A/N: ummmmmmm. is thefudge really writing babyfic? studies show that this is a highly unlikely event and yet! okay, so full disclosure: babies freak me out, motherhood scares the crap out of me, the whole concept is like the Thing from the movie The Thing. So writing this was an out-of-body experience. Why did I do it? Because I had this idea and it kept bugging me and it wouldn't leave me alone. And literature is all about pushing (personal) boundaries, amirite? That being said, I enjoyed writing this immensely so don't worry about me being too weirded out. I have to give some of the credit to Anastasia-G who is an absolute fiend and (gave me baby fever) inspired me to pen this schmoopy fest even though I was very unsure about it. Basically issue all your complaints to her, not me lol.

Yeah, idk if this is any good, but I'm taking the plunge and posting it because you guys are pretty cool and have been pretty cool in the past. You'll have to forgive me my poetic licenses here and there (including the whole pregnant!Aurora being a possibility). Also, I edited this chapter while packing for school so I may have slipped up here and there. I don't feel that confident about my prose and grasp of character either, but hey, what else is new. This will be a three-part series and I already have the plot roughly sketched out, so let's hope that I won't delay with updates (maybe the next two parts will be shorter? like please muse, please contain yourself). The first part, as you see, is titled "pain", the second will be "comfort" and the third will be "love", because I am a cheesy piece of fromage.

I hope you enjoy this, even though you didn't ask for it, but umm, yeah, let's do this!

love's such a delicate thing that we do

with nothing to prove

i: pain

At night, she dreams of a mother without a face, a woman who only carried her from the backyard into the house and then left her on the stairs.

She wakes up in a cold sweat and bites on her pillow to stifle a sob. She thinks, over and over, I won't ever do that. I won't ever be a mother.

.

She's cramming for her finals with the textbooks on her knees when the shop door clinks open. A gust of fresh air storms the pages she has been trying in vain to memorize.

Bonnie looks up and her fists clench almost instinctively. In the seven years she's known him, Klaus Mikaelson has walked into her humble apothecary only twice. Generally, she keeps far away from him and he doesn't bother her. Though he is the de facto ruler of the French Quarter, he has agreed to give the Bennett witches wide berth. Probably because there's only her and her cousin, Lucy, left. Not exactly an armada.

The hybrid stares in contempt around him, not really paying attention to anything on display. He's not come here for incense and herbs, that's for sure.

"Klaus," she says evenly, rising from her chair. "This is…a surprise."

"Clearly," he mutters, drawing his finger across a dusty shelf.

The hybrid is well known for his unpredictable disposition, and right now he appears in the grip of some foul mood. She can't think what she might've done to displease him enough to warrant a visit.

She bites her lip. "I've already paid the annual fee and Marcel has inspected my wares –"

"This isn't about that," he interrupts without patience, and his eyes finally meet hers. He scans her from head to toe with an intense, searing glare. It's the sort of thing that would have intimidated her three years ago, but she's grown thicker skin by now. Whatever he sees in her sparks his disapproval, but she holds his gaze for as long as she can.

"How can I help you then?"

Klaus grunts, turning his head to the side. "I suppose I could just as well coerce you, but it would be easier for all parties involved if we struck a bargain."

She can feel the pinpricks of fear on her skin. This does not bode well. He has been a man of his word so far and has left her alone. What could have broken their armistice?

"I will give you whatever you want. And you know it is in my power to fulfill it," he continues smoothly, placing his arms behind his back, almost as if restraining himself. "In exchange, you must carry something for me."

Bonnie sets down her textbooks carefully, because with Klaus any sudden movement might cause trouble. "Thank you, but I don't want anything from you."

For all their wolf fire, his eyes turn glacial. The muscle in his jaw visibly ticks. "Perhaps you misheard. I said it would be easier to do this without coercion."

The magic swirls in her blood, preparing to withstand his attack. The day started so promisingly with her getting some actual studying done. How has it now turned into a confrontation with a dangerous monarch?

"A forced bargain is not much of a bargain," she says, as calmly as possible.

"I am willing to give you anything, witch," he all but snarls. "Think on it. I could wipe your father's debts. Give him a clean slate."

Her lips part in shock. "What? How do you know about that?"

"Please. I make it my business to know."

Bonnie crosses her arms. "What else do you know?"

"I know I don't have time to mince words with you. Take my offer."

"Why should I?"

"Because I – your King – require your cooperation with something delicate."

Bonnie frowns. That's one word she didn't think she'd hear. "My cooperation?"

The Gemini Coven has never inspired trust or confidence in Bonnie Bennett. Their methods have always struck her as opportunistic and bloodthirsty. The way they rear their young and inter-marry their old is enough to make her stomach roil. They are effective, however, when it comes to unsavory magic. They're the only ones who will touch special cases, because they're not averse to getting their hands dirty. Witches, as a rule, turn the profane into the sacred, but the Gemini Coven loves to profane the sacred, for the right price.

Their leader, Josette Parker, looks as innocent as a flower, but behind those gentle manners lies a shrewd vixen. She takes Bonnie's hand in hers and smiles a thin smile, as if etched on ice. "With the right mindset, you'd make a wonderful surrogate."

Bonnie yanks her hand away. "I haven't actually said yes."

"But you will, surely. I mean, it's the right choice for you and for your loved ones."

The young witch buries her face in her hands. She is sitting in a stuffy parlor with a lot of flower arrangements, oil paintings and enameled ewers. She's finding it harder and harder to breathe. No one ever feels too comfortable in the Mikaelson compound, and that's what the royal family wants. If she throws up on their expensive carpets, will they have her head?

"Your father will be out of debt, and your cousin, Lucy, will have enough money to open her salon," Josette croons in delight, as if she's delivering wonderful news.

Bonnie shakes her head despondently. "Not everything is about money."

"She's right," a third voice says quietly as a beautiful woman dressed in tasteful black enters the parlor. Her red hair is the color of pomegranates and her delicate features remind Bonnie of a fairytale princess, kept under a glass casket. Aurora de Martel's reputation precedes her. She is gorgeous and lethal. She has to be, as Klaus Mikaelson's unofficial consort.

But right now, she looks meek and beseeching, and her usual swaggering confidence is missing. She stands in front of Bonnie like a pilgrim in front of the shrine. She takes the witch's hands in hers, squeezing them gently.

"I know I don't deserve this great favor, but I'm not asking you for my sake. I'm asking for my child's."

And she slowly guides one of Bonnie's hands to her stomach. The bump is hardly a bump at all. Few humans could tell, just by looking, that she's pregnant. But the witch feels the life pulsing from within like a magnet. It courses through her, as strong and painful as electricity.

"My baby will not survive in my womb. It needs you. Please, Bonnie." Aurora's jade eyes, often cruel and unforgiving, are now wet with unshed tears. "It will die without you."

Bonnie made a promise to herself; that she would never conceive. But perhaps this is a compromise; she won't be a mother, after all. She will only save a child's life and in doing so, help her last remaining family.

Before she knows herself, she gives a faint nod.

Aurora pulls her in her arms and hugs her tight. It almost feels like a cage.

They call it "womb transference", though it's a cobbled name for a rather imprecise spell. Bonnie studied it a few years back and found it distasteful. She even refused to perform it for a couple once. But things change, don't they?

The Gemini Coven assures her the pain will be minimal. She herself has more stamina than a regular human girl, so she should be fine. What they don't say - what floats in the silence like a shameful word - is the assumption that Bonnie Bennett is inured to pain. That pain is an old friend.

Bonnie doesn't contradict them, because the last thing she wants to do is to show vulnerability in front of the Mikaelsons.

Klaus asks her into his study a day before the ritual is to take place. He seems none the friendlier, despite the pretty intimate thing she's about to do for him and his lover.

"I thought you might want proof that I am keeping my end of the deal," he drawls, pointing to a laptop screen on his desk.

Bonnie checks the figures without really seeing them. Ever since she woke up that morning she's been feeling queasy and nauseous, though the baby isn't even inside her yet. She wants to be brave, but the enormity of what she is embarking on keeps hitting her from all sides, not letting her catch her breath.

"Of course, I'll have someone fetch your clothes and possessions once the ritual is over," he adds, pouring himself a drink from the decanter.

"Wait, what?"

"Well…I suppose you could borrow Rebekah's garments, but I doubt they would suit you," he remarks with a cold smile.

"Klaus, I'm not moving in –"

"Oh, certainly you are. The next seven months of your life will be spent here, under my roof. You'll be carrying my child, and my child won't be living in some seedy studio downtown. My child needs protection and surveillance."

"Do you think I can't take care of myself? I've been doing it since I was a kid –" she interjects.

"Yes, and frankly it leaves much to desired," he drawls, looking away.

Bonnie sits up. "Excuse me? I have managed to survive in your city for the past seven years without so much as a scratch."

"Surviving is not living," he points out arrogantly.

"Isn't your family motto all about doing whatever's necessary to stick together?" she challenges hotly. "I've done what's necessary to keep myself in one piece and that should be enough."

Klaus is momentarily thrown off by the mention of the Mikaelsons' motto. It's been a long time since he's looked at it from that point of view. His subjects only hear continuity and prosperity when Always and Forever is uttered. They don't hear the despair of the past. He himself has buried it deep.

He narrows his eyes at her. "It's hardly enough. While other witches grew in power and built a home for themselves, you dwindled and shrank. You eschewed danger, but you never took a risk. No doubt you think that's an honorable way to live, but I happen to disagree."

Bonnie hates his trenchant assessment, all the more because a small part of it rings true. But he would never understand her feelings on the matter. "Just because I chose not to use my powers in the service of vampires and werewolves doesn't mean I'm some kind of failure."

"Failure?" he echoes loftily. "No one said that, little witch. Failure would imply that you're no good at magic, when we both know the truth."

"Oh, you think you know me?"

"You're not that complicated," he drawls, staring into the amber liquid in his glass. "You're simply afraid of losing control of your powers, and so you avoid supernatural alliances. That's the gist of it."

Bonnie clenches her hands until her knuckles turn white. She wishes she could subject him to a good old fashioned aneurysm. But she won't, because Bonnie Bennet doesn't stoop to their level.

She just wants to get out of his study. She wants him to stop looking at her with that knowing look.

Suddenly, a horrible sense of dread catches her by the throat.

Does he know – does he know what happened in Mystic Falls all those years ago? He knew about her father's debts…so he might have dug deeper into her past, but how deep? Does he know about the boy she killed? Does he know his name was Jeremy?

Her eyes turn glassy for a moment as she tries to recall his face.

"In any case," Klaus shakes her from her memories, "your recluse existence won't do for my child."

Bonnie makes one last stand for independence. "I need my freedom. I can't just stay cooped up in here like some pet –"

"It's only seven months," he interrupts impatiently. "After that, you're free to sink back into anonymity. If you wish to travel during this time, you will do so in my company or the company of my people. And only as I see fit. This isn't a question, it's a directive."

Bonnie closes her eyes for a moment. Jeremy's face almost rises to the surface. She forces it back into the recesses.

"Oh, don't look so bloody glum. Others would kill to be in your position."

She glares at him. She wants to say, you should just let the baby die. It's early enough. You don't deserve it. And frankly, he or she is going to be miserable, living here, being a Mikaelson.

But of course she doesn't. She settles for something benign. "I may have to put up with your overbearing nonsense, but I'm not going to smile while I'm at it."

Klaus clenches his jaw, but doesn't rise to the bait. Instead, he turns around and starts pouring himself another drink.

Bonnie is thinking about the next seven months and exactly how painful they're going to be. She doesn't sense his presence until he's looming over her with a glass of bourbon.

"Here," he hands her the tumbler.

Bonnie's eyes widen. "What's this?"

"Your last alcoholic drink for the year. Make sure to savor it," he replies curtly. But his eyes say something different. They say, you look like you need it.

Bonnie takes the glass gingerly. It feels cool around her fingers - a small comfort. She takes a sip. It's spicy and sharp on her tongue. But all the same, she wants to tell him she doesn't need his pity, if that's what this is.

She loves the cold. She's always preferred winter to summer. Not many people know this about her, because she used to hide her secret affinity for snow. In hot July she'd walk around in a skirt and t-shirt, wishing she could don her thick boots and fluffy scarf. And in January, when everyone felt the post-holiday blues and wanted to stay in, she'd be the only one excited to go out into the freezing weather.

There's something immensely comforting about clean, untouched snow. People may turn it into slush under their shoes, but another snowfall comes and the draft is remade and it all looks pure and white once more. Nature is undefeated.

Down here, it never snows. There are storms and rains and even hail, occasionally. But the water doesn't freeze. Breath doesn't become steam. Condensation always turns liquid in the end.

So when her body starts sweating and the heat becomes unbearable, Bonnie prays for snow. Even though she's lying down on a slab of stone in the middle of the courtyard in the Mikaelson compound, she prays for snow.

Aurora is lying down on a parallel slab, a few feet away. Klaus is standing by his lover's side, caressing her temples and whispering to her…probably whispering encouragements. Bonnie cannot hear them. She watches them, though her vision is blurred by sweat. She has never seen him act this gentle, though there is still something reserved about his movements. He knows he is being watched.

No one is standing by her side to comfort her.

The Gemini Coven is spread out around the courtyard, each of them holding a small dove in their hands.

Bonnie knows what comes next and she'd rather not witness it. She closes her eyes.

They cut off the birds' heads and reach inside the frail bodies for the hearts. The pure dove hearts, pure as snow.

She hears the chanting growing louder as steps approach her slab. Warm and sticky hands map out her body. Josette smears the dove blood on her stomach and between her legs. Bonnie is naked from the waist down, but the discomfort of the spell turns her shame to nothing.

By now what was supposed to be a small pain has turned into a dull and constant ache. It has sunk its teeth into her flesh. There's a scratching in her womb, like an animal trying to burrow inside…which is exactly what this is going to be. The rest of the body feels the aftershock of this violence and every single nerve ending screams at her to stand up and run away from this infernal torture… She clenches her teeth and sinks her nails into her palms. Her own magic would protect her and give her comfort, but she has to allow the spell to work, so she lets the pain in, she lets it ravish her.

Small tears hang like icicles from her eyelashes, and she prays for snow again.

The heat, the damn heat, that's what's slowly killing her. She might stand this onslaught if she could find a breeze, a gentle breeze to soothe her.

Soon, she is screaming. She is screaming so loud she can't even hear the chanting anymore. She clamps her mouth shut but the screams come anyway. She thrashes and convulses and knocks her head against stone and her fists open and close on air, seeking to hold onto something, anything –

A large hand covers her own. It is dry and cool and it's not sticky with blood. She latches onto it, squeezing the fingers hard. The hand squeezes back, giving her hope that this might be over soon.

A fresh wave of pain assaults her and she grips the hand tight and whispers desperately snow, snow, snow…

And suddenly, she feels it. Snow on her forehead. A crown of ice, slaking the fire in her head.

Her grip is surprisingly strong. She's almost crushing his hand. He knows it's not her magic, because she's inhibiting her own powers, so this is all Bonnie Bennett. Or rather, Bonnie Bennett in pain. He does not feel pity for her, but he respects her ability to endure. That is why he briefly abandoned Aurora and came to her side. Because he must allow the witch her dignity.

He hears her whimper about snow, which puzzles him.

He presses another hand to her burning forehead. He could enter her mind and make it cooler, but that would interfere with the spell, so he only stands guard against her thrashing and moaning. It is enough kindness from him.

Her eyes flutter open by degrees and she sees him standing above her, his image wavering but never leaving her.

.

They all call it a triumphant success, as if a military campaign has been won. Even Elijah, who was quite reluctant about the whole thing, commends Niklaus for ensuring "the family's future".

The hybrid nods and clinks a glass of champagne with his brother, but he can't quite bring himself to smile. He already celebrated the coming of a child when Aurora was first made aware of it, and replicating that joy would ring like a hollow performance now.

Josette Parker gloats as she tells him the spell worked splendidly. "Your child is completely safe with Bonnie Bennett. Her body won't fail."

Her body. A vessel he never wanted or thought he needed for his progeny. Aurora was more than enough. When he first realized that his barren vampire was growing life inside of her, he felt so proud. But a heedless sense of vanity made him think it was all because it was his child, a Mikaelson who could overcome any biological imperative.

How wrong he'd been. His child was just as weak as him, after all.

Her body.

Now that this "her" is another woman, he feels a terrible void in his gut. He holds Aurora in his arms as she cries tears of sorrow and relief.

"That's all that matters, Nik, that our baby is safe," she says into his shoulder. "It's still ours, no matter what."

He caresses her flaming hair. How he loves its violent color. But he only hears silence where there was once a pulse of life between them. She is empty, and so is he. How can it be theirs?

Bonnie has been staring at the bed canopy for hours, it seems. She is cloistered in this four-poster bed with at least a dozen pillows, three blankets and a silk coverlet for company. A cup of strengthening tea and a porridge bowl wait on the nightstand. She has no appetite for either, but she knows she has to try and eat. Otherwise, that woman will come into the room again and spoon feed her. Her name is Dora and she looks like a curmudgeonly army nurse. From the few words she managed to wrench from her, Bonnie found out she is in the service of the Mikaelsons and will be her personal attendant for the next months. There is also a chamber maid who made it her business to launder all her clothes and sort out the ones that simply "won't do" for her maternity wardrobe.

Bonnie has never been waited on hand and foot and she finds the entire experience highly disturbing. She wants to get out of this room and go for a walk, just to feel her body in motion, but she's still too weak to lift herself out of bed without Dora's help. Recovery takes time, as the nurse keeps reminding her. She can faintly feel…the thing growing inside her.

It's not a thing. It's a baby, and you saved it from death, remember?

Her act of generosity is only tainted when she remembers the boy she killed. Jeremy was a child in his own way. Will this new life make up for the one she took?

Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night and feels a kind of vibration under the skin, a foreign resonance lighting up her magical radar. The magic is assessing the newcomer to determine whether it is a threat. It might be, in the future.

She doesn't want to think that she's the host of a supernatural hybrid baby who will probably grow up to be as lethal as his or her parents. It's too early to treat the little misshapen bundle of cells as a potential killer. For now, she feels only a kind of camaraderie between them, because they both survived the ritual.

She even talks to it when the boredom of being confined becomes too much.

"How are you finding your new apartments, your highness? Hmm, you probably don't care about interior design, do you?"

She calls it your highness because the child will likely be a little prince or princess. Their father is King. Their mother is Queen. And their carrier is a poor witch whose life is a perfect mess.

Aurora comes by occasionally to ask her how she is doing, but she never stays for too long because she becomes agitated and almost apprehensive. She tries to hide her discomfort behind an expansive personality, smiling and chatting with her as if they were the best of friends, but Bonnie can tell what is going on. Something that was once hers belongs to someone else, and the vampire cannot make peace with it entirely. She wants to tell her that it's all right to feel weird about it. God knows she does. But for all of Aurora's friendship, there is no true warmth between them.

Klaus doesn't come to see her, and Bonnie is thankful for it. He might have checked on her when she was bloody and unconscious, but now that the situation is under control, he doesn't need to be here. Her wakeful moments are free of him.

He comes to see her during the nights, when he is sure she is sound asleep.

The first few times, he stands in the doorway, not allowing himself to step in. He sees the outline of her body through the folds of the canopy. He listens to her quiet breathing. He is superstitious about witches and their rituals. He thinks something could still go wrong. He only trusts something to be done well when it's done by his hands.

But no, she's still alive and so is the baby. He won't have to crush the Gemini Coven into a fine powder, after all.

No one must know he is not sure of the outcome. They all think he is Prometheus Unbound, and can master fate with his will alone. It's true he's defied many odds in the past, but this isn't about him. Children have always represented a separate entity, a threshold he could never overcome, either by hurting or nurturing them. So he ignored them, put them out of his mind, until this.

On the fourth visit to her room, he parts the drapes an inch and looks through them. Bonnie is curled up on one side in a fetal position, with her nose buried in the pillow. He remembers the first time she showed up in New Orleans with a small battered suitcase and a pair of haunted eyes. She was a skinny teenager with half-bitten nails and four dowdy cardigans to her name. He didn't ask her any questions, because he knew that look too well. The first kill is always the hardest. He confirmed his suspicions soon enough. No formal connection was made between Jeremy Gilbert's demise and her disappearance from Mystic Falls, mainly because the young boy's death looked like an unfortunate heart attack. But she punished herself all the more in the absence of justice.

He let her stay in his city; they even brokered a sort of peace. He'd hoped that his leniency might benefit him in the future. He'd hoped she would grow into her powers and silence her pestering human conscience. He'd hoped to use her, eventually. She would be grateful to him for giving her free passage into his kingdom.

But she never showed that gratitude and her soft heart was no use to him, so he neglected her. Even came to despise her a little. Until his own witch, Gloria, told him one evening that his child would not survive the fortnight and that the Bennett witch was his solution.

Klaus stares at her sleeping form. She is, by all appearances, a woman now, yet still a girl where it matters most. Some would call it innocence, but in her case, it's guilt. Suppose she's not exactly mother material, is she? That's just as well, seeing as she's not the mother of his child and he will never call her that. But her status has changed overnight, and he doesn't know how to classify her. Where does she belong?

Bonnie turns in her sleep. She lies on her back with her lips slightly parted and there's a funny crease between her eyebrows, as if she's giving someone a piece of her mind. He imagines he might make the list of possible candidates.

His eyes trail downwards. He could reach out and touch her belly. He could place his palm over the blanket and feel the warmth seeping through the cloth. But he doesn't, because that would be misguided and sentimental in the worst way possible.

He lets the drapes fall back.

"Thank you," he says quietly, knowing she can't hear.

Aurora runs her skilled fingers across his forehead, trying to smooth the wrinkles.

"She's all right, my love. You don't have to go see her at night. Let the poor girl sleep."

Klaus kisses her hand. "I'm sure you're right."

After two weeks, she's able to walk the length of her room, she's able to dress herself and take a bath on her own. She's even allowed her college textbooks, but only for a few hours a day because "the mind must be rested". Faithful Dora is always watching.

Bonnie has to consult with her if it's wise to take a certain course of action. Even sitting by the window might prove a risk.

"Isn't this a bit ridiculous?" she complains. "I mean, we're not in the Dark Ages anymore. I promise I won't die if I have a breath of fresh air."

Dora's mouth purses in disapproval. "What they did to you belongs in the Dark Ages, so we're going to treat it as such."

Bonnie can't exactly disagree there, the ritual would probably seem barbaric to onlookers. But she still finds this coddling highly exasperating. She has been allowed to walk about the compound in the presence of her maid or nurse, but complete solitude is prohibited. Even if she managed to give her servants the slip, there's always one brooding-looking werewolf or hybrid (she honestly can't always tell) following her from room to room at a decent but noticeable distance. She assumes Klaus has assigned his men to watch over her for her protection, but the whole thing is rather insulting. As if she's not able to be on her own.

She misses the intimacy of her studio terribly. This house is big and sumptuous and every room is furnished with effortless taste. But it is unlived, so it lacks personality. Klaus and Aurora come home late in the evening and Elijah will drop by during the odd afternoon, but Rebekah and Kol are cavorting somewhere in Europe and other family relatives or friends only visit during formal occasions. There are mornings where she has the place to herself. Well, herself and all her watch dogs.

It can be lonely.

She occupies her time with TV shows and books, but she misses the hustle and bustle of the French Quarter, the way the streets light up at night, the fragrances of the bakeries, the wisteria hanging from balconies, the cacophony of string quartets. She misses her little shop. She misses doing business with people who really need her, who don't care about power and money, who just want their loved ones to be safe.

She touches her slowly swelling belly and tries to think of this baby as one of those people, as someone innocent. But it's Klaus' offspring, not hers. A part of him is inside her and that screws with her head.

One afternoon she enters a room by mistake, a room she hasn't been to before. There's a portrait on the wall of Klaus and his sister, Rebekah, standing together in a baroque salon that is overstuffed with arabesques and gilt mirrors. There's an elaborate harpsichord in the corner. Rebekah has her dainty hands on the claps while Klaus sits in a wingback chair. Their expressions are almost stark, as if the painter couldn't capture a single emotion on their faces. The date in the corner spells 1727.

Bonnie feels faint. A part of that is inside her. She goes to the nearest wastebasket and throws up.

The nausea spells come and go, but Dora tells her it hasn't gotten really bad yet.

"Just you wait," she snickers nastily, as if she takes delight in the progression of Bonnie's physical misery.

There are now a dozen bottles of multivitamins and nutrients on her nightstand and she has to take them regularly or else get more stink eye from Dora and her cohort. Even the men following her will sometimes point to their wrist watches and go, "aren't you forgetting something?" She wants to hit them. Alternately, she tries to vomit on their shoes.

During one of her bouts of sickness she spills her guts into the kitchen sink just as Aurora comes in from the garden with fresh flowers. The vampire looks for a moment horrified at the frailty of the human body, and her eyes betray relief that she doesn't have to actually go through that. She gives Bonnie a sympathetic smile.

"Let's have someone clean that up, shall we?"

Aurora undresses him quickly. Klaus tries to slow her down, planting soft, teasing kisses to her jawline. She gives him a delicious purr and tilts her head back to give him more access, but her hands keep busy. She unzips his trousers and takes his length in hand possessively. She wants him inside her now, she says. No delays. Klaus usually delights in her insatiable appetite, but tonight he is mildly irritated. It's not that he doesn't hunger for her. She has the ability to drive him crazy with just a whisper in his ear. But they haven't been truly intimate since the ritual, only catching a few trysts here and there. And so what he wants now is to slow down and reconnect with her body, as it is now. Changed. Barren once more.

Except…

Aurora kisses him hard, biting his lips until she draws blood. She feeds on him drunkenly, tearing his mouth in half. She pushes him against the side of the bed until they roll down together. Klaus tries to match her intensity, sinking his fangs in the arch of her throat. But the frenzy isn't there for him. He licks the blood from her skin and lowers his head, nipping at her collarbone, taking her nipples in his mouth, trying to savor her taste. Aurora tugs at his hair, telling him to stop toying with her and fuck her. Klaus groans against her breasts, arousal mixing with resentment. Why won't she wait? There's time to fuck. They have all the time in the bloody world. They could fuck on corpses if they wanted, and they have.

Why not let this moment last?

She is already rubbing the tip of his cock against her entrance. He knows he can't deny her.

Klaus lets her ride him with abandon, burying his face in her hair.

What truly bothers him deep down, though he won't acknowledge it, is that she's…well, happy.

Or rather, happier. Happier than she was when she was pregnant.

He still mourns the fact that she couldn't carry their child to term, but Aurora has recovered quite equitably. She's taken it all in stride and is seemingly content with the way things are. After all, they get to have their cake and eat it too. Whereas he wants to see her grieve. He wants to see the walls come down, he requires a visceral reaction. He knows Aurora is a frozen lake whose waters run deep and she will rarely disclose her true feelings, if she can help it. It's selfish and callous of him to want to probe those painful waters, yet he yearns to share this pain with her. And she won't have it. She wants to be happy.

"Take control, darling," she murmurs huskily in his ear.

Klaus obliges. He flips her over and starts thrusting in her quick and heedless and messy, the way she likes it. He raises her legs over his shoulders, driving into her again and again, trying to find that pitch they had in their early years when everything was madness and the world was theirs. The world is still theirs, but the madness has morphed into a kind of eccentric routine that he could do without. He likes their self-destructive impulses, but he also likes their bond, the bond of immortals who know things others could never even guess at. He thought being parents would somehow heighten this feeling.

How foolish of him.

Aurora rakes his back with her sharp nails and moans as loud as a banshee, telling him to go harder, harder and faster and oh God please -

Klaus freezes suddenly inside her. He is struck by a powerful sensation that makes him shiver, like cold water pouring down his back.

There's someone outside their door. He can hear their quick heartbeat. But more than that, he can sense – he can sense – his own blood.

His child. It's like a blow to the head.

Aurora caresses his face. "What's wrong, my love?"

He turns slightly towards the door. He can smell her now too, a mixture of wisteria and myrrh and baking soda, of all things. Bonnie Bennett is outside, listening.

"Nik?"

He blinks, remembering where he is, who he is with.

Klaus bends down and grips Aurora by the throat. He squeezes tight, almost to breaking point, as he thrusts into her in a blind rage. It's as if his body has awakened and the scales have fallen off. He doesn't know why he's so angry, angrier than he's been in a long time, but it's invigorating. He wants to fuck her until it kills her. Aurora screams in delight and arches her body into his. He growls and his eyes turn amber as they both find their way to release.

She didn't mean to eavesdrop. She had no intention of stopping by their door. She was only thirsty and restless and it was too hot to sleep. No one ever told her that pregnancy means constant exhaustion, but inability to properly rest. You want to clock out, and your body simply won't let you. At length, she couldn't take it anymore. She slipped out of her room in nothing but her nightgown, hoping that no busybodies would trail after her.

In truth, she just wanted to get a glass of water. Somehow she ended up here, drawn by sounds that, at first, she didn't recognize. When she realized they were the cries of feral lovemaking, it was too late to leave. She couldn't. She was frozen to the spot.

She stands now with her ear to the door, ashamed of herself, shivering slightly in her thin nightgown, but unable to move away. His growls fascinate her. They almost echo in her body, leaving behind a strange tingling. She squeezes her thighs together, thinking that her grandmother is probably watching her from the beyond and shaking her head in disapproval.

"I'm sorry, Grams," she whispers, but keeps listening.

In the morning, she eats French toast and strawberries with cream (because if she is going to live in luxury, she might as well take advantage) and makes more headway on her assignment, typing up her notes on her laptop. She's managed to enroll in a few online classes and she's enjoying the distraction they provide from her gilded cage. Especially after last night. She's promised herself she will never eavesdrop again, but she's not sure if she'll keep her word. She's noticed that pregnancy has heightened her senses to an almost painful degree. Everything is a temptation, from food to...other things. She's read up online about hormones and cravings and libido, but they don't talk about how a witch will react to it all. She never bothered to ever get this information from other witches because she never planned on being a mother, but now she wishes she had a confidante. She could ask for her cousin to visit, although she has a feeling Klaus won't allow it.

Speak of the Devil.

The hybrid strolls into the kitchen, casually grabbing an apple from the counter and biting into it.

Bonnie tries to hide her surprise. She stares fixedly at the screen, heart thumping in her chest. This is a rarity, as he hardly ever visits, and he knows she likes to spend time here in the morning.

It's about last night. He knows, she thinks in a fit of panic. But maybe she's only being paranoid. This is his house, after all.

"Sleep well?" he inquires in a tone she would qualify as neutral, but she can't be sure.

She hopes she's not blushing as she says, quite sternly, "Yes, thank you."

"Good. Rise for me, please."

What?

She swivels around to look at him. He's nothing short of serious, from his grave demeanor right down to his folded arms.

"Is there a problem?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

"No problem, little witch. I'd just like you to stand." And he takes a step forward, offering his hand.

She stares at it for a moment before she takes it. She has a sudden memory of his hand on her forehead, but she pushes it to the back of her mind.

He pulls her gently from the chair. They stand in front of each other in silence. Bonnie stares up at him, noticing his lips are bruised.

There's a small bump between them. Her stomach has swollen to the size of a quince.

"I thought it's time we got properly introduced," he says quietly, almost contrite. He raises a hand to her stomach, but he doesn't touch her – his fingers hover above her oversize T-shirt. She's possibly spilled cream on it, but he doesn't notice. His eyes have a strange luminous quality. She doesn't know how to react to this sudden closeness. She almost wants to leave her body behind and watch him from afar, but she also knows she can't go anywhere, because she's too involved. She wants him to touch the swelling because it would somehow make it more real. God knows, she's been trying to make sense of it for the past month and a half. She's pregnant with his child.

A part of him is inside you.

His hand descends on her womb.

She doesn't know how it works for witches and hybrids but there is a strange, almost instant feeling of recognition, creature acknowledging creature, blood calling to blood. The baby responds to his father. It's not kicking yet, it's too early for that, but it seems to acquire a kind of sentience and she is filled with a strange ebullience, like the sun setting on her skin. Snowflakes on her tongue. A time before everything went to hell. It only lasts a moment and then, it only feels like his hand on her stomach.

But that is not a bad feeling, either, she finds.

The connection has stolen a small, candid smile from him. It is devoid of his usual brand of cruelty. It's vulnerable and unsure… and it's gone in the next minute as he removes his hand.

"Very well, I'm satisfied," he mutters and turns away from her. "You may resume your morning routine. I won't bother you."

Bonnie is left standing there, feeling a bit foolish. She watches his figure recede in the hallway, like he was never there. She wonders if this is a side of him that he keeps under lock and key.

"When can I see our little surrogate?" Gloria asks expectantly, passing him a salt-rimmed tequila. She has a special recipe. If you're a human and you happen to drink this, you fall into an instant alcoholic coma. For Klaus, it's simply an amusing way to pass the time.

"I'm thinking next week," he says slowly, almost reluctantly. She notices he doesn't look particularly comfortable whenever she brings up Bonnie Bennett. It's to be expected.

"She's got an ultrasound appointment soon," Gloria reminds him and quickly adds, "but don't worry, I'm going to handle all the red tape. It will feel like she never left the compound."

Klaus pinches the bridge of his nose. "But she will."

"Well…I mean, she'll be more guarded than the Vatican. You know that."

Klaus downs the tequila in one gulp. The warmth spreads through his body, but it does nothing to soothe him. He's too worried. He's always worried these days. Ever since he felt his child call out to him in that kitchen, he can't stop thinking about the possible disasters that might befall Bonnie. The cruel ways in which he might be parted from his heir. Every small happiness has a price.

Gloria chortles all of a sudden, stirring him from his brooding.

"What's so funny, sweetheart?" he drawls impatiently.

"The Vatican. It reminds me…we have a Virgin Mary on our hands."

"What?" he asks confused.

"Well, you know…immaculate conception and all that. If the French Quarter ever finds out, she'll become a saint to them."

Klaus is on the cusp of understanding, but he can't quite make it out yet.

"She's pregnant and a virgin," Gloria elaborates with a smile. "It's kind of fitting, don't you think? Your child is going to be the next Messiah."

"How do you know…?"

"Please, give me some credit. I watched over her when she still had dove blood between her legs. That girl hasn't done anything with a man, and why would she? They're all pigs." Gloria continues her tirade on the male gender, but Klaus can't really hear her.

He feels a thickening in his throat. She's pregnant and a virgin. It shouldn't make his hand clench around the glass. But it does. He thinks of her standing outside his chamber, listening to him fucking Aurora. It fogs his mind until he feels the effect of the tequila kicking in.

"Huh, never pegged you for a lightweight," Gloria mocks, patting his shoulder.

"I'll need five more of those and quick," he rasps, picturing the Virgin kneeling before him, presenting him with a child. He's never felt closer to godliness and sin. But it shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter what she's like, what she's done, who she is. She is only a surrogate, he tries to tell himself.

A/N: just wanna add that the Gemini Coven, Bonnie's love of winter and other small tidbits will resurface and have a point in the future parts. and maybe we'll get to see more haughty Originals? anyway, tune in for the next round of a genre i like to call "filthy fluff", bonus points for alliterations.