"Paradise Circus" (Caroline, Klaus) PG-13 (Part III of V)
Title: “Paradise Circus”
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Caroline, Klaus
Spoiler: “All My Children”
Length: Part III of V
Summary: Klaus takes Caroline on a trip, but he’s the one to see the world.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.
Parts I & II are here:
Author’s Note: Yay, another update! Thank you so much for everyone supporting this fic. It’s really been so much fun to write and I’m glad readers are enjoying it as well. Caroline and Klaus take on Central Europe (and Scandinavia!) in this chapter. Also, the length of chapter has definitely pushed the fic into five parts. What can you do, right? Title and cut courtesy of Massive Attack. Enjoy.
~ * ~
Caroline calls Tyler from the road.
She’s been gone over a month. She needs to know that it was worth it.
It’s bad timing but also the only chance she might catch him between school and baseball practice.
They’re driving to Germany and she curls into the passenger seat, leaves a voicemail while the car crests over the Alps. She listens to Tyler’s voice, deep and warm despite the thousands of miles separating them. He sounds the way she remembers, the way she tries to remember herself. Her eyes drift closed and something tight and hard catches in her chest.
She’s missed the way he makes her feel.
“I’m safe, I miss you, I love you,” she says, gets right to the point. Klaus can hear every word she’s saying. She doesn’t have to make the moment harder than it already is.
She slips the cell back into her purse, turns to watch the scenery as they cross the border.
Klaus doesn’t say anything but his fingers gripping the steering wheel bleach white.
---
They stop once for gas.
There’s a café around the corner and Caroline insists on hot chocolate.
She’s not thirsty, but Klaus has been quiet since she called Tyler and she doesn’t like it. He’s not chatty in general, but they just went through the Alps; she at least expects a story about riding an elephant with Hannibal.
She orders two cocoas and chooses a table; he follows and sips his drink in silence.
“Are we going to talk about it?” she finally asks.
“There’s nothing to discuss.” His tone is flat but his lack of emotion lets her know that he’s far more affected than he lets on.
“You’re acting weird.”
He puts down his mug and his eyes flare, burn like the Klaus she first met. “Forgive me if I’m not interested in the details of your relationship.”
She turns her attention to her lap, unsure how to break down the walls he’s put up. “Would you have killed him if I hadn’t gotten there?”
“Yes.”
He’s never lied to her before. She has no reason to believe he’d start now.
---
They spend the night in Munich and Klaus takes her to a beer hall.
He downs liter after liter of pilsener while she sips a hefeweizen. She doesn’t know anyone but Klaus and he won’t speak to her.
His jaw is set in a tight line but his eyes are alert. They keep landing on a waitress with enormous boobs and Caroline drains her glass, searches for courage. If the serving girl is to live the night, it’s up to her.
“I’m sorry,” she says and when he doesn’t respond, she reaches out to lay her hand over his. He flinches, but doesn’t push her away.
“For what? You are spoken for after all.”
She sighs, remembers that night: the cool air on her skin, the moonlight in her hair, the simplicity in his words…I fancy you…so much has happened since. “I love Tyler,” she says, doesn’t look away from the anger that heats the blue of his eyes. “That hasn’t changed, but it doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself. This trip…there will never be another one like it.”
He clears his throat and looks away, catches his bottom lip between his teeth like he’s contemplating something important. “I’m sorry.”
Her brow wrinkles in confusion. She wasn’t expecting a confession. “For what?”
“Trying to kill you, and then trying to kill you again.”
“You’re kidding, right?” She tries to pull her hand away, put distance between them. She’s ready to accept her fate, but forgiveness isn’t on the table.
His fingers tighten around hers. “You did try to kill me too.”
“I told you, I didn’t know what they had planned!”
He watches her calmly. “You knew.”
She sighs, stares at their intertwined fingers. They’re similar, long and slender and so, so pale, but his hands are still stronger than hers. She thinks about all the pain those hands have inflicted, how much hers could cause if she let them. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, waits a beat. “If it makes you feel better, I’m glad it didn’t work.”
He smiles, brushes this thumb over the back of her hand. She doesn’t try to pull away again.
---
He lets her drive to Berlin.
Caroline’s only driven automatic before and he spends a morning teaching her manual.
It’s hard. Even with excellent coordination, she finds it difficult to get the clutch and accelerator just right.
“I can’t do it,” she whines as the car sputters to a stop in the middle of the parking lot.
Klaus laughs, rests his hand over hers on the stick shift. “Like this,” he says, his voice deep and warm in her ear.
She focuses on the task at hand, lets him guide her through the motions. It’s not perfect, but she manages to get the car across the lot without stalling.
She turns to him, laughing. “We did it!”
She likes the way the words sound. She’s no longer in this alone.
---
They navigate the Autobahn with the windows open.
Caroline’s hair will be a nasty tangle when they get to the hotel, but she doesn’t care.
She loves the wind on her face, the scenery flashing by in a blur. There are no speed limits on this highway and she guns the engine to the max. She’s stronger and faster than any other creature on the planet. It feels good to actually live it.
Beside her, Klaus keeps his eyes closed.
No matter how hard she tries, he knows that they can’t race through life.
---
Berlin takes care of the Cold War.
It rains the first day, but Klaus chooses a boutique hotel overlooking the Alexanderplatz and spends the morning telling stories about the black market diamond business he ran while East Germany still stood.
Caroline listens half-heartedly, trying to concentrate on the translated version of Faust she’s reading for her AP Lit class. She has to write a paper comparing it to , but she mostly wants the rain to let up so they can start exploring the city. This is the most idle she’s been in weeks and she’s completely stir crazy.
“Ugh, this book is soooooo boring,” she whines, tosses her Kindle across the bed.
Klaus looks up from the Berliner Morgenpost. “I offered to show you around, but you didn’t want to get your hair wet.”
Caroline rolls her eyes. “I was joking. I’m not afraid of a little rain. It’s just that everything is better when the sun is shining.”
He puts down the paper. “I did say that you’re full of light.”
She doesn’t know how to respond when he says things like that so she reaches for her Kindle, holds it high to hide the flush in her cheeks.
The bed shifts and he lies down beside her, winds an arm around her shoulders and lets her rest her head on his chest. “Faustus is great when you read it the right way.”
So he reads the play in the original German while she follows along with the English translation. His voice is smooth and even, deep and almost comforting.
It makes a pact with the devil sound like a rational decision.
---
It stops raining around noon and they venture out to Checkpoint Charlie.
They stop by what’s left of the Berlin Wall before and Caroline finds it hard to imagine a line of concrete cutting a city in half.
“It was more a symbol of the divide,” Klaus says, traces a line of graffiti. “A stroke of luck deciding which side you were on.”
Caroline hurries them along to the museum.
She knows something about choosing sides.
---
The museum itself is awesome. If the Wall was nebulous, the museum and its stories are tangible.
“Elijah and I would smuggle East Berliners across,” Klaus tells her as they examine a car with a hollow backseat.
“Taking advantage of desperate people,” Caroline says, doesn’t bother to hide the disgust in her voice. Just when she forgets what he is, he brings it back to the forefront.
He doesn’t tell her that she’s jumping to conclusions or babble a list of excuses. He shrugs, studies a neighboring display. “Nothing in life comes for free.”
He steps away, heads towards the next exhibit.
Caroline feels the full weight of the price she’s paid.
---
Klaus takes pictures, but Caroline collects mementos.
She has a postcard from Rome, a miniature Statue of David from Florence, a keychain from Venice.
She buys a pen in the gift shop, waits patiently in line while a mother negotiates t-shirt sizes with her daughters. Klaus is off looking at books and she’s grateful for the reprieve. Most of the afternoon has been tense and awkward.
There’s a video playing in the background, David Hasselhoff singing in a light-up jacket on the Berlin Wall. Caroline isn’t particularly interested but there’s also not much else to do but watch.
The performance ends and the interviews start and Caroline bursts into hysterical laughter.
Klaus is on camera, complete with a mullet and leather pants. He’s saying something in German, but Caroline can’t get past the hair. And the pants. But mostly the hair.
She laughs while she buys the pen and laughs while she drops it in her purse and keeps laughing when she goes to collect Klaus.
“Business in the front, party in the back, huh?”
He’s confused until he follows her line of vision to the tv screen and his cheeks flame pink. “It was the 80's,” he defends himself.
She can’t keep a giggle from escaping. “There is no excuse for those pants.”
He smiles tentatively. “We all make mistakes.”
She giggles again, the kind that erupts from her belly and makes her sides hurt.
Klaus laughs too, his smile so wide she’s surprised his face hasn’t split in two.
She can’t stay mad at him when he looks so human.
---
They cap off their day with a trip to the Brandenburg Gate right as the sun is setting. It’s gorgeous, the pale sandstone glowing red and orange and gold in the fading light. Caroline has seen beautiful sunsets before, but not like this.
They stroll down Unter den Linden first, stop in little shops and pose for photos in front of the Kronprinzenpalais. It’s early spring and the lime trees are just budding; the air is crisp and clean and smells like new life.
Caroline closes her eyes as they step into Pariser Platz, resists the urge to twirl through the square.
She’s only experienced the turn of seasons in Virginia. It even smells better halfway across the world.
---
“I want to show you something,” Klaus says and gently grasps her elbow, starts walking them away from the Gate.
It’s near dark and the world is painted in cool shades of blue and purple, but there’s just enough light for one last stop.
“What is this?” Caroline asks, squints through the semi-darkness to take in field of stones. It’s unsettling, this place, and she shivers, pulls her jacket tighter even though she’s not cold.
Klaus nudges her and she reads the plaque, realizes she’s standing at the “Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe,” all six million of them. She remembers their 9th grade trip to the Holocaust Museum, the pile of shoes, the wall of photos, the people whose only crime was being different.
She shivers again, leans into his side. “Why did you bring me here?” she whispers. They’ve made it past the earlier tension; she doesn’t want to end their day this way.
He lets her rest against him, wraps his arm around her shoulders and presses his mouth to her temple. “You should know, we’re not the only monsters to walk the earth.” His lips are soft against her skin, but his words dig deep.
She’s not ready to accept what she is but she’s starting to understand.
---
It’s through unspoken agreement that they decide to go out that night.
Caroline slips into a tight dress and heels, wears lipstick for the first time since she left Mystic Falls.
Klaus zips her dress while she finishes her makeup, lets his fingers trail up her back as he tugs the zipper into place. She meets his eyes in the mirror, watches the movement of his hands on her skin while he fastens the string of red beads around her neck.
He leans in and brushes his mouth over her throat. “You are magnificent.”
She can’t help but believe every word he says.
---
The club is hot and sweaty, a mass of tightly packed bodies moving in time to a persistent electronic beat.
Caroline’s more of a pop music girl, but there’s little chance of finding Katy Perry or Taylor Swift here. Instead she closes her eyes, lets her hips move in time with Klaus’s, feels the hard planes of his chest against her back.
It’s more than his body wrapped around hers. It’s the heartbeats she can hear over the bass, the rhythmic pulse of blood moving through veins and arteries.
She opens her eyes and turns in Klaus’s arms, hides her changing face in his damp t-shirt, lets her fangs dig into her chin. He gently rubs her back while she fights to stay in control.
His heart is silent beneath her ear but he’s firm and solid, constant. She raises her head and knows she looks like herself.
---
Klaus comes back from the bathroom with a smear of blood on his collar.
Caroline chooses not to hold it against him.
No one’s perfect.
---
They take in more sights, tour Museum Island and the Kulturforum, see the Philharmoniker play and walk circles through Tiergarten.
They talk a lot but don’t fight.
---
Tyler calls, leaves her a voicemail.
He tells her he loves her, he misses her, that she’s the bravest girl he’s ever met and how it only makes him love her more.
He begs her to come home, not to give up her life for him.
She listens on the balcony this time but it’s not enough.
She stares at the hard line of Klaus’s back, the tense set of his shoulders.
She wonders if it’s even a sacrifice anymore.
---
Mauer Park is Caroline’s favorite part of the city and they browse flea markets, alternately admiring and laughing over old maps and jade elephants and tarnished spoons.
At one stand, she picks out a cool vintage purse and insists Klaus buy a tweed fedora.
A sweet British woman agrees to snap a photo and they press together, Klaus’s hand low on Caroline’s back.
She doesn’t shrug him away.
---
Their last night in the city, there’s a beautiful green, silk dress lying on her bed. There’s matching shoes and a tiny beaded bag and a strand of black pearls that’s nearly half her height.
“Klaus?” she asks, knocks on the bathroom door. His head pops out in a cloud of steam, his hair sticking up all over the place. She smiles and runs her fingers through it, smoothes it into place. “What’s going on?”
He smiles in way that used to terrify her but now only sets her (non) pulse pounding. “It’s a surprise.”
She follows his instructions, puts on the dress and the shoes and lets a stylist do her makeup and curl her hair like a flapper's. Klaus appears in a dated tuxedo, his hair neatly slicked back from his face.
“Is it some kind of German Halloween?” she asks.
He simply holds out his hand. “Do you trust me?”
She hesitates, just long enough for his eyes to harden, but not so long that he slips his hand into his pocket. She’s wearing gloves but she can feel the strength in his grip, a hint of warmth seeping through the silk.
“Let’s go,” she says, ignores the way his jaw tightens.
She’s not ready to give him any more than tonight.
---
It’s a jazz club, dark and smoky and filled with people staring at them like they’re crazy. Which makes sense when everyone else is wearing jeans and leather jackets, hip dresses and ankle boots, and they’re dressed like they just escaped from the 1920s.
She sips a sloe gin fizz and tries to concentrate on the music, but it’s hard when people are whispering about her in a language she doesn’t understand.
“Why are we dressed like this?” she whispers, the feather in her hair shaking as she leans in towards Klaus.
“You wanted to understand history. Sometimes you have to live it.
“People are staring at us.”
He takes her hand, leads her to a tiny dance floor before the stage. “Let’s give them a real show.”
They start with a basic swing and then a foxtrot. By the time they’ve moved to the Charleston, several of the women have kicked off their shoes and are dancing alongside them in earnest. The band joins in too and when the final set closes, Caroline collapses in Klaus’s arms.
She’s sweaty and exhausted and her feet hurt, but she can’t remember the last time she’s felt so alive.
---
In Stockholm, she discovers there are such things as vampire clubs.
“Like Fangtasia?” Images of Eric Northman pop into her mind: tall, blonde, muscular…they are in Scandinavia after all.
Klaus’s forehead wrinkles in that adorable way it does when he doesn’t get a reference. “I thought you’d want to avoid a repeat of Berlin. No humans allowed.”
She’s relieved. It will be nice to let loose without worrying about killing someone. “Can I dress as Lisbeth Salander?”
His brow knots again. “I mean it when I said it won’t be like Berlin,” he tells her as she disappears into the bathroom.
All the confusion disappears from his face when he takes in the combat boots and skimpy tank, the gallon of kohl outlining her eyes.
“How do I look?” she asks, pulls on a leather bomber jacket and grabs her bag.
“I always liked the late 70's,” he tells her as they head for the elevator.
She wishes she could have been there with him.
---
The club is like an industrial version of Fangtasia, lots of leather and vinyl and vampires. Vampires everywhere. They’re drinking glasses of blood or comparing fangs, fighting in a ring in the back corner.
She mostly stays close to Klaus and sips her blood. It’s cool being amongst her own kind, but nerve-wracking too. She’s only been a vampire for a year; so many of these people are older and stronger, can have her staked before she has time to react.
She slides closer to Klaus; she likes knowing he can keep her safe.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, nods his head towards the bar. She hands him her empty glass and assesses the room.
She’s dressed more butch than many of the other female occupants, but she doesn’t mind. It makes her stand out and she’s tired of always being the trampy one.
Other vampires - male vampires - take notice and a tall, muscular, blonde man appears at her side.
“Hallå,” he says, sidles up beside her to press his shoulder to hers.
“Hi.”
“I’ve never seen you around here before,” he says in English and she resists the urge to roll her eyes. She’s in a new place, seeing new things. She should talk to the people too, despite how cheesy their pickup lines are.
“I’m here on vacation.”
“American, yes?” He angles in front of her so she has to look at him. He’s handsome, like an Ikea model and she wonders how she can sneak a photo to send to Bonnie.
“Yes,” Klaus says before she can respond. “And spoken for.”
He’s behind her and she can’t see his face, but she can imagine the look in his eyes because her new friend holds up his hands in surrender. “Enjoy your stay,” he says and walks away.
“What are you doing?” Caroline hisses as soon as he’s gone. “You can’t talk to people like that.”
Klaus glares at her. “You shouldn’t be talking to him.”
“Why? Because I’m spoken for?”
“Well - ”
She steps closer, so close her breasts push against his chest. There’s not much separating them, just a few layers of thin cotton, but she’s too angry to think much about it. “I’m not anyone’s property. Not that guy’s, not Tyler’s, and definitely not yours.”
His forehead knots again and she forces herself to ignore it. “You’re here, with me.”
“No,” she whispers. “I’m here for Tyler.”
The words are out before she can stop them, before she can explain that she doesn’t really mean them, that it’s a reflex to cut deep when she’s angry, but Klaus is gone before she can even open her mouth.
After an hour, she realizes he’s not coming back. She thinks about how many people live in this city, how angry he is; she hopes there won’t be more blood on her hands. She catches a taxi outside and goes back to the hotel alone, undresses in the dark and creeps into bed.
She waits for him.
He doesn’t come home.
---
The next morning, there’s no drained girl lying in their bathtub or bloodstained shirts strewn around the room, but there is a note telling her to dress warm and meet him at Wasahamnen at 9:00 am sharp.
It’s only a little after nine when she shows up at the marina and follows his instructions to the end of a pier.
He’s waiting for her, leaning against a post while a small boat bobs in the water behind him.
“Hi,” she says shyly as she approaches, finds it hard to meet his eyes. She doesn’t want to say anything worse than she did the night before.
“Are you ready?” he asks, holds out a hand to help her onboard. She hopes this will heal them, that he’s not planning on ripping out her heart and tossing her body into the sea.
They’ve come so far, seen so much, and she knows she’s in the wrong.
She doesn’t hesitate to slip her fingers into his.
---
For most of the morning, he barks orders and expects her to instantly memorize the long list of nautical terms he calls out.
The rope keeps making her hands bleed and the sun stings her eyes and the salt water is going to ruin her hair, but she keeps going. She’s not a quitter; there is nothing she won’t see through.
She’s had enough when the jib smacks her in the head for the second time in less than an hour.
“Enough!” she yells, drops the sheet so she can rest her hands on her hips. “If you’re going to kill me, do it already.”
Klaus glances up from tying the rope, completely surprised. “You think I’m going to kill you?”
“You’re not?”
“No!”
“Then why are we out here, miles from civilization?” She sucks in air, forces herself to calm down. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
He takes her wrist, gently tugs her down beside him. “I heard what you said last night.”
“Klaus…”
“We can talk about what you said later, but first I want to address what I did. You’re right. I don’t control you. You’re here by choice and your reasons are your own. When I was a boy, I always knew I was different. My father…they do say actions speak louder than words. I thought I could sail away and make my own start.”
“You never did.”
His voice is very quiet. “Henrik died…you know what happened next.” He keeps looking out over the water. “Besides, the Black Sea isn’t nearly as large as we thought.” He reaches up and unhooks the sheet, curls her fingers around it. “Where to?”
She takes his hand and winds her fingers through his, keeps the sheet caught between them. “I’d rather learn with you.”
He spends most of the afternoon drawing her while she lays out on deck, contorts her body in the poses he wants.
She thinks she understands what it means to sail off into the sunset.
---
Tyler calls, but Klaus wants to show her Gamla Stan.
She runs her finger across the screen and presses ignore.
She makes her choice.
~ * ~
Writers live for feedback - please leave some if you have the time.
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Caroline, Klaus
Spoiler: “All My Children”
Length: Part III of V
Summary: Klaus takes Caroline on a trip, but he’s the one to see the world.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.
Parts I & II are here:
Author’s Note: Yay, another update! Thank you so much for everyone supporting this fic. It’s really been so much fun to write and I’m glad readers are enjoying it as well. Caroline and Klaus take on Central Europe (and Scandinavia!) in this chapter. Also, the length of chapter has definitely pushed the fic into five parts. What can you do, right? Title and cut courtesy of Massive Attack. Enjoy.
~ * ~
Caroline calls Tyler from the road.
She’s been gone over a month. She needs to know that it was worth it.
It’s bad timing but also the only chance she might catch him between school and baseball practice.
They’re driving to Germany and she curls into the passenger seat, leaves a voicemail while the car crests over the Alps. She listens to Tyler’s voice, deep and warm despite the thousands of miles separating them. He sounds the way she remembers, the way she tries to remember herself. Her eyes drift closed and something tight and hard catches in her chest.
She’s missed the way he makes her feel.
“I’m safe, I miss you, I love you,” she says, gets right to the point. Klaus can hear every word she’s saying. She doesn’t have to make the moment harder than it already is.
She slips the cell back into her purse, turns to watch the scenery as they cross the border.
Klaus doesn’t say anything but his fingers gripping the steering wheel bleach white.
---
They stop once for gas.
There’s a café around the corner and Caroline insists on hot chocolate.
She’s not thirsty, but Klaus has been quiet since she called Tyler and she doesn’t like it. He’s not chatty in general, but they just went through the Alps; she at least expects a story about riding an elephant with Hannibal.
She orders two cocoas and chooses a table; he follows and sips his drink in silence.
“Are we going to talk about it?” she finally asks.
“There’s nothing to discuss.” His tone is flat but his lack of emotion lets her know that he’s far more affected than he lets on.
“You’re acting weird.”
He puts down his mug and his eyes flare, burn like the Klaus she first met. “Forgive me if I’m not interested in the details of your relationship.”
She turns her attention to her lap, unsure how to break down the walls he’s put up. “Would you have killed him if I hadn’t gotten there?”
“Yes.”
He’s never lied to her before. She has no reason to believe he’d start now.
---
They spend the night in Munich and Klaus takes her to a beer hall.
He downs liter after liter of pilsener while she sips a hefeweizen. She doesn’t know anyone but Klaus and he won’t speak to her.
His jaw is set in a tight line but his eyes are alert. They keep landing on a waitress with enormous boobs and Caroline drains her glass, searches for courage. If the serving girl is to live the night, it’s up to her.
“I’m sorry,” she says and when he doesn’t respond, she reaches out to lay her hand over his. He flinches, but doesn’t push her away.
“For what? You are spoken for after all.”
She sighs, remembers that night: the cool air on her skin, the moonlight in her hair, the simplicity in his words…I fancy you…so much has happened since. “I love Tyler,” she says, doesn’t look away from the anger that heats the blue of his eyes. “That hasn’t changed, but it doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself. This trip…there will never be another one like it.”
He clears his throat and looks away, catches his bottom lip between his teeth like he’s contemplating something important. “I’m sorry.”
Her brow wrinkles in confusion. She wasn’t expecting a confession. “For what?”
“Trying to kill you, and then trying to kill you again.”
“You’re kidding, right?” She tries to pull her hand away, put distance between them. She’s ready to accept her fate, but forgiveness isn’t on the table.
His fingers tighten around hers. “You did try to kill me too.”
“I told you, I didn’t know what they had planned!”
He watches her calmly. “You knew.”
She sighs, stares at their intertwined fingers. They’re similar, long and slender and so, so pale, but his hands are still stronger than hers. She thinks about all the pain those hands have inflicted, how much hers could cause if she let them. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, waits a beat. “If it makes you feel better, I’m glad it didn’t work.”
He smiles, brushes this thumb over the back of her hand. She doesn’t try to pull away again.
---
He lets her drive to Berlin.
Caroline’s only driven automatic before and he spends a morning teaching her manual.
It’s hard. Even with excellent coordination, she finds it difficult to get the clutch and accelerator just right.
“I can’t do it,” she whines as the car sputters to a stop in the middle of the parking lot.
Klaus laughs, rests his hand over hers on the stick shift. “Like this,” he says, his voice deep and warm in her ear.
She focuses on the task at hand, lets him guide her through the motions. It’s not perfect, but she manages to get the car across the lot without stalling.
She turns to him, laughing. “We did it!”
She likes the way the words sound. She’s no longer in this alone.
---
They navigate the Autobahn with the windows open.
Caroline’s hair will be a nasty tangle when they get to the hotel, but she doesn’t care.
She loves the wind on her face, the scenery flashing by in a blur. There are no speed limits on this highway and she guns the engine to the max. She’s stronger and faster than any other creature on the planet. It feels good to actually live it.
Beside her, Klaus keeps his eyes closed.
No matter how hard she tries, he knows that they can’t race through life.
---
Berlin takes care of the Cold War.
It rains the first day, but Klaus chooses a boutique hotel overlooking the Alexanderplatz and spends the morning telling stories about the black market diamond business he ran while East Germany still stood.
Caroline listens half-heartedly, trying to concentrate on the translated version of Faust she’s reading for her AP Lit class. She has to write a paper comparing it to , but she mostly wants the rain to let up so they can start exploring the city. This is the most idle she’s been in weeks and she’s completely stir crazy.
“Ugh, this book is soooooo boring,” she whines, tosses her Kindle across the bed.
Klaus looks up from the Berliner Morgenpost. “I offered to show you around, but you didn’t want to get your hair wet.”
Caroline rolls her eyes. “I was joking. I’m not afraid of a little rain. It’s just that everything is better when the sun is shining.”
He puts down the paper. “I did say that you’re full of light.”
She doesn’t know how to respond when he says things like that so she reaches for her Kindle, holds it high to hide the flush in her cheeks.
The bed shifts and he lies down beside her, winds an arm around her shoulders and lets her rest her head on his chest. “Faustus is great when you read it the right way.”
So he reads the play in the original German while she follows along with the English translation. His voice is smooth and even, deep and almost comforting.
It makes a pact with the devil sound like a rational decision.
---
It stops raining around noon and they venture out to Checkpoint Charlie.
They stop by what’s left of the Berlin Wall before and Caroline finds it hard to imagine a line of concrete cutting a city in half.
“It was more a symbol of the divide,” Klaus says, traces a line of graffiti. “A stroke of luck deciding which side you were on.”
Caroline hurries them along to the museum.
She knows something about choosing sides.
---
The museum itself is awesome. If the Wall was nebulous, the museum and its stories are tangible.
“Elijah and I would smuggle East Berliners across,” Klaus tells her as they examine a car with a hollow backseat.
“Taking advantage of desperate people,” Caroline says, doesn’t bother to hide the disgust in her voice. Just when she forgets what he is, he brings it back to the forefront.
He doesn’t tell her that she’s jumping to conclusions or babble a list of excuses. He shrugs, studies a neighboring display. “Nothing in life comes for free.”
He steps away, heads towards the next exhibit.
Caroline feels the full weight of the price she’s paid.
---
Klaus takes pictures, but Caroline collects mementos.
She has a postcard from Rome, a miniature Statue of David from Florence, a keychain from Venice.
She buys a pen in the gift shop, waits patiently in line while a mother negotiates t-shirt sizes with her daughters. Klaus is off looking at books and she’s grateful for the reprieve. Most of the afternoon has been tense and awkward.
There’s a video playing in the background, David Hasselhoff singing in a light-up jacket on the Berlin Wall. Caroline isn’t particularly interested but there’s also not much else to do but watch.
The performance ends and the interviews start and Caroline bursts into hysterical laughter.
Klaus is on camera, complete with a mullet and leather pants. He’s saying something in German, but Caroline can’t get past the hair. And the pants. But mostly the hair.
She laughs while she buys the pen and laughs while she drops it in her purse and keeps laughing when she goes to collect Klaus.
“Business in the front, party in the back, huh?”
He’s confused until he follows her line of vision to the tv screen and his cheeks flame pink. “It was the 80's,” he defends himself.
She can’t keep a giggle from escaping. “There is no excuse for those pants.”
He smiles tentatively. “We all make mistakes.”
She giggles again, the kind that erupts from her belly and makes her sides hurt.
Klaus laughs too, his smile so wide she’s surprised his face hasn’t split in two.
She can’t stay mad at him when he looks so human.
---
They cap off their day with a trip to the Brandenburg Gate right as the sun is setting. It’s gorgeous, the pale sandstone glowing red and orange and gold in the fading light. Caroline has seen beautiful sunsets before, but not like this.
They stroll down Unter den Linden first, stop in little shops and pose for photos in front of the Kronprinzenpalais. It’s early spring and the lime trees are just budding; the air is crisp and clean and smells like new life.
Caroline closes her eyes as they step into Pariser Platz, resists the urge to twirl through the square.
She’s only experienced the turn of seasons in Virginia. It even smells better halfway across the world.
---
“I want to show you something,” Klaus says and gently grasps her elbow, starts walking them away from the Gate.
It’s near dark and the world is painted in cool shades of blue and purple, but there’s just enough light for one last stop.
“What is this?” Caroline asks, squints through the semi-darkness to take in field of stones. It’s unsettling, this place, and she shivers, pulls her jacket tighter even though she’s not cold.
Klaus nudges her and she reads the plaque, realizes she’s standing at the “Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe,” all six million of them. She remembers their 9th grade trip to the Holocaust Museum, the pile of shoes, the wall of photos, the people whose only crime was being different.
She shivers again, leans into his side. “Why did you bring me here?” she whispers. They’ve made it past the earlier tension; she doesn’t want to end their day this way.
He lets her rest against him, wraps his arm around her shoulders and presses his mouth to her temple. “You should know, we’re not the only monsters to walk the earth.” His lips are soft against her skin, but his words dig deep.
She’s not ready to accept what she is but she’s starting to understand.
---
It’s through unspoken agreement that they decide to go out that night.
Caroline slips into a tight dress and heels, wears lipstick for the first time since she left Mystic Falls.
Klaus zips her dress while she finishes her makeup, lets his fingers trail up her back as he tugs the zipper into place. She meets his eyes in the mirror, watches the movement of his hands on her skin while he fastens the string of red beads around her neck.
He leans in and brushes his mouth over her throat. “You are magnificent.”
She can’t help but believe every word he says.
---
The club is hot and sweaty, a mass of tightly packed bodies moving in time to a persistent electronic beat.
Caroline’s more of a pop music girl, but there’s little chance of finding Katy Perry or Taylor Swift here. Instead she closes her eyes, lets her hips move in time with Klaus’s, feels the hard planes of his chest against her back.
It’s more than his body wrapped around hers. It’s the heartbeats she can hear over the bass, the rhythmic pulse of blood moving through veins and arteries.
She opens her eyes and turns in Klaus’s arms, hides her changing face in his damp t-shirt, lets her fangs dig into her chin. He gently rubs her back while she fights to stay in control.
His heart is silent beneath her ear but he’s firm and solid, constant. She raises her head and knows she looks like herself.
---
Klaus comes back from the bathroom with a smear of blood on his collar.
Caroline chooses not to hold it against him.
No one’s perfect.
---
They take in more sights, tour Museum Island and the Kulturforum, see the Philharmoniker play and walk circles through Tiergarten.
They talk a lot but don’t fight.
---
Tyler calls, leaves her a voicemail.
He tells her he loves her, he misses her, that she’s the bravest girl he’s ever met and how it only makes him love her more.
He begs her to come home, not to give up her life for him.
She listens on the balcony this time but it’s not enough.
She stares at the hard line of Klaus’s back, the tense set of his shoulders.
She wonders if it’s even a sacrifice anymore.
---
Mauer Park is Caroline’s favorite part of the city and they browse flea markets, alternately admiring and laughing over old maps and jade elephants and tarnished spoons.
At one stand, she picks out a cool vintage purse and insists Klaus buy a tweed fedora.
A sweet British woman agrees to snap a photo and they press together, Klaus’s hand low on Caroline’s back.
She doesn’t shrug him away.
---
Their last night in the city, there’s a beautiful green, silk dress lying on her bed. There’s matching shoes and a tiny beaded bag and a strand of black pearls that’s nearly half her height.
“Klaus?” she asks, knocks on the bathroom door. His head pops out in a cloud of steam, his hair sticking up all over the place. She smiles and runs her fingers through it, smoothes it into place. “What’s going on?”
He smiles in way that used to terrify her but now only sets her (non) pulse pounding. “It’s a surprise.”
She follows his instructions, puts on the dress and the shoes and lets a stylist do her makeup and curl her hair like a flapper's. Klaus appears in a dated tuxedo, his hair neatly slicked back from his face.
“Is it some kind of German Halloween?” she asks.
He simply holds out his hand. “Do you trust me?”
She hesitates, just long enough for his eyes to harden, but not so long that he slips his hand into his pocket. She’s wearing gloves but she can feel the strength in his grip, a hint of warmth seeping through the silk.
“Let’s go,” she says, ignores the way his jaw tightens.
She’s not ready to give him any more than tonight.
---
It’s a jazz club, dark and smoky and filled with people staring at them like they’re crazy. Which makes sense when everyone else is wearing jeans and leather jackets, hip dresses and ankle boots, and they’re dressed like they just escaped from the 1920s.
She sips a sloe gin fizz and tries to concentrate on the music, but it’s hard when people are whispering about her in a language she doesn’t understand.
“Why are we dressed like this?” she whispers, the feather in her hair shaking as she leans in towards Klaus.
“You wanted to understand history. Sometimes you have to live it.
“People are staring at us.”
He takes her hand, leads her to a tiny dance floor before the stage. “Let’s give them a real show.”
They start with a basic swing and then a foxtrot. By the time they’ve moved to the Charleston, several of the women have kicked off their shoes and are dancing alongside them in earnest. The band joins in too and when the final set closes, Caroline collapses in Klaus’s arms.
She’s sweaty and exhausted and her feet hurt, but she can’t remember the last time she’s felt so alive.
---
In Stockholm, she discovers there are such things as vampire clubs.
“Like Fangtasia?” Images of Eric Northman pop into her mind: tall, blonde, muscular…they are in Scandinavia after all.
Klaus’s forehead wrinkles in that adorable way it does when he doesn’t get a reference. “I thought you’d want to avoid a repeat of Berlin. No humans allowed.”
She’s relieved. It will be nice to let loose without worrying about killing someone. “Can I dress as Lisbeth Salander?”
His brow knots again. “I mean it when I said it won’t be like Berlin,” he tells her as she disappears into the bathroom.
All the confusion disappears from his face when he takes in the combat boots and skimpy tank, the gallon of kohl outlining her eyes.
“How do I look?” she asks, pulls on a leather bomber jacket and grabs her bag.
“I always liked the late 70's,” he tells her as they head for the elevator.
She wishes she could have been there with him.
---
The club is like an industrial version of Fangtasia, lots of leather and vinyl and vampires. Vampires everywhere. They’re drinking glasses of blood or comparing fangs, fighting in a ring in the back corner.
She mostly stays close to Klaus and sips her blood. It’s cool being amongst her own kind, but nerve-wracking too. She’s only been a vampire for a year; so many of these people are older and stronger, can have her staked before she has time to react.
She slides closer to Klaus; she likes knowing he can keep her safe.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, nods his head towards the bar. She hands him her empty glass and assesses the room.
She’s dressed more butch than many of the other female occupants, but she doesn’t mind. It makes her stand out and she’s tired of always being the trampy one.
Other vampires - male vampires - take notice and a tall, muscular, blonde man appears at her side.
“Hallå,” he says, sidles up beside her to press his shoulder to hers.
“Hi.”
“I’ve never seen you around here before,” he says in English and she resists the urge to roll her eyes. She’s in a new place, seeing new things. She should talk to the people too, despite how cheesy their pickup lines are.
“I’m here on vacation.”
“American, yes?” He angles in front of her so she has to look at him. He’s handsome, like an Ikea model and she wonders how she can sneak a photo to send to Bonnie.
“Yes,” Klaus says before she can respond. “And spoken for.”
He’s behind her and she can’t see his face, but she can imagine the look in his eyes because her new friend holds up his hands in surrender. “Enjoy your stay,” he says and walks away.
“What are you doing?” Caroline hisses as soon as he’s gone. “You can’t talk to people like that.”
Klaus glares at her. “You shouldn’t be talking to him.”
“Why? Because I’m spoken for?”
“Well - ”
She steps closer, so close her breasts push against his chest. There’s not much separating them, just a few layers of thin cotton, but she’s too angry to think much about it. “I’m not anyone’s property. Not that guy’s, not Tyler’s, and definitely not yours.”
His forehead knots again and she forces herself to ignore it. “You’re here, with me.”
“No,” she whispers. “I’m here for Tyler.”
The words are out before she can stop them, before she can explain that she doesn’t really mean them, that it’s a reflex to cut deep when she’s angry, but Klaus is gone before she can even open her mouth.
After an hour, she realizes he’s not coming back. She thinks about how many people live in this city, how angry he is; she hopes there won’t be more blood on her hands. She catches a taxi outside and goes back to the hotel alone, undresses in the dark and creeps into bed.
She waits for him.
He doesn’t come home.
---
The next morning, there’s no drained girl lying in their bathtub or bloodstained shirts strewn around the room, but there is a note telling her to dress warm and meet him at Wasahamnen at 9:00 am sharp.
It’s only a little after nine when she shows up at the marina and follows his instructions to the end of a pier.
He’s waiting for her, leaning against a post while a small boat bobs in the water behind him.
“Hi,” she says shyly as she approaches, finds it hard to meet his eyes. She doesn’t want to say anything worse than she did the night before.
“Are you ready?” he asks, holds out a hand to help her onboard. She hopes this will heal them, that he’s not planning on ripping out her heart and tossing her body into the sea.
They’ve come so far, seen so much, and she knows she’s in the wrong.
She doesn’t hesitate to slip her fingers into his.
---
For most of the morning, he barks orders and expects her to instantly memorize the long list of nautical terms he calls out.
The rope keeps making her hands bleed and the sun stings her eyes and the salt water is going to ruin her hair, but she keeps going. She’s not a quitter; there is nothing she won’t see through.
She’s had enough when the jib smacks her in the head for the second time in less than an hour.
“Enough!” she yells, drops the sheet so she can rest her hands on her hips. “If you’re going to kill me, do it already.”
Klaus glances up from tying the rope, completely surprised. “You think I’m going to kill you?”
“You’re not?”
“No!”
“Then why are we out here, miles from civilization?” She sucks in air, forces herself to calm down. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
He takes her wrist, gently tugs her down beside him. “I heard what you said last night.”
“Klaus…”
“We can talk about what you said later, but first I want to address what I did. You’re right. I don’t control you. You’re here by choice and your reasons are your own. When I was a boy, I always knew I was different. My father…they do say actions speak louder than words. I thought I could sail away and make my own start.”
“You never did.”
His voice is very quiet. “Henrik died…you know what happened next.” He keeps looking out over the water. “Besides, the Black Sea isn’t nearly as large as we thought.” He reaches up and unhooks the sheet, curls her fingers around it. “Where to?”
She takes his hand and winds her fingers through his, keeps the sheet caught between them. “I’d rather learn with you.”
He spends most of the afternoon drawing her while she lays out on deck, contorts her body in the poses he wants.
She thinks she understands what it means to sail off into the sunset.
---
Tyler calls, but Klaus wants to show her Gamla Stan.
She runs her finger across the screen and presses ignore.
She makes her choice.
~ * ~
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