Hurricane / The Originals

Chapter 21

My back pressed painfully against the cold, unforgiving wall, my strength ebbing away as my vision blurred and darkened at the edges. Rebekah's gaze was unyielding, sharp and relentless like a hawk focused on its prey.

"Hey," Rebekah's voice cut through the haze, her hand gripping my shoulder with a firm shake. "Stay with me. I don't need you falling asleep, okay, love?"

Her words struggled to pierce the fog settling over my mind. I fought to focus, managing to croak out, "Klaus needs to find a cure..."

Before I could finish, the darkness consumed me entirely, dragging me down into unconsciousness. The last sensation I felt was the cold bite of the wall against my back and Rebekah's concerned voice fading away as everything went black.

"No, no, no, you're a bloody idiot!" I shouted, shaking Cleo with urgent frustration. My focus shifted to Davina, who had jolted awake, her eyes widening in horror as she took in Tim's lifeless form.

"Tim! Tim!" Davina cried out, her voice cracking as she shook him desperately.

DAVINA: [shaking Tim's body] "Tim? Tim, wake up! Open your eyes. Please, Tim, don't leave me alone!"

I reached out, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder, my voice firm but gentle.

"Love, he's gone. I understand how much it hurts, but I need you to pull yourself together. Cleo's life is on the line, and I can't lose her too."

Davina's eyes flashed with anger and sorrow as she met mine.

"You want me to save the girl both your brothers are obsessed with... the same brothers who killed Tim? Why should I help her?"

I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my own emotions in check.

"Marcel and Elijah risked their lives to save you, Davina. They have their flaws, but they're not the monsters you think they are. I'm asking you to do this for Elijah—he's already lost so much. Find another way to take down Klaus if you must, but please, don't let Cleo die. Not like this."

Rebekah returned to the compound, her heart heavy as she carried the limp form of Cleo. The dim hallway light did little to conceal the worry etched on Elijah's face as he rushed toward her the moment he saw them. Klaus stood at a cautious distance, holding his breath, reluctant to approach but unable to tear his gaze away.

"Is she okay?" came the anxious question.

"She's stable now, thanks to Davina," Rebekah replied, her voice tinged with relief. "She managed to neutralize the poison and draw it out of Cleo's system."

With a determined resolve, Elijah shook his head and extended his arms. "No. I'll take her. I've got this."

With gentle care, he lifted Cleo from Rebekah's arms. The look on his face—filled with a blend of tenderness and fierce protectiveness—was a stark contrast to the tumultuous relationships Rebekah had known. It spoke of deep, unwavering commitment, a quality she had longed for but seldom found.

Meanwhile, Marcel, his sorrow evident, carefully placed Davina in her bed and took his place at her side, his eyes betraying the depth of his regret. After attending to Cleo in the adjacent room, Elijah joined Marcel, standing vigil over the sleeping witch. The two men shared a moment of silent solidarity, each grappling with their own burdens.

"She'll never trust me again," Marcel murmured.

"Perhaps," Elijah replied, his voice steady. "But you must never surrender the fight to regain that trust. It's a long and arduous road to rebuild, but it's a fight worth fighting."

As Elijah spoke, his gaze fell upon some of Davina's artwork scattered nearby. He picked up the stack of charcoal sketches, frowning in concentration as he scrutinized them. The sketches were hauntingly beautiful, a stark contrast to the ethereal quality of Davina's usual work.

"These drawings—what are they?" he asked, examining the intricate details.

"She drew those while she was locked in the attic," Marcel explained. "They're different from her usual work, the kind she creates when she senses magic. She called these 'evil.'"

Rebekah's voice echoed in the background, reflecting on the situation. "And some women, well... let's just say their oppressors had better watch out. For behind their quiet resilience lies a strength that defies the darkest of odds."

BACK TO NORMAL

I woke to the subtle shift of the bed and the gentle, rhythmic stroking of my hair. I didn't need to open my eyes to know who was there.

"So you let me die and now you're petting me?" I murmured, my voice barely a whisper, though my eyes remained closed.

"Well, love, my intention wasn't for you to drink the poison, but your stubborn little head chose to be persistent," came the rasp of Klaus's voice, rough yet oddly soothing.

I shifted in the bed, turning to face him, still lying down with my eyes finally opening. The white dress I wore was slightly disheveled, my bust spilling from the top of it in an unintentional display.

"Is she okay?" I asked, my voice edged with concern.

"The little witch is fine," Klaus assured me, his tone softer than I expected.

"Good," I replied, relief mingling with the lingering exhaustion.

"Why did you drink it, Cleo?" Klaus's voice was a low murmur, tinged with frustration and worry.

"Because you left me no choice," I replied, my voice steady despite the heaviness of the moment. "I couldn't just sit there and watch them die."

"Cleo, I fear your heart and compassion are going to be the end of you," Klaus said, his voice almost a growl, filled with a mix of concern and resignation.

"You're wrong," I countered, shifting slightly to face him more fully. "It's precisely those qualities that make me want to live. This world—it's not made for me. All the death and violence, the cruelty. If I can stop you from causing more pain to others, I will. It's not fair for you to play god with people's lives."

I stared at Klaus, searching his face for more of an explanation, but his eyes were already shifting away, as if he was closing off a part of himself. The tension in the room hung heavily between us, but my eyelids were growing too heavy to keep open. I let out a weary sigh and shifted back into the pillows, the soft fabric of the bed embracing me like a cocoon.

"Fine," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "But don't think this conversation is over."

Klaus didn't respond, his gaze now fixed on the flickering candlelight casting shadows across the room. The silence between us was heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions. His fingers brushed against my hair in a gentle, almost absentminded gesture, as if he was trying to comfort me while wrestling with his own inner turmoil.

As I drifted towards sleep, I heard Klaus's voice again, this time softer, almost contemplative. "You're stronger than you know, Cleo. It's what makes you dangerous in a world like this."

I wanted to reply, to argue that strength wasn't something I sought but something that had been forced upon me, but sleep was pulling me under, and the words dissolved before they could form. My eyes closed fully, and the darkness took over.