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one: maybe that's the way i should go,
straight into the mouth of the unknown
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The blonde tuts and jabs her hand into the man's chest. She doesn't even brake a nail when she — well, ruthlessly is a bit strong don't you think? she is a lady after all — rips the pumping organ out of the hired minion.
"Oh, Mr. Mikaelson," she gracefully removes the cloth from its place upon her shoulder and wipes her hand clean, "You're going to have to try a lot harder than that."
A loud thump and light footsteps are the only things left to be heard in the diner that night.
Five years ago...
She checks her teeth for lipstick stains in her overhead mirror, her foot clamped to the accelerator and hands at seven and nine because she's expressing her inner rebel or whatever spiritual crap Bonnie would say. Stefan's name flashes on her phone and she promptly purses her lips and turns up the radio. She's only sort of late for work anyway, two hours tops. It's not like the diner will crash and burn because she decided to get an extra few minutes of beauty sleep.
Flying down the empty road with the wind in her hair and singing along to radio, she forgets about real life for a second. She forgets Little Miss Perfect's upcoming wedding extravaganza, forgets the fact she wasn't asked to be a bridesmaid even though it's her best friend since freaking diapers walking down the isle (did the BFFL friendship bracelets mean nothing to you, Elena?), forgets that she has no date for the aforementioned wedding, forgets Mr. Snuggles found his way into her apartment (again) and vomited on her favourite rug (again), forgets the bills she does not have the money to pay for that happen to have been due yesterday, forgets the broken hair-straightener lying abandoned in an old shoe box under her bed that she's been meaning to replace for weeks— holy shit is that a man?
Her wheels screech to a halt inches away from hitting the man standing in the middle of the road. Who even does that, anyway? With a huff, she shuts off the engine and exits her vehicle.
"Are you insane?" she slams the car door, "Like, do you have a death wish or something because I'm so not getting sued for some half-assed suicide plan that went— oh shit, you're bleeding!" and extremely handsome. His broken dungarees are a little off putting but his unshaven, muscular look is working rather well for him.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya," he holds up his palms and takes a step towards her, "I ran into some car trouble."
"I see that," she turns to glance at the large truck sticking out of the ditch, "Do you need some help? I—"
A gasp leaves her lips as she's suddenly being pinned against her own car, her cheek painfully presses into the window. She tries to wiggle out of his hold but he jerks his hips as if scolding her.
"That would be lovely, sweetheart," his breath tickles her ear and she has always told Stefan chivalry gets you nowhere. She whimpers and sees it. The words carved clear as day into the side of the truck, 'New Orleans Penitentiary'. Well fuck her, if she isn't already screwed.
"You can take my car," she gulps,"J-just go. I won't tell anyone, I promise."
Suffice it to say his laughter is not the answer she had been hoping for.
"Oh you promise, do you?" she nods against his hand — that is ruining the curls she worked all morning on — and he laughs again, humming at the end of this one, like he's thinking, and she definitely doesn't like that, "Well, that's alright then isn't it?" he releases her and she blinks before sighing with relief and turning to face him, "Suppose you can just trot off to work with some excuse of how you were robbed on your way."
"Exactly!" she smiles and nods at him, "I was late anyway."
"And then you'll save for another car and forget all about me?" he raises his eyebrows.
"Yes, absolutely!" he nods and that should've been that but she can never keep her mouth shut can she? "I'll just carry on waiting tables and cleaning throw up from my carpet," his eyes harden.
"Vomit? Are you a mother?" she barely suppresses a shiver from the way he spits the last word.
"Oh, no no no no no. It was Mr. Snuggles!" her eyes widen and she waves her palms for emphasis, his lips twitch and she cringes, "He's—he's a cat. Not my cat. I'm not, like, some crazy cat lady who bakes a million brownies a day and wears a hell of a lot of fur even though she claims to be an animal lover," she clears her throat, "I don't—I don't own a cat."
"So, you are a waitress who does not own a cat? Tell me, love. Anyone special?" the man edges closer to her, gliding almost.
"Well, somehow Stefan always works overtime on the days I have to lock up even though he doesn't need the money," she purses her lips and her eyebrows furrow in thought, "Although he does own the place," he nods and suddenly becomes even closer.
"So, a waitress who does not own a cat and does not have a boyfriend," she nods, he nods. Her nerves radiate off of her as his eyes watch every flex of her muscles, "Any family?"
"Um, not really."
"I see. Friends, then?"
"Oh yeah. Tons. My best friend, Elena, is getting married next month. I mean, was I asked to be maid of honour? No. So I thought, okay, bridesmaid is fine. Better, even. But was I wanted for that either? Nope. But, am I bitter? Most certainty not because I have all those other friends whom I'm not going to mention," she closes her eyes, shakes her head and with a shrug of her shoulders says, "because reasons."
"A waitress who does not own a cat, does not have a boyfriend, and is unwanted by her family and friends," his hand is suddenly cupping her cheek and she is almost positive her heart is about to fly itself out of her chest, "You are perfect collateral damage."
"W-what?" she shakes her head uncomprehendingly but he steadies her with a rough squeeze. His free hand travels down to her hip, feeling its way. She exhales a breath of relief when he retrieves the car keys from her pocket.
"Now, I offer you two choices. Come for a little trip with me or I rip your heart out of your chest," his smile looks so wrong it makes her shiver, and getting in the car with him is definitely not a good idea. She will say no. She will take pride in her death, knowing it is the right decision, and maybe she'll see her father in heaven, who knows?
"I don't wanna die," he studies her for a long moment. Then releases her with a tilt of his head.
"Good," the smile that makes her blood crawl returns. She gulps down her fear and he unlocks the car, opening the back door for her.
"Shotgun!" he raises his eyebrows but humours her. Which, she guesses, is a major compliment from a criminal.
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A song that she would usually sing at the top of her lungs to plays on the radio and although she taps her foot she doesn't dare make a noise. She tries to study him, recognise him in some miraculous twist of fate. She knows she has seen him somewhere but his lips stretch into a smirk every time she stares for too long. Okay, she can do this. Just play it cool, Forbes. Be elusive. Mysterious. Take a leaf out of Katherine's book—oh, well, actually that's probably not a good idea.
"What's your name?" Nice. Real smooth, Forbes.
"Klaus."
"Klaus," she repeats with a nod.
"As glad as I am that your hearing is in tact, the likelihood is that I'm going to rip your head off if you keep doing that," she nods quickly, "One of my old cell mates was like a parrot, always repeating, repeating, repeating. Bloody annoying twit. Needless to say, he did not last long," Klaus's head turns toward her and she tries her hardest not to meet his gaze but it is a pointless battle, "Although, I do like how you say my name," she really doesn't know what to say to that.
"I'm Caroline," she squeaks out. Klaus smirks and his eyes return to focusing on the road.
"I know."
"What? How?" her forehead crinkles in confusion.
"Your divers licence," he nods his head towards it and she feels herself blush.
"I knew that," she mutters and he smiles — amused, just for a second — but she misses it.
Silence falls over the car as she attempts to but just can't slip out a 'what did you do?' even though she's dying to. The curiosity is eating her alive (wondering how long she can stay alive). This man could be a serial killer for all she knows, and probably is, honestly. But whatever got her here must have had its reasons. So, Fate, which chess piece is she? A pawn? Or the Queen?
"Why did you take me? I mean, you were about to let me go and—"
"Oh, sweetheart," he chuckles, "I was never going to let you go."
"Well," she eyes him nervously, "where are we going?"
"Where do you want to go? Rome?" he raises his eyebrows suggestively
"Paris?" she offers.
"Maybe Tokyo," he chuckles but a mask of sincerity fills his face not second later, "I have some business to attend to along the way."
"What kind of business?" Caroline asks hesitantly.
"Never you mind, love. Just keep tapping your foot and we'll be there before you know it."
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