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.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-06-25 11:44 pm (UTC)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.