AUTHOR'S NOTE: Part 2 of my Klaroline-Literati Fusion AU for the lovely Michaela.

P.S. Thanks to you, dear readers, for sticking with me. Your support bolsters me full of encouragement and inspiration.

Have at it. ;)

xx Ashlee Bree


"Suddenly, she had a wild thrill such as she had never known; joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast."

Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell


Surprised, aghast, perplexed, stunned, bemused, amazed—Caroline knew there were no shortage of synonyms to describe the unexpected curve balls pitched at her today. In words, in action, in heart…in men.

Two men, to be precise: Klaus and Tyler. Tyler and Klaus.

Those two names, those two faces, they dizzied her thumping mind as she shuffled back-and-forth between them like a baserunner trapped in a rundown. Quick, un-catchable feet kept her moving, but their open, grasping gloves kept her slipping and skidding. Stuck, stuck, stuck. Where to move? Where to hide? Where to freaking slide?

Ahead or behind, Caroline felt the certainty of a tag against her body. Either way, no matter which base she picked, she'd become the third out of the inning for one of those two men. The final out that spelled victory. She'd become the claimed prize hoisted on his shoulders to show the cheering crowd.

Wouldn't she? Of course she would. Tug-of-war wasn't the kind of game any man dared to forfeit.

Much to her astonishment, however, the sound of the umpire's resounding SAFE suddenly swept across her dusty limbs and filled her ears—for Klaus had dropped his mitt and stepped aside, making room for her head-first, arms-out and open, slide. He'd left his base un-guarded and free for her. It was Caroline's for the taking; and she took it.


It's funny, quite laughable, really, to think that she awoke this morning expecting nothing short of a grand slam outing with her boyfriend—a day full of fastballs and force outs—a perfect game; only instead, to find herself bobbling grounders and stealing home plate with Mr. Mischievous himself. Tyler, too, much to his later dismay, had anticipated her to duck-and-cover the moment Klaus had aimed that wildly direct throw and changed the momentum of the game, but she didn't. No, Caroline swung; she connected.

Bat in-hand, her wrists flew, they turned to meet—smash—that wayward ball hurtling at her chest with power and finesse. Only a risk-taker, an opponent edging his hope of victory on skill and luck, would dare to attempt such a sophisticated move during a full-count: 3-2. The slightest slip of the fingers against the stitches or the tiniest variation of arm-slide forward could alter the ball's trajectory, gliding it across the plate in ball or strike by mere inches. Only Klaus Mikaelson would gamble like that.

Hardly anything at all, an inch, Caroline thought.

It's about the same size as a sliver of string, a toothpick, a pen cap, a baby carrot, a blade of grass…small nothings. And yet, those small nothings—that inch here or that inch there—wasn't that all it took to win or to lose? To swing or to strike-out? To sabotage or to succeed?

At this moment, Caroline realized something: life, much like baseball, was nothing more than a game of inches—one small play could change it all. Everything.

Although she still wondered at the why, she took a chance on the potential-ball Klaus offered today instead of the sure-strike Tyler provided. She sent that baseball soaring—speeding—spiraling—against the left field grass for the other team, for the opposing player in this heart-bidding competition. But why?

Call it an instinct. Call it hitter's intuition. Call it whatever. It didn't matter because somehow, it was Caroline, not Klaus, and not Tyler, who had altered the game's outcome with one full-bodied slug to the outfield. That high fly ball was gone, baby, gone; no option existed to rewind or replay.

Let's be real, Caroline's decision knocked them all over like a foul ball to the head.

Tyler cringed, Klaus gasped, and she marveled.

But believe it or not, she secretly liked the adrenaline rush that came with that unforeseen base-hit. It pumped through her muscles with pride and excitement. The unpredictability, the suspense—they felt surprisingly good against her lungs as she inhaled and tasted the fresh molecules, for they breathed of freedom. Possibility. And oddly, so did Klaus.

Caroline let her cleats dig into the infield dirt with each stride forward; she kicked up clouds of dust and and eliminated clarity, not knowing when to sprint or when to slide, but found that she didn't care to see who or what waited on the next base ahead. Instead, she welcomed the chance to lose herself in the sound and sweat of the stadium. Because that's what she wanted to do—to feel. To relish in her status as an athlete of love, as a champion of free choice.

Feelings were Caroline's to give and to accept however she wanted for once, all Caroline's. Hers, hers, hers. The only question that remained was this: now freaking what?


"Come now, love," Klaus encouraged, his voice dripping with light amusement, "it was all in good fun. You can't remain annoyed with me all day, surely."

She kept silent.

"Let us not pretend anymore, hm? Just admit it—" he probed "—I intrigue you."

Caroline laughed.

"In what world?"

"I know I do," he replied.

There it was again—that smug certainty. Unpretentious to the nth degree. It lingered in the dimples that framed his mouth, in the lilt of his tongue.

"You find me interesting and mysterious, a little destructive, too…or perhaps dangerous is a better word?" he declared all presumption. "I'm dark…damaged," Klaus said. "I'm the type of guy who wears secrets across tattered sleeves and flicks off the world for some ghastly reason that nobody knows, but everyone suspects."

Attentive, Caroline listened. She couldn't tear her eyes from his face, couldn't pry away her ears before his words entered.

"But that's not what unsettles you, is it?"

Klaus phrased this more like a fact, inarguable and absolute, than a question.

"No—" he scratched his chin and appraised her "—no—" he inclined his head; and meeting her eyes, grinned wickedly, "—it's the likeness charged between us that awakens your curiosity—" he paused "—and heightens your fear."

Caroline narrowed her eyes questioningly at him as she nibbled on a cucumber sandwich, but didn't interrupt.

"Mystic Falls doesn't quench your thirst; it never will. It never will because it's not enough. Like me—" he maintained, his voice low and insistent "—like me, you possess an adventurous heart. You want the rhythm of exploration drumming from your own two feet, prompting you onward to new people and places; you want the taste of beauty, exquisite and true, dripping from your own smiling lips as you dance to new music, speak new languages, and sculpt new worlds with your fingers; you want pleasure…experience…life."

"Like me," he continued, "you want it all. Everything this life has to offer. I know it—I sense it—"

Klaus leaned forward here to pluck a chocolate-covered strawberry from the dish poised between them, brushing her hand with his thumb by accident. He rested it there next to her like a rope reaching out. Sameness tethering them in hand and soul.

"—only you're too afraid to take it."

Tingles. Rushing down, spreading out…multiplying. Multiplying everywhere. Caroline couldn't halt the rate of expansion.

"Don't be," he whispered.

As a flicker of something—encouragement? yearning?—flashed at her from his eyes, she jerked her hand away. Recovering herself.

"Well, Obi Wan," Caroline quipped, "aren't you awfully full of yourself?"

Klaus shrugged indifferently. He bit into the strawberry.

"Only because I know I'm right," he smiled, licking his lips.

Although it had resulted in fifteen minutes of trudging through thick, jagged foliage and listening to Caroline's disgruntled scoffs, Klaus eventually navigated them to his coveted picnic spot down the river from Wickery Bridge. He'd stumbled across it not long after his parents had shipped him and Rebekah to Mystic Falls to live with their elder brother. Elijah, who was in his late twenties, owned a chain of classic diners throughout Virginia and had become his family's standard Model of Mikaelson Success. Their parents had hoped his pragmatism and collectedness would rub off on Klaus, who had fallen into a "wild artistic fancy" while living in the city.

Compared to his previous residences in London and New York, there wasn't much to do here besides socialize. And since Klaus detested small talk and most people (how many goddamn events could one town have, anyway?), he spent the majority of his time walking, listening to music, reading, and graffitiing.

It was the latter that had resulted in an unprompted lecture from his brother about the "decorum" required of Mystic-Falls-living, and had sent Klaus charging through the density of the woods in a rage. Desirous of solitude. Any shred of familiarity. All he wanted was something—anything—that'd save him from this small town purgatory and remind him of home.

That's when he found it.

The watery meadow, carved out of an expanse of giant boulders and ferns, reminded him of a park grove he often frequented in London where he could sketch in peace. Far away from his father's abuse and his mother's neglect. This little slice of paradise sat hidden below a thicket of evergreen and peered up at the edge of a rushing waterfall. The land remained uncultivated by anything except nature's harsh beauty and a wooden bench he'd carved and positioned near the pool's edge.

Despite its picturesqueness, however, the location boasted a kind of desolation with its absence of flowers and grasses. Only the sunlight, which streaked across Klaus and Caroline's seated forms as they lunched, suggested that it was no longer forgotten. Right now, at least, it basked with spring-like potential.

"Says who?" Caroline sneered tartly.

"Says me."

She dismissed this with wave.

"Like that means anything."

"Fair enough," Klaus smirked.

"How about this then? Says the man—" he leaned forward in confrontation, but lowered his voice seductively "—who knows that while you share Scarlett O'Hara's unrivaled beauty—" she rolled her eyes at the flattery "—you are not prone to oblivion. Though guilt and denial do plague you," he said knowingly, "blindness does not. And with me, sweetheart, it never will…for you see the truth of things, Caroline—"

Sliding his arm across the back of the bench, he inched still closer, capturing her gaze with his sly, steady tone.

Wide-eyed. Quiet. She shivered under his intensity.

"—and I intrigue you," he repeated.

Blunt. Always so damn blunt.

"You're right," Caroline huffed at last, more than a little unnerved. Klaus' eyebrows twitched. He hadn't expected compliance. He hadn't expected a confession. "But you forgot something—"

On the hook, he dangled…waiting. Caroline smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she moved nearer, biting her lip coyly, gesturing that she wanted to whisper a secret. He gravitated toward her like a planet, like she was his sun.

"—I'm stubborn as hell," she breathed into his ear, prompting a chuckle.

After this, she bounded to her feet with energy and promenaded before the water's edge in skipping nonchalance, regarding him with nothing more than a half-glance over her shoulder.

"And I'd say that your eavesdropping from the gazebo," she started, "plus your rude interruption of a private conversation with my boyfriend, all Rhett-Butler-conceited and provoking—" she waggled her finger at him with meaning "—has done nothing but increase my annoyance where you're concerned today, mister," she snapped.

Klaus dimpled good-humoredly and rocked backwards against his seat, seemingly unbothered.

"You may be intriguing—" She paused to flip her hair flippantly and pierce him with a look. "—but I—I am definitely difficult to captivate," she maintained with a curt nod.

Klaus pressed his lips together as if to say, understood, miss, and scratched his chin abstractedly. He swatted the lunch crumbs from his jeans, then reached into his backpack on the ground, ruffling around until he found what he wanted. After removing the item, he strode, hands clasped behind his back, to where Caroline stood next to a rotted stump and extended his hand with a conciliatory smile.

Their hands met—Caroline's an iceberg, Klaus' the heat of a flame.

"I'll take that as a challenge," he drawled, placing a beautiful paper mache tulip in the palm of her hand and moving a step or two beyond.

Three seconds.

One…two…three. Just three seconds and her fingers thawed from winter into spring. Blooming and fragrant with fascination. Nectar now depleted, she was hungry for more. For more everything that was Klaus Mikaelson.

"Good."

She tucked the paper flower into her hair and took his waiting arm with a kind of cautious curiosity. They moved away together toward the waterfall, arm-in-arm, ease and comfort characterizing their steps. Water spilled down from the river above them in much the same way emotions flowed into hearts—in a flood.

"Because I am one," she simpered.


Definitely fluffy-ish, right? Kind of? Maybe? Not quite? Reviews would be golden.