Disclaimer: Sonnet 18 was written by Shakespeare. The Vampire Diaries was written by LJ Smith. Katla erupted in Iceland Jan-Mar 1991. I don't own any of that... but I am very flattered by both BilliMonroe and ChristineSalvatoreJonas – and, for that matter, everyone else that has reviewed so far!

Ah also don't own "Gravity" By Sara Bareilles. But hm, I'm throwing that one out there too.

To quote unexpected items: "And I just CHUNDERED, Everywah!"

Oh, and, er, yeah, I've fast forwarded a year, the timeline-flashbacks are out of sync deliberately

Enjoy!

X


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2010

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Saturday could not come fast enough for everyone but Damon. He did not like time passing, because it stretched in front of him and left him spoiling for every kind of fight but one that he should have been trying to start.

He also hated radio programmes. This was mainly because Stefan was stuck so far in the past that Damon sometimes wondered whether he was travelling backwards – even his girlfriend seemed to have come full circle, and damn it if Katherine was not featuring in Damon's thoughts more and more as the days went on.

It was not because he wanted her back; however, if anything, he would be opening that tomb, or stalking her simply to stake her. Multiple times, preferably straight through the heart, the throat and any other angle he could reach, because he did not want that kind of woman sticking around in his past to blur the memories of any other.

He curled up in his room, sitting before the fire and feeling cold because it was October, and it was snowing outside, or maybe the loneliness was simply getting to him as he curled up in a blanket, feeling far older and sadder than he ever had before. If his heart could pound, and if his head could reel, he would, most certainly, be sicker than he had ever been in his life, but that had been taken away from him against his will. For once, however, he wanted to feel ill. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to shake, to sweat and feel terrible, because that would at least give him reason to be like this.

When he finally tired of moping, and began to fear the proximity of the fire was causing his unease, he retreated to sit on his bed and took the notebook from the space on his shelf. From the middle of it fell a clearly yellowed page, and Damon sighed at the colour of it – it was fading with use and falling apart because of it too – the thing was nineteen years old, and he had to force himself not to look at it every day because the creases were becoming so ingrained that he was beginning to fear it would disintegrate any day now.

Smiling a little wryly, he unfolded the paper and began to read it – even though he had read it so many times he could dictate the words himself.

"Damon,

Where to begin? Other than telling you that this trip has been fantastic, and that if ever I moved to another country, I would be heading straight for Iceland, there is very little for me to say. The power of the volcanoes, one of which we have been lucky enough to see up-close is terrifying, and part of me wished that you were here to hold me and ensure I did not lean in too close, even if it was simply because that would mean I had your arms wrapped around me, and I've missed that.

It's been hard to be away from you for so long – your voice and your smell are the two things I have missed more than anything, especially when you tell me goodnight... and that you love me.

I love you more than words can say-"

There was a half-paragraph which was illegible because of water-damage, which he had never been able to read, and the letter went on until the second-to-last line on the page. He always had to fight the burn that appeared at his throat as he read the words she had written, and he stopped at her declaration of love this time, because it was far too raw for him at that point in time. He felt as though everything tangible was fading away from him now, even Elena, probably his only actual friend had not spoken to him in nearly five days, he had not had the chance to apologise about his reaction to the bracelet, and...

He felt, and not for the first time in his life, that he did not belong. He missed his Francesca, and he still loved her more than words.

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Italy, 1991, (June)

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So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this and this gives life to thee. Damon considered the words as he thumbed through an aging copy of a sonnet collection as he stood at the end of his bed and waited for Francesca to appear. As she opened the bathroom door down the hall and began padding down the hallway, ignoring the noises flowing from Stefan's room, Damon's ears pricked up, and he flung the book aside, pretending he had not spent the past ten minutes pacing his room, simply because he did not like to be apart from her. Not at all.

Francesca had taken to staying at the house that Damon and his brother owned, rented... Occupied was probably the better word, as her father and mother were rarely home, and she enjoyed the company as she laid on his bed and he distracted her from working by regaling her with the stories he knew from his past, and explaining exactly what Katherine was to him - and why he felt the need to destroy her as she thought she could destroy him.

"I wouldn't leave you, you know." The words had left Francesca's mouth before she could think on one of those nights where she had just finished an essay and listened to Damon's past with a more than concerned ear. "It would hurt too much, for both of us."

"I know," Damon had sing-songed simply, leaning over to rub his nose against her cheek and pull her tight against him. "And you know there's nowhere I would rather be than here, right?" It was a sentiment the pair of them had spent the evening enjoying blissfully, ignoring the world around them and hoping everything would be alright.

As Damon settled himself back down to his bed, waiting for Francesca to appear, he began to ponder the one thing he had been worrying over the entire time he had known the girl that was slowly making her way along the hall – why the hell was she still there when she knew exactly what he was?

Within a moment, however, he was roused from his musing by the tiny knock at his door and the vision that followed behind it - his girl, his Francesca, dressed only in a chemise which draped itself so tantalisingly across her form, making him shift and groan in all manner of ways as she stepped slowly - clearly knowing of the effect her clothes were having on him - over to Damon and gracefully crawled onto the covers beside him. Usually, they slept and rested under a sheet in order to keep themselves covered in the heat of an Italian summer, but today was unnaturally cool.

She tucked her head into his arm and closed her eyes, letting out a soft 'hmm' as she curled herself up and wedged herself against him. He licked his lips and kissed the top of her head gently as she rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"You're tired, aren't you?" Damon murmured into her ear, and she nodded against him, "Come here," he pulled her up onto his lap and she grinned stupidly, leaning forward to kiss him as he leaned forward to do the same.

Their lips came together, and Damon felt Francesca's hand slide up his arm and into his hair, pulling on it gently and making him gasp a little as she bit down on his bottom lip. In reply, he groaned, jerked his hips up and slid a hand up her thigh. Ten minutes into their make out session, Damon pulled away and smiled down at his girl. She was flushed, hot and very, very ready.

"You realise that that wasn't what I was about to do, right?" She laughed and nodded, settling herself across his now straining lap and straddling him as she flicked her hair out of the way, bared her neck to him and braced her hands behind him, up against his bedroom wall.

He lowered his lips gently to her neck, licking the spot he was about to bite and blowing gently on it to cool her heated skin. She sighed and let out a giggle before he reached up with his other hand and gently ran his fingers along her jaw with his left hand, cradling her head as she dropped it to the side and let him do exactly what he was designed to do.

As he bit down, her entire body tensed to slide her hips into his, creating friction for Damon that was always hotter than anything that had come before. Her fingers curled into fists in the space between Damon and his headboard, and he felt the movement and exertion send more blood straight through his lips. Eighteen seconds later, he raised his head and pulled her head up to look him in the eyes.

"You need..." Through his blood-induced haze, Damon managed to fling a barely coherent sentence at his girl's thoroughly aroused, yet extremely disoriented countenance. There was no point even debating it, Francesca needed Damon to return the favour. His teeth bit down hard on his own wrist and he sucked gently until there was a good enough flow for her to drink from.

"Damon," She whispered, then, "Grazie," Without replying, he pressed his wrist to her mouth and she began to drink, just as he had only moments before. She was almost immediately revitalised, and, as she pulled away to wipe at her lover's mouth with a sordid kind of pleasure, Francesca could not help the smile which accompanied her languid movements.

It was Damon who could not take the teasing. With a flurry of frantic movements, which ended with Damon's dominant side shining through, the pair found themselves laying down once more, Damon holding Francesca still as he disrobed her, item by item, stitch by stitch, and teasing her into oblivion, before releasing her and leaving her to destroy his resolve in much the same way.

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2010

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"I try to make you see that, You're everything I think I need, here on the ground..."

Elena tried to avoid the sad music – she honestly did, but October meant that winter was coming, with the slush that was falling in the air and the biting winds that sent snowflakes spiralling around her and gave her the perpetual cold and runny nose.

Sometimes, she envied the unfeeling Damon and the unshakable Stefan. They never seemed to have this trouble, and sometimes, she wished that one of them would turn her, because it would make life for her and Stefan so much easier. It would be so easy.

Then she pondered Damon for a moment and wondered whether it was as easy as it seemed. Her hands made little fists in her gloves and she stuffed them under the opposite arms in the hopes of keeping herself warm. She didn't like the winter, but she liked the humanity that came with it. Well, she liked the idea of the humanity that came with it – Halloween, which was funnier every year, then Thanksgiving and Christmas, which seemed to get duller as you got older.

"Matt!" The blonde was already standing at his car as Elena turned the corner onto his street. "Are you ready to go?"

"I'm always ready to go."

Elena cringed and walked around to the passenger side of Matt's car. She did not know what the future held, but the innuendo laden comments of Matthew Donovan were probably not one of the finer points.

She sighed and climbed into the car, immediately fiddling with the heating as her Ex-Boyfriend climbed in to the driver's side. It was probably inappropriate of her, but as she sat in the passenger's seat and hugged herself as a protection against the still-chilled air of a just warming up car, she couldn't help but wonder whether Damon could feel the cold as well.

Across town, as he curled up in the armchair by the fire even tighter than he had before, as a precaution against the falling snow outside, Damon Salvatore most definitely felt the chill.


A/N: Yeah, er, no Italian this chapter.

Do review, though!