The big man abruptly woke and the manner of his waking revealed his inhumanity. His eyelids were shut tight one moment; the next instant they were wide open, and he was alert. Not a twitch of skin or muscle betrayed his waking state. His limbs and face stayed lax, his breathing never hitched or changed tempo.

He quickly used his hyper senses to determine what had roused him from his deep sleep. He needed no more than ten seconds to realize Stefan was gone from their bed. He had refused their requests to discuss his brother, maintaining a steadfast silence, and they had not pressed him.

He rose from the extra-large custom king size bed in one fluid motion. His movement, quiet as it was, woke Atarah. She had also fallen into a deep sleep, both of them sated on Stefan's rich blood. Her lids rose independently with no other body movement betraying her. This instant wakefulness was ingrained in both of them from years of struggling to survive. Both had known what it was to be hunted relentlessly by enemies, both mortal and immortal. As firstborns of an Original, many of their brethren had fallen to Mikael. The unwary were swiftly weeded out.

She also speedily came to the same realization. They were so attuned to each other that they needed no explanations.

"Do you want help?"

"No, my love, go back to sleep. I'll handle him."

She closed her eyes, but stayed aware while he pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

He whisked down to the kitchen and poured a plastic cup full of blood. He knew exactly where to find Stefan. Most of the house was flat, but as a needless whimsy in this hot dry climate the architect had added a steep east coast type pitched roof. Stefan inevitably headed for that spot when troubled, perhaps finding some type of comfort in that small reminder of his home.

Sure enough, Stefan sat close to the peak, knees bent, hands loosely clasped on top of them, staring at the still black early morning sky. It was hot even this late at night with not a breeze stirring.

Victor, surprisingly nimble considering his size, side stepped out on the roof and sat, mimicking Stefan's position. He handed him the cup of blood. "Drink. We took a lot from you, and we don't want you getting dizzy and falling."

"I'll heal." Stefan appeared indifferent to the prospect of injuries, but he did take the cup and drain it.

"Of course you will, but why endure the pain?" The big man's tone was reasonable.

Stefan carefully balanced the empty container on the peak of the roof, taking his time, possibly trying to postpone the inevitable conversation.

Victor granted him this temporary reprieve, and they sat in silence for a while both looking at the sky. Victor finally broached the subject Stefan hoped to avoid. "Why are you so upset?"

"I'm not upset." Stefan denied with a shake of his head.

"You cannot hide it from me." Victor pointed out. "I can smell the adrenaline coursing through your body. The fine hairs on your arms are standing up, almost electrified. Your jaw muscles are tense, and your hands have a slight tremor that you try to stop by clenching them tightly."

Stefan didn't answer, but quickly moistened his lips to relax his face and dropped his hands down, tucking them under his butt.

The gesture stirred an ancient recollection in the old one. Startled, he searched his mind wondering where the memory came from. He didn't fight for it; just allowed it to rise to the surface of his mind. Gradually he realized it was from his human life. One of his sons? The eldest? One of the middle ones? Vaguely he remembered sitting around a campfire, a boy was trembling with rage, and he was scolding him, reminding him that one did not allow one's emotions to overrule one's reason in battle. The boy had hidden his hands with the exact same gesture. He couldn't remember which son or which battle, and he soon gave up the struggle. His human life was long behind him, and the fact that he remembered something so insignificant surprised him. He was even more amazed when he realized that the gesture stirred a slight paternal feeling in him. He quickly crushed it. This boy – no, this man was a plaything, a toy for him and his mate.

"Will I ever learn control?" Stefan finally asked despairingly.

Victor thought carefully before responding. "Most vampires don't learn control until they're around two hundred. They then seem to be able to override their heightened emotions and maintain balance. Even your hot headed brother will become more cautious."

The older vampire caught the twisted smile that appeared on Stefan's face as he listened carefully to his words. "Most?" Stefan prodded.

Victor's hesitation caused Stefan to plead. "Please . . the truth." He sighed deeply and brought one hand up to scrub his forehead. "I'm so tired of lies."

"You, my ripper, will never attain that kind of control. It is the nature of your beast. You will always fight and sometimes lose the battle. It is inevitable. No matter how hard you try you will sometimes need help to get back under control." The big man looked over to judge the effect of his words.

Stefan's face reflected his struggle to absorb the information. He nodded as if hearing something he dreaded. "I've been afraid of that for a long time now." He finally shrugged, seeming to become somewhat reconciled to his fate. "Well, at least now I know."

Victor had sat quietly watching Stefan's expression change as he resisted and finally accepted the truth. "What is it about this girl that sets you on edge? Makes you rage?" Victor gave in to his very real curiosity. "She is beautiful, but there are others whose beauty matches or surpasses her. What is so special about her for you?"

Stefan swallowed several times. He folded his hands on his knees and stared at them. When he finally spoke, he spoke passionately, willing, wanting Victor to understand. "I met her at a time when I was at a loss in my life. So tired of just living for living's sake. So tired of fighting myself and for what? And then I saw her go off the bridge, and I rescued her. She looked just like Katherine, and my curiosity got the better of me. I had to know her, and she was everything I ever wanted in life. She had courage and sweetness and honesty. We thought the same things in life were important. It was like a dream – the good kind where everything goes right. She had given up on life, and I helped her want to live again.

"And she – she represented hope to me. She gave me the courage and the strength to fight what I am. She loved me, and I loved her. I would have never left her. She could have had children with another man, grown old and wrinkled. I would have lived with her and died when she did. She was my chance at the life I never had. The life that was taken from me."

He spoke softly now. "Just a boy and a girl who loved each other, made each other want to live again, and that was enough for us."

His voice turned bitter. "Then my brother came. He didn't love her at first, but he tried to destroy what we had, drive a wedge between us. Like he had to ruin everything else in my life." He hung his head. "And he ended up loving her, and he made her love him."

Stefan's mouth opened, but he couldn't make words come out. His voice caught when he could finally speak. He turned to Victor holding out his cupped hands, eyes filled with pain. "It was like I held a perfect bright, shining angel in my hands, and then right before my eyes it turned into papier-mâché. And Damon kept raining on it, and it melted and I was left with a sticky wet mess in my hands."

Stefan stared at his cupped hands as if he could actually see something there. "When I realized that she didn't love me anymore, didn't even remember loving me, and that he had betrayed me, I just wanted to get as far away as possible. I didn't want to be reminded every day of what I thought was possible. Of what I lost."

Something in Victor's face made Stefan add, "Don't bother telling me I was an idiot. I've been told it many times before by more than one person. The sight of her is torture. It brings all the pain back. She reminds me of everything I had hoped to have. Everything I can't have – will never have. Every word she speaks reminds me I was just stupid to ever have hope."

"And your brother?" Victor asked.

Stefan twisted his hands while a harsh laugh escaped him. "I thought we could be what we used to be to each other. Best friends, brothers. All an illusion. Just another pipe dream." He bowed his head. "Nothing but betrayal. Nothing but lies."

Pride kept the tears from his eyes, but he couldn't keep Victor from hearing them in his voice. He jerked his head up and spoke fiercely, "I want nothing to do with them. Every time I look at them, I feel like there's a knife twisting in my gut. I want them behind me. I need to start over."

The big man stared at Stefan's profile for a moment before he looked away. "I can solve this problem for you permanently."

Stefan looked puzzled for a moment before realizing what Victor was offering. He quickly blurted out, "Don't kill them! Please!" he begged.

Victor smiled, amused by Stefan's abrupt turn-around. "Your brother will not stop, you know. He will find a way to get to you. If that happens can you deal with it?"

Stefan took a deep shaky breath. "I'd rather suffer than have them killed."

"Then, I will not kill them," Victor promised.

Stefan looked directly at him and spoke formally. "Thank you." He then reached down and painstakingly picked up some of the tiny bits of gravel that invariably find their way to rooftops and flung them one by one off the roof. When he tossed the last one he wiped his hands on his pants and let them rest on the middle of his thighs. He turned again to Victor. "When – Ah – I" Stefan seemed to have trouble getting the words out.

"What?" Victor inquired.

"I want you to teach me as much control as you can so when you get tired of me and send me away, I'll be as strong as possible." Stefan spoke in earnest, face serious.

The big man carefully hid his amusement from the, to him, youngster. "You don't understand how rare and valuable you are, Stefan. I doubt very much we will tire of you, but we will continue to teach you."

Victor rose up and brushed his sweats off. "Really this roof business is so undignified. Are you coming down?"

Stefan shook his head. "I want to watch the sun rise." He looked up at the big man. "I'll be fine."

Victor just smiled, brushed a hand through Stefan's hair, and left. He climbed back into the house and noiselessly entered the bedroom. He didn't immediately settle back into bed, just sat on the edge thinking. He felt a hand touch his shoulder comfortingly.

"The young always suffer." Atarah had, of course, heard every word. She spoke in one of the ancient tongues they used when they wanted their conversations private.

He smiled, turning his head to kiss her hand. "This one will always suffer. He will never be free of the battle that rages inside him." Victor replied in the same language. He sighed and added, "The young are so very tiresome."

Atarah laughed quietly. "But they keep us interested in life. Why else would we continue to make them when we live forever? We want, no need them livening things up. Without them we would be stagnant."

Victor kissed her hand and murmured, "You have always given wise counsel, my love."

However, her words did not seem to give him peace, and when he still sat motionless, lost in thought, Atarah got up to her knees and wrapped both arms around him. "We will keep the brother and the doppelganger away from him. He is better with us."

"I don't know why I care." Victor mused. He turned his head to the side and confided in Atarah. "He actually made me remember a time when I still had sons. Perhaps that's why. He reminds me that I was once human." He smiled ruefully. "Does that mean I am finally becoming senile?"

She rested her head against his. "It is not a bad thing to remember. Not a bad thing to feel for this boy man – so long as we put our survival first."

He nodded and twisted around to lie down, pulling her onto his chest. They willed themselves to sleep.