A pounding headache woke Caroline up, bouts of crippling nausea following suit. Sipping some water from the glass she'd purposefully left on the nightstand, she risked slightly turning her head to look out the window. Judging by the soft light entering her hotel room, it was safe to say that it was still early in the morning.

Queasiness hit again, this time uncontrollably, so the blonde ran to the bathroom, desperate not to puke all over the expensive, vintage carpet in the bedroom. She succeeded just barely, effectively purging out all the alcohol from her body. Resting her head against the cool seat of the toilet, Caroline hoped it would soothe her throbbing head, but to no avail because, like many high school parties had taught her, that was useless.

Desperate to alleviate her pain, the young woman crawled back into bed, nestling under the warmth of the covers and waited for sleep to claim her again.

And it did. Because the next time she woke, the sun was a giant fireball, reigning atop the sky, no cloud daring to shatter its sovereignty. Unfortunately, her head was still killing her, the blinding sunshine doing her no favors.

Hung-over. She was undoubtedly hung-over.

Squinting, she spared a glance at her phone, to check the time. A quarter past ten. Lord, she hadn't overslept this much in months. The events from last night started to replay in her mind. Searching for Klaus Mikaleson all over New Orleans, only to find him at a bar, soaking his liver in whiskey. Downright begging him to abide by her plan, his definite refusal and her poor choice of words regarding him. Then, her last decision washed over her like a tidal wave.

She'd agreed to be a bartender at Rousseau's for two weeks and her shift started in less than an hour. Why did she always end up in these sorts of situations? The sins from her previous life must have been terrible for her to continue paying at this point in her life.

Running out of bed, Caroline rushed to the kitchen, swallowed two aspirins and took a quick shower. Getting dressed was accomplished in record time: less than 10 minutes, and, forsaking breakfast, she ran to open the bar.

After all, it was bad form to be late on your first day; her first attending had drilled into her brain after she'd been fashionably late her first day at the hospital. The embarrassment had never permitted for her to be tardy at work.

Five minutes to eleven –that was the exact time she arrived at the bar. Following her arrangement of tables and chairs, Caroline went behind the counter, wondering what Melanie did while expecting customers. Taking out her phone, she tried to find an e-book to fill her down time and she did, but the tiredness hadn't fled her body. She needed something to wake her up. A warm beverage usually did the trick.

Ultimately, there was no way anyone came her for at least another two hours. I mean, who came at a bar at eleven in the morning? Confident that she would be alone, she started boiling some water and began to look for the place where Melanie kept her teabags. Frustration grew, as they were nowhere to be found and the quick motions of ransacking under the bar intensified her splitting migraine, which the painkillers hadn't reduced in the slightest.

To add salt to the wound, the bell rang announcing her first morning customer. God, she wanted to lift her head up and command him to leave, but she couldn't. This wasn't her business and her promise to Melanie to 'hold the fort', albeit drunken, was one she intended to keep.

Still, whatever weirdo or alcoholic had wondered into Rousseau's could wait for her to find a freaking teabag. It wasn't like she was asking for freaking Dom Perignon, was she? Annoyed, she threw another bag of decaffeinated coffee to the ground. Why was there so much bland, black poison and no tea, she grunted out loud.

"Is everything alright, Melanie?" the stray client cleared his throat. That voice. That British accented, commanding voice. She knew it all too well.

Her day really was going from bad to worse with every passing second. Of all the people in the world, it had to be Klaus freaking Mikaelson who walked into this joint.

Begrudgingly standing up, Caroline banged her head against the wooden surface of the counter. "Ouch," she mumbled quietly, rubbing the swollen spot- a painful bump was growing- and cursing her clumsiness for only intensifying her splitting headache. It felt like a rhino had literally stepped all over it and then called on his elephant friends to join the party.

"Can I help you?" she summoned all vestiges of politeness as she came up to stare into cerulean eyes which hardened at the sight of her.

"What are you doing here?" disbelief led to a significantly louder vociferation.

Here goes nothing; Caroline steeled herself for another strong exchange between them. Only this time, she would not back down, should he insult her. It wasn't like he was considering going to Stefan's wedding as her fake-date. "I'm the new bartender."

Her simple yet all-encompassing answer sent Klaus for a spin. "What?" he managed to ask, in an out of character incoherent way.

The fact that she had been able to shock him caused her to smirk, her inner self doing a perfect somersault: one point for Caroline, zero for Klaus.

"I think I was clear enough, but I'll expand on my answer, to enlighten you, Mr. Mikaleson," she spat out the name with contempt, noting the way he tensed at it. Her anger appeared to have an effect on him. Two points Caroline, she awarded contently. "Melanie's on a short vacation so you're stuck with me. Can I get you anything?"

If he was still affected by her attitude, it didn't show. "I'll have a glass of your best whiskey." Turning around, he headed for the same isolated table as yesterday. "Oh, and Caroline," he went to face her again, smug smile in place. "You can find tea in the back and be careful, your water's nearly on fire."

What? She glanced at the kettle and found the crystal liquid to be indeed well over its boiling temperature, some of it having evaporated already. Even its recipient had begun to melt. How had he known she was making tea?

Two points to Klaus, she had to mentally grant. Pulling the teapot from the flame, to avoid a run-in with the Fire Department, she poured the remaining content in a cup and proceeded to search the storage area, where, true to form, she found boxes of Earl Grey and a few other mouth-watering fruit infusions. Taking some with her and placing them within reaching distance of her position at the bar, Caroline eyed all the bottles of amber liquid to decide which was the best so it could be served to her customer.

In the end, she gave up and chose to fill a tumbler with the one she remembered from last night. Not like they were that different that one could taste, right?

"There you go," the drink was nearly thrown in front of Klaus's face. "Anything else I can get for you?"

He shook his head, words apparently too precious to be wasted on her. Shrugging in response, she went back to her thankfully still warm tea, ready to enjoy it. Klaus Mikaelson would not ruin another one of her days. Focusing on her Kindle app, Caroline immersed herself in the sinister world of Stieg Larsson. Page upon page, she was drawn into a dark atmosphere, with a serial killer more insane than one could imagine, terrorizing the characters. A knot formed in her stomach at the brutal rape the female protagonist endured, bile returning to her mouth. How someone could be capable of such a vile thing still puzzled her.

"Excuse me, Blondie, can I have some service here?" a rude voice yelled, forcefully yanking her from the rural, snowed in cities of Sweden.

Sure enough, another table had been occupied by one more early-drinker. A raven haired man with black eyes was sneering at her, the corners of his lips turned down. His clothes were used and slightly unkempt- to put it lightly. Overall, his appearance didn't fill her with confidence, since her curse, as her friends liked to call it, was to attract the unwanted attention of all kinds of weirdoes and creeps.

Well, you're just going to have to suck it in, Caroline. For Melanie.

Making a show of slowly and deliberately putting the phone down, the temporary bartender walked to her newest customer. "What can I bring for you?" using some of her renowned bedside manner, she even plastered a big smile.

"I'll have a piece of you," he jeered at her, obsidian fixating on her chest.

Great, Caroline wanted to roll her eyes. Another crazy freak who wanted to hit on her. "Yeah, sure," he was actually starting to smile at her. Poor delusional bastard. "That will happen at around a quarter to never," his leer evaporated just as quickly as it'd appeared. "Now, if you aren't going to actually order anything, the door is that way."

Anger replaced previous excitement. Narrowed black slits attempted to intimidate her, but Caroline stared him down impassively. "I'll have a beer," he relented and… was that fear she saw in his eyes? She knew she could be quite intimidating, but never to this extent. Maybe something else had changed his mind about starting a direct confrontation with Caroline. But the only other human being there was Klaus and he couldn't care less about what happened to her, right?

After slapping down the beer, Caroline risked a glance at her rough client. Klaus was busy looking out the window, inspecting the people hurrying down the streets on their relentless quests for money, love or success. Clearly he had been oblivious to the brief confrontation that had transpired at Rousseau's. A shake of the head was followed by a disbelieving smile at the pure idiocy that Klaus might have intervened to help her.

Out of the blue, his head snapped in her direction. She felt like a deer caught in headlights. She'd been shamelessly fixating him. "I'd like another," he beckoned at her.

Another what? She wanted to ask, but took a second to try and figure it out herself. Once he started to flutter his empty glass in her direction impatiently, she felt like a huge idiot. A refill. Obviously, that was what he'd been referring to.

Grabbing the bottle of his liquor of choice, she strutted to him and effectively filled the tumbler halfway. "Isn't it a little early to be drinking this much of the heavy stuff?" her tongue ran before consulting with the brain.

His jaw clenched at her question, pensive eyes returning to staring out the window. Caroline could have left, that long was he silent for, but something kept her rooted although an answer didn't appear to be coming.

"It's way too late and not nearly enough liquor," he contemplated cryptically, mostly to himself, head still turned away from her, effectively sheltering any display of betraying emotion, if there was any.

Late for what? The question burned in her mouth, but she refrained from uttering it. Neither were they buddies to be sharing their pasts, nor would he be willing to, she was sure.

"Call me a naïve girl, but I don't think it's ever too late for anybody or anything."

And she left, leaving him with that food for thought, missing the way glossed over eyes followed her until she reached the stool behind the bar, casting a warning look at the impolite man who, as a result, gulped and threw some money on the table before proceeding to the exit.

I'm afraid it is for me, Caroline.


Numerous clienteles came and left the bar, no other problems ensuing. The one constant remained Klaus, who was already on his fifth straight whiskey and who appeared to have no intention of going away. What was wrong with this man? Why was he subjecting his body to this sort of torture every day? What sins did he believe he was atoning for? What was it too late for? Well, whatever it was, she was way too busy to concentrate on it.

Being a bartender really was hard, her respect for the job stood renewed. All of that running from table to table, all the while struggling to put together some Margaritas and Vodka Martinis- a significantly harder feat than one could imagine. The only upside was that her headache was slowly, but steadily going away.

In no time, lunch hour rolled by, her hunger awakened. A dilemma rose. How was one supposed to eat in a place that served no food and possessed no kitchen? A restaurant flew out the door too because there was no way she could close the bar to grab a bite to eat. Too unprofessional for Caroline to even consider.

Salvation presented itself in the form of a few take-out brochures stocked in a neat pile near the small refrigerator. Settling on a pizza, greasy food always a good remedy for hangovers, a traitorous idea grew. And when that happened, there was no quelling it.

One other person had spent nearly as much time cooped up in this establishment as her. Admittedly, his was a voluntary stay while hers one owed to commitment. Before she could change her mind, she'd dragged her sneaker clad feet to Klaus Mikaelson's table.

Now, looking at him, with an Italian restaurant's brochure clasped tightly in her palm, Caroline willed her mouth to work and break the awkward silence. "I was wondering if you'd like anything to eat," she extended the piece of paper to him, making herself look like a blundering idiot.

His eyebrows rose. "What? Caroline, what's going on?" He sounded just as confused as she felt.

If only she could answer that, but truthfully, she had no clue. All she knew was that he'd appeared somewhat sad behind his emotionlessly cold façade and an unexplainable urge to do something for him had slowly mounted. But now, a feeling that her presence invaded his personal space and annoyed him was bugging her. Especially when taking into account his reaction, so she was slowly backtracking.

"I was sitting there, hungry as hell and I realized that you might want some food too. After all, one can't live only on alcohol. I mean, I understand if you don't and I'm probably overstepping my boundaries, as it is. You made it perfectly clear last night that you don't want anything to do with me, and I get it, but" her incessant nervous rambling was interrupted by a chuckle.

Oh God, he was laughing at her again. Somehow, all she could do around him was either make a fool of herself or appear completely immature and obnoxious. She didn't know which was worse. Heat rose to her checks, creating a rosy hue, to her growing embarrassment.

"Breathe," he smartly suggested. "I'll have whatever you're having," he pulled her out of her self-induced misery, cracking a minute smile at her.

"You will?" Caroline could not believe her ears. Reading her mind, he nodded and it only served to make her flush further, this time from excitement.

He'd accepted her olive branch. It felt like victory, like a truce of sorts between two people who'd initially despised each other. Now, studying him with more or less unbiased eyes, Caroline could admit that he wasn't entirely repulsive although his character still needed serious polishing. Sandy blonde hair cast some light on his otherwise pretty dangerous aura, softening it, dark liquid mercury orbs resembled those of someone who held the weight of the world on his tired, sagging shoulders and let's not forget about the dimples in his cheeks. They granted some boyish charm, making him seem younger, freer. Like she knew he wasn't.

Okay, not repulsive at all, she was compelled to admit.

When her order of two Quattro Formaggi pizzas arrived at Rousseau's, she deposited them on Klaus's table, scanned the room to see if any customer needed attention and, when satisfied that they were all properly attended, grabbed a bottle of white wine, sitting down in the chair facing Klaus.

"I thought one wasn't supposed to drink on the job," he poked fun while biting into a slice of parmesan covered pizza.

"Oh, please cut me some slack. With the months I've had recently, I should be drinking as heavily as you, if not more." There he was, trying to make her laugh, put behind their animosity and she had to put her foot in her mouth, dampening their mood. They had been intended as a joke, but her words weighed pretty heavily. Not once had she said he had a drinking problem, but he was walking a tightrope and a burning pit awaited should he lose balance. Therefore, it wasn't a subject to be made fun of and judging by his quiet demeanor he agreed.

When he finally did reply, it was with a note of loathing addressed either at a third party, himself or both. "No one should be drinking as much as me. I know that, but…" he cut himself off and gulped down half of his glass of wine, proving his point.

She wanted to ask him what went wrong with his life for him to take such a dark path. Drinking yourself slowly to death had to be rock bottom for someone as poised and proud as Klaus Mikaelson. She'd built enough of her bravery to do just that when a prissy looking woman, who'd come here for her bachelorette party asked for a round of Cosmopolitans.

"It had to be a freaking cocktail. I swear, these concoctions are going to kill me in two weeks," she pondered for a few moments. "Unless I kill the customers first." A wink added more humor to her recent idea.

For the second time in such a short interval, he snickered at her silly antics, rattled that someone he'd barely met could make him have genuine fun.

"You're not worthy of it," a powerful voice screamed it his head, reminding him briefly of who he was. Today. He'd only grant himself today.

She'd be gone by tomorrow and order would be restored to New Orleans and his life.

Caroline, on the other hand, had nothing else in mind but her job as she walked slowly towards another excruciating task. Ruffling the pages of recipes, she finally found the requested beverage. It required Vodka- check, Cranberry juice-check, Lime juice-check and Triple Sec- which she had no idea what it was. Gosh, her years as a med-student and as a surgical resident had really left their mark on her liquor knowledge. Looking at the rows of bottles, she finally laid eyes on a label that claimed Blue Triple Sec. It had to be the same, right? It's not like it came in all of the colors of the rainbow.

Desperate to return to her pizza, she threw all of the ingredients in a shaker and mixed them. The result was a disgustingly blue drink. Well, if the clients demands it, who is she to say no? Shrugging, she prepared the glasses and even garnished them with a lemon peel slice, like the book ordered. No sooner was she preparing to serve them then her eyes fell on some tiny words at the back of the page.

The drink should be a frothy bright pink color.

Pink?! Hers was as blue as the summer sky!

Groaning, she wanted to bang her head on the counter. Every single step in that recipe had been followed, and yet even the color differed. Stopping massive internal bleeding was easier than putting together a Cosmopolitan.

"Having trouble in bartender paradise?" Klaus sneaked up on her.

"Paradise?Hell, this is hell," she sharply put the appalling cocktail in front of him. "It's blue, freaking blue!"

One glance down and Klaus burst out laughing. "That's a Cosmopolitan? I've got to hand it to you, Caroline, you're in a league of your own. Never have I seen a more foul looking drink."

"Stop making fun of me," her voice raised in annoyance. "I did everything the book told me to. I added vodka, lime and cranberry juice and even the damned blue triple sec."

"You added blue Curacao to a Cosmopolitan?" his laughs got even louder. She didn't answer, but crossed her hands over the chest trying not to giggle with him. In spite of being left out of the joke, a surge of happiness was impossible to stave off. A ray of light had entered through the miniature cracks in his armor. Proudly, she kept composed and all that escaped was an upwards tug of her lips. "That," he pointed to an orange looking bottle, "is what you should have used instead of the blue liquor."

Covering her shame with sassiness at mistaking even the bottle, "Thank you, Mr. Drink-Savvy. If I'm ever in doubt again I shall ask your royal drink highness to rescue me," and she proceeded to remake the Cosmopolitans, not before swearing to never even taste this tiresome cocktail.

After that, they both returned to his table and finished their surprisingly heated pizzas in pleasant silence. However, her break was short lived because, soon, duty called and she had to prepare some Long Island Iced Teas which, my sheer miracle, she didn't botch.

By the time closing hour approached, Caroline could not feel the soles of her feet because of the blisters that covered them. Still at his table, Klaus was sipping the last tumbler of whiskey for the night. Even though she could barely move, her refusal to hand him the bottle to polish off hadn't budged.

It was pitch black outside, but the only other person beside her at Rousseau's was still gazing out into the streets. How he saw anything beat her. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, muscles tightly coiled, knuckles clenching the crystal glass. Had he spotted something to elicit this reaction? Curiosity prompted her to close the distance between them and study the same spot as he was outside. There was a figure, clouded in darkness standing on the street parallel to the bar, his face indiscernible.

"He's probably just waiting for a cab or someone to pick him up," her voice startled Klaus who quickly turned to look at her. Uneasiness rested in his eyes and he returned to gaze at the otherwise void of life New Orleans. True to her words, the man –she assumed her was a man- climbed into a black SUV and sped away. "See? He's gone," she willed herself to sound more cheery than she felt.

Klaus nodded, but his spine remained unnaturally straight, like a predator stalking for its victim. "I'm closing the bar," she declared.

That got his attention. Reaching inside his pocket, he handed her a hundred dollar bill. Wordlessly, she went for the cash register to get his change, oblivious to him following her and stopping merely a meter behind her.

"Here," she handed some crumpled banknotes to him which he promptly refused. Was he tipping her 65 bucks? "This is too much," frowning she tried to return it to him again.

"It's a tip for the outstanding service." She was about to argue again, but he was too fast. "Consider it me paying you back for the pizza."

"The pizza was on me, and I'm pretty sure my service is anything but outstanding, blue Cosmopolitan can attest to it." Complaining came as second nature to the feisty blonde, but one pointed look at Klaus and she knew this fight was lost. With him, one had to know how to pick the battles and this one was forfeited by pocketing the money. "Next time, your drinks are on the house," her stubborn side had to add so he wouldn't get the satisfaction of completely winning, even if that was essentially what had transpired .

"Next time?" he overlooked the other part of the sentence, but Caroline had a feeling that accepting her offer would turn into another argument.

"Yes, I'll be here for two weeks, enjoying the perks of being a bartender." Darkness shrouded his face. Was that anger she could read? What had she done this time to upset him? She'd even taken his goddamned tip to avoid a clash between two very strong personalities with equally shorter fuses. "What's wrong with that? Am I so annoying to you that you can't even stand me for a couple of weeks?" However much she tried to mask it, hurt seeped into her voice. She'd actually thought they were getting along. A few more days and she'd consider him a friend.

Way to go, Caroline! Always too easily trusting others and winding up being the idiot of the story, she mused to herself.

"It's not that," her hope was renewed. "This town, it's dangerous, especially working at this bar."

"Oh, you mean the famous curse Melanie told me about?" she laughed it off. "I don't believe in that sort of thing."

A storm brewed behind his ocean eyes, Caroline could tell he had some choice words directed at her for treating this lightly, but come on! He didn't appear like the kind of guy who would bend ear to such ludicrous superstitions. People hurt other people, not a town, bar or job.

"You should. Genuinely good people have fallen victims to this place," to being around me, he refrained from adding. One glance it her forest eyes and he knew she wasn't going to bend over backwards to obey him, like all others. "You're not going to heed my warnings are you?"

"Nope, but I appreciate your concern."

He shook his head, sighing to control his anger. "At least let me accompany you to your hotel. It's very late."

Chivalrous. That was the right word to describe Klaus's behavior. Completely the opposite of how she'd first perceived him. Sure, he was shut off from the world, but not entirely evil as he wished others to believe. Be it well-intended, the offer to walk with her injured her pride. A man wasn't needed to survive. Proof to that stood her years of making it on her own before Stefan.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll be fine. Yesterday it was even later at night, I was slightly drunk and I made it safely back. There's no need to trouble yourself." It was a polite refusal, but her tone left no room for arguing. This was a battle she would win. Her independence will not be fragmented by anybody.

"Caroline," a magnifying glass turned to her, searching for any weaknesses in her adamancy. He found none. "Just be careful. No dark alleys, no shortcuts. Not while you're in New Orleans, working here, talking and eating to me."

Confusion awakened instantly after those last five words. "What does talking to you have to do with this city being dangerous? Klaus, what's truly going on here?"

"Nothing that concerns you," resolute irises dared to pursue this line of enquiry. And she would have, had it not been for the sadness hidden behind layers of fake indifference. "Just do as I told you," with that he was out of the door before her paralyzed brain could send any nervous impulses.

One last glance, to ensure everything was in order at Rousseau's and that the back door was tightly bolted, Caroline exited into the crisp night air. No car passed by and no signs of any human life reached her.

Silence enveloped her.

Not even a house light dared to break the cycle of darkness. This part of the French Quarter appeared abandoned. Even the sound made by her Converse appeared deafening.

Last night she'd been drunk enough not to notice, but tonight, these streets were giving her the creeps. Maybe it was also Klaus's insistence that walking this late was dangerous, but a bad feeling was edging in.

Picking up her pace, all Caroline wanted was to reach the hotel that now appeared miles away. By divine intervention, a shortcut she'd taken in the morning came into view. It would effectively cut the distance in half. The one downside? It was poorly lit, sheltered from civilization, specifically the type of road that Klaus had warned against.

Well, he wasn't here and never needed to find out about what she'd done. Besides, her heart could not take any more of this tension. A warm bath and her bed awaited and Caroline Forbes could never deny these two.

So she took the timesaving route.

Ten minutes had gone by, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred and she'd managed to calm herself. Everything was fine; Klaus had just been overreacting and causing panic without reason.

That precise moment was when she heard heavy footfalls behind her. The kind that people made when they wanted you to know they were behind you.

Not daring to look, Caroline increased her pace. The person at her back did the same. The hallowed echoes got stronger and stronger with each second. Fear and adrenaline spiked and the blonde started to literally run. Even if all that turned out to be behind was a drunken hobo, Caroline wouldn't take any chances.

A malicious cackle reached her ears. Someone was laughing at her for sprinting ahead. It prompted her to slightly bend her head and see the person behind her.

The light was too dim to make out a face, but judging by how tall and well-built the silhouette was, Caroline deduced it was a man. He seemed eerily familiar and that's when it hit her.

The same man that had been in front of Rousseau's. The one that had worried Klaus and whose presence she'd shaken off had followed her into a deserted back road. Increasing the rhythm of her scampering, a bifurcation appeared, so she took what she remembered as the right path.

An even louder sinister snicker.

Within moments she could see precisely why. Terror must have confused her into picking the wrong route because a dead end lay before her. A cement wall with two dumpsters on each side and mountains of garbage bags piled near them.

She should have listened to Klaus. Or at least allowed him to come with her instead of being Miss I'm-too-proud-and-independent.

Heavy treads announced that the man had reduced the distance between them. Caroline looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon but came up empty. Barely had she lifted her had when the figure appeared.

A long coat andjeans the color of charcoal hid any distinctive features. He took a deliberately small step towards her and she involuntarily took one back. They continued this dance until her back hit the cold wall.

Trapped. She was trapped with no way to escape. He could do whatever he wanted to her and no one would know.

Suddenly, his hand went to his belt. Muscles tight, Caroline waited to see why. The answer made the hairs on the back of her head stand.

A silver glint under the pale, moon that had just emerged from its cloudy prison. Caroline knew what it was immediately.

A knife.

The hypothesis of it being an innocent, harmless person were flying outside the window. This man wasn't joking. He'd come after her prepared to kill.

The curse really is real, was her final thought before he came close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her skin, soiling it.

He's going to kill me.