Hello people! I would like to apologize for the long wait, and to express my astonishment at the love this fic is getting. You guys are amazing!

Exams will be coming up again, which means that I won't update for a while, again. Sorry guys.

Anyway, Stefan and Bella interacting in this chapter, and their conversation (kind of). I hope that you'll find their reactions to it satisfactory.

Disclaimer: Twilight and The Vampire Diaries are property of their own respective creators.

Edited: 04/03/15

Reedited: 25/03/18

Chapter 3

They walked in silence through the streets. And the cold night air was doing wonders in sobering her up.

Stefan still had Isabella's hand looped through his arm, as though he was escorting her. In a far corner of her mind, she mused that he probably was. Because, despite his fashionable clothes, or the modern way he spoke, Stefan was born in the nineteenth century, and his upbringing would shine through in his behavior no matter how much he tried to hide it. It was something she saw happen with the Cullens sometimes.

It didn't matter to her that they didn't have a set destination in mind for him to lead her to (especially as it looked like he had no interest in eating her), this was the way he was raised to behave and she certainly didn't mind. Though she was certain that a normal modern girl would balk at the old-fashionedness of it all (unless they were dating, then they would probably find it romantic). She guessed that having lost herself in the classics so many times and being aware of his origins enabled her to recognize his gesture for what it was: Stefan being Stefan, a southern gentleman. Though she did wonder why he was being so open with her. It could be because she knew who and what he was, though she doubted it. She marveled if it was because she was, now, the only other relative he had besides Damon (because he didn't know about her dad and she wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible).

Looking at him, she wondered if it was difficult for him to adapt – from going to the naïve teenager who had dreamt of being a doctor and had idolized his older brother to the vampire he was now, more jaded and clearly at odds with Damon, if everything she had heard and read about was true. She knew that for the Cullens' kind it was; that once they were turned, it was as if they were frozen in time and change of any kind was hard to happen (she liked to believe it was the main reason why Edward had treated her the way he had). And as beautiful as they were, that inhuman beauty was also intimidating. It was what had made the Cullens outcasts at high school. They were too perfect.

But Stefan's kind was different. She wouldn't go so far as to say more human, even if it was incredibly easier for them to blend in. But maybe them being able to interact with humans without arousing suspicion from the start made it easier for them to keep up with the times.

And that, she decided, was a problem. At least from a prey's point of view (which was the category she definitely fell into). They didn't stand out in the crowd, not the way the cold ones did. She couldn't help but to think that it made them way better predators: it was easier to catch a prey unawares if they didn't know you were coming. Isabella remembered the state of paranoia she had fallen into when she had learnt about this kind of vampire, always thinking that a stranger would suddenly whisk her away and feed on her and she would have never even seen it coming. It had come to the point she had been afraid of leaving her house. Only when an understanding Charlie had gifted her a spray bottle filled with vervain had she ventured outside the safety of her home.

Isabella shuddered at the memories. There were enough vampires out for her blood (literally) that she didn't need any more (imaginary or not).

She was startled when she felt him placing his jacket on her shoulders. Needless to say that his action drew a blush from her. "Thanks," she mumbled, only getting a chuckle in response.

Anyway… back to her previous thoughts, she wondered if being able to interact with humans whenever he so desired was the reason he blended in so well – he went to high school, if what she had heard about him was correct, and not even the people in the Founder's Council (which she shouldn't know about but did) were suspicious of him (or his brother). His capacity at intermingling was even better than Carlisle's.

Of course, it must have had its drawbacks, like attachments. She was sure that it must have hurt something fierce to watch as everybody around him grew old and died over and over again – Stefan did seem to be the type that would brood over things that he couldn't change. But at least he still had his brother with him. Even if what Zach told her about the brothers' relationship was true, they still had that one constant through their life, that one thing that would never change even when the world around them didn't remain the same.

She was also curious about the things he had seen. How different things were? How accurate were the history books? Even if she told herself that she would not grow attached, she couldn't help the eagerness that rose inside her. There were so many things she could learn from him. Questions she had never dared ask any of the Cullens... She really wanted to ask (Angela would say 'interrogate') him and discover his point of view on everything! So, when they stopped walking, she focused on the green eyes that were locked with hers, doing nothing to hide the curiosity burning inside her.

(And that was how her curiosity triumphed against her common sense.)

:::

Stefan walked quietly through the streets with the brunette by his side, mentally going over what he would tell her, considering carefully what words he would use, which stories he would tell... Through it all, he was unconsciously keeping tabs on her.

He could admit to be pleasantly surprised when she didn't pull her arm away and allowed him to escort her wherever it was they were going. Through the years, he had come to realize that girls had become more and more uncomfortable with these kinds of mannerisms. Too old-fashioned, they would say. But Isabella accepted it with a grace that he had only seen in the older vampires, and, even then, it wasn't that often. It only made him even more curious to know her.

From the corner of his eye, he saw when she turned to look curiously at him. Stefan was sure she was going to ask him why he was dragging her around town, but she didn't. She simply turned her focus away from him and kept walking, a pensive look on her face.

He blinked, surprised, and had just turned his head towards her, about to open his mouth and talk when she visibly shuddered. Worried that something had scared her, he tensed and looked around, stretching his senses, searching for anything amiss. Not sensing anything around them, he faced her again, tilting his head so he could look into her eyes. He searched them, expecting to see them wide in fear or darting from one place to another, but only found unfocused brown orbs, suggesting that she was still lost in her thoughts.

He wondered, then, if she wasn't cold. Despite wearing a long-sleeved shirt, she wasn't wearing a jacket, and the night was cool enough that the thin material of her shirt wouldn't protect her from the chill. With that thought in mind, he removed his arm from hers – amused that Isabella didn't even seem to notice – and took out his own jacket, only to deposit it on her shoulders. That did the trick: she woke up from her reverie at the feel of the leather covering her form; and the way she grumbled her thanks coupled with her suddenly very red cheeks was just too adorable. He chuckled.

Unsure about where to go from there, he stopped walking. It was enough to drag her attention back to him, her axinite orbs focusing on his, filled with curiosity, though she didn't say anything. (He was very entertained to notice her face was still sporting a rosy color.) Absentmindedly, he started to compare her eyes with those of a deer. They certainly were the same shape and color – he would know. He could already guess Damon's nickname for her. This stray thought brought him a new surge of amusement and he felt his lips twitching, wanting to stretch the smile that was already painting them.

He would have to commend her on her observational skills, because she responded with a raised eyebrow. He said nothing though but allowed his smile to widen, even if he felt like grinning. Isabella's eyes narrowed.

Before his mirth grew out of his control, he averted his eyes and looked around once more. They were close to the forest in which the tomb was located. His mood instantly soured. Well, he was just looking for a way to keep his glee from growing, wasn't he? (Be careful what you wish for, came the unbidden thought to his mind.)

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. What to do now?

Suddenly he felt Isabella tense by his side, her hand returning to his arm and gripping it tightly as she got closer to him. When he glanced at her, she was looking at their surroundings as well. Her face was expressionless, but he could see that her eyes were darting from side to side now – the very reaction he had been previously searching for.

"Is something wrong?" It took a while for her to look at him again, and she offered him a tight-lipped smile.

"I don't really like being around forests." She looked around once more before turning back to him. Stefan was surprised to see he couldn't read her anymore; both her eyes and expression had gone blank. It made him slightly sad. Because they were having fun. Something that had become rare to him. Especially nowadays, with so much happening. He didn't remember the last time he had had some fun just for the sake of it. Perhaps it had been on his birthday, when Lexi had still been alive. She had always been quite good at drawing Stefan from his shell. His heart ached from the loss of his blonde friend and he had to fight the bitterness that rose in him directed at his brother. Damon did, indeed, have a way to make Stefan feel miserable.

To distract himself from those dark thoughts, he spoke.

"What do you know about me and Damon?" He observed her pondering face.

"I know what has been passed down the family and… uh…" To his surprise, Isabella's face colored again. Ha! Payback is a bitch! The childish side of him spoke, taking in consideration the fact she had been the one making him blush earlier. "There were some of your diaries lying around…" She looked down.

Stefan frowned, his mirth at her red face abandoning him. That was a very upsetting thought. His privacy was something he cherished very much, and to discover that someone could – and had – invade it so easily upset him in the same measure that it irritated him. Unfortunately, it was something that was starting to happen with a startling frequency; people reading his journals – Damon being a prime example.

He dropped her hand and paced around for a while, thinking. He stopped suddenly and faced her. "Why?" His voice sounded sharper than before and he would have reprimanded himself for his tone if he wasn't so agitated. Isabella, though, just shrugged before answering.

"You are not the only Salvatore who wrote diaries, or journals, whichever you're more comfortable with," she said, raising her eyes to look at him and lowering them again, and he could tell she was ashamed – the red still on her cheeks was a dead giveaway. "I was curious and Zach told me that I could read them, so I did. When I picked yours, I simply thought it was just another diary by any other member of the family." She paused and ran a hand through her hair in a clear show of distress. "There have been three Damons and two Stefans in the family. It was not until I reached the entries about your transition and the later years that I discovered who, exactly, was the owner of that set of diaries," she sighed.

He sighed as well. He couldn't exactly fault her for her curiosity. He had also read some of the diaries of other family members. "I'm sorry about it." He heard her say, her voice full of honest regret.

"It's fine," he said. It wasn't really, but it had already happened. It had been a mistake on her part and she was clearly repentant about it. He thought it was best to forgive her, then. What else could he possibly do? Hold a grudge? It was his own damn fault for leaving them lying around in a house full of nosy humans who became nosier with the passing of the years.

He looked at Isabella; she was looking down, fidgeting. "So, you already know about my human life?" She nodded, and raised her eyes, looking at him through her lashes. He blinked at that. His mind flashing to when Elena – or Katherine – would do the same thing. He shook his head to rid himself of the image. That was not the kind of thought that he should be having. Nor did he really want to.

"After my transition, I spent the following years around Mystic Falls, taking advantage of the war to feed without worrying." He offered his arm again and waited. She laced her own arm on his without hesitation, and he resumed their walk. "I had angered Damon, so he didn't see it fit to stay around and left.

"You see, when I was a human, I was kind of spoilt, you could say. Used to have anything I wanted whenever I wanted it. I was the Golden Boy," he smiled self-deprecatingly, remembering those days. "Unfortunately, this was enhanced when I turned. That, and I had no one to teach me control. So, if I wanted blood, I got blood."

"And what happened to your sire?"

"Damon and I were told she had been imprisoned along with the other vampires that had been in the town at the time in a tomb under Fell's Church." He frowned. Discovering that Katherine had not been in the tomb, but instead frolicking around while he did all he could to free her while she had been God knows where, had almost destroyed his brother. He pushed those thoughts aside and decided to focus on the history he was telling. "Anyway, it was not until I met Lexi that I realized how bad it had gotten," he turned to her. "I had lost control." Her sharp intake of breath and wild eyes told him that she understood exactly what he was talking about. Which was refreshing. No matter how many times him or Damon tried to explain things to Elena, he knew she didn't get it. Perhaps, they had coddled her a little too much... "Lexi helped me get my humanity back and also helped with my addiction."

"Addiction? I get that you lost control, so it means that a lot of people died by your hands," she said, brows furrowed. The calm with which she said that stunned him. There was no hint of nervousness or fear. Not even disgust. Just absolute calm. How could she remain that unperturbed? Everyone he knew got, at the very least, a bit squeamish when he talked about his 'ripper binges'. All of them – Damon being the exception (Damon was always the exception) – fast to reassure him that he was a better person now that he fought the urge to feed and/or kill humans. None of them (with the exception of Caroline) understanding it was his nature as a vampire to prey on humans.

Isabella, though, did neither. She did not squirm, nor did she try and reassure him. Of course, he thought, she didn't know him well enough to try and reassure him, but that she showed no reaction was a reassurance in and of itself. She didn't fear him. At least for now, was his morbid thought.

"But how exactly could it be an addiction? I mean, you do need blood to survive." Her face was set in a pensive frown, her mind trying to make sense of the information. She acted as if he was talking about eating a juicy steak instead of feeding off of someone. At the same time it left him flabbergasted, it sparkled hope inside his chest that she would be able to accept him for who he was, faults and all.

It was something that had never happened before. While all the other Salvatores had let them stay from time to time, it had always come with wariness and a set of expectations. And while he knew that Damon loved him deep down, as shown by the easy camaraderie they were capable of falling into even after all the years apart, his brother also hated him, as he had shown time and time again. Even Elena's love – which he didn't doubt she felt – was also filled with expectations: that he wasn't a monster, that he could fight the pull of blood...

"That's true, but—" Stefan licked his lips and hesitated. He was talking to a stranger about things that he hadn't even talked about with Elena. Why was he doing that? Was he so desperate to have someone other than Damon to call family that he would throw all caution to the wind? Was he really so starved of acceptance that he would go through it, consequences be damned? Damon would say that yes, he was, but…

But it's been so long since Stefan had had a family… The descendants of his half-brother had never really accepted him. Tolerated him? Yes. Accepted him? That was another matter altogether. But then again, what should he have expected from members of the Founder's Council? They had hated vampires since the day it was formed. Stefan was just surprised that they had never tried to expose him or Damon. Thankful too.

Isabella, though – she gave him hope. She wasn't judging him nor was she trying to impose her human views on him. Au contraire, she understood that, as a vampire, blood would be shed and lives would meet their end at his hands. Her impassiveness as they talked about his victims made him realize that a part of him did, indeed, crave the acceptance she could so easily bestow on him – the acknowledgement that being a vampire didn't make him any less.

But he also didn't fool himself. He knew there was a possibility that it wouldn't happen. Not with his past. But again, Isabella already knew about it, or at least the beginning, and still… Here she was, walking around with him – placing her arm on his – even though she knew how dangerous he was.

Stefan decided to explain better. "As you have already read," he felt her grasp tightening at the mention and he saw her looking away, but not before he caught her embarrassed blush, "I was so ridden with guilt and pain for what I had done that I drunk blood almost compulsively to make it go away. I went on a rampage and drank as much blood as I could." He goes on, telling her about his rehabilitations, the things he did and saw during the passing years, leaving some parts out; the most gruesome ones. He soon came to realize that she had not read all of his journals. In fact, she told him that as soon as she discovered that he still lived, she had stopped reading them even if she was still curious about the other things that he had written. Her admission made him smile.

Isabella was, Stefan realized, a smart little thing. She had realized as soon as he had done it, that he was leaving things out of his account and made a comment about it.

"We all have our secrets," he answered. Instead of trying to pry, like his friends – and even Elena – would have done, Isabella just offered him a smile.

"Indeed, we do," she said and left it at that. And now it was his time to be left wondering.

And that was when he realized that, while she now knew his whole story, he still knew nothing about the woman by his side other than she was Zach's cousin.

But the time to talk had come to an end, he realized. They had returned to a more inhabited part of the town, and after exchanging glances both decided that to talk about the supernatural where ears could hear would be a dangerous thing. One never knew who could be eavesdropping. So, they continued their walk in silence.

Stefan led her to the town's hotel, where she was staying at. He let her hand go and stepped back, hands at his back, and smiled at her, expectantly. Isabella laughed before giving him a hug, catching him by surprise. He did return her hug, though, after his brain caught up.

"Good night Stefan," she said after she let him go.

"Good night," he said, watching her turn and enter the hotel, then turned and went on his way.

It was only when he reached the Boarding House that he realized that he had left his jacket with her.

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