A/N: Thanks to your response to the story, I've changed my plan a little. For now I have 7 chapters planned, but it's not finished and I've got a feeling that some additions to the plot will dawn on me and I'll get inspired. Soooo... you never know ;)
God, will I ever finish a story according to the original plan? No. My life is one big improvisation.
BTW, I haven't seen the finale yet (Europe, Europe, I love you, but seriously...) but I do know about Klaus/Tyler and um... I still have hope. I do have hope for Klaroline. This is also funny because some time ago I had the same idea for a story - Klaus in Tyler's body, but I thought that's too much cheezy body possession for one tv series. And yet...
(Joseph, please come back. Be a good boy and come back for S4.)
Chapter 4
Still waters run deep
Over the tea-cups and in the square the tongue has its desire;
Still waters run deep, my dear, there's never smoke without fire.
- W.H. Auden
On that Saturday night Caroline can't sleep. After he's said, you are perfect, she just can't sleep.
You are perfect. You are perfect. You are perfect.
As much as she hates to admit it, he's growing on her like a bad habit. He just keeps coming back and every time she cares less about that tiny little detail — that is Klaus being an evil murderer. But without the wicked hybrid plan his ship seems to finally run aground. Has he gone softer? Can ten years in a coffin really do this to you?
I like the city better when the
neon lights are going and
the nudies dance on top of the
bar
to the mauling music.
— Charles Bukowski
Klaus loves to hunt on Saturday nights. He calls this peculiar custom of his the Saturday Night Fever. (Yeah, Klaus has a very unique sense of humor.) Drunk people in flocks take to the streets.
He enjoys the hunt like he enjoys the kill. He likes to sink his teeth in a girl's neck right in the middle of a crowded dance floor, with lights flashing and music thundering in his ears. He likes to corner a haughty businessman — a man who thinks his wealth makes him immortal — in a dark alley and tear his throat apart. After sating his blood lust he usually comes home and gets down to sketching while listening to Tchaikovsky's Sugar Plum Fairy from the Nutcracker Suite. Just like that.
As he's strolling along the street on his way home, blood still present on his chin, his hands itching to finally do some sketching, a shadow is silently following him, creeping in the dark corners.
it seemed to me that I had never met
another person on earth
as discouraging to my happiness
as my father.
and it appeared that I had
the same effect upon
him.
— Charles Bukowski
Days go by. Caroline wakes up on Thursday morning with her heart aching. Another year has passed.
She walks Ben to school, listening to his never-ending songs of praise for Klaus. After all this time Caroline doesn't want to deny it any longer: Ben sees the hybrid as a father figure and there's nothing she could do to change it. Maybe she should have stayed with the Salvatores, one of them would have eventually assumed the father's role. But a small town life wasn't enough for Caroline. It wasn't safe, too. And Ben deserves better.
After she leaves the school, she heads towards a nearby cemetery. Its still silence soothes her nerves. She remembers her grandma saying, do not fear the dead as they rest in peace, you better fear the living. Caroline wonders what would her grandma say if she saw her now, a living dead.
Every year on her father's death anniversary Caroline picks one unknown and abandoned grave, she sits down and lights a candle. As poor substitute for a family as it is, this makes Caroline feel a connection with the past.
The sun is shining delightfully and the cemetery is flooded with its rays that peek through the hanging branches of the weeping willows. It reminds her of Mystic Falls.
After an hour or maybe two — it's an incredible paradox how fast time passes in lifeless places like this — someone appears behind her and she's not even surprised. She got used to his jack-in-the-box-like sudden appearances.
"How often do you come here?" He asks, sitting next to her on a small bench. There's barely place for the two of them on it so they have to squeeze a little.
"Every year." She muses, straightening her long red gypsy-like skirt. With her curls falling loosely on her back and in a white tank top she really reminds him of a gypsy.
"Do you still grieve over him?" His question takes Caroline aback. How does he...?
"They say time cures all." She says finally. "But I wish we'd been getting along better than we were."
Klaus just nods. If there's anyone that she can now relate to, it's him.
"At least he didn't hate you till the very day he died."
"No, but he hated me long enough to make me question everything, my life included."
"Been there, done that." A bitter half-smile appears on Klaus' face.
They sit in silence for a while, each of them deep in thought. When she looks at her watch, she raises her eyebrows in surprise. It's almost noon.
She says she needs to pick Ben up from school. He says he'll tag along.
As they walk down the noisy streets, she can muster enough courage to talk with him about Ben one more time.
"Ben treats you like a father figure."
"I know."
"He's got attached to you."
"I don't mind."
"Klaus, he's just a boy. Have mercy on him." She almost begs him. "He doesn't deserve to be deceived like that." She hopes that maybe her pleading tone will work. It doesn't. Moreover, it rubs him up the wrong way. He stops abruptly giving her a yank. She falls back into his chest, then turns to face him.
"What are you—"
"Listen carefully to my words, Caroline, because I'm not going to repeat them." He stares at her, his expression tells her he's inwardly fuming with anger. "My siblings woke me up from the slumber only to tell me they were leaving me all alone forever. If I am deceiving anyone, I'm deceiving myself into believing that I can have another family that won't abandon me."
With this words and a cold stare he stomps off not even taking a glance back at her.
I am this fiery snail crawling home.
— Charles Bukowski
Klaus is storming through the streets in such a rage he almost gets hit by a car — or rather the car almost gets hit by Klaus.
If it wasn't a bright day, he'd already suck dry any passer-by that turned up. Instead, he hits a wall with his right fist and licks the blood that gushes from the self-inflicted wound. So much for the anger management classes.
As he enters a narrow, dirty alley, his senses heighten and now he notices something that so far he's been treating as a pure illusion. Somebody has been definitely following him and now the stalker is getting closer and closer. Klaus stops, gathering all his strength. He closes his eyes for the moment. When he opens them, they are glistening yellow and his fangs protrude.
He turns around, launches forward and strikes.
A body hits the ground followed by his own, and they both roll around on the pavement. Finally Klaus gets on top of the stalker and he's just about to break his neck when he stops in astonishment.
A familiar face grins cockily at him from the ground.
"Hello, brother."
"Kol." He stutters. They both stand up and stare at each other. "I've been looking for you."
"I know, but I didn't want to be found." Kol smirks. "Anyways, I see you've settled for a single sexy momma."
"So what do you want now?" Klaus clenches his fists in a silent threatening gesture.
"Oh, I'm just passing through New York, don't worry. But I find it remarkably intriguing that you're after her and that boy."
The hybrid takes a step forward and grabs the vampire by the neck.
"Leave them alone, Kol, or I'll—"
"—tear out my liver, I know. Relax, darling." Kol doesn't seem to be especially scared. "Like I said, I don't care, I'm not staying here for long. But mark my words, brother, she's a sly little creature, and I sooo want to see your face when you finally learn your lesson." He smirks looking boldly into Klaus' eyes, their noses almost touch.
And then Kol's gone, leaving his brother shaking with fury in the middle of the stinking alley.
He kicks the wall with so much force the plaster comes off.
Being alone never felt right. Sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right.
— Charles Bukowski
Caroline resorts to cooking as the best form of stress relief. Today it's a lasagna day. Go tell Garfield.
She and Ben are sitting in their small kitchen, chewing on the food. He likes lasagna as much as Matt loved it, Caroline sighs. Matt would be a great father, she's sure of that. He would give Ben all the love he had in his heart. Matt would bring his son up to be a good person. A decent, loving, responsible man. The same as his father.
"Why are you so sad, Care?" Ben asks with his mouth full of lasagna.
"I'm not, sweetie." She creaks a light smile.
"Yes, you are. Did you have a fight with Klaus?" His blue penetrating eyes see right through Caroline. How can he be so observant? Damn you, Matt Donovan, you and your 'I'm a good friend, I see everything' gene!
She takes a deep breath and nods with resignation.
"I accused him of something he didn't do." She props her head on one hand.
"So you should apologize."
Excuse me! Who is raising whom in this house? She rants inside her mind.
"If he likes you like I think he does, he'll forget about it right away." Ben grins at Caroline.
She shakes her head in disbelief.
"When did you get so smart, little boy?" She smiles teasingly.
"My Caroline has taught me."
Caroline feels her eyes water, and a lump forms in her throat.
Later that evening, when Ben's already safely tucked in under the covers, she sneaks out with a kitchenware full of lasagna.
It's the first time she knocks at Klaus' door. She's tentatively shifting her weight from foot to foot waiting for him to let her in. Finally, the door creaks open. He's obviously bewildered at the sight of her and she needs to clear her throat to make him get back to reality.
"Um." She started. "Hi." Great, Caroline, great diplomatic skills. Woo-hoo!
He's still staring at her with his deep blue eyes open as wide as his big, soft lips. Wait a minute, she scolds herself, she doesn't know whether they are soft or not.
"I'm here to, you know, apologize, for, you know, for what I said earlier." She chokes out and hands him the dish. "I made lasagna so we can bury the hatchet."
Klaus can't hold back a smile.
"You want me to bury a hatchet in the lasagna, love?" He mocks her with that boyish smile of his and Caroline finally gives up and lets out a laugh. "Yeah."
Klaus' face lightens up as he bows down at her.
"So please come in and join me for this lovely lasagna that brings peace to my troubled heart."
His apartment is minimalistic, dark, and gloomy, but with style (like Klaus himself). After they finish eating and chatting (mostly about Ben — Caroline admits that she's becoming one of 'those moms'), Klaus gets up and disappears in his bedroom for a second. He's back holding a small oblong box tied with a red ribbon. He places it in Caroline's hand.
"Happy birthday, Caroline."
He remembers. Some days before the day her father died she'd celebrated her birthday. The same evening he visited her for the first time and saved her life he had recklessly put to danger earlier.
She gapes at him for, like, eternity or at least a few good centuries, then slowly opens it and gasps again. A thin chain with a lovely pedant in a shape of a rosebud.
"Klaus, it's—" She mumbles, utterly perplexed, but he smiles and cuts in,
"Try it on, love."
She takes the chain in both hands and fights with the loop to close it around her neck but it just doesn't want to click into place.
"Let me help you." Klaus whispers and stands behind Caroline's back, she sweeps her hair to one side, revealing her milky white skin, then he takes both ends of the chain and links them together. When his fingers brush the nape of her neck she feels an electric jolt. As if he knew how much it tortures her, he lets his hands linger on her shoulders longer than they should. Caroline shivers when his breath skims over her skin. He's right there behind her. Right there.
Klaus can't stop himself. She smells so good and looks so beautiful, but what always strikes him the most is her aura. She has it all. His lips land cautiously on the nape of her neck and to his surprise she doesn't pull away. Quite the contrary, she gives in.
Yes, Caroline closes her eyes and gives in to the pleasure. She leans back against his chest and allows him to slowly place a trail of kisses on her neck. His hands travel to her front and while one is holding her by the chest, the other hand caresses her flat, smooth stomach. His hungry lips suck at her neck.
Caroline's eyes flutter. Oh God, she feels high. She's dazed, she's in an ecstatic trance. He must have put a spell on her. It feels so good. Yes, she can say it officially, his lips are soft.
He spins her to face him and brings her lips to his, cupping her head in his hands. Her fingers dart to his neck and she buries them into his curly messy hair.
He kisses her forcefully, she grabs his hair harder.
He presses his hand on the small of her back bringing her even closer to him, she clings to him like her life depended on it.
He doesn't have enough of her, he's never sated, never. Their tongues dance together and he's so turned on he could just devour her right now. Just pin her against the wall, just roll that long skirt up her thighs and—
"Klaus, stop, we can't—" All of a sudden the spell is broken. "We can't. Ben— I left him alone, I have to go, sorry, I have to go. I must go now. I—" She jabbers nervously all the way to the door and then she rushes down the corridor.
After she makes that typical Cinderella-like escape leaving him stupefied, Klaus still can taste her on his lips. Something's telling him that he won't get much sleep that night. And he's right. He spends all night awake in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling or staying with his eyes closed, still intoxicated by her scent and taste, drunk with the momentary passion they shared.
He wants more.
However, he has to wait till tomorrow and tomorrow has never seemed so far off.
Beloved, we are always in the wrong,
Handling so clumsily our stupid lives,
Suffering too little or too long,
Too careful even in our selfish loves.
- W. H. Auden
