Disclaimer: Naww, I don't own any of the Vampire Diaries as a TVseries, or as a bookseries. In fact, before I get ahead of myself, I've only seen up to episode 20, possibly my fave ep. Of the series. But then again, that'll change, I know.
Enjoy this.
To G1irlanachr0n1sm, Pandora03 and Mouse555 – LOVE YOU ALL. You are so lovely, kind, sweet and funny, and you never cease to make me smile.
Probably no update until Monday, because it's my birthday tomorrow, and I don't want to remember the weekend.
.
.
2010
.
.
"Shawty is an eenie-meenie-miney-mo lover..."
Elena hated the song, but Damon hated it more, and it was her only weapon in attempting to get him to tell her everything about what Stefan had done to Francesca. She had exhausted her other angles – from withholding the information she had from Caroline, to attempting to blackmail him with things Matt had seen him doing in the backyard – mainly mundane things, but Damon was not one to be pleased about being seen to be helpful.
"Will you turn it up?" Damon laughed, realising exactly what she was trying to do, "It's not annoying yet!" She stared straight back at him, not quite believing that he was so happy about her choice of music. He waltzed away with a smile on his face, shaking his hips in quite the ridiculous way.
Damon did not like Justin Bieber.
"That's not possible." She muttered as she turned the music down and looked over at the doorway which Damon had left through. The room appeared to be empty, but, as she turned and went to sit back down at the table in the sitting room, she found he was right behind her.
"Hello, Elena." He said, and she jumped about a foot in the air.
"Don't do that."
"Why?" He smirked and shook his hips again to an invisible beat, "Just waiting for you to pick another tune of the century. Please, put on some Taylor Swift."
"Oh, thank god." He quirked an eyebrow, "I was actually starting to think you liked him." She had hoped he wouldn't have a comeback for that, but with a smirk, Damon pulled a book from nowhere and held it up, just out of her reach.
"For that," Damon smirked again, teasing Elena with the book in his fingers, "I don't think you deserve to have your questions answered."
She quickly realised what the book was, a diary, and jolted to grab it out of his hands, momentarily forgetting Damon's ridiculous vampire speed.
"Asshole!" She called after him, as he practically danced up the stairs out of her reach and left her standing at the bottom of them, watching him laugh long and loud.
When she picked up her backpack to go home, saying goodnight to Stefan, she felt a heavy weight in the main bag itself. Hoping against hope, as soon as she got home, she pulled it from her back and looked straight into it.
"Elena, Don't torture me with Bieber again. It won't work next time. Damon.
P.S. Be careful with the black book. It was hers."
She pulled out a set of two diaries and the little black book that Damon kept on his mantelpiece. She swallowed as she looked at it, and set that one aside for another time.
Damon sat in the tree outside of Elena's window until late into the middle of the night, and watched her read how Saint Stefan nearly destroyed his brother's life.
.
.
Italy, 1992.
.
.
Damon liked Francesca in black. He liked her in any colour, but black was his favourite, and thus, he very much liked her body when it was clad, very simply, in shadows. If she was to be his Princess of Darkness, she would be clad in dark colours a lot of the time, so he was pleased to see it suited her.
He was not pleased, however, about the situation which had led to her wearing such a striking colour.
"I can't do this," Francesca whispered, looking up at him and blinking furiously, "I cannot even begin to do this. She turned away from him and went to go into the bathroom, to put on a mask of makeup even the tears could not wash off.
Damon caught her arms at the elbow before she could even take two steps to get there.
"You can't walk away, Francesca." His voice was slow, smooth and honestly rather charming, and Francesca would have assumed he was trying to compel her, had she not known that that wouldn't work between them. She fingered the bracelet around her wrist as she glanced down at her feet, sighing.
"I can't go out there without you." She murmured slowly, "You've been keeping me upright for a week... How am I supposed to-?"
"I can't go, and you know it," Damon whispered, "She would not have wanted me there - you know that..."
For after they had been through her things, and found Aunt Annabelle's diary, they knew why Francesca's mother was distinctly anti-Damon.
"I know," Francesca murmured, "But God," she put her head in her hands and shook it violently, so that her hair fell from the bun she had drawn it in. "It's difficult, Damon."
"Believe me," he lifted her into his lap, and she noted that, as usual, he was dressed smartly in tailored chinos and a black shirt, even though he would not be attending Francesca's mother's funeral. "Believe me, pretty girl, I know."
His fingers nimbly pulled her hair free from its tangled mess and lightly ran his fingers through it. When he released her, he thought she looked more stunning than she had before she had begun to cry.
"You are strong," he whispered, brushing his fingers down her cheek, "You are beautiful, and your mother... She would be proud." Damon felt like he should do something to ease her pain, but he did not know what. If only... "Francesca?" She lifted her eyes to meet his and when he ran his hand through her hair again, he slowly tilted her lips up so that he could gently kiss her fears away.
It should have been strange to feel her tears on his cheeks, but Damon really could not bring himself to care. He was breathing slowly, and her fingers were tightening around his forearms, clinging on for dear life. He pulled away seconds later and ran his fingertips under her eyes, pressing the tears away.
"You will be incredible, and I will only be two miles away." She knew that. Her head slowly dropped to her chest, and Damon tilted it back up, so that she was looking straight into his eyes. A gentle hand ran across his, and Damon smiled as she did the same. "It will be alright."
And if it isn't, he thought, then I will be close enough to know.
.
As she was stood, slowly making her way through the words she had set in front of her, she could sense him.
For a moment, as she glanced up at the group of people gathered for this funeral, the sea of darkness and the candles, beacons of light, she thought it was Damon, there to support her, there to hold her upright even without his touch.
She knew and respected his decision to remain at the house, preparing for later on, however, and she would not force him to come. She would not force him into anything.
No, it was most definitely not Damon. A moment later, she risked a glance up from her notes and was sent reeling.
He could not be here.
Startled, and hoping it was nothing more than a terrible dream or delusion, Francesca's eyes darted to every possible exit and she wondered whether she could get to Damon before he could catch her. Nobody lived here. It had been easy for him to get in. And yet, Francesca, a mere human, was afraid of not being able to leave.
She settled her eyes back onto the paper in front of her and found that she began to trip over her words as the pace of her speech increased, panic offsetting her words and sending a beacon out to anyone and everyone who could have been listening.
Damon, no matter how far away he was, no matter how irrelevant the problem seemed, was always, always listening out for Francesca. He sensed her panic like a wave of static from an FM radio, his bloated amounts of Power, and the fact that he had her blood in his system amplifying it so that the worry and signal began to buzz and beat upon his brain, and he launched himself out of the routine of his pacing, and straight toward the church.
He made it in two minutes, flagging at the last moment because he could smell Stefan. His scent was strong, bloated with a power that was almost vibrating through the church and putting every human into the shade.
He shouldn't have been there.
Damon let out a sigh, shaking his head and hoping that Stefan hadn't done anything yet, that he had arrived in time, in-keeping with his I'll-just-stroll-in-and-save-the-day attitude which had served him well over the years.
He had never been entirely sure of the layout of the traditional church, only sure of the main doors, altar and aisle, but there were always other entrances. He appeared in the smallest room to the side of the church in seconds, after casing the best place to come in. It was hard to get into the main building without having a door creak, or people turn to look at him, but there was sufficient distraction because the service was ending, and Francesca, the last speaker, shaking on her feet, had to be caught by one of the men in the front pews as her legs gave out beneath her.
Immediately, Damon felt a surge of jealousy, of honest protectiveness, and he fought everything within him that was telling him to run to his girl and steal her away.
That urge was quelled within a half second because of the scream which exploded through the church. For half a moment, Damon thought the windows would shatter.
"Pensa mai di lasciarci in pace?" It was Francesca's grandmother. She knew about Stefan's existence. She had lost a daughter because of him. "Non hai fatto abbastanza!" Her hands were shaking, and Damon feared a second death at this funeral. He pushed through the people doing nothing but staring between her and Stefan and decided that now was the time for action.
Swiftly, and acting as though he had seen everything that had occurred in the past few hours, Damon tackled Stefan to the floor, pinning him and then scrambling him to his feet and pulling his stunned form outside. As Damon pressed his brother up against the solid brick walls of the church, gripping him at the neck and at his left wrist, threatening to pull the Lapis Ring from his finger, he heard the breath of Francesca's words from the doors of the church, clearly searching for him in the grounds.
"Damon Salvatore, you truly are my saviour." Her words seemed to calm him, bring him back to reality, but, in order to impress his point just a little bit further, Damon pressed his fingers into Stefan's throat harshly, and felt him gag, then, as he released him, watched him drop to the floor.
"You know what I'll do to you if you hurt any of her family again," Damon's words were a clear promise, no need for a threat. Stefan nodded.
"I just came to apologise." He managed out if a tight throat, "if I had known what was going to happen, I would have... Compelled her to forget, or... I don't know-"
"Maybe you shouldn't have compelled her in the first place, Brother." Damon said simply, stepping smartly back and away.
"I-I was wrong to do that, but you cannot say that you've never been tempted to do it to Francesca-" But Damon held up a hand to silence Stefan.
"No." Damon said simply, "I haven't."
..
It was dark by the time that Francesca returned to Damon. He had been standing in her room, waiting for her since the ruckus in the cemetery that afternoon.
She would not have denied, if she had been asked, that she was a little afraid of Damon, but she stood by her earlier words, that Damon was her saviour, and those thoughts clearly showed in the slow smile which spread upon her face at the sight of her lover as he stood at her window and slowly turned to look at her.
He took deep breaths as she sat and watched him move across the room, stepping slowly and carefully towards her, holding out his hand.
"I drew you a bath," he whispered as her fingertips sent a shock of electricity straight through him and made his heart kick start.
"Thank you." She murmured, and he slowly pulled her into his arms, gripping her tight and holding her until she pulled away. "I won't be long..."
"Don't be," he whispered, before kissing her lightly on the temple and sitting down on her bed, pulling his jacket from his shoulders and taking off his shoes. As he heard her sigh and sink into the bath, he felt the heat from her body increase in intensity and the corners of his mouth twitched a little way into a smile.
She would need him tonight, and he was definitely not going to deny her that.
.
.
2010
.
.
"Dearest Damon,
This will probably be the last time I write to you while we are apart, because I intend to come to you as soon as this postcard is posted. I do not like flying, and I do not like being away from you, though, as the second will be cancelled out by the first in this case, I think I can cope with the flying for now. I have missed you, and I will love you always, Francesca."
Elena had stopped reading the black book after she had found the first postcard, and then the small photo which accompanied it. Such a happy moment – where Damon was genuinely smiling, dressed in a morning suit with a girl who could only be Francesca wrapped in his arms, his chin pressed into the top of her head beside a white veil tucked into a bun.
A veil? But Damon wasn't married?
The image was ingrained into her brain, and she spent her time wondering what else she would discover if she had simply asked Damon, but at the moment, there was just one more pressing issue.
She stopped reading there because she had pored over the other two diaries – one belonging to Annabelle Moretti, and the other belonging to one Juliet Luch – who, she had gathered, was Francesca's mother. The joyous tone of the book which Damon treasured seemed to directly oppose the hatred and venom which was harboured in Juliet's diary – all directed at the one person Elena could not hate in the world – Stefan Salvatore.
But then she had read Annabelle's diary. She had pieced everything together, and then Stefan had just upped and left her, no reasoning, no anything... and, by the sounds of it, he had compelled her into complying with his wishes for sex, blood and god knows what else.
He had left her, and she had been so distraught that she had killed herself just two weeks before her niece, before Francesca had been born. Stefan had done this to a family which did not understand, and he had come back... for the funeral of one of the three people on earth who would never forgive him – and Damon had had to intervene.
When Stefan came to pick Elena up for school that morning, she had already gone.
.
.
.
A/N: Love Me, Hate Me, Bite Me, Compel Me? Review?
xxx
Translations:
Non hai fatto abbastanza? - Haven't you done enough?
Pensa mai di lasciarci in pace? - Will you ever leave us alone?
