So I blame/thank thisisfuckingnotcool on tumblr for this. I was asked to do a short prompt, which I did, but my muse was not satisfied by this. So this happened instead.

I hope everyone enjoys it. Thanks to everyone who helped me figure this out. Willowaus and the beta-team, you're the best!

Klaus almost missed her.

Moving down the alley, alarms blaring behind him, he kept his sense open to the faintest of movements. Someone had set off every gods-be-damned alarm and now any chance of looking for information to link Mikael to his web of organized crime was gone. For tonight. He'd shut off his ear bud, Kol's cursing becoming repetitive, and concentrated on getting clear.

He didn't need another reason for the Feds to threaten to involve themselves in the city. He didn't regret killing the dirty cops, but he'd had to listen to Rebekah complain for hours about attending funerals with Mikael. But honestly, it had been the utter disapproval that he'd felt from 'her', the mysterious pain in his ass that had annoyed him the most.

That it had bothered him at all was worrying.

They'd exchanged a few muffled words and he couldn't deny she was scrappy in a fight. But she was too soft, and there was something off that he couldn't place. Then, three weeks ago, she'd disappeared on him.

Having her show up to further complicate his life wasn't a nightly occurrence, but this was the longest stretch of time he'd gone without seeing her. Since their first interaction - her full body tackle, leaving him handcuffed to a drain pipe before she chased the man he'd been trying to kill - she'd been a infuriating whirlwind.

"You're bored."

Klaus shucked his heavy leather vest, arched both brows. "What?"

"Come on. We both know you're lingering a little longer to see if she makes an appearance and that you're disappointed that she hasn't." Kol grinned, arms crossing. "I still think she's going to be hideous under that mask."

"I'm staying out in the city because I'm hunting," Klaus denied with a growl. "This has nothing to do with her."

"Uh huh," Kol shrugged. "Then you'll be happy to know that none of her usual police friends have reported sightings either. Whoever you're little playmate is she's not coming out."

Damn him, he'd been right. He was worried. Klaus didn't like it and had thrown himself into figuring out this particular paper trail as a way to distract himself. And now this.

Something flickered, the faintest glimmer of gold out of the corner of his eye. Klaus twisted, hand curving along the gun at his hip and something like relief, something like frustrated fury knot in his lungs.

The bane of his existence.

He had no name for her, this elusive woman who worked so hard to destroy all his carefully laid plans. Until this moment, he'd have been hard pressed to identify anything other than her eyes - the unbending spine that he reluctantly admired.

"Well, sweetheart, this is a surprise. Here I thought you'd retired."

Grumpy, tired blue eyes caught his and her sigh was audible even through her mask as she pushed off the dirty bricks. His gaze narrowed as she was suddenly in relief, that one bright curl limp against her neck.

"Who did I kill in a previous life that I keep running into you?"

Klaus smirked and strolled forward. "Now now, love. Here I thought you didn't kill people? It being bad karma and all."

Those expressive eyes rolled. "We all make mistakes, and clearly in my previous life I wasn't so enlightened."

Amusement blunted the temper in his chest and he reached out to tug on her gleaming hair. "So, blondes do have me ore fun?"

She cursed and Klaus smiled, watched her tuck that little piece of herself away. Except now he knew. Blonde. Not that it was a huge detail, but it was a start.

She stepped around him, something in her stride hitching, and he caught her wrist with a frown. That she broke his grip immediately didn't bother him as much as the little tremble that rolled down her frame.

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

Klaus rounded on her, jaw working under his own disguise. "You set off the alarms."

She pushed at him, the skin around her eyes tight with frustration and pain, now that he was looking. "And I'd rather not be caught, if it's all the same to you."

"When," he growled as he pushed even closer, temper deepening his voice. "Will you learn to stay out of things that don't involve you?"

Her head lifted, and he set his teeth in frustration. If you asked him what she looked like, he'd start with a stubborn chin and sharp cheekbones. A nose perfect for staring down someone, with her height.

"Go fuck yourself."

Startled by the profanity, he missed his chance to catch her as she wiggled around him, a hint of curves beneath those sturdy leathers. He swiped at her, missed and made to lunge when her knees gave out and she went straight to the street. The almost inaudible moan had him dropping next to her, hands going to her waist to steady her and he froze as he encountered an alarming amount of wetness.

"Bloody hell," Klaus snapped. Applying enough pressure to get another of those low, pain filled noises, he glared at her. "Do you have a death wish?"

"It's shallow," she rasped, swatting at his hand. "I'm fine."

"I realize you're a bit stubborn, love, but I'd never realized the insanity." He bared his teeth, made to snarl and froze when her fingers locked around his wrist. Footsteps and muffled voices. Klaus glanced around and swore under his breath when he realized how exposed they were.

"Don't move," she whispered, her voice nearly inaudible. "Don't say anything."

Her fingers were cold against his skin, but her grip was steady. Looking at those hazy and imploring eyes, he gripped his gun with his free and and waited. Listening, he counted five and grimaced. That wasn't impossible, but Kol bitched when he came home injured.

Adrenaline raced through his system, senses burning hyper aware. But he held her gaze, waiting. For a moment, Klaus thought he was somehow hallucinating as he watched her pupils streak with color. His skin twitched, a feeling not unlike static electricity washing over him.

"The cameras say she went this way."

"Well, if you hadn't blown out the night goggles, maybe we'd be able to see her."

"There isn't anything to see. She isn't here."

"Fuck."

"With the way Donovan stuck her, she's not going to make it much further, keep going."

Klaus counted to three hundred before he leaned in, until he could see the each brilliant shade of blue in her eyes. "You're a mutant."

"Surprise," she sassed, even as her lashes fluttered, fingers falling away from his wrist. The skin burned, as if she had branded him. Klaus considered his options and flicked his earpiece back on.

"I'm pretty sure we've talked about this. You turn off your mic, I drink all your expensive liquor. I thought you cared about my liver."

"I need an exit strategy. Assume I'm unable to fight."

"I am not stitching your white ass again," Kol warned. "I'm still in recovery."

"Now," Klaus ordered, even as he reached carefully for the woman slowly bleeding next him. "Let's go sweetheart."

"I've got a friend coming," she argued, voice fading into a soft grunt as he stood.

"I think it's time you and I had a chat," Klaus corrected as he moved softly down the alley. She wasn't light, the weight of her bones and muscle a bit of a surprise, but she was far easier to handle than a drunk Kol.

"No."

He laughed, because the little denial was grumpy and it reminded him of a spitting cat. But he had questions and he'd get his answers. Clearly, she wasn't working with Mikael and that meant she was coming at this from the outside and he wanted to know why. That she was a mutant just added a layer of complexity that he wanted to unravel.

"Are you with someone?"

Klaus ignored Kol. "Girls who are willing to bleed out instead of get help don't get a vote."

"I told you," she gasped out, "I have someone coming."

He tried to even his pace, to ease the strain on her wound, but he needed to hurry. "I don't care. Text them later."

"Bro, you are not bringing the chick back to the hideout? That's like, breaking all the rules. All of them. Hello? Are you listening to me?"

She went boneless against him and Klaus picked up his pace. Either she'd fainted or was conserving her energy for an escape attempt. Lips compressing, he wished her luck on that last one. He had no intention of letting her out of his sight until her wound was stitched and they had a long over due chat.

Starting with what she knew about Mikael.

Caroline slowly became aware of arguing.

"This is a goddamn nightmare. I can't even blame this on a pretty face, because you won't let me remove her mask. What if she has a traumatic brain injury? Needs to be identified by her kin? Then what?"

"Stop being dramatic. I thought we agreed to leave that to our sister?"

"Don't talk about our sister! She could be listening with her creepy mutant ears!"

Caroline kept her eyes closed, tried to keep her breathing regular but her abdomen was on fire. She was on her back, something soft underneath her head, but was mostly bare from the waist up. The wrap and mask she used to hide her face was still in place, and she felt a surge of short lived relief.

She might still be able to walk away.

"I'd bet you the Bahama Compound that you're wrong."

Oh God. She shivered in reflex at that low, accented voice. Klaus Mikaelson. The absolute bane of her existence. She could recall with absolute clarity each interaction she'd had with the billionaire. Her event company was still small, but they were good. Very good. And regardless of what she thought of the man, Klaus had never once batted a lash at her itemized bills. There was never one of the cranky back and forths with a personal assistant, no ridiculous accounts demanding copies of receipts she'd sent over twice.

But the man himself. Dimpled, with rumpled curls and that stupid accent that could curl the toes of her staff from three hundred yards. That he cheerfully ignored the usual dress code of the rich to parade around in jeans and henleys, those necklaces clinking as he walked?

"Artistic license," Klaus said with a shrug after a very pointed look at his boots. "Does it bother you, Miss Forbes?"

Caroline gave him her best pageant smile. "As long as you remember the dress code for the event, we shouldn't have a issue. But try not to track your artistic mud through my floors."

She couldn't even remember what it had been that had tipped her off. The cadence of his voice? That biting, edged way he had of snapping 'sweetheart' into the conversation just to see how she reacted? The movement of hands she refused to admit she had one or two dirty fantasies about?

She called in sick for the last two weeks, working diligently from home and avoiding him. What if she was wrong? What if she was right? Caroline had no idea what to do and Enzo, the complete asshole, signed up for night shift rotations to avoid her panic.

"I'll support your decision, gorgeous, but I'm not sitting through your crazy. Now, don't drink all the coffee and try to save us mere mortals some of the Blue Bell Ice Cream. I have to drive an hour each way for that."

"You're an ass."

"I'm fucking brilliant, which is why I'm leaving. You'll be fine. Moral dilemmas are for those with morals. I just try to keep people alive. I'll see you when I get home, and by see I mean wave as I go to bed."

Nothing she'd done had helped. Knowing the identity of the most wanted vigilante in the city ate at her. Finally, fueled by too much coffee, she sat down and started to research. She started when Klaus had been formally adopted by his biological father (did he keep Mikaelson out of spit? A cover?), through the deaths of mother and half-brother, through after she finally gave into Enzo's bitching and move to this city.

What she found shook her.

She'd been operating on a set number of assumptions and all of them crumbled under her fingertips. There was nothing overt linking Mayor Mikael Mikaelson to the city's crime wave, but the more she read the bigger the sinking feeling in her stomach.

Coupled with Klaus' seemingly endless vitriol and determination to kill half the police force, she'd spent a long time soul searching. Finally reaching the decision that she needed facts, she broke into the research lab she'd been looking at for a month for information.

She'd gotten what she'd been after and more.

The guard who'd gotten the lucky shots should never have been able to see her. And now she was laid up in Pain-In-Her-Ass-Mikaelson's freaking bat cave, or whatever, holding onto her anonymity by a hair's breath. She should have followed her mom's suggestion and joined Enzo in a medical profession. Her life would have been boring, but far less complicated.

"I don't like it when you bet me things you like," the man Klaus was arguing with said, breaking into her frustration. "I usually lose."

"Is that a no?"

"That's a yes and an I hate you."

"Excellent," Klaus drawled. "Are those bandages too tight, sweetheart?"

She parted her lashes reluctantly, knowing this was going to be complicated. Klaus was still decked in his mask and hood, watching her from shaded eyes. Something charged flared between them and she worked really hard not to shiver.

"Well, you're eyes aren't creepy, so that's something. I'd be careful during bikini season darling. Knife wounds are pretty specific scars."

Caroline glanced over and nearly laughed at what she had to assume was Kol. He'd splashed his face with paint and was wearing a bandana around his hair, the apron tied across his chest to hide or protect his clothing and it was too much. Laughter bubbled in her throat, but she choked out a hiss instead when she felt the stitches pull.

Warm, calloused fingers pressed below her sternum. She froze, the unexpected touch unnerving. Her eyes danced up, and he was watching her with an intensity that warmed her cheeks.

Thank God he couldn't see.

"You lost a lot of blood, and you needed fifteen stitches," Klaus told her coolly. "I don't know much about mutant constitution but you're lucky you didn't puncture anything internal."

She rolled her eyes but only tried to sit up once, that his hand stopped. Scowling, knowing he couldn't see it, she huffed. "I'm fine."

"No, I totally see it," Kol muttered. "It's the insanity. That's where the attraction lies. So glad we cleared that up."

Klaus ignored his brother so she did as well. "I think it's best that I leave."

"Why?"

Caroline let disbelief widen her eyes. "Do you really want to play the exchange our identity game? We're not on the same side."

"Interested in seeing what's under the mask?" Kol taunted. "I've seen it, nothing to write home about."

Caroline glanced over let scorn drip from her tongue. "You're an idiot."

The hand on her abdomen twitched. Caroline kept from reacting by sheer force of will and cursed mentally. Carefully, she glanced up and met the stunned blue of his gaze.

"That's impossible," Klaus said flatly, pressing close to her, breath hot against her skin even through the mask. "You don't seem the type to enjoy parties, love."

She hesitated. She could lie, could possibly escape this with some mystery intact. Or she could even the playing field, let him in on the fact that she knew. She chewed her lip and came to a decision.

"Yeah, well, this is taking your artistic license little far, don't you think?"

He didn't move for the count of ten, but then, gaze holding hers, he reached for her mask. Slowly, waiting for her protest, he peeled it down the flushed skin of her face and just stared. She knew what he saw. The fading bruise on her jaw, the red line on the bridge of her nose from the mask, and her compressed lips.

"The party planner is the mutant spy?" Kol demanded from behind her. "Why the hell did I put on this apron?"

Klaus scowled down at her. "How long have you known?"

"That doesn't matter," Caroline said, pushing at his hands, determined to sit up. She refused to discuss this lying flat.

"You need to stay down," Klaus growled.

"That's what she said," Kol muttered before clearing his throat. "So if she already knew your identity and hasn't gone running to dear old dad, does that invalidate the bet?"

Klaus pulled back his hood and tossed aside his mask and Caroline tried to keep from reacting to the full impact of his face. "I'd prefer to sit up."

"I'd prefer you didn't pull your stitches," Klaus returned. "After Kol sewed you up so neatly."

Glancing over, she gave Kol a tight smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Kol said with an exaggerated bow. "Not bad for an MIT dropout."

His words were light, but there was bitterness there.

"Thank you," she repeated to avoid touching that and glanced back over at Klaus. "And I'm fine. I heal quick."

"How quick?"

"The stitches can come out in a few days," she said with a shrug, winced. "I'll probably not scar."

Those dark eyes studied her and he came to a decision. Sliding a hand under her knees, and with a display of strength that made her very aware of her torn clothing, Klaus lifted her. She dug her nails into the leather of his vest and hissed. "That hurt and put me down."

"Here I thought you'd like to clean up."

She set her jaw, and stared at him. "I can shower at home."

"That's not happening until the stitches come out," Klaus said flatly as he started walking. "Which, according to you is in three days."

"I'm not staying here," Caroline growled.

"If I have to put motion sensors on the windows and doors, I say you are," Klaus said bluntly as he cradled her to reach for the elevator button. Kol was behind them, muttering profanities as he clearly started to clean up. "But I think I'll just take away your hair cover. Hard to blend in with this shade of blonde, isn't it?"

"Go fuck yourself," she muttered waspishly as he stepped into the elevator.

Klaus laughed. "I am surprised at the temper, love. Who would have thought prim and proper Miss Forbes had one related to anything other than place settings and color schemes."

"Playboy Billionaires aren't worth my temper," Caroline to him coolly. "I've been stabbed, manhandled and bullied this evening. Anyone would be short."

Another of those warm, dimpled smiles and he stepped into an apartment that somehow balanced quiet opulence with warmth. "Well, let's see if I can acquit myself. How about I wash your hair?"

The temptation of his long fingered hands threading through her hair, working along her scalp nearly froze her tongue. Instead, she scoffed and rolled her eyes. "No. I don't need your help."

"Current circumstances suggest otherwise," Klaus murmured. "But I'll suppose we'll see, won't we."

Caring glared at him as he set her down.

She fervently wished her powers were more of the 'light someone on fire with her mind variety.' Which, from the little smirk he was wearing, he was perfectly aware of and enjoying. Ass.

How bad could three days be?

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