Author's note: Thanks to Eliliyah for providing some of the info on medical stuff and listening to me complain about the ickyness of this research and my gratitude that I picked a less-squishy profession.

In this story, when her estranged mother revealed she owed money to the mob, Caroline had no choice but to pay her debt. The Mikaelsons made her an offer she happily refused, only to learn the hard way that no one ever says 'no' to Klaus Mikaelson.


"If you're playing a poker game and you look around the table and can't tell who the sucker is, it's you."

— Paul Newman


Just stop caring. Caroline gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. She knew she should be more freaked out by what she was about to do, but coming off of a 12-hour hospital shift had left her with aching feet and zero fucks. She should be on her way home to a hot bubble bath and the rest of that Italian cream cake she'd been daydreaming about since lunch. Instead, she was driving to the local underground casino to settle her mother's gambling debts with the Mikaelsons. She was so filing this away for when it was time to pick out her mother's retirement home.

Liz Forbes hadn't always been like this. As town sheriff, she was a respected community leader whose formidable reputation made her excellent at her job — and a pretty useless mother. Rattlesnakes had more nurturing instincts. And then she took up slot machines as a hobby. Once while still in med school, Caroline made the mistake of going to the casino with her, and the rows of glassy-eyed zombies mindlessly hitting a button trying to chase instant gratification was enough to sour her on the entire experience.

Mother and daughter were barely flickering shadows within each other's lives, and while Caroline nursed a small, dark worry that her mother might be in trouble with the mob, she did her best to ignore it. And it had served her well all these years — until an hour ago in the hospital parking lot.

Liz had been as still as a statue as she sat in her sheriff's SUV, parked in the space next to Caroline's. Heart sinking, Caroline knocked on the driver's side window, the blank expression on her mother's face immensely troubling.

"I'm in trouble."

Caroline registered the undercurrent of fear in her mother's voice and that's when she started to worry.

Because Liz Forbes was never afraid.

"How much," she asked with a sigh, rubbing her forehead tiredly.

Suddenly defensive, Liz retorted, "$50,000. But I had a system and was up, but then it hit wrong and I couldn't walk away until I fixed it. Damn machine."

Caroline shrieked in disbelief, "$50,000?! You owe Kol Mikaelson $50,000! Have you lost your goddamn mind?!"

"I was ahead, damn it, but then I had a few bad runs, and the Mikaelsons know I'm good for it. I don't know why they're up my ass about it now," her mother muttered petulantly.

Unbelievable. "Because it's not a legit operation! The Mikaelsons can call in debts whenever they damn well please," she told her, shaking her head angrily. When her mother returned to staring blankly ahead, she lost her patience and snapped, "Well, what's your plan?"

How was it possible that decades later, her mother still could level her with a glare that left her feeling like she missed curfew and her keys were getting taken away? "I just need a little loan to get Kol off my back."

Everyone knew Kol ran his underground business fast and loose and as long as you paid up, you got to keep your kneecaps. But no way would a 'little loan' make him forget about a $50,000 debt. "You seriously think I'm going to give YOU money? Ignoring the fact that this is the first time in all these years you've bothered to visit me at work, do you honestly believe I'd trust you not to gamble away whatever I give you?"

"I didn't come here for a lecture. I came here for help," Liz replied, a hysterical edge to her voice as she added, "If the council finds out about this, I'll lose my job!"

Fuck. "Fine. I'll pay off your debt directly to Kol." When Liz opened her mouth to protest, Caroline help up a hand to silence her. "This is a one-time thing. Don't come around again if you're just looking for an ATM. I'm your daughter — act like it."

Which is how Caroline now found herself standing at the side door to a seemingly closed car dealership. The beefy security guard eyed her up and down (a bit longer than necessary to determine her threat level — seriously, her wrinkled scrubs didn't look remotely attractive). Finally, he let her pass, and her senses immediately were accosted by obnoxious neon lights, bells and whirring noises from the machines, and thick clouds of smoke. She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she felt a headache coming on from the constant jangling and clanking — how could her mother waste hours here?

It wasn't difficult to find the back room where the high rollers lurked. More intimidating security guards stood in front of the massive double doors decorated with gaudy gold leaf. Clearly, Kol Mikaleson took his decorating cues from Scarface. Kol was the most visible of the powerful Mikaelsons crime family, a flashy playboy whose violent displays were spoken of only in hushed whispers in the darkest corners of the town. The other Mikaelsons preferred to pull the strings from behind the scenes, emerging sporadically to deliver bloody vengeance whenever an enemy foolishly tried to usurp their power.

Klaus. Caroline shivered as her memory conjured the image of dirty blonde curls and a devilish smirk. He happened to be in the ER waiting room where she'd been delivering bad news to a hysterical woman and her teenage son. She should've been focused on her patient's distraught family, but her gaze kept getting drawn to the man casually lounging on the sofa along the back wall, seemingly unconcerned by the speckles of blood that dotted his white henley. She'd only known who he was because she'd overheard the nurses gossiping at their station. They said he's the worst of them all. Dangerous. Dangerously sexy.

Shaking her head in irritation at getting distracted by a man she'd never even spoken to, she boldly stepped in front of the guards. "I have business with Kol."

The men exchanged a look, one of them subjecting her to another casual eye fuck that made her snap, "Not that kind of business, dumbass. I'm here to settle a debt."

Before they could respond, an amused voice drawled from behind her, "She seems rather insistent. Best not keep the lady waiting, lads."

Heart pounding, she glanced around, refusing to be charmed by his boyish good looks. Kol was a killer. From a family of killers. She wordlessly followed him as he led her beyond the doors, his ridiculously shiny suit nearly blinding her as it caught the pulsing lights. With wiggling eyebrows, he gestured toward a gleaming leather daybed at one end of an enormous office. She snorted and replied, "No thanks. I won't be staying long — I'm here to pay off Liz Forbes' debt."

With an amused grin, he plopped down on the bed, his tone teasing as he observed, "You don't look like someone who can afford a $50,000 debt."

"And you look like a televangelist," she snarled, temporarily forgetting she was talking to a man who was rumored to have asked the famous baseball player, Enzo St. John, to autograph a bat, and then used it to smash in his face and kneecaps over an outstanding debt. "Your business is if someone can pay — not how they get the money."

"My, my, aren't you quite the little firebrand? Perhaps we can come to an equitable arrangement without resorting to sordid coin."

Suddenly, another door opened, and Caroline's eyes widened as Klaus walked in, leaning against the glass and steel desk across the room. "That's enough, Kol," he told his brother sharply.

She struggled to keep her face impassive. Kol may frighten her, but Klaus unsettled her. This was the seat of true power, fit snugly in a deliciously toned body whose henley hugged just so. She clenched her jaw, ignoring the wildly inappropriate urge to nibble along the edge of the black tattoo she saw trailing up his collarbone. Stop it. Sexy criminals were criminals.

"We'd be delighted to settle your mother's accounts, love."

Relieved but wary, she gave him a brief smile, not bothering to spare Kol a second glance as she crossed the room toward Klaus. Fuck — were those dimples? His gaze was flirtatious to the point of making her blush, and she cursed her selfish mother for bringing this madness into her life. Nope, that's not what was happening. Nothing was being brought into her life. This was a simple business transaction. With the mob.

His casual interest seemed to shift into something more and he suddenly studied her intently. Nodding at her hospital badge, he said, "Dr. Caroline Forbes. Tell me, love, what sort of doctor are you?"

Confused, she replied, "I'm a trauma surgeon."

Kol suddenly spoke up, his tone incredulous as he said, "You can't be serious, Nik! Just from the look of her you can tell she's too clean."

At Caroline's questioninglook, Klaus explained,"The family is in need of a doctor from time to time. Just someone to be on call if anything untoward were to happen." He lightly tapped the dark glass on the desk, adding in a tone full of false concern, "I fear it's only a matter of time before your mother becomes indebted to us once more. Let's negotiate — we could come to a generous arrangement now that will save you future unseemly hassles."

For fucks sake — Did he just ask her to be a mob doctor? How was this her life? Reaching in her purse, she pulled out the notarized cashier's check, slamming it down on the desk. Glaring at Klaus, she flatly said, "No." She took a moment to enjoy the stunned expressions on the Mikaleson brothers' faces as she turned to leave. "And any trouble my mother finds after this is on her."


It was stupid to assume that would be the end of it. Caroline was able to enjoy only one hectic workweek before a loud pounding on her front door rudely pulled her out of an incredibly vivid dream involving chiseled abs, whipped cream, and a very talented tongue. The fact that her anonymous dream lover had dimples meant nothing.

Too furious to be properly concerned that someone was on her doorstep in the middle of the night, she threw open her front door with a growl. And then nearly screamed.

Squinting in the harsh glare of her security lights, a bruised and shaking Klaus was holding an unconscious, blood-soaked blonde. "I need your help," he told her, the terror coming off of him in waves.

She briefly was reminded of a stray animal. Don't feed it unless you intended to keep it.

"This is my baby sister. Please," he begged, a muscle twitching in his jaw as though he was holding back tears.

Fuck. There was a mob boss begging on her doorstep. "Set her on the dining table," she told him, eyeing the faint bloodstains that streaked his torn dress shirt. "How badly are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

Caroline knew that was a lie, but a glance at the far too-pale blonde told her she couldn't worry about Klaus now. "My medical bag is in the hall closet — bring it plus the stack of towels on the shelf."

She performed a quick assessment, checking her vitals and determined that while the woman's breathing was shallow, it was steady, with no apparent head injuries. She carefully peeled back the shredded, bloody side of what once must have been a very expensive evening gown. She cursed as she noted the dark blood pooling along her abdomen. Fuck. Gunshot wounds to the abdomen could affect multiple organs. She called out, "From the minimal tissue damage, I'd say a single shot, medium-velocity handgun. Did you see what they used?"

"Glock 19s," he replied, begrudging respect coloring his tone as he handed over her bag and set the towels on the table.

She took out her scissors, cutting away more of the stained fabric to expose the wound. "Trauma surgeon," she reminded him, "you pick up stuff here and there. We should be seeing more tissue damage than this — Glocks usually carry a lot of power. This must've been a long-range shot."

"It was. Bloody cowards came in through skylight. Rebekah happened to look up and see them just in time to warn everyone."

Caroline nodded, muttering to herself, "Then this is the entrance wound." She handed him a towel, demonstrating how she needed him to sweep the blood from the wound while she finished her examination. Through her gloved fingers, she carefully probed the tissue, pleased that while there was damage, no fragments were left in the wound tract. Showing him how to carefully roll his sister to one side while applying pressure to the entrance wound, Caroline quickly examined the damage on her back. "The good news is there's a clean exit wound, so we won't have to remove a bullet or fragments."

He bit his lip, voice shaking as he asked, "And the bad news?"

"We'll have to do surgery with whatever supplies I have here because I assume you won't let me bring her to the ER."

Eyes burning with anger and fear, he gruffly told her, "By now, all the hospitals are staked out. They'll be waiting for us."

Caroline nodded, hating how defeated Klaus looked as he stared at his sister's unmoving body. She quickly ran to the kitchen, returning with the saline bags that accidentally had been shipped to her house the other day. "Grab a coat hanger from the closet and thread it with this bag." She pointed toward the top of her china cabinet. "Hang it from there. I need to start Rebekah's IV to combat her dropping blood pressure. She's going to need a blood transfusion too. I don't suppose you know her blood type?"

"She's A positive. But I'm O negative, so you can use me."

As she prepped the sedatives, she murmured, "You're a universal blood donor. Good. We're going to need to sedate Rebekah — does she have any allergies or illnesses? Other drugs? Medications?" She fixed him with a harsh glare, her tone serious as she told him, "If I don't have all the information, she'll die."

"No, nothing."

Caroline admired how Klaus had a firm grip on his emotions even when it was clear his baby sister was his whole world. Apparently, the ability to remain calm under pressure was a skillset that trauma surgeons and mob bosses had in common. Rechecking her vitals, Caroline saw that the injected anxiolytics were working swiftly. Forceps in hand, she paused, doing her best to keep her voice matter-of-fact as she warned, "Without the proper diagnostic equipment, I don't know if her organs sustained injuries. The best I can do is suture the wounds and give her a transfusion. After that, it's on her."

"She's strong. A fighter," Klaus replied gruffly, busying himself with the pile of towels at the end of the table.

Pushing the curved needle through torn tissue, she murmured, "Just like her brother." An undefinable look passed between them. Gratitude? Understanding? She shook it off and bent to her work once more. Klaus quietly served at her side, handing her instruments, applying pressure, and keeping the wounds clear for her to apply the tiny, even sutures.

She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she finally exhaled at the snip of the scissors, tying off the edge with her signature reverse running whipstitch. At Klaus' distraught expression, she reassured him, "The worst of it is over." Quickly setting up the field kit for blood transfusions, she explained, "She's going to need more blood than you can spare, but we at least can get her stable while we figure out the rest."

As Klaus settled into a chair, he stared blankly at the tubing that began to fill with his blood. Caroline took a moment to study him, the flecks of blood along his cheek weirdly making him seem hotter. And she really, really wanted to lick along the intricate black tattoo that peeked out of his open collar. What the hell was wrong with her? "You're both in evening clothes," she blurted out. "Are all Mikaelson parties so exciting?" At his hesitation, she nervously added, "Not that you have to tell me anything. There's probably a lot you can't say and even more I don't want to know."

The corners of his mouth twitched as he replied, "Our festivities generally are not without conflict. But this one took an unexpected turn. Our father betrayed us by aligning with Silas' mercenaries. Even as we speak —"

Fuck. Silas was the governor of Virginia. "Nope. Didn't hear any of that. I know nothing," Caroline vehemently insisted. She toyed with the edge of her pajama pants, suddenly stiffening as something unpleasant occurred to her. "How did you know where I live? Am I being followed? Are your minions hiding in my flower bed right now, waiting for you to give them the signal to fit me with cement shoes?!"

"Bollocks, that's not even—" he sputtered indignantly, "of course not."

However, as she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, Klaus shifted awkwardly in his seat as he muttered, "The casino may track addresses for those who enter the casino. Makes debt collection considerably easier."

"Your job is so fucking weird."

Letting out a surprised chuckle, he nodded at her t-shirt that read, 'Eat. Sleep. Fix stupid people.' Gray eyes twinkling, he remarked, "And your job is normal?"

Caroline started to get defensive, but thought back to her nights in the ER and the staggering cornucopia of vegetables she'd seen over the years. Seriously, was there anything people wouldn't shove up whatever hole they could find?

Her silence seemed to amuse him, and he flashed her a dimpled smirk as he said, "It seems we both find aspects of our chosen professions tedious." He suddenly glanced at his sleeping sister, voice tight as he told Caroline, "You're an extraordinary creature. What you did for Rebekah won't be forgotten. Our family owes you a debt."

Carefully cleaning his abrasions with antiseptic, she snorted softly. "Just forget my name AND my address and we'll call it even."

He grabbed her hand, caressing her open palm. "Come work for us. The family's current doctor is an alcoholic vet whom we continuously have to pay off various boards so he can keep his license."

"My answer hasn't changed," Caroline told him firmly.

Klaus smirked as he replied, "Let's see what we can do about that."