Disclaimer: Hello, No, Owning it would be an impossibility for me. I'm sorry.

Oh. Oh my, I hope you don't hate this.

Mouse, Pandora, g1rlanachr0n1sm – You're all fantastic. You make me smile.

Enjoy!

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2010

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"They were married, Stefan." Elena spoke to him through the thick, barred wooden door which he had instilled himself behind, as an attempt to act out some kind of penitence, some kind of apology for Annabelle and what he had done.

"I know." And he sounded hollow. "I was Damon's best man. I walked her down the aisle."

"Why didn't anybody-"

"You wouldn't have believed him, would you?" Stefan looked up at Elena, balancing his head in his hands and watching her through the bars, "You believe him now, because... well, you've seen it." He stopped, "You saw how real it was."

Another long pause, Stefan lifted his hand and dropped it, it fell slowly, as though he was sinking through water and he sighed again, dropping his head back into his hands.

"I don't know what to do, Elena."

"What?"

"It's not easy, you know."

"What isn't? Stefan, I don't know how long I can keep up with you – you're talking in a million riddles, and it never helps me-"

"It's my fault." Stefan blurted suddenly, sick of having to hide it from Elena, "Do you know what? I ruined Damon's life." He stopped and watched her, waited for a reaction he was sure would come. Disgust, hurt, confusion and anger flitted across Elena's face, then pity surfaced and Stefan let out a sigh. She just wouldn't get it. "Get the hell out, Elena. Please."

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Italy, October 1993

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Stefan was sitting opposite her, reading the paper and honestly not paying their situation any attention.

"I don't think I like the lack of control I have," Francesca started suddenly, breaking the terse and awkward silence which had made them, "it's very difficult, isn't it?"

Stefan slowly lowered the newspaper and almost glared at her. She had only been trying to make conversation and the look he had given her made her feel anything but alright.

"What would you know?" He flicked the paper back into shape and continued to read.

"I assumed that... Well," Francesca stopped and looked up at the younger Salvatore brother, who was staring back at her, expectantly but angrily, "Well, that you'd understand."

"I don't have a problem with my control."

"Aunt Annabelle." Francesca was not stupid. She was not an idiot and she could see - no matter how small it was, the sliver of compassion that Stefan had wrapped around his heart. "You didn't want to hurt her. Your control was tested too far, so-"

"Be quiet." He demanded it as though he were speaking to an incredibly petulant child. "You don't understand what it means to lose control. You never had any in the first place."

"I know." Francesca's voice was small and a little afraid. "I'm still learning, though. Damon told me about how hard it was in the beginning, a long time ago... And it made sense, but now it just seems like there is no logic. It's horrible, Stefan, I know."

"No, no." He shook his head, folded up the paper and went to leave the room. "I don't think you do."

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Francesca had decided it would be safer for her to hole herself up in the room she shared with Damon until he came home. He had said it was just an ordinary run to the blood bank, but it was taking longer than usual because blood stocks were low, and of course, because he had been caring for Francesca, showing her the way like a mother, not a lover, he was fighting with the desire to come home and simply ravish her as some kind of apology.

He liked apology sex.

He liked happy sex as well.

At that stage, Damon knew he really needed to get home.

There was silence in the Salvatore house as Francesca grew bored of the books and the globe which she usually enjoyed gazing at, to find a place that she knew she and Damon would enjoy. The day, for one of September standards, was incredibly warm, and even though she did not sweat as a human did, she would have wanted the window open as a human. So, she opened it, because even as a vampire, she required some kind of routine – some humanity.

"Hey! Don't do that!" Children's voices. She smiled and stood, leaning out of the window to see the playground in the deserted park across the street. At no point did she even realise that she was gripping the frame so hard that she was splintering the wood beneath her hands.

"I'll do what I want!" The little girl was taunting a boy on the monkey bars as she swung up and down, eventually, as the heat forced her palms to sweat, slipping from them and falling to the wood-chip floor.

She let out a wail and almost immediately, Francesca was judging the speed at which she could get out to the girl, to help her. She looked as though she was in a lot of pain. Maybe she had broken something. In half a second, Francesca had jumped into the tree that was beside their bedroom window and had almost flown to the floor.

"Are you okay, dolcezza?" The tiny blonde girl looked up at Francesca, awed and confused. "Are you hurt? Show me?"

Her lips parted in a gasp as the little girl lifted her leg. There was blood dripping down her leg and splinters clearly stuck in her skin.

"Miss, can you help me?" But Francesca was holding her breath and shaking her head. Coppery tastes filled her mouth and she could simply smell the blood. She wanted it. She couldn't have it, she told herself that immediately, but damn she wanted it.

"Stefan!" She called his name because she knew he would hear her, he was in the house and he was definitely closer than Damon, but he did not come. "Damon?" And yet, there was nothing.

He would not come. He did not care.

Stefan Salvatore heard the frantic calls of Francesca, his brother's wife, but he disregarded it. He did not care for the girl, and he would not care. Even if it was not her fault.

When Francesca lost control, she dropped to her knees and pressed her face into her hands. Naturally curious, the children pressed their faces closer to the girl who appeared to be crying – and who soon would most definitely be in tears, but they were stunned to see that her face had changed as though she was wearing a mask of plasticine and makeup.

"Are you alright?"

"Go!" Francesca growled the words almost inaudibly, still clinging onto the threads and strains of humanity which were all over the place, though it was difficult. The children remained, and her chest began to hurt.

"Please, miss, let us help you-"

"No, no," It was still a growl, the mask in place, and yet, as the darkness exploded over her vision and all she could feel was the little girl's blood spilling quickly into her mouth.

Stefan found her when he realised everything had gone silent and there was fresh blood in the air.

"I-I compelled the boy not to remember," She whispered as soon as she felt him standing in the doorway. "I promise you, he won't remember a thing."

He lifted her up into the air within a half-second, staring at her and all around her with disgust. Her body was covered in blood, mixed with tears and sickness and god knows what, and she wanted to throw up.

"A child?" He could smell the blood on her, it was fresh, it was young. "You killed a child?"

"I didn't... I asked for help!" She reached out to him but Stefan took a step back. "I called out to you; you must have heard... why didn't you come?"

Stefan felt a pang of guilt, a pang of sorrow for the girl who was standing in front of them, honestly so broken and confused, desperate and worried, but he disregarded it. He could not stand to feel.

"You, girl, are a monster." He stopped and wrapped a hand around her wrist, bending it the wrong way and trapping her into submission, "Even Damon, hell, even I would not kill an innocent child."

And her body crumpled. She shook in his hands and fell to her knees and everything around her melted into nothing.

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She woke to Damon's arms wrapped around her, soothing her by rubbing soft circles on the bare skin of her arms and back. He had stripped her, he had washed her and he had cared for her. She felt so sick.

"I'm horrible." She whispered, burying her face into his chest, kissing the skin over where his heart would not, could not beat.

"These things happen," He returned simply, "You're not a monster, you're learning."

"No, I... he said I was... I killed a little girl, Damon..." She bent her head down and looked away. "I make myself sick."

"You shouldn't listen to Stefan, he has no sense, he doesn't even..." He ducked his head and gently kissed her on the lips, "You shouldn't try and change what you've become." He murmured the words, "Only begin to control it."

"You don't understand, Damon." She shook her head violently and gripped his hands as the tears began to fall, "I cannot live like this. Not at all." She stopped, "How can you love somebody who did that to someone so... innocent?"

"Francesca, I'll love you no matter what, you know that."

"I can't live like this." She shook her head and bowed it again, "Damon... I wish... I wish I could die."

The words shocked him. He didn't believe she had spoken them aloud until he looked into her eyes and saw nothing but honest fear and sincerity in them – she felt that way because there was nothing else inside.

"I feel as though if I didn't have you..." She pressed herself against him and tightened her grip on his arms, "I wouldn't be able to..."

She didn't have to say it – Damon knew exactly how she felt – and he would never force her into anything. He would spend months and years attempting to convince her that there were other ways, better ways of coping, of moving through such a temptation, an obsession...

Francesca knew she could not cope. She had hoped, by planning a little more time to prepare before her change, that she would find a way to become accustomed to the thirst, to fix that so that she could turn and be with Damon in the perfect way. Things did not work out like that, unfortunately, and things never would.

She cried. For five weeks, six weeks, two months, every night she cried because she felt so torn in two – the half which wanted to stay with Damon forever, to throw aside her worries and start again with him, to make everything better, make everything go away. The other part of her begged for a release. It begged for the world to be made a better place because she was not in the way of it, it was terrifying and it hurt and she knew it, but this was the part of her that had to win. She could not be selfish – she could not be with Damon forever, because she did not want to destroy them.

She could see it happening, and she did not like the idea of it even a small amount.

Damon was an instinctively selfish being. He cared very little for very few people, but Francesca was his world. There was no doubting it – and he was very clearly hers. If anybody had seen them – pre or post-change – interacting with each other, they would immediately admit that they were so much in love that it was almost sickening to see.

But Damon was selfish. He did not want to let her go – in no way would he let her go without a fight. He tried hard – and he tried constantly to make her believe that she was good. Because she was – there were no two ways about it, she was good and kind and honest and yes, the little girl had been a mistake, but it was just that – a mistake.

Only a mistake.

But he could not stand to see her so sad. He would do anything to keep her with him – to hold her hand and make her feel good and just be – because Damon was good at existing, living the easy life and having a good time - but she couldn't do it. What pained him the most was that he understood. He knew how much it hurt, and yet he knew that it would always get better.

"I have to be there." He said one night. "I have to make sure that you're okay."

"Thank you." She watched him, his eyes shining in the darkness, tears on his cheeks, "I love you." Then, slower and with a huge amount of trepidation, "You know that I wish there was another way, don't you?"

"I do." And the fact that the rings on their fingers signified those words made the pair of them shake far into the night.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

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2010

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Damon shook his head as he realised Elena was clomping up the stairs in her boots. Her lips were pursed and her hair was in disarray, but Damon was sure she was just infuriated, not turned on, or...

He stopped his train of thought at that precise moment. She was his only friend, she barely liked him, and he really did not want to make anything more complicated than it already was. He was beginning to see the reasoning behind Bonnie's cryptic clues as to his future, and yet he was worried.

The things which he was heading toward were not pretty, and they only appeared to have one consequence. He didn't even know if it was going to work, or whether it was all going to go to hell... and he would go down along with it.

He wouldn't be surprised if it all went wrong, and he somehow managed to exist out of sync with the rest of the world for all of eternity, but he knew, no matter how much pain it was going to cause, he just knew he had to try.

That was why Christmas was going to be the worst time of year.

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A/N; review?