Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries.

:-:

When Jeremy had graduated high school, he and a few friends had decided to open up a comic book store along Main Street. It had been small, though in a quaint sort of way, offering graphic novel enthusiasts the chance to escape reality—at least, for a few hours—to peruse the collections they had in stock. It had even been going well—it won some tri-state award, the title of which Caroline couldn't recall—however, it eventually ended up going the way of most foundling businesses during the recession. Caroline still felt a pang of sadness, on Jeremy's behalf, each time she drove past its boarded-up windows and graffitied walls.

With his store gone and most of his money along with it, Jeremy had—under Elena's encouragement—moved out of his one-bedroom apartment and back in with their parents, working nights tending the bar at the Mystic Grill to fund the community college classes he took during the day. Though she had never been all that friendly with him, a certain closeness had been forged through her association with Elena and Katherine. She'd thought he'd been getting better—overcoming his economic downturn with the help of his family—but to hear from Bonnie that he'd gotten himself mixed up with drugs, Caroline's heart cracked a little at the thought.

The day had gotten hotter somehow in the short drive from Bonnie's house to the Gilbert residence and, as Mikaelson pulled his SUV in against the curb, Caroline shimmied out of her jacket and left it on the passenger seat. Sliding out of the car, the subtle breeze was refreshing against the exposed skin of her shoulders and she closed her eyes briefly, savouring it. Usually on days like today, she, Bonnie and Elena would have all met up after work to head to the Mystic Grill where they would have caught up over a bottle of chilled wine—or, perhaps, a few rounds of cocktails.

An intrusive thought pushed against the calm threatening to envelope her psyche. Those days were over now, she realized and, with that, reality crashed back down around her deafeningly.

Her eyes opened sharply as Mikaelson slammed his car door shut behind her, though her attention wasn't on him. Instead, she found her gaze drawn to a van parked a few doors down from the Gilbert house, its white coat of paint glinting madly in the afternoon sun's glare. An uneasy feeling prickled its way down the back of her neck. She narrowed her eyes at the purple lettering emblazoned along the van's side, not yet able to make it out until—

WPKW9.

A wave of dread washed over her.

"Oh, no," she groaned.

"What?" Mikaelson asked, as he came to stand beside her.

"Andie Starr," Caroline deadpanned, with a pointed nod towards the van.

Sure enough, WPKW9's leading female anchor, Andie Starr, had already clambered out of her vehicle, her cameraman close behind her as she approached the two of them at a remarkable pace—despite the five-inch heels she was wearing. Caroline watched as Mikaelson's shoulders tensed and the furrow in his brow deepened with annoyance. His lips twisted into an ill-disguised frown as Andie skidded to a halt beside him, fixing her hair with a practised hand, before she whipped around to face the camera, her features set into a serious look.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm here now with lead detective—" co-lead, Caroline corrected internally, though she kept her mouth clamped shut, glad to have escaped the reporter's scrutiny, "—on the Elena Gilbert case, the famed Detective Niklaus Mikaelson, formerly of Chicago's Homicide Division. Detective Mikaelson, what do you have to say about this heinous crime that has rocked the very foundations our small town community?"

Mikaelson remained silent, though Caroline watched as a muscle worked furiously in his jaw.

Andie exhaled a little puff of air, though still she continued on, resolutely undeterred: "Do you have any leads?" she cast a keen glance at the Gilbert house, before leaning in conspiratorially, "Are you pursuing a lead right now?"

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his wool trench coat, which he was still wearing despite the sweltering heat, Mikaelson gritted his teeth audibly and ignored Andie's probing stare, advancing up towards the Gilbert house wordlessly. Despite the rejection, Andie proved relentless as she trotted alongside him, beckoning her cameraman to follow behind her. Caroline ducked her head, watching Andie from out of the corner of her eye as—seeing that her current line of questioning was proving fruitless—the reporter abruptly switched tact.

"Detective, what exactly brings you here to Mystic Falls?" Andie demanded, raising her eyebrows at him sharply, "After all, you've established a prolific career for yourself in Chicago—does this sudden change in scenery have anything to do with your recent work on the Camille O'Connell case?"

Camille O'Connell—the name caught Caroline's attention instantly, her mind linking it to the psychology student that had been murdered during the last case Mikaelson had worked for Chicago, before his transfer. She tried to keep her interest discreet though, especially when she saw the reaction the name elicited from him. He stood still suddenly and Caroline could see, from the way the fabric rippled, that he had clenched his fists within the pockets of his coat and, though his expression was carefully impassive, his eyes seemed stormier than usual.

"No comment," Mikaelson muttered, his tone verging dangerously close to a snarl.

Andie's face fell and she mumbled darkly under her breath to her cameraman, clearly unhappy at being deprived of her scoop. Caroline swallowed, her gaze flashing briefly from the WPKW9 news team to Mikaelson's retreating back before she followed the latter at a brisk pace, up the porch steps to the Gilbert residence. The tension in the air was thick, the silence between them uncomfortable.

Caroline tossed a quick glance over her shoulder, to where Andie and her cameraman were walking back to their van, "You know," Caroline began cautiously, "They're probably going to brand you as—" she raised her hands to form air quotes, "—'cold' and 'uncooperative' on tonight's broadcast."

Mikaelson spared her the briefest of sideways looks, "Let them," was all he said, his tone coolly resigned as he pushed the doorbell with his index finger, using a tad more force than necessary.

Caroline sucked in a deep breath—despite whatever bad blood existed between them, she hadn't said what she did to be malicious; rather, she had merely intended to warn him of what the media in Mystic Falls was like, though—she had to admit—she could see how he had come to the opposite interpretation. Shaking her head, she exhaled the breath slowly: "Listen, are you o—?"

The door to the Gilbert house was swung open, cutting her off. Elena's father—esteemed surgeon, Dr. Grayson Gilbert—stood in the doorway, surveying the two of them with a measure of relief in his expression—probably glad that they weren't more journalists, nosing in on his family's grief—before his eyebrows knitted down in a look of concern. As his gaze met hers, Caroline gave him a sympathetic look.

"Hi, Dr. Gilbert," she greeted him softly.

Grayson's dark eyes flashed rapidly from Caroline to Mikaelson and then back again, "Is... Has something happened?" he demanded; one of his hands came up to clutch at the door frame, his knuckles shining white, "Do you have a lead? Have you—Have you made an arrest?"

"We're pursuing a few lines of questioning," Caroline assured him, nodding.

"That's actually why we're here," Mikaelson said, withdrawing his hands from his coat pockets to fold his arms across his chest, "May we come in?"

"Oh—yes, of course," Dr. Gilbert released the door frame and took a step backwards, allowing them to enter.

As Caroline crossed the threshold, the heat from outside seemed to evaporate almost instantly and, suddenly cold, she brought her arms up to wrap loosely around herself. Though Elena hadn't lived with her parents for a few years now, the Gilbert residence still felt empty without her presence. Despite herself, a sad smile tugged gently on the corners of Caroline's lips as she glanced around—she had so many good memories of this house.

She remembered running through the halls at the Gilbert twins' birthday parties when she was six or seven, squealing with delight, her cheeks red with exhilaration after one too many slices of chocolate cake, complete with extra frosting. She remembered spending Saturday nights, wedged between Bonnie and Elena on the living room couch, when they were all in their pre-teens, watching movies and gushing excitedly over which boy they had had a crush on that week, while Katherine hovered nearby, desperate to be included but vehemently protesting otherwise when her mother would encourage her to join in.

Caroline's heart twisted a little when she thought of Katherine. Naturally, she'd been informed of her sister's death, though there was still no word of her coming to town and she had to wonder how callous a person would need to be to abandon their family in a time of such emotional turmoil. Fleetingly, Caroline considered calling her when she got home from work later that night, but instantly thought better of it. It wasn't her place to do so and, besides—she thought, chagrined—she doubted very much that Katherine would want to hear from her anyway. She probably wouldn't even answer.

Beside her, Mikaelson was talking to Dr. Gilbert, updating him on the case. Caroline gave herself a mental shake, pushing aside her trip down memory lane and her thoughts of Katherine to concentrate on the present. From where she was standing, in the Gilberts' front hall, she could see into their living room. Almost every available surface was covered in flower arrangements, all ranging in size and splendour—from the simple but effective to the overtly extravagant and expensive. Their scents filled the air, though it was the two figures amidst the flora that drew Caroline's attention.

Jeremy Gilbert—their suspect, Caroline reminded herself, swallowing down the bile that arose with the word—sat on the couch, his arm slung comfortingly around his mother's shoulders as she talked quietly to someone on the phone. A lump formed in Caroline's throat—where they really doing this? The Gilberts' grief was already tantamount as it was and now—here they were—about to add to it by possibly implicating their son.

"No, no, you're not listening to me! I need it—I need it for Sunday," Mrs. Gilbert's brittle voice wavered dangerously until it cracked on the last word.

"Here, Mom," Jeremy took the cell phone from his mother's hand gently, "Let me talk to them."

The lump in Caroline's throat grew as comprehension dawned on her—they were planning Elena's funeral.

"I don't understand," Dr. Gilbert was saying to Mikaelson, drawing Caroline's attention back to the two of them, "Why do you need to talk to Jeremy? He—He was at work on Monday night. He doesn't—He wouldn't know anything," Grayson's gaze snapped to her and he gave her a beseeching look, "Caroline, please..."

She swallowed thickly, regretting the fact that she'd left her jacket in Mikaelson's SUV—she could feel her hands trembling and she wished she had pockets to hide them in; instead, she settled with clasping them behind her back, "Dr. Gilbert, you need to understand we're—we're not arresting him for anything"—yet, the word went unspoken but hung heavily in the air between them—"We're just trying establish a timeline for all parties of interest."

"Yes," Mikaelson agreed with her, nodding, "And your son has a few hours unaccounted for—all we need is for him to fill in those blanks for us."

Dr. Gilbert shook his head vehemently, "I know what you're trying to say and I'm here to tell you that you're wrong," he protested, folding his arms across his chest defiantly, "Jeremy may have been through some rough times, kept company with the wrong people, but he's past that now—he's clean. Besides, he would never—he... he couldn't. Him and Elena were always so close, they looked out for each other—Caroline, you remember?"

Caroline closed her eyes briefly, inhaling a deep breath before: "I'm sorry, Dr. Gilbert—I know how hard this must be for you—but I'm going to have to stand by Detective Mikaelson on this. We need to speak to Jeremy."

In response, Grayson Gilbert—a man who'd been like a father to her ever since her own had disappeared to Georgia—gave her a look that was so venomous she felt herself recoil slightly, "Fine," he replied, his nostrils flaring harshly in frustration, "Though I must insist on having our lawyer present if you persist on throwing around baseless accusations—"

"Dad? Is everything... okay?" Jeremy Gilbert had appeared by his father's side, while Miranda watched the exchange warily, from the couch.

"Detective Mikaelson and Detective Forbes want to speak with you—I'm suggesting that we contact our lawyer first," Dr. Grayson informed his son.

Caroline watched as a muscle in Jeremy's jaw worked, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed thickly. His brown eyes—shared by both his sisters—flicked rapidly from his father to Mikaelson before finally settling on her. Almost imperceptible to the untrained eye, a droplet of sweat had formed by his left temple. She raised her eyebrow a fraction, a silent exchange passing between them. She knew—She knew about the drugs.

"It's—It's okay, Dad," Jeremy said at last, "I can talk to them now."

"Jeremy, are you sure?" Dr. Gilbert said, putting a hand on his son's shoulder, "I know you have nothing to hide, but I can call the lawyer—she can be here in ten minutes."

"No, Dad, it's fine. Come on," he gestured behind him with a tilt of his head, "We can talk in here."

Mikaelson nodded and motioned for him to lead the way, as he and Caroline followed Jeremy down the hall into the Gilberts' spacious, well-lit kitchen-cum-dining area. Just as the living room was filled with flower arrangements, every available surface in this room was piled high with tinfoil-covered casserole dishes, tureens of soup and Tupperware boxes of sandwiches.

"Sorry for the mess in here," Jeremy mumbled, as he cleared some boxes away, pushing them into the already overstuffed refrigerator, "People have been really, uh, generous since the news broke last night."

"Jer," Caroline began, her tone soft.

"I know," he turned to face them, his youthful features drawn and pale, "You've spoken to Bonnie already, haven't you?"

"We have," Mikaelson took a step forwards, his hands in his coat pockets again, "Miss Bennett mentioned that you had a drug problem, that you had been sober for some time now, but that you ended up taking some cocaine on Monday night—is that correct?"

"I—I hadn't meant to," Jeremy murmured, scratching his forearm nervously, "I didn't have any on me, or even here at the house. I got rid of it all when I first went into rehab, I didn't want to be tempted when I got out—I... I didn't want to disappoint Mom and Dad by falling off the wagon."

"So why did you take some on Monday night?" Caroline prodded gently.

"There was this guy at the Mystic Grill—I'd never seen him before, he wasn't a regular or anything—who said he had some 'real good shit' on him—his words, not mine," Jeremy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, "I think it was mostly for him and his buddies—he was with some loudmouth, frat-type guys—but he said that he'd sell me some, if I wanted. He asked me while I was on shift, so I said no."

He paused, clicking his tongue, "The only thing was, it was in my head then. It was all I could think about and, when I clocked off at a little after eleven, I found him again outside. He was having a cigarette and we just, you know, got to talking. He sold me about ten grams of the stuff and then we did a couple of lines in his car and after that... well, after that, I—I don't know—it's all just a blank."

"You don't remember anything?" Mikaelson asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not until I called Bonnie and that wasn't until around two hours after, if my call logs are to be believed. To be honest," he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "even that's a bit of a blur."

From where they hung by his sides, Caroline realized that Jeremy's hands were shaking rather violently; her gaze drifted up, appraising his outfit with a critical eye. He was dressed in a slightly worn pair of jeans that were ripped liberally at the knee—they were distinctly his style, but his shirt (navy blue and distinctly smart casual) was another matter entirely. For almost as long as she had known him, Jeremy Gilbert had always been one to favour an array of T-shirts, sporting the symbols of his favourite bands or superheroes, but that afternoon he stood before them in a stiff, formal shirt that he had buttoned up right to his neck.

"Jeremy," Caroline said, carefully, "Is there anything else you want to tell us?"

For a long moment, the youngest Gilbert sibling was silent, eyeing them both uncertainly; Caroline watched as his right fist clenched and unclenched.

"Mr. Gilbert, anything you choose not to disclose to us now could work against your defence," Mikaelson stated plainly.

Sighing, Jeremy reached up hesitantly with fumbling fingers, undoing the top four buttons of his shirt to reveal an angry purple bruise that began at his right pectoral before creeping up onto the base of his neck. Craning his head, Jeremy exposed the column of his throat.

"Oh, my God," Caroline breathed, taking a step forwards to inspect it—blemishing the skin there was four small, round bruises that seemed to closely resemble—

"Fingermarks," Mikaelson said quietly, confirming her suspicions.

"I—I don't know how I got them. When I woke up yesterday morning, I thought that I'd just gotten into a fight or something, but when I heard about Elena..." Jeremy's gaze met Caroline's with a look of such terror that she felt her heart twist painfully in her chest, "You don't actually think I could have done anything to her, do you?"

"That's what we're going to try to find out," Caroline said—the only bit of assurance she could offer him at this point; she glanced over her shoulder at Mikaelson, "I think we should bring him down to the station and collect some fingerprints—that way, if they don't match, we can rule you out as a suspect in this investigation," she added, returning her attention to Jeremy; the alternative outcome, though unmentioned, still hung heavily in the air between them.

Mikaelson nodded and left the kitchen with Jeremy and Caroline close behind him. Dr. and Mrs. Gilbert met them in the hallway, Miranda's hand reaching out instantly for her son's, which she grasped desperately in a white-knuckled grip.

"Where are you taking him?" Dr. Gilbert demanded, "I told you—Jeremy—he wouldn't do something like this!"

"We're just taking him down to the station to carry out some routine DNA profiling," Mikaelson said, "He hasn't been charged with anything, at present."

But Miranda's fingers only curled tighter around her youngest child, refusing to relinquish their hold, "No—you can't. Jeremy..."

"It's OK, Mom," he said, offering her a reassuring twitch of his lips, "They just want to talk some more—I'll be back home in a few hours."

"Come along, Mr. Gilbert," Mikaelson said, motioning him forward.

Jeremy nodded and, with his free hand, gently pried his mother's fingers off him, "I'll look out for him," Caroline said in a low voice to Grayson and Miranda Gilbert—it was hardly much of a reassurance, but she would have felt remiss had she not have said it—before she and Jeremy followed Mikaelson along the hallway and out of the front door.

They had barely dismounted the porch steps, the sole of Caroline's boot coming down onto the front path, crunching the gravel beneath it, when they heard the shrill voice of Andie Starr, calling out to them insistently. Standing on the sidewalk, she teetered dangerously in her high heels as she thrust her microphone out as far as she could manage, her cameraman standing dutifully by her side. The invisible line, marking the Gilbert's house as private property, prevented her from coming any further and, for that, Caroline felt an immense wave of gratitude.

"Detective Mikaelson—Detective Mikaelson!" Andie was saying, bouncing up and down excitedly on the balls of her feet as they neared the SUV, "Have you made an arrest?"

"No," Mikaelson said, in a neutral voice, refusing to even look over at her; his features were a cool, impassive mask—even as Andie's microphone bobbed irritatingly close to his jawline, "We're simply taking Mr. Gilbert down to the station for some questioning. No further comment."

It was an admirable attempt on Mikaelson's part, to quash any rumours before they had a chance to spread (which they would, like wildfire, in a small town like Mystic Falls), but Caroline knew what kind of network WPKW9 was and, more importantly, she knew Andie Starr's style of journalism. No doubt, she would do her best to twist the scant facts she had, stopping just short of a libel lawsuit, to paint Jeremy Gilbert as a murderer. She would dig into Jeremy's background, pointing out how he was something of a loner in high school—maybe a neighbour, hungry for their five minutes of fame, would bring up an argument Jeremy had with Elena three years before at a family barbecue.

A stab of guilt pierced her heart and Caroline found herself glancing back at the Gilbert house. Grayson and Miranda stood just inside the doorway, the former's arm around the latter's shoulders. They were shrouded in the shadows, not daring to come out any further, lest they draw the attention of Andie and her furious inquisition. Caroline drew a shallow breath, a lump rising in her throat—the Gilberts, they didn't deserve this.

"Detective Forbes!" Andie trotted forward, her voice suddenly in Caroline's ear as the microphone was pushed against her lips, "What do you have to say about all this?"

With a certain practised elegance, Caroline sidestepped away, "No comment," she said firmly—with an apologetic look that might have seemed genuine were she not so exhausted—rounding the hood of the SUV to the passenger side.

Mildly deterred, Andie huffed out a frustrated sigh and exchanged an exasperated glance with her cameraman, who shrugged. She recovered quickly, however, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, "Jeremy Gilbert! Did you kill your sister?" she demanded, as a last-ditch attempt at securing a juicy quote, her glossy lips puckered up into a serious expression.

Jeremy's eyes grew wide and Caroline watched as his mouth opened, a protest already forming on his tongue—it was only natural, a knee-jerk reaction to such a direct accusation. Mikaelson noticed it too and, assessing the potential damage, took hold of Jeremy's elbow. The effect was like that of a lightning bolt—a jolt passed through Jeremy's body, rousing him from whatever angry trance he'd slipped into and grounding him back to reality.

"Say nothing," Mikaelson hissed at the younger man, as he opened the door to the backseat; Jeremy took the offered escape, clambering inside the vehicle readily.

Caroline opened the door to the passenger side, though she found herself lingering as Andie approached Mikaelson again with a renewed vigour, "Detective Mikaelson, how do you feel this case compares to the Camille O'Connell case? I mean, you have to admit, they're remarkably similar—two beautiful young women, both in the prime of their lives, both brutally murdered. Did you take on this case to secure the justice for Elena's family that you weren't able to secure for Camille's?"

There it was—a crack in the mask. A sliver of anger worked its way into Mikaelson's expression, igniting a spark in his eyes and twisting his lips into a frown, "No comment," he growled, his gaze snapping over to meet Caroline's and, instinctively, she looked away from him, embarrassed at being caught, "Get in the car, Forbes."

She wasted no time in heeding the order, climbing inside as she willed the red flush away from her cheeks. As she fumbled with her seat belt, clicking it into place, a sudden thought occurred to her and she glanced up sharply, meeting Jeremy's gaze in the rear view mirror, "Jeremy," she began, acutely aware of Mikaelson's eyes on her as he slid into the driver's seat beside her, "Did you contact Elena at all on Monday night?"

"No," his features were drawn into a puzzled expression at the question, "Why?"

"You didn't text her or anything?" she pressed, and he shook his head; she exhaled a deep breath, "When Elena left my apartment on Monday night, she said she had to go because you'd text her—she said you had asked her to pick up some things from the store."

"What time was this at?"

Caroline closed her eyes briefly in thought, "Uh, eleven."

"That would've been as I was clocking off, before I—well, you know—but I don't remember any of that," he murmured, almost to himself; there was a series of clicks as he unlocked his phone and accessed his messages, "I didn't send any texts to Elena that night—whoever it was, it wasn't me."

He passed his phone into Caroline, who held it, cradled, in her hands—the last recorded message in the conversation between him and Elena was a reminder, from the latter, regarding their parents' upcoming wedding anniversary, sent two days before her death. Caroline's mind travelled back to the CCTV footage that she and Mikaelson had watched earlier, that showed Elena talking to someone on her cell phone, a grin on her lips and her cheeks aglow with happiness.

'Yeah, I'm out now—I'll be there in a few minutes,' she'd said—who had she been talking to, if not her brother? And why had she lied?

Mikaelson turned the keys in the ignition, his SUV roaring to life before dying down to a gentle purr. Caroline raised a hand to her lips, watching out the window as the Gilbert house—with Grayson and Miranda still at the door—slipped away from view. The car was silent, though Caroline's mind was whirring, tossing and turning as it was consumed wholly by one thought:

What were you hiding, Elena?

:-:

"Jeremy!" Matt exclaimed, standing up from behind his desk as the youngest Gilbert sibling was led into the police station, sandwiched between Caroline and Mikaelson.

Mikaelson ignored him, choosing instead to call over Josh Rosza, who'd been trying (and failing) to look busy by his computer, "Rosza, I want you to take Mr Gilbert down to forensics and collect some DNA samples—I want blood, hair and saliva collected, as well as a set of fingerprints—do you think you can manage that?"

"Yes, sir," Josh replied promptly.

"Good—then I'll be expecting the results of that back as soon as possible," Mikaelson added, sharply.

"What the hell is going on?" Matt whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Caroline, as she came to stand next to him, her arms folded across her chest.

"I'll explain later," she murmured back, as Josh led Jeremy off the main floor.

Mikaelson picked up Elena's case file from where it lay, open, on Matt's desk, flicking through it for any new information that had been added in his absence, "Any word on the missing phone?"

"None—the people we had out looking for it by the Mystic Grill said it came up negative," Matt replied.

"Missing phone?" Caroline echoed, her gaze flashing from Matt to Mikaelson accusingly, "Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"

"I didn't think it meant much at first—we know we had it when she left your apartment at around eleven," Mikaelson said, sparing Caroline a look, to which she nodded, "Initially I just assumed that it had fallen out of her pocket, perhaps during an altercation between Miss Gilbert and her killer, but if it wasn't found at the scene of the crime—"

"Maybe the murderer took it, as some sort of sick trophy," Matt suggested.

"Or maybe the alleyway wasn't the crime scene," Caroline whispered, glancing up at Mikaelson suddenly; he was staring at her, the gears in his brain working in tandem alongside hers, "What if whoever murdered Elena did it somewhere else and moved her body to the alley to cover their tracks?"

"There's a park near the Mystic Grill, it's right in the town square—it's not very well-lit and there's no CCTV around it, it's a possibility," Matt agreed, nodding.

"Donovan, have your team scout out this park," Mikaelson said, as Matt retook his seat, lifting the phone's receiver to his ear with his finger already poised to dial, "Let me know the second they find something!"

:-:

"So," Matt began at lunch, once they'd exhausted all avenues of small talk—yes, the weather was surprisingly hot today; no, she hadn't seen that news story about a recent political scandal. So far, there'd been no word from the team of forensics scouring the park, they'd detected no sign of Elena's phone or any other evidence for that matter, "Do you really think he did it? Jeremy, I mean," he added needlessly.

Caroline sighed, dropping her gaze to her Greek salad. If it had been anyone other than Matt Donovan asking her, she'd have not-so-politely told them to fuck off, but—as it stood—it was Matt asking her and, if she was honest, she didn't really have an answer for him, "I don't know," she whispered, glancing around the break room; it was relatively empty—apart from the two of them, sitting at a table near the back, Mindy—a junior detective, with less than a year's experience under her belt—was its only other occupant.

"I don't think he did," Matt murmured and Caroline's gaze flashed up to meet his; he shrugged, shaking his head, "I mean, I know we're not supposed to have opinions—we're supposed to look at the evidence, look at the facts—but... I don't know, Care, I just don't think he could have."

"I know," Caroline said, her tone sympathetic as she chose her words carefully, "And I know he's your friend, Matt, but he was on drugs the night that Elena died—he might not have even realized what he was doing at the time."

"Yeah," he agreed sullenly, picking at the crust of his ham and cheese sandwich and scattering the crumbs everywhere, "I guess—I guess I just hope that he didn't do it."

"You and me both," she nodded, pushing her salad away and folding her arms on top of the table's surface, "I mean, you should've seen them today—the Gilberts—they were already so torn up over what happened and then we came in to basically accuse their son. The way they looked at me, Matt, I felt like I was the worst human being in the world."

"You were just doing your job," Matt assured her, his voice low as Mindy got up to leave, her chair scraping noisily across the floor, "I'm sure they understood that, Care."

"I hope so," she mumbled, her head drooping so that her chin was resting on her hands.

"Has there been any word from Katherine?"

"Nope," Caroline said, focusing on keeping her voice at a neutral level.

"Shit," Matt shook his head, lifting his polystyrene cup of coffee to his lips, "That's rough."

"No, that's Katherine—she likes to pretend that the real world doesn't exist."

"Yeah, but still. Elena was her sister—she can't be that unfeeling. I don't know..." Matt trailed off thoughtfully and, in return, Caroline cast him a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised quizzically; he met her gaze uncertainly and she watched him take a sip of coffee and swallow it before he continued hesitantly, "I'm just wondering, if maybe—well, have you tried calling her?"

"Me?!" Caroline said incredulously, sitting up straighter in her chair, "You think I should call her?"

"Well, yeah—I mean, she listens to you."

"Yeah, she used to," Caroline shot back, picking through her salad idly with her fork, "But we didn't exactly part on the best of terms—I doubt she'd even pick up if I did."

Matt raised his shoulder in a half-shrug, "Yeah, maybe. It was just a thought," he said, wrapping up his abandoned crusts in their saran wrap and tossing them in the bin behind him, "Anyway, I gotta get back to work—I'll talk to you later, Care."

"See you later," she said, with a small smile that faded as soon as he walked out the door, leaving her alone with her uneaten Greek salad.

From the depths of her bag in the seat next to her, her phone buzzed and, fishing it out, she glanced down at the caller ID. Tyler's name—accompanied by a cute snapshot of the two of them last summer, on a picnic in a park somewhere—flashed up, demanding her attention. She watched it for a long moment, as it vibrated insistently against the palm of her hand. In her mind's eye, she could picture Tyler pacing, huffing out a frustrated sigh as his call went unanswered before, finally, he hung up and her phone fell silent. An alert popped up on her cell phone, announcing that she had one new message.

Sliding her finger across the screen, she unlocked her phone and dialled into her voicemail. It wasn't long until his voice reverberated through her ear and her heart twisted guiltily at having ignored his call, "Hi, Care, it's me—obviously. Listen, I was just wondering what time you thought you might be home at for dinner? I was thinking we could get some take-out—Chinese or I think I have a menu for that new Thai place around here somewhere. Or we could even get some sushi—I know that's your favourite."

There was a long pause and she felt for certain that he had forgotten to end his message, before he exhaled a breath and said softly, "Look, I'm not going to pretend I'm not worried about you, so just—just give me a call when you get this, please? I love you."

The message ended and Caroline's finger hovered over his name in her address book, the heart emoji that stood beside it glaring up at her accusingly. Eventually, though, she decided against calling him back—not yet, anyway—and, instead, she scrolled up to another name that she hadn't contacted in so long it may as well have been gathering pixelated dust. Her conversation with Matt rang loudly in her ears. She sucked in a deep breath and took a long slug from her can of Diet Coke, deliberating. She shouldn't do this—no, she really shouldn't do this, it wasn't her place to and, for all she knew, this wasn't even her number any more—

Fuck, it was ringing!

Caroline bit the inside of her cheek nervously, her stomach in knots as she waited for the call to go through. What would she even say? The line clicked and Caroline almost hung up when she heard her voice, confident to the point of haughty. It took her a split-second to realize that she had reached her voicemail and Caroline wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed as she listened to the recorded message play.

"Hi, you've reached Katherine," Elena's twin was saying, "I can't come to the phone right now. Maybe I'm drunk, maybe I'm in jail or maybe I'm fucking a Calvin Klein model—who knows? Point is, leave me your details and I'll think about getting back to you."

There was a beep and Caroline sucked in a breath, "Hi, Kat, it's—it's Caroline. I'm assuming you've heard about Elena by now and I just—well, I guess I just wanted to see how you were," she paused palpably to wet her lips, "I know you're probably really busy but just—um—call me back when you have the chance, OK? Thanks."

:-:

Caroline only remembered that she had forgotten to ring Tyler back when she let herself into his apartment that evening and was greeted by his earnest grin and a selection of take-out menus. Though she appreciated the gesture—letting her choose dinner—she really didn't care what they ate, her appetite still stubbornly lacking, and so, forcing on a smile, she picked the new Thai place he'd mentioned, knowing that was what he would have preferred.

Half an hour later, they sat side-by-side on his couch, their knees touching and take-out cartons on their laps as the television played faintly in front of them; Tyler had it switched to a rerun of some old sitcom on the furthest channel from the news—and any mention of Elena—but Caroline wasn't really paying attention to it. She was fairly certain she'd seen it before anyway. Instead, her eyes remained downcast as she twirled noodles around her fork absent-mindedly, mumbling out vague replies to Tyler's valiant attempts at conversation.

"So, um, how was work today?" he asked her, clearing his throat, "Do you—Did you find any new leads?"

Caroline glanced up at the question and, putting her carton onto the coffee table, she shook her head, "Tyler, you know I can't discuss that with you."

"C'mon, it's me. It's not like I'm going to tell anyone," he said, "Care, look, I'm not trying to pry—I just want you to know that you can talk to me if you need to."

She shook her head again, more vigorously this time, "I can't."

He stared at her for a long moment, his mouth hanging slightly agape, and she felt certain that he was going to press the issue—but then, he shrugged and turned his attention to his food, scooping up a large forkful and popping it in his mouth, "This is good," he commented neutrally, around a mouthful of rice.

She gave a distant nod, her gaze roaming over to the television where canned laughter dominated the scene. This all felt so... normal—watching TV, eating dinner with her boyfriend. Millions of other people were probably doing the same thing, all across the world, but how could she? How could she be doing this, while Elena's killer was still out there, hiding in anonymity? A strange feeling rushed through her and she suddenly couldn't stand the confines of Tyler's apartment. She needed to get out.

Standing abruptly, she said, "I think I'm gonna go to the gym," and made her way towards their bedroom to change.

As she passed him, Tyler stood as well, his brow furrowed, "Well, uh, do you want me to go with you?"

"No," she said quickly—too quickly—and she bit the inside of her cheek, hating herself for dismissing him so harshly—after all, he was only trying to help; she took a deep breath, her features softening, "No, I just want to spend some time alone, to think and stuff. Maybe some other time, though."

He nodded slowly, uncertain, "Do you want me to wait up for you?"

"No, it's okay. I don't know how long I'll be out, and you have work in the morning—I don't want to keep you up," she replied, and he stared at her, wordlessly, for a moment before he retook his seat on the couch and resumed eating his Pad Thai, rather forlornly.

Inside their bedroom, she changed quickly into a pair of yoga pants and an oversized college t-shirt she'd gotten during her days at Whitmore. Throwing her hair up into a messy ponytail, she slipped on her sneakers and scrubbed her face clean of make-up with one of the last few cleansing wipes she had left in her current packet. On her way out, she paused only to grab her earphones and her keys from her handbag and to say a quick goodbye to Tyler when he stood, stopping her and crossing the room until he was right in front of her.

"Look, I—I know you've a lot going on right now and I know you probably think I'm being a pain in the ass, but I'm not—I'm not trying to be. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're one of the strongest people I've ever met but, with what happened to Elena and you working this case, I'm just really worried about you, Care," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

"What are you trying to say, Tyler?" she asked him, her eyes narrowing a fraction.

He huffed out a deep sigh, "Honestly? Honestly, I think that—maybe—it would be a good idea for you to take a step back from this one. You're good at your job, but no-one's that good, Caroline. I dunno, I just think maybe it would be best if someone else worked this case instead of you."

Momentarily struck dumb by his words, Caroline stared at him, opening and closing her mouth soundlessly until she, at last, found her voice, "Excuse me?" she demanded.

Shaking his head, Tyler shrugged, "It's only a suggestion, Care, but c'mon, look at how stressed out you are."

"Oh, my God—seriously?! The only reason I'm so 'stressed out' is because I have people like you who keep trying to undermine me all the time," she snapped, her hands clenching into angry fists by her sides, "I mean, first there's Mikaelson—

"Who?" Tyler asked, his face screwed up in confusion.

"Klaus Mikaelson—the stupid, smug douchebag who took my job," Caroline said, well aware of the vein she could feel, throbbing in her left temple, "He's the co-lead on Elena's case with me."

"Wait—you have Klaus Mikaelson working with you now? As in Niklaus Mikaelson—the one from the Camille O'Connell case?" Tyler blew out a low impressed whistle, "Shit, Care, he's really good."

"Yeah, so I've heard," she retorted scathingly, turning to the door.

"But, wait!" he called out, one hand outstretched towards her, "I mean, Care—if this guy is as good as everyone says he is, maybe... maybe it'd be best if you just left him to it? I mean, you'd be leaving it in capable hands—he'd probably have it solved in no time and it might save you some serious stress. C'mon, you know you should be spending your time with your Mom and with Bonnie right now, not—not running around all day, digging into your best friend's murder."

Caroline blinked, unable to believe what she was hearing. Her eyes were sad when she finally looked at him over her shoulder, "You just don't get it, do you, Tyler?" she asked him, shaking her head when he still looked dumbfounded; her fingers curled around the knob to the front door of the apartment, "Don't wait up for me, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

"Care—" Tyler tried, but it was too late—she was already gone.

:-:

When Caroline arrived at the gym, at a little after nine o'clock, she was relieved to find it relatively empty, savouring the peace that such a setting promised her. After buying an overpriced bottle of water at a vending machine, she mounted the treadmill that was the most out of the way of the main floor and set it to a low speed to warm up her muscles while she untangled her earphones and, eventually, popped them in. As the dulcet tones of Ed Sheeran reverberated against her eardrums, she increased the speed to a medium setting, her leisurely gait slipping easily into a steady jog.

Her index finger jabbed at the speed again and she felt the belt quicken beneath her sneakered feet, her mind whirring as she ran, reviewing the last couple of days. She was promoted, she was demoted. Elena was alive, Elena was dead. Elena had quit her job, two weeks ago—why? Bonnie had been dating Jeremy, Jeremy had a drug problem, Jeremy had fallen off the wagon, the crucial hours of Monday night lost by him to a cocaine-filled haze. Until they were retrieved from the depths of his mind, Jeremy was at a loss.

Caroline huffed out a puff of air harshly. No matter what, things didn't look good for him. Even if he was found innocent of murder, he still risked serious jail time for possession, though perhaps his status as a first time offender—combined with his attempts to get clean—would mean a probation instead, with mandatory involvement in a narcotics program. Dragging a hand across her brow, wiping away the thin sheen of perspiration that had gathered there, she tried to focus on the rhythm of her footsteps, the soles of her sneakers pounding down hard on the treadmill.

One, two, three, four—breathe.

One, two, three, four—breathe.

One, two, three, four—breathe.

But, still, her mind wandered, her work-out not nearly distracting enough. She'd spent the entire day thinking about Elena—about why she'd quit her job, about the mysterious phone call—and she was still yet to find an answer. Keeping secrets, hiding things, that wasn't like her—Elena, for the most part, was an open book. Hell, when she'd had her first date with Stefan, all those years ago, she had called Caroline almost the second it was over and the two had spent the rest of the night discussing it in great detail, deciphering every action, pondering every word.

What had changed, then? What was it that Elena felt she couldn't tell her?

Was there someone else—another guy, perhaps? No, Caroline dismissed the thought almost instantly, Elena had loved Stefan too much to hurt him in that way.

Had she been pregnant? That was a greater possibility, though she'd drank at least half a bottle of wine at Caroline's apartment, on the night she'd died.

She ran until her legs ached, her muscles crying out as she abruptly stopped the machine. Dismounting, she retrieved her water bottle and drank from it deeply, the plastic crackling loudly beneath her fingertips. Her cell phone lay on top of her gym bag and, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside it, she grabbed it, scrolling through the notifications that had pinged up during her work-out. While there was still no return call from Katherine—was she hurt or relieved by that? Her mind (or was it her heart?) still wasn't certain—there was a text from her phone company, reminding her that her monthly bill was due soon, as well as a Snapchat sent to her by a girl—Megan... King? Yeah, that was it—that she'd been semi-friendly with in college.

Curious, she took another sip from her water bottle and clicked into the Snap. Ultimately, it was nothing groundbreaking—in fact, it was a rather generic shot of Megan dressed up nicely and sandwiched in between two girls Caroline didn't know, drinks in hand, preparing to go for a boozy night out—but, still, she found a lump growing thickly in the back of her throat. As the seconds ran out and the photograph disappeared forever, Caroline actually found herself wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

That used to be her—her and Bonnie and Elena. They used to go out, they used to drink and they used to dance to whatever pop songs the DJ was playing, they used to meet up for greasy breakfasts the morning after, bemoaning their hangovers and pledging to never, ever drink again. Caroline sighed, running a hand across her face—as much as she wanted to find Elena's killer, she had to admit there were times, over the past few days, when she'd caught herself hoping that the case would draw out, lasting weeks or maybe even months, because the thought of what came after—of living with a gaping hole in her life, where someone she had loved so much once was—terrified her more than she ever thought possible.

"Well, well. I didn't imagine I'd be seeing you here, Detective Forbes," a horribly familiar voice said and she felt the muscles of her back tense.

She got to her feet in what she hoped looked like a single, effortless movement—elegant and poised, despite the screaming ache in her calves—and turned to face him, her features already adopting a look of distaste as she eyed his attire critically—alright, enviously. With a water bottle held slack in his left hand, Klaus Mikaelson was wearing a set of overly expensive work-out clothes, his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt stamped smugly with a designer logo. He regarded her with his eyebrows raised in a mildly quizzical expression, the corner of his mouth pulled up into its usual smirk.

She waited expectantly for him to say something else, a barbed quip attached on smoothly to the end of his greeting—

(Perhaps something like: "Not keeping up with the Kardashians tonight, are we?"

To which she'd smartly reply: "Nope, that's only on Sundays, asshole.")

—but, admittedly to her surprise, none came. He just kept looking at her, as though anticipating something, a furrow appearing suddenly in his brow and, with a start, she realized that he was waiting for her to say something. Her mouth ran dry and she cringed inwardly at herself—oh shit, how long had she been staring at him?

Clearing her throat, she said the first thing that came to mind and hoped it sounded clever, "Why? It's not like it's only Detective Sergeants that need to work out," she shot back, before gritting her teeth—that it had definitely come out pettier than she intended.

In response, Mikaelson gave a short laugh, trailing off gradually into a half-smile that, despite her comment, seemed a degree or so warmer than the Smirk of Arrogance she'd come to loathe, "I suppose it's refreshing to see that you're this charming both in and out of the workplace," he said and she rolled her eyes at him.

"What do you want?" she asked shortly, as she stooped down to retrieve her water bottle.

"I just wanted to say hello," he remarked, with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"OK, well, bye!" she said, shouldering her gym bag and pushing past him.

She'd only managed to advance three steps—maximum—before she heard his voice again, calling her back, "Forbes!" he tried, though she stubbornly ignored him, taking another rebellious step away from him, "Caroline."

That startled her into stopping. Not just the use of her first name—rarely used by his lips though, she had to admit, it did sound sort of nice, wrapped up in a smooth British accent—but the tone with which he'd said it. She could detect no arrogance within it, no attempt at exerting his superiority over her—no, it was quiet, almost gentle. She turned to face him, fingers curled tightly around the strap of her gym bag and one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"What?" she asked him shortly—why, oh why, could he not just leave her alone?

"I just wanted to talk to you about earlier," he began and, immediately, she bristled defensively, a spike of anger flaring up from deep inside her—no doubt, she had made some sort of misstep earlier, unnoticed by her but unforgivable by him, which he was about to use as an argument against her professionalism, "I thought—"

She exhaled a breath sharply, her nostrils flaring harshly, "No—look—if you're going to criticize me for... whatever it was you think I did today, can you just not? I mean, can't it wait until tomorrow at least? I've—It's been kind of a long day," she said, the words sounding wearier than she had intended, her fatigue surprising even her. Inwardly, she groaned—great, that was another weapon Mikaelson had to utilize in his arsenal against her.

Caroline braced herself, waiting for that stupid, smug smirk to light up his features, but it remained strikingly absent. Instead, he exhaled an almost inaudible sigh, glancing around them for any sign of eavesdroppers, before he closed the distance between them, "I just wanted you to know that I thought you did a good job today. It can't have been easy for you—interviewing your best friend and Jeremy Gilbert—but I felt that you handled the situation very well."

Unbidden, she felt the beginnings of a hot flush heat the nape of her neck, threatening to creep up onto her cheeks, "Oh. Well, um, thank you."

Clearing his throat, Mikaelson looked away for a split-second and then his stormy blue gaze met hers again, their intensity striking, "It seems that I may have underestimated you, Forbes," he said and she blinked rapidly—was this real life, she thought wildly—as he continued, "And, for that, I apologize. Excuse me."

He took a step back and walked past her without another word. Caroline shook her head and released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding as she tried to process the exchange that had just taken place. Whipping around dizzily, she called out to him before he was out of earshot.

"Caroline," she said to him, "You can call me Caroline—you know, if you wanted."

A corner of his mouth pulled up into a small half-smile, "Klaus," he replied simply, "I'll see you tomorrow, Caroline."

And, with that, he was gone.

:-:

If she was honest, Caroline wasn't surprised to find Tyler awake and waiting for her when she got home; he was watching South Park, socked feet propped up on the coffee table and his fingers curled around a bottle of beer that had half the label picked off of it. Swallowing thickly, she dumped her gym bag by the door and, a tad sheepishly, rounded the couch to sit beside him, though still leaving a sliver of space between them. He didn't say anything, only acknowledging her with a brief glance before he returned his attention to the TV, huffing out an amused chuckle as the green-hatted boy said something particularly scathing to his friend in the red coat.

"Tyler," she tried eventually, "Tyler, I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier—I know you were only trying to help."

He waited a moment, a worrying silence stretching out between them, before: "I know you may feel like I'm being—I dunno—overbearing, I guess, but it's only because I'm worried about you, Caroline," he said, though still he refused to meet her gaze.

"Yeah, I know," she assured him, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

"I mean, you just lost one of your best friends and I'm trying my best to help you deal with it—"

"Tyler—I know," she said, with conviction, "And you've been so great. I mean, I honestly don't know where I'd be if it hadn't been for you these past couple of days."

Brown eyes met green as he finally turned his head to look at her, "You mean that?"

"Of course! Tyler, you've been amazing," she said, playing fondly with a lock of hair by his ear, before, swallowing, she continued, "But that doesn't mean I'm giving up on this case—and, no, it's not about my pride or anything like that. It's—Well, it's about Elena, you know? I feel like I owe it to her and to her family."

He was quiet, his gaze dropping down to the bottle clasped between his hands until, eventually, he looked up at her again, "Yeah," he said, softly, "Yeah, I know. I don't know what I was thinking, actually, saying that to you—I mean, you're Caroline Forbes, there's nothing you don't see through once you've set your mind to it."

He grinned at her and she leaned in, covering the distance between them, to press a kiss first to his cheek, then to his lips, "I love you—you know that, right?" she whispered, smiling up at him from where her chin rested on his shoulder.

"I know," he replied, dropping a kiss onto her forehead.

"So," she said, shifting slightly in her seat so that she sat against him, his arm draped around her shoulders, her hand on his thigh, "Which episode is this?"

Tyler gave her a look of mock horror, "You've never seen this one before?" he asked her and she shook her head, "Aw, Care, it's so good."

She shot him a smile, "Alright, well, shut up and let me watch it, then," she said, giving him an affectionate nudge with her elbow.

As she settled back into the plush comfort of Tyler's couch, plucking the bottle of beer from her boyfriend's hand to take a hearty sip from it, Caroline actually felt a strange feeling stir in the pit of her stomach. It was not quite contentment, but—still, in spite of everything—it wasn't that far from it. She rested her head against Tyler's shoulder, his body warm against hers, and allowed herself to bask in the feeling for however long it lasted.

:-:

Well, well. I managed to slip in a reference to South Park and some Katholine. For those of you that don't know, I have recently become a big Katholine shipper - to the point where I love it almost as much as Klaroline - and I really wanted to incorporate it into a story and I just thought: 'Hey, what about this one?'

Anyway, as always, reviews are much appreciated! Until next time! x