Disclaimer: If I could own any part of all of the Vampire Dairies books, it would be either the final three chapters of book 4, or chapter 2 of book 6. However, I own NONE of TVD, either the books or the TV series. Francesca is my character, however, and my plot is... well, mine.
To ChristineSalvatoreJonas, Pandora03 and, to g1rlanachr0n1sm, OHMYGOD, I love you. The three of you have managed to put incredible smiles on my face, and gosh, I hope I don't disappoint you guys
Enjoy!
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2010
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Elena's butt hurt. There was no more eloquent, nor simple way to put it, although, as Damon glided past her on his way to the freezer, intending to get a fresh pack of donated blood, he did ask her whether her 'gluteus maximus was terribly and irrevocably wounded'. She wasn't sure whether to be affronted, or to laugh
It would have been funny, except she was really, really in pain, and, as she followed Damon through to the kitchen, intending to find an ice pack, she felt the subtle throbbing of a serious bruise that was beginning to form on her backside.
"Hey," After searching in the freezer for something cool to press up against the bruise and finding nothing, Elena felt the need to ask Damon. She wasn't sure whether it was because he might know whether they actually had an ice pack, or because she needed someone she could whine to who would just throw her a hilarious line and tell her to get over it – almost as good as an ice pack in her opinion. "Damon?"
He turned from the freezer that the brothers kept their pre-packed blood in and looked up at her, quirking his eyebrows.
"Woah." Elena physically stepped backwards at the sight. Having forgotten to pick up a decent glass to pour the blood into, Damon had decided simply to go with the line that was joined to the package and drink the damn thing like a Capri-Sun, making him look, quite hilariously in Elena's opinion, like an oversized child. There was blood on his lips, and his eyes were dark, heavy lidded. He looked sexy, there was no doubt about it.
"Sorry," Damon muttered through a mouthful of A-Positive, "I needed a drink."
"Hmm," Elena was clearly unconvinced. Damon could practically see the disgust rolling from her body in waves.
"Oh, get used to it," He rolled his eyes, "Stefan is a vampire, likelihood is that if you're gonna be together forever, you'll be one too, darling," He smirked again, "What can I do you for, Elena? How's the ass?"
"Hm. I don't know, how are you feeling today, Damon?" She retorted quickly, feeling better almost immediately because of their banter.
"Very, very funny." He smirked and shook his head, turning quickly back to the sachet of blood, "Go wait in the kitchen, I'm dangerous when I've been drinking."
"Yes Boss." She was sarcastic as she backed out of the room, aware that she should keep her eyes on Damon at all times, but smiling wildly at the same time – his sarcasm, and his cheeky one-liners had most definitely given her something to think about... aside from that throbbing pain that was currently pounding in her backside.
Damn. Maybe she did need an ice-pack, after all.
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Italy, 1992
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It had not been the rosy reunion Francesca had expected. In fact, Damon had been damned ignorant of her existence for the past three hours, and she had been away from him for more than three weeks. She was desperate to tell him how much the trip had made her realise that she loved him, and she wanted to tell him that if she could help it, she was never going to leave again.
Instead of such a romantic evening, he had bought her a quick cafe dinner which was filled with an incredible volume of tense silence, and half of an awkward conversation which Francesca had tried to start, and failed miserably with, and that was it. Nothing dramatic in the airport, nothing romantic... He didn't even kiss her hello. In short, it was an entirely miserable non-event.
When they had returned to the Salvatore household, Damon had retreated to the bedroom they shared, and Francesca was left alone with the silence. It did her in quickly and uncomfortably. She paced for a while, trying to find the words that she could use to excuse herself - though she wondered whether Stefan had said something defamatory about their relationship, and Damon had started to rethink the entire thing. She was not one to give up that easily, and Damon should have known it, and that was the only fact which gave her heart with regards to the situation.
It was also the explanation for the confidence she felt as she knocked softly on the door to their mutual bedroom and waited for the storm to unfold.
There was only silence from the room, however, and for a second, Francesca wondered if she had missed his words, or whether he was not even in the room. Pushing the door open, she got her answer. The man she would willingly give her life for was sitting at the foot of the bed, his feet planted on the floor and his head buried in his hands.
At that moment, Francesca neither knew, nor cared about what had happened to him to make him feel like this, only that she needed to make it better, and she would do so in any way she possibly could. Her first thought would be to tell him she loved him, but, for the state of their relationship, she felt it could be considered whiny or obnoxious to think that words of love alone would excuse a fault. Damon was a physical embodiment of love. He did not say the words - and he did not know the words, because, he had admitted, there was no time he had ever truly felt them. He had told her he had not felt this way before, not even with Katherine. So, Francesca did the sensible thing - she tried to show him exactly how she felt.
In almost slow motion, Damon turned his head to look at her and she stepped gracefully and regally towards him, shutting their bedroom door with a click and closing their world off to everyone but them. He did not move as she slowly climbed onto the bed behind him, but tensed as her fingers slid slowly up his spine and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to slowly brush her fingers through his hair.
"What's wrong, Damon?" Her voice was quiet, though the tone carried throughout the room and made him tense up. "Please, tell me..." Another pause and he pulled away from her grip almost violently.
"Leave me alone, Francesca." Damon whispered, his face changing as the anger began to take over, morphing into a shadow of the Damon he tried to be around her. "I don't want to hurt you. Not tonight."
"You don't frighten me, Damon." She whispered back, even though he was across the room and she doubted he would hear her. His face flickered into one of the most terrifying smiles Francesca had ever seen, his eyes dark, barely recognisable as he smirked wildly and made her shiver. Then, she was afraid, she thought as he turned back to her and advanced, stalking toward her as she sat on his bed, sheer and sudden terror paralysing her as he came closer. He was not going to stop.
"Are you afraid?" Damon said in his softest voice, fury lacing his tone.
"No!" She lied, though her voice was clearly giving her thoughts away. He gripped her wrists and pulled her up to her feet. She let out a quiet shriek of surprise, yet felt the busy warmth of her lower body as Damon's hand drew a trail down her arms and to her thigh. He gripped her skin hard, and for a moment, she was sure there would be a bruise, but that was forgotten as he lifted her up and threw her bodily onto the bed.
She bounced twice and slammed her hands down onto the bedspread in order to steady herself, yet he kept on advancing, and truly, she was scared.
"Are. You. Scared?" He growled, his hands either side of her hips and slowly crawling up her body.
"You won't hurt me." Francesca murmured confidently, knowing that her words weren't reaching her Damon, but falling upon the ears of a Damon overcome by fury, bloodlust and god knows what else.
"Are you sure?" It was almost a taunt, just asking for trouble, but she nodded her head almost violently and reached her hand up slowly to run her fingertips across his cheeks.
"Yes. I know the real you." Her words stunned him, and he drew away then, rocking back into his heels and running his hands furiously up and down his cheeks in an attempt to dispel the feelings welling up inside him.
It was as though she had reunited him with himself, he looked so full of shame.
"Damon?" She tried again, pulling herself up into a sitting position and stretching her hand out to him slowly, "Talk to me, please?"
"It's not been a good week," he sighed, "Hell, it's not been a good month. I haven't been with you, you've been in a different damn country, and I kept thinking something would happen, and I wouldn't be there... And..." His head fell into his hands again, and he crossed his legs beneath him, "This is going to sound stupid, but I don't get what I want a lot..."
"Damon," Francesca smiled a little condescendingly, starting to think he was teasing her, "You get a lot of the things-"
"No, no! That's not what I mean. I get a lot of Material Things, yes, I can influence people, make them give me things, but..." He stopped, "Emotionally, I've been stuck in a wheel of hatred, fury, boredom... for over a century, and then..." He stopped and reached out to her, his fingers almost snatching at thin air, "and then, there's you."
She didn't quite understand. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her closer. There was no fear coursing through her, only curiosity now, as he gently wrapped his arms around her, his thumbs writing words across the sliver of skin exposed between her pyjama top and shorts. Ti amo, sempre... They were the only things he could think to say. The words were foreign to him, though his girl, the one sitting before him, had told him them enough; though, as she sat before him, he realised that he felt nothing more than love for her.
It was love, and he knew it now...
"Me?" She murmured, tilting her head back to look at him straight in the eyes.
"You." He whispered, "You make me remember who I am trying to be - the humanity in me." He slowly slid his fingers up her arm again and pulled her lips up to his, breathing slowly, carefully into her mouth as she groaned. "You," he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers, "are... Everything."
It made her stop breathing. Every syllable he said aloud, she was sure, was calculated to reveal as much about his feelings as possible - mainly because he was a physical person, and his words were valuable and almost rare. She was also certain, however, that there was more in his head than he would ever let on.
"I-I think I understand," Francesca murmured as Damon pulled her onto his lap and held her so tight she wondered whether her spinning head was due to his intoxicating state, or a simple lack of circulation.
"Not yet," he murmured, slowly pulling at her top, pleading with his eyes for her to pull it over her head. She did as he asked and as he laid her down, gently this time, he whispered things she had never known. "You are stronger than I had thought," he murmured, pressing his lips to her ankle and then looking straight into her eyes, "When I first spoke to you, I thought you would physically try to throw me out."
A bubble of laughter broke free from him as he kissed the back of her calf, then the inside of her knee, and she smiled, groaning because he was so gentle, so kind, and, now that she was back, it seemed, so happy.
"I was so afraid of losing you," he murmured, "that I went back to your house every night until you left the window open..." She giggled again, then rubbed her fingers through his hair, earning a groan straight back. "I love you, Francesca," Damon whispered, before lifting himself onto his knees and settling himself above her. "Ti amo... I love you more than life itself."
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2010
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Damon was honestly, not an idiot.
He could tell that Elena was up to something, and he probably was neither going to know, nor like the outcome, but that was just Elena. She was always up to something – she had proven that when she had attempted to kill him, she had attempted to... well, there were more than enough times when she had been scheming.
She was trouble, but Damon was not dumb enough to ignore that.
Elena was, however, probably Damon's only friend. Stefan did not like his brother at all – and Damon knew there were valid reasons for this, even if Elena would not accept that as fact, and would attempt to move heaven, hell and possibly most of Mystic Falls in order to reunite them as friends. He wasn't an idiot.
It wasn't going to happen.
It wasn't to say that he didn't want his brother as his friend, rather than a somewhat estranged relation, of course not. If he had had his way, then his brother would still be one of his best friends. At this stage, he had Elena, and that was only because she was a little bit tangible, and she didn't hate him. Not yet. He didn't know how she would react when he explained one of the darker secrets of his past, either, and that thought did frighten him, but no, he was not an idiot. He had his plans – he had always had his plans, and he was prepared for when that day came.
He was sure – because something in his gut was telling him that there was darkness coming – that it would come out soon, and that plan... Q14 – for he had even numbered them – would need to come into force in that time.
So, when he pulled up a chair and offered to massage Elena's bruise for her, carefully avoiding her direct gaze, she would never know that his smile did not quite reach his eyes.
She did know, however, that no matter how stupid or irritating Damon could be, he was not an idiot.
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A/N. Wahoo. Yes, So, we're in 1992 now, but I'm jumping in time again next chapter. (I feel a little bit like Dr Who...)
Review?
Thankyou!
Translations:
Ti amo – I love you
Sempre – Always
