little mikaelson ⚜️ the originals

47

n// texting testing.... is this thing on

Things, despite all odds for the Mikaelson family, were finally back to normal. Well, as normal as they could be with the Original family. Which, in hind sight, wasn't normal in the slightest, but Darla would take what she got.

So, there she sat, reading a book for school with her legs draped over her father's, as he worked on a sketch for the new piece he was working on. Her finals were coming up, so this was how the two spent a lot of their days as of late. She was going to be a senior soon — and Darla was determined to get into the best school she could possibly get into. So, if that meant sitting in silence with her father and annotating books for hours on end instead of going out, so be it.

Besides, Klaus loved the moments like these. The quiet, tender moments where nothing really needed to be said, and the only things that could be heard were the scribblings on paper and the soft rhythm of his daughter's steady heartbeat. His two favourite sounds in the world, he found. Sighing in content, he looked over at his daughter and smiled, finding her furrowed brow and pouted lip due to concentration to be precious.

"You're stressing," he pointed out, reaching over and smoothing the wrinkle between her brows. "Relax — I knew the Brontë sisters. They wouldn't like to see such a young woman stressing over their works."

"Well, the Brontë sisters don't know how much of my final grade rides on my comprehension of this novel, so they can shove it for now." Darla replied. "I need an A in this class or I'll die."

"The worst thing I did as a parent was give you my flare for the dramatics," Klaus muttered, scooting closer to his best girl. "You'll get the A, love. And if you don't, you most certainly won't die. But that teacher of yours might."

"Not funny," Darla grumbled. "And if I don't get into a good college, I will."

"You know I can compel your way into any school you want, darling. Say the word and it's yours."

Darla rolled her eyes at her father's antics, finding them to be ridiculous.

"Dad, if I get into a good school, I want to do it on merit, not compulsion."

"Same thing." he rolled his eyes.

"Nepotism is the enemy of the intellect."

"You're spending too much time with your uncle 'Lijah."

"Or, maybe, just maybe, I want to work hard to get where I am going."

Klaus smiled over at his daughter, proud of her for being as strong-willed and independent as she is.  She could have anything she wanted in the world — anything at all — and yet, she chose to work hard and study for it.

"Well, in that case, I'm a very good father." he spoke with pride.  "What school has your fancy, love?"

"Any of the ivy leagues, obviously," she blushed.  "Maybe UCLA, or even somewhere abroad!"

"Nowhere in New Orleans?"

At this, Darla rolled her eyes, laughing slightly.  Of course he wanted her to stay local. She'd been off in another state and away from him for most of her life; he wanted to keep her in arms reach while he could.

"Aw, is dad worried?" she teased, putting her book down for the first time all day.

"I'm your father. I'm always gonna worry."

Darla laughed a little as she moved her legs off of her dad's and cuddled into his side, prompting him to throw an arm over her shoulder.

"You know you don't have to go to college," he muttered, half-joking. "You could always stay here, be a free spirit. Homework does grow old, you know. And the stress — don't even get me started."

"I want to go," she stressed. "It's something that I've spent my whole life working towards, and I'm not letting all my hard work go to waste."

"Then it's settled. I'm opening up my own ivy league."

"Dad!" Darla laughed. "I won't be gone forever, and it's not like I'm staying there for any longer than I have to."

"What about Kit?" Klaus found himself asking.  "Where is he going?"

"Tulane, if all goes accordingly.  He wants me to go with him."

Suddenly, Klaus had grown quite fond of the boy, saying a silent prayer in thanks that she'd fallen for a local.

"I always did like him."

Darla rolled her eyes with a smile and reached back for her novel and pen, getting back to work.  Watching her intently, Klaus admired her girly scribbles and underlining in her well loved copy of the book and her attention to detail. 

"You know I'll support you no matter what what you do, right, Darla?" he asked, pressing his lips to her forehead.  "And no matter what you do, or where you go, I'll always be right behind you."

For the first time all week, Darla felt the weight of the future melt off her shoulders. Despite all her previous protests, she was doing this in part of her father's approval. He'd had multiple lifetimes to become as smart as he was, as cultured he was, and she had one. She wanted to make him proud.

"Thanks, dad." she smiled softly over at him, leaning into his side. "No matter how grown I'll get, I'll always need you. Even when I'm old and grey and people mistake you for my grandson."

But her slight joking tone did nothing to ease her father's inner quarrels with her mortality. No matter how he wished to protect her from all the supernatural forces going against them, he knew that there was one enemy he could not conquer: time.

Of course, the solution was glaringly obvious, but his daughter had shown no interest in becoming a vampire.  To be fair, he'd never mentioned it, but he'd always figured she'd want to eventually.  Isn't that every young person's dream?  To be forever young and beautiful?  He knew Darla was always wise beyond her years, and that she'd probably want to grow old and have children and a family of her own one day, and that those grandchildren and great grandchildren would have a human grandfather to shower with love and affection.  And he would be there, seething in jealousy, cast to the shadows by his own immortality.

Suddenly he felt ill.

"Dad?  You good?"

"Yeah," he recovered quickly, sending a small smile in her direction.  "Just realised that I can't change your mind, is all."

Ignorant to her father's worries, Darla rolled her eyes with a smile and smacked his arm playfully.

"You'll live."

And she was right.  He would survive.

But that didn't mean that she would.