Author's Note: Yes this aims to be a multi-chaptered Klonnie fic. I really have no business writing this, because a) I have never really written a multi-chaptered fic and b) I really have no solid ending in mind at this point, it is just kind of evolving. But thanks to 4 minutes of screen time last episode I can't seem to get this out of my head. So here you go, a Klonnie story that surrounds the events of 3x18 and then moves off in its own direction after that. The prologue is meant to set the stage. It's in Klaus' POV but the actual chapters switch to Bonnie's POV.


It is almost endearing – how they walk on eggshells around him.

Even compelled, humans understand to give him a wide berth; to avoid him where possible and to never ever lie to him. They press themselves into the wall when he walks past and he pays them no mind – after all, unless he requires something, they are just walking breathing blood bags.

Tonight, however, they seem extra timid.

Which tells him something is wrong.

Klaus frowns as he closes the door behind him, watching the tiny slip of a girl scurry out of the room. He can't remember where he picked her up; perhaps she is the one he lured from the bar with promises of freedom from her abusive father. He follows her into the recesses of the house, moving at his usual languid pace and finds that she has backed herself into a corner in the kitchen. "Love?" For he does not know her name and he does not care to know her name. In his lifetime he has known many 'loves' and 'sweethearts'.

It takes someone extraordinary to stand out enough for him to remember a name.

"I tried," she says immediately and he realizes from the way she curls into herself that she is indeed the poor unfortunate soul who served as a punching bag for her dear old dad. He tilts his head as she stares into the floor. He can't keep her long – she'll only trip over her own two feet to keep him happy. While he is fond of absolute obedience, he cannot afford mistakes.

"You tried?" Klaus questions slowly, taking great pains to keep his voice even. He does not need another human female quivering on the floor.

"She won't listen to reason. I don't think she cares at this point," she counters, obviously choosing her words carefully. In the end, Klaus knows she wants no part of the blame.

His eyes shift around the once polished room, noting that his humans have become sloppy. No doubt they spend too much time worrying and not enough cleaning up after themselves. His keen senses detect the beginnings of food rotting and it takes control not to curl up his face in disgust. There are days when he would like nothing more than to burn this place to the ground.

Perhaps he will indulge that particular desire soon enough – if he does the intelligent thing and leaves this place.

Klaus sees it now – the tray tucked to the side, almost out of place in the building filth. The food there is fresh…and untouched. He presses his lips together, inhales deeply, and watches as she crumbles before him. Annoyance bristles within him. "I am not mad at you, sweetheart. It is not your fault she is a stubborn fool," Klaus says softly, speaking to her as if she were a frightened child in need of coaxing. He supposes in a way she is. He reaches for the tray, ignoring how she flinches on reflex.

It has grown cold – and that is how it will remain. Klaus is in no mood to reward disobedience.

He carries the tray down up the winding staircase, aware that his little minion is dutifully on his heels. He stops in front of the solid oak door. Four days ago a ward had been put on the door, resulting in a rather painful burn. However, he knows that took a great deal of energy and therefore it is unlikely it will be repeated.

"You stay right there, love," Klaus says and out of the corner of his eye he can see the glassy eyed human go perfectly still. He briefly wonders how long she can stand there before she collapses. Perhaps another day he can find out – right now, he has more pressing matters.

Klaus opens the door slowly, mindful that while his guest may be without power, she is still prone to violent outbursts. He braces himself in case she decides to charge at him again. The previous attempt had caught him off guard, and he doesn't relish the feel of her nails in his face again.

However, it soon becomes clear that she is not going to attack him. In fact, she is not going to do anything. For she is curled into a ball in the corner. Her eyelids flutter but he is not sure if it is in response to him for he has been whisper quiet. He can see it now, the way she is fighting her own body for control. She is weak, barely able to keep her own eyes open at the moment. "Look at what you've gone and done to yourself, love," he says as he advances. Once he is close enough, he crouches, setting the tray to the side for the time being. "I have to wonder what you are hoping to accomplish by your little display. It makes no matter to me if you are passed out from dehydration."

She lifts her head slowly, and he smiles when he sees it – the flash of her eyes that tells him that while she may be down for the count, she is not out. "Go to hell."

"Original response," Klaus drawls, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. It feels limp in his hand and it is all he can do not to laugh as she flinches at the contact. "Your mind is not as sharp as usual. Perhaps you should reconsider your plan to starve it."

She pulls herself up to a seated position, her eyes narrowed. He does not move, not even when she presses her back against the wall. It is as far as she can go. "How I do know you're not trying to poison me?"

It is an unexpected response. Klaus makes a face before he laughs, the sound echoing through the lavishly furnished room. "I believe I explained this all to you before. I need you alive. If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you already." He pushes the tray toward her now, and sees the way she almost lurches for it. There is a war between body and mind going on inside her. He wonders how much longer she can hold back instinct. "Eat," he says simply.

Her response is swifter than he thought possible for someone in her state. In a matter of seconds, the tray is over turned and he is wearing a good portion of it. He grimaces as he rocks back on his heels. "I would like you to remember that you were the one who brought us to this," he tells her before standing. He can feel her eyes on him as moves, and he reaches the door before he turns back. "Whatever happens next is on your hands, love."

Despite it all – the hunger, the listless energy, the deplorable conditions she finds herself in, she narrows her eyes and reminds him of why she is fast ensuring he will never forget her name.

Bonnie Bennett – defiant even in the face of overwhelming odds.