A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to the Americans who decide to read this. I hope your day is full of turkey or ham or what have you.

I know this story won't be everyone's cup of tea, but I thought the plot fit these two well.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you like it!

But when I get home to you,

I find the things that you do,

Will make me feel all right

The Beatles | Hard Day's Night

I Need A Hero

"Hush little baby, don't say a word, mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird . . ." Caroline sang softly as the child she held in her arms, the child swaying with her body as she attempted to rock her to sleep, whimpered.

It was the tenth time Caroline, babysitter extraordinaire, had started the same lullaby. Usually children heard one or two lines of the classic song before their little eyelids started to droop, but Rebekah Mikaelson always had to be an exception to the rule. Something that did not sit well with the blond babysitter. At all.

At nineteen years of age, Caroline Forbes considered herself the baby whisperer. The literal, motherfucking babysitter. Not that she was a literal motherfucker. Her best guy friend, Tyler Lockwood, had once shown her a pornographic film in which a female babysitter began having sex with her charge's parents. While the baby was in the house asleep. . .

Let it be said that she grew uncomfortable now every time the parents of the children she was watching said they wanted a chat with her. Alone.

It was a Friday night, nearly ten o'clock. The sun had only just completed its descent behind the earth. The moon now hung gloriously in the sky, illuminating the large house. Caroline loved that about the summertime—she loved that the sky bled gold and pale blue far into the late evening hours. For someone who still suffered from a mild fear of the dark, summer was definitely her favourite season. She could look past the stuffy weather of Virginia in favour of the longer days.

The Mikaelson's were the wealthiest family in Caroline's small town of Mystic Falls. They owned the largest house, held the grandest parties, and were generally popular amongst the people. Caroline had her doubts about the heads of the household, Esther and Mikael. Something about them put Caroline off, like the way Mikael leered at her as if she were edible. Or the condescending tone Esther used when explaining how to make Rebekah's fancy, expensive formula, like Caroline hadn't been taking care of infants since she was twelve.

But it was money, and boy did the Mikaelson's pay her well for her troubles. Twenty-five dollars an hour. When she first responded to the e-mail sent by Esther's personal assistant a couple of months ago, she was, firstly, confused as to why the Mikaelson's would need her help (she was the poor daughter of the town's beloved sheriff who told Caroline stories about the darkness that was hiding behind the walled-in Mikaelson property), and secondly, she was unsure if she should take the job due to the sincerity in her mother's voice when she recounted those stories.

She responded with her apprehensiveness and Esther's PA shot back the twenty-five dollars an hour rate, and just like that Caroline had a summer job. Every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night, she was inside the Mikaelson's home taking care of their youngest child while Esther and Mikael charmed other entrepreneurs at parties all around Virginia. Occasionally, the couple spent the night, which meant Caroline would wake up the next day with a four-hundred dollar cheque in her back pocket. Not bad for a girl whose father told her she would never amount to anything. She had been working for the Mikaelson's for nearly two months and had already saved up close to 4,500 dollars. Add that to the five thousand already in her bank account, plus the cash from odd jobs around town if someone was in dire need for a babysitter at the last minute, Caroline had more than ten-thousand dollars to her name.

With two more months of vacation before UVA picked back up in late August, the understandable appeal of earning more and more money was the only thing keeping Caroline from crying as she rocked a screaming Rebekah Mikaelson, who was getting louder and louder as the minutes zipped by.

"Why won't you sleep?" she crooned, bringing a finger to the young child's face and stroking her nose. This was meant to relax the child, but, of course, Rebekah's cries only increased in volume and desperation.

Caroline sighed and tilted her head back. She had tried everything. Everything to get this small creature to sleep. Clearly, Rebekah was tired. She rubbed at her eyes, yawned—all the things a sleepy baby did. But she was fighting so hard to stay awake. All Caroline could do at this point was let her cry and hope the exertion wore her out enough to send her to sleep. Otherwise she would get a stern talking to from Esther, and she would rather avoid that at all costs.

With how deafening Rebekah's screeches were, it was a wonder Caroline could hear her own thoughts. Even more of a wonder how she could hear something crash to the floor downstairs and shatter, this noise followed by a shallow expletive. Rebekah's bedroom was directly above the kitchen. Inside that kitchen was a large window she wasn't sure she had remembered to lock after feeding Rebekah her dinner.

"Shit," Caroline wheezed, fear snaking its way through her bloodstream like poison. She frantically looked around the room for anything that even slightly resembled a weapon, but the only thing she saw was a gigantic white noise machine taller than the 5'7" Caroline.

Then she remembered her purse, inside of which was a bottle of mace her mother had given her at Christmas last year. Her body shaking, Caroline ignored Rebekah's screeches and placed the infant inside of her crib hurriedly, willing her to, for once in her short life, shut up so she could concentrate. Someone was breaking into the house, didn't she realise the significance and danger of the situation?

Skidding to the floor, Caroline grabbed her bag and emptied the contents onto the floor, her hands reaching into the pile of miscellaneous objects until she felt the bottle of mace between her trembling fingers. She gripped it tight and tried for the smallest moment to calm her erratic breathing. If she was to sneak up on the intruder, she had a feeling they would hear her before she managed to attack them. And that probably wouldn't end well for her.

With Rebekah's wails still echoing behind her, Caroline got to her feet and crept towards the door. She nudged it open. The hallway outside the bedroom was brightly lit, which seemed to only aggravate Rebekah even more. Slowly, Caroline tiptoed across the shiny (so shiny it was almost slippery) hardwood floor until she came to the staircase. She took the stairs one by one, body pressed against the bannister. Whomever it was that had decided to break in was still in the kitchen. Above Rebekah's screeches, Caroline heard the refrigerator door open. What kind of burglar helped themselves to a snack?

Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, her adrenaline had well and truly kicked in. She felt unstoppable, which she knew was an idiotic feeling because this person could have a gun on them and all she had was a bottle of mace she had never tried to use before. If she made it out of this, she was sure to sign up for some self defence classes.

Caroline stepped closer and closer to the kitchen, Rebekah's screams sounding further and further away. The body of the intruder was half inside the fridge when she crept through the doorway and into the kitchen. They were rummaging around. From the size of the shoes, and the style of the shoes, she figured it was a male. Looking down at the mace, Caroline checked it was unlocked and made sure the spray was facing in front of her.

She inhaled a rickety breath as the man came out from the fridge and shut the door. He turned his body towards Caroline.

"What the fuck!?" he bellowed in surprise. He jumped back, his arms flailing wildly.

His sudden outcry made Caroline squeal and shut her eyes. Out of its own volition, her hand came up and before she knew what she was doing, she pressed down on the mace, releasing a burning shot of pepper spray through the can and in the intruder's direction.

"What the fuck!?" he shouted again, sounding as though he was in pain.

Caroline opened her eyes, watching as the man clamped a hand over his face. As she stared at him writhing, the residual dust from the mace hit her, causing her eyes to sting so badly she had to shut them again.

"Oh, God," she cried, dropping the can of pepper spray to the floor. "I can't see anything!"

"What the fuck did you pepper spray me for?" the intruder begged. If Caroline wasn't mistaken, he sounded as though he had an English accent.

"What?" Caroline said in disbelief, uncontrollable tears streaming down her face. "You're the one breaking in! I have every right to mace you."

Blindly, Caroline reached out a hand in search of the sink.

"Get your hands off me!" the man demanded.

"Sorry," Caroline apologised, letting go of his arm. "Wait, no I'm not," she corrected, "what are you doing here?"

"Sweetheart, I'm not breaking in," he said, gagging.

"What? Then why'd you, oh, I don't know, break in?" she implored, words dripping with sarcasm. This had to be the weirdest burglary attempt ever. The confrontation was not going how she imagined at all. "You came in through the window."

Caroline heard a strangled laugh, then the sound of water running from a tap. He had found the sink.

"Yeah," he said, voice muffled by the stream of water, "I lost my keys and we don't keep a spare around. The kitchen window was the only one that wasn't locked."

A realisation the force of a train slammed into Caroline. This was no burglar. It was Klaus Mikaelson.

. . .

The Mikaelson's had two children, Niklaus and Rebekah. Rebekah, born in Esther Mikaelson's fortieth year, was either a miracle or an accident. Niklaus, a bastard whose father was Esther's imprisoned ex, was most certainly an accident, born when Esther was only 17.

Though he was three years older, a senior when she had been a freshman at Mystic Falls High, she remembered him well enough. He was dangerous. Dressed in all black, topped off with leather jackets and biker boots. All of the girls, and some of the guys, wanted him. And if they weren't begging him to take them, they were begging to become him. Personally, she had never seen the appeal. He was a rebellious ass who rebelled only because he disliked Mikael and felt nobody understood him and his fragile ego.

He had never fooled her. He only wanted attention, and she was not going to give it to him.

Following graduation, he left town for she believed Louisiana where he opened an art studio. Gossip would have her believe the business was going well. His artwork would pop up on auction websites, their prices rising with every second. Which begged the question, what the hell was doing there?

With Rebekah still whimpering upstairs, Caroline and Klaus continued trying to remove the mace residue from their eyes. It took some time, but eventually she was able to open her eyes without it feeling as if someone had set them on fire. Klaus was not so fortunate. He was still partially blind and it was difficult for him to talk. Even though she disliked the guy, it was hard not to feel incredibly guilty for pepper spraying him in his own home.

"I'm sorry," she said for the sixteenth time as he retched while chugging a glass of milk.

"Your apologising is officially more painful than the mace," he deadpanned, frowning at the bottle of milk he'd just downed. He lifted it for Caroline to see. "This isn't even milk. It's not got any dairy."

Caroline squinted, the small words on the glass bottle difficult to read. Sure enough, it was dairy-free.

"I swear, my mum's gone mad. The money has finally gone to her head," he commented, bewildered.

In the distance, Rebekah could be heard sobbing away in her crib. Instinct kicked in and Caroline turned towards the sound.

"I've got to get her to sleep," Caroline said, looking at the oven's clock. It was nearly 11:00. She had only two more hours to knock Rebekah out before Esther and Mikael returned home.

Klaus put the not-milk bottle down. "I'll help," he offered.

"Um, no," Caroline said. "It's my job, and I am going to do it."

"Caroline. She's my sister," Klaus challenged.

Caroline didn't like it—she was the babysitter, the baby whisperer, it was her job to take care of Rebekah—but Rebekah Mikaelson was the most difficult child she had ever had to deal with. And tonight, she was being particularly awful. Though it pained her and her pride immensely, Caroline sighed and looked up at Klaus, noticing the eldest Mikaelson was in dire need of a good shave.

"Fine," she said bitterly. "Do you want me to grab her, or will you put her to sleep upstairs?"

Klaus didn't answer her question. He just laughed and stared at her with a hint of bewilderment glinting in his stupidly pretty, red-rimmed blue eyes.

"What?" she asked, feeling suddenly exposed. She hated when people laughed at her out of context. It was extremely unnerving.

Shaking his head, Klaus rubbed his jaw and let slip a hint of a smirk. She had heard rumours about that smirk. Apparently it made even teachers swoon. "How long have you been trying to put her down?"

Caroline didn't want to answer. It had been a long time. She wasn't even sure. The minutes all seemed to blend together. "I don't know. Why?" she asked defensively. She didn't want Klaus thinking she couldn't handle his little sister. Even if she most certainly could not.

"Because I know how difficult she is to deal with. I'm the only one who can actually get her to sleep with no issue," he mentioned casually.

Caroline kinked an eyebrow in disbelief. "Really? Not even your mom can put her to sleep?"

"Not well," Klaus said. "She's never been terribly maternal."

"And your dad?"

"He's not my father," Klaus gritted harshly, his face tinged a dark pink. "But no, not him either. I'm not sure he's ever held her, to be honest," he added through clenched teeth.

A silence stretched over the two of them. Caroline inexplicably felt for the man standing in front of her. He must be so lonely.

Rebekah's screams continued, and Klaus quietly crept past Caroline and headed upstairs. While she waited, Caroline began cleaning the mess Klaus had made when he came in through the window. He'd broken a vase, sending shards of expensive glass across the floor. Beneath the sink, Caroline found a hand-held hoover and a broom with a retractable handle and quickly got to work.

As she swept and hoovered, Rebekah's cries grew softer and softer until the only noise Caroline could hear was the slivers of glass clinking together as she cleared them away. Moments later, Klaus returned to the kitchen, a satisfied, gloating smile denting his cheeks.

"Congratulations," Caroline said drily. "I'll be sure to pay you for your services."

Unexpectedly, Klaus grabbed the small hoover and gathered up the small pile of glass she had made. "Save your money," he said, righting himself and switching the hoover off. "I'm sure you have more need for it than me."

Staring up at the enigma that had interrupted her evening, that pressing question from before popped into Caroline's mind. "Hey," she said in a confrontational tone that was enough to swipe that smirk from his face. "What are you doing here, exactly?"

"What do you mean?" Klaus countered. He placed the hoover down, folding his arms and cocking his head partially to one side. He was acting very defensive.

Caroline huffed and rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. As if her question wasn't fairly self-explanatory. "I mean, last I heard you were off in, what, Louisiana? Chicago? Somewhere not very close by. You opened an art studio. You're doing well for yourself. What's got you sneaking into your parent's mansion at ten o'clock at night in the middle of summer?"

This sparked a flicker of painful recognition in his broken eyes. He found something on the floor to stare at. Veins ballooned against his skin as he clenched his muscles. She had most definitely just crossed a line. Damn it. She was always doing that. Why were people so much more damaged than they appeared? If they weren't, she would cross blurred lines a lot less frequently.

"Sorry," she murmured into the tense air. "I didn't mean to intrude."

Klaus shook his head, jaw clenched. "No, no, you have a right to ask why I broke into my own home. It frightened you enough to spray me with mace, so I probably do owe you some form of explanation."

"No, really, you don't," she hurried. Putting people out of place was not her goal, yet she always managed to do it. "I was just curious."

And curiosity, however cliched the notion, killed the freaking cat.

Klaus laughed a little, but it was humourless and sounded almost pained. They should just crown her queen of putting her foot in her mouth. A title she would carry for the rest of her life.

"I was kicked out," Klaus said, soft. He was leaning against the stove, arms still crossed, eyes still watching the unchanging floorboards. Caroline opened her ears. "Of here," he clarified, "this home, when I was eighteen. I held a party for graduation while my mum and Mikael were out of town for some event. I had just told them I wasn't going to university, so they were already really pissed at me. The party was more of an attack on them than a celebration.

"Anyway," he said, scuffing the wooden floor with the heel of his laced-up boot. "There were drugs at the party. I don't remember who brought them, but they were here. After a couple of hours, the cops burst in and everyone fled. Except I didn't, because I was too busy upstairs with"— He paused, lifting his head. He looked at the light above their heads. Caroline watched his throat move as he swallowed, his pulse jump as his heart beat —"Ah, with Hayley . . . no, I can't remember her last name. She and I were fooling around upstairs. We didn't hear the cops, and before I knew it, three men were barging into the room and putting handcuffs on me." He absently rubbed at his wrists. She knew how badly they chaffed. "I was eighteen, which meant that I was in big, big trouble."

Caroline remembered this. She had no clue Klaus was the boy the cops had gotten, but she distinctly remembered her mother talking about a respected family's child being arrested for throwing a party where class-A drugs were found. All charges were dropped in a matter of hours, which had aggravated her mother. But Caroline understood now.

"Because of the drugs," Klaus went on, "I was put in a cell and they started talking to me about trials and being thrown in some big penitentiary. It was not a fun evening. Of course, I was the adopted son of Mikael Mikaelson, though. As soon as he heard what had happened, he rushed to the precinct and had the charges dropped."

Caroline could see where this tale was going.

"He got me excused from jail time, but the party and the drugs were the final straw. With my mother's permission, they kicked me out and I went down to Louisiana for a bit to stay with a friend. I came back up when Rebekah was born, for a couple of months, before Mikael had a seeming mental break one day and literally chucked me out of the house," Klaus said. His veins continued to ripple with anger.

Caroline was enraptured by his story. A wave of sympathy waged over her as she watched Klaus's body inflate before bursting.

"My roommate down in New Orleans just kicked me out, too. His girlfriend moved in and she didn't like me. So I thought I'd come up and surprise my folks, maybe stick around town until I could find a place of my own down there. Instead, I find you."

. . .

A short while later, Caroline was sitting on a sofa in the Mikaelson's grand living room. She had textbooks scattered around her and her laptop open on a table in front of her. After finishing his story, Klaus had disappeared to have a shower and she had snuck away to work on an assignment one of her professors for next semester had already given them.

Rebekah had not made a peep since Klaus had put her down, which made Caroline even more thankful he had showed up. Otherwise, she had a feeling the child would still be screaming her little head off.

Something beside Caroline buzzed, pulling her attention away from the passage she was reading. It was her phone. More specifically, a text message from Esther.

Caroline, darling, Mikael and I have decided to spend the night in DC. I know it's last minute, but perhaps your mother could drive over and give you some clothes. See you in the morning.

Caroline squeezed her phone so hard she felt it would snap. Half of her wanted to throw the damn thing across the room.

This had never happened before. Usually, the Mikaelson's were sticklers for their schedule. If they hadn't told her they were staying the night somewhere, they would not be staying the night somewhere. She couldn't ask her mother, anyway. She was working the night shift at the station. Bonnie was probably awake. Her best friend's insomnia was the worst during summertime. Maybe she would be willing to drop off some supplies for Caroline.

Now glad she had decided to not destroy her phone, Caroline messaged Bonnie her request. Seconds later, she received a response asking what she needed and is the spare key still in that very good hiding spot.

Distracting herself from her anger by trying to get some of her assignment done, Caroline didn't hear Klaus sneaking into the room. She only noticed his presence when someone grabbed her textbook out of her hands.

Barely able to hold in a squeal, Caroline's eyes shot upwards. In front of her stood a half-naked, dripping Klaus Mikaelson. The only object covering him was a white towel wrapped around his waste. Her eyes swivelled uncontrollably around his torso, taking in the dents of his muscles and the wet hair flattened against his chest.

Something to know about not-quite sophomore Caroline Forbes: She was a virgin. Not necessarily of her own choice. Her first boyfriend turned out to be gay, which explained why he would gag every time she asked if he wanted to touch her breasts. Then there was Stefan Salvatore, who was too in love with his ex to pay any real attention to her. She had broken up with him before graduation. When she arrived in Charlottesville, school took over her life and she hadn't even thought of boys or sex since. Until, of course, that very moment.

"Psychology," he said nonchalantly, as if he were fully clothed and this was all completely normal. He studied the front cover of her textbook. "Your major, I assume?"

His eyes found hers, and Caroline found it difficult to breathe.

She swallowed thickly and nodded. "Yeah," she croaked. Coughing, she cleared her throat and tried to get a grip on her hormones. "Yes. It's my major."

"You look like a psychology major," he noted.

Caroline's eyebrows glued together. "What does that mean?"

Klaus shrugged, and despite all of her willpower, Caroline's eyes watched as his muscles danced with the movement. "Sound is a better description, I suppose. You sound like a psychology major. But you look like one, too."

"Yeah, I'm still kind of lost."

"The way you structure your sentences. The way you were watching me as I talked about being thrown out of the house. Like you were analysing me and my body language," he listed, and Caroline was somewhat impressed with his observation skills.

But then, he was an artist. They were observant creatures.

Caroline was about to say something—what, she wasn't entirely sure—when there was a light knock on the front door.

"Who the hell could that be?" Klaus asked, walking towards the front door.

He could not answer the door to Bonnie like that. Caroline jumped to her feet and pulled hard on Klaus's arm, her hands slipping on his wet skin. In a tangle of limbs, the pair tumbled to the ground. Klaus landed on top of Caroline, who released a muffled squeal of terror, her mouth pressed against Klaus's slick shoulder.

"There are smoother ways of getting me on top of you, you know," Klaus said, eyeing Caroline's reddening face. "Are you all right?"

An answer was on the tip of her tongue, but once more she was saved from having to speak by another knock on the door.

Scrambling, they quickly separated themselves and Caroline headed for the front door as she smoothed her wrinkled, damp shirt. She heard Klaus behind her, but refused to look back.

"Bonnie, thank you so much. You're a life saver," Caroline said as she opened the door to find Bonnie standing on the porch with a small suitcase.

The dark skinned girl scanned Caroline from head to toe, her eyebrows flying up. "Care, do you have a boy in there?" she whispered.

"What? What makes you say that?" Caroline said, her voice rising a few octaves.

Bonnie giggled like a schoolgirl. "Because your hair's all mussed, your shirt's wet, and your face is the colour of a tomato. Oh, and there's a naked guy standing behind you," she added absently, focus no longer on Caroline's dishevelled appearance.

Confused, Caroline peered behind herself. Sure enough, Klaus Mikaelson was standing a few feet away, no towel in sight. Caroline's heart jumped into her throat. She looked away as quickly as possible and grabbed the bag from Bonnie's hands.

"Thanks again," she said quickly before stepping back and slamming the door in Bonnie's face. She whipped around, careful to keep her eyes up, and glared at Klaus. "Where the hell did your towel go?"

Klaus looked down at himself and smirked. "I must have lost it in the midst of our unexpected tryst."

"No, no," Caroline corrected, "that was not a tryst. It was an accident. Please put something on."

"Do I really make you that uncomfortable?"

God, he was enjoying this.

"You're naked. Do I really have to answer that question."

"You're naked too."

"I am not!" Caroline gasped.

"Beneath all of those clothes, you are very much naked," Klaus pointed out.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything? Everyone's naked underneath their clothes. It doesn't mean a thing."

"Caroline," Klaus said in a negotiating tone, "I am an artist. We're not afraid of the human body. I paint naked women all of the time. It's quite a freeing experience for both me and the models."

Caroline groaned and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't need to hear about your art. This is not art. This is harassment and indecent exposure."

The bastard had the gall to laugh at that. Caroline took the time to glare at him again.

"Sweetheart, I'm in my own home. This is private property. And if you're so offended, look away."

A thumping on the door caught Caroline's breath. She knew it was Bonnie, a prediction that was confirmed seconds later when Bonnie's voice echoed around the house, "Care, is everything okay? You can tell me if you and Klaus Mikaelson are doing it. I won't tell anyone else."

Klaus sniggered. Caroline continued her blazing stare, her lip curling in a half-snarl.

"Don't say a thing," she warned.

Putting his hands up, Klaus turned and began walking away. As he retreated, Caroline's death glare transformed, her innocent eyes taking in the sight of a fit man's lean body.

"Caroline?" Bonnie whispered harshly. "Caroline?"

Caroline opened the door to the Mikaelson's home once more and tried pushing her heart back into her chest. "I'm fine, Bonnie. And before you say a thing, no, I am not sleeping with Klaus Mikaelson. He just showed up tonight and has been doing his best to make me want to kill myself."

If she didn't know any better, Caroline would say Bonnie looked disappointed at Caroline's words. "Okay. If you're sure everything's all right, I'm going to go. Text me," she said, spinning on her heels and heading down the steps that led up to the Mikaelson mansion.

"Bye, Bonnie!" Caroline called after her. This was most certainly the strangest night of babysitting she had ever experienced.

Back inside, Caroline found Klaus dressed in sweatpants and a black t-shirt. He was skimming her textbook again. When he wasn't being an ass, he was actually kind of really amazingly attractive. Odd how it took this long to realise it, considering how immune to his charms she was back in high school.

"Find anything interesting in there?" she asked, spooking him into shutting the book.

He grinned—a full-on, toothy grin—and laid back on the sofa. "I've got you figured out, you know," he said.

Caroline rolled her eyes for the second time that evening. "Two minutes skimming a psychology text book and you've got me all worked out?"

He didn't take the bait. "You're a virgin," he said, eyes gleaming.

Sputtering, Caroline searched her brain frantically for some clever comeback. It never came. "Yeah, well," she stuttered, "so what?"

Klaus sat up straight. "Ah, so you admit it?"

"I'm not ashamed of the fact," she half-lied.

"Do you want to know how I worked it out?"

"I freaked out when you were naked? Pretty clear indicator that I wasn't used to seeing naked men," she filled in for him. "It was a logical assumption."

Clearly disappointed that she took away his thunder, Klaus relaxed once more into the sofa. "What was your friend doing here?" he asked.

Okay, so they were moving on from the virgin revelation. She could live with that. "She was dropping off a change of clothes. Your parents are staying overnight in Richmond."

Klaus nodded, and Caroline watched his bronzed curls tremble with the movement. He tapped the sofa cushion next to him. Caroline smiled sickly sweet and moved to sit on the sofa beside the one he was occupying.

"Hand me my books," she ordered, suppressing a satisfied smile when he did as she told.

. . .

An hour or so later, Caroline stood in the guest bedroom she always used as her room when she spent the night. Klaus had already gone off to his own room. He had been good and worked hard to not distract her while she did her homework, only asking questions every now and again about what she was doing.

It was weird, being in a room with him. She had spent her freshman year watching him from afar, watching as girls draped themselves over him and as teachers shouted at him. Now, he was just a couple of doors down from her. Now, he was the guy she had sprayed with mace. Now, he was the first guy she had ever seen naked. It was insane how things could change in such a short time.

When she was ready for bed—no makeup, blond hair up in a messy bun—a soft knock stopped her in her tracks. There was only one person it could be, lest Rebekah had very rapidly learned to escape her crib and walk.

"What do you want, Klaus?" she asked as she opened the door.

He was leaning casually against the door jam, peering at her through his thick lashes. "Can I come in?"

"What for?"

"To talk."

"We can talk like this," she suggested, but Klaus was already inside the room and on the bed.

Sighing, Caroline closed the door and rested her back against it. She crossed her arms, waiting for him to say something.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, which caught Caroline off guard.

Frowning, confused, she approached him and sat next to him. "Why are you sorry?"

"Well, for ruining your evening," he said.

"Ruining it? I admit, it's been eventful, but without you, I'd probably still be struggling to get Rebekah to sleep," Caroline said, surprised by her own confession. "I mean, you've been my hero."

"I like the sound of that. Caroline Forbes's hero," he mused. Then, he looked at her. "You know, I remember you from school. You were always so quiet."

Caroline laughed. "I was rather quiet my freshman year," she admitted.

"I bet that changed, then. You seem as though you were a popular girl. No offence."

"None taken," Caroline assured him. "I did come out of my shell after my first year, but I was never really all that popular. Not like you, at least."

"I think I was more infamous than famous at that school. In this town, really," he said, voice lilting. "Um, look, I'm sorry about the whole virgin thing," he added. He rubbed his hands together. He was nervous.

Caroline shook her head. He must be transferring his nerves to her, because she could feel her skin twitching. "You're fine. It's fine. It's true. And like I said, I'm not ashamed."

Suddenly aware of her harsh breathing, Caroline sucked in a deep breath in the hopes it would calm her erratically beating heart.

"Is it a choice? Saving yourself 'til marriage sort of thing?" he asked.

She knew he had no right to be asking these questions, but she found herself not caring. Weirdly, Klaus Mikaelson was extremely easy to talk to. "Not really. At all. It's just not happened yet."

"Do you want it to?"

Bold. That was the perfect word that described Klaus's question. Outrageously bold.

"What?" she panted. She stared at Klaus wide-eyed. He was watching her hands as they clenched her pyjama shorts.

"Do you want it to," he repeated.

There was no misinterpreting the question's true meaning.

Caroline listened as the silence buzzing in her ears grew to a deafening volume. She released the fabric of her shorts and said breathlessly, "Yes."

It was a shock. An electrical current. That was what if felt like when Klaus grabbed her wrists and kissed her. It felt like she had seized an open wire and been jolted awake. His lips were soft. The scruff covering his jaw was rough. The perfect juxtaposition.

Caroline's body thrummed as Klaus's hands began exploring. When he reached the hem of her t-shirt, he wasted no time before ripping it over her head. And then she was bare. Exposed. But it didn't feel wrong or bad, and she didn't feel scared or vulnerable. She felt so safe and so admired. The eyes that watched her chest rise and fall with heavy breaths were an artist's eyes. He was spotting the moles scattered about, checking his memory bank for the name of the colour that matched her skin tone. He was not leering, he was worshiping her beauty.

"You can stop," he said shallowly. He was looking her directly in the eye. His pupils had dilated. She could see only a thin strip of blue. "Just say the word, and we'll stop."

Caroline leaned forward and pressed her nose against Klaus's. "I don't want to stop," she said.

There was that smirk again. Only, maybe it wasn't a smirk. Maybe it was a shy half-smile that dipped and enclosed around her breast, laving her in warmth. Maybe it was a shy half-smile that trailed kisses down her belly. A shy half-smile that met her core and made her writhe atop the bed.

Yes. She would say it was that. She would remember it as that, as a sheepish upward tilt of his mouth. Always.

"What is it about women in men's clothing that make them look so sexy?"

Klaus walked into the kitchen the following morning carrying a dressed Rebekah. He wore only his sweatpants and was sporting a nice head of bed hair.

As Caroline stirred the baby's formula, she had to laugh. "I don't think I'd call this," she said, gesturing to herself, "sexy. But I'll take the compliment."

Bonnie lost her virginity when she was sixteen to the most popular girl in school's brother. It was at a party. He was a year younger, but had apparently already had sex, which had made Bonnie feel like she was in capable hands despite the age difference. Suffice it to say, it did not go well. She bled, cried from the pain, and they never spoke ever again.

Since Bonnie shared that story with her the day after it happened, Caroline had been expecting her first time to be eerily similar. But the pain was brief as Klaus entered her and the only tears she shed were due to an excessive amount of euphoria. There was a tenderness to it that Caroline believed Bonnie had lacked, which made her feel for her friend.

The timer buzzed, signalling to Caroline that Rebekah's formula was ready to be transferred into her bottle. She handed it to Klaus when the cap was screwed on tight.

"You are okay, aren't you?" Klaus asked as he leaned against the marble countertop and began feeding his sister.

Caroline was okay. More than okay, really. If someone had told her when she was fourteen that in five years she would be losing her virginity to the one and only Klaus Mikaelson, she would have thrown something at them. But only because her fourteen-year-old self believed Klaus was nothing more than a rich ass set on destroying himself and the world around him. Knowing him now the way she did—it made everything okay.

They had spoken into the night about their lives. She told him of her father, he did the same. It was something out of a fairytale. Or, at the very least, an extremely cheesy, unrealistic young adult romance novel.

"I am, yeah," she said earnestly, bringing the pot used to warm Rebekah's formula to the sink. She washed it out as Rebekah suckled on her bottle. Curious, she peeked over her shoulder. "How about you?"

"How about me?" Klaus parroted. His eyes were on his little sister, a small smile pinning his lips. "I am excellent."

Caroline laughed softly while she continued her cleanup. The Mikaelson's were due home in an hour and there could be no evidence of anything. Anything. Halfway through wiping up remnants of her and Klaus's breakfast of scrambled egg, the doorbell rang. And then it rang again, and again, and again, followed by a banging against the wooden frame.

Startled, Rebekah's mouth popped off of her bottle and she began wailing.

"Take her upstairs," Caroline ordered.

"No, I'm staying here," Klaus said firmly.

Sighing, Caroline walked to the door, anxious shivers running down her spine. Her hand shook as she reached for the handle and opened the door.

"Oh, thank God!" It was her mother, the sheriff, still dressed in her uniform. "Honey, I know you're almost twenty, but when you're home for the summers you have to keep me informed of where you are. I came home and it looked like your room had been ransacked. Things were missing, your sheets were pristine"—

The sheriff's words faded as she took in the sight before her. Caroline swallowed drily, all of the saliva in her mouth having vanished. Her mother's eyes were planted on something behind Caroline.

"Sheriff Forbes, how lovely to see you," Klaus said cheerily, obviously sensing the tension. "How was your shift last night?"

"Mom," Caroline said tightly. "I'm fine. I'll be home soon."

But her mother wasn't listening. She was too busy staring. If Caroline knew her mother at all, the sheriff was probably taking in her observations—Klaus's shirtless form, Caroline's oversized black t-shirt, their general disheveled appearance—and making all-to-accurate conclusions.

"Caroline . . ." her mother dragged, "why are you wearing Mr. Mikaelson's shirt?"

There was no getting out of this one.

Shit.