IF I NEVER SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN
PART II
... ... ...
If Stefan is the Jay Gatsby of this story, then Klaus is, oddly enough, Nick Carraway (sorta fitting, right? — What with the same forename and all).
At least, as of now, with all proper gentlemanly pretenses fully in tact.
So maybe the Klaus she knows isn't tolerant and open-minded, mindfully quiet and well tempered, but he is suave and approachable, and there's some element of charisma there that catches her attention. It's him, she determines, something about his aura that demands attention.
And secrets, he likes secrets (just like Nick Carraway!). There's just... just something about him that sort of has her teetering on the edge.
His hand doesn't leave the small of her back until they hit the shallow set of curving stairs, in which case his hand is suddenly extended out in front of her. He watches her, his expression calm and curious, and his hand never falters even as she sort of just stands there like a doof, staring at him.
"Well get a move on," Rebekah snaps from behind her. "Honestly, some of us would like to try to salvage the night."
Caroline rolls her eyes before she can remind herself to not do annoying adolescent twenty-first century things like that. It's just... Rebekah is so petty. She doesn't want to draw parallels and all, because she'd rather read The Great Gatsby than live it, but if there's a Daisy Buchanan of this warped little tale, it's definitely Rebekah.
She steps to the side, allowing Rebekah and Stefan to pass, watching as the former slinks her way into a curved booth with a poised elegance that Caroline begrudgingly admits (to herself) she's jealous of (and then she immediately scolds herself for being jealous of Rebekah for anything).
An attractive debutant, privileged beyond belief (takes the term 'old money' to a whole new level, right?), and totally devouring the attention she's getting — not only from Stefan, who carts her around the room on his arm like a brilliantly sparkling golden trophy personified, but from the hoards of buzzed men dressed in black from head to toe who keep tipping their hats at her, and greasy mobsters skimming fingers down the bare stretch of her arm.
Stefan ignores them (or is just oblivious to them), and takes to burying his face in the tightly pinned curls of Rebekah's hair, lips brushing the underside of her chin.
Pompous, overly confident, dickish.
Just like Jay Gatsby. She scolds herself again, reminding her overly active imagination that no, this is not a scarily accurate rendition of the novel in which they've become the stars, but this is real life. She needs to stop comparing everyone and everything she sees to something from a fictional novel.
But there's just so many parallels to draw, and she just can't help it!
Like Klaus for instance, Rebekah's dotting older brother (just one sibling short of the correct familial slot). Seriously, it's like a slightly warped reboot of The Great Gatsby — which leaves Caroline with a seriously scary thought:
Where does she fit into this story?
"Caroline." Klaus' voice is soft, raspy, and she catches his eyes drifting from his sister and Stefan, then back to her. "Please — join us for a drink, won't you?"
She's never known him to have so much patience. "We have much to discuss."
And his hand is still outstretched, other arm tucked suavely behind his back, and when she drops her hand into his, the warmth of his touch seeps right through her glove.
... ... ...
She must look as awkward she feels, hovering in front of the table, because Stefan and Rebekah stop canoodling long enough to cast her awry expressions (well, Stefan is mostly regarding her with a sense of bemusement; Rebekah is really just shooting daggers into Caroline's forehead... attention whore).
"You'll understand if we seem forward," Klaus says, and his hand is once again on her back. "It isn't often that we come across vampires who know of our, shall we say—" his eyes scrape the ceiling, lips twisting into something of a grin, "—actual existence, as compared to the... legend, as you put it."
When she still doesn't budge, just shifts her attention from Klaus to Stefan, Klaus' hand becomes firm and he pushes her gently forward. Her knees bump the edge of the booth, and she reaches a hand out to steady herself. Klaus is there on one side, her hand landing in his, and she freezes for a moment, eyes locked on his.
He's full-on smiling now, and it's sort of infuriating.
Okay, it's really infuriating, because all she sees is Klaus. Not Nik.
So she pulls her hand free from his, and folds herself into the booth. She's mindful to keep distance between herself and Rebekah of course, but Klaus apparently has no qualms about invading her personal space, and slides in right beside her, his elbow catching hers.
A champagne glass slides down the table, and he passes it onto her. "Champagne, Caroline?"
It's bubbly and golden, and what the hell — she really needs a drink right now.
"Thanks," she says, accepting the glass. It's pint sized, miniature, and so totally not enough to make this conversation bearable (because you know, her metabolism works faster than a human's, so it takes a bit more ... okay, a lot more for her to feel the affects of alcohol).
But something is better than nothing, so.
She nearly downs the entire glass in one swallow. Seriously, there's no dainty sipping and pinkies up from her! But she can literally feel all six eyes on her, so she forces herself to slow down with the champagne; tasting it. Letting the tartness rest on the back of her tongue, her fingers tapping the bowled glass.
"Alright, enough of this moseying about." Rebekah leans forward, resting one arm on the table, tangling her other hand in Stefan's long (overly gelled) hair. "How do you know about us?"
Wow. Right to the point.
Whatever. "I told you: I've heard stories."
She feels Klaus close in on her before his voice breaks through her thoughts. His elbow is just about touching her arm, and his fingers —damn him and his affinity for being all touchy feel-y— are seriously this close to hers. Never mind her gloves. She's hyper aware now, paying too much attention to where she is in space — to where he is in space, relative to her.
And it's weird, because it's not like she has feelings for him or anything. She just... she doesn't really know what to do. At all. Modern day Klaus she can deal with, easily; he's cocky, self-righteous, bigoted and just an all around ass. The problem here is: she doesn't know if the same applies to this Klaus.
She certainly can't use her normal standards, because of the man sitting across from her, wearing a smirk that says, Hello, I'm a cocky douche vampire who vants to drink your vlood! Okay, so it's a bit embellished, but it's pretty much there stamped across Stefan's (large) forehead. Just written in invisible ink. But the cockiness, it's so plain to see.
(And yet, she still sort of likes Stefan. She's a sucker for the underdog, the reformed bad boy (except when his name is Klaus) and she's not going to deny that she's sort of drawn to Stefan. Not in the lets hop into bed and get our shag on type of way, but the I'm your little sister, so you'll buy me things and protect me sort of way).
She thinks to the early days of her new life; of Stefan, teaching her to hunt bunnies and control her blood lust.
She's holding onto those memories. That Stefan.
(And she comes to the conclusion that it's the curse of the Mikaelson's; they're so self-destructive, they must just bring everyone around them down too, like a ripple effect.)
"Stories... From your maker?" Rebekah questions, again. And really, why is she so hung up on this 'maker' thing? This isn't True Blood or an Anne Rice novel, okay? Makers in her world are basically the equivalent of, like ... the sperm donor (ew).
(Double ew to Damon being her symbolic 'sperm donor'...)
(But then she sort of wants to laugh, because seriously — just trying to imagine how many little Damon's could be running around right now, both in the literal and metaphorical sense is just like, ridiculous. So she dips her head, hiding her smile behind her glass of champagne.)
"How odd you are," Rebekah snips, eyes alight. So maybe she wasn't hiding it so well...
But then the words flow out like vomit, and she has absolutely no control over them. "Better than being a whiny little princess like you." And yeah, that was calm for what she wanted to say.
It's enough of an insult though, she gathers, when Rebekah's vivid red lips purse and she turns flared nostrils on her brother first, and then Stefan.
"I'd suggest you watch your tongue—"
Klaus, like her savior (that she doesn't need), stops what Caroline is sure would have been a rant. "Rebekah, that's enough." He waves a hand airily, and then his eyes are back on Caroline. "I'm afraid we've started off on the wrong foot. Please, sweetheart," he waves a hand in a wide gesture towards Stefan and Rebekah, "we're just looking for some answers."
Ugh, Klaus and his stupid terms of endearment.
Folding one hand on top of the other, Caroline sits up a little straighter, squares her shoulders, and holds her head up high. She won't be intimidated.
"Well I'm afraid I don't have the ones you're looking for," she says.
Rebekah scoffs. "Right. Well I find that hard to believe, when you refuse to even let us ask."
Okay, valid answer. So, "Then go ahead: ask." Still won't change her answers. Or lack there of.
Rebekah looks pleased with herself though, and Klaus leans back against the cushion, glancing between his sister and Caroline. Watching the show.
"Where did you come from?" Stefan starts them off.
Easy enough. "Rhode Island." (Thanks, Gatsby.)
"How old are you?" This one comes from Rebekah.
"Eighteen."
Rebekah rolls her eyes this time (which tells Caroline that eye rolling and sneering are free game, now). "You're such a bluenose."
Um, what? She's not even sure what that means. She needs a dictionary, filled with Roaring 20's lingo.
"I meant how old are you?"
"Um, if you wanted to know how old I am in vampire years, you could have just asked that!"
"That's exactly what I said, baby," Rebekah purrs —purrs— voice soft and sugary sweet.
Stefan talks over Rebekah, cuts off Caroline's response (and you betcha she had one!). "How many vampires did you know?"
She shrugs, running a finger along the rim of her glass. "Oh, not many: just all of you and your entire stupid extended families." No, she doesn't say that. But she so wants to!
Instead, she settles with, "Just a few. Most were in and out."
"And the lads you were living with?" Klaus speaks up from beside her, and honestly — she'd sort of forgotten he was even part of their conversation. Just sitting their lurking, head pinging back and forth like a fan during a tennis match.
He catches her eyes, and she lets him hold her gaze. "Gone."
"Gone?" Stefan echoes, thick brows disappearing into chunks of shaggy hair. At her nod, he grins a slow, menacing thing. "Well then, it looks like you're in just the right place, sweetheart!"
This gets a chuckle around the table, and everyone seems to relax. Caroline doesn't quite get the humor (what's so funny about being a bunch of recluses without homes?), but she tries her best at a smile. She reaches for the champagne glass again, and she nearly chucks it across the table at Rebekah when she realizes that it's empty.
Oh boy, does she need a refill. Bottle sized, preferably.
"Well, I apologize for the heavy turn our conversation has taken," Klaus says, a hand resting comfortably across his chest. He tugs at the knot of his tie, adjusting it away from his neck. He leans forward, now just inches from Caroline as he motions towards Gloria with an arrogant smile. He sticks his fingers between his lips, blows air out through his teeth and catches her attention.
(And how rude! Gentlemen do not whistle at people!)
Caroline follows Klaus' gaze to Gloria, wondering how she'll react. Note taking 101!
Gloria reels back, hugging her white boa closer to her body. She motions towards her band, grabbing the microphone and sends a coy smile their way. "Take us home, boys!"
When Klaus turns back around and turns fully to face her, she's expecting it.
When he extends his hands, grins a charmingly innocent grin and asks her for a dance, she's not.
"Caroline, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice low and enticing. "Join me for a dance, would you?"
... ... ...
No. No. No, no, no. Just... no.
No, she will not dance with him. Dancing with him never leaves the night well.
So, no.
But then he's there, hand still out, palm open, fingers warm as they brush against the exposed skin of her shoulder. His touch is like fire; seriously, like, literally, he's warm. And she's sensitive.
"It's a speakeasy," he says casually, grinning. "What have you gotten all dolled up for, if not to enjoy the night in the company of a darb gentleman?"
She smiles sweetly. "Oh? You know where I can find one?" And then she looks away, immediately, because noooo she's not flirting with Klaus. Voluntarily. (Or well, really, he tricked her into it, but still.)
Klaus' dimples carve themselves out, and she's never before realized how pronounced they are, what with all of the facial hair he chooses to sport in real time. Stefan, and even Rebekah (to Caroline's surprise) chuckle, and something between them all sort of changes. It's nothing huge, no big electric charge in the air or anything like that, but it suddenly doesn't feel so... so tense.
She sort of feels like maybe she can relax a little.
And then she realizes — she doesn't really have a choice. She's here, possibly stuck here for an undetermined amount of time, and she knows no one else. She doesn't have the opportunity to make her own friends and run off, because it's vital that she stay here with Stefan (even though he doesn't know her, he feels safe, so she's staying).
This whole thing will go down a lot easier —for all of them— if they can try to get along.
And then he goes all Prince Charming on her, and when he scoots closer, lessening the space between them, she barely moves away. "It's just a dance, Caroline." And damn, that accent! So smooth, like velvet. "I can show you how a real man appreciates a woman."
And okay, way too much vavoom there, but whatever. Better him than one of the skeeves who keeps checking them out, right?
"I ... I don't know how to dance." And that's the truth; she's used to like, grinding and popping and locking. Not swaying and swinging and dipping. (Ha, she can just picture Tyler trying to swing her around his waist...)
Klaus smiles, brows raised, and the intensity in his eyes, somehow still playfully light, makes her undead heart pound.
"No need to, love." His eyes never leave her face. "Just follow me; I'm an excellent partner. I won't lead you astray."
Gloria's voice rolls in silky waves, saturating her in a sparkling, sensual sort of way.
Klaus opens his hand to her again, and this time — she takes it.
... ... ...
The smile that lights Klaus' face when she places her hand in his is something to see. It's not cocky like she thought it'd be. It's just... pleased. Genuine.
His eyes are dark, murky sort of, and he walks with his back to the crowd, maneuvering a path for them to the middle of the floor. Caroline follows blindly, still too aware of her hand cradled in his, and when he suddenly stops, pulling her into a curt spin that rolls her right against his body, Caroline swallows down the acidic burn in her throat.
She has a flashback (a flash forward?) of her body nearly pressed flush to his, her hand resting tensely on his shoulder while he holds her with an arm around her waist like she's some delicate flower he might crush.
A princess, she felt like that night —one who was totally going to be locked in a tower before the night's end, glass slippers crushed on the concrete steps— but a princess, none the less.
If there's one thing Klaus is good at, it's worming his way beneath your walls. Seriously, this guy.
Gloria's voice is amazing; it sends Caroline back to last year, when she'd taken the stage to make an impromptu serenade to Matt because she was still totally obsessed with him, and she decides that if she ever takes up singing again, she's totally going to work on some R&B. This blues stuff is sick! But definitely outdated.
(Unless they hosted a Blues Night or something at the Grill — which would actually be totally cool!)
She tries to keep some distance between herself and Klaus, but he takes matters into his own hands and apparently decides that they aren't close enough.
With a swift push away, he spins her out, then tugs her back in, pulling her flush against his body. His scent floods her, overwhelms her (he smells fantastic, she decides; something of warm musk and spice, and absolutely nothing like she thought he'd smell like — which is fine, because who likes to dance with someone who spells like stale cigars and citrus? No one, that's who. Because it's gross).
His hand is high on her back, his warm fingers resting against the exposed patch of skin of her shoulder blade. His hands are like heating pads, warm, and heavy and completely encompassing. One clenches her hand protectively in his grasp, the other guiding her to move with his body, to sway with the smooth beats of the saxophone.
"Not so hard, is it now, love?" Klaus' face is just about touching hers, and his breath is warm against the cuff of her ear.
Caroline shrugs, very purposefully turning her head away. "I have experience with dancing — just not this kind of dancing."
A spark shoots through Klaus' eyes, and his dark lips curve up into a soft smile. "That's the fun of it, Caroline! This is prohibition; nobody cares what anyone is doing!"
Caroline doesn't answer, because hello — what can she possibly say to that? Klaus chuckles lowly, and the sound reverberates around in his chest, vibrating against Caroline's arm.
"You know, you're quit different from most of the women that run this place."
God, and his eyes are on her again, and yeah, commanding and all. Not in the glowering you will pay attention to me way that 2012 Klaus likes to put out, but in a courting Get to know me way.
(And ugh, Come on, Caroline—get to know me! I dare you.)
Ugh, Klaus and his charm. (No one ever said that the crazies don't have their charms, too.)
"I'm not like most girls."
Klaus nods. "I see that."
... ... ...
They are dancing totally G-rated, at least, by her standards, but he still makes her feel very Dita Von Teese.
No, there's no Burlesque dancing going on; no groping, no flashing tasteless amounts of flesh and there is certainly no seduction going on here (well, not by her anyway), but she does feel very... sexy.
The way Klaus dances, the way the crowd moves around them, swaying in time to the beat, woman molding to their partners ... well it's all very sensual. And weird. Totally weird. But it's mostly weird because of who she's dancing with. She would absolutely love to dance like this with Tyler.
She likes the swaying and the twirling. It's a bit more energetic than she'd realized and the contact isn't really close in the grinding sort of way, but somehow, it's still just more ... sensual. Erotic, even.
Her gloves had been stripped off at some point during their dance, and she glances up just in time to see Stefan sweep Rebekah past them. Rebekah's eyes are closed, contented smile gracing her face.
Caroline feels dizzy. Whether it be from the spinning, the twirling and the dipping that Klaus likes to surprise her with when they seemed settled on their feet, or just from the proximity of his body to hers (and it's totally partially due to the fact that this is just a lot to take in), she feels weird.
She feels light and airy, but her stomach churns and this tingle in her gut won't go away.
"You know, you're a wonderful dancer. I can't for the life of me figure out what had you so worried," Klaus says, his voice soft (she hates when he talks to her like that).
Now Caroline does look at him, right in the eyes (and holds in her breath; she's only been this close to him once before, and yeah ... intimacy and personal space and all that).
"I just... this isn't really me. I—" she falters, a sweltering heat flushing straight through her body, "—honestly: I don't know what I'm doing."
"You're doing fine," he assures her, his tone lilting and impossible to disbelieve.
But she shakes her head, lips pursing into a tight frown (because she sort of wants to cry — the day is starting to catch up to her now, and she's worried that she's just this close to falling to pieces).
"That's not what I meant." She takes a second to breathe. Closes her eyes, inhales deeply. It doesn't help much that she inhales him, but whatever. A moment is a moment. "I... I don't know who I am here."
"Ah, but isn't that what keeps us all moving?"
Has his voice always been so smooth? It's wispy, very soft and low, but still easy to listen to. He has that kind of voice; the kind that wields you to his liking, demands your full attention. Is so incredibly enchanting and enticing that even if you want you, when he goes all low and inspirational on you, all you hear is him. You listen.
"Maybe," she agrees. "But what good is living life if you don't know what you're living it for?"
Klaus looks like he's considering his words, and his eyes flash away from her. He's quiet, and his jaw has hardened, taking on more of a familiar expression that she's become so used to over the past few months.
"You shouldn't write yourself off so soon, darling."
("There's a whole world out there, waiting for you... Great cities and art, and music. Genuine beauty.")
And there it is again; she has to wonder why he's always trying to build her up. Why is it always him, of all people, that's the one adding the bricks that build up her self esteem?
Caroline allows herself a little eye roll, because really? Freaking Klaus.
"That's easy for you to say; you've been alive for like, a billion years." She glances away, but she totally notes how his shoulder tenses beneath her palm. "You've had plenty of lifetimes to figure out who you are."
He snorts something ungentlemanly. "If only it were that easy, sweet Caroline."
And okay, so it was totally a low blow. Obviously, he has no idea who he is — and he's been searching for a thousand years! But sometimes, words slip out before her brain turns on the filter, and she can't exactly stop her foot from going in her mouth.
"Yeah," she agrees, her voice falling away. "If only."
... ... ...
So she realizes that as of right now, she could probably fill the role of Jordan Baker.
First, she knows where this whole thing with Klaus is going; he had no problem trying to woo her in real time, even though he was well aware that the things he'd done would always be the distance between them, so she can only imagine how much more direct he'll be now, if he does in fact take a liking to her (and after that dance — yeah, it looks like her little hybrid problem has followed her through the decades).
(Awesome.)
And her mouth, her freaking mouth; she really needs to teach it to run stuff by her brain first, because this whole saying-things-she-shouldn't thing is totally going to get her in trouble (land her in hot water, as the flappers would say).
Caroline certainly appreciates life, so she doesn't have to check off the Disregard of Other People's Feelings for her comparison form, but she is being dishonest. Oh man, is she being dishonest!
So maybe she's not really a Jordan Baker. Maybe she's just... half of her.
Or maybe she'll make up her own character. She doesn't know, and her mind is too cluttered with WTF moments just from today alone to think straight right now.
... ... ...
Their last dance is cut short, abruptly, when both Klaus and Caroline pull away from each other, eyes wide and matching expressions of confusion beaming back at one another.
Klaus freezes, his hands falling still as he holds Caroline close, glancing around the room. The way his body stiffens, then goes completely rigid and his eyes are so dark, the iris looks to be a whole new color — it scares Caroline.
"Wh—what's wrong?"
He never lets go of her hand; just holds her tighter, closer, and pushes her in front of him.
"We have to go," he says, and that's all. He forces her through the crowd, knocking into people left and right, shouldering right past them.
His voice has gone hard, lips pursed in that angry frown that... and then she knows that look —she knows— what it means. It's the same one he got when she turned him down at his ball, the same look he got any of the numerous times she's scoffed in his face, the same expression he flashes to either of the Salvatore Duo when they do something he's not particularly fond of.
That same, gut-wrenching, heart racing OMG moment where she doesn't know what he's going to do; but that look — that look means he's in danger.
Which, by extension, means that she is danger now too.
"Klaus, what's going on—"
"Not now, Caroline," he snaps, pulling her up to the booth where they'd started the evening at. He grabs Rebekah's silver clutch, then spins on his heel, eyes stormy and expression grim.
Caroline stomps her heel. "Are we in danger? Because if we are, I think that I have a right to—"
His fingers on her arm tighten, and she sees—she can already see—finger shaped bruises forming. He turns on her, both hands coming up to her shoulders. His grip is firm, heavy, but she doesn't feel threatened by him.
"Listen to me, Caroline." His face is inches away from hers, and she takes this moment to scrutinize him. "We need to get out of here, right now. There are people out there... people who want to harm us. And they can."
Caroline's heart starts thudding so hard, so loud, she wonders if he can hear it too. "Do they... they know? About—" she motions between them, "—us?"
He nods, grimly. "Yes, they know that we're vampires."
Well yeah, because there's no self control here. What with Stefan and Rebekah openly eating people ... Stefan slashing people's wrists for the hell of it. Rebekah compelling every person who makes eye contact with her.
Wait, now it's really weird ... Since when is Klaus the well-behaved one?
"H-how?" Oh that's nice, now she's stuttering. (Being nervous does that to her.)
"I..." he growls, cutting himself off. "There's no time to explain. We must find Stefan and my sister, and leave."
He doesn't have to do much looking, because Stefan and Rebekah blur right to where they're standing not even a full second after Caroline turns back around, eyes open and searching for them (and see, this is why people know there's vampires about; stop using your vampire powers, idiot!)
"Niklaus!"
Rebekah sounds so lost, so scared, that Caroline feels bad for her. For like a second. Because then she realizes that she's stuck with them, which means that now she has to run or fight or whatever it is that Klaus plans on forcing them all to do.
"There's no time, sweetheart," he snaps, grabbing Caroline's wrist in one hand, twirling Rebekah around and wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling them both forward. "Go, go."
Caroline glances over at Stefan, who looks ... weird. Not scared, but maybe like, just really confused?
She sees Rebekah's head snap in her direction, and then a second later, Rebekah tears herself free from her brother's grasp and turns on Stefan, blocking his path.
"Do something about them, Stefan!"
She stands with one hip popped, arms crossed, bobbing lightly on her toes as she waits for an explanation with a sneer. The picture of adolescence.
"What am I supposed to do about it?" He pulls her into his arms, holding her close. Protectively.
Rebekah's irritation doesn't wane. "I don't know!" She throws her hands up. "But they're here, because of you! I told you—" she slaps her hands to his chest, "—to stop bumping people off. Honestly, how daft are you?"
Caroline reaches a hand out to Klaus' wrist, and he stops suddenly, eyes blaring. "What?" He pulls away from her, reeling as if she'd tricked him into touching vervain or something.
"What does Stefan have to do with this?"
Last time she checked, Klaus was the one hell bent on taking a seven century bender and murdering everyone ever.
(This Ripper-Stefan thing is really throwing her off — she'd definitely prefer to get the second hand account from Damon, or even the third hand account from Elena, as passed down by Damon.)
"He... Look, Caroline, I don't have time to explain it right now, but—"
"Stefan bumped off the wife of a Big Cheese — who happened to know some vampire hunters," Rebekah supplies for him, irritation dripping from every word.
Oh, well that's just awesome. Any chance they'll turn out like Mr. Saltzman? Klaus could totally use a friend (and someone to get him off of her back).
"So now they're hunting you." So. Not. Cool.
Rebekah takes obvious pleasure in pointing out, "And you now, too."
Klaus steps between them, holding one hand out in front of each of them. "Right. Which is why we must leave, now."
Caroline watches as Rebekah relents with an exaggerated sigh, but places her hand in Klaus. Does she have any other choice? Running? Hiding? No where to go.
So tentatively (because the moment calls for it), she drops her hand into Klaus' and lets him pull her forward. Pushing her and Rebekah in front of him, a hand on the small of each of their backs, he directs them towards a back door ("An alleyway," he says, pushing her forward when she hesitates).
There's no spray of bullets, no silver axes flying through the air — no chaos at all. Women continue to sway against the men, the champagne continues to bubble over the edge of pyramids of glasses, and the chatter bumps up in volume. Blissfully unaware, every person in the place.
They duck out through a staff room, but no one pays them any mind.
"This way," Klaus says, motioning them all towards a thick metal door, framed with wispy white smoke.
"I'm not going through the freezer, Nik," Rebekah whines, stopping short (and nearly causing Stefan to plow into her).
Klaus rolls his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan. "Please, Rebekah, we don't have time for this."
And Caroline's not playing sides or taking one or anything, but there's just something tugging at her gut, something pinging at her. She can't explain it; she just knows that they can't go in there. This feeling, this thing inside of her — she's experienced it before. With Tyler, during his first transformation. With those sheriffs she'd been forced to deal with ... Intuition on crack, she likes to think of it as.
It's never let her down before.
Her protective instincts go nutty, and she presses a hand to the door. She feels the chill seep through her skin, settle into the bones of her hand, but she doesn't move her hand away.
"No, she's right." She listens as hard as she can for new voices, for the sound of guns locking or anything that could tip her off that they're not safe.
When Klaus turns on her, scowl firmly in place, expression menacing, she ignores him (she's become a pro at dismissing that tactic; and that's her point, since he has no idea).
"What?" His patience is running thin.
But so is hers. "They're there," she says, slowly, closing her eyes and pointing towards the door. She still can't hear them, but she knows. She just does. There's just something there, something telling her that they aren't safe in the alley.
"Really?" Klaus throws his hands up. His exasperation is barely concealed. "And where exactly do you suggest we go?"
"The front," she says, before she can even really think about it.
Rebekah jumps in, staring at Caroline as if she's suddenly grown a second head. "The front door?" she snaps, and she too hovers, edging her way closer. "Have you gone mad?"
Caroline juts her thumb back out towards the freezer door. "Whatever. Go through the alley if you want. I just... I don't think it's safe. So I," she turns, signaling out Stefan and motioning him towards the main hall, "am leaving."
There's this really tense moment then, where nobody moves. Rebekah stares at Stefan, who shrugs and stares at Caroline, who finds herself staring at Klaus.
But they're just wasting time standing there, so, "Well?" Her frustration gets the best of her. This isn't even her problem, and yet here she is, possibly saving their lives and ...
"Doesn't matter. We can't die." Rebekah looks over her shoulder, eyes narrowing suspiciously at her brother.
Stefan shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the other, and Caroline grabs the moment, because she just needs some ground here to stand on!
"But Stefan can."
And that does it (finally).
... ... ...
Rebekah looks murderous as she pushes her way through the crowd, stomping on toes and whipping her beads. Stefan reaches for her hand, pulling her back to walk with him.
"Don't tip 'em off," he says, slinging an arm casually around her shoulders.
Rebekah mumbles something under her breath, but Caroline ignores her. Honestly, she doesn't think she's ever been around Rebekah when she wasn't complaining.
Seriously, these Originals. 1000 years old, and they're just a bunch of big babies.
"You better not get us killed," Rebekah snaps at Caroline, glancing over her shoulder. Klaus' hand is on Rebekah's shoulder, his mouth near her ear, and with a dramatic sigh, she relents.
"You can't die," Caroline mimics. She knows she shouldn't; if there's one Original not to antagonize, it's Rebekah, but she just can't help it. She's never gotten along with Rebekah, and now it's just even worse. If Rebekah thinks she's in competition now for 'her men' — well she can keep them! All to herself, Caroline wouldn't put up too much of a fuss!
(She's in this mess because of them, specifically, anyway.)
Rebekah's eyes narrow, but she doesn't say anything more.
Caroline doesn't even attempt to hide her satisfaction.
... ... ...
Caroline is the first one to make it outside.
She's more or less forced outside, by Rebekah of course, to check to see if the coast is clear. She's not even entirely sure what she's looking for, but she doesn't see any men in pinstriped suits with revolvers or anything like that, so she motions (discretely) behind her back for Klaus and Rebekah and Stefan that it's safe.
"Now what?" She blocks Klaus' path as he tries to side step her, and folds her arms defiantly.
"Now what?" she repeats. "If they know that you're here, we can't go back to Stefan's apartment. They'll probably be there too, if they haven't put a watch on it already."
Rebekah shrugs. "Our place. Stefan practically lives there anyway."
Um, okay, no. Caroline is not going to be staying at Klaus' house. No, no, no. That's a no go, Jerry.
"I'm not so sure that's a good—"
Rebekah cuts her off, red lips twisted into a faint smile. "Have a better idea?"
No, she doesn't. And she's sure that Rebekah's really only speaking on behalf of Stefan, but whatever. Her and Stefan are now part of a packaged deal. Sort of.
"No..."
"No it's fine, Caroline," Stefan speaks up. "It's just temporary. We'll take care of it—" he motions between himself and Klaus, "—and we'll be back in no time."
His hand is on her shoulder now, feeling heavy as if he's weighing her down. She shoots daggers at it, as if the power of her mind will convey her irritation. "Trust me, baby doll."
"Do you really think it's necessary though? I mean, we're vampires."
Because really, of all the times that this can happen, it happens now? Right when she finds herself stuck here with them, for who knows how long...
"And they're vampire hunters. This is what happens when you befriend the Ripper," Rebekah shrugs. Her attitude is so nonchalant that it physically rates on Caroline's nerves.
1920's Rebekah is just as flighty as 2012 Rebekah.
But she's right, and Caroline has no ground to stand on. So, she folds her arms and sighs (trying for all the world to not come off like a whiny petulant little child).
"Fine."
Rebekah nods, turning to face her brother. "Good. Then it's settled; you'll stay with us until the threat is taken care of." And Caroline doesn't need to use her imagination to know what that means.
She certainly won't be participating in it.
Then, with a flip of her coiffed hair, Rebekah turns on her heel. "Now, let's get some real food." She tosses a look over her shoulder; coy, seductive, knowing. "I'm simply famished."
And crap, feeding... she has a feeling blood bags aren't the go-to solution here (and an equally strong feeling that Stefan would laugh in her face if she suggested doing some bunny hunting).
And then, as if the night can't even get any worse, her heart drops to her toes when she considers who she's with; the Originals — feeding to kill is sort of their thing.
So for the second time that night, she's in a word: screwed.
... ... ...
"Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck, some nights I call it a draw.
Some nights I wish that my lips could build a castle, some nights I wish they'd just fall off."
- Fun: Some Nights -
A/N: Soooo surprise! Be honest: who forgot about this story! Or had just given up on it?
I sincerely apologize for the delay. I lost sight of where I wanted this story to go, and I couldn't settle with just writing anything, so I've spent like, forever brainstorming and trying to figure out my plot direction and stuff. I was watching 'The End of the Affair' last week (again), and it finally hit me!
I seriously cannot believe the response my one little introductory chapter produced! For anyone I couldn't reply to personally, thank you so, so much for taking the time to review! I had NO idea people would like this story. I was really close to just letting it hang for a while, because there are so many 1920's Klaroline in Chicago fics out there, but the response to the idea of the story has just been too convincing!
Oh, and I basically referenced canon up to 3x15. Disregard the show after that.
So, with that said, please review, leave me some feedback on the direction, character development! I promise I won't make you wait another year for an update again!
Oh, and one more thing (promise!): I rarely do dedications, but this very much calls for one: to InuKag808 — for reminding me that I always have someone to write for.