A/N: For Klaroline Writing Week Day 3 - AU. (Though it's a bit late teehee).

-o-

And If He Falls

"Well one of you needs a leash." – Chuck Hansen, Pacific Rim

It was an assignment that Klaus wasn't thrilled with at all.

Seriously. Relocation from the vivid exuberance of culture-rich British Hong Kong to the frigid, if not entirely frozen, middle-of-nowhere arctic zone that is Anchorage, Alaska?

"Lighten up, Niklaus. Perhaps the change in scenery might do us some good," Elijah, in his eternally annoying decorousness, said when they were packing.

Oh bite me, Klaus had thought sardonically. Pray, and what 'good' might being thrown into twenty degree Fahrenheit reclusion bring to two of the most decorated Jaeger pilots in the current Pan Pacific Defense Corps roster? The fact that he would be living in the same state as Sarah Palin wasn't even on list of things that Klaus was complaining about.

For the record, he's not going diva because of the cold or the isolation. His beef is with the fact that now he and Elijah will have to work alongside the American pilots, who are, to say the least, notorious for being arrogant, reckless and too fucking stubborn. You know why they have to be reassigned to the Anchorage Shatterdome in the first place? Because Matt Donovan and Tyler Lockwood disobeyed a direct order which ultimately ended in their $80 billion Jaeger getting maimed to a sorry state of non-functionality.

Look. When your Marshall tells you to forget about that one single boat still out in the water five minutes before a predicted Kaiju attack, then you say "Yes Sir" and you fucking forget about the boat. Ever heard of that saying "Put the interest of the many over the interest of the few"? They say that at least several million times in military academy, but apparently people still don't pay attention. Donovan and Lockwood just had to decide that the lives of the Deadliest Catch crew were as important as the lives of the ten million people who needed to be protected in mainland, so they headed out to the water in their Jaeger Ralion Rohirrim to heroically save twelve fishermen.

Oooh let's skip to the good parts! A giant alien iguana designated with the name 'Plec' leapt out of the ocean and promptly tore off Rohirrim's arm. You know where the two-hundred ton robotic appendage landed? Cringe-worthily, on the boat. Yeah, the very same one Matt and Tyler were trying to save. The fishing vessel and everyone in it, naturally, sunk to their gruesome deaths in the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

And it gets even better. Ralion Rohirrim's partner Jaeger, Diablo Intercept care of Damon and Stefan Salvatore, had no choice but to come to Rohirrim's rescue and get into the fight as well. Word is that they did a pretty decent job of getting some heat off Matt and Tyler – until Plec suddenly fired an electro-magnetic pulse that knocked out all of Intercept's electronic systems. What, didn't they know that Kaiju's can fire EMP bursts? Klaus didn't know that either, but who cares, the main point here is that Diablo Intercept became Sitting-Duck Intercept, sorry you're out of the game.

To cut the long story short, Rohirrim took a wagonload more beatings, lost the other arm and one leg and got its Conn-pod ripped open in the next ten minutes while Intercept stood there in disabled helplessness. Matt and Tyler pretty much would've died if the Los Angeles Shatterdome hadn't immediately sent help in the form of Derek Hale and Isaac Lahey in their Jaeger, Lycan Fury.

Now there's another Kaiju attack predicted in three weeks, and because Ralion Rohirrim will need eight months to be repaired, Alaska is one Jaeger short of its defenders.

You know who had the blasted luck to be commissioned to fill in the empty slot?

-o-

It's about four in the morning when they arrive at Winter Wonderland. Klaus won't lie – three steps into Anchorage and already he misses Hong Kong, where you don't need to wear at least ten pounds of clothing and the landscape lets you see at least twenty different colours other than white. Elijah won't be as candid and will probably say polite crap about looking forward to living in a freezer, but for Klaus' part, he knows that the artist facet of him won't be inspired to draw any landscapes here unless he finds himself wanting to paint an entire canvas white. And since a blank canvas is already white in the first place, why waste paints and effort, right?

It remains to be seen wether partnering with the Salvatores is going to be of any consolation, but he's heard a lot of talk about Damon Salvatore being as big a douchebag as Tyler Lockwood so he's not really keeping his hopes up.

"Captain Elijah and Lieutenant Niklaus Mikaelson?"

Elijah nods courteously at the stringent-looking middle aged man who meets them at the Shatterdome lobby. General Rudy Hopkins is a much respected figure in PPDC, owing to his extensive involvement in the Jaeger Program. Mecha engineering and construction, theoretical and practical training, actual Jaeger piloting, tactical planning, Kaiju biochemistry and microbiology – you name it, he's done something for it. In fact the only reason why Matt Donovan and Tyler Lockwood haven't been unceremoniously dismissed from commission is because General Hopkins vouched for them.

"General Hopkins. It's an honor to report to your command, Sir." Elijah said, extending a hand.

"Pleasure to have you here in Anchorage, gentlemen." General Hopkins replies warmly. "Your Jaeger Elven Archer arrived here safe and sound this afternoon and I've informed Admiral Mikaelson of its docking. You know what the old clam told me? That I shouldn't 'baby' you just because you're his sons. Very thoughtful, huh?"

"With all due respect, Sir, Admiral Mikaelson had us busting our backs as hard as he made everyone else work there in Hong Kong." Klaus says, unable to keep his lips from curling into a smile. God knows that the only person whom Mikael Mikaelson didn't give a hard time to was his wife.

"Well, hard work is what keeps this Shatterdome going, but it's four in the morning and I know how difficult it is to catch shut-eye in an F-22 so you boys should probably get some sleep." The general tells them. He gestures at the pretty brunette by his side.

"This Sophie, our administrative assistant. She'll show you to your rooms, crew quarters are in the third floor. Get yourselves settled and find me at the Board Room tomorrow at about two in the afternoon so I can introduce you to the core people."

The brunette smiles at them, clutching her clipboard just a wee bit tighter. "If you guys are ready, I can show you your rooms?"

Now if you think that Jaeger pilots get five-star accommodation just because - I don't know, they go out there and risk getting clobbered to death by giant alien amphibians for the sake of saving the world? - then you're awfully wrong. Klaus' room in Anchorage is nothing sweeter than his bunk in Hong Kong – small, minimal and functional are the only words you'll work with when talking about Shatterdome rooms, that's pretty much a universal fact.

What appears to be not universal, Klaus thinks as he unlocks the door to his room, is the fact that Jaeger co-pilots should be bunked next to or opposite each other. That's the way they do it in Hong Kong so it's easier to find your co-flyer when it's time to bash some Kaiju skull, and for the longest time Klaus thought it was a universal practice (well it makes a lot of sense, don't it?).

But apparently that's not the case, as Sophie told Elijah that he'd be staying at room 322 and Klaus was given the keys for room 332 - five rooms away.

"Three Three Two?" Klaus had repeated in confusion. If anything he'd expect to be assigned Room Three Two Three.

Sophie checked her notes again, and it seemed that 332 was really Klaus' number.

"Is there a problem? I can get you another room if you…" she had offered.

"No, it's fine." Klaus had refused, graciously taking his keys from the brunette. Not that she paid that much attention because she was already telling a smiling Elijah that she was staying at 318, If you ever need anything I'm a knock away.

Oh, Elijah's manly charms. Never fails. Ever.

He places his bags down on the couch, frowning slightly upon noticing that one of the cushions is flipped slightly to the couch's right arm as if it had served as a makeshift pillow recently. The room is spick and span for the most part – perhaps housekeeping just forgot to flip it back?

At any rate, he's too tired to care for trivial faults (Why don't you try flying from Hong Kong to Alaska in an excitingly fast but earsplittingly noisy fighter jet for nine whole hours and see if you feel pink enough to even care about your own grandmother) so he just takes a pair of pajama bottoms and begins to strip out of his clothes. Hell, skip the shower, he'll do that tomorrow, right now he just wants to sleep.

Klaus plops himself down on the bed, his face buried in the fluffiness of the cotton-encased pillows. The bed smells very nice… very sweet, very floral –

Slosh!

The sound of water spraying from the shower makes Klaus jump out of bed, every part of his body suddenly awake.

"Bloody –"

He braces himself against the bedside table, grabbing – er, - a table lamp for good measure.

The hell? What was that?

The spraying sound continues, and he doesn't know why he didn't see it before but the lights in his bathroom are definitely on. Klaus pauses for a second, trying to catch his breath. The lights are on and the shower is on. That means either his room is haunted or…

He groans. Oh for the love of God, come on, Alaska! Is there somebody inside his fucking shower? At four fucking thirty in the morning? But the fucking door was locked when he got there!

He takes in a deep breath and throws the table lamp exhaustedly on the bed while trying to calm himself down. If there's someone in that bathroom then he'd look quite ridiculous holding a lamp for a weapon – not really the picture you'd want to see of a 'heroic' Jaeger pilot.

He slowly and quietly walks towards the bathroom door, grasping the knob and turning it soundlessly open.

At first all he can see is warm white steam fogging up the bathroom, his sense of smell tickled by the scent of fragrant-smelling soap. But then he takes a step closer and there he sees a human silhouette (not that he expected a kangaroo's silhouette, mind you) and he confirms that he's definitely not alone in that room.

He means to say something to announce his presence like "Hey" or "Excuse you" (Because. This. Is. HIS. Room. Goddammit.) or simply "What the bloody hell are you doing in my shower", but then he makes the mistake of squinting to get a better look first - and bam, it's all over.

In front of him is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen in his life. Her eyes are closed and she's letting the water from the shower run down her body to wash away the frothy suds of soap swathing her naked form. She runs her fingers through her hair, combing the damp strands of honey blonde to the back of her head, keeping her meek face clear for him to admire. She's breathtaking – and he's not just saying that as a shirtless guy who has this gorgeous, buck-naked girl taking a shower in front of him. It comes from a place of genuine artistic appreciation that only an artist understands.

She's like Botticelli's Venus, alive and in the flesh. The way her shell-pink lips part slightly open and she cranes her neck back to run a hand from the crook of her shoulder down to her clavicle – it makes him shiver. Oh, what he'd do to have his sketchpad and a stick of charcoal with him right now, so he can render unto paper the graceful slenderness of her milky shoulders, the smooth curves of her waist, the undulating swell of her hips… he doesn't even have to look at her breasts, those pouting peaks, flushed peachily pink to gently contrast with her creamy complexion. Imagine her wrapped loosely in silk sheets, laid lazily on a divan or sitting by a Corinthian window… Gods, she's a Renaissance artist's dream come true.

Wait, is it just his imagination or is it really getting hotter and hotter in there? And is his heart beating faster and faster? And is breathing getting more and more difficult? And does everything inside him feel like it's about to explode and he just wants to know who this girl is, maybe ask her out, marry her, have twenty one kids -

Shit…Is he… is he falling in love?

(…No no no no. Klaus does not do 'in love'. Just hitch and ditch. Seriously.)

He shakes his head vigorously, trying to snap himself out of the entire… whatever (though the bulge beginning to show in his PJ's begs to differ). Look, this is all stupid. There's a girl taking a shower in his bathroom and he's just standing there like a moron thinking about all these weird stuffs.

He swallows. Well he has to do something. Preferably something that won't freak her out or make things awkward between them. A shirt is a good idea, for starters.

Klaus figures that he can quietly get out and pretend that he never went into the bathroom. He could close the door and knock from the other side and act like he got into the room and heard someone in the shower so he tapped on the door. And then he'd just wait for her to come out so she can explain why she's in his room taking a shower at four thirty in the morning… not that anything she might say could make him angry. (After what he's seen? Oh hell no.)

That's a good plan, right? Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.

He begins to turn around to get out of the bathroom when he hears the room's door creak open.

"Care, Chuck's leaving in an hour. Are you – WHAT THE FUCK?"

Klaus sees a flash of jet black and furious blue before a first connects with his jaw in a sorely sickening crunch.

He lands on the floor with a very unceremonial 'thud', and he swears that he hears a barrage of curses fading into the wee hours of the morning as his world slowly starts to dim.

And then everything turns black.

-o-

"Is he breathing? Oh my God, Damon –"

"Relax, he's breathing. Give it a minute or two, he should wake up."

"How can you be so calm, you knocked him out cold! He could have a –a concussion! Or something –"

"I told you, Caroline, he's breathing –"

"Why did you have to punch him in the first place –"

"Why did I have to punch him? Because he was gawking at you while you were taking a shower!"

"I get that, but look, we don't even know who he is –"

"Oh I know who he is. That's Klaus Mikaelson, one of the guys they flew in from Hong Kong."

"Klaus Mikaelson? As in the guy you and Stefan are going to be partnered with, the guy I'm assigned to be neurologist of?"

"Yeah, that one."

"And you still punched him?!"

"You think that when I see a guy watching my sister shower I stop to evaluate first before I punch him? Like 'Oh it's Chuck fucking Hansen watching Caroline in the bath, so I'm not going to whack him'? FYI, the Pope himself could've been standing there and I still would've punched him for peeping at you!"

"Oh God, Damon – I think you broke his jaw…"

"Jaeger pilots should be made of hard stuff, shame on him if one punch broke his jaw." Damon says with an unrepentant scoff.

Caroline cringes miserably. She casts an exhausted glance at the blond British guy sprawled on the bed, his blue eyes slowly starting to flutter awake. Based on the big purple bruise by the side of his lip and the 'I-Am-Going-To-Kill-You-You-Son-Of-A-Bitch' expression on Damon's face, she has a really strong hunch that any minute now she will have to be calling for General Hopkins himself.

And Klaus Mikaelson saw me naked!

Lord. The next eight months are so going to be awkward.

-o-

A/N:

1. You know the drill. erica-dreams-in-colour at tumblr and she. dreams. in. colour. at FFN for multi-chapter fics, links are in my profile page. :)

2. This is my late contribution to Day 3 of the Klaroline Writing Week, AU. It's set in the Pacific Rim universe but I did my best to tone it down so people can go along even if they haven't watched the movie. Which you guys totally should because Rob Kazinsky, the guy who plays Chuck Hansen in Pac Rim and Warlow in Tru Blood, is awesome.

3. Day 4 is smut and I have a little something up my sleeve for my lovely sasusakufan2357. It's the wildest smut fic I have ever attempted to write so wish me luck! (But don't get too excited because 'wild' is relative term and I was raised in a very conservative household, hehe.)