[ 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. ]
[ the answer is simple enough that she knows that there is more to it than that, more than likely. he holds his cards close to his chest, always. and even if she knows that, she can't always read his cards, she only knows that he has a pokerface, knows it well.
she watches him with a careful expression as he moves to sit in front of her, sitting on the coffee table just before her. she doesn't lean away when he leans forward, she lets him invade her personal space some, keeping her expression even, keeping her cheeks from flushing. she'll curse herself later for needing to control herself. i
he moves his hand in an open manner, which has her blinking up at him, looking from him to his hand as he apologizes. she glances away, feeling the familiar sting of tears at the corners of her eyes, a sensation that seems to come and go suddenly, in waves.] If this place really works then... she'll be okay. [ she lies to herself because a part of her still feels as though this is one big trick.] I just have to get back to her. I need to get back to her. [ her hand doesn't move away from his the whole time, instead as if she remembers the purpose of being here, she lets him take her hand. it is a form of contact required here, she tells herself, knowing deep down that's not the real reason she takes his hand.]
[ he watches: her carefulness, the sting in her gaze making them full, how she looks away to temper them. he watches and feels it; he listens. a flare of curiosity is roused in his eyes as she explains. he knows it was not her wish, not her agreement to save her mother. something in the pit of his stomach feels heavy, pulling into a pinpoint. (stefan.)
his eyes are wide, and softer still as their hands brush, his thumb moving against her fingers, a slight brush to familiarize his skin against hers. he cups her hand, gently and loosely wrapping the warmth of her into his. his throat is tight with realization, and with the realization of her, of how right and easy the intimacy feels. ] I know. And so you will. You will get back to her. [ his voice is soft and full of a belief in her, and in his words, a belief he feels despite the danger. one full of a vow he does not name, but one he knows he makes as the words are committed to sound.
if this place works, it is only to the city's benefit, and their usefulness. and yet it doesn't matter what he knows. this was inevitable; his tongue is loose with her, his heart too open. he would promise her every star in the sky if she hinted it would make her happy. ]
[ of course stefan. stefan means to save her mother from her fate and caroline feels overwhelmed by every aspect of it. she feels a sense of obligation and urgency in the knowledge. with burgeoning feelings towards her friend, confusing and uncertain feelings, she doesn't know how to proceed with stefan. she feels a sense of almost obligation to help him get the task done, be it with herself or finding him someone he'd have contact with. at the bare minimum, she feels a willingness to hold his his hand every single hour of the day if it means saving her mother.
her thoughts only stray to stefan for a moment before she tries to suppress the angst it all brings, her focus returning to klaus which isn't much better, in the emotions his gaze (and touch) bring.] I'm going to do what I have to. [ it's almost said as a warning. but what for, she isn't sure. she is not obligated to him, not in faithfulness or emotion, she is not tied to him in any way (so she tells herself).
she will find the intimacy she needs to get back to mystic falls. she will do what it takes. although there is a voice in the recesses of her mind that remind her it would be so easy to fall into bed with him, to use the familiar to get to the end they both want, complications or not. she lets out a breath before using her other hand to take a sip of her drink, her eyes lifting to meet with his as she does so, licking her lips after she pulls the glass from them.]
Whatever it takes. [ just like she always has done.]
[ it's a resolve and warning he hears perfectly, one that reverberates through him, makes him wonder, makes him listen. what a forceful, strong creature she is, and her fortitude in this moment is something that both beckons his admiration and desire as it does make him fear, makes his head tip back with her power: what would she do? (something she does not want? something she does?)
he knows what she is capable of; he knows she would do anything for those she loves. and here, with anyone she sees fit. there is a darkness in his eyes full of his own unintentional warning, a jealousy and possessiveness teased out.
what of stefan?
it rolls over him, holds him tight, the breath she releases, the attention of her inscrutable gaze, the slide of her tongue against her lips. those words he has spoken himself with the same dedication, the same purpose. whatever it takes. he is torn between his anger, his desire, and the much more acceptable feelings of comfort he should be exuding.
(he wants her. god, it is in his blood, heating and singing and claiming.) ] And would "whatever it takes" ever be something you want?
[ even as she says the words, she does not know their true meaning. what would she do? to what end would she go to get back to those she loved. it's twisted how this place makes her feel, how she almost regrets using this chance on bonnie instead of her mom, only to feel guilt for thinking that way. to the ends of the earth, that's where she'd go to help those she loves and if that means sleeping around, she'll do it, she'll do it if it means getting home faster.
but with who? stefan? klaus? she doesn't know even as she says it to him and especially when he asks his question. she looks up at him, the pause between his words and her own feels infinite. he is too close to her now and yet a tiny voice inside her head says he's not close enough.
she is tired of the warring factions in her mind, she is tired of the two sides of her duking it out, every day. the side of her that is good and right versus the vampire instinct that tells her to give into whatever hunger she has.]
It could be, [ she answers carefully, truthfully even if she isn't sure what she wants.]
[ he wants to be. he wants it to be him, fiercely, unapologetic. to be the first in her thoughts if not the only. he wants it with the force and single-mindedness he wants everything: nothing else will do. he cannot halt or evaluate these feelings, and moreover it does not even occur to him to try, to concede past the realistic possibility he is not the sole person she might desire, or choose to turn to in her efforts.
he wants to be more than an effort. he wants more than means to an end for her, wants more than finite choices in which she must pick and choose. (he wants to be the choice.) she deserves more, even while he might embrace the position it could conceivably leave him in, in her eyes.
his throat works slightly at her answer; his lashes lower in half a blink, over the longing and cautiousness in his eyes. her words make his still heart thrum in the silence, the long beats between them. his fingers, as if awoken, gently rub hers, brush veins in her wrist, and his free hand lifts to the slide his fingertips down the delicate, splayed bones of her hand.
his lips part and he exhales, looks down in a bow to her, full of hope he feels he must smother, of tension strung tight.
perhaps he is the coward his father and his family takes him for: he will not ask what she wants. she already knows what answer he would seek. ] What you want and what you'll regret often find each other in hand. [ it is quiet, the one piece of true, selfless advice he has. there is a cost to whatever it takes. ]
I don't regret what I want. [ her only regrets are in the things she has to do, the things that harm others. killing those witches, she regrets that. killing anyone, she'll always regret that. but--] I can't regret doing what I need to save the people I love. [ or else she'd lose her mind with the grief of it all. she'll protect her own as fiercely as he would his. although she may take a different tactic most times, find the road less bloody, less rabid.
she feels the brush of his fingers, feels the heat it brings and the feeling of confusion it builds within her. she can't want him in the way he wants her to. she can't love him in this moment, at least she convinces herself as much. but that doesn't mean she doesn't want the comfort of the familiar, of someone she trusts (ha, trusting klaus).]
And I don't regret what we did. [ she can't. she said as much to everyone she told about it. she regrets who it may have hurt, yes. but she'd wanted him in that moment, she wanted that moment. she wanted the scandalous sex (and maybe she still craves it even now).]
[ and what of her? he was damaged long before he became a monster, and everything he does in service to himself and his family are only the deepening of a wound long since healed hollow, heart hardened. that is not a fate, not a path she need walk, bending to the whims of this city, chasing down bonnie's life and her mother's to an end that may never come. she says she does not regret it, not yet, and he believes in her strength, her will, her dedication, for now. but it is a fine line, sharp and taut, and he has not lived so long to be so naive:
she has the darkness in her. it's what makes her light shine so brightly, so full.
his head lifts, and with it does his eyes, and in time for her confession. he holds her hand as something delicate, the weight a precious thing between his own, and it is only as she strikes him with her assurance that he realizes he craved it at all, that he wondered, that the distance between them and her words on the beach had tore at him. that no amount of memories could stop the way his thoughts have been oscillating: between the surety she wanted him then, could want him again, and knowing he would never be anything but a monster she would never choose.
but he is not the vicious, terrible visage that lurks inside now. his lips and eyes are soft, his brows smooth, his heart taken and affected. every bit the man he was born before he was shaped, and after; hurt and yearning, wanting even the barest scrap-
he tears his gaze away, drops it again because he is weak. ] I have regretted little. Very little. [ and even so, much he would have done anyway, regardless, even knowing. much he did. his eyes lift, and in them is composure and certainty. ] I would never regret you.
[ there may be a darkness within her but it is not so dark that she would allow herself to be seduced by the wickedest of creatures. klaus is not a monster entirely, he is not irredeemable, although she is well aware that she does not have the capacity to fix him, to mend his heart like she thought she might. but she has seen goodness in him, just as he has seen the darkness in her. neither of them are what so many others think they are on the surface.
they are so much more than the sum of their parts.
she watches his face as he tears his gaze from hers and speaks those words, words she knows to be true in her heart. it should strike some doubt in her heart, that he regrets so little of what he's done, monstrous and terrible. but so much of it he did in the pursuit of protecting his family (even if it meant hurting them), in the pursuit of love. brutalized from the start, he never had a chance, she knows that now even if she doesn't know just how true that is. love had been twisted and maimed right in front of him, he was broken, in a different way than she.
she feels the tension between them thicken as he speaks, her eyes never lifting from his face as she tries to speak lightly, in the way she always does in an attempt to lighten the mood, release the tension.] Well, I mean, duh. I was pretty incredible that day. [ she smiles at him, smirking even.] Top of my game even if half the time I had bark digging into my back.
[ she is not broken. her heart is bruised, and she has suffered, grieved, and lost. she has changed, altered in body and mind. she holds a darkness, yes -- of humanity and of bloodlust, but it has not broken her, and nor will her mother's death.
he knows: she is not broken because she is strong, in her love and in her heart. in all the ways he is not.
klaus' smile breaks through his graveness, the curve of his lips just as sincere, just as genuine. she seeks to cut the tension, that he knows, and he lets her. he likes it.
it is just as warm, her teasing. klaus turns his head away under the lightness of his amusement, of the truth he would emphatically agree with, even spoken with such assumed bragging rights. (she was incredible. more than; she was visceral and real and present, to him, with him, in a way she hadn't been ever before, not aside from the electric catch of their lingering gazes. his hands shook just as often as they steadied to grab and caress her with a thousand years' experience, and none at all.)
he is bright, smiling as he looks at her, the expression reaching his eyes as it rarely does. ] My apologies for any enthusiasm.
You should be sorry. I'm pretty sure I still have splinters in my back. [ it's easier to make light of it. to tease and joke about the passion that overtook them both. easier than thinking on it, on letting herself dwell and remember until the passion arises again.
isn't it?
so she continues to look smug, pulling her hand from his gently without any other purpose or motive but to tuck her hair back and take another sip of her drink. she sits back against his couch with an easy grace that she's always possessed upon turning vampire. the time for comfort and sorrows has passed and now she chooses to linger in their easy banter, the familiar.
caroline forbes for all her exceptionalism relies on the familiar. she is somehow both bold and reluctant. it is why she didn't go off to some exotic college, it is why she's trying so hard to go home, both here and back home. she looks equally bright, her smile, her eyes as she looks at him. she has pushed herself into the i'm fine mode for the time being.]
Next time no trees. [ she says it without even realizing what she has said, implied. that there will be a next time, that there should be. but perhaps the fact that she has so carelessly spoken of a 'next time' means that she has not turned her heart from the possibility. and perhaps that is more true than ever as she sits across from him in a place that demands intimacy as she seeks his comfort and receives it.]
[ he might argue he believes he still has her nails lodged in his shoulders, but perhaps it'd be a bit too earnest, too much. instead he smirks to himself. he will let her make light of it, to tease and joke over their intimacy -- to make it intimate.
he knows it is easier for her. it is easy for him to watch her grace, to enjoy her smugness, and watch her comfortable in her skin and slip into what they know: what is just as familiar if not as thick as his murmured promises, and the heaviness of her grief.
he would be beaming if he were a man for it, taking her brightness in. (he knows there is just as much sadness underneath, dormant for now.) instead his smile is understated as he leans slightly back when she pulls from him. if he were a man for it, he'd show an outward sign to her offhand comment, to how it sends excitement straight through him, harsh and and piercing in the most pleasant of ways. what's better is she doesn't seem to realize what it foreshadows.
and for all he acquiesces, he simply cannot let this one pass. ] I'll keep that in mind. [ he says it simply, evenly, but low with promise. a tone meant to ruffle her, to make her realize her implication if not her intent. the look in his eyes is dark, wanting, remembering, and wicked in the following beat, trained on her.
klaus reaches for his drink beside him, pulls in a much-needed breath. ] Will you go to university? [ as they spoke of, before. ]
[ it is easier to hide behind teasing and banter than face up to the way she truly feels. she has always been better at masking her true feelings with such things, although with him it was usually with a touch of hostility. now she doesn't have that luxury anymore, not when he knows what she had truly wanted, how she truly felt. not when she had her curiosity and desire sated (mostly) in the woods.
it is an indication of her continued regard for him, the way she slips up, the way she doesn't quite realize it until it has already been said and answered with words of his own. she doesn't back track now, like she might before she knew the taste of his lips and press of his lean body against her own. now she has no ground to stand on, no deniability.
his promise makes her feel restless suddenly, it does ruffle her. but she hides her reaction as best she can even if she cannot hide the skip of her beating heart. he goes on to ask some inane question and she is quick to jump on it.] After dropping out? Yeah. I guess so.
[ he is quick to give her the out, cognizant of her skipping heart, of the way his words find her. all he has in response to her restlessness in a knowing smile, small and directed towards the ground. she has already denied him, after all, and if they are to bed it will be by her volition, and her encouragement. he seeks simply to plant the seed, ever the strategist. to watch how it undoes her. how he might continue.
klaus takes a mouthful of his liquor now, downs half the glass. it will affect him little, and even littler given his previous impressive consumption today. ] I mean here. Word has it they have prolific programs. [ more inaneness, but truth be told he would like to know: what she plans to do here. ]
[ she hadn't even thought to plan what she would do here. but undoubtedly, this fulfillment would take time. she couldn't very well just sit around idle, caroline forbes is never idle. she'd spent the first few days here finding people, meeting them, making her apartment her own as best she could. he is right to question her and she looks at him for a moment before taking a sip of her drink to cover her indecisiveness, to hide the the fact that caroline forbes does not have a plan yet.] I don't know. Maybe.
[ so she hasn't any plans. he can identify the truth when he sees it. and truth be told he has none either. how many days has it been since his visit to miss edgewood, their local, friendly city administrator? how long has it been since he lifted a finger to this cage he finds he and his family in, or contributed to it? no, he has spent the days brooding, angry, and drinking. ] Ah, well. [ his response is the vocal equivalent to a shrug. ] I haven't given it much thought either.
What? You'd go to college? [ it's not a real question, more of a tease. she figures that he wouldn't go back to college, he's not like stefan who seems to like to go back to school. although--] I might get a job or something. [ the idea of settling here, it isn't one she relishes in. she meant what she said before. she means to get back to her mother, to get bonnie back. she doesn't want to stay here longer than she should, then she has to.]
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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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she watches him with a careful expression as he moves to sit in front of her, sitting on the coffee table just before her. she doesn't lean away when he leans forward, she lets him invade her personal space some, keeping her expression even, keeping her cheeks from flushing. she'll curse herself later for needing to control herself. i
he moves his hand in an open manner, which has her blinking up at him, looking from him to his hand as he apologizes. she glances away, feeling the familiar sting of tears at the corners of her eyes, a sensation that seems to come and go suddenly, in waves.] If this place really works then... she'll be okay. [ she lies to herself because a part of her still feels as though this is one big trick.] I just have to get back to her. I need to get back to her. [ her hand doesn't move away from his the whole time, instead as if she remembers the purpose of being here, she lets him take her hand. it is a form of contact required here, she tells herself, knowing deep down that's not the real reason she takes his hand.]
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his eyes are wide, and softer still as their hands brush, his thumb moving against her fingers, a slight brush to familiarize his skin against hers. he cups her hand, gently and loosely wrapping the warmth of her into his. his throat is tight with realization, and with the realization of her, of how right and easy the intimacy feels. ] I know. And so you will. You will get back to her. [ his voice is soft and full of a belief in her, and in his words, a belief he feels despite the danger. one full of a vow he does not name, but one he knows he makes as the words are committed to sound.
if this place works, it is only to the city's benefit, and their usefulness. and yet it doesn't matter what he knows. this was inevitable; his tongue is loose with her, his heart too open. he would promise her every star in the sky if she hinted it would make her happy. ]
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her thoughts only stray to stefan for a moment before she tries to suppress the angst it all brings, her focus returning to klaus which isn't much better, in the emotions his gaze (and touch) bring.] I'm going to do what I have to. [ it's almost said as a warning. but what for, she isn't sure. she is not obligated to him, not in faithfulness or emotion, she is not tied to him in any way (so she tells herself).
she will find the intimacy she needs to get back to mystic falls. she will do what it takes. although there is a voice in the recesses of her mind that remind her it would be so easy to fall into bed with him, to use the familiar to get to the end they both want, complications or not. she lets out a breath before using her other hand to take a sip of her drink, her eyes lifting to meet with his as she does so, licking her lips after she pulls the glass from them.]
Whatever it takes. [ just like she always has done.]
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he knows what she is capable of; he knows she would do anything for those she loves. and here, with anyone she sees fit. there is a darkness in his eyes full of his own unintentional warning, a jealousy and possessiveness teased out.
what of stefan?
it rolls over him, holds him tight, the breath she releases, the attention of her inscrutable gaze, the slide of her tongue against her lips. those words he has spoken himself with the same dedication, the same purpose. whatever it takes. he is torn between his anger, his desire, and the much more acceptable feelings of comfort he should be exuding.
(he wants her. god, it is in his blood, heating and singing and claiming.) ] And would "whatever it takes" ever be something you want?
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but with who? stefan? klaus? she doesn't know even as she says it to him and especially when he asks his question. she looks up at him, the pause between his words and her own feels infinite. he is too close to her now and yet a tiny voice inside her head says he's not close enough.
she is tired of the warring factions in her mind, she is tired of the two sides of her duking it out, every day. the side of her that is good and right versus the vampire instinct that tells her to give into whatever hunger she has.]
It could be, [ she answers carefully, truthfully even if she isn't sure what she wants.]
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he wants to be more than an effort. he wants more than means to an end for her, wants more than finite choices in which she must pick and choose. (he wants to be the choice.) she deserves more, even while he might embrace the position it could conceivably leave him in, in her eyes.
his throat works slightly at her answer; his lashes lower in half a blink, over the longing and cautiousness in his eyes. her words make his still heart thrum in the silence, the long beats between them. his fingers, as if awoken, gently rub hers, brush veins in her wrist, and his free hand lifts to the slide his fingertips down the delicate, splayed bones of her hand.
his lips part and he exhales, looks down in a bow to her, full of hope he feels he must smother, of tension strung tight.
perhaps he is the coward his father and his family takes him for: he will not ask what she wants. she already knows what answer he would seek. ] What you want and what you'll regret often find each other in hand. [ it is quiet, the one piece of true, selfless advice he has. there is a cost to whatever it takes. ]
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she feels the brush of his fingers, feels the heat it brings and the feeling of confusion it builds within her. she can't want him in the way he wants her to. she can't love him in this moment, at least she convinces herself as much. but that doesn't mean she doesn't want the comfort of the familiar, of someone she trusts (ha, trusting klaus).]
And I don't regret what we did. [ she can't. she said as much to everyone she told about it. she regrets who it may have hurt, yes. but she'd wanted him in that moment, she wanted that moment. she wanted the scandalous sex (and maybe she still craves it even now).]
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she has the darkness in her. it's what makes her light shine so brightly, so full.
his head lifts, and with it does his eyes, and in time for her confession. he holds her hand as something delicate, the weight a precious thing between his own, and it is only as she strikes him with her assurance that he realizes he craved it at all, that he wondered, that the distance between them and her words on the beach had tore at him. that no amount of memories could stop the way his thoughts have been oscillating: between the surety she wanted him then, could want him again, and knowing he would never be anything but a monster she would never choose.
but he is not the vicious, terrible visage that lurks inside now. his lips and eyes are soft, his brows smooth, his heart taken and affected. every bit the man he was born before he was shaped, and after; hurt and yearning, wanting even the barest scrap-
he tears his gaze away, drops it again because he is weak. ] I have regretted little. Very little. [ and even so, much he would have done anyway, regardless, even knowing. much he did. his eyes lift, and in them is composure and certainty. ] I would never regret you.
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they are so much more than the sum of their parts.
she watches his face as he tears his gaze from hers and speaks those words, words she knows to be true in her heart. it should strike some doubt in her heart, that he regrets so little of what he's done, monstrous and terrible. but so much of it he did in the pursuit of protecting his family (even if it meant hurting them), in the pursuit of love. brutalized from the start, he never had a chance, she knows that now even if she doesn't know just how true that is. love had been twisted and maimed right in front of him, he was broken, in a different way than she.
she feels the tension between them thicken as he speaks, her eyes never lifting from his face as she tries to speak lightly, in the way she always does in an attempt to lighten the mood, release the tension.] Well, I mean, duh. I was pretty incredible that day. [ she smiles at him, smirking even.] Top of my game even if half the time I had bark digging into my back.
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he knows: she is not broken because she is strong, in her love and in her heart. in all the ways he is not.
klaus' smile breaks through his graveness, the curve of his lips just as sincere, just as genuine. she seeks to cut the tension, that he knows, and he lets her. he likes it.
it is just as warm, her teasing. klaus turns his head away under the lightness of his amusement, of the truth he would emphatically agree with, even spoken with such assumed bragging rights. (she was incredible. more than; she was visceral and real and present, to him, with him, in a way she hadn't been ever before, not aside from the electric catch of their lingering gazes. his hands shook just as often as they steadied to grab and caress her with a thousand years' experience, and none at all.)
he is bright, smiling as he looks at her, the expression reaching his eyes as it rarely does. ] My apologies for any enthusiasm.
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isn't it?
so she continues to look smug, pulling her hand from his gently without any other purpose or motive but to tuck her hair back and take another sip of her drink. she sits back against his couch with an easy grace that she's always possessed upon turning vampire. the time for comfort and sorrows has passed and now she chooses to linger in their easy banter, the familiar.
caroline forbes for all her exceptionalism relies on the familiar. she is somehow both bold and reluctant. it is why she didn't go off to some exotic college, it is why she's trying so hard to go home, both here and back home. she looks equally bright, her smile, her eyes as she looks at him. she has pushed herself into the i'm fine mode for the time being.]
Next time no trees. [ she says it without even realizing what she has said, implied. that there will be a next time, that there should be. but perhaps the fact that she has so carelessly spoken of a 'next time' means that she has not turned her heart from the possibility. and perhaps that is more true than ever as she sits across from him in a place that demands intimacy as she seeks his comfort and receives it.]
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he knows it is easier for her. it is easy for him to watch her grace, to enjoy her smugness, and watch her comfortable in her skin and slip into what they know: what is just as familiar if not as thick as his murmured promises, and the heaviness of her grief.
he would be beaming if he were a man for it, taking her brightness in. (he knows there is just as much sadness underneath, dormant for now.) instead his smile is understated as he leans slightly back when she pulls from him. if he were a man for it, he'd show an outward sign to her offhand comment, to how it sends excitement straight through him, harsh and and piercing in the most pleasant of ways. what's better is she doesn't seem to realize what it foreshadows.
and for all he acquiesces, he simply cannot let this one pass. ] I'll keep that in mind. [ he says it simply, evenly, but low with promise. a tone meant to ruffle her, to make her realize her implication if not her intent. the look in his eyes is dark, wanting, remembering, and wicked in the following beat, trained on her.
klaus reaches for his drink beside him, pulls in a much-needed breath. ] Will you go to university? [ as they spoke of, before. ]
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it is an indication of her continued regard for him, the way she slips up, the way she doesn't quite realize it until it has already been said and answered with words of his own. she doesn't back track now, like she might before she knew the taste of his lips and press of his lean body against her own. now she has no ground to stand on, no deniability.
his promise makes her feel restless suddenly, it does ruffle her. but she hides her reaction as best she can even if she cannot hide the skip of her beating heart. he goes on to ask some inane question and she is quick to jump on it.] After dropping out? Yeah. I guess so.
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klaus takes a mouthful of his liquor now, downs half the glass. it will affect him little, and even littler given his previous impressive consumption today. ] I mean here. Word has it they have prolific programs. [ more inaneness, but truth be told he would like to know: what she plans to do here. ]
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