[ there is such a thing as the decency of merciful lies. he's believed in them, centuries over. yet the thought of omitting this, of breaking his promise to her, of once again dictating her knowledge... it's not an option he considers. he does not want to tarnish the intimacy they've built, nor hurt her; it means too much to him. the incredible anger he has felt the past months has finally quieted to a dull roar, and he knows he must either stay and fight for his family or truly choose to live in bitterness.
perhaps once, he would choose that. but there is his daughter, his child, and he knows she deserves a much better father than that.
and there is this. there is caroline, who deserves much more than he's had to offer.
the smoothed lines of his expression, those hiding nerves he feels, relax and lighten just slightly at the sight of her. he wasn't expecting such a joyful visitor, nor one with a gift. there's surprise in the lift of his brow as he looks down to the small, cheery package in her hands. the warmth and dread in him grows, and he steps aside to let her in wordlessly, his eyes lifting with a quiet longing to take her in. ]
[ caroline has always been able to read a room. it's what makes her so good at throwing parties. so when the door opens, caroline takes stock of many things that make her realize this isn't a happy visit. there's no happy greeting, he doesn't pull her into his arms to kiss (not that he's done that in the past, really) but he doesn't give her that smile, that look that he gets when he sees her.
and she can sense the tension in him, she can see it in the way he moves out of the way for her to enter without a word. he's in a mood. her smile fades and she steps forward, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as she does.
[ he does so rarely beat around the bush himself, and yet the frankness of her question has him faltering for words. to explain it or say it plainly; either way his usual verbosity fails him. he looks down to the ground as if that'll make this momentary struggle any easier.
how does he own and explain his actions and intentions with plain sincerity? how does he, to her, holding a gift and bearing a smile that moments before signified all he has wanted? finally, he finds voice, and lifts his head. ] I want to talk to you.
[ this feels bad. caroline doesn't know why but it doesn't feel right. he says he wants to talk to her so why doesn't he just talk? why the obvious preamble, one you use if you're trying to avoid an actual talk?
for a moment, caroline's mind flashes to that girl, the one she met in the gallery. cami? and caroline's lips press together. ] Okay, [ she murmurs, fidgeting with the bow on top of the paper she so carefully wrapped around the framed picture of his daughter.]
[ he means it more than just a preamble; the sentiment is not merely a tool to stall. he wants to talk to her, to confide in her. another beat passes and his gaze drops for a moment to the movement of her fingers. he can't help it, he's curious: what it is, what it's for -- though he certainly doesn't feel deserving of whatever thoughtfulness she had behind it.
silently, he gestures to the couches for her to sit. it's polite, after all, and he has no desire to have this conversation in the doorway. and it also gives him a reason to reach out and touch her, his hand lightly grasping her shoulder. it seems he'll savor whatever he can with her, now as much as always. ]
[ when he urges her towards the couch, she moves as he guides her. and before he can start, she sits, looking up at him before setting the gift in her lap.] What's going on?
[ he follows, a step behind her, his hand moving a gentle touch down her arm as they sit, he next to her. he pulls it away, lets out a shaky breath, his eyes sightless as he looks between them. ] When I told you of home, I failed to mention- [ the explanation tapers off before he truly begins. there's no reason, he believes, to pad this with descriptions of his rage besides as justification; surely she knows he was wrathful, and it is not his confession now. his lips close, and after a moment, he begins again. ] I attacked Davina a few nights ago. [ he says it matter-of-factly, with only the most subtle regret, his eyes downcast and the stoicism in his expression braced for defense. he waits for the judgement, to be shamed for it, to be seen as the monster he's seen as and the monster he is.
but it is a passing moment and one he does not linger on. his features soften. there's a tenseness in his jaw and a flutter in his lashes as his eyes lift to hers. ] I believe you deserve more than what I've had to offer you.
[ here is it, she thinks. here it is when he explains that he's been carrying on with cami. or that there's a thing between them and he has to choose. and here is where caroline comes in second place. again. caroline barely catches what he says as her mind goes to crazy places, as it wanders to the worst---
oh wait no. that's the worst possibility. ] What? [ she asks almost numbly, her shock coming slowly, her cheeks flushing for the wrong reasons now as she tries to process what he said and he continues to speak as he looks at her like and says...
blinking at him, she tries to take in another breath but her stomach is twisting so tightly.] What do you mean... attacked? Why? [ god, is she seriously asking for qualifiers? is she seriously thinking that if it's just some sort of small attack she'd be okay with that? no, it's not okay and suddenly caroline remembers all the reasons she was afraid of being with him, of... loving him.]
[ she deserves more: more than his anger and loathing as whatever companion he is to her. and he cannot offer her more than that until he lets all of that go. he knows that now, and with a painful clarity. it's only a question of if she would want him with his past deeds, with this, with the tarnish that he knows is on him along with whatever is not completely lost. he blinks, the vulnerability stark in his eyes seeing her numbness, and then his eyes deaden, hearing her question. he's thought of why. he's thought of it endlessly since he committed the act, and he thinks of it now.
he has no reason for her, none that would make it all right. he wouldn't parse even if he did. ] I threatened her. [ he wrapped his hands around her throat and made her weep, and any satisfaction or righteousness he wished to glean from it crumbled to dust the moment it was done. ] Because she has threatened me. [ yes, she has. but that's not why. his voice begins to waver and his eyes burn; he goes on. ] Because she reminds me of all I... [ of kol, and elijah. ] all I feel I cannot help or fix. My shortcomings.
[ caroline wants to scream at him then. but mostly, she wants to scream at herself. she was stupid to think he could change. that being a father would somehow soften or make him different. even after he'd told her all that he'd done for her. the ruthless acts he'd committed. she'd felt removed from those things, she'd ridden that denial train and didn't think about them too much, selfishly.
but now, now it was here in front of her. an action she could very well see, action that she could not ignore. he was not different or changed. love wasn't some cure-all. it made people crazy. and it seemed that loving caroline forbes never made a man a better person ( at least that was the dark thought she had, not the truth).
she moves to cover her mouth.] I feel... [ she gags very softly.] I feel sick. [ she moves to stand, out of frustration and well, just with the need to. she presses her hands together in front of her mouth for a moment before she speaks again--]
So you attacked a young girl. [ there is judgement in her tone that she does not hide, the look she gives him meant to shame him. she is not some perfect, forgiving being, even if he deserved it.] Because she reminded you of your flaws? [ caroline didn't want to think of what he did to her, how he hurt this girl.]
She's a teenager. She's younger than I was when we met. [ honestly, caroline's barely older than her now.] And you attacked her because you're insecure? What would happen if I said something that made you insecure? Would you attack me too? Oh, wait. You did.
[ he hadn't the courage to look at her, not towards the last of his words. he hears the rustle of her movements, the quiet thick with terrible and teeming emotions, all those he has released onto her and all those he can feel rise in a building storm. when she speaks he lifts his eyes to her, the words touching him with a horrible, spreading cold. he has been at the brunt of horror and disgust before, but never has he shown his hurt and bared his underbelly beforehand, and from her it is a wrenching pain so blinding he can do nothing but let it consume and roll past.
he does feel shamed, every word like a blow of truth he absorbs. he feels mocked, but the indignation of such a thing does not register, not until her accusations, not until her lips wrap around that final shame, how she wields it like a knife to cut him. does she know it cuts him? could she, if she truly thinks he is so deplorable?
(it's to cut herself.)
it's immediate, how he snaps, moving swiftly to his feet to look in her eyes. he is angry: angry at this image she has of him, hurt so deeply to be seen so incapable of love when love is a surge inside of him for her. ] If you think I would ever harm you again- [ he stops, vulnerable again, his anger dying, because he wouldn't. he would never harm her again. ]
[ she knows it cuts him the moment she says it. she knows she has just wielded a cruel, terrible knife. and yet, she can't hate herself for it. she feels disappointment like a cold blanket wrapping around her heart. she's angry at herself, lashing out at him because he isn't the good man she needs him to be. he isn't the sort of good person she should be drawn to. and if she's drawn to someone who cannot fight the darkness within themselves, who continues to hurt people, what kind of person does that make her?
perhaps her words are too cruel. and later she may cry for how they might have hurt him but right now, she feels betrayed just like she had when matt told her he didn't want her anymore, didn't want her life, when he looked at her like a monster. just as she felt when tyler chose his revenge over her, over a life with her. because caroline still foolishly believes the things she'd been raised to believe, growing up in the age of disney movies, that love can conquer all, that it can change a person, even someone broken.
but it can't. it never will. it's not enough.
she blinks when he's suddenly standing before her, barely fighting back the instinctive flinch that wants to come out. because he has hurt her in the past when she poked at him, when she hurt him. he'd lashed out and almost killed her. she feels the searing pain of his bite in her neck now.
still, she is not so unfeeling that she doesn't see the shift in his features, the vulnerability of a man trying to change but failing. she lets out a breath, still tense with frustration and disappointment.] Klaus, I don't-- [ she doesn't think he would hurt her but... she doesn't know what she knows anymore. only that he would hurt or kill anyone who put his family in danger and she is not his family.] She's just a girl who's pissed off because you hurt someone she loves. And you... [ she shakes her head, eyes lowering as her fingers still clutch at the gift in her hands, looking heartbroken]
[ love alone is not enough to fix what is broken, but it's something. it's something to him: a soothing caress when he's allowed himself to want so few. a light when the darkness is so terrible and black there is nothing else. and despite all his protests and declarations to the contrary, he needs it. he needs it now; he wants it. he needs help. he wants her.
his eyes are wide looking down at her; he imagines all she truly sees or acknowledges are his darknesses, his failings. lord knows he certainly does. the sight of her blurs with the tears that obscure his vision. ] Then go. [ if that's how she feels, he is not so desperate or delusional to beg or convince her or anyone to regard him any differently. he knows who he is, what he is. ] If you truly believe there is not one world in which I- [ in which he is worthy. he stops, unable to continue. he has hurt people; he has done leagues more than that. and he will again: he knows that, and he is not ashamed of the lives he will take to protect himself or his family.
but he is trying. he has tried, in all other regards. before this, before here. he wants to try now. to be capable of it, for his daughter. if she doesn't see him for who he is then it is no flaw or fault of her own, but he will not force her to listen to him, to stay with him. ]
[ she sees him for who he is. but she is blinded by it now. and she realizes then that he is not who she wants him to be, that he can't be the person she wants. not yet. maybe not ever. that her desires are selfish as she tries to mold him in her mind into this man that does not exist, that she tries to force him to climb the steps onto a pedestal when she has her own glaring imperfections. none so violent and horrible as his but who is to say that she wouldn't take a similar path as he to protect those she loves? and in the past, she has. she has killed people to protect her own version of a family.
regardless, she hates that look, the one he gives her. it's a reflection of the hurt she's provided him. and when he tells her to go, as he trails off and doesn't finish a thought she knows would only make her feel worse... she feels her own heart being pulled apart. she doesn't like the way it makes her feel, the conflict it brings out within herself.
her lips press together tightly as she tries to find the right words.] How am I supposed to react, Klaus? [ her tone is equal parts pleading and accusatory.] Did you think that this wouldn't shock me? Or upset me? Did you think I'd be okay with it?
[ not for one moment did he believe she would suffer his actions in silence, that she would accept them with blindness. the accusation in her voice is not what cuts him; it's the pleading, the notes of pain that sing through her anger. he stares at her, feeling the lash of that disappointment, tears wetting his lashes.
what did he think? ] I was certain you would look on me with the hatred and disgust you are now. I feared knowing the pain it would bring you, and how it might finally convince you to leave. [ the pain he feels now; the fear. both are stark in his eyes. he goes on, the waver in his voice steadying some with his surety in this: ] But there was nothing more abhorrent to me than lying to you, than breaking my promise to you. [ it's her, the way his voice stresses that 'you': this means something to him. it means everything. he steps close, brave and afraid and longing, sliding deeper into the charged space between them. ] I wanted you to know, to understand... [ he searches her eyes for a glimmer of either; he wants her to know him. his voice softens. ] I want to fix this. [ he's going to fix this. he pauses at the truth of it, those small, improbable words he's kept buried deep inside of him. ] With my family. With myself.
[ at the mention of hatred and disgust, she actually scoffs at him. it's unbelievable that a man who has been alive for as long as he has can be so utterly clueless about the inner workings of a person's heart. okay, so maybe there's some disgust in her tone and in the way she looks at him but he's a moron if he thinks that she hates him. that's the whole problem, she should hate him by all counts he's done things to her, to her friends that should garner her hatred. but she doesn't hate him because there's another side of him, the side that drew her in. she can see in the tears that threaten to fall from his eyes, the way his voice sounds, the pain in his eyes, the depths of his heart.
he wants to be different. oh no, he doesn't want to change, not in the way she may wish he could. the violence of love and loyalty is too ingrained in him, she knows that. but she also can see that he wants to be more open with, that he struggles finding a balance. maybe even a way to temper his tendency to solve things homicidally ( okay, so maybe that's her wishful thinking).
she doesn't look away from him as he steps closer as he, in so many words, begs for her understanding. she sighs softly, tucking her hair behind her ears as she tries to think of what to say beyond---] That's the thing... I don't hate you, Klaus. [ she just might love him.
she looks down then, glancing at the gift in her hands.] What are you going to do? To fix it?
[ perhaps he is utterly blinded to the warmth and strain of her heart for him; how deep it runs and how it aches. he is blinded by his fears and doubts and anger. he doubts it like he does all else, scarred by rejections that have cut deep and rejections he has not given (has not been given) the salve to heal. perhaps after centuries he recognizes how obvious it is -
- to hate him. as so many have hated him.
he flinches at her scoff and is struck at its admonishment. it's unfair; he knows that it is and especially at that chiding: to consider her feelings with the selfish imposition of his own, to presume. he lets it go; he concedes it, and to her. (she's in the right, and he knows it, no matter how it rankles his entitlement.) he knows it as she speaks, his eyes wide with the balm of her words, however known, spoken so small and plain.
it quiets him, shames rather than comforts, knowing he had wanted that assurance. (and he doesn't want to pry her affection, care, and love from her; he wants it to be given freely.) he looks down as well, exhales before returning his eyes to hers at her question. ] I don't know. [ he hasn't known, and the fear of that shows. he thinks of the night he told her everything, how she told him to try. ] But perhaps you're right. Perhaps a gesture, however insufficient, is a place to start. [ is it? he searches her eyes, her face, as if looking for an answer; he realizes it is not to that question, but to something more. he's searching for her faith in him. ]
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perhaps once, he would choose that. but there is his daughter, his child, and he knows she deserves a much better father than that.
and there is this. there is caroline, who deserves much more than he's had to offer.
the smoothed lines of his expression, those hiding nerves he feels, relax and lighten just slightly at the sight of her. he wasn't expecting such a joyful visitor, nor one with a gift. there's surprise in the lift of his brow as he looks down to the small, cheery package in her hands. the warmth and dread in him grows, and he steps aside to let her in wordlessly, his eyes lifting with a quiet longing to take her in. ]
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and she can sense the tension in him, she can see it in the way he moves out of the way for her to enter without a word. he's in a mood. her smile fades and she steps forward, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as she does.
and never one to beat around the bush--]
What's going on?
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how does he own and explain his actions and intentions with plain sincerity? how does he, to her, holding a gift and bearing a smile that moments before signified all he has wanted? finally, he finds voice, and lifts his head. ] I want to talk to you.
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for a moment, caroline's mind flashes to that girl, the one she met in the gallery. cami? and caroline's lips press together. ] Okay, [ she murmurs, fidgeting with the bow on top of the paper she so carefully wrapped around the framed picture of his daughter.]
I'm listening...
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silently, he gestures to the couches for her to sit. it's polite, after all, and he has no desire to have this conversation in the doorway. and it also gives him a reason to reach out and touch her, his hand lightly grasping her shoulder. it seems he'll savor whatever he can with her, now as much as always. ]
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but it is a passing moment and one he does not linger on. his features soften. there's a tenseness in his jaw and a flutter in his lashes as his eyes lift to hers. ] I believe you deserve more than what I've had to offer you.
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oh wait no. that's the worst possibility. ] What? [ she asks almost numbly, her shock coming slowly, her cheeks flushing for the wrong reasons now as she tries to process what he said and he continues to speak as he looks at her like and says...
blinking at him, she tries to take in another breath but her stomach is twisting so tightly.] What do you mean... attacked? Why? [ god, is she seriously asking for qualifiers? is she seriously thinking that if it's just some sort of small attack she'd be okay with that? no, it's not okay and suddenly caroline remembers all the reasons she was afraid of being with him, of... loving him.]
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he has no reason for her, none that would make it all right. he wouldn't parse even if he did. ] I threatened her. [ he wrapped his hands around her throat and made her weep, and any satisfaction or righteousness he wished to glean from it crumbled to dust the moment it was done. ] Because she has threatened me. [ yes, she has. but that's not why. his voice begins to waver and his eyes burn; he goes on. ] Because she reminds me of all I... [ of kol, and elijah. ] all I feel I cannot help or fix. My shortcomings.
My fears.
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but now, now it was here in front of her. an action she could very well see, action that she could not ignore. he was not different or changed. love wasn't some cure-all. it made people crazy. and it seemed that loving caroline forbes never made a man a better person ( at least that was the dark thought she had, not the truth).
she moves to cover her mouth.] I feel... [ she gags very softly.] I feel sick. [ she moves to stand, out of frustration and well, just with the need to. she presses her hands together in front of her mouth for a moment before she speaks again--]
So you attacked a young girl. [ there is judgement in her tone that she does not hide, the look she gives him meant to shame him. she is not some perfect, forgiving being, even if he deserved it.] Because she reminded you of your flaws? [ caroline didn't want to think of what he did to her, how he hurt this girl.]
She's a teenager. She's younger than I was when we met. [ honestly, caroline's barely older than her now.] And you attacked her because you're insecure? What would happen if I said something that made you insecure? Would you attack me too? Oh, wait. You did.
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he does feel shamed, every word like a blow of truth he absorbs. he feels mocked, but the indignation of such a thing does not register, not until her accusations, not until her lips wrap around that final shame, how she wields it like a knife to cut him. does she know it cuts him? could she, if she truly thinks he is so deplorable?
(it's to cut herself.)
it's immediate, how he snaps, moving swiftly to his feet to look in her eyes. he is angry: angry at this image she has of him, hurt so deeply to be seen so incapable of love when love is a surge inside of him for her. ] If you think I would ever harm you again- [ he stops, vulnerable again, his anger dying, because he wouldn't. he would never harm her again. ]
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perhaps her words are too cruel. and later she may cry for how they might have hurt him but right now, she feels betrayed just like she had when matt told her he didn't want her anymore, didn't want her life, when he looked at her like a monster. just as she felt when tyler chose his revenge over her, over a life with her. because caroline still foolishly believes the things she'd been raised to believe, growing up in the age of disney movies, that love can conquer all, that it can change a person, even someone broken.
but it can't. it never will. it's not enough.
she blinks when he's suddenly standing before her, barely fighting back the instinctive flinch that wants to come out. because he has hurt her in the past when she poked at him, when she hurt him. he'd lashed out and almost killed her. she feels the searing pain of his bite in her neck now.
still, she is not so unfeeling that she doesn't see the shift in his features, the vulnerability of a man trying to change but failing. she lets out a breath, still tense with frustration and disappointment.] Klaus, I don't-- [ she doesn't think he would hurt her but... she doesn't know what she knows anymore. only that he would hurt or kill anyone who put his family in danger and she is not his family.] She's just a girl who's pissed off because you hurt someone she loves. And you... [ she shakes her head, eyes lowering as her fingers still clutch at the gift in her hands, looking heartbroken]
You keep hurting people.
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his eyes are wide looking down at her; he imagines all she truly sees or acknowledges are his darknesses, his failings. lord knows he certainly does. the sight of her blurs with the tears that obscure his vision. ] Then go. [ if that's how she feels, he is not so desperate or delusional to beg or convince her or anyone to regard him any differently. he knows who he is, what he is. ] If you truly believe there is not one world in which I- [ in which he is worthy. he stops, unable to continue. he has hurt people; he has done leagues more than that. and he will again: he knows that, and he is not ashamed of the lives he will take to protect himself or his family.
but he is trying. he has tried, in all other regards. before this, before here. he wants to try now. to be capable of it, for his daughter. if she doesn't see him for who he is then it is no flaw or fault of her own, but he will not force her to listen to him, to stay with him. ]
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regardless, she hates that look, the one he gives her. it's a reflection of the hurt she's provided him. and when he tells her to go, as he trails off and doesn't finish a thought she knows would only make her feel worse... she feels her own heart being pulled apart. she doesn't like the way it makes her feel, the conflict it brings out within herself.
her lips press together tightly as she tries to find the right words.] How am I supposed to react, Klaus? [ her tone is equal parts pleading and accusatory.] Did you think that this wouldn't shock me? Or upset me? Did you think I'd be okay with it?
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what did he think? ] I was certain you would look on me with the hatred and disgust you are now. I feared knowing the pain it would bring you, and how it might finally convince you to leave. [ the pain he feels now; the fear. both are stark in his eyes. he goes on, the waver in his voice steadying some with his surety in this: ] But there was nothing more abhorrent to me than lying to you, than breaking my promise to you. [ it's her, the way his voice stresses that 'you': this means something to him. it means everything. he steps close, brave and afraid and longing, sliding deeper into the charged space between them. ] I wanted you to know, to understand... [ he searches her eyes for a glimmer of either; he wants her to know him. his voice softens. ] I want to fix this. [ he's going to fix this. he pauses at the truth of it, those small, improbable words he's kept buried deep inside of him. ] With my family. With myself.
None of you deserve any less. [ including her. ]
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he wants to be different. oh no, he doesn't want to change, not in the way she may wish he could. the violence of love and loyalty is too ingrained in him, she knows that. but she also can see that he wants to be more open with, that he struggles finding a balance. maybe even a way to temper his tendency to solve things homicidally ( okay, so maybe that's her wishful thinking).
she doesn't look away from him as he steps closer as he, in so many words, begs for her understanding. she sighs softly, tucking her hair behind her ears as she tries to think of what to say beyond---] That's the thing... I don't hate you, Klaus. [ she just might love him.
she looks down then, glancing at the gift in her hands.] What are you going to do? To fix it?
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- to hate him. as so many have hated him.
he flinches at her scoff and is struck at its admonishment. it's unfair; he knows that it is and especially at that chiding: to consider her feelings with the selfish imposition of his own, to presume. he lets it go; he concedes it, and to her. (she's in the right, and he knows it, no matter how it rankles his entitlement.) he knows it as she speaks, his eyes wide with the balm of her words, however known, spoken so small and plain.
it quiets him, shames rather than comforts, knowing he had wanted that assurance. (and he doesn't want to pry her affection, care, and love from her; he wants it to be given freely.) he looks down as well, exhales before returning his eyes to hers at her question. ] I don't know. [ he hasn't known, and the fear of that shows. he thinks of the night he told her everything, how she told him to try. ] But perhaps you're right. Perhaps a gesture, however insufficient, is a place to start. [ is it? he searches her eyes, her face, as if looking for an answer; he realizes it is not to that question, but to something more. he's searching for her faith in him. ]