I miss Dalaric bromance so much...
I'll write my own if I have to. Oh, wait, I already did.
Adjusting to our reality, part 5: A reminder of the accident
Alaric got out of the car once Damon and Elena had been sucessfully delivered to their families. The ride had been shorter than he had expected it to be, but it didn't prevent him from getting back pain.
Oddly enough, going back home always felt shorter than getting away from home. Maybe that came from the fact that you knew exactly where you were going when you returned. Or maybe not. Eitherway, it was just like that.
The teacher had a little smile. He was really beginning to consider Mystic Falls home.
He surely hadn't expected to when he had come to the town, half a year ago. After all, what he had wanted back then was simply to stake some vampires, teach classes, and stake some more vampires.
It had been quite a shock to recognise Damon Salvatore as the bastard who'd killed his wife and probably thrown her body in a dumpster.
The worst he had had to deal with, the night it had happened, was that Isobel and Damon had been having sex when he came home. In their bedroom. As if it was okay.
Ric knew it was strange to be more angry about this than about the fact that his wife was most likely dead, killed by a shitty vampire. But he also knew that he didn't deal with death the way most people did. He wasn't really happy to know that, but what could he do about it? He had always been that way, and was likely to remain so until his death.
He had been sad. He had mourned.
But rage was what got him out of bed for months after the event. Rage and Saltzman were never a great combo. Rage and Saltzman combined were the best way to get someone killed. The question being, who? Himself? Some guy who would have pissed him off at the wrong time?
As a teenager, Alaric had done sports. A lot of sports. Fighting sports. Team sports. Individual sports. He was good at it. Learned fast. Faster than anyone else. As if he had some kind of instinct for using his body the right way, without hurting himself. He had become strong. And there had been some incidents. Nothing serious.
And then there had been the accident.
Alaric had never gone back to sports. He had devoted himself to his studies. Reduced his passions to History, enjoyed the other subjects as much as he could. Spent hours and hours at the library.
He had lost all of his former friends. Made some new ones. Not so many, but that was better than nothing. After what had happened, he had been lucky some people would still talk to him.
Then he had gone to college. Duke University. He had run away from his family, in a way. His mother was great, his father too. His father's family, on the other side, was a reminder of everything he hated about himself. A reminder of the accident.
At Duke, he had added Isobel to his passions.
And now, he was back to sports. Only, he used it to be able to kill vampires. Not exactly people, but yet. All this because of Isobel.
He had sworn he would never train again. Sworn he would keep his body in the most banal condition possible. And yet there he was, training. Alaric hadn't trained for almost twenty years.
When Isobel had gone missing, he had researched vampires for months. When he had first found out about Mystic Falls, he had gone back to sports. Three mere months after that, there had been a vacancy for the history teacher's spot. Just his luck.
So what? How many months had it been? Eight? Nine? Whatever the number, it wasn't even a year. Yet he was almost back to how he used to be, before the accident.
He had no regrets. He had no remorse. What had happened did happen. He had had to do it, or else someone innocent would have died. He had done what had needed to be done.
He had no problem with this. And that was exactly what he had a problem with: not having a problem with something so blatantly wrong was the problem.
He would never forgive himself if it happened again.
Ric tried not to think about the assignement Damon had just given him. A barbecue with his girlfriend, a vampire and a very-likely-to-be-a-werewolf old friend of Jenna wasn't exactly what he needed to get his worries out of his head. No, what he needed, right now, was a bath, and a good book about the Watergate that he had started reading after his last kill.
Alcohol helped him forget that he had a hellish life, and books helped him to un-notice that he didn't give a damn about murdering, even if the victim was a not-exactly-human creature who had certainely killed human beings. So three weeks ago, the teacher had bought a whole bunch of history books about just anything, from ancient Egypt to modern Australia.
There were only two books left.
So Ric ran a bath, and immersed himself in hot water.
Hot water was all he needed. Hot water, and a book.
Reading while bathing wasn't exactly his thing, but well. Reading freed his mind, bathing freed his body. He couldn't choose between either option, not right now.
There were so many things that needed to be freed in his whole existence, from the day it had been decided that he would live to this present day of sorrow.
Impeachment. The water was so hot, it was almost unbearable. Nixon. Cooling down, much better. Deep Throat. Lukewarm, still had time. 1972. Somewhat chilly, now. John Sirica. He should really get out before he caught a cold.
Alaric reached out for a towel.
Everything was okay. He had no need to worry. Some bourbon, and everything would be fine. Alcohol would make the world a better place for a few hours. A friend, and everything would be great. If only his life could be so normal.
He'd stay home tonight.
He heard his cellphone ringing.
The teacher wrapped the towel around his hips, checked he wasn't soaking the floor with foamy water – because yes, shame on him, Alaric liked bubble baths, so what? - and went to answer the phone that he had left in the pocket of his jacket.
Alaric frowned. He didn't recognize the phone number.
He picked up the phone.
"Hello."
"Vanessa Monroe speaking, I snatched your phone earlier and memorized your number."
Because that was a normal behavior, right?
"And what may I help you with?"
"You can't. But I found a hidden book in Isobel's office, about curses. There's a chapter about werewolves, but nothing really new... wait, there is this plant, wolfsbane... seems to be kind of the same for werewolves as vervain is for vampires."
"Thanks. Anything else?"
Ric heard her stay silent for a moment, as if she was reflecting whether or not it was of importance.
"Spill it, we'll see then if it's useful."
The student cleared her throat.
"Pages were ripped out. Two chapters, from what I can see in the table of contents. One is about the Petrova family, doppelgangers referred. The other one is about some Falkenbach family, also called..."
"...Great Assassins. I see. Well, then, I shall hung up, Miss Monroe. Once again, don't get yourself in this mess if you have a choice. Knowing about vampires considerably shortens a life span."
Isobel knew about the Falkenbachs. The teacher's life really sucked.
Knocks on the door.
Jenna had never come to his apartment, which was somewhat strange, but since he kept crossbows, stake guns and vervain grenades in false bottoms all around the loft, he would not complain about it. Their relationship was already unclear enough without taking the vampire hunter part into account.
Eitherway, the point was, it was most likely not Jenna.
But Ric couldn't think of anyone else who knew were he lived.
Well, that was depressing.
So unless someone from school had something to tell him – and there was no way someone would come all the way when they could wait for the next day to see him at school – the person waiting for him to open the door was making a mistake and likely at the wrong door.
He slightly opened the door.
"'The hell you're doing naked?"
Right. Damon goddamn Salvatore. Damon knew where he lived. Alaric wasn't sure how he had figured it out, but once in a while, the vampire would come and take him for a drink. No pun intended. The fact that the hunter had offered his blood to his friend was because it had been an emergency. He wasn't planning to do it ever again. Why would he, anyway?
Maybe Damon had followed him going back home one day, wondering if he should better kill him right now or let him live for another day. Because yes, his brain seemed to have forgotten, but there was a time when they were at each other's throat.
...And he was doing it again. Vampire humor was rubbing off on him.
Alaric put his serious-and-a-bit-annoyed face on and opened the door a bit more.
Damon looked at him from head to toe.
"I'll correct myself gracefully: 'the hell you're doing almost naked on your doorstep, Ric?"
"I just got out of bath, and you're the one who knocked. To what do I owe the displeasure?"
"Don't be a dick, Ric. Oh, wait, it rhymes. Bad omen for you, man."
"You're the dick."
"Hell right I am. May I?"
Alaric looked silently at the vampire.
"Come on, I don't want to kill you anymore, you don't want to kill me anymore, what prevents you from letting me in now?"
"The fact that you tend to snap people's necks on a whim?"
"I don't!"
The hunter gave him a look of disbelief.
Damon averted his eyes from him, then talked, almost ashamed. The important word was almost.
"Maybe I do, but I'm worried about you. You're sure you do not want magical blood medicine?"
The vampire was really glancing at his own teeth marks on Ric's neck. And not like he wanted another taste. Simply as if he was actually worried.
"I mean, you managed to hide it from Elena with your shirt, but if anyone... And it's not like you can wear a scarf to hide it. I don't want the sheriff to think the history teacher was used as a blood bag and start to have some of her men following you around, searching for the big bad vampire."
Alaric smirked. Sure, Damon was not worried at all. He had just been thinking about the supernatural community of Mystic Falls 's safety. The hunter could so not hear concern in his voice.
"Thanks man but no thanks. Though I appreciate the gesture."
Alaric widely opened the door, and took a step forward, so that he would stand just on the border of the ownership barrier.
Damon saw right through his game. Came closer, until he bumped into the barrier.
That was awkward.
"I can stay here all night if I need to. Or you could let me in."
Ric could feel the vampire's soft breathing. Damon didn't exactly need to breath, but did it out of habit. That is, he could choose not to, but did it naturally, unless he consciously prevented it.
They were so close that eye contact was nearly not figuratively speaking.
Damon could hear his friend's pulse. Calm. And he smelled of soap. Maybe he should take a step back. But he wouldn't.
"You were on the phone a minute ago. Who was that?"
The hunter raised an eyebrow, not sure about how Damon came to this question.
"I'll cover your ears with glue one of these days. It was Vanessa Monroe, she told me she found a book about curses with missing pages. The Petrova chapter, as a matter of fact."
"You gave her your phone number?"
"She gave it to herself all on her own. Don't ask. A drink?"
Damon nodded. He seemed bothered, but said nothing. Ric put some clothes on, with a high collar jacket, and they were on their way to the Grill.
