AN: I confess, that while I enjoyed the Caroline in TVD, it was the Klaroline in The Originals that really drew me in.
Part 3
Her mother raised a strong woman.
This litany repeated over and over in her mind. In the cold nights, the words were a blanket she used to warm her. She was bright, bubbly, strong. This was the person she needed her girls to see. In front of them, she would be unfazed.
"I'm taking the girls for the holiday this year," Alaric told her. Sharing the caretaking of real humans, one gets to know the other well enough. Their mutual respect helped in the arrangement, as well as eternal gratitude. Caroline should have felt a pang of envy. After all, Christmas was her holiday. At least, it used to be. It was of the person she had been. But Caroline had never been a good liar, and if strangers could tell from her demeanor that something was wrong, there was a snowball's chance in hell that it escaped Alaric. "And you are welcome any time. We'll get your room ready for you."
She had kept the smile on her face as she prepared the twins for the week away with their father. Caroline grinned as she kissed cold red noses eager for adventure. "Lizzie, Josie, don't finish all of Santa's cookies, okay?" With a tight hug and a kiss for each girl, Caroline said goodbye. "Have the best time with your aunts and uncles."
It was routine now, as she and Alaric took one girl through each side of the vehicle, then strapped them in securely at the backseat. Shutting the door, Alaric walked over to Caroline to give her a hug. "Drive safe," she reminded him of their precious cargo.
"The offer stands, Caroline." She gave a small smile, nodding in acknowledgement. "Your friends miss you."
But she was in no way ready for Christmas, for socializing, for pretending this had not been one of the very worst years. The girls did not need the horrible mess that she was as a core memory. Once they were out of sight, her faint smile faded, and finally she could release the tension in her shoulders from having to lift herself straight as if she could not just melt into goo and seep into the ground. Caroline made her way back to the dimly lit house, gray and dark, a stark contrast to the neighbors, a huge deviation from the festive colors that she greeted the holidays with each year.
And by God, if the neighbors would not turn down the repetitive Christmas song blaring in the night, she swore she would snap some necks.
"Hello, love," came the smooth, familiar voice.
Caroline looked up at him as he leaned languidly at the column, a playful smile on his face. His dimple showed, and if she had not known better she would call it a boyish charm. With anyone else she would have straightened once more, made an effort to smile in welcome.
Not with Klaus.
No matter how many months it had been between today and the last time they were together, pretense would never be required with Klaus. She trudged on towards him, in the direction of the house. Caroline knew her feet probably dragged, and nothing was inviting. He had driven all this way and she was a mess. Instead of recoiling, he stretched out his arm and offered his hand.
For all the effort it took to simply exist now, Caroline took the offer and placed her hand in his.
She reached his side, rested her head on his shoulder as they entered the empty house. Reluctantly, Caroline tore herself away from him and walked over to the small kitchen. She poured from the half bottle of scotch that Stefan had kept there. Klaus stepped forward, expecting her to hand it to him. Instead, she threw back her head and downed it in one swig. Klaus placed his hands in his coat pockets, then chuckled.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
"Of course, love. I know how exhausting it is to put on a show for other people, even if they're family."
"My girls," she said easily, without a hitch or hesitation to claim them, "don't deserve the years of therapy they'd have to face if their childhood memories are all about a dysfunctional mother."
He stepped forward and placed a hand over hers. Then she reached for the bottle and poured a shot into her now empty glass. "I am happy to make a contribution to the Saltzman family trust, in case you finally want to let go. Five years, ten years of counseling? With how much you've kept in check since childhood, I might just fund it for fifty years."
Caroline giggled, watched him raise the golden liquid to his full lips. It was wonderful to laugh, even a little. It had been months since she did. Her smile did not completely fade when she asked, "Not to be cold and unwelcoming, but what are you doing here, Klaus?"
"You will never be cold and unwelcoming, Caroline. Not to me," he responded. Despite the years of flirting and wooing that never had been subtle, Caroline could tell it was said only in affection. "On your favorite holiday."
On the first holiday since Stefan died.
"He did well by you," he said, half a statement, half a question.
"He was dead before the ink dried on the marriage documents," Caroline replied sharply. Her hand flew over her mouth. Damn the lack of pretense—it was her damned setting with Klaus. Klaus' eyebrows shot up, his eyes curious, studying her. Her shoulders began to shake, and then she could find hysteria-driven giggles racking her body. "I'm not even sure anyone filed it. I don't even know it was legal."
Instead of finding humor in it, he watched her. Understanding how grief came in a myriad ways, and how people processed them in extremes. But hell if he would hold her back from probably the few times she let out real emotions, allowed only because none of her friends were here, and the children were off with their father.
As the emotional break calmed, Caroline used her fingers to wipe at the moisture that seeped out of the corners of her eyes. She caught her breath finally and took the still half shot glass, arching an eyebrow at the way that Klaus drank.
There was something so intimate about the way they shared this one glass while standing by the kitchen aisle, with dozens of glasses that she could have brought out instead.
"He eventually did well by you," he pressed. "You're alive."
She could not believe he was pressing this, when she really did not want to discuss it. There was a reason she was spending Christmas alone. Her voicemail was bursting; she had hundreds of emails and text messages left unread. It was not as if she did not have many friends who were concerned about her decision to take time away when everyone.
But there was only one person who was here, pressing.
She placed the glass down on the counter, then raised bright eyes to him. Stubbornly, she parried, "Why do you care?"
"He was my friend," Klaus reminded her.
"And I loved him." Caroline shook her head in frustration. "Shouldn't this just—" Her hands gestured wildly, trying to express the emotion not just with words but her fluttered actions. "—Drive you crazy, make you hate us—"
So, this was the silence in those months. For a moment, Klaus had been concerned that this was the relationship to sever this long game. Instead, did he detect a tinge of shame?
"Love…" When he poured another shot, he offered it to her. This time, she raised it to her lips and she took a small sip. Good. Scotch was not tequila shots. He would show her. Eventually. There was a wide world to see. When she was ready. Klaus walked around the aisle, removing the barrier between them. She swallowed, then placed the glass on the counter. He drew closer to her until he could hear her slow heartbeat, and feel her breath on his face. "The day I hate you is the day I cease to exist—maybe not even then."
"Stefan—"
"You loved him." She nodded. "And Tyler, and Matt, and a hundred more boys in the future. Maybe. You've had lovers, and so have I." Klaus cracked a smile when a moment of irritation flashed in her eyes. "But it changes nothing. All the loves that come and go will be moments to cherish and remember—but they'll be nothing compared to forever." He raised her hand to his lips, then stepped back, giving her more space. Caroline let out the breath she did not even realize she was holding. Suddenly she regretted the distance it added between them. "Only when you're ready."
Stefan had only been gone months.
"When I'm ready," she repeated, and it sounded like a promise.
And it pleased him. "You have only to say the word."
Klaus turned his back on her and walked to the living room. He looked around at the tree that stood in the living room with its string on lights that she had been forced to put on for the children. Sitting on the round red rug at the bottom of it was one wrapped gift. Alaric had brought the girls' gifts with them, so they could open them on Christmas morning. Klaus bent down to pick up the lone present.
For Mommy. From Josie and Lizzie.
"That's lovely," he murmured. "And look at that handwriting. Very impressive for their age." Klaus glanced at her. "But I don't need to be surprised. How lucky they are to have such a good student for a mom." She flushed. "Hope would be lucky to be under your wing. She'd be writing cursive in a week."
If he was not who he was, and she was normal human Caroline, what a fun alternate universe Brady Bunch they would be, she thought.
"I don't have the energy for Christmas, Klaus," she finally admitted out loud to him.
"That much is obvious, love."
"I know how stubborn you are, and you're going to say it's better to get back to normal," she continued.
Klaus picked up the throw blanket and then arranged the pillows on the couch. He took out his phone and pressed a few buttons. Then he started hunting around the living room. With a satisfied snort, Klaus grasped under the couch and came back up, holding the remote in success. He flopped down on the couch, tapping the place beside him.
When Klaus turned on the tv, Caroline frowned. "What are you doing?" She had expected him to make many arguments and a case for the giant Rockefeller Christmas tree, or the neon alien-like lights in Shibuya, or the nostalgic white Christmas in the Nordics. She did not expect him to flop down on the sofa and scrawl through the newly released list of holiday romcoms on Netflix.
"Do you really think that low of me?" he feigned outrage with a sparkle in his eye. "Did you think I came here to woo the recent widow of an old friend?" Caroline walked slowly towards him and took her place next to him. She leaned against him, warm and inviting. "I know how to act human, at least," he told her. It was the casual way he dropped a kiss on her head—not romantic, but fond. Caring. "You have a broken heart, and you don't want to celebrate. He left, and you're heartbroken."
Caroline was very sure he selected the words carefully. She hated the other word. He wasn't going to say he died.
"Broken hearts mean romcoms, pizza and ice cream—the latter two of which are-" He glanced at his phone. "—here in twenty minutes."
"And here I thought scotch and microwave mac and cheese was going to be dinner."
"When have I ever underdelivered?"
"Never."
Caroline appreciated his warm arm as he brought her closer to him. "This one is about a spunky American girl who stumbles into some mistaken identity shenanigans, then brings Christmas cheer to a family of stuffy European aristocrats," he murmured. "This sounds interestingly improbable." Klaus clicked to select it. When it started, he grunted, "She's blonde and bubbly. Maybe this is more probable than I thought."
For the time being, the dark cloud that hung over her cleared. Klaus commented gently about the plot.
"Oh he's adopted!" he exclaimed when Caroline rose to answer the door to claim the delivery.
Caroline broke open the ice cream seal, and moaned in satisfaction as the sweetness covered her tongue. She turned to him, then offered him a spoonful, which he took with a grin. The wistful look on his face was not something she imagined. She put the pint down, then reached for a slice, curling back into him.
The couple on the screen stood before the skating rink now, then turned to each other. Their silhouette stark and idyllic as they stood with the sun behind them. When they melted into their kiss to tick off the final holiday movie trope, Klaus' arm around her tightened. "Well, isn't that romantic," he said softly.
"I know you'll be gone in the morning," she said, matter of factly.
He paused the movie. "I will stay if you want me to."
He was a father, who had a child only a couple of years older than hers. "I won't keep you away from Hope."
"Hope is staying with her mother. I was going to pop in for breakfast." Klaus shrugged. "Say the world, Caroline. I know that for some ridiculous reason, you are not used to it. But I choose you. I will always choose you." Silence. And then he concluded, "You're not ready."
"Thank you for tonight."
~ o ~ o ~ o ~
A thousand years he lived.
Glorious, wondrous, legendary years. A millennium and then some.
In all those years all that he ever wanted to have was real, genuine love-like the kind that his father had starved him for since he was young. In all those years, he feared eternal solitude—to walk the world alone forever. Both his desire and fear fused and became the reason for many of what—he knew by the end—had been the root of all the decisions he had made. Or the evil, as some would categorize it.
But not all of them were so awful, he thought. They were what brought his salvation.
His fear of being alone eventually led to his daughter. His search for love brought him Caroline.
Family. Sacrifice. Salvation.
His peace he found before he ever faded. His legacy, his miracle child, would get to live. And he knew his strong, noble family would be with her. And she was under the care of the best soul on earth—his surprise, the whirlwind he was unprepared for, the bait that became his obsession.
The bright-eyed beauty that he had sworn to mentor and to spoil with beauty, and art, and the world. Yet over the years since Mystic Falls had become the one who taught him what would be more valuable—family, legacy, his very worth.
Those last hours with her, knowing a soul so pure and open, the only woman who truly saw him over the years, brought a calm and peace that heaven could only hope to be. Not one soul anywhere else ever compared.
Twenty years he knew her, spent even less with her, but her handprint in whatever wretched soul remained in his was stark and final. Immortal. And not once did she ever utter the words. Twenty years—a grain of sand in the length of his lifetime, a fraction of a speck of dust in his infinity.
Yet in his peace, he found his comfort when he closed his eyes and remembered her, looking up at him as they stood under the sun, her hair a golden halo around her face, on the streets of his kingdom. Because however irredeemable his enemies thought of him, towards the end of those twenty years, she knew him. And so she always, always came.
She was right. It was not yet time.
It was not she that was not ready for him.
It was he. The millennium had not been enough to make him the man worth loving. She was the only one who insisted.
It had not been time.
And then, it was.
A thousand years he lived. And right this moment it was a thousand deaths that tore through him all at once. Maybe more, his mind screamed, as the force that wrapped around him with its many fangs dug into his skin and burrowed forcefully into every muscle, ever sinew and tendon, then gripped his bones and shattered. Already on his knees, muddied by the wet ground, cold and burning all the same, his back bowed, his entire body contorted as if he was going through a hundred wolf transformations all at once.
"No, no, no, no," he could her murmur—in fear, in disbelief, in sadness.
Gods, he abhorred ever knowing she was unhappy when they were—their version of living. And now, knowing it was his presence, his current state that made her so.
The indignity from the cry of pain that ripped from his throat humbled him. For once he was grateful of that freezing torrent that was unceasing, because it hid those pathetic tears that it squeezed out from him.
In front of her.
With all the strength that he could muster he pulled himself together, growling at the effort. He straightened, despite the war raging inside of him. Klaus straightened and willed himself to get beyond the pain that would destroy him had he been alive. He controlled the wrenching pain by swallowing his screams. You are a hybrid. A vampire. And Original. Pain cannot make you cower.
He turned his gaze to her. And he could see it in her, could tell that she knew how the pain raged in him.
Her trepidation turned into determination before his eyes.
She was majestic. Even more now, wiser and more secure than last he had seen her.
How long had it been, he wondered? How long had he been gone?
She held fast to his arm, and she stood, pulling him along, lending him her strength the way she had never had to in their lifetimes. While his pride rejected the offer, this body—forged by some miracle—still staggered. And he held on, resting his arm around her shoulders to lean against her, allowing her the burden of his weight. Her arm snaked around his waist to bolster him. In their proximity he turned his head and buried his face in her hair. Briefly.
The scent that assailed his senses was intoxicating.
She was breathtaking, he thought, as she firmly took charge of the impossible. The torrent of rain, the lightning and the rolling thunderstorm were bullies that chased them. As fast as she could, supporting his weight, she took him through the yawning entrance and into the school. The empty hallways allowed their surreptitious escape from the elements. The noise from outside did not let up, as if it was a giant chasing after its stolen goose.
Caroline assisted him into one of the cushioned sofas. The pain that ripped through him still raging, but out of the rain he could grit his teeth through it. The moments that passed helped dull the pain until it was a ceaseless, steady throb. The very worst could have been the passing through.
She turned around, hurried to the fireplace, and quietly stoked it until the flames were stronger. It would take time, but the air around him began to radiate warmth.
Caroline spied a coat in the corner, probably forgotten by one of the students before they left for school break. She picked it up, then handed it to him.
Klaus only then realized he had passed through naked.
"I'm going to look for clothes, for a towel," she told him. Caroline helped him into the coat to give him some cover. Her mind was racing.
And then she knelt in front of him, still reeling in disbelief.
"Stay," she whispered.
His throat was raw from screaming in pain. The throbbing all over him was muted, but still persistent. Yet he could not help but respond, "I don't know what year it is, for me to tease you about how long it took you, love." She bit her lower lip. And then he nodded. "I swear to you I am not going anywhere."
It was those words. It was him. Damn him, because he was the one that would make her sad again.
The determination that served as adrenaline in the last few minutes, allowing her to take him from the elements while in shock, that brought them inside and into the warmth, was sapped away from her muscles in an instant.
From her position upright on her knees, Caroline sank down, sitting on the floor and resting her body against the side of the chair. And she began to sob. Deep, racking, shaking sobs.
Klaus reached for her, almost afraid to touch her lest this turned out to be a heavenly dream, and he found himself still in the calm serenity of Peace.
When he touched her, he felt the warm glow of her cheek, the stain of her tears. "What a mess we've become in old age, love," he murmured. With not a little effort, he pulled himself off the couch and lowered himself to the floor, barely caring that the coat could not cover him. "Caroline," he said.
"How?" she gasped, her eyes bright with tears as she looked at him.
In that second he knew, believed her fully. He should not have doubted it. There was not a single selfish bone in the girl he knew from Mystic Falls, or the woman she had become in their encounters.
"I don't know, love," he admitted.
If it was her, it could be so simple. It was a flare of longing or a sign of devotion. Be it right or wrong, they were made to figure it out. Rebekah should still be here, maybe Freya. They would know powerful beings that could assist them, even if they needed to reverse this.
But it was not, and Klaus was at a loss not knowing if this was a boon or a danger to the ones he loved that were still here. He drew closer to her, years of longing crashing in waves over him. He brushed her tears away with his thumb.
"I'm sorry I never said it," she whispered.
But he heard it. And he saw it. Actions always spoke more than words.
His lips pressed over hers. The surge of warmth inside him was hotter than the burning embers in the fireplace. She was still wet from the rain but had been thinking only of his change of clothes. Her lips surrendered under his, parting gently, allowing him access. Her arms snaked around his neck, locking and pulling him close.
He could feel her lean back, and he supported her as she lay back on the carpet. His body followed closely, his neck still locked in with her arms. Klaus deepened the kiss, gently, without the frantic youth that pulsed through them in the woods.
"Klaus, I love—"
The words cut off when the doors flew open, sending the cold wet air in the room.
tbc