Just something I've been working on since before Christmas. That's why it's Christmas-y. (:
Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Diaries.
Christmas Wish
Just once she'd like to know what that man had been thinking of when he'd whispered, dying, to her.
Just once she'd like to give in to that temptation that has always been there.
"It's snowing."
Elena hadn't known what else to say to him. Honestly, they'd been tiptoeing around each other for so long; she just wanted that connection again. The one that had kept her from going crazy since Stefan left. The one that helped her to remember that they always made it through these things. No matter what happened in this crazy world, she knew that as long as they were a united front, they were invincible.
Now, though, she was staring out one of the windows in the Salvatore house. Everything was just so peaceful outside; why wasn't it that way in the house?
Not that the picture painted there wasn't a cozy one. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace, helping the dim lights to keep the room just bright enough. Two glasses of wine were on the table between the couch and armchair, both of which were currently occupied. They'd even hung decorations throughout the house, giving it an almost joyous atmosphere.
In fact, the scene was a romantic one. The tension between the two occupants of the room only solidified that fact. Whenever the other wasn't looking, they would sneak glances at one another, a noticeable flare in their eyes and shifting of body language.
But Damon remained in his armchair, lounging with a book, while Elena nervously tried to think of some way to bring them back together. If they could just talk—a real talk—maybe they would be able to go back to the way things once were and finally be friends once again.
Did she even want to be friends? Since Stefan had run off with Klaus, she felt that there was no turning back for them. She didn't have the time in her life to wait for him to dry out; if she wanted a life with him, she couldn't wait decades. And that was what it would take. So was there any reason for her to really push Damon away anymore? Did she have the right to say "Stefan, Stefan, Stefan" when her mind was crying out "Damon, Damon, Damon"? Would it be that unforgivable to find love again?
They're brothers, you whore, she thought to herself, shaking her head to clear her mind of such imaginings. You could fall in love again, but not with his brother. That would disgrace everything that the two of you went through.
But I can't choose who I love!
"Yup. It looks like it's gonna be a white Christmas."
His tone—snarky as ever—pulled her back into the real world and away from her internal argument. Apparently, he didn't want to talk. If his voice was anything to go by, there was definitely something going on behind that handsome face that she wasn't allowed to know. Was he plotting something that would hurt her? What if he took her necklace and forced her to leave and forget all about her life in Mystic Falls?
As scenarios flashed through her mind, her anger rose. How dare he? Shouldn't she be involved in her own life? He couldn't really think that she would just let him take away her memories, right?
You should have met me in 1864; you would have liked me. The words swept through her mind suddenly, reminding her once again of their time in his bed. They'd laid there, curled close, as his life dwindled before them. Had he meant it? Was he really so different now than he'd been then?
I want to see him that way. I want to know who he was.
With a sigh, she rose to her feet, slowly moving to the archway that led to the stairs and, ultimately, the bedrooms. "I guess I'll be going to bed now. Good night, Damon."
"Sweet dreams, Elena."
She paused. There was something about his voice that caught her, told her that there was definitely a plan running through that dark mind. He spoke as if she would definitely have "sweet dreams", no matter what, when nightmares had been following her for over a year. In her dreams and while she was awake.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she climbed until she made it to the hallway where she would have to choose between three bedrooms.
Directly across from her was Damon's open door. That was an obvious no; there was no way that she could intrude on his private sanctuary. She knew that he only retreated there when he needed absolute solace. Only once had she spent any real time in there, and that was when she'd laid next to him. Besides, she couldn't just crawl into his bed; it was part of that internal struggle from earlier.
To her right was Stefan's room and she just couldn't handle the memories there. Everything reminded her of the times that they had had together there, of him. Even to simply look inside was to bring back to mind that he wasn't the same man as the one she'd fallen in love with. Now, he was a ripper, whether he was under Klaus's control or not. And it was too much for her to be able to accept. At one point, she might have wanted nothing more than to fight for him, but she no longer had the strength. He had turned on her and she could never forgive him for that.
Turning to the left, she made her way into her bedroom away from home. Though it was originally a guest room of sorts, Elena had been allowed to create her own space there. Damon had even given her his permission to create a new hiding place for her journal, if she felt she needed one. But, as she'd decorated the room with memories she had to keep hidden, something hadn't felt right. This room would never be as good as it could be because she couldn't put her whole heart into it.
Still, she laid down, fully clothed, on top of the bed, turning on her side to stretch out her arm across the empty bed. Her mind raced, though it gradually slowed down as sleep began to invade. She wondered which Salvatore she was reaching for, hoping would join her in bed.
Where she had loved Stefan as who he'd been, it wasn't who he really was. He'd been fighting his true nature while he was with her, making it little more than a lie. If it was so easy for him to change over to what he was now, could he have ever really been the other man? She might never be able to love him again.
But she couldn't really want Damon to lie there with her, could she? She didn't like the way he chose to live, using humans as pawns in his games or just food. As if they were livestock. Yet he had stuck with her, no matter what she'd said to him, what had happened. He was an open book, allowing her to see everything about him.
And he really was romantic, if she thought about it a certain way. In his mind, there was nothing more important than her and her safety. He would do anything to keep her whole and hearty, even if it meant that he had to give her up to someone that was better able to take care of her. Though some part of him thought of her as his, he would let her go if it was the only thing to protect her. He was ruthless where she was concerned.
Was that him truly loving her or leftover feelings for Katherine from his human life? If only she could know what it would be like to be loved by him before that woman.
You should have met me in 1864; you would have liked me.
Sighing at the words that were ringing through her mind once again, she crawled under the covers and breathed, "I wish I knew you back then, too, Damon." With those words on her lips, she gave in to sleep, not knowing there was a vampire watching from the doorway.
Become lost in your dreams of me.
"Miss Gilbert!"
Elena turned, holding her largely poofed dress in her hands, towards the voice. She had blinked her eyes open to find herself in a dimly lit yet heavily decorated Salvatore house. The big dress was a deep red, meant to draw eyes to her thin waist and ample chest. Her straight hair was pulled up beneath a hat, matched to the rest of her attire, cocked to one side. Somehow, she knew that it was the Christmas before the Salvatores had been turned. Which meant that Katherine wasn't around yet; she was honing in on the other doppelganger's territory before she was even around.
This has to be a dream, she thought as she searched for the source of her name. Somehow, she wasn't shocked to find Damon Salvatore—dressed as a Confederate solider—moving through the crowd towards her, smiling brightly. It was as if she were used to the near-innocence behind his gaze. Though there was still that flare of passion behind those blue eyes, he didn't seem as dark as the Damon of her time.
"Mr. Salvatore," she replied with a small grin in return. She curtsied beautifully as he bowed, unable to ignore the frantic beat of her heart. "I was wondering if I would be seeing you at the party tonight. Your father was not very forthcoming with your whereabouts."
She knew well of Giuseppe Salvatore's distaste for a relationship between his eldest son and the Gilbert daughter. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that the patriarch was thinking of her reputation; few women connected with Damon Salvatore were believed to be in proper shape to marry. But there seemed to be something different about the black-haired son treated her. They had a mutual respect that transferred over to their budding relationship.
Elena had spent most of the war with some of her cousins, her father hoping to keep her out of the worst of the battles. However, she hadn't been able to keep herself from returning, especially when she heard of Damon's involvement in the war. Since he had "deserted"—why blame him for not wanting to die for something he didn't believe in?—they were spending more time together, getting to know each other better than they ever had.
A tick appeared in Damon's jaw at her words, but he kept himself composed. Taking her hand in his, he kissed the top of it with a roguish smile. "I am here now, so no need to worry." He rose to his full height, an honest smile on his face. "I just hope that you will honor me with a dance. I feel I must remind you that it is rude to turn down the host's request." He still had her hand in his, gently pulling her towards a spot where they could dance without worry.
She raised an eyebrow at him, though she was charmed and amused by his choice of words. "Mr. Salvatore, I believe you have that backwards. The host is supposed to handle the guest's every request. So I would have to be the one to ask you to dance."
"I would love to."
As Elena laughed, he pulled her into the dance. "You assume too often, Damon," she murmured, keeping her eyes locked on his. These were the moments when they forgot all about appearances and politeness.
The flash of carnal knowledge in his eyes only reminded her of his response to her using his given name. The more they'd run around—as often as they could without chaperones—the more she'd seen the wicked side of him that was definitely the type of person to ruin a woman's reputation. Once, he'd snuck out with her through the forest behind her house, weaving through the trees.
"Call me Damon. I just want to hear it from you," he whispered into her ear once he caught up with her. "Just once. Please."
Unable to say no to him, she murmured, "Damon," testing it on her tongue. Finding it delicious, she eased from him, backing away with a secretive smile on her face. "Damon," she said louder, noting the change in how he held himself, in how his eyes watched her. Finally, when she was at least ten feet away from him, she turned to run, shouting, "Damon!" over her shoulder.
He gave chase, following as he called her own name. He shouted warnings to her of what he planned to do once he caught her.
She blushed at the memory, but only as she remembered what he had done the moment he'd caught her.
Suddenly, they were in their own world. There was no longer anyone else around; none of the Founding Families, their friends, or other townsfolk were watching. They joked and flirted, though they never touched, never got too close.
But Elena desperately wanted to. And she could see that Damon did too. She needed that feeling of closeness with him as they danced, but she knew better than to act on it. She would have to settle for watching his every move as his body tensed, responding to her looks.
As they held eyes, she noticed how intent his steps became. Though the purpose of the dance was to make sure they truly didn't touch, were far enough away from each other not to brush, Damon brought them closer as his feet moved closer and closer to hers. His shoulders were rigid, his back curved so his face was just above hers. Every so often, his gaze would drift to her mouth and she wondered if he would dare to kiss her in front of the entire party.
Breath catching at the thought, she couldn't stop herself from moving closer either. If anyone was watching, they would no doubt think them scandalous. They would whisper about "that Salvatore boy" being at it again, this time with such a "proper young lady". But it didn't matter much to Elena; she just wanted to dance with Damon, to watch that predatory light that came to his eyes, the stride that was full of purpose.
As they watched each other, playing that game of cat and mouse, a tap came to Damon's shoulder, though it almost wasn't enough to break his concentration on Elena.
Still, when he turned, he found his father and younger brother behind him, the first glaring while the other was watching his dance partner.
"I am truly sorry, Miss Gilbert, but I need to talk with my son. Stefan is here to accompany you," Giuseppe said without so much as a glance towards her. He kept himself toe to toe with his eldest son, a sneer obvious on his face as well as in his voice. The older man could barely keep up a modicum of the polite nature that he tried to show the town when it came to Damon, as if he were just so disgraceful that his father could do nothing more than apologize for all his mistakes.
Blue eyes that could have cut glass locked with his father's green ones as he spoke. "I am sure she can occupy herself, Father, until I return. I am her escort, you know."
She knew that he only called himself that to annoy his father, but she couldn't help the feeling that came with his words. How she longed for him to be able to actually say that. Unfortunately, there were only two things standing between them: their fathers.
She knew that hers was somewhere in the party, watching from the corner to intervene if things started to get too far. Of course, he wasn't as against them as Giuseppe; he just didn't want her ruined if Damon had no plans to settle down with her. If she wanted a Salvatore, there wasn't a doubt in her mind that he would hand her one on a silver platter. Still, no one truly knew what Damon planned for Elena, what he wanted from her. So, until he made his intentions clear, John Gilbert would protect his daughter and her reputation as well as he could.
But Giuseppe's anger at their possible pairing was infuriating. Damon wasn't good enough for a Gilbert, he would say. If a Salvatore were to marry a Gilbert, it should be Stefan, the prodigal son. In the town, Elena was a princess and she deserved a prince. Damon could never be that prince; he simply wasn't good enough.
Some whispered that Giuseppe hated his oldest son because he was the spitting image of his dead mother; he only served as a reminder of the love that his father had lost. Others believed that maybe Giuseppe didn't think the dark-haired Damon was his, that his wife had been unfaithful. He simply looked too much like her and nothing like his father. The only thing he might have gotten from the man was his height and there were plenty of men after Mrs. Salvatore that had been tall.
"Excuse me, Mr. Salvatore, sir," Elena said, making sure she kept a smile on her face as she turned to Giuseppe. "I am sure that I can find some way to entertain myself for a few moments. Unless your business will take much longer?" She loathed the man that had sired the brothers. He was despicable, always trying to pit his sons against each other in games that only Stefan could truly win. Never had she known a day that he hadn't treated Stefan as his only son and Damon as an unwelcome guest. Despite everything the man did to show his father how great he could become, there was nothing that could get through Giuseppe's little bubble of hate.
"It seems that the party has become just this little group," came a familiar voice from behind Elena, making her turn to see John Gilbert.
In her dream, it was none other than her uncle-but-biological-father John. His blonde-brown hair was a little longer than before, his eyes a little brighter. It was as if his life had been filled with much less hard-decision making scenarios and he was happier for it.
"Jonathan, it is good to see you," Giuseppe greeted, his voice barely above freezing.
The two fathers watched each other for a few moments before John spoke once more. "Actually, I had some rather important business to discuss with you. I am afraid that I must be leaving soon, so could we speak now?" His words weren't really a question, the underlying threat of now was present in the word, shocking Elena with the intensity. When had her father ever been so open about his hostility towards the other patriarch?
Turning a glare to Damon once again, Giuseppe led John away, though John looked over his shoulder to give her an almost "you owe me" look over his shoulder. Then he was disappearing with Giuseppe into the study, sliding the doors closed behind him.
Clearing his throat, Stefan said, "Brother, maybe I should talk with you as well. Father is up to something and we should not assume that it will be aimed towards you." He glanced at Elena, giving a polite bow. "I am sorry to take him away from you, but I promise it will be only minutes."
Elena glanced up at Damon, who stood stiff as a board next to her, careful to make sure the features of his face were hidden. Turning her gaze back to Stefan, she grabbed Damon's hand and squeezed it. "I can handle whatever you have to say, Stefan. I have no illusions about the type of man your father is, beg your pardon."
Dream of what we could have been.
Elena struggled to keep up with his long strides as they disappeared into the snow-drowned forest behind the Salvatore house. The Christmas celebration was winding down and no one had noticed them sneaking off. Damon had insisted that he needed to speak with her in private, going where they had once hidden from prying eyes. Still, it was hard in her large dress to move as quickly as his pace demanded, despite the clearly cut trail through the snow, and she was just about to tell him so when he suddenly stopped, swinging towards her.
Pulling her close, his mouth slammed down on hers, desperate and aggressive. Used only to his soft pecks that peppered across her lips and cheeks, Elena gasped against his lips, but didn't bother with any pretense of wanting him to stop. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer, enjoying the excitement racing through her veins.
He groaned with approval against her lips, murmuring something like apologies to her as he backed her into a tree, careful to make sure she was safe from the bark. The moment their body weights hit it, a small amount of snow fell around them, though they were completely oblivious to their surroundings.
It was almost as if she could read his mind when their lips touched; his brain was crying out, wondering if he would wake up from some beautiful dream only to find Elena had been taken away. The only thing she could think to do to coax his fears from him was to kiss him back, demand his response in the worst way.
Her hands moved to his chest and she felt his heartbeat through his clothes. If she could so easily feel his, could he hear hers? It was like a drum, pounding in her head as feeling flooded her like nothing she'd ever felt before. No matter what they did, he wasn't close enough, there wasn't enough of his skin touching hers.
She felt herself growing wet, a ball tightening in the core of her, crying out for him to help her release it. Unfortunately, she had no idea what might be able to treat it; she was truly too innocent of what men and women could do together. She knew the general motions of it, but no one had ever explained to her this feeling that could arise. Her mother carefully overstepped such a talk, Elena now realized, so as not to disillusion her.
But with Damon, she felt as if she needed to know those things. This scene was already different from anything she had read or been told. None of her married friends spoke of feeling like anywhere was fine; they always spoke of a bed with the lights out and the curtains drawn.
She wanted more from him than something so impersonal.
Feeling as though they will never be close enough, Elena yanked herself closer to him, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. When he slowly pulled away, putting his forehead to hers with harsh breath, she felt as if she was left without a part of her, something that was deeply necessary to her being.
Their eyes caught and she immediately knew that there was no turning back. His mumbled apology was her only chance. If she was going to back out, she knew that it would be her only chance.
But she also knew that he wasn't sorry for what was happening between them. He wasn't apologizing because of her reputation or the consequences of their actions. Somehow, on some higher level than anything spoken can be, she knew that he felt guilt over the situation they were in. He wanted to give her finesse, something beautiful that she would look back on with an overwhelming sense of happiness that would follow her through her days.
Moving her hands to the side of his face, she brought his mouth to hers, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. They were neither tears of sadness nor of joy; they were brought on completely for the feelings that he had to hide, that he felt he needed to protect her from.
"Marry me," he murmured
As snowflakes fell around them, she whispered against his now-gentle kisses, "Of course." She pressed her lips against his before looking up to the sky, adding,"It's snowing," as her Christmas wish came true.
Wake up. Wake up and know what we could have had.
Elena's eyes slowly opened and she found herself warm, a comforter and arms wrapped around her. She blinked at the sparkling blue eyes that stared down at her flashed with something she couldn't completely understand. Whether it was humanity or sadness that filled them, she didn't try to comprehend it. Instead, she curled into him, falling back into a peaceful sleep, secretly hoping to continue the dream.