze locking with his. She wants him to tell her. She wants him to feel like he can, like even if he puts it all to words, it's not going to change anything.]

Tell me. [Her gaze is imploring; she won't beg, but she will ask.] Start at the beginning. Paint while you talk if that helps.

[Her lips press together, her throat feels dry. She worries that he's just going to refuse, to push her away again, and she wasn't lying when she said she couldn't live like that. She's put herself in plenty of vulnerable positions; she needed him to be willing to do the same.]

I know I can't fix anything, but I can listen.

( his eyes are wide again; rounded, as she circles around him. it is fear again; tendered by longing. he feels the unconscionable pull to do just as she asks and knows he will. is both willing and unwilling to do so. his hand curls into a fist around his paint brush and he turns his eyes to the ground as his lips purse.

he wants to tell her. he doesn't know how to tell anyone. it has never been in his nature to do so. (his troubles have always been entrusted to one person in all the centuries of his life. he feels the beginnings of that unfettered yearning; he would confess these horrors and terrors to elijah. to his brother.

elijah is not here, and he does not need to pretend.)

he nearly brings the edge of the paint brush to his lips before he casts it off to the side. it clatters onto the ledge of his easel where he throws it.

he summons some resilience, some courage, and lifts his head to meet her eyes. he knows she cannot fix anything; certainly not here. his exhale is short, shaky. he thinks about how vulnerable she does make him, how easily and often she reaches inside of him and pulls him out. ) I couldn't find you. ( his voice is thick and the words do not come easy, but he lets them spill out. ) I couldn't find my sister or anyone I cared about, and when I did— ( his eyes fill with tears. his hand lifts, fingers half-curled. ) I saw my daughter. As a- a monster of that place, and I wanted it to be her. ( his brows furrow; he doesn't forgive himself for this. he doesn't stop wanting it.

his expression turns to grimace; that hand lifts to his head. ) I saw Elijah, Rebekah, Hayley, Marcellus. It was all in my head. They took what I wanted and used it against me. I held Clementine in my arms after I wasn't there to save her. ( he looks to her, horrified and and imploring all the same. )

Edited 2017-10-22 18:48 (UTC)

[She's heard about some of the monsters from that terrible place, experienced only a few of them herself. By the sounds of things, he ran into the worst of them and they took advantage of things that no one ever should.

The things he loves, the things he cares about, thrown in his face. It's not just one thing, but an entire list of them, each as horrific as the last.

She doesn't know Clementine well, but she knows who she is, knows that she's just a child. It's not hard to connect the dots, to make parallels, to make it all somehow worse than it already feels.

Caroline knows what it's like to desperately want to be able to save someone and fail. It hurts like almost nothing else can, and she's never had to tie the emotions of being a parent into all of that, just the kid on the other side.

She was right; she can't fix this. It can't be fixed because he isn't wrong. Wonderland takes what they care about, takes what the love, and uses it in ways that maim and hurt and ravage. They're helpless against it, for now at least, and weathering it gets more and more difficult as the place finds more and more ways to test them, each more creative than the last.

There's nothing she can say to make it better, and that's all she wants to do.]

Hey- [She steps closer to him, lifts her hands to his face, lays her palms against his cheeks. Her thumbs brush under his eyes, collecting tears that threaten to fall before they manage to dampen his skin.] -look at me. What Wonderland has done to you is horrible and I'm sorry I wasn't here for you.

[She should have noticed sooner. Should have said something earlier.]

But I'm here now.

I want my brother. ( the confession leaves him, not in spite of her comfort but in light of it. his hands lift to grip her arms as she cradles his face, his voice gruff. the words are as lost as they are longing.

he knows she is here for him. that is all she has ever been. despite everything, when it mattered, he has trusted her. he trusts her now.

his eyes stay on hers. he beseeches her forgiveness without words. as much as he trusts her, as much as he needs her, he needs elijah too. he needs his family.

he leans into her touch, his eyes falling downcast before they fall shut. he head shakes as to dispel the burgeoning despair building in him. his lashes flutter open. ) If I could speak to him just for a moment...

[She doesn't need to forgive him because, to her, there's nothing to forgive in the first place.

She would give anything to be able to talk to her Mom for just one more minute, for her to help make sense of this place and how to get out, to cry with when it got to be too much. She needs Elena to be the sister she doesn't have when she needs to talk about things that only she would understand.

Of course, he'd want his family.]

I know. [There's nothing wrong with wanting things.] I wish you could talk to him, too.

( his fingers grasp and re-grasp her wrists. he holds to them for a quiet spell, his thumbs caressing her skin. there is nothing to forgive. she is here with him as he is with her, and though she may not be able to fix these breaks or fill these empty spaces, she holds a space of her own. she fills it.

he wishes he could see his brother, too.

his eyes lift to hers. there is nothing to forgive, but there is something to give to her. something owed, deserved — and wanted. he wants to give it to her. he promises her with fierce decision, ) When I need space I'll tell you. I'll talk to you. I promise.

[She leans in, kisses his mouth briefly before pulling back. A small, bittersweet smile graces her lips.]

Thanks.

[She means it, but it's sad that they're having this conversation at all. That it took so long to have, that it had to happen like this.]

I know I can get kind of crazy. Something happens and no matter what I do my head just goes to all these places I don't want it to when I don't know what's going on and then I do something stupid because I don't know how to fix it.

[Which is what she'd started to do, blaming herself, getting frustrated with him for something she didn't know the reason behind. Her self-esteem still isn't at a place where she can just look at things completely objectively. She's just glad she's come far enough to know that doing something about it is better than stewing in it until it explodes.

It almost did explode.]

I just want you to be okay. And I don't want to be the reason you aren't.

( his lips press with the same tenderness to hers. he doesn't realize in all his anguish and fear just exactly what thoughts were turning over themselves in her mind, but he realizes now. he realizes and he promises himself he will not be blind or deaf to them again.

he doesn't want to be the reason for her insecurities. he doesn't want her stressing over something so constant to him, no matter his foolishness. his lips part and he sucks in a breath; his eyes are soft and saddening with a touch of remorse:

it is sad they had to have this conversation at all. but he is glad they had it. that they will continue to have it. he lifts a hand to cradle her cheek, to thread his fingers into her hair. ) First of all, never doubt that you, that this, is one of the very best things in my life. No matter where we are, when we are, that will always be true. ( his other hand reaches to cup her opposite cheek. he lightens further, and is smiling by the last word. ) Second of all, I happen to find your desire to understand and control each and every aspect of your life quite alluring.

( his thumb follows the line of her jaw to her chin. his voice softens with sincerity. ) I don't mind that you need to know. I prefer it.

Edited 2017-10-22 23:39 (UTC)

[She looks down with an almost bashful grin. It never gets easier to hear such things, because they seem so outside what she's used to that they hit something almost painful inside her with how much she needs to hear them.]

I guess I'm just used to being the burden. Or the complication. The last two times I fell for someone they chose hate and grief over me. They didn't want space. They just...left.

Letting myself love you means I don't have control anymore and it scares the crap out of me.

[It's something she hates to admit, that she's in some ways scared of this. Scared of getting hurt again, even if through no fault of either of their own.

Her hand reaches up to lay against the back of his hand, holding it against her face.]

This, though...I feel a lot better now. So, thank you for helping me understand. For realizing that I need this and being okay with it.

Edited 2017-10-23 02:13 (UTC)

( the idea that anyone could choose such petty grievances over her, over the love of her, over the love and regard she gives in turn — he has made those mistakes. he has been on the brink of them, time and time again. he looks down as well, but with a sudden surge of shame. (he is the reason one of those loves of her life spiraled to such lengths.

he does not regret it. he cannot regret it in the case of tyler, and he will not be that way in the case of stefan; it's all the more reason to be a better man for her today.)

one of his hands reaches to curl into hers. he swallows thickly, sliding closer in his earnestness. ) You're not the burden, or a complication. ( far from it. ) When you were gone, I barely slept. I couldn't bear to be in our bed, knowing you might never again be there with me. I painted and I drank and only Rebekah succeeded in pulling me from some of my foulest of moods. ( he was lost without her. his hand, beneath hers, caresses her cheek. ) This frightens me too.

I need you, ( he does ) I need you to understand. I need as much as you.

['Our' bed. Even when she was gone, maybe even after she was back, he'd still thought of it as theirs, not his.

Only Rebekah could pull him out of his misery. Just as she seems to be the only one that can do the same in Rebekah's absence.

He's scared. They both are. Once again, they're the same.]

Good. [The words is soft and yet firm all at once. She feels intense relief, followed quickly by a touch of guilty, and she finds herself laughing in her embarrassment.] I wanted to get you to talk to me and I ended up talking about myself. Good job, me.

( he is terrified. he is terrified not only of confessing these things and of letting go of that control; he is terrified of losing her through his own fear and inadequacies, of not saying what is in his heart out of folly or ignorance in the hour she needs them most. of not saying what he needs to say, for them both. in that way they are the easiest truths in the world. his heart quiets, comforted, unburdened, at least in this.

it unburdens, hearing her assent, seeing even a rueful smile.

his fingers card through her hair; his arm slides around her waist. ) It's hardly a topic of conversation to which I'm opposed. ( the words are low and sweet. )

Yeah, well you ask me to talk about myself too much.

[It's clear that she's teasing, even if it's not entirely false. He's always been the one trying to find out more about her, and she'd always been the one pushing him away as hard as she can, as if finding out more was too dangerous.

She hadn't been entirely wrong.

Still, things were different here. Instead of deflecting to talk about her, he'd gone out of his way to make her understand him, and it's made all the difference.]

( it's not false. she has pushed him away as much as he had deflected the vulnerability of being seen and being loved by her. he has done it now, extracting himself from her to hide in his own loneliness and troubles and anger. klaus shifts closer, as if in proximity he can bridge the gap. he means to, his hand falling from her hair to caress over her shoulder, his forehead leaning into hers.

he speaks with a teasing and low tone, but it is a promise too. a promise that scares him, but one he makes all the same. ) From now on I'll be certain to be a bit more selfish.

Edited 2017-11-20 17:30 (UTC)

[closed] maybe we're trying, trying too hard

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I FORGOT THIS ONE SO WE'RE EVEN