Hello everyone! I've risen from the Lazarus pit after being sick for what feels like ages. This is the chapter where a big secret is finally revealed. I feel like it will help shed more light on this story. I also want to thank you guys for your continued support! You guys are awesome and I'm so glad to see so many of you, more than I would have guessed, interested in this story. I'm actually working on the next chapter right now and I hope to have it up tomorrow. :)

He ran through the plan over and over like an obsession to distract himself as he headed to Rousseau's. Speaking of distraction, nothing was better suited for the title than the brave bar tender and the strongest whiskey money could buy to dull out memories.

She's working behind the bar, serving drinks to all sorts of sordid customers, each trying to garner her attention. Maybe if he cared more he would feel jealous, or even possessive of what belonged to him, but he couldn't muster up even the slightest bit of emotion. He wanted to. Oh, how he wished that he felt the urge to rip out the college student's throat that was making sappy eyes at Camille. He wished that he could go into a blind rage at the sight of the musician whose touches lingered too long. Perhaps he could fake it, and maybe he could fool himself, but he doubted he could fool the chunk of ice in his chest that sometimes passed for a heart.

As soon as he takes a seat, her bartender instincts kick in at the entrance of a new customer and she looks over at him. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the look she shot him looked positively lethal. If he wasn't immortal, he was sure that look would be hazardous to his health.

It was the sight of that look that threw him back into the memories that he'd been so fervently trying to avoid. He could still remember that look in another's eyes as he constantly continued down his destructive path. The look in the eyes of his beloved as he once again did something to destroy her faith in him. The only woman that had dared glare at him such as he drove a dagger through her heart time and time again.

It took nearly thirty minutes for Camille to shrug off her obvious silent treatment of him and finally approach him. "What can I get you?" While the silent treatment had ended, it didn't mean that he was anywhere close to her good graces. He wondered if it was because he'd left her to wake up alone this morning. Though he wasn't really sure what she'd expected.

"Perhaps a shot of whatever is on your mind." He shot her his trademark dimples that could make nuns fall to their knees. He knew that it was going to take a lot of charm to get him out of the proverbial dog house that he'd somehow found himself in.

"Sorry, fresh out," she snapped back and turned to help another patron.

Not one to be shrugged off so easily, he walked over to said patron that she was helping. "I think you've had enough for tonight mate," he laced his words with compulsion and took the seat as soon as it was vacant.

When she returns with a glass filled fresh from the tap, her expression immediately falls and she rolls her eyes. "You have got to be kidding me." She sits the drink down before turning around to the other woman behind the bar. "I'm taking my break. I'll be back in ten." She turns back around to him and motions with her chin to the isolated corner of the bar. "You, over there now."

"I see that you have a full-."

"How do you feel about me?" She cuts him off before he can even finish his sentence.

He's taken off guard, though in the back of his mind he knew that this confrontation had to happen after last night. He thought heavily about how to answer her question, but he wasn't sure how. He didn't really know what to say.

After several moments of silence, she must have picked up on his internal struggle, and surprisingly didn't run off. But then she wouldn't be the brave bartender if she ran from a battle. And this was a battle. One she must know that she wasn't going to win, but still fought through. Truly admirable in its own sense. Maybe in another life he could have returned her feelings, but even just that thought was enough to bring the memory of Caroline to the forefront of his thoughts and he knew even that was a lie. No matter the life, his heart and soul would always belong to one woman.

"Who is the woman in the painting?" Her question felt like a bucket of ice water laced with vervain splashing him in the face.

His eyes widened in surprise though he tried to mask it immediately. "Sorry, but you'll have to be more specific." He tried to play off the ignorance, but he knew that his seconds hesitation was seconds too long.

She was shaking her head, fighting back tears and in that moment he couldn't help but pity her. "Don't play me for a fool Klaus. You know who I'm talking about. I saw it this morning after I woke up alone and looked for you. The paint was still wet." The implication in her voice was enough for him to sense the betrayal she felt. He could hear the hurt in her voice, see the tears in her eyes.

Caroline.

Memories rushed at him and for a moment he was lost in the ethereal of his thoughts. Klaus! He could hear her beautiful voice still crying his name with such love. You're not a monster. Beautiful sweet Caroline. I love you. It was like she was there still whispering it in his ear.

He felt tears begin to form at the corner of his eyes. For a moment he thought about killing the woman in front of him. Just for daring to have the same hair color as her. For daring to look upon him in his moment of weakness. He wanted to taste blood to drown out his sorrows.

Before he could make a careless mistake, he ran out of the bar as quickly as he could. Quicker than the human eye could ever pick up. He was gone before she could even blink. And he fled to the only sanctuary he had.

He closed the double doors to his study, not bothering to lock them because the futile mechanism did little against the strength of supernaturals. Though he was also able to sense that he was the only one home, which for that he was grateful. He knew that his brother was missing, captive by his mother, but at this moment, all he could care about was that he was alone.

He found himself standing in front of the problematic painting. Staring back at him was the face that he could never forget no matter how hard he tried. The eyes of the only woman that he'd ever loved held him captive and he couldn't look away. It had been nearly a century since he'd last seen them in person. So much hate and love were reflected in them.

It still amazed him how such a beautiful creature filled with so much light had loved him, the true embodiment of darkness. He was Lucifer basking in the glory of her light, never able to get enough. It was his darkness that had consumed her at the end.

He sat there for hours, staring at the painting and getting lost in the reel of his memories. So many memories. Too many to be able to forget. Even alcohol wasn't that strong. If only he could compel himself to forget. If only he'd been human, he wouldn't have had to continue to live for lifetimes after her passing.

The sound of footsteps alerted him to an intruder. A woman by the sound of the heels. He couldn't bring himself to be alarmed as he instinctively knew that it was the woman that could never run away from her battles. It only took a minute before those footsteps came to a stop right behind him.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he heard her say, but didn't turn around. "I was pushing too hard when you're obviously in pain."

He didn't respond and she didn't continue. Instead she poured herself a glass of brandy before taking a seat on the couch next to him. They sat there like that for he wasn't sure how long. He knew that she was trying to comfort him, or maybe even reassure him, but he found himself still pained regardless.

"Who was she?" Her tone was much different this time. She'd taken on the therapeutic calming voice instead of the scorned, jealous lover.

He cast a sideways glance at her and he could see the concern in her eyes, like she wanted to ease the burden on his shoulders. But the joke was on her. He'd already been crushed beneath its weight ages ago.

"Her name was Caroline. Caroline Mikaelson." It was the first time he'd spoken her name aloud in years. Decades even. He'd tried to supress her memory, but he was finally coming to realize that that was never going to happen. She would always be in the forefront of his thoughts. He could never forget the most wondrous creature to ever step foot into his life.

He heard her gasp next to him, aware that he'd shocked her. "I don't suppose she was another sister?" She awkwardly gave a little laugh, trying to play down her outward emotions.

It was then that he turned to her, finally making full eye contact. "She was my wife. And I killed her."

OMG the big reveal! Caroline is Klaus's wife and she's dead? What?! This story sucks?! Where is my Klaroline?! How can we have Klaroline if one half of said couple is dead?!

Please review and throw the above questions and accusations at me. Feel free to tell me whether you love or hate the story. Even negative feedback is feedback and can be used constructively.

Thank you guys for baring with the grody Klamille stuff. It makes me cringe even having to write it but it feels essential to the story and to Klaus's character. Also, I know this may seem a little out of character that Klaus isn't out scouring the streets for his brother but he's in a really bad place right now. He's an emotional wreck. And he really has to get himself together before he can be any help to anyone else. And come on, Haley is on a war path to find her man. ;)

Until next time. 3