11. In every moment, a choice exists
He blinks, the invisible wall already rising. "No."
Of course he wants to talk her out of it. Not that she really expected that he'd to leave her to her own devices when his enemies are involved. Does he even have someone he considers a friend in this city?
Then again, the way he doesn't even give her the chance to explain her motives before he shuts the idea down makes her angry enough to stop caring. So instead of letting any sympathy take hold, she turns a glare on him.
"You don't even know what I'm going to do."
He doesn't need time to think about that, seems to have anticipated it.
"You wish to negotiate with somebody who will not listen to you," he counters, moving closer and tossing her own words back at her, "A terrible idea."
She raises her eyebrows at his sarcasm. "Better than going and tearing them to pieces, like you obviously want to do. You think that's going to solve anything? It'll just make more people angry. If I tell this witch why everything happened and …"
"You will not," he repeats himself, cutting off the justification, "You believe they are people to reason with in this situation? You'd do better to draw the line between friend and foe, love. You don't know what you are dealing with and I don't think you need reminding that they want you dead - I suggest you let me take care of it. If you wish to leave, that is one thing but this is out of question."
Caroline scoffs at him, this oh-so-superior demeanour he puts on to dissuade her. He should know by now that she will not back down once her mind is made up. As though his disapproval could make a difference when she knows it's what she has to do. Not just for them but for herself, her recovery.
Although it is intriguing that this overprotective side is emerging in concern for her safety, it's the wrong time. She won't deny that this is risky but she's prepared to put herself in a dangerous place for what is right. Just like she always does with her friends.
Her mom taught her to do her best to treat people fairly, to be kind and follow her morals, so that's what she's doing. She owes her that.
"You don't get it. This is not just about me. This is about people that lost a friend and they're looking for someone to blame. That someone happens to be me and I needto apologize for it. Not just to get them off my back - and off yours by the way. If I can't make it right for her, I can at least make it right for her friends."
The blue of his irises grows dark, "You heard me the first time. It's not an option."
He remains unmoved, expression never wavering and she can't help but wonder why he can't see it her way. He was a friend to the human; she heard it from them both. So why is he fighting her so hard when he knows how the others must feel? Just to keep her from going to them and risking getting hurt?
Maybe it's not even that he fears for her but worries about what story they might spill about him.
"And what would she do to me, huh? If I turn up on this witch's doorstep voluntarily you really think she will just kill me on the spot? I'm turning myself in even though I know what could be waiting for me. She'll wonder why and assuming she's not you, she'll hear me out at least."
His eyes glitter dangerously at her reference to his behaviour, "And what result do you think will come from this? That she will believe you? A complete stranger with any kind of intentions. That she'll forgive you and everyone goes on their merry way?"
She raises her chin in defiance. "Yeah, that's exactly what I think. She's a teenager who just lost someone close to her. I know how that feels and I know I would want to hear the truth, even if it hurts. If she still thinks she has to take revenge when I've said everything, then that's my gamble. But I'm notgoing to wait for her to come after me when she doesn't know the whole story."
He turns quiet, his refusal evident. Then he steps past her towards the balcony. A hand bracing against the window, he stares out into the night and although his posture seems at ease, the tautness in his voice gives him away.
"I can't guarantee your protection there. You would put yourself at risk for the off chance that the witch will abandon her revenge and expect me to go along with this plan?"
"Well, your support would be great so I don't have to waste time finding her but I can do it on my own," she shrugs at the angry glance he throws at her, "This isn't just for her or that Marcel guy. It's not because I'm trying to stop you from murdering people to prove your point – you'll do that anyway if you want to. I need this. It could help to talk about what happened and to tell these people that I'm sorry. I need this guilt to go away. So stop trying to make me change my mind."
It takes another handful of moments brimming with tense silence and she almost expects another retort along the lines of 'I won't let you just because I can' before he finally dips his head. It's barely a nod.
He's not appreciating her stubbornness, obviously, and it's not quite the approval she was going for but it's enough. It looks like he won't stand in her way.
The relief is already starting to rise in her when he adds, "Then I'll be accompanying you."
She feels her expression freeze. Did he really miss the whole point of what she's been saying?
There is no way she is involving him like that, especially not after the display with the other vampire just now. He can't actually believe that it would go smoothly when the number one enemy of the witches escorts her. Like that would make her look trustworthy, showing up with him as a bodyguard. He's too much of a tactician to really consider that a good move.
The longer she stares at his back incredulously, the more she believes he's doing this just to win some part of the argument. To not have to give in to the proposal without laying his own terms down. Annoyance sweeps away any gratitude and she shakes her head.
"No way, that's not going to happen."
He turns back to her then, jaw tightening. Her denial sets the dispute in motion again as he points out the flaws of her plan. They're running in a circle within the argument but growing more irritated with every response, both aware of its futility.
The hybrid shouldn't be able to rile her up so much by looking out for her. He's completely overlooking the fact that she's still a freaking vampire and can take care of herself. All right, maybe the Marcel situation tells a different story but she was caught off guard earlier. She'll be prepared when she walks into the witch's lair.
Another five minutes spent going back and forth and she decides she's done with this. She's told him before that he has no say in her choices and if he's going to be this difficult, she'll leave.
So she pulls out the card she didn't want to play. If he's really asking for it straight, she'll give it to him.
"I'm not your prisoner, Klaus! If I want to do this on my terms, you don't get to twist it to fit your agenda. I'm going alone to do what I have to do. I'm trusting that they're decent enough to listen without ripping my head off. I know that sounds crazy to you but some of us actually do that. We put our faith in people and trust them to make their own decisions."
Caroline is breathing harder than she should when the silence returns, their gazes locked again. She can only steel herself against the storm that's raging in him. That last jibe really hit home.
Maybe because she more or less just used Marcel's words against him, maybe because she called him out on what this is actually about: how he doesn't trust anyone but himself. She can see the effect in the tightening of his shoulders, how he puts physical distance between them again.
She can only wait now. Seconds are ticking away and there's absolutely no motion in the room except for their breathing. When he answers eventually, it's so sudden and clipped she almost mishears him.
"I'll have Davina notified that you're coming in the morning."
Although his words come out harsh and it's obvious he's not supporting this, she's glad. She doesn't ask about how exactly he plans to inform the witch, catching herself before she criticises any involvement on his part again. No need to fuel the fire when he's already displeased with the situation.
"Good," is all she replies. This is what she needed, after all – information on the location and an announcement of her showing up so she doesn't get mugged instantly.
She doesn't give him the thanks he's probably waiting for, still annoyed. Plus, she can't be sure that he won't change his mind by tomorrow. He is still as unpredictable and volatile as always and she's aware that his moods can change in an instant. Especially when he senses danger at every turn.
He doesn't answer and she watches his back for a reaction. He just bent to her will; she doubts he's going to let that go so easily. It's not hard to figure that he's angry at this outcome.
Apparently he deems the conversation over because he turns and leaves the room without further warning. She doesn't try to step in his path and tell him he's being childish, holding back any words to stop him. She knows when to let someone cool off.
As the door falls in place, Caroline releases a long breath. She won the argument but it seems like she just lost any earlier connection between them. But wait … why the hell is she even empathizing with him after how he just tried to control her again?
She tries to shake the thought. She stuck by her plan and that's the most important thing.
She was half-afraid he'd try to end the discussion with a threat because that is what he does best when he feels backed into a corner. He probably knew it wouldn't have done anything except make her lash out too.
This argument was not the best way to stay in his good graces but honestly, there is nothing else she can think of that would be as effective as plain old talking it out with the witch. Maybe it's her ego coming in too. She wants to prove that trust can pay off.
She wants no fighting or bloodshed so she can't have the hybrid there when she's trying to make amends. He has to know that it's unlikely the girl would talk freely with him hovering in the room. But this meeting could placate his enemies; at the end of the day it was her who authored the human's death.
It might make them drop their vendetta against her and give her a chance to deal with her actions. That is if her luck still stands and she won't get her heart torn out for trying.
She really hopes there's a coffee shop nearby so she can come bearing gifts. She can't think of any teenager that would ever say no to a Frappuccino in times of stress or grief. She would go immediately but it is probably best to take some time to gather her wits again.
She forgets that the funeral was only yesterday and Marcel might spill his side of the story before she gets there so she should prepare for that. If he joins them tomorrow, she just hopes she can stay composed around the guy.
Klaus said that he was arranging their meeting for the morning. That leaves around eight hours in which she is determined not to fall asleep.
Not because she's paranoid about anybody breaking in to murder her in here, she doesn't think they'd get past whatever magic is on this compound. No, she's scared of letting go.
When her dad left, every time she did manage to sleep in the first few days, it was terrible. She envisioned all kinds of scenarios even though she knew he hadn't been abducted or anything. It was her childish mind trying to invent stories that made his decision to leave hurt less. Then, she was turned and dreaming rose to a whole new level.
Whatever felt true when dreaming as a human has become so vivid, so clear in details that sometimes she honestly questions if her dreams are reality. How often has she seen Bonnie come back in her sleep only to be disappointed when she wakes up and realization hits? Or Tyler returning from exile to sweep her off her feet but the space in her bed still empty every morning?
Not to mention the dreams that turn into fantasies. Those are definitely on a whole different level now.
But then there are the bad ones that wrap cold tendrils around her lungs and keep her from breathing. They have her jolting into consciousness with her fangs out although the monsters are an illusion. She knows, well, believes there are no more creatures like Silas that can hurt her but it doesn't make them seem less real.
No, she can't let anything like that take over her thoughts tonight. After everything, this would be a nightmare of epic proportions and she might demolish more than furniture in the process. It's stupidly irrational.
She should probably be more scared of her not-so-foolproof plan instead of her subconscious but it's hard to ignore the thundering of her heart when she thinks about it.
She glances at the bed. It doesn't look as tempting as it did earlier. For starters, there aren't any pillows to snuggle into anymore because she's emptied them all in blind frustration. If that's what she's capable of awake, she doesn't want to try unconsciousness.
Tidying the mess will give her something to do, at least. Good thing nobody has sent the staff through here yet. Picking up the feathers is tedious as hell but it's distracting and that's her priority for this night.
So she pulls out her phone and plugs in the headphones, slips her shoes off and gets to work. With Freddie Mercury in her ears and white fluff escaping her every time she moves, she almost manages to forget everything. A scenario where there is neither an angry hybrid nor vengeful witches and no murders to set it all in motion.
It takes ages before the floor is safe to walk across without feathers sticking to her toes and she curses this room for not having a vacuum cleaner at hand. Then again, it's close to midnight and most of the place is surely asleep by now, she wouldn't want to wake anyone up with her antics. If they sleep at all.
She's never really thought about that because this family seems like they're capable of prowling around at all times, never closing an eye. Who needs to rest when you can plot how to get rid of opponents?
She can't do much about the broken chair so she stacks the pieces in the corner as best she can and throws the scraps of pillowcase into the trash. Then the place is as spotless as it's going to get and she sinks down on the balcony in the cooling air. Glass against her back, tiles pressed against her jeans, she sits and listens to the activity on the streets.
Her phone clock says there's way too much time left and even as she tries to focus on virtual games again, it's not enough to interest her. Why didn't she think of packing a book when she left Whitmore?
Right, no-humanity Caroline didn't care about reading. She can't quite motivate herself to go search for the Mikaelson library, although she's certain they have one here.
She can't even start a mindless series marathon because this place seems to be stuck in the last century when it comes to technology. No television in any of the rooms she's been shown and after two attempts to find any, she knows there's no wifi around either. With all the boredom she's been killing in the last couple of days, she barely has any capacity of her cell phone plan left.
The problem is that tiredness is sneaking over her and she needs to fight it. Maybe she should throw something nice on and go party out there with the rest of the tourists, no matter who is out to get her. It would keep her up at any rate.
She considers calling Bonnie again but dismisses it. There's enough stuff happening on that side of the country too, she doesn't want to keep the witch up with her issues as well.
When she's shuffled through a whole range of possible entertainment in her head and still comes up empty, she drifts back inside and flops on the mattress. Six hours to go. If she's going to do nothing, she might as well do it on a more comfortable surface.
She could make a plan of things she needs to do when she gets back to Mystic Falls, practical stuff that she can't forget about. It's her go-to distraction that still passes as productive.
She nods to herself. Good call, Forbes, just keep busy. Her thumbs hover over a blank note on the phone screen for a while before she can gather her thoughts.
Clean up the house
Get the paperwork sorted
Get in touch with lawyer about the will
Take care of college formalities – dorm room?
Catch up on what the hell has been going on
Apologize to everyone for being a murderous bitch
Treat everyone that got hurt to something nice
Get Alaric and Jo a wedding gift
Go see Elena
Talk to Stefan
Visit mom's grave
She stops at the last one, fingers freezing over the blinking cursor. She hasn't seen the grave since she left, didn't go there once in the handful of days she hung around without her emotions.
What if there are no more flowers there from the day of the funeral? What if the stone wasn't set in right after all? Or the engraving, did she even check if it was done correctly? Even worse, what if it looks exactly like she imagines, as she left it that night and she just can't bear to think of her mom under all that dirt?
What would she think of her being here? Caroline knows that her mom never approved of Klaus and only saw the evil in him. If she knew about what she's done with him … what she felt for him even when she was in love with Tyler although she never acknowledged it.
She would disapprove instantly. Not just because he's an older guy (by standards that are way out of proportion considering human life spans) but a killer. With lots of personal issues. She would tell her to get out here as fast as possible.
But her mom is dead now. Not even on the Other Side with the slim chance of coming back as a ghost. There's no witch can bring her spirit back. There is no chance of return and the weight of that crushes her all over again.
It already began to sink in on that day at the funeral but somehow it feels even worse now. She knows when she returns to Mystic Falls, it will be with the knowledge that there's only emptiness waiting.
She won't ever get another apology-hot-chocolate when her mom has to run to the station and bails on a planned weekend breakfast. There will never be another text to inform her of a big case that needs her attention and no more adrenalin when she worries about her getting home safe.
She'll never watch her mom lovingly water the single plant in their kitchen that somehow manages to survive even though both of them regularly forget about it. There won't be any more moments between them like watching Gilmore Girls reruns when they've both had a terrible day and no more flipping through old albums, filled with memories from her human days.
It's all gone.
There's that pain she has managed to block out all day, etching burning patterns into her heart and making her hands shake. She quickly tosses the phone aside to wrap her fingers around her upper arms. It doesn't stop the shivering.
She remembers this. It's exactly the feeling that made her shut it off in the first place, that heavy, heavy weight pulling her down. Her vision goes blank and her skin grows numb to her surroundings, as though everything focuses on the hurt inside.
She can't even cry, it's more like she wants to scream at the world for doing such injustice to the most amazing person she ever knew. Liz Forbes didn't deserve to go and she definitely didn't deserve to be brought to her death by cancer. And she only made it worse by feeding her the blood she hoped would cure her.
She was ignorant, hoping for the best and even though she hopes her mom never blamed her for it, it's her cross to carry. She has to live with that guilt and it's so much worse than the combination of everything else she's done recently.
The shaking has moved up her limbs, she can feel her breath come out in short gasps as her upper body shivers from non-existent cold. She tries to roll herself into a ball, clutch onto herself tighter until it stops.
Like her mom used to hold her when she was much younger. It has to stop eventually and after everything she's survived up until this point, it is only a matter of time.
But then there's the truth staring her in the face. It's in her mom's features, lined with pain and sickness and it circles around her head. There's the inner voice pointing the fault at her and she can't run away from that.
She knows it's her responsibility. She made it accelerate so rapidly with her impatient love, her compulsive need to command the situation that was way past any control. Her vampire intervention tore away the little time she had left with her mom.
She can see the grave in front of her right now, every single flower wilted without a soul there to mourn anymore. A horrible thought that she can't shake even though she is sure she will never leave her mom alone.
But what if it happens? Just what if she starts to forget? What if the survives this week, and the one after that, and a year after that and this all becomes a blur? She wants to recover, of course but what if she loses sight of her mom in ten years, twenty years? If she leaves that grave behind someday?
The trembling has reached her legs and she can't hold herself together when her hands are also shaking so badly. She feels the memories crushing her, her mom is in her head, in front of her eyes; the phantom touch of comfort on her back and it sends her spiralling.
She thought she could do this, after everything that's happened. Turns out she can't face the sorrow better than two weeks ago, only worse.
Her eyes are still dry although she wants to cry, to let it out in the only way that would make sense. She needs a release for everything that is still building inside her because otherwise she might implode.
It's not just the trembling. More like her skin has started burning from the inside out, reminiscent of the blaze of vampire flesh in sunlight. It makes her scratch at the surface, drawing bloody lines over her arms in futile attempts to make the fever stop.
It feels like an eternity until she manages to sit up and clumsily grasps the side of the mattress to anchor herself. Her muscles refuse to be controlled and she can barely stand up. Her throat has taken on the texture of sandpaper and thirst flares up through the mental chaos. She reaches over and holds onto the bedside table, trying to focus on anything else.
College, her friends, her home … no, everything is connected to her mom. She can't even muster the concentration to focus on the people that died on her journey. The ones that are as unattached to her past as it gets. They're far away all of a sudden when she tries to reach them, buried even deeper inside than the remains of her mom back home.
Her fangs ache, slipping through her gums before she can hold it back. She feels the corner of the table break under her grip and manages to swear through the chattering of her teeth. The burning spreads into her throat, her tongue like gravel against the dryness. Another thing she desperately wants to fight is this bloodlust.
But right now, the waves of desolation that threaten to drown her are a bigger concern. There's only one source of relief and in her state, she forgets that she's driven it away three hours ago. It takes several attempts before she can stand somewhat steadily and fumbles with the door.
Never has the hallway seemed to long and she does her best to keep quiet despite how unsteady she is. Her hand brushes along the wall and when another bout of trembling overcomes her, she has to lean her full weight against it to not loose her balance. Why can't it just stop, why can't the hurt inside be enough? She could try to drink that part into oblivion.
Her bare feet come to a staggering halt in front of his door. She can't breathe for a moment, has to crouch down and fight against suffocation that is entirely mental. It's like hands around her neck but her mother's eyes stare into hers as she's being choked.
Why can't her rational mind control this? She tries to tell herself it's an illusion, forces her legs to straighten. She's almost there, so close to finding relief.
Caroline opens the door as quietly as she can with unstable fingers, the click of the lock like thunder to her ears. The room is darker than the outside and as her eyes adjust, she stumbles forward.
Ten quivering steps inside she finds him in the bed, sprawled on his back in sleep. Had she been in any other state, she might have really looked at the unconscious hybrid, bare-chested and more relaxed than she's ever seen him.
All she can look at now is the wrist hanging off the mattress.
Her body starts responding, her breath hitching as she edges closer. She holds it in despite the shivering in an attempt to be silent, hears her own racing heartbeat as oxygen depletes in her body.
She can feel the pulse of his blood now, imagines she can see it flowing in those blue lines so close under the skin. The shaking intensifies, making the motions all the harder to contain.
She stops beside him, barely keeping it together. Her eyes are already changing as she lowers herself to her knees. It's right in front of her. Her fangs slide against her lips as she opens her mouth; lets out the breath she's been holding while invisible hands try to crush her heart from within.
Then she surges forward and digs her teeth in. The skin breaks under the force, blood coating her tongue while her hand clutches at the arm.
The reaction is instant. Although she knew, logically, deep down, that there would be retaliation for being attacked in his sleep, her rational mind couldn't process that possibility. It didn't matter as long as she got that taste.
But as her head is jerked away by her hair with enough force to send her tumbling back, as a heavy body forces her flat to the ground, it slowly dawns that she should have been prepared.
The moment her back slams against the hardwood and she feels the teeth in her neck, reality comes rushing back, hitting her at full force. Klaus is here; right on top of her and he just buried lethal teeth in her vein.
Caroline knows she should make some kind of noise to get his attention but she can't, entirely frozen underneath him. It's when he draws back with golden eyes and dripping fangs that the trembling starts up again all over her body.
They stare at another, taking in both their bloodstained lips until the animal instincts recede and she finds blue eyes hovering over hers.
He murmurs her name in confusion, fingers coming up to the wound he just caused, not quite touching. He looks more shocked than anything, instantly removing his hand where he has it fisted in her hair. She can't think, only feel the contours of his body pressing against hers, that pounding of blood she just had in her grasp.
"What have you done?" he asks in a sleep-heavy voice, finding his anger again.
A loaded question. Although it's obvious what he's asking about, she thinks of everything else.
She's done too many things she thought she never would and the worst of them is haunting her tonight. To add to the list, she just misused him for his blood without permission or warning for the second time. They may just be even. Or he could let her suffer from this bite for defying him earlier and she wouldn't be able to do a thing about it.
"I killed my mom," she whispers because it's only the truth she has on her mind.
She still can't cry, only wants to feed. The pressure in her chest still hasn't lifted.
Her answer seems to only perplex him until he glances at the shallow holes in his wrist that are already healing over. When he moves his gaze back to her, it's resigned because he grasps the situation.
He slowly eases off her to lean against the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. Irrationally, she craves him back. Without the weight pinning her down, her body goes straight back to shaking uncontrollably.
He draws his own conclusion, looking at her struggle to sit up with the venom already coursing through her. It makes her even less steady.
"You came because you need blood," he notes, the ire in his tone dropping away the longer he watches her.
It's not exactly a question but she manages a nod, trying to keep upright. The burn she feels now is a real one, werewolf poison passing through her system and it makes her insides flare up. Instead of asking all the questions he must have, he only reaches over and pulls her close. She can't quite force her body to resist but groans when the motion tugs at the inflamed skin around the injury.
"Next time," he says before reopening his wrist with a swift bite, "you should wake me first."
Caroline doesn't reply, already licking at the gash and drinking what he offers. With every swallow, her body is taken over by tranquillity. Ancient blood restoring the strength she seems to lose at every wrong turn.
It's like pressure releasing, her pain dulling to the point where she can breathe freely. It just makes it all the more clear that she's kidding herself if she thinks she can handle this without him.
She can't make herself look at him when she releases the arm, her quivers finally fading. "Sorry. I didn't want to do this again."
Any other explanation she could give him now would only have him questioning her sanity and with what she's planning in the morning, she can't give him more reasons to keep her from going through with it.
"You were thinking of your mother," he probes and she turns away, determined to not go there again.
"Yeah," she feels vulnerable like this, suddenly very aware of how little he's wearing, how they've got each other's blood smeared across their mouths.
His brow is furrowed, "I believe a tumour was the cause of her death."
It doesn't make sense that he's asking about this and even less that she should tell him about it. It's as personal as it gets and he's supposed to be angry with her, just as she is with him. She was planning to stay out of his way until she got things sorted with the witch and her friends. Instead she sighs, eyes on her feet.
"It was. Until I fed her my blood and ruined everything. I tried to save her and in the end, I just made her die faster. It was my fault."
He's silent and lets that sink in for a moment.
"Caroline," a finger under her chin turns her face to him, "In death, none of these things matter anymore. Your mother's suffering ended with her passing. She would never think to hold this mistake against you, no matter the consequences."
She can't find a reply for him, only searching his gaze in the darkness. Trying to see behind the words and finding only sincerity. He barely knew her mom and still, he can say such a thing and mean it without doubt.
She raises her hand to take his away, holding onto his fingers like he's thrown her a lifeline. It feels like one in any case and she finds a question leaving her lips that she never thought she'd ask in at least another century. Scratch that, she thought it would be never.
"Can I stay tonight?"