Part Three
Klaus is being annoyingly, and uncharacteristically, fidgety. He's been growing steadily more restless as the days passed, and Caroline's about three twitches away from threatening to stab him with a pencil.
It's time for a change of scenery.
She pushes away from the table, rising to her feet swiftly. She puts her hands on her hips and stretches her spine, moaning softly when it cracks faintly. She's been hunched over for way too long. Klaus drags his eyes away from his work, looking up at Caroline in confusion, not entirely focused.
Caroline leans forward, yanking his book away and shutting it with a decisive snap. "I'm going to change out of this skirt and raid the snack trunk in my dorm. You are going to walk out the northeast doors in fifteen minutes. I'll meet you in the trees. We're going for a walk."
Klaus eyes the book in her hands like he's debating grabbing it back, and nope, not allowed. She tucks it in her bag for safekeeping. "Do not make me confiscate more. I will do it."
"Caroline," he begins, palms up and tone placating. "I really can't. I feel like we're close to…" he cuts himself off, still reluctant to tell her exactly what they're trying to do. She's complained extensively, wheedled, and bargained (because wouldn't she be more helpful if she could dig in beyond theory?), but Klaus is impressively stubborn.
She's researched the history and effects of more generational curses than she has fingers or toes at this point, is growing a little miffed that she hadn't bothered to negotiate some extra credit.
She's only slightly in the lead in the class rankings. She'd been too annoyed in the beginning to think ahead.
"All the more reason to take a break! If you're close, you'll come back with fresh eyes. Then you're more likely to catch whatever you're looking for, right?"
Klaus tosses his pen down, and Caroline whirls away, taking it as a sign she's won. "Fifteen minutes!" she reminds him before she speeds away.
Caroline ends up running a little later. In her defense, she needs to take a roundabout route to the meeting place she'd set, mainly to avoid adding more fuel to the rumor mill.
But partially to avoid any questions from authority figures. It's not against any rules for Caroline to be outside as it's nearly two hours until lights out. There aren't even any regulations about going out with Klaus, she'd triple checked the student handbook. That's probably more of a technicality given how few men have visited campus, but if they're caught, she's fully prepared to argue her case.
Caroline finds Klaus leaning against a thick white cypress; his head tipped back. He looks more relaxed than she's ever seen him. She wouldn't have pegged him as an outdoor kind of guy. Watching him now, away from prying eyes, she wonders why.
He seems at home out here, bathed in bright moonlight.
She scrapes her foot against the packed earth deliberately, and Klaus smiles. "I know you're there, Caroline." His eyes drift open lazily, and he straightens from the tree. As she draws closer, Caroline begins to wonder if taking a walk had been a terrible idea.
There's always a table and at least two dozen books between in the library. They're usually watched by at least twice as many eyes. Caroline uses a Forbes family cloaking spell to keep their words private, but they're not invisible nor unaware of their observers.
And many of the observers have approached Caroline with nosy questions about things they've seen.
Out here, there's little supervision. Once she and Klaus enter the woods, they'll be completely alone, without any physical barriers.
Klaus has left his usual jacket inside, a thin grey t-shirt clinging to his arms and chest. The path is wide enough for him to walk beside her, and she can feel the heat of him, despite her heavy wool sweater. His hand brushes hers as he takes the backpack she'd brought.
"Snacks!" Caroline exclaims, much too loudly. She feels her ears burn, hopes it's too dark for Klaus to notice. "I mean, I brought snacks. Filched the finest of sweet and savory from the communal pile. We lucked out since the full moon's in three days…"
"Two," Klaus corrects.
Caroline shrugs; she only keeps track of the moon's phases when she needs to use it. "If you say so. There's a clearing with some fallen logs a little deeper in. We should be able to see without needing flashlights."
"Sounds lovely," Klaus says. "Lead the way."
Caroline strides forward quickly, runs a self-conscious hand over her hair. Should she have dressed up? The atmosphere feels romantic – moonlight, a meal, a boy whose attention is intent and undivided. She'd been in a hurry, had grabbed the first warm-ish non-uniform items she'd found, a pair of jeans and an old cardigan in a washed-out shade of yellow.
"Do you come out here often?" Klaus asks, mercifully distracting her.
"Kind of? I do ingredient foraging at least once a week. Students typically prepare the stores, and I don't always like how other people do things."
"I find that unsurprising."
She glares at him, playfully, because he'd sounded amused rather than annoyed. "Then there's the dorms. They get loud and crowded, so sometimes I sneak away and usually end up out here. Before I started school, it was mostly just me and my mom. I did not adjust well to sharing a room. I still don't always love it."
It would be the perfect time for Klaus to offer something of himself, a story about how he'd grown up. She's disappointed when he doesn't. "And when you're not at school? Does your mother live nearby?"
"Very nearby. She's the sheriff of Mystic Falls." Caroline spins, walking backward, eyeing Klaus, this time with suspicion. "She's not magical. Like, at all. Isn't too keen on the whole thing but accepts it because she loves me, and it's a part of me."
She doesn't spot any of the distaste she'd expected to find. "That's nice," Klaus says simply.
"Isn't that what parents are supposed to do?"
He looks away, down at the ground, and Caroline regrets that some of his ease leaks away. "Theoretically, I suppose."
Interesting.
Klaus' eyes widen in alarm, and he lunges forward, hands grasping her upper arms and his body colliding gently with hers.
She leans into him instinctively.
"Careful," he murmurs, grip loosening though he doesn't move away. Caroline glances behind her and spots a fallen log she'd been inches from tripping over.
"Thanks," she swallows, attempts to sound less breathless. "That would have been embarrassing."
His laugh is soft, and she probably only hears it because they're nearly pressed together. She drags her eyes away from his face, afraid of what he might read on hers. She knows she should step back, turn away, lead him the rest of the way to the clearing. "It was my pleasure," he murmurs. His hands glide down her arms, Caroline's skin heats, and tingles, even with the layers that separate them.
She seriously regrets the sweater.
A shriek rings out, followed by a few voices laughing. Klaus tenses and steps in front of her, scanning the thick trees like he's looking for a threat.
"It's probably the local kids. They won't bother us. Couldn't even see us if they wandered past."
"Wards?" he asks.
"Yup. Granny Forbes actually comes by every few summer solstices to renew them."
"It keeps anyone without sorcerer's blood from seeing the school?"
"Technically, anyone with magic would be able to see it, I think. My grandmother has strong opinions about The Purification being a disgusting stain on our history."
He glances back at her, "And do you share those views?"
"Obviously. I likely wouldn't have had an easy time of it back then either, not unless my parents had been able to hide my abilities."
The Purifiers hadn't wanted any dilution of sorcerer bloodlines.
Klaus looks away, his shoulders stiffening. She hears him take a deep breath. "Do you know how the wards work?"
"I haven't been taught them yet; my grandmother may pass them down eventually if my father decides he's too busy for the duty. My understanding is that sorcerers can cross it freely, but any person, or being, I guess, without magic, would need to escorted by a sorcerer whose blood was used to make the line. The headmistress has the ability to escort guests, for example. I imagine a few other instructors too."
Klaus turns, and she recognizes his expression – he's working out a puzzle. "Could it work with other populations?"
Caroline begins moving towards the clearing, somewhat reluctantly, though she appreciates the academic turn of the conversation, allowing her to regain her composure. She thinks for a minute as she leads the way, then sits down on one of the logs. She stretches her legs out, carefully hides her disappointment when Klaus selects a spot across from her. Obviously, she's imagining things, inventing romance – there's plenty of room next to her.
"You mean like keeping a specific group off of a property? Vampires, succubi, incubi, that kind of thing?"
"Exactly. Or perhaps keeping a group contained. Like werewolves, confining them into one area on a full moon."
"Theoretically, yeah, I think so. Though werewolves or other shapeshifters might be tricky."
"Oh?" Klaus asks, and Caroline resigns herself to shop talk. Maybe he's doing it on purpose, having noticed her reaction when he'd gotten close. Her crush hiding skills are probably super rusty, which is embarrassing.
"The most effective wards are blood-based or keyed to a magical frequency. A magical frequency can only be used in situations involving sorcerers because of the whole, uh, Purification thing."
"But if a werewolf could do magic?"
"Then they could be confined by a signature. Now though, it would have to be blood. The werewolf or shapeshifter have to be pretty committed to an area because a blood boundary wouldn't differentiate between a human and non-human form."
"How long does such a spell last?"
"It would depend on the strength of the caster. At least a year, probably a couple."
He continues asking questions, and Caroline dutifully supplies answers, methodically working her way through a bag of peanut butter M&Ms, then another of gummi bears.
Totally not eating her feelings, thank you very much.
Caroline had thought the first few days of her apprenticeship with Klaus had been awkward. She'd expected the days that followed her invasion of his bedroom to be even worse.
Except Klaus hadn't even bothered to make an appearance in the lab.
Caroline spends day one bent over her desk, working on restocking the most time-consuming ingredients. Anything that needs a minuscule dice, or has to be shaved whisper-thin, gets topped up. The shelves and cupboards are immaculate when she's done. Day two, she works on filing the backlog of Klaus' notes. His handwriting is neat and easy to read, which is a small blessing.
She makes a note to broach the subject of bringing his lab to the 21st century and getting a laptop so she can more easily cross-reference. If they ever get to an easy place again. She'd tried to talk up modern technology with both of the sorcerers she'd previously apprenticed. They'd swiftly (and sneeringly) shot down Caroline's suggestions. But Klaus is younger and willing to prioritize efficiency over tradition, so maybe the third time will be the charm.
If Klaus ever speaks to her again. In her grumpier moments, she wonders if he's even still in the house or if he's done another runner.
On day three, she decides to work on her own projects to distract herself from noticing how the lab remains eerily quiet and empty. Lonely.
Klaus finally comes in on day four. Only briefly, sweeping in and packing a leather bag with jars and linen bags. He grabs a haphazard sheaf of papers and is again out the door. Caroline's new apology, more well-rehearsed than the rambling one she'd managed at the moment, goes unsaid when he barely glances at her.
Then, Caroline's annoyed. Angry, even.
Which is entirely unfair, she realizes, since she'd been the privacy invader and Klaus the victim. She's trying to be a freaking adult about it - how are they supposed to move past her totally accidental snooping if Klaus won't deign to be in the same room with her? They're still stuck together for the better part of a year; that's a long time to endure the silent treatment. Caroline can only subsist on letters and pleasantries with Klaus' employees for so long before she goes insane
As quick as her temper flares, it cools just as swiftly. By dinner time, she's morose and considering talking to herself aloud to break up the silence. There's a giant dining room, a table that must seat thirty, but apparently, Klaus never uses it and takes his meals at a small table in the kitchen. He's made it known that she's welcome to join him, but so far, she's declined and eaten in her room or the lab in the interest of maintaining distance.
Now, she's pretty sure that invitation has been rescinded.
Tonight, Caroline decides to eat outside. It's warmer than usual out, so she kicks off her shoes and rolls up the hem of her jeans before settling down on the grass.
It should be nice. Beautiful surroundings, good food, nice weather. Caroline's mood remains gloomy.
Once she's done with dinner, going back inside doesn't appeal. She sets her plate aside and lays back, watches the sunset and the stars come out. Caroline hasn't slept well the past few nights, her mind buzzing instead of resting. Squinting up at the stars, Caroline figures attempting to tire herself out might help her achieve a decent amount of rest.
There's plenty of plants that will be more potent if gathered under tomorrow's full moon. She'll be able to harvest more if she treks out tonight to see what she can find and leave markers near valuable flora.
She leaves Klaus a note in the lab because she's not an idiot. Caroline's grown familiar with the area now, is confident in her ability to navigate the forest, but she's never been out after dark. She might die of embarrassment if she gets lost, but she's not too proud to leave breadcrumbs.
"Not that Klaus will even care," she mutters petulantly, scribbling out her plans. "Not that I care that he doesn't care. Oh my god, shut up, Caroline."
She refuses to acknowledge that it's not a good sign that she's given in on the talking to herself thing.
"Caroline! Wait up!"
Caroline pauses and allows April, an underclassman who works in the headmistresses' office, to catch up.
"Thanks!" April chirps, just a little out of breath. She's got a beaten-up bag hanging from her shoulder, one that looks like its seams are close to bursting. April begins digging inside. "You're working with Kla…Klaus, right?
Caroline ignores the stutter, how April won't meet her eyes. A fair number of the younger girls still haven't gotten over gawping at him. Kindly, in her opinion, Caroline avoids a sarcastic comeback about how everyone knows she's working with Klaus. "Yep! Did the headmistress need him for something?"
"No, nothing like that. He's just got letters piling up. I'm supposed to deliver them, but he doesn't seem to like it when people interrupt his work. I saw you and thought that you might be heading in that direction?"
She is, coming from the dining hall. Meaning April would have had to pass the library, where Klaus is even more stubbornly posted as the weeks go by, to find Caroline.
Caroline wonders if she should tell him to smile occasionally, so the underclassmen aren't so afraid of him. Then discards the idea; it will only encourage the girls in her class who follow him into the stacks and try to rub against him.
It's incredibly annoying – Caroline might have made a new enemy or two in thwarting such attempts.
"I can do that," she tells April.
"Thank you so much!" April passes over a thick bundle, tied with twine, and Caroline's brows rise. She takes it, absently weighing the pile. "The headmistress said he could collect correspondence from her office anytime, but he must have forgotten. He seems very busy."
Odd.
Klaus doesn't seem to forget much, but April doesn't need to know that. "Must have. I'll remind him."
April smiles, relieved, "Thanks, Caroline."
Caroline smiles automatically, resumes her walk to the library, slower this time. A quick glance down shows nothing but Klaus' name and the school's, written neatly across a cream-colored envelope, one that's probably much nicer than anything found at a standard office supply store.
Klaus has been tight-lipped about his family. He's annoyingly unwilling to discuss anything remotely personal. He's got no qualms about arguing with her about academic subjects, books, or even music and food. She knows he thinks the art the school displays is abysmal and depressing, that he hates cauliflower, and that he thinks scrunchies are stupid. He's confessed a love of travel and a wish that he could sculpt. But Caroline has no idea where he'd been living before coming to the school, when his birthday is, or if he spends holidays with his family. It's an awkward sort of limbo – she feels like she's getting to know him, and she likes him more and more, but does she know anything significant about him?
Ugh, she's been romantically interested in people before, has indulged in flings while on break from school. She's never experienced this sort of stomach-churning, mind-messing confusion. It's exhausting.
Maybe she needs a distraction.
Kat's been bugging Caroline about trying to make a little gap in her grandmother's wards so they can sneak out to a party at The Falls – growing more insistent as graduation nears. Caroline's been refusing, but maybe she should reconsider. The Academy won't expel them when they're two months from graduating, will they? She could use a night of fun, away from The Academy.
Low stress flirting with someone from town might be just what she needs.
"Alright, love?" Klaus asks, and Caroline startles, is surprised to see she'd weaved her way through the library while she'd been deep in thought. Some kind of muscle memory has brought her directly to Klaus' table.
She shakes her head, "Same ol', same ol'," she says, dropping her bag. "April from the office passed these off to me. You've been getting mail."
Klaus takes the bundle when offered, slipping the twine loose. He sorts until he has two piles, the first containing only four or five letters, the second much taller. He tucks the small pile into the back of his notebook then stands. He glances around furtively before picking up the small metal trashcan from beneath the table. He dumps in the large stack of letters. Caroline feels a flare of magic, then heat, as Klaus lights a small fire.
"What the…" she rounds the table quickly and snatches the trashcan from the table, setting it on the floor where it's obscured from sight. "Are you insane?" she hisses, shaking her now slightly burnt fingertips and glancing behind her to check if the librarian had noted the pyrotechnics.
It looks like they're in luck – Caroline's reasonably sure the crotchety old librarian would consider starting a fire near the books to be an infraction worthy of death. Caroline, who's attended her seminars on poisons, knows the woman could make it look like an accident.
Klaus is unconcerned about the librarian and very concerned about her possible injury. He tugs her down until they're sitting, is bent over her hand, gently prodding the reddened pads of her fingers. "You should be more careful," he murmurs.
Caroline scoffs but makes no move to yank her hand away. "You should be less dramatic. Ever heard of good old-fashioned ripping? It can be cathartic."
"Most of those letters were from my mother and Mikael. I'm afraid the fire is necessary. I'm certain they sent along at least a few bits of nasty spell work along with their undoubtedly scathing messages."
Caroline blinks in surprise. "Wow. That's… extreme." Though not at all surprising given the Mikaelson's less than stellar reputation and what Kat had said about Klaus' father.
Klaus glances up, a brief smile flitting across his face, "You might say I come by my dramatics honestly."
She can't help but return the smile. "Can I ask what they're upset about?"
He sobers quickly, brushes his thumb across her palm. "My recent choices have been disappointing. Though, if I'm being honest, my choices have rarely been judged positively."
Another question is on the tip of her tongue, but the fire pops, flaring brighter. "Crap," Caroline exclaims. She passes her hand over the flames, using her magic to coax them lower and forcing the smoke to dissipate. Then she concentrates, pushing the fire hotter until it glows white. If Klaus is correct, she wants to ensure nothing sent with the letters will cause him any harm.
He grabs her wrist and pulls her hand away, letting the fire return to a more natural state. "Stop," he rasps, and Caroline glances over at him in surprise. His face shows strain; lips pressed together, eyes dark. He's grown tense, practically vibrating with an emotion that hadn't been there before, and he's breathing slowly, like he's counting the intervals between inhales and exhales.
"Are you…"
He pushes away before she can finish her question, circles the table.
Away from her.
Klaus sits down again, his movements careful. "I'm fine," he says, his tone blander than Caroline's ever heard. He pulls a book towards him and begins paging through it, avoiding further eye contact.
Caroline follows his lead, slower and more mechanically, trying to figure out what had happened. She's never done magic in front of Klaus, she now realizes. Had his magic reacted badly in response? She's experienced that on a mild scale with a classmate or two, an odd itch at the back of her neck, or an unpleasant scent that comes with their casting. She knows it can be extreme, repellent, though that's incredibly rare.
She makes a mental note to do some research, namely – can the phenomenon be one-sided? She hadn't felt anything negative when Klaus casts. Quite the opposite, though her rational librarian-fearing brain had overridden any instinctive reaction.
She's pretty certain her tiny crush on Klaus will amount to nothing considering her looming apprenticeships and his still super-secret but important project, but Caroline's an optimist.
Just because it won't amount to anything now, that doesn't mean it won't ever amount to anything, right?
It's totally possible they'll meet someday in the future. Caroline may even have a thought or two about engineering such an event, given a few of their conversations.
But, if her magic repulses him, those hopes are entirely wasted.
If that's the case, Caroline's seriously going to reconsider optimism as a lifestyle choice.
"Oooh, you're pretty," Caroline says, crouching down next to the river. There's a patch of night-blooming water lilies about ten feet offshore, bright pink under the light of the full moon, tucked amongst a pile of boulders. They hadn't been one of the plants she'd scouted last night, but the carpals will be useful. She might as well grab a couple.
Last night she'd stayed out until nearly 3 AM, had slept fitfully afterward, and had dragged herself into the lab promptly at 8. She'd inhaled an excessive amount of coffee and had been decidedly off her game though there'd been no one around to notice or comment on her poor performance as Klaus had, yet again, not bothered to grace her with his presence. She's kind of exhausted, but she'd painstakingly tied dozens of ribbons to mark her finds last night; no way was she wasting that effort.
Maybe, once she returns to the house, she'll finally be able to get a good night's sleep.
She sets her lantern aside and digs out an empty specimen jar before sitting down and removing her boots and socks. She wades in, gasping when the water is far colder than she'd expected, instantly numbing her feet. Caroline grits her teeth and keeps going, her eyes on the prize.
A rush of water makes her sway, a current she hadn't anticipated. Caroline wobbles, her balance off. She drops the jar and takes a step back towards dry land, but she's pushed farther in the opposite direction. The toes of the foot she has planted curl desperately, searching for purchase. When her other foot comes down, there's nothing beneath it. Caroline shrieks, slipping off some kind of underwater ledge. Her head goes under the surface, and her jeans and coat quickly become waterlogged, weighing her down. She kicks hard, arms flailing for something to grab to stop from getting pulled downstream. She rolls with the current, trapped underneath the waterline. Her palms scrape rock, but it's too smooth to gain purchase. She claws at it desperately, nails ripping, her lungs beginning to burn.
Caroline screams when something slams into her from behind, water rushing into her mouth. Mercifully, she's pushed to the surface, choking and sputtering. She can't see anything, groping blindly until she manages to grasp the rocks in front of her, her back braced from behind. She pants, trying to catch her breath and gain a solid foothold. Caroline reaches behind her nervously, trying to figure out who or what is in the water with her.
Her hand finds fur, thick and soaked; she traps a panicked cry behind her teeth. Caroline snatches her hand back and moves closer to the rocks until she's pressed as close as she can get. She profoundly regrets dropping the jar. It would have been a crappy weapon against the ginormous thing in the water with her but a crappy weapon would have been better than her bare hands.
She does have magic. Caroline takes a deep breath, willing her heart to calm, preparing to draw on her power.
Then a snout presses against the back of her neck, hot breath briefly warming her, throwing her back into fight or flight mode. Caroline does neither, freezing and endures being prodded and sniffed.
Once, her dad had thought camping was a good family bonding activity. There'd been a pamphlet with advice on how to deal with a bear. "Speak clearly, so the bear knows that you are a human," it had said.
She has no idea what's behind her, only some guesses. Still, what could it hurt?
She twists her head, squinting into the darkness. "Nice… beast… animal… thing. Wolf?" She murmurs, attempting a soothing, non-threatening tone.
It yips, oddly approving.
"Wolf," Caroline says, confident now. "Nice wolf. Pretty wolf. Wolf that doesn't eat people, hopefully."
It makes a noise, a low rumble of a whine, and crowds closer to her. Its head nudges at her hand insistently. Caroline's fingers flex tentatively, coming to rest on the back of its neck. A bob of its head encourages her, and she slides her hand lower, hooking her arm around the wolf's shoulders.
Weirdly, her fear has swiftly melted away.
Is that a symptom of hypothermia? Hopefully not because she's a long way from dry clothes and shelter, she'll need to keep her wits about her.
The wolf leans forward, carefully baring its teeth and grasping the sleeve of her jacket, tugging her other arm closer.
"This is insane," Caroline whispers, but she eases away from the rock, latching on to the wolf.
With a jolt, it pushes away from the rocks, cutting swiftly and powerfully through the water until Caroline's feet touch solid ground. She begins to shiver violently once she's exposed to the cold air, leaning heavily on the wolf as she staggers out of the water. She's about to collapse onto the grass, but a sharp bark rings out, then a low growl. The wolf's teeth snap near her thigh, and Caroline jumps away.
"Hey! That's not nice!" she tells it.
The wolf then headbutts the back of her thigh, another growl rumbling out. She's shivering and shaky but motivated, dragging herself a few steps forward. She hears a whine then, her hand is licked. "Gross," Caroline mutters, but she leans on a tree but keeps moving. The wolf stays on her heels, nudging her whenever she slows though it remains quiet, and doesn't flash its teeth again.
It herds her to the house, then into the house. She's freezing, teeth chattering, and her numb fingers struggle with the zipper on her coat once she's inside. Caroline's having trouble focusing, takes shaky steps as she's directed. She's beginning to wonder if she's hallucinated the wolf because it's utterly ridiculous that a wolf is in Klaus' house and apparently directing her to the lab.
Either she's got excellent latent survival skills, or the wolf is a genius because there's a fireplace in the lab. Every night, after they finish working, one of the staff members tidies up and lays wood and kindling for the morning. Caroline's hands tremble, and half the matches end up scattered on the floor, but she manages to strike one and drop it in. Her breath rushes out in relief when the scraps of paper catch and glow. Her legs buckle, and she winces when her knees slam into the stone floor.
She breathes deeply, eyes on the fire, concentrating now that she's nearly safe. She pours her magic into the fire until it's barely contained by the grates and bathes her in warmth, and she sighs in relief.
She vaguely recognizes the wolf leaving, and she stretches her hands out, warming them. When she can feel her fingers again, she returns her attention to her clothes, manages to peel her jacket away, and get her sweater tossed aside. She rubs her arms, swiping the remaining water droplets away, crowding as close as she dares to the crackling fire and coiling her hair on top of her head.
She hears a clatter, and her head whips around. More lucid now, she reaches for a fire poker, watching to wolf warily. It's helped itself to a pile of bedding, has it clenched in its teeth and dragging along the floor. It appears to note that she's now armed and keeps its distance, leaving a pile of quilts just out of Caroline's reach before backing off.
"How did you…" she trails off, mystified. The wolf obviously can't reply. It backs away and shakes, water flying from its fur.
Caroline briefly fears for her notes because her desk is definitely in the splash zone, but it's a brief concern. She has more pressing issues. She turns her back to the wolf, now certain that it's not a figment of her imagination. She's equally sure that she doesn't truly have anything to fear from it.
Mostly because she's beginning to do some very interesting math.
She strips away the rest of her clothes and uses one of the sheets to pat herself dry before she burrows into the thicker blankets. It takes a few minutes for her to stop shivering, and once she does, she turns and puts her back to the fire, her attention on the wolf. It's pacing, eyes on her. She notices a bit of a limp, how it avoids putting much weight on its right front leg.
She's also thinking clearly now, recontextualizing the night's events.
Along with other oddities, like the mysterious injuries, she'd had to bully Klaus into taking care of.
She's alone with a wolf who'd just saved her life. She's wrapped in a blanket that hadn't been anywhere near the lab, a blanket that the wolf had somehow known how to retrieve. It's the full moon.
It's only logical to assume that her savior is not just a wolf.
Several pieces click rapidly into place. The research Klaus had been doing on generational curses, how neatly he'd dodged certain questions. How he's never referred to a father but always used Mikael's first name. The last night they'd spent together at school. The cage in his room.
She's even nursing a nagging suspicion that her magic hadn't ever repulsed him, but that's a can of worms for later.
First, she needs to establish some basic facts.
Caroline takes a deep breath, puts the fire poker away. "You're hurt. Come over here, let me look."
She's ignored, but that's not at all surprising considering how carefully Klaus had guarded this secret. Caroline heaves herself to her feet, tucking the blankets around her so they'll stay in place. She walks towards the door and turns on the overhead lights. "Klaus, seriously. Let me look at your arm. Leg. Whatever."
He stays where he is, sitting back on his haunches, head tipped stubbornly away from her.
"Alright, fine," Caroline mutters. She's about to do something dramatic but figures it's totally warranted. She swipes a pot of ink from a nearby shelf, dipping her fingers inside. She knows runes better than most, and she barely has to concentrate on what she's painting on the door. The wood grows warm, the ink dripping—her magic flares around them.
Klaus feels it, a rumbly growl spilling from him. It's probably a warning, but it's Caroline's turn to ignore him. After all, hadn't he promised that he'd never hurt her?
Then the door melts, merging into the surrounding walls, and Klaus begins to pace anew.
Caroline applies the same runes to the windows; Klaus anxiously shadows her circuit around the room. The room grows warmer once it's near solid stone, and Caroline sheds the heaviest of her blankets, curls up on the chaise.
The spell is a Forbes family special. They won't be leaving the room until Caroline decides they can.
She imagines Klaus won't concede graciously, but that's okay. She's got a stash of snacks in her desk, bottles of water in one of the refrigerators, and the chaise under the window is reasonably comfortable. She can stay in this room as long as they need to.
She's got questions, and it's long past time that Klaus provided some answers.