Note: I had a surge of klebekah ispiration so I gave it a try (as my bamon readers know well I don't watch either TVD not TO but I always put my effort into studying the characters so I hope you will give it a chance), there will be another chapter of this.

Beta: Syeira Lei

WARNINGS: Incest theme, sex and violence.

#

It's just a trick of light, obviously. Yes, it is certainly so, he tells himself as he stares wide eyed at her silhouette standing out against the golden-dyed sky. He's surprised and disarmed by craving and anguish, which are now conjuring to suffocate him.

Her smile is soft and white and she stands tip-toed, her arm stretched above her head as she waves. He's way too far to be able to tell if her joyful eyes are on him, but his heart starts a violent chase after the unreachable illusion of her, and for all his might he can't stop it.

Air leaves him, like a punch to the stomach, his skin grows cold as his loins burn; the startling contrast makes him nauseous, and he must stop in his steps.

The laughter of the boys walking behind him makes him feel ridiculed and he must look away from her. The weight of Conrad's arm as it wraps around his neck to push him into a playful hug is unbearable as he whispers "I believe I have a chance," he says, making Niklaus turn. Conrad is all but looking at him, in fact, his gaze has laid where his should not have ever dared to.

"I shall speak to your father," he adds, mouth grinning, eyes shining.

"She's too young," he objects, trying to rationalize his aversion to his suggestion.

Conrad turns his face to openly show his amusement at his reasoning, "Younger girls then she are happy mothers, and she's far too lovely for us to let her beauty whiter without the care of a man."

"Rebekah was not made for any man," Niklaus says. His darkening voice digs a hole inside his own mind, dragging out memories of his infant sister crawling up his chest in the tiny bed he shared with his brother. He always thought she was a bit more his then she was anyone else's.

Conrad reads his approval in his words – after all, he's young and strong and his wealthy family has large influence in their village, every father would gladly give him their daughter - and he holds his shoulder with one hand.

"She was not," he says nodding, his clean smile an insult to his own shame, "She will have me, won't she?" he asks him, making him grit his teeth as he tries to fake a smile.

"I pray fate will assist me. I shall soon be a married man, my friend."

One of their friends jumps on his back and Conrad barely falters. His strong built body is like a fortress, and he laughs throwing the other on the ground. The others join them in a play of fight and Niklaus can't help but look in her direction. He can picture her, with ribbons and flowers in her braided hair, ready to put her heart between a man's hands, so in love with love itself to never question their father's arrangements. Maybe she would be happy, when he is already so miserable.

And when she's gone no one will be left to watch him defeat Elijah, no one will hold his hand under the dining table when father decides that he'd like to taste his humiliation to gratify his picky appetite.

Every time father beats him she watches his bloody face, his cut lips, his shiny eyes and she offers him a smile and asks with conceit if that's all Mikael can do, like he's enough of a man to be able to endure much worse – oh, she will probably make him - and then she's at his side, letting him lean on her as she chatters about her boring day like they are out for a stroll.

The golden light of the setting sun is softening. Their mother is dragging her away by the wrist and she manages to steal a glance at them before surrendering to the duties of her day.

His baby sister, his sweet Bekah leaves him there, his shame in the sun, his eyes on her back; and in his head his own voice trying to deceive him into safety. For it's only a trick of light. And for the first time he hates her.

#

"Bekah," hers is the first name he says when he wakes up stained in blood and a plague for humanity, her name is the first word that graces his lips. He wants to soothe her panic when he didn't even begin to understand his own.

"We will be alright, we will be alright," he repeats, not caring if he's lying; one hand is on her back, to will her breathing to calm down, and when Mikael comes to force her to drink again and complete the ritual he tries to stop him, but he can't for he is weak. Too weak to fight Mikael, the head of their family, too weak to fight his own need to not see Rebekah die. And in the pit of his soul, his need to not be parted from her is stronger than his desire to see her innocence preserved.

Niklaus watches her head bent on the girl's wounded arm and he thinks of the next centuries with her and the flowers and dresses he'll buy her to make her happy and have her forgetting that he just took away her future for an immobile, eternal moment.

#

[Italy, 1114]

Death has left her beauty untouched. Instead, the grace of her every step, the curve of her plump mouth, each detail of her is like punctuation in a poem. And poetry he was never good at.

Things like confessions, explanations, apologies, have always been alien to him. Words are Elijah's area of expertise and he happily leaves it to him. He hushes up his stream of consciousness with the blood of beautiful girls. He tears it apart and recomposes it into images upon rough paper.

When he catches Elijah staring at the scattered pages his first instinct is to hide them away, but he stops himself.

"You are good," his older brother says, his tone too grave for him not to wonder what he saw in his artistic exploits that he never did. But he doesn't dwell upon it, his heart refuses to linger and his mind follows.

Life is good and he wants to take every ounce of satisfaction he can, wasting his time on his brother's habit of introspection and good conversation seems too unlike him. And they have a vampire hunter to keep at bay. Or Five.

He is too old to be worried about a snot-nosed child that wants to play at hunting, he is way too powerful for that.

"He's nothing. I could eat him for sport," he considers, joyfully, blind at Rebekah's growing affection for the man who's sworn to kill them.

She is supposed to play him, keep him at bay, use him for information and gratification. Instead she has let him take her heart, together with her body, and drive a dagger through them both.

He resents her for being so incapable, for being such a burden, for being a traitor to his cause. He prefers to think of her as the creature that purposely double-crossed him rather than the sister that bloomed in the darkness only to hold on to her naïve heart and give it to someone else, someone she loved and trusted more than she ever did him.

When he un-daggers her, the walls are covered in blood.

"What happened?"

He's frozen in anger, when he takes a step to the side to reveal Alexander, hanging two feet off the ground, pinned by his own sword.

"Ask him," he points a finger at him. "Only, he cannot answer because I've ripped out his tongue. Along with the rest of him."

Her surprise and pain at her lover's death are harder to swallow then the idea of being almost defeated. The hunter betrayed her and he knows that even now she's not hating him.

Her milky skin is only half covered by the gown she surely has let Alexander take off of her, her big blue eyes fill up with tears for the dead man behind him, and he feels like ripping her apart with his bare hands.

"Nik, I had no idea," she pleads.

"But you should have. Your only family was nearly wiped out, because of your stupidity," he can't even look at her. She let that man touch her, touch a part of her he would never, a part of her heaven itself would never allow him to, and for the first time he hates her as much as he loves her. "What did he promise you?"

"Nothing," she says, "Nothing," and it's true, and yet it is not, for she had already made up her mind and if he had never turned on her she would have chosen him, to share her life with. And Alexander knew that.

"He would not have made a move unless he knew you were vulnerable," he says, his teeth itching to sing into her flesh. "You trusted him… over me!" he screams, "What did he promise you?" he asks, his voice unnaturally quiet, his eyes watery.

"Nothing Nik, I swear," she cries harder, scared of him. It's like adding insult to injury.

"What did he promise you? Tell me Rebekah!" And as he screams and she cries he takes her by the shoulders, pulling her off the bed, shaking her like he wants to empty her of the feelings that lead them to this. To him having his little sister in his hands, ready to hurt her as much as he's hurting, ready to love her for all the times he denied himself. To her, half naked, crying for herself and a man that did not deserve her, as she won't even look at him.

Rebekah bends her head and he can't see her eyes. He's glad of that when she tells him, "We were going to marry."

Her words burn like fire and he lets her go. She falls on her knees like she's got no strength left at all. Her hair is plastered to her cheek because of her tears, her left breast spills slightly from her gown and he can't look away from the charming display of her alluring misery.

"There is a cure," she says, unaware of what she's doing, of the pieces of his skin she's tearing away, "A way to go back, Nik. I just wanted to go back."

Silly girl, betrayer, she's going to be sorry for this. She will learn at her own expenses how unfortunate it is to grow up wishing for a fairytale to come true, for a miracle to happen, for a love that will purify her, when you cannot have it.

"Don't you, Nik?" she asks, sobbing, "Aren't you tired of all the charades and the loneliness?"

It's like a slap in the face, for he never thought himself lonely if only she was around. Rebekah, with her big eyes and her apple-like cheeks, his little sister. His, in ways he cannot contemplate unless he is too irate to see straight, to think lucidly.

He bends over her, wraps one hand around her throat and pulls her up until her knees are off the floor. She looks up at him with her pleading eyes and the scent of Alexander all over her is so real he wants to scalp her just so he will never smell it again.

"You're not alone," he hisses between his teeth. "I'll be with you for all your life. I'll be the bane of your existence as you are mine. You will never be alone. In fact, you'll wish you were."

He lets her go, watches her fall, the first time of many. He'll make sure of that.

She wants to have another family, children, wrinkles and die (die without him). She wants to have a chance at building something of her own, live the moments instead of passing thought them, instead of eating them.

She has said that to him. All he heard is that she wants to leave him.

#

[Silk Road, 1348]

A crime against nature, an abomination, this is what they are and he starts to believe that when people all around them start to die, falling one after another like they are flies. They are traveling back along the Silk Road when gossip of a plague starts spreading.

The servants are pale, the sailors are nervous and agitated, and Klaus is infinitely bored. Inside his rich quarters he kills time - and nothing else, sadly – by drinking with his brothers and playing, but travels by the sea are terribly long, especially when one must use parsimony in managing their food, for they die so often, in such a banal manner. A sneeze one day, a black buboe the other, and then they're gone after vomiting half their blood, thrown off the ship, feeding fishes at the bottom of the ocean.

The Great Plague, they call it, and he wonders if they are to blame for this too.

His skittish Rebekah will not leave her rooms much, too squeamish. Only a few days before, they were walking on the prow and a loose, worn out shirt revealed to her sight a trail of buboes along the neck of a man, ready to ooze pus at any moment. She had screamed and hidden her face against his chest, insisting like a weepy child that he should kill him and clean the way for her, but without touching him.

The whole thing had turned his mood into brilliancy and he had granted her wish with full satisfaction. He loved to be the man, like he was when she needed to tend to the house and he was left with the blades and the killing.

"Who's your most beloved brother?" he had asked when she had looked at him – only after having him swearing that the man was underwater by now and that he had not touched him.

"Oh why, Elijah, of course," she had replied with a saccharine smile, flirting with trouble the way she always did before heading back to her rooms, which smells like Anemones, her favorite flowers.

He can smell them on her, can actually catch the trail of the scent in the air outside her doors, and he wonders if they've already withered. Anemones symbolize ephemeral feelings, abandonment, betrayed love, but even hope and wait. Making a gift out of them is the same as saying you neglect me, come back to me. It is not an expression of such idiocy that had him fill her rooms with anemones.

When he peeks through her bedroom door, needy of having her annoy him with her foul temper and her spoiled attitude, he sees her. Naked and unashamed and so enraptured as no other woman was ever. She's on her back, between the sheets of her unmade bed, breast moving as she pants. There's a man kneeling between her legs, face hidden in the folds of her sex and the scent of it makes him stumble back in horror as he recognizes the violent response of his own body. He desperately searches for something that will give away the identity of her lover before he's forced to assist to her – splendid, no doubt – release. A voice somewhere in the back of his mind wonders if that man's tongue is moving with purpose, if he knows what he's doing, who is entrusted to his unrefined ministrations. His baby sister, his sweet Bekah – naked and unashamed and oh so enraptured like no other woman ever was.

The next day that man, and a few others – just to be sure – is thrown off the ship together with all the other corpses. One more, one less, who would ever notice, after all?

#

[Paris, 1359]

Rebekah stands in her new gown, a gift from her thoughtful brother. He's one for details, Niklaus. She's been careful this time around, but not enough it seems, considering that her latest interest is hanging from the ceiling together with all the others snacks her brother has had prepared for his lavishing party.

The unwilling participants, the ones that do not have their feet on the ground and not pierced by an iron hook, those that are not covered from waist to neck are dangling upside down like bats, they are alive but unprotestingly cooperative, confusion assured by the blood-rush to the head, first, and then the gradual lack of it as their guests take a bite and a sip here and there when one of the dishes catches their eye.

Klaus watches her swallow as she looks at the unfocused eyes of her dear, dear Eban, who is probably incapable of master a single thought or prayer, let alone remember the feeling of his sister's mouth on his.

A man should never be deprived of the comfort of memories, he thinks basking in a childish euphoria.

He hates for Rebekah to be so unbecomingly distracted by a mere soldier when he's got alliances to make and history to write. She's always after her unsavory delusion of love. If he ever explained love to her – in touches and shame – she would be horrified. He's been pushing her boundaries for centuries, but that will be the last line he will never cross.

"Is he of your liking?" he asks, sweetly, coming up behind her.

She does not flinch, which is quite disappointing. He likes her passion too much. Maybe he should space out more between one brotherly sign of affection to the other, for she is becoming indifferent to his brutality. Or maybe he needs to take it up a notch.

He puts one hand behind the man's neck and offers him to her with an elegant gesture. He can be such a gentleman, when he wants to.

"I thank you, brother, but I've got no appetite," she declines, polite and blank.

"You do offend me, sister," he replies, "I've been putting my best effort into offering you something that would please you." His words are too calculated for her to not catch the meaning of them.

"Did I offend you?" she asks, with no sentiment. "Then please, tell me when I committed such a crime, so that I can repeat the action without failing to hurt you."

He grits his teeth at her empty smile, takes comfort in the lifeless light of her eyes, for it means he drained her of her strength and her hopes and for the moment- if only for the moment – she will not rebel nor leave.

The thought soothes his volatile anger and he lets Eban's head go, using his hand to cup her cheek now. He can feel his own loneliness under his fingertips. Her skin is as velvety as an unripe peach, and isn't she unripe at love too?

"Your tongue is an adventurous one," he points out with slight pride and the ghost of a grin playing on his mouth.

In a sign of forgiveness, in a surge of weakness, he leans over and presses his lips to her cheek. He closes his eyes at the touch, feels the muscles of his legs and stomach tensing up; it must be because of the warmth of his fresh meal, which is making his body quiver with the need for more. Yes, it must.

Her smell is the same she had when she had held his head against her chest as he watched, broken, the lifeless body of their brother Henry; but it does not offer the same comfort. He would love to feel her heartbeat under his ear, the curve of her breast against his cheek, her hand in his hair.

She's always liked his hair.

Rebekah trembles under his lips, even though she has no other evident reaction. His imagination - later on, when he is high on blood and alcohol and his sweet sister is asleep in her chambers - conjures up her trembling frame and her comforting smell as he holds the girl by her hair and he thrusts unkindly into her mouth.

He keeps her head in place, stills his movements only to let her suck harder on him. Klaus looks down on her and a loud hiss escapes his lips. She's eager and obedient and so very blonde.

Lately – even Elijah noticed - he's got a thing for blondes. It does not mean a thing.