Author's Note:
This is my first official writer's foray into the lovely world of TVD fanfiction. Yay!
I love Caroline Forbes and her perky strength, but after Liz died, I wondered how those attributes could be tested and/or developed...and by whom. Though I'd originally intended for this to be a one-shot, my imagination ran away with me and now there's a multi-chapter fic in the works. Comments/reviews/suggestions are welcomed and appreciated.
Read away!
Death is a part of life, they say, but it didn't take Caroline long to discover that with the life of a vampire, there came a greater incidence of death. Particularly among those she loved—you know, as if heightened emotions and bloodlust weren't bad enough. Seriously.
How many lives, how many painful goodbyes, had her and her friends been required to make these past four years? She shuddered as she ran through the mental list of names, her dad and Bonnie among them. Many. Too many. But despite death's frequency in her life, it somehow never got any easier to accept. In a way, it was harder. The ability to bid farewell became more and more impossible each time.
And today was no exception.
It was the morning of Liz's funeral. Caroline dressed with an unnecessary meticulousness, wasting extra time fluffing, tucking, and flipping her already perfect curls and smoothing the slight creases that had formed along the knuckles of her black silk gloves—gloves she purchased because they were something Kate Middleton would wear. Classic. Elegant. Chic.
When Caroline first bought them six months ago, Liz told her she'd never find an appropriate occasion to wear them, at least not in Mystic Falls. "Are you planning a trip to visit members of the aristocracy?" Liz joked, plopping the gloves back into their open box on Caroline's bed, "Save them for something special."
"Elegance can be useful anywhere, Mom," Caroline replied, "Even in Mystic Falls. I'll find a use for them. Don't worry."
As she turned to leave the room, Liz smiled and placed a kiss on top of her daughter's head. "I'm sure you will, honey. I'm sure you will."
And as always, Caroline stayed true to her word. She'd found a use for them, all right, just not the joyous one she'd hoped for when she clicked buy. Those silk black gloves, a carefully selected fashion accessory meant to off-set the sleekness of her funeral dress, extended just past her wrists and provided her with the appearance of grace she craved—no—needed, to disguise the acute trembling of her hands. To stay strong.
An elegant tribute of honor, respect, and love, those gloves would be worn with the self-control and pride befitting of a princess. For her mom. For Elizabeth Forbes.
Pulling them tight against her fingers, Caroline knew: today was their first; today was their last. Like her beautiful dress, like her new, strapless pumps, she'd never wear them again. She never did.
Caroline didn't remember the funeral. In her mind, it all became a blurry mass of faces, words, hands, and tears that she couldn't differentiate if she'd tried. All she could remember was the largeness of the crowd, the fresh smell of daisies and roses, and the silent poise she'd erected out of necessity, not desire. Crying was permitted, ugly sobbing was not.
Her friends' eyes lingered on her back everywhere she moved. She could feel them peering at her like a china doll teetering on the ledge of a shelf, moments away from toppling, thudding to the floor in shards of shattered Caroline. Dust-pans armed and ready, they waited.
She was grateful for them, though. Truly. She knew they were there beside her throughout the entire service, surrounding her in a protective ring of support and concern, even if she couldn't remember much of what they offered in terms of condolences or mutual grief. Stefan and Enzo acted as her physical anchors, keeping her upright; Elena, with a basket of blueberry muffins, ignited memories of sweet, simpler days of human past; Matt, Jeremy, Tyler and Alaric faded into the background and stood tall as prevailing pillars of persistence; and even Damon acted with reverence, abandoning his usual sarcastic irony.
Caroline appreciated all of them, every single one—Damon, the self-destructive asshat, included (which said a lot)—she really did. With parental love snatched away by death, not once, but twice now, it was nice to be reminded that love still existed elsewhere, in different ways and among different people. Sorrowful times like this always had a strange way of exposing the people who truly cared. And for Caroline, that was a small comfort. A dim light that flickered amid the bleakness of her despair.
Despite her friends' caring attentiveness, Caroline couldn't wait to escape. She just wanted a few moments alone, some privacy to extinguish all of those blazing flames building in her chest, the kind that turned her breath to fire. So later, when Elena proposed they grab a drink at the Grill, "a last toast to the Sheriff," as Matt called it, Caroline said she'd meet them there.
"I want to drop these off at home first," she said to Elena with a gesture toward her car, "I don't want them to wilt. Go ahead without me, I'll be right behind you."
Elena nodded, hugged her friend once more, and then left her to her own devices. That was the one good thing about Elena: she never hovered.
Distracted by loading flowers into her backseat, Caroline didn't realize someone was leaning nonchalantly against the car door until she felt a playful slap on her behind. "I call shotgun, Gorgeous."
At this, Caroline rolled her eyes. Whirling around to face him at vamp speed, she swatted Enzo's hand away and lodged it behind his back, allowing the veins beneath her eyes to pulsate. The warning was clear: Don't mess with me.
Calm down. Don't lose control, she told herself. Not here.
In a flash, her face assumed its regular post-Liz appearance: composed yet dull.
As she shoved him towards a cackling Damon, she said, "First off, Enzo…hands off. Second, there's definitely not enough oxygen in this car for you and the flowers."
"Air me out, then, Blondie. I don't mind being tied down…" He winked and gestured to the sun roof.
"Good. Then you'll have no problem tying yourself down to a booth at the Grill."
"But—"
Enzo frowned and took a decisive step forward, only to find his progress blocked by Stefan, who had suddenly materialized between them. "Let her go," he said, a threat lurking in his tone, "She said she'll meet us there."
An unspoken moment of understanding passed between her and Stefan at that moment—he protected her choice to be alone. Finally, someone who understood! Before climbing into the driver's seat, she smiled at him in gratitude.
"Oh, and Enzo," Caroline said, rolling down the window, "Be a doll and order me a vodka cranberry. You buy, I'll drink."
"It's a date," he winked, "Now get your ass moving. I am not a patient man."
With one last exasperated shake of her head, Caroline sped away, her friends fading into indistinct shadows on the sidewalk. She was alone. Finally.
After unloading the car, Caroline grabbed a wine glass (determined to class-it-up) and a blue cooler from the back of the refrigerator, placing them next to her on the porch swing. As she rocked back-and-forth in mindless meditation, she savored the taste of B+ blood on her tongue in the hopes that it would act as an anesthetic. (Because, damn, did she need one.) At the very least, she hoped it would quench the undying thirst in her heart for her mother. Every sip brought her closer to the brink of oblivion…and for the first time in her life as a vampire, she welcomed it.
Her mom was dead. Gone. There was no way to save her. And that was something her Miss-Fix-It mind found difficult to digest.
Caroline didn't know which was worse: a human life ended too soon because of an unlucky circumstance or a supernatural inadequacy that made her helpless in saving the people she loved. What's the point of my existence? she asked herself. I mean, what good is mystical healing if my blood turned the mother I loved into a super-cancer mutant, and then killed her…faster?
Caroline couldn't make sense of it. How could she—a vampire—such a strong and powerful being, be so absolutely powerless? So utterly helpless to spare good people from excess suffering?
What is the point? she wondered again. What is the fucking point of this life?
Guzzling down a blood bag to the last drop, Caroline allowed rage, disbelief, and melancholy to overpower her, briefly losing control. Alone, there was no one there to stop her.
Let the sticky sweetness dribble down her lips and across her pristine, porcelain chin…Let it engorge her pulsating veins and flush away that pestering sadness…Let it never, never stop flowing…
Defiant. Numb. Desensitized. She didn't care. No, no. She didn't care about anything right now. A wall of distance extended between her emotions and her cherished memories, lifting the lid of suffocation so she could breathe. Really breathe. And, oh, how wonderful it felt!
She remembered the time she scoffed at Klaus for suggesting that there was an allure to darkness. Ha! If he only could see her now—obscuring her sorrow with the metallic taste of blood. He was right. That pretentious, Big-Bad-Hybrid-psychopath was right! (And that, Caroline hated to admit—even to herself.)
Had she not been isolated, had she been with her friends at the Grill, she might've latched her fangs, unapologetically, into the neck of some poor, unsuspecting Mystic Falls human just to revel in the taste of fresh blood as it trickled down her tonsils. Anything to preserve that peaceful blackness a few seconds longer. It meant freedom. And once Caroline surrendered to it, really surrendered, she felt that pervasive, persistent tug yanking her towards the middle of that spiraling black hole. If she let it, freedom would swallow her whole and extinguish that neurotic need for control.
Yes, Klaus, she said in her head, That is alluring.
She'd toast to that. So after raising her glass in touché salute to the man she once thought so wrong, she drained the rest of its contents.
Eight-and-a-half blood bags later, and Caroline was drunk off her avoided misery. That's why, when the porch steps emitted a loud creak from unexpected footsteps, she tumbled from her horizontal position on the swing to the floor with a loud plop. In other words, she was surprised off her ass. Literally.
Caroline fumbled to tidy herself. While she wiped at her blood-stained face with a Kleenex she extracted from her purse, the visitors spoke:
"Hasn't anyone ever told you it's dangerous to drink alone, love?"
Caroline froze when she heard his voice—that all-too-familiar British accent—and her wine glass slipped from her fingers as she turned to face him.
"What the bloody hell is this?" Rebekah said as she flashed to retrieve the glass before it smashed on the deck, "Perky little Caroline Forbes doesn't brood—and she certainly doesn't throw herself a blood binge-a-thon without inviting guests. I know I'm not exactly on the guest list but…would you be so kind?"
At this, Rebekah popped off the lid of the cooler and removed a blood bag, sucking out its contents as if it were a juicy pouch, "I'm famished. It was a rather long and complicated trip." She rolled her eyes, gesturing at Klaus. "Insufferable brother and all."
Complicated? Ha! No shit!
As if the sudden appearance of Klaus and Rebekah Mikaelson on her front porch wouldn't have been startling enough—he was supposed to be re-conquering his New Orleans kingdom, for crying out loud—the scene before Caroline made her mind want to erupt into an aneurysm. She gawked at Klaus, unable to process what she saw.
"What—I just don't…" she stammered, "What the hell is going on?"
Pacing back and forth, she rubbed at her eyes like she was scratching away a strange dream. Agitated, she then clamped her hands to either side of her head and fisted her blonde curls. "Oh my God. Oh my God!" she yelled. "I'm freaking hallucinating! I've gone and gotten myself blood drunk and now I've lost my mind. Okay…" she breathed, "okay."
Her exhales becoming frantic, she massaged her aching temples. "You're a hallucination." Caroline gesticulated at him like a witch casting a spell. "You're a hallucination. Wait…" she looked up, eyes squinted, "Aren't you?"
When Caroline fixed Klaus with a look of intense scrutiny, he chuckled.
"Though I wouldn't mind being the object of one of your fantasies" he said with a smirk, "I'm sorry to say that I am not a hallucination."
"I'd mind," Rebekah quipped. "I'd care not to be included in such imaginings, thank you very much." Making a seat of the porch railing, Rebekah leaned her back against a white beam and yawned. "No offense or anything."
Okay, yes. Technically, Klaus stood in front of Caroline…or so it appeared. At any rate, he looked like the Klaus she knew: blond curls, dimples, a blue Henley underneath a leather jacket. And that grin! That teasing, flirtatious smirk! How it unnerved and infuriated her when he looked at her like that! The smug bastard. It was him, and yet…it wasn't him?
"If you're not a hallucination, then what are you?" Caroline asked, "A ghost? Because you're…you're—transparent!"
She could feel herself unraveling again…the mystery of Klaus and Rebekah's appearance had temporarily restored her control freak focus; but at the moment, it began to waver. In an effort to calm herself, she closed her eyes and counted to three. One. Two. Three. Then, her eyes popping open with hysteria, she said, "I mean, look! I can shove my hand right through you!"
Marching over to where he stood a few paces away, Caroline thrust her hand where his stomach should be and watched as it passed, unencumbered, through the air. After a few seconds, however, her arm, which was still half-plunged through his middle, began to emit strange sensations—almost like being tickled, but not quite—so she jerked it away, retreating away from him in perplexity. Though the feeling, if she could call it that, wasn't unpleasant, it wasn't exactly perceptible either. It was an almost-touch, a just-about shiver, a nearly-there caress. It was all too reminiscent of his maybe-appearance.
In other words: it was bizarre as hell. And Caroline, well, she'd already had her fair share of weird this year, thank you very much.
"Almost tickles, doesn't it?" Klaus said as he moved to the right of the swing. Resting his hands on the window sill, he peered at Caroline with a look of patient humor. He looked to be in no rush.
"Are you dead?"
"We're Originals," Rebekah scoffed, "We can't be killed."
"So glad we cleared that up," Caroline said, un-amused, "Enough with the phantom, spook-me theatrics, Klaus. I want answers."
"Have somewhere to be, do you?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, I do."
Rebekah interrupted—"You might want to clean up a bit before you go." Her heels clicked as she strode across the deck and stooped to pick up a few empty blood bags discarded on the floor. She grunted in revulsion. "This place looks like it was the spot of an all-night rager."
For the first time since their arrival, Caroline looked around. Rebekah was right—the place was disgusting. Muddy footprints lined the white deck; her black blazer, rolled into a ball, lay discarded on the Welcome mat by the front door; trampled flower petals and smeared blood surrounded the porch swing; and empty blood bags, potato chips, and chardonnay bottles coated the railing. How long had she been here? And when in the hell did she make this mess? This was the trouble with blood drunk euphoria, Caroline realized—it erased time.
Still, leave it to Rebekah to find a reason to be snooty.
"I wasn't exactly expecting company," she said as she flashed to retrieve her jacket. With a huff, she shrugged her arms into it and buttoned it against the morning chill. "So, either explain your presence here or leave. I'm in no mood for games."
As if to emphasize her point, Caroline crossed her arms and glared.
Picking up a few more articles of trash—holding them far away from her—Rebekah started down the steps and onto the brick sidewalk. "I'll go and dispose of this while you two…chat."
As she did this, Klaus sauntered over to the front door. "Shall we continue this inside, Caroline?" he suggested. "The house is cloaked in a privacy spell. We won't be overheard."
Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared through the door, which was closed. "Don't forget that item we discussed, little sister," his voice added from inside.
With a nod, Rebekah vanished.
After slamming the door shut, Caroline stomped into the living room to find Klaus whistling some ancient classical tune. Sprawled comfortably on the sofa, he snuggled a blue couch pillow against his chest and waited.
"So, how many witches did you have to slaughter to acquire the ability to walk through walls?"
"Doors, actually."
Caroline rolled her eyes.
Sitting up, he rested his elbows against his knees. "That's the funny thing about projection spells, Caroline. They don't work properly when the witch who casts them is dead." He smiled. "Projecting someone's consciousness, spirit, whatever you wish to call it…well, that's rather tricky. It's very advanced, complex magic," he continued, "the kind that may require—how should I put this—the right kind of motivation."
She shuddered.
"And since we both know I possess excellent powers of persuasion…voilá."
At this, Klaus bowed his head as if to enunciate his Biggest Badass Alive prowess. And honestly, she didn't need to be reminded of it. He was the Original Hybrid: the most powerful, not to mention the most feared, supernatural being in existence. Diabolical, manipulative, and brutal, there was no calculable limit to the atrocities he had committed in his 1,000-year tenure on this planet. Over the centuries, he had molded himself into the monster incarnate of the worst nightmares—and yet, Caroline wasn't afraid of him. She never had been; and she probably never would be.
Despite what anyone else thought, Caroline knew that underneath Klaus' ferocious, monstrous exterior there resided a man. And that man, though he hid behind walls of control and cunning, bestowed great kindness, caressed with skin-shivering tenderness, and at times, acted with the kind of selflessness that didn't hope for, let alone expect, reciprocation. All this he did. All this he was.
And Caroline, the eternal champion of goodness, could never remain insensible to the potential that hummed in his veins. Though Klaus shrouded it in fear—of rejection, of vulnerability—love lived there, deep inside of him. And to her, that made the monster in the man salvageable.
But would she ever admit that out loud? Hell no.
Though Klaus' little speech explained a few things, it still left quite a number of unanswered questions. Not only that, but Caroline still wasn't convinced that she hadn't lost her mind. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time she saw Klaus when he wasn't actually there. Thanks, Silas.
"So what you're saying," she said aloud, "is that you're not a figment of my imagination?"
"I am not."
"Right." Caroline took a seat in the rocking chair across from him. "So, let's not waste any more time. I have friends waiting." She signaled to him to begin, "Why is projected-you here?"
"I think you know."
"Elena? Again?" Disgusted, she shook her head. "What could you possibly want with her now?"
"Ah, the doppelgängers." Climbing to his feet, Klaus strode around the coffee table and began to pace, his hands behind his back. "I believe I surrendered any lingering interest in them the last time we met. Or do you not remember?" As he said this, a mischievous grin tugged at his lips.
Did she remember? Ha!
Suddenly, images of ripped clothing, fallen leaves, and tangled limbs flooded Caroline's memory. She remembered rough yet tender fingers, fangs that nipped along her neck and collar bone, and piercing yellow hybrid eyes looking, lusting, longing for that passionate moment of connection, every second uncovering new ways to send shivers shooting down and across her skin. She remembered how good it felt to surrender control to him, how her body responded to his touch with an unconscious ease. Together, they became almost transcendent. Impervious to time, to life, to the supernatural woes affecting her and her friends. But like all beautiful things, that moment ended, too. And all that remained was the harshness of reality.
Today's reality? Elizabeth Forbes was gone. Her mom was dead, never to return.
"Enough!" Caroline snapped. Bolting to her feet, she flashed to the stereo behind the couch and grabbed the remote, pointing it in warning. "You have exactly two seconds to tell me why you're here, or I'll drown out your projected-ghost voice with Taylor Swift."
Klaus' face became grave. The games were over.
"I'm sorry, Caroline."
"Don't be sorry, just—"
"No, listen to me," Klaus said as he flashed to a spot across from her. Placing his hands on either shoulder, he forced her to look at him. His gaze, intense and penetrating, demanded that she pay close attention. "I'm sorry, Caroline."
Caroline's legs began to tremble. Combine that with the tingling of her shoulders where his hands rested, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could remain standing. Tears—she could feel them, too. They pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill over and out…to drown her face in a hurricane of repressed grief. Her mommy was gone! Her mommy was really gone!
"No!" Caroline yelled, swatting his arms away, "I won't do this with you. I won't do this anyone!"
Rivets of hysteria traveled down and across her body. The loss, the loneliness, the absolute torrent of pain—she could feel the emotions threatening to consume every last one of her neurons, sinking her into an infinite pit of blackness. She needed it to stop! She needed him to stop!
Pointing at Klaus in accusation, she bit her bottom lip until she drew blood.
"I won't do this," she spat, "Do you hear me, Klaus? I won't! So, please..." she pleaded as tears clouded her vision, "just stop!"
With a sigh, Klaus took a purposeful step forward and held her by the wrist. "You will do this with me, love. And you'll do this with me now."
Caroline struggled to free herself, flipping and flailing in all directions.
"You can't make me do anything! Don't you get that?"
At this, almost like a response to a challenge, he snarled and squeezed his fingers tighter around her wrist. His grip felt implacable, like he couldn't let go. Like he never would.
"You're just some creepy projection, hallucination…whatever…that appeared on my front porch without an invitation," she started. "You come here, all bravado and brutality, and demand that I mourn the mother that I not only loved, but just lost?" She laughed here, but with scorn, not amusement. "Worse, you essentially command that I allow that devastating agony to swallow me and bury me in the darkness of despair? You! You of all people have absolutely no right to tell me what or when I need to feel, okay?"
"I have every right! I know—"
"—No! You don't!"Caroline interrupted. "You have no idea what it's like to have someone you love...truly love...ripped away from you. You can't! Especially not when you've spent the majority of your supernatural existence in the no-humanity zone pretending you don't need someone, that you don't need anyone. Because you do, goddammit! We all do!"
She paused to wipe away angry tears.
"As for the person I need most in this world?" she half-laughed, half-cried, "She's dead. And that's all I can feel right now. Nothing else."
"Caroline—" Klaus began, taking a step toward her.
"I said shut up!" she shouted, her nostrils flaring, "I am not some timid Little Red Riding Hood who quivers at the sound of your wolfish huffing and puffing, Klaus." At this, Caroline plunged her fists hard into Klaus' chest, hurling him far away from her. "I am strong!"
The force of her shove sent the Original flying, feet-over-head, into the patchwork quilt hanging on the adjacent wall. Even though she remained unsure about whether or not she could physically hurt him in his projected state, she still reveled at the sight of Klaus sprawled in weird angles on the floor. Anger and rage felt glorious! She let them lick across her like expanding flames.
Consume me, consume me, she encouraged. And fuck the consequences!
Instead of responding with the ferocity Caroline had anticipated—and wanted—Klaus laughed. Loudly.
Fuming, Caroline marched over to his prone form. Without warning, she lifted her foot and kicked him in the stomach, her black heel puncturing a hole in his blue shirt. "What, may I ask, is so funny?" she asked through gritted teeth, "Does this not hurt you? Are you pain resistant now, too?"
"Umph," he responded as the heel met a rib. "Oh, it hurts. It definitely hurts. I suspect I'll have scars for a few hours after we finish this conversation," he grunted, rolling onto his elbow. "But that was…you were marvelous! So fierce. So powerful. So absolutely radiant."
"Excuse me…?" Caroline retracted her foot slowly, making sure to snag muscle tissue, making him scream. "Are you seriously complimenting me right now?"
Incredulous, she threw her hands on her hips and glared down at him. "Can't you tell that I'm about two seconds away from ripping your dead heart from your phantom chest?"
Regaining his feet with a grunt, Klaus chuckled. "If that's what the rage inside you dictates, then do it. Here, I'll make it easier for you…" Taking a step toward her, he grabbed Caroline's hand. "My heart…" he gasped as he thrust her hand into his chest, "It's all yours, sweetheart. Have at it."
Caroline squeezed it, causing Klaus to yelp in pain. "Feel good, you arrogant piece of shit?"
"Excellent," he coughed.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
She squeezed again. Harder.
He screamed. Louder this time. Despite his obvious pain, however, his eyes still glinted with a secret delight that Caroline couldn't quite understand.
Confused and furious, she stared at him. She gawked at the hand plunged in the middle of his chest, at the fingers gripping that bloody, beating muscle.
There it was—heart of Klaus Mikaelson, Original Hybrid—resting in her shuddering palm. Inside his chest cavity. There it resided: open and vulnerable. Entirely at her mercy. One good, forceful squeeze would finish it. It would deflate like a sputtering balloon, collapsing into nothing but dormant, calloused tissue.
The repressed wrath inside of her pleaded for her to do it. Begged for her to submit. To crumple not only his heart, but him, into the hollow ashes of nothingness. But Caroline couldn't do it; she faltered at the last minute.
Oh, the stories his heart could tell! Pumping a history full of intrigue and complexity through his veins, that heart lived a thousand years of blood, bruises, and brokenness; but somehow, despite it all, managed to endure. Resilience enabled it to survive.
How is that possible? she wondered. How is that fucking possible? Especially now, at this particular moment, when she possessed the power to destroy it?
The fate of Klaus' heart rested in Caroline's tingling fingertips. Literally.
"Are you some kind of sick masochist?" she spat.
"Maybe," Klaus choked, fighting for air, "But feeling those layers of pain—the fear, the fury, the hatred—they provide me with the determination to fight back. To win. Like you, Caroline," he said through clenched teeth, "I am strong."
As he said these words, Caroline's grip around Klaus' heart slackened. The concentration creases on her forehead relaxed.
"If your soul needs a little darkness, love," he continued, his voice soft yet insistent, "Embrace it; don't become it." Here, he cupped her face with his right hand, caressing her cheek as he spoke. "The power you seek manifests itself in controlling the outcome, not surrendering to it. And you—you are not weak."
Caroline's eyes softened. She sighed. She understood why he was here now.
Removing her hand from his chest, she wrapped it around his neck in the hopes that Klaus would ease her trembling body into steadiness. Oddly enough, he did. More than that, though, he anchored her back to humanity with an erect grace that reminded her of a waltz; for though she may spin in rigid circles, she could control now how far and how long she wanted to bend into the darkness. She could dance around the black hole, but never disappear into it. And that…that meant true freedom.
After releasing one long, sad, exhausted breath, she flicked her eyes to his. She examined him long and hard, trying to make sense of something. Although she remained quiet for some time, when she finally spoke, it was without uncertainty.
"We are the same," she said at last.
Cracking a relieved smile, Klaus leaned his forehead against hers. "Yes, Caroline, we are the same," he repeated, placing a chaste kiss on her head, "Remember that, accept it. Allow yourself to be who and what you truly are."
"And what's that?"
"A warrior."
A small smile crept across her face and her head tickled in the exact place his phantom lips rested. "Just so you know," Caroline said behind closed eyes, "I really hate you right now."
"I know, love. But there's flexibility in that emotion, too," Klaus replied, his accented voice becoming distant. "However long it takes, remember?"
When the doorbell rang a second later, Caroline didn't need to open her eyes to know that Klaus, projected or not, was gone. The air, once polluted with a bold, magical, almost-tickles haze, had returned to its ordinary oxygenated state. Everything felt…well, normal. Sad considering the circumstances of the day, but normal.
The doorbell rang again.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!"
Flashing to the front door, Caroline found Matt and Elena there holding two casserole dishes wrapped in aluminum foil. (Obviously her friends had orchestrated check-up reinforcement times.) Luckily, Rebekah had tidied the blood drunk clutter around the front porch swing or they'd have more cause for concern.
Never thought I'd be grateful for Rebekah, Caroline thought.
"Mrs. Sanders made us promise to drop these off as soon as possible," Elena said, rolling her eyes, "You know how she gets."
"Instructions for hours," Matt added, "It's easier just to thank her for the food and split."
"If only she knew I was a vampire..."
Matt stepped into the foyer. "That'd be entertaining."
"She'd probably detail the pros and cons of a blood bag diet," Elena laughed, "Then write hourly instructions for the most effective way to keep you fed and satisfied."
The three of them passed into the kitchen. Comfort food from kind neighbors and old friends littered the countertops. Mystic Falls residents had dropped off dishes for days—meatloaf, fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, even cheesecake—anything they could think of that seemed potentially consoling. To eat half of it, Caroline would need the appetite of a sumo wrestler. Still, it was a testament to how much she and Liz were beloved in this community. And that, in the midst of a tragedy, was nice to know.
"She means well."
"If anything," Matt quipped, "she'll keep you well fed."
Her friends cleared a space for the food by the sink. "Want me to help you put some of this away?" Elena asked.
"No, just leave it."
"You sure?"
"I'll get it later." As she said this, she crossed to the island to retrieve her purse. It hung by its strap on the back of a counter stool.
Funny. I don't remember putting it there. Caroline thought for a minute. Must've been Rebekah.
Opening it to retrieve her house keys, her hand clunked against a rectangular-shaped box and an envelope—two things that definitely weren't there this morning. Strange.
Closing her bag, she flung the strap over her left shoulder and turned toward her friends with a melancholy smile.
"Really, what I want more than anything right now," Caroline said as she plucked the black gloves from her fingers, "is to get out of this my-mom-just-died outfit." She sighed, gesturing at her clothes. "You guys head to the Grill without me. I'll be right behind you, I—"
"—That's what you said three hours ago," Matt interjected.
"I know, I know. I just…got distracted. Food, flowers, thank you notes, Taylor Swift…"
"Taylor Swift?"
"22 is cathartic, okay?" she replied, a little offended.
Agitated, Caroline ran her fingers through her curls. "Look," she continued, biting her bottom lip, "I know you're worried about me and my state-of-humanity. And I appreciate it. Hell, I love you for it," she said, "But please just give me fifteen more minutes to myself. I need it. The isolation, it...helps me cope."
Matt and Elena exchanged reluctant glances.
The hidden secrets in her handbag made her arm burn with impatience. Make them leave, make them leave!
"Wait for me in the car if you want," Caroline said, tossing them her keys, "I won't be long."
Though her friends still appeared to be hesitant and skeptical—as if she'd make her escape to no-humanity-land by shimmying up the chimney, seriously—they nodded in acceptance of her proposed plan. Caroline escorted them to the door. Matt warned that he'd come knocking again in fifteen minutes time—ready or not; Elena, squeezing Caroline's arm as she passed, whispered, "We'll be right outside."
With her over-concerned friends finally outside, thank God, Caroline sped to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. Alone at last!
Crumpling her black silk gloves in her fists, she felt the anguish of her mom's death lodge in her throat. Suffocating in sadness once again, she took a second to breathe. I am strong. In, out. In, out. I am strong.
Before sorrow and bitterness threatened to engulf her again, Caroline concentrated, focusing solely on one emotion: curiosity. Opening her eyes, she marched over to the bed and dumped the entire contents of her handbag onto her flower-patterned comforter. Amid tissues, mascara, and various shades of pink lip gloss (a girl needed options, after all), there sat a flat, black box tied in a white bow and a long envelope with her name written in an elegant, yet familiar, hand.
Klaus.
At this realization, Caroline's curiosity heightened. Not knowing what to expect, she decided to open the box first. Inside, resting atop a backdrop of black velvet, there resided a necklace of equal parts beauty, antiquity, and rarity. And for a few moments, all Caroline could do was stare at it…in awe.
Dangling from a platinum Byzantine chain, the pendant, which sparkled in a unique configuration of diamonds, melded a black crescent moon into rays of yellow sunshine, thereby producing the effect of an inextricable unity. In other words, it left the impression that one could not endure without the other. Separate or together, they—the sun and the moon—were two parts of the same whole; they occupied the same spatial universe. Always.
Flipping it over, Caroline also found an inscription:
Caroline, Queen Warrior of Angels
—The sword of almighty sunshine, the kiss of fiendish nights
Holding the gorgeous necklace in her palm, reading the personalized engraving, Caroline felt a shiver travel down the length of her spine. What was in that envelope? Fear caused her to hesitate; unabated interest caused her to continue, unsealing the envelope with her pinky. Pulling out the first of two papers, she unfolded it to find a small, 4x6'' drawing sketched in charcoal. As she looked at it, bewildered and disbelieving, she didn't know whether to be livid or touched. Perhaps she was both.
Mommy.
Caroline clutched the sketch tight to her chest, then cursed the Klaus-induced tears that had befallen her not once, but twice now. How pleased he would feel at this moment! What made her upset wasn't the fact that he'd chosen to draw the mother-daughter pair together, but that he'd managed to portray a candid, arms-wrapped-around-each-other, laughing moment so beautifully, so absolutely them that she burst into tears.
How dare he! How dare he make her laugh, make her cry! How dare he make her feel the strength of this fresh wound!
For a few minutes, Caroline just let herself cry. Emotions heightened, she cried rainbow tears—of happiness, of loneliness, of rage, of despair... Gravitating up and down the spectrum, she felt them all. Every. Single. One. She had Klaus to thank for that.
The thoughtful asshole.
Still a mixture of contradictory emotions, she wiped the tears from her face and removed the second slip of paper from the envelope. Unfolding it revealed a note written in neat, bold letters. It read as follows:
Caroline,
I once promised you that I'd never return to Mystic Falls. And so I haven't—not technically. Though I expect I exist somewhere between friend and enemy, I still felt the need to include some one-thousand-year-old wisdom. And here it is: Don't be afraid to carry it all with you. Because you can.
My sincerest condolences,
Klaus
After several re-reads, Caroline dropped the letter to her knees and then collapsed against her favorite stuffed elephant, snuggling it close. It felt so good to lie still like this. No crying, no thinking, just…existing.
Unfortunately, once she'd reconciled herself to the stillness, her ass started buzzing. It was an unkind reminder that her fifteen minutes alone nearly had elapsed. Letting out a sigh, Caroline climbed off her bed and grabbed her phone. She had a text from Enzo. Dodgy drinking plans or not, he expected her to show up. And soon. No excuses this time.
Caroline dressed quickly. Aiming for comfort and efficiency, she chose a pair of dark jeans, a black sweater, and traded her high-heeled pumps for a pair of snakeskin salmon flats, then arranged her hair in a high ponytail. After wiping off the smeared mascara left under her eyes, she turned back to the bed. Klaus' gifts, which rested innocently amid discarded purse items, seemed to stare back at her. Waiting.
Suddenly, a pang shot across her heart. It felt like an arrow that strikes the center of a target. Sharp. Precise. Specific.
Though she'd been a blind idiot not to recognize it before, Caroline realized that Klaus did all of this...violent, verbal tirade included...to help her. To make her stronger. To show her how to embrace darkness, humanity intact.
And that knowledge, which hit her in a strange, nauseating mix of contented sorrow, made her love him and hate him in the same moment. Yet, somehow, those contradictory emotions felt satisfying, even pleasant. For the first time, she felt at home straddling the line between light and dark.
So, although no words could express the profundity of her revelation adequately, or what it meant to her, she texted Klaus these two: Thank you. And never had she meant two words more.
A car suddenly honked outside, breaking Caroline from her introspection. Time was up. Matt and Elena were waiting. And if she didn't emerge within the next minute, they'd bust down the door with vervain injections on the ready.
Determined to be quick, Caroline gathered the mess on her bed in one armful and shuffled to the hope chest residing at the foot of the bed. After dumping her things inside, she shut the lid with a snap and flew out the door. She carried nothing with her but a cell phone, a handbag, and a sun-and-moon necklace that swayed in glittery decadence from around her neck—a beautiful reminder that while she carried nothing, she carried everything. Klaus was right, Caroline realized—she could carry it all with her. And now, because of him, she did just that.