Summary: In mourning, Greta reflects on her family's death and the big part she played in it.

Timeline: Some time after Elena told Greta that her family was looking for her. The sacrifice hasn't happened yet, so let's pretend Greta ran into Elena on the street or something, and Elena told her that her family was looking for her.

A/N: Eek! Writing fic featuring two new characters! Let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: The characters are not my property.

/

Greta wrapped the dark brown towel tighter around her. She had been standing at the window for so long that her body was now dry. She rested her head against the window frame and watched a navy blue Sedan drive by. Her heart was heavy as she watched the mid-afternoon activity below her. It had not been easy for her to get out of bed. She had not stepped out of the apartment that Klaus had confiscated for two days now. It was two days ago that she learned from the local witch, Bonnie, that her father and brother were dead.

She had known that her time in Mystic Falls would not be easy. After all, she and Klaus were going to sacrifice some people. Of course there was going to be a push back from the protectors of the doppelganger. Plus after she broke the curse, there would be backlash from all factions of the supernatural community: witches and warlocks would try to contain Klaus again and maybe they would try to scatter her powers; vampires and werewolves would come after her and try to kill her in order to get to him, not to mention the ones who would stupidly attack Klaus directly. After she broke the curse, her life would get even harder. She was prepared for that. She had not, however, been prepared to learn that her family was gone. She never would have imagined that her father and Luka would find their way to Mystic Falls.

She last saw them three years ago. She wondered if that was why she had not cried yet at their passing. The years had gone by like a breeze for her, but she imagined they went by slow as molasses for her father who must have been sick with worry over her. She wanted to cry. She wanted to bawl and be inconsolable. Instead, the most common sign of grief seemed beyond her grasp.

The door opened, and Klaus entered. He wasn't surprised that she was standing by the window: lately she was either there or lying in bed. He put the car keys on the dresser and took off his jacket while he considered her. Coming up behind her, he ran a hand through her curly hair. She straightened, and he ghosted his knuckles up and down her arms. She relaxed in his embrace and he placed a kiss on her shoulder. "Have you eaten?" he asked close to her ear.

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry." She knew what he was going to say next.

"Greta, you have to eat."

A hint of a smile passed on her lips. No matter what mood she was in, a part of her always fluttered because of his accent. She had never been one to swoon over a British accent, but she had made an exception the more she had gotten to know him.

"I'm not hungry," she repeated. Aside from the little snacks he had managed to get her to eat, she had only been drinking water and orange juice. "I'm never gonna see Luka again," she said quietly. The last time she had seen him, he had been a squeaky-voiced freshman in high school and she had been a sophmore in college. Realistically, she knew she would see them again. She would be able to summon them at some point (she had already tried and failed), but, also realistically, their lives were over. Because of her. "I got them killed."

"No, you didn't," he responded patiently.

"Yes I did, Klaus," she maintained, and she turned to face him. "They were set on rescuing me. I should've…" she trailed off and closed her eyes. "I should've talked to them," she said dejectedly. She looked at the hardwood floor, but she was seeing her father's smiling face, back when things had been easier for the family.

"You did talk to them. To him. More than once. Greta," he said, silently asking her to look him in the eyes again, "Your father was never going to accept your decision." He continued on even though she started shaking her head. "He was never going to be okay with you staying with me, especially-"

"I don't want to hear this, Klaus," she snapped. She walked around him and kneeled in front of the blue and black duffel bag at the foot of the bed. She unzipped it and searched for underwear. This was the first time they had broached the subject of her loss. She jerkily searched for an undergarment.

"I did not mean to upset you," he said with his arms crossed behind his back as he looked at the wall above the headboard.

"Well if you keep it up, you will, so drop it, okay?" She found a highlighter-yellow thong, and she slipped it on. She almost lost her balance when she put the second leg in, and Klaus moved to steady her, but he stayed in his spot when she found her balance. She sat on the other side of the bed, the one that allowed her to give him her back. "I wish we'd gotten here earlier, that I could've run into them," she said, staring at her hands.

Klaus was right: she had spoken to her father about her decision. She'd done it before dating Klaus, while dating him, and even after she had gone off with him. They had had contact with each other many times. She had repeatedly explained to him why she had chosen to be with him, but he never accepted it. But that was not the point. He had not accepted it the twentieth time, so she should have tried a twenty-second, a twenty-third, and then a twenty-third time. She should have spent more time telling him to stop looking for her instead of explaining her reasoning for taking up with the first vampire known to mankind. "He spent all these years trying to free me…and I couldn't do the same. They died…for nothing," she stressed. "Luka hadn't even graduated high school yet," she whispered irreverently. "And now his life is over." She turned and looked at him. "He didn't even know the whole story."

Her anguish was like a punch in the gut, and he couldn't look away from her suffering. He walked over and sat next to her. "They didn't die for nothing. They died for something they believed in," he underlined when he saw that she was getting upset again. "That's not nothing, darling." And her father never would've stopped. He had encountered Jonas Martin on multiple occasions, including the one time he had managed to break through and find Greta and him. "I promise you," he said with conviction, "your father is not looking at you right now, thinking he died in vain."

That man would have never woken up one day and said, 'He makes you happy? You love each other? Well then, that's good enough for me. Do whatever you want.' She was his daughter, and he would have never accepted less than perfect. And to Jonas, Klaus knew he was way less than perfect. Yet, despite her father's thoughts, Greta had chosen to give them a shot. And that's what this was: this was her giving him, them, a shot. She had not promised him forever, and he had not promised her the same. But she had defied her family for so long due to how she felt for him and now she had lost them for the same reason. When she lifted her brown eyes to his, he thought she looked so small and lost. He had never seen her look like that. He wondered how long it would take before she decided that this wasn't worth it anymore. It was not the first time he entertained the possibility. It was a weight on his heart, sometimes a heavy one and sometimes he almost forgot about it. He knew being with him was stressful for her in more than one way. Now she had lost one more thing, the most important thing he was certain.

"Maybe if I'd explained everything to Luka," she said meagerly, "Maybe he would've been able to talk to dad. Maybe he could've helped me save them." She frowned when he wiped her cheek. She touched the spot where she still felt the trace of his thumb, and she saw that it was wet. She was crying. She looked at the liquid on her fingers and continued to frown as if she did not understand where it came from. "I want them back," she declared desperately, her voice warped due to her sorrow. Her heart panged, and she felt she was going to break under the grief. "I want them back, Klaus," she cried while she looked at him.

He licked his upper lip and wished he could do anything to make her feel better, to bring them back.

"I want them back!"

She broke down into a mess of tears, and he pulled her into his arms. He held her tight as she cried. She thought of the lives they lived and the ones they didn't. She did wonder if her father thought that he died in vain. More than that, she wondered about Luka. He died fighting for something that was hopeless. He was her little brother, and it had been her job to protect him, to set a good example for him. Instead, she had led him on. Straight to his death. "I should've told him," she cried into Klaus' shoulder. She gripped his shirt and cried hard until she started to hiccup.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his eyes closed. He did feel her pain. "I'm so sorry for your loss." He felt her loss. He could not have gotten to know Greta all of these years without also getting to know her family: through the interactions before Greta left for college, from hearing her talk about them, and from their determination to get her back. He had admired Jonas' tenacity, and he had not taken the man lightly. They were her family. He always knew the love she had for them, although different from the one she had for him, was stronger, no matter the fact that she had chosen to disappear with him. No, he had not taken Jonas lightly. He had always worried that one day Greta would choose to return to him. Jonas was now deceased, and the weight on his heart got heavier with each hour Greta spent subdued in mourning.

Greta continued to cry into his chest after he managed to lay her on the bed. She eventually settled down and noticed with disinterest that he still had his shoes on. She knew he hated having shoes on the bed. She looked up and saw that he was observing her. His hand played with her ear. "I'm the one who kept thwarting him," she said.

He nodded. He can't remember the last time he experienced grief, his memory of heartache was fresher, but he was sure that talking about obvious things was part of the process.

"He'd had to fight to break through my defenses." She sniffed and started tracing the collar of his black dress shirt. "I was fighting my father," she said distantly.

After everything he had done for her, given her.

"I made the last years of his life a living hell. A nightmare."