"You're the only girl I've seen for a long time that actually did look like something blooming." - F. Scott Fitzgerald Tender Is The Night

FEBRUARY 2, 2011

The telephone rang. It'd been ringing persistently for the past thirty minutes, nearly driving Caroline to the brink of insanity listening to it. Gritting her teeth, she stomped her way over to the stupid house phone and all but yanked the receiver off, the roughness of her movements causing a pile of magazines to topple over.

"It's 10 AM in the morning and you've been calling my phone since 9:30. What do you want?" Caroline snapped. She was in a terrible mood.

Tyler had been a complete ass last night, joking about spending Valentine's Day with "two of his girls" right next to a Star Magazine reporter! Caroline's excuse had been flimsy at best and now all the world was questioning the validity of their relationship, with Carol Lockwood blaming the whole incident on Caroline.

Typical.

"Good morning to you as well, love." Klaus's silky smooth British accent intoned brightly, almost amused by her irritation. "And here I thought you weren't going to pick up."

"What choice did I have? It was either break my phone or - you know what? Why are you even calling me?" she crossed her arms.

He chuckled. "Don't sound so offended sweetheart, this is a mere congratulatory call. I heard Oscar made you the new face of his spring campaign."

She really hated whoever gathered information for him. Caroline's vanity - having never been tamed in her youth - preened at Klaus's praise. After all, it was Oscar.

Forcing back a smile, Caroline nodded before realizing she was on the phone. "Oh, well thanks." she returned awkwardly. "I totally freaked out when I got the call. My poor agent's probably half deaf from how loud I shrieked but it's not everyday Oscar de la Renta gives you a house call, you know?"

"Your agent and I share that trait. Partial deafness."

"What are you talking about? Don't tell me - you're not only like Capone in brilliance but Beethoven in resourcefulness, am I right? Or were you going for the male Helen Keller allusion?"

"Oh, I'm more of a martyr, really. I sacrificed my sanity when I informed Rebekah of Mr. de la Renta's choice of model - you should have seen the fit she threw, love - literally. She hurled a staple gun at me."

Caroline couldn't help it. A small burst of laughter escaped her lips as she shook her head, golden curls lightly bouncing down her back. "And did this 'Rebekah' have exceptionally good aim? Or am I talking to a decapitated man right now?" she gasped in faux shock. "If I am then I need to call E! immediately. This reality show would top the Kardashian's two to one."

He smirked. "Alas, love, my sister was never made for pitching. But," he reassured, "she did a spectacular job destroying the west wing windows and a genuine Bazille."

"Well, you know what they say."

"The brattiness of a younger sibling will one day warrant an order of exile?"

"No!" Caroline struggled to maintain the firmness of her voice. "I meant c'est la vie."

Klaus scoffed. "We're Mikaelson's, love. Micromanaging is in our nature."

"How did you get through the college experience? I'm guessing all your classmates had to sign some sort of confidentiality/avoid-the-Mikaelson's-at-all-costs form?"

"Now don't be ridiculous, sweetheart." he teased. "I had a private suite. And only half the campus had to undergo such a tedium."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, well how silly of me to think otherwise."

"Apology accepted."

"That wasn't an apology, Klaus."

"Your sorrowful tone and repentant heart more than make up for it."

"You know who you sound like right now?"

He chuckled. "I'm waiting in anticipation, love."

"You sound like that pope. The corrupt Italian one."

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific, love. Considering the number of popes that have come by, the adjectives you'll need to use will have to be a more constraining."

She huffed in annoyance. "You know - that old one!" she heard Klaus chuckle. "I'm serious! The one who lived in the 15th century! They made a TV show about him!" she frowned. "Borgia! That was it! You sound like Rodrigo Borgia!"

"I'm honored you think my family deserves such a place of infamy." he feigned modesty.

Caroline couldn't help but shake her head, smile still in place. "Give me a list of the people you've bribed and I'll consider making you a plaque."

"Now you're just asking for confidential information to sell to the bureau, aren't you?"

She gave a dramatic sigh. "Yes! Yup, you've caught me. I'm a secret agent. I work for an illegal underground organization in Russia. I'm sleeping with Captain America."

He scoffed. "Oh please, love - don't make up such lies. That red, white, and blue color palette would hardly be the companion you deserve. All that talk on honor would drive you mad within a fortnight."

"Out of all the things I've said, that's what you capitalize on?"

"What can I say? I'm a man of priority. Speaking of which, it's near 11."

Caroline glanced at her clock, surprised by how quickly the hour had gone by. "Oh, shit. It is." Caroline felt a little reluctant to hang up but held her tongue.

He didn't have to know that and she certainly wasn't about to admit it to herself either.

Just as she was about to think of some way to say goodbye that didn't end in her sounding like a petulant schoolgirl, Klaus's rich cadence reverberated through once more.

"In lieu of the circumstances this morning, I must apologize for the persistent calls that have gone through to you. Nonetheless, such a problem could have been avoided if you'd only picked up the phone sooner -

Her jaw dropped.

"Excuse me?!"

" - thus, allow me to reimburse you for your extensive patience by taking you out to brunch this morning. The Waldorf Astoria, perhaps?"

She could hear the smirk in his voice.

That narcissistic ass.

"You're unbelievable." the indignant tone Caroline had been going for was undermined by the growling of her stomach, causing her to bite down on her lower lip and pray Klaus didn't hear. "Your offer's nice but I've got to get going - "

"Oh I don't think that will be necessary, love. I'll have a driver pick you up in half an hour."

"Didn't you hear what I said? I'm not going to brunch with you!"

"Perfectly, love. Which is why the car will take half an hour to arrive. By then it'll be noon and you'll be joining me for lunch."

Caroline couldn't believe the depth of his arrogance but her heart - the traitorous thing - couldn't help but flutter. Here he was, an international businessman and mogul, going out of his way to find her number, call her, and take her out to eat. Caroline had always adored the company of those who could make her smile and so far, Klaus had proved a serious contender in that field.

Oh, why the fuck not?

She sighed. "Fine."

"Wonderful - "

"But make it an hour. I have to shower, get dressed - "

"I would be more than willing to come by myself and help you with those difficulties." he interrupted, voice pious and perfectly innocent.

Caroline wanted to hit him with a tennis racket (and then kiss him breathless).

"Goodbye, Klaus."

"I'll see you by the hour, love."

Click.

Caroline picked up her cellphone. "Hey Kat, it's me, Caroline. Listen, I need to borrow a dress…"

He took her to Masa, the highly exclusive Japanese restaurant in the Time Warner Center on Columbus Circle. After about an hour's worth of fussing with Katherine, Caroline felt ready to meet her maker in a short white and pale pink floral summer dress, belted at the waist with a thin gold Gucci chain. She had cherry red stiletto sandals on her feet and carried a white silk clutch; her golden curls framed her face in perfect windblown form while two diamond drops rested on her ears.

A maitre d (or as Klaus so aptly corrected "a maître d'hôtel, love") with a polished French handlebar mustache led them to a table near the wide bay windows. He then gave a short bow to Caroline that caused Klaus to snap at him and send the poor man scampering off.

"You always so friendly around lunchtime?" Caroline had teased once they sat down, menus in both hands as she scanned the items.

He shrugged incorrigibly, the image of a careless debonair. But, then again, if a man looked as Klaus did then Caroline could understand the arrogance. Dressed in black trousers and a partially unbuttoned button up, Klaus looked positively sinful; it was just another reason to keep her head down, eyes trained on the menu.

"Only to those who bear a fake French accent." he smirked. "This is a Japanese restaurant, after all. He was just trying to impress you."

"Well color me annoyed." Caroline returned, studiously ignoring Klaus's brightened smile before glancing around the spacious outlet. "Does anyone even come here for lunch? It's nearly empty."

"Masa only sits 26 people, love." Klaus chuckled placing his menu down. "Chef Takayama prefers to define his food by refinement, not the populace who comes about."

"And by making it all the more exclusive, he doesn't need people trying to strong-arm their way in." she had to admit, there was a certain beauty in dining alone in an unshared venue.

Her dining companion smiled at her deduction, face at ease and a familiar smile on his lips. "Or he simply detested people."

"I wouldn't blame him." Caroline dropped her menu, frowning. "I honestly can't read half of this because it's in Japanese." she confessed, forcing her gaze to remain steady. "Do you know what's good here? And don't say everything because that's a smart ass answer and I'm starving."

In response, Klaus raised his hand and a sharp jawed, stern eyed Japanese waiter all but came flying over. They two men exchanged some words (Klaus in flawless Japanese) as Caroline watched, mesmerized. She had suspected that Klaus was multilingual but she never imagined him to be so good at it.

So maybe his arrogance had a deeper root than superficial looks.

Caroline bit back a smile when the waiter gave a bow towards Klaus, a keen look of respect on his otherwise stoic countenance. Turning back to face her, he didn't seem the least bit perturbed by what had just occurred.

"So." Caroline adjusted the hem of her dress. "You speak Japanese."

"It'd make all those long distance conference calls to Japan rather problematic if I couldn't."

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh. You're so perfect it's sickening."

"I believe the term you're looking for is endearing."

"You're too arrogant to be endearing."

"I think my charm will grow on you." he countered, "like the best things in life, I'm an acquired taste. Only the finest can find their appetites sated."

"Okay, you've just crossed the line from arrogant to bumptious."

He raised a brow, impressed. "And so she knows Catherine Gildiner."

"I read around." Caroline answered vaguely as she unravelled a pair of ebony chopsticks. "My mom was big on the 60's and 70's - I'm convinced she went to Woodstock and was part of the hippie movement but she denies it. Typical." she gave an exaggerated eye roll but the warmth of her tone was overpowering.

It made Klaus's own frozen heart stutter ever so briefly.

There were few women in this world who projected the same kind of genuine cheer as Caroline Forbes did; her sweetness of nature had long since been heightened by her shrewdness of perception, something only a lifetime of deceit could have instilled in her. It made him want to know her and for a man such as he, wanting and having were two words that had always been joined together.

He watched her sip at the green tea, blue eyes widening with pleasure at its taste before setting the teacup down, her lips soft and pink. "Have you ever been to Japan?" he kept his voice a low lull, the same tone that made supermodels swoon and European princess's blush.

Her only response was a bright smile, a faint dimple imprinting itself against her left cheek. "I've never been to Japan but I've consumed enough eastern cuisine to be considered an honorary Asian." her lighthearted tone only made Klaus's fascination grow; how could one woman be so worth so much and love so deeply? Was that not a paradox? A folly of man?

Those born into beauty could breed nothing but hate; it was Descartes life work that Caroline Forbes was now defying and Klaus wouldn't have it any other way.

He'd known her for all of three months and within that time span, found himself utterly consumed.

(PRESENT)

He awoke with a start, eyes adjusting to the darkness of his manor office. He was alone in Rhode Island, having landed hours prior. Caroline was still being held captive, locked away in Newport.

Silas's game.

Lifting his cheek, Klaus stared down at the haphazard sprawl of papers in front of him. He didn't want to make a plan, he didn't want to be rational - he wanted to walk into Silas Silvanus's foyer and shoot him point blank in the neck, watching the bullet bite through his esophagus, tearing flesh and cartilage; hear his strangled, gurgling cries as he choked on his own blood.

Klaus wanted Silas to burn in the ninth ring of hell while the devils did their dance.

He wanted to have Caroline back in his arms, wanted to hold her petite form and feel her lips press against his. He wanted to keep her safe from the world even if it meant her eternal ire.

All he wanted was her.

Their love was an imperfect dialect of passion and rebuke, ineffable in its tainted luminescence. Jagged edges roughened by her stubborn will and fractured fault lines made by his unrepentant nature; there was nothing he would not do to see her back to safety. After all, a lifetime of power had ensured that the safest place in the world would be in his arms.

Pushing against the dark frame of his desk, Klaus stood up, hands clasped behind his back. The crepuscular shadows of evening had darkened the sharp planes of his face; the thin slit of the moon cutting a silver wound above his right shoulder blade. Insofar, his mechanisms were coming together smoothly; the Gilbert girl would be brought to Newport kicking and screaming if necessary.

Two knocks on his sanctuary door interrupted his thoughts. A pale faced young man peeked inside.

"She's here, sir."

Klaus gave a sharp nod of approval. "Bring her in."

The ashen man disappeared behind the heavy mahogany doors for a few brief moments. Klaus took a sip of his whiskey.

"Let me go! Unhand me you insufferable boor! I'll have your head for this - don't you know who I am? I'm - "

Tatia Petrova was thrown into Klaus's study; her dark hair matted and clothes threadbare. She spat in the direction of the two bodyguards who had all but carried her there, glowering at them before standing upright.

"Tatia." the chill in Klaus's voice sank into her bones.

She tensed, slowly turning around with a look of suppressed terror on her face. "...Hello, Klaus."

His returning smile cut through flesh and seared into her arteries like a hot iron. "Take a seat. We have much to discuss."

Esther Faith Hospital was utterly decrepit. It was the only possible term Jeremy could think of to describe the crumbling manor house that served as one of the most discreet mental asylums on the east coast. Alaric had instructed Jeremy to bring Isobel with him but she'd never returned from visiting Kol and Jeremy was not about to call her in the middle of an interrogation.

The asylum director - the aged Mr. E.F. Morelli - had been blinded in one eye by a patient in '87 and walked with a cane due to an explosion in the kitchens. He'd been visiting one of the cooks to discuss the possibility of adding more vegetables to the inmates diet when the stove - an old fashioned burner from the 19th century - had imploded, sending bits of dancing flame and rusty garret everywhere.

Jeremy learned Mr. Morelli had tried to usher everyone outside but his own leg had been hit by a shard of glass; it'd only been the rush of adrenaline that had kept him moving. Truth be told, Jeremy had absolutely no idea why anyone would want to continue serving as director of such an asylum but Mr. Morelli liked his work and said things were quieter here than in the big state hospitals.

Probably because half the patients here are drugged up to their eyeballs, Jeremy mused as he followed Mr. Morelli in absolute silence. The old man didn't talk much after his third throat surgery in '91 and mostly communicated through letters since he detested the "strange madness" of computers. It seemed as if all of Esther Faith had been built to remain a relic of the past; the three floors of the asylum had no automatic locks but heavy black paddocks that could only be opened by a specialized key. Furthermore, the entire imprisonment was built of dark rosewood that appeared almost black by the gas lamplights that had been mounted onto the walls sometime in 1883.

1883.

It explained why the carpets were all carmine red and the ceilings painted with hauntingly frail pictures of Grecian "war stories". Men splattered with blood as roaring lions ate at their hearts; the rape of delicately painted women pinned to the ground. Black stallions running from moors with the bodies of decapitated generals mounted on top of them. Still, if anyone dared to question the macabre nature of the paintings, Mr. Morelli simply picked out the date they were painted ("1881, lass - can't you see? They're relics, not some frilly curtain to be replaced").

It gave the younger Gilbert a sense of unease as the ceiling paintings became more and more grotesque the further up they went. By the time he and Mr. Morelli had walked to the west wing of the third floor (no elevators allowed), Jeremy saw the painting of a snow skinned woman being stabbed to death by her jealous husband; the entire left side of her neck had been gnawed open and one breast hacked off.

How the hell were people supposed to recover seeing these images everyday? Hell, Jeremy himself was starting to feel a little woozy and he had undergone the rigorous psychoanalytical tests of the FBI! No wonder patients never left Esther Faith vertically.

Mr. Morelli barely seemed to notice Jeremy's discomfort, calmly leading the way further down the corridor with his thumping red cane.

"You know, I just need to see Tessa Qetsiyah's former cell." Jeremy finally breathed out, voice tight and hesitant as he struggled not to trip over Mr. Morelli's slight form. "I'll be in and out - "

"Hold your tongue, we're nearly there." the white haired director snapped, causing Jeremy's jaws to clamp down in silence.

This was really the most uncomfortable task Alaric had ever assigned him - and that was saying something.

"Alright, here we are." Mr. Morelli wheezed out, taking out a handkerchief to wipe his damp brow despite the freezing cold. Esther Faith had no central heating. "This was Miss Qetsiyah's room." he gestured and Jeremy was surprised to see that yes, it was actually a room.

Tentatively, he pushed open the heavy cherrywood door to find a spacious bedroom. There were three windows, two on the wall across the door and one on its adjacent left; the walls had been covered with a dark brown velvet, imprinted with gold thread and a large bed rested underneath the single windowed wall.

Jeremy walked in.

A walnut writing desk sat to the left of it, complete with stationary, quills, and ink; a walnut doored closet followed.

"Do all the inmates here write with quill and ink?" Jeremy inquired, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

Mr. Morelli shot him a withering glare. "Of course not. Miss Qetsiyah had requested the writing utensils personally. I couldn't deny her."

Jeremy frowned. "So you never moved her things out of this room?"

"Quite right," he nodded. "It isn't everyday Esther Faith sees such a talented young actress grace its halls. This room has been named the Tessa Chamber; no other patient has been in it since Miss Qetsiyah left." he made it sound as if were the most obvious answer in the world and Jeremy couldn't decide whether this was a joke or if he was serious.

He does realize Tessa Qetsiyah killed five women in ten months, doesn't he?

Nonetheless, he kept quiet as he searched through her desk, attempting to tug open a drawer.

He frowned.

"Mr. Morelli is there a key to this or…?"

"No." the old man looked blissfully unconcerned. "No key. It sometimes gets jammed."

"Right." Jeremy nodded, turning his attention back to the antique knob. There was a strong chance he could break it but the damn thing just wasn't sliding open. It almost felt as if someone had jammed it on pur - Jeremy whipped around, gaze dark. "Mr. Morelli, when Tessa escaped Esther Faith did you send a guard up here to do a sweep of her room?"

The bright red cane thumped against the carpeted floor, landing with a heavy thud as Mr. Morelli snorted. "Of course not! Such an invasion of privacy ought to be denounced! The police assured us they would return Miss Qetsiyah back here and we trusted their word."

"Mr. Morelli…" Jeremy frowned, "it's been more than four years. I - did you ever consider the possibility that Tessa could have left some information behind? In this very room?"

Mr. Morelli gave him a blank stare. "Now why would she do that?"

By the time Jeremy had managed to take out all the drawers of Tessa Qetsiyah's desk and open every door in the room, it was nearly 10 PM. Mr. Morelli had retreated to his office for a cup of tea and nearly all the orderlies, nurses, and doctors had returned home.

It was silent as a tomb.

Refiling through the various leaflets of paper, Jeremy found a few letters Tessa wrote to Silas that were little more than the crazed ramblings of a jilted lover. He found no evidence regarding Caroline though there were several letters that condemned Klaus as "the vilest pig who ever lived" with several others spewing hatred towards his siblings. If Jeremy hadn't known better, he would have diagnosed Tessa Qetsiyah as a spiteful bitch rather than mentally unstable.

Taking a deep breath, Jeremy crossed the room to open a window; all of Tessa's things carried the heady scent of spiced oranges and cinnamon which, after a while, became cloyingly sweet and retching. With a grunt, Jeremy managed to force the two windows open, noting with some irritation that the hinges were rusted, jammed with what looked like pieces of…nail?

Human nail.

Jeremy frowned. Reaching forward with a tweezer, he managed to loosen the rusted edges of the windowsill enough for two items to fall forward. One was a large speck of rust accompanied by a chipped fingernail; the other was a piece of wilted paper.

- and I'll kill every Petrova so they can't bring you any more hurt, my love. I'll kill, kill, kill them. And then I'll kill that awful Klaus and we can be happy again -

Jeremy grimaced.

Tessa Qetsiyah had attempted to claw her way out of the asylum walls.

Caroline awoke to Lexi's persistent - and frenzied - hisses, her hands clutching at what Caroline could only presume was a cellphone.

"Lexi? What are you - "

"Shh! No time! This phone is a disposable but you have to be quiet, do you understand?"

"Disposable? You mean…" Caroline could hardly force the words from her lips, her eyes were prickling and her heart - having been still for so long - began to race. "Lexi…"

"Klaus is on the other line. You have fifteen minutes before the next inspection begins. I'll keep watch." she pressed the phone into Caroline's cold hands before sprinting off to the other side of the cell, leaning against the bars.

Shakily, Caroline managed to sit up; her stitches were healing nicely and Lexi had all but force fed her a thin, pasty broth that was now known as 'dinner'. Pressing the phone against her ear, Caroline fought back her tears. "Nik?" she whispered, her voice felt like wet paper, ready to crumble at any moment.

"Sweetheart." Klaus's silky smooth voice slid through the other line, the tender caress finally piercing through the last of Caroline's defenses.

A hot tear slid down her cheek but she quickly brushed it aside. There would be no tears, not after finally hearing Nik's voice after so, so long.

"Oh god, Nik - I…I don't know what happened. One minute Shay was with me and the next I'm waking up in a cell and I - "

"Shh, Caroline - love. I know." Klaus's voice sounded like a tightly wound spring, as if one whisper of the breath could send him into recoil. "I'm so sorry, love. This was my fault. All of it. The man whose imprisoned you, sweetheart - his name is Silas Silvanus."

"Your business rival." Caroline finished. "That asshole who looks like a dog just crapped on his shoe every time he enters a room." she tried to inject what humor she could into the situation; it wasn't Klaus's fault that everyone on Wall Street was fucked in the head and she was not about to let her magnificently broody boyfriend go into one of his moods.

Not now.

"Don't blame yourself Nik. Don't…I just want to hear your voice. Please. Tell me something - anything. I don't want to talk about this."

"Caroline - "

"I know you have some ingenious master plan. Tell me about it." she all but commanded. She needed to hear something joyful; needed to hear his voice break through this gloomy hell she'd been dropped into.

From the other end of the line, Klaus felt as if someone had carved his heart from his chest and stabbed at it with broken glass. Caroline sounded so frail, her voice so thin and fragile, nowhere near the buoyant laughs and cries he had come to associate her with. He bit down on his knuckle, wanting to do nothing more than to apologize, to tell her how much he loved her and that if she would only wait for a few moments, he would strip himself of all pride for the sake of her smile.

Forcing his screams back, Klaus swallowed. "Love, you're being kept in an underground encampment in Silas's Newport manor. The foundation of it won't be very strong since it's incomplete; construction never finished after Amara died." he clenched his hands, forcing his breathing to remain steady. "Tomorrow, at a quarter to twelve, you'll hear fighting and I want you to remain still. Don't move, don't try to run. Silas will be expecting it. Elijah will be at your behest ten minutes thereafter, he and three men will escort you from the premises. You will leave with Elijah in the BMW; he will personally escort you to my suite at the Four Seasons and from there, Caroline, I do not want want you to move." his voice was hard, uncompromising.

He would not allow Caroline to endanger herself thereafter.

"What will you be doing?"

"I'll be performing, love." his voice was cold. "Silas has a stay of execution."

A/N: A reunion on the horizon. A death to occur. Just not in that order.

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