author's notes: the thesis has been completed (now i just have 2 exams to get through at the end of the week) and there is a new chapter. good day! hope you all like the new chapter! the reunion scene was one of the first scenes written for this story :) i'll admit i'm quite proud of how this chapter turned out. super-special thanks to everyone leaving me comments!

setting: right after 1x14, goes AU from there.

disclaimer: fic•tion [fíksh'n]: literary works of imagination

MALUM DISCORDIAE

chapter 15: the reunion

(1889)

It's Paris, and it's the year 1889. He hasn't seen her in years, but every part of him is glad to see her when he notices her laughter in the crowd. She stands out from the rest of them only because he knows her; she's learned how to blend into a crowd, her years of experience put to use perfectly. And he blends in too, not just because he learned how to behave in company in his human years; Amelia equally taught him everything she knew for him to blend in as an animal, even though he's long since renounced human blood.

Her French is flawless, unlike his, which is more choppy and less certain. He can't help but wonder how many languages she speaks. "Stefan," she smiles, and he can tell she'd been waiting for him to come over, just like custom prescribes. He kisses her cheek, like a gentleman, three times, as French etiquette specifies. "How have you been?" Amelia asks, her smile almost infectious; she's happy to see him. They parted ways not long after Damon left, but not because he had problems sticking to Amelia's rules. It had been time for him to be on his own for a while.

Amelia hooks her arm in his, and they walk outside to the balcony overlooking the capital city; she tells him about her adventures, about the imminent unveiling of the Eiffel Tower, careful not to talk about her eating habits. He can't imagine her being this careful around Damon, but he's grateful for the effort. Amelia might understand his brother better than he does now, but she understands him equally. Like a real mother would.

"Have you seen Damon at all?" he asks, because in the end most of their conversations will always lead to that one question. He knows his brother hates him, for something he's now sure he never even wanted. Katherine had used them both, but he knows that no reason will reach his brother now. Amelia had explained to them that their human emotions will always affect them in this life, should they choose to feel it at all.

"I ran into him a few years ago," Amelia answers, and he guesses his eyes betray his next question. "Same old Damon." Amelia smiles, but it falters when Stefan averts his eyes. He still hopes his brother will change one day, and realise, as he did, that Katherine had been manipulating both of them from the start. "Same old Stefan?" Amelia asks, and he looks at her carefully. He knows he can't answer her, even though she carries no blame in his transformation, but he knows how deep her caring for him runs sometimes. He hears her take a breath: "The world won't always be like this, Stefan," she says, and squeezes his arm.

"Won't it?" Stefan asks, and stares out in front of him, the city illuminated brightly beneath them. "We'll always be hiding, always hiding our true nature. Always fighting it." He sighs, because it's the same old song, and Amelia doesn't deserve the blame shining off his every word. Everything she ever did was for him and his brother. That's more than he could have said about Katherine, of that he's sure.

"I'm proud of you," Amelia says. He's stunned in place by her words. She's never told him anything of the sort. "I might not tell you this often enough, but I am. You do what the rest of us can't, Stefan. You're stronger than me." He doesn't like the concession, nor does he like this self-deprecating streak she allows herself sometimes, but he knows she's rationalized her existence to herself in ways he hasn't yet.

"And Damon? Are you proud of him?" Stefan asks, because he doesn't know how else to react to Amelia's words. She's proud of him, yet deems it necessary to defend his brother's actions to herself and to him every time. Is that what it means to be a maker? Can her creations do nothing wrong? "Or does your love for him blind you?" Where does he fit into all of this?

"I am who I am, Stefan. I won't apologize for that." Same old song, Stefan thinks, but he manages a small smile. Amelia knows what to expect from him, as he does from her. He likes that about them. Her relationship with Damon is far more tempestuous. "Nor do I believe your brother should."

"Not even when he breaks your rules?" Stefan asks, less gravely.

"Same old Damon." Amelia shrugs, and smiles up at him. Maybe they both get Damon in their own way. "You don't carry his guilt, Stefan," Amelia adds, and rests her head on his shoulder.

Stefan isn't altogether sure that's true.

(now)

Stefan has already searched half of the town when he finds the alleyway; the smell is distinct and clear. There's human blood pooled on the ground. Jeremy's. Stefan closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. Damon, damn him! How could he do this to Elena? He can understand his hatred towards Alaric and even Jeremy to some extent, after what they did to Amelia and before finding out she was still alive, but isn't there any compassionate bone in his brother's body? No, isn't there an ounce of rationality inside Damon? He has to realise how stupid it is to kill in this town, how dangerous a time it is for any vampire?

How can he ever face Elena again?

"Stefan?" Elena's voice sounds from behind him as if his mind has conjured it up. He gets up fast and walks over to her, making sure he shields her from the sight of the blood in the alley. It's dark, Elena won't be able to see it if it's not pointed out. Should he tell her? Can he tell her at this point? He halts in his tracks when he sees Elena's bloody hands.

"Your hands—" he starts, but Elena buries her hands in the pockets of her jacket.

"It's not mine. I'll explain later," she says, and swallows hard. She can't believe her uncle's blood on her hands just became a trivial detail. What has her life come to? Ever since she met Stefan her life has been nothing but a nightmare it seems. But she knows the trouble only really started once Damon came into her life. Stefan doesn't carry any blame. "Did you find Jeremy?" Elena asks anxiously, hugging her arms closer to her body.

"No, I haven't," Stefan answers, looking at her worriedly. He can't bring himself to tell her this. Damon killed her brother. Damon killed Jeremy. And Amelia's blood changed him into a vampire. Jeremy is becoming the very thing he hates about himself, about his brother, and even, yes, about Amelia. How can anything ever be the same again?

"Can't you..." Elena shakes her head, "... smell him or something?"

"I've tried," he lies, and he realises that in any other situation that would have been a funny question to him. But right now, with his entire world coming down around him, he can't find the sentiment anywhere in his heart. "I can't find him." Where would Jeremy have gone? Would he have gone to look for Damon yet again? Or maybe go see his uncle? When Jonathan Gilbert finds out his nephew is a vampire, what will he do?

"What if—" Elena's eyes fill up with tears beyond her control. She can't lose her brother as well. How will she survive? "Oh my God, Stefan, what if he's gone?" she asks. What if Damon really did get his hands on her brother? What if the blood on his shirt had been Jeremy's? How will she ever handle that? How will she ever be able to look at Damon again? Was she wrong to give him her trust?

Stefan's arms around her seconds later are the only things keeping her together. He doesn't want to lie to her, nor does he feel it's right to keep this from her. But in this case ignorance might still be bliss for a little while longer. "We'll find him," Stefan whispers. "I promise."

He's pacing back and forth in the living room when he hears the front door opening. His every nerve is on edge, a tightness packed around his heart like a fist. What is taking the history teacher so long? Was he right to distrust him after all? Would he try to kill Amelia again, even when he knows she's protected by magic? But then the door opens and he's in the hallway a split second later. "Where the hell have you—" Damon starts, but when he lays eyes on the boy he killed a few hours earlier, he's stopped short. "Jeremy," he says, but regret only touches his heart for a fraction of a second, because in Jeremy's arms, unconscious and still wounded, lies Amelia. "What happened to her?" Damon rushes over to Jeremy. He can tell it's vervain that's affecting her; what the hell has the Council been doing to her?

"I don't know," Jeremy answers, surprised by the proximity Damon allows between the two of them. He seems genuinely concerned for Amelia's wellbeing. Are vampires capable of love? Stefan seems to be, but Damon is not his brother. And Stefan isn't the vampire that took Vicky from him, that turned him into whatever he's becoming. "I found her like this," he adds.

"Found her—" Damon's voice trails off again. What Jeremy tells him doesn't make any sense. Even if Alaric turned out not to be trustworthy, why did he go through the trouble of freeing Amelia? Why didn't he just leave her for Jonathan Gilbert or one of the sheriff's deputies to finish off? Why did he leave her? Damon shakes his head, because in the end none of that matters now. Only Amelia does. "Mel," Damon calls, brushing her long red hair from her face. There's blood running down her chin, and her shirt is still bloody from where Jeremy had planted the wooden stake in her. "Amelia," Damon calls out again, but she doesn't even stir in Jeremy's arms. "Damn it," he curses, and puts his arms under her lifeless body. "I got her," he tells Jeremy, and notices Jeremy lets her go reluctantly. Curious, he thinks, how easy it is for so many to trust Amelia, but not him.

It isn't until the moment Amelia's full weight hits his arms that Damon allows himself the breath he's been holding for days. Something in him still aches at the thought of all this being his fault; Vicky, Isobel, and now Jeremy. Whatever happens after this, whether Amelia decides he's still worth her time, whether his brother can still see anything redeemable in him, whether Elena can inconceivably forgive him; all of it, all the pain caused is his fault. Maybe Amelia was right; Katherine made him into a monster, and he's never once questioned that. He'd never earned his immortality.

He rushes Amelia upstairs to the room she vacated only a few days before, putting her down on the bed carefully. He stares down at her for a few moments, torn and bloody. Everything she'd ever done had been for him, he knows that now, and what had he ever done to repay her? Her words had always been lost on him, her advice and her rules as well. The only one to ever listen was Stefan. He'd chosen to hate his brother, once, because Katherine chose Stefan over him, but what did that matter now? He could never hate his brother for listening to Amelia the way he never did.

So he chooses to now.

Jeremy is still downstairs when he joins him again; he grabs Jeremy by the arm and drags him downstairs to the basement. "Hey, what are you doing?" Jeremy complains, but Damon doesn't hear him. Yes, he'll do this for Amelia, he'll live up to the one rule she's always upheld; look out after the vampires one creates. He didn't do it for Isobel, but he can do it for Jeremy. But he has to take care of Amelia first.

"Sorry Jer," he says, and pushes Jeremy into the cell at the bottom of the stairs. "Safer if I know where you are." He sees panic striking Jeremy's eyes, but he closes the door without thinking about it. Amelia first, then it's time for more regrets. He can't help but think how much easier his life was before he returned to this town. Maybe he should never have returned at all. Everyone would have been much safer. "Pretty sure your sister will be by any time." Sooner or later, Elena will find her way back to the mansion and accuse him of everything he's earned twice over. But not just yet.

"Damon!" Jeremy shouts, pounding against the door, even though the strong wood won't budge.

Damon doesn't turn, and for now chooses not to hear.

Amelia hasn't moved an inch when he reaches her again. He can't imagine what sort of pain she's been going through; by any standard she should be dead. How much did Emily's magic protect her? Did it keep her from feeling that pain? Or did it just keep her on the edge of life? "Amelia," he whispers when he lies down next to her, his fingers trailing a path from her temple down her cheek, but once again, Amelia doesn't react to his voice. His arm trembles when he plants his fangs in his wrist and hovers it over Amelia's lips. Fear strikes him suddenly; what if he still ends up losing her? What if his blood isn't strong enough?

(1876)

They haven't seen each other for seven years.

When they catch each other's eyes from across the room, they find themselves responding to the other's presence quite unexpectedly.

A feeling ripples through him unlike anything he's experienced before in his human life or this new one, stronger than when he first laid eyes on her in that meadow, more violent a joy than the pain he felt when she chose his brother over him. But he finds it surprising that it should be joy, rather than resentment.

She's shook right down to the core of her, something primal and instinctual rejoicing at the sight of him, something loving and desire-full when she realises he's watching her in the exact same way. She doesn't know if she should allow herself to feel it, feel so much for one so young and naive, but she can't help herself. It's something stronger than her own will that captures her when she sees Damon make his way over to her.

"I was wondering when I'd see you again," she says as soon as he reaches her, and takes in the nicely tailored suit, the black polished shoes. He put in quite an effort, she thinks, but knows that the Salvatore family has always been accustomed to a certain amount of wealth.

"Disappointed?" he asks, his eyes not disguising the fact that they wander up and down her body, from the top of her hair, pinned up for the occasion, to the tips of her toes, adorned with dark-red heels the exact same tint of colour as her dress. Her dress, well, what can he really say about that? Amelia has always known what suits her, what turns heads, what lures in a prey. He thinks he's just become hers.

"Pleasantly surprised," Amelia purses her lips.

"And where is my dearest brother?" he asks, cautiously looking around the room, but he'd already established that Stefan wasn't with her. He doesn't know what he'd have done if Stefan had been the one on her arm. Now, there's a big muscular man on the other side of the room watching them closely, jealous of the fact that Amelia is talking to him. It shouldn't amuse him as much as it does. "Still deluding himself, no doubt." His eyes find hers again, and he feels the reminiscence of a beat inside his chest. She shouldn't be able to do this to him.

Amelia smiles softly. She knows he's hardly changed at all, but she never expected him to make any real effort. One day that might just be his downfall. "We all make choices, Damon," she answers, and takes a final step closer to him, the scent of him hitting her as strongly as ever, only this time it makes her realise just how much she's missed him. His companionship, the essence of him. Why is it him, and just him, that makes her feel alive?

"And you couldn't live with mine?" He's asking her questions he's long known the answer to, but he feels the need to defy her, to call her out, to make her say it. He wants to hear he's not worthy only to have the chance to one day prove himself. She owes him that much. He thinks.

"I don't mind the choices you make, Damon." Amelia looks at him, green eyes trying to unravel what the meaning of all this is, what makes her feel this way. It can't just be that Damon reminds her of her first love in her human life, and that somehow having lost that love her heart is reaching out for the next best thing. Emotionally, vampires are only enhancements of their once human selves. But she knows she doesn't have a heart. Not anymore. "I only mind when you break my rules in the process."

Damon tilts his head and leans in towards her. Her scent, sweet and floral underlain with something ancient he can't place, is something he will never forget, not even death could take that from him. "You've never broken any of your own rules?" he asks.

"Of course." Amelia smiles and stares up at him, musing over the idea of just telling him. She wants to tell herself that love is a curious thing, but she doesn't allow her conscious mind to define it as anything resembling love. Care, maybe, but not love. "You're living proof of that. So to speak," she adds, and all of a sudden Damon's eyes do that thing she hasn't yet been able to put in words; they mellow, not widen, but convey an affection with the very words she speaks that takes him by surprise as much as it does her to see it in him. "I see you've brought a date," Amelia amends fast, because there is no way she will be the one admitting to this first.

The young blonde is staring at them from the other end of the room, her arms crossed over her chest, eyes dark. It's clear to both Damon and Amelia that she doesn't like to see the two of them together. Damon smiles to himself, but doesn't care about what anyone thinks of his proximity to Amelia. Especially not after her confession. Was he her mistake left undone and unchallenged? Clearly she didn't mind his presence that much. "She's been teaching me how to dance," he answers.

"And no doubt helping you in other areas too," Amelia says. He finds it curious to hear her speak of his extracurricular activities so callously, but he suspects some part of her is glad to see him too. She hides it well, but not nearly well enough. He can't help but wonder if that's intentional.

"What do you say we show them how it's done?" he asks, and holds out his hand for her. Amelia looks at him, but doesn't hesitate when she offers her hand. And then she's spinning around the room, Damon guiding her. She thinks he must have learned how to dance a long time ago, because he's too good to be a mere beginner. She learned long ago that Damon's words were to be taken with a grain of salt. Damon's arm tightens around her waist, and she dips, Damon levelling her body with the floor.

"I've missed you," he whispers against her skin, and plants a kiss in her neck.

(now)

When she opens her eyes, she's staring up at a dark night, a finger-painted comet stretched out across a starlit sky. She stirs lightly, the grass crackling beneath her. Where is she? She's aware that there's someone seated next to her in the grass, and when she looks at him, it's his eyes she notices first. He's staring at her so intently, eyes caring and concerned at the same time. "Amelia," he says, and she sits up in the grass, eyes still locked with his. "Everything's alright."

She knows she spoke those words herself once, a long time ago when the roles were different and things seemed simpler. "You—" she starts, but she knows she doesn't have to say whatever she leaves unsaid. He brought her back to life.

"Yes," he still answers, as if only to assure her that he does understand.

Something in her wants to thank him, for bringing her back to life, for pulling her back from the edge of the darkness that was heralding her closer. But she doesn't, because she remembers he once only thanked her for giving him immortality. A chance to be with another woman, to save her. That's why she gets up and runs, towards the church-ablaze, fire consuming the wooden structure, but not the vampires inside. They're hidden underneath.

"Amelia, don't!" the man calls outs behind her, and he's between her and her destination seconds later. He's not supposed to be faster than her, is he? "It's too late for those inside," he says, blue eyes begging her to see, to understand that they'd been there together before, but history doesn't have to repeat itself. They don't have to part ways from here. "But not for you."

She sighs, and shakes her head. "What's the point?" she asks. What's the point of this life? What's the point now that she can't die anymore, ever, and he's just as vulnerable as everyone else? What if she loses him yet?

He grabs her by the shoulders, fingers digging into her skin hard. "We are," he insists strongly, and shakes her, shakes her, shakes her, until she's forced to push him off her. She trips backwards over her dress, and feels gravity pulling her towards the ground.

She wakes in the bed with a start.

Her eyes need little time to adjust to the dark; she feels strangely invigorated. She raises a hand, and looks at it, stretching her fingers, flexing the muscles in her arm. There's vampire blood coursing through her veins, she realises. Damon's. It's only then that she turns her head, slowly, and looks at Damon lying next to her. He's asleep, probably exhausted after giving her his blood. She wonders how much he gave up. She raises her hand to Damon's face, but refrains from touching him. Best to let him sleep for now.

Amelia gets up from the bed unevenly, but is quick to find her balance again. She strips out of her button-down shirt, and her top, and moves into the bathroom. There's a circular scar right below her sternum, but the wound has closed, finally, and there's not an ache left in her body. When she looks at herself in the mirror, however, she realises she still looks a mess. She stumbles out of the rest of her clothes, making a mental note to go upstairs and steal an outfit of Elena's to wear once she's out of the shower. Her suitcase is still in her car, left abandoned at the side of the road. She doesn't take off her jewellery.

The feel of the water hitting her is one of the most welcome feelings she's had in a long time, both hot and cold caressing down her skin and washing away her sins. She can hardly believe this past week; for it to have been only a week and a few days seems almost impossible, but it's true. So much has happened, and so much hasn't happened. She saved Damon from himself and a virus that was meant to kill both him and Stefan. She lost Damon to Katherine. She died for him. He took out his revenge the only way he knew how to. The sound of Jeremy's cries coming from downstairs in the basement is unmistakable. How is she ever going to justify this to Stefan and Elena?

She closes her eyes and decides it doesn't matter. What's done is done, there's nothing she can do, and Damon is the one who will have to live with the consequences of his actions.

Amelia walks back into the bedroom in her underwear, her hair still damp from the shower, and notices one of Elena's outfits is waiting for her on the dresser. She doesn't know if it was there before or not. Probably not, because the bed is suddenly devoid of Damon as well. Elena's jeans fit her almost perfectly; she's just pulling the black tank top over her head when she feels Damon's presence behind her. She wants to say something, but his chest connects with her bare back, and all she finds herself doing is take in a hushed breath. The startling sensation of his fingertips creeping around her torso leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. "It's not fully healed," Damon says, his breath hot against her ear, index finger tracing the outlines of the scar left on her skin.

"I'm not sure it will," Amelia answers, afraid that if she moves she'll lose physical contact with him. It's insane how much the mere touch of Damon's cold hand laying flat against her skin can make her feel. She never wants to lose this again.

Damon sighs behind her, and moves back towards the bed, his fingers only leaving the lingering sensation of a touch. Amelia pulls the tank top down, pulling her necklace from under the fabric, but remains in place. She's afraid that moving means talking, rehashing a conversation they've had twice now, and Damon really must see. He has to realise.

"Do you hate me?" comes the inevitable question.

"I love you," Amelia says immediately, before he's even finished the thought, before the words have fully formed and hit the ether completely. He mustn't ever think that. "You must never mistake that for anything else, Damon, even if I tell you otherwise." She turns and looks him in the eyes, Damon's blue ones pleading with her to tell her something else entirely. "You cannot fathom my love for you."

That's not the kind of love he wants her to admit to. And she knows that. Damon hangs his head, burying his face in his hands. Amelia wants to be able to tell him, speak the words he so desperately wants to hear from her. That she loves him, emotionally and physically, independent of her blood running through his veins, that they could have fallen in love despite of that when meeting somewhere else in another time. In another place altogether.

"If I ever took my distance from you it was because I understood your feelings for Katherine," Amelia explains, avoiding the most crucial admission. That she does love him like that; she knew that from the moment she laid eyes on him in that meadow. "I was the same when I turned." She walks over to him, and sits down on the ground in front of him.

"A monster?" Damon asks, wondering if she will reiterate her previous statement, if she will tell him that yes, he is a monster and he doesn't deserve any of this; this life, her love, Elena's friendship, Stefan's love.

Amelia hesitates, but not because she fears what her words will do to Damon. She hesitates because she will be revealing so much of herself. "Yes," she says. She's a monster just like him, far worse than him because she's killed so many more than he ever will, not just in her vampire life. Damon looks up at her, not understanding. Why would she tell him that? What is she telling him? "When I was human I was consumed with keeping my family safe. Protect the ones I love. And I still do. Mercilessly." She spend her first few centuries protecting her lineage, kill those that killed them, without giving it a second thought. "I died fighting to protect my family, at the end of a Roman blade."

Damon feels his lips part, but the question doesn't get past. What is she telling him?

"It's my first instinct," Amelia says, never once taking her eyes off Damon. She raises a hand to his face, and touches his cheek. "I would die for you, Damon." And not just because her blood is part of him.

It's still not what he's looking for, but he realises she did die for him, despite knowing what he did to deserve that stake from Jeremy. He might not have killed Elena like Jeremy had believed, but he took Vicky from him.

"It's Emily's magic, isn't it?" Amelia asks. "Keeping me together?" She doesn't know how that makes her feel. At first she thought it was just her heart, finally turned completely into stone, but she'd seen vampires older than her die at the end of a stake all the same. Emily's magic was the only other explanation. But why? Damon was never completely untrustworthy, especially not when it came to Katherine.

Damon only nods in response. "Stefan will be here soon," Damon says, realising that just like him Amelia must be able to hear Jeremy screaming downstairs. "With Elena." He hangs his head again, but refuses to shed any tears. That's not him. That's never been him. What has this town done to him? Why should it be his home that affects him so much? Why hasn't he tore it down like he had first intended?

Amelia raises herself up on her knees, and hugs her arms around Damon's neck. She hugs him, tight, neither of them speaking another word. But Damon knows that with holding him like this, she agrees with him that life is far simpler when they choose not to feel at all.

(1876)

The blonde's blood spills freely when he plants his fangs in her creamy-white skin, the young girl dazed and calm in his arms. "I won't kill her," Damon says, and looks up at Amelia, just finished with her own snack, laying compelled and unconscious on the pin-striped sofa. "Not if you don't want me to."

"You're a monster, Damon," Amelia gets up from the couch, her dress sweeping softly over the floor, and sits down by the girl's side. She knows she's had a few glasses too many, and the alcohol in her meal's bloodstream does nothing to aid that, but Damon is right about one thing. She's a vampire, with no responsibilities at the moment other than keeping this girl alive. The world won't always be like this, not with a scientific revolution upon them. Why not live a little now?

"Takes one to know one," Damon grins, blood dripping sluggishly down his chin.

Amelia throws her head back and laughs, loudly.

if you can please let me know what you think!

historic trivia round #2: blood banks only started coming into existence in the early 1910s :)