No Pedestals Are Quite This High | 1/2 | pg, spoilers to 3.22
Caroline loved Elena. She did. That didn't mean she was blind to Elena's faults, and blindness, well, that was one of them.
She meant what she had said to Bonnie, one unassuming afternoon, when Stefan Salvatore had rolled into town and brought chaos with him. Elena didn't know what she had.
Elena was loved. She was loved so deeply, Caroline would have found it stifling and stopped envying her, if only her own life hadn't felt like it was too full of being second-best, the one standing in the dust, the one with the mother who was constantly "too busy" to spend any time with her errant daughter. (And it was a cruel thing to think, now, wasn't it, when Elena couldn't see Miranda outside of photographs and dreams? Nope, that thought belonged to herself, and she would keep it that way.)
Elena was everyone's first choice, and she wasn't even aware enough to appreciate it.
Everyone wanted to die for Elena, and it wasn't until Elena stepped into the otherwise deserted classroom, heartbreak in her face when she laid eyes on Alaric, panic when she saw the faintly smoking wounds on the corners of Caroline's mouth, did Caroline understand the burden it really was.
But pause: rewind.
Elena's lips were red like blood, her step had just a little bit more swagger, and that familiar face was so sad beneath her smile, Caroline would have gone right up and given her a hug -- Hello -- if it weren't for the flash in Elena's eyes. It wasn't Elena after all.
It was... her. It was the vampire who had smothered her with her own pillow, and hadn't even done it because of Caroline. She had just been collateral damage, the necessary implement to get to Elena, because it was Elena who everyone wanted. Once, Caroline would have thought, 'I wish I were you,' but Caroline was a vampire now. She was above all of this. She had admitted she felt insecure, and she was dealing with it, all right?
Katherine's hands were as strong as stone -- stronger than stone -- when they griped her arms, pulling Caroline to a halt in the middle of her living room. Caroline tried to shake her off, to dart away, but there wasn't even a hint of movement, not the faintest sound, and she had to skid to a halt to avoid crashing into the older vampire. She stumbled backwards, clumsier than she'd ever been as a human, but Katherine was so fast, so strong, and Caroline was on the ground again, Katherine crouched over her. Katherine didn't even need to breathe, but her face was so close, Caroline could feel her breath grazing against her cheek, and it was warmer than she'd expected.
Her eyes focused (so much faster now, sight so much sharper), and the thought was inevitable: How had she ever thought Katherine and Elena looked the same?
Just a few hours with Stefan Salvatore, Katherine told her, her hair tickling Caroline's nose. That was all she wanted. Caroline and Elena could play house for all she cared, as long as she kept Elena away. (How was it that those words hurt more than Katherine's nails digging into her arms?) Maybe Stefan could join them when they were done.
All this, just to get Stefan alone. Caroline wanted to turn her face away, to hide the fury and fear she felt when she agreed. Panic welled up, but she bit back the words. Oh god oh god, what was she going to do?
She watched Katherine sauntering away, watched her glance disinterestedly at the photos on Caroline's shelves, and the answer was painful, but simple: she would do what she had to, or Katherine would kill her.
She never held any illusions about Rebekah. Rebekah thought herself above everyone else. She looked down her nose at Caroline, though, hello, it wasn't Caroline who slept with everyone who so much glanced her way. And Caroline had overcome her loneliness long ago. That was what you did, when you had a problem: you trooped on, and you got over it.
(But still, she felt a moment of sympathy when she thought of Rebekah, shrivelled and as close to death as an Original could get, and a dagger in her back, Elena standing over her. She didn't begrudge Elena that -- could not, when they were on the same side. She couldn't even say she was surprised, because she remembered a night spent with Tyler, his lips so hot against the coolness of her body, and he'd admitted that he'd helped try to kill Elena once, but that had ended with Elena's knife in his would-be packmate's shoulder, and, later, Elena and Stefan embracing only a few feet away from the werewolf's heartless body. Tyler had not asked for her forgiveness or sympathy, though he had them. Caroline was coming to know that they all did what they had to. Elena had done what she had to, and if she could look in a mirror afterwards and still see herself, then Caroline could accept her too.)
It was funny that they ended up doing everything together, all the same. Somehow, Rebekah had wormed her way into the dance committee, and Caroline couldn't dislodge her. Caroline absolutely hated the sneer on Rebekah's lips when she turned up to help, so she clenched her fists and turned away. And no, that was not her clipboard cracking beneath her fingers, she had far too much control for that.
They ignored each other, resolute, for the rest of the afternoon. Sometimes, when Caroline was stomping over to another drafted worker helping classmate, she could feel Rebekah's eyes burning down her back, but she refused to turn around. She took her time, smiling at Matt when he walked past (with a raised eyebrow directed Rebekah's way), nudging another classmate because he was sticking lamps in the wrong corner. (Had anyone listened when she gave them the instructions?) Rebekah could stew all she wanted, Caroline didn't care that she was letting Rebekah do the work. Rebekah had signed on for it.
Her mother arrived for a brief visit, murmuring about checking up on how she was, but also mentioning that it was part of the job. Caroline could see, in the corner of her eye, the look Rebekah sent their way, and she placed herself firmly in between Liz and the other vampire in case something happened. As Liz gave her a brief smile, and left, Caroline held herself ready to prevent any unfortunate... accidents... but Rebekah didn't look at her again all afternoon.
"You're spending the afternoon with me?" Rebekah said, incredulous, weeks after they'd fished Elena out of the river below Wickery Bridge.
Caroline shrugged, sitting down next to her. "Every friendship starts somewhere."
She wondered briefly when Elena's and Katherine's had started, and when it had progressed enough that Elena was taking lessons from her. She supposed it didn't matter in the end.
She almost wished she felt surprised, but she didn't.
Because Elena had been her first choice too. She had been sixteen and newly raised to being the one that called the shots for the dance committee -- which really meant she could now press-gang her classmates into decorating the gym, but still, she thought with a huff, ended up doing half the work herself -- and Elena had broken down, and agreed to let Caroline show her everything she'd done. She had only meant to point out how she'd placed Seven Minutes in Heaven around the corner, so that all the noise from the dance was muted, but there hadn't been much space after all. She could smell Elena's lily perfume, completely out of period, could touch the weight of Elena's hair, and she had not-really-but-sort-of-meant-to kissed Elena.
And when their lips touched, she'd known, it hadn't mattered where she put Seven Minutes in Heaven, because every sound faded away except Elena's breathing.
Caroline would say, later, that she had been drunk. Elena would say nothing.
(Elena would touch her own lips, when she was alone that night, and smile just a little, but Caroline didn't know that. Elena would never tell Matt that Caroline, not him, had been her first kiss. She would let everyone think what they wanted, because Elena didn't dare peel back the layers of herself and expose all her faults to the world: even when they piled up on her shoulders, one by one, people dying around her, so eager to save her, in their ruthless love.)
For maybe the first time, Rebekah looked unsure. Rebekah was a thousand years old, but she had never felt like it. And Rebekah said, slowly, "I wouldn't know. I haven't made a friend in one thousand years."
"Maybe it's time to start," Caroline said. "So. Theme for our next dance. Roman or Greek?"
Love how you've portrayed Caroline to have a different sort of relationship with each of the ladies. You've nailed her thoughts down perfectly. Nice work! :)
Caroline loved Elena. She did. That didn't mean she was blind to Elena's faults, and blindness, well, that was one of them.
She meant what she had said to Bonnie, one unassuming afternoon, when Stefan Salvatore had rolled into town and brought chaos with him. Elena didn't know what she had.
Elena was loved. She was loved so deeply, Caroline would have found it stifling and stopped envying her, if only her own life hadn't felt like it was too full of being second-best, the one standing in the dust, the one with the mother who was constantly "too busy" to spend any time with her errant daughter. (And it was a cruel thing to think, now, wasn't it, when Elena couldn't see Miranda outside of photographs and dreams? Nope, that thought belonged to herself, and she would keep it that way.)
Elena was everyone's first choice, and she wasn't even aware enough to appreciate it.
Everyone wanted to die for Elena, and it wasn't until Elena stepped into the otherwise deserted classroom, heartbreak in her face when she laid eyes on Alaric, panic when she saw the faintly smoking wounds on the corners of Caroline's mouth, did Caroline understand the burden it really was.
But pause: rewind.
Elena's lips were red like blood, her step had just a little bit more swagger, and that familiar face was so sad beneath her smile, Caroline would have gone right up and given her a hug -- Hello -- if it weren't for the flash in Elena's eyes. It wasn't Elena after all.
It was... her. It was the vampire who had smothered her with her own pillow, and hadn't even done it because of Caroline. She had just been collateral damage, the necessary implement to get to Elena, because it was Elena who everyone wanted. Once, Caroline would have thought, 'I wish I were you,' but Caroline was a vampire now. She was above all of this. She had admitted she felt insecure, and she was dealing with it, all right?
Katherine's hands were as strong as stone -- stronger than stone -- when they griped her arms, pulling Caroline to a halt in the middle of her living room. Caroline tried to shake her off, to dart away, but there wasn't even a hint of movement, not the faintest sound, and she had to skid to a halt to avoid crashing into the older vampire. She stumbled backwards, clumsier than she'd ever been as a human, but Katherine was so fast, so strong, and Caroline was on the ground again, Katherine crouched over her. Katherine didn't even need to breathe, but her face was so close, Caroline could feel her breath grazing against her cheek, and it was warmer than she'd expected.
Her eyes focused (so much faster now, sight so much sharper), and the thought was inevitable: How had she ever thought Katherine and Elena looked the same?
Just a few hours with Stefan Salvatore, Katherine told her, her hair tickling Caroline's nose. That was all she wanted. Caroline and Elena could play house for all she cared, as long as she kept Elena away. (How was it that those words hurt more than Katherine's nails digging into her arms?) Maybe Stefan could join them when they were done.
All this, just to get Stefan alone. Caroline wanted to turn her face away, to hide the fury and fear she felt when she agreed. Panic welled up, but she bit back the words. Oh god oh god, what was she going to do?
She watched Katherine sauntering away, watched her glance disinterestedly at the photos on Caroline's shelves, and the answer was painful, but simple: she would do what she had to, or Katherine would kill her.
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She never held any illusions about Rebekah. Rebekah thought herself above everyone else. She looked down her nose at Caroline, though, hello, it wasn't Caroline who slept with everyone who so much glanced her way. And Caroline had overcome her loneliness long ago. That was what you did, when you had a problem: you trooped on, and you got over it.
(But still, she felt a moment of sympathy when she thought of Rebekah, shrivelled and as close to death as an Original could get, and a dagger in her back, Elena standing over her. She didn't begrudge Elena that -- could not, when they were on the same side. She couldn't even say she was surprised, because she remembered a night spent with Tyler, his lips so hot against the coolness of her body, and he'd admitted that he'd helped try to kill Elena once, but that had ended with Elena's knife in his would-be packmate's shoulder, and, later, Elena and Stefan embracing only a few feet away from the werewolf's heartless body. Tyler had not asked for her forgiveness or sympathy, though he had them. Caroline was coming to know that they all did what they had to. Elena had done what she had to, and if she could look in a mirror afterwards and still see herself, then Caroline could accept her too.)
It was funny that they ended up doing everything together, all the same. Somehow, Rebekah had wormed her way into the dance committee, and Caroline couldn't dislodge her. Caroline absolutely hated the sneer on Rebekah's lips when she turned up to help, so she clenched her fists and turned away. And no, that was not her clipboard cracking beneath her fingers, she had far too much control for that.
They ignored each other, resolute, for the rest of the afternoon. Sometimes, when Caroline was stomping over to another drafted worker helping classmate, she could feel Rebekah's eyes burning down her back, but she refused to turn around. She took her time, smiling at Matt when he walked past (with a raised eyebrow directed Rebekah's way), nudging another classmate because he was sticking lamps in the wrong corner. (Had anyone listened when she gave them the instructions?) Rebekah could stew all she wanted, Caroline didn't care that she was letting Rebekah do the work. Rebekah had signed on for it.
Her mother arrived for a brief visit, murmuring about checking up on how she was, but also mentioning that it was part of the job. Caroline could see, in the corner of her eye, the look Rebekah sent their way, and she placed herself firmly in between Liz and the other vampire in case something happened. As Liz gave her a brief smile, and left, Caroline held herself ready to prevent any unfortunate... accidents... but Rebekah didn't look at her again all afternoon.
"You're spending the afternoon with me?" Rebekah said, incredulous, weeks after they'd fished Elena out of the river below Wickery Bridge.
Caroline shrugged, sitting down next to her. "Every friendship starts somewhere."
She wondered briefly when Elena's and Katherine's had started, and when it had progressed enough that Elena was taking lessons from her. She supposed it didn't matter in the end.
She almost wished she felt surprised, but she didn't.
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Because Elena had been her first choice too. She had been sixteen and newly raised to being the one that called the shots for the dance committee -- which really meant she could now press-gang her classmates into decorating the gym, but still, she thought with a huff, ended up doing half the work herself -- and Elena had broken down, and agreed to let Caroline show her everything she'd done. She had only meant to point out how she'd placed Seven Minutes in Heaven around the corner, so that all the noise from the dance was muted, but there hadn't been much space after all. She could smell Elena's lily perfume, completely out of period, could touch the weight of Elena's hair, and she had not-really-but-sort-of-meant-to kissed Elena.
And when their lips touched, she'd known, it hadn't mattered where she put Seven Minutes in Heaven, because every sound faded away except Elena's breathing.
Caroline would say, later, that she had been drunk. Elena would say nothing.
(Elena would touch her own lips, when she was alone that night, and smile just a little, but Caroline didn't know that. Elena would never tell Matt that Caroline, not him, had been her first kiss. She would let everyone think what they wanted, because Elena didn't dare peel back the layers of herself and expose all her faults to the world: even when they piled up on her shoulders, one by one, people dying around her, so eager to save her, in their ruthless love.)
For maybe the first time, Rebekah looked unsure. Rebekah was a thousand years old, but she had never felt like it. And Rebekah said, slowly, "I wouldn't know. I haven't made a friend in one thousand years."
"Maybe it's time to start," Caroline said. "So. Theme for our next dance. Roman or Greek?"
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