Chapter 10
She wakes up in a bedroom she doesn't recognize. Her head is pounding and her hunger returns to her in a rush, making her shoot forward into a seated position. She can feel her face contorting, her eyes turn to slits as she gets ready to jump out of bed and hunt down the nearest person with a beating heart to bite into. Something creaks to her right and her head whips around. Her hair is still damp, and it falls across her face as she discovers who's sitting at her bedside.
Stefan holds out a tall crystal glass filled nearly to the top with blood. His face is impassive but his eyebrows are raised incredulously. They're silent as she swallows hard and reaches out to take the cup from him, as she tips her head back and drains it in three huge mouthfuls. She wipes her sticky lips with the back of her hand and then looks down, pondering the empty glass as her breath returns to normal and the drive to feed ebbs, recedes to a manageable level.
"So I see your dramatic streak is still a mile wide," Stefan remarks as he leans back in his chair. He grins now, now that his friend is healed and they are all safe once again. Relief floods him and his whole demeanor changes.
Caroline can feel it too, which is why she throws her head back and grins at the ceiling before angling her smile towards him. "You know me Stefan," she replies. "It's only fun if I get to make an entrance and an exit."
"The way I hear it Klaus tried to hold you up with one arm and strangle Elena with the other," he tells her before quirking an eyebrow. "So the two of you have a flair for the dramatics in common."
"Stop comparing us, I just ate," Caroline complains, grimacing dramatically at him. Then a dark thought crosses her mind and her smile wavers and she asks, "He didn't-" She finds she can't finish the question.
Stefan's jaw tightens but his smile doesn't falter as he shakes his head, "No, Damon stepped in and Elijah showed up. Elena's fine."
"What about the hybrids?" Caroline presses. Her head is suddenly spinning, the glow of sustenance almost immediately evaporating. Just because they have Matt doesn't mean the threat is gone, doesn't mean that they're actually safe.
"They started waking up pretty soon after you ordered your own murder," Stefan explains carefully, running a hand across his face. "I don't think this had anything to do with hurting us so much as Silas showing Klaus that he can reach out and destroy him whenever he wants. Plus-"
"Plus now we're all stuck in this god forsaken city for the foreseeable future," Caroline finishes for him, flopping back on the bed in frustration. After allowing herself a few seconds to wallow she turns her head back towards Stefan and smirks, though it doesn't reach her eyes. "Tell me Stefan are you excited about living with your former bestie who compelled you into being a serial killer again?"
"Well when you put it that way-" Stefan begins in Caroline's false tone of happiness before breaking off and displaying his genuine irritation, "We have to find a way to get out of here. Me and you especially."
"Hey," Caroline snaps, face twisting up in a defensively as she cries, "He's never compelled me."
"Yet," Stefan counters. There is no judgment in his tone. There is no room for judgment in their friendship. He only knows her, knows how sweet and understanding and considerate she can be when she's given enough rope to hang herself. She compromised herself for Tyler. She compromised herself for him. When people are loyal Caroline is loyal back, when people fight for her she fights for them. He didn't take advantage. Tyler did, Klaus will, and he fears that time is rapidly approaching.
Caroline sits up slowly, looking very closely at her friend as she tries to keep her voice confident, "He won't."
"He's Klaus," Stefan shrugs. "Even he doesn't know what he's capable of."
Caroline considers this for an extended moment before asking with her eyebrows furrowed, "So what's the plan then? Because as your current, not compulsion induced bestie you know that I'm ride or die for you. Especially because it's been over a decade since we lived together and you still remember my favorite blood type."
"I'm working on a plan," Stefan replies, squinting up at the ceiling as if pondering a divine intervention. It honestly wouldn't be the weirdest thing to ever to him.
"Well while you are, mind if I enjoy the perks of living in this fully renovated mansion?" Caroline asks, regaining her tone of amusement. "Because I'm pretty sure I spotted a Jacuzzi tub in that spare bathroom we slept in last night."
"As long as that's the only amenity of the house you're enjoying," he replies with his best attempt at a wolfish grin.
"Ew Stefan," Caroline grimaces as she starts to crawl out of the oversized and overstuffed bed. "Lets leave the dirty innuendos to your dirty brother."
"Yeah, that felt weird," Stefan admits. He watches her as she grabs her bag from where he'd placed it at the foot of the bed and starts rummaging through it. She's in some stranger's clothes and that needs to change.
"It sounded even weirder," she replies as she runs a hand through her messy hair and pulls out a pair of jeans and a tank top. She glances up as she asks, "How many times are you and Elena going to make me repeat myself?"
"We don't have to talk about it, Care, but both of us being here, you know it's a bad idea," Stefan sighs.
"I'd rather us be here then dead Stefan," Caroline replies over her shoulder as she heads for the bathroom. She leaves the door open so she can still hear him, stepping slightly to the right so she's out of sight.
"Unfortunately I can't argue," he replies with another sigh, looking back up at the ceiling now that he can't look at her.
"Where's Matt?" she calls as she pulls on her jeans.
"Sleeping with Rebekah."
"Gross," she hisses, her nose wrinkling.
"Actual sleeping, Care," Stefan corrects with a wry grin. "Neither of them has slept in days."
"And Damon and Elena?" Caroline asks. She walks out of the bathroom as she's pulling her hair out from the back of her tank top. She comes to lean on the bedpost to the right of him and he pivots in his seat so they are looking at each other again.
"Elena's right here. She's avoiding Damon," their friend announces from the doorway. As she walks forward she shoots Stefan a mildly annoyed look, "You were supposed to text me when she woke up."
"I've only been awake for like five minutes," Caroline covers for Stefan before looking back and forth between the two of them, "And if you two are about to do a couple's intervention I'd like to take a rain check. May I remind you I just had to grow all new skin and heal from a broken neck."
"You asked for it," Elena retorts as she takes a seat on the corner of the bed less then a foot away from Caroline. She flexes her hands self-consciously. Sometimes she still surprises herself.
"And I'm grateful," Caroline concedes, reaching over to grab one of Elena's small hands. She squeezes hard. "But so help me God if either you looks at me all moony and concerned right now I'm going to scratch your eyes out. We have bigger problems."
Elena looks away from Caroline, regarding Stefan grimly before shrugging, "She's right."
"I know," Stefan nods, "As long as Silas is out there we're pretty much stuck here."
"We weren't that far out of city limits last night," Caroline observes, "Not only do we have to stay here, we have to stay close."
"Stuck under Klaus' thumb again," Elena notes, her voice sounding too old to be coming from her body. She looks between her two friends, part of the little family she has left. She had brought them here, led them into this. These are her consequences, everything that happens to them will come to rest on her shoulders. "I'm so sorry you guys."
"We knew the risks, Elena," Stefan argues.
At the same time Caroline replies, "Matt and Jeremy are safe. That's what matters."
Silence settles over them. There is little left to say. They have to come up with a plan, but none of them have any helpful ideas at the moment. The idea of staying here indefinitely is too depressing to contemplate, but the idea of leaving is definitively deadly. They're at an impasse.
"We should talk to Damon," Elena announces suddenly. "As much as I don't want to right now he'll probably be able to come up with some dumbass plan."
"Yeah," Stefan admits after a second of hesitation, "Yeah lets go."
"I'll catch up," Caroline decides, and when Elena and Stefan look at her skeptically she shrugs, "Maybe I should repeat that I just recovered from a spinal injury and burning all my skin off. I think I'm entitled to a hot shower before I have to endure an early morning, all day brainstorming sesh led by Damon Salvatore."
"You're taking a Jacuzzi bath," Stefan points out, rolling his eyes at her.
"I'm gonna try like hell," Caroline answers with a grin. "I accomplished one goal and I think I deserve some relaxation before I have to deal with the next one."
"I can live with that," Elena nods, rising from the bed and heading for the door.
"Me too," Stefan concedes. "But I'll see you soon Care."
"Of course you will Stefan," Caroline nods, before finishing with an acidic grin. "Because it looks like we're living together again."
She's lurking. She knows it too. She's trying to avoid any disgruntled originals as she sneaks into a warm bath. Or maybe just trying to avoid that one specific original who probably has more than a few harsh words for her and her theatrics. If she's going to deal with a tantrum she at least needs to have clean hair.
She locates the spare bedroom that they had all slept in yesterday and breathes a sigh of relief. She's just about to turn the knob when a voice interrupts her, "I wouldn't if I were you."
She jumps about a foot and then whips around, though she already knows who's speaking. She hadn't noticed Elijah slumped in the armchair just down the hall. He looks uncharacteristically disheveled, his hair tousled and his tie loosened. There might even be dirt smudged underneath one of his eyes.
He looks at Caroline with less suspicion than usual, but a lot more wariness. Elijah is tired. She can see it in his posture and in his bleary expression. He had been hiding it well but he was worried, whether for his brother or sister is up for debate.
She holds up her hands in surrender. "It's your house," she replies, before putting her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and walking slowly over to him. "But can I ask why?"
"You may," Elijah nods, running a hand over his chin. This small, self-satisfied smile appears on his face and it's weirdly familiar. "But if you strain your ears slightly you'll be able to answer your own question."
So she does and it becomes immediately clear to Caroline that the room has two people sleeping in it. She's amused to hear that Matt still snores too. "Occupied, got it," she observes with a nod. "No amazing bath for Caroline," she sighs. She leans back against the wall when she asks, "How are they?"
Elijah rubs his chin again and his face becomes unfamiliar, a mask. That's a family trait as well. "Rebekah's always been an exceptionally vulnerable creature. Out of all my siblings she has always felt the most intensely, cared without thinking, without first considering who she was putting her faith in." She winces, because maybe Elijah is right, maybe Rebekah is this vulnerable, desperate creature just looking for love. Maybe she's misjudged She Devil Mikaelson. Maybe she's misjudged a lot more than that. "I've seen her profess her love hundreds of times. And yet I've never seen her like this."
Elijah stares at the bedroom door for a moment. The silence drags between them, and Caroline doesn't know what to say. She and Rebekah have been at each other's throats since they met, and now that bitch is in love with her best friend. So eventually she just blurts out exactly what she's thinking. "Are you happy for her?"
That brings Elijah's eyes right back to her. "What an odd thing to ask," he says. And she's not sure why she did, because she knows that Elijah isn't able to see Klaus or Rebekah objectively. They will always be his first choice, his only care. He may subvert them, plot against them, but when it comes down to a choice it will always be them, no matter who else suffers the consequences. That's something they'd all learned the hard way. In fact she'd almost died right in the middle of it.
She swallows her thoughts, her mean comments concerning his sister, and tries to explain, "Klaus definitely isn't. And even I can't decide if I'm happy for Matt."
She lets out a long breath she doesn't need to hold inside her body but does anyway, because this isn't really about Matt, this isn't really about Rebekah, and she can't stand that it's even in her head. She can't stand that it's become so much more of a gray area now that he's saved her life just because he wanted to, just because it was in danger and he couldn't bare it. And so she continues, "He couldn't find someone normal? Someone nice? Somebody without a thousand years of emotional baggage and communication issues?"
"Miss Forbes," Elijah tries to interrupt her, to stop her from embarrassing herself. Which just shows that despite all his squinting and his none too subtle questions, he really doesn't know her. She's done this before. It's kind of her jam, actually. Bad decisions about boys. Matt betrayed her to her mom, Tyler got her locked in a cage, it's only fair Klaus has his chance, right?
"Rebekah loves him. She maybe loves him. Maybe, because who knows what love even means to her at this point? What it means to any of you or to any of us after all this time. Right now it's all violence and threats and manipulation. That's not love. That's desperation. That's obsession."
"Miss Forbes," Elijah tries again. But she can't stop herself. She can't tell anyone else. Not Elena, who has no moral high ground at this point but for some reason still grasps at it. Not Stefan, who just wants what's best for her in the most heart breaking, genuine way. And certainly not Damon, who would probably get it most of all, but just…ew. There is only this man who doesn't know her, who doesn't really care about her, and is quite possible the only other person on this planet who sees the glimmers of good in Niklaus Mikaelson.
"And love shouldn't be dangerous, you know? It shouldn't come with any sort sort of manic, sinister overtone. Question me and suffer. Betray me and you'll be punished. Stay or I will make you." Her voice breaks on the last sentence, a little pathetic sound that makes her mouth twist and her fists clench at her sides.
"Caroline," he finally sputters, quietly now. He's looking at her like she's crazy, like he's never seen her before.
She blinks. And her eyes are wide and beautifully clear when she whispers, "Rebekah could live another thousand years and still never deserve him."
That is something she's wanted to whisper into the phone for the past fifteen years, maybe she would have if she'd known Matt's phone number. Perhaps sealed it up in a letter and mailed it if she'd known his address, or even the country he lived in. Maybe she'd have been able to tell him he'd chosen wrong if she'd just had the right information. Maybe her wisdom would have sunken in like it never did with Elena. Or maybe she should just shut the fuck up already, since out of the three of them she's the only one who sleeps alone.
Elijah nods, "An accurate observation, but perhaps applied to the wrong couple."
She snorts. Her body, pressed flush against the opposing wall is long and languid after her bout of rigid ranting. She is spent, and she's not ready for another Mikaelson to put her on a pedestal. "I'm not who you think I am," she tells Elijah honestly.
"You're the woman came to this city knowing that she would most likely never be permitted to leave. You've placated my sister, bartered with my brother, and threatened an exceptionally powerful witch. You ran into a burning building for Matt, doused yourself in vervain. And then as you were starving you had Elena snap your neck so you wouldn't hurt an innocent human." He lists her accomplishments and she wishes she could blush in response. She may not be the paragon he's making her out to be, but she has actually done everything he's applauding her for. "I fear that you've been markedly undersold, Caroline."
She's more than those accomplishments too. She is a dozen broken necks and a million broken promises, a note waiting for Tyler on the kitchen table, a life discarded like a sock with a hole in the heel. She is all the mean things she ever said to her mother while Liz was still around to listen and nod.
"I was highly motivated," she points out quietly, after blinking her doubts away. Something tells her that winning Elijah's favor means a lot, even if she still hasn't decided if she likes him or not.
"You must love Matt very much to take such risks," he replies. It's not a judgment this time. He's not asking her if she cares as much as Rebekah, if she wants Matt as Rebekah does. He understands her slightly better now, and she doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing.
"I told you I did," she nods. That's a part of her that's hard to hide from anyone. That protective side of her that bristles at a threat to those she loves, even after all this time.
He's looking at her very closely now, and when he speaks he chooses his words with great caution, "Yes but you also told me you had no feelings for my brother. Yet you speak so passionately about the comfort of normality, the danger of obsession. The pitfalls of getting involved with an original vampire."
She won't speak to him about Klaus anymore, not even in the half assed veiled way she had been before. She can't, because she doesn't know for sure what would come out. So instead she kinks her eyebrow and asks, "So what's your obsession, Elijah?"
It's a good question, because at least it gets him to look away from her. A shadow crosses his face, like maybe he might have a few bad memories stored up inside of him as well. Memories he carries around to remind himself that every good deed doesn't outweigh the crimes, or even the petty little things you do without noticing, at least until it's all you can think about.
"I fear you've already observed that my siblings are my greatest vice. I love them too much, know them so well." He winces, running a hand through his hair. For the first time he is not some infallible entity that she has to appease or entreat. He is just a man who can still be struck dumb by the people he is stupid enough to love. "At least until I don't. Right now I'm wondering who surprised me most this evening. Rebekah, who has loved too many of the wrong men and has finally chosen a right one. Or Niklaus, who has never loved anyone more than himself, not even his own family, and yet sacrificed his own safety to ensure yours."
"The burning building wouldn't have killed him," Caroline points out, even though she knows that's not what he was trying to say.
"Silas might have inflicted something worse than death upon him," he corrects. "And yet the only thing that freed him of that all powerful compulsion was the sound of your screams. So it would seem that the only two people that can truly get inside my brother's head are an ancient witch who forces his way in and a young woman who has never done anything other than be herself." He looks at her again, his face full of some emotion she can't even begin to name. "It's clear that he loves you still, Caroline."
"Maybe," she whispers, though she knows. She's always known, ever since that stupid night in that stupid dress petting that stupid horse and looking at all the stupid artwork. She wishes she didn't, really she does. She wishes she could be like Elena and just disregard it, overlook it, not care, but that's never been who she is. She wants too much, thinks too much, and she has never been able to hate a man who cares so much about her.
"And you," Elijah hedges.
She sighs, almost in relief, because this is an answer she knows well, "You've spent a thousand years trying to get him to act like a human being. How's it going?"
"Infinitely better now that I've discovered his greatest incentive," Elijah grins slightly. Like it's a joke between the two of them.
Caroline shakes her head. "He'd destroy me, just like he almost destroyed her," she nods at the bedroom Rebekah is sleeping in. "He wants everything he can't have. The knowledge that he has absolute control. That he can bend people to his will, that they'll give up everything. I can't be the one who always changes, Elijah. I've tried that before. I won't do it again."
She winces when she thinks about Tyler, just like she always does. She spent years trying to put herself in a box, trying to become what he wanted. And look how well it worked out for her. "I'm not a reward, and I can't sit around New Orleans trying to get Klaus to act like a good boy. I'm not willing to give up a thousand years of my life for a person who only cares about my feelings when I'm about to die."
"Deference has never been in my brother's nature," Elijah agrees. Caroline has to suppress a laugh because really, obvious much? "I see now why you must hold him at arms length. When you care for someone you never stop."
"Maybe you and I do have something in common then," Caroline sighs. "But unconditional love is only a good thing when it's reciprocated. Otherwise it just makes you some asshole's fool." The minute the words leave her mouth she knows it's a mistake. It's too far. And sure enough a hardness develops in Elijah's expression. He'd been honest with her and been insulted for his trouble. "Sorry," she whispers, and it's a genuine apology, "I'm projecting. It was a bad break up."
He holds her gave for a long moment before nodding. "You're forgiven," he answers. "But I think it's time you found your friends Caroline."
She nods, kicking off the wall and heading in towards the front of the house. She makes it to the end off the hall before he calls, "Caroline," and when she tosses her hair over her shoulder and looks back he adds by way of a goodbye, "Thank you for your honesty."
He doesn't seem surprised when she looks at him blankly for a full minute, a far away expression on her face.
This is stupid. Even stupider then what she'd just gotten done with, talking to Elijah like they were co-conspirators, like they have things in common. Finding the good in everyone is Elena's thing, Caroline usually only bothers with the people who are good enough to actually act like it.
Which is why she cannot explain to herself, cannot even begin to fathom, how she ends up wringing her hands in his office doorway as she waits for him to look up. Like she's some little girl who's about to get punished. What happened to righteous indignation? So he'd saved her and Matt, so he'd broken compulsion, what in the world did that change? What did it erase?
Nothing. And that's why she won't even try to explain, not even too herself. She definitely wouldn't like the answer.
She watches him while she waits. Maybe she's more watching then waiting actually, and she's not sure which is more embarrassing. He's very engrossed in something. It's why he didn't hear her sneaking up, why he doesn't hear her now. He's scrutinizing a big pile of paper on his desk. Every so often he'll make this noise in the back of his throat, whether in agreement or disagreement she can't distinguish.
It feels weird to see him like this, so normal, so not paying attention to her. Not trying to make her scared or intimidated or enamored. He's just existing in a room, relaxed and making no attempt to control anything in his immediate vicinity. It would be nice if it weren't so unsettlingly out of character, and if it didn't make her want to circle around his desk, lean over his shoulder, and see just what is driving him to distraction.
But then he glances up idly and discovers her. It's almost funny the way it sinks in, this pinnacle predator she caught off guard in his own home. His eyes flit up for a split second and settle back down on his papers before he seems to process what he's noticed. Then they widen slightly and come back to meet hers. He smiles vaguely before he remembers he's supposed to be mad at her, and then he goes full on dubious, furrowed brow and everything.
And she smiles at him despite his obvious annoyance, and still she does not know why. A week ago she woke up alone, lived her life alone, went to bed alone, and that was just fine. It was more than fine, actually. It was freedom. But still she missed Elena, called Stefan constantly, and now she's grinning at him because she just might be proud of both of them, of her perseverance and his acquiescence. They both acted in spite of themselves, against their fixed, stubborn nature, and they managed to succeed against all odds.
So she smiles as she crosses her arms over her chest, leans against the door jamb, and asks, "So on a scale of one to ten-"
"Fifteen," he appraises, voice low and formidable. "At least."
"Really?" She quirks an eyebrow, attempts to stare him down, "That seems a little extreme."
He pushes his desk chair out and stands, circling the desk and coming to lean against the front of it. He holds her gaze the whole time. He's not intimidated by her cheerleader bitch face anymore than she's afraid of his attempts at being imposing. "I believe you promised nothing stupid and you broke that promise twice," he explains sourly, "Three times if you count leaving the car in the first place. Which I do."
Of course he does. The only leeway he allows in his life is for him. He gets to act however he'd like and how dare you question him for it. Ever. And she'd been lying when she made him that promise. They both knew it then and it's even more apparent now.
She doesn't point out either of those discrepancies though. She decides to keep it simple and merely replies, "I'm not going to apologize."
He nods like he'd been expecting it. She's given every indication that she can't be trusted to keep herself safe. Last night only proved his fears. That she acts too impulsively. That's she's a liability to her own life. "Then it seems our conversation has come to its conclusion," he tells her.
It's not that he wants her to leave, only that he knows talking any more about this will make him angry in a way he cannot control. He'd been that kind of angry their entire drive home, as Elijah drove, he sat rigid in the passenger seat, and Elena and Stefan held her limp body between them in the back seat. The only one who seemed more incensed by the situation was Damon who, at Elena's insistence, drove the other vehicle holding Matt, Rebekah, and Sophie.
She takes his dismissal in stride. Her grin never falters as she steps into the room, crossing the distance and circling his desk to sit in his chair. She puts her bare feet up on his desk. His eyes follow her the whole way, and by the time she kicks her feet up like she owns the place, he has turned all the way around. "For you maybe," she acknowledges with a nod, and then her whole face changes. It softens, shifting from bashful amusement to something he can't name. "I'm not apologizing but I am here to say thank you."
It's his turn to raise his eyebrows, "You'll have to be a little less vague, love."
She glances down at the desk for a moment before looking back up at him through her eyelashes. She still has that pliable look on her face. It's his favorite of all of her expressions. She is so rarely comfortable enough to regard him with it. "Thank you for saving Matt and I. Thank you for doing it even though you didn't want to. And thank you letting us stay here."
"Don't think I haven't considered the alternative. Nothing would give me more satisfaction then throwing your mouthy lot out onto the street," he jokes, trying his best to keep that look on her face.
"I think Stefan and Damon are probably going to arrange some hotel rooms," she says with a shrug. She figures it will be the first thing Damon suggests, given how badly Damon resents being under someone else's thumb and how nervous he'll surely be to have Stefan around this environment.
She's so busy thinking about this that she doesn't even notice how he reacts, which is poorly. The light goes out in his eyes and his voice takes on that menacing tone. That certainly gets her attention as he asks, "You really think you're going to go somewhere? Away from my protection?"
She reacts to his tone change in kind. She goes from leaning back in his chair, feet propped up, to sitting ramrod straight with both feet planted on the ground. Her face is nothing but incredulous as she questions, "I thought you owned this town."
"You're not leaving, Caroline," he commands. "Not this house and not my sight, until Silas has been dealt with."
"You can't kill Silas without a Bennett witch," Caroline points out. "And they're all dead."
He rolls his eyes at her, "Bonnie Bennett is not the only powerful witch in existence. I will find a way. I always do."
She makes a face at him and then pushes back her chair, turning away from him and facing the back wall. Elijah had a dozen or so of his paintings framed and hung throughout the house about a decade ago. The one in the office is a large landscape. There's something so familiar about it to Caroline, as if she's seen it before but just can't place the memory. They've already started to blur together after all. She doesn't look at him when she asks, her voice almost a whisper, "And while you do I'm supposed to what? Sit on my hands and wait?"
She wonders how long that will take. How much of her eternity Klaus intends to make her spend in New Orleans. He'd waited a thousand years to break his hybrid curse, what's another ten centuries to get rid of the first immortal being? Why wouldn't he drag it out? Why wouldn't he keep her in this house, right in front of him for as long as he possibly could?
He comes to stand beside her, and it's back to those sly smiles and raised eyebrows, "I can think of much better uses for your hands, but if you insist-"
Her expression is sour as she interrupts him, "I'm a little old to be a damsel in distress."
"And yet I saved you from certain death less then six hours ago," he replies. He tries to keep his voice unaffected but she catches the predatory lilt, the carefully controlled anger at the end of his sentence.
"Is that why you're being all feral right now?" she asks, seeing right through him. For someone who pretends not to have emotions he sure is obvious about them.
"The house was going to collapse, you were going to-" he begins to accuse.
"I didn't," she interrupts again, voice rising in time with his.
He rears on her, eyes wide and blazing, "You never will. I will not be put in that position again. I will not be forced to sit on my bloody hands and listen to you suffer."
"You know what I have to say about that," she answers back immediately.
"No promises?" he answers, and he reaches out to touch her face, rest his fingers against her cheek. The tenderness of the gesture is in direct contrast to the hard lines of his face. "Don't worry, love. I don't intend to make you any promises about my behavior during this little war either."
"Like you need an excuse to act deplorably," she replies with an eye roll. There's a half full bottle of liquor on his desk and a half full glass sitting next to it. She spins away from him and grabs both, picking up the cup and refilling it. She downs its contents in a few gulps and then wipes her mouth with an unladylike swipe of the back of her hand.
She sets the bottle back on the desk but keeps the glass, her fingers worrying the ridges. When she speaks it's mostly to herself. At least that's how she justifies it anyway, "I used to believe people could change. I still do, I think. I believe that Rebekah changed because she hoped Matt was worth it, and that Matt did the same for her. A thousand years of disappointment and she still has hope. Elijah does too. Hope for the both of you. He thinks that Matt validated her and that I'll validate you. Make you a better man."
He's watching her intently, and there's no sign of his prior amusement or anger. There's only him being fascinated by her, by the way her mind works, by the way he can't figure her out at all. And that is her favorite expression of his. "And what do you think, love?" he asks, not sure if he truly wants to know the answer.
She looks down at the glass again, twisting it in her fingers. The silence drags and he thinks he might explode if she doesn't answer him, if she doesn't express her feelings honestly for once. "I think you helped even though you didn't want to. I think you missed me. I think you hope that someday I'll want to stay instead of need to stay," she responds, her pretty face expressionless. "I think you hope I'll start to miss you too."
"Caroline-" he takes a step towards her.
She's not done though, not even close, "But you think love is a weakness. You think people are pawns. You think the people that I love are expendable. And I can't change that much. I'm not Elena. I don't believe that making you a slightly better man is worth losing my soul."
He crosses the distance between them then and grasps her by the shoulders, forces her to look him in the eye when he tells her, "I don't want you to change, love."
She looks at him for a long time, not blinking, not showing any other sign of life other than her refusal to look away. But when she does finally speak she's got this little dangerous smile on her face that he's never seen before, "What about the part about being too smart to be seduced by you?"
"Maybe bend a bit, never break," her answers, trying to make that smile wider. He suddenly realizes how close they are. Her nose is nearly brushing his, his fingers touching the bare skin of her shoulder, her hair brushing against his fingers. They're having a conversation that isn't centered around her idiot friends, a conversation about the two of them that doesn't have her making snide remarks or pretending she feels nothing at all.
She does smile a bit bigger when she cracks, "Yeah, I bet you'd like to see me-"
He doesn't know why he picks this moment after waiting so long, only that it seems to him like there may never be a better time, maybe in the chaos of their lives there will never be a perfect moment. Truthfully there has never been a perfect moment in his life so far. She could have died last night. Her face, her voice, the slant of her lips when she smiles, erased forever. He is eternal, he is never ending, but she is so easy to touch, to mar irreparably, to end forever. He has no intention of letting anything happen to her, but he can't take the chance that she'll ever disappear again and that he'd never know for sure.
She's still smiling when he kisses her. He remembers because it will be a long while before she smiles at him like that again. She tastes like blood and whiskey, smells like the countryside, and he's expecting her to pull away. Why wouldn't she? Why wouldn't she run away from him like everyone else? He's given her every excuse, all the ammunition she needs to hate him forever. A few nights of contrition is nothing after all the suffering he's caused. Especially since he's not sorry.
But she doesn't move away. She doesn't flinch or tense up or scream at him. She stands perfectly still with her hands at her sides for what feels like eternity. A thousand years gone by in the blink of an eye and this is what finally brings him pause. This little girl who he met by accident, who could have lived out her whole humming bird heart beat of a life in that little town with one its monosyllabic men without ever passing him by once.
She was Katerina's bargaining chip, Elena Gilbert's sidekick, hopelessly devoted to those miniscule people and that miniscule life they had planned for her. He could give her so much more. He would if only she would let him, if only she would give him any indication that that's what she wants.
And she does. She sighs. And it is such a little, perfect thing. Her hands move to his shoulders, press against his cheek, run though his hair. Her body becomes fluid, soft as he reaches out to explore the slope of her hips, the curve of her back, as his fingers discover for the first time that all that blonde hair is just as silky as he always thought it would be.
For about a minute and a half he kisses her so sweetly she just might have to rethink every assumption she's ever made about him. His mouth is careful, tracing hers like he's trying to memorize its shape and curve, its give and take. And then, as if they'd planned it, they both get frantic at the same time. Her lips part and he starts to back her up until she presses against his desk. He uses his thumb and forefinger to angle her face and the other to softly brush the hair out of her eyes as his hips press her unrelentingly closer. He presses one palm to the desk, leaning her back so she has to grip his back for support. He looms over her, surrounding the space above her and on either side and she grips his shoulders so tightly she's probably breaking through fabric and skin.
This bubbling up inside of her is a familiar feeling, except not, except that it is unique in a way that is scary to her. They are a mess of tongue and sharp teeth except none of it feels messy or sloppy or wrong. One hand moves from her face and brushes back across her hip, long fingers pressing against the bare skin exposed by her hiked up shirt. Her hand curves up and she runs her fingernails over his scalp before knotting them tightly in his hair, pulling back and then pressing closer. When his hand skids across her stomach she shudders. When she nips at his bottom lip he groans. It's a dance and, just like when they waltzed a million years ago, they are flawless without ever having practiced together.
And then it's one step too far. He lifts her, setting her on top of his desk. Her legs shift, her ankle wrapping around his calf, and he falls right there in that spot between her thighs and she shivers again and it's so nice and its been so long and-
Her eyes fly open.
What's happening right now?
Who the fuck is she right now? Because if she were herself she would know better. Because she has always known better, known that if she let this man touch her, if she let herself touch him, fall for him, care for him, then that would be the end of something she cannot let herself end. It would be no going back. And she is so very afraid of getting stuck somewhere she doesn't want to be. Getting stuck becoming somebody she doesn't want to be. She knows what she wants, what she could have right here on this desk, but she also knows that want and need are not the same. And that what she needs right now is to get the hell out of this room and this house before she has something else to feel guilty about.
She puts both hands on his shoulders and shoves him backwards. He's not graceful about it. His eyes flash amber as he scowls at her. A noise escapes his mouth that can only be described as a snarl. She's not scared. And she doesn't look away from him as she tries to catch her breath. His eyes return to that seawater blue color. They're wide as saucers, and they look into hers like they're trying to read her mind.
"Bad idea," she exhales, using the grip she has on his shoulders to help her slide off the desk. She glides away from him, circling the desk and putting it between them. There is only so much self-control a girl can maintain around a gorgeous man who looks at her like he wants to devour her on the spot.
"Very bad idea," she repeats, even as her hands reach up to touch her swollen lips. She's backing up as she speaks. If she can get to the hallway, to Elena and Stefan and even Damon, then sanity will return. She'll stop talking to the originals like they're actually still human, like they have settings other than brutality and callousness.
He matches her step for step, an easy smile coming to his lips, his every pore leaking victory. "I would argue an inevitability," he counters.
"Keep it up with the cockiness, you lose your appeal with every second," she blanches, reaching the office door, hand gripping it behind her back.
"Your racing heart begs to differ," he smirks. They're toe to toe again, and she can smell herself on him. And God it is way hotter than it sounds.
"Stop it," she orders, tying to keep the shakiness out of her voice. She opens his door and nearly falls out of it trying to put some distance between them. "Do not follow me," she adds, because she wouldn't put it past him. "Don't," she repeats, before she slams the door behind her.
God Caroline, she thinks to herself as she stumbles down the hallway, self-control issues much?
She heads for the back door, avoiding her friends until she can get herself under control. She steps out onto the back patio, her bare feet slipping across the tile. There's a pool a few feet away and she considers jumping in it in an effort to cool herself off. She thinks better of it though, running a hand through her hair and taking a couple deep breaths instead.
She knew she shouldn't have gone in there. She should have walked straight to her friends and begun brainstorming how to get out of this town as opposed to creating more roadblocks and reasons to stay. This is not a game she can win, some role she can slip in and out of whenever she wants. This, like all things Klaus, comes with high stakes.
She's about to go back in and allow Stefan and Elena to give her that intervention when the ground shakes beneath her and a roar rings in her ears. Something's going on at the front of the house. It sounds like an explosion, but she can't know for sure. There's banging as doors fly open and she can hear Elijah and Klaus yelling something at each other. She hopes nothing happened to that beautiful front porch.
She moves to the door, is mere inches from twisting the knob when a pair of arms encircle her. She didn't hear him coming and she supposes that was the point.
"Don't scream," he whispers in her ear.
She doesn't listen, gears up for a horror movie caliber shriek in fact. For her trouble her neck is snapped for the second time in twelve hours.