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Love Letters Never Write Themselves

Summary:

Klaus Mikaelson causes a stir when he shows up at The Mystic Falls Academy. Assigned to help him with a mysterious task, Caroline finds herself intrigued. They grow closer and when Klaus leaves, she's left hurt and confused.

Later, assigned to be his apprentice, Caroline refuses to allow herself to be anything less then professional.

Notes:

Don't worry, this is not another WIP! It's done it just got really long and I kept tweaking so I'm letting it free so I can get on with editing up the rest. More will follow, and pretty quickly! Big thanks to everyone who's been sending messages and reviews over the last months! It's kept me trying to write even though it's been sloooww going.

Chapter Text

Love Letters Never Write Themselves

Part One

Caroline usually avoids the library.

When necessary, she’ll dash in and collect the books she needs, but she’s never tempted to linger. The Mystic Falls Academy is home to the most extensive collection of magical journals and grimoires in North America, many priceless, all precious. The library is chilly and dry to protect the books; its handful of tiny windows don’t even open. There are plenty of more welcoming spaces to study.

Plus, it’s generally filled with Caroline’s least favorite people, the clique of girls who care for nothing but their essays and experiments, who’d sneered when, years ago, Caroline had started organizing monthly sleepovers in the common room and study groups in the dining hall. Admittedly the purpose of said study groups is less educational and more social – the girls trade treats from home and chat about how they can make their uniforms less tragic. Some people object to that.

Caroline decides to take a trip to the library once she hears that there’s a boy there.

She’d been under the impression that a male wouldn’t be allowed to pass through The Academy’s gates. Caroline’s certainly never seen one on the grounds in the entire eight years she’d attended the school.

It’s easy enough to think of an excuse; she can totally use another source to polish up her essay on umbrakinetic regeneration.

Caroline takes the maximum amount of weekend trips allotted. Visiting her mother is nice but she also thoroughly enjoys associating with the friends she’d had to leave behind. She’d dreamed of being a cheerleader until it had become clear that the Forbes genes hadn’t passed her by (though Sheriff Liz might have wished the magic had skipped her only child).

Still, Mystic Falls is a small town, and new faces don’t often appear. The boys who ply her with warm beer at parties are the same boys who’d hogged the crayons in elementary school. There’s something to be said for novel boys.

When Caroline pushes her way through the library’s heavy wooden doors, she realizes she needn’t have bothered with a cover story. She barely recognizes the room. It’s generally dim and roughly as lively as a funeral. Today it’s brightly lit because every lamp is turned on and every table is full. There’s a hum of conversation, the occasional giggle, and the ancient librarian looks especially pinched, viciously shushing the room whenever the noise level threatens to rise.

The rumors hadn’t been entirely true because sitting smack dab in the middle of the commotion, seemingly oblivious to it, at a table piled high with books, is most definitely a man.

Which isn’t to say he’s old. Caroline would guess he’s a novice, maybe a practitioner, probably only a few years out of school himself. She can also immediately see the reason for all the fuss. Any man would have warranted attention, and this one looks as if he’d stepped off the cover of one of the romance novels the girls pass around (some of the more traditional instructors incinerate those books on sight). His hair’s a bit mussed, and a dusting of stubble only emphasizes his strong jaw and full lips. He’s bent over a text, undisturbed by the many eyes on him. Upon studying him for a few moments, Caroline decides it’s an act. The visitor hasn’t adopted the posture that one truly engrossed would have.

She feels kind of bad for the guy.

The excitement in the room strikes her as silly now. It’s a little embarrassing that she’d been eager to gawk as if she’s a virginal princess who’d spent her whole life locked in a tower.

She’s eighteen, an adult in her mother’s world, nearly one in her father’s. She just needs to graduate. To that end, Caroline tosses her hair back, making her way towards the stacks where the books she’d been thinking about should be.

She has to walk by the table where The Academy’s newest guest is seated. She keeps her shoulders straight, eyes fixed forward, refusing to give in to the temptation to give him a once over to see if he’s as attractive up close as she thinks he must be.

Caroline doesn’t notice that his eyes lift as she passes, startled, and follow her until she disappears behind a wall of shelves.


 

Two years, three months, and a handful of days later, Caroline stands impatiently outside of a sprawling country house in Wales.

The house has seen better days. Its stone façade is faded grey, a few of the wooden shutters look crooked, and they all need a coat of paint. The land is beautiful though, green and hilly, with a thick forest in the distance. The trees stretch high into the sky, and she’s looking forward to investigating; it probably holds a treasure trove of valuable ingredients. She can even hear water running nearby, a stream, or a small river.

Caroline’s donned a proper cloak, despite the abnormally warm September day, in deference to the fact that her final apprenticeship will be spent with a gifted alchemist from a very old family.

In Caroline’s experience, very old families are sticklers for the rules, however outdated, and the norms, however stupid.

She hears the horse first, the patter hooves on the grass. Caroline walks until she can see around the side of the house, lifting a hand to shade her eyes.

For a second, Caroline wonders if she’s hallucinating because Klaus Mikaelson, of all people, is coming her way. On horseback.

She quickly realizes that she’s firmly planted in reality - her heels are sinking into the grass, and she’s sweated off her foundation. If Klaus were a figment of her imagination, she’d appear flawless and collected to make him regret how he’d left things.

He’s wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, again managing to look like he’d be right at home on the cover of a romance novel.

God, he’s the worst.

Why had no one had bothered to tell her that the gifted alchemist was Klaus? She might have had time to worm her way into another apprenticeship placement. And she definitely wouldn’t have bothered with the cloak.

He appears to notice her, moving to slow the horse. His expression doesn’t indicate recognition. Caroline’s going to chalk that up to how she’s dressed, how neatly her hair is pinned up. Klaus is used to her in her school uniform, had seen her a few times in casual clothes when they’d snuck into the woods around the school so they could talk without dozens upon dozens of prying eyes following them.

He’d even seen her best bra once, had gotten a peek of the matching lace panties before he’d abruptly rolled off of her and fled with muttered apologies.

He hadn’t bothered with another sorry when he’d left the school.

That night, Caroline had taken a couple of minutes to process, a couple more to overthink, then a few to make herself presentable. By the time she’d found Kat and made the trek back to The Academy, Klaus had disappeared. Rumors had flown afterward, Caroline hadn’t known what was true and what wasn’t, but Klaus hadn’t returned or bothered to send her a letter of explanation.

 There’d been a significant period of moping before she’d settled into being really pissed off.

She’s pushed that feeling back, buried it in work. She’d thought time had extinguished its intensity. It turns out that her anger is quick to bubble up again. Caroline takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, wonders how screwed she’d be with The Guild if she were to run away screaming.

If only that were possible.

The cab she’d taken from the airport had disappeared in a cloud of dust shortly after Caroline had tugged her overstuffed suitcase from the trunk. Caroline hadn’t minded the rudeness, is well aware that traces of magic are usually off-putting to those who don’t know it exists. Her mother had grown used to it after years of exposure, but Caroline had always been careful not to bring any of her non-Academy friends home.

This country house, Klaus’ country house, hums with magic. To the very human cabbie, it must give off distinctly haunted vibes.

So Caroline has no immediate means of escape.

She hadn’t bothered to bring her phone as she’d been warned that she’d find neither cell reception nor wi-fi at this placement. She’s stuck, but she refuses to appear anything less unbothered and completely over any feelings she may have thought she had for Klaus Mikaelson.

The horse slows to a walk as it nears. Caroline hears Klaus murmur soothingly to it, a remarkable contrast to how testy he sounds when he calls out, “This is private land.”

 Caroline smiles, in the most practiced and polite manner she can manage (even though she’d love to snipe back), “Good afternoon! The Guild sent me. I’m here for the alchemical apprenticeship? So pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Klaus stiffens, his eyes widening. He leaps from the horse, and Caroline swallows a yelp, her toes curling in her very professional pumps to curb the urge to reach out and make sure he hadn’t hurt himself.

Not because of any lingering feelings. It’s just a natural instinct when a person flings themselves off a huge moving horse right in front of you.

Klaus is unfaltering and apparently uninjured, suddenly right in front of her. “Caroline,” he says, eyes wide. He reaches out tentatively, his face showing a soft mix of surprise and pleasure that she absolutely will not be charmed by.

Once upon a time, before the Forbes genes had kicked in, Caroline had wanted to be an actress. She calls on those skills now. “Oh wow! What a surprise…” she pauses like she’s searching for a name. “How have you been, Klaus?”

If Caroline’s honest, she’s genuinely interested in his answer. This is her third and final apprenticeship. She may have made an effort to subtly fish for information about Klaus with the magicians she’d been assisting and any visiting guests she’d been able to engage in conversation.

Hadn’t gleaned even a whisper about Klaus’ whereabouts or activities, much to her annoyance.

If he’d run off because making out with her had led to an epiphany, a stunning, world-changing discovery, her ego would have been slightly assuaged. But nope, he’d left her lying on the forest floor, half-naked and achingly aroused, for reasons she still cannot understand.

She takes a step back, grasps her suitcase, using it as a barrier between them.

Klaus doesn’t try to encroach on her space again. He rubs his hands against his thighs, begins unrolling one of his shirtsleeves. “I’ve been well enough.”

It’s a vague answer, unenthused. Caroline wants to press, possibly needle, but she won’t. “That’s nice,” she replies, her tone equally bland.

Klaus sighs, and Caroline can’t deny that she takes a healthy heap of satisfaction in the edge of annoyance she hears. “I suppose I should show you to your rooms.”

The thought of staying in an isolated home with Klaus, massive though it appears to be, for a whole year, is still panic-inducing. Caroline manages to remain composed.

She’ll indulge in a proper freak out once she’s got a closed door.


Caroline’s rushing, having been on the receiving end of a very pointed glare when she’d entered the library. The librarian is a total hardass, has never let a curfew violation slide. Caroline has no desire to spend her weekend dusting shelves. She has to verify one teeny thing for an assignment, and then she’ll hightail it back to her rooms.

“There you are,” she mutters, stretching up to grab the volume she needs. Caroline pulls it down, tucks it into her bag, moving quickly down the aisle. She glances up as she turns the corner only to jump back and yelp, a hand coming up to press over her suddenly pounding heart. “Lord, you scared me.”

The boy whose arrival has caused such a commotion (and it’s only died down slightly, the library still experiencing way higher traffic than usual) smiles, his head dipping slightly. “Apologies. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”

“Wow,” Caroline says, “he speaks.” She cringes immediately, curses her tendency to speak her mind. A lot of the girls in Caroline’s grade, and some below, are miffed that their visitor seems to be determined to keep to himself. That he’s been brusque and always manages to excuse himself after exchanging the fewest words possible.

There’s been a serious uptick in wardrobe infractions, and Klaus Mikaelson is solely responsible.

He’s got a reputation now as rude and snobby – though that only makes sense, considering his family name. The Mikaelsons are wealthy, powerful. They hoard spell books, own far more than their fair share of enchanted objects. They’re selective about with whom they associate.

There’s still a lot of giggling about his lips and his forearms after lights out, though. Caroline hasn’t participated, still feels ashamed for her initial urge to gawk at him as if he was a zoo animal.

He doesn’t appear offended by her comment, might even be amused if she’s reading his expression right. “I speak often under normal circumstances. Too often, some complain. I’m Klaus.”

She hitches her bag higher on her shoulder, “I’m Caroline, and I really can’t judge. The word chatterbox has appeared on many a report to my parents.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Caroline.” He sounds like he means it, and she finds she enjoys the way he says her name. She’s met plenty of musty old warlocks from England, acquaintances of her father’s. The accent is much more compelling from someone young and attractive.

Klaus’s eyes flit to the crest on her blazer, quickly rise again. “You’re in your final year here?”

“Yep. Last semester, then on to the glamourous grunt work of apprenticeships.”

He smiles, takes a half step closer. “It can be a long few years. What area are you planning on specializing in?”

“Alchemy. Or Possibly Enchantment.”

She’s expecting judgment. Caroline gets plenty of pursed-lip disapproval from her instructors – one of whom she’d just met with - regarding her waffling about her career path, the one she’ll begin walking very soon. She’s not expecting his brows to rise. “Interesting. The Forbes’ tend to stick to Abjuration.”

She gets enough passive-aggressive comments about her choices from her dad and Granny Forbes. She doesn’t need it from a guy she’s just met, even if he’s got dimples and hair that curls enough that she’s wondering about running her fingers through it.

Caroline bristles, “Which is why it’s boring. Why would I spend the next three years of my life doing thankless tasks just to learn things I’ve heard about since birth?”

She yanks another book from the shelf, not caring that she doesn’t need it, and whirls away.

He calls after her, laughter in his voice, “It was lovely to meet you, Caroline!”

Later, when she’s tucked in her bed, seconds from falling asleep, she realizes she hadn’t told him her last name.


Klaus greets her at the door of his lab, probably because he’d heard her squelching down the hall.

Caroline had left her boots outside to dry, and she’d considered stripping the rest of her clothes in the entranceway but hadn’t been willing to risk getting caught creeping around in her underwear.

Klaus appears concerned until he gets a good look at her. His eyes widen, and his generous mouth begins to curl. He’s smart enough to catch himself before he smiles. She knows she looks a mess, that there’s mud splattered from her toes to her thighs. She’s gotten caught in the rain on the way home, adding to the water that had already soaked every item of clothing she wears, but at least it had washed away the pond smell.

Caroline glares at him for good measure, fumbling with the clasp of the bag she uses to collect ingredients.

She takes a calming breath before she grabs the jars of leaves and flowers she’d carefully collected. Her magic tends to go wild around Klaus, even when she’s not in a temper. No need to waste all her hard work with a flare-up that will shatter glass. “Your Orontium Aquaticum, as requested. I’ll clean and dry it later.”

After a bath and a meal.

Klaus takes the jars, “Did you run into trouble?”

Well, duh.

“Do me a favor and pay a little more attention to the growing season of the ingredients you absolutely have to have, will you?”

He has the grace to appear apologetic. “Right, it flowers in…”

“August. And since it’s late-September, I had to scour every bog in the freaking forest.”

“I’d forgotten.”

Caroline looks for hints of a lie, finds none. That doesn’t mean Klaus is being entirely truthful, of course. She’d once thought she could read him. She’d been wrong.

She decides to trust him now; there’s no benefit in assuming malicious intent. Not when she’s stuck here for an additional eleven months and twelve days.

That first week she’d furiously tried to find a way to be somewhere else for her final apprenticeship, knowing all along it was futile.

When no miracle placement had materialized, Caroline reached deep and did her best to find the positives in her predicament. Klaus is brilliant, not that she’d admit it to his face. The conversations they’d had tucked away in the darkest and draftiest (and therefore most private) corners of the library at The Academy or on their walks in the woods had helped Caroline immensely her final months of coursework. She’d graduated first in her class, had been smugly pleased about it, even when she’d been nursing a bruised heart.

Not a broken heart. An important distinction.

Klaus has provided her with a lovely, spacious room. It has a gorgeous bathroom, with a deep claw-foot tub and a skylight. Caroline had heard horror stories about apprentices who’d been made to sleep on cots tucked into a corner of a lab, with only a few minutes of privacy a day to wash up and change clothing. Of being made to work all hours of the day, without time off or any opportunity for leisure. Her previous two placements had comfortable-ish - single beds in tiny rooms - but she’s practically living in luxury now.

Klaus doesn’t work her to the bone; she’s not only doing the meaningless scut work of scrubbing cauldrons and sweeping floors. Klaus had informed her early on that Sundays were her own, that she was free to wander wherever she pleased, and Caroline’s taken him at his word. She’d explored the house thoroughly – save the locked rooms she assumes are Klaus’ – along with the grounds. Last week she’d packed a picnic lunch on Sunday, had lazed in the sunlight by a small lake, and written letters to her friends and family.

He’s letting her assist in his experiments, actually listens to her ideas. Has allowed her to take over a corner of his lab with her own things. She has free reign over his equipment and stores, even the ingredients that are costly and difficult to find, the ones she’d rarely been able to lay her hands on at school.

All in all, the optimism she’d forced herself to feel has proven quite prophetic. Is it a bit awkward? Sure. Does she find herself sometimes slipping, watching Klaus work, forgetting that she’s just his apprentice now? Annoyingly often, but Caroline’s working on it.

It’s only because she’s lonely, but that’s unsurprising. She’s in a foreign country, on an isolated estate. Her first apprenticeship had been in the middle of New York City; her second had been with an alchemist who worked at a school in Italy. Before that, she’d grown accustomed to dorm life. She misses noise, camaraderie, friends who’ll listen to her rant or provide distractions as needed. Here there’s only Klaus and a small staff that are freakishly adept at melting into the walls.

She and Klaus had been close once, had shared space and confidences. She’d seen him bleary from spending too long on research, hangry from skipping lunch, and annoyed when the librarian lectured him (repeatedly) about the proper care and treatment of first editions.

There’d been intimacies, too. Caroline knows how strong his hands are, the heat of his mouth. She’s felt his body tremble against hers, has heard how hoarse his voice can get when he’s aroused. It’s only natural that she’s tempted to let him in again. But, as she keeps telling herself, she cannot seek out his company. Even if she’d been willing to thaw, Klaus wouldn’t welcome her presence.

He’d been the one to leave. Hadn’t bothered with an explanation or a goodbye. Caroline might play the vapid blonde when it suits her, but she’s far from stupid.

They’d had their fling. It’s over. She’s just got to get through this apprenticeship. Then, chances are, her path and Klaus’ won’t often cross.

At least, that’s what Caroline’s hoping. She figures she’s due for a little good luck.


Two weeks into Klaus Mikaelson’s visit and three days after their first conversation, Caroline is pulled from class and told that the headmistress wants to see her. Over tea and weird lavender cookies, she’s informed that Klaus Mikaelson has requested her assistance with his research.

Caroline is less than thrilled. She fakes excitement, of course, since the headmistress acts as if she’s bestowing a great gift.

She considers her options as she walks out of the office. She could wait for Klaus to come to her, but Caroline’s never been very good at delayed gratification. She’s got questions.

She knows where he’ll be because he barely leaves the library. Rumor has it he’s not bound to any sort of curfew and usually stays late into the night. She helps herself to a chair at his table, does not attempt to hide that she’s highly suspicious of his motives. He smiles like he’s pleased to see her, and Caroline crosses her arms, leans back in her chair. She ignores the uptick in whispers and the librarian’s exasperated shushing.

She’s totally going to get grilled before lights out.

“Caroline Forbes, reporting for duty, as ordered. What am I doing?”

This close, she can see he looks older, tired, with distinct purple-blue bruises under his eyes and thick stubble along his jaw. “Geez, have you actually been sleeping here?” she blurts, momentarily forgetting he has stalker-ish tendencies that she’s mad about.

She’s also forgetting basic manners, but he doesn’t call her on it.

Klaus huffs out a laugh, a hand coming up to rub at his eyes. “Some nights, if I’m being honest. I’m afraid my project has become rather urgent.”

Hmm, that’s potentially interesting. “Hence why I’ve been drafted?”

“Your instructors provided glowing recommendations.”

She leans forward, twisting a pile of books so she can read the spines. “Obviously. I’m battling for the top of the class, and I will win.”

“I also thought your… familial affinity for protection spells and dispel magic might be useful.”

Just what a girl wants to hear. That she’s useful.

His words, and his general air of contrition, snap a few puzzle pieces into place. “Let me guess. You wrote to my dad requesting access to the Forbes Library, and he said hell no.”

He does not attempt to deny it, “I also attempted to visit in person.”

Caroline grins, “Couldn’t even find the driveway, could you?”

Klaus nods, and Caroline gives him credit – a minuscule drop of it – for not attempting to bluster his way through an excuse for his failure. She’s heard it from associates of her father’s (with varying levels of outrage) many times.

Caroline’s not entirely sure about the origin of her father’s distaste for the Mikaelson family, but she’s aware it exists. It could be personal or due to their unsavory reputation. William Forbes has very particular ideas about the morality of wielding magic. Klaus’ family hoards knowledge and thus power. They believe that the old families should be wary of outsiders, contrary to her father’s beliefs.

“So you’ve been stalking me for a while then.”

He shakes his head, “I picked The Academy for its collection and its proximity to your ancestral land, yes. You were a pleasant surprise. I was only vaguely aware that there was a Forbes heir before I arrived.

She considers him, looks for any hint of a nervous tick. He’s calm and steady and meets her gaze without any telltale shiftiness. So he may be telling the truth, but he might just be an above-average liar. Her father isn’t exactly the life of the party. There are many places he’s not welcome. Some, because he’d had a child with a woman who lacked magic. Others, because he’d gotten divorced and married a man, eliminating the possibility of a proper heir. He also travels extensively, and Caroline’s rarely joined him, so plenty of people may know that the Forbes line continued but not Caroline’s age, gender, or description.

She decides to believe Klaus. For now.

“Tell me about your suddenly urgent project.”

“I want to develop an elixir to break a curse.”

Caroline waits, expecting more information - it’s not readily provided.

“What kind of curse?”

“Generational.”

Very interesting. She finds it hard to believe that she doesn’t already know about a curse to the Mikaelson line as they’re not particularly well-liked. It’s the sort of gossip that would have been eagerly and widely shared.

“Matrilineal or patrilineal?”

“Can be either. In this case, patrilineal.”

She drums her nails on the table, finding it difficult to resist the temptation to dig too deep. Klaus has answered her questions matter-of-factly so far, but Caroline’s not an idiot. He’s giving her the bare minimum for a reason.

“You’re not going to tell me what the curse is, are you?”

“It’s best if you don’t know.”

“Patronizing,” Caroline mutters. But she grabs a book, flips to the table of contents. “This curse, passed from a father, are all of his children afflicted?”

“As far as I know, this father only had one child.”

Score one for subtle digging. Caroline knows Klaus has a bunch of siblings, and he’s not the one cursed. She ignores the relief she feels upon hearing he’s unafflicted by something potentially nasty. It’s a bit humiliating considering she just met him, and he’s admitted to using her for her family connections.

She’s way too old for instant crushes, damn it.

“Okay, I guess I’m in. On one condition.”

“I’m listening.”

“You give me your notes and leave the library. I’ll review them. We start tomorrow.”

A small smile curls his lips, and he begins to shift things around on his side of the table. “I suppose I can agree to those terms.”

Caroline slips off her shoes under the table, shifts until she’s in a more comfortable position. She’d made a deal, and she’ll honor it.

Klaus rises and leans over the table, notes in hand. He must be aware of all the ears straining to listen to their conversation because he speaks softly. “I am gratified that you’re concerned for my well-being. Does that mean you’ll not hold my mild deception against me?”

Caroline snatches the offered sheaf of papers from Klaus, begins leafing through, carefully not looking at him. “Don’t push your luck,” she grumbles.

“I’m afraid that’s a character flaw of mine. I just can’t help myself.”

Delivered another way, Caroline would assume that’s a threat. She refuses to think he’s flirting. Caroline makes a noise, hoping it’s appropriately nonchalant.

Klaus straightens, stretches. She does not watch. “I’ll see you in the morning, love.”

She keeps her eyes on the notes but strains her ears to hear his retreating footsteps.

Usually, to a degree that tends to annoy even those that love her, Caroline is relentless when given a new project to tackle.

Instead, she finds her mind won’t easily focus. It wanders, always ending up with Klaus. She hopes he’s obeying her implicit demand that he a good night’s sleep. Racks her knowledge of the buildings, trying to figure out where the headmistress would house a male guest.

Idly wonders if the area would be warded and how heavily.

She might be in trouble.

A strategic retreat – claiming overwork, perhaps – would be the intelligent thing to do. Unfortunately, Caroline has at least one thing in common with Klaus.

She just can’t help pushing her luck.