Chapter Text
You've got no place to hide
And I'm feeling like a villain, got a hunger inside
One look in my eyes
And you're running 'cause I'm coming
Gonna eat you alive
The city of New Orleans is famous worldwide for its ghostly, macabre stories.
Everywhere you go, blood, guts and gore run aplenty. Rather than making it a gruesome lesson, the Big Easy has turned its long history of mass murders, public executions, arsons and hidden torture chambers into highly sought-after commodities. People flock over from all around the world, desperate to be spooked.
It's been like that for hundreds of years, long before crossing the ocean or even the country had been made swift and uncomplicated. Humans are paradoxical like that, with their morbid attraction to that which scares them the most: death. The number of tourists drawn to the city by the latest bout of violence to hit the streets of the French Quarter is a clear example of that – which, in Elijah's opinion, is simply obscene.
Gang violence turns the French Quarter into a warzone, leaving dozens of dead in New Orleans, read the newspapers the following day. It was all it was talked about, all over the country, for weeks. Gang. That is certainly one way to put it. Another, more accurate one would be furry pack of audacious, traitorous maggots.
Amidst the city's abundant list of terrible and vicious episodes, dating back from before it was even officially founded, haunted sites have always been its crown jewel. The so-called paranormal occurrences, usually connected to particularly awful events, are the bread-winner of many specialized tour-guides, posted on every corner of the French Quarter offering their services to whoever is willing to pay. Delphine Lalaurie's mansion is, perhaps, the most famous spot in all the Quarter, with tourists gathering around its doors and under its balconies to hear tales of her sadism and cruelty. At night, they say, you can still hear the groans and screams of the enslaved men and women she tortured and mutilated within those walls. Except it's not really the dead slaves screaming — it's Madame LaLaurie herself.
After her horrors were uncovered, she attempted to use her fortune and connections to flee, but Marcel had a different idea. He fed his blood to the many men and women found in appalling conditions in her house, the ones who wouldn’t have survived otherwise, and then captured and turned the LaLaurie couple as well. One lifetime wouldn’t be enough punishment for those two.
There's a spelled door in the basement where she used to keep her prisoners that realtors and homeowners never see. That has been Delphine's tomb for almost two hundred years now. At the beginning, her former servants used to go there almost every day to let her know just how sorry they felt for her terrible fate. As time went by, they eventually lost interest, moving on with their immortal lives. Every now and then, however, one will still show up to feed her blood and make sure she doesn't desiccate. That would be too kind an outcome for that woman. It's usually shortly after one of those visits that the new owners or the house staff can hear her pathetic wails and howls. It used to scare the residents, many of whom have fled into the night, never to return to the house. Now, however, it seems they have realized they can make rich bucks out of the mansion’s fame. Even some eccentric celebrities are amongst the recent owners.
The Fauline Cottage is another favorite. To an outsider, the mansion looks abandoned. In a certain way, it is. As far as the city records show, the Fauline family never quite settled their inheritance disputes after the death of the old Fauline dowager, who passed away with no children of her own to whom the property could be directly transferred. With time, the place became decrepit and inhospitable — but not uninhabited. Niklaus and Marcel had a friend spell the mansion shortly after the owner's death to punish a couple of wayward witches who used to cause trouble around the city by aiding their brother Kol in his wicked and mysterious activities. After that, the city's covens turned the place into a sort of prison for undesirable witches — murderers, degenerates, deranged, too far damaged to be contained. Over the decades, many have gone in — and no one has ever come out. No one but a few designated witches have access to it, and no sign of activity can be seen from the outside. Sometimes, however, strange sounds can be heard. It's quite daunting. Tourists love it.
Elijah thinks the Mikaelson compound is likely to make the list of favorite hotspots for spooky tours soon enough. The place certainly has its own nasty history of gruesome incidents, having been bathed in red more times than Elijah cares to remember, although most of these incidents won’t show on any official records, having been thoroughly erased either by compulsion or a few generous donations. Under Marcel’s rule, the place was known by the suggestive — however obnoxiously distasteful — name of L'abattoir.
Their home is certainly a worthy representative of the bloody, brutal and downright horrid history of the city itself. Lately, however, it’s gained even more of the fantastic contours that tourists so very love, more like a haunted mansion than it’s ever been.
In many ways, that's exactly what it is. Haunted.
When the compound isn't eerily quiet, it is taken with mayhem. It's the only two states there are these days, no in-between, no semblance of normalcy whatsoever. It's either an abandoned mansion, with monstrous ghosts creeping in the shadows and sheets covering all the garden furniture that no one seems to use anymore, or it has too much liveliness. The wrong kind of liveliness. The type that would spark the hearts of the ghost-hunters of New Orleans. If they were to stand outside right now, for instance, they would be able listen to a cacophony of grunts and rumbles, all courtesy of the most haunted man in all Crescent City: Niklaus.
In the early days, shortly after the battle that sealed his niece's fate and carved a hole into the very soul of their family, things felt lighter, if that's possible. There was a certain hopeful air about the place. They'd been defeated, but not annihilated. Bent, but not broken. All they needed was time, and not even an abundance of it. To their understanding, the worst was already behind them. They were all under the false impression that their situation would be hastily resolved: Niklaus would recover from his full moon blues, Caroline would get her bearings and learn how to adapt to her new condition and Elijah would be there to provide the both of them with whatever they needed, all the while making himself ready to strike their enemies when the time came. But as they moved along, it became painfully clear that nothing would be as easy or as straightforward as they'd hoped for.
Niklaus’ strength was never quite fully restored, and as the next full moon approached, he began to feel weaker and weaker, like someone coming down with an illness. The more affected he felt, the more his mood soured, and when the day was finally upon them and he was rendered as helpless as he'd been the month before, he simply blew up in rage.
He wanted to attack the Guerreras straight away, jump Francesca's throat and never bother about a thing. Except if they were to do this right, they'd need a bullet proof plan. If even one of the Guerreras managed to escape with a stone, Niklaus may never return to his full abilities, and each new full moon he'd fall prey to the effects of the sordid enchantment Genevieve put on those rings. In order to do things right, first they'd need to locate each one of the stones, figure out how Francesca distributed it amongst her allies, and devise a scheme on how to corner each and every one of them without allowing for the others to be alerted and escape. And whilst they worked on that, they'd have to keep selling their grief over the loss of Baby Girl Mikaelson, as her fake headstone read.
Not that it was a difficult selling point, of course. Niklaus refused to leave the compound, remaining locked in his studio for most of the day. In four months, he was rarely seen around the Quarter. It was both a part of their plan and a necessity; if Niklaus was to run into one of the Guerreras, it was very likely he wouldn't be able to restrain himself. Instead, he focused all his anger and frustration into his art, which is... An altogether different problem.
Niklaus' explosive and hyperbolic ways, however, are nothing new to Elijah; he's quite used to it. Lashing out was expected of him and it is, to a certain extent, a good thing. As long as he's letting out his rage in a manner that does not compromise their cover or their future, it's fine. Bothersome, insufferable at times, sure, but manageable. The real, most troublesome issue, in Elijah’s opinion, lies elsewhere.
Caroline.
Her initial optimism was slowly doused by the delay in finding a solution to their dilemma. Caroline wanted revenge, and she wanted it fast. The longer it took for things to move forward, the more distant and closed off she became — and the more she withdrew from them, isolating herself, the worst Niklaus grew. It was the perfect storm. The two of them were attached at the hips after the first few weeks — and then, before long had passed, they weren't speaking to each other anymore. Each day that went by with no answer and no plan, with no clear prognosis of when or if she'd be able to have her daughter returned to her, Caroline's light dimmed further, and Elijah's heart shattered a little more.
He could perfectly understand his brother's sense of inadequacy and powerlessness for he felt it too. What he could not understand was Klaus' apathy. Her clear discontentment drowned him in guilt once more and, much like a child who's done something wrong but has no idea how to acquit himself, he opted for the easiest route: avoidance.
Elijah insisted that Niklaus should take her out and teach her how to be a vampire — how to hunt, how to feed, how to use her new speed and strength to her advantage. He did it once, twice, and then he stopped. Elijah is certain they must've gotten into a fight, but neither of them would confirm or deny it. After sharing a bed for a few weeks, they retired each to their own corner and there they've remained. Now, Caroline has taken to going out on her own, to the Bayou. She says she's teaching herself how to be a vampire, but when Elijah offered to accompany her, she refused. "I need to breathe, Elijah. Just let me be."
As much as he can sympathize with the feeling, he’s still concerned. Every time Caroline steps outside, werewolves follow. The Guerreras banned every single vampire from the French Quarter, with two exceptions: himself and Caroline. They made it seem as though they were being gracious, but Elijah is not naive as to believe that appalling excuse. They want to keep a close eye on them. It's best that they know what they're up to than not, and what better way to do that than to isolate their family from any possible allies and surround them with hostile surveillance?
And then there's the other issue — the more immediate life and death one. The one weapon that can kill an Original, the last remaining white oak stake, went missing from the compound during the chaos of battle. They have no idea who's taken it, but they can assume it was Francesca and her wolves. Which means — any misstep on their part won't just end with Niklaus having to suffer longer from having his energy drained every full moon, but with one of them — and, consequently, every vampire they've ever turned, which includes not only Marcel Gerard but all of Caroline's friends back in Mystic Falls — dead.
To say their family currently finds themselves in quite a predicament is the understatement of the century. Many problems and not nearly enough valid solutions. But today, at last, Elijah has some good news to share. It's not by far a definitive answer, but it is a start. One that allows them to finally begin plotting their next moves.
If only Niklaus wasn't in one of his moods...
Personally, Elijah prefers it when he's in his quiet mode: sulking in silence, retired into the pensive loneliness of his bourbon. It's when he explodes that it really gets on his nerves. Every few days, after harboring enough foul feelings inside of him to intoxicate his mind — and not seeing enough of Caroline around the house — he pours it all out in the form of a tantrum. It's usually through painting, but often also through destroying things. Sometimes, like right now, he'll also play Mozart at the highest volume to try and mask out his angry howls. Not that it ever works. The music just seems to rile him up further.
As they are but for a few days from the next full moon — the fourth since the night it all went down —, he's not only feeling the by now familiar sickness and apprehension, his temper is also flaring more hotly than normal. All in all, it is hardly a moment Elijah would choose to address any real problems or discuss anything of effect with his brother, but in this case he doesn't really have a choice. It's far too important to wait for Klaus' mind to clear.
He wishes Caroline were home to join them, but alas... She's spent the night in the Bayou, at her old cabin. It's the third time this week. If he didn't know better, he'd say she's turned into a werewolf, not a vampire.
As he follows the sound of the music coming from the second floor, he considers the situation again. He's just returning from the docks, where he had a pleasant meeting with a few of Francesca's men. Elijah’s been meddling in many of her businesses lately, having weaseled his way into the city's historic and preservation societies through one of his foundations. If he cannot exert control through traditional means — that is, by force —, then he has to find some creative alternatives. Money is usually the quickest route towards having a voice within governing bodies and, luckily, that is the one thing, along with spitefulness, that his family happens to have in heaps.
So far, he's met with Francesca’s brothers and many — if not all — of her closest associates, but not with the woman herself. Much like Niklaus, she's become rather reclusive, and that simply eludes all reason. Just as she finally gets a revenge decades in the making, takes over the reins of the city and achieves a level of power she's never had before, she goes into hiding? Something feels amiss there.
Elijah got word that she was trying to buy one of the city's original foundries — an abandoned building that is frankly ready to be demolished. But if Francesca wants it, whatever the reason, then Elijah simply doesn't want her to have it. A bit of charm and the promise of some signed checks was all it took for the city council to allow him to personally deal with the prospective buyers. He called the preservation act of 1966 to keep the sale from going through, claiming his foundation had a vested interest in keeping the building and its ancient bloomery forge protected. The pleasure of seeing the downward curve on those wolves' lips as they realized they'd been outwitted was a personal — however small — victory, but not the only reason why Elijah was so keen on attending that particular encounter. He had a feeling he'd find something he'd been desperately seeking for a while. And he was right.
He'd be far more excited about it if his brother's music wasn't castigating the delicate sensibilities of his super hearing, though. Only Niklaus can make Mozart sound like a punishment.
He finds Klaus bent over his canvases, ripping them apart. Now he won't even bother painting before destroying it; he saves himself the trouble by attacking the blank ones. Such a waste of perfectly good material...
"I suppose we shall have to call this your white period," Elijah muses as he picks up one of the canvases his brother has thrashed and puts it up against the wall.
"I'm missing a crucial color in my palette," Klaus grunts. "That of my enemies' blood."
"Well, I recommend a Venetian red with a dash of rust, maybe."
"It's been months!" he snaps, swiveling around to face Elijah. "I've adhered to our plan — sit and do nothing, sell our grief. Now my child is safely away, no one suspects a thing and another full moon is upon us, another night of pathetic weakness." Klaus lets out a deep, dejected breath. "Elijah... This inertia is killing me. I need to act. I - I need... I need to spill blood."
Niklaus' eyes burn into Elijah's with a feverish Intent, verging on despair. It's when he starts to stutter and sound pleading that you know something is decidedly wrong with him.
"Then you'll be pleased to know that I have finally done it." The corner of Elijah's lips curl into a tiny grin almost involuntarily. It took him four months, but he has indeed cleared the first step on their route to recovering his niece. "I've located the last of the twelve enchanted rings that were forged with your blood."
A smile breaks onto his brother's face, so big it's like it'll split him in two. "Then it's time."
"And none too soon. I do, however, have some... concerns." Elijah makes a pause. "About Caroline."
Just like that, the smile slides off Niklaus' face as swiftly as it appeared, the flicker of excitement extinguished as he turns his back to Elijah and starts picking up the remnants of his latest tantrum. "She looks well enough," he grumbles.
"She looks no better than you, brother. And you obviously know that. The two of you seemed to be on good terms and now you treat each other as no more than passing acquaintances. When was the last time you spoke to her?"
"Caroline doesn't need me. She has you to offer all the assistance she needs."
"Are we back at this, Niklaus?" he asks with a hint of impatience. Elijah is done with being at the end of his brother's fickle accusations. He did not remove himself from the race and worked tirelessly to have them reunited just to find himself exactly where he was five months ago. "You do realize I'm not talking about assistance here, don't you? But since you've mentioned — even that you fail to provide."
"She doesn't want my help," he says bitterly, but with a clear undercurrent of sadness. "I can't help her. So maybe you should try."
Elijah sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. To anyone else, Niklaus' behavior would be dismissive and repulsively egotistical, seeing as the woman he's talking about has recently undergone a most traumatic event and deserves all the attention in the world. But he knows his brother way too well to take his snappish tone for face value. He is hurting, just as much as Caroline, and not only because of his diminished strength and the delay in recovering the rings and putting the perpetrators of last spring's crimes to justice. He feels guilty still. Amongst his brother’s many flaws, his inaptitude at making amends is perhaps the oldest and most glaring.
"Sadly..." Elijah begins. "Like the father of her child, she seems to prefer to fight her demons alone."
Caroline wants to spill blood.
That's not a craving she's ever had before in her life, but it's one that she’s been stuck with for months now. And it's not just about feeding — although it is about feeding, too; but it's also about really spilling blood. And not just any blood either, but that of her enemies, the ones who would dare to hurt her daughter, the ones who would try to kill her, the ones who stood by and did nothing while a bunch of witches threatened to sacrifice an innocent baby.
So, basically, the entire population of the French Quarter.
That need for violence has been rushing under her skin like a persistent itch. Always there, at the corner of her perception, ready to burst into life. When it doesn't plague her with nightmares, it keeps her awake at night. And it never, ever goes away. Not even when she feeds. She wonders if this is what being a monster is like, what vampires have to live with 24 hours a day. This sensation that there's a second being cohabitating her body, desperate to come out, threatening to take over at any minute. It's a constant struggle, and one that leaves her breathless and exhausted even though she is physically incapable of tiring.
Shortly after completing transition, Caroline dared to feel, if not cheerful, at least hopeful. She really did think she could do this. Of course she wasn't expecting that turning into a vampire would be a walk in the park, but there was a clear purpose there, and one she decided to hold on to with every fiber of her being: getting her daughter back. For that, she'd have to learn how to navigate her new form, how to settle into a life that was the complete opposite of everything she'd ever known before and get ready to fight. Klaus would be there for her every step of the way, and so would Elijah. With their support, she knew she could do anything, overcome whatever hardships mounted in her path. She would be invincible.
Four months later and it's safe to say reality wasn't quite as forgiving.
Wherever Caroline went, gossip followed. Oh, look... It's that woman who lost her baby... Poor thing... Doesn't she look thin? Doesn't she look sick? Doesn't she look heartbroken? As if the pity wasn't bad enough, the follow-up comments twisted the knife further. But she's still so young. She'll be trying for more children soon enough. If only they knew...
She'll stay young forever, but never allowed to try for more children and cursed with the ability to hear what everyone whispers about her whenever she walks into a room.
But those are strangers, people who only ever knew Caroline as that lady who lost the baby . However annoying they might be, she doesn't really care about any of them. What sets her teeth on edge is that the ones she does care about aren't much better.
Elijah treats her like she's made of crystal, looks at her as though she'll shatter at any second. He's desperate for her to get back to normal, to start acting like her old self so she can resume her place as the family's official do-gooder. Caroline always knew that she represented something for him — a beacon of light, of hope, of righteousness. The one he's got now is an out-of-control, temperamental, blood-thirsty shadow of her old self, and she cannot stand the eagerness and the compassion in Elijah's eyes, the silent apologies, the questions he never dares to voice out. Are you ok? How can I make you ok? What can I do? Tell me what to do .
He means well, it just... Doesn't help at all. In fact, it just makes it all worse.
And then there's Klaus...
At the very early days, things were fine. Or as fine as they'd ever be at that stage. They were both hurt and heartbroken, but they had each other and they were striving forward the best way they could. Klaus got her a daylight ring, took her out a couple of times to try and teach her how to feed without making a scene. Caroline wasn't really looking forward to that and refused for as long as she could, not at all confident about being so close to pulsing, living arteries. Eventually, she complied. At some point she'd have to figure it out anyway, and it was probably for the best that she learned how not to kill in case she ever found herself in desperate need to feed.
Early classes weren't very promising: she very nearly killed her first victims. Klaus had to peel her away from them and feed them blood so they'd heal. Nothing in this world — not her principles or the pep talk she got from both Klaus and Elijah — could've prepared her for that one perfect moment when she first felt the taste of warm blood. The second she sank her teeth into a man's neck, Caroline exploded with euphoria. The sensation was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. It was exhilaration and adrenaline and arousal, all mashed into one and coursing through her in a dizzying rush. No blood bag could ever, ever compare. The more she drank, the more she wanted, and all her concerns over hurting someone completely slipped her mind. It was so easy to get lost in that instant... To let the monster take over and feel nothing but joy and pleasure, with none of the guilt or the fear to tarnish it. As soon as she let go, though, the man dropped to the ground in an ungraceful heap, and the horror hit her full force.
This is what she was now. A hunter. A predator. And the whole wide world was her all-you-can-eat buffet. Hurting people didn't feel nearly as bad or as wrong as it did before, didn't register with the same kind of impact. Something inside of her had shifted, her moral compass no longer pointing to the same north.
She used compulsion to make the man stand still, told him not to fear, not to scream, and then made him forget all about it, sent him on his way as though nothing had happened, and it felt like a mercy. Caroline's skin crawled. It made her sick, disgusted of herself. In some far corner of her mind she realized that if she were to survive this, if she were to make it as a vampire, she'd have to learn how to do all these things to perfection — compulsion, hunting, feeding, knowing when to stop before she sucked someone dry. But the realization felt like dying all over again. She wonders if there will ever come a day when she won't feel this broken or wrong anymore... If she'll ever feel like her old self.
There was a brief moment there, right at the beginning, when she thought she did. When she was with Klaus. But then he started spiraling as they approached the full moon, and Caroline started losing it as well, and with no one to hold them together anymore, they both fell hard into their own dark pits. There was a lot of fighting, a lot of disagreeing, and then there was nothing. Just angry, loaded silences. Klaus retreated into the manic chaos of his painting, while Caroline sought comfort in the quietness of the Bayou.
Although quietness is probably not the best word. The silence is deafening, overwhelming, haunting. It's really... Dead. Many werewolves have decided to join the witches, a handful of Crescents included. The ones that didn't, have completely vanished. Some, she's been told, have relocated to other states, in search of other friendly packs. Some have disappeared into the deep Bayou, Jackson among them. Oliver and some of the Guerreras captured him, tried to force him to submit to Francesca, recognize her as their alpha. When he refused, they beat him to a pulp and left him for dead. No one really knows what happened next. By the time Caroline was in any condition to try and find him, he was long gone. Either he took off with the rest of his pack, or... Well, she doesn't really like to entertain the alternative.
What was a lively, rich camp four months ago, bustling with people and plans and families, is now completely deserted. Abandoned tents, belongings, cabins... It's become a ghost town again, much like it was when she first arrived in New Orleans. A reminder of all the people whose lives Caroline's mistakes have affected.
There's nothing peaceful about being out here in the wilderness. Not for her. But it helps to keep her focused. She feeds on animals to sharpen her hunting skills and practice control. Many end up dead. Lately, she's gotten better at it. It's awful compared to human blood, even cold from a bag, and she knows what Klaus would say if he knew she's been eating bunnies and deers, but at least she's doing something — and feeding her bottomless appetite while at it.
The wait is killing her. She doesn't want to be mad at Klaus and Elijah because, deep down, she knows they're doing what they can. Well, Elijah is. Klaus is not of much help, his own capabilities considerably hindered. But understanding something in an abstract level doesn't mean she finds any solace in it. The longer it takes for them to go after the people who caused all this, the more restless Caroline grows. It's like walking around with a scream constantly lodged in her throat at all times, afraid it might come out whenever she opens her mouth. Sometimes it does. Her anger has become this living, breathing thing inside of her, inexhaustible and all-consuming, urging her to jump head-first into the darkness.
There's a medicine for all that, though, and Caroline knows exactly what she needs to quiet down the beast and make herself better: to spill the blood of her enemies.
It takes everything in her not to lunge at her Guerrera stalkers. Every time she leaves the compound, they're right behind, only giving up the chase once she crosses into the Bayou, maybe because they know this is still hostile territory to them. Caroline stops, takes a deep breath, bites on the inside of her lips and forces her legs to keep moving forward. It's not time yet, not time yet... she reminds herself, as does Elijah, often. "We can only act once we know exactly what to do. If we attack before we know where to find all the twelve rings or where they keep the white oak stake, we risk extermination." Yeah, yeah, yeah . She knows all that by heart now, it's just... Hard . And some days are worse than others.
Like this day, for instance. Four months exactly since she died. Since her daughter was taken away. Klaus was in one of his insufferable moods, his music pounding in her ears while he thrashed his studio. It made Caroline want to sink her teeth into him . So she stepped out to go exorcise some of her demons through feeding on poor innocent doe-eyed animals and ended up staying the whole night.
So when her phone starts buzzing in her pocket, she doesn't even have to look to know it'll be Elijah. He's the one who keeps tabs on her whereabouts. Klaus gets mad if he realizes she spent the night out, but he's way too trapped inside his own head to do anything about it. She lets the call go to voicemail, not anticipating the scolding she'll probably get.
A minute goes by, and then her phone dings again, this time a text message. You're needed at the compound — from Klaus . Caroline frowns; now, this piques her interest... If Elijah called and now he's texting, something must've happened. Something big.
They don't get many visitors these days. Most of the people who would dare come into the compound have been banned from the French Quarter — the lucky ones, anyway. The rest has been simply murdered. The Mikaelsons never had many admirers in the Crescent City — respected, yes; feared, definitely; but not admired — now, however... Those numbers have considerably shrunken.
When Elijah sees Camille entering the building, nervously fixing her bag strap on her shoulder as she looks around the place, he sighs. She should not be here, especially not today.
She has been warned of the risks of associating herself to their family. Francesca Correa already had her eyes set on Camille before; if she's seen as a close friend of the Mikaelsons, she'll find herself listed amongst the most immediate threats . The way they are right now, a family in shambles, there's very little they'll be able to do to protect her. They can hardly protect themselves.
The day Caroline finally told Camille the truth about that night four months ago, when she revealed the fact that her child hadn't been the only casualty, she also told her friend to stay away. Camille had been coming over almost every day, always with a different version of what she called comfort food . Caroline was not without sympathy — she'd done something similar when Camille's uncle died, she said; she was just trying to be a good friend and repay the kindness. But she refused to see her anyway, terrified of eating her friend instead of the gumbo. "My idea of comfort food is not what it used to be anymore."
"Do you understand why you can't come here anymore?" she asked Cami. "It's not just because of Francesca. It's because of me . I see you and all I can think is how much I want to sink my teeth into your neck, Cami, and I would never be able to live with myself if I hurt you. So please ... Don't come anymore. It's not safe to be around me."
Elijah thinks the situation was hardly this dramatic — not like Caroline would jump Camille at any second and bleed her dry. She was exaggerating to get her point across. The idea of being a hazard to the people she cares about is one that drives Caroline insane with worry. Losing control, not being in charge of her own actions, having primal instincts that she doesn't fully comprehend yet, scares her. It broke her heart to push away the only friend she still had left in the city outside of their family, even more so to admit that she was afraid of herself, of what she'd become, but she was merely trying to protect Camille. The further away she stayed from them, the safer she would be.
Which is why Caroline would be furious if she saw Camille here right now.
"Caroline?" the other blonde calls out, waiting to hear a response. "Klaus?"
Elijah stays in the shadows, hoping that she'll give up and go away - she’s fully aware that everyone in that house has super hearing; if they wanted to speak to her, they'd come out.
"Caroline?" she tries again, making her way to the second floor. she's stubborn, that one. Smart, yes, but remarkably courageous for a human. He does not mean that as a compliment. "I know you asked me not to come by anymore, but we need to talk. Caroline? You there?"
"She is not here." Camille jumps out of her skin when Elijah materializes behind her.
"Elijah," she breathes out, one hand on her chest as her heart pounds manically. She was about to head in the direction of Niklaus' room. His brother is... Well, not in the mood to entertain, so to speak. "Where did you come from?"
"I beg your pardon. Aren't you the one trespassing?"
Camille shifts nervously from one foot to the other. Frankly, Elijah doesn't appreciate being this curt with her, but the less welcome she feels, the less likely she'll be to return. Considering they're about to start plotting their next steps, she really should keep her distance, lest she ends up yet another sad collateral damage in this pointless war. Caroline would never forgive herself.
"You said Caroline is not home," she speaks after a moment.
"She isn't."
"Well, where is she? I called, but she wasn't answering."
Elijah shrugs, schooling his face as to not betray his own dissatisfaction with Caroline's constant disappearances. She didn't answer his call either. "Who knows?"
"What about Klaus?"
"My brother doesn't care much for conversation these days, Camille. And neither of them would care for the fact that you put yourself in danger by coming here."
"I'm already in danger," she retorts with heat. "I have Guerreras following me like it's a police state. The city's being run by gangsters and you guys aren't doing anything about it."
Elijah cocks her an eyebrow. "You came all the way here to tell us that we should be protecting this city? Against gangsters ?"
"No. I came all the way here to see a friend who I miss very much. And to remind you that Marcel took the Guerreras out a hundred years ago without any help from you. So maybe you should think about asking him to lend a hand. He'd be up for it."
Elijah regards her pensively for a second before motioning towards the exit. "Thank you for coming, Camille. I'll let Caroline know you stopped by."
She shakes her head before stomping past Elijah. Just before she goes down the stairs, however, she stops, turns back with her chin jutted forward, as though bracing herself for courage to talk back at him. "I know your family is grieving, but I also know you don't believe those rumors that Marcel killed the baby. So if you want help taking down the Guerreras, you have a weapon across the river just waiting to be fired. Use it."
A tiny smile creeps up his lips almost involuntarily as she finally turns her back to him and marches out of the compound. It's no wonder she got along so well with Caroline... The righteous indignation, the outrage at being managed, the way she purses her lips and stares him down with fire in her eyes despite all the disadvantages...
"It's uncanny, isn't it?" he remarks when he senses Niklaus standing next to him.
"She needs to stay out of this."
"Somehow, I doubt she will." Caroline wouldn't , he doesn’t add. "I do like her spirit, though."
"People with spirit tend to end up dead in this city." Klaus disappears into his room, reemerging a moment later, shrugging on his jacket.
Elijah frowns. "Tonight is a full moon," he says.
Klaus glowers at him while he fixes his collar, the pronounced shadows under his eyes clear evidence that he's very much aware of that.
"Where are you going?"
"You heard her. I'll go pay a visit to an old friend across the river."
The little calm Caroline had managed to cling to after spending an entire night out in the Bayou evaporates almost as soon as she returns to the compound. As she goes up to her room, ready to take a long, hot shower before facing whatever family emergency had Klaus coming out of his cage to get in touch with her, she realizes there's someone in the nursery. Elijah is apparently boxing up all of her daughter's things.
"What are you doing?" she demands, already feeling the by now familiar vampire temper rearing its head inside of her.
"Welcome back," he replies, in an even but rather stilted manner. "What is it, third time this week?"
"I wasn't aware that I needed caretakers. Vampires are invincible, right?"
"Not with Guerrera wolves going around wearing moonlight rings whilst actively hunting those vampires."
"Yes, well, I have diplomatic immunity." She advances into the room, snatching away from him the piece of the crib he'd just disassembled. " What are you doing, Elijah?"
"As we discussed, our illusion needs to be flawless. Now months have passed. It's the appropriate time."
Caroline feels her blood turning to lava in her veins at the matter-of-fact, calculating tone of his voice. Like all there is to this is a plan. Like this room isn't everything that's left of her baby, the only evidence that she ever existed.
"Educate me, Elijah. What's next on the appropriate list?" she asks, voice drenched in venom as she fixes him with a hard stare. "Klaus and I hold our heads up high and say we're ready to try again?"
He lets out a patient sigh, his expression smoothing into a softer one — that damned compassion that makes Caroline's skin crawl. "I understand this is difficult for you -"
"What's difficult for me is knowing that woman is still breathing after she plotted with the witches to kill my daughter and all you expect from me is to put up a good show. I can assure you there is nothing fake about my anger and my mourning."
"You will have your vengeance, Caroline, I promise you this."
"I was promised that four months ago. Until you're ready to deliver on your promises, this is my room. I will let you know when it's appropriate to clean it out." She folds her arms across her chest, her mouth set as she steps aside, indicating that he should leave.
Elijah looks at her like he wants to say something, but decides against it. "Niklaus went to see Marcellus," he speaks from the door. "We'll need to have a family reunion when he returns. It seems like you might be able to have your revenge, at last."
As he disappears from sight, Caroline finally lets out a sharp, deep exhale, her anxiety skyrocketing. Luckily, he hadn't put much away yet. If she hadn't found him trying to pack up her baby's things as though Eve were truly dead, she might've even felt more excited about the last bit of information, but the irritation trumps everything else.
This room being kept exactly as it is has been her only silver lining for the past few months, the only reason she's kept herself moderately sane. It reminds her of the higher purpose. The moment it is no longer here, it means she has given up on Eve. That she's accepted she'll never get to see her daughter grow up. That she will never be more than a complete stranger in her life.
Caroline simply doesn't think she can live with herself if she allows for that to sink in. She doesn't know how anybody can.
It has been such a long time since Klaus felt anything other than burning rage and frustration that he'd forgotten what it was like to be in a good mood. Or some semblance of that, anyway. Granted, he still feels dreadfully ill, every muscle in his body screaming with a type of exhaustion that should not be possible to a creature such as him, but for once there's a positive note to it. The worse he feels, the closer they are to the full moon's apex. And the closer to the full moon's apex...
He smiles to himself. Something else he'd forgotten how to do.
After months, ages, eons waiting and withering away in misery and weakness, he finally has something to look forward to on the near horizon. He should remember to give Camille a generous tip when this is all over; it was her stubbornness, trespassing when she'd been directly told not to do it, which prompted Klaus to pay Marcel a visit in Algiers. It proved immensely fruitful.
"We have the Guerreras exactly where we want them," he says, pacing around the dining room as he goes over the devised plan with Elijah and Caroline. His brother makes no attempts to disguise his doubtfulness, while Caroline listens with rapt attention, but betraying no emotion. “We have them waiting, we have them worried and now we know they're an army with no defenses against an Original."
"How do we know that?" Elijah questions.
"Think about it, brother. We know our reasons for not making a move on them all these months. But what, pray tell, is theirs?"
Elijah considers the matter for a second, his eyes narrowing once he comes to the obvious conclusion. "You think they don't have the stake."
Klaus purses his lips, shrugging. "If they did, why didn't they use it? Why has Francesca kept herself hidden all this time?"
"I'll concede that you make a good point, Niklaus, but we still can't know for certain."
"I'm willing to gamble."
"It's too risky. The stake didn't just disappear. The fact remains that someone has it."
"One enemy at a time, Elijah. In the end, we'll slay them all, but unless we start by slaying the Guerreras first..." As if on cue, Klaus feels a stabbing pain in his stomach, his vision blurring. He sits down, holding on to the edge of the table not to lose his balance. All day he's been feeling lethargic and sick, and as nightfall approaches, he can feel his strength slowly ebbing away. It's nothing compared to what will happen once the moon hits its apex, but it is more than enough to leave him winded and useless in case of an attack. If it wasn't for this bit of bright news, he would be absolutely unbearable right now. "Tonight," he continues. "We just have to plant the right seeds and the plan will be put in motion. But for that... We need help."
"What kind of help?" Caroline asks.
"I was introduced to a fellow named Joe, one of Marcel's old war comrades. He'd managed to escape the Guerreras' radar and had been calmly living in the Quarter until today, when he was rounded by wolves — led by Oliver." He notices the way Caroline's jaw sets, the barest twitch on her lips. The mere mention of Jackson's former sidekick makes her bristle — and with good cause. Perhaps having the opportunity to settle her scores with him is exactly what she needs right now. "Apparently Davina Claire intervened and helped him escape. Now, back in 1925, when Marcel believed he'd gotten rid of the Guerreras for good, Joe was one of his closest allies, and one of his fiercest warriors. So much so that he basically went into retirement afterward, removing himself from any further Quarter drama. Despite how utterly harmless he was, how unwilling to take sides, the wolves have now put a bounty on his head, which means Joe is looking for a swan song. He doesn't want to leave, doesn't want to move across the river... And he's willing to help us get what we need, tonight."
"Your story is mightily compelling, Niklaus, but I fail to identify a plan," Elijah objects.
"I was just getting to it. Joe will return to the Quarter, allow himself to be captured and tell the wolves that he has sensitive information to disclose in exchange for his freedom."
"And what exactly is that shiny piece of information?"
Klaus grins. "That we've lost track of the white oak stake."
"You want her to know that the only weapon out there that can kill the two of you is missing?" Caroline asks in disbelief. "If you really think she doesn't have it, then isn't that just giving up your only leverage against her? She's gonna scour this entire city after it."
"That's exactly what I want her to do. Joe will tell her that we believe the stake is in her power — and it is beside the point if it isn't, because we still don't know where it is. That Harvest girl, Cassie, has become very close to Francesca, spends a lot of her time at her mansion. No doubt she'll ask for a locator spell immediately — and, while Cassie attempts to locate it, Joe will serve them some other information that may set Francesca in motion right away. If she believes she can acquire the stake tonight, she'll no doubt send her best men here, to subdue me in my weakest hour. It'll be her best chance."
"That sounds like suicide to me," Caroline says. "If she captures you and then manages to get her hands on the stake, you're toast."
"She won't get to me."
"How can you be so sure? You said it yourself, it's your weakest hour. Even with me and Elijah here — they can bite us, take us down. You'll be vulnerable."
"Yes, but each ring we take back means I will get stronger. And if we manage to collect them all in a timely fashion, that ceases to be a problem. I'd say we know exactly where she'll concentrate her closest men, so if we're ready, it shouldn't be too hard."
"But we don't know where the twelve rings are," Caroline retorts, and when Klaus smiles, her so far blank expression morphs into a confused one. "Do we?"
"Elijah, please," he motions towards his brother.
"I've located the last of the twelve rings this morning," he tells her. "Four of them sit on the hands of the Guerrera brothers. One is on Oliver, one on Francesca, three with her security detail and the rest scattered amongst a few of her most trusted lackeys. I realize this girl, Cassie, has been producing new rings, but the original ones are distinguishable by its particular setting — gauche like those that wear them."
"So based on her behavior for the past few months, we can assume she is not going anywhere, sending her lackeys to do her job instead,” Klaus continues. “Her brothers will likely be staying with her at her mansion, so that makes five rings. Oliver and her security detail will most likely be the ones sent here, so we have four more rings within our reach."
"And the last ones?"
"Marcel will handle those. He'll be waiting for them. Nevertheless, each recovered ring will strengthen me, but I will still be at a considerable disadvantage during the attack."
"Ergo, for us to have any hope at succeeding at this, we will have to depend entirely upon our working together. Which means..." Elijah looks pointedly from Klaus, on one end of the table, to Caroline, who sits on the other. "The two of you can longer afford to retreat to separate corners."
Klaus casts a glance at her from beneath his lashes, feeling an altogether different kind of pang shooting across his chest. He and Caroline have drifted dramatically apart over the course of the last few months, and he feels the distance as though it was a physical barrier. It wasn't something Klaus planned, but a consequence of not knowing how to handle his own feelings and frustrations — which, if he's to be honest, should've been expected, considering his awful history.
The problem this time might have been that, if Caroline didn't feel exactly the same way, it was something remarkably close. Klaus knew he was making her miserable with his gloominess and his destructive moods. In turn, her disappointment with her own inability to navigate vampirism with the same kind of natural flair she's used to navigating absolutely everything made the lingering guilt hang heavy over his head. The fact he could do nothing to ease her pain but wait was sheer torture, the sense of bitter shame threatening to overwhelm him.
The past months have made Caroline harder, colder, detached in a manner her expansive personality never quite allowed before. But the heat in her eyes remains just as scorching, a proof that she's not given in to the darkness. Deep down, beneath the new layers of pain and anger and bloodthirst, she remains just as lively and passionate as ever — all she needs is a little push to get in touch with her core again, to rediscover her beautiful, bright soul. Klaus promised her a fitting revenge and four months later he still had nothing to speak of it. Until tonight, that is. Tonight, he can finally give her what she so desperately seeks and maybe begin to make things right again.
"This is our fight," he speaks softly, looking into her eyes in a manner he hasn't done in a while. "Are you ready for battle, love?"
Caroline crosses her arms over her chest, not a hint of fear in her unflinching gaze. "Just promise me that Francesca doesn't come out of this alive."
"Her head will be delivered to you on a silver platter."
"Let's fight, then."
Klaus' lips twist up into a lopsided smirk, and he swears he sees the beginning of a smile on her face as well.
"Splendid," Elijah says, interrupting the moment. Klaus glares at him, but only briefly; they don't have time to lose. "Let's go over the details, shall we?"
Camille flinches when one of the werewolves throws a lamp down on the floor, the glass shattering at her feet. Elijah can sense her fear, can hear the mad rhythm of her heart; he knows she's not faking the fright scribbled across her face, but still she holds herself with dignity before a mob of rabid werewolves ransacking her apartment.
"Is it not enough that I can't even go for a walk, now you have to do this?" she snaps when one of them starts pulling things out of a drawer at random.
"You know how to stop this," one of them says — the one in charge of the attack. The shiny black kyanite on his finger catches the light when he purposefully steps on the fallen lamp, breaking whatever was left of it. "Where is the stake?"
So far, everything is going exactly as planned. Marcel's friend, Joe, let it slip to Francesca that the white oak stake had last been seen in the hands of Father Kieran. The futile woman didn't hesitate before dispatching a group towards Camille's apartment.
And the brave bartender, as Niklaus once put, didn't even blink before agreeing to join the plan. "I'm in. What do I have to do?"
"Camille, I need you to understand exactly what you're getting yourself into. Those werewolves won't knock before they come in, and if they suspect, even for a second, that you're hiding something, they won't hesitate to take you out. You know Francesca is only looking for an excuse to come and search for your uncle's famed key."
"I know. And I'm looking for an excuse to make her pay for what she did to my friends. I may not be able to hit her where it hurts, but I had to be dead not to play my part in this. So, where do you need me?"
Brave bartender, indeed.
Elijah is there to interfere in case things get out of hand — if anyone dares to touch Camille, they might find themselves suddenly relieved of their fingers. There was a moment there when he was ready to charge, about to bolt through her balcony, but Camille managed to take control over the situation again. She's quite clever, making the wolves seem as though they're the ones in charge. They're all so thick-headed they don't even realize she's been smoothly pulling the strings since they broke into her place. The Forbes factor is aplenty in that one.
"Fine," she relents after a moment's hesitation. "Whatever. What do I care? This is not even my problem." She takes a notepad from her coffee table and scribbles down an address — one Elijah previously informed her of. "There," she says, handing the paper over to the wolf. "That's where you'll find what you want. It's where my uncle kept all his secret supernatural stash. Now all you need is his key."
"And where is that?"
She strides across the room. "Hiding in plain sight, genius," she spits out, showing him a key dangling from a necklace that had been hanging beside the door. The man snatches it away from her, not doubting her information for a second. It's unbelievable how those people have taken charge of the city... Elijah would be more offended, if he wasn't so mortally enraged.
Camille pulls her door open and motions for them to leave, tapping her feet nervously and keeping her eyes down while, one by one, the group files out.
As soon as the last one turns the corner, Camille slams her door shut and locks it. She falls back against it as though she'd lost her balance, letting out a shuddery breath as she turns to the balcony to look for him.
Her part is over. Everything going as planned, she won't have to worry about anything, anymore. The Guerreras will be done for. Marcel will be taking care of the group she just directed towards an abandoned warehouse by the docks, where they'll be showered with warm vampire hospitality and loads of wolfsbane. Elijah could've taken them all out right here, of course, but it would take time, he might end up bitten and the focus group he is in charge of is elsewhere. Besides, it would make an even bigger mess of poor Camille's apartment. She's contributed enough for the evening.
Elijah nods to her, expressing his approval, and watches as she replies with a quick nod of her own before disappearing into the night.
His next destiny is not very far; a charming neighborhood on the northernmost part of the Quarter, where there are fewer tourists and more trees lining both sides of the street, laden with well-preserved mansions, many of which have had its eminent domain reclaimed by the city in order to protect the constructions' heritage status.
Even before Elijah approaches the Correa family’s lavish home, he can tell there's a bit of a raucous situation going on inside. Many people have been assembled, it seems, and as he finally peeks through one of the many large windows, he sees several of the werewolves he has a particular interest on are amongst the group — including Oliver.
Francesca seems antsy — pacing around, biting on her nails, deep creases on her forehead. It appears Niklaus wasn't wrong, after all; she is way too agitated for someone who allegedly possesses the upper hand.
"Klaus will be at his lowest strength for the next few hours," she tells her lackeys. "Once the white oak has been retrieved, be ready to use it. You take a group to the compound and subdue him while he's still weak," she tells Oliver.
"What about Elijah and Caroline? There's no way they leave his side tonight," he counters.
"Your bites can take care of both of them. Elijah can be weakened, Caroline can be killed."
Elijah narrows his eyes at the woman. What he wouldn't give to wrap his fingers around her neck right now and dare her to say that one more time. But no, he has other plans for Francesca. He shan't be the one to squeeze life out of her, no matter how tempted he might be. She will pay for the dismissiveness with which she talks about a woman whose life and that of her unborn child she gambled away in exchange for a few enchanted rings.
"She is strong," Oliver tells her, visibly discomfited with the order he was just given.
It seems as though there might be more than one reason why they granted Caroline permission to stay in the Quarter, after all — and why they've refrained from attacking her, despite her constant wanderings about on her own. It wasn't just a veiled threat, it was a way to keep her tame and where they could watch her. All this time, they've been afraid of Caroline, of finding out what kind of beast she became after being murdered. Perhaps they thought she was a hybrid like her daughter, like Klaus — her frequent visits to the Bayou might've tipped their suspicions.
Well, she isn't a hybrid, but Oliver is not as much of a half-wit as Elijah would've thought. He's not entirely wrong. Caroline is the closest thing to a hybrid without actually being one, having inherited an abnormal amount of strength and resilience for a vampire from the werewolf blood that turned her. Elijah is certain they're yet to understand the full scope of what she has truly become, there might be other properties they haven't realized yet. She is, after all, the first vampire in history that does not belong to any known vampire sire lines. That, in itself, makes her already unique.
"I don't care!" Francesca hisses at Oliver. "You are several, she is one. Whoever rips out her heart gets a bonus. How about that?"
Oh, if Elijah were just a tiny little bit more like his brother and less like himself...
"And where will you be?" Oliver questions, none too happily.
"Here, where it's safe. They're vampires. They can't get into the house without an invitation."
"So we risk our lives fighting Originals while you hide?"
"I am the top dog. Your job is to ensure the battle doesn't come to me. I suggest you take it to heart and don't fail, if you value that pretty little ring I put on your finger."
Oliver's face twists into a dozen different shades of anger, but he bites on his tongue as he commands his men to follow him out. Elijah can't help the awfully familiar knot of worry; they'll be heading towards the compound now. Still, he trusts Caroline will take care of this group just fine; no one is more motivated than her. Oliver should find himself in quite the predicament.
Elijah is only sorry he won't be there to witness it; his mission awaits him inside this lovely 1800s construction. He’ll do his best to preserve it, although he has a feeling it might make it into the city’s list of haunted sites by the end of the evening.
For Klaus, painting has always been an outlet. A manner of exorcising his frustrations, a metaphor for regaining control whenever it escapes him in other aspects of his life. When he's painting, he can shut down his objective, logic thinking and get completely immerse in the chaos, allow for it to take over and dictate his creative genius — the color he uses, the brushes he picks, how he attacks the canvas. It's been like this since he was a child, even before he realized what it truly represented. In his art, Klaus finds a measure of peace, such a rare commodity to him. It's with a brush in his hand that Klaus' inadequacies are vanquished.
Of course it's not the only way to work out his demons. Murder is another of his favorite leisure activities in times of crisis — the more, the merrier. When he exerts all his might and power over his victims and sees that expression of helplessness in their eyes as they beg for their lives — a perfect reflection of something he recognizes, and abhors, about himself — is when he finally sets himself free of the binds of his own fear.
Sometimes, sex has that same effect. Really good sex, of the mind-blowing variety, can be equally as fulfilling and inspiring as art. When it allows him to tap into his most primal instincts, to give in to pleasure and sensations completely, become overwhelmed with feelings other than the riot in his head... That's a bit like having a taste of heaven.
But of course sex, like murder, are a bit trickier to satisfy, requiring a level of investment he isn't always willing to put forth. Depending on the circumstances surrounding him, they're not viable options at all. Such as right now, for instance. He's too weak to really ravage the people whose bodies he so desperately wants to separate from their heads, and the one person he desires, with whom sex would be enjoyable, will barely look at him.
So art is all there is.
The dilemma lies in the fact that, at the present moment, he can't even resort to that. He feels completely drained of inspiration, devoid of that spark that drives him to sketch like a maniac in moments of despair. His frustrations have grown so monstrous they have trumped a millennium-old impetus. That's how tragic his situation is. Whilst all he sees is red, and all he breathes is rage, he simply cannot paint the color, cannot translate the bulk of his feelings into an aggressive stroke.
It is driving him mad. Or should he say, mad er . He's never been completely sane to begin with.
As in every other full moon for the past four months, Klaus has locked himself away in his studio and doused the worst of the pain and the shame at his own powerlessness with a generous dose of alcohol. He sits on his couch, eyes pressed shut while he drifts into that desperate state of semi-consciousness, all his energy bleeding away, diverted towards the Guerreras.
The worst part of it is that it always takes him back to that sodden church, to Caroline's terrible screams, to the blood oozing from her throat as he watched in complete despair, rendered impotent and unable to do anything to protect her. The scene plays over and over in his head, nonstop, making him sicker than the enchanted rings themselves. It was Klaus' darkest hour — which, coming from him, says a lot. When he woke up on the church floor, after having his neck broken, to find Caroline's body already cold and lifeless, he wished the witches had truly killed him.
All of a sudden, Klaus feels a strange spark in energy, a jolt rushing through him, clearing away some of the fog in his head and the heart-stopping pain in his chest. It's the tiniest of things, barely perceptible, but it's there nonetheless — and Klaus knows that one of the rings has been recovered. So it's started.
Caroline will be waiting outside for the wolves sent his way, and, as much as he wants to help her, as scared as he is that something might happen to her, he trusts that, if anyone can fight those wolves and win right now, it's her. She's stronger than ever, much stronger than those sodden mongrels could ever imagine. They'll be in for a surprise...
Elijah should be at the Guerreras', while Marcel prepares to take out the ones Camille directs towards him.
Another jolt, a stronger one this time, like something snapping and a weight lifting off his chest. And soon enough more follows. More wolves killed, more rings retrieved. The stronger Klaus feels, the greater the rush is. It’s as though he's coming up for air after staying underwater for months. He is strong enough to sit up straight, stretch out his muscles, all so pitifully underused.
Six, seven rings... His senses have become sharp enough that he can hear the sounds of fighting coming from the first floor — mostly male voices yelling, shouting orders and letting out painful howls. His queen is giving them a well-deserved piece of her mind. Oh, how he wishes he could see it… The mere thought is enough to turn him on.
Klaus smiles to himself — a true and honest smile, like he hasn't been capable of in ages — as a sudden and powerful urge to paint arises, a wave of inspiration crashing onto him.
Eight rings, and two men jump into his balcony, going directly towards him. Klaus reaches for his brushes, turning them over in his hands and, in one swift, precise movement, throws them at the two men like the sharpest of darts, hitting their throats. They let out a gurgly scream before falling down, blood pooling around their heads. Just the exact shade of red that had been missing from his palette.
This is going to be a fantastic night.
Caroline wipes her blood-smeared mouth with the back of her hand as she straightens up, dropping yet another body to the ground. That's the eighth so far. Eight werewolves who will not live to see another day. Three moonlight rings recovered.
She feels euphoric . The rush of adrenaline is unlike anything she's ever felt. Hunting real dangerous targets that would've easily eliminated her if she'd given them the chance is nothing like hunting bunnies in the woods. The rush is powerful . She's buzzing with energy, alight with drive and exhilaration — it's almost as good as sex. Almost .
Still, when she looks behind her and sees the blood staining the floors and the walls of the compound, Caroline winces inwardly; she can't help the sting of conscience. As far as she can tell, none of those wolves were Crescents. She doesn't really know them aside from having them tailing her on a few of her escapades to the Bayou, but they may have been among the packs that flocked over to Jackson's camp when the news of her miracle pregnancy spread. They may have been among the people who got hurt during the explosions, who lost their homes or their hope, and decided to join the winning side rather than go back to squalor, or worse, perish. They may have been friends once. Now they're all dead.
She doesn't feel sorry for them, not exactly; they chose their own destiny when they sided with the scum of this city, and she knows they wouldn't have hesitated to kill her if they had the chance. What bothers her is that she thought she'd feel worse about this — about killing people, loads of them at once, with her own hands and her flashy new fangs. Instead, she feels... Nothing.
Despite the frenzy of the hunt and the ecstatic kind of inebriation brought from feeding directly from their veins, Caroline doesn't feel vindicated or glad that the Guerreras and those who would side with them are finally paying for their sins. There's no satisfaction, but there's also no real joy. The emptiness inside of her remains unmoved, filled neither by a sharp bite of humanity or lack thereof. It's all just one big... nothing .
She remembers when she killed those twelve witches in Mystic Falls to save Bonnie, inadvertently giving Silas the sacrifice he needed in order to push forward with his doomsday plans. Caroline knew that there wasn't really a choice there; if she hadn't stopped the witches, Bonnie would be dead. Klaus was pretty annoyed, but she never needed him to scold her in order to feel every bit as awful as her actions merited. She was a wreck .
For some reason she feels like this — the werewolves — should feel more like that — the witches. It doesn't, though. It feels nothing like it. She wonders if this is a part of her new self, an add-on that comes with her new position at the top of the food chain, or if it's a darkness that had always existed, but had never really been provoked into coming out. Caroline seems to find a different edge in herself every day now, as though she's a stranger in her own skin. Will it always be like this from now on, or will there ever come a day when she'll finally settle ?
She catches the tiny noises of a prowler in the courtyard. There's someone she hasn't seen yet, the one she wanted to find the most. The owner of the fourth ring she has been tasked with recovering.
Caroline's pulse races, the veins around her eyes popping in anticipation as her muscles immediately tense, her hands closing into white-knuckled fists. This one provokes a real reaction in her. She sensed Ollie's stench as soon as the werewolves arrived.
He didn't just allow for her and her daughter to be taken by people he knew wanted the both of them dead; he betrayed his own people. His own pack . Jackson has gone missing because of him, could be dead by now as far as anyone knows. Marcel has even raised suspicion that maybe he was the one who placed those bombs in the Bayou, causing Eve's death and so much pain to so many good people.
Oh, how much Caroline waited for this moment of reckoning...
"Hello, Oliver," she greets him with a cold, hard glint in her eyes when he turns a corner and stops dead on his tracks upon finding her. "Just the man I wanted to see."
Honestly, she expected this to offer a little more excitement...
Maybe it's the fact that she's way more motivated than him, or maybe it really is that she's just an altogether stronger, faster and more resilient vampire than the ordinary type because of her daughter's werewolf blood, but Caroline doesn't even have to push to the edges of her limits to give Oliver the beating of a lifetime. He really is all bark and no bite; for someone of his smugness and self-entitlement, he throws a punch like a little kid — pun intended. Caroline is almost a head taller and way too driven for him to even find enough time to react.
She punches his face until she hears bones cracking, until he can't even push himself up anymore and blood is cascading down his nose. Every time he attempts to launch at her, she simply dodges out of his way, kicking him into a wall, against a garden table, sends him flying across the courtyard, crashing into the fountain. He does hit her a few times too, and it hurts, but she doesn't let it hinder her, doesn't allow him to gain momentum, and soon enough the scratches and bruises are all healed up and she feels nothing anymore but this rabid desire to hurt him.
Caroline only stops when she realizes she's grunting like a maniac while she punches him into the ground, grinding her teeth with such strength she might break them at any moment. He's not even attempting to respond anymore, the only signs he's still alive being his pathetic, painful moans.
She could finish him off so easily right now... Rip out his heart, cut off his head, shove wolfsbane down his throat and then slit it open like the witches did to her. Instead, Caroline stands to her feet, stepping away from him, trying to regain some composure while her breath steadies. She brushes the hair off her face and looks down at her hands, covered in Oliver's blood.
"You think that ring you wear makes you strong?" she snarls at him. "You're nothing. Jackson was strong, and brave, and loyal , all things that you will never be. You were stronger together, as a pack, and you ruined it. You're not a wolf, Oliver, you're a selfish fucking rat." She crouches down beside him, snatching the ring off his finger none too gently. He lets out a loud yelp. "This was for Jackson, for Rebekah, for Eve and for myself and my daughter. Everyone whose lives you helped to destroy. I could kill you with a finger right now, but I won't. Not because you don't deserve it, but because Jackson almost gave his life to save your sorry ass. You were a brother to him. So thank him for keeping your miserable life today. Think about everything you sacrificed in order to get more power, and remember that I took it from you. And if I see you wearing one of these again," she shoves the ring in his face, although she doubts he can see anything, the way his eyes are all swollen. "I will kill you myself."
Caroline puts the ring in her pocket, alongside the three others, and stands up again. "Get the hell out of my house. And take your buddies with you."
Mobsters suffer from such hubris...
Al Capone thought himself invincible back in his day. He was powerful, famous, had friends in all the high places and spent years getting away with doing all sorts of nasty businesses. In the end, he was sentenced to the wretched filth of Alcatraz for a simple, almost innocent failure to pay his taxes. One would think people with Capone's level of ambition and his same sordid history would've learned from his mistakes, taken his example to heart... One would be wrong. And Elijah is quite glad for it.
Francesca Correa thought that walling herself in behind her minions and refusing to leave the comfort of her home would keep her safe from angry vampires or particularly vindictive Originals. After all, if everything else failed, they'd still not be able to enter her house without a formal invitation — which none of her enemies would ever get.
Disregarding the utter simplicity of the thought — when has a door ever stopped Elijah from getting anything? There are countless ways to lure rats out of their hiding places and Francesca's lack of imagination is, in all honesty, not only painful but actually offensive to someone like him — the fact she failed to consider the obvious flaws in her own plan is just astounding. Elijah could've simply set fire to her mansion, but it would've been a crime to destroy such a beautiful construction. Not worth it for someone like Miss Correa and her ignorant brothers.
Instead, Elijah used something he'd been flaunting at the Guerreras' faces just to thwart their every attempt to grow their nefarious businesses in town for quite a number of months: his charm and bottomless bank account to pay off the right people at the Mayor's Office. The irony of him using their very own gangster tactics against them is rather poetic. In the end, they'd been walling themselves in like maniacs against the Mikaelsons’ substantial supernatural strengths, but Elijah never had to gather an army or build a Hollywoodian trap in order to weed the Guerrera werewolves once and for all from New Orleans' grounds.
Elijah's suggestion that the city should invoke eminent domain over the Correa's formidable home as a way to guarantee its heritage status was well appreciated by the Mayor's office. Which meant, despite the appropriate financial compensations to which they would be entitled to if any of them had survived the unfortunate gang violence of this evening to reclaim it, the house, technically, no longer belonged to them, but to the public. Elijah never needed an invitation, after all.
Such paranoia, such little care...
When he returns to the compound, four rings dangling in his pockets, he finds the place littered with werewolf bodies. He is a little stricken by the brutality of the murders; Caroline was in quite the mood, indeed... And the best was saved for last. She's not yet done for the night.
Considering the state of things, Elijah assumes she took down every last one of the poor souls Francesca sent to subdue his brother — all but one, that is. Oliver's body is nowhere to be found. He wonders if he managed to slip away, or if Caroline was feeling merciful after murdering so many of his companions. She's been angry and rightfully thirsty for revenge, but she's still not the monster he and his brother are, no matter what she might think herself.
Personally, Elijah hopes she has finished him off elsewhere. He could never quite stand that man, anyway. But if she didn't... Well, there's always a next time.
One thing is for certain, though: it will be laborious to get the compound clean of all this mess. They really need to stop thrashing their own home like this. It's so counter-productive...
He was wondering in what sort of disposition he would find Niklaus by the time he got home and is not surprised to see him hunched over a canvas on the floor, wetting his brush in the pool of bright, red blood gushing from a man's throat, painting as though he's been struck by the inspiration lightning after months of a dry spell. It's a crass picture, to be honest, but then he expects Niklaus' appetite for gore has been renewed tonight.
"How very Jackson Pollock of you," he says from the door, grabbing a piece of cloth to clean his own red-stained hands.
"I'm still not at full strength," he replies, not bothering to look up. "Which of the rings are unaccounted for?"
"Just the one. I must say, the Guerrera brothers fought valiantly... Before their sister escaped."
Klaus stops, swivels his head around, a hard look in his eyes. "You let her get away?"
A mischievous lopsided smile kicks the corner of Elijah's mouth. "Not exactly," he says.
Francesca thinks she's escaped, that she managed to slip away unnoticed while Elijah took care of her brothers, that the worst is behind her and she'll get to start over elsewhere, with the black kyanite sparkling on her finger and an infinite net of crooks and scums to support her on her next enterprise. She'll allow herself to relax, take a deep breath, start to think of her next steps: where to go, who to call first. And just when she thinks she's safe, that she got away with all the horridness she spent four months reveling in...
Well… Miss Correa will be in for quite a surprise on the road.
If there's one thing a thousand years on this earth has taught Klaus is that every storm, no matter how ominous or how devastating, comes to an invariable end. It might take months, sometimes even years; it might leave an endless trail of destruction and death in its wake; it might force unwanted and uncomfortable changes. But it ends. Rain will stop, clouds will part and the sun will shine again.
The outcome of the Guerreras' storm was particularly harrowing due to the uniqueness of the circumstances surrounding it. The Mikaelsons had never quite had so much to lose before, not in a thousand years. And they almost did lose it all; it was close, too close for comfort, or for their egos and prides to come out perfectly preserved. It hurt, how low they fell, how little was left of their dignity.
Getting back up was not easy. It took much longer than Klaus could've ever imagined to find their way around this nastiness, and even now it's not completely over. While they were forced to lay low and stay out of the spotlight, the witches grew in power, and he realizes now that most of the werewolves were never truly answering to Francesca, after all. She had twelve of them who were loyal to her — the original twelve, whose rings stole directly from his power. But her alliance with the witches was a farce, a mere smoke screen to shield away the witches from the public eye while they grew in influence. Their coven regrouped, solidified and started distributing moonlight rings to any wolf who would swear them fealty. Francesca Correa was but an ornament; she's gone, and many of her men are dead, but the wolves remain in New Orleans, armed with their kyanite stones, and bowing down to a most unexpected figure: the fourth Harvest girl, Cassie. The one who came back from the dead with the secret to forging moonlight rings, no doubt received directly from mother dearest during her stay on the Other Side with her ancestors.
They still need to dismantle this new alliance, weaken the witches by regaining control over the wolves, perhaps killing a handful of them, just to wash out some more of the frustrations harbored over the course of the last four months and send a warning. But as with all the storms they'd weathered before, this one too has finally started to break.
Klaus feels a new man now that no one else is wearing the rings draining from his power. A million pounds lighter. His mind is clearer, his muscles are more relaxed, even his appetite has been restored. He spent hours painting — some of his best work in ages, if he may say so himself — and, once he was done, he made a beeline to their blood stash. It's most unfortunate that he was so busy with the sudden resurfacing of his muse that he couldn't even enjoy the marvelous buffet at his disposal at the compound. No matter. He can always step out for a bit of a snack later; in fact, for the first time in ages Klaus actually feels like going outside to enjoy the evening. Perhaps he should stop by Rousseau's to have a drink or two, leave Camille a generous tip for her contributions to their success.
Elijah has taken to the library to investigate the appropriate manner to destroy those enchanted stones, thus making sure it'll never fall into the wrong hands, ever again. Now all there is to do is wait for Caroline to come home from her little expedition to make sure she's all right and -
Klaus' line of thought is interrupted while he finishes a glass of AB+ by a loud crash coming from somewhere down the hall. He straightens his posture, straining to hear; maybe one of the werewolves they thought dead survived and is now attempting to escape, maybe someone has come seeking revenge. But it does not sound like a fight, though... Just... Things being thrown around, falling to the ground, crashing.
He puts down his glass and follows the noise all the way to Caroline's room, his heartbeat picking up as he realizes it's coming from the nursery.
It's no werewolf, though, not even an enemy. He didn't hear her arrival, thought she was still on the road, making her way back to the Quarter. But not only is Caroline home, she's also not in the blithe mood he expected she would be after finishing off the woman responsible for every horrible thing that happened last spring.
She's taking the baby room apart, ripping paintings from the wall, breaking off pieces of the furniture, grunting furiously as she does so, in an enraged tantrum that mirrors many he's had himself in the past few months. It stuns Klaus for a moment, however intimate he might be with the kind of rage that fuels this sort of need for destruction. It's completely unexpected. He's never seen Caroline like this before. Ever.
"Caroline," he recovers quickly, snapping out of his shock and primly advancing towards her before the damage to the room is irreversible. She seems not to pay any attention to him, though, so he gently takes her hands. "Caroline," he tries again, more incisively, and she finally stops, breathing raggedly through her mouth, her eyes alight with fury and rimmed with tears as she meets his gaze. "Please, love."
Caroline shoves him away, takes a step back, burying her hands in her hair. "I killed her," she splutters. "Francesca looked me in the eye and begged me for her life and I tore her apart — with my teeth . I drank every last drop of blood in her body and then I left her there to rot and be eaten by animals."
Caroline's arms fall next to her body as she lets out a deep, weary breath, as though all her energy has suddenly left her. "It's what I've wanted to do for months. I dreamt of this moment almost every night. I thought this is what I needed to fix myself, to find... Peace. I had to get rid of her, to make her pay." She shakes her head, her voice growing scratchy and rich with raw emotion. "But I don't feel better. I don't feel anything !"
"It's perfectly natural for you to feel this way, given what you've experienced," he offers kindly.
"Nothing about what I am is natural, Klaus!"
"As a vampire, you experience feelings with greater intensity. It's not just your senses that get heightened, your emotions spike just as easily as your hunger. It will take time for you to master control."
"So now you want to teach me how crappy I'm going to feel all the time? How much of a fucking mess I am?" she snaps. "It's been four months, I think I've figured all that out on my own. But it doesn't matter, because it doesn't make anything better. It doesn't change the fact that I don't want to live like this. I hate it!" Caroline draws a shuddery breath in, her lips quivering as she tries to hold back the tears. Klaus can see it in her eyes how scared she is of herself, of the fact that she's found no solace in the one thing she'd hoped would tip the scales in her favor, help the turmoil settle. He knows exactly what that feels like, how that kind of disappointment eats away at you, and, truth be told, he’s never been good at handling it, he's just... Had more practice.
He wants to reach out to her, take her face in his hands, make her look him in the eye while he tells her it will get better. Every storm dissipates, and this one shall too. He doesn't, though, keeping his hands to himself. He's abstained from fulfilling his role as he should have for months; now, everything about her posture says she does not want to be handled, cuddled, soothed. Not by him, anyway. And it just... Breaks his heart all over again. All that excitement and hopefulness he'd felt a moment before dissolves into shame at the look in Caroline's eyes. How did he let it get this far? How did he let her hurt this much?
"I hate everything about this," she continues. "How I feel every single day. When I started practicing magic, I finally understood the purity of being a witch. The nobility. I was in touch with the whole world around me, everything was energy, was power. And now it's all... Dead. Death. I killed eight werewolves tonight before I got to Francesca, eight of the people who took me in like I was family when I had nowhere to go, and I didn't even blink. Didn't even hesitate. I acted no better than -"
"Me," he completes bitterly.
Caroline stops, her gaze finally focusing on his. Her expression barely changes, but a flurry of emotions crosses her cobalt eyes, darkened with pain and anger.
"Everything has changed," she speaks after a moment. "And not just for me. We tried to pretend it could be the same, that it would all be fine, but... Elijah treats me like I'm a sad puppy he rescued from the side of the road. And you..." Caroline pauses, her voice breaking off around the edge. "I saw the way you looked at me before, and I see the way you look at me now. I was a woman and a mother before, and now I'm a monster."
Klaus' lips part, but nothing comes out. There's so much about what she just said that is untrue that he doesn't even know where to start. But the worst part, the part that makes the words catch in his throat, is that Caroline would feel this way at all about him. Her perception is different, her emotions are heightened, she feels constantly on edge, yes — but that she'd think he feels any different about her ? Caroline could've murdered the entire population of New Orleans and nothing would've changed. He loves her now as much as he loved her before she turned. Then again... He hasn't been the best at showcasing it, has he? In all honesty, he's never been. But the past few months... He may not be a rookie vampire, but it was as though he'd become something much worse, diminished and useless, unable to even help himself, much less be of any support to anyone else.
Such a pair, they are...
"You could never be a monster, Caroline," he says in a small voice, his heart heavy in his chest.
She clears the tears off her eyes with the tips of her fingers, squaring her shoulder as she recomposes herself. "Things are different now," she says. "You can't tell me that they're not."
Without sparing him a second glance, she marches out of the nursery, out of her own room, her heavy footsteps disappearing into the house.
Niklaus lets out a deep, wounded sigh, his eyes on the twelve kyanite stones on the table in front of him, but unseeing, distant, his mind a thousand miles away. Or rather, not a thousand miles, but a few feet, somewhere on the second floor of the compound, where Caroline has been hiding since last night.
Elijah doesn't have to ask to know. His brother's always worn his anguish as bright as daylight. The downward curve of his lips and the extra ridges on his forehead tell the whole story. He was upbeat and enthusiastic before, once all the rings were recovered, and then he wasn't. Caroline arrived back to the compound like a hurricane. Put two and two together and you'll always have four.
He thought last night would've brought them together again. That after taking down the Guerreras, giving Caroline her long-awaited revenge against Francesca and restoring Niklaus back to his full glory, things would finally regain some semblance of normalcy. He didn't expect it would make the two of them somehow even worse than before. Honestly, this house lately... Elijah doesn't even know where to begin.
Klaus looks like a little boy who's been caught doing something naughty — sad pout, sagged shoulders, dejected posture, awfully quiet while Elijah prepares to destroy those damned stones once and for all. He's been like this since breakfast — in fact, he's been worse since, when Caroline didn't come down to join them. Elijah guesses they should be glad she at least spent the night home. That's some progress, depending on how you choose to look at it.
He rolls back his sleeves and checks that he has everything he needs.
"Could you not just take a sledgehammer to them?" Klaus grumbles.
"These were forged by a witch, and as such only the elements of water and fire can destroy them." He pauses, collecting the stones in his hand. "I'd have thought this moment would bring you greater pleasure."
"As would I." Niklaus lets out a sharp, pained breath, looking down at his own hands. "I realize now there's nothing to celebrate. Nothing's fixed. Maybe it never will be. And all of this has been my fault. If I had just accepted Caroline's pregnancy instead of playing king... I should've listened to you right from the start. Instead, my greed and my envy robbed me of my daughter. Turned Caroline into something she abhors. Not to mention led to the release of a weapon that can kill not only me, but you."
Elijah smiles shortly. "A thousand years I've survived your attempts to destroy me, brother." He puts all the stones into a bowl and pulls it closer to him. "I imagine I can survive this as well."
Klaus gazes up at him with a look in his eyes as though everything around him is falling apart and he's no idea what to do. It stings still to see this helpless, disheartened version of his brother. It's yet another of the lasting consequences of last spring's battle.
"You chase my redemption like a man rolling a stone up an endless mountain," Klaus muses.
"No mountain is endless, brother. You should remember that." Elijah uses a lighter to set fire to the stones, the magic steeped into them igniting without the need of any fuels. After a second burning, the flames dwindle. Elijah then takes a jar and pours clean water into the bowl, as the instructions he read indicated. They hear a sizzling sound, a thin, white smoke rising from the bowl. Klaus sits up straight on his chair, leaning forward to take a closer look. The black kyanites have all been reduced to ashes. Elijah keeps his eyes trained on his brother; his nightmare is now officially over. "Some are just steeper than others," he concludes after a moment.
Niklaus leans back on his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, every bit as grim as he was before the stones had been dealt with.
"Perhaps you should call Camille," Elijah offers.
"Whatever for?"
"She might be able to help you understand how to better reach Caroline. Isn't that what she does?"
"I doubt it," Klaus grumbles moodily. "It's not psychology what Caroline needs right now. What she needs is -"
"You."
Klaus shoots him a glare. "I doubt that, too. Maybe you should try to speak to her. You've always been better at this."
"As much as I would like to be able to offer her some comfort in this moment, Niklaus, and as heartbroken as I am myself over all the tragedy that's befallen our family and the loss of my niece, I believe the only one who shares her grief... is you."
He grows quiet for a moment, pensive, then he shakes his head lightly. "We lost our child. What could I possibly say to ease her pain?"
Elijah takes a step closer to his brother, places a hand on his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Whatever she needs to hear."
When Klaus walks into the room with his head down and purposely looking away, Caroline knows there's a conversation she won't like on the way. She's feeling all sorts of fucked up already; Klaus' puppy face and guilt trip are definitely two things she can do without. Compassion is something that's been running low for Vampire Caroline. How is she supposed to offer someone comfort when she can't even find any for herself?
She thought that offing Francesca Correa and the last of her clan would give her the closure she needed in order to truly regain control over her life, but if anything Caroline feels even more lost now. Before, she had a clear goal ahead, something to project, to look forward to. Now... The lack of purpose and the very little gratification she got out of her long awaited revenge is eating away at her. The emptiness inside seems to have grown larger than ever, swallowing her up, tempting her into giving in to nothingness again. What the hell is she supposed to do next? What is her life going to be like without a child to raise or someone to hate with all her being?
Caroline barely got any sleep, these goddamn thoughts keeping her wired up all through the night, but she refrained from going out again — not because she didn't desperately need some distraction, but because she figured it was not a smart idea to step into werewolf territory after murdering nine of them. Yes, they were mostly Guerreras and even the ones who weren't fell squarely into the traitorous asshole category, but she bets the Bayou is where Oliver scrammed off to lick his wounds, with his tail between his legs. Asshole or not, he's still a Crescent — and Caroline is still a vampire. Oliver may be rotten to his core, but the wolves will always protect their own, especially against blood-suckers. Besides... The way her hunger spiked last night, she's not sure she would've let him walk free again if they were to bump into each other.
Elijah and Klaus let her be and didn't even question her constant trips to and from the freezer where they keep the blood stash. But Caroline knew it was only a matter of time before one of them came to find her to have the talk . Elijah knocked on her door earlier and said they were getting ready to destroy the stones, if she'd like to join them. When Caroline didn't respond, he simply turned around and left. Now it's Mikaelson Number 2's turn.
She watches while Klaus walks all the way to the window, pretends to be distracted with something outside, then slowly circles around, stopping behind the couch directly opposite the one she's sitting on, rapping his knuckles against the backrest.
Caroline sighs. "How did it go with the rings?" she asks when the silence becomes painful to bear.
"All gone. Stones were reduced to dust."
Honestly, she expected him to be in a more upbeat mood now that the rings that made him miserable for the past four months have finally been destroyed for good, but he seems just as grumpy as ever. In fact — no, he actually looks worse. "How do you feel?"
"Relieved, but not yet satisfied. This is just the beginning."
"Isn't it always?"
He finally gazes at her, his jaw clenched and a look in his eyes that seems almost unbecoming on Klaus; it's... sheepish and apologetic. He takes a seat on the center table near her, leaning forward on his knees and staring down at his own hands. There's a long pause before he starts to speak in a mild manner, not a hint of the temper he's sported so often these past few months there.
"I understand how you feel. Better than you imagine,” he says. “I've felt that way for decades, centuries at a time. Like something inside of me had gone off. It's no comfort, but... It does get better."
"When? I'm an immortal now, if I can't get through this week, how am I supposed to get through forever?"
Klaus lifts his face, a sudden spark of determination cutting through the awkwardness. "You know, over the years, I've had my share of friends, enemies, lovers... Losses and triumphs. With time, they all begin to run together, but you will find that the real moments are... Vibrant. The rest just... Fades away. Your pain, too, will fade."
Caroline feels a bit of a twinge somewhere as memories instantly spring to her mind: the awful night of her transition, when she was on the verge of losing the last shreds of her sanity to the whirlwind of emotions overwhelming her every sense, until Klaus got home and she was finally able to breathe again, her mind clearing like the sky after a summer storm. Waking up with him the next morning and realizing that not all was lost. Klaus made her feel alive again when all Caroline knew and felt was death , gave her strength to wrestle the monster inside of her into submission.
Those were the most vibrant moments she's had since she was turned. Not even the initial hunger or the way her head felt as though it was going to explode any second with the excessive information trickling in from every single nerve ending in her body have resonated as strongly. She's still hungry all the time, still gets the discomfort of not having yet grasped complete control of her senses, but the initial shock wore off and is now but a distant memory. What she felt when she kissed Klaus that night, when they fell into bed together, when he finally said he loved her the next morning — that still makes her pulse quicken and her breath catch, even now.
But it's still not enough to make her whole again.
"I don't think my pain will fade until I can hold my baby," she admits. "And the fear that I never will kind of takes over everything else."
"And so you shall. But in order to do that, we need to regain control of the city. The Guerreras are gone, but there's still a wolf army out there answering to the witches. We worked separately once to unite them. We can work together to do it again. They don't have to be our enemies."
"After last night, they're not gonna want to be friends, Klaus."
"We waged a war on those who would harm our child. Your revenge was justified. The wolves loved you once, there's no reason why they should feel any different now. You didn't start any of this; they did, when they chose to align themselves with the Guerreras. Not only will they respect you still, they will listen to you."
"Why would they do that now? I'm a vampire."
"Because, Caroline, you're the queen this city needs. Not just the werewolves, mind you, but I'm willing to bet they know that better than anyone." He speaks with such certainty that Caroline almost believes him. Almost. She couldn't feel further away from a queen these days. What kind of queen would want to isolate herself in the middle of a swamp just to avoid getting in touch with any living person?
Caroline breaks eye contact, looking down at her lap. His confidence in her capabilities is just too much to handle. He is talking to someone who's no longer there, to the Caroline who perished after giving birth four months ago. The new one is nothing but a mix of disappointment and bloodlust.
"What about our other enemies? The witches don't stop plotting even after they're dead," she asks.
"We defeated my mother and her witches before because we stood united." Klaus moves to sit on the couch with her, positioning himself so they're face to face. "That has been our mistake until now. To think that we were better off leaving each other alone. You said things are different, that I look at you differently... You're probably right. But it has nothing to do with how I feel about you — this hasn't changed at all. What changed was how I felt about myself. Every time I saw you, how upset you were, how impatient you grew, I felt weaker and more pathetic. I promised you a revenge I had no idea how to deliver, and it made me ashamed. That is why I hid. For the past four months, I've barely recognized myself — except in how I feel for you." He covers her hand with his own, his thumb drawing gentle circles on her skin. It sends a tingly sensation up her arm, connecting directly with a part of her heart that had been dormant for months. "I need you, Caroline," he says, reverently, a near plea beneath his words. "And I hope you still need me, too. Together is how we must stand, how we are stronger, and how we will face our enemies. As a family."
Caroline turns her palm up, twining her fingers with his. "Together," she says, feeling as a spark of hope, however fragile, flares up to life. Once again, it's Klaus’ unwavering belief in her and that gleam in his eyes what knives through the grim darkness that's taken over. She scoots closer to him on the couch, and he shifts a little to accommodate her, pulling her into a half embrace when she leans her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, breathing him in. Her entire body relaxes into the warmth of his touch, molding against him. Klaus’ arms is the only place she feels like she truly belongs these days.
He brushes his lips against her temple, speaking softly in a near whisper, a promise and a plea all in one. "Let's go get our daughter back."
TBC