[ he has every confidence in her capabilities, even against kol and his magic -- but he'd rather avoid it. and truth be told, kol has the capacity to be just as vicious and merciless than any witch she has faced. perhaps he could relish the bloodshed that would occur, but he knows he wouldn't, all things considered.
so while she worries, he mourns as she does, for what is not yet lost. he's not expecting her confidence when it comes, lost for a moment in his own grief. klaus looks at the words on the screen, feels the weight and dread of them. he can fathom her pain, her fear. he feels it, and the useless injustice of it. out of everyone klaus knows how the sentiment of what is fair and not lies meaningless in the wake of mortality. she doesn't deserve this, but it's not about what she deserves, and there's nothing to be done; no magic or blood can cure such an affliction. surely she knows this.
there is nothing he can do, and yet she reaches out. he feels that clutch as expectations he cannot fulfill, whatever her intentions. his jaw tightens slightly, and klaus swallows. ] Whatever you need, I will be here.
[ the guilt that burdens her is heavy. she thinks of how she asked to save bonnie when so soon after, she would have had to choose between bonnie and her mother. she feels sick thinking about it.
she doesn't know why she reaches out to him. why she tells him this. why would she want to share her grief with him? maybe it's because he's known his own share of grief. maybe it's because she doesn't want to burden elena with anymore. or maybe it's how he doesn't make her feel as though her answer needs to be "i'm fine" every time she's asked after.
he's never expected her to be perfect.]
I need it not to be true. And I need like a hundred more drinks. [ what she really needs is her mother. or a cure. or just someone she can cry on.]
of course that's what she needs: for the earth to turn on its axis; for what is hopeless and helpless to be made untrue. it is the wish of anyone grieving, anyone wrung by the limitations of mortality and loss. the one thing he nor anyone else cannot grant her. ]
Well then I would help with the latter, where I cannot help with all else.
[ she shouldn't be tempted by his half-offer. she shouldn't take his outreached hand but she does, in her own way.] I'm sure your bar is already full stocked.
[ he is not counting on a no or a yes; he truly means it for what the offer is, despite and truly because the little use he is at comforts, and that's assuming his rare willingness to attempt any. but he does want to see her. more now and entirely the same as before, he would find comfort and purpose in her presence. ]
Whatever I haven't consumed myself. [ because he has. a lot.
there is a beat, and then: ] Know if there were a way, I would give it to you.
[ she doesn't respond for a moment because that is why stefan is here. to save her mother. and the idea of it is overwhelming. it's more than she ever expected. but here klaus is offering something similar, she isn't sure how to feel about it either.]
[ he feels warmth at her words, even as plain and unfettered they are on a screen; he feels a longing and yearning he does not want to suss out, a softness in his gut and chest. he swallows thickly. ] Of course. [ if he would speak those words they would be full of devotion and pride, of purpose. ]
OMW [ and she is on her way, honestly. its stupid, the way she seeks comfort from him when she honestly shouldn't. but caroline has a track record of doing things she shouldn't. by the time she gets to his place, she's talked herself into this. it's not like they are going to do anything but talk, right? not even if it would be easy just to fall into something, something that would help them get closer to the goal they each want.]
[ it's an excitable pleasure he feels, as soft as it is smug, the surety engrained in him. he gets up and leaves his phone at the coffee table, does the smallest amount of sprucing up of the misery he's left about it the last week and a half.
this mostly entails hiding the several empty bottles under the sink.
he doesn't expect anything to come of her presence, though not precisely in the way she persuades herself; what he expects is her and in that he will have his expectations fulfilled. anything else, anything more, would simply be an answer to whatever desires lay present and awakened between them. this he knows.
it is practical, he also knows, but such means little to him in the wake of being her source of comfort. a distraction, perhaps, but his instincts say otherwise. klaus knows even in all his anticipation this is reckless, unnecessary, and yet. he too has a contract to fulfill, however much he has disavowed this place. he has her and that is what counts; she has chosen to come to him.
he is painting when she arrives, concentrating with rare focus these days on the easel before him. still he is all too prepared to have her knock beckon him. he abandons the empty skyline and moves to the door to open it, and admit her. ]
[ he might find excitement in her visit while she finds a strange sense of apprehension, as if she doesn't quite trust herself around him. while she cannot regret her decision, the one she made in the woods that day (it was hot, so hot), she feels bad for the fallout afterward. and well, she honestly thought that she wouldn't see him again. not for a long, long time.
it complicates things. what they did. whatever banter they shared in the past, well, she cannot continue it, not when there's nothing behind her resistance of his charms after giving into them. so very willingly. maybe that's why she comes to him now, because she's given into whatever whim she felt that day. and maybe it would just be easier to give in again, to fall into someone familiar to get this done.
or maybe it's just that ever-appealing thought of scandalous sex.
she knocks and he answers. somehow it's no surprise to see an easel over his shoulder nor is his apartment/loft something out of his wheelhouse. for as volatile as klaus can be, he is predictable to her as well. ] Hey.
[ he feels her apprehension in equal measure, as a swirling coiling in his chest, and the anticipation of her light filling the room, the ghosts of her touches and mouth on his skin. he remembers them with a vividness and a longing he doesn't think prudent, and knowing that he will not forget, as promised. he wants her, again, now, then. he knows where this willingness is borne, in the seeds of what was left behind, in the desires he has carried with him.
he only awaits her own, always.
he has moved on for all intents and purposes, suffered and bled in the interim. put the memory of her golden hair and sweet smiles, taken the merciless force of her and put it aside after she had given him what he wanted: her honesty. but it is branded in him to remember, and perhaps he is a fool for feeling its insidiousness and inviting it in. in truth he has always been the willing supplicant for her, even in his wrath and anger, even when it seemed he did not bend at all.
klaus is at ease and not at all, opening the door to her and let her in. he pulls in a quiet breath he suddenly needs as his eyes drink her in, and smiles, soft and small. he gestures inside with the tilt of his head, lifts his hand as well. ] Come in.
[ smoothing out the skirt of her dress, caroline glances around his loft apartment, feeling a little overwhelmed, considering her own space is smaller, more intimate. it is more her.] Well, this place screams "you". [ it looks exactly how she'd imagine it should, her smile tentative as she moves past him to enter the apartment, avoiding the sudden rush of memories and awkward, unwanted longings she feels.
she doesn't want him but her body remembers what it feels like to, which only makes it harder for her to convince herself of the former.]
It's nice. [ awkward conversation will pass, eventually. their last conversation ended so abruptly.]
[ he directs his smile to the floor at her assessment, taking his time to close the door soundly behind her. (it's almost as if the city administrators knew what he liked and decided to accommodate him.) he lingers there as she makes her way inside, lets her take it in and grants himself the opportunity to watch, and watch her. his lungs are still taking in the wave of her hair, his eyes fixed there even as he appreciates the length of her dress, how it hits her thighs.
he welcomes her awkwardness, the tension. he knows it will pass and break, but he will enjoy what it signifies now. he is already over their last encounter, and ready for the next.
his boots sound softly against the wooden floor as he takes a step forward, hands moving behind his back, a hint of amusement in his voice. ] It is tellingly to my taste.
[ he waits then, waits for her gaze to find its way to his. he craves it. ]
[ as she lingers close to the door of his apartment, she remembers the way his words cut straight to the truth. the way he saw right through her that day in the woods, the way she'd always been able to see right through him. she remembers the look of anticipation he gave her as he made her his promise and she remembers the thrill that stirred within her as she took her time in giving her 'confession'.
and despite his words then, she isn't free of him, not with him here. the reminder of the darker parts of herself that still feel things for him even if she is still adamant that her future will not and cannot be entangled with his.
that look, it's on his face now as her eyes finally seek out his, heat rising to her cheeks a little.] I'm still working on making mine home, I guess. [ she's determined not to make this place home, no, she wants to get out of here. she needs to get bonnie back and she needs to get back to her mother. and she needs to get away from past transgressions that could turn into future mistakes.
except here she is, blinking quickly before turning her gaze away, slipping out of the arms of her jacket and standing in said transgression's apartment.] So... where's the bar?
[ she doesn't disappoint, the blush in her cheeks a heady balm and something that makes his heart pound in his chest. he likes it, the easy way he desires her, the way she does him no matter her hesitations or uncertainties. his feet shift and the hands behind his back flex; he is quiet as she fills up the silence, and then some. the darkness in his eyes and sudden anger in his chest from her mention of making this place home is only passing.
it's not home, no matter it is dressed up. he wants to leave this place too. he needs it, requires it, and to neutralize its threat before he does. but his family is here and intent on giving it a chance, making it frustratingly difficult.
even so, here he is, leagues and nothing between them, a thought and feeling in him (his possessive heart, his desire) giving reason and motive to take advantage of this place out of time. he has an appetite for it, for her, ready to become voracious.
his gaze is steady, even after she blinks, and he moves a moment after she does, to her side to take hold of her jacket, his fingers digging into the softness of the denim, savoring the smell the perfume and heat of her as close as he dares. ] Make yourself comfortable. [ he invites her in a soft voice, and then moves behind the couches where he has set up a small table of his liquors.
he lays her jacket over the faded leather, picks up a tumbler as he takes stock. ] I have scotch, vodka, or rye. [ he smiles just so at the last and lifts his eyes to her, considering it's the most dangerous of the three.
unsurprisingly the rye is for his darkest of moods. ]
[ she takes no notice of his blip of frustration when she makes her comment of this place becoming a home. it is still too surreal to consider, that any of this is actually happening. she half expects to awaken from a dream or perhaps some sort of vervain or werewolf bite induced fever. neither are ideal (or even a possibility) and yet, she finds herself thinking of the possibility.
she lets him take her jacket, moving gracefully towards the sofa, thinking that maybe she shouldn't be making herself comfortable as he beckons her to do.
she immediately reaches for the rye. the salvatores have birthed a inclination towards the darker, amber liquors. before turning, she was strictly a light beer and drinks with umbrellas kind of girl. but with maturity comes a change in taste. and an seemingly endless supply of the 'good stuff' helped her tastes along a bit too.
she hands it to him to pour, moving to take a seat before looking up at him.] So how is New Orleans? Better than Mystic Falls? [ small talk, small talk to keep from saying something else.]
[ he doesn't have the luxury of a period of adjustment, and a thousand years has taught him to accept the impossibilities: he is here, and now he will deal with it, however improbable this might all seem. in this way he has adjusted, and can easily move forward, can easily sit in this room without the drawbacks of surreality.
she does reach for the rye despite his assumptions she wouldn't, though truly he should have known better. she is not so light of heart, nor does this situation call for anything else. she wanted comfort coming here, oblivion, distraction from her own troubles. well, he too would like to attempt a drowning. he smiles to himself and takes the bottle, pours them both two fingers and adds a bit of ice, and indulges her small talk as he completes the task. ]
Well we haven't brought about the end of purgatory. [ it's teasing and klaus at least finds it funny, as if mystic falls is any more fraught than new orleans. he sobers, just so, and answers as honestly as he dares. ] It's home.
[ he walks around the couches, hands her the drink, and sits diagonal from her, near her, just close enough that if he were to slide over their knees might touch. ] Minus of course my resurrected family.
[ too often caroline has taken everything in stride, pushed through when so many others would falter, stumble, fall. she is fine, always fine. she says it over and over until it is true. she will do the same here even if she finds it harder to do here than maybe ever before, with the knowledge that what she goes back home to is her mother's illness and possible death should stefan fail here (which only creates a whole set of feelings she has yet to address).
denial through control has always been caroline's strong suit. and while being here with him as reckless as she can get, she can pretend that she is controlling the situation, that she has complete say in what her heart feels.
at his tease, she snorts a little, giving him a pointedly annoyed look.] That wasn't us, exactly. [ okay so it was but--] It wasn't me. [ when he answers honestly, she nods, taking her drink to take a sip of, focusing on the liquid as it settles against the glass and ice.]
So are they all back? The same way Kol is? [ finn, his mother... his father?]
[ he's amused at her defense, her attention to the particulars as he lounges back in his seat, balancing his glass at his knee. he would offer his apologies, but that amusement fades at the graveness, the grimness of her next inquiry. one she obviously would have gotten to, considering his answer.
there is a tightness to his features, something guarded in his eyes as they look into hers: pain, anger, and fear. it builds until he glances away, pulls the vulnerabilities from her scrutiny for a moment, to harden them. ] In the flesh. Though not their own, [ his breath here is small, his voice even despite its weight ] with the exception of Mikael. [ yes, his father, the man's name heavy on his tongue. he feels the dissociation of it, from his title: father. ]
[ normally, she'd shy away from the more serious topics with him. a broody klaus is not one you want to be around. but this is a brooding sort of day. she's here to drink with him, to commiserate about whatever life has thrown at him. and it's then that she think she knows why he's here, when he mentions his father. ] They came back over... because of the veil falling? [ because of what happened in mystic falls. it was strange how she never really considered the rest of the world when her own was so thoroughly falling apart. the veil between worlds had become shaky in mystic falls, why wouldn't become that way everywhere else?
who knows what else got to the other side.] I'm sorry. [ she does mean that, for his sake. his father had twisted him into the person he was today, his father was monstrous.]
[ if only his father were the reason. he supposes in this contract's own way, it is. it was mikael's hand that held the white oak stake poised above his heart. mikael with the fierce and relentless hatred to end him. it was this or death, and he would choose this over failure to protect those he loves, over the death his father so dearly wants, any day.
(mikael would call him a coward.) ] Yes. [ he answers her simply. where it is not strictly true, it is the inevitability that motivated his mother's desperation, and davina's.
his mouth is suddenly dry, and he longs for the drink in his hand, but he does not take it. no, he sets it on the table, to get up and perch on that same table beside it, directly across from her. where before he moved with watchfulness and desire, now he does so with no threat, with openness. he doesn't need her sympathy, her empathy, what care and feeling he knows are behind the words; she knows. she does know who his father is, and the little he's told of what mikael has done to him.
he will accept it, later. how it clenches his heart and softens him. he will appreciate it in full, but for now he'd rather his thoughts and heart lay with her. he leans forward, his palm up and hovering under one of her hands. ] I am sorry. [ for her mother. for her grief. for her pain. ]
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so while she worries, he mourns as she does, for what is not yet lost. he's not expecting her confidence when it comes, lost for a moment in his own grief. klaus looks at the words on the screen, feels the weight and dread of them. he can fathom her pain, her fear. he feels it, and the useless injustice of it. out of everyone klaus knows how the sentiment of what is fair and not lies meaningless in the wake of mortality. she doesn't deserve this, but it's not about what she deserves, and there's nothing to be done; no magic or blood can cure such an affliction. surely she knows this.
there is nothing he can do, and yet she reaches out. he feels that clutch as expectations he cannot fulfill, whatever her intentions. his jaw tightens slightly, and klaus swallows. ] Whatever you need, I will be here.
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she doesn't know why she reaches out to him. why she tells him this. why would she want to share her grief with him? maybe it's because he's known his own share of grief. maybe it's because she doesn't want to burden elena with anymore. or maybe it's how he doesn't make her feel as though her answer needs to be "i'm fine" every time she's asked after.
he's never expected her to be perfect.]
I need it not to be true. And I need like a hundred more drinks. [ what she really needs is her mother. or a cure. or just someone she can cry on.]
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klaus has two shoulders just ftrof course that's what she needs: for the earth to turn on its axis; for what is hopeless and helpless to be made untrue. it is the wish of anyone grieving, anyone wrung by the limitations of mortality and loss. the one thing he nor anyone else cannot grant her. ]
Well then I would help with the latter, where I cannot help with all else.
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Whatever I haven't consumed myself. [ because he has. a lot.
there is a beat, and then: ] Know if there were a way, I would give it to you.
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Thank you.
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so she does want to come over. good. all right. caroline you just get an address and an apartment number now, to do with what you will. ]
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this mostly entails hiding the several empty bottles under the sink.
he doesn't expect anything to come of her presence, though not precisely in the way she persuades herself; what he expects is her and in that he will have his expectations fulfilled. anything else, anything more, would simply be an answer to whatever desires lay present and awakened between them. this he knows.
it is practical, he also knows, but such means little to him in the wake of being her source of comfort. a distraction, perhaps, but his instincts say otherwise. klaus knows even in all his anticipation this is reckless, unnecessary, and yet. he too has a contract to fulfill, however much he has disavowed this place. he has her and that is what counts; she has chosen to come to him.
he is painting when she arrives, concentrating with rare focus these days on the easel before him. still he is all too prepared to have her knock beckon him. he abandons the empty skyline and moves to the door to open it, and admit her. ]
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it complicates things. what they did. whatever banter they shared in the past, well, she cannot continue it, not when there's nothing behind her resistance of his charms after giving into them. so very willingly. maybe that's why she comes to him now, because she's given into whatever whim she felt that day. and maybe it would just be easier to give in again, to fall into someone familiar to get this done.
or maybe it's just that ever-appealing thought of scandalous sex.
she knocks and he answers. somehow it's no surprise to see an easel over his shoulder nor is his apartment/loft something out of his wheelhouse. for as volatile as klaus can be, he is predictable to her as well. ] Hey.
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he only awaits her own, always.
he has moved on for all intents and purposes, suffered and bled in the interim. put the memory of her golden hair and sweet smiles, taken the merciless force of her and put it aside after she had given him what he wanted: her honesty. but it is branded in him to remember, and perhaps he is a fool for feeling its insidiousness and inviting it in. in truth he has always been the willing supplicant for her, even in his wrath and anger, even when it seemed he did not bend at all.
klaus is at ease and not at all, opening the door to her and let her in. he pulls in a quiet breath he suddenly needs as his eyes drink her in, and smiles, soft and small. he gestures inside with the tilt of his head, lifts his hand as well. ] Come in.
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definitely a wheelhouse.]no subject
she doesn't want him but her body remembers what it feels like to, which only makes it harder for her to convince herself of the former.]
It's nice. [ awkward conversation will pass, eventually. their last conversation ended so abruptly.]
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he welcomes her awkwardness, the tension. he knows it will pass and break, but he will enjoy what it signifies now. he is already over their last encounter, and ready for the next.
his boots sound softly against the wooden floor as he takes a step forward, hands moving behind his back, a hint of amusement in his voice. ] It is tellingly to my taste.
[ he waits then, waits for her gaze to find its way to his. he craves it. ]
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and despite his words then, she isn't free of him, not with him here. the reminder of the darker parts of herself that still feel things for him even if she is still adamant that her future will not and cannot be entangled with his.
that look, it's on his face now as her eyes finally seek out his, heat rising to her cheeks a little.] I'm still working on making mine home, I guess. [ she's determined not to make this place home, no, she wants to get out of here. she needs to get bonnie back and she needs to get back to her mother. and she needs to get away from past transgressions that could turn into future mistakes.
except here she is, blinking quickly before turning her gaze away, slipping out of the arms of her jacket and standing in said transgression's apartment.] So... where's the bar?
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it's not home, no matter it is dressed up. he wants to leave this place too. he needs it, requires it, and to neutralize its threat before he does. but his family is here and intent on giving it a chance, making it frustratingly difficult.
even so, here he is, leagues and nothing between them, a thought and feeling in him (his possessive heart, his desire) giving reason and motive to take advantage of this place out of time. he has an appetite for it, for her, ready to become voracious.
his gaze is steady, even after she blinks, and he moves a moment after she does, to her side to take hold of her jacket, his fingers digging into the softness of the denim, savoring the smell the perfume and heat of her as close as he dares. ] Make yourself comfortable. [ he invites her in a soft voice, and then moves behind the couches where he has set up a small table of his liquors.
he lays her jacket over the faded leather, picks up a tumbler as he takes stock. ] I have scotch, vodka, or rye. [ he smiles just so at the last and lifts his eyes to her, considering it's the most dangerous of the three.
unsurprisingly the rye is for his darkest of moods. ]
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she lets him take her jacket, moving gracefully towards the sofa, thinking that maybe she shouldn't be making herself comfortable as he beckons her to do.
she immediately reaches for the rye. the salvatores have birthed a inclination towards the darker, amber liquors. before turning, she was strictly a light beer and drinks with umbrellas kind of girl. but with maturity comes a change in taste. and an seemingly endless supply of the 'good stuff' helped her tastes along a bit too.
she hands it to him to pour, moving to take a seat before looking up at him.] So how is New Orleans? Better than Mystic Falls? [ small talk, small talk to keep from saying something else.]
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she does reach for the rye despite his assumptions she wouldn't, though truly he should have known better. she is not so light of heart, nor does this situation call for anything else. she wanted comfort coming here, oblivion, distraction from her own troubles. well, he too would like to attempt a drowning. he smiles to himself and takes the bottle, pours them both two fingers and adds a bit of ice, and indulges her small talk as he completes the task. ]
Well we haven't brought about the end of purgatory. [ it's teasing and klaus at least finds it funny, as if mystic falls is any more fraught than new orleans. he sobers, just so, and answers as honestly as he dares. ] It's home.
[ he walks around the couches, hands her the drink, and sits diagonal from her, near her, just close enough that if he were to slide over their knees might touch. ] Minus of course my resurrected family.
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denial through control has always been caroline's strong suit. and while being here with him as reckless as she can get, she can pretend that she is controlling the situation, that she has complete say in what her heart feels.
at his tease, she snorts a little, giving him a pointedly annoyed look.] That wasn't us, exactly. [ okay so it was but--] It wasn't me. [ when he answers honestly, she nods, taking her drink to take a sip of, focusing on the liquid as it settles against the glass and ice.]
So are they all back? The same way Kol is? [ finn, his mother... his father?]
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there is a tightness to his features, something guarded in his eyes as they look into hers: pain, anger, and fear. it builds until he glances away, pulls the vulnerabilities from her scrutiny for a moment, to harden them. ] In the flesh. Though not their own, [ his breath here is small, his voice even despite its weight ] with the exception of Mikael. [ yes, his father, the man's name heavy on his tongue. he feels the dissociation of it, from his title: father. ]
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who knows what else got to the other side.] I'm sorry. [ she does mean that, for his sake. his father had twisted him into the person he was today, his father was monstrous.]
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(mikael would call him a coward.) ] Yes. [ he answers her simply. where it is not strictly true, it is the inevitability that motivated his mother's desperation, and davina's.
his mouth is suddenly dry, and he longs for the drink in his hand, but he does not take it. no, he sets it on the table, to get up and perch on that same table beside it, directly across from her. where before he moved with watchfulness and desire, now he does so with no threat, with openness. he doesn't need her sympathy, her empathy, what care and feeling he knows are behind the words; she knows. she does know who his father is, and the little he's told of what mikael has done to him.
he will accept it, later. how it clenches his heart and softens him. he will appreciate it in full, but for now he'd rather his thoughts and heart lay with her. he leans forward, his palm up and hovering under one of her hands. ] I am sorry. [ for her mother. for her grief. for her pain. ]
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