A/N: I know it's been a while since my last update. As usual, I apologize. While this chapter is a bit of a filler, it is a bit lengthy, so I do hope that makes up for my absence.
I am sure most of you saw those last few episodes of The Originals. I can't believe how dirty the writers did those characters in the finale. It's unfortunate. It did renew my inspiration to keep writing, however, so I suppose that is one positive to come out of it.
Please don't be scared to leave a review when you're finished. It's always nice to know your ideas, hopes, dreams, and thoughts for the story - even if you're not always happy with the choices I make. A lot of you are unhappy with how I ended Klaus and Caroline's New York trip, but I promise I will make it up to eventually. Hang in there!
There was a knock at his apartment door as he waited impatiently for his phone call to be answered.
With his phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, he reached to open the door.
He was not surprised to see Stefan standing on the other side of the door with his carry-on luggage beside him as he had been expecting him.
Greeting Stefan with a nod and a half-smile, he stepped aside, allowing Stefan to enter.
Stefan moved inside, shutting the door quietly behind him so as not to interrupt the phone call that hadn't been answered yet.
When the call went to voicemail, yet again, he released a loud, frustrated sigh and tossed his phone down on the couch in his frustration.
"Hey mate," he said to Stefan, who was leaning against the kitchen island with a seemingly annoyed expression on his face.
"Hey," Stefan said flatly, resting his bag beside him.
"Have you spoken to Caroline since earlier today? She hasn't been answering my phone calls," he explained, ignoring the low tone of Stefan's voice as he nodded his head down towards his phone.
Stefan shrugged in an almost sarcastic gesture.
"I think she had a lot going on today. Grayson, her work, she has someone at the house fixing it up for sale….Court," Stefan listed, emphasizing the last item on her to-do list.
He scoffed under his breath, knowing what Stefan was trying to imply – that he wasn't there.
"I tried calling you too, but I figured you were on the plane here. What happened this morning?" he asked anxiously, concerned about how the court appearance had gone.
"Perhaps you should have attended in person. I can't blame her for not answering your phone calls," Stefan remarked sourly. "We needed your support. She needed your support. Grayson needed your support," Stefan listed bluntly.
His eyes widened, offended by Stefan's unsympathetic comments.
"I get it, you needed my support," he said flatly. "Do you think I didn't want to be there? Where did you think I was today? Twiddling my thumbs? I was supporting Grayson today. I was up last night until 4 a.m. finishing a commissioned piece, and I deposited the majority of the $3,000.00 cheque I received for it today directly into the joint account we have for Grayson," he countered. "So, I don't need your lecture about 'support'."
Stefan shook his head.
"You're not going to have to support Grayson for much longer if you're a no-show at the next court appearance!" Stefan shot back bitingly.
He frowned, staring at the ceiling, releasing a defeated sigh.
"Look, you know better than most that financial support isn't always everything," Stefan reminded him with a gentler tone, subtly referring to his relationship – or lack thereof – with his own father. "I can handle getting chewed out by the judge for your failure to appear today, but Caroline can't, especially not in front of your parents. It was humiliating for her. You have to be at the next appearance. If you don't, you will lose the money you just deposited into Grayson's account in costs and you will ruin your chance with Grayson," Stefan elaborated further. "You will sabotage any second chance you may have with Caroline," he added for emphasis.
He knew Stefan was right. He hated when Stefan was right. He hated that his feelings for Caroline were so transparent to Stefan.
"I think I already blew my second chance, mate," he pointed out to Stefan, thinking back to his troubled history with Caroline. "In any case, she's the one who shot me down this time around," he reminded Stefan.
Stefan raised his eyebrows incredulously. "I didn't think Mikaelsons gave up that easily," he commented.
"Did she say something to you?" he asked curiously, referring to Caroline.
Stefan shook his head. "No, but I can tell how much she still cares about you," he explained.
He shrugged dismissively, not wanting to discuss his unexpected break-up with Caroline any further or read too much into Stefan's passing observations. It had only been a few weeks since she had walked out of the same apartment door he was now staring at and it still stung. He wasn't used to being the one on the receiving end.
"I'm not going to blow my chance with Grayson. I will be at the next court date," he reassured Stefan, changing the subject slightly. He was not going to let his parents have custody of Grayson.
This seemed to placate Stefan, whose expression seemed to soften.
He walked past Stefan to grab his bottle of scotch and two glasses from the kitchen cabinet.
"I suppose I owe you big time tonight for embarrassing you in front of the judge," he said half-jokingly as he poured Stefan a drink.
He pushed one glass across the island counter towards Stefan.
"You'll be getting my account soon enough," Stefan said as he tipped his glass towards him with a small smirk.
"Touché," he acknowledged, knowing that Stefan intended his comment as a joke to lighten the mood.
An hour or so later, after stopping off at the hotel rooms Stefan had booked to be closer to the Manhattan nightlife, he and Stefan were entering some pub that Kol had instructed them to meet him at. He had been able to reserve a table there after several failed attempts elsewhere.
Upon entry, he could tell that this pub was not really his style – too many hipsters and their music of choice playing over the bar's speakers, which were littered throughout the venue.
It definitely seemed like Kol's style – which led him to believe that he hadn't really had much trouble reserving a table elsewhere at all.
In any case, Kol was waiting for them at the reserved table and several appetizers had already been ordered. At least Kol had been thinking ahead.
"There's the man of the hour," Kol greeted Stefan as he stood up to given Stefan a congratulatory pat on the back.
"Yeah apparently that's me," Stefan mused sheepishly, not one for being the centre of attention.
He noticed that Kol had already ordered them a pitcher of beer for the table. This was going to be an interesting night, he thought to himself. On the one hand, he wanted to take advantage of the night, enjoy himself and forget everything going on. On the other hand, after the conversation he and Stefan had earlier, the thought of locking himself in his studio with a bottle of bourbon was tempting.
Kol poured them each a glass of beer as they sat down.
"Look at you handsome devil! How did Meredith get so lucky?" Kol joked with Stefan, knowing it would make Stefan feel awkward.
"Don't say that to Meredith. On most days, I am the lucky one," Stefan corrected Kol.
"I get it, mate. Bonnie makes sure to remind me how lucky I am every day," Kol groaned.
"Well, she's not wrong there," he chimed in, always ready for an opportunity to pick on his younger brother. "Bonnie is the unlucky one."
Kol snickered. "Yes, unlucky to have you as a future brother-in-law."
He shrugged defencelessly.
"We all know how she feels about me," he said summarily.
Bonnie had barely spoken two words to him since the incident with Caroline. He didn't often spend time at Kol and Bonnie's apartment, but he had encountered Bonnie a few times in passing when he would meet Kol there. She would mumble a 'hello' and that was about it. He always knew Bonnie had her reservations about him, even before, but he couldn't understand what he had done this time to deserve such animosity. Caroline was the one who had left him hanging. Kol wasn't much help when it came to offering any type of explanation. He chalked it up to 'girl code'.
"I'm fortunate, Meredith has one older brother. He lives in Australia with his wife so we don't have to interact much. Everything is very surface level. She doesn't have much extended family either," Stefan added to the conversation.
"Who isn't a sucker for an Australian accent?" Marcel quipped jokingly as he appeared across from him behind where Stefan was seated.
Kol nodded readily, raising his beer glass. "I can drink to that," he said with a laugh.
Marcel griped Stefan's shoulders. "Congratulations on the pending nuptials," he announced with his trademark smirk on queue.
"Thank you," Stefan said, appearing genuinely happy at the prospect as Marcel took a seat at the end of the table.
"No, thank you for inviting me out, I mean, I know we're only mutual friends of this guy here," Marcel paused, nodding towards him, "but it's nice to have an excuse to get out and celebrate something."
"The more the merrier," Stefan concluded. "Plus, someone needs to step in and keep an eye on this guy here," he added, nodding towards him with a concerned expression. "Tonight is my night off," Stefan explained before tipping back his glass and polishing off his glass of beer.
"Don't worry my man. I got it covered. Looking out for Klaus has practically become my day job," Marcel smirked between him and Stefan.
"I can take care of myself," he reassured them as he took a drink. He felt annoyed that they thought he needed to be watched over.
When Marcel wasn't with his kids, he was constantly checking in with him, inviting him out or stopping by his apartment. All of that was on top of the fact that they shared their studio space and saw each other nearly every day. He knew Marcel was trying to keep his mind off of Caroline. It was suffocating at times.
Tonight, of all nights, he should be easily distracted, but he couldn't help himself each time he glanced down at his phone to see if Caroline had responded to his calls and texts. He became more and more deflated each time he noticed the text notification message missing from the top of his phone's home screen.
He kept thinking back to his earlier conversation with Stefan and how annoyed Caroline probably was with him for his failure to attend the Court appearance. She was giving him the cold shoulder. He supposed he couldn't blame her, though at the same time, he had been working his ass off to support Grayson. That should mean something.
"Is everything okay?" he heard Kol ask him over the loud chatter in the bar.
Nodding, he took a brief look down at the background picture of Grayson playing in the bath that he had taken before their ill-fated trip to New York. He missed him. He missed her too.
Several drinks later, the group of them were feeling pretty good.
"To your last night out as a bachelor!" Marcel chimed loudly with a grin as he raised his whiskey glass towards Stefan's glass.
He and Kol followed suit, raising their glasses towards Marcel's and Stefan's.
"To my brother's death sentence," a low familiar voice interrupted, as another whiskey glass appeared beside theirs.
He groaned under his breath and rolled his eyes with displeasure.
Damon was standing to his right with his infamous smirk plastered on his face.
He took a long swig of his drink following Marcel's interrupted toast. All the whiskey in the world could not make Damon Salvatore tolerable to him.
While he understood Damon was Stefan's brother, he had hoped that the elder Salvatore would fail to make an appearance tonight.
Stefan humoured Damon's ominous toast with a half-smile before taking a long sip from his own glass.
"Glad you decided to show up, Damon," Stefan said.
"That makes one of us," he mumbled under his breath, knowing that it was entirely possible for Damon to hear him.
"Did you really think I was going to miss the one night of your life that you actually want to have fun?!" Damon joked, mussing up Stefan's hair playfully.
Stefan laughed off his brother's attempt to make fun of him.
Even he caught himself chuckling at Damon's comment. He did have a point about his brother. Stefan had always been very straight-laced. With that he supposed it was not surprising that Stefan was the first one of them to get married.
"Hell no! This is going to be the best night of your life!" Damon proclaimed almost heroically. "You will regret giving Meredith that engagement ring after the night I have planned."
He scoffed at Damon's hyperbolic statements.
"I do like the sounds of that," Kol agreed with Damon. As Kol was a bit younger than he and Damon were, Kol never appreciated the magnitude of his distaste for the elder Salvatore brother. "Perhaps you should plan my bachelor party," he proposed to Damon much to his chagrin.
"Helping men realize the mistake they are making, one bachelor party at a time," Damon announced with amusement as he began his drink.
Kol chuckled following Damon's comments, but he could tell that Kol was simply trying to humour him to keep the spirit of the party alive and avoid any awkwardness.
"Are you and Caroline next?" Damon asked him directly as he sat down beside him.
He gritted his teeth, annoyed by Damon's question because he suspected Damon already knew the answer and was simply trying to rub salt in his wounds.
"Oh no, trouble in paradise?" Damon queried with a suggestive grin.
Shrugging, he tried his best to ignore Damon's efforts to crack him.
"Honestly, fuck her man," Damon bluntly advised. "There is a lot of baggage there and she's kind of a stuck up bitch."
His eyes widened in anger as he stared down the bottom of his glass. Sure, his split from Caroline had broken him, but he didn't hate her. He could never hate her or speak the way Damon had spoken about her.
"Someone sounds bitter?" he suggested, clenching his empty glass tightly, as he pierced Damon with a glance, mustering all the willpower he could not to kick Damon's chair out from under him. "I am quite certain the short-lived nature of your relationship with Caroline had more to do with you than it did her," he countered in Caroline's defence.
He may not have been with her anymore but thinking about what Caroline had told him of her short-lived courtship with the elder Salvatore brother made his blood boil.
Damon scoffed with a simple shrug, seemingly unbothered by what he had alluded to.
"She is a prude. You are better off," Damon clarified, a small unflinching grin tugging from the corners of his mouth.
He felt his body tense and his fists clench in response. He wasn't sure if Damon meant what he said or if he was trying to bait him. Perhaps it was a bit of both.
Before he could even think about raising his fist to punch Damon square in the jaw, Marcel tugged at his forearm on the other side of him.
"Don't," Marcel, his voice of reason, cautioned under his breath.
Both Stefan and Kol, who had also overheard the conversation, were staring across the table wide-eyed waiting to see how the exchange would unfold.
"Caroline had a lot worse to say about you, mate," he informed Damon cryptically, enjoying the concerned look that crossed Damon's otherwise arrogant expression.
The appearance of their waitress with another round of drinks deprived Damon the opportunity to ask what he had meant and deprived him of the opportunity to elaborate.
With another whiskey glass in hand, he downed the drink in seconds, hoping to get lost in the dizzying effect of an alcohol buzz so he could drown out Damon's presence.
It appeared everyone was doing the same as him, including Stefan. He felt bad. He didn't want to ruin Stefan's night over petty bullshit with his brother.
"Well," Damon announced as the bottom of his empty glass hit the wood surface of the table, "I think it is my responsibility as the self-proclaimed best man to liven up this party elsewhere," he continued as he stood up from his chair and threw down a few hundred dollar bills, clearly with the intent of paying for their drinks and tipping the waitress. "Follow me, gentlemen."
They all piled into the taxi van they had flagged down outside of the bar.
Damon took the passenger seat to instruct the driver where to go, despite the fact that the driver clearly had GPS to guide him.
It did not surprise him in the slightest when they pulled up to a neon-lit façade of a strip-club, aptly named, "Mistresses."
"God, Damon," Stefan shook his head disapprovingly, despite showing early signs of intoxication.
Stefan had expressly indicated that he did not want to go to a strip club for his bachelor party.
"God, Stefan," Damon shot back condescendingly from the front seat. "Loosen up. Even your fiancée encouraged you to get a pre-wedding lap dance!"
It was true. Stefan's hesitancy to celebrate his last few weeks as a single man at a strip club had nothing to do with his bride-to-be, it was wholly about him. He was too conservative by nature and followed the law to the letter. He supposed being a lawyer had something to do with that, but he thought it was Stefan's personality that had attracted him to the profession. Meredith was a breath of fresh air for Stefan – always encouraging him to live outside of the box – which is why she suited him, even if he wasn't entirely convinced about the idea of marriage. Stefan needed someone like her in his life.
"A lap dance won't hurt you. This is going to be fun!" Marcel said to Stefan, nudging him encouragingly on the shoulder as he climbed out of the back of the van and exited the side door.
"Hell yeah," Kol chimed in as he followed Marcel.
Stefan looked to him for his input.
"I can't really argue with your brother on this one," he shrugged admittedly, knowing it would be good to get Stefan out of his shell and he had hoped that more drinks and the appearance of scantily-clad women would distract him from his own preoccupations.
"Even Klaus agrees with me!" Damon pointed out as he handed the driver the fare and climbed out of the van.
He followed suit, moving by Stefan to climb out of the side door onto the curb.
Stefan sighed, but reluctantly removed his seat belt and followed them out of the cab.
They all paid a hefty cover fee – Damon paying for his brother – before they were permitted entry into the dimly lit club.
He followed Marcel and Kol to the busy bar at the perimeter of the club while Damon and Stefan trailed behind him.
He ordered everyone a round of drinks – even for Damon, considering that he had paid for the cab and their drinks at the previous bar.
While he waited for the bartender to prepare their drinks, he took the free opportunity to observe their surroundings.
Waitresses in nondescript lingerie were circling the inside of the venue, expertly balancing the numerous drinks that were perched atop of their trays while wearing six inch heels, no less. His nostrils were flooded with the scent of faint cigarette smoke and a puzzle of different perfumes all combining into one. His eardrums were assaulted by some loud typical strip club anthem from Nickelback. A woman with tattoos and jet black hair was busily contorting her body around the pole on the main stage, while men of all backgrounds gazed up at her, entranced by her movements.
A few older men were seated by themselves staring longingly at the dancer on stage – clearly starved for the attention of a woman. There were rowdy college boys and girls down in pervert's row pushing for one of their shy friends to climb up on stage and volunteer as a human dance prop. There were a few Wall Street types seated to the left of the bar, and it looked like there were other bachelor parties taking place.
The last sober ounce of him felt a little ridiculous for being there as he glanced around at the other various spectators, but the strip club had been Damon's idea, and in any case, it was practically a rite of passage for all bachelors before their wedding.
With another drink or two down, they eventually made their way down closer to the stage, where they themselves behaved like the college kids. Kol had waved a twenty-dollar bill at the brunette-haired Latina dancer on stage as he pointed at Stefan, who he had purposely distracted for Kol. The bill had beckoned the dancer towards them and she reached down, grabbing Stefan's shirt to pull him up on stage. Stefan, who at that point was just shy of being intoxicated, climbed up on stage with little protest. They had all watched in amusement as the dancer had removed Stefan's belt and whipped him with it, before making him lay down with the twenty in his mouth as she danced over top of him for the crowd to see.
Eventually, they were being led back to the VIP area of the club by three dancers Damon had commissioned, of course. The area was shielded behind a partition, defined by several semi-private seating areas. Despite the darkness, and his drunkenness, he could clearly make out the silhouettes of dancers providing customers with private dances – and perhaps more if the price was right, he expected.
He wasn't interested in what the dancers had to offer. Sure, he would be lying if the sight of a half-naked woman wasn't arousing, but it was a meaningless distraction.
When they reached an empty space large enough to accommodate them, Stefan was seated first in a chair to himself by the Latina dancer dressed in nothing but black fishnets and a deep purple corset.
Marcel and Kol were eagerly being led like begging dogs to a sofa on the opposite wall by a dancer with her dirty blonde hair up in pigtails and dressed in a school girl outfit. Typical, he thought. Kol had better hoped none of the students he taught as a teaching assistant saw him here, he mused to himself.
Of course, that left him and Damon standing next to one another at the mercy of the blonde dancer in a black negligee. Of course, she had to be blonde, and from behind, the spitting image of another blonde he was more than familiar with.
"I saved the blonde one for us," Damon said to him over the music. "Seeing as we share the same taste in women," he snickered.
He tried his best to tune Damon out and focus on the dancer who was pointing for them to take a seat on the sofa across from Marcel and Kol.
If it wasn't for the alcohol coursing through his veins he might have turned around and walked out, but at this point, he was eager to take a seat to stop his head from spinning – regardless what may have taken place on the furniture in the past. He shuddered at the thought and pushed it to the back of his mind.
Damon was trying to flirt with the dancer unsuccessfully as they sat down. The dancer appeared to be trying to tune Damon out like he was.
"What's your name, beautiful?" Damon questioned her.
"Ryan," she shrugged in a soft dismissive voice as she began to twist her hips slowly in front of them to some Rihanna song. She could see right through Damon.
Damon smirked. "I love women with male names," he said with intrigue.
He rolled his eyes, biting his tongue, tempted to make an inappropriate comment about Damon's sexuality. Ryan likely wasn't even her real name.
The dancer smiled at him knowingly, obviously catching his own unimpressed reaction to Damon's attempt to flatter her.
"What's your name?" she asked him, running her hands down her curves, ignoring Damon's leers.
"Klaus," he replied simply.
Her eyes brightened. "Oh! I love men with accents," she purred delightfully, passive aggressively trying to throw Damon's compliments in his face.
He appreciated their common disdain for Damon Salvatore.
"Doesn't she remind you of someone?" Damon commented, clearly trying to agitate him. "Minus the fake tits and ass?"
He shot a glare Damon's way, ready to send his fist Damon's way to wipe the stupid grin off of his face.
Admittedly, he would be lying if he said the dancer didn't remind him of the someone Damon was referring to.
Taking a long sip from his glass, he sat back, ignoring Damon's presence, staring up absently, choosing to succumb to the distraction as the dancer removed her negligee.
It was dark enough to ignore her unfamiliar features and focus on those that reminded him of her.
She climbed on the sofa on her knees in between him and Damon.
Her loosely curled golden hair cascaded down her chest, framing her breasts. Her perfume smelled like sex, but her hair smelled like lavender – a scent that was etched in his mind as he thought about the times he would purposely catch her in the shower. Of course, she had always baited him by undressing first in the bedroom in front of him and leaving a trail of clothes into the bathroom. The bathroom would smell of her lavender shampoo and he would admire her body as she bathed herself, washing away the evidence of their tryst from the night before. Not to be forgotten so easily, he would often join her, pressing his face into her damp flower-scented hair as she eagerly leaned forward teasingly, beckoning him inside of her heat with the curve of her ass and the sight of her pussy from behind.
His pants tightened as he lost himself in the memory. He supposed that was another reason why they kept these clubs so dimly lit.
The memory was lost as the dancer climbed onto him. He knew she could feel his arousal as she slid down his front facing away from him. He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, until he heard her chuckle. "It happens. I'm used to it. I take it as a compliment."
He wanted to tell her that it had nothing to do with her, but he didn't want to offend her. She wouldn't understand what he meant. Then again, she might, it seemed everyone in here was longing for something they couldn't have.
He gazed down at her breasts, thinking about how much she loved to have her tits teased by him. He thought about how much he loved to watch her tease them herself as he devoured the treat between her thighs. She said it made her throb.
"My turn," he could hear Damon announce jealously.
He could also hear the dancer scoff as she reluctantly climbed back in between him and Damon. On her knees, she bent over sideways so that her torso was in Damon's lap, but her ass remained in his line of sight.
Fuck, he murmured to himself, his half-closed eyes recalling how shy Caroline had been the first time she let him have a taste of her from behind.
The dancer turned over, her back resting on Damon's thighs while her stilettos were positioned dangerously between his with her legs spread.
He glanced up, his eyes lost in the darkness as he thought about what it was like to be in between her legs – the feeling of her consuming him.
"Hey! No touching," he could hear the blonde dancer chastise Damon assertively.
His eyes opened as the dancer shot up from the sofa, continuing her tease at a distance, safely away from Damon's wandering hands.
He had missed the physical contact that had led to the dancer calling out Damon, but he could only imagine where Damon's hands had ended up that resulted in such a firm scolding.
Damon scoffed resentfully. "Wow. I have zero luck with blondes. I don't know why you're so hung up on Caroline."
He shrugged it off, trying his best to ignore Damon's comments.
"Lay off, mate," he urged Damon.
"Did she even put out for you?" Damon continued, knowing exactly which buttons to push with him.
He clenched his jaw in annoyance.
"She certainly didn't put out for me. She's a huge cock tease. Like I said, you're better off," Damon scowled.
It was his turn to shoot up from the sofa, startling the dancer as he lunged at Damon, grabbing the collar of his shirt. He had had enough of Damon's disgusting commentary about Caroline.
"Shut the fuck up about Caroline!" he snapped. "Perhaps she's not interested in assholes who refuse to take 'no' for an answer!"
"She's apparently not interested in you either," Damon retorted.
He flung his fist forward, slamming it into the side of Damon's face. His knuckles cracked against Damon's cheek.
"Fuck you," he growled.
Before Damon could retaliate, he was being pulled back forcefully.
"Hey! Hey! Break it up!" a masculine voice with a thick New York accent boomed behind him.
With a sufficient distance between him and Damon, the security released him. The frightened dancers had congregated behind the security and Kol, Marcel, and Stefan appeared stunned, obviously uncertain what had transpired between Damon and him.
Damon was leaning forwards over the sofa, his hand pressed to the side of his face.
"Let's go, you're out!" the security appeared to be shouting at all of them over the music.
He turned to the guard who had grabbed him guiltily.
"Look, it was my fault. I threw the punch. They rest of them had nothing to do with it. Let them stay. I'll leave," he assured him.
The second security guard behind the one who grabbed him seemed to be talking to the dancers, likely seeking corroboration of his story. After all, kicking all of them out would mean a loss in profit for the night.
"See that he gets out," the second guard said to the one who grabbed him. "The rest can stay."
He gave Stefan an apologetic look and told Kol and Marcel to stay behind, assuring them that he would be fine.
The club security literally walked him to the doors to ensure that he was removed, despite his clear assurances that he would leave.
On the street, he found himself hit with a wall of muggy summer heat. It stood in stark contrast to the ice cold air of the club. It made him feel a little dizzy given his intoxicated state.
He debated between heading back to the hotel or directly to his apartment. The hotel was closer, but he wanted to avoid another confrontation with Damon later. Returning to his apartment and his own bed was enticing, but he couldn't be sure he would even be able to make it there alone.
As he started to walk in no particular direction, he decided neither option was preferable, instead opting to turn into a New Orleans themed bar.
Luckily for him, it was more on the casual side, and not very busy, so there were no gatekeepers at the door to confirm his drunken condition and refuse him entry.
He headed to the bathroom first, splashing some cold water in his face to sober himself up, letting the sore fist that had punched Damon linger under the stream of water for a few seconds, before heading back out and seating himself at the bar.
Waiting for the bartender to work his way down to his end of the bar, he began scrolling through his phone absently.
Marcel, the most sober of them the last he checked, had texted him for his whereabouts. He responded reluctantly – desiring to be alone – if only to prevent Marcel sending out a search party to locate him.
There was still no text from Caroline that day. He wanted to call or text again, but he resisted the urge. He didn't want to be a pest. Plus, it was well after midnight and she was probably asleep.
When the bartender finally came by, he opted for a whiskey and coke, craving something carbonated and deciding it would be best if he watered down his liquor a bit.
"I'll have what he's having," a familiar feminine voice interrupted from beside him, catching the attention of the bartender who was pouring his drink.
"Genevieve," he greeted the redhead who had seated herself beside him to his left.
"Since when did you start mixing your liquor?" she questioned curiously, flipping her loosely waved hair over her shoulder.
He shrugged as he passed the bartender some cash in exchange for his drink, which he readily took a sip of. "Something different, I guess."
"You're the last person I expected to see here on a Saturday night," she said, continuing her curious questions, fishing for information from him.
He shrugged a second time without making eye contact as he accepted the change from the bartender for his drink. "Something different."
It was her turn to pay the bartender and take a sip of her drink.
"I thought you were playing house…with that blonde you were with the last time I ran into," Genevieve recalled, indirectly fishing for information.
He avoided eye contact with her, taking another lengthy sip of his drink. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Caroline.
"I guess silence is an answer too," Genevieve quipped. "Well, at least I'm not the only one you had cold feet with," she continued.
"The last time I saw you, you were with some guy who looked fresh off the Jersey shore," he teased, thinking back to the guy she had been with when he and Caroline had crossed paths with her.
He was trying to change the subject.
She laughed at his jab.
"That's fair," she acknowledged. "Chris served a purpose," she explained cryptically.
He arched his eyebrows quizzically.
"The sex was okay," she shrugged.
"What happened?" he wondered, not particularly interested, but willing to inquire to take the focus off of his situation.
Her cheeks reddened as she polished off her drink with one quick tip of her glass.
"I met a gorgeous brunette, amazing body, former competitive swimmer…can hold her breath for quite a while," she grinned deviously at her suggestive remark.
He'd be lying if he said that her blunt and carefree talk about her female conquest didn't excite him.
"Her?" he emphasized, unaware of her same sex desires when they had briefly dated.
She nodded readily.
"Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy men," she clarified, "but sex with Sadie is mind-blowing," she admitted giddily.
He was interested to know more, but he politely refrained from overstepping, opting to drown his curiosities away with another generous drink from his glass.
"Where is Sadie tonight?" he wondered, noting that Genevieve had approached him alone.
"Working," Genevieve said, nodding her head towards the second bar on the other side of the room.
It was there that he spotted Sadie, the brunette Genevieve had been raving about moments ago, pouring drinks for a group of young ladies who looked barely old enough to consume alcohol.
Sadie made eye contact with them and Genevieve responded with a flirty wave.
"Is she not the sexiest woman you have ever seen?" Genevieve gushed lustfully, clearly enamoured with her latest fling.
While she was attractive – many women were to him – she wasn't Caroline, the measure to which he compared all women.
"Still hung up on her?" Genevieve asked, referring to Caroline, clearly able to see right through his lackluster reaction to Sadie.
He shook his head in denial.
"Wait," Genevieve paused. "She's the one who ended it, didn't she?"
He wanted to lie to avoid the conversation, and yet he found himself nodding.
"Caroline broke it off with me," he admitted to her, much to her surprise.
Her surprise rendered her briefly speechless and she paused for a moment, wiping away the trace liquor from her bottom lip.
"I get the impression that the roles are usually reversed with you," she concluded.
"There usually aren't any roles to be played," he corrected, referencing his past preference for no strings attached.
She smirked. "Except the role playing kind," she reminded him jokingly, hinting at a not so distant, but brief, past they had once shared together as she placed a hand on his thigh suggestively.
He flinched slightly, having grown unaccustomed to the advances of women who weren't Caroline. It felt like a betrayal of her if he were to allow himself to relax against Genevieve's tempting touch.
"Your girlfriend is right there," he reminded her, knowing that they were also under the watchful eye of Sadie.
Genevieve laughed indifferently. "She told me to come and talk to you," she admitted. "When we saw you alone, she thought you might like to join us for a nightcap."
His eyes widened, intrigued by her proposal.
"It could be fun. It might help take your mind off of her," Genevieve suggested. "What do you say?" she pushed for an answer.
- "He says thanks, but no thanks. His ass is way too far gone and he needs to sleep it off," Marcel interrupted them as he appeared to his right and placed his hands on his shoulders. "Come on Mikaelson, let's get back to the hotel, I got a cab waiting for us out front," he said to him sternly.
A/N: Hope the wait was worth it, even if there wasn't any direct Klaroline interaction. I am so curious to know what you think. Don't hesitate to tell me what you would like to see. I do have a general plan for how this story will end, but I do try and incorporate requests and suggestions from readers where I can!