"Have a good evening, Mrs Hendriks," I usher at the door, waving politely as the woman hobbles away with her walking stick. No matter how many times I offered, she refused my help every time.

"I'm old, not ancient, dear," she'd reply, a twinkle in her milky brown eyes and crinkles around her smiling mouth. Despite her words, I worried still. I've seen how she struggles to stand from her stool after having the customary soup of the day, every night. I listen to her retell the story of how she met her husband – right here, at the Grill!

And the night grows colder. The sky may be dotted with only stray white clouds reflecting the sunset somewhere in the distance, but the breath of the wind is like icicles. My lips feel parched at the cool air and if I continue to lick them I'll get sores. In my mind I can't fathom how Mrs Hendriks walks her way back to the Home every night. My muscles ache from the cold, what it must do to her…

"She's been doing this for ages," Matt mentions when I head back inside, his eyes reflecting some of the glow I'd seen in the elderly woman's, his lips twitching into the same smile. For a moment I consider that maybe they're related. "Always orders the soup, always sits at the table closest to the bar, that's where she met Mr Hendriks, you know?"

I nod, because I do know. I've heard the woman tell me the tale countless times before. "When did he die?" I ask instead, because this isn't a story I've heard.

Matt pauses in wiping down a table, lips pinching in thought. "Three years ago, it was a heart attack, but by that time the Alzheimer's already started to kick in and, well, Mrs Hendriks spent most of her time here before anyway."

There's a sense of pain in my chest for the elderly couple. To grow old together and eventually to forget… I shake my head, "She's nice though,"

"Very nice," Matt agrees, his smile returns and he slings the dishcloth over his shoulder, face turning to me, "Do you feel it yet?"

My brows lift and I tilt my head, "'Feel it?'"

"Yeah, the Mystic Falls effect," Matt attempts to explain the rest of his face crinkling as his smile widens into a fully-fledged grin.

"I…don't really know; what does it feel like exactly?"

"Like home," the boy states.

Matt's words stay with me until I reach Klaus' house later that evening, a parcel of left overs under my arm and a thermos of coffee in my hand.

Home…

It's a silly notion, really. What was home really? But I can't help but feel that Matt struck a chord, that his words had sunk deep and rendered a part of me incapable of digging for the truth.

"Clearwater!" My head lifts after I close the door behind me, "Is that cannoli I smell?"

A smile twitches at my lips and I shuffle along the foyer where weeks ago I had lain paralysed, where months ago I'd first stepped into a new world. I pass the study's door and hear an answering growl from within, a chuckle tingles at my lips. "I'll just heat it up for you, Klaus,"

"You better be, I'm starved," comes the grouchy reply and I slip into the kitchen before he can produce further demands.

Connoli heated and a mug poured to the brim with coffee for me, I make my way back to the study and shoulder the door open. "Ah, it's warm in here," I state, crossing the room to place the food in front of Klaus by his desk.

"I'll give you mild credit, the fire was a good idea," Klaus compliments without looking up at me, his hands and eyes already trained on the food.

"Well, I try," I sip the coffee, eyes skimming over the papers littering Klaus' desk. He's been writing today…he rarely does, but he's been doing it more often as of late. More times than now I catch him writing instead of drawing these days and ponder what could have changed. Was he writing to Hayley or maybe to Kol or Elena or Elija? The mysterious Rebekah I had yet to meet? Could any of them read that funny handwriting? I couldn't, but the letters were obviously not meant for me to read. "What's that called?" I ask after a moment has passed and Klaus has shoved a fork of cannoli into his mouth.

His brows raise in question and I point to his writing.

"This…language or whatever it is,"

Klaus swallows and leans back, eyes scanning over the pages, "It's old,"

"There's a Mrs Hendriks who comes to the Grill, she's always specific to state that there's a difference between old and ancient. This, Klaus, I'm sure is more than just 'old'."

He rolls his eyes, "Fine, ancient, as ancient as I am I guess. No-one's used this language in over a thousand years, even then it was rare. At some point what was natural to me slipped away into nothing but history book references."

I cock my head and head to his shelf, the fingers of my free hand reach for the familiar leather bound book I'd come across so long ago. I place the coffee down and flip through the pages, recognising the symbols – letters – as Klaus was using them at his desk. My fingers pause over the one picture that had always made me scrunch my face in concentration; I turn the book to face Klaus. "I saw this some time ago. I was never sure if I was right in assuming the word at the bottom was Rebekah, yet I saw the name Rebekah written in modern English a few times on other drawings of this woman. Your sister, I assume…"

"You assume correct," Klaus says, eyes lingering on the picture for a long moment before he turns back to the food. "Do put that away, Clearwater, even if you can't read it, the mere fact that you're holding the diary of a young fool is disconcerting."

This time I roll my eyes, but I comply and replace the book, fingers stroking over the worn parchment. With coffee securely back in my hands I head over to the arm chair by the fire, sinking into the sponge grateful to be off my feet. "Could I even bother asking you to teach me to read that?"

"Not going to happen,"

"Aye, aye, captain," I grouse in mock frustration and a smile tugs at my lips when Klaus snorts.

"You've been watching TV again, haven't you?"

I shrug, not caring if he can see it or not from where he's sitting, "What else am I supposed to do when you gallivant off during the day and my only company is children's cartoons?"

"Have you thought about working day shifts instead?"

I purse my lips and shake my head, "Not for me. Night suits me well,"

A sigh, "You can find other things to entertain yourself,"

"If you teach me to read that funky hieroglyphics of yours then I could take up reading,"

"No,"

"Such a party pooper," I tap the side of my mug with my nails, eyes trained on the fire. The flames crackle, a piece of wood tumbles to the side. Air rushes through my lips, "What does the word 'home' mean to you?"

I can practically feel Klaus grimacing across the room, "Nothing too pleasant I assure you,"

"I guess…but…" I scowl at the fire and clutch the mug tighter, fighting to find the words. "What would home feel like?"

"It feels like vulnerability and loss," Klaus states matter-of-fact, "The last time my mother attempted to reunite our family and create a home, we all very nearly died. Some people aren't meant to feel home, Clearwater. Home is as dangerous as anything else out there, if you're looking for a home, I suggest you get the hell out of Mystic Falls,"

Silence rings like an electric drill through the room, "This is your home though," I turn slightly in my seat so I'm facing Klaus, and I speak before he can deny it. "It is. I've seen it. You belong here. Mystic Falls, this stupid mansion, this overly decorated study –it's all your home. I'm not sure what that means for me, but nothing here would be the same without you. You're a part of this place."

Klaus raises his eyes to glare at me, "And why would you say that?"

"Because no matter how many horrible memories linger here, you remain anyway, you stay because you know deep down that nothing will ever feel the same."

The glare intensifies, but at least I haven't been hit over the head by a flying book, or desk, yet. "I'm assuming you don't have a home then?"

I close my eyes, momentarily thinking back to Seth and Jacob, the pack, Billy and the embracing ocean at my door step. "I think I might have two, actually,"

"Two?" Klaus sounds mildly incredulous and slightly offended as if the possibility should not exist.

"My first home is with my brother…Sam," As much as I hate to admit it, Sam will always be a part of my life, even if it's a part I don't particularly like. "My pack." I open my eyes, see the narrowed state of Klaus' and a small smirk teases the edges of my mouth, "My second home is here…maybe. Well at least I think it might be, I could be wrong, maybe I'm sleep deprived and Matt was talking fluffy nonsense into my ears all night,"

"Matt? Elena's friend?" Klaus all but growls and I pout.

"I guess so, but he's my friend as well now, I hope."

"You're childish," Klaus states coldly.

"You're a rude vampire overlord," I mock back with sincerity.

Klaus tries not to chuckle, I know he does, but he still fails miserably. And damn if that doesn't make me feel warm and fuzzy.

In all honesty, the long chapters were cool, but I feel like the shorter chapters are easier to write. They come to me with less stress. Maybe one day I'll go back to 4 000 words. Only not today :) not if you want more updates anyway ;P