FANDOM: The Vampire Diaries
SUMMARY: In which Caroline decides she wants a better graduation present. (530 words)
NOTES: Submitted for a challenge over at writerverse.
In between fighting off undead witches and generally keeping the peace, Klaus offers her a mini fridge. Caroline makes a show of getting ready to punch his arm and intentionally missing. He laughs, she laughs. Tonight. She'll give him tonight. Just this once.
"I had considered offering you a first class ticket to join me in New Orleans," he muses as she throws another cap over the pile behind the stage, "but I knew what your answer would be."
She stops to regard him. He holds her gaze, raises a brow. Dares her.
She isn't sure what to think. What would her answer be? No, she decides, she would say no. And probably mean it, depending on where you're coming from. Just. No. Maybe. No. NO. She hears him cough to get her attention and realizes she had blanked out. He's still looking at her like he's waiting for something. She resists the urge to acknowledge that look.
"Jokes aside, I've opted for something I knew you would accept."
There's another moment, another pause, where he leans in for the full effect and she half-expects him to just close the last of that distance and kiss her and be done with it. And then, finally, they'd both know. And more importantly, it'd be over. And knowing that makes her want to give in to this, whatever it is. Just this once.
So, Caroline closes her eyes, allows herself one mistake. One hot-Original-hybrid mistake. Throws caution, her guard, common sense to the wind. And as she sees the light fold into darkness, feels her eyelashes flutter shut - and imagines how he'd hold her, tentatively, then gently, close, closer - and understands how it would be over, she lets out a sigh.
It takes another second for her to notice she's about to cry. In front of Klaus. On what is supposed to be the best day ever (and the beginning of everything).
"Caroline," she vaguely hears him say, "Tyler is now free to return to Mystic Falls."
She wants to punch him for real this time, but considers his words. She probably didn't hear him right. Probably. Her eyes snap open, widen, and a lone tear skims down her cheek.
"What?" Her voice is hoarse, her insides raw. She can't think straight.
He smiles back, actually smiles back - "He's your first love. I intend to be your last, however long it takes." - and, finally, finally, finally kisses her. Softly. Gently. He places one upon her cheek, right above the place where that tear has dried and cooled. Which is impossible in itself, because she must be coming down with a fever or something; it's so hot, so unbearable!
She tries to smile, but lowers her gaze. Focuses on the way his arm has fallen to his side, to the way his right hand has balled itself into a tight fist. Lifts her eyes to his again. And, this time, smiles and means it.
"I could do New Orleans," she whispers, leaning in, pressing down, taking his hand in hers, "I could definitely do New Orleans."
She pushes the rest of the way and blames it on the night.