Another Heart Calls

Summary: This raw, brutal honesty he makes a habit of showing me… it's a weakness. Mine, not his. Because every single time he gives me a glimpse of this side of him, it's like a punch to the gut, reminding me there's a man beneath the monster. That part of him is human. If only he'd stop proving me right. / A distraught Caroline seeks out our favorite hybrid in NOLA. Klaroline. Post-5x05.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. If anything, Klaroline owns me. Or at least my soul. Contains spoilers up through TVD 5x05.

Rating: T for some mild cursing. No big deal.

Chapter Lyrics: "Escape" by Hoobastank.

A/N: Consider this my version of Klaroline therapy in the wake of the (IMO, inevitable) Forwood breakup. I know this is a bit after-the-fact, but better late than never, right?

Truth is, I've actually had the first two chapters mostly written for a while now, but as always, real life got in the way of me posting anything. I've moved and started a new job, and I've just been generally tired and distracted ever since. But THEN I saw that wonderful, all-too-brief Klaroline teaser in the 5x11 promo, and that seriously lit a fire under my ass to get back to writing. So voila, here you go!

Anywho, a few quick notes before we begin our journey: This fic isn't exactly TO compliant, so the whole hybrid showdown (aka Tyler's idiotic kamikaze mission in New Orleans) doesn't exist. Also, fair warning: it's about to get emotional up in here, folks. Caroline's reaction to the breakup (among other things) is a bit all over the place. I did this intentionally. She's going to think, say, and do some things that you might not like or agree with (hell, I don't and I wrote her that way). Hopefully I explain her mindset in a way that it's all within character, but just in case… ye have been warned.

Apologies for any typos… I edited this at lightning speed.

Now on with the main event!

There has to be somewhere that we can be safe from the lives we live each day
There has to be somewhere that we can be far away…

Part 1: Denial

Not one hour after Tyler left Whitmore, left me – for good, this time – I hit the road. And I don't look back.

Okay, that's a total lie. Since I began this crazy, half-baked cross-country trek, I second guessed myself about thirty-seven times and that number is still rising. I mean, it's hardly newsworthy that I don't wear impulsive well. My padded resume of perfectly planned town functions and (undiagnosed) control-freak neuroses will certainly testify to that fact. Besides, I do not run away. Like, ever. It's just not in the Caroline Forbes DNA.

Which is why it's pretty easy to talk myself into this little field trip of mine. See, I'm not skipping town to leave my problems behind (unlike a certain ex-boyfriend I don't care to mention); I'm doing this to fix them. One of them, at least – the one I can fix.

The fact that I also happen to be dodging the cesspool of Mystic Falls drama – Silas, the latest and creepiest of apocalyptic psychopaths; the never-ending (and nauseating) Damon-and-Elena chronicles; an amnesiac best friend, and another who's freaking dead – yeah. Ditching all that is just the cherry on top of the shitty sundae that is my life.

God, I need a vacation. I guess driving the highway to hell will have to suffice. Speaking of which…

Oh, God. This plan… it is never going to work. What the hell am I thinking?

It's my only option – that's what I'm thinking. Ugh.

The taste of copper floods my mouth, and I realize belatedly that I'm mangling my lip out of sheer anxiety.

I sigh, forcing my jaw to unclench. He'll be okay, I tell myself. He'll come home. He'll come back to me, someday. Somehow I don't doubt this; I just can't. My sanity hinges on it.

(And yet, as evidenced by the fact that I'm indulging the voices warring in my head like a side-show freak, I already lost my marbles somewhere back in my dorm room.)

I shake my head, dispelling the traitorous thoughts. That isn't what this trip is about. This isn't about getting Tyler back. This is about something much more important. Something impossible…

No. This will work. It has to. I won't give up – I can't just let – I mean, he can't –

Okay. Relax. Breeeath, Caroline.

And I do. Over and over, in, out, in, out, until Freak Out #38 finally passes. I feel the tension slowly leave my shoulders and I relax my vise-grip on the steering wheel, confident that I won't pop a wheelie from pulling a ill-advised U-turn going 85 mph down the highway. I pull it together. No harm done. Crisis averted.

Once I finally cross the Virginia border, my doubts thankfully all but disappear. This is good. It's strangely liberating, this feeling, jetting out on my own for the first time. It is even – dare I say it – a bit of a thrill. I am actually driving towards the one place I shouldn't go in a million trillion years. Towards the one person I shouldn't see, let alone trust, to help me out of yet another jam.

As I stifle what I'm sure will be the first of many yawns, I automatically reach for my caffeine fix. At least not every neuron of mine misfired tonight, and I shelved my grief long enough to cover my bases before skipping town. Along with grabbing my overnight bag (yes, the one meant for quality time with the boyfriend in his single's dorm) and scribbling a hasty note for Elena, I remembered to tap into my coffee stash I originally earmarked for finals week all-night cram sessions. I am definitely going to need the pick-me-up. Lucky for me, vampires don't require sleep quite as often as humans, but we do need to recharge our batteries like every other semi-living creature out there. I can only hope that when I finally reach my destination tomorrow I'm not a total zombie.

I yawn again, wincing as I glance at the clock. The bright red numbers seem to mock me. Twelve hours and eighteen minutes to go. Yikes.

I'm not even an hour into my journey, and already I'm lamenting my decision to veto flying. It's not like I can't afford (or compel) the plane ticket, but driving seemed like the better option at the time. There was something about clutching the steering wheel and bearing down on the accelerator just so that satisfied my need for control. Plus, the added hours on the road give me plenty of time to think ahead and plan my speech. It has to be a damn good one.

Fast forward to now, though, and I immediately recognize the flaw in my logic. All the time in the world isn't going to give me the words to say to the man I really had no intention of seeing again. For another century, anyway.

But rather than looking ahead, to the trouble still to come, all I can think about is what – who – I left behind, which is so completely annoying – he left me, for God's sakes, not the other way around – that next thing I know, I'm screaming and screaming until my throat burns and my breath comes hard and fast.

A quick glance at the horrified driver on my left tells me that I look every bit the deranged wild animal that I feel. I urge my little Ford Fiesta faster, and she purrs in compliance as I leave that judgmental face in my dust.

Freak Out #39? Check.

I keep my eyes locked on the road ahead of me, not looking back. I'm Caroline Forbes, for crying out loud. I will fix this.

Good thing I only have twelve hours, fourteen minutes to go.

It is with heavy eyelids and a curse on my tongue that I greet the stinging rays of mid-afternoon sun from the cramped quarters of my car's back seat.

I believe it was at some point between hours nine and ten that my caffeine buzz wore off and I finally had enough. I pulled off onto the shoulder somewhere around Hell-If-I-Know-Where-I-Am, Mississippi and managed to catch a few hours of uncomfortable shut-eye. Although I would have gladly slept in a tin can if it meant I could take a break from driving down this boring, endless stretch of concrete. And it would have been a nice nap if not for the intrusive tap-tap-tap on my window, courtesy of a nosy state trooper who decided the universe hasn't screwed me over enough today.

Now, being a sheriff's daughter, I'm a little more sympathetic to law enforcers and "the rules." But not that time. My candle was burning hot and fast at both ends, and it was all I could do not to lunge at the poor woman, tap the thickest artery, and take and take until I fully replenished myself like a good little creature of the night.

If there's one thing I'm thankful for today – and that is a short, short list, believe me – it's that I had enough sense to simply send her on her way, unharmed and freshly compelled. Still, that reminds me…

I grab a bag of B positive from the cooler in my truck, stretching my aching limbs in the process, and then I'm back on the road, wheels in motion again. I can feel the energy humming through my body, and it fuels my determination. I am so close to my destination, to my goal, that I can already taste victory, and it's almost as sweet as the blood on my tongue.

The next couple of hours, though, prove my triumph to be a bit premature. Even given the low bar by which I'm measuring this trip, the scenery does nothing to impress. And it all blurs by at such a sluggish pace, and seriously, I've seen biology documentaries in class that entertained me more than this drive.

But the time does pass, thank goodness, and I finally see the mile marker pointing me to my salvation. I am only four miles away from Creole Country, which means it's about time for Phase 2 of the debacle that is My Plan.

I whip out my phone and dial the one number I swear I'd never call again. I suppose I should be grateful he decides to pick up this time.

"Caroline," the lyrical voice greets me on the other end. "Dare I ask which of your friends was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the wrong end of a werewolf bite this time?"

Though tempted to retort, I cut right to the chase. "Are you busy right now?"

"Can't say my life has been boring as of late, but for you, I always have time to spare." I roll my eyes at the obvious display of charm – some things never change – and yet, somehow, I can tell he picks up on my urgency. Good.

"I need to talk to you. It's… important. Please tell me the locals haven't wised up and chased you out of the bayou just yet."

Pause. "You're headed here?"

"No, I'm not headed here. I am here," I correct him absently, watching the Welcome to Louisiana! sign fly by my window. "Well, almost."

"Sweetheart, not that I don't find your company a pleasant surprise, believe me – " I wait for the inevitable but, and he doesn't disappoint " – but you really shouldn't be here."

I perk up at change in his voice. He sounds… worried? Mildly alarmed, even? Honestly, he's reminding me a bit of this character I watched on a soap the other day – you know, one of those cheating husband types who tries to stall his ignorant wife from coming home early before he can stash away his mistress. The comparison is so ridiculous I almost laugh out loud.

"These days, New Orleans doesn't exactly roll out the welcome mat for outsiders of the… supernatural persuasion."

His explanation leaves a lot to be desired, but I'll put a pin in that until later.

"Ooh, intrigue. Sounds like you're making friends all over the place," I tease. This time I actually do laugh a little.

"I'm serious, Caroline. Much as I'd enjoy a visit from you, this isn't a good idea."

Apparently my good humor isn't contagious – a red flag if there ever is one, because this guy never ever passes up an opportunity to flirt with me. I mean, I'm not exactly proud of it, but his predictability in that regard is pretty much the only edge Team Mystic Falls ever had on him. Sad, but true.

I should feel relieved, but instead I'm just weirded out. Because Charming Klaus? That guy I can handle. I was sort of counting on him, actually. Much better negotiator.

What I can't handle is this new, unhelpful personality he picked the worst time to test-drive, leaving me with an empty gas tank and absolutely nothing to show for it.

That isn't how this story ends.

"Are you kidding me?" I shoot back. "After you practically begged me to come away with you, you're actually telling me to get lost?"

I take care to sound as frustrated and wounded as possible, and lord help me, it isn't even hard.

I hear him sigh; can almost picture his jaw clenching as he fights against himself. "That isn't – "

"Then there's no problem, is there?"

Eek. Even I'm offended by how bitchy I sound, but it can't be helped. I can't play the doe-eyed damsel like Elena, or the calm peacemaker like Bonnie. I'm me; I have my own weapons at my disposal. And right now I need to push past this newly erected wall of his the only way I know how.

And by the silence that answers me, I can tell I've nearly won. The battle, at least. I am a far cry from winning the war.

"Love," he finally says, stretching the syllable out. It conveys a patience I don't feel. "Why don't you explain to me just what is so dire that you came nearly a thousand miles out of your way to see me?"

In this instant, I don't know what to say. I really don't. I had a plan, but now the reality of actually acting on it – the reality of this whole damn situation – comes crashing down on me so hard that I nearly cry out in panic. I don't, though. I somehow hold it together.

But apparently my struggle isn't lost on Klaus, and I really hate that he knows me so well through a freaking phone.

"What's wrong, Caroline?"

His sincerity leaves me aching to tell him everything. God, it would be so much easier to list what isn't wrong in my life, and how sad is that? I swear, if I didn't have my mother to lean on, and if I didn't have first-hand knowledge of how devastating a vampire with a flipped switch could be, I might be tempted to try a few years as a robo-vamp myself. I mean, seriously.

Point is, I have reasons to feel broken. Real, legitimate, soul-crushing reasons. I could tell him Bonnie's dead, Stefan doesn't know me, everyone else pretty much ditched me, and oh yeah, there's still the issue of an ancient, indestructible immortal wreaking havoc on my hometown. Sound familiar?

But instead what comes out is infinitely weaker compared to the rest and makes me feel far more pathetic to voice. But it's the one thing I know will do the trick.

"Tyler and I are over." I pause for emphasis, savoring his stunned silence. "So once you wrap your head around that, tell me where I can meet you because I'm not leaving this city until you do. I'll be there in thirty minutes."

Actually, I'm there in twenty-three. (Impatience can be a real bitch, and my foot shows no mercy on the gas pedal.) Although why Klaus wants to meet here of all places is beyond me.

He gave me some vague spiel about the heart of the city being a hotbed for dangerous activity nowadays, it's not safe for me, and blah blah blah. Honestly, I'm more than a little dubious how any spot on the globe can draw more crazies than Mystic Falls, but I didn't push him for an explanation. It doesn't serve my agenda, and I can't afford to take my eyes off the prize. Especially now that it's within reach.

Only a couple minutes after I cross Lake Pontchartrain at the outskirts of New Orleans, I find the little hideaway he specified once I pull off from the Interstate and make a few quick turns. I imagine it isn't that hard to find if you're a local, but to my foreign eyes, one marshy patch is just as good as the next, so thank goodness for clear skies and my GPS.

Killing the engine, I'm slow to exit my vehicle as I take in the view. Now that I see it, it's a pretty spectacular one, if not a bit unbelievable.

Because what I'm looking at is a freaking castle. Literally. In the Louisiana marshes, of all places.

Although I'll admit, it isn't anything like those giant, grandiose works of art you see in period dramas and European travel books. It's abandoned for starters, if the obvious state of disrepair is anything to go by. Plus, there are no flags, lavish turrets, or embellishments of any sort. This one's just a simple little thing: a stark-white modern marvel no bigger than the size of my house back home; taller, yes, but not really any bigger. The rook-shaped main tower comprises nearly half of the entire building and stretches up no more than three stories, tops, while on the opposite side of the upper parapet sits a much smaller tower with a black conical-shaped spire.

Oh, don't look so surprised. I might be a bubbly blonde with cheerleading credentials, but I was also valedictorian, thank you very much, and hey, someone had to pay attention when Ric used to ramble on and on about medieval architecture in history class.

With a quick sweep of my eyes I count at least six arched windows encased in wrought-iron bars that fleck the entire structure, and at the main gate is… is that actually a drawbridge? Seriously? With no moat? Although, I am surrounded by plenty of marshland…

Okay, seriously, why the hell did Klaus drag me here? This place seems so… un-him. Then again, maybe that's the point. Maybe he doesn't want anyone to know he's here, meeting someone. Maybe he doesn't want anyone to know he's meeting me, in particular. Maybe there really is some crazy-dangerous situation going on in his little kingdom that requires clandestine meetings outside his jurisdiction for my protection. Or maybe it's the other way around, and I'm like this lowly small town girl that would cramp his majesty's style.

Shaking my head, I abandon my Fiesta in favor of walking off some of my pent-up frustration. Mud clings to my boots with every step, but I hardly take notice as I start exploring the castle up close. I'm sure for a worldly, billion-year-old like Klaus, this sight isn't anything special. But for someone like me, a baby vampire whose idea of a vacation destination is one of the neighboring towns of Mystic Falls, it's anything but mundane. It's… something quite incredible. But it's only upon closer inspection that I catch all the little reasons why.

Like the way the white exterior is riddled with imperfections – battle wounds – that conceal untold stories. Like the way the entire structure sits slightly crooked on its foundation, adding character to this little diamond in the rough. Like the way that, even though it has obviously seen better days, it stands strong and proud amidst the marshlands, capable of weathering through any storm. Like the way it feels so… lonely here, out on its own. Like it's forgotten. Misplaced, even. And yet, for all its flaws, it seems perfect to me.

Genuine beauty.

Huh. Maybe this castle suits Klaus, after all. They do share some common features… except for the part about being perfect. Definitely not that part.

It's then that the wind changes, and I can sense him. Well, smell him. Apparently, you can't just tap the vein of the most potent blood source on the planet (twice now) and forget that alluring scent… no matter how much I wish I could. But there are very few things stronger than the bonds of blood, and for my life's payment, I'll always know his.

I turn around slowly, deliberately, and I zero in on the form hovering just beneath the portcullis of the castle. Watching me.

When he emerges from the shadows with the casual elegance of a feline, I don't even have the energy to berate him for making me work so hard just to get him to meet me. My patience is shot to hell and quite frankly, he's a sight for sore eyes.

Because the plan's back in motion. That's the reason. Obviously.

It's only when he speaks –

"I suppose it's too much to hope," he begins conversationally, a smile tugging at his lips, "that you put the poor pup out of his misery when you cut him loose?"

– that my thirteen hours and twenty-one minutes of strategizing goes right out the window.

Flashing over to his side, I return his smile ten-fold… with my fist.

A/N: And there's part one! I admit, I was in a snarky mood when I wrote this, but it sort of works to my advantage, I think. Poor Caroline has a lot on her plate, what with her emotions going crazy and her all-night drive, so she definitely needs to blow off some steam. Which she will definitely do… starting next chapter.

For those who are interested, Fisherman's Castle is a real place on the Irish Bayou in Louisiana, but I've taken some liberties for my own convenience – the biggest of which is that this castle is not abandoned like I wrote, but has passed to several different owners since its construction. It's an impressive-looking structure (I recommend googling it for pictures), and I never knew this place existed until I stumbled across it on the internet and happened to think it made a nice backdrop for this fic. Apologies for my ignorant use of castle terminology – I tried.

This is my first attempt at writing first person POV, so if you have any tips for me I'd love to hear them.

And FYI, this is part one of five, so we're just getting started. Hope to see you all back for part two!