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Chapter three: Hide and Seek

a/n: from here until further notice, the story will be set in 1864. any scenes in the 'present' will be dated as 2010.

Oily marks appear on walls
Where pleasure moments hung before the takeover,
The sweeping insensitivity of this still life
- Hide and Seek, Imogen Heap

Recap:

February 1864

Emily was sewing when she felt it.

It was merely a pin drop in a nuclear explosion, a mere drift in a tornado. But she still felt it, and her skin still crawled.

She peeked out of the carriage to see her Mistress, Miss Katherine, press a poor man to the trunk of a tree and bite his neck savagely. The familiar tinge of sadness flirted through her every time an innocent man was harmed at her Mistress' hands. Even so, she smiled a little, knowing that things would turn around. She could feel a new presence, one that was so unique and different and radiant from the others in the town they were making their way towards – Mystic Falls.

Her smile widened as her powers extended. Their savior would come in the form of a blonde, blue-eyed girl.

Caroline.

"OUCH!"

Her cry echoed in the empty forest. A single bird sprung up into the air, laughing at her.

Caroline rubbed her head where it had hit a bunch of rocks. The pain blasted through her head and when she closed her eyes, red streaks and splotches appeared on the underside of her eyelids. She couldn't remember a time she'd hit herself worse. In all honesty, the car accident had been almost painless. As she recalled, she hadn't even realized anything was wrong with her until black had filled her vision.

As the pain abated to a loud throb, she took in her surroundings. Even though Bonnie had performed the spell in the early afternoon, here – in 1864, she reminded herself, still a bit dumbstruck – it was either past dusk or before dawn. When she looked up, she saw only the faintest silhouettes of the treetops, the occasional splattering of stars in between and black everywhere else.

Cold.

The word flashed in front of her and, as if on cue, she felt goosebumps rise on her skin as the night wind picked up. "Damn it," she muttered, glancing down at her bare arms and legs. She'd only been wearing a tank top and shorts when they'd done the spell (given that it'd been summer then) and the thought that she'd be landing in Mystic Falls during winter had never occurred to her. If the others had known, they hadn't told her.

Thanks Bonnie, she thought, but even as she projected negative feelings towards her friend, she couldn't stop herself from smiling just a bit. Truthfully, it was kind of funny.

Deciding she'd better find a place to hold up at, and fast, she scanned the woods, hugging her bag tightly against her chest, hoping to draw some warmth from it. The scenery on her left and right were pretty much identical. Fear setting in, she forced herself to choose a direction – after all, any place was better than here, right? Hopefully she'd find help.

The woods seemed to stretch on and on. The fact that it was getting darker and darker creeped her out even more. She tried to recognize any distinctive structure in the woods she'd come across during her numerous explorations with Elena and Bonnie, even though there was a good chance that the land had changed since then, so that she might discover her bearings. She might as well have been hoping elves were real.

Then again, if vampires were supposedly real, why not elves? She huffed crossly.

Her teeth were beginning to chatter. Her legs felt like blocks of ice; it was getting harder to move them.

"Help!" she cried, knowing it was stupid to think that anyone in their right mind might be out here. Knowing that she still had to try. "Help!"

The darkness seemed to be moving. The trees seemed to have drawn closer around her. She felt suffocated. Her cries bounced back to her. Her fingers brushed against the icy bark of a tree. Her eyes started slipping close.

How terribly tragic, she thought sluggishly, as she strained to hear for signs of help (or danger), I'm going to die of the cold, not because of a vampire.

Crunch.

She heard it through the haze. Was that my imagination? Still, she listened carefully, trying to hear over the whispers of the wind.

Thunk.

She'd definitely heard that. Hope flaring within her chest, she cleared her throat, trying to alert whoever, or whatever, was out there where she was. Forget if he or she or it was dangerous; she couldn't miss the chance to find warmth.

"Help," she murmured, trying to raise her voice, trying and failing. The black pressed in on her. She couldn't even hear the dry calls of the wind anymore; sudden silence replaced it.

And then, there was a hand on her arm.

"Help me," she whimpered, even as the stranger wrapped a coat around her. Immediately, the wind stopped bruising her, and she felt cocooned, but her skin was still frozen, hard. It was difficult to open her eyes but she forced herself to. She felt herself being lifted up, pulled against a person's chest, and then the ground moving beneath her. Someone was speaking – it sounded like a guy – and she strained to pick out the words.

"Why are you out here so late?"

A shiver, of the warm variety, ran through her. The voice sounded so familiar! Yet, she couldn't quite place it. Tilting her head up, she sought out the man's face. Since it was so dark, it was hard to find, but as they passed through a clearing where delicate strands of the moonlight struggled down to them, she gasped, eyes widening despite the cold.

"Damon?"

He looked sharply down at her. For a moment, she wondered if it really was him. He looked the same, but different too. He still had those blue eyes she could never forget, even if she wanted to hate him, the handsome cheekbones and the strong jaw. But his hair was curly and his lips were not upturned in a smirk. It couldn't be him. What were the chances of finding him in the forest?

But it was. It had to be.

"Do I know you?" she heard him ask. "Forgive me but I do not recognize you."

She kind of wanted to laugh. It seemed so ridiculous that Damon be speaking so politely, with such a strong Southern accent at that. It was not a situation she would have ever imagined herself in.

This was a man whom, by the laws of nature she thought she had known, she should never have been able to meet.

Yet, here he was, and here she was, and they were together.

"Caroline," she answered. She had no idea how to answer the second question so she turned her head into his chest, hoping that he'd let it go.

She found it kind of funny that she felt safe in his arms. And even funnier that seconds after a near-death experience she was thinking about how good Damon smelled.

Cologne wasn't around in the 1860s, right? Oh gawd.

He pulled her tighter against his chest, picking up speed. He must be freezing, Caroline thought. Rigidly, she poked a hand out to run over his arms, in an effort to inspire whatever bit of warmth she could there. Her fingers met with a thin sleeve and even through that, she could feel the coldness crawling up his arm.

She could feel his gaze on her for a second. She suddenly noticed a light in the distance.

"Is that the Boarding House?" she asked thoughtlessly. Too late, she realized her mistake. Her chest constricted with the knowledge that he would call her out. She cringed slightly as he started to speak.

"Yes," was all he said.

She waited for the inevitable question but when it didn't come, she turned a surprised gaze up to him. He was staring straight ahead, none the least fazed. Disbelieving of her luck, she curled up tightly against him, still rubbing his arm. They remained in heavy silence until the Boarding House loomed up upon them. She breathed a sigh of relief when they brushed past the door (it had to be a side door, since it wasn't the entrance she was used to seeing) and, as she peeked, she found herself in what looked to be a kitchen.

Except that it was full of plain clay pots on wooden tables and things she could only describe extremely inaccurately as fireplaces along the walls. It screamed 'obsolete' to her (she imagined a sepia tone would fit what she was seeing better) but before she could look at anything in greater detail, she was whisked away and the scenery changed to that of a hallway.

And then, she was in a small room. She felt the rumble of his chest as he instructed one maid to run the hot water and undress her, and another to run and get clothes for her. He set her down lightly on the bed and stood back. She took the chance to look around.

The bed she was sitting on was pretty plain and simple, though it had a pretty white canopy. Beside it was a chest of drawers, with an oil lamp on top of it. The walls were slightly cracked and the floor was dull grey cement. She'd always imagined houses in the 1800s to be fancier, especially if Damon was from a rich and uppity family. Maybe he hadn't been rich?

She looked up, and found Damon staring at her strangely. His head was tilted in that irritating devil-may-care way she saw so frequently back in the present but his lips were the tiniest bit parted instead of delivering some smart-ass remark. He almost looked like he couldn't breathe. Her eyes met his and she had to look away immediately. Puzzled, and embarrassed for no reason, at his reaction, she looked down at herself and realized why.

When he'd set her down, the fur coat had slipped off and now her tank top and shorts were in full view. More obviously, so was her bare skin. He probably hadn't noticed it before in the dark. What she was currently wearing was considered indecent to him right now.

Was it weird that she felt kind of self-conscious then?

Blushing, and not really knowing why, she drew the coat tightly around her. She watched his face carefully as he blinked and cleared his throat, his Adam's apple bouncing up and down. His eyes, still the darkest blue she might ever see, met hers before flitting away.

"Miss Marissa will help you get warm and bring you a new set of clothes," he stated stiffly. With that, he was gone, the heavy wooden door closing behind him.

"Come, miss." She turned to see a black woman, presumably Miss Marissa, gesture to her from another door she had failed to see in her swift assessment of the room. Behind her, she could see the steam rising from the water in a tub. Perking up at the thought of a warm bath, she stood up.

"Thank you," she said, smiling back at the maid.

"You're welcome," she replied politely.

"Father, this is Miss Caroline."

Her gaze flitted from Damon to his father shyly. During her warm bath, she had decided to play the role of a lost, innocent girl, one who couldn't remember her past and knew no one she could go to. Hopefully they'd buy that story and prove to be sympathetic and hospitable.

Damon's father gave her a piercing look, lips pinched tightly. After a moment of scrutiny, his lips lifted into a warm smile, crinkles appearing at the sides of his eyes.

"Good evening, Miss Caroline. I am Giuseppe Salvatore. It was most fortunate that Damon was able to find you on time. I hear you would otherwise have been frosted to death."

Caroline nodded, feigning meekness and exhaustion. She tugged uncomfortably at her dress. Miss Marissa had lent it to her. She didn't remember corseting (as she was now deeming the act of being corseted) being so painful. She winced at the memory.

"If you may be so kind as to allow me to ask – what were you doing in the woods at such a late hour?" She felt Damon's gaze swing to her face then, and she swallowed.

"I was lost, Sir," she said, switching into actress mode, "I had been wandering in the woods all day, trying to find my way home." She scrunched up her face. "I can't remember anything before that…" For good measure, she conjured up tears (a very valuable talent).

Give them the full waterworks, she thought.

"Now, now, Miss," Giuseppe said, looking very concerned, "It is fine. We'll be most pleased to let you stay here in the meantime and offer our assistance in any way we can."

She sniffed, looking at the men through her eyelashes. She let a watery smile grace her face. "Thank you, kind Sir."

Caroline kind of wanted to puke at that. Maybe she'd overdone it with the superfluous compliment? But it was true; she couldn't imagine anyone (in 2010 anyway) being so willing to let a stranger stay in their house, especially without prior notice. They were either stupid or too nice.

"Now, Damon here will assist in showing you your accommodations. You must rest well, so that we can all have good peace of mind." He smiled sincerely before nodding dismissively for Damon to take her away. Damon held out his arm and, instinctively, she took it. As they walked down the corridor, Caroline looked over her shoulder. Giuseppe was watching them, a misty-eyed look on his face. When they reached the corner, Caroline looked up at Damon.

"You and your Dad don't get along, do you?"

He looked down at her in mild surprise and confusion. "Father?" At her nod (seriously, when was the term 'Dad' invented?), he continued, "What makes you say that?"

"He didn't look at you," she said absently, enraptured by the grandiose of the Boarding House. It looked nothing like it did (or would). Its walls wore pretty wallpaper with golden and forest green patterns. Black and white pictures adorned the walls, some even ten feet tall. The ceiling rose high above them, creating quite an intimidating atmosphere, if she were alone. She could feel his piercing gaze on her.

"He didn't show any pride in you for saving me either. I didn't thank you for saving me," she suddenly realized, "So, um, thank you. Really." For some reason, his father not recognizing his heroism made her want him to understand how much she appreciated his rescue.

Without thinking, she added, "I owe you one."

His eyebrows drew together. "You haven't taken any money or property of mine."

Okay, seriously? 1864 blows.

"I mean," she said, clearing her throat, "I owe you a favour."

Damon nodded then, staring straight down the hall. Even without looking at him, she could feel the way he walked. He carried a certain charm and grace that guys she knew wouldn't know even if it hit them right smack in the middle of their foreheads. "That is not necessary."

"It's not really an obligation for me," she said, patting his arm lightly. He looked down at her hand, expression unreadable. "Okay, it sort of is. Kinda. But, I really do want to pay you back."

He looked a bit hesitant for a moment before a certain light entered his eyes. "Then, answer me this. What are you trying to achieve by being here?" he asked. The intensity of his blue eyes scared her.

"What?" she blurted out. Her heart skipped a beat. The conversation was quickly taking a downturn. Her grip on his arm slackened.

"You were acting in front of Father. However, Father's as blind as a bat." She stared up in shock at Damon.

Translation: I wasn't fooled. You're not a lost girl.

Shitsticks.

"I'm not pretending," she stuttered back. It was true though. She was lost. And it depended on whose definition of 'innocent' he was talking about, and she was taking hers.

"I do not mean to alarm you. I have surmised that you bear no ill will. I merely want to know why you are here."

Shitsticks hit the fan. How the heck…?

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Caroline argued, getting defensive. She tried to remove her hand from his arm but he held on fiercely. They stared at each for a long moment, both at a stalemate.

"I will find out why you are really here," Damon said softly. Caroline's mouth fell open a bit. He turned abruptly, pulling her gently along with him.

Caroline honestly had no idea how to react to that. Was she supposed to take that as a threat? What was she supposed to do? Panicked, she went for the change-the-topic move.

"So, why are you and your father on the outs?"

"On the outs?" Damon asked, as if nothing had happened and there was zilch awkwardness between them. She realized then that his bipolarity as a vampire had probably been amplified from that when he'd been human.

"I mean, why don't you guys get along?"

"You speak very strangely," was all he commented on her dialogue before a tint of bitterness one could only detect if they were listening carefully seeped into his voice, "Well, that's Father. He favours my brother over me."

"Stefan?" Caroline asked. Shit, she thought. You are so terrible at keeping a low profile.

He suddenly stopped in the middle of the hallway. She could feel his suspicious gaze on her face and, desperate, she tried to pull them forward. He didn't budge.

Damn him and his muscles, she thought viciously.

Then, without another word, Damon was pulling her forward again. They walked in tense silence (at least for Caroline) for a while before her curiosity got the better of her nerves.

"Is your father always like this?"

"Which of my Father's many qualities are you speaking of?" From his tone of voice, she could tell he probably meant lack of qualities.

She cleared her throat. "I mean, is he always" – she gestured randomly with her free hand – "this nice to strangers?"

Damon nodded. She noticed the way his eyes flashed. "Father always goes out of his way to welcome travelers and wanderers." She could practically hear the unsaid 'But not for me'. "He has a certain soft spot for women though. Especially those with sun-burned hair."

"Why?" Caroline asked. She thought of her own hair, absently pulling at the ends.

"They remind him of my mother."

She could guess enough from his tone that she had died. It was kind of weird finding out more about Damon. She had never seen Damon as someone else other than the snarky, impudent man he was (or would be. Gawd, technicalities!). When she looked up at him, she saw an honest, raw sorrow in his eyes before he blinked and it disappeared. She decided not to touch that subject. Just as she was about to ask another question, a man appeared at the end of the corridor. Her eyes widened as Damon waved, smiling.

Yup, definitely bipolar.

"Stefan!"

The green-eyed man grinned widely. "Damon," he greeted enthusiastically, walking over to them. He turned his gaze to Caroline. "And who might this be?"

"This is Miss Caroline. Father has decided to let her stay for a few days."

"Good evening Miss Caroline," Stefan murmured, bowing while keeping his eyes on her. "You look lovely." Caroline smiled unsurely. Stefan had always been chivalrous and nice but this was on a totally new level.

"Hey," she said, not knowing what else she could say.

Stefan looked confused. "Hay?"

"Never mind," Caroline muttered, looking away.

"I must apologize; I am in a rush. I shall bid you a temporary farewell," Stefan said, smiling at them both. "I hope you find your stay pleasant." With that, he was off. Before he turned the corner, she glimpsed an old leather book in his hands.

"Seriously, why do you guys speak like that?" Caroline asked, completely frustrated. "I mean, you could just say 'see ya!' or 'later' instead of temporary farewell." She made a face.

"I am pretty sure 'ya' isn't an English word. In fact, it is the sound babies make when they want milk."

Caroline snorted. He grinned at her. A question popped into her head just then. "Uh, what time is it?"

Damon dug into his vest, pulling out one of those old pocket watches she'd seen on TV. It glistened in the light as he popped it open. "A quarter past nine."

"And, what date is it?"

"It is the fourth of February." He looked at her, puzzled. "Do you not know this?"

"I'm very forgetful," she fibbed. She could practically feel his suspicion mounting.

They reached her room then. Damon opened the door for her, lighting an oil lamp. "I hope you are pleased with your accommodation."

She gaped. The room was huge. Her bed itself had to be bigger than a king-sized and it didn't even take up half of the space. There was a huge window to her right, yawning as its silk curtains fluttered slightly. The floor was covered by a soft carpet. The light flickered over the furniture, creating soft shadows that made it even more mysterious.

She was conscious of Damon's gaze on her as she practically bounced into the room. She threw her bag unceremoniously onto a chair and flopped onto the bed. It was so soft.

"Thanks," she said awkwardly. Thankfully, he didn't hover. He nodded once before closing the door.

Staring at everything, she almost forgot she was here just to complete a dangerous mission.

Almost.

Oh, Elena.

The carriage rumbled softly along as it traveled through the forest. If she had nothing to think about, she might think it eerie how many shadows there were in the woods even in such darkness. Emily sighed.

"Emily, what are you thinking about?" Katherine inquired, gazing apathetically at her handmaiden and witch.

"Nothing, mam."

She knew Miss Katherine must not find out about Caroline's purpose until the right moment. That was crucial. She hummed softly under her breath, letting her mind reach out to the warm depths.

A vision bloomed into view. It arrested her every limb, freezing her and locking her attention. All sound was sucked away for that second. She saw a nightmare in a single moment. There was blood running streaks everywhere, and it was dark, dark, darker.

Her eyes popped open, her fingers clutching her skirt. She was only half-aware of Katherine's calculative eyes on her face. She was too busy trying to wrap her head around what she had just seen. It couldn't be. But her visions were never wrong.

Caroline was going to die.