A/n: Hey folks. Mal here with a little something. I've been having this bit for a while. This is a scene for my story, Louder Than Thunder. As some of my followers know, that story is a complicated beast. I'm not even finished with it yet. xD But, I wanted to post this as a little something. This scene should help you.
And just to be clear, the characters here mainly deal with Damon Salvatore and Charlene Davis (an OC from LTT.)
Also forgive me if there is error with the French in this.
Disclaimer: I do not own TVD!
Chicago, 1922
Damon Salvatore always loved the nighttime. At the end of the day, there was no hiding when it came to his true nature. He was a vampire, pure and simple. He loved the blood, the booze, and the nonstop partying. With his emotions turned off, there was nothing to chain him down, and that was the way he liked it. He felt free. Free of pain, free of sorrow, free of turmoil.
Yet he felt empty.
Solitude had been his company for the past week. With Charlene Davis being his impromptu lookout, she told him when his brother was around in Gloria's bar. The last thing he wanted was to deal with brother issues with the brother that ruined everything for him. Therefore, he was glad to have someone be of use to him while he stayed in Chicago. He didn't think he would ever stay in one place for so long, but he found himself liking it more than usual.
However, he had enough playing the solo act this week. He was bored so he decided to come out from his cave. It wasn't until he had heard from the police about the shootout at the bar.
He'd flashed over to the bar, his steps becoming faster with every second. Something unknown and familiar pumped in his veins as he hastened his efforts, but he paid it no mind.
Damon made it to the back of the bar, his hand banging loudly on the door. "Charlene! Open up!"
There was no response until Gloria opened a crack. The dark-skinned witch glared at the vampire with tired yet disdainful eyes. "We are closed, Salvatore. I suggest you take your business somewhere else for the night."
"Not until I find out what happened." Damon argued, not caring if the witch could smite him if she wanted.
Widening the door and closing it behind her, Gloria raised her hand, ready to deal with him if she must. "I am giving you my last warning, vampire. Go away."
"I don't know what it is about people. They tend to forget that vampires like me can be incapable of caring, and guess what happens? People get hurt, and I don't give a damn in the process. Let's not tempt me into making a mess." Damon eyed around the annoyingly powerful witch, trying to find an open spot for him to get to the inside.
Before Gloria could respond, Damon heard the voice he had been searching for. "Let him through, Gloria!"
Damon didn't waste time talking to the previous witch and headed upstairs to the top floor. Reaching the top of the staircase, he closed his eyes, listening for the familiar fluttering of a human heartbeat. He found that and more. There were two sets of heartbeats on the second floor. One was slow and almost steady with what he assumed that sleep was the cause. The other heartbeat he found was faster. Following the quicker heartbeat, he heard another sound. The voice wasn't angelic, but it was nice, fluid, and comforting like a cool breeze wrapping around him.
"Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot, prête-moi ta plume pour écrire un mot. Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu. Ouvre-moi ta porte pour l'amour de Dieu."
While Damon didn't know French, he couldn't help but feel the words and the emotion behind them. Like everything else, the presence of words continued to tempt him and almost beckoned him from those dark depths he had been hiding for a long time now. From the beginning, there was something that he couldn't name with the witch. Whenever he spent time around Charlene, what took place wasn't of her own doing. Unknowingly, Charlene slowly dug deeper to where everything was buried. She didn't try to force it out of him. He was becoming unearthed by something beyond his control. It made the monster rear back in fear, but there was only so much it could do when light peeked into its prison.
"Au clair de la lune, Pierrot répondit: Je n'ai pas de plume, je suis dans mon lit. Va chez la voisine, je crois qu'elle y est, car dans sa cuisine on bat le briquet."
Her voice was clearer when he approached the door; he didn't bother with knocking. Damon wasn't greeted with the usual concern that Charlene would show him behind that small quiet smile of hers. Her back was turned to him as she was near the bed folding clothes and humming along to the tune. He watched with curious eyes as he studied her from behind while he leaned against the door frame.
The vampire couldn't help but notice the less than appealing state of the witch he knew. Her blonde mess of curls fell from its previous pinned up do and looked as if it hadn't been brushed in a while. The clothes clinging to her slender frame had torn holes and clawed rips in places; his eyes narrowed at the sight of blood stains in the dress too.
"Au clair de la lune, L'aimable Lubin; frappe chez la brune. Elle répond soudain: –Qui frappe de la sorte?Il dit à son tour: –Ouvrez votre porte, pour le Dieu d'Amou."
Charlene's voice quickened and hitched with a foreign emotion he'd never heard from her before for as long as he'd known her. His mind ran blank trying to figure out what in the hell happened. However, his suspicions bubbled to the surface when his nose caught the stench of blood, wolves, and...something salty?
The eldest Salvatore didn't expect anger boiling in his blood, especially with his fangs prodding to come out. He reigned back his temper, paying attention back to the only other person in the room. The stench of blood, wolf, and something else grew stronger as he stepped toward her. With a rare cautiousness, he laid his hand on her shoulder.
"What!" Charlene gasped as she whipped her head around. Coming to realize it was him, she quickly shook her head. "Oh, it's just you."
Seeing her wide yet red exhausted eyes, he finally figured out the last scent permeating his nose. The dried tear trails were all the evidence he needed.
"Who else would it be, Charlene?"
She didn't respond to him and just resumed to pack her things. Not one liking to be ignored, Damon spun Charlene around again, his arms hold her there in a firm grip that even she wouldn't be able to budge. However, he was surprised when she didn't fight against him. Her arms hung limp at her sides as she felt his hands held her face, tilting it here and there as he inspected for more signs of injury. It was more curiosity than anything, but Damon didn't know any more. Charlene always confused him at the oddest times.
With no more signs of her hurt as far as he could tell, Damon still cupped her face in his hands, no more words coming out from either party. Since when was he this silent? He could understand from the witch's view, but from himself?
Her eyes remained locked with his, and she hadn't broke the gaze. But as Damon stared, he mentally noted the lack of light that usually illuminated her eyes. It was like the fight had been beaten out of her. What happened to her?
"You're not usually this silent." Damon commented, trying to break the silence between them.
Charlene shook her head. "I'm not a lot of things."
Having enough of being kept in the dark, he finally asked. "What happened?"
At that question, Charlene shrugged her shoulders as if his question didn't matter all too much. "There was a shooting at Gloria's bar, and people got hurt. There were casualties, but what else is new?" she answered in a monotone.
"I didn't mean about what happened at the bar, Char. I meant what happened to you."
With those words spoken, he could tell that the dam holding Charlene's emotions began to crack. More silent tears dripped down her face, and Damon had to yet again kill another foreign emotion that wanted to worm into his heart. What's happening to him?
Damon willed himself to stay despite his internal struggles. He watched her close her eyes to hold back the tears and slumped into the armchair in the corner.
"Why did you come here, Damon?"
"I already told you why, Charlene. I wanted answers."
Charlene scoffed bitterly. "And you thought the most reliable source would be coming from yours truly?"
"You're the only person in this damn city I talk to that hasn't been compelled or used as a blood bag. Don't you think that makes you special? I treated you nicely." That was a lot considering how much of a terrifying jackass he was as a vampire.
"A perfectly logical reason would be that I can't be compelled since I intake vervain, and I am a witch. Compulsion is useless against me." She answered with a tired sigh. "But really, Damon. Can you stop going in circles and state your business?"
Damon let out a laugh. "HA! Okay, that's rich considering I'm not the one going in circles avoiding the questions."
"What do you want from me, Damon?!" she yelled at him with her voice going up an octave higher as she rose from her chair.
"I told you I wanted answers. How hard is that to give?"
"I can't give you anything because there's nothing left for me to give! Don't you get it?! I'm spent. After everything, there's nothing left for me here."
After all of that, Damon didn't expect that answer to come from her. As he stared at her, crying silently in front of him, he couldn't force himself to move. There was only a small shred of compassion deep in his heart, and it was enough to send painful pangs. However, his stoic mask remained together with no hint of cracking. He wondered often on how an emotionless bastard like him could have common with an emotional woman like her. He was selfish with no regrets. She was giving to the point of not wanting anything in return.
Where was the common ground? Where was the same page? Is it possible to be so blind in this damn fog?
"Where are you going?" Damon asked.
Charlene sniffled as she tried to get a grip on her emotions. Her mouth turned up slightly into a wistful smile. "I don't know. I thought about maybe going to the beach. California's supposed to be beautiful this time of year. It's better than being in a stuffy city all the time. I like having all that open air and the water."
"You're leaving Chicago with no regrets?"
Charlene hesitated in answering. "...yes."
Leaving Chicago...leaving everything...
"You're absolutely sure about that?" he asked one more time before she could get out of his sight.
Finished with packing her things, the witch clicked the clasps of her suitcase, relieved to be packing the rest of her belongings. When Damon didn't say anything else, he was brought back to reality thanks to Charlene's exasperation. "God, Damon. Please don't give me that look. I don't have time for this right now."
"There's no look. I'm just not understanding why you would want to leave." Damon argued, covering the foreign uncertainty that filled his gut at the thought of her leaving.
Standing rigid with her fists closed tightly at her sides, her emotional control wavered once again, the room slightly shaking from her bubbling feelings. "Then understand this, Damon. Things have changed, and I want to get away. I need to get away. I'm not like you. I can't be selfish and have the world at my disposal. There are people I have to care for, and they come first. Believe it or not, the world doesn't revolve around us."
Or you...that's what she didn't say, but she might as well have.
The pangs in his heart got worse when she got personal. Retaliating the only way he knew, he was the emotionless bastard all over again. Sending her a condescending smirk, his electric blues pierced right through her. "That's the biggest lie you've ever told, Char. Probably one of your worst too."
"Stop acting like you know everything about me because you don't!" the witch uncharacteristically yelled. What was happening to her?
"Let me remind you of something before you're so quick to jump into denial like a hopeless fool." Damon said as he sauntered over to her in one fluid movement. He boxed her against the wall before she could even blink, his surprisingly hot breath inches from her face. "I might be the biggest liar and emotionless bastard on the planet, but it takes one liar to know another."
Charlene backed away as far as she could with the wall against her back. She hated this. Being out in the open with him prodding her like a damn microscope. Her eyebrows furrowed deeper and her mouth went south into a seething scowl.
"Care to clarify then?" she almost growled.
"I'm clarifying that you are just as selfish as I am." His hand broke away from the wall, the back of his knuckles brushing the witch's cheek, and then almost caressing her neck. "After all that we've been through, I've come to read you like a book. There's a part of you that craves something, and you would do anything to get it if you could. You're powerful enough with the magic at your disposal. One day, there's going to be something that you want, and you're going to damn all your morality to hell and you're going to take it. You will want the world at your feet just like any selfish vampire would, especially one like me." He leaned closer to her ear, whispering to the point she would have to strain to hear. "I know you want me just as selfishly as it gets."
"You're wrong," she argued back.
Damon scoffed. "I beg to differ."
He didn't hold back in slamming his lips into hers. The fight over her actions is what he would always contend for as long as she had her sense of morality, but he would deal with it. Damon wanted her. To hell with her leaving. If he could, he would compel her to stay with him. The monster in him would never admit to the weakness of the repercussions of her leaving. He'd grown used to her presence despite fighting it. He hated her for what she was, but he couldn't bear to hold such ill will towards her. He was a bastard, but there was a small shred of humanity in him, despite how small it maybe.
God, she used to taste the same. Magic and chamomile. Now, with his tongue in her mouth, he could taste the salty tears mixed in. He inhaled her scent with full force. Magnolias mixed in with the wolf mess and blood. However, Damon didn't give a damn. She was still the witch that he had become addicted to. He drunk her in, and he could never get enough of her. He was going to take all of her and leave nothing left.
She eagerly returned the kiss with all the wanton need her body had been holding back. He could smell her arousal already amidst all the desperation and high emotions radiating from her body. His hands raked through the tangled mess of curls and trailed down to her hips. He knew every line, every curve, and every crevice of her body like the back of his hand. His hand lifted her leg to go around his waist, and she didn't reject him like the first time.
Both shapely legs went around his waist, and she held onto him like an anchor. He could feel her need rushing up to the surface as she kissed him. How much had she been depriving herself of this? To have something she wanted?
Her hands raked through his raven hair this time, surging all she could into her actions because that's all she would ever do. He would take what she would give, and it would leave with her with nothing. It left her spent. The only thing they left each other was a mark on their lives, and how much things have changed.
But, things came to a crashing halt when Damon was levitated back against a wall. Charlene escaped from his hold, falling to the floor in a messy heap. With a surprisingly blank face, she pointed to the door. "It's time for you to leave."
"So after all that, this is your answer?"
"I don't know what delusion you're living in, but here's reality. None of this was going to last. We have different priorities and different lives. Besides, sooner or later you would grow tired of me and you would move on. I am just doing us both a favor before it got too deep." She got up from the floor using the bedpost to steady herself. Damon still searched for any sign of any cracks, but he found none. She was as emotionless and empty as he was. "I did my job in helping you, Damon. You can't use me as a crutch anymore."
His heart couldn't take it. The vampire inside him retaliated from the pain that festered inside, wondering in vain how to fight back. Her words burned, and his insides were burning inside. So he did himself a favor. He got rid of his pain.
"Fine then," he said. "Allow me to do you a favor and not be such a heavy burden." His words came out harsher than he intended, but he didn't care. He didn't regret it.
The vampire turned on his heels, and the last thing he heard from her was the French tune she sang before. It would be last damned memory of her.
"Au clair de la lune, on n'y voit qu'un chercha la plume,on chercha du feu. En cherchant d'la sorte, je n'sais c'qu'on trouva; mais je sais qu'la porte sur eux se ferma."
Three weeks later, he would find out that Charlene Davis had died from a skirmish with werewolves. That would solidify his hatred for werewolves, and his disdain for blondes altogether because they would always remind him of the stinging wounds she left behind.