This story comes second in the series Hope Faith and Grace. Before reading Between the Shadow and the Soul, you must first read In Your Life I See Everything That Lives.

Between the Shadow and the Soul

Part 1

Even Caroline Mikaelson herself would never be able to tell where he ended and she began. When they walked hand in hand, it was as if they were one interconnected. When he leaned towards her to place his lips on hers, and their breaths intermingled, there was no Klaus and no Caroline.

They were a piece of music—in which a chord flowed naturally to the next. Without the other, it made no sense. It was a sound that hung lifeless in the air. It meant nothing, told no story, broke silence merely to exist.

And existence… mere existence, she found, was worse than death.

In death there was a story. There was completion.

When her mother died, there was fulfillment in a life wrapped up in a bow, well lived. The tragedy of her loss remained the same, but over the time that passed and the events that followed—motherhood, marriage, and taking her place beside her husband—Caroline accepted that Liz Forbes' story had come full circle. And there was never a dot on a circle. It was a continuous, infinite loop. And the circle continued with her.

She was Liz's story made immortal, a legacy to carry forward.

Neverending.

Caroline would make the legacy worthwhile.

When she watched the red potion crushed in Klaus' hand that fateful morning at the front yard of the quaint farmhouse, Caroline had accepted that choosing the twins meant an end to the future that she planned. It was, after all, a future that she had thoughtlessly hurt Klaus with—college, boys, a future without a place of him. What a young, naïve, insecure girl she had been. Never in her wildest imagination could she have imagined a life such as the one she lived now.

More power sparked on her ring finger than pulsed through entire covens.

One day, she would make her mother proud.

The once arrogant king of New Orleans, bedraggled and emaciated, shriveled on the floor of the catacombs, soon forgotten, was testament to all that she had become. Caroline felt nothing where once she would have withered in shame.

When she emerged from the catacombs, familiar brown eyes swept over her countenance. He opened the door to the car, and Caroline climbed in in silence. Her hands folded over her lap.

"You might want to look where you're going," she told Kol pointedly upon noticing his attention of her ring finger. She could feel it still, that swirling magic that fought for purchase and pushed and moved as it made its way in the bottomless angles that was the cut of the paragon diamond. "Just because we're immortal doesn't mean we can get pedestrians killed."

Imagine the scandal if the nightly news had to report about casualties in a roadside accident caused by Caroline Mikaelson. Supernatural corners would take about the deaths—the most boring cause of death for Mikaelsons at the wheel.

Kol turned back to the road, but the wary flicker of his eyes to her lap betrayed him. "It's so much power that it's scary," he said. The thrill in his voice was unhidden.

"If you're too faint of heart, you don't have to be around me."

"You wound me, sister."

Just as she thought. Power like this would not chase him away. Kol was like a child and her power the Pied Piper's flute. Sometimes, Caroline wondered if one day, she would lead Kol Mikaelson to drown in the river. The only consolation was that she knew she would drown in her power even before she led anyone else to the depths.

But every visit to Marcel Gerard meant an extension to the peace of mind, to the safety of her daughters. Every visit was another day that her husband had without the shadow of the son that would sooner stab him in the back than lend a helping hand.

Every visit was the buttery satisfaction of the pained groan that tore from his throat when she siphoned him until he was breath away from extinction.

Keep him there, just there, on the precipice of death, where a single nudge would send him to Hell. But keep him there. Even Hell was too good for him. Hell meant an end to liquid fire that razed his nerves to jump onto her skin and burned its warmth into her ring. Hell meant vengeance was done.

No. It could never be done.

Not when there were still nights when she would wake to her husband tossing in his too short bouts of slumber, living in the nightmares of his catatonia, would wake in sweat but be frozen paralysis. His own living nightmare brought by the only son he had loved, the child he chose, the ultimate betrayer. And she would press gentle, soothing kisses to his jaw, climb to his temple where she could taste the now too familiar salt of a single tear.

Caroline would whisper assurances, soft promises that he was safe in the mansion outside of New Orleans, away from the memories of New Orleans, and come the morning he would see bright and happy and so alive all three of his daughters. The nightmare was over. The millennium of cold solitude was done.

And Klaus would emerge from the dark dream holding on to his wife, clutching and gripping on to her like he would never let her go. In return, she would wrap her arms around him, cradling him to her chest, pressing her lips to his forehead.

Sometimes she would fall asleep when he did.

And on those nights, she would wake up and see him hover over her, his eyes mad with his sadness that woke in her the suffocating anger that she had for the pretend king. Caroline would reach up and feel the stain of his tears on her fingers. After the first few times, she expected it, but the gasp that escaped her whenever he hooked his arms under her knees and spread her to him remained the same. The sigh of acceptance was just the same when he positioned himself between her thighs.

"Almost lost you," he groaned, before his demanding lips sought hers, and those searching kisses lined her jaw and towards her chin. His eager fingers pushed her panties aside, and he thrust inside her, strong and insistent, but so certain.

"Never," she assured him. "Never again."

She was Caroline Mikaelson, and she was strong even before her change. Now powerful enough to deliver on her promise. She could stay. She would stay. She would drain everyone that would dare threaten the life they built.

His thrusts were erratic, chasing her whispered vow, surging inside her in the darkness of their bed. Her legs wrapped tight around her hips as she returned and forced him into a rhythm.

"You have me," she gasped into his ear, knowing she was speaking to him half-waking. "Tell me what you need, love."

In the darkness the pleasure was exquisite that it was pain. He sank his teeth into her shoulder, the burning pain of his venom soon dissipated as her magic siphoned it away. And still he offered his neck to her, like he trusted nothing beyond what safety he could provide. Caroline stroked his moist back with an assuring hand and then sank her fangs into him.

His hips stuttered, and he pushed inside her so fiercely until he spilled hot warmth inside her. Caroline's legs fell away. She could feel his seed trickle from her and onto her thighs as he rested his head on her chest.

No.

Marcel deserved worse than the quiet of Hell.

Fortunately for him, Caroline Mikaelson was kind enough to give it to him.

When they arrived at the family mansion, Caroline pulled the visor down and glanced at herself in the mirror. She took closed her eyes and took deep calming breaths. She heard the driver's side door open and close. Then her door opened. She muttered a quiet thanks to her brother-in-law, who nodded at her ring.

"You'll need to expel some of that." The swirling cloud in the diamond was nearly imperceptible, but not for a watchful, trained eye such as Kol's. "Luckily, the protection barrier needs some refreshing."

How could one end Marcel's torment, when the Beast provided such convenience as an infinite source? His pain and suffering but mere icing to top it off.

Caroline placed a hand on the tall column at the entryway. One of the earliest skills that Kol had taught her was transferring out the magic she siphoned by charging another. The swirling in the ring calmed.

The door opened. She and Kol entered the mansion. She looked up at the large staircase yawning in front of them. As much as Caroline had helped influence some of Klaus' choices, and kept the grand mansion smaller and simpler than his more grandiose tendencies, there were still aspects of the home that were beyond comprehension.

They could wander around the mansion and not come close to whom they searched for, for example.

Then again, one took their wins where one could.

She heard the sound of little feet scampering from the left wing. Her face brightened at the sight of Hope running towards her with a squeal of joy. Hayley's wing. The right wing was still quiet, where her and Klaus' bedroom was. The twins' nursery was there, and it was still nap time for the youngest Mikaelsons.

Caroline extended her arms to greet the little girl. She saw Rebekah catch the little girl in her arms and rush towards Caroline, breathless.

Once they were within arms' reach, Hope hopped from her Aunt Rebekah's arms and into Caroline's. "Paper dolls!"

"Good afternoon, Aunt Caroline," Rebekah said clearly, leading by example and hoping that Hope would mimic her.

Caroline grinned at the little girl. "Hello, Hope." Truthfully, she just wanted to yell 'paper dolls!' at Hope back, but she could not knock Rebekah's pursuit for courtesy in this chaos. "I hope you had a good nap."

Soon, Rebekah and Kol would return to the French Quarter and to their home in the Abattoir, leaving Klaus' family with the privacy they sought and the responsibility for three very little children.

"Afnoon, Aunt Carline," Hope repeated, and Rebekah's face broke into a bright smile.

Caroline smiled. "Aunt Bekah can be a teacher!"

Rebekah snorted. "I only have the patience for my own flesh and blood, unfortunately. Every other kid is a disgusting, germ magnet. I'll change the diapers of Hope and the twins and inhale their little surprises, but keep me away from any other kid's snot please."

Kol chuckled. "It's not a sacrifice. Hope's fart smells like a flower garden."

The girl giggled. Kol picked her up from Caroline. "We're heading to the playroom to wait for you, Caroline."

Caroline watched as Kol and Hope climbed up the grand staircase. Despite her logic, her breath caught in her throat still when Kol placed Hope on his shoulders while singing, "To market, to market, to buy a fat pig." She supposed some of the natural motherly instincts still had a grip on her, despite seeing evidence that Kol was the most careful person around his nieces, that Hope could save herself with little surprise revelations of her witch magic, that Rebekah could be there to catch Hope in a flash if needed, and that Caroline could very easily use some of telekinetic skills that Kol taught her to expend her magic.

She turned to Rebekah, who searching gaze was the primary reason that Kol scurried away with Hope.

"He's still alive," Caroline offered.

She had since accepted it. Caroline watched as a mixture of relief and grief washed over Rebekah.

"How much longer?" Rebekah asked her.

Because the Original had her pride. She would not beg. But she also harbored the hurt and anger, a fraction of what Caroline bore against Marcel. She would not forgive.

Marcel could have killed Faith and Grace. For that she wanted him alive to suffer.

She could not even know whether to plead for his life or for his death.

"I don't know," Caroline answered as honestly as she could. She turned towards the right wing. The silence was complete still. "How long have they been gone?"

"A few hours," Rebekah answered.

Then they would be back soon. Klaus always made it to dinner, always made it home to her. Gone were the days of taking the night away. She was no more alone in the marriage than he was. From waking up alone in transition, knowing her immortal life she would have him beside her was such overwhelming calm.

Both Rebekah and Kol offered to wait around. Another time, early in their relationship, it would have been unquestionable. It was a time when she was more powerful as a young vampire than any human, but in their supernatural world she was prey. And during that time, like the family that they had been, even when she was just a notch above stranger, Klaus' siblings had forced a tight knit boundary of protection to the girl that had done nothing to earn respect or admiration.

Caroline admitted it. She was nothing more than a burden.

And now she was as much a part of this unit as the very blood in their veins, intrinsically part of who they were, as essential to their being as the vow that tied them together.

She was prey no more. She was never going to be a victim again.

As reluctant as they had been to accept the change, Caroline showed them that she had come into her own.

The protective shield that Freya erected was abuzz with the magic that Caroline had transferred into it. It was suitably ironic that Marcel's life essence was the very battery that powered and sustained the magic barrier. Caroline was still thrumming with the excess power that she siphoned.

Caroline quite enjoyed the normalcy of her husband arriving home to her and the children. She may have set aside college and her pretend human existence, but there were times when she craved the harmless play.

Little Hope exhibited patience beyond her years and an aptitude for art that Caroline delightedly attributed to her father. She held the color markers with a hand dexterity that were months ahead of her age. She had commented on it once to Klaus, some weeks ago when Hope proudly brandished a princess gown she had made for paper doll Caroline. It had been a long blue gown that reminded her of the very first dress he gifted her. On the bodice of the gown were tiny yellow stars far too detailed and delicate for one so young.

"She is my daughter, after all," Klaus had beamed. "Of course she would know how to hold her tool."

"So pretty," Hope cooed at the paper doll, waving around the project like it was the best and most precious of her toys.

At the time, Klaus had pressed himself on her back and moved her hair away from her nape. He had wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. Caroline hummed in pleasure and pressed back against him when he kissed her neck. "The prettiest girl in the world," he had agreed with Hope.

Her throat had tightened then. Such harmless sentiment, yet it always filled her with regret. He had thought and claimed the same, even that night that still filled their nightmares.

She would never be weak again.

When Hayley had come then to take her daughter, holding a hot cup of tea, Caroline nodded towards the paper doll with long brown hair and hazel green eyes. She had encouraged Hope to make a ballgown, so that they could pretend play a prom for the dolls. Instead, Hope had made a white sundress with small purple flowers for the doll. She showed the doll to her mother, then just as quickly put it aside and picked up her Caroline.

"It's alright," Hayley mouthed to Caroline when she looked apologetically as the other woman.

Mere existence was the saddest fate of all.

Worse than death.

With a child as beautiful as Hope, Caroline wondered how one could merely exist. But there was her friend—the one woman who had put her on the path to save her husband, the fierce mother she had once longed to emulate, the brave ally who had run through the swamps to track her down—and she was a piano without strings.

Beautiful. Empty.

Her descent was excruciatingly slow. So slow that she hardly noticed in the months since she woke, in the flurry of learning her powers, in connecting with the children, and taking on her certain place beside Klaus. Hayley had been silent, on the side, spending the same valuable time with her daughter. She had played her part well, helped with the move from the compound to the mansion.

Silent until even her screams were silent.

And Caroline decidedly hated herself for the part that she played in Hayley's walking Hell, despised Elijah for leaving when all she wanted was his happiness. She hoped Elijah was drowning in happiness, suffocating in love, choking in fulfillment. Anything less was unacceptable. Anything below ecstasy was simply not worth what they had done to Hayley.

"She won't cry. She won't complain. She won't curse his name." When she was young, not that long ago, and any of her friends from her previous life needed to forget boys and get over a heartbreak, they made a point to put up a bonfire and toss mementos while rattling off all the idiotic idiosyncrasies and bad habits of the target. But stubborn hybrid Hayley Marshall won't breathe a negative word against Elijah. She simply did not know how to play the game.

Then again, Hayley had never been like any of her Mystic Falls gang.

With very little in common with Caroline, the better viable option was one she would have more similarities with.

It was the first time that Klaus had invited Hayley to run. Outside New Orleans, deep in the woods, closer to where Klaus had nearly lost her, he turned into his wolf and ran out all the fury that simmered underneath, all the fear that he could not allow to surface. Outside New Orleans, away from her daughter and from prying eyes, Hayley turned into her wolf and ran and howled out the grief of abandonment that she had long thought was behind her.

There were times they would be gone for hours. Times when they would run for a brief moment.

Every time he returned to her smelling of grass and the fresh air.

That day, Hope started to pack away the paper dolls carefully and neatly in the kraft envelopes so they would not crease. "Faith and Grace can play with them when they're bigger," she told Caroline, taking the role of big sister to heart ever since Klaus had somberly placed the responsibility of her little shoulders.

She heard him, smelled him, before he even opened the door to the playroom. Caroline looked up at him from her chair. The boyish grin that spread across his face every time he sees her was familiar and warm. She wanted to kiss the dimple that appeared in his cheeks.

But just as he always came home to her, Caroline knew there was time enough for the two of them tonight.

"Daddy!"

Klaus walked into the room and stopped beside his eldest. "What is this, princess?"

Hope shrugged her shoulders. "It's silly."

"I have a flair for art too, you know." Klaus slid out one of the dolls using his thumb, then quickly assessed the proportions. He took a seat on a small chair and expertly draws and colors an intricate gown. Then, he took a pair of scissors and cut around it.

Caroline stood and looked down at the work. Ivory, with its intricate beadwork and mermaid tail bottom. Her prom dress. It was the one that he gave her to save her from the humiliation of Elena stealing her down. "You remembered."

The look he returned was one of disbelief. "What sane man would ever forget?"

Oh, how she loved him.

Hope plucked the dress from her father's fingers, then handed it to Caroline. "Can you fix it?"

Klaus' eyes widened. He feigned a look of offense.

At first, even Caroline was puzzled. And then she recognized the error. "Well, as good a painter as you are, daddy—" Caroline trailed off, swallowing at the heated gaze he turned on her. Much as she had wanted to use the term to relate to Hope, the continued use might be detrimental to Hope's mental health. Her husband looked at her in a way that Hope was too young to understand. "You aren't an expert at paper dolls as I am, Klaus. You forget the tabs that will let the dresses grip on the dolls."

"I accept the lesson," he murmured.

Caroline could feel the effects of his breathy response on her arms. She went to work sticking tabs on the dress.

Hope then put the dress on her Caroline doll. "Purr-fect!"

"See, Klaus. Teamwork makes the dream work."

He rested a hand on her knee. "Yes, love. Still haven't woken up since I started dreaming."

She was as much at fault as he was. Caroline would only ever allow herself the weakness with him. Caroline slid her chair closer to his. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, and he drew her to him. "Hope is watching."

He growled low in his throat.

"Hayley's taking her sweet time," he said.

He was so warm beside her. If she turned just a little, she could take more of that delicious warmth. She said quietly, "I shouldn't be hearing another woman's name when you're pressed against me, Mr Mikaelson."

Klaus abruptly released her, then stood. He offered his hand to his daughter. "How would you like to babysit the twins, Hope?"

"So you can kiss Aunt Caroline?"

"Yes, so I can kiss Aunt Caroline," Klaus answered matter-of-factly. Caroline moaned in protest.

"My teacher asked mom if she's okay that my dad is kissing my aunt."

Caroline placed her fingers on her temple. "Did you tell her?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

What could possibly have been the lesson that led to a discussion of how Hope's father was kissing anyone?

"Because she asked why I was sad and I told her it's because my mom misses Uncle Elijah."

Oh. Over the time that Klaus had been trapped in the catacombs, and even upon his return, Elijah had been more than an uncle to this little girl. He had been a father figure as much as Klaus had been, and for a stretch of time the only father in Hope's young life.

Elijah had walked away from so much more than a relationship with Hayley.

"I'll schedule an appointment at the school," she assured her husband.

"Do you miss Uncle Elijah, my littlest wolf?" Hope nodded, for the first time her earnest face crestfallen. "I miss him too."

That was it.

He was out of time.

Caroline was going to bring him home.

tbc