Notes: Happy Klaroline AU Week! Yesterday was Day One: Mythological Creatures. I posted a sequel to something I wrote waaayyy back when for the very first AU Week. Thanks to all the people who've popped up over the years to ask for more! I'm slow but I do appreciate it!
As One Wishes To Live (Part Two)
(In which Caroline receives a lamp, finds out magic is a thing, and has to figure out what one does with a genie. Part One found in Chapter 18.)
His new mistress – Caroline – had excused herself. Klaus hasn't yet relaxed.
It's a survival instinct.
Only two of his keepers had been awful from their first meeting. The rest feigned kindness only to grow into their cruelty once they realized just how much power they wield.
He expects Caroline will be the same. Oh, she seems sweet. Earnest. Stubborn too, enough to hold on to her principles for awhile. She'll bend, like they all do. First, it'll be little things, simple requests to save her time and effort. A "Klaus, could you mend this?' followed by a please and a thank you.
The requests never stay simple.
He'll look for what weaknesses while he still has the freedom to.
He cannot hurt the one he belongs to, but he's learned that rule is bendable. He can manipulate an owner into hurting themselves. He can do it with words, a hint here, an innocent observation there. Occasionally, the universe provides a lovely set of coincidences that Klaus merely can neatly steer a captor into. He'd once orchestrated a nasty carriage accident by keeping a whiskey glass full and producing a few coins to entice a barmaid into distracting a stable boy. Poor lad had rushed through his tasks, hadn't noticed the wheel in desperate need of repair.
He'll explore Caroline's home over the next few days. Just in case. As long as he's been locked in his lamp, all the objects he can't name. It's only logical that he be curious.
Caroline's fairly young and obviously baffled by his presence in her home. She doesn't seem stupid, which is a pity. The unintelligent are more demanding than the cunning but easier to manipulate. She'd been flustered as she'd departed, her cheeks stained a bright pink. She'd promised she'd be right back, after she found him some clothes.
Klaus could have told her that if she wanted him clothed, he could conjure whatever she fancied. He'd served those who liked him to remain bare and accessible but most liked to dress him up. Some in clothing that marked him as a servant, others in finery that made him look like a prize. Klaus has long since stopped caring about what does, or doesn't, cover his body.
He'd let her babble and flee. He'd wanted privacy to study his new home and he'd sensed Caroline had needed to collect herself. He could have denied her that, pressed his advantage, perhaps dropped the covering she'd insisted he don.
She'd fought it, kept her eyes on his, but she clearly finds his body appealing.
He may have to use that but, for now, she hasn't truly earned his ire.
Once she'd left Klaus had held still and listened carefully as she'd made her way up a single set of stairs. She's rummaging now, still talking to herself. Exceptional senses are one of the perks of his curse. To cater to a master's every whim he needs to hear calls when they are mere whispers.
Caroline's home seems quite small and Klaus imagines he'll be able to track Caroline's movements easily. It's nice enough, very clean and warm. There are an alarming number of objects that Klaus has never seen before, odd hums and beeps that he's trying to ignore.
Much has changed in the ninety or so years he'd been dormant.
The chair she'd bid him to sit in had been plush and the fabric hadn't scratched at his skin at all. A relief because he's always more sensitive when he's been stuck in his lamp, his skin feels thin and new each time he emerges.
Klaus eyes the window, squinting against the sun that's streaming in. His head aches a bit. He takes a few steps, glancing behind him even as he reaches for the curtain.
Caroline had wanted him to be comfortable, hadn't she? Shutting out the light will help.
If she complains, well, that will be a clue that perhaps she's not as generous as she's seemed.
Caroline's got a stack of various pieces of men's clothing – things stolen from exes or friends, even a random leather jacket that a disaster of a one-night stand had left behind. She knows exactly where the pile is, but she spends a solid ten minutes pushing things around in her closet, tidying and refolding to keep her hands busy while her mind whirls.
It's useless because she's not going to solve the issue of the genie she now apparently owns with a little stress cleaning.
It makes her feel better. Calmer.
Sort of.
When her hands have stopped shaking (and she's done enough deep breathing that her face should be a normal color) she crouches and yanks out the plastic tote she needs. It's been awhile since she's had to add anything to it. Her extended period of singledom is the main reason Kat had so thoughtfully gifted Caroline the lamp (and Klaus, technically) but she's reasonably sure she'll find something that will fit her guest.
Whether he'll like the clothes she'll provide Caroline can't guess. He's been impressively inscrutable so far, not that Caroline can blame him.
It sounds like he's known a lot of terrible people. The kind that won't hesitate to pounce on a weakness and use it for their own gain.
She figures comfort is the way to go, digs a pair of grey sweats that had been Tyler's from the very bottom of the tote. Klaus might be a bit taller but he's leaner so hopefully that will make up the difference. She grabs one of Stefan's t-shirts that she hadn't bothered to return (since he had about eight million, all identical and black) plus a blue hoodie Enzo has given up asking her to return.
She throws it all over her shoulder then snags a pair of the socks she uses for working out from her dresser. She makes a quick detour to the kitchen to grab her laptop and her phone off the charger before she returns to find Klaus where she'd left him. He's pulled the curtains and he's wandered over to the wall of shelves where she keeps her books and DVDs. He's looking at one of the framed photographs that she's got up, an old one.
"That's the last family photo we took," Caroline tells him. "I really hated that dress." Black velvet, enormous lace collar. It had been a gift from Granny Forbes and Caroline had worn it exactly twice.
Klaus gently sets the frame back down turning to face her. His expression is just as smooth as it had been when he'd first greeted her, giving away nothing of his feelings. His eyes are on her though, not the floor. He's sizing her up and Caroline can't say she blames him.
She smiles, hopes he can't tell that ten minutes away wasn't nearly enough time for Caroline to stop freaking out internally.
None of the giant pile of what the fuckery they're currently dealing with is Klaus' fault. She doesn't want him to feel like he's unwelcome. It's just good manners.
She sets her laptop down then holds out the clothing, "I dug these up for you. I know they're not ideal but once your dressed we'll look online and get you something a little more your style."
"My style," he repeats slowly.
"Yeah. I mean, if you're a label snob like my friend Kat you're going to need to embrace knock offs because my credit card can only take so much."
He appears a bit mystified and Caroline wants to slap herself. "Oh, wait, sorry. How long have you been in…" she waves her hand towards the coffee table, his gold lamp. It's entirely possible Klaus doesn't know about the internet. Or even credit cards. Caroline has no idea when they became a thing.
His eyes follow her gesture and he takes a step back, so he's nearly pressed against the bookcase.
She looks away, pretends not to notice. She studies the lamp, realizing that she's only managed to polish a quarter sized spot on one side. That's totally going to bother her.
Klaus doesn't answer right away, doesn't move much either. Caroline's about to remind him that he doesn't have to when he reaches for the bundle she holds. He pinches the fabric between his fingertips, tugging experimentally. "I can't tell you exactly. It was… 1926, maybe. When my last mistress died. She called for me infrequently in the end. Her daughter thought to own me next. She was not happy to learn I cannot be inherited."
"Is that the one who made her final wish on her death bed?"
"Yes."
She's really trying not to pry – he hasn't had the chance to set his own boundaries for a freaking millennium so obviously she needs to reel in her curiosity – but it's hard. What had the woman wished for? Could she have wished to not die? Can Klaus make people immortal? Would…
"Revenge," Klaus murmurs, interrupting Caroline's train of thought. "She had three daughters and her husband divorced her to get his male heir. He lied to get it, painted her as the adulterer then left her with barely enough money to live on. She wished that he would live to know his name would die with his son."
That's… wow." Caroline's a little impressed with the spite level. "Was she… good to you?"
"Better than most."
With the switch back to vague answers, Caroline decides it's best to change the subject. "Well, there's going to be a lot of things we need to get you up to speed on. We'll start with the practical." She sits down, taps the top of her laptop. "This is a computer; it connects to the internet. The internet does a lot of things, some of them great, some of them super creepy. But it will allow us to get you a 21st century wardrobe delivered before the weekend."
"That won't be necessary."
She shakes her head, tucking her legs underneath her as she boots up her laptop. "Look, I'm not going to make you go anywhere you don't want to but I'm pretty sure eventually you're going to get bored enough to want to go outside. And if you do it like that…" she wiggles her fingers in his direction, carefully not looking directly at the subtle ridge of muscle at his hips, "…questions will be asked. Cops might be called. We can't rixk that until we've got a solid backstory and some supporting documents."
She types "Casual Men's Clothes" into google, figuring she'll let him browse the images to see what he likes. Klaus clears his throat but it's a theatrical kind of noise, an 'ahem' sound that's never an accident.
Caroline holds in a sigh and looks up, mentally preparing herself to ignore all the distractingly bare skin, only to have her mouth drop open for an entirely different reason. Klaus is holding the clothes she'd given him but, on his body, he's wearing something very similar. He's switched up the colors – black sweats, dark red tee, grey hoodie – and everything fits like it was made for him.
Well. That's handy.
"Oh," she says dumbly. "You…"
"Am perfectly capable of clothing myself without assistance, yes."
He's smug about it and Caroline should find it annoying but, as it's the first real hint of personality he's shown, she'll let it slide. "You weren't kidding about the magic, huh?"
He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "Are you a believer now, love?"
The dimples are just as distracting as the hipbones, damn it.
Caroline focuses back on her laptop, tapping a few keys for no real reason. It's not like he'll know she's typing nonsense. "I don't think I have much of a choice."
Klaus hums in acknowledgement, "Is this what men wear nowadays? I'll admit it's very comfortable."
When she glances up she finds he's adjusting the sleeves of the hoodie, pushing them up his forearms. "It's a super casual example but yeah, you won't get arrested if you walk outside like that. You'd get some looks if you tried to walk into a nice restaurant though."
"I see. Can you show me?" he points at her laptop. "For when we venture out."
"Sure. Internet window shopping is one of my very favorite things. Come sit."
Caroline tips her head to the side and this time Klaus doesn't need to be prompted further, settling down next to her. He jumps a little when she sets her computer on his lap and Caroline figures he hadn't anticipated it would be warm. She points to the screen, "What do you like?"
He blinks at the twenty or so images for a long moment. He then leans closer. Caroline reaches over runs her finger over the trackpad. "Here, see that little white hand? If you want to see something close up just tap. Like this."
He's a quick study, his fingertip bumping into hers as he tries it for himself. She shows him how to scroll down and he mutters about how many choices there are. He glances at her every once in awhile, but Caroline makes it a point not to react.
Even if she had been paying for the clothes she wouldn't have wanted to pick for him. Earlier, one oh his comments had made her feel a little sick to her stomach. His body, he'd said, so casually, was at her disposal. Caroline's not naïve enough to think that had only meant he'd been treated like a life size Ken doll but she's certain he'd been dressed up according to the whims of others for the bulk of his existence.
That's over, Caroline's decided. If he wants to wear cargo shorts and lumberjack flannel for the rest of his life that's totally his call.
She touches his arm to get his attention. Klaus tenses, his body locking up so tightly that she can feel in even though a few inches of space separate them. She withdraws gingerly, easing over to give him more space.
She's kind of a toucher. She'll have to remember to curb the instinct with Klaus.
"I'll just be in the kitchen, okay? I'll order dinner." And send a couple texts, plus an email to her boss. She's so going to need a couple days to get acclimated but Klaus doesn't need to know the details. "Come get me if you need anything."
It's a useless offer because Klaus won't ask for a single thing. He doesn't trust her even a little bit.
Convincing him that he can won't be easy. Good thing Caroline's always liked a challenge.
Klaus had risen as soon as he'd heard Caroline stir. He hadn't rested well.
The bed Caroline had offered him is very comfortable. Too comfortable.
He'd tossed and turned, tried both sides. He'd quickly given up on sleeping, had risen once he'd heard Caroline's breathing deepen enough to indicate that she wouldn't wake easily. He's slipped out of the room and downstairs, paced the rooms and the halls, going over all that he's learned to far.
Last night Caroline had chattered away while she'd changed the sheets for him, told him that her mother was the one who most often stayed in the room but that it always took a great deal of cajoling for Caroline to convince her to visit. She'd grabbed him a toothbrush and towels. Had pointed out that red on the taps meant hot water and then asked if he had any questions about the shower. He'd just managed to avoid rolling his eyes because he has seen one before. Caroline had sensed his annoyance and cheerfully confessed that she'd done a quick bout of research on the history of indoor plumbing while they'd sat together after dinner but that she'd just wanted to make sure. She'd said that a hot shower always made her feel better after a rough day.
Klaus had thought about that statement once she'd left him alone. He wouldn't have classified his day as rough, exactly. Bewildering perhaps, but the first day with a new master always is. He's yet to sense any sort of sinister intent under Caroline's solicitousness so either she's a fantastically skilled actress or she's genuine in her disgust for the curse he lives with.
The shower had been fantastic though.
He's waiting in the kitchen when Caroline wanders in. Her hair's half up and half down and she's wrapped in a pink robe that's far too large for her. She's rather lovely, sleep mussed and stumbling. She gives him a little wave, "Morning. I need coffee."
She yelps when the cup appears in her hand, drops it immediately. The glass shatters against the tile floor, hot coffee splattering her bare legs.
"Ow, ow, hot!"
Klaus is at her side in a blink, stilling her when she makes to step back. "You'll cut yourself," he scolds and then concentrates, clearing the mess away just as quickly as he'd created it.
Her eyes are wide, fully awake now as she pulls away. Klaus bends so he can sweep his hands over the reddened skin on her shins and ankles, taking away the mild burn. "What the hell was that?" she exclaims, her arms flapping wildly.
"You needed coffee." He's not going to explain the rest. Caroline's sharp enough to make the necessary connections.
Her fingers twist the ends of the belt that wraps around her waist. Her outrage quiets slightly, "And if I need something you have to get it for me?"
Klaus conjures another cup, this time a sturdier vessel. He offers it instead of answering. Caroline glares, refusing to take it. "It's just an expression! I don't need coffee I just want it. And I am perfectly capable of making my own."
He's not about to confess that his curse means he must fulfill her wants too. Caroline had claimed decent people existed but no one – mortal or immortal - is immune to temptation. To know that every whim can be satisfied? Awfully enticing.
She spins away from him, stomping across the kitchen. She yanks a slim canister out of a cupboard, tucking it under her arm when she looks over at him, "Just so we're clear, if I say 'I need' followed by a thing you'll just poof it into my hands?"
Klaus nods in confirmation. He has no desire to explain that if he doesn't provide for her he'll feel a small twinge. That the twinge will grow into aches and stabs and bone grinding, suffocating pressure. That it will build and build and build until he gives in. Or until he collapses and then gives in.
It's been a long time since he's fought a master's will but he'd done it often in the beginning, before he'd realized that open rebellion is pointless. The pain isn't something he'll ever forget.
Caroline's got her back to him, her hands busy, and she's quiet. Contemplative, he'll say, because her eyes keep flitting his way. "I think we're going to need to set some ground rules."
Ah. Finally, something familiar.
How disappointing.
He doesn't move, is sure his expression remains carefully pleasant. Caroline, somehow, manages to sense the downturn in his mood. She sighs, shoving the cup he'd made across the table towards him as she sits down. "Not like that," she insists. "We're not even going to call them rules. We need to agree on a few things."
Klaus stays silent, wary. The worst people often had a gift for spinning pretty words to cover their worst actions.
"You do have a say, here. I wished that, remember?"
She's wished for his honesty, his true thoughts and feelings. Klaus isn't yet sure if she deserves them.
Drink…" her teeth come together with a snap and she shakes her head. "Sorry, I think I almost did it again. If you happen to like coffee, please feel free to drink the one you made." Her brow wrinkles in concentration, her mouth moving and forming the same words she'd just spoken. She nods briskly, satisfied. "Was that okay? Didn't trigger any bad genie mojo?"
He can risk a taste of honesty. To test her.
Klaus grasps the mug, lifts it to his lips. He sniffs experimentally, "I don't remember if I like it or not." He'd drunk it often centuries ago. He'd lived in Hamburg with a scientist who feared failure more than he desired rest. Klaus had spent hours upon hours transcribing notes, drinking coffee when prompted because his master, like most scientific types of the time, had thought magic preposterous. He hadn't understood that Klaus didn't need to fight sleep with stimulants.
She watches him, a pleased smile curling her lips. "Good?" she asks, as if she's genuinely interested.
"I think so," Klaus replies. He tries another mouthful.
It tastes better than he remembers but perhaps that's because each sip is a choice.
Caroline panics when she hears keys in the door. She's been taking advantage of the pile of banked sick days she has, to deal with the whole genie situation. She'd sent her boss an email with a sob story about a killer bout of stomach flu. She's never done it before, feels a little bad about lying, but her excuse hasn't been questioned.
One of the perks of being a kickass employee.
The truth would have gotten her locked up on a twenty-four-hour psych hold, and Caroline does not want to deal with that. Even if Klaus could probably break her out with his freaky magic stuff.
She's sprawled out on the floor, catching up on her YouTube subscriptions. Klaus is on the couch – so far he's yet to let his posture be less than flawless in her presence – reading a book. He's not a fan of the television but he's yet to object to having music on.
She shoves herself up onto her knees when she hears the door open, her eyes sweeping the room for anything that might invite questions. There's nothing, thank god.
"Care?" Bonnie calls, "are you okay? I brought crackers and Gatorade!"
Ugh. She hadn't counted on her friends, and their keys to her place, screwing with her plans.
"Hide!" she hisses at Klaus. His eyes widen, face going blank. He nods once, harsh and jerky, before he immediately does his wispy smoky thing, dissipating before her eyes (and seriously, that's never not going to be weird) leaving his lamp rattling.
She feels a stab of guilt, because she'd meant for him to go upstairs, having picked up on the revulsion and wariness he seemed to feel for the little metal vessel that had been his home and prison. It still sits on her coffee table; he makes a point not to touch it. She'd been asking questions for the last few days, carefully teasing out his story.
Sometimes Klaus grows cold, his answers becoming monosyllabic. He's never refused to answer her inquiries, but she's quick to change the subject when his words become slow and reluctant. She's told him he doesn't have to do anything; she suspects he doesn't believe her. That he's waiting for her to flip and start making demands.
Once she'd worked out that he was forced to follow her orders she'd asked what happened if he didn't. He'd gone stiff when he'd imparted that knowledge, the words clipped as he refused to meet her eyes. She imagines he's tested the limits of the magic that traps him thoroughly, as stubborn and prideful as he seems to be. That whatever the punishment doled out is unbearable if he dreads it so deeply.
She's vowed he'll never hurt that way again but pain isn't always physical.
She'll have an apology to make.
Thinking quickly Caroline ruffles her hair, wraps herself in her afghan and slumps down on the couch. She tries to look miserable and queasy, planning on getting Bonnie to leave as soon as possible.
She's under no illusions that her friends won't have to meet Klaus eventually. She's just planning on easing them into it. Maybe mention that she's looking for a roommate, interview a couple candidates for show.
It'll give her time to make up a reasonable background story. Plus, Caroline needs a little more time for Klaus to get acclimated to the world, so he won't make her friends suspicious. So far things from the twenty-first century are hit and miss. He'd turned his nose up at the coffee she made, has continued to conjure his own. Caroline has to admit his is way better then what he machine drips out. Klaus does seem to like the internet. After he'd thoroughly investigated men's clothing she'd taught him how to google things and he seems to enjoy that he can find information for himself instead of having to pester her when he there's something he doesn't understand.
She's going to need to prepare Klaus for Kat. She's sure he can hold his own, has seen steel nerves and an implacable will under the deference he's trained himself to exude, but she can't help feeling protective. Caroline has seen Kat cheerfully crush weak men under her stilettos, with merely biting words and a toss of her hair, not exerting the slightest effort. Kat will actually try if she thinks she's vetting a potential roommate of Caroline's.
The least she can do is spare Klaus the worst of that. Since she'd unwittingly made herself his mistress.
Yep, that's still creepy. And a tiny bit hot in a way that makes Caroline want to fidget in shame.
She makes a show of struggling to sit up as Bonnie approaches, really makes it seem like it's an effort to lift her head.
Apparently she's pretty good at the fake sick thing, something that might have been useful back in high school. Bonnie doesn't stay long, insists Caroline rest as she goes. Part of that might be how distracted she is, her mind too focused on Klaus. She's not even sure how she can get him out of the lamp, knows she'll have to coax and grovel, that she can't demand.
She'd read the little flash of betrayal in his eyes clearly, even though he'd masked it expertly. She doesn't want to see it again.
Klaus has no form inside his lamp.
Caroline had shown him a few episodes of a silly television show. He'd found it offensive, had glowered through parts of it – did humans really think such incompetence would be allowed? Klaus is quite sure the magic that had punished him for disobedience would have torn the tiny blonde woman apart for her antics. Afterwards he'd admitted that he could understand Caroline's initial reactions to his presence. He wonders if she thinks his lamp is like the television genie's - bright and comfortable and strewn with cushions.
In truth, there's nothing inside. He's nothing inside. He's only thoughts and emotions. His senses leave him, except for his hearing, and it's dark. The longer he spends inside the harder it is to keep from drifting. Only the call of his owner can pull him back.
He's not aware of time passing. He's completely subject to another's whims and he hates it.
He can hear Caroline, one of her friends outside. He listens eagerly, clings to the knowledge that if they're talking he's losing only minutes, not years.
The friend seems concerned. He learns that Caroline's been faking an illness. Had she not trusted him enough to leave him to his own devices in her home?
Had she not known that she could banish him, as she'd just done?
The friend leaves.
Caroline whispers his name. Klaus can't tune her out.
If he's honest he doesn't want to. He'd preferred his cruelest master to the nothingness of his lamp and even if Caroline's a liar he doubts she'll take that title.
"I don't know if you can hear me."
She must touch the lamp because he gets a brief impression of warmth.
Too brief.
"I'm sorry."
No one's thought him worthy of an apology since he'd been human. Even then they'd been rare.
He listens to her breathing, quick and anxious. "I didn't mean to make you go away. I've been trying so hard to choose my words carefully. And trust me, I suck at that. I just panicked."
He thinks of how she'd looked in the moment she'd told him to hide. Her eyes had been round, her body tense. Usually graceful she's moved in fits and starts.
Perhaps she's not a liar.
"I haven't told my friends about you because… well, they'd think I'd gone nuts. Elena would tell her mom and her mom would call my mom and the whole town would be whispering about me within the week. People from high school I don't even like would start sending me faux concerned messages on Facebook hoping for more dirt."
She pauses.
Klaus hopes she hasn't gone.
Only because he hates the lamp, of course. The lack of awareness, the inability to exert even the smallest bit of his will. Having to depend on another to tether him. Never knowing when, even if, they'd release him.
"I meant hide literally. Like, hide upstairs in your room or even in the laundry room. Just out of sight. Not out of the house. Well, I guess you're still in the house. Which I'm really glad about, by the way. Even though I know you're pissed at me. Which is totally okay."
He hears her groan and then her next words are muffled. "God, I sound like a moron."
"I get it if you don't want to talk to me. And if you come out you don't have to talk to me. I can go out for awhile if you really want some you time. And you don't have to come out. But, if you want to… Well, I'd appreciate it."
Klaus concentrates, presses against the boundaries of the lamp. Leaving always burns a little but the relief of having a physical body again is greater than the discomfort. He rolls his shoulders once he's upright and solid, waiting for Caroline to notice him. She's got her eyes closed, her head in her hands.
His fingers twitch.
He cannot remember the last time he'd felt the desire to touch another person but Caroline tempts him.
Klaus reaches out, looping one of her blonde curls around his index finger. She gasps when he tugs, her hand grabbing at his. She's quick to stutter an apology, to pull away.
This time Klaus chooses not to let her. He wraps her hand around her wrist, tugs until she stands. "Thank you," he says. "For apologizing."
Her throat moves, a nervous swallow that he easily hears. She seems to be having trouble looking at him, her blue eyes flitting away, landing on the lamp. "What if… can you destroy it?"
Oh, how he's tried. Klaus shakes his head, "No, I can't. It's immune to my powers."
Caroline's eyes narrow, her head tipping to the side, "What if I wish for it?"
Klaus can only laugh, too startled to bother hiding his derision. "You'd waste another wish?"
He can't see how she could possibly want to.
"Would getting rid of it hurt you?"
Not weaken him or take away his power. She's worried about him hurting.
"Caroline. I think you fundamentally misunderstand the concept of wishes."
She glares at him, "I'm going to ignore the fact that you kind of just called me stupid."
"I didn't phrase it quite that way."
"Anyone ever tell you that you're kind of annoying?"
It's not a condemnation. She might even be teasing him. Like they're equals.
"Not for a very long time." His siblings had once expressed such sentiments. Rebekah usually in a pitched shriek of outrage, Kol with a shove that would lead to a scuffle.
"That's a no, then? Destroying the lamp won't hurt you?"
"Not if you wish it."
"Good." Caroline steps away, shaking off the light hold he's maintained on her wrist. Klaus finds that he's not overly fond of the distance between them now.
She's still in a bit of a temper, carefully straightening her clothing while she carefully enunciates, "I wish for this lamp," she pauses then, reaching out to pick it up, cradling it in both hands, "to be destroyed, for it to never be remade or repaired, and for it's whatever magic it holds to die."
"Thorough," Klaus murmurs. He hadn't been wrong; his Caroline is clever.
She bends her knees, dipping into a brief curtsey, "I've been researching."
"Are you sure this is your wish? Once made…"
"A wish cannot be unmade. Blah blah blah. Just freaking do it."
He takes it from her, the first time he's willingly touched it. He grips it tightly, until it burns his hands. It fights him, he shakes, but a master's will cannot be subverted.
He's panting when he's done but the lamp is gone.
Like it had never existed.
He'll never lose himself inside it again.
Klaus laughs again, this time with genuine joy.
Caroline fusses over him, drags him into the kitchen and turns on the cold water. She holds her hands under the stream.
He doesn't tell her it's useless, that he'll heal well enough on his own.
He remembers wanting things once. A toy sword, bread his mother had just baked. Pigments from a travelling merchant. The heart of a girl who couldn't decide if who deserved her love most.
Klaus had thought he'd forgotten how to want.
He hasn't.