i don't even have any excuses anymore. melissa is the danger. i am weak for praise. scream at me about fic and i'll probably be at your mercy.
originally posted on my tumblr (highgaarden!).
.
.
higher than the empire state
.
.
"Why exactly do you need chloroform at 2AM?" is not a question Caroline ever expected to have to ask when she signed her name to be part of this company two years ago.
Nor did she ever expect to have to ask at 2AM.
Or that she'd still be in the office. At 2AM.
See where she's getting here?
"Why are you still in the office," her boss peers at her over his pinball machine, "at 2AM?"
Her mouth opens, and then close, and she has to think really hard whether or not pissing off her boss would be worth it, at 2AM, when he steps out from behind the pinball machine and she sees that he's quite naked from the hip-down.
"Mr. Mikaelson!" she screeches, looking everywhere but him, "I'm going to need you to put on some underwear before you say anything else."
"Please, Mr. Mikaelson is what they call me in meetings," he grins salaciously at her, "and in the bedroom. You can call me Kol."
.
.
.
And the reason why her boss would need chloroform isn't even something she should, could, or would be trying to dig out (at 2AM), if Alaric hadn't decided, suddenly, in the middle of a meeting no less, that he wanted to spend the rest of his days learning how to swallow fire on a beach in the Philippines.
"My courses start next Wednesday!" he boasts in an attempt to bid them adieu, stuffing case after case in the back of the town car he'd called up. "Good bye, everybody! Or as the Filipinos say, Paalam!"
The car screeches off.
"One day," Stefan says wistfully, "I, too, hope to be rich enough to be able to trade my company with a no-return flight ticket on ."
Bonnie just wrinkles her nose. "So does this mean we're unemployed or what?"
"Not quite," says a voice behind them.
Bonnie, Stefan and Caroline turn to see a pair of shiny shoes, a sharp suit, and a terrifyingly-calm man standing behind them. In that order.
The crumpled piece of paper Alaric had pressed into her hand right before slamming the car door shut is barely legible, and after a good deal of squinting Caroline asks, "Are you Mr. Mikaelson?"
"Please, Mr. Mikaelson is what it says on my last will," he smiles, "Call me Elijah."
.
.
.
"The chloroform, sweet Caroline?" Kol asks, in a tone that implies it isn't really a question. His hands are already outstretched. At the doubt on her face he says, "I need it to test out a theory."
She's in a storage room with Kol, it's 2:17am, and he is thankfully adequately pants-ed.
"What theory?" she asks, in a tone that implies she knows the proper way to ask a question. "And you were right, how did you know Kai from IT would have some in his third desk drawer?"
"Malachai isn't really from IT," Kol reveals conversationally as he tips the bottle onto a silk handkerchief he'd pulled out of his pocket, monogrammed R. Mikaelson. "He's the hitman I hired."
"I—" Caroline clamps her mouth shut. This has got to be a joke, right? Employee hazing, must be. "Okay," is what she says instead.
Kol regards her appraisingly. "You're a good sport!"
At that exact moment, the door to the storage room swings open and in walks a man, and with a gait Kol gave no hint of possessing he's caught the man in a chokehold and pressed the monogrammed handkerchief to his face.
Caroline screams.
.
.
.
"You're very shrill," Kol narrows his eyes at her. "There was no mention of that in your resume."
"You tried to kidnap a man in front of me!"
"That kidnapping thing only ever works in movies," Kol tells her, rather reproachfully, but its effect on her is diminished somewhat by the fact that he's hanging by his ankles from the ceiling.
"As an anaesthetic, chloroform is much too slow to be effective," the man who'd Kol had tried to accost says while buttoning his sleeves again. "There is no way you could just clap a chloroform-soaked cloth over someone's face and expect them to pitch sideways. Which is what anybody with half a brain would know."
"Was that the theory you were testing?" Caroline asks Kol.
Kol gestures at the chains, "Rather ineffectively."
All things considered, Caroline was taking this all rather well. Alaric had traded the company for a mimosa on a beach for Chrissake, it was totally expected that her career would be shambled by a family with questionable backgrounds.
Her suspension of disbelief about most things since the Mikaelsons had taken over had skyrocketed. Or maybe it was the fact that she'd been on her feet all day and her shoes were killing her.
And because it looks like Kol isn't going to apologize anytime soon no matter how blotchy his face is getting, Caroline turns to the man whom she'd recognized from the company profile as the third shareholder in Mikaelson, Mikaelson, Mikaelson, Mikaelson & Mikaelson, and says, with as much conviction as she can muster at 2:31AM, "I'm very sorry about this, Mr. Mikaelson."
"Please, Mr. Mikaelson is what's on my father's tombstone," he says with a frown. "I'm Klaus."
.
.
.
"I hope my brother didn't cause you much grievance," Klaus tells her as he walks her to the front door. "You can have tomorrow off, if you like," he adds, sympathetically, like that's supposed to make her forget the sight of him chaining his brother to the ceiling.
It's a start, though.
And honestly, Caroline would love nothing better than to take him up on the offer, but there's the meeting with St. James tomorrow, next month's PR plan she had to brainstorm with Bonnie, proposals to make sure Damon hadn't screwed up, the new intern coming in… The screen of her phone lights up with a swipe, and she sees that it's inching towards 3AM, and she sighs wearily at the thought of the twenty-five-minute subway ride, her unwashed hair, the night of sleep she'd missed in lieu of helping her new lunatic boss try to drug his brother, who had taken it like it was something that happened every other Tuesday. At 2AM.
"If it's the commute you're worried about," Klaus says slowly, "you could always spend the night here. In the guest quarters."
Caroline, who'd just slung her bag over her shoulder, blinks at him. "Guest quarters?"
.
.
.
Alaric had always given them free reign of the office building, but the top five floors had always been off-limits. Not by any explicit rule or anything, but simply because nobody really wanted to take the trek up and have to go through his entire collection of artisanal spoons just to get his approval on something. Which is why the top five floors remained a mystery, and sometimes even forgotten.
Klaus leads her down a hallway to an elevator she's pretty sure has never existed before, and she thinks that maybe this isn't an initiation tactic anymore and maybe she's being lead to her death seeing as how Kol was still hanging upside down in the storage room spouting profanities, and Klaus isn't saying anything at all, just staring down jabbing buttons on his phone, elevator music loud in her ears, and she's about to really show how shrill she can be when the elevator dings, and—
"We're here," Klaus says and pockets his phone.
The carpeting feels lush even under her heels. Klaus makes some non-committal gestures towards the library lounge – library lounge! – and a dining room that could easily fit a party of twenty-four.
"Usually Frederic would still be up, but he was rather attached to Alaric, it would seem," Klaus says as he presses some buttons and another room floods with golden light, but Caroline's eyes are glued to the terrace that gave a view to basically the entire New York skyline.
"Frederic?" she asks as she approaches the glass. It's cool to the touch. She's never really seen the city from quite so high before.
"The butler."
"Butler," she repeats, rather weakly.
"You'll have to make do with me," Klaus says ruefully, like he isn't her boss or anything. "Right, the rooms are through here, if you'll follow me— Miss Forbes?"
Caroline turns away from the skyline reluctantly. "What did you do with all of Alaric's spoons?"
"Donated them to the Bertha Schaefer Koempel Spoon Collection."
"You're serious."
"Entirely." Klaus clears his throat. "Let's get you your rest now."
The room Klaus shows her is larger than her entire apartment. Klaus seems eager to point out the "classic décor tilted towards the 18th century Régence period, if you have an eye for these things", the cabinetry "upholstered with lilac and navy leather, Elijah wanted to go with burgundy before I talked sense into him", the "bed shipped all the way from France, in which many a royal beddings have occurred".
Caroline has to keep her mouth from falling when Klaus pushes aside the draperies to reveal a private roof garden, and the view that comes with it. "Who—who stays here?"
"It was designed with our work schedule in mind, you know how hectic things can get, especially with the holidays coming up—"
"So you stay here."
Klaus glances down at his shoes for the briefest of moments before flicking his eyes back to hers, "I do, sometimes."
"So where are you staying tonight?" The question is halfway out her mouth when she realizes how it might sound to him, but her mouth-to-brain filter sort of expires in the hours between midnight and six: Klaus, on his part, tries hard to hide the smirk making its way across his lips. But then he must remember that despite all the luxury that comes with a Mikaelson payroll, despite being ankle deep in carpeting so plush they might as well be in a grand suite somewhere, they're still within the boundaries of office not-quite hours—another clearing of his throat and he folds his hands behind his back.
"Heading back to my office, actually. I have a conference call with Beijing HQ in a bit."
Just the mention of work reminds Caroline of the weariness she feels. "Thanks for letting me stay here," she says uncertainly. She inches ever so subtly towards the bed, already imagining how good the bajillion-thread count might feel against her skin.
"It's a little premature to say, but I imagine you'll enjoy your night here," Klaus says. Caroline can't quite tell if he's flirting with her or not, or maybe she's imagining the hand that hovers close to her back as he guides her deeper into the room, "I've already arranged for your PA to bring you fresh clothes first thing tomorrow."
"Mm," she says, falling backwards on the bed, "s'nice of you."
"Good night, Miss Forbes."
"It's Caroline," she says before her eyes close.
.
.
.
Caroline wakes up with her heels still on, not even a wrinkle on the sheets, marvelling at the smell of coffee in the air. Klaus is nowhere in sight when she waits in front of the elevator, and she chastises herself for even expecting that of him after all that he's already extended the night before. She's about to swoop right into her office when Bonnie stops her in her tracks, sniffing the air around her.
"You smell good. New shampoo?"
Technically… "Something like that."
"What is it?" Bonnie asks, even as she's scrolling down the day's schedule in her tablet, "cause I've been looking for a new one to switch to for a while now."
"I can't actually remember?"
Bonnie pauses. "You can't remember."
Dread settles in Caroline's stomach.
"You. The girl who owns a sizable collection of bathroom amenities and remembers every ingredient that goes into them. Can't remember." And with one final size-up, asks, "Do I know him?"
"Bonnie," Caroline hisses.
"You're wearing your default spent-the-night-at-the-office outfit! It's the least offensive, metal-classy, and doesn't require much thought to plan out on April's part," Bonnie recites Caroline's own words with a smirk.
Flustered, Caroline grapples for an excuse, but then Kol saunters into the office whistling, and upon seeing her calls out, "Good morning! I really must admire your resolve to leave me chained up last night, darling, even if you did leave me bruised where it matters."
Damon, files and all, walks right into the glass doors.
.
.
.
"His feelings," Caroline says, levelly, to the group of interns that had flocked around her desk at lunchtime. "He was talking about his feelings."
One of the cheekier of the bunch guffaws. "Sure!"
Caroline narrows her eyes.
Five minutes later he's packing up his things, and the other interns flee from her sight. Honestly, if she has to deal with one more person knocking on her door—
"I heard congratulations are in order?"
"He was talking about his feelings!" she exclaims, exasperated. She slams her laptop shut, only to be greeted with the sight of Klaus leaning against her door.
"Who was talking about his feelings?"
"Your brother," Caroline responds with gritted teeth. "After your whole show of leaving him in the storage room last night. Now everybody things we're sleeping together."
Klaus' eyebrows fuse together. "Because I chained him up by his ankles?"
"No, because—" Caroline takes in a sharp breath. "You know what, never mind. Did you need anything?"
"Lorenzo called me, he said you saved that merger mess from going up in smoke. I wanted to congratulate you myself." Klaus crosses his arms. "Does everybody really think you're sleeping with Kol?"
"Office gossip. Hopefully something scandalous happens later and everyone forgets about this. Which, judging by the way Damon keeps hanging around April's desk, is inevitable." She manages a reassuring smile. Klaus doesn't look convinced. "I'm fine, really."
Klaus' face takes on the look of something thoughtful.
.
.
.
At exactly one minute before 6pm, everyone's inboxes ding.
"Holy shit," Stefan says. "Three whole months?"
"Grams!" Bonnie cries into her phone, "Guess we're going to Europe after all!"
"It's Thirsty Thursday every night from here on end!" Damon raises his fist in the air.
In a show of spectacular solidarity, everyone raises their fist as well.
All except one.
.
.
.
"Mister Mikaelson!"
"Miss Forbes."
"It's Caroline."
"And it's Klaus," Klaus says as automatically as the elevator doors shutting behind her.
"This is so wrong."
"I can show you my identification card if you like."
"No, not your name— what you just did!" Caroline brandishes her phone in his face. "Three months' bonus for exemplary performance? And you expect the good people of Mikaelson, Mikaelson, Mikaelson, Mikaelson & Mikaelson to buy it?"
"It appears they did," Klaus says of the muffled hollering they can still hear, even as the elevator starts its smooth ascent upwards. "It was either that or strippers, but with Damon and Kol around it seemed like a lawsuit waiting to happen."
"Why?"
"You seemed uncomfortable by the office gossip," Klaus says, looking uncomfortable himself.
Caroline's eyes narrow into slits, she leans closer, hisses right in his face, "More like you're uncomfortable with people thinking I'm sleeping with your brother."
"It would be very bad, I think, if people were to focus on gossip rather than their assigned tasks," Klaus says with as much dignity as the space between them allows, which is impressive, since Caroline can be pretty formidable when she's in this state according to Stefan.
"Bullshit," Caroline laughs derisively. "I'm being bought."
"You're not wrong there. The whole company was."
"Is it always money no option with the Mikaelsons and Saltzmans of the world?"
"Only when the transactions are worth it." Klaus grins at her then, and Caroline is so surprised by the sudden interest she finds in his smile that she takes a step back. In truth, if she tilts her head and squints, Klaus looks a bit put out. There'd been a set to his eyebrows when she'd stopped the elevator, a blue balloon, right before she'd slammed her phone in his face.
"You didn't seriously think I'd appreciate this, did you?" She asks. Baffled. Within reason.
If Klaus had looked uncomfortable before, the only thing holding him under her gaze must be that stiff-looking suit of his. Amazing, how his moods fluctuate. "I thought you would have at least thanked me."
"For buying my way out of this?"
"No, for restoring order to the firm—"
"—all that unnecessary cost—"
"—if I'd known you were going to be ungrateful—"
"—could've at least given me a heads up—"
"—and it wouldn't have ended with you barging into my elevator—?"
"—could've paid for Kol's hitman instead—!"
"—of course you would readily accept what Kol tells you—"
"—Kai isn't actually a hitman?"
"—the amount of knowledge he has of commissioned murder is about as much knowledge Kol has of our accounts. None. Well—possibly a smidge here or there thanks to Google, but – no, I wouldn't say—"
The elevator shudders to a stop. "So why does Kai have chloroform in his third desk drawer?"
"Kai has chloroform in his third desk drawer?" asks a third voice.
Caroline's head swivels past the now-parted elevator doors to see a blonde with impeccable hair, her eyebrows strung together in a glare much like the pearls around her neck. "I knew it was him who'd stolen it! That sly brat barely flinched when I had it beaten out of him! What's your name, informant?"
"Caroline Forbes." No hint of recognition in the blonde's eyes, although Caroline does recognize her. "Head of Corporate Comms? I'm supposed to brief you in on the St. James merger later, Miss Mikaelson."
"Please, Miss Mikaelson is what my ex-boyfriend made the mistake of calling me before I dumped his arse," she sniffs. "It's Rebekah." To her brother, she demands, "Nik, give this girl a raise for her unsolicited information."
"I already have," Klaus says with a churlish grin while Caroline glowers, "three months' worth, to be exact."
.
.
.
"Am I forgiven yet?" he asks.
In truth, she'd forgotten all about that when Rebekah shoved them out of the elevator so she could head down to 'see to some business'. And when the smell of the outdoors had engulfed her senses. She almost trips into this world of green, a daze settling around her. She reaches out and touches dew on leaves, her fingers stroke the soft furl of petals. She hears the murmur of a gurgling brook, somewhere.
"How did you put an entire botanical garden in here?"
"The same way I installed an observatory on the rooftop." Klaus slips his hands into his pockets and watches her crouch down to breathe in the summer scent of heirloom flowers. "Money talks."
Caroline sighs into the petals. "Not for people like me, Klaus."
Klaus looks puzzled. "But you worked for Saltzman. He was known to be quite generous to his employees."
"Only when we've earned it," Caroline says quietly. "And in case last month's PR disaster escaped you, he also sold his company to become a fire eater."
"Then tell me, lo—Caroline." Klaus walks over to a bench and sits. He doesn't ask her to join him, nor does he go to join her. "How do I acquit myself?"
"Well, you and your expensive spending can leave me alone, for one." Her next cutting remarks dies on her tongue when she sees the way he's listening to her, attentively, like it wasn't some question he'd conjured out of thin air to get him out of the dog house. Which is strange, being in a botanical garden with him, waterfall and all, and not know what it is exactly he does here. She wonders if money is all that defines his position, but then he's staring up at her, waiting for her next move. Very much unlike that of a man who could buy himself anything he wanted. "For two," she says, straightening up. His eyes never leave hers. "Show me what else you've got hidden on these floors."
A broad smile spreads across his lips; Klaus looks entirely like a Cheshire cat – Caroline tries to force any and all thoughts of Alice out of her mind. "Now that, Caroline. That, I can do."
.
.
.
"Are you fuc—this place revolves?"
"How else to make certain the plants receive all the sunlight they require?"
"What do you even need this for?"
A shrug. "A man needs hobbies."
.
.
.
In between meetings and unfortunate bumping-intos of Kol in the café, Klaus finds the time to seek her out, to bring her deeper into the mysterious veins of Mikaelson, Mikaelson, Mikaelson, Mikaelson & Mikaelson.
After three trips to the botanical gardens there was the library to explore. Klaus does not lead her this time—he waits by the cream double doors as she walks in with hushed silence, lips parting in a soundless gasp. She is very thankful of the patterned ceramic beneath her feet as she stares up and up and up (and up), surrounded by the nostalgic scent of musty old books, all arranged high up into the fretworked roof, the painted frescos.
Everywhere she sees, the scalloped strips of hand-decorated leather greet her, a light layer of dust as if to prove the stillness of this new universe. "I've never seen so many books before," she breathes.
"There are over 70, 000 here."
"When?" begs her question. "How?"
"Careful, Caroline."
She stops twirling long enough to catch her breath. Klaus is still by the door, an amused tilt to his smile. "Do you ever go home?"
"What do you mean?"
"It seems like you have everything you need, right here in this building." This boring, old office building; turned inside out to reveal its brightly painted underbelly, junipers and stardust and all that in between.
"I do go home, yes. Mostly."
"And where's that?"
"Long Island."
Caroline raises her eyebrows. "Quite a drive, there."
"I use the family helicopter."
Caroline lets out a bark of a laugh. "Of course. The question I should really be asking is what don't you have, huh?"
She climbs up the winding staircase to an alcove crammed to creaking point with books and digests of every colour conceivable.
Klaus finally steps into the room. There is a globe in the corner, and he spins it, his finger landing on random continents, dip into painted seas. "You would be surprised, Caroline."
"Damn straight I'd be," Caroline snorts. "Imagine something the almighty Mikaelsons couldn't sign a check for."
"Imagine that," Klaus says shortly. His finger causes enough friction to slow the spinning of the globe and at long last it comes to a stop; his finger lands nowhere.
.
.
.
Another floor:
"This is where we keep our vintage reels—"
There's the sound of a crash, a hoarse wail.
"Are you playing something?" Caroline peeks into the theatre with interest, about to walk in until Klaus places a hand on her arm.
"Not that I know of."
The thudding grows louder – there's the muffled sound of yelling, and then Rebekah appears behind the red velvet curtains, eyes bright. "Nik! I thought I said I'd have the theatre today?"
"That you did, sister," Klaus nods. "Must have slipped my mind."
There's a rustle behind the curtains, and suddenly Tyler, resident beefcake, ducks into the room too. "Rebekah, what do you want to do about the mess?"
"We're filming something," Rebekah smiles at Caroline. "Do come watch when it's all done?"
"Sounds violent," Caroline winces as she hears something crack.
"Art always has to be, I find. You wouldn't understand." Rebekah raises an eyebrow. "Nik, see her out, would you?"
"Make sure you clean up after," Klaus says warningly, already placing a light hand on Caroline's back. "And your lipstick's smudged, Bekah."
Rebekah twists her lips. "I lost my hanky again. I swear there are people out for my things here."
.
.
.
Caroline is early one day, which is feat considering her normal is already early enough as it is: but she is early today, she'd sprayed some of her special-occasion perfume on her wrists before she'd headed out the door, like an afterthought. She raises her wrist to her nose to breathe it in, feeling self-cautious suddenly, but convinces herself to think of the four proposals she has of Damon's to go through instead.
Later, if Klaus stands closer than he usually does to show her his art collection, she thinks nothing of that either.
.
.
.
The last of the rooms to be explored is the observatory. Klaus insists on waiting for sundown for this. That he has dinner already laid out for them is not really a surprise to Caroline, who'd taken care in choosing shoes that showed off her ankles that morning, her favourite dress that fell in soft folds about her knees.
What does come as a surprise is the eldest, often missing Mikaelson sitting at the head of the table, napkin tucked into his collar, cutting up his lamb into even squares. He greets them with a shrewd nod, chews exactly forty-three times before saying, "The lamb is dry."
Caroline has the strangest urge to apologize, to soothe the worry of the world from his neatly-parted hair, until he finishes, "It is as if my day knew the importance of ending on a symphonic note. Come, brother, come, guest – join me for dinner."
"Your dinner—"
"Thank you, Mr. Mikaelson," Caroline steps in smoothly, sinking her gorgeous heel into Klaus' shoe. She smiles warmly.
"Mr. Mikaelson has a rather dolorous tone to it, do you not think?" he asks in a dolorous tone. "You may address me as Finnegan."
"Finnegan?" Klaus goes to pull a chair out for Caroline, slight limp in his left foot. "Don't tell me you've gone and changed your bloody name again."
"Finn sounds rather dense to one's ears."
"I know of other things that sound dense to one's ears," Klaus mutters into his wine.
"Your presence is titillating as always, brother."
.
.
.
There is nothing that can be said about the observatory that Caroline hasn't already exclaimed. Klaus seems to be in a pensive mood, so she peeks through a telescope, content to entertain herself, even if it isn't punctuated by his usual offensive remarks.
"There are no more floors to be toured after this," Klaus says finally some time later.
"That's unfortunate. You know what else is unfortunate? All this goddamn city smog. Can't see a single thing."
Klaus tilts her telescope for her. "Venus. Right there."
"Ooh." She swings the telescope in a mad search of the skies, "This might be my favourite office of yours."
"It's partly open space. I don't think it counts as an office." He clears his throat. "Do you have a lot of work to get back to, then?"
"Nah, I got them done over the weekend."
"So you always work over the weekends?"
"Says a lot about my personal life, doesn't it?"
"It's quite telling," Klaus concedes. And then, silence again.
Caroline rolls her eyes. "I would have said yes."
Klaus coughs. "What?"
"If you asked," Caroline goes back to stargazing. "But you didn't."
"Would you?"
"Would I?"
Behind her, he lets out a breath of frustration. "You're impossible."
"What are you gonna do, build more floors?"
"If it means I get to spend more time with you," Klaus says obstinately, "then yes."
Her grip tightens around the shaft of the telescope. "Always resorting to that old trick."
"I don't know what you mean," Klaus says. She feels him come closer. "And I'm being truthful. Trickery is the last thing on my mind when it comes to courting you."
"And the first?"
His finger under her chin. Her face turning towards his. Her heart beating louder. His hand curving around her back. "Throwing caution to the wind."
"I would have thought it would be to kiss me," Caroline says. Her breath is coming up shallow now; his eyes drop to her lips.
"Must everything be in the correct order with you?"
Caroline allows her eyes to flutter shut. "I'm waiting."
She doesn't have to wait long, thank God. His lips meet hers, a softness in the way the slant—her knees buckle of their own accord but his arm holds her up, closer, folding her into his warmth.
One of them tilts their heads and the kiss deepens; her hands find their way to his hair as his travel lower to cup her ass and – oh yeah, this is good. It's only when she parts her lips that Klaus sees it as an invitation, tongue tasting tongue, hips meeting hips, coaxing a whimper from her, an appreciative grunt from him.
Caroline is the first one to pull away. The room is spinning, she's panting into his mouth. Klaus' eyes don't look so blue with the way he's looking at her. True, there are no more floors to explore. It might have been more romantic with stars about, but this is New York, and maybe there are some things you can't buy. She finds herself laughing softly at this.
Klaus nuzzles his nose into her neck. "Something funny?"
"I think I like you a lot better now."
The flat of his tongue against the pulse in her neck shoots animal pleasure right down her spine, and she thinks, yes, she likes Klaus a lot. "Let's go down."
And Klaus does. On her. Much later, of course.
.
.
.
"I hope my brother didn't cause you much grievance," Klaus tells her as he walks her to the front door.
"I think he bothered you more than he did me," Caroline replies.
"You can have tomorrow off, if you like," Klaus grins, "seeing as how you've overworked yourself tonight."
Caroline sends him a withering glare as she presses her finger to the scanner; it beeps, the door clicks open. "Good night, Klaus."
"Wait."
Caroline turns, eyebrow quirked. Klaus lets the door of Mikaelson, Mikaelson, Mikaelson, Mikaelson & Mikaelson swing shut behind him. "Good night, love."
"Was that it?" Caroline asks.
Klaus presses his thumb to the scanner and steps back inside, chuckling. "That was it. I'll see you tomorrow, Caroline."
"See you," Caroline says. Klaus coat snug around her shoulders keeps her comfortable even in the chilly night air, and she is pleasantly warm from the memory of Klaus' hands on her thighs.
She chances one last glance back to the building.
Weirdo, she thinks, and is almost alarmed to find some fondness there.
.
.
.
(1/1)
copy/pasted from my tags bc i'm a scumbag:
i really wanted to finish this one tonight and here it issss. i am trying to unlearn writing in huge blocks of paragraphs and conveying things in smaller touches. if you've a keen eye you'll realize something different too about this than my other writing. but it might be it's 3:17am and i'm reading too deep into this? sometimes my writing is so esoteric i forget people aren't mind-readers and i have to learn to stop being so goddamn subtle.
tentatively complete, for now.