Mystic Falls, VA November 1864
Lexi Branson was horrified by the young vampire she'd met when coming to Mystic Falls. Stefan Salvatore was the definition of monster. He piled bodies up in the dining room of his family's mansion and he obsessed about the death of one woman and the search for another. Obsession seemed to be the word that best described him.
She'd attempted to take him under her tutelage. Teaching him that death and destruction were not the only pieces of the puzzle of vampirism. His brother, far from helping her with the tendencies of his younger sibling, was clinging to his own petty anger at losing the same two women. He blamed Stefan for his plight. For losing Katherine Pierce to his father and the town's fear, for losing Abigail Morgan to whatever took her from them, and then for forcing him to transition against his wishes. Being around the two of them was exhausting.
She was finding that with Stefan, using Abigail as a carrot before the horse was working. Making him consider the man she'd want to be tied to in holy matrimony, and holding a mirror, both literally and figuratively up for him to see the Ripper he'd become. It was the first in a turning point for him. Not the fullest, but it was a start.
January 1865~ The New Year, Mystic Falls, VA
Damon grew tired of his new life. Being tethered to a brother who knew no boundaries, and a town that was no longer home to him was torture. Knowing that Lexi was willing to continue to badger Stefan into some semblance of his former self and watching the slight progress she'd already made, helped him decide. He was leaving. Without Stefan, because he was certain that his brother would never gain access to her where she currently lay.
Lexi caught him as he was leaving and it forced a confession from him. While asking her to do her best by his lost brother. Help him find a way out of the destruction he was so hellbent on rendering, he ignored her pleas to take part and stay. He knew she thought he was selfish and petty. He didn't care. He was finished. Tired of seeing bodies piled high, blood everywhere, the screams of the victims. He couldn't stay and live it any longer.
Before leaving Mystic Falls, he had one goodbye left. And so, taking the same path he took the night of his brother's dark stag party, he returned to Abigail's house. Crossing the threshold of a carefully unlocked backdoor, one he would be sure to secure upon leaving, he made his way up the stairs.
Darkness was complete around him, yet he knew the way as though he'd been along this path a million times, and in truth he had. In dreams he'd transverse the grounds, the stairs, the hallway and walked to sit with her even when he couldn't be there in person. And there she was, not even partially lit with moonbeams, but still he took a moment to drink in the true vision of her form before reaching out and finally taking her hand.
"Hello, Abigail." He greeted his former best friend. She was seated by the window, having re-positioned a chair there to read. She looked up and he noticed that she was schooling her fear for him into a semi-forced smile.
"Damon," she answered, carefully marking her spot with a slip of silk ribbon. She sat her book on the window sill. "I'm not sure if you've only just visited or if it's been longer." The irritation at her own confusion of the movement of time flashed across her face. "Regardless, thank you for coming back."
She gestured for him to take a seat on her carefully made bed. Damon sat and realized that this farewell would be particularly difficult. She would be left completely alone here in a prison and he had no idea if or when she'd be free. He couldn't make himself look at her, so he looked around her room searching for topics to focus on instead.
"Have you redecorated?" He asked, noticing slight changes and wondering how.
She smiled shyly. "Yes, a bit." Standing she walked into his path of vision. "I'm not entirely sure how it works, but I focused on parts of the room that weren't quite right." Moving closer than either of them expected, she tapped the quilt he was seated on. "When your mother gave me my bed linens, she told me a story about this quilt. It was her family's wedding ring quilt. It was always meant to pass from mother to daughter and since she only had you and Stefan, she believed she would be cursed to wait until one of you married to allow a daughter to sleep beneath it. And then I came to live with your family-" She stopped, knowing he understood. "The room felt wrong without it." She sat beside him and pointed out a few other changes. "The colors of my vanity set were off, they were too dark, so I fixed it. And the clothes," she said, with a sigh, knowing she'd drawn his attention to her fully. "Emily was used to dressing someone else. I needed my own style."
Damon had been watching everything she'd shown him. When she'd sat down next to him, he'd gone perfectly still. Her scent, even in this magically created world, was overwhelming. And how could he feel the heat from her body? Hearing the story of the quilt, he thought about how he could have made both his mother and her happy had he just not gone away in the first place. How he would have made himself happy. Would they have spent their first night as newlyweds under this very blanket? What he felt for her wasn't the same as the thirst that drove him when he was near humans. When he heard their heartbeat, and could smell and feel the rush of the blood flowing in their veins, it called to him. This, what he was feeling for Abigail in her created world, was what he'd felt before leaving for the war. Feeling the need for her, for her forgiveness, for her friendship, for her love it was as overwhelming as the heat and smell of her.
Fearing he wouldn't be able to control himself, and knowing she wouldn't appreciate him touching her, he stood up and moved to the abandoned window. He glanced out, realizing she'd decorated the view as well. He could see the gardens of their childhood. Midday, by the way the light lit up the flowers and bushes, which also allowed her to read in the light and feel the heat of the sun. She was creating safety in this room, a place to find peace so elusive in reality, and his hopes grew that she would find her way free. Even if he would be gone.
"You're leaving." It wasn't a question, and she didn't mean at the end of another visit. She had read him as easily as she had always been able to.
"I have to." He answered, still staring at her garden. "I can't stay and watch Stefan decide whether or not to fight his inner monster." As he watched the flowers sway in the breeze, he was shocked to see the shadows of human figures below. While they never came into the light and became distinct he could make out six people. He nearly asked her, but realized that she may not know that they were below either.
"I understand." She said and he heard the acceptance in her tone. "It'll be quiet here," she gave a dark chuckle. "But then again it's been quiet before."
He turned to face her, but she had her back to him and was standing facing the fireplace.
"I don't want to leave you behind." He started, but she gave another chilling laugh.
"Really?" She turned, facing him with the same ramrod straight posture and reminding him again of queens he'd read about in storybooks. "It didn't seem to bother you in the family crypt. You might want to check on great grandfather before you leave. I'm not sure I returned his lid to its rightful state."
The pain he felt in the memory she was resurrecting of him killing her couldn't compare to her experience of it, of betrayal, terror, and trauma she must have felt.
"I'm sorry doesn't seem enough of a response," he started, but she stopped him with a raised hand.
"No, it isn't." She answered. "You saved me from whatever Stefan has planned for my unconscious body. Thank you." She stalked back to her chair and book. "You visited and gave me what comfort you are capable of and so I thank you." Her tone was curt. "And now you are leaving, goodbye, Damon. I'd say I wish you well, but honestly I don't know what my wish is for you." She opened her book carefully. "You can go, Damon. I will do as I have done since you left me the first time-I'll find my own way."
She was dismissing him. Coldly, angrily, and absolutely finished. If Damon had assumed that Abigail had warmed to him, he'd been as deluded as Stefan. She knew they were monsters. She knew they killed and hated and she refused to look past what horrible things had happened.
Taking a longing last glance at the one person who had always seen the best in him, Damon realized that leaving made complete sense. Coming here, seeing her, forcing her to interact with this version of himself-it wasn't helping her. Leaving, saying goodbye to Abigail Morgan would free her from the grief and pain his family had wrought upon her. Not immediately, perhaps, but giving her the breathing room to work past her pain.
He sighed and released her hand. Turning away, he never saw the tear that ran down her unconscious face.
