She stared up into his eyes—so moist with tears that wouldn't come—that she almost choked up herself. If he could only speak again, his words to tell her that she was right all along. Those words that could hide a clever façade behind the guise of love, yes, she wanted it to end where never started.

No, those words never crossed his lips. He bit back his lower lip as he closely examined her face. She could break into a million tiny pieces if he let her, and it wouldn't make any difference. Klaus knew what life was like out there, a thousand years on the run, exposed to the art and beauty of Paris, Rome, and Tokyo in various eras—particularly fond of the Renaissance.

Caroline turned her head from him. It didn't make this any easier what he wanted to say. He coughed twice. She turned back to face him, arms crossed over chest, tapped her foot impatiently against the soft ground, "What did you expect from me, Klaus?" She wanted to make sure she kept up her front, it was better this way.

"Why did you lie to me," Klaus asked, his tone not accusatory like she would have expected of him. He was firmly angered though, and it scared her to see his face change but he wasn't moving to lash out at her.

As she looked down at her shoes, she mumbled something under her breath, and Klaus picked up on it instantly. There was a quick exhale of breath, not necessary, and then she said louder, "I'm really sorry." A stray tear ran down her face as she leaned in to kiss Klaus, her lips brushing ever so gently against his.

Klaus pulled Caroline closer to him, wrapped one of his arms around her waist and cradled her chin with the other. Absorbing her lips, he could feel the light she was giving off as it touched the darkest reaches within him. This wasn't how he wanted this to end, but it would be best if they left well enough alone. Two opposing forces could never reunite opposing factions.

Sometimes love never dies, and other times it can never quenched.

At once parted, they walked away, comforted that the other wouldn't be there to ruin them. Neither one willing to admit that might the other have been right all along.

They were.