Disclaimer: This is roughly 3000 words of blah. Much, much blah. LJ Smith wouldn't have written this. Seriously. I don't own TVD.

I'm deliberately heading back from 1994 to 1991 again. I'm shifting you sideways to give you a single hint of normalcy.

Enjoy?


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2010

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He stopped, watched and waited for Elena to leave her bedroom before he clambered through her window. The room was unnaturally silent, with so few things in it - a by product of her spending so much time at the Salvatore place - that Damon was sure that the envelope he was leaving would be obvious, incredibly visible in such a bare room. He hoped she would be too wrapped up in herself and Stefan's difficulties to notice it, sitting proudly beneath her pillow.

He wouldn't put anything there usually, it was a place kept exclusively for the things that a person wanted to keep close to them, keep private, but alive and in their memory. By 'them', 'a person' and 'they', Damon could not help but mean himself. The space beneath his pillow was for the things like Francesca's wedding ring, which he could feel under his pillow every night, disrupting his sleep but keeping him comforted or for old photos which he did not look at often, but still, it was nice to know they were there.

Damon liked comfort. He had said as much to Elena before - citing that as the reason for his four-by-four, as opposed to the Ferrari - a car which he could barely stand to look at nowadays - too many bad memories. He did not care to add that it was because comfort was the most he could hope for, one of the things he had to hold onto, because honestly? He had very little else to grasp.
A quick trip to Bonnie Bennett, just to be sure, to know... and he was all sorted.

He was ready to face it all - only not today. It was Christmas day.

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Italy, January, 1991.

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It was warm for January – but it was always warm around here. Francesca's parents were out – at some function or other, and Damon had quite easily come in through her window. She had told him he could use the front door like a normal human being – but since when had Damon ever been normal?

He had found her lounging around in her underwear, clearly stifled by the warmth of the day, and had promptly exchanged her bra for his overshirt. It was white, and he was hoping to coax her into the garden so that he could turn a hose on her before they could 'enjoy' a 'private' afternoon together.

His plans were scuppered as she had stretched up, the half-open shirt revealing every single element of Damon's desires. As he grabbed her around the waist, tugged her toward him, all she could feel was his hands.

Large hands, pressed tight between her thighs and pulling her toward him, to touch, taste and simply feel. He lifted her, moving her on to straddle his lap as he rubbed her skin beneath the pads of his fingers and she simply couldn't resist grinding down on his lap. Cotton boxers – black, of course – met with silk panties which he had previously deemed 'simply deviant', and he gasped as her grip moved to his hair, where she twisted her hands and fisted the follicles, creating sensations in him that he never thought could have existed before.

"More," He whispered, and she complied, forcing her lips down to his and grinding her hips down as his hands pulled her to him.

He did it again, pulling her down, making her gasp before his fingertips twisted into her panties and between her legs, feeling her soaked, wet and very, very ready for him. He couldn't help the smirk which graced his lips, making her sigh, as he let out a rumbling laugh. It was as though she was made for him, so perfect and so prepared as he slicked his fingers with her, brought them to his lips and started the journey all over again.

He loved the taste of her.

"Damon, please," She almost whined the words the next time he wrapped one hand around the curve of her him and pulled her down onto his waiting fingers, it was getting too much and he knew it. Her body arched up, bucked as her head lolled back and his fingers teased her swollen flesh. She let out a shriek of a groan and tightened around his fingertips. Damon lost control.

Three seconds. It took three seconds for him to turn the knickers into silk rags, and he slowly, dangerously, tantalisingly pressed his fingers against her once again. She dropped her head forward, groaned again, determined to have a second release from his touch, but he simply stilled her with his superior strength, and she had to deal with his teasing as his fingers slowly circled her hips and her lower lips and he pressed them into her at a snail's pace.

It was always like this between them, they teased each other until one got the upper hand and decided to lead the other in the game of cat-and-mouse, who could lose themselves first, who would fight for the other to collapse against them. In a way, it was nice to feel Damon shaking as he pressed his fingers into her, stretching her slowly, adding a second finger, a third until he slammed into that spot and she started to see stars. That was a very, very nice feeling.

She was still wearing his shirt, even if her underwear was strewn anywhere and everywhere through the room, and he was still in the T-shirt he had thought to put underneath his button up. With fingertips slow and supple against his slow moving body, but exhausted by sincere satisfaction, Francesca began to trace the definition of his muscles, leaned forward to do the same with her tongue. Damon loved the warmth of her lips, he loved the taste of her body and he honestly loved being with her, no matter whether it was physically, or emotionally, or –

"Fuck!" Without warning – or there may have been, Damon was entirely lost in his train of thought, Francesca's fingertips lightly guided him to her entrance and without even a second thought he had slipped into her, feeling her warm and willing around him as her lips parted and he swiftly zoned back in.

He really wanted to make things official with the girl who was writhing beneath him, whose body was soaked and appreciative, seeking the same friction he wanted, and whose mind was incredible, enough to take him on and occasionally win. He wanted this to be real, not a dream, or a fling, and he wanted... he wanted her.

"I'm taking you out." Mid-thrust was probably the worst time in the history of bad times for Damon to lose his thread of conversation and just come out with the words.

"Sorry!" She looked up at him and twisted her hands in his hair as she shifted brightly against his hips. He bucked back against her and she moaned as he hit that spot inside her.

"You heard me, I'm taking you out. We've been doing this for four months maybe?"

"Five," she blushed and he ran a finger around her cheeks, framing the colour in his mind for a later time. "But I don't see-"

"What do you see going on in six months, seven months, Francesca?" Damon hated to ask, because it more than entirely scared him to think that he might not be with her in that time, "Where do you see us?"

"Together, obviously," she whispered, running her hands across his shoulders, feeling the words come to her simply but entirely able to appreciate the solidity of his muscles and the way they strained as he held himself over her, still buried inside of her, "Together, in love and planning for years of a future, not just months."

"Then your parents need to know."

"I'm sure they do." And those four words sent shocks of fear through Damon. If her parents already knew of his existence, it would be as though he was attacking her, he was sure. They would hate him for being secret, hidden, and for making their daughter hide him in the first place. His arms shook, even though he was not tired and his strength was not failing him.

"What are you thinking, Damon?" Her fingertips touched his cheeks lightly, ghosting across his skin as though she wasn't really there. He didn't like that feeling.

"That I don't want to lose you." And his lips pressed down against hers, trying to impress upon her the importance of what he was trying to say.

"You won't, no matter what." She promised him that, but, as he ran his hands through her hair, he wondered whether 'no matter what' had more conditions than he would have expected.

"I still want to meet your parents," he murmured, "To take you out on dates like... Well, like normal."

"We are normal," Francesca returned easily, because she believed that it was true, "but okay. Take me out." The genuine glee that Damon was feeling, happiness he could only find with Francesca, that he had not felt since he was human, before Katherine, manifested itself in his actions, the huge smile, spreading all across his face and making his eyes glitter bright in the dusk night.

He leaned over her, pressing her body back onto the mattress and began to unbutton her blouse, sliding his hands up against her bare skin and ensuring goosebumps erupted across her skin.

"You are sinful," he whispered, "I know I keep telling you, but it's true. I know all about sinning..." She smiled brightly and slid one arm around his neck, pulling him down and pushing her lips up to meet his.

She groaned loudly as his fingertips found the band of her bra and snapped it in seconds, palming her breast slowly and then deciding that he preferred a location a lot further south. Slowly, Damon pressed his hand flat against Francesca's stomach, following the path of his hand with his lips. He pulled out of her and she almost screamed at the loss.

"Pretty girl," he whispered as he pressed a kiss to each side of her hips, then lifted his head up and pressed his body down on top of hers.

"You're wearing too many clothes," She said simply, reaching for the hem of his black t-shirt and tugging it up so her fingers could easily trace the muscles across his torso. She could barely believe they had been fucking only minutes before, but they were still half dressed. No. Of course she could believe it. They were addicted to each other, to touching each other, wanting each other – needing each other.

"I need you," he whispered straight into her ear, his hands grabbing at anything, everything that he thought would keep her close to him and keep them together.

He wanted them together forever. Sempre. Always.

But he hadn't meant to tell her that he needed her out loud. That was a weakness he really did not want to expose.

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She stepped down the stairs just as the doorbell rang and somebody rapped smartly on the door. The lump in her throat exploded into butterflies which she feared would fly out of her mouth if she so much as started to say a word.

Francesca was neither sure who had opened the door to invite Damon in, nor who had told him to come into the hall, but it definitely didn't sound like her.

"My parents are coming," she said as he went to press his lips against hers, and in a half second, he had stiffened and pulled away. She laid a hand on his arm and gently pulled him into the hallway as he pulled off his shoes, "You're shaking."

"I can't stop." Damon's voice held a tremor which left the pair of them stunned. He was never afraid of anything, so this was strange, "All I've done all morning is shake..." When her parents did not immediately appear, he began to pace, shaking harder than he thought he really could have done before.

"Slow down, calm down, Damon, please..." She ran her fingertips across his cheeks, watching the way his horror-mask, his vampire face receded beneath her fingers. "It'll all be alright, okay?"

He nodded, though there was the genuine air of nervousness and hesitation as Francesca's father and mother appeared from the kitchen.

"Madre, papa, this is Damon," Francesca was ultimately scared, though with Damon's hand on the small of her back, protective and careful, and her mother smiling widely back at her, eyes wide open, looking better than she had done in months, she grinned and felt a lot stronger, "Damon Salvatore."

"Salvatore?" Francesca's mother was jolted upright in surprise as she looked her daughter's boyfriend over and hesitantly held out her hand, "Do you hail from Milan?"

"No, Mrs. Luch," Damon shook his head, "Personally, I don't. My brother Stefan, on the other hand, he definitely spent some time in Milan a few years ago."

Francesca's mother nodded, her face tightening and her smile fading just a little bit.

"How old are you?" She was blunt, as well, and Francesca could not beat the blush which exploded across her face as Damon's mouth opened and closed. Did she expect him to say one-hundred-and-forty-five? Damon debated it for a moment, then decided on the number she probably wouldn't slaughter him for.

"Twenty-one." It was a bald faced lie, blatant and obvious, but Damon intended to hang around for a long time, so starting small would really give him a hand when he had to explain why he was twenty-five and hadn't even begun to age.

"I see." She nodded, but Damon knew she did not really believe him. "Where are you going tonight?"

"I thought I would take Francesca out to a restaurant I know," He stopped, and looked her up and down before transferring his gaze to Francesca, who was dressed simply in a navy blue sundress, still holding onto his fingers as though it would be anything but pleasurable to let him go, "I've made reservations for half past seven," He paused, "I thought we might go walking by the river afterwards," He ran a hand down her arm and ensured that her body could feel the trail of fire behind his hands.

"Of course," Francesca's mother nodded, and her father followed suit, as Damon and Francesca began to leave for the evening, "Be back by midnight, and Francesca?" The pair of them looked back at her mother's call, "Be careful."

"Of course, Madre." She nodded, and Damon smiled back at Francesca's mother as he tightened his grip on Francesca's hand.

"I'll make sure she doesn't come to any harm."

Francesca's mother was more worried about that single sentence than anything had happened to her daughter in the past nineteen years.

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2010

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Elena was fretting and overbalancing and panicking and nothing was right and everything was wrong and God she couldn't cope. She wanted to run away, to go home, get away from it all and just mail him the bracelet, because honestly, Matt was right. She had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble for something which Damon would probably throw onto his bed and forget about the day after.

Then she remembered the reaction he'd had when she had broken it. The fury, the hurt, the genuine pain and just a little bit - well, no, a ridiculous amount to horror. It was as though she'd broken a piece of his heart. Elena never liked being the bad guy, okay, there were times that she had to be bad, like Georgia last year, before the Katherine thing, and all of those horrible, horrible times, but now? Now she just liked to be.

With Stefan's problems, and Damon's sarcasm and she liked the balance of knowing what to expect. She always managed to neglect the fact that with Damon, all you could expect would be the unexpected. It was that that made it easy, difficult, horrible, good... However she termed it, it was just an easier life, easier to live it without the complications of whatever was going on - and right now, Elena wished that it would all go away.

She didn't realise what such a wish could mean.

He was sitting in the living room when Elena came over. It was about four o'clock - Jenna had let her out for a little while so she could wish everyone a happy birthday. Bonnie hadn't answered the door, and Caroline had been out, but everybody else - basically Matt, had been delighted to see her.

In due time, she stopped, shaking snow and the freezing cold from her boots as she pulled her jacket off and turned around.

"Stefan's out." Damon didn't look up, simply swirled his glass of Scotch and stared deeper into the fire.

He had been feeling as though he had taken as much out of this life as he could do. True, Elena was here - she was fun, but... He wanted to... It all came down to the fact that he had never intended to become a vampire in the first place. He had never intended to fall in love with a beautiful girl that he ultimately destroyed. He never intended to remain in love with her – even to this day. That was just a part of his fortunes – or his misfortunes.

A mistake. Everything he did was a mistake.

Only a mistake - and they could be erased. Only... Erasing something like this would have consequences. It would be difficult to move on from.

Everything had consequences.

"I'm not here for Stefan." Elena was sat beside him, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I've got your Christmas present." He quirked his eyebrows and simply stared at her.

"Present? Why the hell would you-?" Then it hit him. "You didn't."

He stood up and moved away from her, as though getting away would easily deter her. As he sat down in the armchair, she followed and knelt down in front of him. His eyes filled with sadness, Damon looked up at Elena. Everything about this was wrong, and yet so kind, so lovely.

Just another mistake.

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A/N - 1: Review?

A/N – 2: There are actually between three and four chapters left of this fic now, dependant on whether I keep one of them in, or take it out... Well, that, and an extremely short epilogue. The next four chapters are probably the most charged, and the most terrifying of them.

You will most likely need tissues, because hell, I did.

But probably not for chapter 20.