Chicago, IL, Christmas Eve, 2113

Klaus sat in the dark of his loft in the warehouse of an old industrial neighborhood in Chicago. He'd owned it since it was new in the teens of the twentieth century, but now it was old and unused, seemingly decrepit on the outside, but livable on the inside, the upstairs space modernized to his needs, while downstairs was filled with old machinery and debris and an occasional homeless person or drug addict as his repas du jour. Downstairs, too, was a room, well-hidden, filled with his remaining coffins well-hidden, sitting vacant now. Unfortunately.

He frowned into his glass as the thought of his family pierced him with annoyance. It was their fault he was sitting here all alone on Christmas Eve, celebrating without them-without anyone—it was her fault, his ungrateful whelp of a daughter. What did she expect, bringing home a completely unsuitable boy—her "one true love"—she should have known how Klaus would react. And it was totally unfair of Elijah and Rebekah to take her side, especially Elijah with his over-protectiveness. Didn't they see that that boy ruined everything? But no, they'd left Klaus once again, as usually, taking the boy's corpse with them, and now he was all alone. On Christmas. God, how he hated them. He didn't need them, that was for sure. He'd been without them for years, on and off. Only this time, he wouldn't let them come crawling back.

He took a deep sip and then froze as he heard a clanging noise from below, as if someone had kicked a piece of metal across the floor of the warehouse. His lips twisted into a smug smile as he set down his glass. Who would it be? he wondered. Who was running back to him with their tale between their legs? Elijah? Rebekah? Elijah, he guessed. His daughter was probably still licking her wounds over her dead lover, and Rebekah had become annoyingly emancipated in the past century. If he only still had the daggers, he could put an end to that. Still, one of them was here now. Klaus's resolve to reject their return wavered. Eh, it was Christmas. He could afford to be magnanimous. Just this once.

He could hear them on the stairs now, footsteps soft and hesitant. Then the door opened slowly and a figure appeared at the door, blonde hair glinting in the moonlight that streaming in through the skylights. Rebekah. A surprise, but not unwelcome.

"Took you long enough," he said jovially, getting to his feet. "But that's all right, I forgive you."

The figure sighed in obvious exasperation.

"That's not why I'm here. I… we… need your help."

Klaus's eyes widened in shock when he heard her voice. After all these years, could it be...

"Caroline," he said, his voice breaking on her name. What was she doing here?. He stared at her and then he forced himself into motion, striding to the door purposefully, as if she hadn't just knocked him completely off balance with her sudden appearance. He'd sought her out over the years, often at first, but with decreasing frequency as time went on, watching from afar, but never approaching her, wanting her to be the one who made the first move, all in vain. She'd noticed him, he was certain of that, but she'd ignored him steadfastly, and he'd had too much going on in his own life to make an effort. He'd been distracted by his own problems; reigning in New Orleans was always a challenge, with its intrigues and betrayals, often consuming him, but that was all in the past now. The once great city had been swallowed by the rising sea levels along with his dreams.

He switched on the lights when he reached her, and he stood still for a moment, his eyes taking her in as the soft glow of the lamps surrounded her, gleaming off her golden hair. She was even more lovely than he remembered, and his heart ached for her, as if almost a hundred years hadn't passed since his last deep conversation with her. Despite the fact that she hadn't aged, she still looked older, experience etched into her eyes and the way she carried herself. She was tired and worried—and if she'd come to him, it had to be bad.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His voice took on a note of concern that confused even him and it was a moment before he realized that he was sincere.

Caroline looked around nervously. It was obvious that she didn't feel good about what she was doing, and he reckoned he couldn't blame her. His reputation had not improved in the past century—if anything, it had got worse.

"It's Stefan," she said finally. "He's having… issues, again. With blood."

Klaus stared at her incredulously for a moment and then he smiled in delight. This was a true Christmas miracle indeed. A call for celebration, even.

"You mean my old friend the Ripper is back? Why, that's-" He broke off when he caught her disapproving glance.

Caroline rolled her eyes and groaned.

"Klaus! This isn't a laughing matter. You know how this eats him up inside. I've been trying to help him, but it's like he's lost all hope of ever changing. I just—I can't—" She broke off and took a deep breath before focusing her determined gaze on Klaus once more. "Klaus, please. If he's really your friend, then you will want help him!"

Klaus did indeed want to help Stefan, though probably not in the way Caroline hoped—all he'd ever wanted was for Stefan to reach his full potential, and with Klaus's tutelage, he would be magnificent. Klaus felt a spark of interest again, of purpose, which had been missing since the failure of all that he'd achieved in New Orleans. With Stefan at his side again (and Caroline), Klaus would be invincible. Forget his ungrateful family (at least for the moment, until they came to their senses again), he had a friends—friends (maybe)—and they needed him.

"Of course I'll help you," Klaus said, his gleeful smile vanishing. "I'll do whatever I can to help Stefan… return to his 'true' self. Now, where is he?"

Caroline's shoulders sagged in relief. "He's in the car," she said. "But we have to hurry before he wakes up. He, uh, might not be happy."

"What did you do?"

Caroline huffed. "I… twisted his neck," she said. His eyes widened in shock, hers in embarrassed panic. "But it was necessary! He was totally out of control."

"Of course he was," Klaus said as he suppressed a grin. Stefan wasn't the only one with potential, and he intended to make the most out of this situation. "You didn't have a choice. I know what he can be like when he's in the middle of a blood rush." He held out his hand for her car keys. "I'll go get him. Make yourself at home. There's some eggnog in the fridge.

She nodded at him and gave him a long look, fiddling with her keys as he waited.

"I really appreciate this," she said. "If anyone can help us, it's you."

"Don't worry," he said quietly, all humor vanquished. "We'll take care of him. Together. I promise."

He hesitated and then put his hand over her open palm, hesitating for a moment before taking the keys. She tensed slightly, but then a slight shiver went through her, just barely perceptible.

He smiled in triumph.