meraki (greek) - to do something with passion and love
The bus jolted as it hit a pothole, and only the solid presence of Klaus at her back kept Caroline from being thrown into the tiny old lady in the seat next to her. A steadying hand slid to her hip and she hummed, pleased, as she firmed her grip on the swinging hand hold keeping her standing.
"Only one more stop," Klaus said in her ear. As the only reader of Greek between them, he had studied the bus map with more comprehension than she had. She had thought they were getting close by counting the stops, but Athens was a slightly less tourist friendly city than Tokyo had been. Their bus system was certainly less easily parsable.
"They sure are doing a lot of construction around here," she noted as they passed another trash bin filled with rocks. The traffic was keeping the pace slow, and she'd had plenty of time to study the neighborhoods, mostly apartment buildings and small businesses in this area. "Think they could work on these roads?"
The bus hit another pothole and she was again sent crashing into Klaus. This time, his arm wrapped around her firmly, and he pulled her into the steady strength of him. The rocking of the bus seemed less harsh as she leaned into his chest. In the reflection of the window, she saw the old woman smile at them and look away.
"It's a wonder they got the roads functioning for automobiles as it is. The first time I was here, it was just as narrow and confusing for horses as it is now." From the corner of her eye, she saw Klaus jerk his chin at the view out the front of the bus. "Oddly, the modern advancements don't seem to have improved it any."
Athens traffic did seem to be a very special kind of hell. The buses moved steadily enough through it, but the tiny cars of the city zipped around them like their drivers had no fear of death. Caroline was glad not to be driving, even though the villa they were staying at had several cars in the garage. Klaus had vetoed the idea immediately, and they'd walked down the road to the bus stop. It had taken them several connections to get on the right line, but the museum was something Klaus had picked out of her guide book with no small amount of enthusiasm, something nice and easy after their vigorous hike over several of the major ruins of the city the day before.
"It looks a bit different," Caroline had said, peering up through the bright sunshine at the ruins of the Parthenon, eyes shaded by the map she'd acquired at the visitor's center.
Klaus had turned to her, hair ruffling in the breeze, aviators that definitely cost more than her car perched on his nose. She was absolutely stealing a pair out of the drawer in his walk in closet after this. "Different from what you were expecting?" He'd agreed to her walking tour of the ruins readily enough in the face of her excitement, despite professing to have seen them enough times 'over the years.'
"No," she said, keeping her face straight. "From the one in Memphis."
His face had rapidly cycled though confusion, realization, and exasperation, before finally settling in a snobbish lift of his nose. "That is a replica, and a gaudy American one, at that. Practically brand new, built last century, in the home of the most ear-wrenching music known to man." He was getting more wound up with each word, and Caroline strategically covered her twitching lips with her fingers. "And I should know, I lived through Kol's attempts at bardhood. Not one attempt, not two attempts, three attempts." He held up three fingers and caught sight of her rapidly deteriorating straight face. Squinted at her over the top of his sunglasses.
"I have this feeling Kol was daggered more often than the others. Exponentially." She'd held out her hand, wiggled her fingers at him. A softly surprised look had flashed over his face, the way it did each time she reached for him, and he quickly left off his ire to take her hand. She tugged him up the path to the temple.
"Only as often as he deserved it," Klaus had grumbled, and she'd shaken her head.
"I don't pretend to understand your weird co-dependent family dynamics. Only child and eternally glad of it." Wrinkled her nose.
His fingers had adjusted, threaded through hers, palm to palm. "They have been my responsibility and my companions and my sometimes adversaries for longer than I can remember. Even Elijah and Finn, for all they were the elders." He frowned up at the ruins as they paused by some of the scaffolding of the preservation effort. "Still, I would hate to not have them." He'd tightened his jaw, cleared his throat and looked away.
Caroline wrapped her other hand around his forearm and rubbed her thumb against the sleeve of his lightweight henley. Shifted her weight awkwardly. "I never said sorry about Kol. You were upset and... well, we were both horrible to each other."
He'd tilted his head towards her in acknowledgment. "Mm, he's making a nuisance of himself in Italy at the moment." Catching sight of her slightly shocked look, he'd grinned, mood brightening to something mischievous. "You didn't think I'd let my little brother stay on the Other Side, did you? Not with the witches of New Orleans at my fingertips?"
Caroline scoffed. "I guess not. He's not going to come back for revenge, is he?"
Humming dismissively, he'd pulled her gently forward towards the path winding around the back of the temple. "The doppelganger is a vampire still, despite her best efforts to escape all consequences of her actions. Time is something Kol has plenty of."
It was her turn to squint at Klaus. "Have you been keeping tabs on us?" He'd turned, mouth a sly curve.
"On the doppelganger, no."
Her face had flushed, perversely pleased. "Stalking is illegal in all states, Klaus."
Lifting his shoulder in an unconcerned little shrug and, changing the subject, he'd pointed at the carvings still visible on the upper columns. "Now the artistry on these has lasted through over two-thousand years of sun and rain, can your Memphis atrocity say the same?" And Caroline had rolled her eyes and agreed that no, it hadn't.
The bus hit another pothole and rattled her from her reminiscing. Placing her feet carefully and hanging onto the hand loops, she turned around to face Klaus. He watched her, smile in his blue eyes, his hand sliding down to settle in the small of her back.
"So I looked this place up online. Some rich guy's private collection of splatter paintings?" She wrinkled her nose.
Breathing out something that was almost a sigh, Klaus glanced out the window as the bus paused at a stoplight. "The Goulandris Museum of Modern Art does have at least one Jackson Pollock in it, yes, but the majority of the collection is a mix of artists of modern styles and mediums. Van Gogh, Picasso, many current Greek artists, for example." It was easy for her to hear the quiet excitement in his voice.
"I thought you would be more rah-rah about older artists, some dusty old Renaissance guys or something." Slipping a hand around the back of his neck, Caroline played with the slightly curling hair there.
He tipped his head in an acknowledging sort of way. "They had their place. At one time they were the modern art of the day. But art is an ever expanding library of styles, and I like the freedom of the current phase. They broke open what art could express by lowering the barriers on what art is and who could make it."
Caroline's mouth curled in a fond smile, and as the bus came to a halt at their stop, she leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. His dimples flashed with his delighted smile, and she reluctantly pulled away from him, heading toward the bus exit. His fingertips stayed pressed to the small of her back, curled through the loop of her denim shorts, following her off the bus and into the sunshine.
Pulling Klaus' aviator sunglasses–stolen fair and square–from the front of her flowy baby doll top, she pushed them onto her face and peered up at the museum that was part refurbished townhouse mansion, part modern addition. The curling wrought iron on the windows was delicate and fanciful. To the left of them, a wide set of stairs led up a hill to a church that even towered over the nearby apartment buildings.
"Oh, there's the entrance." Caroline pointed at a side door with the round B&E logo above it. "I couldn't find it on Street View," she grumbled. "There was a huge truck in front of the building."
"Technology is one of my favorite things about this past century, but it is not without its fallibilities," Klaus said as they crossed the concrete courtyard to the entrance. The double doors were wide open, a bored looking security guard leaning in the shade of the second set of doors to the left of the main entrance. He appraised them both and then looked away.
They had to walk through a metal detector to get to the information counter, where they sold tickets and offered walkthrough guides and pre-recorded tours on headsets. Klaus handed over several Euro bills and got two tickets and a walkthrough guide in English for Caroline. She had a stack of guides she'd picked up at nearly every place they'd been to in the past three weeks, and they were starting to take up an unreasonable portion of her suitcase. There was a solution for that, but she was still working up the nerve to ask Klaus about it.
Shoving that to the back of her mind, Caroline popped her sunglasses on her head and flipped open her guidebook. There were several floors worth of exhibits, both painted and sculptural, plus the gift shop and café that took up the bottom floor. A ritzy sounding amphitheater was in the basement, only open for performances and special occasions.
"Okay," she said, passing the tempting doorways offering baked goods and kitschy souvenirs, respectively. Walking towards the funky stairs leading up to the next level, she tilted the book towards Klaus for his appraisal. "They've got everything grouped somewhat chronologically by floor, so we should start from the bottom and work our way up."
"Bottom to top it is, then." His smile was just a little too cheeky, and she shot him a look out of the corner of her eye. Klaus pressed his lips together, but his dimples remained. She wrinkled her nose, well aware of the strength of his flirtation to impromptu bathroom shag pipeline.
The first floor was coolly air-conditioned and softly lit outside the spotlights on the art. Stopping at the first painting of a human figure made up of strange angles, eyes skewed on the face, Caroline studied it a moment before making a face. "Ugh, I know who this is." Her voice stayed low despite her vehemence.
Klaus glanced at her before looking back at the painting. "Not a fan of Picasso?"
"I don't get it. Are these arms?" She gestured at different parts of the canvas. "Everything is pointy. What's this confusing jumble down here? Everything is orange, except for the blue raspberry Jello in this corner."
"Jello." His laugh was a soft noise in the quiet of the exhibit, the few other people walking through the gallery talking in hushed tones. "This was one of his first works in cubism, Nude Woman with Raised Arms. Note the strong stance of the woman on one knee, how she challenges the viewer with her nudity. There is no softness, no fragile femininity to be found here. It was quite the statement for the times."
Caroline tilted her head the other way. "I guess?" she said hesitantly. "I can kind of see what you mean, but I still just… think it's kind of ugly." Shifting from one sandaled foot to the other, she fiddled with her guidebook.
Klaus shot her a look of amusement. "Art is supposed to make you feel something. Sometimes it is that the painting is ugly." His face turned wry. "I have been informed many times that others failing to see the meaning in my paintings is entirely due to the subjective nature of art, and not their lack of refinement."
Her mouth dropped open and she made a strangled little noise in her throat, choked on a laugh. "Oh my god, you totally are one of those art guys that gets offended when no one catches their vibes." He didn't quite roll his eyes as he looked away, hands shoving into his pockets, and this time she did laugh, catching the front of his v-neck t-shirt and pulling him towards her. Exasperation was clear in every line of his body, but he let her reel him in so willingly, tipping his head towards her and breathing her in when their foreheads bumped.
"It's not my fault people cannot read the clearly defined themes present in my art, nor appreciate how color and medium can contribute to the impression of a painting." Tone grudging, he still hummed when she kissed him.
"Okay, Mr. Color Theory, you'll have to cut me some slack on my 'lack of refinement,'" she quoted, a little mockingly. His lips twitched. "Not all of us have taken centuries worth of Art Appreciation classes at probably super fancy colleges. Sometimes the famous painting is just ugly."
"Sometimes it is," he agreed, eyes warm as his gaze caressed her face.
"So okay, next painting." Caroline tugged him by his arm down to the next gallery spot. They both looked it over for a minute, and Klaus made a neutral hum. A small grove of olive trees was depicted against a pastel sky, three women and a ladder in the middle, harvesting olives.
"This looks familiar," Caroline said, dropping his arm to flip through the guidebook.
"It's van Gogh." Klaus shrugged, and she glanced back up. "You can always tell by his short, dynamic strokes, the build up of the layers." He used his pinky to gesture at the sky and the olive trees. "His paintings in this style always have a suggestion of movement about them, a flow. Some of his other paintings are a bit different." He pointed at the next painting in the row, a still life with a bowl of fruit, several pitchers and cups in bright yellows and blues.
Studying the painting for a moment, Caroline nodded. "I like the colors, there's something so gentle about it."
Klaus hummed again. "His art is quaint."
She turned to him, surprised. "You don't like it?"
"I didn't say that," he said quickly.
"What's wrong with van Gogh?" she demanded, intrigued.
Klaus lifted a shoulder. "He's very… popular, I suppose."
Caroline covered her eyes with one hand in mock despair. "Oh my god, I'm dating a hipster, an art hipster."
"Dating?" He sounded enormously disgruntled.
She shushed him with a wave of her other hand. "Not now, I'm having a crisis."
His laugh rumbled in front of her and then her hand was gently pulled off her face. She squinted at him as he tugged her hand up to his lips, pressed a kiss to the back of her fingers.
"I must admit, this being the thing you eventually had a crisis over was not even on my list." Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her against his warm body comfortably.
Her other hand slid up his arm to his shoulder, threaded the fingers of the hand he held through his. "You have a list?"
Dipped his head in a nod. "I do."
"I'm very serious about my lists, you know." Caroline raised her eyebrows at him, and he nodded and slowly spun them in a little circle. People could have been staring and she would never have noticed with Klaus' soft smile warming her. "Maybe we could go over it with a bottle of wine sometime?"
Klaus nodded, something a little vulnerable in the curve of his mouth, before it was quickly tucked away. "Later. Perhaps we can discuss this 'dating' as well?" he said darkly.
"Oh, I'm gonna pay for that, aren't I?" she said ruefully, as he let her step out of his arms, but kept hold of her hand.
He hummed in agreement as they walked down the gallery. After some fairly neutral browsing, they stopped in front of a painting of a pastel cathedral.
Caroline squinted at it. "This must be what people who wear glasses see when they take them off. It's so… smudgy."
A noise choked off in Klaus' throat as he looked at her, offense and delight warring on his face. "This is Monet, practically the father of impressionism."
She wrinkled her nose. "The water lily guy?"
"It's true that the paintings he did of his pond were numerous, but they were very well received for their use of light and color." Klaus said earnestly. "Claude was always looking for the best way to represent light in a painting, and the sunlight on Rouen Cathedral gave him no end of frustration. He painted it over thirty times, and this morning piece, glowing with dawn's light, was his favorite of them all."
Her eyebrows raised in interest. "'Claude?'"
Klaus slid his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. "I may have… stayed with the family for a time. As a student of his."
"You can name-drop Monet, unbelievable." Caroline said, looking back at the painting with fresh eyes. "No wonder you have that big honkin' ode to art thievery in your house."
Tilted his head somewhat bashfully. "It was one he painted while I was there, and the museum does have a very excellent reproduction in place at the moment." Dimples peeked cheekily at her when she shot him a look.
"You painted a fake Monet?" she hissed, impressed.
"Sweetheart, I can paint a fake anything." His tone was practically insufferable, and she rolled her eyes. He was probably right.
"Neal Caffrey, eat your heart out," she muttered under her breath, scooting to the next painting, while Klaus followed, looking puzzled.
They paused at each painting, some briefly, some for a few minutes, working their way around the room and then up onto the next floor. Some paintings sparked hot debate that had the other patrons eyeing them, some they mostly agreed on. The Jackson Pollock splatter painting was a ten-minute heated discussion, with Caroline maintaining that it was clearly haunted by the ghost of a kindergarten aged child, while Klaus argued that the only thing it was haunted by was the specter of Pollock's wife holding his hand through painting theory.
In the more current works, Caroline had paused by a yellow, black, and red painting, staring at it for long moments, before looking in the guidebook. Klaus watched her while her frown grew deeper, before she looked up at the painting in consternation. "It's supposed to be about regrowth." Her tone said she clearly didn't get it.
Klaus waited, before nudging her hand with the back of one finger. "What does it make you feel?"
She sighed. "It's so desolate, like some mustard gas filled wasteland, with these eyes always watching. It feels like being in a room with Damon." It took her a moment to realize she might have been too honest, and she cleared her throat, carefully not looking at Klaus. The full focus of his gaze sat on her skin like a spotlight, looking to expose.
"I don't want to talk about it." Her voice was a little nervous. Elena was playing house again with Damon–this decade at least–while Stefan popped in and out of Mystic falls, giving them sad eyes and trying to stick to his diet. Elena would get them all together each time he was in, and Caroline had been sick of watching everyone try so hard for Elena's sake. Still, she loved her best friend, even through her glaring faults, and wanted her to be happy.
She just really could not stand being near Damon any longer. Not having to see his face for the past several weeks had lifted something in her that she didn't know was weighing her down.
Glancing at Klaus out of the corner of her eye, she watched him rub his bottom lip with his thumb before he put his hand in his pocket, where he fiddled with his phone. He was unerringly good at connecting dots and she could see the arithmetic adding up on his face.
"You don't have to talk about it," he said, voice even, and she turned her head to look at him. Alarm bells started ringing in her ears at the carefully veiled menace sitting in his eyes.
"Don't–" she cut off. What would she say? Don't hurt him? She might like it if Klaus hurt him a little, actually. No one got angry for her, no one else thought Damon walking around and living his best life was a travesty. It would be such a nice change to have someone think she was worth fighting for.
Klaus waited, hunter still, an arrow waiting to be loosed.
"I just… I just want to enjoy our time together. It's a long, stupid story, and I just don't want to waste this really nice day on Damon." Wrapping her arms around herself awkwardly, Caroline looked at the canvas again. "It's just an ugly painting," she whispered.
Slowly, Klaus relaxed, deliberately, before reaching out to touch her, stopping short of her arm. "Then today is ours–and tomorrow–and whenever you're ready, we'll talk about it." His voice was coaxing.
Leaning into his arm was all the signal Klaus needed, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss into her hair.
"I'm hungry," Caroline mumbled, feeling awkward and a little strung out.
"Then we'll simply have to get you something to eat. Would you like a patron or something from the café?" His hand slipped through her hair and curled around the back of her neck, rubbing his thumb soothingly up and down her spine.
Her forehead wrinkled as she considered her options. The ever present thirst was only a warm prickle at the back of her throat, still sated from the room service delivery boy she'd had for breakfast. The sfakianopita–Greek pancakes with cheese, honey, and nuts–he'd delivered had long worn off, though.
"The café," she said decisively.
"The café it is, then."
They made their way back downstairs to the café, which, far from some more sterile American cafés in museums Caroline had seen, this one was cozy with its warm dark woods and green plants in hanging baskets everywhere. It was moderately filled for the time of day, and the hostess had them seated quickly at a table near the back surrounded by other empty tables, at Klaus' request. He settled her in her chair before rounding the table and sitting down, his back to the wall with a view of the restaurant.
Gratefully, Caroline found the menu was printed with several languages. By the time their waiter came around to pour them water glasses, she was ready to order.
"Chicken souvlaki, and the Raspberry Ouzo Slush, please." Klaus placed his order–"Spanakotiropeta, with just water."–his eyebrows raised at her. After the waiter zipped off to the kitchen, she made a face at him. "What? It's after noon, I'm hardly day-drinking."
"No, I'm just recalling how the ouzo snuck up on you the other night when you were wearing that enchanting little red number." His eyes were heated as he linked his fingers and leaned on his elbows on the table.
"You mean my favorite dress, the one you ripped trying to get the zipper down." Taking a sip of her water, she looked at him over the rim, unimpressed.
Klaus rolled his eyes and pressed his lips in a 'Well, what can you do?' sort of way, dimples peeking at her.
Caroline's mouth twitched, despite trying to look very stern. "Anything you rip, Klaus, you replace. That goes double for my underwear."
The curve of his mouth was wicked. "Tell me, sweetheart, do you prefer Agent Provocateur, or La Perla more? I'd love an opportunity to paint you in the afternoon light here in something only for my eyes." His tongue slowly licked his lower lip, and she shivered.
Her budget usually stopped at Victoria Secrets, but one thing she'd learned on this trip was Klaus really had no concept of money, was probably richer than God, and he loved to buy her things. Sweet things like scoops of ice cream in the park, and ridiculous things like tourist pamphlets from every place they'd been when he was "clearly the better tour guide, Caroline," and fanciful things like the soft lounging kimono she wrapped around herself when they stayed in. Somehow he was excellent in telling the "Oh that's cute" passing fancy apart from when her greedy fingers honestly yearned for something.
So if Klaus was offering a shopping trip, she had no hesitancy taking him up on it. "I honestly wouldn't know the difference, I'll have to try them both on. Maybe you could… give suggestions?"
Eyes warm as he looked at her, eyes drifting, he smiled, languid and tempting. "I'd love to."
Their waiter approached with two balanced plates and her cocktail. Clearing her throat, she squirmed a little in her chair. The man delighted in pushing her buttons, the more inappropriate the place the better.
With a briskness she'd come to expect from waiters outside America, he set their plates and her drink down, and then left them to it. Caroline could see a big tip in his future.
"So art," she said, unrolling her napkin and setting it on her lap.
"Art." He nodded, doing the same and carefully forking a bite of his phyllo dough layered with spinach.
"It's your Thing." With a fork, she slid a chunk of chicken off one of the several skewers full on her plate and popped it in her mouth.
Klaus was looking more amused by the moment. "It is my Thing, yes." He took a bite of his lunch and hummed, pleased.
She took a sip of her cocktail, loving the raspberry and anise tartness of it. "So how did you get there? Like hundreds of years ago were you painting brontosaurus on cave walls or something? Where did it start?"
"Oh." He paused, fiddling with his fork briefly. "I guess, as with a lot of things, it started with my siblings."
Making a little 'go on' gesture, she picked up a piece of flatbread that had accompanied her meal, and started filling the little taco curve she made of it with chunks of chicken and other veggies from her plate, a little drizzle of yogurt sauce. When she bit into it, she made a noise that made Klaus' eyes rim with gold for a moment.
"There were no toy makers in my village, all art was in carvings and clothing. I was good at carving and they liked my little figures. Rebekah still has some in a vault somewhere, I don't know how she's kept hold of them." They ate for a minute in silence, before Klaus offered.
"There was a court artist at the first castle we managed to compel our way into as nobility. His drawings were… adequate for the time, but I thought they were…" He trailed off and then cleared his throat. "He taught me first to draw, and I have never stopped."
Caroline had frozen, halfway through making another fold of flatbread. A fond smile curved her lips up, and Klaus looked down at his lunch. Fidgeted with his next bite. "Learning to paint came much later when I was able to find better teachers." He went quiet and the silence was comfortable as they applied themselves to their food.
"So," Caroline said eventually, trying not to talk with her mouth full but unwilling to put her food down. "Do you just have a giant Indiana Jones secret warehouse somewhere full of paintings you've done across the ages?"
Klaus smiled, finished chewing, and took a sip of water. "The ones that survived my father, yes. He found several of our hiding spots long after we had gone, burnt them to the ground. There's one in Paris that survived, another in Munich. Several in California. Most of them full. My unit in New Orleans is rather sparse, I'm afraid." He tucked back into his lunch.
"Did you not have time to paint while being king of the supernatural peons?" Yogurt sauce smeared on her lip with her last bite, and she wiped it off with a finger before popping it into her mouth with a hum.
Klaus watched her, hand tense on his fork, before setting it down with a noticeable bend in the handle. Caroline tried not to look too delighted.
"I got back into pastels for a time, so I wasn't painting much, and when I did, I often found the subject too precious for the warehouse." The way his eyes lingered hotly on her left her no doubt just what–who–he'd been painting, and she could feel the blush creeping up her cheeks. "The attic is completed in my wing of the house and I've been storing them there."
She licked her lips, mouth a little dry. "Will you show me them one day? Any of them?"
A pleased light lit up his eyes. "I could be persuaded."
"Good." Caroline sucked down her slush, a brain freeze threatening briefly before disappearing. Go vampire healing. "In the meantime, are you done? We still have two floors to see."
Klaus picked his fork up with an air of great amusement, and quickly shoveled the last two bites into his mouth and chewed.
"Chop chop," she encouraged, grinning at his completely meaningless baleful look.
"Americans," he said after he swallowed, signalling the waiter for the check.
"We were literally born in the same geographical location." She wrinkled her nose.
"That does not make me American." He pulled some bills out of his wallet without looking at the price and handed them to the waiter with a 'keep the change' flap of his hand. The young man blanched, stammered something in Greek, and quickly left.
"Why do you sound like that?" she asked as they got up and left the cafe.
"Like what?" he said blithely.
"You know. Loik this." The last was said in a terrible approximation of a London accent, and the insulted look he sent her instantly had her in stitches.
"I do not–Caroline, I do not sound like that." He insisted over her giggles as they made their way up the stairs.
"You're a Viking and you sound like, 'Ay lads, let's pop round to the pub.'" Caroline had to pause on the second story landing to titter helplessly at the egregiously offended look on his face.
Klaus rubbed his hand over his mouth, exasperation in every line of his body. "Viking was something we did, not something we were, which was Norse settlers. I didn't even learn something like English until the 1200s from the Normans." He watched her lean on the railing and laugh, something suspiciously like a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth.
"If you want to rake someone over the coals in this family, Kol did not handle the vowel shift well at all after he was undaggered in the 1500s, and whatever flat American mannerisms Elijah is putting on these days are an atrocity."
Caroline hiccuped a last laugh and wiped her eyes. "Okay, but I don't know Elijah like that, and Kol is alarmingly unhinged." Resting a hand against his stomach, she leaned into his body, a coaxing smile on her face.
Looking down at her through his lashes, Klaus wrapped his arms around her waist. "And I do not alarm you?"
Her smile stayed warm and open. "No," she said with a little shake of her head, curls bouncing.
His hum was pleased as he dipped his head to catch her lips in a kiss that enticed her lips to part, tongue a slid drag against hers. It was short but no less heated and left her mouth tingling when they parted, mouth a hot pant against hers.
"I believe we have two more floors, Caroline," he murmured against her, before pulling away. Caroling let out a frustrated noise before following him up to the next level.
Stopping by the first painting, she screwed up her face in a little grimace. "Ugh, this is all that weird stuff."
Even Klaus looked a little put out. "Postmodernism. Some of it is evocative, but some of it is…"
They drifted to the next painting, a comic looking dot art of a nude woman talking into a cell phone next to a flower on a table. There was a suspicious looking blue shape floating in the foreground of the painting.
"... Blue genitalia." he finished.
Caroline dug her guide out of her back pocket and flipped it open to the painting. After a moment she looked back up. "It's supposed to symbolize femininity and self confidence absent of men."
Klaus squinted at the placard next to the painting. "Roy Lichtenstein." He gave Caroline a significant look.
Caroline put her hand on her hip. "Are you saying men can't portray women in a feminist way? What about Picasso and his nude women?"
"I didn't say that, but I do think blue genitals floating over a naked woman is perhaps a bit crass for the statement he's trying to make. Man paints a naked woman and puts a mirror in her hand and calls it 'Vanity,' et cetera." He paused a moment, a little wrinkle on his brow. "It's an ugly painting. I had dot printers in the 1980s that made art quite like this."
"Dot printers." She huffed out a laugh. "Well, this was the 90s. Apparently it's his theme." Gestured at the painting next to it, of a dotted sunrise.
The noise Klaus made wasn't quite unrefined enough to be disgusted, and he quickly moved down the line, passing some flowers made of welded gears with barely a look. Caroline followed him as they wound their way through the increasingly absurd art pieces before stopping at the last one before the stairs. A silver metal plate with a green digital counter in the middle and several gold lines crisscrossing the front, counting up numbers.
"See this, what am I supposed to do with this? What does this evoke?" He asked the surrounding air. Once again, Caroline pulled out her guidebook and flipped through it.
"I can't find it," she said eventually. "It's not in here." Leaning over, she read the placard. "Digital Avatar II. That tells me nothing."
They stared at it a second longer, baffled, and then turned in unison, headed up to the last level. A sign on the wall stated this was the Greek exhibit, and they wandered through.
An impressionistic painting with trees and a nude figure kneeling at a pond had Caroline sighing for a moment. "It's so… whimsical," she said before moving on.
It was toward the end of the row where the both stopped in front of a blue and green painting.
"Oh." Caroline tilted her head in appreciation.
"Mmm," Klaus hummed, agreeing.
It was simple, some green leaves standing out from the background of color, like being viewed through watery glass. It had a quiet beauty, little detail, but vivid.
"Now this? I like this." Caroline read off the sign, "'The Dream of Plants.'" Looked at it thoughtfully. "I can't tell if the plants are dreaming, or I'm supposed to be dreaming."
"Look at the use of color through here, the light here, the pop of purple." Klaus gestured at different areas of the canvas. "The brushstrokes are so evocative, the way the artist kept the detail here and left you to question what you're really seeing. It's lovely. Who did this? Anna Maria Tsakali." He looked impressed. "I've never heard of her."
"Where's your hipster cred now?" she asked, peering at the info. "Painted 2014-2015. Not old and stuffy in the least."
Klaus looked at the painting before glancing at her. "I think we should have it."
Caroline slanted him a look out of the corner of her eye. "It's the museum's."
He grinned. "By that, I mean we should steal it." Leaning against the wall, he began to look for anti-theft devices.
"Seriously? I've never gotten to plan a heist before." The cogs were turning in her head. "We could wear disguises!"
"Oh, I was thinking, right now." He said, leaning back away and looking satisfied. Jauntily, he turned towards the stairs. "Security office was on the first floor, wasn't it?"
"Right now, like right now right now?" Caroline dashed after him. This was not in her itinerary.
"Come on," He said, wiggling his fingers at her in a bid for her hand and looking so satisfied when she slipped her hand in his immediately. "I doubt the curators are on vervain."
Twenty minutes later found Klaus and Caroline in the gift shop as she dithered between two pairs of earrings for her mother. Klaus hovered in her space, a square canvas carrier slung casually over one shoulder by a strap.
"The studs she would wear more often, but these dangly ones would look lovely with that little black dress she keeps wearing to town events." He pointed out.
Caroline sighed. "Do you know how often I've tried to get her to buy a new dress or three? It's always 'I haven't the time,' or 'This one is still serviceable.' It's been years!" Holding the earrings up to her face in the little display mirror, she hummed consideringly. "I've thought about buying new things in her size, filling her closet, and dumping that dress across town like a murder victim."
"Some hints are better enforced than others." He studied her. "Get them both, then."
She waffled for another moment before nodding decisively. "I think I will." It only took a few minutes at the register to have her purchases in a little baggie that she shoved in her pocket. The metal detector was quiet as they walked out into the afternoon sunshine; a security guard gave them an appraising look that slightly glazed over when he focused on the painting for a moment before dismissing them with a flick of his eyes.
Caroline slipped her arm around Klaus' arm, and he crooked his elbow obligingly, pulling her against his side. "Did you have a nice time?" she asked, peering at him through the aviators once again perched on her nose.
"I enjoyed myself very much, love." a dimple peeked at her as the corner of his mouth curled up. "It's very rare I have company on these types of outings, and your commentary was… delightful."
"I disagreed with nearly everything you said," she stressed as they approached the street. Too much honesty had always been pointed out as a fault of hers.
His grin was warm as he glanced at her. "Yes, you did. I enjoyed that as well." The traffic came to a stop in the road and they hurried across the street to the empty bus stop there.
Peering at the LED bus schedule, Caroline remembered it was all Greek to her and looked away, breathed out a sigh. The light from the slowly lowering sun was blocked by the apartment buildings around them, but the sun still shown down on the spires of the church.
"Where are you going to put your painting?" Klaus asked. "It would fit the color scheme of your apartment nicely."
Caroline rolled her eyes while a flutter of nervousness crawled through her stomach. "Have your creepy little spies not informed you?"
Loosening his hold on her arm, he turned slightly to see her face. "And what should they have informed me of?" There was a slight rumble in his voice, and Caroline wondered if somewhere his henchmen were feeling a cold prickle down their spines.
"I don't…" she glanced away, watching the traffic pass. "I don't have an apartment anymore. I hired a company when I left, they packed it all up into storage. Called my landlord and broke my lease." She flicked her gaze back to his face.
It gave her a perverse sense of delight to see Klaus' eyes widen in surprise. "You didn't quit your job; I was under the impression you were going back." The rug had been pulled out from under him, but he was rapidly recalculating.
She frowned. "My vacation time runs out in two weeks, plenty of time to write up a resignation letter, but I am getting the hours I worked for." Lifted her chin stubbornly.
"Of course." His voice was soft. "So this was…"
"Not temporary," she said firmly.
Klaus stared at her a moment, eyes an intense moongold flame. "You're burning your bridges. And you came to me. Why?"
Caroline took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the noise of the traffic fading from her awareness. "Once upon a time, you believed that I could be more than the small town box I closed myself in. I'd hoped you still felt the same, that if I just…" Sliding her hand up the front of his t-shirt, she gripped the fabric over his heart. He swallowed. "I wanted to be selfish, I wanted to pick something just for me, for once."
His hand was in her hair in an instant, thumb a searing line against her jaw as he pulled her up into his mouth, kisses messy and ravenous. The slant of his lips across hers was heat and fervid devotion as he crushed her against his chest, other arms around her waist. She reached up to his mouth time after time, dizzy with want.
With a wretched little noise, he pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers, lips kiss swollen and wet as he let out a breath. "Be selfish, Caroline. I would have you with your sticky fingers. Your palms on my heart, your body in my bed." The hard line of his cock pressed against her hip left her little doubt exactly where he wanted her right that moment.
"Take me home, show me," she gasped against his lips, her other hand tangled in the hair at the back of his head, a fist that tightened until his eyelids fluttered at the bite of pain.
"And where is home?" He pulled away slightly, eyes searching her face.
Caroline smiled at him, incandescent. "Don't you have like a million houses? All of them, any of them. One's gotta fit this painting."
Klaus made a pleased little rumble in his chest. "We will have to try them all, one by one."
"That might take a thousand years," Caroline said, as the noise of the outside world started seeping back in. A groaning creak startled her as the bus shuddered to a stop next to them, the driver opening the door with a squeal of hinges.
Klaus disentangled them reluctantly, settling the canvas carrier on his shoulder more firmly. "Oh, love, I do hope so." Taking her hand in his, he tugged her towards the bus, towards home.
