Author's Note: I'd only intended for this to be a one-shot, but some of my readers suggested that I continue it (i.e. write a sequel). The favorites/reviews/follows here and on Tumblr have been wonderful and I came up with an idea of how to make this a two-shot while taking a break from my longer Klaroline fic.

Anyway, thank you all for your interest and commentary. Enjoy! :)

The same damn car had been making the same blasted noise outside his window for the past fifteen minutes. Honk, honk! Honk, HONK!

The beeping - which was persistent and obstinate - had roused him from a particularly delectable dream where he'd gotten to bask in the submission of his enemies, dehydrating their veins until they withered like prunes at his feet and he could mount their disloyal heads on the wall of victory. He was free from opposition, free from antagonism. Klaus the King.

Bow down, peasants. Bow down.

The only thing missing was…

Honk, HONK!

Klaus groaned. With a pillow pressed over his ears, he rolled over to check the clock. It was 4 AM. What respectable person honked like a raving, impatient lunatic while people were trying to sleep?

Honk, honk, honk!

A menacing growl escaped his chest. Someone who wanted to die, that's who.

Jumping out of bed, Klaus pulled on a pair of jeans, a green shirt, and brown shoes before he leapt from his balcony onto the street below. He hit the cobblestone pavement with the agility of a wolf. Crouched. Weight on his toes. Not a sound.

Eyes closed, nose tilted in the air, he breathed in an intoxicating vanilla scent. Lovely. Just around the next corner, too. Time for a snack.

Klaus hesitated at the edge of the building, prowling in the obscurity of the alleyway. A sly smirk lifted the corners of his mouth because he lived for this bit. The chase. This was the part of the hunt he liked best.

Peering around the bend, he snuck a peek at his unsuspecting prey. Legs. That's all he saw—legs. Long ones.

They were bent over the backseat of a silver Prius, a baby blue dress chafing the exposed skin of her thighs as the chill of the morning erected goosebumps on her pale, silky flesh. He licked his lips, a voracious hunger thumping through him like a jazzy bass - such an encouraging melody - as he salivated in anticipation of the taste of his victim's sweet, honey blood. He fantasized about it dribbling across his lips. Along his tongue. Down his throat.

Her left hand, delicate yet determined, pressed against the middle of the steering wheel in a relentless rhythm. Her palm tap, tap, tapped. It reminded him of a heartbeat.

Delicious.

Dropping his fangs, Klaus retreated from the shadows and pounced onto the hood of her car like a jungle cat. The vehicle jostled under the force of his weight, halting the girl's backseat rifling. Irritation filled her lungs and robbed her voice of coherency. She yelled, she cursed, she smacked her head against the roof.

Klaus chuckled to himself, delighted. Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

The girl stepped backwards and her left foot searched for the sturdy support of the road. The movement seemed awkward, but not hurried. Not frightened. She perceived no danger, no threat. Not yet.

He delayed—patient for the moment her shoulders exited the door to reveal a head of loose waves, a glowing blonde halo of hair, just like…but it wasn't. It was just another trick of the light. Just one more fruitless wish he must swallow down like bile.

Klaus slithered behind her like a cobra. In seconds, with her body pressed flush against his chest, one hand gripping her by the waist while the other brushed hair from her neck with gentle caresses, he surrendered to the fragrant potency of her blood. Lowering his quivering mouth, he puckered his lips. Prepared for a nice long drink.

He'll huff and he'll puff and he'll…

Two hands clamped around his wrist, her hands, bruising the one that was draped around her neck. Strong hands, they were. Resistance drummed in her fingers. Hostility cracked in her knuckles. It seemed she wouldn't make this easy. He would be disappointed if she did.

Grinning, he tugged the girl tighter. Closer. She smelled lovelier up close and he couldn't wait to take a lick, a nice long—

Suddenly all Klaus saw were lights, a whir of color, and sky. Black sky. All he felt was air. That is, until his ribs crashed against the street and shot heat splinters into his lungs.

A foot rested on his stomach—her foot, the girl's. It squashed him to the ground like a push pin and made it difficult to breathe. Who was this tempestuous little thing?

"That was rude! I hope you don't treat all of your guests that way," she sneered down at him, hands on her hips. He looked up.

"Caroline?"

So much for oxygen. The sight of Caroline's radiance hovering above him, haughty and patronizing though she was, blazed his heart, leaving him breathless. Was he dreaming? If so, he hoped that no one pinched him awake. Nope. Never.

Irritated, she brooded over her scuffed boots. "And yet you wonder why no one bothers to visit."

Klaus positioned himself onto his elbows.

"My apologies, love. Had I known it was you, I would've been more courteous. Asked before I took a bite, that sort of thing," he said as he regained his feet.

Turning, Caroline huffed as she removed a pink handbag from the driver's seat and slung it over her left shoulder, closing the door behind her. She clicked power lock before shoving the keys inside of it and maneuvering to the sidewalk.

Klaus followed her. A jounce characterized his step as he assumed a place beside her, his arms tucked behind his back. Laidback, carefree, there was no need to rush.

They soon strolled away. No plans. No direction. It was the perfect excuse to lose themselves in the splendor of the city…and in each other.

At least, Klaus was lost in her. But wasn't he always?

It was her cheerful beauty, the way a smile painted rosiness into those apple cheeks and sent rainbow chills down his spine. There was something about how her blue eyes scrutinized the tainted windows of his soul, clearing through them like they were constructed of glass. There was her sassy tongue, too. How she punctured him with the kind of compassionate honesty that made him tremble with a fury that all too quickly evaporated, filling him with a feverish passion that never abated instead.

It was the force of her heart most of all. Open—wide open and merciful, her heart was. It ensnared him. It compelled him to his knees, begging, beseeching, that he be allowed to cherish just one small fraction of it. He didn't care how long he needed to wait, or how little his allotment was bound to be, for he'd revere it regardless. He'd bestow her with all the devotion a girl like her deserved.

"You know, for a paranoid freak you sure sleep like a baby," Caroline said as they passed the Old Opera House. "I played New Orleans a lullaby and a half of honks before your snoring ass rolled out of bed."

"What makes you think I snore? To know something like that suggests…what?" He bumped against her shoulder. "What word am I looking for here?"

"I don't know. Ears maybe?"

"No," he smirked. "I'm afraid that's not it."

Stopping in front of a quaint French café, she rolled her eyes, muttering, "Well, you'd certainly have to be deaf or earless not to hear it."

Klaus held out a chair at one of the outdoor tables, indicating that she sit down first.

"Intimacy! Ah, yes," he said as he pushed her under the table, "that's the word I wanted. Knowing I snore suggests a certain…" he took the chair opposite her, pausing to wag an eyebrow suggestively, "intimacy between us. Wouldn't you agree?"

While he knew this probably wasn't the best time to rib her about their history - recently flipped humanity switch, dead mother and all - Klaus found the opportunity impossible to resist. Why? He was greedy and selfish. He loved watching Caroline squirm, visibly conflicted about her feelings for him.

Was it so wrong for him to crave another moment of her light? To want simply one more day where she refused to cover their connection with hostility and revulsion? Probably. Would he do it anyway? Hell yes.

Caroline fidgeted in her seat, blushing.

"Poor Rebekah," she recovered with a smile. "I'm surprised she survived so many centuries without earplugs."

Klaus shrugged. "Modern technologies have done little to improve her sleeping habits."

"Meaning?"

"She curls herself tight—into a ball," he demonstrated by lifting his knees to his chest, "and then claps her hands over either ear to block out the howls of the night."

Caroline struggled to repress a snort. "Please tell me you're joking."

"It's true." Klaus thawed temporarily as he thought about his sister. He became distant, reflective, his mind flicking through a tome of memories. "She's slept that way since we were children."

Darkness had given way to sunrise.

New Orleans began to awaken from its nightly hum. The sidewalks were populating with the smell of delicious cuisine and the sound of tuning guitars, the taste of mimosas, and the crowded decadence of artists, tourists, and locals. Animated and active, the city never rested. And neither did their conversation.

Golden flecks of sunshine streamed across Caroline's face as she laughed, as she volleyed another quip across the table because he was incorrigible and it was silly to pretend otherwise. She shone with a lightheartedness that only a new morning could bring. The cajun spices in the air were rivaled only by the zest of her personality, of the enthusiasm she wore always. Everywhere. No matter the time of day.

It was lovely to watch her catalogue her surroundings with such acuity. Mesmerizing, truth be told. Klaus couldn't look away for fear of missing anything. There was that tactile way in which she absorbed the city's antiquity as well as its newness, one foot balanced between the two, her pupils blown wide with wonder. Her exchanges with strangers were no less vivacious either. Though far more genuine and sweet than he had any right to expect. Just how she interacted with their waiter alone, delving into small talk that grazed the line between casual and personal, adding a follow-up remark or two, a "thank you" anytime he brought or cleared her food, and a smile that was so far from fake, that he believed she could endear herself to almost anyone.

She seemed alive here. Unharried. Autonomous in a way that seemed to free her up to exploring fastidious possibilities. The kind she'd never given herself leave to imagine, at least not prior to her mother's death. She was an adventuress with time in her back pocket, a grifter of hearts who was worthy of a partner, or perhaps all of that was an illusion Klaus had invented because he wanted it to be a reality, and hoped it would be so desperately?

Leaning forward, he gestured around the café flippantly and said, "So tell me what brought you here, love. Today of all days?"

It was a loaded question, sure, but one that required an answer.

"Beignets." Shrugging, though probably not as nonchalantly as she'd hoped, Caroline took a sip of her French vanilla latte. "I was hungry for them. New Orleans is famous for its fried delicacies, or so I've heard." She looked up at him from beneath coy eyelashes. Held his gaze. "Not to sound presumptuous, but can you think of a better place to satiate such a craving?"

"There isn't one."

"Then there's your answer. Oui?"

He could live with that for now.

"Oui," Klaus relented, dimpling slightly.

xx

They spent the rest of the day together. Chatting, teasing, exploring.

Content to tag along, he let her wander; she stopped to marvel wherever she wanted. She led. He was more than happy to follow.

For instance, they ambled along the riverwalk until Caroline demanded they stop to dip their toes in the Gulf. It was only after he'd called her idea asinine, pointing out how sand had a nasty habit of sneaking under socks without him having to remove his bloody shoes as it was, so no, there'd be no toe-dipping from him this century, that she'd responded by tackling him backwards into the water. Soaking them both in ocean and grit. Her arms were like iron around his middle so he couldn't find his bearings before she dunked him again, triumphant, and still giggling.

The playfulness of it had caught him off guard. So much so Klaus did something spontaneous: he knocked her feet out from under her then swooped her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest a moment to savor it before trudging from the water, his nostrils full of salt, clothes stuck to flesh, to deliver payback. Hauling her over his right shoulder, he carried her that way through town - despite her drumbeat protests against his back and arse - for two full blocks. At human pace.

Afterwards, they called a truce and Klaus compelled them fresh clothes from a high end shop his family frequented.

Caroline tugged him through the French Market next. Dragged, more like.

He waited, impatiently he might add, for her to procure souvenirs for her Mystic Falls friends. (Not that the fools deserved them, in his opinion.) Tolerating her indecision well enough, he remarked only once that she bloody choose already; that is, until she droned on and on about a hand-crafted drum some guy Enzo might like.

That was when his jealousy spiked. His thoughts started busting apart at the seams.

Who the hell was this guy, this Enzo? A friend? A lover? Some hapless human she pitied but someone who didn't register much in the eclogues of eternity? Too many horrible possibilities. Must she torture him with such vagueness?

Klaus never did figure it out his significance. It was liable to drive a man crazy!

The weather was mild, though, and the city thriving so they kept outdoors. They nibbled exquisite food, the more exotic the better. They drank one too many bottles of wine, snuck a nip of a Hurricane from a passing tourist. They caught beads in a Bourbon Street parade, swayed to melancholy jazz at a bar with peeling deck paint, argued over architectural preferences, and visited some of his old haunts from the 19th century.

Art colored the world around them in blessed cacophony. Meanwhile the pulse of the city and all its history revealed itself cobblestone by cobblestone. The echo of their treading footsteps, all those questions that were still left ahead of them, would fold into the streets like a treble clef to preserve their memory. Time would pass as it always did but the pitch of the day would remain the same. It'd gone from surprising to serious, from welcome to wandering, and from playful to perfect in matter of only a few short hours.

It was a good day, in other words. A full day. For Klaus, though, it ended too soon.

Thick strokes of pink, plum, and orange had melted into a lip across the western skyline by the time they'd arrived back where they'd started: beneath a streetlight in the French Quarter. Caroline leaned against the driver seat door, yawning. After a final stretch of arms over her head, she unzipped her handbag to fish out her keys, rubbing at her eyes.

The sight of that Life's short, talk fast lanyard wrapped around her fingers made Klaus's heart lurch. He frowned.

Though he knew better, though he'd expected this, disappointment still gripped at him enough to make his next attempt at impassiveness ring false. Hollow. Could he be any more of a pathetic wretch?

"So," he said with forced cheerfulness and a grin blunter than a butter knife. "To where are you thinking of traveling next, sweetheart? Do send a postcard for I must admit I miss that trend."

"Cute."

"Surprised, are we?"

"Not really. Just good to know."

He didn't know what to make of that. "Will the miles be long or short between us then?"

"Short. Much shorter than they probably should be," she said.

Though he swallowed a bitter lump in his throat and nodded in acquiescence at that, looking away from her face, he could feel Caroline considering him with a cock of her head. The intensity of that look burned straight through to his entrails. It froze him there before her, trapped in a web of agony he couldn't escape.

Pretending to assess the sign across the street, he pinched the bridge of his nose and braced for the scissor kick to the kidney, the sucker punch to the throat, the white oak stake that'd finish him. He prepared himself for the goodbye he wasn't ready to hear her say. Already he felt it curling and pooling around his ankles like quicksand.

"Klaus?" she said.

"Mmm?"

"You do realize the car is in park, right?"

His left eyebrow lifted as he turned, gaping, "What?"

"The car—" Caroline patted the windshield, tapped her fingers along the drivers' side mirror "—is still—" that's when hope started galloping like a cheetah in chest "—in park."

So it was.

Sauntering over to him then, her eyes aglow with purpose and perhaps a hint of flirtation, she reached for his left wrist before gently tracing a line across his knuckles with her thumb. She let her touch linger for a moment, feather light and teasing. Next she flipped his hand so it was palm side up. In it, she dropped her car keys.

"I don't need to drive anywhere. See?" she said as the metal bit between their clasped hands, which she swung like a pendulum until they flashed to his front door. "I've arrived."

Comments are wonderful and thank you so much for reading. xx