Part 2

There was a time when she lived for their banter. He always had the best lines, tested perhaps on dozens of women in the thousand years that he lived before she was born. In the darkest, most traumatic moments of her life, there was this scary monster whose name was whispered under their breaths. She was told he was evil, and horrific, and soulless.

His words sent her into a flurry, waging the most violent war against her own walls every time his full lips broke into a sly smile or a smirk, a gentle greeting that always complimented her. Her shield almost always dissolved into peals of laughter, and she had tried her damnedest to keep him at a distance.

She would not stay, she told herself.

Soon he would be gone, and this would be the most difficult of his crimes to swallow.

As much as she took pleasure in his words, in his voice, today she would seek refuge even in his silence. He led her into his home, wordless still. She held onto his arm, her grip tight but comfortable, as if it was right there that they belonged, and they were simply lost all the times they met before.

Caroline sank into a soft cushions of his couch. When he turned to leave—a host should be gracious and always offer to pour one—she tightened her hold on him and pulled him down to stay.

Last days. Last hours.

Last words.

One could not help but wonder, she thought to herself, watching the way the sunlight played over their intertwined fingers as they tentatively touched, how much he had changed in the two decades since she first laid eyes on him. This giant of a figure, this fearsome of a character that struck terror in the hearts of many, had turned into someone who could so peacefully make a decision the way he had.

Having been pushed away for a thousand years by so many. Having been abandoned early on. Having such soul crushing fear of being alone that he would entrap those closest to him so they could never leave him.

He came to her world cloaked in darkness, and here they lay in the final moments, chaste on a couch, their fingers tangled together, like a young couple newly acquainted and in the fresh bloom of love. Her heart felt light, growing heavy as every hour passed. She turned her head to him, and his face softened, gently breaking into a familiar smile. His silent greeting was wordless and even so she could hear his voice in her head.

'Hello, love.'

There were no professions, no tensions tonight. Gone were the days of frantic desperation. Over the years, he had shown her more than any words could communicate.

She was always the one who held herself in such tight control that she could not know how much she would regret the words now lost in time.

He could tell she struggled as she licked her lips. That dimpled smile was understanding. No anger. Just acceptance. He accepted her silence the way he accepted death.

And she hated and loved him in equal parts that he could be so at peace.

Is that the peace that a lifetime of a thousand years bought you?

Soon, he would be gone. Unlike him and his acceptance, death was still a struggle to her. The loss of her mom, the break that occurred, the hysterical agony of losing Stefan – she was not as mature or calm as he. Maybe a hundred years more of her immortal life would get her a fraction of his peace.

"You don't have to say anything, love," he assured her. "You've told me over the years. Not in so many words, but I heard it."

She sighed in relief, nodded and smiled sadly.

She was Caroline Forbes, and this should be easy. It was easy enough with the handful of men before. It was easy with all her friends. She could not understand what took the words away.

He understood. But what a difference it would have been if she could be as open to him. Now, seeing the soul he had become, seeing the genuine love family had brought him, she wished so badly it would not have been too late. But time is short now. Certainly not long enough to encompass what she had recognized too late about why she showed up, why she came to him when he called, and why she accepted him every time.

"You can do something for me," he told her. "One last favor for your favorite supervillain."

And his words made her chuckle, because it was so obviously an endearing tease. He knew. She leaned her forehead into the crook of his neck. She breathed him in as if she could sear the scent that was so uniquely his into her brain to last her through forever without him.

She wished she could loathe him for leaving. It might ease the passing of the coming years.

Even that, she failed. Who could hate a decision that she knew was made wholeheartedly for his child? She certainly would have done the same for her girls, blood or not. She would give her life for theirs, as Klaus was doing now for Hope.

"You were never the villain of my story," she whispered. "Far from it. Sometimes I tell myself you can be a hero." He had certainly saved her many times. The first few times he was the reason she needed saving. Other times, he simply was. Against her forehead, she could feel how his smile widened. She could see it in her mind even if her eyes were closed. "Tell me what you need, aside from watching over your daughter at my school." She was going to do more than that, she was sure. As strong-willed as Hope was, Caroline could not help the fondness that overtook her every time the girl reminded her of her equally stubborn father.

"When I'm gone—"

That brief pang of pain, a flash of anger, overwhelming regret. Each one fought for prominence in her throat.

"It could be a month, or it could be a hundred years, my sister would come to you. It is the only gift I can give her. With the hell I've put her through, she deserves it. Give her the Cure, if she wants it."

It was a tall ask, to be responsible for something so invaluable, something so desired. How would he know that she would not be tempted in the hardest of days to take it for herself, or to offer it to another? And what woman in her right mind would always be at the ready should she be needed.

She pulled away to meet his gaze. "I swear I will." Her fingers tightened around his. "I don't regret a second of our interludes these last twenty years. They were few, far between, but—"

"Like ships passing in the night."

"I wish it was longer," she told him. There was so much more beauty, and music, and art. There was so much of the world to explore.

In his calm acceptance, he did not concur. Instead, he brushed his lips in her hair. "Those moments were worth a lifetime," he said.

She had longed to turn her lips to his, to take one selfish moment. After all, after this goodbye, there would be no more selfishness. After him, there would be no more her.

It would all be about the children, after all.

Caroline shook off the reverie. She opened her eyes and the dimly lit surroundings of his New Orleans home fell away. This was where he lived now—in her dreams, in her memories of those precious moments interspersed in the two decades of their entwined lives. Those moments lit up the muted colors of her memories like sunlight dancing on intertwined fingers, creating a play of shadow and light.

Revisiting them made her feel young again. They made her heart race the way it no longer did these days. Some of them made her breathless and dizzy.

To be so young. To be so—

The vehicle that stopped before the school was unfamiliar. She made her way to the entrance.

When she opened the door of the school to see Rebekah standing there, her hand in Marcel's, somberly looking at her as if decades had not passed since both Klaus and Elijah… faded… She was the same beautiful young woman.

"I was expecting you," Caroline said in greeting, her voice light, cheerful. "You look happy." She could tell that Marcel was pleased with the observation.

Rebekah's chin rose. A small smile appeared on her lips. Caroline caught the slightest tremor before the other vampire caught it. "And you look—different," Rebekah allowed.

Caroline bit her lip to stifle a grin. "I guess living forever with a partner ages you more slowly than living forever minding hormonal teenagers."

At this, Rebekah eases into a chuckle, melting the tension between them by a fraction.

"Please," Caroline continued, "come in."

She ushered them into her office and gestured to the seats before the desk. Instead of taking their places, Marcel shuffled towards the large windows and peered outside, seeming to scan the grounds. It was as if caution was ingrained into his very bones that he could not let down his guard even in a school.

Then again, with the number of attacks that her students had thwarted over the years, his caution was not misplaced.

Meanwhile, Rebekah walked around slowly, looking at the display shelves that housed several of Ric's and her books. There were random titles from other interim headmasters and headmistresses. Over the years she had taken off for the solution to the merger, and when Ric journeyed the world to document magical creatures, other people have come and gone and left their mark. Rebekah stopped before a shelf, then reached forward to touch a simple silver frame. A simple sketch of a girl and a horse.

"Scotch?" asked her visitor.

Ever the Mikaelson, Caroline thought. "This is a school. I don't keep alcohol to socialize with my students or the faculty."

Rebekah threw her a glance, her look undecipherable. "You have something very valuable to me." Caroline nodded. "Do you still have it?"

For the first time, Caroline sensed uncertainty in the other woman's voice. "Of course, I have it. I gave my word. It's yours, Rebekah. I was just holding it until you're ready."

Rebekah then sank into the seat. Caroline recognized the relief. Inspecting her office had been a distraction, and a mask to hide the anxiety. Caroline walked over to a nondescript painting of a phoenix that simply looked like a museum print. Moving the frame out of the way, she unlocked the vault and returned to Rebekah with the precious vial. This time, Marcel was standing behind her with a hand on her shoulder.

"He loved you," Caroline said to Rebekah, handing her the cure for vampirism.

She did not miss the slight tremor in Rebekah's hand as she reached for the vial, holding it close to her chest like the precious gift that it was. "He did."

He was giving her death, Caroline thought.

"He just gave me back my life," Rebekah said softly.

Caroline's gaze flickered to Marcel, who looked down lovingly at the woman seated in front of him. His look of affection did not falter. She licked her lips. She was a messenger, a keeper. She was asked to give the vial when Rebekah was ready. Caroline blurted, "Are you sure?" Perhaps she was just one of the rarities who gloried in her vampire life. Perhaps she was searching.

When she was ready, Klaus had told her.

"Are you ready, Rebekah?"

Rebekah looked up at her, her somber eyes calm. Like her brother before her. "I lived my life," Rebekah answered simply. She took a deep breath, then stood up. "We will have a celebration dinner. We'll invite the family. We're going to toast, just like we did for my brother. We'll talk about my exploits and misadventures as a vampire." She took Marcel's arm, then declared. "And then I begin my mortal life. My niece is around, I trust." Caroline nodded. "I will extend a personal invitation."

The door closed behind Rebekah as she walked away. Left standing at the doorway, Marcel glanced at Caroline with a smile.

"You know, I had never seen him happier than he was every time he would visit Mystic Falls," he told her. Marcel continued, "You brought him so much that he never could find elsewhere."

A flash of memory in the woods, of stolen kisses. Of brilliant smiles.

"He trusted very few people. He trusted you most of all."

"I would have been too afraid to do anything to that vial," she responded. Caroline had heard too many stories about Rebekah, especially from Stefan, occasionally from Klaus.

Marcel chuckled, then shook his head. "He trusted you with Hope."

The question was at the tip of her tongue. One vial. One cure. One immortal life to surrender. Be turned human. Klaus' gift to Rebekah was the choice to turn human.

"And what about you?" The words spilled from her tongue unrestrained. An immortal life without her. She would not wish this pain on her worst enemy, and she was on positive terms with Marcel since encountering him in New Orleans those final weeks.

"Still a lifetime to live with her, no matter how short or long it is," was his easy response.

We all have a shell. We all wore an armor to battle.

Her own was chinked. His seemed fresh and new. She would like to see him as the decades passed, and Rebekah aged. But today he was a knight with a brand spanking new armor, ready to face what lay ahead.

"As long as that choice was hers, I will live with it," he told her with full resolve.

~o~

It rarely rained around this time of the year, adding to Caroline's surprise at the thunderclap and lightning that criss crossed the dark sky. She squinted at the windshield, worried about how risky it was to continue driving in this condition. The unexpected weather made her slow down the speed of the car.

She reached the school grounds in a slow roll. Unexpectedly, a crack of lightning and a blinding light made her lose her grip on the wheel. Caroline touched her cheek at the warm prickles left there. It was electricity crackling in the air. The handful of lamps dimmed and died. Soon, she heard a terrible groaning noise. Each flash of lightning illuminated her surroundings. The huge tree on the grounds had been struck, and large branches fell to the ground.

Caroline jumped in her seat at another lightning. She reached the driveway. It would still be a bit of distance to get to the front door. Caroline dug in her bag for her keys and searched for an umbrella. With her keys dangling in her fingers, Caroline muttered under her breath about umbrellas that go supernaturally missing suddenly.

The brief illumination of the lightning caught her attention. A huddled figure on the grass. Caroline peered but the rain and the darkness made it difficult to discern. When the bright light sparked again, her eyes widened.

Was that a human, on his knees, bowed and twisted? Caroline turned the car and turned up the headlights so she would not be so dependent on the lightning.

The lightning!

Caroline hurriedly took her seatbelt off. There could not be any dilly dallying when someone seemed to be in trouble, injured and broken, caught in a storm. When she stepped out of the car in the torrent, her heels immediately sank into the mud. Exasperated, Caroline took off her heels and rushed barefoot to the figure, squealing at each crack of lightning, chilled to the bone by the rain.

"Sir!" she called. The man did not respond. Caroline ran across the grass until she fell to her knees before the figure huddled on the ground.

She reached for him, and missed. Reached forward in concern until her palm finally touched the cold bare skin. She gasped in concern, and exclaimed, "Let me help you."

His hair was soaked in the rain, the waves adhering to his scalp. She rested a calming hand on his back. The figure recoiled as if burned. Impossible. The freak rain was cold; the wind was cold; her bloody undead hand was always cold.

"It's alright, it's alright," she cooed, like she was wooing a wounded bird.

He was lean, tight, but so very delicate in his twisted form. In his broken state, he shook. Caroline's tears rose in overwhelming empathy. He groaned, a deep, broken sound, seemingly torn from his very center. Carefully, she turned him so she could inspect what injuries there were.

When she came face to face with him, the air was sucked out of her entire world. For a moment she swore the torrent stilled, long raindrops hung frozen right where they were around them. Her hands were unsteady as she slowly reached to cup his face. Her lips parted at the sight of pained, questioning dark blue eyes. Her heart had been dead long ago, but she swear she could feel a phantom leap of the muscle bursting into bloom, then fluttering in dizzying speed. With the thrumming in her ears she could not know how she heard him.

"Caroline," he hissed. Agonizing pain apparent in him, his shoulders threw back and he gritted his teeth, clawing for a semblance of control. "What have you done, love?"

tbd

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