It's seven in the morning when Caroline walks into her apartment building. Her hair is pulled back from her face with worn out elastic band that is bound to snap any moment, and her blazer feels all too hot for the warm May weather.
She doesn't look up from her iPhone, deciding her morning emails too important to ignore. Besides, she figures anyone with a rational mind is already at work, or in bed, where she should have been. Of course, she did not come home last night, and it feels a lot like a walk of shame had she not ditched her husband for a magazine cover. It's not just any magazine cover she rationalizes. The future of her up and coming fashion journal rests on this one hit or miss.
Warm coffee cup in hand and keys in the other, she decides to stop by the mailbox instead of making a beeline for the elevators like she initially intended to. Caroline figures if she doesn't get around to it, the bills will just pile up. Tyler is much too absent minded to actually tend to such details. Come to think of it, he's much too absent minded to be much help when she needs it to.
Quickly jangling the tiny key in her rectangular silver mailbox, she fights the thought away, and even manages to wave to the new tenant from one floor up as he walks out, bicycle. She has her hands full when her phone rings, cutting through the early morning silence, and struggles to pick up on the third ring.
"It better be an emergency, I just got home." She mumbles, balancing the stack of mail and her now lukewarm coffee in her free hand, her keys hanging from her fingers.
Caroline hears Camille hesitate as she calls for the elevator, nearly missing the button in her preoccupation. "It's nothing bad, I think."
"What is it Cami?" She sighs, stepping into the elevator with a frown already settled on her face.
She doesn't quite catch the beginning of Camille's rant as she pushes the button for her floor, but she does manage to tune in before her second in command has a meltdown.
"Liv just got off the phone with her agent, she can't make the interview." Camille finishes.
Caroline lets her head fall against the paneled wall before the elevator dings, "Shit," she curses, feeling the stress of the situation forming yet another kink in her already knotted shoulders.
"I mean the deadline is not for another week," She thinks aloud, "But it would take time to find a replacement interview quite as big for our opening issue."
There's no time to register what Camille is saying because she's right outside her front door. Caroline nestles her phone in the crook of her shoulder as she fumbles with the keys.
She tunes out as she walks into the foyer, discarding her tight blazer and dropping her purse on the couch. She can faintly hear Camille rambling on about how "This is a supermodel we're talking about, we can't lose Tatia Petrova."
"Yes, I know," She mutters dismissively and has nearly made it to the second bathroom where they keep a bottle of ibuprofen, when Camille speaks up.
"Maybe you could ask Tyler to beg his mom to put in a word with one of her high society friends." She suggests like it's pure genius.
Of course, anyone close enough to the couple knows that Caroline Salvatore and Carol Lockwood are not exactly amicable. They butt heads way too often for Caroline to even consider asking a favor of her. And all because she refused to change her last name. As a professional and as the daughter of a feminist cop, she stands proudly by her decision.
Speaking of Tyler, Caroline perks up at hearing him rustling about their spare bedroom. The faint sound of grunting is distracting as she musters what to say to Camille.
"I'm not so sure that would be a good idea…" She trails off, hand turning the doorknob with a salacious smile on her face as she thinks up a way to unwind from all the stress that has just been placed on her shoulders in the matter of five minutes.
She doesn't get to finish the sentence because her phone drops on the floor with a smack and her coffee cup has hit the floor before she can cringe about the horrible brown stain that will never come out of her pristine white carpet. Caroline has now time to even think about Camille's frantic calls for her, asking what happened, and whether or not she is okay. There's no time to focus on anything but the startled face of the new upstairs neighbor, Hayley, sprawled across her bed as Caroline's husband rams into her from behind.
Caroline does not know what exactly comes over her, but in a flash she is blind with rage. She doesn't care that Camille is most likely still on the phone, or that her shrill voice could alert the neighbors. To hell with the neighbors, she thinks, if this had been going on for God knows how long right under all their noses.
She felt like an utter fool.
"You asshole!" She shrieks, before she's reaching over to the table by the door, grabbing the vase and knocking picture frames over.
She aims straight for the pair, who is still shocked and unable to move. The blood is pumping loudly in her ears, and her cheeks are probably puffy, but she doesn't care. Tyler is standing with his dick out, not even bothering to put on some boxers, and he tentatively steps towards her. Yoga Barbie, who at least had the decency to cover herself up with her Egyptian cotton sheets, yelps as the vase barely misses her and shatters on the wooden headboard. Caroline's aim is nowhere near perfect, but she is willing to try again.
"Care would you just listen," Tyler's hand touches her shoulder and she flinches as though it is covered in flesh burning acid.
"Get away from me you pig," She cries, stepping away from him, "Don't touch me!"
Hayley sits silently on the bed watching the entire scene unfold as though she had not played a role in ruining a marriage. Caroline's head is spinning as she processes all this information, and like the flip of a switch her face drains of all color and emotion.
She stares blankly at Tyler and his mistress. Everything is dawning on her all too quickly to even consider the details. How long had this been going on? Clearly Hayley must have known she was in the picture. To think Caroline had bought bagels for her and her roommates. She felt embarrassed at the thought. This whole time she had been so friendly, surely they were making a mockery of her.
"Get out." She says, barely above a whisper, but Hayley hears it loud and clear, and picks her undergarments off the flood, redressing with superhuman speed. She doesn't dare look at Tyler, who at least now managed to pull on a pair of black boxer briefs to cover his indecency.
The brunette woman all but runs out of her sight and she hears the door slam.
Again, Caroline repeats herself, "Get out."
Her voice is low and threatening, but Tyler is too stubborn to realize she's a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
"GET OUT!" She's manic in that moment, yelling furiously and running through the room, smashing everything in sight. There's glass all over the floor from shattered picture frames, old vases his tasteless mother had gifted them, and from what she can tell, her phone.
Caroline moves on to the closet, where she doesn't hesitate to pull articles of clothing from their hangers. He stands too passively as she opens up a window and begins throwing out dress shirts to the bustling street below.
He tries to get her attention again, this time moving to restrain her, but to no avail. "Care what are you doing? Stop it, let me explain."
She dodges him and goes back for more clothes to throw out, but he's blocking the entryway.
"Listen," he implores, and is ignored. Caroline is having none of it.
Her nostrils are flaring and she is gritting her teeth. "Get the fuck out of my way, you bastard."
She knocks into him hard, her shoulder bumping him back a few steps and he falters, unsure of what to do to placate her. Tyler realizes there is no use, as she is almost restless in this situation, acting on impulse to avoid facing the reality of the situation.
"I still love you." He says meekly.
Her eyes widen, as if she is outraged by his audacity. "Love me?" She questions sardonically, "You have a funny way of showing it."
She's got the last of his clothes in her hands and he watches helpless as thousands of dollars literally fly out the window.
"Please," He begs; one last, weak attempt.
Caroline shuts her eyes and breathes deeply, knowing that if she doesn't try to calm down her instincts might kick in and she might just actually murder him. She goes about like this for a good thirty seconds before facing him again with another blank stare.
There's nothing left to be said, it's clear there's no going back from this. There is nothing to repair here. "Leave."
Tyler admits defeat, grabbing his shirt and dress pants from the floor. He walks away with one final stubborn glare in her direction, like she could be the one to blame. He doesn't say anything though, and Caroline listens as his footsteps fade away with a slam of the door that rattles the entire apartment and sounds all too final.
And then it is eerily quiet, and Caroline is left all alone.
There is no point in cleaning up the glass, she decides. Caroline stares at her shattered phone on the floor. The screen lights up every thirty seconds, with frantic calls and voicemails from Camille, no doubt.
She slumps against the wall in defeat, staring at the aftermath. Not one of her best mornings. The coffee stain has set in the carpet by now, and the apartment is unbearably still.
The house phone breaks the silence, startling her. It's a rare day that the phone rings. Caroline figures it could be Camille, or Liv, but she cannot bring herself to answer, she feels humiliated. Surely Cami has rambled about it to everyone else out of worry. She lets it go to voicemail.
Deciding that she's tired of moping around, she stands. Her wallowing lasted a whole twenty minutes. Of course she is devastated, at least she's trying to convince herself she is, but she is her mother's daughter after all. Yes, she can keep a smile on her face without it faltering for a moment, but she is also incredibly stoic when it comes to displaying heartbreak. Being endlessly disappointed by ventures of the heart hardens you a little bit.
Her back cracks as she stands from her spot against her bedroom wall. She examines the wreckage, regretting making such a mess, but she had a point to make after all.
It's exactly as she's searching for a broom and dustpan that the phone rings, again. Caroline wants to let it go to voicemail, she doesn't wish to speak to anybody for at least a week, lest they confront her about what happened, or worse, try to comfort her. Then she considers who could be calling with such persistence, because surely even Camille would get the hint after twenty-seven dodged calls.
On the off chance that it is Isobel, her publisher, Caroline answers the phone.
"Hello?" She says, with the phone between her shoulder and her ear. She is leaning into the crowded closet by the kitchen looking for something to sweep her mess with.
The caller is silent for a moment before they speak up, "Care..."
It's low and tentative, but Caroline would recognize that voice anywhere. Her mom sounds tired, but definitely happier than the last time they saw each other, exactly three years ago when they had argued about her getting engaged so young.
Now she knows it was a wise warning. One that she'd ignored, but she would never admit to anyone she could be wrong, especially not Elizabeth Forbes of all people.
"Mom?" Caroline tries to hide the hurt in her voice, because she refuses to face the fact her marriage is in shambles, and she does not want to hear her mother tell her the infamous 'I told you so.'
Liz is quietly arguing with someone in the background and Caroline doesn't want to think about other people she's cut off, but her mom quiets down soon enough, "Have you checked your mail?"
"No." Caroline looks to the stack of mail sitting on the couch next to her purse. She walks over with burning curiosity now that her mom has brought it up.
There is a sigh from Liz and more mumbled back and forth, "We were hoping you'd seen it, the caterer needs an RSVP by Thursday, and at this rate it won't get back in time."
She's confused, shuffling through differently sized envelopes and papers, mostly bills and a couple of magazine subscriptions and takeout menus. "RSVP, what are you…"
Her eyes widen though, and she doesn't get to finish that sentence. With a gasp, she picks up the ivory envelope with the curly font on the front of it. She doesn't know what to think of it, so she opens it. Liz seems to understand the stunned silence.
Caroline traces her fingers gently over the card stock, running her index finger over the delicate lace trim of the invitation. Her own words fail her.
"Stefan is getting married?" It feels almost ironic saying it out loud. Here she is, unsure where her and Tyler stand, but she knows it can't be good. And her brother is moving on to the next phase of his life. Rebekah Claire Mikaelson. It saddens her to have never heard the name before.
"We were shocked too, but his fiancée, she is just so nice." Liz sounds genuinely happy; there is no hint of the upset and the disappointment she felt when Caroline had said she was getting married.
She tries to sound happy, she really does, but the bitterness is somewhat obvious, "Stefan never mentioned anything about a girl."
Liz holds back the comment Caroline knows deep down but doesn't want to hear. The last time she spoke to him was last November. An email wishing him happy birthday.
"So are you coming or not?" Liz asks, and Caroline wants to say no, if there is one thing she does not want, it's to return to Mystic Falls with her tail between her legs. She still needs time to lick her wounds in private. Small towns were anything but.
"I don't know…" There is a suitcase in her now empty closet that has not been used since she returned from her honeymoon. It's been three years.
The desperation is evident in Liz's voice, "Please," she begs, "For Stefan."
Caroline doesn't need to be told twice, the guilt is too overbearing to ignore, and before she can argue with the tiny voice inside her head, she's getting out the suitcase.
The airport is not her scene she's decided. But then again Caroline is not so well traveled. She's only been in an airport twice in her life. There was the family trip to Disney World when she was seven, and her honeymoon. She hadn't even flown to New York for college.
Nerves don't usually affect her, but she feels a little anxious about flying. The security checkpoint is a breeze and she even makes it to the terminal seating area in time to reconsider whether she should go or not.
She's already confirmed with her mom that she is going, and Liz values honesty above everything.
The airplanes speed down the tarmac and glide into the air, some of them are coming as others leave. Caroline tries her best to be patient for her flight to start boarding, and even gives into buying an overpriced magazine from the kiosk by the restaurants to calm her antsy jitters.
Caroline did not think she would be doing this, going back home. Home. She is not sure if Mystic Falls is home anymore, if the boarding house where she crawled and walked and spoke her first words is her definition of home anymore, even if her height is marked in pen on the kitchen wall.
It's strange, the way she left things. She knows it won't be easy coming back but she is a woman of her word, and besides, Stefan needs her. Hell, she doubts Damon misses her much, but she wonders what he has been up to, and whether he has stayed out of trouble.
By the time the flight is supposed to board she has finished her magazine and is tapping her foot impatiently on the carpeted ground. Her hands are shaking.
First class is called first and she rushes out of her seat, grabbing her boarding pass in her hand, and dragging her carry on luggage. There is no telling how long she will be back in Mystic Falls, though she hopes to get the hell out of dodge as soon as the wedding weekend is over.
The stewardess in charge of boarding scans her boarding pass and she's heading through the claustrophobic tunnel and into the air vessel, leaving New York and Tyler and his mistress behind her.
Once she is on the plane and her luggage stored in the overhead compartment she checks her phone. A flight attendant passes her by, quickly reminding her that she must turn it off once the plane takes off, and she offers a glass of champagne Caroline cannot bring herself to pass up on the offer.
Her phone is fine other than the damaged screen, but she had no time to replace it with all the last minute flight arrangements and packing that needed to be done.
She can't help but roll her eyes at the hundred messages Camille has left, not to mention the long voicemails. Caroline taps the little green messaging icon to type out a reply: Cannot talk. Family emergency. Email Isobel the final draft and send me a copy once it is published. I trust you will get it done.
Caroline is aware that Camille knows there is a lot more to it than just a family emergency, but she hopes her second in command will accept the excuse and do as she asks. It is so unlike her to dish off her work to her employees, everyone who knows the five-foot seven blonde is aware she is a bit of a control freak. Tyler used to call her neurotic.
Deciding to push Tyler out of her thoughts, she allows herself to relax against the spacious first class seat just as the flight attendant brings her the glass of champagne and a tiny cocktail napkin.
It seems as though the flight back will be a silent one, as the seat next to her is empty, but as always Caroline speaks too soon. A brunette man in a freshly ironed suit sidles into the narrow isle, storing his carry on in the overhead compartment before taking a seat beside her. With a commanding finger he flags down the air stewardess.
At least she has the window seat.
For a moment she considers asking for an eye mask or a blanket to sleep the short flight back to the Richmond airport, but the brunette man turns to her all too suddenly, prompting a conversation.
"You would not mind to open the blind?" He sounds proper and polite and she notes the hint of an accent she cannot yet place, "It feels a little stuffy in here." He moves to loosen his tie a bit and unbutton his suit jacket. He looks like an Armani type of man.
"Sure," she studies his face briefly and decides he is handsome. Usually she would feel guilty about making such an observation, but she figures she's been scorned enough to have earned the right.
He too studies her for a brief moment, pursing his lips, "You seem familiar."
"Lot of blondes in New York," she quips jokingly, smiling at this peculiar stranger. "Where are you headed?"
He has to think of the answer for a moment, as though he is recalling a name. "Mystic Falls."
Caroline's smile brightens, "Really? So am I."
The brunette man cracks a smile, "Interesting. I'm attending a wedding, you?"
Again, her eyes widen, "Me too, what are the chances?"
The chances aren't necessarily unlikely. Mystic Falls was a rather popular destination for weddings. While it had a small population, it had the charming characteristics of a Southern town, and brides from all over Virginia and the rest of the East Coast were enchanted by the antebellum houses. They made the perfect venue.
"Perhaps we will run into each other there." He finally says.
Caroline is conversational, but she has never been one for small talk, let alone on airplanes or supermarket lines. It usually unnerved her, but she finds herself opening up to this stranger, and she reckons the flight won't be so bad after all.
"Maybe we will. Have you ever been?" She asks.
"I'm afraid not," He gets comfortable in the seat, turning towards her and removing his suit jacket. "First time."
She grins, "I can show you. I'm Caroline, by the way."
As any proper man of his composure would, he sticks out her hand for her to shake, "Elijah. Pleasure to meet you. Have you been before?"
Caroline wonders how to explain the situation. Yes, she had been born and raised and now she was the black sheep of the family returning to her herd. She realizes that might be too forward and intimate of a conversation opener, so she settles on a simple answer. The one she has been dodging all mid-morning to admit to herself. The solution to her problems.
For the first time that day she calls Mystic Falls by what it truly is.
"I have," she concedes, "That's my home."