When they first come together, Klaus and Caroline create a beautiful storm of contradictions.
He's the Original Hybrid- strong, ruthless, can't be killed. He has his blood with a side of the finest champagne the Le Meurice has to offer, and two hours later the bellhop's body is found in the gutters of Paris. (Sorry, mate. 'fraid he got a bit too greedy.) And that's what it really is, isn't it? The craving for more.
Blood.
Power.
He acts on impulse in the heat of his anger, infamous for his unwarranted lash outs. (Isn't that right, Elijah?) And it isn't until later, as he's aggressively twirling the daggers between his fingers, that the calmer, unnatural side hesitates long enough for a day to pass and he locks the metallic weapons back in his heavily spelled safe. (But that's where the power comes in handy, darling. Do keep up.) After all, if he's going to live forever- razing and draining any obstacle in his path- he's going to do it his way and not even the insistence of a morally-driven older brother is going to sway this intrinsic need within him.
He is dark.
She, on the other hand, is Miss Mystic Falls- beautiful, caring, always in control. She is the master at planning, balancing the use of a sweet smile and genuine candor to orchestrate events and situations to better fit her personal vision. (Of course when that doesn't work, she isn't opposed to compulsion- after all, it's all about using her substantial vampire capabilities for good, right?) She is meticulous, always driven and has never, ever been comfortable doing things on a whim. Schedules are the foundation of progress, right? They keep things organized.
Structured.
Stable.
Of course, life is not set in stone- she knows that; really, she does- and even though she's all about carpeing the hell out of her perfectly planned, schedule adhering diem, there's a strange sort of whirling anxiety at the thought of settling down peacefully that puts her on edge. But she's in college, and normal college kids go through this kind of thing all the time, so she puts on her best sun dress and prances out arm in arm with a Damon bliss-drunk Elena, all smiles and laughter.
She is light.
It doesn't happen over night, but somehow, the contradictory storm mellows into parallel currents.
He spends the next century creating an empire, one he rules with the assistance of his siblings. (And would you look at that? Even Kol managed to revive himself from the otherside and join the party. Kings really do always get what they want, don't they, love?) He decimates his enemies, ravages opposing forces- covens, packs... no one is safe from the wrath of Klaus' discontentment. And when he finally, finally conquers the last of his oppressors- blood dripping from the fingertips of an outstretched hand in the air, a victory cry bubbling at the base of his throat -he turns slightly to the right and realizes he has no one to share this victory with, and if he hadn't literally obliterated any supernatural creature that showed the slightest hint of malice toward his intentions, Klaus could have sworn somebody had shoved their hand into his chest cavity and clenched his heart.
He holes himself up in his study that night paintbrush in hand, and paints a masterpiece that is so painfully and metaphorically her, even the self-absorbed Rebekah comments on the patheticness of his still burning infatuation for the simpleton back in Virginia.
(She has a hard time getting the stain of her own blood off of the one-of-a-kind vintage Chanel cocktail dress she adorns that evening. Bastard.)
She spends the next century planning exotic trips and tentatively visiting places she only caught glimpses of on the Travel Channel while flipping through One Tree Hill commercial breaks. Sometimes- usually when Damon and Elena are having one of their spats -the previous doppelganger will accompany her and the two of them will lounge around on the beaches of Cozumel, slipping blood bags in their strawberry margaritas, grateful for their daylight rings with this amazing island sun going on. (Wish you were here, Bon.) When Liz finally succumbs to the aggressive tumor in her brain, Caroline adapts a "life is too short to sit around here and wait for something to happen" attitude in her grief, and leaves Mystic Falls behind for good. (Don't cry, 'lena! Besides, it's not like she won't be back to visit ever!) And when she finally, finally winds up in Greece- perched on the balcony of her rented villa that overlooks the Mediterranean Sea during a beautiful sunset, glass of white wine in her hand- she tilts her head to the left and sees a second chair on the terrace that she hadn't noticed before, empty and mocking her fuzzy alcohol-laced realization that she is actually a little lonely.
She downs two more bottles of the complimentary Assyrtiko before going out to drink and dance the night away at a local pub, only stopping for a moment as one of the locals grabs her waist enthusiastically and compliments her dancing.
("Thanks," she replies casually, ignoring the lingering "If you must know, I've had training," on the tip of her tongue because this isn't a waltz and she's pretty sure this dance partner won't thank her for her honesty at the end of the night.)
Klaus spends the next fifty years as King, ignoring the dull ache of restlessness for something new.
Caroline spends the next fifty years as a nomad, slowly unaware of the old need for control blossoming inside her.
And then, by some grace of divine intervention, Klaus meets Enzo and of course they take to each other immediately. (What was that about specific types, Gorgeous?) Apparently he had followed Stefan, whom had long since rekindled some kind of a romance with the only living female Original, all the way to her co-kingdom of New Orleans, and wouldn't you know? He rather liked it here.
But Enzo being Enzo- the mischievously, devious troublemaker that he is, decides he's done tormenting The Rippah after all these years and after knowing what he knows about the Hybrid's past with his favorite blonde bombshell, and seeing first hand how much of Caroline's influence, even after all these years, breathes through the Mikaelson Mansion?
Well, he's got his work cut out for him. After all, a vampire's gotta have some kind of hobby.
Two rings is all it takes, because Enzo never calls her unless it's important. Or he's drunk in a bar and feels like reminiscing about their southbound road trip that apparently meant more to him than her.
Call connected.
"You have a minute and a half. I am literally about to board a plane to Fiji, where I will then board another plane so I can finally have the Bora Bora trip I've always wanted. So, unless Stefan is dying or Elena is post-Damon-breakup-threatening to kill herself again and not telling me, I will not be delayed. Got it?"
"Well hello to you too, Gorgeous. Can't say I'm particularly impressed with your methods in greeting an old friend after... how long has it been? A year?"
She can't help but laugh then, not only because he literally calls her once every few weeks, but also because she's reminded that her knack for being over-dramatic has rubbed off on him even after all these years.
"Really? Huh. It seems like only a few days ago you kept me up all night with play by play texts during your binge watching of Friends. Oh wait, that's because it was! Side note, you now only have one minute left."
"What can I say? Ross saying Rachel's name at the alter was brill-"
"Fifty seconds."
"Well perhaps if you stopped chirping like a bloody stop watch-"
"Forty five."
A long, masculine sigh fills the void of the receiver on her end, and even the blonde bites her lip to stifle a giggle. It's all fun and teasing with those two; it always has been.
"Alright, alright. Can't blame a man for wanting a bit of your time. Speaking of which, you'll never guess where I am right now. But you should try to, anyway. I still have about thirty seconds to kill."
A frustrated huff sent over to his end, because she knows that Enzo knows she's got a competitive spirit, and mixed with the fondness she holds for the brunette vampire, she'll humor him.
"I don't know. Prague? Italy? I think Stefan said he wanted to look into something in Venice last time I spoke to him, and if you're still playing mortal enemy-turned travel companion with him..."
"New Orleans, actually."
Oh.
Oh.
"... You still there, Gorgeous?"
"Yeah, sorry. Just... What are you doing there? Is everything... I mean, is anyone...-?"
"Now now, no need to worry your pretty little head. Stefan's just shacking up with the more feminine member of local royalty, and to be quite honest, I'm rather enjoying the company of the King himself. I'm told you're familiar- Niklaus? Mikaelson? Does the name ring a bell?"
And there it was, his conversational ace in the hole. Lucky for her, however, phone calls didn't translate flushed complexions and stiff hands all that accurately. Defensive sass tended to work much better.
"You and Klaus? Seriously? God, this is like the most stereotypical thing to happen since-"
But something changes in his voice, and would you look at that? Whitmore's star vampire still has a backbone.
"Look, Goldilocks- I'll be blunt. Because aside from my rugged good looks and charming personality, I know it's one of the qualities in me you admire..."
A scoff, but no rebuttal. (And wasn't that just interesting?)
"... He's not a good bloke. He isn't the kind, warm, unaware type that you usually allow to be spun into your perfect little web before dumping them to move on to bigger and better things. But he doesn't pretend to be something that he's not, and I daresay that's why you're drawn to him."
"I'm not-"
"Ah, ah, I've still got a few seconds. Anyway, Gorgeous, my point is you've spent nearly two centuries running from confronting your own desires- you're selfless; it's what you do -but haven't you realized that you owe it to yourself to be happy? I certainly don't prefer you miserable, and if you're not going to do it for yourself, at least think of poor me who will no doubt have to wallow with you, and honestly, how am I supposed to live my life if you're..."
But she tunes him out. Lets what he has to say resonate, but finds she can't concentrate because all she can think about are horses and crumpled pageant applications and she doesn't even realize she's breathing so heavily until the older man on the other line snaps her out of it.
"Caroline?"
"Listen,"
Resolve. Control. Stability. The perfect vocal mask weaved for the sole purpose of keeping people out and desires in.
"I've got a plane to catch. And as much as I would love to chat about how my decisions I make for myself affect you, I've got a tan to work on. So why don't you, I don't know, go bestow this annoying, newfound wisdom you've seemed to acquire on someone else? Maybe your new B.F.F?"
"Perhaps I will. But really, darling, there's no need to be jealous. You know you're my only-"
Click.
And Enzo, wise man, never does discuss anything of the nature with the Original Hybrid. After all, for it to be truly genuine, Caroline needs time to thoroughly plan out her next move and Klaus' reaction needs to be impulsive.
It is, after all, their thing.
She never boards the plane.
Eat your heart out Rachel Green.
Klaus is sitting in the living room, a first edition of Dickens in his lap when he hears a car pulling up. His lavish mansion is unusually empty today, as no doubt the youngest Salvatore sibling and his sister were off gallivanting about on the town- recklessly (foolishly) in love- while Kol and Lorenzo were mostly likely participating in an early afternoon pub crawl. The pitter patter of heels clicking on the cobblestone driveway has him assuming that Rebekah and Stefan have returned home for the day, and thus he goes back to his Great Expectations. Now, he thinks, he can continue to enjoy his day of leisure to the fullest until some part of his kingdom decides to crumble.
...I had never thought of being ashamed of my hands before; but I began to consider them a very indifferent pair. Her contempt for me was so strong, that it became infectious, and I caught it...
He stops mid-sentence and his brow furrows in confusion at the soft knock that echoes through the foyer. His darling sister is all about a dramatic entry, after all, so why on earth would she bother knocking? In her own home, none the less?
Still, he rises to answer it, gently setting the novel down onto the settee and trying not to question his own actions of willingness to humor his baby sister's whims. He braces himself for a solicitor- preferably one that he'll feel no guilt in draining after they pitch what they're selling as his followers know not to disturb him with unannounced personal visits -but upon opening the door, has the breath knocked completely out of his thousand year old lungs at the vision before him.
There she stands in all her ageless glory- perfect as the last time he saw her yet humming with a newfound knowledge and wisdom that him yearning to taste the secrets from her familiar skin. Her blonde hair is still wondrously curly and her eyes- oh, her eyes- are the most delicious shade of blue he has tried to replicate in vain for centuries and she just stands there and glows in his presence, completely unaware and yet mirthfully all-too-aware of the passion she elicits in him. His muse, his love...
His light.
Like a starved man, he moves forward, dry mouth slightly agape and exhaling the warmth that spreads through his very soul like hellfire. It's her. She's here. She's truly here, cheeks flushed a ravishing shade of rosemary and donning a smile that promises intentions of last loves. He exhales her name, but it is more of a desperate prayer and God help him, he- the millennial aged artist -is at a loss.
"Caroline."
She kisses him then, and it is not chaste. It's a turn table of dominance (that's him) and control (that's her) and tongue and teeth clash in ways that produce the appropriate amount of pleasure and pain, weaving into a familiar sense of contentment and something that just feels so right. Upper extremities cling to whatever they can, and hips press and grind against each other out of some primal need for completion that neither one is dressed appropriately to satisfy. It that's thought alone, one that their connection allows them to share, that has them breaking apart, gasping for air they don't really need.
It takes several moments for their breathing to find respective rhythms, but when they do, she is the first to break the silence.
"Hey," She smiles, arms winding around his neck and thousand-watt Caroline Forbes smile cranked up to the fullest. (And that's how you know it's genuine, really.) But he is still reeling from her arrival and after going so long without hearing her voice, groans, holding her impossibly closer and burying his face in her neck because This is it, he thinks. This is the moment he's been waiting for. The moment he doesn't deserve because she is Caroline and he is Klaus and although he's paid his dues and bided his time, he's come to accept that the only thing he is sure of in this world is that he is holding his forever in his arms and he cannot, under any circumstances, let that go. "Is it too late to take you up on that offer?"
He chuckles against the flesh of her throat, kissing the spot that his warm breath caresses. "I'm afraid I've made you several offers, love." Another kiss, right on her carotid artery where he had pulled from years and years ago. "You'll have to be a bit more specific."
She laughs then, and he'll be damned if it isn't music to his ears. And she knows he's absolutely right, but she also knows he knows which offer she's referring to. Still, he's earned himself a friendly reminder, and hey, if it's mutually beneficial that just makes it all the better, right?
"Paris... Rome... Tokyo." She hums lazily atop his bare chest, limbs tangled in the silk fabric of his bed sheets and each other. It's dark in his room- their room, he corrects her -but the glow of satisfaction has them both seeing white and if she's being honest, Caroline could have sworn she saw stars at the precipice of their reacquainting of bodies.
"Paris, Rome and Tokyo." He confirms, kissing her soundly the way a King lovingly bids his Queen good night.
In the end, the world shows them its secrets, an incredible feat considering one half of them is no stranger to its wonder.
And the storm ceases to exist, choosing instead to calm and lap against the inevitable shore.
A/N: Yay Klaroline. I might experiment with this ship more in the future because that was almost too fun to write.