A/N: okay, don't kill me if I've got some of the baby details wrong, okay? Suspension of disbelief is necessary, lol. That being said, welcome to the second part of this schmoopy mess. I've got so many tropes for you, hoo boy. And family drama, lathered on thick. Apologies for any typos, I'm updating this at an ungodly hour again because I have a class to teach tomorrow and idk man, that just fuels my juices. Don't do what I do, though. Make good life choices. I'm still super unsure about this story, I feel like my prose is wonky at times, and that the characters are off, but your reviews and support really, really help. Thank you for giving me the confidence to continue. Yall are the best. (Gotta briefly give a shout-out to Blessing 1.0 whose review legit made me cackle on the street) I hope you enjoy!

ii: comfort

"Can this car go any slower?"

Klaus turns around in his seat and favors her with a scornful glare. She returns his contempt twice-fold. She has been sitting very nice and quiet for the past 45 minutes, but enough is enough. The snail-pace is driving her mad. She's ready to get out of the car and walk to the clinic. It would definitely be faster.

"A hearse just drove by and overtook us," Bonnie points out when the silence stretches on uncomfortably.

The hybrid nods. "Good. Then we are on schedule."

"Everyone is honking at us," she insists.

"I will have their throats ripped out later. Charles here has already got their plate numbers."

"But – we are causing a traffic jam!"

"This city belongs to me. I may cause it whatever I desire," he replies coolly.

Bonnie is about ready to give up. She falls back in her seat with a deep sigh. "At this rate, I will probably give birth in this SUV."

She catches the driver (Charles) smirking in the mirror. Even he knows this is plain ridiculous.

He sobers up quickly when Klaus gives him a pointed look. The Original speaks each word slowly, as if he wants her to memorize them. "You are carrying my child. We will get there when we get there."

Under vastly different circumstances, this whole thing would be sweet. A future father getting overly protective of his pregnant – surrogate. The touching family moment practically writes itself. But they're not a family and even if this is his child, theoretically, she is not his. And she's certainly not his to drive around under 10 m/h.

At least she gets to see the city again, even if they have been on the same street for the past ten minutes.

She inspects every shop window and stares after each passer-by, trying to guess who they are, wondering if any of them have been her customers. She's good with names, not so much with faces. Isn't that odd? To remember the sound of someone, but not their image? For instance, she remembers the way her mother used to laugh. She doesn't recall her face very well – in fact, not at all. But that smoker's laugh with the high tilt, as if she were making fun of you, that's hard to forget.

Bonnie drums her fingers against the arm rest. Standing in one place for big stretches of time makes you think about things you'd rather not. So in an act of petty vengeance she kicks her feet against Klaus' chair, making it rattle. At first he doesn't react, but after the fourth occurrence, he turns around with stormy eyes and flaring nostrils.

"Sorry. Pregnant woman's restless foot syndrome," she excuses herself with a smile.

He doesn't buy it. "If you don't behave…"

"You'll do what? I'm with child over here, you can't hurt me," she replies triumphantly.

"No, but I can make you sit on my lap for the rest of the drive."

Bonnie opens her mouth to say something scathing in return and –wait.

"What?"

An angry honk blares behind them. Charles clears his throat.

Klaus realizes, belatedly, that it might have been a strange thing to say, but it's too late to take it back now, so even though his complexion is wilting, he soldiers on. "You heard me."

Back in his day, taking a child on one's lap and giving them a taste of their own medicine was nothing to sneer at, but…Bonnie Bennett is not a child, she's merely carrying one.

Well, it's her fault for being a brat.

They spend the rest of the (long) drive in silence.

One aspect she notes is that the clinic is very quiet. She's been to various hospitals along the years – always due to some family loss or another – and they all seemed to shriek at her. They were places of pain and physical toll that wanted you to know how much it hurt. This hallway, however, is hushed and elegant. It doesn't stink of urine or chlorine but rather of air-freshener and mint candies. Every door is stainless white and sealed shut. She is in a place with money. She will be well taken care of.

This should make her feel more at ease, but it actually turns her stomach to knots and makes her palms sweat. Nothing could go wrong here, she knows that, so that means she is the wrong thing here.

His hybrids spread out surreptitiously down each corridor to ensure the parameter. Klaus leads her gently by the elbow, only two fingers touching her shirt, the way you carry an unruly kid to the principal's office. His face is stony, his expression somewhere else. He keeps checking his phone and his watch, as if the two things are in disagreement.

Their doctor – Leila Sankar – pops up from one of the white rooms with a large and somewhat intimidating grin on her face. She is plump and short and wears her hair in outlandish hair buns that remind her of Princess Leia.

"You must be the surrogate. I'm so happy to meet you. Right this way!"

The Surrogate. Is this going to be her identity from now on? Bonnie Bennett, professional surrogate, professional container, professional vessel and storage room.

Bonnie surveys Dr. Sankar intently. The woman is overflowing with energy and good cheer, but there's no filmy gauze over her eyes. Normally, humans tend to mellow down when they are being controlled. They don't act excited, unless the vampire demands it.

She's about to ask Klaus about it, but he seems to have read her mind. He whispers close to her ear. "Compelling her would have skewered her medical expertise. It would be dangerous for the baby."

Bonnie blinks. She must look totally shocked, because Klaus squeezes her arm and shakes his head in a silent warning.

But she can't help it. She's baffled that he would take this risk, calculated though it may be.

She's ushered into an examination room where a young nurse is prepping the ultrasound machine. A woman twice her age is standing behind her, pulling out tubes of gel and inspecting them critically. She looks like she belongs there although she's not wearing a hospital gown or a doctor's robe. Her stylish pixie cut and shrewd smile say nothing to her, and yet Bonnie has the feeling that she knows her.

"Oh, I'd like you to meet our in-house midwife, Gloria." Dr. Sankar makes the formal introduction, but the older woman steps forward boldly and takes Bonnie by the hand, squeezing it tight.

Instantly, she feels the shock of magic between two servants of nature. Her eyes widen. She's looking at a Quarter witch. Bonnie thought she was familiar with all of them and yet here is one she's never met.

"It's a pleasure, my dear," Gloria drawls with an easy smile, although her magic is thumbing through Bonnie's wards as if she were leafing through an open book. Okay, so she's a powerful witch. She'll have to remember that.

"I know that you requested the services of a midwife and we could think of no one better," Dr. Sankar supplies with a reassuring grin. Bonnie looks to Klaus for answers. She certainly never expressed the desire for a midwife. And yet, the hybrid appears completely unruffled about Gloria's presence. What is more, he seems to know her. That doesn't bode well.

Bonnie would like to take him to task for failing to disclose this information to her. Calling in a witch for her medical appointment wouldn't bother her if she was told beforehand.

She decides she's going to give him the cold shoulder and kick his seat in the car on the way back.

"Well, I think we can get started if that's all right with you," Dr. Sankar motions her towards the bed.

Klaus checks his phone again with a disgruntled sigh. Bonnie wonders what could possibly be upsetting him right now. Is he bored or simply impatient? He's the one who made such a big deal about this whole thing.

But she soon forgets about him. She forgets about everything when the ultrasound screen lights up.

.

"Okay, do you feel that? We're getting a steady heartbeat," Dr. Sankar says as she moves the transducer gently over the exposed skin.

Klaus doesn't want to touch the witch more than he needs to, but his hand unconsciously grips her shoulder and doesn't let go.

Bonnie doesn't seem to mind. She stares, transfixed, at the little tadpole on the monitor. She's grown used to its presence inside her, but to see it in reality…to have proof of it…it makes her lightheaded.

Klaus is crushing her shoulder but she's thankful for the support, otherwise she might keel over.

"The organs are developing well. The head has grown in size – see, you can tell it apart from the rest of the body. A few more weeks and we'll be able to tell the sex," Dr. Sankar continues calmly.

Bonnie nods, but her throat is clogged with liquid thick like syrup, and she's unable to speak. Her heart is beating too fast, it almost burns. The machine registers her elevated pulse.

"It's all right, you're doing very well," Dr. Sankar assures her.

Klaus leans over, his hand still squeezing her shoulder.

"Breathe," he urges.

But he could use that advice as well. When Bonnie looks up at him, she sees panic and bewilderment in his eyes. He is flooded with the same disquiet as her. He's not really good at this.

Gloria is watching them from across the room. They're just two kids, she thinks with a sad laugh. Klaus may be older than this baptized land, but he is a boy at heart. And he's wanted this for longer than he can remember.

They are both uncertain and scared, standing there, staring at the monitor. But his hand hasn't left her shoulder.

Gloria bites down a smile. Uh-oh. This is going to get complicated.

His mood is deplorable when they return to the car. He slams the door shut and barks quick orders at Charles.

Bonnie is at first surprised and hurt. She is still somewhere in that examination room, wholly absorbed by the image on the monitor, but he has clearly moved on. She quells the feeling of disappointment in her chest. Why did she expect things to be different?

The drive back to the compound is spent in angry silence on his side and confusion on hers. Did she do something wrong? No, you didn't. He's just an asshole.

It's only when they walk through the archway together into the inner courtyard that her patience finally snaps.

"What is wrong with you? I thought it went well."

The hybrid pivots on her and his expression is filled with bitterness. He is bewildered that she hasn't understood.

"Yes, it went marvelous. A pity the mother wasn't there."

It only hits her a few moments later what he means.

"Oh."

Mother. She had completely forgotten about Aurora. Her absence hadn't weighed on her mind at all. Suddenly, she is overcome with shame. How could she have been so insensitive?

"Oh indeed," Klaus mutters, storming past her through a French window and into the parlor.

Bonnie tenses up, feeling a painful knot in her stomach. This shouldn't be her problem. It's between him and Aurora. She does want this baby to grow up in a happy home, but she knows how fragile every family is, whether supernatural or not. The Mikaelsons are famously dysfunctional. The city knows all about their "civil wars" – the petty squabbles between siblings, the bloody strife between mother and children. Not many families can say they have quite literally vanquished each other.

But she doesn't want to dwell on a terrible possibility. She has to believe that once this child is born, Aurora will be there for it.

Bonnie watches as Klaus pours himself copious amounts of alcohol.

She clears her throat. "You shouldn't jump to conclusions. Maybe she got stuck doing something important, or maybe something really bad happened. Not that I hope that's the case, but –"

He raises his hand. "I don't require consolations, witch."

"I'm not consoling you." She is annoyed by the word. "I'm just suggesting that this all might be a misunderstanding."

"What has been misunderstood exactly? The time and place?"

"Maybe. I mean you took forever getting us there."

"And she couldn't answer her phone?" he demands angrily.

"Bad service happens."

"Don't insult my intelligence."

"Well… you don't have a great history with communication," she mumbles, staring at the stairs on the other side of the court longingly. She wishes she had kept quiet.

"Hang on – what does that mean exactly?"

She sucks in a breath. "Did you ask her if she wanted to come?"

"Wanted to come?" he echoes, scandalized. "It's her child!"

Bonnie clasps her fingers together. "But – did you ask her?"

The hybrid pinches the bridge of his nose. "I find your line of inquiry maddening, witch."

"It's just that you hardly ever put yourself in other people's shoes."

"And what exactly would that accomplish?"

Bonnie considers her options carefully, unsure if she should follow through with her argument.

Klaus is moody enough as it is.

Oh, to hell with it. What is he going to do? Shout at a pregnant woman?

"For one, you'd know Aurora wasn't comfortable with the appointment. I mean…think about it. She has to go to a clinic and stare at the proof of someone else carrying her baby. Wouldn't it depress you?"

She expects him to scowl and contradict her, but Klaus does not say a word. He goes strangely quiet; one would even say vacant. Her words have cast a strange net over his temper. He sets his glass down and lifts his head. Bonnie swallows. He's looking at her as if he's seeing her from a completely different angle.

"You think you know her, but you don't," he says remotely, his voice tinged with nostalgia of things past.

"I'm only trying to understand," Bonnie mutters, feeling out of place.

Klaus takes a step towards her. "It's best to stay out of it."

She should listen to him and turn away. She should leave it at that. Her father always said her mouth got her in trouble.

"You could have told me about Gloria, you know. You could have given me a say in the matter."

His eyes narrow. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't question my judgment. Gloria has been my devoted witch for centuries."

"I'm sure she's very loyal, but I wasn't told about her."

He sneers. "It is none of your business how I choose to conduct –"

"It is my business," she interrupts him angrily, pointing to her stomach. "It involves me too. But you don't think about that. You don't think about other people."

Klaus clicks his jaw shut. The recriminating words stagnate between them like flotsam from a sinking ship. He doesn't bother to deny her accusation, and Bonnie can't help wishing he would.

His pride, however, is greater than any decent instinct he may possess.

She feels disappointment for the second time that day.

She doesn't want to stand here anymore, she doesn't want him to see the hurt on her face. She whirls around and makes for the stairs quickly.

Klaus trails after her, his tone slightly chastened. "Bonnie. Don't walk away from me."

She pauses on the steps with her face hidden. "Give Aurora a chance to explain. Listen to what she has to say."

She hurries away from him, not letting him speak.

.

That night, she's made privy to their argument.

It's hard not to overhear, seeing as they are shouting at the top of their lungs. She tries not to pay attention to the words – bitter imputations and reproach.

She lies in bed, lifting the ultrasound photo to the light. The small tadpole inside her is her only friend.

"Don't listen to them, little one. Mommy and Daddy love each other, but sometimes they have to fight."

Bonnie turns on her side, clutching her stomach. "That's how they work through their problems. But it's not your fault, okay? They love you very much."

She doesn't know why she's saying these corny things. Why she's indulging. She wipes a few tears from her eyelashes. God, she's getting hormonal. She'll be glad when this period is over.

In the morning, Aurora's complexion is ashen as she grabs a cup of freshly brewed coffee from the kitchen.

Bonnie wants to ask her if she's all right, but maybe that would insult her. She seems like the kind of woman who loathes pity.

Aurora forces herself to smile. "Do you think I could see the picture?"

It takes Bonnie a few moments to catch on. "Oh, of course."

She sinks her hand into the pocket of her dressing robe and pulls out the photo. Aurora doesn't ask why she's carrying it around.

She stares intently at the grainy black and white image, her red nails clutching at one corner as if she's about to tear it in half. Bonnie is afraid she might.

But at the last moment, Aurora nods placidly and hands it back to her.

"Thank you."

Bonnie can't find a proper way to continue the conversation. She wants to remove the barriers between them, to talk honestly for once about the mess they're in. She's sure that Aurora could use a shoulder to cry on.

But the vampire leaves her and Bonnie feels like a door has been closed shut.

.

The hothouse is steaming. Sunlight has poured through the glass like honey in a jar. Green vines curl like fingers around the trellis and young white blooms hang wistfully on branches, waiting to open in the heat. She sits next to the tomato batch with her legs propped against a wooden screen. She hopes Dora won't march in to scold her. The baby enjoys the cozy warmth and nothing bad could happen here.

Nothing except –

"Here you are. I've been looking everywhere," Klaus mutters, coming to a stop next to her blanketed nook.

Her first instinct is to apologize, but then she recalls that she doesn't want to be in his presence anyway. She hopes her face is fastened against sudden emotion. She's become very sensitive lately.

"Well, you've found me," Bonnie tells him evenly, pulling the blanket off her feet and preparing to rise.

"Don't get up on my account," he urges in a concerned manner, his eyes locked on her lower half.

She wants to tell him that sudden movement won't spook the baby, but she doesn't have the energy for barbed remarks and he…seems to be in a better mood.

He glances around the hothouse, as if realizing for the first time where he is. "I can't remember the last time I set foot in here."

Bonnie is nonplussed. The hothouse is only a short walk away from the veranda.

"Bad memories?" she asks without thinking.

Klaus clears his throat, brushing the matter aside. "I only wanted to give you this."

He pulls out a small card from his jacket and offers it to her. Bonnie reaches out uncertainly.

"Those are Gloria's contact details," he says, as if reciting a well-rehearsed piece. "You may get in touch with her, if you like. You …may invite her to see you. I believe she would like that."

Bonnie thumbs the card with unease. Klaus looks quite uncomfortable with this sudden overture. No doubt, he would rather not have made it. Then why has he? Is this his attempt to apologize? She wonders if he's ever said sorry in his life.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he mumbles stiffly, giving the plants around him another sorry look.

He's about to depart when Bonnie issues a soft hiss. She clutches the side of her stomach and closes her eyes briefly.

"What is it? Bonnie. Bonnie, what's wrong?"

The small pang subsides and she opens her eyes. Klaus is bent over her reclined frame and his stormy face is only a few inches away.

She startles, drawing back. She can see flecks of golden-green in his eyes. He is surveying her so intensely, she grows slightly dizzy.

"I…nothing, it was just a small spasm. Dr. Sankar said they're pretty common."

She looks down and sees that his hands are squeezing her thighs. How did she not feel that?

Klaus removes himself quickly, his gait strained and clumsy for a moment. Not at all a hybrid king.

"Well, then. I'm glad."

He doesn't explain what he's glad about but simply marches out of the hothouse as if he has a pressing need for fresh air. Bonnie looks after him, mystified.

It becomes clear to her in the coming weeks that Klaus and Aurora have made up, or at least reached a resolution. They have put the doctor's appointment behind them. She'll often hear them talking civilly in the dining room and other times she'll catch Klaus placing an arm around her waist as they leave the house. They are strangely polite to each other, as if making sure not to step on a fresh wound.

Bonnie is shamefully curious how they managed to reconcile, although not curious enough to go listening at their door again. She shudders when she remembers that night and the strange hunger that overcame her. She doesn't want to yearn for the touch of immortals. She hasn't really felt the touch of mortals either, not since Jeremy. She hasn't allowed herself to. She recalls one New Year's Eve, three years ago, a good-looking bartender wanted to steal a kiss from her during the countdown. She pushed him off with a little burst of magic, but then later regretted doing so. Maybe one kiss wouldn't have been so bad.

Well, no one will want to kiss her when she becomes huge and cranky. Pregnant women aren't exactly in demand.

She wants to be happy for Klaus and Aurora. It's a relief when they're not fighting. Except, she can't help but feel that there's something brewing on the horizon.

One evening, as she's coming down the stairs into the courtyard, she stumbles upon a more intimate moment.

They are both dressed for a special soiree. Klaus is wearing a perfectly tailored suit in which he looks both uncomfortable and dashing, and Aurora shines in a blue gown that dips below her shoulder line and tightens at the waist.

They are…beautiful together, almost like a couple in the stock photos they put in picture frames. You really do believe they are going to last for centuries.

Bonnie pauses on the stairs, a wistful look in her eye.

Klaus parts her hair aside and clasps a diamond necklace around Aurora's throat. His fingers linger on the back of her neck. Aurora rests her head on his shoulder and Klaus bends down, brushing his lips against her pulse. His fangs have hatched and they are skating across the soft skin like daggers. Bonnie watches, mesmerized. The stairs creak under her feet and the hybrid's eyes fly open. They land on the pregnant witch. He pauses for a moment, eyes locked with Bonnie.

His pupils dilate and he kisses Aurora's neck, retracting his fangs.

"Bonnie," Aurora mumbles, moving away from Klaus and breaking the spell. "I hope we didn't disturb you."

"Oh…no, I was just taking a bit of exercise." The truth is, she was just coming down to watch TV because the flat screens on the first floor had better coverage. She looks down at her slightly crumpled yoga pants and floppy 'Kiss The Cook' T-shirt. The baby bump sticks out like a small basketball. She suddenly feels old and weary in comparison to the 1000-year old vampires.

Klaus loosens his tie an inch. "Should you require anything…"

"I have Dora and an army of attendants at my beck and call," Bonnie waves him off. "Go, have fun."

She sounds like a middle-aged mom, seeing her kids out the door. Where did her youth go?

Aurora slips a fur wrap on her shoulders and takes Klaus' arm territorially. Bonnie tries to smile as she watches them leave.

Klaus stares at her over his shoulder as they disappear through the archway. The gates close shut with a clang. She can't decipher his look, whether it was kind or indifferent. Bonnie hopes that one day she will think back on this period and not curl inwardly with shame. She's acting like a schoolgirl. Klaus and Aurora are practically married. She needs to stifle whatever treacherous thoughts she's harboring.

He is dancing with Aurora and the chandeliers are winking at him, but he is thinking of the young girl on the stairs who probably never felt fangs on her throat. He tries to chase away the image of her vestal skin. He dips Aurora down and watches as red locks sweep the marble floor. It's the color of the blood that would spill from Bonnie's fragile arteries.

Klaus disowns the sweet liquid pooling in his mouth. He leaves Aurora to fetch himself a drink.

He wouldn't have gone into the room but he saw blue lights flickering through the white curtains and decided to inspect the source.

He finds her reclined clumsily on the sofa, hugging a pillow to her stomach. One of her legs is hitched awkwardly over the armrest while her left hand dangles on the carpeted floor. It's hard not to chuckle at the wild sight of her, and yet Klaus also feels a strange impulse to paint her. She's certainly looked better, but she's never been so comfortable before.

He has watched her sleep in the four-poster bed in her room, but there, she always appeared more vulnerable than relaxed. Now, there are no worry lines on her face, nothing to disturb her. She is at peace with the world and it makes him feel…as if something was done right.

She fell asleep in front of the TV. He clicks it shut, careful not to wake her.

He's loath to disturb her any further, but he can't possibly let her stay here until morning. It's drafty and unsafe. Far better for her to be on the second floor, in her own bed.

Klaus removes his suit jacket and casts it on a chair carelessly. He has to perform a good balancing act if he wants to lift her seamlessly. He bends down and hooks one arm under her knees. His other arm settles along the curve of her back, pulling her forward into his lap. She groans a little under her breath, stirring only enough to sink her head into his pressed shirt. His fingers come up to her face, parting her hair. She rubs her nose against his chest and mutters faintly, "smells… good". The verdict makes Klaus' breath stutter a little. It's stupid, really, to be caught off-guard by a childish remark.

Making sure she's hoisted against him, he rises slowly with her small body in his arms. He expects her to be heavier, but she does not weigh much. He wonders if she's eating enough, if Dora is fattening her up properly. He could reach out and touch her belly, but he won't, because it somehow feels degrading when she's not conscious. Still, he senses his child is close and warm and his skin tingles with recognition.

Bonnie settles into him, unaware of her surroundings, curling in her favored fetus position, almost like burying herself in him. Klaus feels his grip tightening on her back as he makes his way slowly out of the living room.

He doesn't notice a pair of eyes trailing after him.

Aurora watches from the balcony as her lover carries the pregnant witch to her bed.

It is morning, a few days later. He stumbles upon one his hybrids helping her up from a chair. The young man has no ill intentions, of course. He is doing exactly what's been asked of him. Bonnie experienced a dizzy spell and Theo was obliging enough to offer his arm. But he placed the other arm around her waist as he drew her up and he did not remove it until she assured him she was fine.

The action rankles somehow. He can't quite put his finger on it, but Klaus calls Theo into his study later. He compels the truth out of his eyes. Does he have a preference for the witch? Theo is bleeding from one cheek and he looks as confused as a child.

"No, Sire. I am only following your instructions."

Klaus narrows his eyes. "So, you do not care for her at all?"

"Well…I care for her welfare, as you told me. She seems…nice."

"Nice," Klaus drawls, feeling dissatisfied with the answer, but not knowing what he'd rather hear. "How quaint."

"Sire?"

"Have any of the other men…have they got too close to her?"

Theo blinks, completely mystified. "Not that I know of, but it seems unlikely."

And it's the casual way in which his hybrid says "unlikely" that crumbles Klaus' suspicions. He feels so foolish, standing there, questioning his progeny as if he were a jealous –

Ridiculous.

He blames it on the child growing inside her. He pats Theo's wounded cheek fondly and gives him his wrist to drink and heal.

This sort of outburst is really unbecoming of him.

Dora arranged a very elegant tea service next to the Hanging Fountain. It's called that way because it has been choked with hanging brier. The water falls without sound into the foliage, and the verdure, as consequence, is a startling shade of iridescent opal.

Bonnie sits in the brocade chair, feeling like a very important guest…although she's supposed to be a kind of hostess.

Gloria takes out a small bottle of rum and pours copious amounts into her tea.

"Would you like a taste?" she invites, holding the bottle over Bonnie's cup.

"Oh, no, thank you. I shouldn't since… you know."

"My rum doesn't do the baby any harm. But bad tea might."

Bonnie doesn't want to insult her. She smiles. "Just a sip, I guess."

The two settle back into their chairs, regarding each other with interest. On Bonnie's side, it's a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Gloria is more amused than anything.

The silence stretches on, although it doesn't feel that silent.

Bonnie clears her throat. "How long have you worked with Klaus?"

"Straight to the point, eh? Too long, if you ask me. I need a holiday." Gloria's tone is cool and collected, like a black stone in the middle of a river. She doesn't look like she needs a holiday.

"Why don't you take one?" Bonnie asks, staring at the gleaming rings on the witch's fingers. One fire ruby attracts her attention in particular. There's something so beautiful and enticing about it, like a red mouth waiting to be kissed.

"Oh, I couldn't get rid of him in the Maldives or the Canaries," Gloria teases, swirling the ice in her glass.

"Is there force involved…? What I mean is, does he have leverage over you?"

Bonnie blushes and stumbles. She has never been great with delicate matters.

Gloria laughs a deep-throated laugh. "He wishes. No, sweetheart. The truth of the matter is, better the snake in your hand than the one in the grass. Klaus may be cruel and vengeful and downright petty sometimes, but he's honest. That boy can't hide his emotions for shit."

The barbed words catch Bonnie by surprise. She'd never call Klaus a boy, but she's glad someone can.

"Hmm, you're not great at poker either," Gloria remarks, taking a sip of her tea.

Bonnie wants to ask her. The questions – the real questions – stagnate at the back of her throat like brackish water in a well. She's afraid of the answer "no".

Do you know my family? Did you know my grandmother? Do you know my mother?

So much painful knowledge.

Gloria taps her hand suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. "How long has it been since you've had a reading?"

Bonnie blinks, as if looking through a fogged window. "What?"

She heard the question, but she has to take a moment to make sense of it. Why, she hasn't had a reading since she was –

"Thirteen," she whispers softly to herself. That's when her Grams started getting ill.

Gloria smiles a sad smile. "That's way too long, baby girl. The cards can't stay silent for that much time."

Bonnie wants to burst into tears as she watches Gloria spread the weathered deck on the checkered tablecloth. It's just stupid pregnancy hormones. Emotions running high. The gesture shouldn't be intimate.

But she hasn't had a reading in more than a decade. It chafes.

"Mm, The Tower," Gloria murmurs as she flips a card. "You best watch out, darling. Some would like to climb up and pull you down, but you must reach higher. And if it be good to fall, do it quickly and start all over."

Bonnie feels small darts behind her eyelids.

"And look at this," Gloria flips another card. "The Empress. Aren't we blessed with bounty."

The young witch has to excuse herself momentarily to dash to the bathroom. Pregnant women pee a lot, it's a fact. But Bonnie is going to wash her face and stifle the tears.

She doesn't get to see the third card. Gloria flips it over and smiles. The Lovers.

When she returns, Gloria presses her ruby-red ring into her palm. "Here, for safekeeping."

"No, I can't –"

"I'm not giving it to you, darling," Gloria laughs. "I'll come back for it one day. Make sure you have it."

Bonnie slips the ring over her own finger and feels a strange calm fall over her.

There's been another fight - this one more silent, but more pervasive. Her next doctor's appointment is drawing to a close and Bonnie suspects it might have added fuel to the fire.

Aurora slams doors and windows in her wake and says in a faux-cheerful manner, "I can't breathe in this house. Can you?"

Bonnie notices the vampire only stares at her face now and refuses to bring her eyes lower. It stings a little. As if part of her body were a curse.

Bonnie tries to keep busy with online classes and paperback romances. She secretly hankers after Klaus' private Grimoire collection which is kept under lock and key. So far, she hasn't plucked up the courage to ask him for access. He's always in a bad mood and she doesn't want to fight him.

She spends inordinate amounts of time in the hothouse where she knows she'll be alone. Dora will come and force a banana down her throat, but other than that, no one disturbs her. She's noticed that the hybrids who usually follow her keep a larger berth now.

One wretched evening, she googles Jeremy's name. She hasn't done that since she moved into her gilded cage.

The entries have diminished throughout the years, but the commemorative website has not disappeared. The cursor hovers over the link, tempting her, torturing her.

At that moment, she hears someone's angry tread down the corridor.

"Aurora, come back here!" Klaus is roaring.

Bonnie closes the lid on her laptop and pushes it aside. The human heart is the most dangerous thing of all.

.

A few days later, she is sitting in front of the plasma TV, determined not to fall asleep again.

Klaus is out with Elijah on some governing business. Aurora has only come in to change her clothes but she was quick out the door.

Bonnie feels like she's a small cog in a faulty machinery. She scoops a dollop of ice cream from the carton and swallows it whole, letting the cold burn her throat.

"What in God's name are you watching?"

Bonnie almost spits ice cream all over herself. She did not hear him come in. Klaus is leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks tired but relatively calm. The five o'clock shadow on his cheeks makes her stomach clench for obscure reasons. Klaus always shaves when Aurora is around, she's noticed.

She wipes her mouth and stares at the screen. "It's called Real Housewives of Atlanta. It passes the time."

Klaus shakes his head. "I can't believe you are exposing my unborn child to that."

Bonnie shrugs. "We watched a documentary on Etruscan culture earlier, if that helps. Although, I feel like she's getting more of an education out of this."

Klaus stops short. His eyebrows knit together. "She?"

Bonnie freezes with the hand on the remote. Shit. Did she just say she? She didn't mean to. It was a slip-up, a very stupid slip-up. Lately, she's had too much free time on her hands.

"Bonnie?" he inquires, taking a step forward. He doesn't sound mad. Merely curious.

"Um, or he," she rectifies, laughing nervously. "Could be a he too. I guess we'll find out in a week."

That's when they'll see Dr. Sankar again. She'll have to go into that examination room and lie on the table and try to contain her feelings. Only this time, the monitor will show a clearer picture. The little creature inside of her will take up more space in her head. It might even take over.

Klaus walks over to her seat on the couch. He looms over her like a benevolent, demanding specter.

"She?" he asks again.

Bonnie sighs. "I guess you caught me. I like to imagine it's a she, okay? And sometimes I get this feeling…"

He sits down so quickly it makes the couch exhale.

"What feeling?"

He seems genuinely interested – no, riveted – by what she has to say next. All his senses are focused on her. His body is leaning in, as if afraid to miss the words.

Bonnie swallows the remains of the ice cream and hopes it won't sound anticlimactic."

"I just …get a feeling it might be a she. I can't explain it. It might be magic-based, it might not. I have no way of confirming since I've never…done this before."

"That's understandable," he nods, searching her face for more, but she can't give him more. She already feels depleted. Talking about his child leaves her empty.

"Would you – would you like it if it was a she?" she asks instead.

Klaus wrenches his eyes from her and stares into the dying embers in the fireplace. He gets it into his head that he should rekindle it.

He gets up brusquely and grabs the poker from its fixture on the mantelpiece. With his back turned to her he says, "It doesn't matter what it is, as long as it is healthy."

Bonnie worries her lip between her teeth. It's always a dangerous dance with Klaus. One wrong word and you could fall over the precipice. But there's something so…beguiling about a cliff's sharp end. When you're standing on the edge, you are tempted to let go. Not because you want to die, but because there's something so elemental about flying backwards, about flinging yourself into the beginning. He is older than she'll ever be and he is so different from her. He is altogether something else. But she'd like to fly backwards for a few moments.

"You actually…want this child, don't you?"

Her words take a few moments to reach him.

Klaus barks out a cold laugh. "Good Lord, I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of confining you in my home if it was all for nothing."

She shakes her head. "No, forget legacies and lineage for a moment. Forget power struggles and succession. You…just want to be a father, don't you?"

Klaus' back stiffens and the poker lands with a thud between the coals.

"I want to have an heir."

"No…you want a son or a daughter. Someone to call your own."

"Fascinating," he drawls, resting an arm against the mantelpiece, still turned away. "Those undergrad classes have really paid off."

Bonnie can hear the thorns in his voice, protecting whatever is soft underneath. She doesn't mind his insults. She leans back and stares at the TV again. A woman dressed in a leopard jumpsuit is stirring her cocktail.

"It's weird…but I think you'll actually be a good dad."

Klaus throws her a quick glance over his shoulder. He looks…completely unmoored. He holds onto the mantelpiece as it were a raft in the ocean.

"Please." He means it sarcastically, but there is a genuine hint of pleading in his voice.

Bonnie clasps her fingers together. "I'm serious. Maybe you won't be a great dad, but definitely a decent one. Cuz you actually want your kid."

The hybrid now looks at her closely, surveying her features in the same way he did after their first doctor's appointment. Seeing her from a different angle.

"That's not exactly a high bar, Bonnie. Most parents want their children."

There is an instant recoil in her face, as if she's bitten down on something bitter. She busies herself with the TV remote.

"Most parents, yes," she agrees, flipping the channels quickly. "I guess I'm relieved you're most parents."

Her brisk, casual tone does not invite further overtures. He knows about her mother, of course, as he's made it his business to know everything. But he didn't bother to get the full story. He wishes he had it now.

All he can do is return to her. He sits down on the couch, closer than before.

Bonnie raises her legs to her chest. Klaus doesn't move. They stand still together, watching the news.

A full minute passes in silence. And then, as if a trapdoor has fallen open, Klaus hunches forward and runs his hands over his face. He pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes.

He mumbles something incoherent under his breath.

"What did you say?" she asks softly.

"I said Aurora doesn't want to be a mother."

The words are smoke and glass, they cut and choke. They are see-through, but you see nothing.

Bonnie could say a lot of things. She could tell him he's wrong. She could assure him that it's only hard now that the baby's inside someone else, but once Aurora holds her child, biology will reassert itself. Maternal instincts will kick in. Everything will go back to normal.

But some things you have sit with. Some things don't go back to normal.

"I'm sorry," she says finally, because she is, because her heart aches for him and for this baby.

She reaches out tentatively and places her hand over his. Klaus is limp in her hold at first, but a beat later, he clasps her fingers and squeezes back. They don't look at each other. This small tragedy will grow. Its roots will poison everything.

But right now, it's okay, it's anchored. They will figure something out.

It's weird to think that they are in this together.

When she tries to pull her hand away, he doesn't let her. He holds on tight, almost crushing her fingers under his. His breathing is uneven. She doesn't complain.

They sit like this for a small eternity, with their hearts heavy and their hands entwined.