Disclaimer: TVD belongs to JP and the CW and I am neither. Title is from the band This Will Destroy You.
tracks of never-ending light
A hundred years pass and Caroline takes up smoking. It gives her hands something to do, allows her to go outside and away from all the bodies in the club, their blood pounding in their veins and sweat making their clothes stick to their skin. She's not one for tempting fate, so she pulls out her half-empty pack of Marlboros and wanders outside to lean against the frozen brick wall. The cold settles between her shoulder blades and keeps her alert.
Liz Forbes would never have approved, but it's not like the smoking can kill her, Caroline reasons as she lights up. Besides, the nicotine bites harshly at her lungs and she's learned to French inhale, the smoke sliding up her nose and making the back of her throat burn. She had watched Grease twice a week for a year when she was thirteen, desperate to be cool enough for the Pink Ladies.
There's an unread text from Elena on her phone, a now-empty lighter is rattling around in her purse and her hair is stuck to the back of her neck. She's a mess.
But it's nice to not care for once. To not have the terror of imperfection held over her head all the time, all ironed skirts and not a curl out of a place. A far cry from right now—she flicks an amused look down at her glittery dress and hooker boots. Her tights have a run up one side and it makes her laugh.
"There's the smile I remember," a voice says idly from the shadows next to her. Caroline stiffens, every vertebrae straightening.
"And there's the stalker I remember," she retorts, flicking ash at him unabashedly. "Run out of willing Swedish girls, Klaus?"
He gives a low laugh that sends goosebumps traveling up her arms. "You know better than that, sweetheart," he chides, shifting slightly so that the dim light from the dying streetlamp reaches his face. Out of the corner of her vision—because she hasn't looked directly at him yet—she sees him narrow his eyes on the cigarette. And because she is nothing if not contrary, she lifts it to her lips and takes a nice, long drag, blowing the smoke in his direction. Her lipstick leaves a red ring around the end.
"Problem?" Caroline asks sweetly, dropping the remains of the cigarette to the ground and crushing it with the toe of her boot. She finds her tiny box of TicTacs and chomps down on one eagerly. Smoke breath is attractive on no one.
"Vice doesn't suit you," he says, his eyes tracing her movements. She feels a faint flutter of pride in herself when her body doesn't automatically react.
"I'll be the judge of that, thanks," she sniffs haughtily, leaning her head back against the ice-cold brick of the building and briefly shutting her eyes. Maybe he'll take the hint. Maybe he'll disappear back to wherever he's been all this time and finally, finally leave her alone.
But she really doubts it.
When she opens her eyes, he's right in front of her face and she thinks to herself that she totally called that; maybe the years have made him predictable. His fingers curl around her arms right below her elbows and his skin is impossibly warm for Stockholm in the dead of winter.
"What do you think you're doing?" she snaps, aiming for Bitch Queen of the Nile; but her voice comes out slightly breathy, which is just so annoying. "God, handsy much?"
She's not really scared of him, mostly because it's been a century and her heart is still perfectly intact in her sternum (or on her sleeve, if you ask Stefan). And then there's the whole thing where he's made it very clear that he wants her, badly, and he hasn't had her, so, you know. She's pretty sure she'll live on to fight the good fight.
His hips press down on hers and seriously, he's way too close and she's had one—okay fine, seven—too many shots for this. "You smell gross," she complains, trying to push herself further back into the wall. She needs her lower half away from his, like right now, because the desire to push her hips forward and let the chips fall where they may is traitorously burrowing its way through her brain.
His nose is in her neck and she feels his stubble graze her collarbone. So not helping. "Personal space," she protests lamely, but when her hands come up to push him off, they sort of just...stay on his chest.
"Caroline," Klaus says, voice all low and rumbling and damn it she is so suckered in. Whatever, she gives herself points for holding out for a century and promptly moves on to imaging what eleven hundred years can teach a guy. Her last relationship was way too long ago.
Realizing that he is waiting for her to respond, she blinks and says, "Mhmm?" Brilliance, thy name is Caroline.
"Your time is up."
Her dreamy haze starts to crack at the edges. "What time?" she asks, wrinkling her nose in confusion.
His mouth is on her ear. "Don't tell me you don't remember, sweetheart," he says with a grin, his breath warm on her neck and she narrows her eyes, one eyebrow arching up at him.
"I gave you and your gang of friends—" his knee is gently prying her legs apart but the fog of lust is long gone and her fingers stab him warningly in the ribs, "—a century. A hundred years to find what your little witchy friend knew and where she disappeared to. A century to bring me a Bennett."
Caroline fully shoves at him now, even though it's useless. He leans in and she presses herself flatter against the side of the building, the movement causing them to hitch together. His eyes darken and her hands curl into fists. "That's what this is about?" she demands angrily, shoving again. Klaus reaches up to brush a piece of hair off of her forehead with his index finger and she smacks his hand away.
"I'm open to suggestions," he says with a smirk and she scoffs at him.
"Never gonna happen, buddy," she taunts scornfully, willfully ignoring the fact that they're in a seriously compromising position and just three minutes ago, it might have totally happened. Thank God he opened his stupid mouth. "Even if I knew where Bonnie went, which I definitely don't, I wouldn't tell you. Chicks before dicks, dick."
The corner of his mouth twitches, dimples flashing for just a second. "Have you been taking your vervain like a good girl, Caroline?"
Her blood freezes in her veins and she sets her jaw, bristling at him. "Duh. I'm not a moron," she snaps and when a drunk clubber stumbles out into the snowy alley, she takes advantage of Klaus's momentary distraction to slip out of his grip.
Caroline thinks maybe she can manage to evade him once she's disappeared into the throbbing crowd. The lights are flashing, lasers pulsating and a random guy tries to dance with her as she heads towards the front exit. She pulls her phone out of her dress pocket and types out an atrociously spelled text to Stefan, warning him that Klaus has found her.
She'd bet her rent for the rest of the year that she never shook him off her trail.
There's a nice line forming at the taxi queue and Caroline briefly runs over the map of this part of Stockholm in her mind. If she takes back alleys the entire way home—and doesn't stop to try and translate the graffiti—maybe she can make it to her apartment before Klaus has time to follow.
The hair on the back of her neck stands up and she scratches that plan.
"I'm not helping you," she says without turning around and Klaus chuckles.
"I expect nothing less," he says genially, and she scoffs, rolling her eyes at him even though he's still behind her. "Loyalty is quite the admirable virtue."
She does turn around at that. "Sure," she retorts, rubbing her arms in an attempt to look like a normal human who forgot her coat in her desperation to evade a crazy psycho stalker. "Loyalty to you."
Klaus shrugs, not denying it and it irritates her. "I'm not helping you," she repeats firmly, a little more loudly than she means to. It draws the curious stares of the people standing in line for the taxi and she scowls, backing away towards the end of the street.
"Aren't you even the slightest bit happy to see me, love?" he wants to know, voice light; it sends a shiver of dread down her spine. "I came all this way."
"Nope," she tosses back carelessly, looking both ways before crossing the street. "You can go find some other lackey because personally, I'd rather swim in vervain. But thanks!" She hops onto the sidewalk, dodging the sludgy snow and salt piles. Her phone buzzes but before she can reach into her pocket to pull it out, Klaus is in front of her, his hands wrapping around her wrists.
"Caroline," he says dangerously, and all the friendliness and casual banter is gone from his voice. "You seem to think you have a say in the matter."
She barely has time to blink.
.
.
.
When she wakes up, she knows immediately they aren't in Stockholm anymore. The air smells different, salty. She coughs as she inhales, her neck stinging.
"Welcome back to the living," Rebekah says casually and Caroline slowly pushes herself up.
"Where am I?" she asks, her voice hoarse from lack of use. She rubs the back of her sore neck.
"Louisiana," Rebekah tells her, examining her manicure with disinterest. Caroline tries to hide her wince; she hasn't been this close to Mystic Falls since she high-tailed it out of town a century ago. "Your phone will not stop bloody beeping, you know." Rebekah sounds irritated as she picks the phone up from the small table next to her and tosses it Caroline's way. "Tell your horrible friends you're alive and make them back off, darling." The or you'll regret it remains unsaid.
Caroline glares at her as she picks her phone up off of the floor. Fifty-one missed calls, forty-nine voicemails and seventy-eight text messages—fuck, her bill is going to be astronomical.
Most of the voicemails are from Stefan just as most of the texts are from Elena—with a few of each from Damon sprinkled in there for good measure—and they start out only gently concerned. But by the end Elena has moved on to calling, Stefan's yelling into her ear and Damon mumbles something about everyone is going crazy so just answer the goddamn phone, Caroline.
Rebekah is watching her with a carefully blank expression as Caroline taps Stefan's name on her Favorites list. As soon as he picks up she says hurriedly, "I'm okay, I'm okay. Call off the cavalry."
He exhales heavily into the phone. "What kind of trouble are you in, Care?"
The sound of a door opening makes her look up. "The bad kind," she says quietly as Klaus smirks at her. "Stefan—"
Before she can finish her sentence, Klaus snatches her phone from her hand and holds it up to his ear. "Stefan, mate!" he says brightly, sending Caroline a smile that is more bared teeth than anything resembling humor. "How's Indonesia?" Caroline's eyes go wide.
Whatever Stefan says is too muffled for her to make out but Rebekah rolls her eyes and huffs. Klaus's feral grin remains. "Such vitriol, old friend. All that anger with nowhere to go is such a shame, wouldn't you agree?" Caroline's nails bite into her palm as she watches Klaus's face carefully for any sign of what Stefan is saying.
"Yes, well," Klaus drawls after a moment of silence, "I would advise that if you want to be part of this little adventure, Stefan, then you best book the next flight to New Orleans." He exchanges an unreadable look with Rebekah and Caroline says loudly, "Stefan, don't—"
"Just give me a reason, Caroline," Rebekah hisses, her hand jerking out as though the warning weren't enough. Caroline's mouth snaps shut but she flips them both the bird.
"Fantastic," Klaus crows triumphantly into the phone, hanging up before tossing it back to her and leaving the room. Fingers shaking, Caroline hits Stefan's name again, but it goes straight to voicemail.
"I guess you know where Elena and Damon are too," she bites off bitterly, swallowing the growing lump in her throat.
"We're nothing if not thorough," Rebekah confirms, flipping her hair over one shoulder and straightening her blouse. "You lot spread out quite a bit, you know."
"I'm aware," Caroline spits, leaning back against the wall. Rebekah tilts her head and gazes at her wrinkled dress, the same one from the Swedish nightclub. At least no one had tried to change her clothes, Caroline reasons, opting for the silvering lining. Straws, Forbes. You're grasping at them.
"Go get cleaned up, Caroline," Rebekah suggests quietly and the gentleness of her tone sets all of Caroline's instincts on high alert. "We've got a busy time ahead of us."
That hardly helps ease her mind.
The shower's water is hot but the pressure leaves a lot to be desired. Caroline scrubs at her skin and scalp, trying her damnedest to wash away the feeling of lingering guilt. It settles in the bottom of her stomach and nests there, burning at her insides. She can't explain its presence; she hasn't given anything away, doesn't know anything to give away. Them's the rules—they know nothing: nothing of each other's whereabouts, routines, or lives.
Caroline hasn't seen Stefan, Elena, or Damon in a hundred years—not outside of her computer screen. They don't communicate other than the occasional text message and every conversation is carefully worded to reveal as little as possible. She has no idea where they are, what they're doing, or who else they're with; only that Elena and Damon are together and she and Stefan are alone. Typical.
The bitterness at the thought faded a long time ago, but sometimes it still tears at her.
When she emerges from the bathroom, her hair damp and her skin red, Rebekah hands her a set of clothing. "I know it's a chore for you, Caroline, but do try and look pretty," she says snippily and seriously, what is with this family and their mood swings?
Caroline pushes her wet hair out of her face and ignores the insult. "What's going on, Rebekah?"
Rebekah sets her jaw, all of the earlier gentleness erased from her face. "I'm sure if you think hard on it, you'll figure it out."
"I know the bare bones," Caroline says, taking the clothes into the bathroom with her and leaving the door cracked. They are her exact size and it's as creepy as it is convenient. "Klaus wants Bonnie. That part wasn't exactly hard to figure out, considering that he, you know, told me." She pulls the denim shorts up past her hips and fastens the button. "I don't know where she went, Rebekah. None of us do."
Rebekah snorts from behind the door. "Right," she says sarcastically. "You and the doppelganger know nothing about the whereabouts of your third musketeer, yet somehow the day after she turns up missing, the lot of you scatter the globe." She snorts again. "How daft do you think I am?"
Caroline combs the tangles out of her hair before squeezing the excess water out. "You have trust issues," she says sagely, pulling the shirt over her head. "But with a brother that keeps killing you, it's hardly your fault."
Rebekah snarls and yanks the door open. "It's never permanent," she grits through her teeth and Caroline raises her eyebrows, her expression sympathetic.
"Of course not," she agrees, her voice serene and full of understanding. "That would be unforgivable."
Rebekah's eyes narrow and she fires back, "When was the last time you saw your sweet mutt, Caroline?"
The subject is hardly unexpected but it's still a kick in the gut. "A hundred years," Caroline says honestly, the old pain flaring for just a second. "You know that, Rebekah. He left before Bonnie did."
Rebekah looks as though she wants to say something but a knock on the door, followed by its swift opening silences her.
"Time to go," Klaus says, and when his eyes fall on her, she makes a point of looking away as she slides into her flip-flops.
.
.
.
The sun is diamond-bright in a cloudless sky and Caroline fumbles around in her purse for her sunglasses, tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. She's grateful when neither Klaus nor Rebekah seem to notice.
"So where exactly are we going?" she demands once her wayfarers are securely resting on the bridge of her nose. Rebekah scoffs and ignores the question to keep walking ahead but Klaus glances back over his shoulder.
"We're going to see a priest," he says as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. Caroline stops in her tracks so suddenly that the guy behind her nearly bumps into her.
"Sorry," she says to the tourist, who seems a lot less irritated and a lot more intrigued when she flashes him a bright smile. Klaus gives a growl that makes Caroline's grin drop and she hurries to catch up with him and Rebekah.
"Unnecessary," she rebukes Klaus, glaring at him from behind her Ray-bans. He looks entirely unconcerned.
"We have an appointment to keep, sweetheart," he tells her, his hand wrapping around her upper arm to pull her along with him.
"Aren't you afraid you'll burst into flames?" Caroline taunts, resentment flaring across her face as she narrows her eyes at his fingers. The whole man-handling thing is getting really old, really fast. "Since you're the most evil being of all time and all that."
"Not that kind of priest, darling," Rebekah says from a few feet ahead of them and Caroline really wishes she'd quit it with the whole 'darling' thing. "Didn't they teach you anything at that wretched high school?"
Caroline bristles. The loss of graduation still eats at her and she thinks wistfully of how she had packed her acceptance letter to USC in the bottom of her bag before she left Mystic Falls. "Why don't you enlighten me?" she suggests sharply.
Before Rebekah can respond, Klaus cuts in. "We're here."
And now Caroline's even more confused because it's just a house—there is literally nothing that is out of the ordinary about it. There are some toys scattered in the front yard, a dog barking threateningly at them from somewhere unseen, and wind chimes tinkling from the ceiling of a porch.
But on closer look, the wind chimes are made of what looks suspiciously like small bones and Caroline's stomach starts to roll. Klaus strides up to the door and pounds on it twice, rocking back on his heels impatiently. The door swings open and a tiny, graying old woman peers up at him entirely without fear.
"I've been expecting you," the woman says gravely. "Do come in." She motions them inside with one wrinkled hand and Caroline follows closely behind Rebekah, jumping at every creak of the floorboards.
There is very little about the front rooms of the house to distinguish it from millions of other homes, but the old woman leads them into an inner room hidden by a long curtain. Once inside, the air in her lungs leaves her.
Bones hang from the ceiling, dangling low and ominous. Lit candles surround an elaborate altar and almost immediately Caroline smells the coppery scent of blood. Her mind races, the pieces falling into place—New Orleans, the bones, the altar, the blood—voodoo.
Before Caroline can take another step forward, Klaus appears in front of her. "This is where you stop, sweetheart," he says, taking her wrists and propelling her backwards.
"What are you doing in there?" she demands as they move out of the room, the front of his thighs brushing hers as he pushes her out. Klaus lets go of her wrists and pauses at the doorway, something dark glinting in his eyes. His thumb strokes her temple and runs down the side of her face to the line of her jaw; she jerks away.
"All in good time," he says cryptically and she's seriously about to scream at him as he vanishes back into the dark room.
She huffs at the closed door and collapses onto the worn couch, sitting there as the clock ticks.
And then realization strikes her.
No one's watching her.
No one's waiting for her outside.
She could run.
Caroline stands straight up, hardly daring to breathe as she tries to stay as silent and stealthy as possible. She tiptoes to the front door, wincing with every moan and groan of the wooden floorboards. The screen door creaks as she pulls it open and she pauses, glancing warily over her shoulder. No one comes barreling through the curtain to stop her and, barely believing that Klaus of all people could be so careless, she steps out into the sunshine.
She walks as quickly as she can away from the house, casting nervous looks behind her every so often to reaffirm that no one is behind her. Jaywalking like a champ, she makes her way into the inner heart of New Orleans, the humidity making her hair stick to the back of her neck. Weaving through the crowd expertly, she pulls her phone out and dials Elena.
"Where are you?" Elena demands before Caroline can say anything.
"New Orleans," she whispers, hunching her shoulders as she flits around people. "Stefan's on his way, I think. Do not come here, Elena. I mean it."
Elena sighs into the phone. "What's Klaus doing, Care?"
"Hell if I know," Caroline replies, the hair on her arms standing up in warning. She doesn't look around but slides into a narrow alley connecting two parallel streets. "Whatever he tells you Elena, whatever he does—don't fall for it. Nothing good will—"
Her phone is snatched out of her hand and her stomach sinks as she's flattened against the side of the alley.
"Sorry, Elena, but Caroline has to go," Klaus snarls into the speaker before cracking her phone into pieces and tossing them to the wayside. Before the jagged remains can hit the ground, he's pinned her wrists to her sides.
"Asshole," she spits at him and his eyes are pure obsidian, angry veins starting to appear below them.
"I don't think you quite understand your position here, Caroline," he growls and she swallows her nerves.
"Then why don't you explain it to me," she snaps back through gritted teeth, testing at the strength of his restraint. Klaus's grip tightens in response and he steps closer.
"Your little Bennett friend," he says slowly, a frightening edge to his voice. "Her blood is the key to the cure."
Her heart is hammering against her ribs, the blood pounding furiously in her ears. "It's been a century, Klaus. Bonnie's dead."
Their faces are barely inches apart; Caroline can see the flecks of gold starting to stir beneath the endless dark blue. "It makes no difference," he bites out, "seeing as she left behind children."
Sudden fury washes her over and she slams her knee up between his legs, catching him off guard. "You prick," she hisses, jumping way from the wall and backing away from him. "You're not going near Bonnie's family! You don't even know what the cure is!"
His face is terrifyingly devoid of anger but she's still furious with him and it outweighs the fear. "That's where you're wrong, Caroline," he says coolly, taking her elbow as he walks past her, dragging her along with him. "I know exactly what it is."
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tbc.
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