Thoughts of the mysterious Mama Salvatore drove me to write fanfiction for the first time in something like eight years. (No, I will not reveal the penname of my 15-year-old self.) Anyway... here it is.
~1~
"What is it, my angel?"
Damon leaned into her hand as she gently fondled his hair. It was unusually warm for so late in the month, and she could feel a light dew of sweat moistening the boy's head. She knew her touch was one of few ways to calm her son down from a temper or terror, but at her question the boy frowned and continued to wrinkle the bit of her skirt he had been absently gripping. The silence lengthened, so she brought her hand out of his hair and down; she tipped his chin up, coaxing him to meet her eyes. At last he relented, and two bright blue eyes met her own.
What could trouble an innocent so? she wondered, feeling the unease radiate from his body and seeing it confirmed in his furrowed brow.
Barely audible, Damon finally spoke. "Do you think he will like me?"
Bless his heart, she thought, feeling at once relieved and strangely inclined to weep. Thus moved, she pulled Damon closer, hugging him to her. She took his hand and brought it to rest atop her swollen belly, where her unborn child slept.
"Your new brother, or new sister, will love you, sweet Damon," she said, her hand resting on top of his. "You need only love him in return, and the rest will follow."
Her words appeared not to soothe his mind, for the boy's body did not relax.
"But will he like me, mama?" He freed his hand from hers, but did not take it away. Rather, he sat up, brought his other hand to her belly, and neared his face to it as though holding a soothsayer's orb, trying to glean truth from its depths. "I do so want him to like me."
Suddenly the unborn child awoke and stretched lazily within her; she felt the stroke of an arm or leg sweep against the taut layer of skin protecting it. Damon, too, seemed to awaken with wonder and astonishment. He snatched his hands away and sat up straight, turning wide-eyed to his mother.
"What happened? Did I hurt him?"
She chuckled, warmed by his concern. "He likes the sound of your voice. Here." She drew him close once more and guided his hand back to its former position. "Say something else. He can hear you."
Damon looked dubious, but could not deny his curiosity. Tentatively, he brought his face close, as before.
"Hello, brother... or sister," he said. "It's me. I'm your brother, Damon."
The child made another long, probing sweep against the wall of her womb, though this time Damon did not shy away. Instead, he smoothed his small fingers over the place where he had felt his sibling, as though to reciprocate the gesture. Keeping his hand on the spot, Damon finally relaxed into her side as the worry seeped out of his little body.
Feeling relieved herself, she resumed stroking her firstborn's head, fingering the soft, curled black locks as her eyes fell shut, and together they drowsed in the afternoon rays of the late October sun.