Chapter Text
Flying with Elena has it’s pros and cons. Pro: flying business class without having to pay for it. Con: having to run interception with fans in airport lounges. Pro: airport lounges.
“I’m fine Caroline,” Elena whispers, as two girls who look about twelve shyly approach.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, grab us a seat.”
Caroline scoops up her glass of complimentary champagne and moves to give Elena some space with her fans. She mentally adds free champagne to her list of pros when it comes to travelling with Elena. The two of them have been exploring the world together (or at least their small corner of it) since they were teenagers. But travel accommodations have improved drastically since Elena got cast in Mystic and hired Caroline as her assistant.
Another nice thing about airport lounges? Unlike the crowded terminals she and Elena used to camp out in with oversized backpacks, there are almost always free seats. Free, comfortable, seats.
Except today, apparently. The usual cozy booths she’s gotten used to settling in between long flights are looking crowded today. Tired families and take up most of the tables, and two pairs of men in dark suits take up the bar.
There’s section free at the very back, a table with four plush chairs. A man sits with his back to her in the farthest. She can only see the back of his head, but he’s wearing a suit and looks too old to watch a teen drama - it’s unlikely he’ll care about Elena.
“Hey, are these seats taken?” Caroline chirps, dropping her handbag on one and settling into the other. The question is more of a courtesy than anything. The chairs are a soft plushy leather, miles more comfortable than plane seats, and she’s not leaving.
The guy across from her looks vaguely familiar in a ripped up tee and grey jeans. Caroline takes a sip of her champagne, searching for a place to put it down, wondering where she’s seen him before.
“All yours love.”
The voice is familiar, and Caroline almost does a very ungraceful spit take when she looks up and realizes it’s Klaus Mikaelsson sitting across from her. That worn tee probably cost more than her months rent.
“Uh, I can move.” She finds herself offering, halfway to her feet already. Klaus Mikaelsson is a proper movie star, the kind who probably considers flying first class a downgrade from his private plane. Caroline is suddenly pretty sure that the guys she’d skirted around at the bar are his security, and that they’re on their way to pull her away now.
“Why would you do that?” his voice is a purr, pulling her in and putting her on edge simultaneously.
She takes another sip of champagne, swallows, hard. His eyes follow the lines of her neck, lips tugging up in a smirk. Caroline had a poster of this man in her college dorm room, wearing that very expression.
“I have a friend joining me,” she says.
“The one drawing teenagers like flies?”
She follows his eyes to where Elena stands, surrounded by a small group of starstruck fans taking selfies. She’s always thought it was cute, but Klaus seems less amused. Maybe he’s worried someone will recognize him.
“And where are you flying to today, sweetheart?” He asks, when it becomes clear Elena will be busy a while.
“London. We’re shooting a Christmas special for Mystic for a few weeks.”
“How fun.”
Caroline tries to remind herself that she’s not in high school anymore, and that she meets semi-famous people every day. She doesn’t need to impress the movie star in front of her.
“It will be, actually.” She finds herself snapping, “we’re going to shut down Covent Garden for two days.” And shoot romantic scenes with Big Ben in the background, but even to Caroline that seems a bit cheesy.
Klaus smiles, as if reading her mind.
“And what else will you see, while you’re there?” He asks.
Caroline hesitates. She’s got a list, of course. But she’s pretty sure that a man who once played Hamlet at the Globe Theatre won’t be all that impressed with her plan to take photos in front of Buckingham palace.
“Museums,” she says finally.
“You should go to the Victoria and Albert then,” he recommends immediately, “there’s a cafe in the courtyard that’s exquisite on a weekday morning, when the tourists are still sleeping. You can always find artists with sketchbooks hiding among the sculptures.”
“Sounds beautiful.”
“It is.” He smiles at her, “And if you want something a tad more classic, there’s always carriage rides around Hyde Park.”
That’s near Kensington palace, she thinks. Where Will and Kate live. Not that she’d been hoping for a sighting or anything. A carriage ride past a palace sounds like the most romantic thing in the world. She tries to keep her voice light and breezy.
“Maybe if I have time.”
Klaus nods. He gives her a quick once over, curious, “Mystic is the show with Stefan Salvatore, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Do you know him?”
“Not anymore.” He tilts his head, thinking, “I happen to be on my way to London as well. Are you flying business or first class?”
He doesn’t seem like the subtle type, but Caroline is still a bit shocked by the question. How rude. She looks to where Elena is signing the last of her autographs, blissfully unaware of the conversation Caroline is having.
Klaus takes her silence for an answer, and nods decisive.
“Why don’t I have you bumped up to first?” he offers, waving a hand like the two thousand dollar fee means nothing (she and Elena looked it up before they left, when Caroline heard that Emirates offered actual stone massages in their first class cabin). It probably doesn’t.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m travelling alone,” Klaus explains, nonchalant, “We could continue our conversation. In very comfortable seats.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
“Well, give me eight hours over the Atlantic to find out.”
“I’m fine where I am, thank you,” She bites the words out between gritted teeth.
He frowns, as if only just realizing what he might have implied. “I meant no offence, love.”
“I’m not offended. I just don’t feel like being Klaus Mikaelsson’s carry on. And don’t call me that.”
“Apologies, love.” His eyes twinkle, amused, “how can I redeem myself?”
How can he still be flirting? Caroline stands, tipping back the last of her champagne. It wasn’t all that good anyway.
“No need,” she says, trying to ignore the perfect blue-grey colour of his eyes as he turns the full force of his charm up at her. Elena has turned to wave at her from the other side of the room, the perfect excuse to escape. Klaus is half standing to follow her, looking puzzled for the first time.
“We need to board soon.” Caroline snaps, “It was nice to meet you. I think.”
Klaus thinks for a beat, then seems to realize she’s serious. He settles back in his seat and raises his glass, expression unreadable, “until next time then.”
“What was that?” Elena asks, as Caroline takes her by the elbow, steering the two of them towards the exit.
“Nothing. We should find our gate.”
Elena casts a glance over her shoulder, to where Caroline is sure Klaus is still smirking behind them. If her friend finds out there’s an A-lister in the vicinity - and that Caroline may have flirted with him - she’ll never heard the end of it.
Luckily it looks like his security has closed in, a large man in a suit taking Caroline’s empty seat, and Elena misses Klaus completely.
“Fine,” she sighs, taking Caroline’s arm, “I can’t believe you’re making me leave without champagne.”
“We’ll get some on the plane.”
Klaus watches the pretty blonde flee with her popular friend in tow. He thinks he recognizes the brunette now, Elena something-or-other, the one Stefan’s been dating on and off since starting that silly soap opera. He’s never had an opinion on her before, never had a reason to.
But the other girl might be worth some research. He’s not a man accustomed to picking up women in airports - even movie stars have some standards - but she’d had an allure he couldn’t ignore. She’d known who he was, but had held back from being starstruck. Had actually argued with him, snapped back when he’d pushed too far.
Elijah would tell him he liked being challenged. Rebekah would roll her eyes and tell him he only wanted things he couldn’t have.
Both would be right. He unlocks his phone, punching in a familiar number.
“Marcel, what can you tell me about Stefan Salvatore?”
“Klaus, do you know what time it is in Los Angeles right now?” Marcel’s voice filters across the line, fuzzy with sleep.
Klaus just hums, lets his colleague read the silence. He’d built Marcel from the ground up, using family contacts and his own name to get him a studio job where he could listen in on the high ups when Klaus needed him to. Marcel might entertain the idea that he works for himself now, but he’d be wrong.
He grumbles something Klaus doesn’t quite catch, then sighs, giving in. “All I’ve heard is he’s still shooting Mystic, that drama about teenage werewolves or whatever. Dating his co-star… I think the studio set that up for publicity but it’s genuine now. Pretty boring guy, not much on his past.”
Yes, Klaus and his family had worked hard to keep it that way.
“And the co-star, the Gilbert girl, she’s travelling to London.”
“Why are you asking me if you already know?”
Klaus wonders if Marcel needs a reminder of who exactly his boss is. Maybe they need to have a chat, the next time they’re on the same continent.
“Tell me Marcel, how is Davina doing these days?”
Marcel fall quiet. Good. Klaus hates visiting LA. He hears a rustle of fabric, can picture the other man slowly sitting up in bed, glaring daggers at him from across the ocean.
“They’re shooting a Christmas special,” he says finally, falling into line, “Gilbert plays Salvatore’s love interest, so she’ll be there for the whole shoot.”
“Good,” Klaus says, “she’s travelling with an assistant. Blonde, pretty. I need you to find me her name.”