Stronger
He'd thought he was stronger.
He always survived…no matter what. Even before he'd become a vampire his life was a long story of losses that he'd overcome. His mother. His father's love and respect. Katherine. Maybe it would have been better if he'd truly lost her to the vampire hunters. Yet even those unending years of longing for a woman who loved his brother were successfully behind him…and he was still here. Maybe a little more bitter, maybe a little more cynical, but here. And the better for it.
Then there was Alaric. Aside from Stefan, Ric was the only one who knew him and still liked him. Even when he was being a dick. Even when he killed him just for kicks. Hell, Ric did more than like him…he understood him. Understood that the kindness shown to Rose coexisted with the reckless disregard for human life – at least the life of most humans. Understood that he wasn't his brother and never would be, didn't want to be. Understood – or at least sensed – the empty space in his soul that longed to be a part of humanity again, and understood that the only way he knew to fill that empty space was with good liquor and embracing his vampire nature. Now Ric was gone. And, even though he talked to Ric's ghost every now and then, he'd survive not having a friend, too. He had before.
And when he fell in love with his brother's girlfriend, he survived. He fought the good fight…and she chose Stefan. The hero. The kind vampire who cares about humans, denies his nature, and gets the girl. Who has at least a semblance of the humanity that he so desperately covets. He'd choose him too, if he were in Elena's shoes. And not only did he survive loving his brother's girlfriend – he grew stronger because of her. He found that he could care without owning. That love – even if it wasn't returned – still meant something. Still made you a better person. Vampire. Person. That he would still do anything to save her, to protect her, because she mattered that much.
He'd been strong enough to remember her kissing him, the passion almost overwhelming his strength. Almost. And he'd been strong enough to stay in town, loving her, even after. After she left him to die alone. After she died. After his brother let her die. After his blood…saved her? Cursed her. Saved her. He was strong enough to live with her as a vampire. And he was strong enough to help her learn how to be happy again. With Jeremy. With her friends. With Stefan. With him.
And when she walked into the bar, he was strong enough to help her…or at least try to. She needed to feed, needed energy, needed blood. He was strong enough to offer her his blood, to let her feed from him. He was strong enough to ignore the intimacy of the act, to view it as just another practical way to solve a problem.
Until she drank.
He felt her soft lips and tongue on his palm, tasting, sampling, preparing…and for the first time, too late, he saw the limits of his strength. Her fangs penetrated his skin and pleasure and pain surged throughout his body…so much…too much…not enough. Not enough. Closer. More. Oh please more. Please.
When she slowed and pulled out her fangs he gasped and began to breathe again and remembered where he was. Where they were. Who they were. She looked whole again and healthy. Her eyes were still glossy from feeding as she stumbled to the sink to wash her mouth. His eyes were still glossy from her, what she had done, what he had done, what he had lost. When she left, he stayed, his blood in her body, nourishing her. His blood in his body, moving with each heartbeat, looking for her.
He'd thought he was stronger.
