Part 5
So what if she was a mama's girl?
Lizzie could think of far worse things for a daughter to be. She lit the candles, so many of them, until the whole top of the cake seemed like a single joint bonfire.
It was Hope who ushered her mom into the dining room and placed the hat on Caroline's head. In unison the two younger women sang the birthday song to Caroline's delight. She clasped her hands over her mouth when she saw the ridiculously horrid looking cake that was on literal fire.
"Happy 100th, mom. You are the sexiest centenarian on the face of this planet."
"Oh sweetheart," Caroline replied, receiving a kiss on the cheek from Lizzie. A pang of sadness crossed Caroline's face. "Having a daughter is the best gift for an old lady like me." Her mom, ever the empath, beamed at the auburn-haired tribrid in the room. "And by some miracle, I got three."
Hope grinned, pulling out a bottle of champagne from her bag. She shook her head slightly at Lizzie.
Brush it away.
Josie was not a topic she brought up. She and Hope learned it the hard way, as one by one the people in Caroline's life fell away. Caroline abhorred talk of death. Over the decades they had been the constant. If Lizzie was grateful for anything about turning immortal, it was that she could spare her mom the loss.
There were good days when memories brought laughter. These couple of decades, Caroline grew more pensive with everyone that passed. Elena, Damon, Bonnie, Sheriff Matt.
Josie drove her over the edge. Having refused to turn, with Josie being so in tune to the earth and their source of magic, her human body could only take her so far.
Cool or not, Lizzie loved listening to Caroline talk about her life. And on her birthday, it was going to be a treat. All the stories that Caroline divulged when she became tipsy were fantastic. One time, tipsy as a clown, her mom told the story of her dad turning into a psycho vampire hunter. But the times when Caroline was really drunk were classic.
There was that year when they learned about Hope's dad painted the town red, then gifted her mom the sketch. Of her and a horse! Hope cringed at the idea and laughed along with them. At that time, Josie and Lizzie thought that Hope came to these birthdays eager to absorb snippets of stories about her dad. She always looked like the perfect blend of wistful and sad. But she always brought the booze, so she was always going to be invited. The next year Caroline had unwrapped the picture frame of the sketch and the same one was displayed in her office until now.
Lizzie would never forget the 78th. Caroline had been more pensive then. Bonnie had just died months before. Drunk Caroline, inspired by the jazz that played on the sound system, began talking about dancing on the streets of New Orleans one unforgettable night.
They were captive audience, all three of them. Caroline Forbes, with a wine glass in hand, swayed to the music and closed her eyes. With a smile, she remembered out loud the arms that wrapped around her, his breath close, holding on to him as he spoke about the meaning of art.
"Sometimes I like to watch everyone in the studio," Caroline admitted to them, "imagining his voice, telling me about the depth of the strokes and the contrast and light and how that damn apple is really the true secret of life."
That birthday her mom was drunk enough never to say a name and also drunk enough to so starkly tell them who it was without saying his name.
Lizzie and Josie were entranced at the youth that teased their mom's face. Hope grew more intrigued.
Tonight was spent before the fireplace, regaling each other with stories of adventure. Lizzie watched fondly as Caroline recounted the ridiculous adventures of a younger Caroline Forbes. Sober, this was how it started. She could not believe the stories have not run out yet. Her mom did have an interesting young adulthood. She found it funny how her mom's jaw dropped as she and Hope talked about the mythical creatures that mysteriously found their way to the school over and over whenever Caroline was off searching for answers.
If dad had been alive, suffice it to say he would be dead.
She plied Caroline with more alcohol, meeting Hope's eyes and nodding.
"So, Caroline, that spell that you found—the one that Aunt Freya warned about…"
Caroline smiled sadly. Her eyes were bleary. Lizzie fought down the urge to stop her because she was drunk. She and Hope, together, made a decision borne out of decades watching her mother's shine dim. With every year, and every death, until soon Caroline would completely fade away.
How fair would that be? It was like extinguishing the sun.
"I told him there could be options. And he knew it. One day, he told me, in some forgotten language, in some city lost in lava, likely lies buried the secret to having everything." Caroline reached for Hope's cheek. "But he was terrified for you. He loved you so much."
Hope closed her hand over Caroline's and turned her lips into her palm. Like it or not, Lizzie thought, that girl became as close as a sister to her. In one of their secret rendezvous—because boy, did this day take a lot of plotting and planning—they had to face the fact that they were part of some weird familial but never consummated connection. Lizzie rued the day when they would get her mom drunk enough to disabuse them of the notion that she never got together with Hope's dad.
Lizzie blinked away the tears that rose in her eyes. She half suspected that part of her mother's blind search all those years ago was also in part to prove him right.
"I found it in Cuicuilco," Caroline shared. "The lava buried it for more than two thousand years. The locals had taken it down on that small parchment. Cost a fortune, no one could understand it."
"Until Aunt Freya."
All of a sudden, Caroline drew back her hand and wrapped her arms around herself. Lizzie wondered if the memory of her encounter with Freya Mikaelson still brought phantom chills to her. Hope's Aunt Freya seemed such a cool old millennial. Heh.
But you don't live that long, collect power for so much time, only to be cool. Sometimes, you would need to be cold.
"Girls," Caroline said, "my age is starting to get to me." Lizzie knew it was a lie. Something about that encounter with that ancient, powerful witch had stuck painfully to her mother. All she knew was that there was a magically sealed box that taunted them, sitting on her mom's desk, whispering, calling—singing!—to her whenever she was nearby.
One night in the darkness she found Hope standing in the office herself, staring down at the velvet box. "It's chanting," Hope said.
When Caroline left the two of them for bed and to sleep off her lightheadedness, Lizzie and Hope made their way to Caroline's office.
"Do you know what needs to be done?" Lizzie asked.
The velvet box sat there, taunting them. The witch that cursed it sealed was one of the most powerful, and certainly the oldest living one they knew. Her powers were miniscule compared to Freya Mikaelson's. As powerful of a tribrid Hope was, Lizzie was certain her witch magic paled in comparison.
Hope took a small knife from her pocket, then cut into her skin. She pushed the knife to Lizzie quickly. "Before they heal," Hope told her. Once Lizzie had the cut in her palm, Hope placed both their hands on the box, smearing the blood. She chanted in Latin, and motioned for Lizzie to say the words back, exactly as she said them.
The box popped open with a snap.
"I've listened to Caroline enough times over the last fifty years," Hope stated, proud of herself. "When she was assuring me that no one can get to the spell. Freya used her magic, tied it to the core of her bloodline to Esther, and she mixed it with Caroline's blood."
Lizzie picked up the piece of parchment, careful that it did not disintegrate into ashes with how ancient it was. She glanced up at Hope, and was startled at the flash of the camera as Hope took the photo. She tossed the parchment back into the velvet box and closed it tight. "Come on."
~ o ~ o ~ o ~
With a flash, she stood between him and the intruder. He cursed under his breath as he struggled to stand. Whoever it was had no knowledge of the extent of his powers. It could not be so far in the future that anyone would dare attack anywhere if they knew that Klaus Mikaelson was returned.
Caroline glanced at him, her sharp eyes softened. It was more painful that the pulsing ache in his muscles. "It will be back. You went through—"
"A thousand hells," he finished, grimacing.
"Your strength will come back, Klaus," Caroline assured him. He felt her touch his arm gingerly. "Now, I'll protect you. Stay here."
The prospect was unusual, so against his very being. Immediately, he found himself protesting the concept. "Caroline," he said, objecting with his tone.
She cocked her head and furrowed her brow. "I'm not a baby vampire anymore, Klaus. I've been responsible for a school of supernatural children. I can take care of one villain."
Even now as he grew in strength, he doubted he could strangle even a measly werewolf. In fact, he doubted he would be able to withstand a class of kindergarteners high on sugar. His knees were still trembling.
He cursed out loud this time. No one threatened him or his own. Does this world not know that Caroline Forbes and this whole school was his own. There would need to be some reckoning, a massacre large and outrageous enough that the supernatural world that would be capable of hurting her would think twice.
How long had he been dead that anyone would dare this?
Then again, their interludes since Mystic Falls had been few, far between, and so intimately between them that barely anyone would have known. It was one mistake he would not make again. The world would know her. This time, no one would think of her without fearing the wrath of Niklaus Mikaelson. If there was anything he could do to ensure she would be safe in the next thousand years, it was that.
He could not stop her as she sped away to confront whoever it was that intruded. From the quiet that descended upon them, Klaus could tell there was magic in air. This was no simple wolf or even a vampire. There would have been commotion. The strange, cold chill spoke of more ancient, dreadful power.
Clearly, Caroline had veered the conflict away from him.
Stubborn girl. It pissed him off, but recognized that no one had protected him in this way ever in the thousand years he lived. Elijah had cared about his immortal soul, and sought his salvation in the ways that an older brother could. But this is the first that anyone had protected his person since he took his father's abuse.
He had always been more physically powerful than anyone else who gave a damn.
Having lived too long with his gifts, Klaus had never been one to reject or forget the advantage it gave him. He allowed himself to be supported by leaning against the walls of the corridor, making his way to an empty office. He willed himself to move faster, the withstand he weakness that proved to be headwinds. The loud crash from outside made him flinch.
So it was not just some quiet, dark magic out there that she faced. The altercation had turned physical. It was consistent, and he assured himself that the longer it continued, it meant only that she held up her own.
Save from periods rare and far between, she had not been a violent vampire. Who knew how long she would last? He never even saw the intruder, so Klaus had no hint of how strong it was.
Strong, he thought, if the destruction was any indication.
He hobbled his way through the corridors. It was fortunate to find himself in a small office. It looked like it was one of the teachers'. He was able to pull on the most nondescript trousers in the world, and pull a gray sweater over his torso. At least, even as weak as he was, he was clothed and more able to move.
Klaus Mikaelson was no damsel in distress. He made his way towards her, wondering if his current state would not prove to be more of a hindrance instead of help.
His eyes widened when Caroline's crumpled figure slid down the hallway and stopped a few feet from him. And then the hall was quiet, the wide open doors shut. The chill lifted as if nothing had happened. Klaus rushed to her side and saw the large gash on her forehead. It healed before he could even reach for it. He crouched down and felt the crunch of broken glass under his palm. Klaus pulled back his hand and saw the deep cut, then wiped the blood on his pants.
Caroline opened her eyes with a gasp. She stood and took his hand, pulling him along with her to get out of the school. He could barely keep up. Curse this weakness. Klaus Mikaelson was too proud to call out for her to slow down.
Had he not been the one to save her from the start of their relationship. Sure, he was the one who put her in danger many a time. Back when he was wilder, with nothing to lose having nothing gained. It was only when he accepted his own limitations—ones that stare you straight in the eye when finally have a child, fully dependent on you, waiting to be your legacy—that Klaus recognized how little power and physical strength mattered.
In that time, she came back to his life, wiser for the years they had been apart, brighter now with wisdom and sharp with her empathy.
She became his savior.
He happened to be worth knowing, she had told him gently, but not without a tinge of irritation in her voice. She had sounded disappointed that he did not know it. He looked back at her then, surprised. The chase had been on for twenty years, on and off, punctuated by the highs of falling back into each others' lives in a series of combustible encounters and coated with quiet connections.
But what a pair they had been. She had never come as close as she did then to telling him that he had meant something more than a secret, uncontrollable attraction.
More than his legend.
"Get in the car, Klaus."
Hearing the panic in her voice, Klaus got into the passenger seat.
"Are you alright?" he asked. The gash, while short-lived, was nasty.
Caroline pulled out from the driveway. She nodded, her brows furrowed. Klaus could tell she was deep in thought.
"I'm weak, Caroline, but my brain is as alert as the day I died."
She looked back at him from the corner of her eye. "What do you remember?" she asked softly.
"Everything," he said softly. "Like it was yesterday."
Her breath caught in her throat. Klaus knew she was thinking back to those last days. She bit her bottom lip.
The night in Mystic Falls, right before the Hollow was transferred. The measly day with which they tried as best they could to fit the promise of music and art and beauty. The chaste goodbye that marked the end, uncharacteristically simple and short compared to the deafening roar that played through his life. Simple and short and sweet like her human life.
"Part of me died too."
Klaus glanced at her. Her eyes were steady on the road. Her foot on the gas pedal even. Her jaw locked, and she swallowed. She blinked quickly, clearing her sight.
"I went back to Mystic Falls like you asked. I secured the cure, safe for Rebekah." She stated the words calmly, emotionlessly. "I wanted to take Hope, but I knew I didn't need to worry. Your family gathered around your daughter like a pack. They would have made you proud."
If there was anything he never doubted when he died, it was that the Mikaelsons would protect their own.
Every member of that family knew and lived the grief of losing him, losing Elijah, and they would have closed ranks to survive.
Caroline had none of that.
"Part of me died. And I came back home to pick up everything just as they were. No one really consoles you when some vampire who had a crush on you twenty years ago stakes himself," she said softly, almost flippantly, belying the pain underneath.
Memories of that night still seared fresh in his brain. Dying took none of it away. He would ring down Peace and Hell before he let anyone touch those memories. They were what saw him through in his afterlife. His daughter was safe to live her life. And in the very end, when she was wrapped around him, when she looked up at him, he saw it.
No words could compare to what he knew from the way she breathed out his name. Nothing could take away from how he looked at him.
Then again, all the memories he treasured was the two of them. Their shelter was their memories.
Alaric Saltzman would have known. That was not a stupid man, if a little self-serving. Klaus would like to believe that the man would have known by the fact that it was to Caroline that he had come. He saw in that man's eyes that he knew more than either he or Caroline said in so many words when he arrived for the transfer.
"We focus on the girls," she said, her voice stronger now. "That's what he told me the moment I stepped out of the car."
Curse that bastard.
"He was right. I lived for those children, and all the children that came under my wing. I wasn't going to be any help to anyone if I showed them how I really felt inside."
No one knew. No one grieved.
Caroline spent her entire life on others, yet could tell no other soul what she lost.
"I realized how selfish I was when Hope came back to school. As strong as she was, she was a teenage girl who just lost her dad. In the rare moments she folded in, I could grieve with her."
He reached to brush away the tear that trailed silently down her cheek. Klaus knew the moment she smelled blood.
Caroline took one hand off the wheel and grasped his wrist. His palm had still been throbbing, and his brows knit in disbelief. The skin still had not stitched together. The past thousand years of his memory had no recollection of wounds that stayed beyond seconds. There was a dull ache permeating his bones, but it was barely a drop in the bucket compared to the hellish agony brought by the passing through. Still, this wound was annoying.
She pulled over to the side of the road. She grabbed his hand. He would have held back, but she was strong and took a closer look. "Since when?"
"Right before we ran. When you were knocked out." Caroline deflated. "Worried about me, love?"
"Don't try to be charming with me. I'm pretty sure someone—or a group of someones—is after you." She glared at him. "And you're human!"
"Woah woah woah," Klaus exclaimed, throwing his hands up. Caroline stared at him, puzzled by the reaction. "Human? There's no need to be insulting."
Caroline let out a surprised laugh. "You're miserable."
"No, I'm not. I'm in shock," he answered slowly. "One moment I was in a calm, normal, nondestructive boring afterlife, and the next I was going through the worst physical torment of my existence. I thought I was being punished and brought to Hell, that Peace realized its mistake taking in my wretched soul." His eyes flickered at the memory. "And then the next moment, you were with me. And even a thousandfold of that pain was worth the sight of you again."
She turned in the seat to face him, holding on to his injured hand. "Look at me." Caroline reached up to flip on the light in the vehicle. Klaus drank in the view. She was the same, frozen in time from the day she died her human death. And she was different, even without creases or folds on her creamy complexion, deep in those blue eyes Klaus saw a vastly changed woman. "I am not the girl you said you enjoyed," she confessed. "I'm not even the woman you left behind in New Orleans."
"I hate to disappoint you, love, but you were always vastly different every time we met. Never made me love you any less."
Her eyes fluttered closed, and he watched the tears like rainfall drop. Klaus leaned forward and caught one on his lips as he pressed them against hers, sliding in closer. Her grip on his hand loosened, and he brought both up to cup her cheeks. Caroline leaned into the kiss, grasping at his sweater and pulling him closer still. Like she did not want to let go. As if she had lost him once and was never going to lose him again.
And then he recognized the change.
This was Caroline in mourning still, grieving because she never had a chance.
Human.
He had not been human in more than a thousand years.
Most humans he did not even bother to despise. They were too low in the hierarchy, they had mattered only when they were of use to him.
Surely this was but an unexpected side effect of the being torn from Peace. Surely the universe will right itself again.
If there was a threat to this reunion, the universe needed to make it right. Nothing can tear this apart.
She pulled away from him reluctantly. Klaus licked his lips, enjoying the cherry flavor of her gloss smeared on his mouth. Caroline flushed like the high school girl he had met and overwhelmed. She was not that young girl now, but Klaus adored that he could make her forget, for a few moments, all the losses that had come since.
If there was one thing he could accomplish in this incarnation, it would be that he could spend every day helping heal those hidden wounds.
Klaus glanced at the screen of the phone when Caroline pressed on it. He looked at her in surprise. He recalled no time in his life that Caroline connected with this sister. On the day that he took Caroline around New Orleans, it was time between the two of them, cocooned in their own private world wherever they went. And so she grieved alone.
"Well it took you long enough," came the brash, familiar voice on the other line. Freya had been gentle once, the sweetest of Mikael's children. But the centuries had not been kind to the witch.
Still, Klaus straightened in his seat, eyes narrowing.
"Now, sister, is that any way to speak to my dearest friend?"
And the silence was pregnant and long.
He could hear the drawn out exhale from the other end of the line. "Niklaus," she said softly in recognition.
"Freya," Caroline said into the phone, cutting in.
"I should have known that—"
"We're on our way," Caroline continued curtly. "Get ready." She ended the call.
tbc