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She knows her friends would be judging her if they knew this was her fourth glass. She couldn’t bear to tell anyone; she even made sure to come to The Grill on Matt’s off-shift hours. She wanted to save herself the humiliation and the pitiful ‘oh Caroline’s that would see her passed around her friends like some sad little doll. When Klaus slides onto the stool beside her, she barely bats an eyelash.
“Are you alright, love?” he asks softly enough that it makes her heart ache.
She realises that she’s never really heard the words ‘are you okay?’ without some judgement or pity laced in between the syllables but Klaus asks it with complete and utter concern. It’s a funny realisation and if she wasn’t so drunk, she might think to laugh at the question but she just tilts her head lazily and quirks up the corners of her lips.
“You know the saying ‘life imitates art?” She pauses, thoughtfully swirling the drink in her hand. “Or was it ‘art imitates life’? No... I’m pretty sure it was the first one.”
When she doesn’t expand any further, he answers, “I’m familiar.”
Caroline places her glass on the bar surface, inhaling deeply through her nose as she contemplates her words. “The whole,” she twirls a finger in the air, “’Tyler cheating on me’ thing was supposed to be an act.” She’s aware that she may be disappointing him, perhaps even pissing him off, but she’s not finished with her confession. “But apparently, the ‘act’ was an act, too.”
The last time they had met, it ended it somewhat...sourly. As usual, she was just a distraction. Lying in bed, she accuses herself of liking that role. And maybe she does. Maybe she likes the feeling of being the only one that can hold his entire attention for as long as she so chooses. Maybe because after all the boys she had tried so desperately to keep in her grasp, she doesn’t even have to lift a finger with the Big Bad Hybrid.
The last time, she agreed to a date in exchange for something, using the false assumption of Tyler’s infidelity to her advantage. But that assumption wasn’t so false now, was it? Klaus had told her that under his sire, Tyler would have never hurt her - I wouldn’t have let him - and she can tell he’s dying to use the same words but won’t for the sake of originality. And despite this moment feeling like a typical ‘date’ scenario, it wasn’t planned and she knows he won’t view it as such. But suddenly, she doesn’t mind.
“I overheard them this morning.” She looks blankly at the shelves of alcohol in front of them. “‘Caroline’s sensitive. I’ll tell her about us when this is all over’,” she quotes grandly before laughing into her glass. She considers whether Tyler had known of her presence behind the door and that was his way of ripping off the band aid with little to no mess. But then she remembers how self-concerned he’s been and it seems unlikely. Her voice crackles suddenly, “And I can’t just bring it up to him because either way, bitchy, insecure Caroline Forbes is someone’s second choice once again.”
Klaus doesn’t give her a reply. He sits and watches as she attempts to mask the pain with a bitter grin. So she presses on with her despairing thoughts, “I think I need a soothsayer to just tell me it how it all ends and put me out of my misery...or a palm reading at the very least.” She hopes her lighthearted approach will give him an opening but he doesn’t take it.
There’s a long stretch of silence, the background noises of the bar serving as some comfort to her anxiety. She wonders if this is when Klaus Mikaelson will decide she’s not worth it. His whole image of her has been bathed in the idea that she’s strong, but she always knew there would come a time to show him that she’s anything but.
Instead of punishing herself by rambling on, she just sighs quietly and stares into the half-empty glass in front of her. It’s then that he finally shifts and she’s almost startled by how close he gets without touching her. His warm voice envelops her right ear, “You know, sweetheart, I was once told I’m quite adept at palm readings.”
Caroline’s frustrated with just how relieved she is that he’s not totally repulsed by her. She considers letting out all of her upset just to see how much of her pathetic humanity he can tolerate. But she decides against it as his eyes seem to burn with a purpose.
Though her dull and drunken stare holds him, she offers up her hand across the bar top. He glances at her as if to gain some affirmation and cups the back of her hand with his own. It’s awfully intimate and she can’t quite place why. Perhaps it’s that it’s the first time they’ve made physical contact without some sobering reality hovering around them. She’s not dying or trying to distract or appease him for some ulterior motive. She’s inviting his touch.
Klaus lifts an index finger above her palm, checking for her reaction once more, though she’s fairly certain that she looks like a sorority girl just one drink away from fucking up her hair. If she does, he doesn’t seem notice it.
The pad of his finger finally grazes her palm, starting at the base and working its way up and around. He’s muttering something about fate but all she can think about is how soft his touch is. His accented voice only complements how careful and precise his movements are. In another, sober setting, she might pull away and concoct a reason to pretend as though they just got carried away, but she doesn’t want to. She wants to feel every ticklish sensation as he inspects the insignificant lines weaving across her palm.
A dangerous thought passes through her and he’s soon tracing along what she’s fully aware is the heart line. When she looks up at him, he’s ready and waiting with his deep, blue eyes. They’ve always been something she’s sought to decipher because unlike his words, they harbour more than what he wants her to see. She feels her cheeks flush when his stare brushes over her lips. It’s not sexual or even romantic from what she can tell, but it’s meaningful all the same.
“So what does my palm tell you?” she struggles out, her throat constricting on the last few syllables.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “That you deserve more.”
And like that, she’s shot through the heart because she knows it’s true but has spent too much of her life doubting it. Whether or not this is just a game to him, she’s fighting an urge to kiss him on the spot. Because he’s bad. Because everyone thinks he’s bad. But he’s also the only person in her life that makes her feel good right now.
Klaus waits, his hands now cocooning her palm, but she has no idea where to go from that. So she pulls her hand back and he lets her without a single question or comment.
“I’m,” she begins but any sentence she had planned gets lost in her throat.
“Drunk,” he finishes for her. It’s not judgemental or sarcastic. It’s just matter-of-fact. “I understand, Caroline.”
She hates how delicately he says her name because it only makes her want him more. She tries to convince herself that it’s just the accent but she can’t recall feeling this way when addressed by anyone else.
Before she can move past analysing the usage of her name, he offers, “May I walk you home?”
And this is the moment she knows she’s screwed because she doesn’t even hesitate to say, “Yes.”