A/N: This drabble kind of exploded. So. Um. Not a drabble anymore. :)
Summary: Forever, for worse, or better, my poor heart will only surrender. Kiss me, just once, for luck, these are desperate measures now.
Pairing: Daroline
Rating: T-ish
Disclaimer: Too sappy to actually be on TVD.
can't let this go
-Mariana's Trench, "Desperate Measures"
She finds the video accidentally. It's a VHS tape, like the kind her mother used to play when Caroline had just come home from pre-school. She'd eat crackers and peanut butter sandwiches and listen to Ariel sing in the fuzzy background of the TV.
This video isn't aged, though. It's new and the footage is pristine and clear and perfect.
So is the man on the screen.
She sticks it in on a whim, figuring she'll tease Damon for keeping VHS tapes around the apartment. Maybe she'll call him old, and old-fashioned, again. (God knows he reacted to that well last time. He ignored her for three hours, or, as she likes to say, until he got horny enough to ask her to come home, please.)
His face appears on the screen. He's sitting in the little kitchen chair she keeps at the table for the mornings when they like to pretend that they're normal and they can sit and eat breakfast. And she does like toast, and he eats cereal, and so sometimes they do that. But she's never seen him with a video camera on those mornings. When does he make these?
The date stamp on the bottom of the screen says it's from last week, when she stayed at Elena's to help her prepare for the wedding. And it's the middle of the day, she can see from the sunlight peeking through the kitchen curtains in the background. The sunbeams hit him haphazardly, with slashes of light covering his face and other sections of him covered in darkness. She loves those blinds, but he doesn't seem to like the sunlight glaring into his eyes and abandoning his lips.
"It's three o'clock," he says tiredly, and she notices before anything else that he just looks exhausted. "I haven't been able to sleep." He slumps slightly in the seat, running his fingers through adorable bedhead. "I miss her."
Her breath catches. Her? She's a once-a-week bedroom guest, a by-product of one night with passion and bourbon that turned into them agreeing to be something more than fuck buddies but less than a couple. And she's been okay with that, despite the fact that they slip into relationship-like tendencies, like those mornings where they pretend to be human and those nights where he turns away from her inviting nakedness and slips his arms around her instead when he thinks she's fallen asleep. Despite the fact that lately she's been longing for something maybe a little...more.
He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair again. "Yeah. I don't get it either." He grins ruefully. "But what can I do, huh? She's off helping Elena marry my brother, and I haven't been invited. Sure, I'll crash, because it's expected of me. I'll even enjoy myself a little, I guess. I'll claim a dance with the bride and pretend that I still love Elena. Stefan might throw me out. I wouldn't blame him."
Damon bites his lip and stares down at his splayed, open, hardened hands. "I don't even know why she stays."
Caroline stares at the video on the screen and wonders where this all came from. This display of emotion. Video-Damon just sighs again and rubs his jawline with a callused thumb that she knows very well. "I mean, it's not like I treat her like I should," he interrupts the silence. "I, you know, sure, I, I give her a place to stay when she wants and I don't hurt her like I did when she was vulnerable and human and I knew better. I don't act like an asshole all the time anymore. I'm...gentler, kinder, I guess." He briefly sticks his tongue out at the words, and she finds herself grinning at his rumpled, quiet, sunlight-streaked figure. "But I don't...treat her as well as I should, I mean. She should be treated like a princess.
"Klaus would have done that for her." He sighs again, for a third time. "He would have treated her like a damn queen."
Well, where did that come from? Neither of them have mentioned Klaus in months, ever since his death and their unconventional relationship began.
"I get that he was a baddie and all," Damon continues, justifying himself more than anything else (only she doesn't know why), "and he treated everybody else like dirt on the bottom of his shoe and everything else, but all of that was a facade. And she knew that better than anybody. She knows that about me, even though she never says it. I know that she knows." He scrubs his face tiredly, bent over the chair. "Funny how I'm being more honest with a video camera than I could ever be with her."
Caroline's eyes widen. Her breathing quickens. She doesn't even understand why.
"I don't know why that is, about me, I mean," he mumbles. "I try. I try to tell people what I feel. God knows I do a bang-up job of it. If Stefan loved her, she'd know it every minute of every day. Unless he went all Ripper again, of course, but...still. Matt would have told her if he'd accepted her...hell, he told her after that anyway. She knew it with Tyler because he wasn't afraid to say it. Maybe afraid to be with her, because she's a vamp and he's a wolf, but never scared to say it, to let her know without a shadow of a doubt. And Klaus? Well. He showered her with gifts and affections. He gave her everything. Tickets to planes that she never boarded. And I could do that, too, but I can't say it like he could have, like he would have if he'd been given the chance."
He grins again, somehow regretful and bittersweet and charming all at once. "Besides, she could do all of that for herself."
He stares at the camera head-on, eerily making eye contact with her. "But me? I can't say it. I can't show her in any way at all."
And then he reaches up and there's an audible click as he turns it off. The screen shuts off into sudden blackness.
Well. It's over.
She opens the cabinet under the TV and finds more homemade tapes. They're marked by that thick tape with the dates written in thick, black, loopy handwriting that she knows so very well. Damon's handwriting. Score.
The second one is older by several months. From when they first started this whole "arrangement" where she stays in the apartment some nights and they physically love each other (not emotionally, but there's this hardness in her chest that she never agreed to). She turns it on, and there's Damon, this time sitting on the bed they christened together that one September night.
It's darker, and she can see her own outline sprawled across the bed, face-first and breathing quietly. Video-Caroline still has her trademark blonde hair (it's dyed black now) and she's wearing black shorts and a white tank top that's slid up to her mid-back. The white bedsheets, trimmed with green lace and covered in light green Celtic designs, cover her up to mid-thigh.
Damon, on the other hand, is sitting on the edge of the bed, balanced on it dangerously as he reaches up to cover video-Caroline with the blankets up to the small of her back. Video-her mumbles something appreciatively and turns onto her side, facing away from Damon's side of the bed. (Yes, they have sides. They've had them since they started this whole thing. Shut up. It means nothing. Really.)
"Yeah, so, it's four in the morning," he says to the camera, rubbing the back of his neck in the classic awkward-guy gesture. "And I don't even know why I'm recording this. There's really no point. You see, there have been no developments. It's not like I feel any different...really," he protests to himself. "But I just...kinda wanted to capture this, I guess." He sighs. "Is that creepy?"
Not bothering to answer his own question, he picks the video camera from its place on some sort of tripod or whatever. He sets it in front of video-Caroline's sleeping face. Well. Video-her looks...calm. Happy, even. Breathing softly through her nose, with her traditional blonde hair spread across half of her face. She drapes one arm in front of her face, blocking the camera effectively.
Damon picks up the camera again and turns it to face himself, beaming broadly. It's like he catches himself then, as his grin collapses in on itself and he sits on the bed again. The lamp in the background casts an eerie odd glow across the room. "I don't even know why I'm doing this." He sighs, rubs his face. "She's so...calm. So light. So innocent, almost, even though vampires can't be innocent. Not in the traditional sense of the word. But she's so...eager to help people. To prevent tragedies. To be there for people. Look at her now, being here for me." He sighs yet again, mutters, "And I don't think she even knows it."
The camera shuts off.
The third and last tape is in the middle in terms of dates. He sits on the steps of their apartment, and she can hear the landlady yelling in the background at some poor godforsaken tenant. (That is the scariest human she's ever met in her experience as a fifty-year-old vampire. Seriously.)
It's dusk, and she can see the fading light crosshatching across his face. His hair is neater than she's seen it in the other three videos, but it looks a little disheveled by him constantly running his fingers through it nervously. "Yeah. So. Um," he half-laughs, half-nervously sighs. "I think I'm ready to admit it. I mean...I know I can't say it to her yet. But...here. Here is safe enough.
"Yeah, so, um. I'm in love with Caroline Forbes."
She claps a hand to her mouth. Sure, it's been the overall running theme of these three videos, but still...
He sets his elbows down on his knees, exposed by the holes in his faded blue jeans. His black cotton t-shirt v-neck exposes the slightest bit of black curls, and he looks like a starving artist: beautiful, tired, passionate, torn. Exactly like Damon.
His face is buried in his hands. "I'm an idiot," he moans through his fingers. "Seriously. I'm an idiot. I'm a total moron. I'm in love with the most accepting, innocent, loving person in the world, and I don't even know how to say it. And look at me. Look at all I've done." He picks his head up, stares at the camera achingly, honestly. "God. I'm such a fool. I don't even...I can't say it. She's so good and I'm so dark. I've hurt so many people. I hurt her. And I'm not reformed, not completely. Sure, I've stopped hurting people, but that doesn't make me a better person. It just means I'm tired of people yelling at me. Because I like blood. I like forcing people not to scream, telling them to enjoy it. I don't like killing people...I hate it. But that just means I'm not a murderer anymore. But I was, before."
Damon sighs. "Damaged, that's what I am. And look at her. She's clean. Whole. Strong. Good." He stares down at his palms. "Exact opposite from me. We would never fit. We might make for good bed buddies or whatever, but...I love too much. And at the same time, I can't love her nearly enough."
He reaches up. Click.
The screen fades to black.
It's time for the wedding, and she's breathless as she strings the pearl choker around her neck. The blue bridesmaid dress fits her like a glove, short-sleeved and cerulean. It matches her eyes perfectly, and she pulls her black hair back into an intricate bun with a few dark curls hanging in her face theatrically. Her blue slippers are perfectly comfortable and sensible for the outdoor wedding.
The ceremony is simple, quiet, intense. Beautiful. Everything she's ever wanted for Elena. Bonnie beams as the maid of honor, and Jeremy takes Elena down the aisle. She and Stefan say their own vows, fitted perfectly for two soulmate vampires.
"This I promise you," Stefan breathes, and Elena repeats him.
(Caroline tries to not think that perfect-soulmate-vampire-weddings should not include N-Sync lyrics and song titles, but...well. Really?)
She can see Damon out of the corner of her eye. He's dressed in a black suit, deep blue tie matching the bridesmaids' dresses. His eyes provide a stark contrast against his pale skin and dark attire. His hair has been combed back into something resembling good behavior, and he has a wry half-smile playing on his lips when he sees his brother grinning happily at his new bride.
They kiss, chastely but full of promise, and everyone claps.
Everyone moves from the white fold-up chairs and white silk carpet, abandoning it for the Salvatore mansion's garden decorated with white tables covered in food and "red wine" (for the vampires only). Approximately half of Mystic Falls and several other supernaturals take over the white carpet that covers most of the garden. White Christmas lights are strung throughout the trees and bushes, even lighting up the roses that Elena so loves.
She stays for the customary bride/groom-only dance, accompanied by some wonderful Levi Kreis. Mat Kearney comes on. She leaves when Loudon Wainwright III's "Daughter" comes on and all the fathers and daughters gather. Elena is still dreamily, happily twirling in Stefan's arms, pressed close against his chest with her head on his shoulder. Caroline flashes her a grin when she passes by, and Elena just smiles and half-waves with the hand clenching Stefan's upper arm not-too-tightly.
Musing to herself and smiling, she wanders to the gazebo near the edge of the property. Stefan only recently had it put in, and it's a pure vanilla-white, like fresh snow. She sits on the swinging bench and wonders what the hell is wrong with her, what she's doing, why is she waiting for him?
Why does she know he'll come?
But of course he does.
"I can't believe they went all N-Sync on us," he comments dryly from behind her, and she knows better than to spin around and acknowledge him, to give him exactly what he wants, to let herself be surprised.
(No, instead she'll give him exactly what he needs.)
"I know," she says, more to herself than to him, allowing a half-grin to appear on her doll-like features. She feels his breathing on her neck, hot and heavy and exciting, and then he's sitting next to her just as calmly as ever. "It was so...them, though, and anyway, it was nice." She breathes a sigh of relief. "And at least Stefan didn't kick you out."
He stiffens next to her. "Um, what?" he tries to play it off, to be cool and collected and untouchable.
"Oh, please." Seriously. "You can't just leave three homemade tapes around of you professing love and insecurities and stuff and not expect me to dive into them like the busybody gossip that I am." She grins wryly. "Don't worry, I won't tell anybody that you've been so cheesy. Hell, I sang for Matt. In front of people. What you did wasn't much worse, just...less public. So for that I commend you."
He's frozen at her right side, and she swings her head around to look at him for the first time. He looks unsure and nervous. "What...?"
Caroline smiles at him softly, sympathetically, sweetly. She reaches for him with her left hand, turning her body so that she's closer to him, and feels him pressing into her right hip with his slim waist. She waits for his head to turn to meet her eyes, and then she brushes a wayward curl (the heat of the night is causing his hair to curl like it does naturally, as she found out so many months ago to her mixture of shock and hilarious, hysterical glee) behind his right ear.
"Damon," she murmurs, her eyes focused on his chapped, cracked, light pink, gentle lips. "I don't know why you're so afraid to tell me. It's okay, you know. To love somebody."
"I..." he stammers, unable to finish a sentence.
"Look, I know that no one you've ever loved has accepted you," she interrupts softly. "And I'm sorry for that. I really, truly am. But that doesn't mean you have to keep these secrets from me. And besides, what, you think that someone being able to shower me with gifts and plane tickets was better for me? Sure, Klaus could do that, but that didn't make him a better person for me. We had sexual tension. We liked each other, I guess, on some sort of level. He 'enjoyed' me," she laughs at the memories, "but he didn't love me. And I'm grateful for that, because it would have made it that much harder for me to fall for you."
He's struck speechless even further by that, and she just grins a little wider and keeps rubbing her white-gloved thumb across his cheek.
"See, I've thought about it," she continues, "and I've realized something. You are dark. You have urges. You have instincts to hurt people, to kill. You think you're a monster."
He closes his eyes, as if waiting for the verbal killing blow.
"But I'm the same way."
His eyes open hesitantly, as though he thinks he's heard her wrong.
"I'm a vampire, too, Damon," she says quietly. "I'm dark. I have urges. I've hurt and killed people before. Probably not as many as you," she cracks a grin, "but who cares. What's past is past, okay? And just because you've done those awful things, doesn't mean I can't love you. Doesn't mean you can't change. And it most definitely doesn't mean you should torture yourself. All right?"
He bites his lip. But she knows his nervous tics by now, knows what they mean.
"I love you, Damon," she tells him firmly. "Not Stefan, not Matt, not Tyler, and not Klaus. There is no one I want to be with but you. And that might be hard for you to comprehend, and it took even longer for me to figure it out, but I..."
Of course, that's when he kisses her, so the sentence is left unfinished. It goes unsaid. But it doesn't need to be said.
And she's just fine with it that way, as they kiss in the soft glow of the Christmas lights in the tree, protected from the hot night by the heat between their bodies, and if she had a beating, working heart, it would be pounding furiously right now. So would his.
She runs her fingers through his hair as he cups her face, runs his thumb along her jaw, appreciates every bit of her mouth as he bestows kisses to every inch of her face. He focuses on her lips in the end, as the music in the distance changes to something else. Something more. Something theirs.
"Good to You" by Mariana's Trench plays, and they are smiling and kissing, and they are both happy.
"I think we'll have to make some more homemade videos," she murmurs in his ear as he dots loving kisses down her throat, collarbone, and shoulder. The muscles on his neck stand out in physical excitement as he mumbles something in agreement. "Happier ones. Ones with us cooking. And singing. And dancing. And maybe one of you proposing." She's dreamy now, talking without knowing what she's saying, and it's only when he stiffens and straightens up that she realizes just exactly what she's said. Oh, God. Dammit.
"I," he says quietly but forcefully, "am okay with all but one of those things."
What?
"I'm not singing," he mumbles throatily into her ear, almost growling, and damn, here she thought only werewolves could snarl sexily like that. "And if you sing that song you sang for Matt all those years ago, you're sending us back to square one."
She grins against him, confidence restored, sexy cockiness returned, content. "Well, while 'Eternal Flame' would be perfect for us," she is cut off by his low growl again, and she just laughs and lets him dip her down and kiss her.
"There are much better ones," she whispers against his lips when he finally releases her, and he brings her back to full vertical level. She lets him take her in his arms, buries her head into his shoulder, and whispers into clean warm skin covered by thick dark comforting fabric, "God, I love you."
"I love you, too," she hears him say, quiet and tentative and unsure, but when she says nothing, he just grips her tighter and they continue their dancing.
And they're cliche and mismatched and different and the same, and maybe that's what makes them perfect. Maybe that's why they can't let this go.
A/N: Yay! Sappiness! Fluff! HURRAH! Not my usual brand of fic, which is usually angsty with a sort-of happy ending, but you know what? Whatever! WHATEVER! I felt like writing sappy happy fluffy fic, and so I did it! YAY! :)
I hope you liked it!