Title: Do Me No Harm
Author: Eena
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Caroline Forbes, Damon Salvatore, Stefan Salvatore
Spoilers: General Season 2 spoilers.
Summary: What is left, after Elena? More than she imagined and less than she wanted . . .
Notes: For softly_me's prompt The Caroline Forbes Comment Ficathon on LJ. Prompt: if I thought you'd do me no harm, I'd fall into your arms
**This one seriously got away from me, and in the end, I'm a little unsure if it matches the prompt exactly, but still, I hope you enjoy**
~0~
She's run for days, through tears and lace, before she ends up at his door. Her fist begins knocking, the strength of the action shaking the entire frame roughly. She waits less than a minute before he opens the door, green eyes wide and full of concern.
"Caroline . . ."
He stops, takes in the dishevelled hair, ruined makeup, and muddied dress. She looks a mess, looks a fright, and he can only widen his eyes further.
"It was his idea," she mutters, struggling to keep a fresh batch of sobs from erupting from her throat. "I should have known better."
He's still confused, but the lines around his eyes soften and his lips dip downwards just a bit. He steps back, holds the door open for her with a sympathetic look on his face. She sniffles, gathers up the voluminous layers of her skirt, and enters.
~0~
It was a terrible day when they buried Elena.
The skies were clear, there was hardly a breeze to be felt, and the sun had the audacity to shine on this of all days.
The coffin was simple, but strong; oak, like her parents before her. There were only white lilies at the ceremonies. They were collected in huge bouquets around the enlarged photo Jenna had made up for the day. Every mourner held a single white lily in their hands; they dropped them into the open grave when they said their final goodbyes.
Caroline hated everything about that day; from the words the priest spoke to the eulogy Bonnie gave, right down to the stupid white lily she held in her own hands. Elena had given so much, given her life for this entire damn town, and the best they could do was an oak coffin and lilies.
The other mourners gave her wide berth-probably something they did instinctively upon sight of her. She knew that every bit of rage she felt was reflected on her face that day. Her mother's hand on her back did nothing to placate her, did nothing to temper her mood. Every time she saw that coffin, every time she glimpsed the weeping Jenna and the heartbroken Jeremy, every time she caught a glimpse of the Salvatore brothers, standing side by side at the foot of the coffin-her blood boiled to the point where she fully expected to burst into flames.
And all her rage, all her fury, was directed in one direction.
She didn't know who Elena thought she was, just leaving them like that.
~0~
"He said it was wish fulfillment," she explains, seated on Stefan's couch with the train of her ridiculous dress taking up most of the room on the loveseat. "I, stupid girl that I am, thought it he meant he was filling one of my wishes."
Stefan hesitates slightly before handing her the mug of warmed blood he had prepared for her. "This was one of your wishes?"
The question means something more, and the look on his face is slightly disproving now. "Not exactly, but . . ."
He frowns. "Caroline, why would you agree when you know-"
"I didn't know! I thought he was being kind. I always wanted a big wedding . . ."
She can't say anything else, knows that the entire thing sound even more ludicrous the more she tries to explain it. Stefan says nothing, but looks at her with such pity that she wants to burst into tears once again.
"I know it's my fault."
~0~
She left Mystic Falls not too long after Elena's death.
Her mother, her proud, beautiful mother, sat on the couch and watched with tears in her eyes. Liz Forbes never once argued with her daughter, never once begged her to stay. The truth was out there for far too many people to see and it's too hard to pretend like things will turn out okay.
Things will never be okay.
Her bag had been packed for days, ever since coming up out of the ruins of the church a week ago. She picked it up, hugged her mother once more, and left before either of them could change their minds.
He was waiting for her in the driveway, behind the seat of his car. His face was expressionless, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. She stopped a few feet away from his door, her confusion plain to see. He turned his head her way, rolled down the window a bit, and barked out a sharp "Get in!" before starting the car.
And as incredibly stupid as it was, she got in.
~0~
"I don't even know what to say."
She sniffles, mood switching instantly from heartbroken to annoyed. "Well, I didn't come for a lecture," she snaps, swallowing the tendril of guilt that follows in the wake of her harsh tone.
Stefan glances at her out of the corner of his eye, assessing without trying to stare. "What did you come for?"
She opens her mouth, but has nothing to say. She can't hold his gaze, turns instead to take in the dark room. It's the same, after all these years. Stefan's obviously seen no reason to change a thing.
Stefan never sees a reason for change.
"Carol-"
"I came because this is the closest thing I have left to a home. And you're the only person I know who's even willing to deal with me when I'm this irrational."
He gives one of his trademark half smiles. "I love you too, Caroline."
She shakes her head, not in the mood for jokes. "You love Elena. He loves El-I love Elena. Everyone loves her."
His smile wobbles and turns tragic. "We do-but I've always found myself capable of doing both at the same time."
She can't take this turn of conversation. "Have you found Katherine yet?"
He frowns at the change of topic, but then shakes his head. She reads something on his face, a sort of shame that Stefan always manages to keep with him at all times.
"How many times has she found you?"
He grabs her empty mug and heads to the kitchen, not uttering a single word.
~0~
They had been on the road for a total of ten minutes before she snapped. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
He didn't even look her way. "Stefan and I promised her; you were there."
Yes, she had been there; stuffed into a scarlet red dress and strung up above a huge bonfire that was meant to take her life-would have taken her life if Elena hadn't interfered. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, remembering those last moments with unwanted clarity.
"Stefan will take care of the town, and the others," he continued, his voice as cold as she'd ever heard it. "And I'm taking care of you."
The anger returned, hot and demanding. She wanted to rip his head clean from his shoulders; grab the steering wheel and direct them into the path of an oncoming semi. She wanted pain, blood, and death-something to answer for what had happened in that damned church. And either she'd become predictable or he learned to read minds, because he grabbed hold of her hand and gripped it so tight she thought he would crush every bone in it.
"Don't," he warned her.
She felt her fangs come out, the desire to rip and tear increasing every second he kept his hand on her. "What makes you think I want to be taken care of, by you of all people?"
Finally, his head snapped her way and those ice-blue eyes glared at her with barely contained fury. "What makes you think you get a choice, in this of all things?"
~0~
A change of clothes and she feels no better.
She's sitting on Stefan's bed, clad in his clothes, and her hair dripping water everywhere. She thinks she should move, should stop making such a mess of the covers. But she's extraordinarily good at making messes, has been since before she can even remember, and honestly, she doesn't have the energy to care.
"You can sleep in here," Stefan says after he pokes his head in to check on her. "It's pretty much the only room in the house that's liveable."
She frowns at this, glaring at him through a damp clump of bangs. "What the hell have you been doing, just hiding in here for the past eighty years?"
He shrugs, looks uncomfortable, and makes a feeble sort of protest. "I sometimes go into the study."
"You've become the crazy town recluse, haven't you?" The idea is funny, but she doesn't laugh because she thinks she's too close to the truth. "Do the kids ring your doorbell and run away? Stuff your mailbox with leaves and dirt?"
He looks at her, face still and expressionless. "No one comes here, ever. They think it's haunted."
She gives him a smile then, a sad one, but a smile nonetheless. "Do you think they're that far off?"
His face closes off and he turns to leave; she squeaks in protest and is infinitely relieved when he stops. "Yeah?"
She shuffles over to the left side of the bed and pats the empty space beside her. "We can share."
Something flickers over his face and he shakes his head. "Caroline-"
"Slow your roll, Salvatore-you're not that irresistible," she can't help but laugh. "Let's just . . . not be alone, okay? You have my word that I will not molest you in your sleep."
He's on the bed beside her in the blink of an eye, something like a pout on his face. "I'm plenty irresistible," he argues, and there's a tiny glimmer of light in his eyes that she's missed seeing.
She laughs again, and winks at him. "Well, then maybe I won't be able to keep my word, after all."
"Don't think I didn't notice how you left that open-ended," now it's his turn to wink at her. "You're just saying all this stuff in the hopes that I'll turn around and molest you in your sleep."
She rolls her eyes. "Confound it; my cunning plan has been foiled. Whatever will I do?"
He slings an arm across her shoulders then, draws her in close and kisses her temple softly. "I do love you, you know?"
She hugs him back, a little part of her heart mending within the hold of his arms. "I love you too, Stefan. I'm sorry I was away for so long."
His arms tighten around her briefly. "No, I'm sorry for never leaving."
~0~
She managed to escape from him exactly three times before he locked her up.
She thought it funny, at the time when he was chucking her into her cell, that he would buy a house for the express purpose of having a cell to toss her in. She continued thinking it was funny right up until he snapped the chains onto her wrists and left her to wallow in the darkness for two straight days.
He brought her blood afterwards, before the hunger could get too extreme. As it was, the thirst was burning in her throat and her whole body felt parched and brittle. He had to hold it to her lips, because her hands were still tied to the wall above her. She gulped it down, no thought of pride or dignity. She moaned as it slid down her throat, giving her back some strength. He let her have enough to quiet the hunger, but not enough to fill her completely.
He stayed squatting by her side, long after he had taken the blood away. She flinched when his hand came up to brush back her hair, the long pale fingers getting tangled in the dirty blonde locks. She knew how she must look, the dirt and grime of two days piling on top of four days on the run. She tried to turn her head away from his touch, too angry to tolerate any gesture on his part.
"So, this is how you take care of me?" she asked with a snarl, shaking her head in an attempt to get away.
He kept on fiddling with her hair. "Well, it's how I have to, because you're a dumb little vampire who thinks she's gotten smarter than me somehow."
"I seriously doubt that when Elena asked you to take care of me, she meant locking me up tight so that nothing could happen," she spat at him, blue eyes alit with rage. "And if that is what she meant, then you stake me right now. I won't live like this, because it's not even living."
He stopped then, removed his hands from her hair, and gave her a contemplative look. "And what is living, according to you? What would you do, Caroline Forbes, if I let you out? Other than, you know, run from me like an idiot."
She let the dig go, because she saw an opening in his words. "I have a lot of things I would do, Damon Salvatore. I have a whole damn list of things I want to do, and being a vampire or being Elena's last favour from you hasn't changed that yet."
He left then, and she deflated. She thought, at that moment, that she was never getting out of this place. Damon would keep her here forever; a dirty little Barbie to seal away from the world because he thought that would keep the spirit of her best friend happy.
He came back, less than a minute later. She didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.
He unlocked the chains, put a notepad and a pen in her lap, and ordered: "Write it down."
She stared, half-stunned and half-wary. He sighed, picked up the pen, and pressed it into her hand. "I'm feeling generous enough to try for a compromise. Write it down."
He had unlocked her wrists and offered a compromise; she knew enough to know that it's better to quit while you're ahead. And this had to be the most leeway he had ever thought to give her.
She picked up the pen and started writing.
~0~
They awake in the morning, a tangle of arms and legs with a mop of blonde hair obscuring their visions.
"You need a haircut," he mentions offhand, swatting away strands of her hair from his face.
"Just be happy I didn't really molest you last night," she warns with her eyes resolutely closed. The bed is warm despite their distinct lack of body heat, and she feels at home for the first time in . . . well, it's been a while.
He still has the unique ability to crack a joke without the correct comedic inflection. "You're just saying that so I'll dismiss the vaguely naughty touching as some sort of dream."
She laughs and swats a hand at his chest lightly. She can feel him chuckling, likes the rumbling in his chest when he does so, and wants nothing more than to go back eighty years in time and spend every year after with him. She's forgotten how much she needed him, how much she relied on him to make things better. He's the only person who's ever picked her up, spackled her pieces back together, and did it only for her.
She's an idiot for being away from her best friend for nearly a century.
"Well, isn't this cozy?"
She stiffens and Stefan's arms go around her again. She hears him sigh from above her, a sound that is partly relieved and partly disapproving. "Nice tux, Damon."
She opens an eye and fixes her gaze on the wilting boutonnière on his jacket lapel. "You're a day later than I expected."
Damon growls and slams the door behind him when he leaves the room.
~0~
College had always been the first thing on her list. She wrote it down and underlined it a few times, just to emphasize its importance.
"And I mean everything, not just courses and stuff. But campus life and frat parties and protest rallies and whatever! All of it."
He just arched an eyebrow and had her enrolled for the next semester at NYU before she finished her shower.
Of course, college quickly devolved into a degree, which soon became a Masters degree and ended with the inevitable Ph.D. She can't finish all the required work in one place, because her face never changed. People get suspicious fast and Damon kept her well supplied in fake IDs and fake transcripts so she could get her doctorate in Media Studies. It took her nearly fifteen years, and a large portion of it had to be done online, but she did do it.
Damon, during the entire time, was never far behind. During her undergrad at NYU, he was her live-in boyfriend. By the time she switched to Brown, he had devolved into her roommate. He then tried his hand at being her brother, her cousin, her childhood friend, and finally her boyfriend turned fiancé-though she ended that one pretty quickly.
They fought every day of her years at NYU. He was suffocating, he was presumptuous, he was demanding, and he was controlling. She was whiny, she was ungrateful, she was difficult, she was stupid, and she was giving him a headache. Sometime in the move to Brown, he was still suffocating and still controlling, but less presumptuous and sometimes even helpful. She was still whiny and ungrateful, but no longer stupid and actually kind of fun sometimes.
Travel was next, and he rolled his eyes at how typical he thought she was being. She had barely hung up her official degree in one of their many houses before he had her on a plane heading to China. On the way there, he mapped their itinerary with little say from her. She called him a control freak; he called her short-sighted. By the time they had landed, he had let her rearrange and new a few things and she admitted the few times his list had been right on the money. But he refused to cut to Europe right after Shanghai.
"Europe is so overdone," he explained, and though he did eventually take her there, he took his time getting her to the Continent.
Broadcast journalism was third, and he snuck that in just after their trip to Australia and before their departure for Brazil. He hunted down a small news station well removed from any of her previous haunts. He then compelled her into a spot on the news team and let her have fun as a public persona for just two years before he yanked her away.
The first day she started that job, he very sarcastically asked for an autograph. On the last day of that job, she produced a glossy 8x10, signed with her real name and great flourish. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, but hung it on the wall of their Vermont home before moving onto the next part of the list.
Mardi Gras was more to his liking-they ended up attending six in a span of thirty years. The first time, he wouldn't let her get as drunk as she wanted because he was afraid she'd slip up in the midst of so much humanity. By the third time, they're having drinking contests all day long, just to see who would be standing by midnight. The fifth time, they ran into some trouble with witches and voodoo spells and she honestly couldn't figure out why any of them did what they did, but admitted that Damon had started it. It was twelve years before he took her back, and eighteen years before he admitted that, yeah, he had started it.
Living in a big city as a goal didn't impress him much, but she let him pick the city so it made him a little more amenable. London wasn't going to be her choice, but she stayed for five years because he liked it there; she theorized that the English air somehow made him nicer, so she went with it. Of course, her pouting couldn't be ignored forever, so he moved them to Los Angeles with a large roll of his eyes.
She loved that time in California; the beaches, the people, and the sun always warming her skin. She didn't know how to surf and he taught her how to ride the most dangerous waves and not look like an idiot. She thought many times that she could spend the rest of forever happily as a beach bum, but he waved her list at her in provocation and she always gave in.
On her sixty-fourth birthday, he bought her a house in Malibu. It was entirely hers in name and he stayed with her there for two years while she decorated it exactly to her liking.
He wasn't surprised to find fashion capitals on the list, and he peppered their world travels with visits to the big shows in London, Paris, and Milan. He compelled their way into front row seats many times and she felt little remorse when he found her a way to help herself to the latest styles backstage. She added runway model sometime in between Paris and Thailand and he arranged it the next time they were in Italy. It was only a three year run, she never made it farther than Europe, but she loved every second of it.
When it was over, he gathered up her portfolio, enlarged all her best shots, and sent them framed to her house in Malibu.
Vegas-she didn't even have to explain. She found out she's good at blackjack, crap at poker, and Damon totally figured out a way to mess with the slot machines because they would go off one too many times whenever the two of them were around. They even get snagged by some casino thugs for counting cards and when they buried the bodies later, Damon grinned and reminded her that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
And Stefan forgive her, she grinned right back at him.
After eighty years and almost all of her list done, she didn't know why she kept number eight. She remembered writing it down because it had always been on her list. When she was younger, she had always thought she would get to number eight a lot quicker than she got to the others, but her thinking had changed the night Katherine smothered her with a pillow.
She remembered, for decades, how high his eyebrows went after he read it on her list. He had looked to her, back when they first started the insanity, and asked her if she was for real.
"I just want it," she retorted defensively. "It's not like I still believe in happily ever after-but I still want my day."
She honestly thought he would just skip it.
They go back to Europe after sneaking out of Vegas and she woke up in Tuscany one day to find a huge rock on her ring finger.
"We need to be at the church in one hour," he told her when she waved the ring in his face and demanded an explanation.
She knew right then that they were in dangerous territory.
But the temptation was too strong.
He had thought of everything, from the flowers to the church to the guests. She had a mother and father of the bride, a middle-aged blonde couple that did sort of remind her of her human parents. She had a Maid of Honour; a young, olive-skinned girl with green eyes and a wide smile that nearly made Caroline weep. She also had her own make-up and hair specialist, and a wedding gown perfected fitted to her measurements waiting. Damon had prepared everything; she just needed to sit back and let the experts do their thing.
At the first sight of the dress, she felt something niggle at her memory. She brushed it off because she had to get her make-up done, but the unease had already started. The two women Damon hired for her care slipped her into the dress, touched up her make-up, and did up her hair-all according to preset instructions. They show her the final result in a nearby mirror, and the combination of the hairstyle, the cut of the dress, and the make-up knock her on her ass and sent her spiralling down a road she hadn't seen coming.
As she ran away, after compelling the women to go home, she honestly was surprised that he didn't have them dye her hair. It would have completed the image far better than her own blonde locks.
And really, if he wanted to turn her into Elena (circa the Miss Mystic Falls pageant), it wouldn't have been hard to find the right colour of brunette.
~0~
Stefan tries to mediate, but there's little he can do but sit there while it all falls apart.
She tries to set Damon afire with the power of her glare alone. "It was sick-sick and wrong."
He, as always, deflects with an obnoxious snort. "You're overreacting."
"You tried to turn me into some twisted Elena replace-"
"You're the one who wanted the damned dream wedding-"
"How do you think it made me feel to see what I looked like in that dress, with that hair-"
"What? Did I break your heart again, Blondie, because I never once said that any of this was about anything other than keeping a promise to Elena-"
"You can't look at me and see her! It's not right! I'm me, and you can't take that away ever again-"
"Would you get over yourself, just this once-"
"Elena would hate you for this!"
The world stills and suddenly she knows it's gone too far.
But she also knows she's not wrong.
He leaves without another word, slamming through the front door and tearing out of the drive in his latest sports car. She collapses on the floor in tears, with only Stefan there trying to hold her together.
She's hysterical all day and at night, he can't help but ask: "Did you two ever?"
"No," she shakes her head furiously, "never again, not after I was turned. I wouldn't let it-I knew enough to not go there. I guess I've spent eighty years waiting for this to happen."
He smiles sympathetically and hands her a cup of heated rabbit. "It was something, though, wasn't it?"
She laughs bitterly. "It was eighty years, and I thought-I don't know, exactly. But I thought it should have been different by now."
Another one of his sighs; she can't help but laugh at how much resignation he can pack into one simple sound. "He'll be back."
She nods and closes her eyes as she rests her head against his shoulder. "That's the problem, isn't it?"
He doesn't say anything after that. There's nothing left to say after that.
~0~