A/N: Hi guys! Alright, so for those of you who reads my Fabrevans fics, I'm sorry to disappoint because this one isn't about Sam and Quinn. This is a collaboration piece with my very best friend (sneakercladbrunette on tumblr) who's always been there for me, and she is an absolute Klaroline fan. She was hesitant to write her own story and asked if I could co-write one with her, and I agreed. So, this is more for her than anything else. Please send her some love; give her some encouragements because I know that she's capable of so much more!
Enjoy!
xXx
CeruleanBlues
Blue Jeans
Part 1
Blue jeans, white shirt
Walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn
It was like James Dean, for sure
You're so fresh to death and sick as ca-cancer
Niklaus stood shivering in the frigid rain. His clothes were soaked through; his dirty blonde hair plastered to his head as harsh droplets pelted down on the intricate patch adorning his leather-clad back. Staring numbly down at the plain tombstone, he ignored the biting wind that assaulted his tear-stained cheeks, and for the first time in his life, he was lost.
Lost in his guilt.
Lost in his failure.
Lost in the maelstrom of emotions swimming in his gut and pressing onto his chest.
He inhaled a shaky breath, reading and re-reading the name carved into the granite—a name that had sent men quaking in their boots, a name that had him falling to his knees, a name that was only ever uttered in fear—and realized that it would never sound the same again.
Mikael Mikaelson.
President of Virginia's most notorious outlaw biker gang called The Originals.
Advocator of violence, murder and drug trafficking.
A sinner.
A ruthless leader.
Devoted husband, and a father to five sons and a daughter.
But three days ago, he was shot and stabbed in cold blood. A rival gang had intercepted while he was on his way home from Church—a group meeting—and had fled, leaving him for dead in the middle of the road. No evidence, no sloppy fingerprints, no tire tracks; it was a clean job, the work of fucking cowards who didn't have dick or decency to confront him like a man.
His fingers were curled into clenched fists at his sides, his nails digging into his skin, his knuckles turning white as his entire body trembled with barely restrained rage. Upon his father's grave, he swore to avenge his death; to make those bastards pay, and to stop at nothing until Mikael was able to properly rest in peace.
"Klaus?"
He lifted his head, noticing that his fellow brother, Stefan Salvatore, had appeared beside him, holding an umbrella over his head to shelter them from the downpour. The man's face was kind, his presence calmly reassuring in this stormy moment, and Klaus blinked wordlessly, the understanding crossing between them in their silent exchange. It was oddly reminiscent of their first encounter, and Klaus was instantly transported back to that fateful day.
The road captain and the prospect.
"You ready to go?"
Klaus took one last look down at the tombstone, sent a final prayer up above and whispered the club's motto one more time.
"Yeah," he said, his voice raspy. "I'm ready."
It was still mildly drizzling when Caroline pulled into her driveway. She sat behind the wheel for a while longer and sighed. If there was one thing that she didn't miss being back home, it was the unpredictable weather. Already she was having separation anxiety from her dorm room back in UGA. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to have graduated summa cum laude; staying another year sounded perfect right about now. As much as she hated to admit it, she was lost.
Lost in her insecurities.
Lost in her visions for the future.
Lost in realization that she didn't have a definite purpose in life.
A knock on her window jolted her back to the present. She turned to find her mother peering in, one eyebrow arched questioningly at her daughter's odd behavior.
Liz Forbes.
Mystic Falls' town sheriff.
Big on ensuring that justice was served, and low on tolerance for adolescent drama.
A hero.
A role model.
Single parent to a twenty-three-year-old who still had no clue what to do with herself.
"Are you just going to coop yourself up in there for the rest of the day or are you going to join the rest of us in the land of the living?"
Caroline rolled her cornflower blue eyes and reluctantly unbuckled her seatbelt before stepping out of her prized Ford Fiesta and into the welcoming—though, slightly awkward—arms of the older woman. The embrace was sorely lacking in warmth—a result of being a hardened cop—but it was familiar nonetheless, and she sank into it for a quiet moment.
"Why don't we go inside before we start looking like a pair of drowned rats?" Liz suggested tersely with a nod, the tranquility short-lived as she pulled away and promptly climbed the stairs leading up to the porch.
Caroline stifled another sigh from escaping between her pursed lips and tucked some stray strands of hair behind her ear, wondering bitterly why she had expected anything different coming from the sheriff.
"Sure, mom," she replied to nobody in particular.
As Vice President of The Originals—and next in line to the proverbial throne—Klaus was naturally bumped up to fill his father's role in the club. His first act as President was to shift the ranks around. Kol, his younger brother, was made VP—he had high hopes for the little shit—while he gave the Sergeant-at-Arms position to his most trusted friend, Stefan.
The room fell silent, the loss still too fresh to speak of.
"Do we have any leads on those bastards?" Klaus growled out through gritted teeth as he regarded the ten men present in front of him. "I want to know who the fuck killed my father, and I want to know where the bloody hell they are."
His demands were met with more stony silence.
"Answer me!" he roared, slamming his palms down on the polished dark oak surface of the conference table. Rising to his feet, Klaus leaned forward; his shoulders hunched over, and brought his scowling face out of the shadows and into the light, his chest heaving as he seethed. "I said, answer me!"
"It could be anybody, Klaus," Stefan bravely replied. "We've got rival gangs up our asses all the way from Mexico. Any of those MCs could've wanted to kill Mikael."
"Why don't we fucking kill them all, then?" Klaus spat out. "One by one; we smoke them out."
"Let's be reasonable, big brother," Kol was quick to jump in before the older sibling could start another unforgettable rampage. "We don't need to pin another target on our backs. Father's murder could be the result of a personal vendetta."
Klaus glowered at him. "We swore an allegiance, Kol. Family above all. No matter what. Mikael's death will not go unpunished."
"I'm not saying that we let those fucking wankers live, Nik," the newly-elected second-in-command shot back darkly. "We'll find them, I swear, but I'll need to know that the rest of us won't have to clean up after you if you do something hasty."
His steely eyes snapped up to meet those of his own flesh and blood. "You're forgetting who you're talking to, baby brother. I'm King, now, and I'll be damned if anybody gets in my way. Those putrid pests will pay one way or another, and I won't hesitate to send any of you to an early grave if you choose to stop me; do I make myself clear?"
Stefan slowly stood up, adjusting his leather vest. "We'll find them, Klaus."
He smirked, pacified for the time being.
"Good. I want them alive."
"So, Caroline, have you figured out what you'd like to do with that degree of yours?"
Of course, the infamous Spanish Inquisition.
One of the many reasons why she skipped Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and New Year, and birthdays. They were simply opportunities to remind her of her non-existent ambitions.
The blonde in question might've speared the piece of roasted carrot a bit too forcefully, quickly shoving it into her mouth to prevent a snarky remark from exiting without consent. She made a point to exaggerate on every munch and chew, purposely delaying the inevitable while studiously avoiding her mother's judgmental gaze.
"I'm thinking of taking some time to travel, actually," Caroline told her mother. "Get out of the country, see what the world has to offer."
Liz wasn't impressed. "In other words, you don't have a plan."
"That is the plan, mom," she hissed.
The sheriff folded her arms across her chest. "And how, pray tell, are you financing this plan of yours?"
Caroline daintily placed her fork down onto the table and straightened her spine. "I'll get a job," she announced. "I heard Mystic Grill is hiring."
"You're going to be a bartender?" Liz deadpanned in a disapproving manner.
"They're in need of a waitress, actually," Caroline retorted sardonically. "Matt mentioned that they could use an extra pair of hands."
"Matt Donovan?"
A frown made an appearance on her face, knowing where the conversation was heading. "We broke up years ago, mom, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends."
"He's on the police's radar, Care."
"What?" she gaped, stupefied. "Why?"
The stoic demeanor of an officer was back. "The Originals have their eyes on him as a potential prospect to the club."
Caroline scoffed incredulously. "Matt? What does he know about bikes? And since when did he start hanging out with those thugs?"
"Since they've successfully recruited Jeremy Gilbert."
Her eyes bulged at the unsuspecting information. "Elena's brother?"
They had been really close friends in high school; it came as a shock, especially considering how tight their families had been. Elena and her were practically sisters, constantly joined at the hip, not one without the other.
Late night study sessions that ended up in giggles and tubs of ice cream.
Sleepovers spent gossiping about the cutest senior boys.
Parties where they had both gotten so wasted, Jeremy had to rescue them just before curfew and help them sober up at a nearby park.
Barbeques with one unfortunate food poisoning incident.
Pep rallies, homecoming, prom and the Miss Mystic Falls pageant.
Those were just memories now; fragments of her past, of simpler times. How sad was that?
"I don't want you anywhere near them, you hear me?" Liz warned her solemnly.
"Yeah, sure, mom."
Klaus was brooding. He'd long taken up perch at a lone corner at the end of the bar, nursing his fifth glass of bourbon—being a big bad biker didn't mean he was classless—and though it wouldn't look good for his image to appear so defeated, it was still sufficiently better than indulging in a self-satisfying killing spree. Still, his patch was on full display, and he had a pair of guns safely tucked away in his shoulder holster; it would be easy enough to put a bullet in someone's head should they dare to even think of approaching him.
"You okay, dude?"
He cringed at the juvenile calling and chose to ignore it, throwing back the rest of the liquid in his glass. "Don't, Matty boy. It's—just don't."
Matt snatched a rag and began wiping down the counter in an attempt at doing his job, though his sight remained trained on the President. "Have you guys found the culprit, yet?" he muttered.
"I'm not telling you dick until I own your arse in the club," Klaus replied with a sneer. "You're just a supporter; you don't get to ask questions."
"I don't even have a bike."
Klaus narrowed his eyes at the potential prospect, scrutinizing every twitch in his facial expression. "You won't need one right now, though I'm fairly curious why Jeremy would want to sponsor you, Matt. You look like a decent kid; someone who'd save stray dogs and volunteer at the soup kitchen. I recall you being quite a little bitch when your ex-girlfriend became the Old Lady of my Secretary. You wanted nothing to do with The Originals. Why the sudden change of heart?"
The moment of hesitation only heightened Klaus' suspicions as Matt nervously darted his gaze around.
"Look, can I talk to you after my shift—"
"Matt Donovan!"
The ex-quarterback snapped to attention when he looked up at the woman whose voice commanded so much authority. Klaus watched in amusement as he stuttered incoherently for a split second, before schooling his features into one of indifference.
"Caroline," he greeted nervously. "What a nice surprise."
A flash of blonde appeared in Klaus' periphery, though he refused to acknowledge the newcomer. Miffed at her rude interruption, he swore to blow her brains out of her skull before the end of the day. Searching for something else to occupy his hands, Klaus began passing his glass back and forth between his palms.
"Don't you dare, Donovan," she bit out venomously, a fist planted on the side of her hip. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Matt was at a loss. "I don't—what are you referring to, exactly?"
Klaus felt the corner of his lips curl up in a smirk. The girl—this Caroline—had the fire, spunk and determination that he personally admired in a woman, not to mention how all that passion would no doubt translate in bed. Curious now, he turned to face her and was instantly hit by her spellbinding beauty. She was timeless, radiant and unlike any other woman he'd met before, and she was simply adorable in her annoyance; cheeks flushed and golden curls wind-blown.
"The Originals?" she screeched, arms flailing animatedly in the air. "What the hell, Matt!"
Klaus' interest was certainly piqued at the mere mention of his club, unbeknownst to her that she was in fact currently standing next to its President.
"Erm…Caroline—"
"I had to hear it from my mom," she continued disdainfully. "And now I'm officially banned from being near you because you're affiliated to a bunch of criminal outlaws with a penchant for leather and an obsession with their Harleys. I need this job, Matt, and it's all your stupid fault! What's the point of a damn degree if I have no clue what to do with it—"
"Caroline!"
"What?"
He made a discreet gesture, jerking his head towards the man now witnessing her rant with barely-concealed mirth. She was truly a magnificent thing. Granted, a tad bit neurotic and over-bearing, but he had had to deal with Kol for a brother and Rebekah for a sister. Neutralizing Caroline would seem like a cakewalk next to his aggravating siblings.
"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I didn't mean to bother you. I'll just—"
Matt coughed uncomfortably. "Caroline, this is Klaus Mikaelson, President of The Originals. Klaus, this is Caroline Forbes."
Realization dawned on both parties.
"You're Mikael's son?"
"You're Sheriff Forbes' daughter?"
Matt glanced between the two.
"Well, this is going to be interesting."
She left; practically bolted out the door and wondered why she hadn't noticed the black Dyna Super Glide parked just outside earlier on. So focused she was trying to get away that she hadn't seen the other person until she was bulldozing straight into him. There was a light clatter and her purse slipped off her shoulder, but then she was sprawling on the sidewalk, knocked off her feet.
"Jesus," she groaned, rubbing at a sore spot. It was going to bruise, she just knew it.
"Apologies, sweetheart. Didn't see where I was going."
Was there a British Invasion she didn't know about when she was away in Georgia?
Caroline lifted her head as a hand extended out into her line of vision. He was boyishly handsome, with a nice smile and a pair of dark bottomless eyes that were twinkling with mischief, as though he held the world's best kept secret. Her fingers were inches from brushing against his when her gaze slid down to the colors adorning the front of his vest.
Kol. Vice President.
She withdrew back into herself and hustled to gather her fallen items. Brushing the dirt off her pants, Caroline rose on her own, completely ignoring his offered help. He shrugged, not the least bit offended, and she took a tentative step away before he could change his mind and decide to snap her neck.
"Are you alright?" he asked. "You seem rather…spooked."
"I'm fine," she said breathlessly. "I wasn't—I didn't mean to bump into you."
His grin turned leery as he took her in from head to toe. "Oh, no, it was my absolute pleasure," he drawled.
If he weren't a dangerous biker, she probably would've kneed him in the balls for that innuendo-laced remark. As such, she valued her life, so she gnawed on the insides of her cheek and scampered off towards her car.
And when she drove away, he was still glued to the spot, watching intently as she sped off down the road. Glancing up at the rearview mirror, she caught him throwing her a salute. Her grip only tightened on the steering wheel.
"Damn bikers."
"My, my, dear brother. This is the last place that I'd expect to find you sulking away."
That voice never failed to grate on his nerves.
"Fuck off, Kol," Klaus snarled menacingly. "Sulking is for five-year-olds with daddy issues. I don't need you hovering about when I know that you have much more important things to attend to, namely finding those bastards who murdered our father."
"Relax, Nik. I've sent Damon and Tyler out to gather Intel." Kol hopped onto the barstool and motioned for Matt to get him a glass of his favorite scotch—the one that was ever only exclusively available to him; the shit was some expensive import after all—before turning to face his older sibling. Klaus glowered at him as he dropped a cellphone onto the countertop. "Look what I've got."
"Are you turning into a proper kleptomaniac now?" he quipped. "Because I have an entire list of things that you could steal that would benefit us more than a mobile would."
"I just met this girl, Nik—"
"Why am I not surprised?"
"A blonde—"
"Well, that's a change."
"And this is her phone," Kol declared triumphantly.
Klaus sighed. "Now, I'm aware of your utter ignorance for social norms, but if you'd wanted a date with her, all you needed was her fucking phone number; less psycho stalker."
"See, that's where you're wrong, and why I'm the one who isn't wallowing in my own pity party. You're making us look bad, you know."
"Please," Klaus gestured for him to elaborate. "Enlighten me with your shallow wisdom."
Kol took a sip of his drink, eyeing his brother in an intriguing manner. "Okay, this is unacceptable. I will not have you be the wet blanket around here. It's doing things to my magnificent visage. We're going to have some fun."
Klaus groaned, because his little brother had a slightly skewed perception of fun that entailed a night of drinking and debauchery and everything else in between. Not that the idea of smoking his brains into oblivion wasn't fun; or damaging his liver wasn't promising; or that fucking a whore wasn't entertaining anymore. If anything, he was usually the first to lead the cavalry into an explicit episode. Unfortunately, the appeal was lacking that afternoon.
"Not today, Kol."
"Look, the boys are asking for you, and as VP, I can't allow you to continue like this. They're relying on you, Nik," Kol coaxed, slapping his brother on the back. "Get out of this shit hole, and let's have a good time, eh? Take your mind off your rather pathetic, dismal life."
"Watch it," Klaus uttered dangerously. "Or I'll shoot you in the foot right here and not bat an eyelash."
Kol snorted, clearly not intimidated by the umpteenth threats placed on his person ever since he was born. "You're being a dull sour puss, and the only way to rectify that is for you to get laid."
"Unlike you, baby brother, I'm not driven by my libido."
"That's a fucking load of bull," Kol said, tossing back the last of his scotch. "I'm getting you out of here and then we're finding you a tasty little thing to ravish to your heart's content."
Klaus frowned. "The last time that happened, I was stuck with a needy, clingy bitch who refused to let me go, so no thank you."
"One of our prospect's got a new Old Lady."
He was definitely not interested in a strumpet with bad boy issues, and more often than not, they were just unnecessary trouble. The drama with Hayley and Tyler had been messy enough—especially when they had found out that she had been stealing their stash and dealing them to fellow rivals—and she was a quick fix—the cops still hadn't found her body yet—but it only reinforced his suspicions on newcomers.
"Have you done a background check on her?"
Kol nodded. "Stefan did; she's clean. A couple of pick-pocketing incidents and some outstanding parking tickets, two dead parents, no siblings, a high-school drop-out; I'm not the least bit surprised."
"Sounds like she's right up your alley, then."
"Well, she's going to be right up something else, too, by the time I'm done with her."
Tact wasn't something Kol was familiar with, and Klaus had to wonder whether they were even biologically related in the first place. "Grow up, Kol."
"If it means being a buzz kill like you, then I'd rather you shoot my foot."
Klaus made to reach for his firearm.
"It was a figure of speech!" Kol exclaimed, holding his hands up in defense. "You really need to lighten up, big brother. You're no fun anymore; it's getting boring. Come on, have a night to yourself, live a little. And then tomorrow, you can go back to being the grouchy big bad wolf of Mystic Falls."
Ever since they were boys, Klaus had never been able to refuse those blasted puppy dog eyes. It had evolved over the years, although it was no less potent, and Kol made it a habit of using it to his advantage every chance he got.
"Fine," Klaus sighed reluctantly. "Don't make me regret this."
Caroline paced the length of her room, praying that her last hope would answer her phone. On the other end of the landline, it kept ringing, but just as she was ready to hang up, someone's breathless voice filtered through.
"Hello?"
"Bonnie? Bonnie Bennett?"
There was a loud crackle and some shuffling, and in the background, loud thumping music could be heard in the midst of people creating a ruckus. If there was one thing Caroline was certain, it was the cacophony of either a frat party or a rowdy club.
"Yes, who's this?" the person yelled back.
"Bon, it's Caroline." She didn't know why she was shouting either, considering she was in her bedroom, but it seemed appropriate. "Caroline Forbes."
"Who?"
"Caroline Forbes," she repeated.
"Wait, hang on a sec."
More scuffing and another raucous interval later, the atmosphere became immensely quieter.
"I'm sorry about that," Bonnie winced. "I work at a bar. Who is this again?"
"It's Caroline Forbes," the blonde replied, slumping down onto her bed. "We went to high school together. Prom committee?"
"Oh, my God, Care?" she squealed. "How are you? Where have you been? The last I heard, you were at UGA. Why are you calling? Wait, are you okay?"
Chuckling, Caroline calmly assured her old friend that she was unharmed and wasn't in dire need of rescue. "I need a favor from you, though."
"What is it?"
"Are you guys hiring? I could really use a job."
She heard Bonnie sigh in relief.
"Babe, you are heaven-sent. I thought you'd never ask."
Klaus wasn't a hundred percent certain how he ended up in the bathtub, still fully dressed in his white—albeit slightly greasy—Henley and leather jacket. He grunted in an effort to pull himself out, and when he stood facing the door, he realized that his jeans had pooled around his boots, leaving his pants on display for anyone unlucky enough to walk past. His skull was pounding—the result of a fitful night—and his muscles were screaming from the uncomfortable sleep, but after ensuring that he was decent enough for a bunch of hungover bikers, Klaus followed the trail of empty bottles and comatose bodies to the clubhouse kitchen.
It was filthy and reeked of a stale stench; litter strewn all over every available surface, cigarette stubs haphazardly discarded, and remnants of drugs and sex lingered in the air. Fuck, it was a rat hole, and that wasn't going to do. Spying a snoring prospect draped over the coffee table, Klaus gave him a sharp jab with his foot.
"Rise and shine," he barked. When the doofus remained knocked out, he thwacked the back of his head. "Get up!"
"Wha—what?"
"Get your lazy, incompetent arse up and fucking clean this pig sty," he demanded with an underlying threat to his orders. "I'm going out for breakfast, and I expect this place to be spotless when I return."
The prospect blinked blearily. "Yes, Klaus."
Caroline instantly found herself being thrown into the morning madness, swept up in the insanity that came with serving early customers their breakfast and dealing with grumpy truckers before their mandatory black coffee. Hustling out of the kitchen with a tray of food effortlessly hoisted atop her shoulder, she narrowly missed running into Anna Zhu, managing to gracefully dodge a spill. The redneck at the corner seemed impatient, so with an apology to her co-worker, Caroline proceeded to deliver his eggs, pancakes and bacon.
"Here you go, enjoy!" she chirped.
An irritated-looking man over by the window flagged her down.
"Good morning, sir, what can I get you today?" she greeted dutifully with a pencil and notepad ready, her cheeks aching from the permanent faux grin on her face.
"Took you long enough, Blondie," he muttered gruffly, his eyes skimming the menu. "I'll have my usual."
Oh great, he was one of those jerks out to make her life miserable.
"I'm sorry, sir, I'm not exactly familiar with what your usual entails," she informed him as politely as humanly possible.
He heaved a sigh condescendingly. "Toast and pancakes with a side of griddles and two slices of bacon, and for Pete's sake I've been here every morning since 1995. I shouldn't have to repeat myself to you."
She reckoned the entire bar could hear her teeth grinding at his rude remarks, but nonetheless, her cheery façade never once faltered—she was a drama student, after all—and Caroline spun on her heels before her fist could find acquaintance with his nose.
"Order in," she called out to the fry cook.
"How are you doing, Caroline?" Anna asked while refilling a pot of coffee.
"Like I've just entered purgatory—"
A deep rumbling pierced through the idle hum in the bar. The ground vibrated beneath her feet, and Caroline glanced out of the door to see a very familiar Harley pulling up just short of the entrance, as though expecting it to magically open and receive him with a red carpet. The rider blew his chromed exhaust, announcing his arrival before switching off his engine and dismounting his precious motorcycle.
And then silence.
He sauntered in like he owned the place.
Klaus Mikaelson.
"Shit," Anna whispered. "What is he doing here?"
Caroline figured now was a good time as any to make herself as scarce as possible, but her co-worker wasn't having any of it. With a pointed nudge and the fresh pot of coffee shoved into her hands, the task was then conveniently thrust unto her to serve the dangerous leader of The Originals.
People stayed frozen in their spots as Klaus nonchalantly picked a table and got comfortable, extending his legs out without a care that someone might trip over them. He plucked the menu from its holder and languidly perused through the options. Even doing something so mundane, he exuded authority and arrogance; it was intimidating to approach him.
She cleared her throat; stopping just inches away. "Good morning, sir, would you like some coffee?"
His intense gaze flickered up to her face, and she prayed that he had forgotten about that unfortunate encounter the day before. It wouldn't do her any favors to get fired on her first day on the job. Unfortunately, as she watched the recognition in his stunning blue-green eyes and the way his lips slid upwards into a smirk.
"I'll have none of that, love," he drawled, the lilt in his accent causing some unmentionable stirring in her gut. "And please, it's Klaus. It seems that you've managed your jobless situation just fine."
"No thanks to you."
"I do apologize on Matt's behalf if his association with me has caused you some distress."
Whatever she was expecting, that definitely wasn't it.
"Yes, well…" she trailed off, flicking the stray strands of hair away. "What can I get for you?"
He tilted his head, meticulously studying her from head to toe, and she fidgeted uneasily under his close scrutiny. "Some eggs and bacon would suffice; less on the heart attack, if you would so kindly let Colin know, and tea would be lovely."
"Got it," she nodded.
"Is it just me, or was Klaus actually having a civil conversation with you?" Anna murmured between arranging plates of food on her tray.
"I wouldn't exactly call it a conversation," Caroline hissed, relaying the order to their fry cook. "You heard him, Colin. Less on the heart attack, but could you do me a favor and add in a bit of diabetes and high blood pressure? Bonus points if you're able to slip in a dose of HIV."
She noticed the play on Klaus' expression, his eyebrow quirking in amusement as he continued regarding her with unmasked interest. He caught her stealing a glimpse and turned smug. Not wanting him to have the satisfaction of seeing her be flustered from all his attention, Caroline made herself useful bussing some tables. He was busy texting on his cellphone—which still bothered her since she seemed to have misplaced hers—when she brought his food over, his brows furrowed in concentration.
"You're not going to join me, love?"
She pretended to contemplate on his offer. "Thanks, but I'd rather just die."
"Oh, come on," he insisted, gesturing to the empty chair. "Have a seat."
"If you haven't noticed, I'm working and—"
"I dare you."
Caroline never could resist a challenge, but giving in to the urge wasn't worth getting fired over. However, as she stared down at Klaus' conceited face, the magnetic pull to rise up to the occasion was too tempting to pass up. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder in search of her manager, Alaric Saltzman, but he was nowhere in sight.
"Don't worry, Caroline," Klaus added, as though he was reading her concerns. "I'm sure dear old Ric wouldn't mind. I know you want to."
"Okay, first of all, let me get one thing straight," she began heatedly. "We're not friends. I'm tolerating you because you're a paying customer, but I won't stand here and listen to you try and flirt your way into my pants. I'm not one of your skanky pillions, Klaus. You can find them down that road and around the corner—"
"Wait a fucking minute," he snapped, now agitated by her baseless accusations, and rose to his full height, a good few inches taller than her. "I will not have you spouting utter shit about me. I was merely engaging in a friendly conversation, but apparently, you found that offensive enough to deduce that I wanted to have sex with you?"
"I know your kind, Klaus—"
"You don't know anything about me!" he roared, taking a step closer to her, his back rigid and fists tightly clenched at his sides.
"I know enough about you to know that you're a monster!"
The rage drained from his features and transformed into something much more malicious as he glowered down his nose at her. "You have no idea, do you?"
Caroline reckoned that she ought to be terrified for her life, but she was too riled up to care. Fuck the consequences; she was giving him a piece of her mind. "You're a heartless murderer. You kill people without remorse and you rip families apart, and then you brag about it like it's something to be proud of when it's not. Grow the fuck up, Klaus. What is it that you're really trying to prove, huh?"
"Caroline, you're beautiful, but if you don't shut the hell up, I will kill you and I promise I will do so without remorse."
She reeled back from the sheer cruelty of his words and swallowed the huge lump that had formed in her throat. Hot tears stung behind her eyes, though she willed them away. There was no way she was going to cry in front of Klaus fucking Mikaelson.
As if on cue, the theatrical arrival of several more bikes saved her from further potential embarrassment. Inhaling a shaky breath, Caroline smoothed her palms down on her hideous teal-colored apron and swiftly escaped into the safety of the backroom.
"Klaus is a dickhead, Care," Colin spoke up from his station at the grill, multi-tasking as he fried some bacon. "It's best to just let him do as he wants until he gets bored, and then he'll just leave you alone."
"How can anybody be so ruthless?" Caroline fumed. "Calling him Satan would be an insult to Satan!"
Anna burst into the kitchen then, looking rather harassed. "Caroline, I can really use you right about now. Klaus and his little posse are being difficult little bitches."
"Bigger picture. Think of the bigger picture," the blonde muttered. "It's all going to be worth it in the end."
"I remember her from yesterday," Kol declared, gesturing his mug of coffee towards the waitress that had reappeared. "She looks like a tasty little thing."
Klaus followed his brother's ogling to where Caroline was striding in their direction, the obligatory smile fixed stiffly on her otherwise flawless features. She was a delectable sight, even with a hint of a grimace and ketchup stains on her white blouse.
"Say another word and I'll tear out your liver," he admonished.
Kol simply chuckled. "Good morning there, darling," he intoned. "What a pleasure to see you again so soon."
"Believe me, the pleasure isn't mine," Caroline retorted. "Now, are you going to eat something? If not, the door's that way; don't let it hit you on the way out."
"Isn't she stunning?" Klaus murmured as he leaned towards his second-in-command.
"I'm right here, Klaus!"
"Actually, sweetheart, I think I may have something of your interest," Kol informed her, fishing out a device from the back pocket of his jeans and setting it on the table. "Does this look familiar to you?"
"My phone," she gasped, snatching it up. "Where'd you find it?"
"You dropped it during our little encounter," he explained, making a point to make it sound as suggestive as possible, and Klaus felt his blood boil at the thought of his brother laying even a finger on her. "Troublesome, aren't they? The way we rely entirely too much on technology."
"What can I get for you today?" she asked primly.
"Just you."
Klaus' hand shot out and connected with Kol's skull. "Don't be a prick."
"Fuck, Nik," Kol winced. "I was just mucking about. What's your deal?"
"Just tell her what you want and be done with it, will you?" he snarled.
Kol rolled his eyes. "Alright, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Caroline, darling, could you be a dear and get me the breakfast platter? Lighter on the cholesterol build-up, please, and with a side of marmalade."
"We don't have marmalade," she deadpanned.
"Yes, you do. I'm sure Anna has a jar specially for me."
"Fine," Caroline sighed. "Anything else?"
"Yes, actually," Kol continued. "Would you do me a huge favor as to please sleep with my dear brother before he stabs me in the eye out of his sexual frustration with you?"
"What?"
Klaus stiffened as his fingers itched to give his younger brother a good schooling on propriety and manners, even though it had failed on many occasions. Kol was a peculiar child and was never one to filter every lewd thought that crept into his muddy brain. It was usually what got him into trouble more often than not, but Klaus wasn't going to allow his business to be made the object of Kol's entertainment.
"I am very tempted to run you over with my Harley and drag you starkers down the streets of Mystic Falls, Kol," he sneered.
"Kinky," the other Mikaelson commented, wagging his eyebrows.
"For fuck's sake, just get the idiot his food, won't you, love?"
Caroline left without another word, and Klaus didn't hesitate to pin his brother's head down onto the table, keeping his forearm pressed to the nape of his neck to keep him still. Almost immediately, the other three men—Stefan, Damon and Tyler, who had arrived earlier with Kol and had been sitting at a separate table—jumped to their feet, ready to intervene if needed be. Kol struggled against the hold, using every bit of his strength to try and ease his older sibling from completely cutting off his oxygen supply.
"Damn it, Nik," he wheezed. "What the fuck's your problem?"
Klaus brought his lips next to Kol's ear. "Caroline is off limits, you hear?"
"Loud and clear, big brother."
A/N: This is a 5-parter, and we currently have 4 parts done and dusted, so updating this wouldn't be a problem. Also, for those of you who might be asking, THA is still in the mix and I'm still working on it, so don't worry, I haven't abandoned that story yet.
Song used: "Blue Jeans" by Lana Del Ray