"Are those... supposed to be daisies?"

Caroline sighs in irritation at her husband's question, fiddling with the half wilted arrangement on their dinner table as Stefan wraps his arms around her.

"Can you believe some asshole bought the last bouquet of roses before I could? No one here buys roses unless it's Valentine's Day, so what gives?" she complains, leaning into her husband's chest. Mystic Blooms is far from what she'd consider ideal for the town's only florist but she could at least count on a bouquet of roses every Sunday.

"I can't wait until we don't live here anymore," she says, derisively flicking a half-dead daisy. She and Stefan have it all planned out. Well, she'd done most of the planning with regard to their itinerary but Stefan had some helpful tips about historical sites. They intended to travel for a while. She'd spent too many years bristling at the limitations of Mystic Falls, and Stefan had squandered his years away from their hometown drifting from city to city with little purpose or enjoyment. They wanted to see the world, through new eyes and old, for the first time, for the right reasons.

"I can't wait to live in Rome," Stefan says, kissing her below her ear.

"We haven't decided on Italy," she reminds him, giggling a little. He'd made his strong bias for his ancestral home known right from the beginning.

He gives her a squeeze. "You haven't been there yet."

"Is there anything besides raging patriotism that makes you think I'll love Italy?"

"Easy," he says, in between kisses. "Italy is the classiest place in the world, and you're the classiest girl I know."

It's only a small thing, but it makes her heart warm just the same. For all that she'd been Miss Mystic Falls, head of the prom committee, and prom queen two years in a row in addition to being voted Most Likely to Be Famous in her senior year, she'd never really travelled as widely, or seen as much, as her glamorous social facade might lead people to believe. But where she saw a personal lack Stefan saw as an ambition and commitment to self-betterment that, he told her once, was nothing short of awe inspiring. Where she saw an unfortunate provinciality, he saw a deeply rooted sense of self. He trusted her taste and discernment implicitly, honoring the many years of careful cultivation she'd poured into them.

"We'll see who's classier, me or Italy," she teases, nudging him towards the dining table.

Their dinner conversation flows around their travel plans, only to wind up in the same place they often did: Bonnie. Neither of them were fond of the idea of leaving their self-effacing friend behind in Mystic Falls, but they also knew that wild horses couldn't drag Bonnie away from Rudy's side. Between the drama of Elena and Damon skipping town in the wake of a drunken murder spree, her own engagement to Stefan and the excited flurry of wedding planning, plus Rudy getting sick, Caroline's friendship with Bonnie had been reduced to a series of gestures and obligations. A perfunctory quality had settled into their interactions that, she realized now, had even clouded their romps as bride and maid-of-honor. It wasn't until Bonnie disappeared from the reception and reappeared the next day married to Klaus that Caroline had been jolted out of her complacency into the realization that, while she'd been preoccupied building a future with Stefan, deep changes had troubled the still waters of Bonnie's life.

"I think I'm going to take Bonnie some tiramisu," she announces, packing up the remainder of their dessert with a bottle of wine for good measure.

"I take it she still hasn't dished about the wedding night?" Stefan asks laconically, wiping his hands on a towel.

Caroline huffs in frustration. "Nope. She's all casual and 'don't worry about it' whenever I bring it up. You'd think we were talking about the time I borrowed her blue cardigan and forgot to give it back."

"Umm...didn't you invent a story about losing that cardigan so you could keep it?"

She snatches the dishtowel from him. "That's not the point, Stefan. And whose side are you on anyway?"

He frowns. "Wait...does this make Klaus the village cardigan?"

Caroline rolls her eyes. "A village I never visited. I almost feel left out."

Stefan pours himself another glass of wine. "Trust me, the good sex isn't worth all the drama."

She raises an eyebrow. Stefan didn't speak much about his relationship with Klaus other than to say it was what it was: two wandering souls who'd fallen into each other's orbit and clung to a sense of familiarity. But not for the first time she feels her competitive nature surge to the surface. "How good?" she asks with a hint of challenge in her voice.

Stefan eyes her over the rim of his glass, "Do you want an itemized list or-,"

She cuts off his sentence by pushing him back against the sink with a hard, purposeful kiss and stealing a drop of blood from his lower lip, savoring the way his eyes blacken with desire. They push and pull at each other towards the countertop before she pushes him down on it with a little growl that, she knows, he finds entirely addictive. Her fangs descend and latch on to the spot just under his collarbone, making his body pitch like a boat in a storm.

Afterwards, she's shrugging her top back on when Stefan cups the curve of her waist and pulls her gently against him.

"Disneyland," he murmurs into her neck.

She laughs."What?"

"Klaus was a Texas water park. You're Disneyworld."

She swallows the light flutter in her chest and tugs playfully on his hair. "And don't you forget it."

She heads over to Bonnie's with wine and tiramisu in tow, floating up the porch steps before ringing the doorbell, waiting only a few seconds before using her spare key. She notices a small dent in the wood a few inches above eye level.

But that's nowhere near as alarming as the site of her friend who appears in the hallway puffy-eyed and woebegone, a small ice cream stain on the front of her t-shirt and a spoon still clutched in one hand. Caroline doesn't wait for whatever feeble attempt Bonnie has planned to minimize her clear distress before striding forward to envelop her in a hug, holding her tightly until Bonnie gives in and sniffles a little into her shoulder.

It takes her a moment to notice the pink roses in the living room behind her.

"Wow."

"Yup...," Bonnie mumbles, twisting the end of her t-shirt as she waits for Caroline to process what she'd just told her.

The blonde blinks rapidly for several moments before emitting another "Wow," and bypassing her glass to take a swig directly from the bottle.

"So you mean to tell me," she begins, wiping her mouth. "That not only are you magically married to Klaus Mikaelson, but he paid you a weekend visit, cooked you breakfast, and fingered you on your front porch before he left?"

"That's...pretty much everything," Bonnie says, with a long sigh. Despite the incredulous shock on Caroline's face, it feels good to finally have things out in the open.

It's not a feeling she gets to savor before Caroline whacks her with a pillow. "How could you not tell me?!"

"You're my best friend! My maid of honor!" Caroline exclaims, swinging the pillow again. And you've been keeping this secret the whole time?"

"I didn't want to bother you!" Bonnie cries, hands raised in protest. "You and Stefan had your honeymoon, and then things got busy with the Council-,"

"Bull-fucking-shit Bonnie. This is just your M.O. You keep everything important about you to yourself. It's some weird martyr complex-,"

"I was embarrassed okay?" Bonnie shouts, stunning the blonde into silence. She sinks into the couch and draws up her knees. "You're right," she says, her eyes watering again. "I shouldn't have lied to you. But I couldn't even wrap my head around why I did what I did, or why I feel-," she breaks off, biting her lip. "I felt like I let everyone down," she says, softly.

Caroline's mood goes from outrage to concern in that quicksilver way, and she's instantly beside Bonnie, throwing an arm around her trembling shoulders. She pulls her witchy friend close. "I'm sorry, Bon. I shouldn't have yelled...," she trails off, registering Bonnie's words. "Wait...why would you be embarrassed? Did the neighbors see you and Klaus sexing up the porch?"

Bonnie shudders. "Oh god, no. It's just..."

"That you let Klaus finger you by the hyacinth vines?"

Bonnie glares at her before retreating to the corner of the couch. "It was the wisteria, and can we... maybe give it a rest?"

Caroline, undeterred, reaches into the bag and sets out dessert. "If you think I'm not bringing up the fact that Klaus Mikaelson finger-banged you on the front porch in every possible conversation, then you don't know me."

Bonnie groans, dropping her face into her hands. Caroline glances at her friend and then back at the pink roses, recalling their conversation at House Sauvage the night before her wedding and the storm of conflicting emotion the mere thought of seeing the hybrid had roused in Bonnie. A theory takes shape in her mind.

"Bon...do you have real feelings for him?"

The question is met with a look of tearful disbelief. "How can you-," Bonnie splutters. "Care, I explained how these tattoos work. The magic in them creates feelings of -of attraction and-,"

"I know how they work, Bon," she interrupts, bristling a little at the witch's tone. "I'm not a witch but I'm not stupid either."

"Sorry," Bonnie sighs, running a hand over her hair. "I'm just a little on edge."

"Understandable after being fingered on-,"

"Okay I GET IT," she cuts in, glaring at the vampire. "Should I tell the whole town? Ask the Mystic Falls Historical Society if they'll let me have a sign outside the house? 'Local Witch Got Fingered by Original Hybrid here.'"

Caroline tries and fails to suppress a snort that quickly becomes a giggle. It's her turn to get whacked with a pillow.

"It's not funny, Care!"

But Bonnie's lips twitch at the corners and soon she's laughing too. A dry, rueful laugh with tears still on her cheeks. She replaces the pillow and huddles up on her friend's shoulder.

"Can I see it?" Caroline asks after a beat. "Your tattoo?"

"Hmm?"

"I've never seen one in the flesh," the blonde points out with a shrug. "I'm curious."

Bonnie turns, lifting her hair so the spiralling golden mark on her nape becomes visible. Caroline regards the tattoo with narrowed eyes, sensing and yet unimpressed by its magic.

She's not a witch but she's far from stupid, and she's known Bonnie Bennett since they were eight years old, when Bonnie endured a whole week of detention rather than reveal it was Caroline who stuck gum on their homeroom teacher's chair. Even back then, Bonnie had a code of conduct that she carried out with a will of iron. No force on earth could have induced the witch to betray her friend, to go against what she believed was right, and Caroline felt certain that no sparkly tattoo - no matter how magical - could truly push Bonnie as deep as she's evidently been pushed into whatever her feelings were for Klaus without the witch having some say in the matter. The hybrid, she knew from experience, was predisposed to impulsive and passionate overtures. And she could see, too, why someone of his temperament would be drawn to Bonnie even after she'd nearly burned him alive. Perhaps, especially so.

But Bonnie Bennett is made of stronger stuff than all of them, and no spell could make her do things that, on some deep level, she doesn't truly want.

"How long do their effects last again?" Caroline asks, serving the witch a heaping plate of tiramisu.

"Three months," Bonnie huffs. "So I have about eight weeks of this torture to look forward to."

Caroline takes a bite of the dessert, eyeing her closely. "And what happens after that?"

"After that, Klaus and I go back to barely tolerating each other's existence instead of...," she waves a hand in the air, "...whatever this is."

"Right..."

"What?" Bonnie asks, narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing," the blonde smiles, nudging a plate in her friend's direction. "Here, have some. It's an old Salvatore family recipe."

While Bonnie digs into the tiramisu, Caroline finds her own eyes straying to the pink roses blooming so beautifully in the parlor.

She's no witch, but she's certain nothing about this situation will resolve itself like Bonnie imagines.

"Vin-,"

"No."

"This is the fifth time they've called," Sophie mumbles, pulling the blanket over her head. "Just see what they want-,"

"You can't make me," he says, nuzzling into the curve of her neck.

"Is that a challenge, Regent?" she returns, in that stern, husky voice that never fails to travel straight to his cock.

He is about to pull her atop him for a thorough chastisement for how he's shirking his Regent duties, only for the furious ringing of their doorbell to shatter the moment completely.

Ignoring Sophie's I-told-you-so expression, he pulls on his robe and shuffles to the door. Two disgruntled witches stand on his threshold and his fragile hope that whatever problem besets them has nothing to do with a Mikaelson dies instantly.

Vincent finds said Mikaelson sitting on the floor of the empty shop, the same place he'd found the hybrid and the witch after their lovers' quarrel. Klaus holds a half-finished bottle of whiskey and wears a stormcloud on his face.

"You should have business cards, you know that? Klaus Mikaelson: Professional Cockblocker."

When a muffled growl is his only response, Vincent takes a few steps towards the hybrid and sniffs in disapproval. "You smell like a truck stop. I take it your brave sojourn to Mystic Falls didn't go quite as planned?" He'd heard from Marcel who'd had to console a frustrated Rebekah that the hybrid had high-tailed it out of New Orleans in his sister's car.

Klaus shoots him a baleful look.

"Wanna tell me why coven members are dragging me out of my bed to complain about you accosting them?" Vincent demands, folding his arms across his chest.

"I was merely seeking information."

"It's one in the morning. On a Tuesday."

A half-hearted snarl is all the answer he gets.

"People have jobs, Klaus. They have lives," Vincent says. "Not to mention girlfriends," he adds under his breath. But this is apparently the wrong thing to say, because the hybrid rises abruptly to his feet and drives a fist into the drywall.

For the first time, Vincent feels irritation outweigh his amusement at Klaus' predicament. It's all fun and games until the Quarter has to contend with an out-of-control hybrid for months. Whoever thought tattooing them was a good idea deserved their necks wrung. He catches himself with a headshake; he's been hanging around Mikaelsons too long. A Regent should only resort to deadly force when all other options have been exhausted.

"One more name," Klaus says, in a low voice.

"What?"

"The kanimas gave me names," Klaus bites off impatiently. "One of those names might know the person responsible for my 'marriage.' And when I find them-,"

Vincent pinches the bridge of his noses. "Say you find them. Say you decapitate them and wear their ears as a necklace. Your tattoos aren't going to stop affecting you until the three months are up." His head hurts. It feels like trying to explain rocket science to a toddler.

"No, but I shall derive great pleasure in disemboweling the cause of this miserable bond."

Vincent studies the look of mad determination on Klaus' face and begins to sense, for the first time, that the hybrid is afraid. Afraid that the three months would draw to a close and find him still caught up in feelings for the witch, that she would shun him while he remained trapped by a crushing desire. This behavior was of a man used to control driven nearly out of his mind by the lack of it, like a hurricane veered off course. Vincent decides he needs to speak with Sophie and concoct a plan, find a way to ensure the prideful hybrid and stubborn Bennett witch ran the course of this thing between them with as little damage to each other and their respective cities as possible. (He recalls that late night phone call and the witch's voice pinched with worry as she inquired about Klaus. He's certain she's doing little better than the Original). But for now, the best way to minimize chaos in the city would be to shepherd Klaus through his quest.

"What's the next address?" Vincent asks, resigning himself to a long night.

"I do not require a nanny, Regent."

"What you need is for someone to beat your ass until you come to your senses but I'm not wasting time and magic on that so, let's go."

"She lives across the way."

"Who does?"

"Moira O'Donaghue. The next name on the list."

"Moira?" Vincent groans, convinced the Spirits have it out for him. Getting information out of that crazy old witch is bound to be as easy as wrangling her ferocious pet rooster one handed, and that's not accounting for the million favors he'll owe her for bringing a Mikaelson to her doorstep. He'll be lucky if he gets a day off for the foreseeable future.

"Do you anticipate her being a problem?" Klaus inquires, almost casually.

"Oh you have no idea. Let's go asshole."

"Really, Vincent?" Klaus says, clicking his tongue. "Petty name calling? Is that what you've devolved into?" The hybrid gives him a look of mock offense over his shoulder as they head outside.

"Shut up Klaus."

He marches across the alleyway with Klaus on his heels to Moira's red-painted door. The wood is covered with protective symbols eked in chalk surrounding a single, small eye carved from lapis and ivory. Not for the first time, Vincent wonders if it's a deceptively innocuous magical device that allows her to spy on all her neighbors.

He's about to knock when Moira preempts them by opening the door, and the strong scent of incense and rum wafts out like a greeting. Draped in a lavish purple and gold dressing gown, tight reddish-silver curls framing an expressive, oval face, and crimson-painted nails holding a glass of whiskey, the witch's gaze shifts from Vincent to Klaus and a smirk lifts the corner of her mouth.

"Hello Regent," she drawls. "Still corralling Mikaelsons I see."

"Somebody has to," Vincent mutters. It's then he notices the hybrid gone white and stiff as though he's seen a ghost.

"Niklaus." Moria's eyes dance with smug mischief. "How's the little witch wife?"

Vincent looks from one to the other and feels the pressing need for a glass of heavy alcohol. "Wait. Moira...you tattooed his fool ass?"

"I sure did," she replies, a triumphant smile crossing her face as Klaus tries and fails to stride through the magical barrier at her door. "Mind you, I'm retired. But some old friends came to town looking to set up shop for a night, so I joined 'em. Imagine my surprise when Klaus Mikaelson walked in...with a witch on his arm no less." She arches an eyebrow at the hybrid and suppresses a laugh. "And here I thought you'd resigned yourself to bachelorhood-,"

Klaus beating a fist against the magical barrier cuts off the rest of her sentence.

Moira laughs. "Try again when your three months are up. And next time," she says, swishing her dressing gown behind her, "leave the attitude outside."

Klaus' eyes flash a furious yellow. Moira stands her ground.

Vincent wonders if Regents qualify for early retirement.

Two weeks after their encounter on the porch, once the scent of him has faded beyond all reprieve from her bedclothes, Bonnie finds it increasingly difficult to fall asleep. Despite filling her days with extra tasks and chores to take her mind off the hybrid, each night finds her lying awake with an uneasy feeling in her gut as memory replays their bitter argument.

You certainly don't need my help living in a casket.

The anger that flared so hot when she ordered him off her porch has, to her dismay, simmered into a thick, morose feeling that has her dragging her feet and struggling to enjoy her daily life. His words rattle around her brain as she helps the Council with another mundane magical task, as she cooks Rudy breakfast and folds his laundry, as she pushes her shopping cart around the grocery store and 'treats' herself to some Riesling.

At first, she tries to refute this malaise with reason. What did Klaus know anyway? She didn't need lemon crepes and beignets everyday to be happy. She can buy herself flowers! And vibrator technology could give even his annoyingly skillful fingers a run for their money.

Still, the terrible listlessness persists, putting her off her appetite and assailing her with such lethargy that many mornings find her struggling to put on clothes that aren't pajamas.

"You're experiencing lacrimoso: it's a common side effect of marriage tattoos," Caroline informs her one evening after the blonde insisted on joining Bonnie and Rudy for dinner. After helping Rudy get to bed, Bonnie had started clearing the dishes while Caroline put away leftovers.

"I'm experiencing what?"

"Lacrimoso," Caroline enunciates, spooning lasagne into tupperware. "It's a kind of withdrawal symptom that's exacerbated when the couple have a fight or disagreement. Basically, you're both gonna feel pretty shitty until you talk this out."

Frustration makes her want to smash a plate on the floor. Mastering that impulse, Bonnie eyes the blonde vampire in surprise. "Since when are you an expert on marriage tattoos?"

"Since I grabbed a couple of your Grimoires while you weren't looking," Caroline informs her without batting an eye. "What?" she adds, as Bonnie glares in disapproval. "You know I like to do my research."

"Nosy. It's called being nosy."

She shrugs "Tomato, tomahto."

Bonnie shakes her head in exasperation and resumes her task.

"So, whatcha gonna do?" Caroline prods, hands on her hips. "And please don't say you're just gonna grin and bear it, because I will fight you. Physically."

"Are you suggesting I roll up to New Orleans with my sick father in tow to makeup with Klaus?"

Caroline shrugs. "I think you and Uncle Rudy could both use a change of scenery."

Bonnie puts down her dish towel in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. And you know what?" Caroline squares her shoulders in a no-nonsense way. "It's Truth Time."

Bonnie freezes. "...oh."

Since they were young girls, "Truth Time" signaled a moment wherein they would let each other speak with brutal honesty, and agree to listen with an open mind. Over the years, they'd used "Truth Time" to counsel each other about heartbreak and hookups, misunderstandings and mistakes. As their lives meshed into the supernatural and grew increasingly complicated, unvarnished truth became harder and harder to invoke where Elena was concerned. But Bonnie and Caroline had tried, periodically at least, to be honest with each other when they could.

As she sits across from Caroline at the table where they'd so often analyzed texts from their crushes or made vision boards for the new school year, Bonnie feels dejavu tempered by a wistful yet keen awareness of the passage of time.

Caroline flicks a lock of blond hair off her shoulder and leans forward. "So, you know when Rebekah was a total bitch and played you and Klaus' wedding video for everyone?"

Bonnie groans. "Like I'll ever forget."

"Well...," Caroline pauses, biting her lip. "Bonnie, I realized...I don't really know you anymore."

The words settle somewhere in Bonnie's chest, making her sit up a little. "What...?"

"Bon...when we started high school you were the most light-hearted, level-headed people I knew. You never let anything get you down for long. And... I never told you this but...I wished I was more like you."

Bonnie digests this in silence and mild shock. She's always been in the shadow of Elena and Caroline's light. She'd never imagined either of them could envy her.

"Remember when we first heard about Klaus and how scary he was?" Caroline continues. "All of us were paralyzed with fear, but you... you acted. You got juiced up on a hundred witches and came up with this badass secret plan that none of us knew about, and you almost succeeded in killing Klaus."

"So... you're saying I should kill Klaus?"

Caroline rolls her eyes. "I'm saying that you've been spending so many years fixing other people's problems that you're too afraid to take action for your own sake."

The blonde continues, her voice gentle. "As daring and badass as you were for Elena and Damon, when are you gonna be daring and badass for you?"

Bonnie feels an uncomfortable twist in her gut. She stands, returning to the half-sorted pile of dirty dishes. "It's not the same thing, Care. I was sixteen, and a new witch, and all these people were trying to kill my friend...I didn't exactly have a choice."

"But you have one now," Caroline insists, rising to her feet and leaning over the kitchen counter. "Elena is god knows where, rolling around dirty sheets with Damon. Stefan and I are gonna leave Mystic Falls soon. And I know you care about the Council, but can you care about it for the rest of your life? Is that what you really want?"

Bonnie tries to tune her out, to find that calm center of self-assurance she suddenly can't remember ever having. She yanks the dishwasher open and starts messily arranging the plates.

"Bon...who are you gonna hide behind when all of us are gone?"

The crash catches Caroline off guard.

Bonnie stares numbly at the shattered bowl on the floor. Her face, she finds, is wet with tears.

"I - I think I need some time alone," she manages, wiping her nose.

There's a stiff silence before Caroline nods, gathering up her things. She lingers for a few seconds in the doorway, her bright face troubled but resigned before she speaks.

"If you ask me... you've spent too much time alone already."

"When you said 'marry me' I assumed we were going to the courthouse," Bonnie laughs, following Klaus into the small candle-lit alley off Bourbon Street. But her face sobers a little as she catches the magic practically crackling in the air. They climb a flight of stairs and find themselves in a glittering, bustling emporium. Her eyes pop wide at the sight of shelf upon shelf lined with magical objects and spelled tattoo ink. She's heard of such places, as well as the many uses of magical tattooing. Klaus' intentions suddenly become clear in an entirely new way.

"Call me old fashioned," he says, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her close. "But blood and ink, sewn into the skin with magic, far outstrip a simple marriage certificate. Although.. I'm not opposed to troubling the state of Louisiana on our behalf."

"Well, you are old," she points out, poking his chest. But her teasing manner belies the strange, bright tumult inside her. If Klaus had taken them straight to the courthouse she would have still gone through with it, but deep down, there would be something missing.

"If it's a judge and witnesses you desire, you shall have them," he says, tracing her cheek with his thumb. "But you know, as I do, that human laws and formalities can't hold a candle to the ancient inheritances in both our blood. Inheritances born in magic."

Her heart soars and takes her breath with it. She's been tipsy many times, blackout drunk once or twice, but she's never felt quite like this. Like she's standing on a mountaintop with clouds brushing her skin, breathing crystalline air, light-headed with clarity.

"I guess that's one way to propose to a witch," she says, smiling, before he captures her mouth in a kiss that leaves her a little breathless.

"You two gonna buy something?" a red-headed older woman in a turquoise kaftan bellows from the back. "Because we will charge for honeymooning in the foyer."

Her fingertips trail through the dust on her altar.

The small table full crystals and amulets seems to eye her mournfully, like a neglected child. She hasn't been to this little corner of the house in months, since the day her Grams appeared with the message that Rudy was beyond saving. After that, Bonnie avoided the cherished, meditative enclave: it had seemed tainted with failure.

But standing before it now, she realizes how much she's missed retreating into her own little haven of magic.

She spends the better part of an hour sweeping and dusting, then rearranging her crystals, before burning some cleansing herbs and lighting a few candles. Finally, she throws open the curtain so that moonlight pours over her altar, and an airy feeling touches her chest as she surveys the room.

Yes, she's missed this. But more than anything she's missed that burning sense of purpose she once had, that drive and fire that Caroline Forbes herself confessed to envying, the heedless conviction that she could take on anything and anyone no matter how powerful they were. And while the years have disabused her of the belief in her own invincibility, she longs for that excitement and certainty that magic had once brought her. The same excitement and certainty that had flared so strong, so overwhelming the night she married Klaus.

That thought causes a flutter of emotion in her stomach as she pulls up a cushion and positions herself on it cross-legged, as she folds her hands and tries to concentrate on her breathing.

As much as she hates to admit it, Caroline is right. She's been rudderless for far too long and as a result, she let herself get swept under. She can't spend another month and a half like this, oscillating between anger and yearning. Relinquishing control is what got her this tattoo on her neck and the maelstrom of emotions in its wake, and the only way to regain her balance is to seize a measure of it back.

"You can't burn an old lady's house down," Vincent protests, blocking the hybrid's path.

"Oh I beg to differ, Regent," Klaus gestures to the tiki torch and bucket of gasoline in his hands. "And the extensive arson supplies at the much maligned Walmart agree with me. Now move aside."

"You need her to remove your tattoo-,"

"I will find another witch or warlock! And if that fails, I will rip the mark from my own flesh. It matters not, in a little over a month I shall be free of their effects-,"

"Klaus, for once in your life just put the torch down and fucking listen," Vincent says, anger and frustration coloring his voice as he marches up to the hybrid. "I know you might think Moira's some kooky old bat with a penchant for tattoos - and I'll grant you the kooky part - but she's also got connections to nearly every major coven in the city, including my own. An attack on her, is an attack on them."

The hybrid's face is mutinous in the flickering torchlight.

Vincent continues, "So go ahead, torch her house if that's how you wanna get your jollies now: but when you and Bonnie get your little divorce, you'll have to contend with a war in your backyard."

Klaus says nothing, then abruptly puts the torch out on the ground while cursing colorfully and in several different languages.

When he's convinced the hybrid won't actually destroy Moira's house, Vincent heaves a silent sigh of relief thanking every Spirit he knows.

"Now I'm gonna go home, pour myself a drink, and pretend I do something easy for a living. Like herding feral cats," he mutters, walking past the hybrid and to his car.

When Bonnie opens her eyes, her fingertips and toes are tingling with that curious, insouciant feeling that communing with magic always brings. A sense of clarity fills her and with it, acceptance.

She has to see Klaus, has to resolve things between them if she's to endure the next few weeks with any measure of peace. The thought of facing him again - she breathes, lets the emotion flare and permeate her body. It's not something she wants to do, but it's something that must be done. And if it's one thing Bonnie's always understood, it's doing what's necessary.

Her decision made, she leaves her altar and opens up her laptop, sending a few emails to Rudy's doctor, then Alaric. With that squared away, she looks up wheelchair allowances on a few domestic airlines, already anticipating Rudy grumbling about being carted around.

Oh well, maybe getting away from Mystic Falls would be a good enough distraction that he won't mind a few concessions.

An hour later, she surveys the email on her phone from Southwest Airlines, confirming a flight for two to New Orleans.

A/N: Hiiiiiiii! I'm SO sorry for the monstrously long wait, I swear I had no intention of making y'all wait this long. I got caught up doing long-ish oneshots for Gothic Klonnie Week and then the winter holidays respectively and my poor married babies fell by the wayside. But good news, this story is back to being my top priority, and we're now entering the home stretch! So, I'm gonna do my best to return to a once-a-month update schedule so that I can wrap this baby up and roll out a few other Klonnie projects that are waiting in the wings ;) Anyway, Klonnie are headed for another reunion: this time in New Orleans! I know there wasn't much of their interaction this chapter, but I needed them to do some stuff to get them where I want them. Hope the chapter was enjoyable and somewhat worth the wait, and please let me know your thoughts in the reviews! xoxox