Pas de Deux || Camille x Klaus
When: A few weeks after Camille’s return to NOLA
Where: Mikaelson Manor Party.
Written with: Kailey as Klaus. @niklaus-no-mans-son
Mentioned: @the-noble-mikaelson, @marcelxthexking, @fatherkieran
At first he thinks it’s a cruel trick of Rebekah’s. He spies the spray of blond waves from the corner of his eye and desperately tries not to double take. It’s no use—he’s been unable to resist double checking every blonde who catches in his peripheral vision. None of them are ever her.
The curve of her cheekbone is what he spies next, and he knows it’s her, but still refuses to believe it can be so. Too many times he’s gotten his hopes up, and too many times they’ve been dashed. But it is her, and blast her, she’s smiling, as if she has any right. How dare she?
If this wasn’t Rebekah’s doing, it was surely Elijah’s, but no matter. His brother has gone too long without the taste of dagger to the chest. Klaus is happy to remedy that.
Before he can fully justify his actions, to himself or anyone else, he is striding across the dance floor and insinuating himself in her arms, ousting her dance partner without so much as a by-your-leave. For the best, probably, as he’d no doubt rip their eyes out for daring to look at her had he paid them any attention at all.
He sweeps her across the floor easily, barely paying attention to the moves that had become rote centuries ago. The entirety of his attention is on Camille’s face, and repressing the urge to dig his fingers into her chest and close them around her heart so that she might feel an inkling of the pain she dealt him.
" - Klaus..!" Her breath catches in her throat, hand going limp in his. One minute she was murmuring yeahs and mhms while scanning the dance floor intently from over her partner's shoulder. The next, he was gone, and the very man she'd been looking for had all but materialized in front of her.
This was not how she'd planned it.
And oh, how she’d planned for it… Ever since the day Elijah’s invitation had come in the mail. She’d thought it was a mere revenge fantasy then, and she was prepared to turn it down, until the elder Mikaelson brother had come calling in person. She was quickly learning that it was hard to refuse Elijah any thing. Especially when he revealed how beautifully their personal agendas aligned.
She had two weeks. Two weeks to plan everything down to the most grudging detail. The dress she’d wear (white; for renewal, triumph - the metaphorical cleansing of his mark from her mind), the introduction, the execution… She would be the one to find him. According to her own schedule, fiercely in control of the when and the how and the what. Getting pulled into a dance while she was crossing the dancefloor for a drink was not part of the plan. But Cami figured she could use it, that she'd take the opportunity to scope out the crowds for him... When he stole upon her like a bad omen.
“Before you try anything - I'm on vervain.” Cami announces pointedly, relishing the new word. Her eyes are pinned to his, needing to see how it sinks in, wanting to see him flinch - to feel him shiver involuntarily against her skin. Not a minute in his company and she can feel the bitterness rising like a tidal wave, barely contained by the dam she’s built specifically for this night. “Surprised to see me? After all, you did compel me within an inch of my sanity. I’d say it’s a miracle I even knew the directions to come back to New Orleans once I finally got out from beneath your thumb.” She tells him, and just like that, the smile is back. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and she doesn’t intend it to. After-all, she’s come to dance with the best of them.
Her words are aimed like a knife and his smile—already dangerously sharp—could cut diamonds. So delusional, his Camille, he thinks, pretending it doesn’t hurt him a whit, thinking he was capable of trying anything when it came to her.
He’s done worse in the past. No doubt he can manage, if he really puts his mind to it.
“Surprised?” He hums, pursing his lips as if in thought. “I made the mistake of assuming I could predict you in the past. Fool me once, shame on you,” he tuts. Fool him twice, shame on him. Shame on him, shame on him. And what a fool he’s been. “If you were ever truly under my thumb, love, we’d be having this dance at a much more private venue. I have to say, I preferred last time’s outfit more, though you look quite fetching in white. By the way, how’s the landlord, hm? Personally I think he’s doing much more good feeding the gators than he ever was at managing properties. Legal usury, was what that was. No matter, he got his pound of flesh. Or rather, I got his.”
It’s cruel, unnecessarily so, but his instinct when wounded has always been to cripple the enemy, even the odds. Are they even now? Her smile is flat and fake and hideous and he thinks, no, no, they are not.
“I didn’t fool you! You were the one who-” She cuts off abruptly, realizing she’s dancing on the razor’s edge. Maybe he really believes what he’s saying or maybe he’s just baiting her, but either way she’s not supposed to fall for it tonight. Her heart is already hammering in her chest, indignation bristling the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. “That’s right... You can’t predict me, Klaus. And you’re not going to be using me for one of your Machiavellian schemes again either - not unless you’re a real masochist.” His mask holds so much better than hers. The smile cuts through her, threatens to make her feel small. “Speaking of which, you should know that Marcel knows.” Cami continues, green eyes searching his for any sign of a break. “About how you bent my ear into dating him, and how you used me to be your- your spy.” She spits the word out and it takes everything in her not to scowl. It’s harder than she anticipated, this proximity. She hadn’t prepared for a dance; for the feeling of his arm snaking around her waist. For the daggers in his eyes, or the subtle scent of his cologne that wafts up every time he turns her away from another careening couple. She wonders if it takes the same mental effort for him - or any, at all. But then he mentions her landlord, and she almost trips over her own feet.
“... You killed him.” Cami surmises in a whisper when her vocal chords finally cooperate. “What; did he look at you the wrong way? Fail to give a good performance in your opera??” She can’t be as angry, as sanctimonious about it as she’d like to be. As Klaus deserves. After-all, how many times had she wished to be rid of him before he’d conveniently disappeared?... “Tell me why, Klaus.”
He was glad for the close proximity of the dance, gazing over her shoulder at the enemies and traitors that flocked to this city like pilgrims, so eager to pay their respects to him, then stab him in the back and use his body to keep climbing higher. She thought he was no different, that she was merely a cog in the wheel, foolish girl. His grip tightened briefly, and he spun her, yanking her back into his arm with slightly less finesse than he normally prided himself on.
It was for the best. Had she known just what kind of power she held in her hands, it would be a dangerous thing indeed. “Sweetheart, if Marcel hadn’t guessed the minute you said yes, then, frankly, he deserved what he got,” Klaus drawled, utterly unrepentant. They hardly suited one another, regardless. It would’ve been a dreadful match and anyone with eyes could’ve seen it. Marcel was interested in one thing, and women were a mere accessory to that goal; that was why Rebekah and he hadn’t worked, his own sister sold out by her lover for the city they danced in tonight. It was why Cami would never have held onto him for long. She deserved someone who put her first.
It you love someone, let them go.
A trite phrase, one he’d always despised. Loving you back wasn’t the only reason they could return. In Klaus’ experience, his ex-lovers frequently returned with stakes in hand and torches alight. Cami was equipped with neither as far as he knew, but, as ever, her tongue did more than enough damage.
At the mention of the landlord, he did look her in the eye. Let her know his true intentions, let her know what sort of monster she held in her arms, what sort of beast she held the reins to. “He made you feel insecure in your living arrangements,” he said with a shrug. And really, it was as simple as that. “The building now enjoys rent controlled rates, a landlord who actually services the properties for which he is responsible and I believe there is a certain corner apartment with a balcony available for lease. I believe it is a situation in which everyone has come out on top.” He paused, executed a complicated swooping, spinning dip, which Cami was not prepared for, and which resulted in her grasp on his shoulders tightening exponentially. “Except the old landlord, of course. But I find he’s much better suited to his new occupation.” As fish food.
She does feel small, so small, when he looks at her. There’s a directness to his gaze that freezes her insides, turns her tongue to lead until he looks away. “Since when do you care about my insecurities?” She asks, wishing she could command sarcasm into her tone instead of the hurt that threatens to seep into it. It’s not a topic she wants to linger on, despite the can of worms he’s already opening in her mind.
“And guessed what?..” The human continues, jumping to the easier, albeit more obvious topic of Marcel. “That his figurative father would begrudge him the city he rebuilt?? That he’d spy on him instead of embrace him with open arms decades later?? - And yeah, I know about that.” Cami adds quickly. “You abandoned him, Klaus! Or that’s how he feels. And to make matters worse you made an already paranoid man think my feelings for him were real… Forcing me to play along in your sick little game.” It’s hard to curb the bitter edge to those words, and Cami thinks it’s a good thing she’s more than a little out of breath; it gives her time to regain the composure she isn’t meant to be letting slip. Not for the first time, she wonders how he does it… It should concern her, disgust her even, this mask of callous indifference he wears so well. But tonight, Cami envies him for it.
She would like, just once, to know how he does it…
“Anyway, I’m not here on Marcel’s behalf,” She tells him offhandedly, trying to keep up. “- I’m here for me.” “It might surprise you, but I’m not-” The dip catches her off-guard and she exhales sharply, holding on for dear life. “... -stupid, Klaus.” Cami grits her teeth as both her feet find the ground again, fingers digging into his shoulders helplessly as the muscles twitch along her arms. “If there’s a war brewing in the Quarter - I want to be on the winning side of it. And history says that’s your family.”
“I think an honest answer might surprise you, Camille,” he replied somewhat coolly. Perhaps she had reason to doubt his affections, but that didn’t ease the sting of it any less. Klaus snorted, because honestly. “Everything Marcel knows he learned one way or another from me. If you think power-brokering never came up in our lesson plans, you’re sorely mistaken. Perhaps a talk with my dear sister my elucidate some of ways in which history seems to repeat itself.” There was very little sympathy in his words. After all, Marcel had had it coming for much longer than Cami had ever lived. They lived in a dog eat dog world, and unfortunately for Marcel, Klaus was a dog that could never die.
“On the contrary, Cami, I hold your intelligence in the highest respect, despite my belief it will one day land you in trouble you are unable to navigate alone.” Of course, he had no intentions of allowing her to navigate such trouble alone, no matter how much his pride demanded otherwise. “How delightfully mercenary of you,” he purred, drawing her near enough that their chests touched. “Perhaps you’re more suited to this world than either of us originally believed. I do wonder what your uncle would say about that. Perhaps this is a familial predilection?” He wondered aloud. And let the pious Kieran O’Connell explain his way out of that one. He was rather tired of shouldering the blame century after century. Perhap his god would intercede. Klaus would await such biblical intervention eagerly, and in the meantime…
“Tell me, Cami, what exactly is it that you are prepared to offer?”
The truth is, she doesn’t want to be surprised. There’s been too many surprises lately, and most of them bad. For once, Cami wants it to be simple, black and white with no ambiguous gray. The man dancing with her is cruel and manipulative and she was merely a pawn on his chess board. No less expendable than any other human might be to a vampire. And maybe, just maybe she can own up to her own mistakes where Klaus is concerned… Maybe it’s her fault things got so complicated, so unendingly gray. He’d warned her, after-all, in those rare moments of self-reproach, that he was bad news. But had she listened?
She’d insisted on looking for the good in him. On holding on to the tiniest glimmer of hope, keeping a precious and private tally of all the moments (few as they were) when he was k i n d and gentle and something other than the profligate and remorseless sinner he’d promised her he was.
And the worst part is that she still has trouble denying those moments, trouble accepting that they were nothing more than games to him. It hurts – but more than that, it frustrates Cami. It’s betrayed by the way her grip tightens almost painfully around his hand as he says those words, as he makes her d o u b t yet again, if only for the briefest of seconds. Don’t do this… She wants to plead, but she hasn’t come this far to beg.
“Didn’t you want to be a better man than your father?” Cami asks instead, and it comes out sarcastic enough to approach a sneer. “Why would you raise a boy exactly as you were raised? To see the world as a hammer does a nail, to be paranoid and suspicious of everyone, and to fear your own shadow? Are you really surprised he didn’t welcome you back into town with open arms? You wouldn’t have done any differently.” She’s struggling to keep up with the footwork, leaning more on her dancing partner than she would like. “And I know about the Rebekah thing… You gave him an impossible choice; a rock and a hard place.”
Just then Klaus pulls her closer, and the human’s movements slow in response. Her eyes fall to his lips as he calls her m e r c e n a r y . She traces the words with her gaze, unsettled by the mention of her uncle. It’s true… All Kieran knows is how these people hurt her, he doesn’t know what she’s planning to do in return. “You leave him out of this – that’s rule number one.” Cami orders determinedly, eyes flickering back up to meet his own. “Rule number two? No more attempts at compulsion, no manipulations, no keeping the token human in the dark where it concerns me or mine.” She knew it was a bold thing to demand of a man who made such tactics his M.O., but the budding psychotherapist had reason to believe she would could offer a good motive. Her voice dipped low as she continued. “Right now? I’m one of the few people that Marcel trusts. But I’ve got my reservations on him winning this war. He’s too... Hot-headed, too alienated. If your family takes power in New Orleans, at least it’ll be shared by a few people instead of a single, paranoid tyrant.” Cami’s eyes lock on his when she describes it thus, the parallel between father and son fully intended. “So I’m willing to help your family. I’m willing to tell you whatever plans Marcel tells me in confidence, on a final condition; that if you’re to foil his schemes, you do so peacefully. No one dies unless it’s absolutely inevitable. And if you guys do reclaim New Orleans, none of his vampires suffer the price of their allegiance. Peace, is rule number three.”
“ - Do we have a deal?” She hopes it’s a yes, she hopes he’ll let her go. What’s been minutes already feels like hours and Cami doesn’t know whether it’s the negotiations or the dance or simply his proximity that is having such a dizzying effect on her. But it’s enough for one night, she thinks. It’s enough of a start.
His grasp on her tightened, to a bruising pressure, and he viciously fought down his anger. The urge to channel his rage into violence was an instinct long since carved into his bones, but despite her trepasses—and my, how they were growing in number—there was still something inside him, a naive and foolish child, perhaps, that recoiled at the thought of hurting her, of further heaping upon himself her hatred. Then again, a little more could hardly wound him deeper, could it?
“Paint me the villain if it helps you sleep at night, Camille,” he quipped briskly, with a brutally fake grin. It was so much more than that, much more than just being reduced to villainy. But Cami had always been able to pluck out the worst of him. He hardened his heart once more. Have it, take all his darkest shadows, his most jagged edges. Are you happy now? Does it hurt to hold?
“Sorry love, I’m afraid you’re late to the party. Kieran’s been wrapped up in this for, well, decades, I’d say at this point. As for rule two…” Not what he was expecting. It seemed she truly intended to immerse herself in the world he’d tried for so long to protect her from. The spike of regret was quickly smothered, and instead he quirked an eyebrow and persuaded himself to be intrigued, and nothing more. “‘In the dark,’” he mused. “You’ve not yet touched the dark, Cami. Are you sure your moral quandaries can take it?” Even now, she was hedging on the side of naivete, assuming there was a reality in which Klaus could share his throne. But if this was her choice, who was he to convince her how wrong she was? Let her reap the rewards of her gall.
“Perhaps it’s remiss of me to point out our definitions of ‘inevitable’ no doubt vary,” he drawled languidly, twirling them to the edge of the dance floor, and away. “So, you’ll trade a paranoid tyrant for, what was it? A paranoid, suspicious hammer who views the world as his nail?” He considers her words, mulling them over with a put upon expression. “Who am I to deny you? Will you hold the nail for me as I smash it into place?” He’s provoking her, deliberately, his anger and disbelief lashing out the way he’d only barely prevented his hands from doing. “Very well. We have a deal. No Kieran, no compulsion, and no unnecessary bloodshed.”
The loose hold he had around her waist had tightened to something of a vice grip, lending the illusion of intimacy as their bodies drew closer in the dance. Cami was struggling to keep her breathing room, fiercely protective over it. “It doesn’t matter. Where things concern me, I want him out of the picture. I’m a big girl now, I don’t need any of you tattling to my uncle any time your guilty consciences get the better of you.” Kieran had already told her of how Rebekah had done just that recently, an incident that was bizarre enough to warrant popcorn and a secret audience, according to Cami. Unfortunately, her uncle did not share her opinion.
“As for my conscience-... Actually no, that’s not up for discussion.” Cami decided, feeling herself bristle. She wanted to push him away, wanted to demand how he even had the gall to bring up such a thing as morality. She wanted to ask how he slept at night, and the angry, vengeful part of her hoped that he couldn’t. “Don’t take up preaching, it doesn’t suit you, Klaus.” She told him, aiming to match the blasé delivery of his own barbed words. “You worry about your side of our bargain and I’ll worry about mine.”
What he didn’t know, was that she’d promised the exact same thing to Marcel.
What he didn’t know, was that for the first time in several centuries, Elijah had agreed.
The orchestra’s music rose in volume as the triumphant finale approached. She couldn’t keep up, and so the human’s movements slowed down instead. “I’m not depending on you to be better than Marcel - been there, done that. I’m depending on the fact that unlike him, you actually have a family to keep you in line... Not that you appreciate it.” Cami added in a huff. It’s politics… Just politics, you’re not supposed to care about that anymore, she reminded herself wearily, Elijah will take care of it. This entire conversation was exhausting. She didn’t know how Klaus did it. Somewhere deep down, beneath the rich layers of resentment, she grudgingly respected it. Getting him to agree to their deadly deal, was not a victory Cami had expected. She’d only thought this far; she hadn’t imagined the hammering of her chest, the traitorous apprehension that would slowly begin to make itself known in the pit of her stomach. When someone touched the back of her shoulder, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Marcel’s voice accosted them, smooth as a rivulet, covering - but not diffusing - the toxic tension.
“Klaus, Klaus, Klaus… My liege, my friend. This is your party, so ya get to steal my best band. But I’m afraid ya don’t get to steal my date!” A buoyant laugh followed, and Cami realized that both father and son had long since mastered the same game. She stepped back hastily, eager to be free, and suddenly in great need of a stiff drink.
“Great catching up.” She offered dryly as a means of excusing herself, too tired to butter it up.
She’d hardened her shell in the time she spent away, he noticed, a distant sensation of pride welling up despite his current ire. She’ll never make it in the world she’s stepped into, the world he belongs to, the world he’s created, he knows that, but for a moment, a split second, he can see a hint of the queen he’d once dreamed she could be, at his side.
The steam seemed to bleed out of her though, and instantly, he was on his guard. As well as, perhaps inappropriately affronted at the insinuation that she didn’t believe him to be a better man than Marcel. He wasn’t a better man, but that was beside the point. He scowled, eyes once again flickering away, galling evidence of the sway this woman had over him. Added to that, ‘I’m depending on the fact that unlike him, you actually have a family to keep you in line.’
Eyes narrowed, head tilted, he said nothing, but his mind was already whirring. She was depending on his family to keep him in line, an assertion she would hardly have made without assurances straight from the illustrious mouths of his family members themselves. So, who was it this time, cavorting behind his back, attempting to lull him into a false sense of security. Keep him in line. Elijah, no doubt. Even at her most presumptuous, Rebekah would never dare something so traitorous as to control him. She wheedled and needled and whined, but never this. Never usurp him. Perhaps help other to, so she wasn’t in the clear, but it was never the throne she sought. Elijah, however...
Rage, hot and thick, welled in his throat, threatening to choke him. After everything he had done for Elijah, for Cami, how dare they?
Jaw clenched, he smiled regardless, turning on the charm, just in time for Marcellus himself to make an appearance. As Cami’s date, no less. Bold of her, as bold as returning to this city at all. Unfortunate that she had just squarely aligned herself opposite to his interests. He’d have to think about this, carefully, and at length. Going against Elijah was no mere child’s play. In true honesty, Klaus had yet to meet a better strategist in his thousand years, even Machiavelli himself looking to Elijah for guidance. A precarious situation indeed. But no one knew Elijah better than he.
“Marcellus, speak of the devil,” he said, brow raised. Let Camille field the ball he’d just launched into her court. “Camille, it was a pleasure. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” Very soon indeed.
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