Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Caroline Forbes/Stefan Salvatore
Summary: "But please," he says grabbing hold of his arm, "Tell me there's more to this plan? Because even these biceps, impressive though they are, are not gonna cut it on their own."
Author's Note: This was hard to write, it was like trying to get blood out of a stone, so I'm sorry it took me so long. I hope it doesn't disappoint. But wow am I glad it's done. I have a headache.
Part Three: Denouement
Performing is a rush like nothing she's ever felt before.
Taking that first leap is always the hardest, but once she does, once she steps off that edge and is hurtling through the air, she doesn't think there's anything better.
It's a cliché, she knows it is, tells him as much on the night of their last show. She stands there bouncing on her feet, arms flapping wild around her, excitement oozing from every pore.
But in the end, it's just one addiction replacing another. And she knows that. Very well.
She's never said it, doesn't think she can, but flipping the switch left a bigger dent than she can admit to. She's not quite as malleable as she used to be though, still a work in progress, and isn't going to be fixed overnight.
She doesn't tell him that.
Thinks he has enough guilt to sink entire fleets.
And the look on his face isn't helping things either.
She stops mid-sentence, smile frozen on her face and asks, "What? What's wrong?"
The soft smile on his face falls away, "You know you can't, don't you?"
She does.
She just never had the heart to confront it before.
Because dreams of acting died with the seventeen year old human girl.
Because the curse of being able to live forever means she can never be immortal.
Not on screen.
She laughs it off, "I know, Stefan! It's not as if I'm actually an aspiring actress. It's a hobby, I enjoy it, that's all."
Never mind she's actually talented.
But he reads her so well.
Or maybe it's because she's always made it so easy for him.
Book open, pages fluttering in the wind.
But he? He is the very opposite.
A leather bound journal, locked up and hidden away.
And so it's a surprise when he hugs her.
Steps into her, arms wrapping around tight, and she stands there just breathing him in.
"I'm sorry."
She doesn't say a word.
He pulls back then, one hand still on her arm, and she thinks there's something different about him but she can't quite peg it.
"Let's go home," he says.
"Okay."
xoxoxox
He thinks he knows what he's doing.
(He really doesn't.)
Acceptance is half the battle.
Now that he's perfectly clear on being wrong, knows that being in love and being friends doesn't have to be two separate fates, that you can actually be both, he's more than ready for step two.
And this time, committing to it.
No dipping toes in, and running away at the first hint of ice cold truth.
The only problem being, or course, getting the girl has never come easy.
Not to him.
So far in his hundred and sixty years of existence, he's 0 for 2.
It's pretty abysmal.
And maybe the liquor's to blame (isn't it always?) for his sudden burst of bravado that night.
Because in the cold light of day, he thinks he's got an uphill battle and self-doubt is only the first hurdle.
He loads the last of the boxes into the car, leans up against it and waits.
"Caroline!" he calls up to her open window, "Come on, we've got to get moving!"
"I'm coming!" she calls down and he sees a flash of blonde hair at the window as she pulls on the latch, and it falls closed.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," she says again, her voice a little louder and then she's there at the front entrance of her apartment building, last box in hand.
He pushes off from the car, jogs up to her and relieves her of the load.
"Thanks."
When he looks back, she's still standing there.
Staring up at the home she'd made for herself. It may not have been much, but it had been her safe haven and he understands. He does. And so he does the only thing he can do.
Walking back up to her, he slides his hand into hers and squeezes.
It's a show of support, and a declaration of I'm not going anywhere rolled into one.
And she gets it as she smiles and doesn't let go.
Maybe, he thinks, just maybe this time he'll get on the scoreboard.
xoxoxox
When they finally cross the border into Mystic Falls, and the sign flies past her rolled down window in greeting, she feels the air thin around her, her lungs are stuck to the insides of her ribcage and for the life of her she can't get them to shift what air there is.
Yes, she'd been back here before.
But she'd had New York waiting for her then.
She'd had a place to run.
That place doesn't exist any more.
And it's funny how that changes things.
He must sense it, the impending panic, because though his eyes stay firmly on the road and his one hand remains steady on the steering wheel, his other finds hers effortlessly.
There's no fumbling around, or searching fingers.
No, his hand finds hers just like that, warm and solid, and so very sure of himself.
"You keep doing that," she says, staring at his jawline.
"Doing what?"
"Holding my hand."
She's not sure why she says it. Feels like an idiot the minute the words leave her lips, and she's sure she's blushing a bright red but he doesn't so much as blink. Doesn't stutter an apology, doesn't tug his hand away lightning fast as if he's been burnt. No, he just keeps on driving, face impassive as always and simply asks, a little too nonchalantly, "Do I?"
And that, she thinks, is his mistake.
She doesn't look away as she says it, "I really appreciate your support, you're a great friend."
It's subtle, and she may have missed it if she hadn't been looking so closely.
But he does it.
He clenches his jaw.
And isn't that the damndest thing?
xoxoxox
He thinks he's made a mistake the second the car rolls to a stop.
It's the look on her face.
The shock falls away to leave behind nothing but sad eyes and when she turns to look at him the question doesn't need voicing.
It echoes in his head.
Why?
It's a question he doesn't know how to answer.
It's a gut feeling he can't explain away and though he may have thought it, he knows it's not.
It's not a mistake.
And he hopes she can see through it to realise it too.
She turns away from him and stares out the window.
"Caroline . . ."
She doesn't answer him, pulls on the handle of the door and climbs out the car.
He follows after her, up the stairs and on to the front porch of her childhood home.
The key is still there under the door mat, and when she reaches out to unlock the door, there's a tremor running up her arm and it's all he can do from grabbing her hand again and steadying it.
Because this? This is something she needs to do for herself.
With the blinds down and curtains drawn, the house is shrouded in darkness.
It's mostly empty since he'd only managed to retrieve some of the furniture she'd sold off during her humanity-less purge.
The one thing glaringly missing though is Liz's favourite armchair, and it's the first thing she notices.
Standing in the spot where it should have been, she hugs her arms to her chest and lets out a long, drawn out breath.
"I'm sorry," he says, "I looked everywhere for it, but I couldn't get it back."
She nods, "It's okay."
"Caroline," he starts over again, "If this isn't what you want, you can come and stay with us, there's plenty of room, and it'll only be until you start up again at Whitmore, but I thought you should get to make the choice for yourself."
She doesn't answer him, not for a long while. She walks around silently, hands reaching out to brush along the surface of the walls and up the banister as she climbs upstairs. He doesn't follow, stands and waits. Knows she'll come to him when she's ready.
When she finally is, it's with a watery smile and a gratitude that overwhelms.
"Thank you," is all she says.
And it's all she needs to.
xoxoxox
It's difficult at first.
And there are many moments where she feels like she's drowning in the memories and the walls are closing in on her, and maybe this actually is the worst decision in the world.
But then sometimes it's just the littlest thing. It can be the way the floorboards creak under her feet at the top of the stairs at that particular spot without fail, every time. Or how the sunlight beaming through the open curtains is always the brightest at three in the afternoon, and hits that one corner in the living room, glinting off the light wood of the cabinet.
This is home, she realises.
Her home.
Her mom had left her this place so that she'd always have a roof over her head.
And wherever she was, she's sure it's bringing her a measure of comfort, and it's one thing she can still do for her even though she's gone.
And so she stays.
When Bonnie suggests redecorating, she's hesitant at first but soon comes around to the idea.
It's one way of making it easier to live alongside the memories than constantly battling them.
It also ends up being the most fun she's had since coming back.
The whole gang turns up on a Sunday afternoon, armed with paintbrushes and rollers.
Even Damon comes knocking on her front door.
She can't help the surprise and the way she spits out the words, "What are you doing here?"
Damon, for his part, looks just as pleased to be there, "Well, someone's got to supervise you kids. God knows what awful colour scheme you've gone and picked out Blondie. If I see even a hint of fuschia-"
He's interrupted by Elena popping her head up over his shoulder from behind, she squeezes his arms hard enough to make him wince and stop mid-sentence, "Ignore him. I invited him along, thought we could do with some extra hands, but he is under strict instructions to obey your commands."
And well that doesn't sound so bad.
She crosses her arms across her chest, before tipping her head back and giving in with a sigh, "Fine! You can come in!"
Stefan, is there, of course. Turns up before everyone else and gets to work without any preamble.
She finds her productivity plummets the second she's in a room with him.
Her eyes find him wherever he is, and her attempts to ignore him are futile.
It doesn't help that he's dressed in a white v-neck t-shirt (white? For DIY? Really?) and a pair of jeans he wears perfectly. And she can't be held responsible for her eyes straying where they do, because she'd challenge anyone, anyone, to see how long they last without looking.
It is so completely on purpose. It has to be.
Because he knows.
Oh he knows when her eyes are on him, because he'll meet her gaze head on and smile, but it's the twinkle in his eyes, like he knows something she doesn't, and she has half a mind to storm up to him and ask him just what the hell he's doing.
"I see you, Caroline Forbes," Bonnie says, sidling up to her, interrupting her not so clean thoughts. She's across the room from Stefan where he's working on replacing the hinges of the door.
She shakes her head, "I have no idea what you're talking about Bonnie Bennett."
"Uh huh."
"Shut up."
"Soooo . . ." she says with a grin, ignoring her entirely, "Drooling over your best friend? That's completely in the rule book is it?"
She realises Bonnie's not going to let up and gives in, plays along, "Yep."
"Oh well in that case, can I say Miss Forbes, you are looking super hot in that oversized shirt and with paint all over your face."
She frowns, hands going up to her cheek, "What paint?"
Bonnie, quick as a flash, runs her paintbrush across her cheek and nose before she has any chance to react.
"That paint!" she laughs before making a run for it.
"Bonnie Bennett!" she shrieks after her.
xoxoxox
"So that's the plan, is it?" Damon asks.
He steps away from the door as he closes it, pays no real attention to him as he checks the edges where it sits in the door frame.
"Pretty devilish even for you brother."
He sighs, "Damon, what are you talking about?"
"Classic," he continues, "I like it."
"Damon . . ."
"Bringing out the big guns, flashing those pearly whites, would make any girl weak in the knees. But please," he says grabbing hold of his arm, "Tell me there's more to this plan? Because even these biceps, impressive though they are, are not gonna cut it on their own."
He shakes his head and sighs, spins the screwdriver in his hand between in his fingers, and gives in, "Oh there's more," he says with a conspiratorial wink, "A lot more."
xoxoxox
The front door is open as she pushes it aside.
It immediately sets off alarm bells in her head because she's sure she locked it on her way out this afternoon.
She creeps in quietly, drops her shopping bags on the floor in the hallway and calls out, clear and strong, "Hello?"
There's no reply at first, and maybe it's just paranoia settling in after living out in the big bad city all alone, but she calls out just one more time to be sure.
And this time, she gets an answer, "In here!"
Stefan?
She breathes out a sigh of relief but there's still an edge of annoyance. He could have at least text her in warning, before breaking and entering, and giving her a mini heart attack (if she could actually have one that it is).
The words to berate him, however, die on her tongue when she turns the corner and follows his voice into the living room.
He sits there on the couch, Meg curled up comfortably across his lap purring softly as he strokes her, bowl of popcorn balanced on the armrest, boxes of pizza on the table beside a stack of DVDs, and with a smile on his face.
"Hey."
"Hey," she smiles back, and takes a step into the room, "What's, uh, what's all this?"
"Dinner and a movie," he answers her as if it's so obvious, and not a big deal at all.
"Oh," she says, raising her brow as she takes off her jacket and drapes it on the back of one of the chairs, "Because friends do this all the time, right?"
"Exactly," he nods, not even phased in the slightest by her question.
Fine, if that's how it is.
She can do this.
She can go along with this.
"So, what are we watching?"
She lifts one leg on to the couch and folds it beneath her, reaches down to lift up the pile of DVDs and sort through them.
"Your choice."
He's so transparent, it's kind of cute.
It's one chick flick after another, and there's even a very subtle When Harry Met Sally sitting in the pile. And of course, he didn't want to be too obvious so he's sure to have sneaked in a few action movies as well.
"This one," she smiles, turning the case around to face him.
He furrows his brow, "Pacific Rim?"
"Yeah, it's awesome."
"Really? I just thought . . ."
"Thought what?"
"Never mind. I've not seen it, so . . ."
"So, you're in for a treat."
She realises halfway through the movie that maybe she isn't as clever as she first thought, and that Stefan is a whole lot sneakier than she'd anticipated, because this wasn't any old movie he'd just randomly chosen and decided to slip in.
Oh no.
She would later blame Elena and Bonnie for tiring her out on their shopping trip earlier in the day, and the stomach full of pizza for her head dropping on to Stefan's shoulder about half an hour in.
Somewhere along the way, Meg had abandoned Stefan's arms and wandered off. And so she'd blame her and the entirely engrossing movie, of course, for missing the moment when she thought Stefan's lap would make a more comfortable pillow.
It's not until Mako and Raleigh are side by side in the Gipsy Danger kicking some serious Kaiju ass that she feels Stefan's fingers running up and down her arm, and he breaks his silence, "You know I think we'd make pretty awesome Jaegar pilots."
"Yeah?"
He has her hand in his, fingers entwined, "Yeah," he breathes out, before adding a moment later, "I think we'd be Drift Compatible."
She's caught off guard by the statement, swivels her head around to look up at him. He's looking down at her with an expression that has her breath catching in her throat, and she just knows she hadn't been wrong.
"You lied, you have seen this."
"Maybe."
And then his hand is in her hair, thumb tracing her cheek, brushing over her lips, and his eyes only follow.
She swallows, "Stefan . . ."
She's sure he would have kissed her then, but Meg's timing is impeccable as a sudden crash from the kitchen has her jumping out of her skin and she nearly head butts him in her rush to get up, "What the hell . . ?"
She follows the sudden ruckus to the kitchen and finds her dish rack on the floor, several broken plates and her kitten cowering in the corner.
The fact that Stefan makes a beeline for Meg, and checks her over first, genuinely concerned, does nothing to stem the overflow of feelings.
Feelings, she realises that never went anywhere.
And when he smiles at her, cuddling her cat to his chest and says with a reassuring smile, "She's okay," she knows she's only been fooling herself.
xoxoxox
The look on her face is priceless.
It's something he actually wishes he'd thought of himself in his grand plan to woo one Caroline Forbes. But this? This ends up being just one happy accident.
He also can't be held responsible for his brother being an idiot, and apparently just casually directing her to his bedroom and neglecting to tell her the part about him being in the shower.
She's just lucky he has his towel wrapped around him when he walks out and that he's secured it tight enough that the shock of seeing her doesn't result in any more 'happy accidents.'
"Caroline!"
"Oh!" she stutters, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her eyes zone in on his chest, fall to his abs, and then frantically leap back up to his face before she thinks again about that too and slaps a hand across her eyes and spins on the spot. She's blushing a furious red.
He thinks it's a slight overreaction, but she certainly doesn't seem to think so as her ramble continues, "Damon told me that you were up here reading and that it was fine to come up but trust him to do something like this!"
"It's fine Caroline," he says, and he knows he shouldn't, knows it'll just add to the awkwardness but he's getting a little tired of beating around the bush, and so he shrugs and takes the plunge, "And anyway, it's nothing you haven't seen before, and a lot more at that."
She turns back shocked and clearly flustered, "That was, I mean, that was . . ."
"That was what Caroline?" he asks, doing up the button on his jeans.
She tries and fails not to stare at his bare chest.
He stalks towards her and her eyes flicker back up to his face and this time she does a reasonably valiant job of maintaining eye contact though he by no means makes it easy on her. Not when he reaches forward to grab the t-shirt hanging on the chair behind her and brushes up against her to do it.
She bites down on her lip and it takes a lot of self-restraint to not kiss her there and then.
"You know, since we are friends, I think we should be able broach the subject of sex without all this awkwardness, don't you think?"
She purses her lips and stares at him, takes a moment before answering. Her voice is surprisingly steady and confident when she responds with a question of her own, "Sex in general? Or you know the crazy good but thoroughly debauched humanity-free sex we indulged in? Multiple times over," she adds rather unnecessarily.
He fails at hiding his shock. And he doesn't know how she's done it, but somehow, somewhere along the way she's managed to turn the tables on him.
She pushes up on to her toes, leaning into him as she rests one hand on his still damp skin, fingers splayed. She tilts her head back slightly and looks up at him through her lashes and finishes with just one more question, "Why would that be awkward?"
The air around them feels heavy and saturated with tension, every nerve ending charged, the potential limitless and thrilling.
He'd always known it, but if there had been any doubts, it's entirely eviscerated now.
Caroline Forbes is a force of nature and he is completely at her mercy.
And she knows it.
She smiles at him, not a hint of mockery, just pure innocence, so at odds with the hand currently trailing sparks across his skin.
"Because it's not," she says in the face of his silence, "Unless it is for you?"
"Nope," he manages to say, clearing his throat.
"Good," she nods before slapping her hand against his chest and pushing away.
She turns on her feet then and walks back to the door before stopping mid-step with an "Oh I forgot," and spinning back around to face him, "Bonnie's birthday party? We're having it here. Hope that's okay?"
She doesn't give him a chance to respond, just walks out without a backward glance.
xoxoxox
Retaliation is a given.
And this time she doesn't put up a fight.
"There you are."
He comes to find her outside, wandering the grounds of the Salvatore estate, the party still in full swing behind her, music spilling out the open windows but there's no one around for miles to care.
She folds her arms across her chest and turns slightly to face him.
"What are you doing out here?" he asks.
She smiles, "Just catching my breath."
He nods, "Yeah, I saw you dancing up a storm in there."
There's something about his expression she can't quite put her finger on, but when he extends his hand, and says with the beginnings of smile, "Think you have enough left in you for one more?" she thinks maybe she's getting an inkling.
She flashes back to a warm summer evening, champagne flowing, soft music and laughter muting the harsh sound of heart break.
Something tells her this time will be different.
Taking his outstretched hand, she steps in close. His other hand curves around to find its place on her lower back.
They sway like that, dancing under the stars, the moon bright in the sky, and she feels it then. The last few bricks of her walls crumbling, the walls that she built that same night they last danced, and it feels like it's time. Finally time.
He lifts his head away, looks down at her with sparkling eyes as he asks, "Have you uh been down to the falls yet, I heard they're really cool at night, and I can uh show you, if you want?"
Her entire face is taken over by her smile, and she's looking up at him wide eyed, shaking her head in disbelief.
She opens her mouth, the words there ready on her tongue, because no, she hasn't forgotten them.
There's still a splinter left in her chest from the weight of those words, even after all these years.
But it's the smile on his face now, the unspoken promise, and just like that he plucks it out and it falls to the ground.
Retaliation takes the form of a kiss.
And she lets him have it.
His lips are soft, gentle against hers, hands cupping her cheeks. He chases away her words, leaving her mind perfectly blank and all she can do is feel.
"I thought we were friends?" she whispers breathlessly against him.
"We are," he answers her.
And she thinks she finally understands.
xoxoxox
He'd once thought that what they had could turn into something better than everything that came before.
He knows now that it has.
xoxoxox
It's only later, much later when they're curled up beside each other, blissful and content that he says it.
"You asked me if it scared me?"
She lifts her head from where it rests on his shoulder to look up at him, but he's not looking at her. Eyes firmly on the ceiling, maybe it's the small crack in the far corner, or the little spider spinning it's web, that hold his attention, or maybe it's none of those things and it's the fingers that run up and down her bare arm.
"I lied."
She shuffles up the bed, bends her elbow, jamming it into the pillow and rests her head in her propped up hand, "I know."
He turns his head slightly, hair adorably messed up and sticking up at odd angles and there isn't even a shred of surprise on his face, "Figures."
She picks up his hand, watches her thumb run over the back of it.
"Caroline?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
She kisses his knuckles and smiles into his skin.
xoxoxox
"How long?"
She frowns, "How long, what?"
"How long ago did you figure it?"
She grins at him, "Figure you out, you mean?"
He shakes his head, "Was I really that obvious?"
"It was cute."
He laughs.
xoxoxox
She tells him she loves him, and he doesn't even blink.
It's something that weighs on her for weeks. How easily he told her how he feels and how she hadn't really said a word back. How he hadn't even expected a response to the easy way the words fell from his mouth, so earnest and heartfelt, and freeing.
So when she finally tells him, after worrying about it for days, after spending ages brainstorming elaborate ideas on how to say three little words, it's only herself she takes by surprise when it just falls out of her mouth like that.
He's in the middle of cooking her dinner when it happens.
There isn't even a stutter in his motions as he stirs the sauce. He simply looks up with a smile on his face and asks, "Feel better now?"
"Yes," she blurts out.
"Good."
He kisses her on the cheek, and offers her the spoon, "Here taste this."
She's too stunned to do anything else.
"What do you think?" he asks.
She looks up at him, and there's a glint in his eyes, and she realises then that he's laughing at her.
She shoves him, "I think you're a dick."
"But you love me."
She sighs dramatically, matching grin on her face, "I do."
xoxoxox
She walks in on hushed tones and fervent arguing.
Damon notices her first, turns away from Elena and asks, "What do you think Bon-Bon? May or December?"
She furrows her brow, "What are you talking about?"
"We're starting a pool on the wedding."
"What?"
"Oh you know it's going to happen, sooner rather than later, I thought I'd get in early."
Elena rolls her eyes, "He thinks December, which I mean, come on, Caroline would never-"
"June," she interrupts, says it with such conviction that Damon stares back with nothing but suspicion narrowing his eyes.
"Know something we don't?"
"Nope," she lies with an enigmatic smile, "Just put me down for June."
End.