Jane Doe
Chapter 2: Courtiser La Bête

The receptionist in Jane's building looked at her like she was insane.

Granted, the back top half of her body was covered in blood, her hair was a mess, and she was accompanied by four, ridiculously well-built men, but still.

Abigail, the young daughter of the building owner, bridged hesitantly: "Jane? Are you alright?"

Jane stopped in her tracks, halfway to the rickety, wrought-iron elevator. Her bare feet were growing cold against the tiles of the lobby floor. "I'm fine, Abigail," she replied, adding a nervous laugh for good measure. "Just a… crazier night out than I was expecting."

To put it mildly.

The high schooler seemed unconvinced, but nodded anyways. "Yell if you need anything. My dad'll come help."

"Thank you, Abigail."

The elevator was only big enough for two or three people at a time, and certainly not designed to carry supernatural behemoths like the men accompanying Jane. The building Jane lived in had been a hotel from the twenties through the late seventies, when Abigail's parents had bought it, and transformed it into three floors of reasonably spacious apartments. The historic feel of the complex had been what had drawn Jane to it in the first place, although the friendly management and reasonable rent rates were what had sealed the deal for her.

Jane, who was the smallest, rode up to the third floor with Elijah and Alexie, who were the largest. Klaus and Fletcher were glaring daggers at each other as the doors clanged shut and the elevator began to rise, Abigail looking on nervously. Jane prayed a fight wouldn't ensue.

The short ride was an awkward one, and the moment after she unlocked the door to her apartment even more so. Elijah stood there for a moment, just staring at her, until Jane started, finally getting it, and cried, "Oh, I'm so sorry! Come in!"

As Elijah stepped succinctly over the threshold, Jane made a mental note to reread Dracula as a reference book.

"It's a bit cluttered," Jane apologized hastily. Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink and she bustled around the living room, moving books from one table to another and closing up notebooks and journals. "Can I get you two anything? Tea?"

"Professor."

Alexie put his hands over hers. She hadn't realized they were shaking.

"At ease, Jane," Elijah assured her, eyes watching worriedly.

Jane huffed out a laugh and slumped onto her couch. She ran hands through her hair, wincing when they caught on dried blood, and said, "I'm sorry. It's not every day you find out Anne Rice and Bram Stoker were nonfiction writers."

There was another knock on the door. Jane went to stand on shaky legs but was pushed back down by Alexie, and Elijah was the one who let Fletcher and Klaus through, while Jane called, "Come in!" for Klaus' sake.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold, a tiny ball of black fur launched itself at Klaus' face, hissing hysterically, and sank its tiny claws into vampiric skin.

"Josephine, no!" Jane cried.

The cat was batted aside and swept up into Jane's waiting arms. Two button-like eyes glared at Klaus from where they were nestled in a safe bundle of dark fur and pale arms.

Klaus growled. "What is that?"

"My cat," Jane replied defensively, taking a step back from the looming vampire.

"You named your cat after a cheap cartoon character from the nineties?"*

"No. After Josephine Bonaparte."

"I hate to break it to you, love, but that's even more ridiculous of a name."

Jane didn't know how to respond to that, so she shoved Josephine into the laundry room, shut the door, and turned back to Klaus. "Explain," she said, and crossed her arms.

"First," said Elijah, stepping closer only for Jane to skitter back and away from him. He frowned and continued: "First, the journals, Jane."

She nodded promptly and edged closer to the coffee table, and Klaus, who was standing in front of it, before dropping to her knees and pawing through the papers on the shelf beneath it. The pages she emerged with were nothing to look twice at. Hand-cut paper, yellowed and hardened with age, bound to each other with twine and glue. On top of them were a few, leather-bound volumes; recordings of Marcel's life once he was no longer enslaved, Elijah guessed.

Elijah squared his shoulders and extended a hand, consciously making himself look intimidating. "May I see them?"

Jane handed them over and Elijah thumbed through the papers faster than she could catch, eyes absorbing letters at a speed that made her itch with jealousy. Elijah frowned after a scant few minutes. He handed the stack back to Jane, who sunk slightly under the weight, and threw a quick glance at Klaus.

"We need to dispose of these."

Klaus immediately looked suspicious, but Elijah was already flashing in and out of the kitchen and then shoving Jane gently onto the balcony that wrapped around the exterior of her apartment, a metal mixing bowl in hand. He slipped the journals out of Jane's hands before the other men could get out of the apartment, and the papers were in the mixing bowl and lighter out of his pocket before Jane could even guess at what he intended to do.

"Do you remember all of what these contain?" Elijah inquired, eyes filled with the utmost importance and earnestness.

"Yes," said Jane, "although I don't understand-"

Rebekah.

The sister of Marcellus' master- the one he was in love with. The woman who could get him killed and the horrible deeds he committed for her. The betrayal that ended in a city burning and a family of monsters fleeing for their lives.

Jane flushed hard and nodded again, so hard her vision blurred. "Yes, I remember."

Elijah chanced a sad smile at her. "Then you know why these have to burn."

And Jane did, but Klaus didn't, and the moment the papers caught he snarled out; "Elijah, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Something fell over Elijah's face, then. Or, rather, something fell back onto Elijah's face. There had been a bareness to him that Jane didn't notice until it was gone, but he straightened and composed his features back into their easy coolness. She wondered if she was the only one who had seen it, but Klaus's eyes were sharper than they had been previously, and something in his stance reminded her of a guard dog on high alert.

"There are spells in those journals, brother," Elijah replied shortly, shoulders as tense as his voice. "Powerful ones that the witches will use against you if they read them. Marcellus' secrets and codes he may have forgotten about over time. If the journals still existed, anyone could get their hands on them. But we are the only ones with access to Jane."

Klaus studied her at that, and she flushed so deep she felt it all the way down to her chest. The moment they stepped back into the apartment, she grabbed a sweater and pulled it on over the slip dress she had worn to the bar that night.

It was odd to think that a scant few hours ago, everything had been normal. And now, she was holding court with two, very old vampires, a Russian werewolf, and her detective best friend who may or may not have been a witch- Wizard? Warlock? What was he, exactly?

"Can you please explain what's going on, now?" Jane asked, hiding as much of herself as she could in the sweater. "I mean, I understand that you're all… you know. And that you two" -here, she nodded at the Mikaelsons- "are the Elijah and Niklaus in the journals. But I don't quite understand why you've come back, or where Alexie, Fletcher, and I fit into all this."

"You don't fit into this," Fletcher interrupted. His expression was half stony, half incensed. "Your involvement is a complete accident, and it ends after tonight."

Klaus snorted. "I beg to differ. As sweet as your little friend is, I won't protect her if she has nothing to offer, and I'm not one to refuse what she is offering."

"What am I offering, again?" said Jane.

"Information," Elijah clarified.

"Right. Thank you!"

Fletcher huffed at her, and Jane flinched. She hated making him unhappy, but this… Well, this was an opportunity to protect him and the rest of his family, and damn it all if she wasn't going to take it.

There was a hint of uncertainty, however, a question that she didn't dare ask, niggling at the back of her brain. If the supernatural were, in fact, real, who was to say that the answers she had been looking for weren't a part of it?

Elijah was watching her intently, and Jane immediately reached up and tugged on her pendant. His gaze was unnerving, and she cowered under it.

"As you know, Marcellus took control of the city once my family and I fled from our father," Elijah began. "Niklaus has returned with the intent to become king once more, but there have been some rather unforeseen… complications."

"Marcel controls the New Orleans coven of witches," Fletcher chimed in. At Jane's concerned look, he added; "Not me, Leon, and my parents. We're from the bayou so we don't belong to the coven. But the situation in the city is a bit of a de'pouille. The vampires attack the witches constantly, and all of the humans who run things around here are under Marcel's thumb."

He scowled darkly, patting at the gun Jane knew was concealed beneath his leather jacket. "I've been doing my damnedest to try and keep things safe and under control, but it's getting harder. Alexie helps out whenever he can."

Here, Alexie gave a proud nod.

Jane was stumped. How was one supposed to react to their best friend being some sort of supernatural freedom-fighter?

"Well," was all she could think to say.

Elijah nodded solemnly. "Well, indeed."

Klaus, it seemed, had had enough, and he said as much: "I think we've said all that needs to be said," he expounded, leaping up from where he had been perched on Jane's floral armchair. "I'll tell Marcel to take Joan off his hit list-"

"It's Jane, actually."

"-and Jessica will help whenever we need her-"

"Jane."

"-and before you know it, I'll have my town back," Klaus finished, looking inordinately pleased with himself. "Now if you'll pardon me, the night is young, and my cup runneth over with nubile young tourists in search of sex."

Alexie's nose wrinkled. "That is too much information," he decided out loud.

Klaus just smiled at him, winked in Jane's direction, and the next thing any of them knew, he was gone and the door was shutting behind him.

Elijah adjusted the lapels of his coat with a sigh. "I apologize for Niklaus' behavior," he breached, "and for getting you involved in this, Jane."

She just bit her lip and shrugged, because the situation really was a shitty one, and she wasn't quite sure she wanted to forgive any of them yet.

"I don't doubt I will see you all again soon," said Elijah. At a sad smile from Jane, he nodded his head and took his leave.

Fletcher didn't wait very long. The door had just clicked shut before he jumped to his seat and strode over to Jane, breaching, "Beb-"

"I'd rather not hear it, Fletch," Jane interrupted sadly, fingers itching to entwine themselves in Josephine's silky fur. "Pac ce soir."

Fletcher had his I'm going to argue with you face on, and Jane felt a turning in her stomach as she braced for impact. Alexie, it seemed, had other ideas, and Jane once again thanked God for his presence in her life.

"Come along, Detective," Alexie rumbled, a large hand appearing on Fletcher's shoulder. "I think Professor needs time."

Jane nodded in agreement, a headache beginning with the motion, and watched with bleary eyes as the two men exited the apartment, leaving her finally, blissfully alone.

Always alone.

Jane did not leave her apartment again that weekend. She made a veritable nest in her living room, equipped with every book concerning the supernatural she had in the flat, and a very cuddly kitten, who was quite enjoying the plethora of pets she had been receiving that weekend.

Fletcher called Jane's cellphone so she turned it off, and when he called the landline, Jane unplugged it. He, Leon, and their parents went to church alone on Sunday morning. She knew because Wibby, Fletcher's mother, texted her about it. And Jane felt bad about missing out on what had been a much-honored tradition for the past four years, but she just couldn't.

Returning to work on Monday was difficult. Her voice shook throughout her morning lecture, which she sincerely doubted helped her students much. Galwain the Green was already a difficult text to annotate, made more so when the professor mixed up and mispronounced words. American History and French History passed along the same tangent, and Jane spilled a chai latte down her front at lunch, when a blond man asked to borrow the sugar packets at her table.

The archives were unerringly loud that evening, the students all preparing for the first round of tests and essays of the semester. Jane jumped a foot out of her desk chair every time someone approached, half expecting it to be Klaus or Elijah.

Tuesday was difficult. The first time she taught Regional History was at ten-thirty that morning, and as usual, a smiling Alexie Popov was waiting for her to unlock the classroom door at ten-fifteen precisely. Jane ignored him best she could, only nodding slightly at his excited: "Professor!", and proceeded with the lecture as usual, even if she dropped her notes a few times.

And on Wednesday, Jane met Marcel for the first time.

Granted, she didn't know he was Marcel, the king of the supernatural underbelly of New Orleans, when she first talked to him. He had seemed nice, if a bit flippant. Of course, when he asked her to take him to the section of the archives about witchcraft, Jane's eye had started twitching, but he couldn't have possibly known about the hellish weekend she'd had.

Unless, of course, he did know.

"You know, I see the appeal now, Jane," Marcel commented as she was crouched down on the floor, sorting through the dustiest tomes at the bottom.

"Pardon?" she replied.

"Why Klaus finally decided to settle down."

Oh, merde.

Marcel was over her before she could even think to run away, and when he held out his hand, she wasn't sure if he was trying to split her in half over it or help her up.

Jane experienced a sensation something like her heart climbing up to the top of her throat and then committing seppuku* before throwing itself back down into her chest.

All she could think to say was: "Wha- How- Um, why do you…?"

"Klaus told me you two were together," Marcel prompted, smiling in a way that was much too pleasant and friendly for a vampire. "I'll admit, I had to weasel him out of it. He didn't give up the secret easily, but I needed a good reason to take you off my list."

"Sorry for reading your journal, by the way," Jane whispered, and then flinched immediately afterward.

Fletcher probably would have gotten mad at her for apologizing to a vampire if he had been there. But he wasn't and Marcel had taken out a hit on her a few days ago and vampires were real (Sans nom: Ce que le fuck, honnêtement?) so Jane made an executive decision to do whatever the fuck she wanted in this conversation and screw what Fletcher would think if he was here-!

"No worries." Marcel laughed, all New Orleans fun. "I just wanted to meet the girl who finally tamed Klaus."

Jane's mind flicked to Klaus then. All wild blond curls and feral smiles. Unbidden, she word-vomited: "I don't think anyone can really tame Klaus."

Marcel let out a short, warm laugh, and clapped Jane's shoulder. "You're alright, Jane," he decided. "It was nice meeting you. But I'll see you at the Masquerade, won't I?"

"Beg pardon?"

Jane's query went unacknowledged, because Marcel was gone, and she began to wonder if vampires were just going to pop in and out of her life willy nilly now that she was their designated librarian.

Josephine attacked Klaus' face again when he appeared in front of the door to Jane's balcony the next night.

Klaus vaulted the cat away from him, and Jane scrambled to catch Josephine before she smashed against the wall. The Bombay let out an unhappy yowl from Jane's arms and swiped unhappily. Jane conceded and released the feline, who prowled up to Klaus, hissed haughtily, and then took a defensive position in front of Jane, yellow eyes gleaming.

"Sorry about that," Jane relinquished, internally smacking herself for apologizing to a vampire, again.

Klaus glared at Josephine vulturously. "That little beast should be condemned," he disparaged. "It's a menace!"

"She is defending her home," Jane bit back poisonously.

The vampire paused for a moment, staring at her with an eyebrow raised, before his face settled back into its usual, smug, not-quite-a-smirk. "Whatever you say, love."

"Why are you here?" Jane demanded.

Rudeness was usually a trait she refused to abide, and always something she prided herself on never exhibiting- but dammit, Klaus got to her! She had known him for less than a week, and already, he was managing to bring out the worst in her.

His eyes lingered over her in a way that set her skin (of which there was entirely too much on display for her liking) tingling. Jane flushed so darkly her cheeks burned, and reached for the robe draped over the back of her couch. She was still in only a nightgown and slippers, but the little bit more of coverage helped give some semblance of privacy in front of Klaus.

"A rather important acquaintance of mine has hit a spot of trouble with the New Orleans coven," he elucidated. His mouth wrapped around the word "acquaintance" in what was almost a snarl. "Her life force has been connected to that of one of the coven's leaders. The devil's bitch seems to believe this will protect her from me, and while she will die either way, I would prefer for my acquaintance" -again with the reluctant give of the word- "to not perish as well."

"So you want to find a reverse spell or something in one of the city's grimoires?" Jane surmised.

"Aren't you an astute one?" Klaus drawled bitingly.

Jane harrumphed, uncrossing her arms to plant her hands firmly on her hips. "I'll have you know that I am a professor. Yes, I would say that I am 'astute'."

Another eye roll.

"Enough of this. Sassiness is not your strongest suit. Let's go."

For some odd reason, Klaus made for the balcony rather than the door to the apartment, and Jane did not think she was quite brave enough to tell him that he was going in the wrong direction. He glanced at Jane over his shoulder and made a "are you coming?" kind of shrug. When Jane stepped up next to him, he reached for her.

She flinched back like his hands were hot irons. "Um-"

"You aren't quite as fast as I am, darling," Klaus groused. "And time is not something I enjoy wasting."

Oh, super baise. He was going to carry her to the archives.

Jane had a feeling he was going to be just as testy about this situation as he had been the first time she met him. Thus, even though she felt her heart in her throat and her hands shook so hard she could barely swipe her key ring off the coffee table, she let Klaus wrap his arms around her. They were almost feverishly hot. If he weren't a vampire, she would have offered to take him to the doctor's office.

"Hold your breath," Klaus advised, and when he started moving, she understood why.

To Jane's credit, she didn't react in the expected fashion: "Holy shit", "Oh my God", "I need a minute", screaming, etc. She just rapidly blinked the tears out of her eyes, straightened her nightgown, and turned to unlock the door to the library once they had arrived.

Klaus would have been impressed if he hadn't seen Jane's reaction to the supernatural before this. Maybe he was just used to the teenage population, but Jane seemed to him almost freakishly calm. If he had done this to Elena Gilbert- or heaven forbid, Caroline- there would have been hell to pay.

The New Orleans archives were one part museum and the other part library. The glow of the city and its street lights cast a series of eerie, yellow silhouettes through the high-set windows at the front and back of the building. The Egyptian sarcophagus encased in glass on display in the middle of the witchcraft aisle nearly caught Klaus off guard.

Jane immediately dropped to her knees and reached for a series of dusty, spine-cracked tomes on the very bottom shelf of the book rack furthest from the sarcophagus.

"You said it was life-force linking?" she questioned, blowing dust away and sneezing three times in rapid succession. "That sounds as if could be the traditional French- although, I suppose it might be Celtic- If you don't mind me asking, do you know the origins of the spell-caster's magic?"

Klaus stared. "Ehm- Last name Deveraux."

Jane nodded, as if she'd been expecting this. "Cajun- French then." She slapped the third book on the pile into Klaus' hands. "Pages five-hundred through seven-fifty-three are all about life force spells. I'd bet my Hemingways you find what you're looking for here."

Klaus couldn't stop gaping at her.

Here was a nervous, twitchy human who was so small he could probably break her in half by giving her waist a good pinch. She refused to give a last name. (Klaus had also noticed, upon his second visit to Jane's apartment, that there were no family pictures to be seen. Certainly, multiple images of Jane and her detective friend, and a dark-skinned couple with a younger son whom she was obviously fond of, but none of what could undoubtedly be her family.)

And yet, despite all of this, she had proven herself to be a surprisingly, but remarkably, useful asset: highly intelligent, calm under pressure, and (Klaus had to admit this) rather pretty at that.

"Erm." Jane shifted nervously and tugged her robe even closer around herself. "I met Marcel yesterday," she divulged finally. "He said something about me attending a masquerade ball this weekend… And seemed to think we were a couple…?"

Klaus caught on remarkably fast. "That's because I told him as much, love. It appeared the only way to convince him not to kill you."

"Oh."

"Which is why you will be attending the ball with me- to keep up appearances, you understand."

Klaus wasn't even looking at her as he said this, too busy thumbing through the pages of the grimoire she had retrieved for him. Jane felt thoroughly dismissed.

"Yes, this will do nicely," Klaus said, and closed the tome with a snap and a puff of dust. "I'll text you the details of the masquerade party tomorrow. Do wear something pretty. Farewells until then."

He disappeared before Jane could even ask how he had her number- or even better: How she was expected to get back to her apartment at this time of night.

As the archives fell back into their hum of silence and history, the shadows seemed to stretch out their hands toward Jane like they never had before. She could not help but think that Klaus' influence in her life would force her into even more darkness. And the gloom reached, thin and suffocating, around her mind to squeeze.

Footnotes: Translations and Definitions

Courtiser La Bête- "Courting the Beast".

"You named your cat after a cheap cartoon character from the nineties?"- Klaus is referencing the 90's cartoon Josie and the Pussycats here. Josephine is, in fact, named after Josephine Bonaparte, the wife of French dictator, Napoleon Bonaparte.

De'pouille- A Cajun slang word for anyone or anything that is a mess.

Pac ce soir- French for "not tonight".

Oh, merde- French for "oh, shit".

Seppuku- A form of Japanese ritualistic suicide used by samurai warriors to avoid capture or shame in which they would cut either their abdomens or bellies- or later, by disembowelment.

Sans nom: Ce que le fuck, honnêtement?: French for "what the fuck, honestly?".

Oh, super baise- French for "oh, great fuck".

A/N: Thank you for reading! Chapter three may be a little late next month due to Easter obligations, the end of this semester, starting a new job, starting my first professional show, etc, etc. I hope to have chapter three up by May first. Please leave a review if you feel so inclined, and thanks again for your time and attention!