anne

20 | Ice cream on Pier 62

Anne's Timeline

• ____________ •

Two nights after her phone call with Klaus, Anne had busied herself with other cases she was working on to the point of boredom-fuelled fatigued. She woke up this morning to the sounds and smells of someone cooking in her kitchen, which she concluded to be Klaus. She stared at the ceiling and stalled herself with thoughts and anxieties, not knowing how to behave with him, and getting entirely caught up in overthinking. Her green plaid pyjama pants and plain grey t-shirt suddenly felt like an underwhelming coat of arms. A submarine submerged in the deepest trench earth could offer seemed the appropriate approach.

"I know you're awake," Klaus called out. "Come get breakfast!"

Anne rubbed her face as the submarine dream faded away. She walked out to the kitchen and was comforted by the smell of bacon and the kettle boiling. She sat down at the breakfast bar, calmly finding the courage to be present in this situation. After hundreds of years, here Klaus was, cooking her breakfast in her kitchen.

"How are you doing?" Klaus asked without turning around, his attention on cutting strawberries in quarters and making sure the eggs didn't burn. 

"I'm good," she replied, shortly returning the question, "How are you?"

"Well, I've seen better days. There's a lot of drama back home, have you heard about it?"

"I try to stay away from drama."

Klaus laughed, turning around to say, "There was a time you were the drama."

"Not anymore."

His smile shortened for the slightest moment, realising how much depth had built behind his friend's eyes since he'd last properly looked. Turning back around, he asked, "So how much do you know? About everything happening in New Orleans, I mean."

Anne leant forward, her arms folded on the bench. "Not a whole lot," she lied, knowing better than to reveal that Rebekah had previously told her everything only a few days ago.

"Well, let me sum it up for you," Klaus turned around with a spatula in his hand to add, "Because I know you don't like unnecessary information."

Anne dipped her head in gratitude.

"Basically, I've exiled the seat-warmer of my throne in New Orleans—a fella named Marcel—and have inherited a whole world of issues that have arisen since my time ruling there. To name a few: the constant hellish trinity of Werewolves versus Witches versus Vampires, but to add to that mix, is the constant play for power, trickery and deception breaking hearts, deaths and rebirths, family against family, and blood against blood."

"So," Anne recalled her remark to Damon several weeks ago, "Basically the plot to a CW show."

"A what?"

"Nevermind," Anne said under her breath. "Point is, that sounds like a lot of chaos."

"It most certainly is. A war is brewing back home," He turned around to look at Anne directly, his tone firm. "And I need my most trusted soldiers on the front line."

Anne blinked. "I'm gonna need a whole lot more than an English breakfast and a little pep talk to be convinced of agreeing to what you're suggesting."

::: ::: :::

"Ice cream?"

Anne stood with her arms folded in front of a new dessert shop downtown that Klaus had eagerly driven her to.