"He feels it as soon as she is born, that tug at his heartstrings that says his mate has finally come into the world. It's beautiful and terrifying all at once, but, most importantly, what he has been unknowingly waiting for all along."

A/N: Anybody know that TikTok thingy with the person hesitantly entering a room while mumbling—"Hellooo. How you doiiing?"? Well... right now, that's me. Writing (mainly personal/original stuff) has been my #1 coping mechanism throughout the lockdown-period that is upon us, and I felt the need to see this story to its end, to, more importantly, do right by each and every single one of you for the incredible happiness that you have brought into my life by reading and reviewing it. I hope, from the very bottom of my heart, that you're all staying safe and that some of you can, perhaps, find it in yourselves to still care about this story.

I've had to re-read all the previous chapters, in order to be able to get back to work on this one, and I love how, in my mind, this story has always been pure FLUFF!FLUFF!FLUFF! when, in reality, it's kind of a tinsy bit angsty? Basically, it's my whole existence in a nutshell: I lure people in with the cuteness, then suRPRISEEE, I'M ACTUALLY A MESS!

ANYWAY!

I'd like to think that, ever since the last update, eons ago, I've grown as a writer or, at least, haven't gotten any worse, so, please, let me know what you think. You have no idea how much I hope you enjoy this chapter and I promise I will not disappear for another five years.

Socially-distant-snuggles,

Giulia.

"'You are still too young, Caroline.', 'This is a big decision, Caroline.'," the twenty-three-year-old grumbles in a bitter, mocking tone, pacing the length of the Bennetts' living room again and again in wide circles while Bonnie, wearing a half-worried, half-amused expression, tries to keep up with her ranting. "I swear, one more excuse and goodbye, vampires, I'm gonna turn into Buffy, instead!"

When Caroline goes as far as stomping a heeled foot against the delicate parquet, Bonnie can't hold back a wince.

"Well," she sighs, "that doesn't sound like too bad of a plan."

The sentence is effective in halting the other girl's movements, though Caroline thinning her eyes to slits in a chastising glare isn't, to be exact, the desired outcome.

Ever since, at last, months ago, after a lengthy discussion with Elijah, she was given the final seal of approval to share her own involvement with the supernatural with her best friend, she had been hoping to gain an ally in her quest for vampirism, not a skeptic.

A huff. Hands on hips.

"Not. Helping."

With another sigh, Bonnie nods, once, as genuinely apologetic as possible—it is natural, after all, for witches to dislike vampires. "I'm sorry."

As if the words were twinkling stars swallowed within a black hole, a vacuum loud yet quiet set on drawing away anxieties, Caroline's features soften in gradual waves, a heavy exhale, the only sign of any lingering tension, escaping past her lips as she moves to sit on the couch next to her best friend.

Her shoulders sag.

"No, I am sorry. I've been extra-neurotic about this whole thing, which is saying a lot, while you've been nothing but supportive, despite the fact that—"

"Care," Bonnie interrupts her with a shake of brown curls, laying her hands atop Caroline's to give them a reassuring squeeze. "No 'despite's, no 'but's. This is your life we're talking about. I will always support you."

A beat.

For a long moment, the two girls share–

–a life, a friendship–

–a look of understanding, gazes gentle. Caroline nods her gratitude, somewhat hesitant, sniffles away a few happy tears that were wetting the corners of her eyes.

"Even if I become a blood-sucking monster?" she jokes, though only partially.

Bonnie smiles, in that special way of hers that is both soothing and serious, wise beyond their years in a manner Caroline doubts she will ever achieve, even if she does end up living forever.

"I would never let that happen," Bonnie promises. "And, the Mikaelsons... I might not trust them as people—" —which they are not, because they are not— "—but I know that I can trust them with you, and that is all that matters."

A warmth like a blanket settles over Caroline, and she leans sideways, head nestled safely against Bonnie's shoulder.

"Plus," the latter continues, "while I'm beyond happy that you're so confident about what you want, I appreciate the fact that they aren't just letting you jump into it."

Caroline's answering snort quakes up her chest, then along Bonnie's body where the two of them are touching.

"Talk about not jumping into something. It's been almost two years, Bon," she points out, with a land of crinkles in the place of her nose. "At this pace, I will be the first wrinkly vampire in existence!"

She can envision it quite all right: Klaus, looking as hot as hell—fitting, much?—and her, the spitting image of Grandma Forbes.

At the thought, no matter the fact that he is one but not all the reasons behind her decision, her face unconsciously pinches inwards in utter horror, cajoling a thunderous laugh out of Bonnie.

"Don't make fun of me!" Caroline straightens back up, playfully shoving Bonnie away though unable to rein in her own giggling. "I'm vulnerable!"

"I'm not making fun of you!" A pillow is thrown but avoided with the magical flick of a wrist. "I just think you shouldn't worry about that, of all things. They agreed to turn you, didn't they?"

Teeth bruising the line between lips.

A nod.

"They did."

"And you trust them?"

"I do." There is not a shadow of doubt in Caroline's mind, no faltering in her admission.

"Then, it will happen. You just... have to be patient for a little while longer."

And a witch's innate wisdom is always to be trusted.

Above all, Caroline trusts Bonnie.

She decides to trust herself, too, her instinct, that feeling of completeness that encompasses her whole being–

–an additional layer of atmosphere wreathing a world that is only them, them, them, like the frame of a painting on dark blue canvas streaked by strokes of yellow that, possibly, probably, most definitely, has been hung back on her bedroom's wall years ago, now–

–whenever she's with Klaus.

Despite everything—because of everything—she has forgiven him, knows that he will not let her down–

–go–

–ever again.

"Happy birthday, Sweetheart," Klaus breathes out against Caroline's heated cheek not a week later.

He steps back–

–not—never—away, this dance of theirs well-practiced–

–and hands her a small, square box.

It's mere minutes after midnight.

She's in her flimsy pajamas while he's dressed like the moment calls for celebration.

His eyes caress every inch of her face, a blue breeze that scalds her skin, marks her soul even more than it has already been marked by Fate.

The wait has been so much longer for him than it's being for her.

She can't quite wrap her head around how much he must love her.

Caroline lets her lashes flutter closed, still looks at him from underneath them—yet, he's not a blur but a constant, a focal point she can only boomerang around. Her fingers trail along the burgundy velvet in her grasp, her mind taking guesses at what it could contain, remembering fondly that bracelets are a bit of a thing for them, secretly hoping to find that he has sketched her again.

With utmost care, she plucks the satin bow from its place and opens the elegant case.

The two halves separate with a clicking sound. The object inside seems to slosh.

Actually, it's what is inside the object inside that sloshes.

Caroline's heart stops.

Its beat ceases for, at most, a millisecond, but the loss of it echoes long after the thump-thump'ing has resumed.

Because it's like it knows.

It's like it agrees.

Like it's telling her that it—she—is ready.

To stop permanently.

To be reborn.

"I—" Eight. Caroline can count the number of times she has been left speechless throughout her whole life on two hands. This is the eighth.

Her fingers are shaking as she picks up the transparent vial filled with blood.

Her eyes meet Klaus' gaze–

–blue on blue; so alike, so different.

She doesn't need to ask him. "It's your blood."

"Yes."

"You're giving me your blood."

Klaus smiles, looking at her with such intensity that Caroline worries she will combust on the spot. He doesn't even blink, loath to miss the sight of her bathed in the moonlight filtering in through her bedroom's window for a single second, almost as if willing the notion of how much else–

–everything–

–he has given her to sear itself across that unblemished skin of hers that only his eyes are allowed to touch.

"Have you ever had any doubt that it would be mine, Sweetheart?"

She hadn't.

But that's not what she meant.

"I can become a vampire," she clarifies, her awe crystalline.

He hums his assent under his breath. "If you still wish to, of course."

It hits her, then, reaches her in tandem with his words, with the teasing lilt of them even as his voice trembles.

She has a choice.

A choice that goes beyond reaffirming her desire to become a vampire.

He's gifting her with eternity, not knowing, yet, whether she will spend it with him.

Part of Caroline–

–insecure, neurotic, control freak–

–believed that to be the reason behind everyone's adamant refusal—the expectation that she would tie herself to Klaus, first. Shame is quick to take the place of that assumption. It burns her from within—a kindle, then a blaze—and makes her cheeks flush and her eyes sting.

She swallows. "I do."

There's a sudden radiance–

–when he's supposed to be the very embodiment of darkness, instead–

–softening the sharp angles of his face, and Caroline finds herself torn between unconstrained exhilaration and a sense of encumbrance, for being the reason why it exists.

The only thing she knows—feels—with utter certainty, right then, right there, is that she wants to see more of it.

Supernatural reflexes are helpless against the way his mate's arms thread around Klaus' shoulders.

This time, it's his heart that stops–

–when it had never even functioned, not up until she was born–

–when Caroline takes her turn breathing—branding—words onto his skin.

"Thank you," she whispers, lips two feather-like brushes dabbing at the side of his neck as they part then lie one atop the other again. Yearning settles deep down into Klaus' abdomen, and he wastes no time flattening his palms on the small of her back, drawing her in closer.

"You're welcome, Sweetheart."

The hold silently tightens.

Together with her fingers, the velvet case, safely closed, clutched in her right hand, digs into his shoulder blade, a pleasant reminder of the reality of her acceptance.

He starts tracing a smooth line along the column of her throat, almost unconsciously, at first, moving higher, and higher, still, until his nose is skimming just underneath the curve of her jaw. She can feel his smirk, not the slant he has bestowed upon countless enemies but more of a soft slope, a confident caress that tickles her cheek, and can't help but imagine the dip of his dimples hidden by the encounter of his skin on hers, hers on his.

Caroline shivers.

His smell, his touch, his presence—he's an addiction.

They were molded from one and to one they shall return.

She presses herself even closer.

"Sweetheart—" he rasps, and neither can tell whether it's a warning or a plea–

–both, perhaps.

Caroline's acknowledgment is muffled against the fine material of Klaus' suit-jacket. The vibrations of it travel throughout his body, fire to a fuse, until one of his hands rises to cup the nape of her neck, burying itself into her golden halo.

A whimper.

A grinding of teeth.

Because Klaus knows that the timing is not quite right, yet, that, first, Caroline has to come to terms with what giving in to him would truly signify. He could never be content with anything less than all of her.

He gently detaches himself.

She lets him.

The hand that was holding her to him trails down to envelope her cheek, keeping her face tilted towards his, while the other gathers the one of hers still clasping the case containing the vial, fingers intertwining like a bridge above it.

"Whenever you are ready," he promises, "it's yours."

She loves how he's referring to more than just his blood–

–to his heart, to himself–

–loves it enough to not catch the inaccuracy the sentence conceals—he's already hers.

She does not want to wait, anyway, is eager to kick-start the domino effect leading to the rest of her life.

Agreeing on how to die presents a bit of a challenge, however.

Never before, has Klaus faced a situation where what he desires is the direct consequence of something he cannot bear to imagine. The mere thought of Caroline's lifeless body–

–a paradox, because she is life to him–

–causes terror to course through his. He has been relying on magic for centuries, persuaded it to his side, even, in order to become the most powerful creature to walk the Earth, but, suddenly, it appears like such a fickle thing, not enough to gamble Caroline on. That's, partly, why he and his siblings had been stalling.

"It doesn't need to be painful," Rebekah tries to reason one evening, the five of them enjoying a lovely dinner together at the mansion.

Klaus scoffs. "I beg to differ."

"Oh, come on, Nik! Don't be such a sour wolf," Kol jibes, throwing Caroline a wink, delighting in her amusement. "Our deaths were ghastly, but I believe we've turned out quite all right, haven't we?"

A knife glides through the air and plunges straight into Kol's left shoulder.

"Ouch!"

"Mind your tongue," Klaus seethes, "or I will make sure you cease having one."

To his credit, Elijah doesn't even sigh, only tactfully dabs a handkerchief across his mouth, well-versed in the art of ignoring his brothers' antics.

"Indeed, Rebekah. Modern medicine could be of great use."

Rebekah beams at him, pleased by the rare display of approval, then turns to look at Caroline. "What do you think, Care?"

Four pairs of eyes shift in the latter's direction.

"I... I'm not sure I like the idea of just—" a shrug, a sharp inhale, "falling asleep? Feels kinda anticlimactic."

Kol slams a fist on the table. "That's my Carebear!" he whoops.

But it's not his reaction that Caroline is focused on.

Shadows cloud the expression on Klaus' face, and Caroline can tell part of them stem from her siding with someone else over him. It would feel patronizing, if she didn't see it as further proof of how he wants for the two of them to share everything. She would feel bad, if she didn't relish the opportunity to make it up to him eventually.

This is her ending—beginning—and she will go out with a boom.

A flair for the dramatic is definitely something that they already have in common, after all.

So, two months later, when he finds her basking in the cool air of the evening, overlooking the mansion's garden from one of the balconies while their friends and family celebrate the approaching new year, she lets him trap her body against the railing with his.

She turns around, the train of her golden mermaid-dress–

–fit for a queen, fit for the Queen of the supernatural world–

–swishing over the stone beneath their feet, and takes both his hands into hers, rests one on each side of her face, applying pressure.

Klaus' breath on her lips is the last thing Caroline feels, before she guides him to snap her neck.