So yeah... An update...

I don't know what to say except I didn't think it would be this long and I'm sorry for that. I have plenty of excuses but I won't bore you with that. I just hope this chapter will be worth something.

If you're still reading, thank you.

This is unbeta'd so please forgive any mistake.

For Menelle and Giulia.

Twilight came too soon and the blueness of the day crept into the room, marking the end of their interlude.

Time was infusing itself back into their reality.

He had not slept much but he was not tired and he had decided that he would rather enjoy the last few moments of quiet stillness with her.

He leaned on his left elbow and watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath, her left arm resting just below her breasts. Her face was turned toward him and there were no lines or frown marring her forehead. No doubts or fears. She looked at peace wherever she was. And he hoped it had a little bit to do with him.

He moved closer and continued to watch her quietly, hungrily.

A greedy man he was.

Her nudity was half concealed from his eyes by the white rumpled sheet but there was not an inch of her he had not touched or kissed. Not a single detail he had not committed to memory.

Living beauty in front of him. In his heart.

Living colors in the dim light.

The blue hour was conspiring, giving her skin an unearthly sheen, as if the rising Sun wanted to remind him that, even though she had fallen asleep in his arms, she would forever belong to the skies.

And maybe she did. Her sunny disposition, her somewhat naive outlook on life, had always left him in awe. She was specks of light. Gold pigment in the darkness. A light like hers could not be contained and, would he ever consider painting again, he would never be able to do it justice. There was something unique about it, something purely Caroline that could not be replicated. Anything else would pale in comparison.

Anything else would leave him unsatisfied and aching for it.

For her.

A greedy man indeed.

A man in love.

He had come to acknowledge – and accept – the fact that he was hers as much as she was his.

He buried his nose in her curls and breathed her in. The same floral and sunny scent. And just her, underneath. The back of his hand brushed her idle arm and lingered on her hand. The simplest touch to reassure himself that she was here. With him.

Ticking minutes and he would have to leave her.

Ticking minutes and he would find her again.

It was enough to make him smile in gratitude and, warmed by the comfort of this knowledge, he held her hand as he watched the sunrise. A new palette of colors, bathing the room in fiery lights and promises.

Humanity, on their part of the world, began to awaken in a quiet frenzy of noise and life. It was all peaceful agitation but he did not want to take any part in it.

For he would have to leave her side to join the world again.

But still, the Sun rose, its luster penetrating their little sanctuary. Streams of light. Silver and gold. A river. A sea of radiance.

And the day was born.

Without cries.

Painlessly. Silently.

Beautifully.

He held his breath. She stirred beside him and he looked at her expectingly. A small frown settled on her forehead and she moved, turning her back to the sunlight, their hands unlinking. But before he had time to mourn the loss of her touch, she nestled against his chest, in the comfort of his shadow, her chest pressed to his.

Ticking minutes and he would have to leave her.

Ticking minutes.

And she would find him again.

~o~

It was common knowledge that Klaus Mikaelson was always one step ahead. With everything.

Everything.

Always prepared. Always in control.

On top.

Very rarely blindsided or fazed by anything.

It was what had earned him Richard Lockwood's interest – and later trust and respect. It was what had earned him a position in his office in spite of his age and lack of experience in the field.

Cold calculations.

Efficient detachment.

It was what made him able to go on, hold on, when his life had been torn apart.

It was the fear of experience that drove him. Reshaped him. The fear of incomprehension, helplessness, as the floor gave way under his feet, as walls crumbled around him, as cold numbing truth swept him up and drowned him, leaving his identity in shambles.

That fear could not be.

He would never let it.

Inspiration, improvisation, he did not need the unplanned. Emotions. Variables. Risks. He hunted them down, owned them before they owned him. Everything was assessed, measured and sorted. People, actions, behaviors. Feelings. Everything served a purpose, fit a certain box.

Anything left unattended, unguarded, was potential disaster.

But time was his best ally.

Time offered vision. And vision gave you leeway. Adaptation.

No surprises. No losses.

Time meant gains.

And he was running late.

Already one step behind.

Because he could not leave.

Because he could no longer be detached.

Because, in truth, he never had been completely. Detached.

He gulped down the last of his coffee and grabbed his briefcase, phone and keys. ''See you tonight, Caroline,'' he called absentmindedly, hurriedly, and ran out the door without waiting for an answer.

He never did.

Too little time to take the time.

He walked briskly in the cold and sunny morning, nodded politely at Mrs Saltzman who was walking her dog, and got into his car.

His phone buzzed in his hand, the third time this early morning but he did not have to bother and look at the name flashing on his screen. He knew without a doubt who it was.

Marcel.

His friend and accomplice had left him a dozen of sometimes angry, sometimes desperate messages, asking – requesting – that he came back to the office and dealt with Richard himself because nor him or Camille could.

And if Camille could not deal with Richard, it meant that things were serious.

Camillewas their voice of reason. She was without a doubt the best thing that had happened to their team. Marcel could only agree but then again he was completely infatuated with the girl. Sadly for him, she was oblivious to any attempts he made her way. Or maybe she was not and was just trying to let him down as gently and kindly as possible. He shook his head, smiling.

Beautiful Camille. The soul of their little band of misfits.

He rejected the call and started the engine.

Time to get things done.

Yes, time to get things done.

So, why could not he leave?

~o~

He heard her before he saw her.

She was humming.

Something light. Something sunny. Something that drew him in even more.

He stopped just outside her room and watched her.

She was sitting on her bed, near the window, her towel coming undone at her waist, and she was running the comb through her wet hair. Threads of gold and bronze mixed together, going over the side of her neck and resting on her naked breast.

He came inside.

A sunshine room. Full of light and optimism. And her. In the yellow walls, the teddy bear on her bed and the old pictures of the people she loved. In the random books and magazines she read, the perfume she wore and the wilting flowers she refused to throw away. Because there was beauty in them and life and death. A simple and cruel foreshadowing.

She was everywhere.

And there was a little bit of him, too. In a faded sketch he had made of her a long time ago, a stolen shirt she refused to give back. And the bracelet he had given her for her eighteenth birthday. A reminder that they'd always find their way back to each other – that they'd never be bound by space or time. Because they were infinity.

Little pieces of them scattered in this room.

They had changed here. Had shared more than just three words.

''Are you just going to stand there?'' she asked without turning. She was smiling, he could hear it. And he finally realized that he had been standing there for a minute or so.

''Hey,'' he said finally.

She tilted her head toward him and put her comb on her bed. ''I thought you had left.''

''I was going to but then I realized I had forgotten something,'' he told her, crossing the room to join her.

''What?'' she asked, looking down at him with a curious look when he knelt in front of her. His hand trailed on her right thigh. Her skin was still moist from her shower.

''That,'' he said, kissing her on the lips. ''I forgot that.''

Something silly really. And yet too important. To be dismissed.

That morning kiss.

''You're going to get wet,'' she laughed softly, nuzzling his cheek, and he kissed her again.

''I don't mind,'' he grinned and kissed her lips, pressing himself against her until she was lying on her bed, under him. He nestled comfortably between her opened thighs and kissed her here and there, capturing the water drops running on her naked skin with his tongue.

''What are you doing, Nik?'' she laughed when his lips became more teasing.

''If you're asking me, then I'm clearly doing something wrong, sweetheart,'' he said, looking at her briefly before he went back to teasing her.

''Trust me, you're doing it just right,'' she sighed when he kissed her below her left breast, just the way she liked it.

He drove her a little mad with his mouth and her hands, clutching at his hair, urged him to move up. He obliged and kissed her chest and then her lips while his hands busied themselves with her curves.

She returned his kisses quite happily, eagerly, and locked herself around him. Her hands were quite busy too and he shook off a shiver that began under her fingertips and travelled all the way down his back.

Her chest was crushed under his, their lips mashed together, fusing. Quick, successive touches. Tiny presses.

She tore her mouth from his when the need for air become too important and he continued to cover her skin with kisses, stopping at her pulse point. A fierce drum.

A breathy song. Rising and falling.

He had literally stolen her breath away.

But air was distance.

And distance was agony.

He captured her lips again.

''We're going to be late,'' she said breathlessly in between kisses. ''We should stop,'' she added huskily but her hands tugged at his shirt instead and her legs went higher up his waist. Her heat penetrated his clothes and deposited on his skin. Layer after layer of tingling warmth that turned him into stone. ''We shouldn't,'' she continued, with the same quick successive presses of her lips against his as she molded into him. ''I mean we should stop,'' she babbled and he dipped his head and kissed her throat. One of his hands left her thigh to palm her breast and she arched. ''Oh,'' she gasped and he moved to the side of her neck, grazing her sensitive skin with his teeth, making her arch again. Her hands left his shirt and found their way back to his hair. ''Don't. Stop,'' she said with new found fervor.

He stopped his ministrations and looked at her flushed face, the rising and falling movement of her chest, the way she was biting her lower lip. She looked at him through heavy lids, still lost in their caresses. Gloriously ripe under him. And completely inarticulate.

''You're not being very coherent, sweetheart. Should I stop or not?'' he asked smugly.

He waited for her to say something. Whine. Beg him to continue. But a frown settled on her face; the look soon turned into something akin to outrage and she did something else entirely.

She pulled his hair hard, making him wince, and brought his face closer to hers. ''Always so cocky,'' she whispered and took his face in her hands, kissing him.

He opened his mouth to object and was silenced with another quick kiss. ''So cocky,'' she repeated against his lips.

She pushed him back and maneuvered herself on top, straddling him, and pressed another kiss on the corner of his mouth. ''Is that comprehensible enough for you?'' she smiled and leaned back.

She opened his shirt and ran lazy fingers over the birds inked on his skin. ''They're always so agitated,'' she said, fascinated.

Her words were a bit of a mystery to him but he did not say anything; he just watched her, realizing that she was still a puzzle to him, even after all this time.

The back of her hand, her fingers, touched the side of his face reverently. The way she smiled at him – looked at him – touched him even deeper.

He was rarely the object of adoration. He elicited many emotions and feelings. Disappointment, admiration. Respect. Fear. Hatred. Lust.

And, worst of all, sometimes he did not elicit anything at all. A lack of interest. Cool detachment.

Indifference.

His shaky base.

He was built on it.

He knew he was messed up and he did not really mind. He was who he was.

But to have her look at him like that. It made him want to never disappoint her.

''I want to make love,'' she told him very simply and leaned to kiss him again, their lips detaching just long enough for him to get rid of his shirt.

''Caroline –'' he tried as she began to lavish his skin with open-mouthed kisses. Tongue and teeth and lips. Her hands attacked his belt and he closed his eyes, gasping, any coherent thought leaving him.

A stone he was under her touch. Crumbling. Turning into dust.

Scattered in the air. Rising.

Ascending.

Finally.

~o~

''We're going to be late,'' she said without much conviction.

''I know,'' he sighed. He pressed an other kiss to her lips and rolled on his back.

''We're going to be late,'' she said again, tilting her head toward him. ''And then, Carol will kill me. I've missed two days of work already,'' she continued. ''And it's all your fault really, lover boy,'' she added and lightly punched his shoulder.

''Caroline,'' he warned. ''Let's keep the pet names to a minimum, shall we?'' He took her small fist in his hands and ran his fingers along her knuckles absent-mindlessly.

''Yes, sweetheart, let's keep the pet names to a minimum,'' she said sarcastically. ''Although it is kind of your fault that I'm two days behind with work,'' she went on. ''And I still haven't called Rebekah back regarding the preparations for her engagement party. I swear she has left a billion voice mails and I'm actually scared to listen to them,'' she rambled adorably.

''Hey, relax,'' he told her, kissing her knuckles. ''It's only Bekah.''

''Says the guy who's never said 'no' to his baby sister,'' she snorted. ''Which is ironic since, you know, you're the reason why I haven't called her back. It's all your fault. You and your dimples.''

He chuckled. ''My dimples are I are very sorry, Caroline,'' he joked. ''I'll make it up to you. I promise,'' he told her, looking up, giving her a look that was meant to convey how sorry he was.

Except he was not.

''Don't,'' she warned.

''What?'' he frowned.

What had he done now?

''Don't give me that look!''

''Which look?''

''The one that got me detention in sixth grade and got me grounded for two weeks in eighth grade! The puppy dog eye look!'' she ranted. ''Ugh! I can't look at you right now. Go, just go, before I do something stupid,'' she said dramatically, hiding her face with her free hand, and he laughed.

''Are you trying to get rid of me, Caroline?''

''Yes!'' she said and he gave her an other look, making her roll her eyes at him. ''No.'' And he smiled again, satisfied.

She looked down at him with a soft look. ''Of course not,'' she said, as if to reassure him of her affections. She brought her face closer to his and her lips descended on his.

He sighed again. He wanted this always. But it was time to go.

''Alright. I really need to go now.'' He kissed her hand one last time and sat down, looking for his discarded clothes. A wrinkly jumble on the dark wooden floor. ''I better take another shirt,'' he scratched his cheek.

She moved from her spot on the bed, wrapping her naked form around him, and put her chin on his shoulder. ''Can we have lunch together?'' her breath tickled his neck.

''I'm afraid not,'' he said regretfully. ''I won't be able to leave the office today. I left Marcel and Camille with too many things to deal with.''

He almost felt bad for them. Almost.

She sighed in his neck.

''Maybe Carol will take pity on me and let me take a break and have lunch,'' she said, hopeful. ''I can come over, bring you something. If it's okay... I mean, I understand if you don't feel comfortable having me around.'' He let her ramble. ''Maybe that's a bad idea... You know what? Forget it,'' she finished and she hid her face in the crook of his neck.

''Are you finished?'' He felt her nodding. ''I'd love to,'' he said simply.

''Really?'' she asked, sounding unsure.

''What do you sound so surprised? It's not like we've never had lunch together before.''

''I know. But things are different now,'' she said slowly, carefully, as if she was trading on shaky ground.

His shaky ground.

''I don't see why this is any different. It doesn't change anything,'' he replied.

He really did not think it did but, evidently, it was not the right thing to say; he immediately felt her tense behind him.

''How ironic!'' she exclaimed removing herself from him, and he turned toward her, not sure what had warranted such a reaction. ''It changes everything. Remember?'' she looked at him pointedly.

He frowned and shook his head; she had lost him. ''You do realize that you're not making any sense?''

She huffed. ''Forget it.''

She stood up and took her towel, wrapping it around herself. Her rapid movements, the pink patches on her skin, the frown that marred her forehead – everything suggested that she was angry.

At him.

And for the life of him he could not figure out why. They had gone from being passionate and teasing to arguing – on her side at least – in such a short time that he felt dizzy. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood up.

''No, please tell me,'' he said as he took his pants and put them on. ''Clearly there's something bothering you,'' he looked at her, fastening his belt, ''and I know that, if you don't let it out, I'm bound to lose my sanity. Sooner rather than later.''

''Alright,'' she began, looking calmer than she was a few seconds ago, ''we're together now and... and it's new. And, you,'' she gestured at him, ''you're definitely a virgin when it comes to relationships.''

He raised his eyebrows at her comment but let her continue. ''And I don't have the best track record. I'm just trying not to screw this up.''

He gaped at her.

''Screw this up?'' he repeated, perplexed.

''Yes, screw this up.''

''Because of lunch?''

''No! Not because of lunch!'' she answered, exasperated. ''Because I'm clingy!'' She threw herself on her bed, bouncing on it. ''I'm clingy,'' she repeated, sighing. ''I'm a control freak who can't let go.''

He raised his eyebrows at her not-so-little outburst.

He had to say: she was taking things to a whole new level. She was infuriating and endearing. And scary.

''You never fail to amaze me, Caroline. Those drama classes you took in college clearly paid off.''

''This isn't funny,'' she glared at him.

''You're right, I'm sorry,'' he tried to suppress a laugh.

She looked at him, scowling. ''I'm happy that my inner turmoil entertains you,'' she said with more sadness than what was right.

He sat on the bed, next to her, and ran a soothing hand on her cheek.

''Caroline? What is this really about?''

She leaned into his hand and took a deep breath.

''These past two days, it was just us, and it was perfect,'' she said dreamily. ''But now...''

''Now?'' he encouraged with a caress.

''Now, it's going to be us and the others.''

''By 'the others' you mean...?''

''My father. Rebekah. Our friends.''

''What about them?''

''What if they don't understand?'' she asked softly. ''I know Bonnie understands but what about the others?''

She looked at him and he saw the worry and the sadness. The emotions he saw in her eyes were like nothing he felt.

And it was like a curtain closing.

No more light.

''Does it matter?'' he asked.

''Yes! I want them to be happy for us!'' she threw her hands up in the air, aggravated. ''Do you think it's silly?'' she looked at him.

It did not think it was silly. Just greatly inconvenient. Binding.

Why did people subject themselves to others' expectations? The inevitable disappointment, the sense of failure that went with it – it all ended with the same hopeless loneliness.

And that was why their judgment could not matter to him because, if it did, what would it mean? What would it say about him?

That he was a bastard?

That he was unwanted? His mother's greatest shame?

Either you fitted. Or you did not.

And he did not.

But it was different for Caroline. She thrived under people's appreciation and was as easily crushed under their disapprobation. And he just hoped that she would learn to break those bonds.

Your happiness could not depend on what others thought of you. Even if they were family. Especially if they were family. Just like your happiness could not depend solely on someone.

Even if, sometimes, it felt like it did.

''Nik?''

''Hmm. No, I don't think it is,'' he said finally, shaking the thoughts out. ''But I don't think it's realistic. Not everyone will agree with you. Or with your choices.''

She sighed.

''I know, you're right.''

Except that now he needed to know. ''And what if they don't approve?'' he asked her. ''Would that change anything?''

Would others be more important than them? Was their opinion more important than what she felt? What they felt.

Her eyes widened slightly at his question and she sat up. ''No!'' she shook her head. ''Of course, not.''

She looked at him intently and put a comforting hand on his cheek. ''What I'm trying to say is that I'm greedy when it comes to you. Greedier than I thought,'' she said, her face a mixture of wonder and acceptance.

It was a strangely beautiful thing for her to share and he did not know what to say after such a touching confession.

They were the same.

''Forget about lunch,'' he told her, seizing her waist. ''Let's have dinner instead.''

She raised an eyebrow and passed her arms around his neck. ''There will be chocolate?''

''Anything you heart desires, love,'' he said seriously.

''Really?'' she beamed. Radiant.

''Absolutely,'' he said with a nod. ''So, what do you say?''

''That you sure know how to win a girl's heart, Mikaelson.''

Only her heart.

~o~

As it turned out, she arrived on time that morning. And was still very much alive when, after her lunch break, she headed toward Carol's office to see her.

She walked along the corridor leading to her boss' office with conviction, taking confident strides. She had lost sight of things for a while but there was purpose in her steps again. A newness that made her less cautious and more confident.

She was beginning to figure out what she wanted in life and she was actually doing something about it. She might have had a long way to go but she was on the right track.

''Caroline. Glad to see you're back,'' a voice startled her.

Her hand flew to her chest, trying to catch her heart as it tried to flee. But the little thing was stubborn and fierce against her hand.

She had thought she would make it through the day just fine but now she was not so sure. Especially since Katherine had bullied her into meeting her for drinks after work.

Yes, maybe she was being overly optimistic.

She turned around.

Her boss was standing behind her in a simple cream colored dress, looking perfect as usual. ''So, I get you finally got over your sudden bout of flu,'' Carol looked her up and down.

Right.

Okay, she had not come to work for two days. It was not like her. Really, it was not.

''Yes, I'm feeling better. It wasn't the flu really. More like a cold,'' she said weakly and coughed for effect.

It did not seem to convince Carol. ''I trust Klaus has taken good care of you then, you certainly look fine.''

Oh, Nik had taken care of her alright. In more ways than one. Not that she needed to know. ''Yes,'' she squeaked. She could feel her face burning with shame.

Carol raised an eyebrow. ''Alright, I want you to meet a new client. She's actually waiting for you in the small office.'' She turned on her heels.

''Carol!'' she called out. Her boss turned around and gave her an impatient look.

''Yes?''

''Thank you.''

She felt compelled to say something although it was probably not the most appropriate thing to do. Especially with Carol. But they had shared something that night. Something important. And it had to count for something. ''For what you said. For helping me see... things.'' She bit her lip, feeling like a fool.

Carol looked at her impassively. ''We both know I was merely a tool,'' she said, taking off her glasses. ''Now, are you ready to work?'' she asked her, clearly not interested in wasting any time in sentimentality.

''Yes,'' she acquiesced.

''I trust you to do a good job, Caroline. This client is very special,'' Carol instructed her. ''I believe you two know each other,'' she added casually.

''Really?''

''Yes,'' she gave her a tight smile, ''now please go. Let's not make our client wait any longer.''

She nodded and headed toward the office. Somehow, she was glad to see that nothing had changed; it made things easier and less awkward. And she wanted to be able to appreciate her first times with Nik without having to worry or question herself. She had done too much of that already.

She stopped in front of the office and gave a knock before entering.

''Hello,'' she said, coming in.

The woman was standing by the window, her back turned to her. Her long blond hair cascaded down her back and she was wearing a dark green coat and dark pants. She excluded confidence and elegance.

And money.

She closed the door behind her. ''Hello,'' she said again. Either she had not been heard the first time or she was dealing with another rude client.

The woman turned toward her. ''Hello, Caroline,'' she returned.

She stared at her, blinking. She was not expecting to see her there and certainly not so soon.

''Rebekah? What are you doing here?'' She was supposed to be in New York, finishing the semester before she moved to Chicago.

''You're not returning my calls,'' Rebekah said as a way of explanation.

She did not know why she was surprised. Only Rebekah would pull something like that. Only Rebekah...

''So you came here?'' she said, disbelieving. ''Do you realize how insane this sounds?''

''I came here because my friend, whom I asked for help, has left me high and dry,'' she said, crossing her arms. ''I have to say: I'm disappointed.''

Disappointed because things were not going her way. No one said no to Rebekah Mikaelson. Not her parents. Not her siblings. Certainly not Stefan. And not her.

Rebekah had grown up spoiled, probably because she was the youngest of five and the only girl; it had continued into her adulthood. And it would probably never change.

''Look, I'm sorry, I'll do my best from now on –'' she began, trying to compromise. She really did not want to argue with Rebekah. Not now.

Rebekah did not seem to be ready to compromise though. ''That's not good enough, Caroline!''

''Excuse me?!''

''The engagement party was supposed to be last week, Caroline. And I postponed it because of you!''

She rolled her eyes. They had talked about it a million times in the course of the last few weeks and she had thought they had come to a mutual understanding. Apparently not. ''I told you that it wasn't possible for me to do it. Not in such a short period of time. You've got to understand that I have a life! I can't just drop everything to be at your beck and call!''

Rebekah came forward. ''Oh, I understand,'' she said with a self-satisfied smile. ''This is why it is now your job to take care of the preparations.''

''So, let me get this straight: you hired us to plan your party?''

''No, I hired you to take care of the party. And, as of today, you're also in charge of the wedding!'' she smiled.

Great. Just great!

''I'm not a wedding planner, Rebekah,'' she protested.

''Now, you are,'' she shrugged. ''Besides Carol seems to agree with me.''

''You're unbelievable!'' she threw her hands in the air.

She was not surprised by the lack of gratitude – or the scheming – but it did not make her any less angry. She was forcing her hand!

Rebekah had always gotten everything she wanted. Everything. And everyone. And now, she had to make sure that it remained that way.

''Just determined,'' Rebekah replied evenly. More like obstinate and spoiled. And selfish. She gave her another smile and sat on one of the chairs by the low round table. ''So, Caroline, I believe we have a party to plan!''

She remained silent, the muscles of her face tight; she was too frustrated to say anything. She knew she would do it, there was no way around it. She was a professional.

That did not mean she did not resent the way Rebekah made everything about her. Even though she loved her dearly. Like a sister.

She had fallen in love with her as soon as she had laid eyes on her.

She had been just an infant.

She took a step toward Rebekah. ''Let's make things clear first: I'm going to do it but don't think for even one second that you can push me around during or outside our appointments. Do it and you'll have to find someone else. Are we clear?''

''Crystal,'' her friend nodded.

She gave her one last look.

''Alright, let's begin with the guest list and we'll go from there,'' she said coolly.

''Perfect!'' Rebekah clapped, her whole body shaking with excitement. ''Oh, Caroline, we're going to have so much fun!''

She had no doubt.

~o~

His phone buzzed a third time.

''Maybe you should answer your phone,'' Marcel suggested from his seat.

''I'm sure it's nothing important,'' he said, trying to stay focused on the task ahead.

Women votes were going to be crucial. Unfortunately for Richard, women voters were more likely to vote for his opponent. Which was ironic considering how much Richard loved women. Although he doubted his sordid affairs would help him in this case.

''Are you sure?'' Camille asked. ''Whoever is calling seems to need to talk to you very badly. If you need to take this call, we'll understand.''

''Yes, I'm sure,'' he replied dismissively. It was nothing important. Just Elijah needing something. And that something did not count.

Not now. Not anymore.

The call went to voicemail. Again.

One more message he was not going to listen to.

His brother had been calling him all day. He had thought it was Marcel at first and had not bothered to pick up his phone, sure that he would be on the receiving end of other very angry messages.

He had been more than surprised when he saw his brother's name on the screen. But not enough to listen to the cool, detached voice of his brother.

''You know what? I'm going to turn this thing off.''

''It's probably a girl,'' Marcel joked. ''That British charm gets them all the time, Camille.''

''I think you might be right,'' she laughed.

He tried to ignore them but their chatter was making it difficult. ''We have work to do. Is that too much to ask you to be focused?'' he asked, looking up from the data.

Marcel and Camille exchanged knowing looks. It seemed that they had banded together during his time missing in action. Well, this development was... interesting.

''You looked happier this morning,'' his friend said.

He was happier this morning.

''Mood swings? Definitely a girl,'' Camille quipped and they both burst out laughing.

He looked at her sharply.

Two days without him and Marcel had managed to corrupt the uncorrupted.

~o~

She arrived at the bar completely out of breath. And twenty minutes late. She was half expecting her friend to be gone already; for someone lacking self-consciousness, Katherine was strangely fussy about punctuality.

She took a minute to catch her breath and readjust the strap of her purse over her shoulder and pushed the door open.

The place was almost empty, save a few regulars, and, even under the red dim lights, it did not take her long to spot her friend. The brunette was seating in a dark corner, nursing a drink. A vodka on ice, with no doubt.

She was not sure whether being relieved or not that her friend was there; she was tired, her feet hurt and she was longing for a bath and a good meal. And a certain someone. But she reminded herself that she had not seen Katherine in a very long time.

She went to the bar, ordered herself a drink, and walked to her friend's table.

''Hey, Kat,'' she said brightly, trying to diffuse any anger that was sure to come her way.

Anyone who knew Katherine Gilbert would tell you that she was anything but soft. Or nice. No, Katherine was fierce and excessive. And terribly honest. Borderline rude. Who was she kidding? Katherine was rude. She was outrageous and unapologetic.

Loud.

But, for all her flaws, she was also the most loyal, the most protective friend you could ask for. The funniest, too.

''You're late,'' the brunette said in lieu of greeting.

''I know and I'm sorry,'' she sat down. She took off her coat and put it with her bag on the back of her chair. ''So, what's up?''

''Nothing, really,'' she played with her drink. ''You would know... Except I haven't seen you in weeks,'' she told her reproachfully. ''What happened to girls nights?''

Her thoughts traveled back in time, to one Saturday morning, when she woke in the arms of her best friend. Dazed, confused and upset. Afraid.

The weeks after had been a roller coaster of emotions. But she did not regret one bit. And she felt bad that she had neglected her friend, she truly did. It was just that... angst was time consuming.

No, really, it was.

''Er, I've been busy with work and ...'' I've slept with Klaus so I was busy freaking out too. But now he is my... boyfriend. ''Hum… and some other... stuff,'' she finished lamely.

''Excuses, excuses,'' Katherine said with a dismissive gesture. ''I thought we were friends,'' she looked at her pointedly, ''Friends don't abandon friends.''

Great. Another one trying to guilt-trip her.

She crossed her arms and smiled affectionately at her friend. ''I haven't abandoned you. As I said, I've been busy. And you know, Katherine, if you miss me, just tell me.''

''Please! I don't miss you,'' Katherine objected, voice full of disdain; she looked positively scandalized by the idea. ''I'm bored, that's all,'' she pursed her lips.

Of course she was. Katherine needed constant entertainment and keeping up with her was a full time job, and an exhausting one at that; she wondered how Damon had managed to last that long – that was... before he was tossed to the side.

Yes, Katherine was also cruel. (But, between you and her, Damon also deserved it. Shh...)

The waiter came with her drink before she could add anything. ''Thanks,'' she smiled gratefully, eager to soothe her parched throat.

''Orange juice?'' Katherine was looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

''Yes,'' she shrugged. ''So?''

Her friend sighed. ''God, you're becoming as boring as my sister.''

She rolled her eyes. She was not. And she did not know why she was making a fuss out of nothing. ''Just because I don't want to be drowning in vodka doesn't mean that I'm boring. And after last time –''

''Oh please, honey, don't tell me you didn't have fun. We both know that would be a filthy lie,'' Katherine leaned forward, smiling mischievously.

''I'm sure I had fun. Not that I can remember,'' she sassed back and took a long sip of her drink. Hmm.

Katherine shrugged and ran a hand in her long curls.

''Besides, I have plans tonight,'' she continued. ''So the only shot I'm getting here is a shot of vitamin C.''

Her friend snorted. ''Plans? You mean you, your bed and a book?'' she said mockingly.

They certainly involved a bed at some point. Or not. The cold hard floor, the shower or the table in his study – it did not matter.

What mattered was how his mouth brushed against her neck and how his hands cupped her breasts. How his fingers dug into her flesh. Teased her. What mattered was the deep, raw pleasure that enveloped her, bringing her on the verge of oblivion. And how her breath would hitch and her nails would rake his skin, drawing red lines on his chest and back. Marking him because he was hers.

And how, afterwards, as they lay limp, they would laugh and kiss and just... be.

That was what mattered.

''Caroline?'' Katherine's voice shook her out of her daydream. ''Are you okay? You look flushed.''

''Hmm?'' Did she? She was feeling a bit hot... and other things.

''You totally zoned out,'' her friend continued. She leaned forward and looked at her closely. Her eyes narrowed, making her feel uneasy all of a sudden.

''Stop looking at me like that! I'm just a bit tired,'' she shifted, feeling terribly uncomfortable on her chair, with the piercing gaze of her friend on her.

''Someone has a secret,'' Katherine smirked.

''Maybe but I don't want to talk about it.'' What was the point in lying to Katherine? She was always one step ahead. Just like Nik.

''You're no fun,'' she pouted.

''I know, you told me already,'' she gulped the rest of her drink. ''So, how's Elena?'' she asked to divert her friend's attention from herself.

Katherine's face broke into a genuine smile at the mention of her sister. ''Still in New York. She's working in a small publishing company,'' she said proudly. ''And she's writing a collection of short stories.''

''That's great!''

''Yes, she's the smart one,'' she grinned and added voice low, ''we all know that I'm the cute one.''

She shook her head smiling. ''Of course.''

Katherine and Elena were as similar in looks as they were different in temper; one could even say that they were polar opposites. When Katherine was brash, Elena was reserved and gentle. Tranquil but not dull, in spite of what Katherine liked to say. And if they did not agree on much, they loved each other fiercely.

A lot like Damon and Stefan, she thought.

''You never find it weird that you and Elena fell for two brothers?'' she asked Katherine.

''No,'' she stirred her drink with her finger. ''We share similar and dissimilar traits. And tastes. Damon and Stefan just happened to embody them.''

She nodded. ''Did you know that Stefan was getting married?'' she asked, Rebekah unwelcome visit still fresh on her mind.

''Already? He sure moved on fast,'' Katherine observed, looking offended on behalf of her sister.

It was funny how, in her mind, Stefan Salvatore was in the wrong for having gotten over his sister. Even if she was the one who had broken his heart.

Truth be told, it had taken Stefan more than a year to forget Elena and another six months to reciprocate Rebekah's feelings.

''Terribly fast,'' she said, amused. ''He and Rebekah are planning a June wedding,'' she added for her own amusement.

''Well,'' Katherine retorted, looking very much unimpressed, ''I thought Stefan had better taste than that. Rebekah Mikaelson? Please!''

She stifled a laugh. ''You're just annoyed because Stefan isn't still mooning over Elena. But, like it or not, they both happy. And very much in love.''

The brunette huffed. ''Anyone who would fall for a Mikaelson needs rehab!''

''Well, thanks,'' she muttered under her breath.

''I don't know how you can be friends with them,'' Katherine ranted on, completely oblivious. ''They're so full of themselves, thinking that they're better than anyone else. They're absolutely obnoxious!''

The irony of Katherine's words were not lost on her. Someone needed a mirror. ''You've only met Rebekah once,'' she reminded her.

''It was enough, trust me, Caroline. And I know Klaus,'' she looked at her pointedly.

Katherine and Nik were not friends, to say the least. They had never clicked. Except that one time. But that was another story. Also, she did not want to think about it.

Most people did not know Nik and his layers. Was he complicated a man? She thought he was. Just like anyone with a story. And who did not have one?

Everyone was a written page. Words, scraped and replaced. One story. Two. A thousand.

His stories. And she loved them. She loved him.

Everything single part of her did.

''You don't know him, Katherine. If you did, you'd love him like I do,'' she told her with unexpected softness.

It took her a minute to process what she had just said. And how she had said it. The words had just slipped, past her mouth and into the open. And Katherine had caught them effortlessly.

She had just confessed that she loved Nik.

Her friend looked at her, astonishment written all over her face; any word she might have wanted to say seemed to have left her, leaving her speechless.

She leaned back, never taking her eyes off her, and finished her drink in one gulp. An attempt to sort out her thoughts, undoubtedly.

The silence did not last long. Not that she was nervous because she was not. She was just impatient to hear what Katherine had to say.

Unpleasant things, without a doubt, given her infinite love for Nik. But it did not matter. Not anymore.

''Klaus?'' Katherine asked her carefully when she had regained her wits. ''You're having scandalous sex with Klaus?'' It was not as much a question as it was a statement.

''It's not as scandalous as you think,'' she said, feeling serene. ''And it's not just sex.''

''Obviously!'' Katherine said pointing a finger at her. ''But feelings?!''

''Katherine –''

Her friend stopped her with a raised hand. Yes, Katherine Gilbert was rude. ''You've lost your mind, clearly. Of all the men on Earth, you chose him? He's – he's terrible!''

''Katherine,'' she tried again but her friend ignored her.

''I mean, he has to be the worst jerk around – and I have dated my fair share of losers –, but him?'' she continued.

She put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand and let Katherine rant. Waited for her to finish. But her friend had many – many – things to say.

She sighed. This was going to be long.

She needed to call Bonnie.

And she needed to check on her father.

The sun was going to set soon.

Days were getting shorter.

Her friend ranted on an on.

And on.

Was Nik home?

Silence.

Soothing silence.

She looked up.

The brunette was shaking her head, looking absolutely peeved.

Finally!

''Katherine?'' she tried. Katherine looked at her with a grimace.

''Does he make you happy?'' she asked painfully.

She could have given her a million reasons why he did but she did not. There was no outburst, no ramblings, no giggles. Just the simple truth.

''Yes.''

Her friend seemed to accept it. ''Alright,'' she nodded, looking oddly calm. ''Because if he doesn't treat you like the queen you are, I swear to God, I'll make his life a living hell. I will take everything that is dear to him – I'll make him regret the day he met Katherine Gilbert,'' she added in one breath.

She was pretty sure he regretted it already but she did not say anything.

She took her friend's hand in hers. ''You won't need to but I appreciate it.'' Whatever happened, if you were Katherine's friend, she had your back.

Katherine put her other hand over hers and gave it a light squeeze. ''No problem, cupcake. Friends don't abandon friends.''

She was right.

Real friends never did.

~o~

He slammed the door shut with his foot and waited for the usual reprimand on his bad habit. But the house remained quiet. Lacking the usual liveliness.

Evidently, she was not home yet and he was a bit disappointed not to have her arms around his neck or her mouth on his skin. The sweet reassurance that he belonged. Somewhere and with someone. As much as it went against everything he believed in. Everything he was.

A lone wolf.

He needed a family but he did not want one. He wanted them by his side but he hated them. He hated them as much as he needed them.

His brother Elijah most of all.

His brother. The biggest lie of them all.

He went straight to the kitchen, dropping everything on the counter table – briefcase, keys and food. Ignoring the buzzing sound coming from the inside pocket of his jacket, he went to look for plates and glasses. He tried to drown the incessant noise with the clatter but it was no use; it was his whole being that was humming with sounds.

He opened a bottle of red wine and helped himself to a generous glass, a useless attempt to quiet down the nagging thoughts that were bustling in his head.

His brother wanted to talk to him. After years of silence and indifference, his brother was reaching out.

He might have been embarrassed – or touched – had he thought it was a genuine attempt to reestablish some kind of relationship. But he knew better. It was no coincidence that it came right after the news of Rebekah's engagement. And it meant that, at some point, they would have to interact. For the sake of their little sister. And because they were Mikaelsons. Merely related by blood but bound by a respected name. An honorable name. A name established in bravery. And distinguished in art.

A name that had built the family fortune.

As the son and the grandson of two eminent art dealers, he had always thought that art was in his blood, painting him white and black. Sometimes red, sometimes blue. A hue for each one of his moods.

He was a Mikaelson – his father's son. And he was the only one who had inherited his father's passion and perception. The only one who shared more than his blood.

Or so he thought. As it turned out, they only shared a name.

A name Elijah had always wanted to protect. And so, in spite of the deceits and betrayals, and even if their family was a dismantled piece, their name remained untainted.

Leaning against the countertop, he finished his glass and contemplated whether or not he was ready to take the call. Finally, he reached for his phone and turned it off.

He took off his jacket and threw it on the back of a chair and went upstairs, fingers itching.

Maybe it was not in his name. Maybe it was not in his blood. But it was. That part of him he had severed. Hidden, concealed. Sometimes forgotten, sometimes haunting.

And he missed it.

He missed it.

How he missed it.

~o~

''Little miss Mikaelson came all the way to Chicago because I wasn't answering her calls,'' she took the last bite of her fondant.

They were seating on the floor, having a late dinner. And there was indeed chocolate. ''And she hired me to plan the wedding!'' she continued. ''Can you believe it?''

She was not sure if she was more outraged or impressed.

''That's my sister,'' he chuckled.

Of course, he would find that funny.

''And you're probably very proud,'' she snorted. He did not need to say anything but she could read in his eyes that he was. Rebekah was the only Mikaelson who found grace in his eyes.

She wiped her mouth with her napkin.

''So? Was it to your liking?'' he gestured to the empty plates.

''Everything was perfect,'' she yawned. She was full and the weight of the day made her feel heavy. ''I'm not sure I can move.''

''I'll help you, sweetheart.''

''Ever the gentleman,'' she moved closer and rested her forehead on his chest.

She closed her eyes. She could fall asleep like that.

''Elijah called,'' he told her very suddenly.

She raised her head. ''Really?''

He nodded. His face did not betray any emotion.

''What did he say?'' she asked cautiously.

''We didn't talk.'' He took another sip of his wine and put the glass down. ''I didn't take his calls.''

She was not surprised.

She wanted to say something but did not know what. She also knew that he had told her everything he was ready to say. She would not press him about it.

She had noticed the paint under his nails.

His fingers wove into her hair and ripples of comfort erased her worries.

They stayed like that in silence, as night wrapped around them. The moment seemed to stretch, or freeze, and they were alone in the world. No absent family or overbearing friends. No matter and no one.

Only him and her. In this moment.

His lips bridged the gap between them and moved against hers in an almost caress.

Happiness.

Sometimes, it was as simple as a kiss.

I've been working on the prequel (a one-shot) so it will probably be the next thing I'll post. In the meantime, take care! :)