Notes: Written before the 100th episode. So obviously differs from what is now canon.
Disclaimer: I do not own TVD.
Saudade
He didn't slam the door. He couldn't, it took all his energy to keep moving. He had hoped to be fast enough to leave the boarding house before the tears started, but Damon had never been lucky.
His hand was on the door, pulling it shut behind him, when he heard her sharp intake of breath, he pictures how it goes, a hand immediately flying up to cover that traitorous sound, the muffled sounds as she tried to hold it together, the way her eyes would close to try to keep them in but would ultimately let a few escape, the full body shudder, the way her arms would wrap around her tiny frame, until she finally sinks to the couch, the weight of her world settling tight on her slim shoulders and then he is closing the door behind him, a soft click as he kept walking ("I refuse to change you.")
He tells himself that it's easy to leave her, it's easy to let her cry (he doesn't believe it, not for a second).
He wants to scream "It's for the best!" (That, he does believe).
Even as his feet keep walking (if he wavers for even a second he's going to give in, like he always does, and he refuses to this time), Damon has no idea where to go. His first instinct is his best friend's grave, but he really isn't in the mood to wonder if Ric is watching him, and what ghostly crap would be said. Plus, he doesn't have any alcohol and it's just wrong to visit without it.
Part of his mind is ruling it out as the first place people will look, along with the Mystic Grille bar.
The night is warm against his skin, but he wishes icy tendrils were flaying it instead, forming frost all over, the stolen blood in his veins desperately working to keep his body moving, snow soaking him to the core so he could be numb.
But instead it was balmy, with a visible moon and a warm breeze. There's still music playing from bars, and somewhere he can hear laughter.
It doesn't register, since the only sounds he cared about he left in front of a blazing fire.
Damon treads the pavement (walks into town, around town, and then straight out of town), and the sheer act of self preservation is the only thing that snaps him out of his daze. Headlights blind him as he crosses some back road, and even as the driver honks the horn, he speeds out of the way. The car screeches to a halt, and he hears a door open (This wasn't his plan, he doesn't want to pull another Jessica, doesn't want to prove his point again, he's too damn tired for this, he just wants to keep walking—)
"Damon?"
Relief rushes through him at the sound of the voice, and he turns around, meeting her eyes. She walks towards him, maneuvering down the hill carefully. "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be at home? It's late."
He's shaking his head as she talks, and when she gets near him, he mutters "Can't go home." Sighing, she touches his arm, fingers pressing just above his elbow, and he lets her guide him to the car. Damon feels like a child as he is bustled into the car and handed the seatbelt, as she shuts the door gently after making sure he's buckled and gets in the driver side, as she adjusts the vents to blow the heat towards him, but for once in his life, he doesn't care if he is treated like one.
He zones out for the duration of the car ride, because he is weary, and the glass against his forehead and the heat against his fingers is comforting.
Opening the door himself, Damon follows his chauffeur into the house.
"Go sit down. I have to change." She says as she disappears into her room, closing the door behind her.
Dutifully sitting on the lumpy but oddly comfortable couch, head falling back against the cushions, Damon feels the tightness in his chest finally easing, just a little. He listens to the sounds in the little house: the ceiling fan in the kitchen that's just a little off balance, the whir of the just barely not outdated refrigerator, the hum of the outside lights.
His eyes shoot open as a blanket is draped over him, and he startles, just a little.
"Shh, it's just me Damon."
"Was I asleep?" He asks, because he doesn't doze off on couches, that's not something Damon Salvatore does.
Laughing, Liz sits on the couch beside him. "No, I think you were about to be though." Rolling her eyes at his pouty face, she continues. "Are you hungry? Caroline is spending the night with Bonnie, but she has blood in the fridge."
"No…I'm good. I should get going." He clutches the blanket in his fingers, determined to pull it off, but he really doesn't want to, doesn't want to get off this lumpy couch, doesn't want to go back outside, because he really doesn't have a place to go anyway, so he'd just be wandering again.
Too casually, Liz asks, "heading to the boarding house?" He winces, halfway up off the couch, and Liz catches it. "Sit down, Damon." She says softly. Damon complies, pulling the blanket back around him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong, everything's fine, the balance of the universe has been restored." He doesn't spit them out so much as they are pushed out by the tightness in his chest, crawling out of his throat before it closes in on them.
Silence settles over them after his words, and he realizes he's afraid of her reaction. He doesn't know if he wants her to take his words at face value, or if he wants her to pry. Both would hurt.
What Liz does is turn on the TV, lowering the volume and flipping through channels until she finds a repeat of AFV. Putting the remote on the coffee table, she props one leg up and leans back, one arm folded against her stomach, other resting on the arm rest supporting her head in her hand.
The only lights are the TV and the one over the stove. The laughs coming from the show are the perfect white noise, and Damon can feel himself settling, can feel the weight on his shoulder dispersing, the tightness and self loathing in his gut easing. Liz chuckles occasionally, and the sound eventually causes the smallest upward twitch of Damon's lips.
He turns his head to look at her. She's relaxed in his company despite the fact that a monster is in her home. He tricked her in the beginning, pretending to not be a monster despite the fact that he wanted to burn this town down. Somewhere along the way, he stopped pretending to care about the council, about her and Carol and so many others. Maybe monsters could care.
"Thank you, Liz."
Her reply is soft but firm. "Anytime, Damon. That's what friends do."
fin
Note2: Saudade- a deep emotional state of nostalgic or deeply melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing will never return