Title: First Time In Decades
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries (Drabble)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Damon and Elena
Prompt: Tired
Word Count:
Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries or its characters.
For the first time in decades Damon Salvatore was tired. Once again he was cheated out of something he had foolishly believed to be his and his alone—Katherine. The tomb had been devoid of her vast presence, which he now reflected he should have felt upon entering. The ugly truth that had loomed up out of the darkness in that dusty, dank hole in the ground had been enough to shake him of his meticulously constructed façade.
She did not come for me. She never tried to find me…
Generally speaking he was not one to wallow in self-pity for more than an hour at a time and that was only to be done in between 'snacks' as he preferred to call them. Noisy Happy Meals on legs, oh how he delighted in seeing them kick and scream.
Tonight was an exception; he would wallow in what was left of a dream. His maniacal plan had not worked out after all and he suspected that dear Stefan was infinitely pleased. He had been at a loss for words when Damon had informed him of his grim discovery and for a moment he seemed to play at concern before realizing he still had what he wanted: Elena.
I died for you, you wretched bitch.
Quick-silver eyes flared with anguish, despairing at the moment that he had let his guard down enough to even allow Elena Gilbert to come within 100 yards of his person. She had embraced him in such a way that you would think she had lost something down there, she had apologized in such a way that you would think it was her fault that Katherine had not been there.
When it finally dawned on him that he was accepting pity from a human he had gently pushed her away, glancing over the top of her head to see Stephen's troubled expression. On any other occasion he might have reveled in the uncertainty mirrored in his brother's usually inscrutable eyes.
But not tonight.
His steps home were weary and completely lacking of the self-awareness that had once consumed his everyday demeanor. Those hours spent staring into the fire had luckily guaranteed the eventual departure of Stefan back into his own hidey-hole where he would no doubt scribble in one of his journals about how unfair life was for the one Salvatore brother with a conscience. The noise of the front door opening did not draw his attention away from the flames, resolute that should it be someone else to collect their vengeance upon them he might just let them have it.
Not even the faintest hint of surprise registered when out of the corner of his eye he saw a long curtain of dark hair sweep into the room. Elena. He did not look at her; he couldn't…
"Stefan is upstairs, probably asleep."
Elena said nothing in reply, merely approached the couch and hovered at the very edge watching him. A prickle of annoyance ran like a weak electric current from his head to his toes, knowing that she was waiting for him to make eye contact. Turning his head slowly he looked at her, attempting to keep his expression neutral and free of feeling.
As he did so she sat down beside him, her delicate mouth opening as though she would speak before closing it again with a decisive click of teeth. What do you want from me? He didn't say it, the words dying on his usually sharp and clever tongue. It was bad enough that she knew that he felt at all, that she knew behind his every twisted action he was motivated by love.
She reached out to him, finger tips grazing the knife's edge of his cheekbone. Her warm finger tips against his cool skin were surprisingly accepted for a moment—another display of weakness and another strike against the image he had built over the century and some odd years of existence.
"Elena…don't…" The tone of his voice was surprisingly desperate in the deafeningly quiet room, the crackle and pop of the logs on the fire unable to help him save face.
With arms outstretched she enclosed him in another damning embrace, a delicate hand alighting on the side of his face like the touch of a butterfly as she pulled him close. It occurred to him that he should fight it, that he had the strength to pull away from her and put her in her rightful place. His eyes were half-lidded, hypnotized by the smell of her skin and the slow and steady pulse of her heart beneath his ear.
Finger tips drifted through his hair, their gentle strokes lulling him further into an unconsciousness he had not experienced in years. With his body relaxed against hers Elena Gilbert was now the one staring into the fire that illuminated the dark room, knowing that they would never be able to talk about this night and that she would leave him in the morning as though she was never there in the first place.
I'm sorry Damon. So damn sorry.