She doesn't know when the exact moment is that she realizes it, but she wakes up one morning and she's different. Her skin feels tight and she doesn't feel like herself, and she barely recognizes some of the thoughts that pass through her mind.
Her mother is making breakfast in the kitchen and Caroline watches as her old, wrinkled, work-worn hands pour tea into cups and shake as they cut up fresh fruits.
Her mother is old now. Everyone is old now.
She thinks her mother will die soon. That's why she came back. Naturally, she couldn't stay in Mystic Falls for much longer after her high school graduation. So she went to college, and worked for a while. And then she started working as a professional. And then people started noticing how she never seemed to grow old, so she quit and moved to a different city. She couldn't use her diploma, of course, because, again, her age was unnatural. So she paid good money to forge the diploma. To make a replica but change the dates. She worked some more, and make money, and saved all of it, and spent it on fancy vacations, and trips back home.
And all the while, she missed her mother, and she missed the person she used to be, and sometimes she missed Matt.
And she couldn't quite bring herself to miss anyone or anything else. She couldn't miss Stefan because he chose Elena. She couldn't miss her because she'd died because of her in the first place. Damon, well, she couldn't bring herself to forgive him for using her for sex. Bonnie never looked at her the same after she turned anyway, and Tyler... Well, she hoped will all of her heart that he was happy with his wife and children.
She watches the funeral from far away, and only after everyone's gone does she come forward and say goodbye. She feels empty.
She quits her job the next morning and takes a flight to Paris.
She doesn't know what she wants to do with herself nor where to go, but she has all the time in the world to do it, and so, she thinks she'll just walk around and look at the sights the city has to offer, and think. Three days later, she drinks blood in a stranger's car, his blood bitter with vodka, and she still has no where to go.
She doesn't know how, but somehow, she knows where to go.
Her feet carry her to a large apartment building a block from the Eiffel Tower, and as she walks up the six flights of stairs, her stomach twists and turns uncomfortably. She vomits on the stairs, and then opens the door and steps into the long corridor.
His apartment is at the very end.
She knocks and hears him groan and get up and drag his feet to the door. He sounds so human that she starts to cry.
He opens the door and his messy hair and morning breath makes her cry harder and he pulls her inside, gentry, his skin pulling at her shirt, ignoring her skin, and she's sobbing by the time she's in his bedroom. He lets go of her shirt and she throws herself on the bed. He sits down next to her, and eventually she realizes that she's no longer a hysterical mess and that he's gently stroking her hair.
She turns her head and looks at him: he's the same as he was the last time she saw him. And he's still looking at her with that light in his eye, like she matters, like he has so many options, but he's chosen her. She smiles a bit and closes her eyes, only for a minute, she tells herself. He lays down on the bed next to her, and she doesn't push him away.
"I'm sorry about last night," she tells him as they drink coffee in the late afternoon.
"Don't be," he waves it off, and she's grateful that he isn't making this into a big deal when it's really not.
"I..." she starts to say but she realizes that she doesn't know what to say to him. A thank you would be nice, she thinks, but before the words formulate on her tongue, she's being dragged into the bedroom and thrown on the bed.
His hands roam lazily and she wonders why she doesn't want to fight him on this. She hasn't seen him in years, they're practically strangers, so why does he feel so familiar? She really has changed.
His lips find hers and they lightly touch before he pulls away completely. She opens her eyes and he's back in the kitchen.
"Why'd you stop?" she mumbles, knowing he'll hear. He chuckles and she sees his shrug.
And then the memories from high school come flooding back and she starts laughing.
"God," she says, "back then all you wanted was me to say yes, and now that I am, you can't even-"
His tongue is in her mouth before she even realizes he's on top of her again. His hands wrap in her hair and her legs wrap around his hips. When they pull apart for air, he almost growls at her, "I've always wanted you, your yes. I never had it until just now."
She smiles as he kisses down her body and hastily removes her clothes. "Yes," she whispers. He stops and listens so she repeats herself. He resumes his work and she just keeps saying it, over and over, because she needs to hear it just as much as he does.
"Yes... yes, Klause, yes."