Notes: These two little drabbles were written for klarolineauweek Day Three. The theme was AU: The Future. My plans got mega derailed for that day, unfortunately, but I hope these aren't too bad. At the end of yesterday (Day Five!) there had been nearly 100 new fanworks posted!

May You Have A Strong Foundation

(From klarolineforevermine: Future canon prompt where Caroline finds out that the French authorities are cutting love locks off of the Pont des Arts bridge in Paris so she and Klaus find another way to leave their mark on the city of love. Title from "Forever Young" by Bob Dylan. Rated T.)

"Klaus!"

Klaus woke with a start. His dream version of Caroline had also been saying his name. It might have more of a moan, in his mind. Hearing her shout it, from a distance, in concert with his subconscious, was a bit jarring.

He vaguely remembers her getting out of bed, remembers protesting and trying to pull her back, until she'd swatted him away with a laugh.

He hears her mounting the stairs, at a quick human pace, muttering to herself, a tinge irate. Klaus sat up, leaned back against the headboard, letting the covers pool at his waist. He's not sure what could possibly be the matter, as they'd only returned to New Orleans the day before yesterday, and it's far too early for Caroline and Rebekah to be sniping at one another. It usually takes at least a week or two for them to begin grating on one another.

Klaus is already thinking of the ways in which he'll cheer her up. Coaxing Caroline out of a temper has become one of his very favorite pastimes, one he's proud to excel at.

Caroline breezes into the room, carrying two white paper cups, the day's newspaper tucked under her arm. She smiles when she sees him, though the line on her forehead that shows up when she'd irritated remains, "Good," she says briskly, "you're up."

Klaus refrains from mentioning that he hadn't been, before her loud entrance. He eyes the pretty floral dress she wears pointedly, "I thought we agreed to no clothes on the Saturdays?"

He's sure he remembers something about that, back when they'd been house hunting. Caroline had wanted a 'non-you Mikaelson free zone' and Klaus had been happy to oblige, until they'd actually gone looking at places. Caroline had pushed for something much smaller than Klaus had favored, because she tended to dislike the way the various maids they had hired over the years cleaned.

Klaus telling her to just compel them to do things the way she wanted them to be done had not gone over well.

Neither had his tendency to eat people who displeased Caroline.

But that had been decades ago, and they'd long since learned to compromise. For example, he only ate people who tried to hurt her, or someone close to them, these days. Fine progress, Klaus thought. And there were enough attempts that he rarely got bored.

She'd eventually won the argument about the house, not that they spent much time in it, only returning to New Orleans when between bouts of wanderlust. Last time they'd spent a month in the city, before heading off the explore New Zealand for another three.

Klaus thinks it'll be a shorter stay, this time, though he imagines they'll just head a bit further north. Caroline likes Autumn, likes to watch the leaves change and feel the air chill. Perhaps they'll go back to Montreal, this year.

Klaus' just beginning to plan when Caroline interrupts with a snort, hopping up onto the bed, setting her paper tray on the night table, "Pretty sure I never agreed to that one. We just happen to usually spend Saturdays in bed, and it's kind of a waste to put on clothes. Less things for you to rip, and me to replace. It's just practical."

Klaus tugs at the hem of her dress, hoping she'll take the hint and remove it, before he answers, "And why are we breaking that tradition, again?"

"Bon texted me and told me that the Pumpkin Spice Lattes were out. And I wanted one."

So that was the odd smell, emanating from the cups.

"I got you a regular boring coffee. And then I saw this,"

Caroline unfolds the newspaper, shaking it in Klaus' face. He sees the picture, and immediately knows why she's so upset. "Ah, they're clearing the bridge again?"

"Yes! Blah blah blah structural soundness. Blah blah blah safety. How dare they?" her voice rises with Caroline's outrage, and she nearly tears the paper in two, before setting it aside with a huff.

"Humans are rather delicate, love. Unlikely to survive a bridge collapse."

"Um, then maybe they should build better bridges? Technology, hello?"

Klaus studies her for a moment, registers the rigidness of her posture. She's genuinely upset, and his instinct is to fix it. "Come here," he says, patting the bed in front of him. Caroline shifts over, curling into his chest, and Klaus kisses her shoulder, "This is because we have a lock there, yes?"

She sighs, "I know it's stupid, and silly…"

"You are neither of those things, Caroline," Klaus tells her firmly.

She relaxes against him slightly, "It was our first trip to Paris. Our first trip period."

Klaus smiles, wraps one of her curls around his finger, "I remember it well. Kol still mocks me about those pictures you put on that infernal website."

"I like cheesy tourist traps, okay? Sue me."

"And I like going places with you. And you let me show you the proper sights, before too long."

"Yeah, yeah," Caroline mutters, "Mr. Older Than Dirt knows all the cool spots. Don't brag."

"Likely impossible, as you well know." She's still frowning, glaring at the discarded paper, so Klaus asks, "Would you like to book a flight to Paris? We can look up the appropriate officials, and persuade them to change their minds? A project always makes you happy, I know."

They could be in the Paris townhouse in twelve hours. A little compulsion, a lot of money. Or vice versa. Klaus had found that few things couldn't be changed with that particular combination.

She pokes his side half-heartedly, though her lips tilt in an attempt at a smile, "It's international news. I don't think even you can put that cat back in the bag."

Klaus thinks he could. But he's also sure that Elijah would have many, many words for him, and he'd rather avoid yet another tedious discussion about discretion, and going to extremes.

"Hmm. Would you like to do something else?" Klaus offers. "We could break into The Louvre. Carve our initials into the wall behind The Mona Lisa."

She giggles at that, bright and warm, "You can't break into The Louvre."

"Why ever not?" Klaus asks, puzzled. "I've done it before."

Caroline twists her head to look at him, expression incredulous. Perhaps Klaus hadn't got around to telling her that particular story just yet? It was often hard to keep track. He'd lived so long, after all, didn't bother to keep many secrets, from Caroline.

"When was this? Why was this?" Caroline asks, more curious than reproachful.

"The early 1980's. I decided I wanted something, they had it. So I made a copy, and switched them out."

Caroline shakes her head, "Right. Of course. Because that's a logical explanation."

Klaus ignores her sarcasm, "Additionally, it was quite fun."

Caroline merely sighs, reaching for her coffee, and taking a sip.

They sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, and when Klaus speaks again it's quiet, intimate, just for her, "We'll go to Paris again. As many times as you want. Mark the city, any way your heart desires."

Skepticism crosses her features, "We just went two years ago. You don't want to go back so soon, do you?"

Klaus shrugs, "It's always been one of my favorite cities. And I have fond memories of all of our visits. I'm sure the hotel we stayed at last time will never be the same, hmm?"

"Yeah, we're definitely not welcome back there," Caroline says, looking momentarily guilty.

"So we'll go if you want to. But know that we're going to outlast that bridge, Caroline. That bridge, those people who decided to take the locks down. The city of Paris. All of it."

Klaus lets her see that he means it, when she meets his gaze, her eyes widening slightly.

He'd promised to be her last love, and it's not a thing he'd said lightly. Klaus had known the weight of eternity, when he'd made that promise. Known what forever meant. And he'd seen Caroline Forbes in his, had been determined that he would be hers.

He can't be killed, and as long as he's alive, nothing will touch her. And they'll be together, long after the sites she drags him to are dust.

Telling her he loves her isn't easy, for Klaus. And she's always accepted that, accepted his actions in lieu of his words. This is one of those moments, where Klaus wants her to know it. To know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he'll do anything for her.

Caroline bites her lip, nods, fighting a grin. The soft look in her eyes, the way she presses closer, tell Klaus that she understands what he'd been trying to convey. She adopts a teasing tone, "Well, if the great Klaus Mikaelson says so, who am I to argue?"

She sets her cup aside, kneeling, and peeling off her dress. Klaus raises his eyebrows appreciatively, helps her untangle his lower body from the sheets, as she drops kisses down his chest, "Naked Saturday's back on then?"

She presses him back, glancing up mischievously, "I'm thinking we break tradition, and make it a naked Sunday, too."

Klaus, of course, has no objections.

My Mind Holds The Key

(Pure crackfic. Sorrynotsorry! Inspired by Invasion of The Body Snatchers. Title from "My Body Is A Cage" by Arcade Fire. Rated T.)

Something was rotten in the state of Denmark.

Good man, that Shakespeare, Kol had always thought. Knew his way around a phrase, could hold his drink, and was rather charming with the ladies, for all that he'd been slightly homely.

The little line he'd penned centuries ago had been ringing through Kol's mind on a loop.

Because Kol was convinced that something was seriously off in Denmark, or rather, New Orleans. Because here he stands watching elder brother, feared by supernatural creatures the world over, stroll down the street, with a tiny human attached to his hand.

Kol's been in the city for three days, had begun tailing Nik last night. And as the hours had passed he'd become more and more confused.

His plan had been to wait for the appropriate time to spring up. One had to pick their moments, and 'Hello brother, I'm alive, not that you care, you tremendous gobermouch' needed a certain amount of preparation, of finesse, to be truly satisfying.

Privacy was also important. Things were likely to get deliciously violent. Because Nik deserved a few hits, for not killing the bloody doppelganger, her brother, and her pet Salvatore's.

The Bennett witch he might have understood letting live. At least she was useful. And the pretty blonde hadn't been in on the plan, as far as Kol had gleaned, and Nik had been rather besotted, so he supposed he could understand why she still lived.

But the rest of them? It was honestly offensive to Kol, that they were still out there somewhere, living insipid, pointless lives, without a care for the fact that they'd killed him, and the thousands of vampires that made up his line. Still thinking themselves the good guys, patting themselves on the back, for their righteousness.

Kol would rectify that. Soon.

But first, he had to get to the bottom of whatever nonsense was happening here.

When he'd first seen Nik with the child he'd wondered if his brother's feeding habits had drastically changed. They didn't eat children, as a rule. Like wine, or cheese, or proper scotch, humans needed a little age, a couple of vices. Otherwise they were horribly bland.

They'd lived in the world long before salt was available on every table, and had no wish to return to those dark times, when food and drink had been more necessity than pleasure.

But really, stranger things had happened, so perhaps Nik's tastes had simply changed?

But then Kol had witnessed Nik take the wee person to a gated stone building, that appeared to be some sort of school. A mass of screaming uniformed sprogs milled about the front gates, until a bell rung and they entered the doors en masse.

Nik had hugged the child, patted her head affectionately, and sent her on her way, watching until she was safely in the building. And Kol had lived a long time, even discounting the time he'd spent in a coffin, dagger keeping him from experiencing the passage of time. But few things had shocked him more than that sight.

It was nearly traumatizing.

And all the while, Nik had not noticed Kol's presence. Even though, in his floored stupour, Kol had been rather less stealthy than he should have been, or was capable of. He'd never been able to sneak up on Nik, even when they'd been children. His brother was the most paranoid being on the planet, had honed his senses, was always wary of being attacked. That he'd not sensed Kol's gaze was more than a little odd. Kol had continued to follow his brother, right to a brick building, a few blocks north of the quarter.

Nik had gone inside, and Kol had noted a shining gold plaque next to the door, proclaiming it the office of some sort of therapist.

Nik had spent just over an hour inside, before he'd emerged, accompanied by a woman who had giggled rather loudly, audible from Kol's positon across the street, at something his brother had said, standing a little closer, than was generally considered polite (or professional).

It seemed rather contrived. Kol had lived with Nik for centuries. He wasn't that funny.

Once Nik and the woman had been out of sight, Kol had easily broken the lock on the door, and slipped inside. A quick rifle through a cabinet had unearthed a file with Nik's name on it.

Upon opening it Kol had nearly had to take a seat, so flabbergasted was he at the contents.

Nik was in therapy. Had been for years. There were pages upon pages of (simplistic and usually off base, in Kol's opinion) observations. And the occasional tiny heart, doodled in the margins.

It was a lot to process. And only left Kol more convinced that something was very, very wrong.

He needed a witch.

Luckily, witches weren't hard to find, in New Orleans.

But finding one willing to help a strange vampire? That was proving to be a bit of a struggle.

Kol's getting frustrated, walking down the street, shaking off the lingering effects of the aneurysm the last one had given him (weak, more of a tickle, honestly) when a voice saying his name, stops him in his tracks.

Right. He was supposed to be incognito. He'd always been bad at that, had rarely seen the point.

When Kol turns there's a man standing a few paces away, mouth open and eyes wide. It only takes Kol a second to recognize him. Hard to forget the face that caused you to spend almost two centuries in a box, despite it being more mature, then the last time you'd seen it.

The boy had grown handsome. Kol idly wonders if Marcellus had ever learned to properly appreciate Shakespeare.

"You're supposed to be dead," Marcel tells him, as if that's something Kol doesn't already know.

"Didn't stick," Kol replies shortly, speeding over. Marcel doesn't flinch, but then he'd spent more time with The Originals than most. "Got out when The Other Side collapsed. Not rightly sure how, but I figure I was probably due for a bit of luck."

"That was years ago," Marcel says slowly. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there," Kol answers, not feeling like he owes Marcel any explanations. And it's not as though he's been doing anything of note, merely visiting some old haunts (funded by a quick trip back to the house in Mystic Falls – Nik really should learn to hide the safe better, and he was going to be right pissed about that Géricault Kol had liberated from one of the guest rooms, and sold for a tidy sum) and having and causing mild to moderate mayhem.

Nik deserved the aggravation, in Kol's opinion. From what he'd seen, when he'd peeked in on their lives, before his resurrection, his siblings had scarcely even missed him, had not even bothered to mourn him.

Marcel's still looking at Kol like he's seen a ghost, and really, alive for as long as he's been, shouldn't he be a little less shocked? Resurrections were practically routine, from what Kol had witnessed, these last few years.

But perhaps Marcel can be of some use.

"Where's Rebekah?" Kol asks, because he's not seen so much of a trace of her. Marcel shrugs, "I'm not sure. Somewhere in Europe, last I heard. She might have moved on. Maybe South America."

"Nik let her leave?"

"Years ago," Marcel confirms.

Incredibly hard for Kol to fathom. He'd only ever managed a couple of weeks on his own, before Nik had come after him, or sent a lackey to deliver threats, until Kol was convinced to rejoin the family. That he's allowed Rebekah, his favorite sibling, out of his reach for so long was another piece of the puzzle that didn't add up.

Kol was beginning to think he'd need reinforcements. He adds 'Find Bekah' to his mental list of tasks to complete.

"And Elijah?"

"Around."

Kol will have to pay a visit, to his eldest brother. He gets the address from Marcel, tells the other man to not breathe a word of Kol's not so deceased state, impresses himself with the creativity of his own threats.

It's been awhile since he's had the pleasure of striking fear in the heart of another vampire.

Good to know he's not lost his touch.

Two hours later Kol leaves Elijah's apartment, feeling like he's just wasted his time, not to mention the grand reveal he'd so been looking forward to. And while Kol might be immortal, such a pointless conversation grated. Elijah has always wanted Nik to be something that he wasn't, spurred by his own guilt. Elijah's has been trying, unsuccessfully, to manipulate Nik into a facsimile of who he'd been as a human, for centuries. So Kol's not surprised that Elijah's unwilling to consider that there may be something sinister behind Nik's drastic character change.

He rounds a corner, paying little attention, crashing into someone. They stumble, but stay on their feet, impressive, given the speed that Kol had been moving at.

Kol looks up, decides he might as well have a snack.

Sees Nik staring back at him.

Drat. Not a snack.

Kol grins, readies a quip, but Nik merely snarls, "Watch it," pushing past Kol, and entering Elijah's building.

Kol's left alone, on the sidewalk, staring after his brother.

His brother, who hadn't even recognized him.

Forget rotten. Something was putrid and festering and wrong with Nik.

He's tempted to leave. Why should Kol have to fix things, when Nik's inability to listen had been the entire reason Kol had ended up dead in the first place?

He should leave Nik to his fate.

But Kol knows he won't. Curses himself for it. Promises himself that he will never let Nik forget that he was the damsel in distress, that Kol had needed to play knight in shining armour. Not for another thousand years.

Kol turns, heads to the nearest bar, for that snack he'd been craving, because it was difficult, to plot successfully on an empty stomach.

Once sated, Kol compels himself a very nice car, hopes he remembers the brief lesson in driving Elijah had reluctantly administered, once Kol had been undaggered.

And if not, it's not like a crash will kill him, will it?

He manages well enough and is soon on the highway, headed north. Kol's decided to go back to Virginia, to the last place he knows Nik was himself.

Because he still needs a witch, and the least the Bennett girl could do is help him, after she's helped kill him, was it not? And Kol seems to remember that the pretty blonde Nik had drawn incessantly for months had warmed to Nik, before he'd left town. Perhaps she'll be willing to help out? She'd been the helpful type, Kol remembers. Always game for her friends' hare brained schemes.

Maybe she'd come to consider Nik a friend, or maybe Kol could appeal to her better nature. Because really, if something was powerful enough to change his brother so drastically, that something wasn't good news, and needed to be dealt with.

It's only the beginning of a plan, but it's better than nothing. Kol was new to this hero business, not sure that he was cut out for it. But someone had to do something. And, much like the Silas debacle, it looked as if Kol was the only one whose brain was currently functioning.

It was ever so tedious, always being right.