Clara & Klaus - The Untold Story: Prologue

If anyone had told Klaus Weber a year ago that he would be moving to America, he would have thought they were crazy. If they'd told him he would be sleeping on Kit Harrington's couch in a modern mansion in the middle of California, he would have laughed out loud. For one, he hadn't seen Kit since they'd graduated Hogwarts almost a decade earlier. For another, he would never willingly subject himself to California heat unless he had absolutely no other choice. A year ago, he would have had no reason whatsoever to even consider going to America - he had a career, a family, a life in the UK.

Yet here he was. No job, no family, no life, just the pristine modern couch cushions in Kit Harrington's ridiculous mansion. And he hadn't laughed in months.

Kit himself was long gone, having headed off to some southern state - Mississippi? Alabama? - for some photography thing or other. He'd told Klaus to make himself at home, offering the mansion's full selection of amenities to keep him occupied while the photographer was away.

Truth be told, Klaus hadn't even looked at most of the rooms in the house. He was sure Kit probably had everything from a swimming pool to a personal movie theater but he really wasn't in the mood to check. Instead, he'd restrained himself for about half an hour after the man had left, then walked straight to the kitchen to rummage through the liquor cabinet.

When he'd turned up on Kit's doorstep about a week ago, he'd made at least some effort to be on good behaviour. About a month before that he had sent his old friend a letter asking for a place to stay while he figured himself out, telling him that he intended to find his own place once he got to America. A few weeks, a month at most, he'd said. Kit had been extremely accommodating, and Klaus had remained completely sober for almost three whole days to show his gratitude.

The gig was up now. He'd restrained himself as best he could in Kit's presence, but he had the house to himself now and Kit had specifically told him to help himself to whatever the place had to offer. So instead of stopping himself at three glasses like he'd been doing for the past few days, he went ahead and drained the whole bottle of single malt because, hey, fewer dishes to clean.

And when he passed out on the couch an hour later, he did so under the impression that he would wake up on his own time to an empty house and cabinet full of scotch.

So when a shrill, earsplitting whistle shattered the silence, Klaus jumped so violently he tumbled off the couch and landed with a solid thud on the hard floor.

"Ow fuck shit bloody--what the hell was that for?!"

He scrambled to his feet, clutching his throbbing head and swaying dangerously before steadying himself on the coffee table in front of him. Disoriented, his hand scrabbled blindly for his wand, patting his empty pockets until he finally looked down to see that it had fallen on the floor and rolled most of the way beneath the couch. He quickly snatched it up and turned to brandish it somewhat dizzily in the general direction of the source of the offending noise.

It took him a long moment to process the young woman who had stepped into the room. She'd been around to visit before, earlier in the week; he remembered her face. She was Kit's friend. What was her name again? Kara? Clara? What was she doing here?

Wait. Kit had mentioned something about her coming around to check on him at some point. How many hours had it been since he'd left? How long had he been asleep? What time was it? His head hurt. He let out a soft groan, lowering his wand as he rubbed at his bleary eyes. He swayed again, taking a step back and all but collapsing back onto the couch as he slowly got his bearings.

Klaus shot the woman a petulant glare in response to her peppy greeting. Her voice was doing nothing for his headache. As he took his first real look at her, noting her rather unique sense of style, his eyes fell upon the whistle dangling from her belt along with a multitude of other trinkets. She was without a doubt responsible for his rude awakening and the lingering ringing in his ears. His glare intensified.

She ignored him, holding up a bag of takeout and leaving the room. He tried to come up with some scathing response to call out to her, but his thought process was interrupted by his stomach growling. He realized he hadn't eaten anything all day. He huffed, frustrated by his body's betrayal, then reluctantly stood and followed the woman into the kitchen, slowly so as not to seem too eager.

He stopped in the entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the door frame and watching as she unpacked the meal. His stomach rumbled again as the smell reached him. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, messing it up even further as he yawned and blinked a couple times, trying to banish the grogginess from his mind. The woman made eye contact with him, and he raised his eyebrows as if to ask what they were waiting for.

He remained motionless in the doorway for a long moment after she issued her commands. He debated not complying, wondering what she would do, then figured it wasn't worth it. He didn't have the energy to fight right now. He rolled his eyes and turned around, trudging toward the bathroom down the hall where he kept his meager supply of toiletries.

He shut the door behind him and glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked...bad. There were bags under his eyes, his skin was pale, and his hair stood up in all directions. A light stubble was beginning to show on his cheeks and chin, though he had never really been able to grow a beard. He sighed, turning on the faucet and splashing some cold water in his face to wake himself up. He dried off with a washcloth, combed his fingers through his hair in a halfhearted attempt to tame it (to no avail), and then looked at the bottle of Listerine next to the soap dish. With another sigh, he decided there was nothing to gain from being difficult, so he uncapped the bottle and took a swig, swishing it about in his mouth for a few seconds before spitting it out in the sink.

He didn't know what Clara considered "clean," but as far as he was concerned, he had done as she had asked. He emerged from the bathroom and returned to the kitchen, picking up a pair of chopsticks and holding them awkwardly in one hand. It had been a while since he'd used chopsticks, but he thought he could manage. With hardly a glance toward the kitchen's other occupant, he dug into the pile of noodles on the counter before she could think about making him do something else first.

Although the sweet and salty sauce mixed terribly with the spearmint Listerine aftertaste in his mouth, Klaus felt significantly better with something in his stomach. He hadn't realized quite how hungry he was. He glanced at the digital clock on the microwave and saw that it was 3:00pm. Thinking back to the last time he had eaten, he realized it must have been about 20 hours ago. No wonder.

Clara remained silent as he ate, something Klaus would have been grateful for had he really noticed. Truth be told, he essentially tuned out her presence entirely as he mechanically shoveled food into his mouth, regaining energy with every bite. When she pushed her own portion toward him, he took it wordlessly, the pounding in his head slowly subsiding as he ate.

He finally looked up at her as she broke the silence. His eyes traveled to the coffee machine on a nearby counter as he finished chewing. He wondered momentarily why she couldn't just make it herself, but he was in a better mood now that he was no longer hungry, so he didn't push it. She had brought him food after all, so he figured she couldn't be all bad. And besides, coffee sounded like an excellent idea.

A little chat. That sounded ominous. He met her eyes warily, wondering if he should be alarmed. The thought occurred to him that she had barely touched the food herself, and it was probably very stupid of him to have eaten it without question. She was a stranger to him, no matter how much Kit seemed to trust her.

Not that she had any reason to be out to get him as far as he could tell, but he could practically hear Alastor's voice scolding him for his misstep. Constant vigilance.

He looked down at the remaining dumplings, considering for a moment, then he mentally shrugged. So what if they are poisoned? At least I won't die hungry. He took another one and popped it in his mouth, wandering over to the coffee machine and setting it up while he chewed.

Besides, even Alastor's constant vigilance hadn't saved him in the end.

As the coffee machine whirred, Klaus returned to the counter and finished the remaining food while they waited. He set his chopsticks down when he was done, watching the last few drops of coffee fall into the pot and savouring the aroma that filled the kitchen. Then he opened a cupboard and grabbed two mugs, filled both of them, and added three teaspoons full of sugar to Clara's before handing it to her along with a spoon to stir. He took a sip of his own - black and unsweetened, the way God intended - then turned to face her, leaning his back against the counter.

"Alright then," he started, his soft Scottish brogue finally making an appearance. "Let's chat."

Klaus nodded slowly at the woman's first question. Clearly she was building up to something. She already knew he was a friend of Kit's - the man himself had introduced him as such when he'd first arrived.

At her next sentence, he barked a short, surprised laugh. That was not where he had expected this to go. Immediately, images of Kit from their school days flooded his mind and he nodded once more to confirm that the man was, in fact, an idiot more often than not. But then, they had all been idiots at the time. It was the 80's.

And Kit's particular brand of idiocy was one he remembered with fondness more often than embarrassment, so he almost felt the need to come to his old friend's defense. Then he remembered Clara probably knew him better than he did at this point, so she most likely understood without him having to say anything.

Her next question gave him pause. He had no idea what she was referring to at first, but she wanted him to guess, so he thought for a second, taking another sip of coffee. As his brain slowly came to life, he began to look for clues in her behavior that might hint at her point.

It probably had something to do with him, considering he wouldn't know much of anything new happening in Kit's life that wasn't related to his own presence. That and the fact that this "chat" felt suspiciously like an interrogation.

He thought back to her arrival. Although she'd brought him food, she hadn't been particularly friendly or gentle - he remembered the whistle with a wince - so he got the impression that she probably didn't like him very much. And, considering his own disheveled appearance and obvious recent drinking, he probably hadn't made a great first impression either.

All in all, he came to the conclusion that she most likely didn't approve of his presence in Kit's house.

He took another sip and swallowed before tilting his head, studying her face before answering. "Might it have something to do with him leaving me here alone with all of his stuff while he's off on the other side of the country?"

Klaus saw why Clara was suspicious. He really couldn't blame her. He knew how he must look, showing up out of nowhere with nothing to offer, and clearly not in the healthiest of conditions. He suspected he probably was taking advantage of Kit's hospitality, at least a little bit, in that he hadn't made himself particularly helpful in his time here, nor had he actively been searching for a more sustainable situation. He felt bad about it, sure, but there was no way Clara would know that, and somehow he suspected she wouldn't care.

She was right, in every way that mattered. That didn't mean he had to like it. It had only been a week; he felt it was a bit early to be throwing accusations around. If he was still sleeping on Kit's couch in a month, Clara would have every right to be angry, but as it was, Klaus hadn't yet done anything wrong. He had told Kit he would stay for a month at most, until he found someplace else to live. He still had plenty of time to make that happen.

A nagging voice at the back of his mind - his conscience, perhaps - pointed out that he hadn't even started thinking about his next steps in any detail, that he currently had nothing lined up, and that it had definitely occurred to him that Kit would never actually kick him out. He had figured the guilt would get to him eventually, but now it looked like Clara would get to him first.

His face gave nothing away. She was right to be suspicious, but obviously he'd rather avoid the accusations if he could. He had no real defense at the moment, but he could probably come up with one if he stalled long enough. Rather than admitting to anything now, he simply settled for a careful, "I understand." And he did. In fact, though he suspected this woman would be a thorn in his side for as long as he stayed at Kit's house, he couldn't help but grudgingly admire her for standing up for her friend.

Any positive feelings he had toward the woman dissipated as she moved to a new topic of conversation. He bristled at the assumptions she made about his family, and his face settled in a guarded scowl. She was treading on thin ice.

"There is no family reunion," he responded, his voice clipped. "And I'll thank you not to make such statements in the future. I'll be gone as soon as I can find myself a house."

A house, not a home. He doubted anything would feel like home. The thought occurred to him that one of the reasons he was so hesitant to find his own place was because he might be lonely. At least with Kit he would have someone to talk to. Someone to distract him. He banished the notion before he could follow it any further. Now was not the time for wallowing in self-pity. He got the feeling he would receive very little sympathy from Clara.