Disclaimer: I own nothing.

So here's Part II. It's probably my least impressive chapter thus far, but it was never meant to stand on its own. It's just a continuation of my previous post. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Also, make sure to check out my new Klaroline one-shot called "Size Me Up." Leave me comments and tell me what you think!

Chapter 7: A Real Work of Art

Part II

It had been a short walk to the gallery from the cafe during which Caroline had walked alongside Klaus while he had been engaged in a pressing phone call. When they'd arrived up to the short steps in front of the art gallery, Klaus turned to Caroline as if just remembering something.

"I completely forgot to warn you, love," he said, apologetically. "Alain only speaks French, but I'll try as best as I can to translate." Apparently in her haste, Francesca had forgotten to tell Klaus that Caroline was quite familiar with the artist's native tongue.

"That's no problem," she smiled, not bothering to correct his mistake. He nodded back and turned to open the door.

The door chime sounded as they both stepped into the gallery. They were greeted by the sight of a stout woman, the gallery owner by the looks of it, and another, taller middle-aged gentlemen.

"Alain!" immediately greeted Klaus, stepping forward to embrace the man in a customary European greeting.

"Niklaus! Je n'en crois pas mes yeux!" the gentleman teased, spreading his arms to embrace Klaus. Clearly, this was not the first time they were meeting.

"Ça fait un bail," agreed Klaus, laughing. The woman had come forward now, introducing herself as the gallery owner and shaking hands with both her and Klaus. She had a garish look about her, what with her big hair and the jumble of colored cloth draped all around her in a shapeless costume, yet Caroline found her polite demeanor to be quite in contrast to her outward appearance.

Klaus immediately turned to Caroline and gestured for her to come closer.

"Caroline, this is the magnificent artist and my dear friend, Alain Perrault," he explained to her. He indicated in French who she was to Alain and they both shook hands with each other politely.

"Enchante," Alain greeted, pleasantly. Caroline noted the slenderness of his artist's fingers squeezed firmly around hers. He was graying at the temples and the rest of it was pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck in a way only Europeans seemed able to pull off.

"C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Monsieur Perrault," Caroline smiled. Her accent was flawless thanks to the hours on end she'd spent abroad perfecting her overpowering American accent, but she knew a deeper conversation with the man would soon reveal her idiomatic inadequacies. Basic pleasantries under the deceiving guise of fluency would have to suffice for now. "Je suis impatient de voir votre travail."

Caroline registered the look of surprise on Klaus's face from the corner of her eye, but it was only Alain who voiced his shock.

"Ouah! Mademoiselle Caroline, vous parlez Francais?" he asked, surprised. She nodded her head.

"Je ai étudié en France quand je suis à l'université," she responded. When he inquired as to where she'd studied, she answered that she'd been a student at the Université de Lyon in Lyon, France. Alain was pleasantly surprised by this information, informing the pair that his parents had been from Lyon before they'd relocated to Paris before he was born on account of his father's job. He himself had visited many times over the years to see family and enjoy the city, insisting that it had a lot of hidden charm and what a shame it was that Paris alone received all of the fame and recognition.

Caroline agreed. She had travelled all over France, and Lyon remained her favorite city. He asked her what her favorite place in the city was and she'd blushed, embarrassed to reveal the answer because she thought it was much too cliche to admit aloud in public. When he insisted, she had no choice but to reveal the truth.

"La grande roue de la Place Bellecour," she admitted with an embarrassed smile. She explained that the ferris wheel situated in the heart of the town's square offered the best and most beautiful view of the city. Caroline laughed, reminiscing about how the pair at the ticket booth had grown so accustomed to seeing her for the short few months that the ferris wheel was in operation that they'd finally allowed her to keep the plastic green ticket meant to be handed back to the machine operator. Her embarrassing story was followed by laughter from Alain and Klaus, though a pensive look had soon returned into the latter's eyes.

When Alain eventually excused himself to allow the pair some privacy in observing his work, Klaus turned to Caroline with a ponderous gaze.

"Why didn't you tell me you spoke perfect French?" he asked.

"You never asked," she responded. She shrugged casually, moving away from his side and walking leisurely over to the first line of paintings. She clasped her hands behind her back and pretended to study the painting before her until she felt his presence next to her and the quiet rumble of his laugh.

"You surprise me very much, Caroline," he admitted in a low voice that instantly tugged at the jumbled knot in her stomach. The way he'd said it, the way he was looking at her now, like he'd just stumbled across the most exquisite piece of art in a whole gallery filled with it, was escaping her comprehension and she was too frightened to make any sense of it.

He turned his head back to the painting with a small smile that she wanted nothing more than to kiss off his lips or slap away with the back of her hand, but she had no choice but to look away from him and look, instead, to the art on the wall.

Elijah's cell phone buzzed noisily to life atop a stack of files. He turned away from the paperwork on his desk to glance at the screen, confused when he read the name of the caller. He clicked to answer the phone.

"Rebekah? What are you still doing up so late?" he asked, glancing up at the grandfather clock that hung in his study. It was evening time in Chicago, meaning it was already well into the early morning hours in London.

"I couldn't sleep. I've been tossing and turning all night," she sighed. She'd slipped out of bed earlier, not wanting to wake Stefan up with her phone call. "What are you doing? Am I disturbing you?"

"No, I was just working on some paperwork."

"You're still at the office at this hour?" she exclaimed.

"No, no," he answered. "I'm in my study at home. I have a big conference meeting with some investors tomorrow and I wanted to review the numbers again." Elijah rubbed a hand over his face where his five o'clock shadow had already come in. "What's keeping you up, Rebekah?"

Rebekah sighed again. "The most distressing thoughts, big brother," she admitted. Alarmed, Elijah set his pen down and sat up straighter in his chair.

"What's the matter, Rebekah? What's happened?" he grilled, suddenly concerned. Rebekah stayed quiet. "Rebekah," he urged.

"I've discovered something."

"What is it?" he asked again. Rebekah paused for a beat before answering.

"I've been avoiding telling you because I didn't want to worry you for no reason, but I just couldn't keep it to myself any longer." Elijah could hear the frown in her voice. "It's been eating away at me for the past few days and I just don't know what to make of it."

"What is it, Rebekah?" Elijah braced himself. He heard Rebekah take a deep breath before beginning with her story.

"A few days ago, I accompanied Mother to the doctor's office for a routine checkup. Father usually insists on going with her to those sorts of things but he had come down with a bit of a cold that morning and I didn't want her go alone, so I went with her," she explained.

"When the checkup was nearly over, I received a call from Stefan, so I stepped out of the room and walked down the hall to speak with him. Well, when I walked back towards the room, I could see that another doctor was in there with her. Her doctor is a woman and this doctor was male. But when I got closer, I saw that it was Dr. Davies. Do you remember Dr. Davies, Elijah? Our pediatrician from when we were all younger. He was close friends with the family, do you remember?" Elijah replied that he did.

"Well, I know he works in the same clinic and I thought maybe he'd just stopped in to say hello. But when I stood outside the door, I could hear them speaking quietly to each other. And I know I shouldn't have, but I tried to listen in. I thought it so strange that they were speaking like that, as if they were exchanging secrets or something. I thought, what on earth could they possibly have to whisper about?"

"Did you hear anything?" Elijah interrupted. Rebekah sighed again, another display of her troubled nerves.

"I only caught the tail end of the conversation, but I could hear Mother telling Dr. Davies that she doesn't want us finding out about something. Of what that something is, I couldn't decipher, but she said that it would destroy the family." Rebekah didn't speak for a few seconds, letting the weight of her words fully sink in. "When I eventually walked into the room, they both acted suspiciously and pretended as if nothing had happened."

They both stayed quiet, too lost in their own thoughts to form any coherent explanations. All that could be heard through the phone line was the faint sound of each other's breathing. Elijah idly used his index finger to spin the pen laying on his desk around in half-hearted circles. Finally, it was Rebekah who broke the heavy silence.

"What do you think she means, Elijah?" There was a hint of desperation in her voice.

"I don't know," Elijah confessed softly.

"Elijah, I'm afraid Mother is sick," Rebekah admitted in a rush of words. "What other possible explanation could there be?" Elijah gripped the pen tightly in his fist.

"That wouldn't make any sense, though," he rationalized. His mind buzzed with all the reasons that explanation was incorrect. "Why would she allow you to come with her to the checkup if she didn't want you finding out she was sick? And wouldn't her doctor have said something during the checkup if something was wrong with her? Plus why would she be speaking to Dr. Davies about it and not her actual doctor?" His mother wasn't sick, she couldn't be.

"It was just a basic checkup," Rebekah replied. "Maybe she'd instructed her doctor not to say anything in front of me. And maybe she was speaking to Dr. Davies about it because she knows he'd never say a word."

"That still doesn't make sense," he insisted. "Her actual doctor would have to know about such an illness and there's no way they wouldn't address it during the checkup if she were actually sick."

"I don't know!" Rebekah exclaimed, exasperated. "It's the only explanation that seemed like it could fit. What on earth is she keeping from us that could destroy us?"

"Rebekah, I don't think it's wise to jump to any hasty conclusions. Mother would tell us if anything were truly wrong." He wanted badly to believe the words he was saying.

"Elijah, I see her nearly everyday. Why would she keep a secret like this from me? I don't understand." The age-old insecurity of not being worthy enough of her mother's confidence roared back to life.

"Have you talked to her about it yet?" he asked, though he already anticipated the answer.

"No, I wouldn't know what to say and somehow I know she wouldn't give me an answer even if I tried." She sighed dejectedly.

"Rebekah—"

"Look," she interrupted her eldest brother, "I didn't mean to burden you with all of this, but I thought you should be the first to know. I have a feeling it's something big, and I really don't think she was exaggerating. I saw the way she looked on our way home that day. I'd never seen her look that frightened before. It was like she knew something terrible is going to happen. I don't know what she's keeping from us, but all I know is that it can't be anything good." They fell into another tense silence. Whereas Elijah would usually offer words of comfort to ease his little sister's troubles, he now found himself void of any such platitudes. Anything offered at this point would only be insincere.

"You should get some sleep, Rebekah," he eventually said. "We can talk about it more tomorrow."

"Alright," she sighed.

"Thank you for telling me, Rebekah," he said. She hummed in response. "And Rebekah," he said, "don't mention this to anyone else." The implication was clear in his words: Klaus.

"I won't, brother," she promised. "I'll let you go, then. Good luck tomorrow."

"Thank you."

"Good night, Elijah."

"Good night, 'Bekah," he responded softly.

Rebekah ended the call with the same feelings of anxiety and distress as before she'd dialed her brother's number. Elijah was usually the one to calm her nerves, especially during her frequent tendency to overreact. He would appeal to logic, sorting through issues that had previously thrown her into a state of turmoil, making her see the absurdity in her distress and leaving her wondering why she hadn't come up with those solutions herself in the first place.

But this time was different. He had barely offered her any words of consolation and he had hardly even tried to suggest another plausible explanation as to their mother's confusing behavior. Rebekah knew him well enough to know he was already fashioning a thousand other explanations in his head, spinning them around in dizzy circles until at least one of them made sense. Whatever the true explanation turned out to be, Rebekah only hoped her mother's prediction of an impending disaster would prove untrue.

French translations:

"Pleasure."

"Pleased to meet you."

"I'm eager to see your work."

"Wow! Miss Caroline, you speak French?"

"I studied in France while I was at university."

"The ferris wheel at La Place Bellecour."