A/N: I don't know that this is really what you were looking for--it sort of mutated into something a little ridiculous. I hope you enjoy it anyway.
The only reason Elena even gets out of bed that morning is that she doesn’t want to have to explain anything to anyone. The sudden influx of danger into her life, in addition to all of the other things that suck about it, has made all of the people she knows very sensitive about each other’s absences. If she doesn’t show up for school there will be at least three people banging on her bedroom door before first period is over.
So she drags herself out of bed, showers, gets dressed, and gets herself to school. She views it as a step-by-step process, and it helps a little: focus on the next step and nothing else. Once she’s at school, though, she has forty minutes before classes start and no real distractions. She sits down at a picnic table with an open textbook, hoping to a) get some studying in (vampires are terrible for her grades), and b) dissuade anyone from trying to make conversation.
Here’s the thing. When she was a kid, there was an annual town event called ‘Muffins with Moms’ where all the mothers with young children would take their kids to the town square and have a sort of breakfast party. One year, when Elena was seven, she’d been sick on Muffins with Moms morning. She’d been so disappointed that her mom promised they’d have their own muffin day just as soon as she was better. And they did. As soon as she was feeling up to it, the two of them spent an entire day (May 14, as it happened) baking muffins together. After that, it became tradition that on May 14, they’d eat muffins together, just the two of them. Even if it was just a quick five minute speed breakfast before school, they did it every year without fail.
It was a silly tradition, hardly as significant as Mother’s Day or a birthday, but it still meant a lot. Last year, it had fallen on a Thursday, so they’d eaten their muffins hastily over the sink while exchanging meaningless chit-chat. A little more than a week later, her parents were dead.
It’s May 14 and she has no one to share muffins with. Considering everything else going on in her life, it’s completely ridiculous to be so hung up on this. But she can’t help it. It’s just the cherry on top of the sundae of awful that her life has become, and there’s no hope of relief. There’s no light at the end of this tunnel: her parents are gone and they aren’t coming back.
It’s amazing how something like that can keep sneaking up on you and punching you in the stomach.
Her textbook plan works for all of ten minutes before there’s suddenly someone sitting across from her. She looks up from her book and is not the least bit surprised to find that Caroline has joined her. There’s no one like Caroline for ignoring keep-away signals.
Caroline rests her chin in one hand and examines Elena for a long moment.
“What?” Elena asks uncomfortably.
“I thought so,” Caroline says, totally ignoring Elena’s question. She pulls a brown paper bag out of her purse and hands it to Elena. “Here.”
Elena reaches into the bag and pulls out a muffin. It’s chocolate chip, from the bakery near the Grill, and the sight of it makes her eyes fill with tears, which is just ridiculous. It’s a muffin, for God’s sake. She should not be getting teary over a muffin. But she is, and she can barely stop herself from actually crying.
Suddenly Caroline’s arms are around her in a slightly awkward sideways hug. She was so focused on the muffin that she missed Caroline coming around the table to sit next to her.
Vampire Diaries - Elena & Caroline - Muffins - PG (1/2)
The only reason Elena even gets out of bed that morning is that she doesn’t want to have to explain anything to anyone. The sudden influx of danger into her life, in addition to all of the other things that suck about it, has made all of the people she knows very sensitive about each other’s absences. If she doesn’t show up for school there will be at least three people banging on her bedroom door before first period is over.
So she drags herself out of bed, showers, gets dressed, and gets herself to school. She views it as a step-by-step process, and it helps a little: focus on the next step and nothing else. Once she’s at school, though, she has forty minutes before classes start and no real distractions. She sits down at a picnic table with an open textbook, hoping to a) get some studying in (vampires are terrible for her grades), and b) dissuade anyone from trying to make conversation.
Here’s the thing. When she was a kid, there was an annual town event called ‘Muffins with Moms’ where all the mothers with young children would take their kids to the town square and have a sort of breakfast party. One year, when Elena was seven, she’d been sick on Muffins with Moms morning. She’d been so disappointed that her mom promised they’d have their own muffin day just as soon as she was better. And they did. As soon as she was feeling up to it, the two of them spent an entire day (May 14, as it happened) baking muffins together. After that, it became tradition that on May 14, they’d eat muffins together, just the two of them. Even if it was just a quick five minute speed breakfast before school, they did it every year without fail.
It was a silly tradition, hardly as significant as Mother’s Day or a birthday, but it still meant a lot. Last year, it had fallen on a Thursday, so they’d eaten their muffins hastily over the sink while exchanging meaningless chit-chat. A little more than a week later, her parents were dead.
It’s May 14 and she has no one to share muffins with. Considering everything else going on in her life, it’s completely ridiculous to be so hung up on this. But she can’t help it. It’s just the cherry on top of the sundae of awful that her life has become, and there’s no hope of relief. There’s no light at the end of this tunnel: her parents are gone and they aren’t coming back.
It’s amazing how something like that can keep sneaking up on you and punching you in the stomach.
Her textbook plan works for all of ten minutes before there’s suddenly someone sitting across from her. She looks up from her book and is not the least bit surprised to find that Caroline has joined her. There’s no one like Caroline for ignoring keep-away signals.
Caroline rests her chin in one hand and examines Elena for a long moment.
“What?” Elena asks uncomfortably.
“I thought so,” Caroline says, totally ignoring Elena’s question. She pulls a brown paper bag out of her purse and hands it to Elena. “Here.”
Elena reaches into the bag and pulls out a muffin. It’s chocolate chip, from the bakery near the Grill, and the sight of it makes her eyes fill with tears, which is just ridiculous. It’s a muffin, for God’s sake. She should not be getting teary over a muffin. But she is, and she can barely stop herself from actually crying.
Suddenly Caroline’s arms are around her in a slightly awkward sideways hug. She was so focused on the muffin that she missed Caroline coming around the table to sit next to her.