A friend. [ it's an casual answer, accompanied with a fond, sly smile; he's not so eager to part with velma's identity for reasons, even though she makes no effort to keep a low-key about her projects. (he's still uncertain of how loyal the engineer could be, and maybe, just maybe, he would like a friend to himself, however useful and convenient she might be. maybe testing the waters for a sign of jealousy might have something to do with the mystery as well.) ] She's a clever girl, quite well-intentioned.
[ if he's looking for any sign of jealousy from her, he will get it in the form of her lips drawing into a thin line. it's brief but it happens before she takes a sip of water, glancing back at the artwork.] Sounds like something Velma would be doing. [ caroline wasn't a big fan of the girl since velma sort of insulted her. ] Do you know her?
It's proven to be a suitably productive distraction. [ there's a dark, pained edge in his voice, in the twist of his mouth. it's been a distraction from their circumstances. from home. from learning of his daughter's fate and his own part in her endangerment. from every waking moment he's been kept from her. (it's not been suitably distracting in the least, not that and all his combined distractions put together.)
his gaze softens, darkens. ] A distraction quite like your visit here, I suspect.
[ she hates you, klaus. for calling her out, for knowing the obvious. and yet, she notices the twist of his mouth and wonders if that's all about her. sure, she'd been avoiding him but she hadn't all out ignored him or anything like that.]
I'm avoiding going back to my hut, if you want the truth.
[ she may hate him for the truth, but it doesn't change anything. ] I gathered as much. [ there's another twist to his smile; it's sardonic although lacks bite. she did tell him she didn't want to go back to her own hut.
the flippancy of the reply fades; he continues on sincerely, pushing off of the pillar he was leaning against. ] You can stay here as long as you like, Caroline. [ he means it and keenly. if she's in need of a sanctuary, this is hers, as much as it's been his.
he hesitates, vulnerable and unsure. ] And if you want to share your troubles... I could listen.
[ she already knew he'd say something like that. she knows him well enough to know that if she asked, he'd give her the whole hut. but she's not going to ask that. just an hour, an hour to breathe and clear her thoughts before she has to go tell her best friend.]
You really don't want to know. [ it'd only anger him. maybe. or maybe amuse him. she's not sure. his reactions can be unpredictable.]
[ it's unlikely he'd find anything amusing about the thought of damon salvatore using his considerable month-induced charms to snake his way under caroline's dress. translation: anger it would be.
(he would give her the entire hut, if she wanted it.)
her reply has him taking in a breath, nearly shifting on his feet. she's upset, and at one time he'd want to soothe or injure her for his own purposes.
[ she takes in her own breath, her eyes closing for a moment as her fingers play with the apo bol a bit. she doesn't know what to say or how to say it. he'd be the first she'd admit it to. and maybe it'd be easier...]
[ he's quiet. she barely needs to explain past that. he blinks and his lips part; he works past his immediate empathy and indignation, the sickened possessiveness and impulsive urge to protect her.
(he remembers rebekah telling him. explaining it. how the months worked, the aphrodisiacs; caroline could be referring to any one of these things, known or unknown, and it all means one thing. she's been subjected. it rouses in him the same reaction it did that first day. they shouldn't be here. she shouldn't be here.) ]
You can tell me. [ it's meant to reassure her, to comfort her.
and a part of him needs to know. to know a name. ]
[ she feels a prickling of fear crawl up her spine at his words even if he says it in a comforting voice. a part of her worries what would happen if she were tell him. her fingers curl a little more before she shakes her head, lips pressing together for a moment.
[ perhaps it is just too much for her. perhaps she doesn't trust him. (she's right to be afraid. if it were some faceless, likewise affected party as well, maybe his rage wouldn't be quite as focused or potent knowing it was damon, taking advantage.)
he swallows the rejection, the dismissal, looks down. he itches to comfort her; his reassurances weren't a manipulation or a veil. it takes him a moment, but he approaches her, his hand slowly reaching to cover her whitened fingers. he bends at the knee in front of her, his eyes seeking her gaze. ] Whatever was done to you, you deserve better.
[ she probably looks a bit surprised when he kneels in front of her, touching her hand. her eyes lift up to meet with his, searching for sincerity in his eyes before she remembers that she doesn't want it (or shouldn't want it).]
I did it to myself, [ she says it glumly, her eyes leaving his face.] I wanted it. [ there's a pause where she shakes her head.] Or at least, this place made me think I did.
[ she'd find sincerity, clear as day. she deserves better than this, than this place, than the anguish she's feeling. he believes it with every fibre of his being. yet her shame is still telling, and he tries to temper the wrathful stab of envy and pain he feels when she says she wanted it, when it's caused her this wretchedness, although he is soothed by her next confession.
he understands. he may be without shame, without her moral scruples, but he's acted on impulse and desire, and he knows what it's like to have your will bent and broken. still it's not without a swallow of pride that he replies. ] Whatever wretchedness you feel is forgivable. Understandable. I promise you, Caroline; you are no less for indulging an indiscretion. [ that doesn't change how he'd like to snap whoever's neck is responsible, but still. ]
That's easy for you to say, [ she says without thinking, a short laugh following before her expression softens. her eyes lower for a second before she looks at him, her voice soft.] I'm sorry. [ god, if anyone knew she was apologizing to him or thinking about the intimacy they shared, letting it make her view of him turn a bit more tender.]
Thank you. I just feel... like crap. [ which is far less eloquent than anything he'd just said to her. she feels more shame, although whether it's for being hurtful towards him or because she fucked damon salvatore, she's not really sure.] I don't indulge, Klaus. I can't. I'm the one who has to have it together. [ because stefan was broken sometimes and damon fucked everything up, and elena's time as a vampire had not been great either. caroline had to be the perfect one, the one who couldn't make the mistakes.]
Not that I wanted this. It was just this place, this stupid month. [ it's a slip she doesn't mean to have, although he may or may not know who has a birthday this month. and still it leaves elena and damon to choose between.]
[ she has the unfortunate power to do this: to hurt him in a way that stops and clenches whatever heart he has embedded in his chest. something dark passes over the vulnerability in his eyes, but she doesn't give his pain time to become wrath. she has the unfortunate power to do this too: to look at him and complicate what he should do. (he shouldn't allow her get away with injuring him, underestimating and pegging him all at once, shouldn't stand for it time and time again.) she has the power to surprise him, to render his typically stoic or cruel expression human.
his lashes flutter at the apology, at the implication, and he watches her as she thanks him. he can let this go; her denial, for now. (he's much too alarmingly, vulnerably focused on her regret.)
he hand slides from hers as his jaw works and his eyes drop. the back of his knuckles skim her thigh. (it's a touch he steals.) instead he braces his hands instead at either side of her knees.
despite himself, he understands the drive, the paranoia at keeping it together. (and he's nearly failed his daughter at it.) it's not what he wants to hear, that she could know a fraction a pressure, although in truth it's no revelation. she's always been driven: at being worthy, at being lively and bright.
it's only after she mentions the month that his gaze returns to her; it is a slip, and it's one he notes and files away.
he could console her, tell her there's no point in blaming herself for what she has no control over. (it would hit close to home.) ] I want to show you something.
[ she blinks at him as his hands hover closely to touching her, resting on either side of her knees, her eyes lifting to meet with his, seeing the way his jaw is taut for just a moment before. she blinks, too, at how he doesn't address anything she'd said, not even the glib insult beyond a brief darkening of his features.
he just tells her he wants to show her something and she finds herself, curious, finds herself asking--] What?
[ he starts to stand, his eyes on the floor. ] Well clearly any reassurances I'd offer you'd turn back on me. [ there's his address of her glib statement; after all, he can't help the retort. he's not sure if he means it as a chastising retaliation or a cruel joke at his expense. perhaps both. she has stung him, and while his reply has a bite to it, it's heavier with swallowed pain.
he lifts his gaze to her and softens. (the truth is he has no desire to quarrel with her and he knows it's not only because these words are coming from him. she's set in her ways, in her thinking, in her shame.) he offers her his hand. ] Let me show you something that might comfort you in my stead.
[ her lips press into a hard line at what he says first, knowing full well that she deserved it even if he should know that it was a little true, what she said and/or insinuated. still she looks away before she looks back at him when he speaks again, looking from his face to his hand with a justified skepticism.]
If this is an offer for a ride on a magic carpet ride, I'm going to have to pass. [ still, she takes his hand, with some hesitation, but she still takes it. that has to mean something.]
[ she might be right, but he'd have arguments and insights into the matter. and despite that all, it does mean something that she takes his hand, something he'd rather not identify besides the burgeoning smugness of his amused smirk as he helps her up. ] Well, I'd hope it's a little less cliche than that.
It's not far. [ he leads her out of the hut, of course taking the initiative to lift the door for her. they're walking towards the woods, or what passes for those on this planet. it's not more than ten minutes before caroline might hear the telltale sounds of moving water.
it's a small outcropping, at the bottom of a cliff face. there are dried seams and cracks in the rock, and some seven or eight feet above them water from the rains has begun to trickle down, creating a steady but small stream into a growing body of water.
he's found it, among other things, in his constant exploration of this place. klaus stops and leaves her side to approach it. ] It's not much, most likely the beginnings of a spring or a waterfall. [ he turns towards her. the truth is, he wants this to help her and there is hesitation in him to share the sentiment with her. ] There is beauty to be found here. [ despite their circumstances, despite what's happened to her. ] Some of it may even remind you of home.
[ her hand doesn't linger in his for long, she lets him help her up then her hands fall back to her sides as they head on their little journey. she looks skeptical most of the time, skeptical of his silence, feeling a little exhausted.
she hears the water, her head perking up a little before they come upon a clearing of sorts, a cliff with...
well, he says it. a waterfall. a baby one.
she'd never see this place before or rather, maybe never noticed it. it seemed this place truly thrived off what they did with their bodies. her eyes watch the water trickle down, feeling a strange pull for home in that moment even as klaus speaks.] I've never noticed this place.
[ whatever hesitation or anxiety he feels is quieted by the look on her face, and he lowers his own in deference of her appreciation. ] It's off the beaten path. I only discovered it the other day. [ he lifts his hand for her; the ground is littered with rocks, and it's the gentlemanly thing to do if she's to come closer. ] The water's cool.
[ it's okay, caroline, he won't bite. this is just all part of his dastardly plan to hold her hand. speaking of, he holds them both aloft and waits for her to come down to him. ] It's fresh.
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[ he'll allow her the avoidance. for now. ]
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his gaze softens, darkens. ] A distraction quite like your visit here, I suspect.
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I'm avoiding going back to my hut, if you want the truth.
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the flippancy of the reply fades; he continues on sincerely, pushing off of the pillar he was leaning against. ] You can stay here as long as you like, Caroline. [ he means it and keenly. if she's in need of a sanctuary, this is hers, as much as it's been his.
he hesitates, vulnerable and unsure. ] And if you want to share your troubles... I could listen.
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You really don't want to know. [ it'd only anger him. maybe. or maybe amuse him. she's not sure. his reactions can be unpredictable.]
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(he would give her the entire hut, if she wanted it.)
her reply has him taking in a breath, nearly shifting on his feet. she's upset, and at one time he'd want to soothe or injure her for his own purposes.
he does neither. ] I wouldn't offer if I didn't.
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I did something... I was affected by this place.
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(he remembers rebekah telling him. explaining it. how the months worked, the aphrodisiacs; caroline could be referring to any one of these things, known or unknown, and it all means one thing. she's been subjected. it rouses in him the same reaction it did that first day. they shouldn't be here. she shouldn't be here.) ]
You can tell me. [ it's meant to reassure her, to comfort her.
and a part of him needs to know. to know a name. ]
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this was a bad idea. ]
I'm fine. It's fine.
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he swallows the rejection, the dismissal, looks down. he itches to comfort her; his reassurances weren't a manipulation or a veil. it takes him a moment, but he approaches her, his hand slowly reaching to cover her whitened fingers. he bends at the knee in front of her, his eyes seeking her gaze. ] Whatever was done to you, you deserve better.
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I did it to myself, [ she says it glumly, her eyes leaving his face.] I wanted it. [ there's a pause where she shakes her head.] Or at least, this place made me think I did.
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he understands. he may be without shame, without her moral scruples, but he's acted on impulse and desire, and he knows what it's like to have your will bent and broken. still it's not without a swallow of pride that he replies. ] Whatever wretchedness you feel is forgivable. Understandable. I promise you, Caroline; you are no less for indulging an indiscretion. [ that doesn't change how he'd like to snap whoever's neck is responsible, but still. ]
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Thank you. I just feel... like crap. [ which is far less eloquent than anything he'd just said to her. she feels more shame, although whether it's for being hurtful towards him or because she fucked damon salvatore, she's not really sure.] I don't indulge, Klaus. I can't. I'm the one who has to have it together. [ because stefan was broken sometimes and damon fucked everything up, and elena's time as a vampire had not been great either. caroline had to be the perfect one, the one who couldn't make the mistakes.]
Not that I wanted this. It was just this place, this stupid month. [ it's a slip she doesn't mean to have, although he may or may not know who has a birthday this month. and still it leaves elena and damon to choose between.]
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his lashes flutter at the apology, at the implication, and he watches her as she thanks him. he can let this go; her denial, for now. (he's much too alarmingly, vulnerably focused on her regret.)
he hand slides from hers as his jaw works and his eyes drop. the back of his knuckles skim her thigh. (it's a touch he steals.) instead he braces his hands instead at either side of her knees.
despite himself, he understands the drive, the paranoia at keeping it together. (and he's nearly failed his daughter at it.) it's not what he wants to hear, that she could know a fraction a pressure, although in truth it's no revelation. she's always been driven: at being worthy, at being lively and bright.
it's only after she mentions the month that his gaze returns to her; it is a slip, and it's one he notes and files away.
he could console her, tell her there's no point in blaming herself for what she has no control over. (it would hit close to home.) ] I want to show you something.
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he just tells her he wants to show her something and she finds herself, curious, finds herself asking--] What?
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he lifts his gaze to her and softens. (the truth is he has no desire to quarrel with her and he knows it's not only because these words are coming from him. she's set in her ways, in her thinking, in her shame.) he offers her his hand. ] Let me show you something that might comfort you in my stead.
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If this is an offer for a ride on a magic carpet ride, I'm going to have to pass. [ still, she takes his hand, with some hesitation, but she still takes it. that has to mean something.]
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It's not far. [ he leads her out of the hut, of course taking the initiative to lift the door for her. they're walking towards the woods, or what passes for those on this planet. it's not more than ten minutes before caroline might hear the telltale sounds of moving water.
it's a small outcropping, at the bottom of a cliff face. there are dried seams and cracks in the rock, and some seven or eight feet above them water from the rains has begun to trickle down, creating a steady but small stream into a growing body of water.
he's found it, among other things, in his constant exploration of this place. klaus stops and leaves her side to approach it. ] It's not much, most likely the beginnings of a spring or a waterfall. [ he turns towards her. the truth is, he wants this to help her and there is hesitation in him to share the sentiment with her. ] There is beauty to be found here. [ despite their circumstances, despite what's happened to her. ] Some of it may even remind you of home.
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she hears the water, her head perking up a little before they come upon a clearing of sorts, a cliff with...
well, he says it. a waterfall. a baby one.
she'd never see this place before or rather, maybe never noticed it. it seemed this place truly thrived off what they did with their bodies. her eyes watch the water trickle down, feeling a strange pull for home in that moment even as klaus speaks.] I've never noticed this place.
[ and it was certainly beautiful.]
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HAD TO DO IT
MUFFLED LAUGHTER
romantic comedy
imagines klaus/caroline how to lose a guy in 10 days au
how to get rid of an original
i'd pay good money
me too
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