A Heart Three Sizes Too Small [Pt. 1/1]
Title: A Heart Three Sizes Too Small [Klaroline]
Author: fleurdesparks
Characters/Pairing: Klaus, Caroline; Klaroline
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Spoilers: 4x09 major spoilers...
Summary: Klaus' introspective thoughts on his dynamics with Caroline circa 4x09.
Author's Note: AU, I think. I'm practicing with characterization, so I've a feeling Caroline is OOC.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
He stands there, stained with the blood of 12 hybrids, the sword loosely gripped in one hand, an emptied bottle of pinot in the other. He starts to walk away, dragging the bloodied sword, leaving crimson footprints in the freshly fallen snow.
In the end we're left infinitely and utterly alone.
Infinitely alone.
When he returns to the mansion, he doesn’t bother cleaning up. He sinks into an arm chair, lays the sword across his lap. An ache in his chest reminds him of her.
Is this our thing?
We don’t have a thing.
He tries to think of why it hurts so much. Why she makes him feel things he isn’t supposed to feel. Love. Pain. Maybe it is because she reminds him of the hummingbird. Her fire, her vitality, her spirit. He wants that vitality and spirit, but she refuses to give it to him. Something in him hurts at the realization that the times she has given him it, it’s been the receiving end of a remark that stings like vervain. He doesn’t think he completely deserves it-the way she treats him. He did save her life, after all. Twice.
Utterly alone.
Someone knocks at the door. He casts a lazy glance at the doors, debating whether or not to answer. The light but incessant rapping of knuckles on the smooth oak makes him wonder if it’s her. He rules out the suspects one by one. It isn’t Rebekah; how could it be if she were daggered somewhere in the Lockwood tunnels? It isn’t Elena; the newborn wouldn’t want anything to do with him-the one who took her life in the first place and had no use for her save for the creation of another doppelganger in 500 years’ time. That only leaves her.
He slowly rises from the arm chair and walks to the door, pressing his ear to the cool wood, listening. She stands on the other side, tapping an impatient foot. The smallest of smiles creeps onto his face as he curls fingers around the knob and twists. He hears her intake of breath-a preparation for another lashing, a string of insults, he guesses-but doesn’t expect the gasp that follows. Her pretty little blonde head jerks back in surprise, and the facial features he’s come to love settle into a frown. Topaz eyes burn, and pink lips purse.
“Where’s Tyler?” The words are harsh, unforgiving, and devoid of any amiable emotion. He notes that.
“Could ask you the same thing, love,” he rejoins.
“What have you done to him?” There’s a note of worry in her voice when her eyes flicker over his bloodstained clothing. Presumption in her eyes.
“What have I done? More apt to ask what he and his hybrids have done,” he says. “You’re looking at the evidence of it.”
“I know what they did. They were supposed to-you were supposed to have-”
“Died? Yes, I know. The 12 of them engaged in a foolhardy attempt to dispose of me; yes, I found that out earlier this fine evening,” this he says with a smile on his lips. “I’ve also reason to believe you had a part in it.” The smile already fades before the words leave his mouth.
“It’s too bad they failed,” she says coldly. “The world would have been that much better.” She turns on a heel and starts to walk away.
“Merry Christmas, Caroline,” he remarks, watching her leave. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those words. It’s been that long.
Reviews are love!
Author: fleurdesparks
Characters/Pairing: Klaus, Caroline; Klaroline
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Spoilers: 4x09 major spoilers...
Summary: Klaus' introspective thoughts on his dynamics with Caroline circa 4x09.
Author's Note: AU, I think. I'm practicing with characterization, so I've a feeling Caroline is OOC.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
He stands there, stained with the blood of 12 hybrids, the sword loosely gripped in one hand, an emptied bottle of pinot in the other. He starts to walk away, dragging the bloodied sword, leaving crimson footprints in the freshly fallen snow.
In the end we're left infinitely and utterly alone.
Infinitely alone.
When he returns to the mansion, he doesn’t bother cleaning up. He sinks into an arm chair, lays the sword across his lap. An ache in his chest reminds him of her.
Is this our thing?
We don’t have a thing.
He tries to think of why it hurts so much. Why she makes him feel things he isn’t supposed to feel. Love. Pain. Maybe it is because she reminds him of the hummingbird. Her fire, her vitality, her spirit. He wants that vitality and spirit, but she refuses to give it to him. Something in him hurts at the realization that the times she has given him it, it’s been the receiving end of a remark that stings like vervain. He doesn’t think he completely deserves it-the way she treats him. He did save her life, after all. Twice.
Utterly alone.
Someone knocks at the door. He casts a lazy glance at the doors, debating whether or not to answer. The light but incessant rapping of knuckles on the smooth oak makes him wonder if it’s her. He rules out the suspects one by one. It isn’t Rebekah; how could it be if she were daggered somewhere in the Lockwood tunnels? It isn’t Elena; the newborn wouldn’t want anything to do with him-the one who took her life in the first place and had no use for her save for the creation of another doppelganger in 500 years’ time. That only leaves her.
He slowly rises from the arm chair and walks to the door, pressing his ear to the cool wood, listening. She stands on the other side, tapping an impatient foot. The smallest of smiles creeps onto his face as he curls fingers around the knob and twists. He hears her intake of breath-a preparation for another lashing, a string of insults, he guesses-but doesn’t expect the gasp that follows. Her pretty little blonde head jerks back in surprise, and the facial features he’s come to love settle into a frown. Topaz eyes burn, and pink lips purse.
“Where’s Tyler?” The words are harsh, unforgiving, and devoid of any amiable emotion. He notes that.
“Could ask you the same thing, love,” he rejoins.
“What have you done to him?” There’s a note of worry in her voice when her eyes flicker over his bloodstained clothing. Presumption in her eyes.
“What have I done? More apt to ask what he and his hybrids have done,” he says. “You’re looking at the evidence of it.”
“I know what they did. They were supposed to-you were supposed to have-”
“Died? Yes, I know. The 12 of them engaged in a foolhardy attempt to dispose of me; yes, I found that out earlier this fine evening,” this he says with a smile on his lips. “I’ve also reason to believe you had a part in it.” The smile already fades before the words leave his mouth.
“It’s too bad they failed,” she says coldly. “The world would have been that much better.” She turns on a heel and starts to walk away.
“Merry Christmas, Caroline,” he remarks, watching her leave. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those words. It’s been that long.
Reviews are love!