A/N: I'll be honest, I don't know what the hell this is. I don't even know if I like it. But maybe you will, so here goes nothing.
While it is not outwardly said, Klaus and Kol are still English in this.
Please enjoy. And if you don't, please don't be mean.
DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING.
Ex Marks The Spot
"Are you sure you want to put it here?" Kol asks him for the billionth time since he'd framed the damn thing.
Klaus sighs at his younger brother and stares at the wall where his latest painting currently hangs. "I'm sure," he says, stepping forward slightly so he can straighten the painting. "I think it fits perfectly."
Clicking his tongue, Kol pats his brother on the shoulder. "It's a demonic version of your ex-girlfriend. On the wall right in front of the entrance to your house. I know this is California and people are weird, but what will they think when they come inside?"
"That everyone should stay away from Klaus Mikaelson's heart unless they want to one day be turned into ogre," Klaus reasons.
He cocks his head to one side and observes the picture he's spent the last three months working on. Yellows and reds and greens and blacks swirl together in a monstrous way, but he's quite proud of it. Proud enough to hang it right where everyone will see it the minute they step foot in his home.
Kol scuffs Klaus' dirty blond curls, ripping the older Mikaelson's attention away from the terrifying portrayal of his ex. "You really need therapy, brother," he says jokingly. At least Klaus hopes it's a joke. He's tried therapy before. It didn't work out very well.
Chuckling loosely, because he will choose to believe it was a joke even if it wasn't, Klaus walks further into his one-story home, making his way into the white-walled living room. He sits down on his lavish — white — sofa and grabs a long, slender remote. Switching on the television, he leans back into the plush cushions.
Kol collapses beside him, but Klaus refuses to look his way. Something tells him he is about to be on the receiving end of a lecture.
The brothers sit in silence for the first ten minutes of The Bourne Identity, which pleases Klaus immensely. This film is one of his favourites and he's glad he can put off listening to another one of Kol's speeches for the time being.
"It's been five years," Kol says quietly after another three minutes, and Klaus nearly throws the remote at him.
Klaus sighs and pulls at his hair. "What's your point?"
"Five years is a long time…"
"Not long enough," Klaus bites. Five years isn't enough, ten years won't be. A thousand won't be either.
Pressing the pause button on the remote, Kol shifts so his entire body is facing Klaus. Reluctantly, Klaus looks his brother in the eye, not liking the amount of concern dribbling out of his pores.
"I don't know how you can still be angry with her," Kol says. "She was going to university in California and you were going to Louisiana. Long distance relationships rarely work, Nik."
Red flashes in his vision at the recall to the worst day of his life. "We would have made it work," Klaus snarls. But then again, before it happened, before she ripped his heart from his chest and flew all the way to San Francisco from Mystic Falls, Virginia with the bloody thing in her suitcase, he had sensed they were drifting apart. Maybe they wouldn't have made it work, but she didn't even give them the chance to find out.
"Okay, sorry," Kol apologises, holding his hands up. He un-pauses the film. "Remember that you've got to get to work soon. An art gallery doesn't run itself."
Klaus looks at his brother briefly out of the corner of his eye. He's been trying help Klaus get over his ex-girlfriend from the moment she left him standing, jaw attached to the floor, at the airport.
It hasn't worked.
He wishes it would.
"I hate art, Caroline. Why are we here?" Elena asks as Caroline drags her through the entryway and into the gallery.
Sticking her manicured nails into Elena's wrist, Caroline smiles at her. "Because I love art and we're here for my birthday," she emphasises, pushing through another set of doors. Instantly, hundreds of paintings covering nearly every inch of the high walls surround them.
Caroline's smile widens. There's no one else there.
She floats towards the first picture she spots, a gorgeous representation of a bouquet of flowers.
"Ugh, they look like squiggles. My two-year-old could paint better than these guys," Elena complains.
Gasping, Caroline glances at her friend with wide eyes. "Take that back, Elena."
Elena crosses her arms and kinks a defiant eyebrow. "No," she mouths.
"But…Elena," Caroline whines.
"I can just go across the street to the café?" Her friend suggests, hope gleaming in her eyes. "You can meet me there when you're done" — she waves a hand in front of her face — "looking at this stuff."
"You're not supposed to drink coffee in your condition," Caroline reminds her.
Elena scoffs. "In my condition, Caroline? Did you just refer to my pregnancy as a condition?"
A pink blush spreads over Caroline's pale cheeks. She tugs at her hair, the blonde streaks slipping through her fingers. "Maybe…?"
"I can't have caffeine while I'm pregnant, but I can drink decaf."
Caroline nods. "Oh. Didn't know that."
"Just wait until you're pregnant," Elena says suggestively, waggling her eyebrows.
Scrunching her face with displeasure, Caroline shakes her head emphatically. "Gross, I don't want to think about me being pregnant."
Elena barks out a loud laugh. "Don't say that, Care. Remember how disgusted I was with pregnancy when we met? And look at me now, working on baby number two." The brunette rubs her semi-swollen belly, her glowing face stretched with a grin.
"Okay, yeah," Caroline agrees, "but you didn't even mean to get pregnant the first time."
"Doesn't matter. Matt and I were still excited beyond belief."
"It probably helps that you two were already engaged. And that despite still being in college, you managed to graduate with a baby on your hip. And that Matt has had dreams of filling a house with, like, a million babies since he was twelve."
Elena flashes her pearly white teeth at Caroline. "That's true, I guess. I wouldn't be surprised if he tore the condom himself the night we conceived Tabby."
Closing her eyes tight, Caroline pointed a finger at Elena. "Okay, I get it. You can go to the damn café. Just stop talking about babies and Matt tearing condoms. Seriously."
"Yay, thanks Care. Happy birthday!" Elena calls, her voice retreating with each syllable. And by the time she's opened her eyes, the woman with the pregnant belly is nowhere in sight.
He hears women talking. About what, he isn't sure. But they're loud and their voices squeak. He thinks he hears the word "pregnant" more than once. And birthday.
Wandering out of his office, he walks into the main gallery.
He began working there almost immediately after moving to California the previous year. The curator for the gallery was retiring and enjoyed Klaus' spunk and knowledge of art, so he gave him the job before he even left the interview.
It is a homey place. Not many people come to it, but Klaus is a rich bastard and things like money don't matter. He can keep this place running without putting so much as a dent in his piggybank. Besides, when people do show up, it's to buy loads of art for their San Francisco homes. Money comes quick in those situations.
The main point of the art gallery is to showcase local talent. Get those amateur artists off the ground and launch them into fame. He has been running this place for one year and has never seen anything like that happen.
But he loves it here.
He loves the art. He loves the people.
Just not today.
He sees her standing by an overzealous painting of a bird.
He sees just the back of her, but he knows without a doubt that it is her.
She has the same blonde hair that she sported when they were teenagers. It's much shorter. She's wearing a shirt he's seen her in too many times to count; her extremely comfortable Pink Floyd shirt. He thinks to this day that she is the only girl who actually listens to the bands she showcases on t-shirts.
A wave of anger washes over him, soaking him in its venom. He wants to snap at her. Tell her to leave. Yell at her for breaking his soul, for crushing his bones with nothing but her sharp-as-shaved-metal words.
But Kol was right about one thing. It's been five years.
Kol was right, but only on the surface. He cannot bring up the past. Not now. Not here, in his place of work.
So, he doesn't. He walks, somehow steadily, in her direction. His shoes clack against the marble floors — damn, how he hates these floors. His heart trembles in his chest. It inches its way up his throat until he swears he can taste it.
And he smiles, just as he reaches her. One of his special, Only-For-You smiles. The smile that used to make her dissolve. The one that got her to him in the first place, because eventually she realised that he actually wanted her. Eventually she realised he was smiling at her differently — desperately.
Wearing his dimples and clasping his hands together behind his back, he attempts to mentally prepare himself for when she turns around. Because that is inevitable; she will turn around. And he will have nowhere to run.
"Anything I can help you with, Miss?" He asks, breathing in her fruity scent. She still wears the same perfume. Everything is the same with her, but it is so different.
She jumps, a small gasp escaping her lungs. He used to be able to catch those gasps with his lips. Her pink hand meets her chest and she shuffles around until she is facing him.
She gasps again. This time, though, it is harsher and more violent. He watches with wonder as her eyes bulge. As her jaw snaps. As her smile falters.
He isn't sure how he remains stoic, but he does know that his cheeks hurt from smiling.
Cheeks do that. They hurt when you smile too much. Klaus has come to realise in the recent years they hurt more when you're forcing the smile.
"Klaus," she says, but it comes out as another gasp. He wants to catch it — wants to catch his name crashing out of her mouth. "What…what…?" She asks, more to herself than to him. "What are you doing here?" She frowns, as if, for the past five years, he has always been following her and has chosen now as the opportune time to reveal himself.
He makes an effort to widen his smile. "I work here," he says, and she frowns deeper. "I own…here."
"Oh," she says in surprise. Had she been expecting him to say that he had been stalking her? "Wow."
Klaus nods. His stomach is in twists and his mind is racing, but at least he is outwardly calm. At least she can no longer place her hand over his heart. Otherwise his façade would shatter.
She used to love doing that, touching his chest. Anyway she could get it. Brief caresses or long, drawn out dances, her fingertips would find their way to his torso. She never minded if he was shirtless or not.
She said she loved the way he felt beneath her. The way his skin rippled, as if he were a slave to her touch.
He never told her how right she was. How right she still is.
"It puts bread on the table, I suppose," he says nonchalantly after too many seconds of silence.
Her brown eyebrows shove themselves together. She will need a stitch remover to pry them apart. "Where is this table of yours?" She asks, and he thinks, maybe, perhaps, her voice shakes.
"Not in Louisiana," he tells her. He left Louisiana behind as soon as he could. There is no table there for him.
She starts to chew her lip, something she does whenever she is put in an uncomfortable, uncontrollable situation. Sickeningly, the action spurs hope in his belly. "And it's not in Mystic Falls," she says through her teeth.
"It's not there, either."
"It's here, then."
"That would make sense, considering I work 'here,'" he says, jerking his fingers around the word "here."
Then she surprises him. She asks, "When were you going to tell me?"
And instantly that anger returns. He shows it on his face by dropping his smile and scowling. What right does she have to say such a thing?
"I wasn't aware I had to tell you," he retorts, folding his arms over his chest. He watches her eyes graze the skin hidden beneath his button-down.
Caroline shakes her head and blinks at him as if she's just remembered who they are. As if she's just remembered who they aren't. "Right, of course. But you have to admit," she says, "it's kind of suspicious."
"Suspicious? That I live in the same area as you?" She really is making him sound like a stalker.
She shakes her head again, those blonde tendrils that used to hang down to the middle of her back just barely brushing her shoulders. "Yes. I find it a bit suspicious."
Anger turns to annoyance and Klaus rolls his eyes at his ex-girlfriend. A girl he has not seen nor heard from in five years. A girl he definitely did not follow to San Francisco.
"My brother lives here," he says by way of explanation, unable to hide the irritation in his voice. It drips like acid to the floor.
Caroline's eyes travel down to his lips before snapping right back to his angry/annoyed gaze. "Which one?" She asks.
"Kol. He's at some art school. Asked me to come down after I'd finished my degree."
"Art school?" Caroline laughs and it sends tremors through his blood. He's missed that sound. "I always thought he'd be a math teacher. He used to talk about it so much."
And there it is — the call back. She has now let it slip that they knew each other. That they no longer know each other despite how many times Klaus claims in his own mind to know Caroline Forbes better than she knows herself.
Five years.
A lot can change in five years.
Kol can decide that he actually hates trigonometry and make plans to move to California so he can major in graphic design. Elijah can get married and have a child and get divorced. Rebekah can fall madly in love with thirteen different men.
Klaus can say one-thousand-eight-hundred-twenty-five times that he's moved on. But in five years, that is probably the only constant — he is still madly in love with Caroline Forbes.
"He did, didn't he?" Klaus says, pushing any and all thoughts regarding his former relationship with the blonde standing before him out of his mind. "But he has quite the knack for it. He's already been commissioned to design a website and he's only a sophomore."
"I'm assuming that's rare?" Caroline says, thrumming her fingers against her collarbone. Once upon a time he would have licked that protruding bone. Suck the skin into his mouth until she was panting and there were marks.
"Somewhat. The money is what makes it surprising. People aren't usually willing to give a sophomore thousands of dollars to design their website."
He can do this. He can chatter nonsensically with her and he can be okay. He is capable of normalcy.
Caroline seems to agree with him, carelessly nodding along to whatever Klaus has just said about his brother and the website he's been asked to design.
"Well, good for Kol. Your mother always said he'd go far," Caroline says, her eyes darkening at the mention of his mother, Esther. A woman neither of them have ever enjoyed talking about.
When he and Caroline began their relationship back when they were juniors in high school, his mother had been one of the only people to completely disapprove. She did everything in her power to keep her precious son away from Caroline's "filthy" clutches. As if the devil really were just a seventeen-year-old girl in disguise and not a creature that lived underground.
Esther's schemes didn't work. If anything, they cemented Klaus to Caroline. They made her more desirable.
Not only was he pleasing himself by going after the illustrious daughter of his hometown sheriff, but he was also pissing off his traditional mother.
When Caroline broke his heart, Esther had done nothing but smile.
Klaus takes a tentative step back. He feels a familiar electricity beginning to spark. The same sparks he felt whenever he stood too close to Caroline when they were together.
"Right, I should probably get back to my friend," Caroline says when Klaus remains silent. He can't think of anything else to say. But he desperately wants to keep her talking.
"But you only just got here." Great, now he sounds like a creep.
Caroline laughs, but it is not one full of humour. It's a biting noise that spears his soul. "It's my birthday, Klaus. I can do whatever the hell I want." She says it in a way that makes him believe she thinks he is trying to force her to stay.
"Happy birthday," he mumbles, uncrossing his arms and sticking his hands in his jean pockets.
Something changes in Caroline's face. It's soft all of a sudden. Open. "Hey," she says, and he meets her electric blue eyes. "You can join me."
He said yes, of course he did. And that is how he ends up sitting across from Caroline and her pregnant friend. Because he never could tell Caroline Forbes 'no.'
Kol was right. He needs a twelve step program.
He closed the gallery. Put a sign on the front door that he made quickly in the back room with a marker that was almost out of ink.
A scribbled Lunch Brak, Be Back in One Hour sign.
He's fairly certain he misspelled "break."
But he doesn't care, not really. He's with Caroline Forbes. Nothing else matters. Not the strange looks being sent his way from her friend or the feeling he's got in the pit of his stomach telling him this is an awful idea.
He's been clean of her for five years.
In five years he's gotten good at pretending he isn't still pining for her — and now he'll never be able to get rid of her.
It feels like some sort of dream. She's so close to him, smiling. She was crying the last time he saw her.
He's got that fuzziness in his brain he got so used to when they were together, but he hasn't felt it in so long that he's sure he's going crazy.
"So, Klaus," says her friend, running a hand over her belly. He notices a large diamond on her third finger. She's got a cup of coffee resting in her other hand and she's frowning at him, trying to figure him out. It unsettles him. He shifts in his seat and taps his thighs. "Caroline's told me a lot about you."
Maybe he shouldn't be shocked by the admission, but he is.
Why shouldn't Caroline tell her best friend (he assumes she is her best friend, at least; they seem extremely close) about him? They went out for two years. They were happy and destructive and in love.
Of course, he has spent the better part of the last five years trying desperately to not mention Caroline's name. Ever.
None of the women he's been with since Caroline left him have ever asked about the gorgeous girl he's got hung up around his home in secret corners. They smile at the paintings and tell him how excellent he is with his hands.
Kol refused to listen to his whining, so he shut up a couple of days after Caroline flew to California.
Elijah didn't care. Neither did Rebekah.
"Has she?" He says, refusing to look at the girl in question. He knows she's blushing, and that blush always did strange things to him.
Her friend — Elena— nods, her brown, manufactured curls blowing around her olive-coloured shoulders. "A lot."
It sounds like a threat. He doesn't know why. He was always good to Caroline. They were always good to each other — always good together.
"All good things, Klaus," Caroline interrupts. "Don't let her intimidate you." The blonde throws a warning look at her friend and a bubble of anxiety blooms in his chest.
Elena chuckles, drawing a long sip of coffee from her cup. "I'm not trying to intimidate anybody. I'm just surprised. And a little bit suspicious."
There is that word again. Suspicious. He loathes it.
Elena continues, "I think it's odd that you're here. In San Francisco. Caroline told me you hated it out west."
This woman doesn't beat around the bush. Not at all. He would admire her if she weren't pissing him off. "My brother wanted me near him. We've always been extremely close, so I said yes." He shouldn't have to explain himself to this woman. He doesn't know her. She doesn't deserve to know him.
"San Francisco, though?" Elena implores, leaning forward. He sees Caroline roll her eyes, like she wasn't just saying the same thing to him less than fifteen minutes ago.
"My brother," he says again, "got accepted to an art school here. And I got offered a job here. It's not really all that suspicious. I didn't know Caroline would still be living in San Francisco." It wasn't like he dragged her into his gallery. She came of her own accord. She invited him out, he didn't beg.
He almost said no. Almost.
"Drop it, Elena," Caroline says, and Elena's mouth shuts with a croak.
Klaus doesn't smile, but he allows his eyes to glisten with hidden humour.
Elena is looking at her funny. Like she's got something stuck in her teeth. But she isn't smiling, so that can't be the reason.
"What?" She says eventually, exasperated.
Elena lifts an eyebrow, ceasing her tummy-rubbing. "I don't even know what to say to you right now."
"Then don't say anything. There's nothing really to talk about."
"Bullshit," Elena hisses under her breath, and Caroline rocks back in her chair. Elena never curses. That's Matt's job. "Why did you invite him? What's Stefan going to say when he finds out you spent your afternoon having lunch with your ex-boyfriend?"
Caroline pales. Then blushes. "Stefan's got nothing to do with this, Elena. You know as well as I that our 'relationship' isn't serious. We have fun together."
Scoffing, Elena takes a long sip of her coffee. She's already on her third cup. "Thank you for avoiding my first question."
"Well, God, Elena!" Caroline huffs, throwing her hands on the table. "What do you want me to say?"
"Just…tell me why you invited him. I'd like the truth."
The truth. Elena wants the truth.
Elena was the first person she met when she moved to California. Well, not really, but saying that makes their friendship sound cool and interesting, so she sticks with the lie.
They were assigned roommates at university and when they finally came across each other, Caroline thought she would hate Elena. The girl had everything Caroline didn't. A boyfriend, friends…
But she was still reeling — still weeping — from her breakup. She ended up spilling everything to Elena one night. Everything.
Caroline hesitates. Elena's stare is beginning to worry her. "I…I wanted to."
"I thought you were over him."
"I am over him," she stresses. "It was just such a shock to see him today." And it's true. Klaus in San Fran? Biggest shock to her system since she found out teachers didn't actually live in the school.
Caroline sighs. "He looks the same. Worn, but the same."
"Is he the same?" Elena asks and Caroline hears the unspoken question: Is he still in love with you?
She doesn't pause this time. "Yeah," she says. "I think he is."
She is over him.
I am over him, she repeats in her head when she leaves the café.
Elena went home. She nearly threw up all the coffee she drank.
I am over him, she tells herself again. I am over him.
She says it again as she eyes the gallery across the street. I am over him.
He didn't need the sign. He was gone less than thirty minutes. Enough time to be glared at by Elena and smooth-talked by Caroline before deciding it was a bad idea to take Caroline up on her offer.
His mind doesn't know which way is up at the moment.
He's pacing in the main gallery, trying to untangle the cluster of thoughts running rampant through his brain, when he hears the distinct clang of the door opening and closing.
Finally, work can ease his aching head.
Turning his head toward the entrance, Klaus thinks at first he's seeing a ghost. Or maybe he's asleep.
But then she speaks, and he knows he's awake and that she's back. "Klaus, hi," she says casually, but he notices a quiver in her voice.
"Caroline," he says in return, surprised. He sounds much more confident than he feels. In reality, he's dying. His heart is shutting down. His brain has already left him. Soon, his knees will buckle and he'll be nothing but a pile of lifelessness spread on the floor.
She's there, moving towards him like she used to. Slowly, sensually — unsure. "Klaus." She says his name again, a breathless whisper rolling off her tongue. It makes his insides squirm.
Oh, the hold she still has on him.
"What are you doing here?" He asks.
She smiles and he melts just a little bit more. She's stopped a few feet from him and he wants nothing more than to close that damned gap. "I came to see you. To talk." She takes another step. Klaus stops breathing. "We need to talk."
Klaus sees her blue eyes staring at him with expectation. And he's confused. So, so confused. But he's also stuck. Stuck in the endless cycle that is being in love with Caroline Forbes.
He inhales a deep breath. "Talk, then."
"You're here," she says suddenly. Quickly.
Klaus nods, still confused. "I'm here."
"And it isn't because you're stalking me."
He wants to be affronted, but it's not an accusation. It's a fact. "It isn't because I'm stalking you, correct."
Another step closer. "It's fate, then, isn't it? You never could shut up about fate."
She's right, of course. He's loved the idea of fate since he was a child. But is what's happening now — them finding each other again — really fate? Or just some fucked-up coincidence?
"Is this what you wanted to talk about? Fate?"
Caroline shakes her head viciously. Painfully. She peers at him with watery eyes. "No," she admits. "I wanted to talk about what happened. When I left."
He opens his mouth, but no words come out. She's punched him squarely in the lungs, winding him.
"Don't say anything," she insists. "Let me talk, please. Please. I need to tell you why. Why I broke up with you. Why I went away. Why…why I didn't call or visit or explain…"
He remains silent (not by choice, his voice just is not working) and she continues, "…It wasn't because I didn't want to, Klaus. I wanted to call. I wanted to explain everything, but I couldn't. I didn't know what to say. Sorry didn't seem like enough, and it still doesn't seem like enough.
"Having to leave you broke my heart, but it was the right thing to do. We were young and going off in completely different directions. I mean, we're only twenty-three now. We're still young. And I tried to be with other people, I did. But" — she breaks off and gives him a tentative, shy smile. He. Cannot. Breathe. — "but you're here now. You're here."
She leaps the final few inches to get to him, and then she's right there. In front of him. Smiling widely, her white teeth glimmering in the bright lights of the gallery. She's there.
Is this an invitation?
"What does that mean?" He asks, frustrated. Broken. What does she want from him five years after she bent his soul?
He can feel her breath licking his skin.
He closes his eyes, flinching when her soft fingers begin caressing his cheek.
"It means that you feel the same," she whispers against his jaw. "It means that I can touch you. It means that we haven't changed. Because I can feel it, Klaus," she tells him, her words skating over his lips. "I can feel it. I can feel you."
"That doesn't explain much," he mumbles, swearing his lips lave across hers as he speaks, the sensation of her mouth on his sending rivulets of want and utter helplessness through his bones.
She laughs, slowly thumbing beneath his eyes. He keeps them shut. "Klaus," she breathes, and he can taste her. She tastes so sweet. "Nothing's changed."
"Everything's changed," he says, squeezing his eyelids.
Hair dances along his collarbone. Goosebumps burst atop his arms and he clenches his hands into fists by his sides to keep from grabbing ahold of her and taking her in the middle of the gallery.
"Open your eyes," she urges softly, the pad of her thumb brushing his eyelashes.
He does as he's told.
Standing before him is an angel. Someone he's tried to hate for five years, but someone who he's never been able to stop loving—to stop needing.
Her eyes shine bright blue. Her shirt hangs off one of her shoulders, exposing her creamy skin.
Is she right? Has nothing changed?
"I'm," she says, running her jaw against his. "Not" — she moves her hands to his hair and pulls their chins together — "over" — she tilts his head down and he has no choice but to give into her demanding strength — "you."
Maybe that shouldn't have been the clincher. Maybe those four words should have forced him to take a step away from her and tell her that he needed to think about all of this. About all of what she'd said. All of what she'd confessed.
Maybe he should have turned her down.
Maybe he shouldn't have let her go in the first place, all those years ago.
But that was the clincher.
Those four words…they make him move towards her. They shove him into Caroline. And then he's kissing her. Or maybe she's kissing him. Either way, tongues are sliding and teeth are clashing and hands are grappling. For what, he doesn't know, and he really doesn't care.
All he cares about is the feel of her everywhere on him. Her hips jutting against his, her nails scraping his back.
Her lips are all-consuming. They've always been all-consuming. Soft, but dangerous. They pull him, drug him.
His arms slide of their own accord, wrapping around her back and shoulders just so he can get her closer. So there can be no space between them whatsoever. And it's been so long since he's done this — since he's kissed her and held her — that he really, really cannot believe it's happening.
He'd given up hope of ever being allowed to touch Caroline Forbes like this years ago.
He's living his wildest fantasy, right here in the open air of his art gallery.
The kiss ends as suddenly as it began. She's pressing her forehead against his, panting into his mouth, trying to speak. He hears stuttered words, but nothing coherent.
"I don't do this," she says.
He places his lips on the corner of her mouth. "Don't do what?"
Caroline leans back, but only enough so they can look each other in the eyes without going cross-eyed. They're still touching. "I don't do stupid things."
"Is this stupid?"
"Probably."
"I thought you said it was fate," he says as lightly as he possibly can. He can't deal with the heavy stuff yet.
"I think it might be."
He allows his mouth to morph into a smile, but it probably looks weak and dented. "Who cares? We're adults, we can do stupid things every now and again." And I really don't want you to go. I can't let you go. He thinks to himself.
"I thought I was done missing you," she mumbles.
Joy swells within Klaus at her statement. "Are you not?" He says, and he is helpless to hide the hope in his voice.
Caroline smiles, just enough for her cheeks to crease. "No," she says, shy. He's missed this version of her. He's missed all of her. "I'm really not."
She's gloriously naked. Pink and ivory flawless skin on display before his very eyes. She's tied her hair up and he can see her neck. He wants so badly to bite it.
"Elena's going to kill me," she groans into his pillow, pulling the sheet resting on her hips up to her chin.
Klaus sits up and leans over her. Gently, he drags the white sheet down until her collarbone is exposed. He nuzzles her throat, suckling the skin into his mouth, and she trembles beneath him. "Because you had sex with your ex-lover?" He asks.
"No." She shakes her head. "Because we had plans this afternoon."
"I've already corrupted you. Excellent."
Sighing, Caroline rolls onto her side and faces him. "I'd much rather be here. She can't drink alcohol at the moment because of the baby and she's been making me do shots for her whenever we go out. And it's my birthday, so she would have made me drink even more than she usually does. Thank you for saving me from a massive hangover."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Kol's going to kill me too."
Caroline's eyes widen. "Because of me?"
"Caroline," he soothes. "I wasn't exactly in a great place when you left," he admits.
"So, because of me," she clarifies.
He wants to say 'no,' but he can't. Kol doesn't hate Caroline. He just hates what she did to Klaus.
"Because of you," he agrees. "But don't worry about it. I'll make him see reason."
Lying back down, Klaus drags Caroline to him. She places her head on his chest, puckering her lips to kiss a scar on his pectoral.
"I remember when you got this," she says in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
Klaus grins into her hair. "Don't remind me. It was a horrible day for us all."
"Blood everywhere."
"Twelve stitches. I had to get twelve stitches," Klaus laughs. "It bloody hurt."
"I told you not to mess with him," Caroline reprimands. "There's no one to blame but yourself."
Klaus twists his arms around Caroline, glueing her breasts to him. He feels like a teenager again. Lustful and happy. Actually, one-hundred percent happy. "How was I supposed to know he'd stick his claws in me? You didn't tell me he was violent."
Caroline moans and the noise sends all of his blood south. "He was a cat, Klaus. Cats attack things with their claws when they feel threatened."
"I wasn't threatening him!" He cries indignantly. Six years and he still hasn't lived this particular bad experience with Caroline's old cat down. Kol still teases him about it, for fuck's sake.
"Oh, Klaus, you were poking him with a stick. Literally." Caroline lifts her neck and peers down at him, her smile vanishing.
He raises his eyebrows in curiosity. "What's that look on your face?"
"What look?" She asks, pulling her lips into a frown.
"No, no," he says, smoothing his thumb over her lips as if he can wipe away the scowl. "You look…happy."
"Oh, well, maybe I am," she says with mock haughtiness.
"You make me happy," he tells her. "You always have. Even when I thought I hated you, you made me happy."
Resting her head back on his chest, Caroline kisses that same scar. "I'm happy," she says.
Two Months Later
The TV is blaring. American football, he thinks, but he's not sure. He was never a very big fan of that particular sport.
Klaus walks into the living room, a box in his arms labeled Fragile. DROP THIS AND I'LL KILL YOU.
"This is the last one," he says, loud but obviously not loud enough. She doesn't turn around. Too engrossed in the game, he suspects.
He allows her to watch the game for a bit longer as he observes his surroundings. Boxes line every wall in sight. Stacks upon stacks of crap he's never going to need.
Two months ago his place was a bachelor pad. Clean, but clearly belonging to a single man. There were no personal touches except for the myriad of paintings covering the walls.
That was two months ago, though. That was before Caroline came back into his life.
Before she took over his life. Again.
Kol wasn't mad, much to his surprise. He actually congratulated Klaus when he accidentally let slip that he'd finally seen Caroline after having lived in San Francisco for a year. To say that was an awkward and uncomfortable conversation to have with his younger brother would be putting it mildly.
"Oh, come on! You guys can fucking do better than that! Seriously, what the fuck?" Caroline shouts, her body hovering above the sofa in anticipation.
"Caroline," he says softly, moving forward. "Caroline."
She whips her head around, blonde hair flying every which way. Her jaw goes slack. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to know you no longer have a problem with saying the world 'fuck.'" He smirks at her and she blushes a furious shade of crimson.
"Elena's husband has been a bad influence on me," she says, mildly ashamed.
Bending down and adjusting the box in his arms, Klaus plants a firm kiss on her forehead. "I like it," he murmurs in her ear, and he can just feel that blush spread.
Caroline beams at him and switches off the television. She stands, stretches, and points at the box. "That the last one? Please tell me that's the last box. I can't begin to describe how much pain I'm in," she whines. "I think my arms are going to fall off."
Klaus stifles a laugh. He puts the cardboard box on the ground gently. "That's the last one," he says, slapping his hands together. "You're officially moved in."
"No, I'll be officially moved in when we've unpacked all this shit."
"When you've unpacked all of this shit," he corrects. "I've done my part as the dutiful boyfriend already."
Caroline pouts, placing her hands on her hips. "Not true. I need help. You need to tell me where to put everything."
"If I were in charge of where your things went, half of it would end up at the thrift store."
Gaping, Caroline kneels on the sofa, her head now level with his, and grasps his shoulders in a vice-like grip. "You wouldn't dare," she hums lowly.
He shrugs, watching her arms fly up with the jerky movement. "Maybe I would."
"Fine, I'll do all the unpacking," she acquiesces grumpily, and Klaus feels like he's just won a major battle. "On one condition, though." Klaus perks his ears, his intrigue piqued. "You take down the painting hanging by the door."
A chuckle spills out of Klaus' mouth. "What?"
Caroline rolls her eyes dramatically. "You know the one I'm talking about, Klaus. The scary one that looks a lot, and I mean a lot, like me."
"It's a monster, love. You're much prettier," he says, clasping his hands on her waist and digging his nails into her sides.
Caroline shoots him a dirty look. "It's me. It's me as a monster. I don't want it hanging up. In fact, I want to burn it."
After her first night in his house, Klaus woke up and noticed Caroline had crept out of bed. He found her wandering his halls wearing nothing but his button-down and a pair of socks. Her eyes were observing every painting plastered to the walls.
They're all of me," she'd said when he caught up to her. "They're all of me."
She'd been happy (well, she'd been crying; he wasn't sure if that meant she had been happy) until she caught sight of his most recent painting.
"Do you really hate it?" Klaus breathes, his lips millimetres from Caroline's.
"Yes," she rasps.
Closing his eyes, Klaus bends his neck. Without missing a beat, he captures Caroline's lips in a soft, barely-there kiss that somehow manages to set his entire body on fire. She gasps against him and he opens his mouth, swallowing the noise. And he smiles, because he can do that now. He can swallow her gasps.
"Then it's gone," he says.