Full of Light
Summary: Klaus tries to draw Caroline, but something's missing. It's her light. In between 3x14 and 3x15, one-shot.
A/N: Alright, first fanfiction I ever publish, so please be kind. It's also the first time I write Klaus and Caroline, so I hope they're in character enough, but this thing practically wrote itself over the night, and I figured, why not? Have at it! Oh, and I know b positive is Caroline's favorite blood type and not Klaus' but I thought it was fun to make them as alike as possible so I took some liberties. This is supposed to be set in between 3x14 and 3x15 but I've been re-watching old episodes and reading fanfictions for days, so I'm not entirely sure what's canon and what's not. But Klaus was drawing Caroline at the beginning of 3x15, wasn't he? So then this should all work out. Please note that English isn't my first language and this is unbetad, therefore there might be some mistakes lying around. Oh, and bottom line: I don't own the vampire diaries, obviously. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, because I'd only make meaningless fluff out of it. Alright, enough rambling for now, enjoy, and don't forget to review! xo
When he says she's full of light, he means it. It's not just some metaphor to say she's pure and bright and innocent, she really is, actually, totally, literally, full of light.
He realizes it as he proceeds to reproduce her fine profile on his notebook for the hundredth time, not entirely satisfied with the result. He can't capture her light, her glow, her brightness, he's just not good enough to take all that he sees in her and put it on the white paper of his sketch pad, and that thought is just torturing him. He is a damn fine artist, his freaking paintings are hanging on the freaking wall of a french museum, and french museums' standards are way higher than the anywhere else in the world, but for some reason, she's too perfect for his pencil, as she is for his gaze.
He's not used to being rejected, and now he feels like his art is rejecting him, too, and that's just annoying.
He said all the right things, smiled in all the right moments, and gave her all the right gifts.
And yet it didn't work. She wasn't impressed, or she was, but she still wanted nothing to do with him. It was refreshing, but hurtful, too.
What she said about him was the sad, simple, heart wrecking truth that he didn't care to admit, and as much as he hated it for anyone to know how weak and lonely he really was, he was amazed, too.
She was too much for him, he had come to realize.
He couldn't buy her and he wouldn't compel her, so what was left if not getting her all over his sketch book and stare at lifeless reproductions of her beautiful face?
Except that wouldn't work, either.
He gives the figure on the thin piece of paper another look.
The technique is perfect, his trait subtle and knowing, and his drawing looks just like Caroline.
But something's missing.
It's her light.
It's the glow she carries around, the brightness that could actually light up his own darkness and paint a sincere smile on his face.
That he can't draw, that he can't fake and hang on a wall, that he can't make his, and it's killing him.
He throws the notebook back on his desk in annoyance and puts on the coat he doesn't need to go out and get the fresh air he won't sense. He's been dead for over a thousand years, and yet he still forgets about it. He's never felt dead, not even in his darkest place.
Lonely, purposeless, heartbroken, sure, but not dead. Sometimes he still thinks he feels life rushing through his veins with excitement and amazement in front of a stunning piece of art, or why not, a particularly delicious victim as he buries his fangs in a beautiful girl's neck and tastes the unmistakable flavor of b positive in his mouth.
And, lately, when he sees her, of course.
He doesn't know what's so special about her, or maybe he knows, as in, she's beautiful, she's glowing, she's not an easy pray and she has that smile, but he's pretty sure there are and there have been other girls like that in the past millennium, so why he's so impressed (or obsessed, as his sister would argue, but it's not like he listens to her) is kind of a mystery.
It first clicked after he had Tyler bite her, to bargain her life for a deal with the founders, when he first walked in her room, and she had seemed so small, defenseless, and yet fierce. He'd seen in her the doubts and the fears that had haunted him, too, over the years, and in her eyes the hope and the love he desperately wanted for himself, and all of a sudden, what he wanted was her.
It isn't something he'd admit or even understand, but he feels he needs her, he needs her so desperately. He wants to runaway with her and show her the world, to amaze her with how beautiful and full and magical life can be, and finally to see her looking at him with amazement, love and gratefulness for the rest of eternity.
Except he's the big bad wolf, determined to create a new kind of hybrids that will bring death and disgrace to the world, and she's pure and innocent and good.
He kicks a rock out of his way in frustration and actually groans as he leaves Mikaelson Mansion with his hands in his pockets (like he needs to protect them from the cold, which he doesn't) and his blue coat on, that he's bought (or stolen) sometime through the 80's and still wears every winter.
He's an idiot, that's the sad truth. He's a sentimental, weak, romantic idiot that likes drawing and jewelry and sad music and falls in love at first sight like a teenager when he's actually over a thousand years old.
No, wait, scratch that, he's not in love, he can't be. It's way too ridiculous and – and fucking pathetic to even consider, he's said it himself once "Love is a vampire's greatest weakness, and we are not weak. We do not feel, and we do not care." He obviously knows it's bullshit, but he's still Klaus, he's still the wolf, and he's still way too proud to admit of having feelings of his own, even though the only reason he's doing what he does is so that he doesn't have to feel lonely, which is probably the biggest contradiction of the millennium, but he doesn't really care.
That is, until he runs into Caroline on that particularly cold February morning just a few feet away from his house, and his non-beating heart races.
Fuck, he thinks, fuck. He's pretty sure, that's not what death is supposed to feel like.
She's magnificent in her purple coat, bare legs and blond curls, glowing as always, just as beautiful as she was at the ball. He finds she's always perfect, but he likes her best with curly hair, and he'd be surprised to know, she agrees.
"Hello Love" he says, trying to sound bold "You just can't stay away, can you?"
She turns towards him and rolls her eyes in annoyance. (Or fake annoyance, maybe? No, no, don't hope.)
"Ugh" she groans "Of course you had to be here." And he lets out a clear laugh.
"I live here, sweetheart" he retorts, marking the pet name and flashing her a smile "You, on the other hand, don't…"
"It's the back way to Elena's house" she cuts him off before he can imply anything "And it's a winter morning, and I happen to like taking walks on winter mornings, alright?"
He's not sure what to think, he never is with her, but he can't help but smile.
"Well, that makes it two of us, then." he flirts, and she rolls her eyes again, fighting the small smile that desperately wants to open on her face and focusing on how much she hates him and how hard he makes it to be hated, but that doesn't mean she'll give in.
"Any chance you also happen to like hot chocolate on winter mornings, Love? Nb n" he tries again, and this time he's pretty sure she's actually smiling at him.
"As a matter of fact, I do." she admits, looking away, and for a moment he thinks he has her.
"Well then, maybe I can interest you in having breakfast with me, and celebrating the coincidences of life?"
He almost thinks she's gonna say yes when he sees her smile finally open, but then she shakes her head and mutters "In your dreams" in a playful, light tone, only to walk away with all her brightness and her blond curls and her freaking perfection.
He lets out another laugh, because hey, it didn't go so badly this time.
When he goes home and tries to draw her again, with a cup of hot chocolate in her tiny hands, it seems like just a bit of her light finally made it to the paper.