Thank you so much for all the feedback on the previous chapter! Love you all.

I'm a bit sleepy so I apologise if there are any leftover errors; please let me know what you think :)

"Almost four decades into the future and there's still no better way to whisk."

Behind her, Liz snorts out a laugh.

"Well, don't fix what ain't broke."

"That's the most Southern I've ever heard you sound. Also, big words coming from the lady with a piece of glass for a cellphone."

Liz slowly makes to join her at the stovetop.

"Speaking of which, we need to get you one."

Caroline rolls her eyes. "Literally nobody needs to call me."

"Klaus might want to call you," she wiggles her eyebrows.

"Mom!"

She passes the finished pancake mixture on as Liz looks amused with herself then hops up onto the kitchen counter.

Her mother had been predictably mad about her leaving the party early last night – until she'd found out that her and Klaus had spent time together instead. Ever since, she'd been teasing non-stop and Caroline was pretty sure cooking breakfast together was some sort of ruse to get details out of her.

"I'm not stopping till you tell me more."

"There's barely anything to tell."

"Caroline, don't make me invite your aunt Jacky to stay over for a few weeks."

Caroline groaned loudly. Even just as a joking threat, the thought made her shudder. Nobody liked her great aunt Jacky.

"I can't believe you even invited her to the party."

"Well, I didn't want to be on her bad side. I did try discouraging her. And I told her that she didn't have to come if her health would suffer – but she muttered something about free food then put down the phone."

Caroline giggled a little. "I can't believe you're like seventy years old and still scared of your aunt."

Liz pointed the egg lifter at her.

"Not the point. Tell me about last night."

"Ok. But promise you won't freak out."

"Is there something to freak out about?"

"Not really," she hedged.

"Caroline Beulah Forbes –"

"Ok, ok, Mom, god." She took a breath. "We… sort of almost kissed."

"What?"

"The pancakes are burning!"

Her mother started to react but, with a roll of her eyes, Caroline hopped off, flipped all the pancakes then jumped back onto the counter before Liz had even managed to turn her walker around.

"Never mind."

"Forget pancakes burning, I want to know about vampires yearning!"

"Ew, Mom, gross!"

"Told you I wouldn't stop."

Caroline groaned then settled further back on the counter, fiddling a little as she tried to come up with the right way to tell the story.

"…He just basically said that I could kiss him if I wanted."

Liz's eyes narrow. "But you didn't."

"No," she answers shrilly; matter-of-factly.

"Explain."

"Get the pancakes."

Liz first shoots her daughter a glare before turning to get them and Caroline uses the time to collect herself, placing herself back into her own shoes from last night.

"…He said if I wanted to, and I didn't want to."

Liz finishes plating the pancakes and switches off the stove before turning back to her with a raised brow.

"Really?"

"Yes. Why are you using that tone?"

"It's called disbelief."

"Fine! Ok. Maybe I wanted to kiss him – a little. But I was using my brain and that told me things were getting really close to moving too fast."

Liz stares at her.

"Too fast? I've never heard you say that in my life."

She gasps. "Am I being slut-shamed by my own mom right now?"

"No, Caroline. I'm just surprised at you. I can't believe you're making up these excuses."

Shaking her head in disappointment, she turns away to begin chopping up the strawberries.

"Mom! It's not an excuse. We've been on, like, two dates. And it's Klaus."

By which she means she's pretty sure it wouldn't stop at just one kiss, but there's no way she's telling her mom that.

Liz takes it differently, though.

"Exactly. It's Klaus. The man who has waited thirty-five years to kiss you again, only for you to say that things are moving too fast. Riddle me that."

With a huff, she folds her arms.

"It's not like he didn't kiss anyone else all that time."

"Actually, I'm fairly certain that's exactly what happened."

Caroline freezes but then forces an eye roll, trying her best not to buy that.

"Yeah, right, Mom. He's Klaus freaking Mikaelson. You really think he slept alone for every night of those thirty-five years?"

"That I have no doubt about."

She scoffs. "You can't know that."

"Caroline."

Her mother sighs then presses her palms to the counter, still but focused. Their deepest conversations had always occurred when they weren't making eye contact.

"What I know is that he brought you here every second Sunday, no matter where he was in the world. And, yes – brought you here. He didn't go anywhere without your coffin. And every time he would have it rolled inside. He'd sit on the couch and pretend not to listen to me talk to you." She takes a breath. "I know that he became a near-hermit because he couldn't bear the thought of not being there when you opened your eyes. I know that he never stood up to leave the room without first glancing at you – and every time it was hopeful. I know he was here every single time I needed him. Even if it was just to cry about how much I missed you – which was a lot. Or if I just needed someone to argue with over wine." She draws a deep breath. "That's what I know."

Caroline tries to wipe away the tears on her cheeks before Liz turns to meet her eyes, but it's too late, and there is sympathy in her mother's old eyes.

"If you think he had time – between that and killing all those Reese descendants – to have other relationships, then maybe I'm wrong." She smiles slightly. "But I wouldn't bet on it."

Caroline blinks rapidly, trying to force her eyes to stop forming tears.

Eventually it works and she forces a smile.

"…I guess you're probably right, then."

Liz laughs a little and suddenly they both break out into giggles, an outlet for the strange tension in the air.

She doesn't know how to deal with all the information her mother had just given her. Doesn't know what to think about the vampire-werewolf Big Bad staying faithful to her for thirty-five years.

Liz's hand lands on her wrist.

"I'm not telling you to do anything you don't want to do, Caroline. All I'm saying is don't wait because you think it's what you should do."

Putting her other hand over her mother's, she swallows.

"You're right. Thanks, Mom."

"Oh, finally. I can die now. I heard my daughter say I was right about something. Twice."

She rolls her eyes, which sends them into another fit of giggles.

Liz wipes away a tear as she moves back towards the strawberries.

"Anything else on your mind you need help with?" she teases, but Caroline grows thoughtful.

She wishes there weren't.

"Mom, you know how you asked if there was anything else on my mind?"

They'd watched an episode of a soapie and are halfway through their pancakes when she gathers the courage to ask.

"Hmm-mm?" her mother wonders, her mouth full.

"Well, Klaus actually brought up something else last night too."

She frowns. "What?"

"Well… he said that my memories might start returning and that it might not be a fun process. He asked me to promise that I would tell him if it started happening."

Immediately Liz looks concerned.

"Did you?"

"I did."

Immediately she looks down at her lap, where her hands are fidgeting.

There's a slight pause, then: "…But?"

"But… I don't know if I would."

She waits a second then looks back up to meet her mother's eyes. There's confusion there and a little bit of disappointment. She half-expects to hear 'I didn't raise you like this' escape her lips.

It's almost as bad.

"Why would you make a promise you don't intend to keep?"

God. That very question had been haunting her since last night.

But how could she not have promised? How could she have looked at him and admitted that she wouldn't tell him if she got her memories back? Those memories that are so precious to him.

Which is the problem.

"Because…" She sighs. "Because I don't want to get his hopes up."

Liz's eyebrow shoots up in surprise and Caroline feels a weird sort of shame.

"That's why," she says softly, looking back down. "I feel like we're finally getting somewhere and I don't want to mess it up with something that will only confuse things even more." She hesitates then admits: "It's gonna hurt him if they don't all come back."

Caroline bites on her lip, trying not to cry, and her mother's hand lands on her wrist.

"You care about him."

"Yeah." Her lip wobbles. "I do."

And that's the worst of it. She'd gone from attacking him to protecting him in an unbelievable amount of time and she isn't sure why or how. All she knows is that, standing on her porch last night staring back at him as he asked her to promise, she'd known that she couldn't tell him the truth.

She'd known that she couldn't bear to see joy and hope cross his face only to be followed by the complete opposites as it all came crashing down.

Because nothing she has experienced so far has led her to any confidence that she'll be getting all her memories back. If anything, it's like they're just teasing her. Like there's a block she can't make her way past, no matter what she does; how hard she tries.

She'd remembered him talking about Elijah; the pain hidden in his features. She can't be the one to cause that. She won't. Not again. Not when she can protect him from it.

And, mostly – she can't disappoint him. Can't be a disappointment to him. She wants to be enough.

Liz takes a deep breath then squeezes.

"I think there can be honour in keeping a secret to prevent someone you care about from getting hurt."

She nods but can't ignore the tone her mother had left it on.

"…But?"

There's hesitation but then the rest comes.

"I also know it can be cruel."

It takes only a second for Caroline to realise: "Dad."

Liz nods. "I forgave Bill, I did, but when you get to my age you start thinking about all the time you wasted. I could've saved so much of it, not being bitter. I could've met someone else. You could've had a wonderful stepfather. Instead, how long he lied to me for haunted me; made me incapable of trusting another man that way."

Caroline nods, taking this in.

She remembers how utterly broken her mother had been.

"Are you saying I'm wasting Klaus' time?"

"Honey, no. Of course not. I'm just saying that he waited thirty-five years. It was a lot of time. I think he deserves the truth."

She thinks of his face in the restaurant when he'd begged her to remember.

"But just because someone deserves the truth doesn't mean it won't hurt."

Liz thinks about this for a moment.

"No. I suppose it doesn't."

"So what do I do?"

Liz stares at her daughter for a long moment before letting out a lengthy exhale.

"You… eat pancakes."

Caroline giggles in surprise.

"What?"

"I may be old, but I don't have all the answers, Caroline. For now, we eat pancakes. And if you do get any memories back, we'll cross that bridge if we get to it, alright?"

With a forced smile, Caroline picks up her fork again and nods.

"Right. If we get to it."

Caroline wanders into her room with a glass of orange juice.

The Spanish soapies had started and it turned out her mother had, over the years, learned Spanish from them – Caroline, apparently, had not. Liz had first joked that Klaus should have played language learning tapes for her while she'd been in the coma then fiddled with the TV to try and find how to turn the subtitles back on before Caroline had told her it was ok.

Truth be told, she'd been getting a little queasy watching them, anyway. Her life right now is way too close to what she'd been watching on-screen.

Sighing, Caroline flops down onto her bed.

She's been trying not to, but all she can think of is what her mom had said about secrets and lies.

She just wishes it had helped her figure out what the right thing to do is here.

She knows it's wrong to lie to Klaus – and her mother, for that matter – but right now it's what feels right.

With another sigh, Caroline reaches for the diary she's on. If there's one thing guaranteed to distract her, it's that.

Frowning, she notices that her handwriting had gone from normal to almost illegible towards the end of the entry, as if she'd been in distress.

She forces herself to start at the beginning, though.

_Date _

I'd found it! God. I'd just found it.

She burst into the study with an ecstatic smile on her face only to be jolted by Klaus' expression.

"What's wrong?" she breathed.

He looked up slowly, barely acknowledging that she was here instead of in her room.

The look in his eyes made her stomach fall.

"It's Marcel."

In an instant she was before him, standing opposite his desk.

He didn't have to say anything else. The dead space in his eyes said it all.

"No," she shook her head, stepping back. "No no no."

He looked away as her heart beat wildly.

"Klaus, I'm so sorry."

She rounded the desk to stand beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

She was sorry. That it had happened, yes, but mostly because it had been because of her.

He rested a hand on her arm but still didn't meet her eyes. "He died fighting. It was honourable."

His mouth was saying all the right things but his tone was something different altogether. It was hollow. Like there was nothing left alive inside him.

She couldn't blame him. She'd taken it all.

"Well, nobody else has to." He looked up to meet her eyes, confused. "Klaus, I found it. The solution to everything."

"Which is what?"

"A spell. Rosemary told me about it. It's in her grimoire; her great-grandmother created it."

"What sort of spell?"

"It'll stop my heart and put me in a coma. Kind of like when you dagger your siblings."

He blinked. "A coma?"

"Yes. Look, I know it's not ideal. But Reese wants my beating heart. This will stop it. If we can play it off like you killed me, then he'll have to give up on his entire plan and this war will end."

He stared at her for a second longer then looked away.

"It won't work."

"We have to try." Gently she pried his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes again. "For Marcel."

His eyes widened in misery, as if the wound had been made afresh, and she leaned down to wrap herself around him.

Hugging him tightly to her, she closed her eyes and whispered into his ear.

"Please just talk to Rosemary."

Caroline throws down the diary as if it had burned her.

"Oh my god," she mutters, breathless.

Why hadn't he told her?

This whole time, from the beginning, she'd believed that the spell had been his idea. His fault.

His fault, that she had lost thirty-eight years of her life. But this whole time it had been her own doing. And he'd let her believe that.

She has to know why.

She hasn't finished the entry yet but she can't wait. She has to know now.

So, without another glance at the diary, she whooshes off.

It's a minute run for a vampire so she gets there not having cooled off at all.

As a result she blows right in without bothering to knock, listening for his pulse and finding it.

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

They're on the balcony, the late morning sun bright and, as he turns to her in surprise, it suddenly dawns on her that she'd just run right into his home without any kind of warning. He could've been in the middle of anything.

It dawns on her because he's shirtless.

"Caroline." He blinks. "Good morning."

She finds her mouth dry; her eyes wondering over the expanse of his bare skin.

Obviously she'd imagined seeing him nude before, but the real life experience is completely different. She's hit both with her own reactions – observation, mostly, like how he has a tattoo on his shoulder – and the Caroline to whom this is a familiar sight. A lustful familiar one. That Caroline wants to be closer.

And, well, she's not sure she's all that far off.

"H-hi."

"You seem distressed; is something wrong?"

She clears her throat, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

"Um, no."

He hesitates then seems to accept her assurance.

"Alright. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or juice? Something stronger, perhaps?"

He lifts his own tumbler indicatively, and she notices it's filled with liquor.

"Um, water, please."

He nods then whooshes away and she pushes her feet to take her to the ledge. She needs something to hold onto.

It's been a while since she'd had a reaction so powerful that lined up with Past Caroline's. She can still feel the aftershocks, little tingles in her chest as her hands tremble.

She wants him, she realises.

"Here."

She jumps, hearing his voice behind her.

With one stabilising breath, then a second, she turns to take the glass from him. She doesn't really know why she'd asked for water, beyond needing a distraction. She doesn't want a drink – she wants an answer.

So she takes it, takes a single sip, then places the glass down on the ledge.

He comes closer, like he wants to ask her what's wrong again, and she notices that he'd pulled on a Henley. He searches her eyes for a long moment then says something she somehow knows isn't anything he'd wanted to say.

"You caught me by surprise."

Remembering her entry, she staves off a blush as she pushes some hair back behind her ear.

"Yeah. Sorry I just burst in. The door was unlocked," she excuses herself lamely.

He smirks. "It always is."

"Right. Who's going to just walk into the Original Hybrid's house?"

"You, apparently."

Feeling awkward, she smiles.

"…Yeah."

She turns a little to observe the view. It's what he'd been doing when she'd run in: standing watching the late morning sun with some scotch in hand.

"Is this how you spend mornings?"

He nods. "Recently."

There's something in his tone that is both suggestive and sad. Like they had spent their mornings together very differently. Like he'd had thirty-five years of mornings not doing whatever that was.

She almost jumps again when he places his hand on her upper arm, rubbing for a moment before squeezing a little. The touch is surprisingly intimate and she turns her neck to meet his curious eyes.

"What do you need from me?"

Her breath catches. Because for one quick second she forgets the question she had lobbed at him upon first arriving and thinks, instead, that he is asking her about their future.

Then she remembers.

"I read something in my diary." He frowns. "It was the day I told you about the spell." His eyes widen and she hears his heartbeat pick up speed. "Why didn't you tell me that it was my idea to do it?"

For a second confusion ripples across his features, like he'd thought she was referencing something else. Then he lets go of his hold on her and, looking away, takes a small step back.

"I forgot you would have written about that."

Anger begins in her stomach.

"So you were just going to keep it a secret?"

He meets her eyes again in surprise. "That's not what I meant."

But he makes no move to explain what he did mean and now she's confused, too. Why does his mind seem to be elsewhere? Why is referencing that day putting him out of sorts in a different way than it had for her?

"…So it's true, then? The spell was all my idea? I got it from Rosemary and convinced you?"

He turns away.

"It's not that simple."

She chases.

"But it was me who found it? And it was you who didn't want to do it?"

He exhales heavily through his nose.

"Yes."

She steps closer behind him. She wants to touch him but doesn't know how or why.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She breathes. Her voice lowers. "You let me believe it was you."

Her own words hit her like darts – they're what made her speed over here as misunderstanding had become humiliation; regret.

"Caroline, you have been in that coffin for the past thirty-five years – "

"Why would you do that to me?"

"I didn't – "

"What? You thought I was like one of your siblings; that you could just stick me in a box after I made you mad and rejected you?"

She wants to heave, each thought revolting her more than the previous one.

You're saying you did something to me that made me lose thirty-eight years of my life?

Why hadn't he told her what had really happened?

But the truth is that because of you I lost thirty-eight years of my life and every single one of my friends.

God. She'd been so nasty to him, blamed him for it all, when the whole time it had been her. Only her. He'd fought against it and she'd persisted. The spell had been her idea. And he'd taken the blame for it.

"Why?" she prompts, hating his silence.

Finally he reacts, slowly turning to face her.

"How could I have told you, Caroline?"

She sucks in a breath. Then she finds herself rationalising: "I may not have trusted you right at the beginning, but you could've told me any time after that."

He stares at her, hard.

"I suppose that's true."

"So then why didn't you?" she accuses.

"Because…" He sighs, frustrated. "Because I didn't want you blaming yourself. You were – are – haunted by the result of that decision every day. I didn't want you to hate yourself for it."

Her lip quivered.

"You'd rather have me hate you?"

"Of course," he says, without hesitation.

Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she puts more space between them.

"God," she mutters, "this is so messed up."

"I should have told you, I know. But I couldn't."

She shakes her head. "You did say you were good at secrets."

He scoffs humourlessly.

"And you always hated it."

She steps closer to the ledge again, looking out the view, trying to clear her mind. His explanation was so simple but it means so many things.

She takes long deep breaths of the air. It's still crisp; just beginning to warm.

"You should've told me." She stills, feeling him behind her. "…But I get that it must've been hard, harder even, not to."

Bracing herself for what she'll find in his eyes once she turns around, she does.

She's not wrong – there is a storm of emotions behind his eyes, but she forces herself to say it anyway.

"Thank you."

He shakes his head. "You found out anyway."

"That wasn't your fault."

He nods slowly, looking away, before meeting her eyes again. She notes the way the light hits his; how bright and beautiful they are. God – how beautiful he is.

How can something so dark be so beautiful in the sunlight?

"I don't suppose you read any further?" he asks suddenly, a strange edge to his tone.

She frowns. "…No. I read that part then came straight over." She hesitates, seeing his uncertain reaction. "Why?"

He begins to step away. "There were things I said and did that day that weren't… It wasn't my finest hour."

"Hey." She catches him by the arm and again manages to hold him. "Whatever it was, it's in the past."

He doesn't look comforted.

"The past has a way of catching up to the present."

She steps closer, her breaths quickening.

"What if we don't let it?"

She sees realisation dawn in his eyes; sees him take in their proximity and then her body language.

"What are you doing?"

"Not letting the past affect the present." She steps even closer, as close as they'd been last night when she'd kissed him on the cheek. "I made a mistake last night."

His eyes drift down to her lips, where his breath already tickles.

"What was it?"

She gets closer.

"I didn't kiss you."

His eyes widen and he lets out a rush of breath as her mother's advice runs through her mind.

This is what she wants. Why wait any longer?

Klaus' surprise is quickly overcome by something else – lust, maybe. A smirk appears on his lips and she can't stop thinking about how much she wants hers on them.

"Perhaps you should rectify that, then."

She can't help it, she smiles, and he grins back at her.

His hand comes up to her face and she almost shivers as he pushes a strand of hair from her face. It suddenly occurs to her that she'd rushed over here with zero thought for how she looked. At this particular moment she can't be sure she's wearing clothing instead of pajamas. Still, with the way he's looking at her she may as well have been wearing that dress from the Mikaelson Ball again, with him staring at her like there was no one else in the room.

Her own hand creeps up, on its way to his neck, but it gets stuck on his chest. He's so warm.

She remembers liking that about Tyler. Stefan had taught her to drink coffee or alcohol so her blood felt at least semi-warm, but nothing ever really made it match up to a human's – and certainly not a hybrid.

But it's not just that. There, beneath the thin fabric of the Henley, is a thrumming.

It's his heart, she realises.

It's going fast but that's not what she's focused on. It's that it's there at all.

Yes, she knows vampires have beating hearts. She's one herself. But he's Klaus Mikaelson. Somehow she never imagined his heart beating.

Monsters don't have hearts and they definitely don't beat. And, most definitely, their heartbeat doesn't speed up because she's about to kiss them.

Her, Caroline Forbes, kissing the villain.

"What's wrong?" he whispers.

She realises a fair amount of time has passed. She'd just gotten so lost in the feel of him – his heat and his heart.

"Nothing, it's just…" She draws her eyes up to his. "Your heart."

His smile had dissipated but now it comes back a little.

"What about it?"

"I-I don't know," she blushes. "It's… there. And beating."

She expects him to mock her or look confused but instead he stares hard at her, something behind his eyes that she can't interpret.

Then he lays his hand over hers. She gasps, mostly at her hand now enveloped by his heat, but then at how intimate this is.

His hand is firm, pressing hers closer to his chest, and she feels his heartbeart more clearly; feels it quicken.

"Proof, if you needed it."

She moves closer, moving her head slightly to shake it. There's barely any space left between them.

"I didn't."

His smile disappears as she says it, his eyes growing serious; focusing first on her eyes then her lips.

She's barely breathing as her other hand creeps up into his neck then higher up, across his stubble. It tickles the ends of her fingers in the most pleasing and familiar way. She likes the way it feels; likes the way he almost imperceptibly seems to curl into her touch. Likes knowing that this is a new step in their relationship – she's never touched him like this before.

God, she's so nervous. But she also really wants it.

Except what if she can't go back, after? Can't take it back?

Would she want to?

With one last look up at his eyes, she takes a breath then closes the last inch.

Except, a second after her lips brush against his, his phone rings.