Summary: "You are blooming in her light, in a way you thought was only possible in a lifetime you already let pass."—or 3 times Carmilla falls (even more) for Laura—Carmilla, Hollstein, episode 28 & current headcanon.

Rated: T

A/N: so this works with a drabble i posted a bit ago. but i've had random things in my head and wanted to put them together into this short little thing. enjoy!

Where I Go, When I Go There

Where I go, when I go there,
No more shadows anymore—
Only you there in the kiss;
And nothing missing as you're drifting to shore…

- "Touch Me" – Spring Awakening

1.

For a long time, you held onto the darker parts of your past—tombstones dotting your timeline, losses as landmarks on your map—but this incredible light entered your life so unexpectedly, the blackness of night has become merely the backdrop for the stars. You no longer feel trapped, like you're buried under the weight of immortality and dirt and blood. You're still grounded to this earth, but you grow more roots each day. You are blooming in her light, in a way you thought was only possible in a lifetime you already let pass.

You have a lot of reasons to be angry at the world, and plenty of reasons to run away. Since escaping your torture, you've been a coward—reckless, vindictive—or worse, unfeeling. After the initial tragedy, you never really despised yourself and what you've become, but you despise your mother for using you as a minion for her evil deeds. Despite all the years you've lived, you're just now learning that you don't have to exist with the taste of death and tragedy on your lips. When you look at Laura, making her web videos, caring for the anonymous viewers simply because they're breathing, you understand that vengeance is finite, and hope isn't naïve—it's something to be brave for.

When Laura starts to blame herself for LaFontaine's disappearance, you stop her. You coat your concern in your sarcasm, but when Laura mentions the normalcy she wanted before coming to Silas, you want to give her that world. You know you can't, but you find yourself offering your hand. You pull her close to you, and taking one hand in yours, resting your other on her lower back, you feel time slow down to the pace of her breathing, her chest pressing slightly against yours with every inhale and exhale.

You openly flirt with her because she's beautiful and young and optimistic, and you enjoy making her blush—the blood flowing to her cheeks, evidence that she's alive and feeling and responding to you in the now. Even though you know her warm hands can't find a pulse, you still want to press it to your sternum and tell her you still possess a heart, that you can feel its echoes when you touch her.

2.

You're staying up late because you normally do, but also because Laura has a paper due tomorrow. With the return of LaFontaine, she's been panicked about catching up with her academics. You volunteered to help, but so far you've only provided several cups of hot cocoa. You watch her flip back and forth between a few pages, grumble, then type a paragraph on her laptop.

You chuckle to yourself before returning to your own reading. You decided to tackle some literature from the 20s since you weren't around for it, but you truly find Fitzgerald to be whiny and Gatsby to be foolish. You've been to extravagant parties, danced with attractive men, slipped away to quiet corners of mansions with lovely women. You suppose you still remember how to manipulate, how to possess—enrapture—women, and you've done every one of Gatsby's displays of affection for Daisy; it's never enough if you want love—the real thing.

You almost drop your book when you hear, what sounds like, Laura getting sick. Then you see blood all over her desk, and Laura putting your cup back down beside her mug off hot cocoa.

"Oh, shit, Laura," you say, jumping out of your bed and grabbing a clean shirt off your pile of clean laundry you have yet to fold. "I'm so sorry," you say, handing her the shirt.

"It's okay," Laura says, cringing slightly as she wipes the blood that's traveled down her chin.

"No, it's not," you say, picking up one of your towels from the floor and wiping down her desk. "I shouldn't have left it there."

"It's really okay," she says, putting her hand on top of yours to stop your frantic cleaning of her desk. "It was an accident."

You give her a sympathetic smile, "I'm still sorry."

"While it's not really the best thing in the world, I've had the Zetas' Jungle Juice and I'm fairly confident that was much worse," she says with a grin.

You both turn when the door opens and Perry walks in with a small plate of cookies. "I know you're catching up on work, but I made celebratory cookies for LaFontaine. I figured a study snack…" she trails off and her eyes go wide. You follow her gaze to Laura, and when she turns to you with a look of confusion, you see she has some blood at the corner of her lips. Perry clears her throat and places the plate down by the kitchenette area. "Laura, when you came to me asking my thoughts on vampires," she says in her calm, maternal voice, "I thought you were asking regarding your relation—…roommate situation."

You hide your smirk, turning to Laura for an explanation.

Her face is flushed, but she still looks puzzled. "Perry, what are you—"

"I support you, Laura. I really do. I'm trying to be okay about… all of this… but you really should've come to me or LaFontaine before making such a dramatic life choice," Perry says, shooting you a glare.

"She's not a vampire. She mixed up the cups," you finally say with a sigh. You don't want an emotional Perry to overreact and have to restrain her. You take the shirt from Laura's hand and wipe the corner of her mouth. "You missed a spot."

"Thanks," Laura says, slightly embarrassed.

"Thank goodness," Perry says before quickly looking at you and adding, "No offense."

You shrug. "None taken."

"Well, Laura," she says, giving Laura a pointed look, "if you want to continue our conversation about—"

"There you are," LaFontaine says, bursting into the room. "Time to go, Perry."

"I'm just—"

"I know, and it's time to go," they say, taking her by the arm and leading her out.

"Thanks," you say, waving after them and laughing as they close the door, giving you both a small salute.

You sit at the end of your bed and examine Laura, who's still avoiding eye contact.

"Hey," you say gently, reaching out touching her shoulder.

She jumps slightly, making you pull your hand back. "Sorry, I was just thinking…" she trails off.

"About?"

She shakes her head. "It's nothing."

You wait for a moment, unable to read her expression. "Do I still… scareyou?" you ask.

She shakes her head and laughs lightly. "No," she says breathily, giving you a reassuring smile.

You grin. "Good," you say, pausing before quietly adding, "I'd never hurt you, you know."

"I know," she replies, putting her hand on yours.

You look at your hands, examine her delicate fingers, feel her skin almost humming against yours. Your smile falters when you realize you haven't thought of Elle in the past few days. Your focus has been entirely on Laura. There's a certain longing that makes your chest ache when you're not with her, but also when you're with her in moments like this. You know that this isn't a simple, childish crush.

"What's wrong?"

You shake your head, and when Laura starts to pull her hand away, you turn yours so you're palm-to-palm and give it a gentle squeeze. "It's nothing," you say gently.

"You know," she says, scooting her chair slightly closer to you, keeping her fingers laced with yours, "you can always talk to me about things. If you want, I mean."

You nod, giving her a small smile.

"I know you 'don't have feelings' or whatever, but… I'm here?"

"I promise. I'm okay."

She bites her lip, hesitating before saying, "I think you deserve to be happy. I just wanted to tell you that because… you've had a lot of difficult times in your past, and I'm sure it's confusing and frustrating… You're pretty confusing and frustrating," she says, giving you another grin, "but I like you confusing and frustrating with less weight on your shoulders."

You trace your thumb along the back of her hand and whisper a thanks. You let go and tell her to get back to work before you pull out your own notebook.

You read the letter you've written in the candle light, listening to Laura's soft breath as she sleeps for a few hours before her morning classes.

Dear Elle,

I've stopped trying to reach a conclusion about how I'll remember you—the good or the bad, the time we spent or the time I lost you. I've stopped trying to remember you. You don't haunt me anymore. I won't name these thoughts and feelings because it doesn't matter what I call them.

I have seen so much sadness—loss, death, tragedy. When I want to strip the sugar coating from my tongue, I remember our last kiss just before I lost you. When you saw me for who I was—what I was—and ran away, all according to my mother's plans, for a moment I thought I was the beast everyone thought me to be. But I don't hate myself for my missing heartbeats. I hate that this person I became, because of a choice not of my own volition, was enough to scare you away.

I am not proud of my past acts, but I realized how lost I was before I met you. It felt like coming home when we first kissed. I'm not angry at you for leaving. I no longer feel pangs in my chest when I think of us. I have found a new home. I have found a reason to be brave, to take risks in the name of hope.

Her name is Laura. She is beautiful and tender. Everything about her is soft—her skin, her hair, her gaze as she looks at me—tries to read me. She is not afraid of me, and I think that's enough to make me feel less monstrous for my wrongdoings.

I am sorry. I am sorry for whatever has become your fate. I want to think you made it out of it all. I want to think your life became easier without me. I loved you. I think I still do in the way one loves rifling through memories and retelling them—feeling them again. But after years of looking back, there isn't much light left. I'm here now, so I have to let you and this weight go.

Darling Elle, I hope you did not hold onto any memory or thought of me for too long—as long as I had clung to the dark. I hope you have let me go as well. I hope I am forgiven, but I do not need it as I had before. I have learned to forgive myself, and I know if you're somewhere in this world, you will understand.

- Carmilla

Laura mutters something in her sleep, but she doesn't sound anxious. Still, you walk over to her bed and reach out. You lightly trace your finger over her brow. She smiles in her sleep before you hear the faint sound of her breathing returning to normal.

You fold the letter up and tuck it under your pillow. You don't want her to visit your dreams, but you figure this is the closest you can get to making sure she knows.

When you wake up the next afternoon, you don't remember any dreams. You have a sense of calm, and when you pick the note up from under your pillow, you toss it into the garbage and watch it burn until it's dust. You go to the refrigerator for your "soy milk," but three bags of blood fall out as soon as you open it. You see half a dozen more bags in there, one with a note taped on it.

I didn't know if you had a preference for a blood type, so I got you one of each. – Laura

You open one by the tube and start drinking it with a grin. You lie back in bed, and everything feels easier. You're not entirely sure how to keep moving forward, but you know that's how time works and no matter what, it will be with Laura.

3.

You're waiting for the bus with your backpack and a duffle bag slung over your shoulder. The streetlights flicker on as the last of the dusk disappears. You know you did what Laura feared most—ran away—but your mother doesn't want Laura anyway; she wants you. You left because this is your past, and your ghosts should only cast their shadows on you. Never Laura. It's been only a few days, but this loneliness feels like your ribs are clawing at your insides. You know Laura is strong, so you can only hope she'll understand.

You see the bus in the distance, and you secure the straps of your bags, lifting your chin and pretending this is the only way to really protect her. You know Laura doesn't need saving, but you also don't think she needs you. You want her to have the normalcy—the parties, the dancing, the drinking, the kisses, the butterflies in her stomach, the stress of regular college kids. You can't give her those things she wants.

The bus pulls up at the same moment you feel something strike your side. You don't budge, but you're surprised when you hear her groan.

"Right. Super strength," Laura murmurs, rubbing her shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" you ask as people push their way through the crowded bus to get off.

Laura stands up straight but still has to look up. She puts her hands on her hips. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"You know why."

"This is stupid!" she says, gesturing to your bags. "I can't believe I had to use my father's connections to trap an idiotic vampire," she adds, shoving your shoulder. You give only because you don't want Laura to break her wrist.

"You don't need me here to make your life miserable, Laura," you say, people bumping into you as you make your way toward the open bus door.

"Stop acting like this will protect me!"

"I'm not going to let you get caught in the crossfire between me and my mother."

"I've been through it before."

"And never again," you say as one last person gets off the bus.

"Are you getting on?" the bus driver asks, looking annoyed.

"Yes," you say at the same time Laura says an emphatic no. "This is for the best," you tell her, pulling your ticket from your pocket.

"You don't know that," she says, but you refuse to look at her as you step onto the bus. "Please, Carmilla." You feel her hand take yours, and despite all the strength you possess, you turn around. "I want you to stay. I don't care if it's dangerous. I might not be as strong as you, but I'm not afraid. The only thing I've been scared of most is you disappearing."

"On or off," the bus driver orders.

You turn and glare at him.

"Carmilla, just… tell me you want this too," she says, looking at your entwined hands.

You don't look back at the bus driver before you step back onto the sidewalk and stand in front of Laura. You hear the doors close and the bus drive off, but you hardly notice as your duffle slips from your shoulder and you pull your backpack from your shoulders.

Laura smiles and her eyes are shining in the glow of the streetlights. You pull her toward you and hug her tightly.

"The only way you could hurt me would be leaving me," she says against your shoulder.

"I won't," you say, "if you really want me here."

She lets out a watery laugh, "Of course I do," she says, parting slightly to look up at you. "I know you could go anywhere… do anything. I'm not much compared to the rest of the world… but I want to be enough of a reason for you to stay," she pauses before adding, "I think I've really fallen for you."

You see a tear has slipped free from her eyes, and she blushes and rolls her eyes. She goes to wipe it away, but you just take her hands in yours and lean down slightly, pressing your lips to the damp trail it left behind. "I'm here, aren't I?" you say, giving her a small smile. "You are more than enough."

Of all the languages you know, the poetry you've memorized, and the songs you've sung—nothing comes to mind when Laura wraps her arms around you, her hands on the back of your neck. You close the distance and let your lips meet hers. It's somewhat shy, but so refreshingly new. When you breathe in, you imagine this must be what it feels like to live again, to come back to life. You know what people who survive mean when they talk about the light at the end. You feel human—flawed, nervous, and in love. You don't have to be as big as the universe or travel light years to get where you want to be. The stars are right here.