I jerk awake. My breath comes fast and I try to calm myself. In and out, in and out, I say to myself, it's just a dream. Will it ever stop haunting me? It's been almost a year now. Maybe that's why I keep seeing it every time I close my eyes lately. It's the anniversary.

Klaus shifts beside me in his sleep, his arm around my back as I am curled into his chest. I smile. Unconsciously he's felt me wake up, but he's still out like a light. I stare at his face, noticing about three days worth of scruff. He needs a shave. But I like the scruff. I wonder to myself what he might look like with a full beard. I smile again.

I can usually tell what kind of mood he's in based on the way he holds me in his sleep. He only has one arm around me, the other stretched over his head. Tonight he is calm. He's proud of me for our work earlier. I saw the gleam in his eye as we followed the pair from the bar home and broke into their house. They never saw it coming. None of them do.

I exhale and close my eyes again, but the images from the dream flash behind my eyelids. I can't get back to sleep. I decide a shower is best. I slip away from Klaus's grasp, careful to not wake him and head into the shower, letting the warm spray wash away the bad memories.

"Time to wake up love," Klaus murmurs. It's morning now. His lips caress my fore head, my cheek, the tip of my nose. I hum delightedly and he finally captures my lips. I can feel the heat coiling inside of me. It happens whenever we touch. But I push away. He frowns.

"Morning breath," I explain.

"I adore your morning breath."

"That's gross," I reply. "I don't adore yours."

He chuckles and lifts himself off of me, retreating to the bathroom. I here the sink running and the scrubbing sounds of his toothbrush. I reach over and click on the television set.

I flip past the news. If we're on it, I don't care to see. It just makes me feel jittery all over. Sometimes I hate the spotlight, but I know Klaus loves it. He loves the rebel without a cause feel he gets from the whole media spin. I feel like it will just lead us to getting caught, even though no one knows what we look like. He always reassures me that we've been doing this long enough to never get caught. He promises to protect me from the law. But it's not the law that scares me at this point. It's separation. Death row I can handle. Life in prison I can handle. Life without him I cannot.

I stop on a random music channel and let the noise fill the morning, before joining Klaus in the bathroom to brush my own teeth and get ready for the day.

"What would you like to do today?" He asks me, leaning back against the bathroom counter.

"Hmmm," I respond with my toothbrush in my mouth. I finish brushing and rinse my mouth with water. "I think I would like to get a tattoo."

His eyebrows shoot up. "A tattoo?"

"Yes," I nod, "I've been thinking about it for a while now."

He chuckles. "You've been thinking about it since we saw that film."

I poke my tongue out at him. "Not true! I've wanted one for a while now. The movie just sealed the deal."

He laughs indulgently and drops a kiss on my lips. He tastes fresh and minty, like the toothpaste. "Very well."

We drive downtown and Klaus finds a decent looking shop. He flips through portfolios with me, but I don't want anything super complicated.

"Just a rose," I say to the artist as I sit in his chair.

"Where?" He asks me. He's covered in tattoos himself, a red bandana around his hair and a large ring in his eyebrow.

"Here," I say pointing to a spot on my chest, just above my heart.

"Ok," the artist says, "I can bring you over to the private area. You'll have to remove your shirt and bra."

I step forward to follow him but Klaus stops me. "No."

I turn and stare at him. He's got that possessive glare in his eye. I know what's bothering him, but he needs to get over it.


"I said no," he snaps, "pick another place. One that preferably doesn't require the removal of clothing."

I narrow my eyes at him a moment longer and then finally concede. I turn back to my artist.

"My ankle?" I ask.

He shrugs, "A tattoo like this would look cooler as a chest piece-," he stops mid-sentence making eye contact with Klaus, "but the ankle would look just as good."

I nod and sit back in the chair, Klaus hovering next to me the whole time, his eyes on the artists as he inks me. I wonder fleetingly if I might see this man's blood on Klaus's hands later tonight.

So if you like this story, be sure to head to Kady's page (Klausykins) and put it on alert. No more updates here. And let us know what you think of the start. Loving it? Hating it? Undecided?