Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Caroline Forbes/Stefan Salvatore
Summary: "But you? Oh you." He runs the rest of his fingers through her hair, and reaches up to caress her cheek with the thumb of his other hand, "What you wouldn't give to be in my shoes." A post 6x17 fic.
Author's Note: What's this? A multi-chapter fic? Really? I don't even know to be honest. Part one is based off of speculation and clips from the promo for 6x18, but after that it veers off in a different direction. Enjoy?
Part One: Rising Action
His lips are hot and insistent trailing down the side of her neck.
And in that moment the tiny part of her mind that screams to be heard, the artfully buried voice of reason, of right and wrong, is finally silenced completely.
She just doesn't care.
Because this? This is exactly what she wants.
His lips trail lower, his fingers skimming the surface of her skin, teasing the underside of her breast, before he places a kiss on the centre of her chest.
He stops then and she hates the little groan of objection that leaves her lips.
He lifts his head, props his chin on that same spot, and raises his eyebrows. The grin on his face is a little too smug for her liking.
She knows what it is that he's waiting for and if he thinks she's going to be the first one to relent, he has another thing coming.
Her eyes most likely give away her steel, and it only seems to amuse him further.
Pushing up on to his arms, he slides up along the length of her so that his face is level with hers. She doesn't bother with trying to suppress the shiver, and watches in fascination as his eyes drop to her lips.
"Oh Caroline," he says, voice low and smooth, the words wrapping around her, binding her in place.
He entwines their fingers, and lifts both hands above her head, holding them there and she can do nothing but let him, "Always needing to be in control."
And if this had been Stefan, her Stefan, that sentence wouldn't have ended there.
But he's not, and so it ends with bruising lips against hers and a thorough dismantling of any and all remnants of control she has left.
And by the end of it, she doesn't care enough to even remember.
(That's one of the things I love about you.)
xoxoxox
Fun.
He'd forgotten just how much fun this is.
They've got the bar to themselves. The owner having very kindly offered up an endless supply of free drinks all around. Oh, and not just of the alcoholic kind.
Although he's not sure how much longer that's going to last.
He's looking rather pale and a little unsteady on the feet, and he may have been a little overzealous the last time he fed since the neck wound is still bleeding quite freely.
What a waste.
What a shame.
He throws the knife up again in the air, letting it spin before dropping back down into his waiting hand.
He supposes he could put him out of his misery.
He spins the knife again
But where's the fun in that?
He doesn't so much as flinch when he catches the knife, blade to palm.
"The things I do for human kind," he sighs, before letting the blood drip from his cut into an empty shot glass and sliding it along the counter.
"Drink up," he orders, not even sparing him a glance as his attention is stolen away by Caroline up on stage.
"Look what I've found," she says, one hand on her hip, the other spinning what looks like a microphone, the cord winding it's way around her wrist.
"Karaoke!" she grins.
He groans, "No."
"Yes."
"No."
She pouts, "Yes."
"Fine."
She grins down at him in victory, and he kind of can't help himself. Lit up by sunlight peaking through the blinds behind her, dressed in white, blonde tresses wild around her shoulders as she twists and turns and sways along to the beginnings of a song he doesn't recognise, he finds himself smiling, and thinking fun.
This is fun.
xoxoxox
His eyes don't leave her at all.
It's all heat and want, and she doesn't think she's felt more alive than she does right now.
She loses herself to the music, eyes closed, hips swaying, singing her unbeating heart out.
She's so wrapped up in it, she doesn't even notice.
One minute she's on stage, and the next she's being pushed back into the counter of the bar, Stefan pressing heavily into her, head buried in her neck, and a hand tangled in her hair.
"Stefan," she admonishes, "I haven't finished my song."
He answers her by grazing his teeth against the skin of the side of her neck, and sliding the thin strap of her dress down her shoulder with his free hand.
She tilts her head back and sighs, "Stefan," she says again.
And this time he lifts his head, eyes dark and hungry and she can only swallow in response.
He lets his hands skim her sides, drop down to her waist before lifting her to sit on the edge of the counter, her legs wrapping around him instinctively.
"I pictured you singing a different song altogether."
"Oh really?" she asks, and she knows exactly what he means given the turn of his lips and the look in his eyes, but sadly the sound of footsteps and someone foolishly cocking a gun interrupts their little interlude, and she finds herself asking again, "Really?" though it sounds nothing like it did the first time. "Seriously? How stupid can you get?"
She nudges Stefan aside, but doesn't have to do much because he's already turning around, irritation clear on his face as she drops back down to the ground beside him.
"Matt and-"
He doesn't finish, as Tyler unloads a dart into his chest and he stumbles back. Vervain.
Her eyes flash red and before Matt can unload a clip of wooden bullets into her, she's blurring forwards and knocking the gun out of his hands and knocking him out with an impressive backhand.
Stefan's got a handle of Tyler, having managed to pull out the needle before he'd got the full dose of it and been hit with another dart, he's turned the tables on her ex-werewolf, ex-boyfriend, and has him pinned on the wrong end of his knife.
"Stefan . . ." she calls out as she watches him press the tip of the blade against his carotid artery. Tyler's eyes are wide and fearful, and it only amuses her that they thought they could take them on and win. It's kind of cute. And stupid.
"Stefan," she calls again, "That can wait, I'd like to hear what they have to say for themselves first. Once Matt wakes up of course, I kind of hit him a lot harder than I'd meant to."
"Fine," Stefan says, head dropping before stepping away, twirling the knife between his fingers. "You. Stay there. Don't go getting any more genius ideas."
Tyler manages to push himself into a sitting position, and the searching "Care?" that falls from his lips is pitiful.
She giggles, "You know I really hate that nickname. Doesn't suit me at all, wouldn't you say?"
Stefan moves to stand around her, kisses her bare shoulder and then perches his chin there to look down at Tyler, self-satisfied smirk firmly on his lips. "No, it really doesn't."
xoxoxox
"Heads I kill Tyler, tails I kill Matt."
He sits at the table watching as she faces Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, coin sitting in the centre of her palm.
And while it's a nice idea, and an interesting way to spend the time, the fun will be over too quickly and they'll just end up killing the lucky one standing anyway.
And so he pockets his knife and stands up, "I have a better idea."
"Oh?" she asks, eyebrows raised.
"Why don't we get our friend here," he grabs hold of Tyler's shoulder and ignores the hatred spewing from his eyes, "to kill our buddy Matt for us?"
"Why?"
"Oh you know latent werewolf curse and all, and it's more fun getting people to do what they don't want to."
"Good point," Caroline concedes, stepping away and hopping up on to the bar, legs dangling to and fro, "Ahh, but I'm pretty sure they're all vervained up, because even they're not that stupid."
"We're not doing what you want," Matt spits out, defiance across his face, and it's kind of hot, she thinks in a detached manner.
Stefan chuckles, and she feels it like a shudder down her spine.
"We'll see."
"See what?"
He recognises the second and entirely unwelcome interruption for the day instantly, but it's Caroline's confused and intrigued response of "Who's that?" that catches his attention.
There's a large part of him, a deep dark pit in his stomach that tells him to not turn around, to just grab Caroline and run out of there, count their losses and find another bar to ransack and bleed dry. Something tells him that turning around will be a mistake. A big mistake.
"Stefan?" Another voice calls out, and it's one he barely recognises. It strikes a chord somewhere in the recesses of his mind, stirs something in the cage that sits in his chest, and he knows it couldn't possibly be his heart, because that is most definitely switched off along with his humanity.
Is it really? A snide voice asks as flashes of laughter and sweet smiles framed by golden hair tease him.
He knows that voice, but just as well as he knows it, he knows it's not possible.
He turns and hates himself even more for it.
The world shifts and everything blurs, colours seep and his voice doesn't belong to him when he finally answers her question, "That's my mother."
Long dead Lily Salvatore.
Alive and undead, and in the flesh.
"Hello Stefan."
xoxoxox
If anyone were to ask her later, much much later, she'd probably say it had been then.
The beginning of the end.
When it had all started to unravel around her.
Stefan's words echo in her head, and it takes her a few seconds too many to piece them together.
Ridiculous. It's ridiculous because she could have sworn he'd said that that woman was his mother.
She laughs, because what else is there to do?
"Ha!" she says, "Nice one."
Damon tilts his head to the side, hand coming up to rest on the woman's shoulder, "No joke, Blondie. Now don't be rude and come say hi to your boyfriend's mother."
She shakes her head, the smile frozen on her face as she looks across at Stefan.
And she sees it then, the hard swallow, the tense jaw, the clenched fists.
"Stefan?" she asks, but he doesn't seem to be listening. He's just staring ahead, eyes glazed and unfocussed.
The woman in question slips out from under Damon's grasp and takes a few tentative steps towards him, and all she can do is stand and watch the scene unfold in front of her.
"Stefan," she says again, and there's the faintest of trembles in her hand as she stops in front of him, hand reaching out to cup his cheek, "My little boy."
Stefan's eyes slip closed and she can see the struggle, and she doesn't know why, doesn't understand it at all, but there's a part of her fighting through the barriers, battling hope that he snaps, that he lets go and lets it in.
Because it's his mother.
She's alive.
And he has his mother.
He has her.
She's alive, and not dead.
And she feels herself fading, losing the battle and she can't.
Not yet.
She's not ready.
"My mother died of consumption," Stefan says after an eternity and it's like an ice cold bucket of water, and literally everyone in the room recoils with the words, and his face is shut down and tied up tighter than ever before as he lifts her hand away from him and steps away.
He walks out then. Right past Damon and Elena, forgets all about Matt and Tyler, and her.
Forgets all about her.
Except, she's not going to let him run away from this.
No.
And so she follows after, and that should have been her first clue.
xoxoxox
He's reeling.
Shock gives way to anger and despite his dogged mantra of humanity-less vampires being able to shut off all their feelings and be entirely emotionless, and being able to bask in the glory of freedom it allows, he realises it's all bullshit.
He shouldn't care.
Without his humanity, he shouldn't care.
He shouldn't care that he's so angry he could literally walk into the very next building he comes across, and rip every single person's head off and gorge on their blood until he's drowning in it.
But he does.
He does care that he's this angry. That some woman claiming to be his mother could evoke such a reaction in him. Not when it shouldn't even be a blip on his emotional radar.
"Stefan?"
Caroline.
Of course she followed after him.
He doesn't turn around as she chases after, footsteps gaining. She reaches him just as he approaches his car, and the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder together with the soft "Hey," that leaves her lips is enough for him to snap.
He turns on her, eyes blood red, veins rising up and along his cheeks, fangs protruding through gums, "I would turn around and leave if I were you."
The threat is clear, and if it hadn't been, the look on his face should be explanation enough.
But Caroline has finally seen him at his worst, revelled in it with him for weeks, and somehow it really shouldn't surprise him that she's not spooked in the least.
She takes a step closer, hand on her hip as she stares him down, "So what? You're running away?"
"No," he says, denial a knee jerk reaction, "I'm bored, had enough of bar hopping, think I'm gonna try my hand at the shopping mall. Bigger, tougher, but ultimately more satisfying."
"Sure," she drawls, and he really hates the way she seems to see straight through him, "Nothing to do with your mom showing up from the dead then?"
He grits his teeth, before twisting his lips into an ugly smile, "I've got to hand that to Damon, cool trick and nice try, but no cigar."
"So you're really not bothered?"
"No why would I be?"
And there it is. She's the first to blink and he sees it.
This time he takes the step closer, forces her to look up at him, "And why do you care?"
"I don't," she's quick to deny.
(Deep down, you and I are exactly the same, Caroline.)
The smile on his face doesn't drop, it only contorts further as he figures it out, "It must hurt, right?"
She doesn't answer as her face remains impressively disinterested, and he wonders just how hard those muscles in her pretty face are having to work right now to keep it up.
"It must hurt," he continues on, reaching out to pull on a curl of hair, "That I have a mother who's supposed to be dead, but is somehow miraculously alive, and I really couldn't give a damn. But you? Oh you." He runs the rest of his fingers through her hair, and reaches up to caress her cheek with the thumb of his other hand, "What you wouldn't give to be in my shoes."
She swallows, "You're wrong, I really don't care."
"Sure you do," he smiles, bringing his face in closer to hers and whispering, a hairbreadth away from her lips, "You're a terrible liar. Getting better granted, but terrible nevertheless."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
xoxoxox
Make me.
Now there's an invitation, clear as day and she isn't one to back away at the first sign of a fight. It doesn't take much to close the distance and press her lips to his. She shoves him hard into the side of his red Porsche, and vaguely remembers a conversation from a long time ago about sports cars being terrible for making out in, but her thoughts are chased away by Stefan's tongue in her mouth and his wandering hands.
He spins them around so that she's the one now backed up against the warm metal and he's hard and heavy, and his kisses punishing, and she almost can't breathe.
She knows.
She knows what he's doing and she knows she should be angry at how easy he toys with her, how easy she falls prey to his manipulations, but it always comes down to her not caring.
She didn't care when he shoved that girl in her face, pretty neck on display.
No, because, she wanted him.
And now? She doesn't care that he's pushing her buttons, forcing her to feel.
No, because, she wants to.
No, because, she realises something now. She's stronger than him.
And he needs her.
It hits her just before she lets go, and pushes back.
Her hands abandon the heat of his back and reach up between them to cup his face, thumbs gentle against the arch of his cheekbones. She pushes back against his lips, meeting the force of his kisses with the gentlest of brushes and knows when he notices the shift. She can feel it in the tension of his jaw, the eyebrows furrowing, the confusion of how it's all changed.
And finally she lets the tears fall, slide down her skin and onto his.
She thinks it funny how she can finally breathe.
Ironic, that not being able to breathe was what made her switch it all off in the first place.
And here she is.
And here they are.
xoxoxox
He opens his eyes to find wet blue eyes staring back at him.
Crystal clear, blue.
Beautifully blue.
Beautifully her.
"Hi," she smiles through the tears.
He breathes.
"Hi."
xoxoxox
"So . . ." Bonnie starts, staring at the back of her head, as she swipes the feather duster back and forth over the same spot for the fifth time, "Are you ever going to talk about this?"
She stops, turns, and raises her brow at her friend, "I'll talk, when you talk."
Bonnie nods, "Fair enough," before throwing her the wood polish.
xoxoxox
"So how long were you planning on avoiding her?"
"Who?"
"Exactly my point, brother. Exactly my point."
xoxoxox
It's been just over a week since she switched it all back on and a week since she's been trying to get her life back in order, back on track.
And getting back to classes had seemed like a good enough place to start.
But listening to her lecturer drone on, only adds to her painful reality, not that she'd expected it to be anything less.
There's something to be said for burying the pain of the immediate aftermath in the haze of her weeks' worth of humanity-less spiralling.
Elena had been wrong.
It hadn't been the worst mistake she'd ever made.
And she didn't regret it.
At least not the decision to switch it off in the first place.
But the decision to force Stefan's hand?
That she does.
Because, however anyone may try and justify it, switching it off doesn't somehow rob a vampire of their ability to make decisions, it doesn't mean they lack all control. No, it just means they don't care.
And now that it's back on, she cares. She cares so much the guilt claws at her and she's left with restless nights of not being able to sleep, and having to force blood down her throat because it just doesn't taste right any more, to show for it.
The guilt is overwhelming and it only takes on one form.
She hasn't seen him since that day it all came flooding back.
Never really got any further than looking into each other's eyes and feeling that first tidal wave of emotion. Relief, it had been relief, and that hadn't been what she'd been expecting. At all.
But then Damon had come running after them, shattering the moment of peace, and everything else had followed, swallowing up the relief and spitting it out to leave nothing but pain and guilt and shame.
But it needs to stop.
It's been long enough.
She needs to stop hiding.
She needs to stop running away.
She needs to face him
She needs to apologise.
And she needs to do it now.
She ignores Elena's look of puzzlement as she slides out of her chair and calmly walks down the stairs of the lecture theatre.
And she certainly pays no mind to the lecturer's indignant remarks as she walks out the door.
That, she really could care less about.
xoxoxox
He almost wants to switch it back off.
He doesn't know how to deal with this, and he really doesn't want to.
His mother is alive.
And she's a vampire.
And not just any kind of vampire, a ripper.
Damon's remarks of "Well see, now it all makes sense, and it really isn't your fault Stefan. Genetics, what can you do?" are really not helpful at all.
It doesn't absolve him of anything.
Damon's attempts at mediation are a spectacular failure. He sits them all down in the living room, shifts his eyes back and forth between them, before spraying his arms out wide and saying, "Well? Talk."
As if it's so easy.
He can feel his mother's eyes on him but can't bring himself to meet them with his own.
Damon claps his hands together, "You know what, maybe you two don't need an audience, so maybe I'll leave you to it." He gives him a pointed glare before walking out and he fakes ignorance at knowing just what the hell he meant with that look.
She's the first to break, and it doesn't surprise him, "It's good to see you."
He nods, "Yeah."
"Everything is so different here and now, it's taking me some time to get accustomed to it."
He says nothing.
"I mean, computers, goodness!" she laughs, and its harsh against his eardrums, "I cannot comprehend it at all. Despite Damon's explanations, I find myself thinking that it must be some sort of witchcraft!"
Small talk.
He's not sure he has the patience for small talk.
And she's perceptive enough to realise it.
"I'm sorry," she says.
"It's okay," he says roughly.
"No," she says, again, "I'm sorry."
And that's it, he thinks, he can't do this.
He just can't.
And he tells her as much, before getting up and leaving.
And there's just the one thought in his head.
Caroline.
He needs to talk to Caroline.
xoxoxox
She feels silly standing outside his door, working up the courage to knock.
She never used to knock.
Used to waltz right in as if she's always welcome.
So she figures, why not? It's a start, right? And one of them has to make the first move, and she already knows Stefan's speciality is running away from things that scare him. She just has to be brave enough for the both of them.
And so she takes a deep breath, pushes the door ajar and slips in.
"Stefan?" she calls out to no answer.
She calls again as she walks into the living room, and is caught a little off guard when she comes face to face with Mrs Salvatore's steely gaze.
"Oh hello!" she laughs nervously, "Mrs Salvatore, sorry I didn't expect to see you."
"Clearly."
"Oh, I'm Caroline. Caroline Forbes," she continues on, stretching out her hand in greeting, "I don't think we've officially met."
She doesn't shake her hand, "I know who you are."
"Oh," she says, retracting her hand, and feeling lost, "I was just looking for-"
"My son. He's not here."
"Oh ok, well, I'll just come back later."
"Or maybe not."
She's a little surprised at the tone, but given the cold reception earlier it's not entirely unexpected, "Sorry?"
"I know who you are. Damon told me everything."
She lets that sit for a second, and thinks she understands. She'd let it upset her if only it didn't feed her anger. Because, really? Who the hell was she to judge?
But still, she tries for civility, "I'm sorry, I think we've got off on the wrong foot-"
"No," Mrs Salvatore cuts her off, "No we have not. You did after all force my son to switch off his humanity and embrace his darkness, did you not?"
The older woman walks around the living room, back straight, head held up high as she stops in front of her and the hairs on the back of her neck are standing and she barely manages to suppress the shiver that runs through her.
For all the polite words, spoken in a soft and pleasant tone, there is just something so unsettling about this woman, and it has her every fibre on edge.
"Miss Forbes, I think you would be well advised to stay away from Stefan. I think it would be for both your benefits."
She bristles with the threat, and she knows she shouldn't but she can't help herself.
"Your son can make his own choices."
"Yes, you're quite right, he can. But then there's making the right choice and making the wrong one. And you, my dear, are the wrong one. Trust me, I know a little something about wrong choices and how easy it is to fall prey to the lure of darkness. And you, Miss Caroline Forbes, are that darkness, which is why I know that you will turn around once this conversation is done and walk away."
"And how can you be so sure of that?"
"Simple. Because you love him."
She's not sure what else there is to say to that. She feels like she's been blind-sided completely, and whatever hope she had had, has been pulverised to ash beneath her feet, because the weight of the words sink in and she can't escape them.
Whatever anger had been fuelling her fire is fading fast, the part of her screaming inside her that she's wrong, she's wrong, is being drowned out by age old insecurities of never being good enough. Never being the one, and why should this be any different now?
There's the faintest echo of words she heard a long time ago, but it disappears like wisps of clouds floating off and it's nothing real that she can quite grasp.
A bright light in a sea of dark, that dims to nothing, and just like that, it's gone.
Damon chooses that moment to interrupt, his expression clearly one of confusion mixed with a hint of suspicion, "Mother? Caroline? Everything okay in here?"
"Oh fine, Damon," Mrs Salvatore answers for her, "Miss Forbes just popped by to say hello. She was just leaving."
"She was? But Stefan's-"
"It's fine Damon. She's right. I was just leaving."
She doesn't spare either of them a glance as she walks out.
Thinks its fair enough since they get to keep the broken shards of her heart and grind them to dust under their feet.
xoxoxox
Hi Caroline. It's me, Stefan. Leaving yet another message, which you probably won't listen to . . .I guess it serves me right, huh? Taste of my own medicine? Listen, I just . . . want to talk. We need to talk. We used to be able to do that right? Before all this? We could always talk. So please. Please call me.
xoxoxox
She deletes the message without even listening to it, and ignores the little voice inside her head.
Coward, it says.
Hypocrite, it adds.
She throws the phone on her desk, and walks away.
xoxoxox
"Wow, you know I don't think I've ever seen you so nervous."
"Shut up," Damon snaps back, fixing his tie, yet again.
"You do have the rings, right?" Stefan can't help himself. It's in the younger brother's handbook of how to annoy their siblings, and he's the master of it.
But for all his jokes about Damon being nervous, he knows he's only projecting.
Because today, on this beautifully warm, sunny, picture perfect day for an outdoor wedding, he is finally going to see Caroline.
Finally get the answers to all the questions that have kept him up for countless nights.
Hope.
There's also hope humming just below the surface of his skin and it's a wonder he manages to sit still as Alaric and Damon take their places at the altar.
When the wedding march starts up and everyone is upstanding, waiting for the bride to make her appearance, his gaze unashamedly swims against the tide and he can't help but stare.
She's dressed in a brilliant blue printed dress, hair soft and bright in the sunlight and the smile on her face stunning.
She must feel the weight of his gaze, because her cheeks stain with a blush and yet she refuses to turn. Her eyes instead follow along with every other guest as the bride makes her appearance, heavily pregnant, beaming smile, and beautiful in white.
As she walks down the carpeted aisle under the canopy, Caroline's eyes turn with her and it's the tiniest fraction of a second, but she sees him, catches his eyes before falling away.
But what he sees.
It's enough.
xoxoxox
The ceremony is beautiful.
The happy couple stunning, in love and so so happy, and she thinks it's about time they had something to celebrate.
Damon's best man speech is suitably funny and surprisingly sweet, but Damon wouldn't be Damon without throwing in a few 'nudge nudge, wink wink' moments and she's grateful that none of the non-supernatural or initiated guests in attendance cotton on. Still, she has to hand it to him, as much as it pains her, he does a good job of the speech and he seems to have a growing knack for them.
She's sitting at a table with Bonnie and Matt (who unsurprisingly has found a way to forgive her, because that's just the kind of guy he is, although from what Elena's told her, Stefan's another story altogether and apparently still has a long way to go yet), and they do a pretty decent job of providing a distraction.
But as much as she loves a good wedding, the unease roiling around in the pit of her stomach shows no signs of letting up because someone's eyes haven't left her all day and as good a buffer as Bonnie and Matt have been for her, she knows she can't run away from him forever.
Bonnie's hand settles over the top of hers, and its enough to snap her out of her thoughts.
"You okay?"
Looking down she finds her paper napkin in shreds. She gives her a weak smile, picks up her flute of champagne and takes a slow sip.
"I still don't understand why you just won't go and talk to him," Bonnie says.
"Because I know what'll happen. One of two things. Either he'll look me in the eyes and tell me I'm a despicable person and he never wants to see me again, or . . ."
Bonnie raises her brow, soft smile lifting the corner of her mouth, "Or . . ?" she prods.
She swallows, "Or he'll look at me with those gorgeous green eyes and I'll be a hopeless molten mess and agree to be friends again."
If Bonnie ignores the subtle 'friends' she slipped in there, she is eternally grateful for it.
"Would that really be such a bad thing Caroline?"
"Yes," she says emphatically, "Yes it would."
"Why?"
"You know why!"
"I hardly think you should be taking what a two hundred year old vampire who's been locked up in a prison world for over a hundred of them and still doesn't know how to work a toaster or, you know, how to actually live in this century, says to heart like that. She doesn't know you, and she definitely doesn't know you and Stefan."
"Maybe. Doesn't change what I did. What we did."
"You've got to let it go."
"I can't."
"Stefan!" Matt exclaims suddenly beside them and she hears Bonnie cough into her hand, "Subtle Donovan."
It's a reflex. The little jolt in her heart. It almost fools her into believing it's still beating.
She looks up, and sure enough, there he is, standing all tuxed up and handsome.
He stretches out his hand and of course he says it. Of course he does.
"May I have this dance?"
It's only now she spots the filling up dance floor and realises she completely missed the newly married couple's first dance.
She wants to run and hide.
But then she does it.
Makes the mistake of meeting his eyes.
And the naked vulnerability standing there beside the fragile hope is more than enough.
And so she slips her hand into his and fights every last part of her that would have her believe that this, right here, is right.
Because it isn't.
It isn't.
xoxoxox
She slips her hand into his, and he thinks it's just one of the many knots tied around his chest she's loosened. Has to remind himself to not get carried away, because there is just still so much, so much that needs to be said but hasn't been.
He leads her on to the dance floor and keeps her one hand in his as her other sits on his shoulder. He rests his on the curve of her waist, fingers splayed across her back.
She doesn't look at him as they sway in time to the music.
"You look beautiful."
She says nothing, tilts her head further in the opposite direction to his words and his breath hits nothing but her bare neck and her earrings dance with it.
"Caroline," he says softly, "Talk to me."
"I can't," she says and he hates the way the words fall from her mouth.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to see that part of me. I'm sorry for what he made you-"
She shakes her head, "Stop. Stop it Stefan. I'm the one who did this. I'm the one-"
"You were grieving Caroline. It's ok."
"No it's not. What we did together . . . how we actually enjoyed it . . ."
"That wasn't us."
"Yes it was."
"Caroline . . ."
"Why?" she asks, and suddenly she's there, facing him, eyes wide, searching.
"Why what?"
"Why did you do it?"
There's so many things that particular question could be asking but he knows her. And he knows just what exactly it is she's asking.
"Because you had Sarah, and you were-"
"No," she interrupts him, "You didn't actually have to go through with it to do that Stefan. You're smart. Smarter than anyone ever gives you credit for. Why?" She asks again, "Why did you do it?"
He swallows, "Because I knew it was the only way to get you back."
She takes a deep shuddering breath against him.
And there it is. The truth of it.
"Doesn't it scare you?" she asks, voice soft.
"No," he lies.
"It should," she breathes.
And he can see it, the walls coming up, the fortress being built from the ground up, her disappearing from view one brick at a time.
"Caroline," he says again, and he doesn't care that it's drowning in desperation, "I-"
But he doesn't get to finish.
She kisses him then.
It's tear soaked, desperately hopeless and fleeting.
It feels a lot like goodbye.
When it's over, he knows that it is.
xoxoxox
She walks away.
And doesn't look back.
xoxoxox
TBC.