Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of
It's just such a bad idea, she should have walked away the minute she spotted the leather jacket and trademark smirk sitting on her front steps. Maybe it's the fact that he doesn't look quite so self-assured as usual, that his eyes flicker when stops short and glares at him. It's a standoff. They're not friends, she's not even sure she likes him. Especially since less then twenty-four hours ago he'd been screaming in her face and looking like he was five seconds away from tearing out her throat.
She crosses her arms over her chest, doing her best withering stare as she approaches, stopping a few feet away from where he sits, "Get off my porch."
"You were trying to kill me," he points out by way of an apology. He can rip up all the drawings he wants, he's a rich vampire whose family has abandoned him. He has hours and hours now that he fills with nothing but attempts to suppress her from his memory.
It hasn't exactly been working out.
"I'm sorry," she tilts her head and the words she spits taste like acid on her tongue, "was the werewolf bite I nearly died from last week just a figment of my imagination? Because I remember it feeling pretty real." There's no chance he gets to play the innocent party in all of this. He doesn't get to hate for doing what he's done a million times over.
"I saved your life," he points out, quirking an eyebrow and looking mighty pleased with himself.
"You fixed a problem you created," she scoffs, rolling her eyes overdramatically, "Don't pretend it was noble."
"So you're not grateful in the slightest?" He leans forward expectantly, eyebrows still held firmly in the skeptical position. He knows he's doing it all wrong, and he longs to look into her eyes and force all the anger out of her. He just wants to go back to three days ago, when he was surrounded by family and talking to a beautiful girl about horses. When she smiled at him and let him put his arm around her waist.
She sighs violently, fighting the urge to wrap her fingers around his throat and squeeze. She runs a shaking hand through her hair and manages to keep her voice in check, "Do you realize that in the time you've been here you've tried to or successfully killed almost every single person I love? I'd known Jenna my entire life. We had to fake Bonnie's death and find a magical loophole for Elena. Tyler's a hybrid, Bonnie's mom is a vampire, my dad's dead-"
He springs forward suddenly, catapulting off the steps and grabbing her arms to keep her from staggering backwards. It isn't like yesterday, he isn't snarling and the grip doesn't cause her pain. He is extremely careful about that. But she can still count every individual muscle in his clenched jaw. "That wasn't my fault," he grits out, eyes blazing.
She blinks, it is a help to no one in the world that Klaus is so ridiculously handsome. She juts out her chin, defiant despite their close proximity, "And the rest of it?"
His face softens, and the words that come out next are gentle, could almost be considered a whisper, "I didn't even know you."
She wants to let him off the hook. Despite what everyone else thinks about high-strung Caroline she doesn't like holding grudges. She isn't good at staying mad. But this isn't a high school spat. She is staring into the eyes of the most dangerous man she's ever met. A man who has set her life on fire at least ten times. Who could kill several people in her town without batting a single eyelash.
Sure he has a human side, he likes beautiful things and he paints and rides and travels. But did that matter the day they buried Jenna? Would it matter if Elena or Bonnie had died? Klaus wants what he wants no matter who's in the way, and that's fine. It makes it easy for her to hate him. This didn't. The dancing didn't. The smiling didn't. It muddies the waters. It makes her hesitate. Her brain can't reconcile the grinning man who'd talked about Tokyo with the one who can rip out hearts and still sleep perfectly at night. It doesn't make sense that they are the same person.
She has to say something, so she decides to go with exactly what she's feeling, "And now that you do? If you could go back would you change a single thing? You fancy me right? But that doesn't really mean anything does it? You're still on one side and I'm on the other."
He wants to say something perfect. Anything that will make it better. It should be simple; the words should just come out. But he's never felt anything like this before. And maybe one of the best things about her is that no combination of words will sway her loyalty. He's always been selfish, always been afraid that people will leave him. And he knows that's exactly what she'll do as soon as he lets go. She will go away just like everybody else. The idea of it, forcing her hand, flits through his mind. He could have her for all eternity. He could learn every little detail about her, the hopes, the fears, everything single thing she wants out of life. She could love him back, he's sure of it.
Or maybe he could just stab her with a stake and cart her body around for all of eternity. Because that last plan to redeem himself is working out so well. No. She would hate him. She wouldn't be able to say it, but somewhere in the back of her mind it would be there. Just once would be enough to drive her away for good. And he couldn't have that.
He swallows his pride, "I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you Caroline. I mean it."
His grip goes slack, and then his arms fall back to his sides. She still has her eyes trained on him, and for a moment she looks like she's going to say something. But then her mouth clicks shut and she turns in a whirl that sends her hair flying over her shoulder. She sprints up the stairs and closes the door behind her. The deadbolt clicks into place a moment later, more for symbolism then for the sake of actual security. She leans against the frame for a long time, trying to catch her breath. Her thoughts are jumbled and out of order.
He stands on the sidewalk and listens. Aware that all is not lost.
Forever is a long time to hold a grudge.