"Actually, that's my secret - I can't even talk about you to anybody because I don't want any more people to know how wonderful you are." - F. Scott Fitzgerald Tender Is The Night

She disappears on a Tuesday morning but the cops don't realize this until late Wednesday afternoon - informed over the phone by a disturbed Katherine Pierce, a Golden Globe winning film actress. It's not until Saturday evening until the feds are called in and the profilers take up shop does this news hit the headlines - Caroline Forbes, a 22 year old Academy Award nominated actress: missing.

Her apartment - located in Hollywood Hills - is completely spotless, SSA Bonnie Bennett notes. It's bizarre - her glass coffee table has no fingerprints apart from her own stamped on it. Her bookshelves, made of light oak and spotted with souvenirs from her travels, has been untouched. The half pulled out novel, Tender Is The Night, only has her thumb and forefinger prints pressed on either side.

The teapot is the only thing that's a mess, having set off the fire alarm after no one bothered to turn it off. All in all, to the untrained eye, it simply looks like Caroline Forbes up and left, taking with her nothing but a single, crocodile leather suitcase, Kate Spade wallet, and car keys. Her beautiful silver Mercedes-Benz is gone but the black Porsche she typically drives remains in the garage.

That's when the clues begin to pile up. SSA Damon Salvatore's not an idiot and he realizes that a 1954 Mercedes-Benz 300SL is the orgasm child of all vintage car lovers, but come on, the car's fucking old. If Caroline Forbes was planning to run, she sure as hell wouldn't take a vintage car that neighbors knew she treated as her own unborn child, tending, washing, and waxing the thing nearly every week. He also notes, with sharp, clear blue eyes, that the girl's obviously a bit of an impulse buyer and judging by her vast array of shoes (Jimmy Choo's, Louboutin's, and quirky Giuseppe Zanotti's, which seemed to be her personal favorite), organized by color and length of heel, somewhat neurotic.

It brings a realization that Caroline Forbes, with all her OCD tendencies, wouldn't leave a half pulled out F. Scott Fitzgerald novel on her bookcase and suddenly decide to up and leave. She'd push the novel back into place - unless the book was her last attempt to tell them something before she left.

But then that brings up the question - who would force her to leave her penthouse apartment? Who would suddenly take an interest in (judging by her movie interviews) a willful, charismatic, and utterly charming blonde whose sole aspiration in life is to make a classic movie that'd last the ages (her words, Damon points out). There's so many loose ends here that he isn't surprised when SSA Alaric Saltzman, the man who'd returned to the FBI at Damon's request (plea) after John Gilbert got himself all good and shot, realizes that Caroline Forbes writes down every damn thing.

From red carpet events to Hollywood parities just down the block, the girl was a writer. She took note of everything and that's when Alaric realizes the utter stupidity of them all - where in high heaven were the girl's journals? Her calendars? Sticky notes in the trash? Everything was so damn clean, which suited Caroline's neurotic personality well enough, but dammit, it was too clean. It was as if the apartment had been sterilized before she left and the only thing out of place was that one book.

Tender Is The Night.

Damon isn't surprised the cops didn't catch on - they're law enforcement officers, not literary students. But he himself went to Princeton University because his father held him at rifle point in their Aspen ski lodge and told him to and he, Damon Salvatore, found Fitzgerald to be a pretty cool guy and wrote a thesis paper that referenced his work, The Beautiful and Damned (and when Todd Bane made a joke about Damon being a sissy, he'd punched the guy hard enough to send him to the ER for seven months and was consequently expelled from Princeton just three days before graduation).

Now, however, the book is just a little more than referencing when it came to this new case.

A wealthy older man. A beautiful actress. A crazy wife.

Hollywood. Fame. Murder.

"Hey, Bennett?" Damon waltzed over to Barbie's (that's what he's nicknamed her for the sake of keeping a distance) bookshelf.

"What?" the dark skinned profiler demands, busy dusting for prints that Damon knows will result in nothing.

"You still in touch with my brother?"

She turns around, incredulous. "Stefan?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, he's kind of the only brother I've got. Unless you've suddenly uncovered my sordid past?" he mock gasps and she frowns, turns back around, and nods. "So…" Damon trails off, putting on some stupid gloves that make him feel like a gynecologist as he plucks up the book, "you think he's willing to speak to me anytime soon?"

She shrugs. "Doubt it."

"Okay, what if I said it would be really, really helpful to this case?"

Bonnie snorts. "Then I'd say you've become a terrible liar and should think of some new material." she pauses. "Wait, what do you mean?" she turns around again, fingers careful not to touch anything as she eyes Damon and the book he's holding. "What are you doing? Put that back on the shelf! This is no time - " she falters when he gazes back at her, eyes sharp and she forgets that he's not only her dumb fuck friend from high school but he's also her boss.

Fuck, shit, damn.

"I need Stefan." Damon says, a note of finality in his voice.

Bonnie doesn't ask any more questions when Damon slips the book into a zip lock bag and walks away from the crime scene. "Hey!" she finally calls, right as he's about to head into the kitchen, "what's Fitzgerald got to do with this?"

"Despite the fact it's the only thing out of place in this apartment that could pass as an ICU? The content." he replies without looking over his shoulder, wondering if Barbie ate anything that was even semi-processed. "We need a literary expert and who better than my Pulitzer Prize winning brother, hm?"

The dark haired profiler keeps from replying the obvious answer of he hates your guts because you stole his girlfriend, proposed to her, and then fucking left her for dead. But it's above her pay grade so she keeps her mouth shut.

Jeremy Gilbert is the one who trips on a spot of plaster in her study room and cracks his head against cheap plaster.

He's also the one who locates a stash of letters that no one was meant to see.

"Who the fuck is Nik?" Jeremy grumbles because dammit, his head hurts and he feels somewhat disoriented when he can't tell yellow from orange.

Damon doesn't really give a flying fuck and puts on the stupid gynecologist gloves again as he reaches into the pit in the wall and pulls out another stack of letters.

It's even neatly tied together with a piece of bright red ribbon.

And all of them - each and every single one - is from and to a Nik M.

"Where's Bennett?" Damon demands, pushing Gilbert out of the way as he sticks his head out of the study room. "Bennett my Bennett! Your captain's calling!"

He knows she calls him an ass under her breath but she runs over quickly, heels clicking and hair flying.

He flings the letters into her hand. "Get that to forensics and - actually, fuck it." Damon turns around shoves a few pieces of paper off the girl's nearly pristine desk. Damon notes the traces of plaster powder and realizes that either Blondie suddenly didn't give a fuck about cleaning anymore or her kidnapper was forced into a sudden rush. "Give me the first letter."

Bonnie rifles through the pile as a stumbling Jeremy makes it outside, trying to look for some ice. "Here," she offers, holding a slightly crumpled piece of stationary paper that's faintly scented. "It's dated May 21, 2011. Oldest one in the pile."

Damon gives a nod of thanks and Bonnie knows that's all she's going to get so she keeps her mouth shut.

The dark haired profiler skims the letter briefly, intending to give it to Martin when they returned to the BAU headquarters for a closer look. But now, reading the words sent by Barbie to Nik M, Damon's eyes widen and he realizes, "fuck, we need to find this Nik M."

Bonnie raises a brow. "What's in there? Damon - "

"Doesn't matter. All that matters is that Barbie obviously has a torch for this guy, which means she's been cheating on Bullhead Lockwood which now gives us substantial reason to believe that Lockwood could've gotten mad, come into the apartment and tried to take revenge."

"You and I both know that's a shit theory, Damon." Bonnie argues, "Lockwood's a loose canon; he's impulsive and stupid. He'd leave traces everywhere and he wouldn't be as clever to take Caroline's wallet and a suitcase to make it look like she really left. I mean," she snatches the letter away from Damon, "how do you know this Nik character hasn't kidnapped her?"

Damon grabs the letter back, ignoring the way he looks like a two year old playing tug of war. "Because, Bennett, if you read what she writes, she confides in this guy. She blabs to him about her troubles and how crappy her day was and how she wants to get them grapefruits so he can try her special fucking margarita. If they weren't in a fucking relationship - or maybe this guy is a saint sent from heaven to listen to you females - there is no way a man would willing spend hours writing back to her in a way that enables said woman to respond back with a four page long letter. It just isn't how it works in our brains, Bon-Bon."

Her eyes narrow but she doesn't dispute Damon because when he's in boss mode, he makes sense. "How do you know that he wasn't faking it?"

"I don't." Damon retorts, "which is why the moment we get back we're going to get our pretty little Isobel on the case and she's going to crack down on this Nik character. Whatever happened to Caroline, it's safe to say she's not dead yet. There's too many loose ends and judging by what she's writing to Nik M, he's a cultured guy and he's got money. The man who took her isn't stupid if he's gone to these lengths to make it look like she's just left by herself, but evidently Barbie has a brain if she's left us an obscure ass movie-esque clue through the book. Point is," Damon folded the letter back, "the guy who took her is precise. He's a perfectionist. He wouldn't let anything escape his notice but he's also going to be a little too spot on. He'd torture Blondie gal sure, but he'd keep her alive. He's waiting for something."

"How do you know that?" Bonnie demands, eyebrow cocked. "I mean - "

"Cause of how cheap the plaster was." Jeremy reappears, ice on his head and eyes less glassy than they'd been previously. "This Caroline's a pretty open person and yes, Damon, I do know this from watching interviews of her but only - only! - because my sister makes me watch them with her after movie credits roll." little Gilbert's attempts at saving his dignity amuse Damon more than piss him off so he doesn't interrupt as he continues on.

"She doesn't try to hide much and is a generally happy person who was self admittedly neurotic when it came to organizing. If she was going to hide the letters, she wouldn't crack open her wall and leave behind plaster dust on her floor and desk. It's not in her profile to do so; she'd most likely tuck it away in a safe, one that'd look like a throwback in her room and would be small enough that it could appear to be a simple ornament."

And that's why I keep the dolt on the team, Damon remembers.

Bonnie accepts the explanation before Jeremy informs them that Alaric's calling and they need to regroup and debrief. The room will be sealed off and Caroline Forbes's past and files will be unlocked by tech whiz Meredith and the pieces will come together.

(So they hope)

Klaus Mikaelson doesn't do anything by halves. Nothing. He's abrasive by nature and domineering by nurture; the man is downright possessive of what is his and the truth that he is willing to do just about anything to obtain and keep what he wants is frightening in an awe inspiring way.

Nevertheless, when he learns that his girl with her golden hair and ebullient smile is fucking gone, Klaus goes berserk. He hires men to tail her friend, the mouthy brunette with the exotic eyes, and drags her kicking and screaming (literally) into his office where he tells her - in an utterly blood chilling cadence - that she will call the cops, tell them everything she knows, and then make herself so scarce that even the paparazzi won't be able to fucking find her. She's brave enough to give a snappy retort but not stupid enough to ask for more.

The man other associates call the Wolf in the realm of business and political scheming has a sharper mind than most men, but he's also hotblooded and downright cruel at times. Klaus hires private detectives to ensure that whatever clues the fanciful BAU miss, they will be sure to capture (on pain of torture). He rings up Luka Martin, the spy he'd placed in the bureau, it's time to pay his debts and that so help him, if he doesn't find Caroline, then it'd be his head that the FBI would be locating next.

Klaus Mikaelson is a feared man; the one whose face is known by all but its only the smart ones who know just how deep the terror of his handsome facade entails.

"A kind word and a gun, brother," Klaus would often say to Elijah, "that is how Capone did it and it worked out rather brilliantly for him. The man's name is remembered to this day." and all agrees - even Elijah - with that statement.

It's only a little blonde with a bit of a sass and whole lot of heart who dares to counteract.

"Capone also suffered from syphilitic dementia and was sentenced to eleven years at Alcatraz because he couldn't keep his tax papers on point," she returned without missing a beat. Her eyes were blue, her dress was white, and Klaus thought for sure she'd make the loveliest dead bride for all the world to see. "If you want your life to parallel his and your empire to crumble when you're 33 then yes, I guess his quote suits you just fine."

"Why all the fire love?" Klaus had returned amusedly, lips curling and eyes - whilst cold - suppressed a small beam of amusement.

(No one else dared interrupt)

She straightened her back and shrugged slightly. "Besides the fact that everyone's been walking on eggshells around you all day since your arrival in the city and I've been pretty much banned from every establishment I like to frequent because you're there? No reason!" she knew it was stupid to loathe him just because of who he is but hey, when Caroline was kicked out of Tiffany's because Media Mogul #1 decided he wanted some diamonds, well dammit, that was fucking ridiculous. What was Caroline - five foot six and about a hundred and ten pounds - going to do to him?

Talk him to death?

When Klaus had laughed and Caroline realized she'd blabbed all this out loud, she'd reddened slightly before sighing. "Sorry about that ramble." she apologized, "I didn't mean to get all bitchy about it. I get it, you're an important guy and I guess a little extra security never hurt anybody when they're in the position your in."

Maybe it was the apology, maybe it was the understanding she'd deciphered within the five minutes he'd kept quiet, or maybe it was the intellect that he saw beneath her lovely veneer. Whatever it was, Klaus realized she'd look much prettier with her rosy cheeks and lively voice than with cold veins and chalky skin.

"I understand your frustration all too well," he'd returned after a pause.

Her eyes had widened and Klaus saw that they were delphinium blue - the color of the Sun King's sky. "Really now?" she returned, cadence like a whip beating down on a rose bush. "You know what it's like to be a 19 year old actress who just wants to feel like Audrey Hepburn for a day?" the question was teasing, the tone was light, and Klaus felt something like mirth rush through his veins.

"Decidedly not," he admitted with a slight smile, "but I do understand being denied access to the one thing you want the most." the response was honest, more sincere an answer than anyone could ever hope to receive and he saw that she realized the significance when her lips curled in a slight smile.

"And what's that? A business merger not to your liking?"

"A dance with a beautiful woman with a sharp tongue and eyes like the fleur-de-lis."

It was romantic. It was charming. It was so utterly strange that Caroline hadn't know quite what to say, but that was all right because he'd plucked the champagne glass from her hand and led her onto the dance floor anyway.

"Alright, that was so not a yes from me." she'd protested but the beaming joy of being chosen by a man of his stature did not escape her (nor did the jealous glare from actresses A-list and beyond deter her glee).

Klaus remembered with clarity that he had smiled back at her, lips parting to reveal white teeth and hands tightening around her form. "You certainly didn't run away."

"That would be, sir, most unladylike."

"What was it that Plato once said? Human behavior flows from three sources: desire," he eyed her lips and watched her breath hitch, "emotion," he'd smirked a little and a breathless laugh escaped her own rosebud mouth, "and knowledge." she was a curious woman, Klaus could see, when she'd dared to probe further with a question he'd nonetheless deterred.

She had spirit.

"What do you think, love?" he'd asked, eyes sensuous.

"I think," Caroline responded, voice a little breathless, "that you're laying it on a little thick but pat on the back for you knowing Plato."

When Klaus threw his head back and laughed, genuinely and without barbarity, the room shivered but Caroline felt warm in her realization that he'd smiled because of her.

The proposal to correspond through letters was one Klaus suggested because he knew her secret love for black and white films and romance. What could be more romantic than to receive a love letter each week, sweetheart?

He'd done this because circumstance stood in the way of an actual relationship between the two and Klaus had loose ends he needed to tie up whilst Caroline had felt the need to prove herself to the world before beginning a public relationship with him.

There'd been no objections to the amorous correspondence that had become Klaus's light beam and Caroline's encouragement.

But then Caroline had missed a letter - and then two - and when a secret sweep of her apartment told him everything he needed to know, Klaus raged.

His girl was gone, he didn't have a lead, and worst of all, Stefan's impulsive alcoholic of a brother was the lead investigator on her case.

Bloody brillant.

A/N: An idea that's been dancing in my head for a while now. I've already started writing chapter two because I really want to have at least ONE finished multichapter fic done in 2015.

This fic relies a lot on flashbacks, obscure clues, and profiling a la BAU style. It's also darker than any other story I've ever written and I kinda like it. People will die, Damon will drink, and Klaus will rage.

Share the story to share the Klaroline love, please. Repost wherever if you like it!