Klaus regretted agreeing to attend the ball.
He was not enjoying himself.
He did not like having dozens of strangers in his home, touching his things.
He wanted to go back to his room and paint. Alone.
That was when he saw her.
Klaus had been looking for her, and not being subtle about. His eyes raking the room constantly, flinching every time someone came through the door, his eyes listening out of the clatter of diamonds against skin. He hoped she would wear the bracelet with the dress. It would go so well together.
Caroline swayed into the room as he was in mid conversation with another woman who's name he'd not bothered to learn. As soon as he saw her the room became lost in shadows and silence. All he saw was her.
She held her head high and strutted towards him. He broke away from his table and walked towards her, his stomach tightening into knots.
"Good evening," he said, his face widening into a smile. She was wearing the dress and the bracelet. A perfect combination.
She breathed in and looked over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes.
"I need a drink."
And then she was gone as quickly as she had arrived. She ducked passed him, heading across the room towards the bar.
He stood and watched her go, curiosity peeking his interest. She hadn't immediately yelled at him and she was wearing both his gifts. He took that as a good sign that she didn't completely despise him.
He was about to approach her and offer her some champagne when his mother approached him.
"Niklaus, it's time," she said, indicating to the stairs with her head.
Speech time. He sighed, but dragged his eyes away from Caroline and followed his siblings up the stairs.
Elijah took charge. Normally he would demand to be the one to represent the family, since Finn, the oldest, never had the guts to take charge in anything. But he wasn't in the mood to entertain, so he had agreed to let Elijah write and present the speech.
"Welcome, thank you for joining us," Elijah paused for a moment, watching the crowd." You know, whenever my mother brings our family together like this, it's tradition for us to commence the evening with a dance."
Klaus found her in the crowd almost immediately, standing beside Stefan. He tried to catch her eye, but she kept them swiftly on Elijah, catching his every word.
For one horrible moment he was reminded of Tatia. The first and only girl he'd ever loved, who'd also loved his brother.
It couldn't happen again, could it?
No. He was being silly. She was intently listening to someone who was talking. She was being polite. Of course she was. She was perfect.
"Tonight's pick is a centuries-old waltz, so if all of you could find yourselves a partner and please join us in the ballroom." Elijah continued.
Klaus stilled for a moment. In his sudden jealousy he'd forgotten all about the dance.
He made his way down the stairs and his eyes found hers. This time, she looked back.
He felt his cheeks grow as his heart blustered in his chest.
She was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, her hands folded in front of her stomach.
He stood beside her, waiting.
She opened her mouth, then closed it, turned and followed the crowd through the ball room. He followed by her side, in silence.
They said nothing, but when they lined up to get into partners, she allowed him to join her without question. When he put his hands on her, she did not flinch. She danced with him as if she would've any other person.
But as they dance she looked away from him, distracted by something across the room. He wondered if she were pretending he was someone else, that if she did not look at him, it would not be real.
"I'm glad you came." He said, hoping to win back her attention.
Her grip on his hand tightened.
"Well, it was either caviar or sympathy casseroles." She said, still distracted by whatever was going on behind him. It was of no interest to him, whatever it was.
"I heard about your father."
That caught her attention. She instantly snapped to look at him, her grip getting tighter.
"Don't," she said. "Seriously."
Her uncharacteristic anger was cute, but he allowed her the silence.
"Very well on to more mannered subjects then, like how ravishing you look in that dress." His eyes racked her up and down. She was beautiful, the dress complimented her perfectly.
She laughed of his compliment. "I didn't really have time to shop."
He smiled, his eyes going to her wrist where his bracelet sat.
"And the bracelet I gave you, what's your excuse for wearing that?" His eyes rose to meet hers.
Caroline's mouth dropped open and her eyes darted too and through. He waited for the excuse she was desperately trying to conjure, but nothing came.
He decided to save her the embarrassment of admitting he had good taste and changed the subject.
"You know, you're quite the dancer." He said.
Her eyes went back to his. "Well, I've had training." She threw back her head, squaring her shoulders up. "I happen to be Miss Mystic Falls."
His face broke into a smile. She was proud of what she'd achieved, and he loved that about her.
"I know." He said, twirling her around.
As the dance progressed they switched partners. It wasn't a long waltz, and it was over before they could switch back.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught slipping away, like the last star being blotted out, the room fell into darkness. She had backed out the door, to leave? No. It was too soon. And she would not leave her friends.
He excused herself and followed her path across the room and out the doors.
He stepped out into the back garden, where the stone patio gave away to a field of lush green grass. Trees dusted with lights lined the path to her, where she stood beside the horses that took the guests to and from the front gate. Was it extravagant? Yes. Did his mother care? Apparently not.
He had protested about the use of his money to hire such pointless services. Now he was silently thanking his mother for bringing the horses to him. To allow him to steal this moment alone with her.
She must have heard him coming, Her super hearing would not have allowed him to sneak up on her so softly. Yet she did not turn, or move away.
"You like horses?" He asked, slowing down to a stop beside her and the brunette mare.
He reached out and gently touched the horse on her nose. He'd always liked animals. They were less judgemental than humans, kinder. They looked out for themselves and their love ones, purely for survival. They didn't play games, or hurt others for no reason. And they didn't beat their young.
She took in a deep breath, her fingers clutching her delicate shawl like a shield.
"I'm not talking to you until you tell me why you invited me here." She said breathlessly.
"I fancy you," he cocked his head slightly to side, catching her eye as she turned to face him. "Is that so hard to believe?"
"Yes!" She snapped, eyes narrowed in confusion, viper in her voice.
"Why?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. Did she not realise how irresistible she was? "You're beautiful, you're strong, you're full of light... I enjoy you." He could go on, but he stopped, not wanting to overwhelm her.
"Well I'm spoken for. By Tyler." She said pointedly.
He smiled, cocking his head. "And I thought you two ended things." Had he missed something? Usually he was good at keeping up with the town gossip. Gossip was always good to finding blackmail material. Or for finding out the relationship status of the girl you fancy.
She shook her head, her golden curls swaying with the movement. "Yeah, because of you and your freaky sire bond with him."
He only heard one thing.
"So you aren't spoken for?" He asked, the corners of his mouth rising up.
She ignored him, turning her attention back to the horse. He followed her gaze to the beautiful brown mare, his tongue running along his lips. He felt nervous in a way he had never felt with a girl before.
"You know, horses are the opposite of people… they're loyal." He said softly, his eyes searching the horse as his mind wondered through his past mares. He'd had pets over the centuries – just about every animal he could think of, in an attempt to form a solid connection with something. Horses were his favourite, he remembered his favourite, a black stallion named Harshaw. It had once trampled to death a group of men who had broken into Klaus and Rebekah's home to kill them. They had had no idea the attack had even happened until he'd awoken in the morning to find the ground streaked with ribbons of blood and hoof prints.
No one was loyal as Harshaw.
His face caved in as he remembered his dear horses fate.
"My father hunted me for a thousand years and the closest he ever came was the day he killed my favorite horse." He could feel his eyes on her now.
"He severed its neck with a sword as a warning."
His eyes met hers, the dazzling blue of her pupils helping him to block out the memory. She swallowed.
Her words wavered. "Did you ever consider sitting down with your father and talking it out?"
He resisted the urge to laugh.
"I'm afraid my relationship with my father was a little bit more complex than yours."
She shook her head slowly, then raised her chin.
"Maybe so. But I let my father go with no regrets."
He turned to face her, anger bubbling inside him. Regrets? What was she presuming?
"And to answer your question, yes, I like horses," she paused. "But I also like people and they actually like me so I'll be inside." She smiled and took a step back, then turned away from him and sauntered across the pavement back towards the house.
Klaus watched her go. He wanted to call out, but he had no idea what to say. He stood by the horse for a few moments more, trying to think of how he could talk to her and not totally ruin the evening.
Eventually it was time for the toast. Finn came and collected him from the garden and he followed without protest.
As he entered the room his eyes met hers above the crowd, and he was surprised when she didn't look away, nor did she run when he made his way to her side. They stood beside one another, un-touching, but close, as his mother presented her speech to the guests.
"Good Evening, Ladies and Gentleman. Waiters are coming around with champagne."
A waiter approached him and he took two flutes from the tray and handed one to Caroline. She rewarded him with a smile.
He decided then and there he would draw that smile and frame it, so he could remember it forever.
"I invite you all to join me in raising a glass. It provides me with no greater joy then to see my family back together as one. I'd like to thank you all for being part of this spectacular evening. Cheers!"
After he and Caroline had finished their glasses he turned to face her. He wanted to capture her attention before she slipped away.
"I'd like to show you something," Klaus said. "Upstairs. Will you let me?"
She stared at him for a moment, hesitation in her movements. She glanced over her shoulder at her friends and then back at him.
"Alright," she said. "What is it?"
He led her out of the ballroom, down a long hall to his studio. They walked in silence, the distant music of the party the only sound amongst the clack of her heels on the hardwood floors.
His studio was the first room he'd designed when he'd decided to build himself a house. He liked to paint in the morning, so he had the room placed on the east side of the house, with wide windows so he could paint under the glow of sunrise. It was soundproof, so he could paint in peace and there was no plumbing anywhere in the ceiling, meaning there was no chance of water leaking and ruining his paintings.
It was his escape. His Eden.
Klaus walked into the room beside her, his hands behind his back. He kept his distance, trying to act casual. He was aware of what she must thought of him and he wanted to show her he wasn't a threat.
"So…" Caroline fiddled with her gloves. She did that often, he noticed. Entwined and untwined her finger when nervous. "What did you want to show me?"
"One of my passions." Klaus said, bringing them to a stop.
They stood in front of a large painting of a lake. It was an old painting, so old in fact, he couldn't remember when he'd painted it. He remembered the lake, a small escape in the South of France. He'd fallen in love with the quaint village, brought a villa there. He remembered setting his easel by the lake and painting the Lillie pads under the warm sun.
"Oh. Impressive. I take it the curators at the Louvre aren't on vervain." She said, glancing over at him.
He laughed. "Yeah, well that's their mistake."
He didn't point out that the curators were on vervain. He knew because he'd tried to steal a sculpture from there once.
She shook her head, her hands going to her bracelet, fiddling with the latch.
"What about these?" She turned towards him and showed him the bracelet on her wrist. "Where'd you steal this from?"
"Well, that's a long story", his eyes met hers. "But rest assured it was worn by a princess almost as beautiful as you."
She rolled her eyes.
He looked away, embarrassed. His mouth fell open as he tried to think of what to say next.
Normally compliments worked. Why wasn't it working? Was he saying the wrong things? What was he supposed to say?
He felt his cheek go warm. Was he blushing? No. He couldn't possibly be blushing. Niklaus Mikaelson did not blush.
Caroline gaze fell to the table. His drawings, quick sketches were scattered across the table.
"Wait a second," she lifted a photo of a woman from the desk. A rush job, nowhere near his best work. "Did-did you do these?"
"Yeah, um…" he swallowed, there was a tightness in his throat he was not used to feeling. It was the same tightness he felt when he was around his father he realised. Fear.
"Actually one of my landscapes is hanging at the Hermitage, not that anyone would notice." He'd used a fake name, so his father wouldn't track him down. He'd made the mistake before of writing his name on portraits. His father burned them.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to put his father out of his mind.
He looked over at her. "Have you been?"
He hands played with the sketches, moving them about, inspecting the designs.
"I've never really been anywhere."
"I'll take you." He said instantly.
She turned her head, looking up at him through her golden eyelashes.
"Wherever you want…" he smiled. "Rome?" her eyes lit up. "Paris?" he suggested, his smile growing bigger as did hers. "Tokyo?"
She laughed. "Oh wow!"
And he laughed too, his nerves flooding out.
"Must be really nice to just snap your fingers and get whatever you want."
His smiled grew smaller. He took a step closer to her, his eye scanning her face, trying to read the tone in her voice.
"Is that why you collect hybrids? A little servant army to take you places and bring you things?"
He smile fell from her face. She wasn't joking. She wasn't flirting. She was judging.
He grit his teeth. He was no longer nervous. Now he was angry.
"You're making assumptions."
"Then why do you need Tyler? Stop controlling him. Give him his life back." Her eyes met his, but he looked away, down to his paintings.
He didn't allow people to talk to him like that. If it were any other vampire he would've snapped their neck at the very least and that was only if he was in a good mood, which he wasn't.
But he couldn't hurt her. He wouldn't.
"You know," he turned to face her, the nerves gone. "This has been a fun evening, but I think it's time for you to leave."
She nodded. "I get it."
Her eyes searched his. For what? He wasn't sure.
"Your father didn't love you, so you assume that no one else will either. And that's why you compel people or you sire them or you try to buy them off." He felt his anger grow as she took of his bracelet and threw it to the ground with a clash. Diamonds on hardwood. They were bound to leave a mark on one another.
"But that's not how it works. You don't connect with people, because you don't even try to understand them."
His mouth fell open as he struggled for words. She was wrong. He understood everyone perfectly. He didn't need to connect. He had everything he could ever want.
She turned away, her skirts flowing behind her like a cape and flew from the room.
He opened his mouth to call out to her, to bring her back. But the words would not form. He did not know what to say.
She left and he retired to his quarters. He did not have the energy to deal with his siblings or the rest of the party. He'd heard Kol had tortured Rebekah's boyfriend or something and he couldn't be bothered to deal with that. Cleaning up the blood, calling a repair man to fix the floor, ordering new knives, compelling suspects to stay quite. Today, someone else could do that job.
He fell onto his bed, utterly exhausted, flinging his bow tie from his collar onto the floor. It tore at the back, splitting his shirt, but he did not care. He sat and gazed up at the mahogany ceiling, his mind an ocean of confusing thoughts. His mother, his father, Rebekah, Kol, Elijah, Finn, her.
Her, her, her.
It had not been a pleasant evening. She had berated him, insulted him, assumed things she could not know to be true.
And yet as he lay there, listening to the distant sound of the cleaners polishing silverware in the kitchen, he realises some of what she had said was correct.
His father hadn't loved him. That was a fact clear to anyone. His father had told him that himself, when he was alive, many times. He had known that practically since birth. Even before his father found out he wasn't his son, he had still always held an extreme dislike towards him. His father was a monster, he punished all his sibling severely, but Klaus always got the butt of the abuse.
And perhaps she was right. He did close people off so they wouldn't hurt him. He had loved his father, in the small moments he wasn't a monster. He had loved his mother, but she'd stood by and let him be abused and then murdered his girlfriend and turned him into a vampire.
His siblings, but they always abandoned him any chance they get.
Animals, pets he'd had over the years. All gone now. Dead, old age or murdered by his father.
He didn't feel loved. He wasn't loved. Sometimes, in the dark of the night, when he tranced girls into his bed he compelled them to say those three precious words into his ear. To whisper it into his heart, just to hear them. Just to hear that he was wanted and loved.
He rose from the bed.
She was right and he hated it.
He made his way over to his desk, scattered with pieces of parchment and books. He preferred to work on parchment or canvas, sketchpads were too modern, too hard. He preferred the hustle and bustle of trying to draw on old paper that wrinkled at the edges. Plus, he found it easier to carry rolled up scrolls than heavy sketchbooks.
Well, his minions carried the scrolls, but whatever.
He pulled a empty scroll towards him now and held it in place with paper weights. He reached for his drawing tools, landing on a sharp pencil and some charcoal.
Standing beside the horse, the moonlight dusting on her blonde curls. Her smiles increasing as she gazed at the magnificent beast.
Before he knew it his hand was moving across the page. The curve of her nose, the plumpness of her lips. The way her eyes reflected the moonlight. The way her cheeks rose when she smiled.
He sketched, his hands moving quickly. With painful accuracy and a stiffness that made his hand hurt.
When he was done he gazed down at his work. It wasn't perfect, but an artist never found perfection so easily. It was rushed and if he had more time he would've liked to focus more on the background, maybe even paint it. But he didn't.
He reached for his quill, dipped it into the ink and set the nub to the bottom of the parchment.
'Thank you for your honesty' he wrote, before signing it with his name.
He found a gift box in storage, one similar to the one he'd used for her bracelet and slipped the parchment inside. He would compel a courier to deliver it to her. He hoped that it might earn him some forgiveness. If not at least, she should know that she helped him understand.
Love did not exist within his universe. Klaus did not love. Others did not love him.
But perhaps…
Perhaps his heart could be changed.