wholeworldoutthere | February 15

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caroline forbes

February 15 - Early morning

When Klaus gets beamed back to the Porta Ianulis, he's still feeling under the weather, to say the least. He was partly healed, because otherwise, he's fairly certain he would have ended up in a puddle of his own blood in quarantine, but his left arm is still lacerated, and the neater wounds over his ribcage are barely just healed. He's only been given two blood bags during his little stay in quarantine, which is not helping this frustratingly slow rate of healing. He's sore, his arm is a mess of numb pain when he keeps it still, acute pain when he moves it, and he's hungry beyond words: the few people he crosses on his way back to his room are an incredibly tempting meal.

The tempting meals he crosses also happen to look at him oddly, because his shirt is in tatters, his lacerated arm can be seen through the tatters, and he is full of dried blood. His blood.

He's not sure whether Caroline will even be in the room, given how he left the day before, that day of all days, and didn't come back. The door slides open, and he sees her curled up on the bed in one of his t-shirts, something she hasn't done in a long time, with Star asleep where Klaus usually is. The door closes behind him and he stands there and watches her for a moment, before he walks over to the replicator, asking it for blood in a whisper. No need to wake her up.

He feeds, for a long time. Then he sits by his desk and tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling for a good five minutes. His arm is resting across his stomach, painfully slowly healing. After a moment, he tilts his head back up and looks at Caroline and Star. A little while later, and he stands up to go get the shower. He rips the remains of his shirt right off his back, instead of trying to take it off, and manages one-handedly to get rid of the rest of his clothes.

The water only makes the pain worse, but he needed that shower.

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She doesn't wake up until nearly eight, and there's a while that she curled up into a smaller ball, her face against the pillow, before she pushed herself out of bed. Caroline looks like hell, but far less than he does - the remnants of her eyeliner are smudged and dark circles are under her eyes - she'd been up until five waiting for him, and even now she'd only been asleep a few hours because he never came back.

He made her promise to never just up and leave, and she knows why, now. It takes her a full second, then another to realise the shower is running, to realise that means he's in it.

And then she smells the blood. It hits her like a mack truck, the smell of his blood, old and stale mixed with new and fresh, a smell that permeates the room. She's standing stock-still in the bedroom, and then she puts pieces together, but she puts them together not quite right. She doesn't understand why he didn't wake her, and she pads towards the bathroom, but hesitates at the door - and instead goes back to the chair she realises he was sitting on, and after getting herself a mug of blood, she perches on the edge of the bed, her legs tucked under her. She could wait. He was fine enough to shower, to not wake her--

And so she'd let him do what he had planned, and she just... some tiny part of her hoped that this wasn't part of a grander scheme to move himself from here. She's still there when he comes out, cradling the mug in her hands, her legs bare below the hem of the t-shirt. "Hi," she said softly, and it took her a second to see, and she nearly dropped the mug as she put it on the table, ignoring how blood sloshed over the rim in a stark red splatter on the countertop as she moves towards him, and she almost touches his arm, but she doesn't, everything else forgotten. "What happened?" Her voice is strained and sort of choked, and as soon as she speaks, she started casting around for something she can wrap around his arm that looked like so much red meat.

"Logan happened," Klaus says, his tone dark, because after yesterday, after what the mutant said, he will never be able to say his name any other way.

He cradles her face lightly with his good hand, wanting her to look into his face. "I'm fine," he tells her, because he can see the what-do-I-need-to-do panic in her eyes. He purses his lips briefly, like he's contemplating saying it, and then he does. "Happy late Valentine's Day."

It's slightly wry, but it's also genuine. It's him acknowledging he messed it up - and messed up. It's his kind of apology.

"What?" The word's sharp, and her face twists, and even as he cups her cheek she's shaking her head. "You're not fine, Klaus, your arm-" And she's running on nearly zero sleep, and he's talking about Valentine's Day and she just shakes her head. "It- It doesn't matter." She's not one to acknowledge her hurts, and especially not in the face of something like this. "We- We need to wrap it, or something-"

And that's when she looks up at him, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I just thought you left and didn't want- I didn't know you were hurt. That something happened. I..... I should get something to wrap your arm." But she hadn't moved yet, because she sort of couldn't. "Why did he do this? Why would he do this? I-" And she'd been going to say she loved him, but even now, she forced herself not to, her words grinding to a halt. She'd been avoiding saying it - she'd been trying ever since she'd said it the first time, but with limited success until recently.

"Please," she said then, finally able to move, and she's casting around for something cloth, like a towel. "Let me help."

Edited 2013-02-23 07:44 (UTC)

"Putting something on it will just hurt more," Klaus tells her, and wishes she wouldn't move away. He just has a towel slung low over his hips, still sore spots of new skin slightly visible on his abdomen, and he's just fine like this. It's not like his wounds will get infected, so there's no reason not to just let them breathe. "I'll be fine by tonight, now that I've fed."

He doesn't want to answer her question - why would he do this - not because he doesn't want to say he attacked Logan first (he would, and without an ounce of shame or remorse), but because he doesn't want to tell her what Logan said. What Logan said, much more than the state of Klaus's arm, is why Logan has just made himself an actual enemy.

Star's woken up, and he comes and licks at Klaus's hand, the one at the end of his bad arm. Klaus only moves his fingers slightly, in a measured hello-there that only mildly hurts, as he looks down at the wolf. He almost sounds like himself, but he looks more thoughtful than usual by far, and he is quieter, too, in every way.

"I- I don't want to hurt you," is all she can think to say, just sort of grinding to a halt, her face twisted. She's not noticed the places that Logan got him, the patches of pink. It's his arm, the grisly, half-healed mess that's his arm that has her shaking her head, and her voice lowering as she stared up at him, her eyes searching his. "What happened? I- I don't understand, was it about the stuff from before? That we're sleeping together? I thought- I didn't think- I never should have said anything to him, I'm sorry."

And she says it because she doesn't know what else to say, and she's scared of touching him in a way that would hurt him more. "I didn't know you were hurt," she said again, whispering. "I didn't- I don't want you to be hurt." And she's just thinking about how angry she was mere hours ago, how hurt she was that he'd left, that he'd left her and it hurt so badly, but now - now, she's thankful just have him be here.

Edited 2013-02-23 07:58 (UTC)

"This isn't on you, Caroline," he says, because the guilt she's feeling is clear as day on her face. He reaches out with his good hand, takes hers and tugs her closer even as he steps forward, wrapping that good arm around her shoulders as he presses a kiss to her temple. "It's on me and Logan."

In the meantime, he'll try and get a decent whisky out of the replicator, but he really doesn't care that much about the pain, or the state of his arm. He hasn't been like her about these things for a long, long time now. Fifty-two years of the Hunter's Curse saw to it. After that, nothing else can ever be as bad.

"Why else would you have gotten in a fight?" And it's self-centered, yes, but it's also helpless, her eyes closing as he kisses her forehead. "He's my friend, he knows I care about you. How could he do this to you?" She pulls back just enough to look at him, not enough to dislodge his arm. "I thought all of this bad stuff about you, and you were off bleeding somewhere." Because it was Valentine's Day, and she'd pushed him too far; she'd brought up his family on Valentine's Day, she'd had her weird existential crisis on Valentine's Day, and she's pretty good with those guilt things.

Now that the adrenaline of the last few minutes is starting to even out, she's realising she's actually pretty hung over, and she closes her eyes as she realises she feels disgusting. "Can I do anything? Would my blood help at all?" She knows that she's fed from him, that it helped to heal her, and he's been drinking normal people blood, and, well, if she's got to bleed into a mug or something to make him better, she absolutely will.

"I'm fine, love," he shakes his head, keeping his arm around her, a non-oppressive embrace. "It's just a flesh wound, and I've had as much blood as I need." He slowly brings her close again, until he can rest his head against hers. He just holds her for a few seconds, as much for her as for him, and he tells her, eventually, "You're right to think all of these bad things about me, you know. I'm not a nice person."

"I shouldn't have- the last thing we needed to do was for me to freak out," she says quietly, her eyes still closed when they're that close to each other. "I just- it was Valentine's Day." She tries not to sound hurt, even though she was - even though to her, that the fact her feelings were hurt doesn't mean anything when you talk about what happened to him.

"You care about me. I'm not-" And she doesn't want to have this conversation, about how much he means to her and why, because so much of it's wrapped up in her flaws, and she still can't get past the fact that her friend, her teacher tried to kill her boyfriend, and she knows it's not about her, but-- "What happened?" She asks it again, her voice small. "Why did he do this. Was he drunk, or the station, or- I don't understand. He couldn't have been himself. Or-" Or he was, and she just thought the best of people, and Mystique was right. It has no place here.

That's why he had to be holding her, for himself, because he's about to answer that question. He's always been about to answer that question. He loosens his hold, even if he doesn't move, but he fully expects her to, when he says, "Or I was myself."

"What?" She doesn't pull away from him, but she lifts her head, her brows furrowing. "I don't understand."

"I attacked him, Caroline," he tells her, and since she is going to pull away, he does it first, heading for the replicator and asking it for, "A whisky. Try and make it a decent one for once."

It might be because the replicator takes pity on him, but he doesn't get a fruity cocktail or a soda; he gets a bottle of Jack, instead. Drinkable bourbon instead of decent whisky? Close enough. He pours himself a glass, his left arm still hanging uselessly by his side.

She's just standing where he left her, and it takes her a second to actually say something, watching him walk around, watching Star watch him. And then, very quietly, her throat thick and her voice rough, she asks him one question.

"Why?"

"Why do I ever do anything?" he asks, turning back around with the glass in his hand and his usual sardonic half-smile on his lips. "I'm the villain, remember?"

She shook her head slightly, still just standing in the middle of their suite. "But- No, that doesn't work. You're- You've got reasons for things, I know you do. You have reasons for everything, even if the reasons are because you wanted to, but- why did you attack him?"

She doesn't know why she hasn't moved, why she hasn't put pants on or washed her face or combed her hair. She's just standing, and she feels so incredibly alone in that moment, but she doesn't even know what's happening - and all she can think is Valentine's Day, and she doesn't understand.

"He deserved it, and I was in no mood for self-restraint," Klaus answers, and it's a real answer, even if he doesn't give her the details, and he has no intention of giving them to her. It's a real answer, so his smile is gone, and it's just him and his anger (not pulsing and alive, but lying dormant for now) and who he is, what he is.

He takes a sip of Jack, and wishes that he could manage to slide into a pair of jeans dignifiedly.

"I know you were mad at him before," she says quietly. "After Christmas, after - it was about us sleeping together, but-- you said-" And it was Valentine's Day and it shouldn't matter but it does. "You said you'd obviously defend yourself if he attacked you, but-" And she pauses, and then-- there's tears in her eyes, but her voice is clear. "How badly did you hurt him, if he did this to you?"

She's trying to be calm and figure out what to do next, and she just feels lost. She doesn't know what to do, if she should try and find Logan, if she should stay here, and she's still just standing. I was in no mood for self restraint. She brought up his family, and now, god knew how hurt Logan was, and Klaus-- Mystique was right.

"I didn't mean to mention it," she says softly. "I told you that, after everything that happened, I didn't mean to tell him, I- I don't know-" And she glances down instead of at him, shaking her head. "What do I do now?" She looks back up at him. "What am I supposed to do? You're hurt, and he's hurt, and what am I supposed to do?"

That's perhaps the worst of it - that for all the damage Klaus has suffered, Logan practically got away with nothing. "Your little clawed friend is just fine. What's a dislocated shoulder to an immortal mutant?" What's a lacerated arm to an Original Hybrid?

He swallows down the bitterness with the rest of his glass of Jack, and puts it down on the desk to pour himself another, turning his back on her to do so.

"I'm not everything I used to be," he adds, but he's more like telling himself, and hating it, than telling her, which is why she probably has to strain to hear him.

"My-" She shakes her head. "I'm not-"

And she stops again, and she's not going to cry, she's not going to let herself cry, and she pulls in a breath. "Tell me what happened. Something must have happened." Because if Logan just walked up to him and Klaus dislocated his arm - and Caroline knows him well enough that he knows he would have pulled his arm off if he'd had his strength - it's terrifying. It means that something's changed in him, that he'd do that for no reason.

He must have had a reason. She turned when he did, opening the closet, finding some pants, and it's when her back's to him that she closes her eyes and tries to pull herself together. How can you even take yourself seriously? Mystique's question has sort of transformed into that, and it's why she straightens her shoulders, and takes a deep breath. She's not going to freak out. She's not going to go ballistic, it doesn't matter what day it was, and they're vampires. They are.

It crosses her mind again - different from last time, not about making the things that hurt stop, but this time, it's wondering if it would do it. That if she turned it off, she could take herself seriously, if she wouldn't be the girl who couldn't let go of her past anymore. If she'd stop caring about things like love and friends and the fact that everything kept getting messed up, and she'd be better, here. If that's the sort of person Klaus was looking for, who would see this for what Logan deserved for being a jerk.

And she doesn't know what she's going to do, but she's weirdly a lot calmer, and when she turns back around after she's pulled on a pair of jeans, she doesn't look like she's been betrayed, like she's been stabbed herself. She's just Caroline, and she pulls her hair back into a ponytail as she watches him. "Tell me what happened. How it started."

"Go ask him, if you want to know," Klaus answers over his shoulder, letting the tiredness show in his voice, although it's more show than his actual tiredness. "I'm not playing he said she said."

It's never been his style - he does what he does, and he takes responsibility. He doesn't try to justify himself. People understand him, or they don't - and they rarely do. They so rarely trust him.

But telling her what her so-called friend said about him, about them - that's not something he's prepared to do.

"Alright," she says quietly, and there's no emotion there, and it's weird - it's not turning it off, really, it's not, because that's something different, but it's that Mystique was right.

"There's a box on the shelf for you," she says, and then she moves to look in the mirror, to get the makeup off her face. Her head's pounding and she feels sort of sick still, she's barely eaten and hasn't showered, but after the old mascara and eyeliner's gone from under her eyes, she just moves to leave. "I'm going to the holodeck." Because she literally doesn't know what else to do, and it's either be hysterical and go around in circles, or this - and she's gone.

Klaus lets her go, because what else is he supposed to do. He lets her go, but he takes the box and opens it. Two paintbrushes, odd paintbrushes, but paintbrushes, pastels, and a few tubes of paint. He doesn't know where she found them, but he lets his fingers trail over the brushes gently, before he closes the box again.

There isn't enough black for what he would paint right now.

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February 15 - Early morning

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