Hello everyone :) Hope you like this chapter, let me know what you think, and if you have any comments or suggestions please please please let me know, I absolutely adore hearing from every one of you! I do apologize in advance for any grammatical errors, editing in the middle of the night isn't so thorough :/ -Cheers
"She can't do the spell, she's not strong enough." My smack my hand down on the table, causing the people sitting in the next booth to shoot us a look.
"Caroline, it's not up to you, Bonnie is set on helping—I don't think there's anything anyone of us can do to change her mind." I glare a Stefan, always the rational one; and I hate it.
"Well we're just going to have to try! I'm not letting my best friend die for some stupid eighty-thousand year old weirdo who wants to kill himself—"
"We are not going to do anything," Damon interjects, cutting off my rant before it can even start. "and you, and not going to stop anyone from helping. All hands on deck."
"Not if it mean the owner of those hands are going to die!"
"People die Barbie, it just happens." Damon reaches for a fry on my plate, and I smack his hand, though he still manages to steal a small handful. "Bonnie, Kol, Silas—"
"Jeremy." Elena says quietly from the corner of the booth, everyone at the table falling silent. Damon looks like he feels sick—as he should. Talking about death with such flippancy with a girl who's lost every shred of family she's ever had.
He can almost sound as emotionless as Klaus when he talks like that...
"Sorry," Elena shudders lightly, as if trying to shrug off a bad memory, "But Caroline's right, we can't let Bonnie sacrifice herself for this! That's nuts."
"Speaking of nuts," Damon nods to the bar, all of us follow his gaze.
Rebekah is leaning against the bar, a genuine smile on her lips as she talks to Matt, who also looks like he's caught up in the hushed conversation; both seeming to incline towards each other without noticing.
"Pretty bizarre..." Stephan murmurs.
I stare at the pair of them, the word bizarre not the first word that comes to mind...
"I know only two people who are more so..." Damon murmurs, his eyes shoot to meet mine, before straying over my shoulder. I turn slightly in my chair, following his eye line, just in time to see the door to the grill swing closed behind Klaus.
I quickly look away before he looks at me, knowing if he does, my cheeks will redden embarrassingly so.
I stare at my hands on the table, thinking of something, anything I can say to break this sudden tension with me and everyone at the table.
I open my mouth to speak, just as I feel a pair of hands land on the back of my chair.
I freeze.
"Elijah," Stefan greets, nodding.
I let out a long, nervous breath, my heart returning to its usual pace.
"Good evening," Elijah's voice is distinct; a friendly tone, with a hidden edge of intimidation just under the surface.
"Didn't know you were back in town," Damon narrows his eyes at the original, as Elijah moves away from my chair and around the end of the table, making eye contact with all of us, saving me for last, and lingering a few seconds longer than the rest.
"Yes well, I had planned to go to New Orleans; I have some old business to tend to there. When I heard Nicklaus had made his way back to town, I decided to postponement my departure. Thought he might want to join me," He looks over his shoulder at his brother at the bar—I kick myself, unable to resist looking in his direction as well. He's either not listening, or making a point of ignoring his brother's veiled offer.
"In any case, I will be staying in town for a short while longer; failing to keep my alcoholic brother away from the grills liquor supply." My eyes shift over slightly to the left in time to catch the subtlest of eye rolls from Klaus—who regardless, doesn't have a drink in front of him.
"His alcoholism is the only thing I like about him." Damon interjects, tipping his own glass of bourbon into his mouth.
"If you will excuse me," Elijah gives a respectful nod before joining Klaus and Rebekah at the bar.
Damon gives an exaggerated shudder, "Is it just me, or is that guy just a liiittle bit creepy?"
I take a long pull from my straw, emptying my glass of tonic and tequila, biting what's left of my lime before grabbing my purse.
"I need to go home; Rebekah and I are on Prom Prep tomorrow," I sigh. Normally I would be ecstatic about prom, but right now, with everything that's going on, the thought of any kind of celebration makes me kind of sick.
"You driving?" Elena glances at my two empty cocktail glasses, pulling her hair over one shoulder. She looks more tired than I do.
"Nope," I reach over, handing her my keys, and giving her a quick hug; saying goodnight to the Salvatore brothers before hurrying to the bar to catch Matt before he ducks into the kitchen with a bus bin full of dishes.
"Hey, I need to pay my tab," I help him with a few stray dishes before he walks over to the till.
He frowns, clicking a few buttons.
"No tab here for you Care," my brow furrows, and I mentally check if I had paid and forgotten.
"Maybe one of the Salvatore's?" Matt suggests, replacing his white dish towel over his shoulder, picking up his bin again.
I glance down the bar; Klaus still perched on his bar stool, still no drink in his hand, and a small white bill in front of him. He's ignoring me, engaging in lame banter with Rebekah about this week's busy prom schedule.
"Don't think so," I mumble, knowing how much I dislike gestures such as these, I can't imagine he did it for any other reason other than to get a reaction from me "Thanks," I mutter, retrieving my bag from the bar and heading for the door.
XXX
The night is cold. I pull my blazer closer around myself, missing the heater in my car.
"Responsible,"
I jump out of my skin, my hand going to the throat in surprise as I spin around.
Klaus is laughing at me before I can say anything.
"It's not funny, you scared me," I sigh heavily, though I find it hard not to smile at the sound of his laughter.
"My apologise," He steps closer, his breath white in the night air. "Walking home?"
"I'm responsible," I mimic his use of the word.
He steps close, his mouth brushing mine, his hand slipping around the back of my neck, tilting my face up towards his; our breathing the only sound in the quiet streets.
"Mmm..." I murmur against his mouth, slipping my hands into his jacket; around his back, letting the warmth of his coat warm my chilled skin. He pulls the rest of his jacket around me, enveloping me in him.
I tuck my face into his chest, breathing him in.
"I'm cold," I say, my mouth muffled against his shirt.
He chuckles; I frown when his arms let me go, watching as he lets his coat slip from his shoulders, wrapping it around me; the sleeves much too long, my hands getting lost in the material.
"Won't you be cold?" I ask, seeing how his thin long sleeved T-shirt clings to him in the night breeze. His only response is a quirked eyebrow in my direction before he starts walking again.
"Wait, where are you going?"
Without turning around, he keeps his head down against the cold, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I am merely walking my tipsycompanion home, as to protect her from any unsolicited advances."
I scoff and hurry to catch up, "I'm not tipsy."
He gives me a side look, opening his mouth, looking like he wants to say something; instead his lips twitch into that arrogant smirk.
"And I'm not completely inept, I may not be a million years old like you, but I am still a vampire, I think I can ward off the average mugger." I tuck my hair behind my ears, the wind blowing it into my face once again.
"I believe you."
"Good," I nod, "And I can pay for my own drinks too," I smack his arm half-heartedly.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about." No chink in his serious face as we continue down the middle of the abandoned street.
I roll my eyes, burying my nose into the collar of his jacket, absorbing his scent. "Right."
We fall silent; I carefully walk along the white line running down the centre of the street; my heels making a hollow clicking sound as it echoes against the shops that run down the avenue.
"Are you going to go to New Orleans?" My voice breaks the silence, my questions surprising us both.
"I should." The rareness of uncertainty in Klaus's voice takes me off guard every time I hear it.
"What's in New Orleans?"
He rubs his stubble, he hasn't shaved in a few days from what it looks like; I hold my breath as I watch his thoughtfulness, his consideration.
"History."
His vagueness shuts down my questioning. His tone going from light to midnight in a matter of seconds—bringing me back to the reality of who I'm speaking with, a living, breathing, time bomb.
It seems like only seconds later I'm walking up to my front door, Klaus's footsteps following me up my porch.
"Thanks," I say, turning around, his silence haunting his eyes as he watches me from the steps. I bite my lip, running a hand through my hair, "Are you leaving?" It comes out anxious, and I hate it.
Both of us know I'm not talking about leaving my doorstep. The possibility of him leaving town, for good, makes my stomach ache uncomfortably. And when the silence stretches, my heart speeds up, pain in my chest.
"Never mind," I shove the key in my door, turning it as it falls ajar.
His hand takes my wrist, holding me halfway in, half way outside my door.
"Wait," He says this low, careful.
"What do you want Klaus?"
"I want you to wait."
"Just let me go, just go—"
His kiss is intense, almost frantic. Scrambling for pieces of our fragile world that we've built ourselves— that fall off of us like sand. Pretending this could work, in anyway, that this could be something that lasts an average lifetime, let alone eternity.
I pull him close, resting my hands of his waist as he pushes me against the door frame, grabbing a handful of his shirt collar, keeping him captive there for as long as I can go without a breath.
"I have to..." I breathe against his mouth, retracting my arms from around him as we slowly release each other.
"I'll see you tomorrow." Klaus nods quickly, stepping off my doorway and onto my porch.
This small promise causing the weight in my stomach to lift, just slightly.
"Goodnight." I whisper, before slipping inside and closing the door silently.
I lean my forehead against the door jam, sighing heavily against the wood. Dropping my hand to the deadbolt, I realise my fingers are still drowning in the fabric of his jacket. I push the sleeves up, locking the door with a snap.
"Caroline."
I whip around, being frightened for the second time tonight, this time it's my mother's voice pulling me out of my daze. And from the horrified expression dominating her features, my guess is she saw more than enough...