Empath ‣ Klaus Mikaelson [1]

Fifteen

Talia sat on the couch with a glass of wine, Elijah sitting across from her with a glass of wine, too. 

"So you're saying you're how old?" she asked with interest.

"I was born nearly a millennium ago," he responded, sipping the cheap wine like it was a finer one.

"Dude, you're old," she giggled.

"I believe you've had too much wine," he responded, reaching for the glass.

"There's no such thing."

"Stand up."

She decided she wanted to rise to the small challenge he presented and attempted to stand up before falling flat on her ass, surprisingly having not dropped a single drop of wine on the couch.

"I'd say it's about your bedtime, I suppose," Elijah said, taking the glass from her and setting it down on the kitchen counter.

"You're not my dad," she retorted, still a little giggly.

"I'm a thousand years older than you, Natalia. I have a little more authority here."

"Bullshit."

"Language." He sat down in front of her. "Now, rest. We have a busy day tomorrow."

"We do?"

"I wanted to take you and the lovely Jenna Sommers to see the old Fell property. After all, we love our history."

"You've got more history than any of those overpriced textbooks in college ever did."

"Did you actually study history or was that just a fib to tell Carol Lockwood?"

"I did study history. I personally loved it."

"Wonderful." He stood up. "Rest up. Tomorrow, we rise early."

"Why are you really taking me with you? I love history, but you didn't know that really until now."

"I've taken it upon myself to keep a watchful eye on you."

"Why?"

"I feel protective of you. Besides, your company is not terrible."

"Aww. You wanna be besties, don't you, suit and tie?"

"Not as much as I want you to rest."

"But you admit you wanna be my friend."

"Perhaps, but we tread carefully around here. You've already seemed to make an enemy out of the Salvatores."

"They're more pissed than vengeful or whatever. They won't hurt me."

"I don't trust that." He brushed the hair out of her face. "Natalia, please look at me."

She furrowed her brow and then looked at him in confusion, wondering why he was requesting it. She looked him dead in the eyes.

"You are special. You are strong and kind. Blood doesn't stain your hands as they do mine. There is a light inside of you and I think I would rather fall dead than see it extinguished."

"Why is my 'light' so important?"

"Believe me. Just trust that I care for you."

"I don't understand. What aren't you telling me?"

"Unfortunately, quite a few things. Right now, they do not concern you as much as your wellbeing. Go to sleep."

She stood up and crawled into her bed, asking him, "Why won't you tell me the things you aren't telling me?"