Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm sorry.
TISSUES WARNING. TISSUES WARNING. TISSUES WARNING.
I'm going to destroy all of the love for this story that any of you had. I'm sorry. There's music to go with it – "All I Need" – Within Temptation.
Billimonroe, g1rlanachr0n1sm, pandora03, mouse555. Ungh. Shit. I honestly am sorry.
Enjoy!
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2010
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"I loved her more than anything, so it was obvious that I wouldn't stand to see her in so much pain. It was quick, I promise you that, Elena, and I promise that it has never, ever left me." His bottom lip seemed to quiver, and Elena stared at him as he broke their gaze and he quickly wiped his eyes.
"What are you talking about, Damon?" Elena's eyes were searching Damon's face for a sign of something, anything, but all she could see was a dark, embarrassed sheen to his cheeks. As soon as she noticed it, he cast his eyes down and brought his fingers up to rub at the colour. He knew she thought he was embarrassed, but, as with most humans, he knew she had misread it. What he was, in reality, was ashamed.
"I wish she was here." Damon whispered, ducking his head and rubbing at his temples, "She would understand," There was a quiet pause, "and no offense, but I don't feel half as much for you as I did for her."
"I'm pretty sure you don't feel anything, Damon." Elena managed, looking straight into Damon's blank stare. She honestly could not understand how, if you loved somebody so much, you could do such a thing, "I'm pretty sure of that." There was silence as she watched him, and he dropped his head into his hands.
"You wouldn't understand." Damon seemed to have turned off the filter between his internal monologue and his mouth, "You haven't had to kill to keep him." Damon gestured vaguely in the direction of Stefan's bedroom, and Elena's jaw dropped open as she realised exactly what he meant. "And you didn't lose him in the process either. I couldn't stand to see it, Elena. She was so... scared, so broken..."
He could not look at anything but the fire as he spoke his next words.
"I loved her," he whispered, "So I had to let her go."
"Damon," Elena began, "You of all people know that there are always other plans... There is always another way. I know it's too late, I mean, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, but... Maybe you didn't have to-"
"You haven't got a clue, have you?" Damon was beyond words. His fingertips gripped the table in front of him and he tossed it aside, straight through the window as though it were a book, as though it were nothing, "I still hear her screaming, begging me to... I still see her... I cannot even breathe, without thinking of her."
"Damon-" As though she had finally realised the weight of his words, Elena reached out to him and watched his hands falter, move away from hers as he toyed with that damned black leather bracelet.
"You don't have a clue, Elena."
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Italy, January, 1994
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Damon wanted to fight it. He wanted to say something, do something, make all of her pain shut down, to stop.
"I want to die."
He had been able to deny her nothing but this, though it was a wave of darkness which had swept over him and left him reeling as she had begged, pleaded... She had tried to use sex and blood anything. Everything.
But she never stopped loving him.
Her hands would hold his in the darkness and she would tell him everything she loved about him, about their time together as she waited for the sun to rise.
"I need to be there." Damon said, "If you want this... If it has to be done, I need to be there, and I need to know." He stopped short of saying what the pair of them knew.
He had to do it. He couldn't stand to see her in any more pain.
"I can't live like a... Demon." She whispered, clinging onto his hands in the darkness as though he could forever be her saviour.
"You never have." His fingertips grazed against her cheek, and his hands and lips told her everything she already knew. She would have him forever. Sempre.
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Damon was horrible. He was selfish and dangerous and would do anything at all to get what he wanted. He read books in minutes, attempted to cut swathes through libraries in order to understand, to try and fix everything that seemed to be crashing around his ears.
She was incapacitated. It had been horrendous to do, but Damon couldn't stand to see her losing herself in the way that she was. Nothing was right, nothing was good when she was barely able to look at herself in the mirror, unable to look him in the eye. She was scared of Stefan. She withdrew from everything, everyone aside from Damon.
It was a temptation to take her away from everything, or to find a way to turn back time, but there was nothing he could do. This was no VHS tape to be rewound, it was no cassette. If it had been, then the tape inside would have been knotted, tangled. It was horrible to see her.
So he had sedated her with vervain. The half-minute of screaming, where he had been forced to hold her, rubbing circles against her palms to calm her down, was almost worth it to see her sleeping so calmly, unconscious but still holding onto him. Sedated. He had to sedate his fucking wife. How low did he feel?
It all began to get worse. She started to beg for a way out, screaming, terrified when she was awake. Damon was unable to stand it. Not any longer.
"I can't do anything." He lamented when he was alone, stood under a cold shower just so he could feel once again. Fury coursed through him as he felt – useless and pathetic. Slammed hands against the wall meant bathroom tiles splintered and cracked. "I said I'd fight for her."
But sometimes you have to give in.
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Today would be the worst day of Damon's life. Hands down, no questions.
He had spent what felt like three months, but was only a few days trying to fix himself, to close off his mental state so that this would not hurt him at all. It had not worked, and, with every breath he took, he felt a searing pain in his chest.
Francesca was not afraid of anything anymore. No, she realised, she was afraid of herself, and afraid of leaving Damon. But to be free of one, to be free of the danger she posed to humanity, she had to face the fear of the other, of being apart from him. Besides, he knew she was always, always going to be there. She would never leave him.
In the darkness of their bedroom, lit only by one candle across the room, and the moonlight they both loved to feel, Damon sat facing Francesca, and traced away her tears with his fingertips. In response, she hiccupped a sob and reached around her wrist, unclasping the black leather bracelet and pressing it into his open hand.
"I'm sorry," She whispered, shuddering in his arms, "You know I'm sorry." He nodded again, rubbing his hands up and down her arms, "Please be happy, Damon. That's all I want for you." Her lips sought out his, and slowly, languidly, they kissed, as though they had all the time in the world.
"You will always be the one," he whispered, "and know that if I had my way... I would save you, Francesca. I promise you," he murmured into her neck, "One day, I'll save you."
With gentle hands, as though he was handling a spindle of crystal, or a dying flower, not his princess of darkness, he pulled her into his arms and sat cradling her as she held on. He had resigned himself, to this, but he knew... His heart was full and she knew he loved her with everything inside of him.
"I will wait for you," she whispered, her fingertips tracing patterns on his palms, "forever." He nodded against the top of her head, and pulled her into his arms for one, final, soul-binding kiss.
When Damon pulled away, for he had realised that delaying the inevitable was simply going to make it hurt more, he felt as though there was gold within him, pure, honest and true as he felt every part of him tingle and burn.
Love honestly hurt.
He understood now, and he understood that sometimes, pain for one was for the good of another. He wrapped his arms around her as she settled her back against his chest, some kind of connection blending them together for the final time. With His arms wrapped around her, she took one deep breath, and begged him one last time to never let her go.
"Ti amo, Damon," She murmured, nodding and holding onto the arm he held around her waist. It was protective, it was familiar... It was definitely Damon – telling her everything he felt without having the difficulty of finding the words.
His other hand reached out behind him, and as he felt the wood between his fingers, he dropped his forehead to the back of her neck and pressed a solemn kiss to the bare skin that was there.
"I will always love you, Francesca, know that." She nodded softly, and, with one swift and startling movement, he brought the stake down, straight through her heart. Her head dropped forward, and violently, she shook against him, trembling and her head dropped back against his shoulder.
To her credit, her eyes were closed and she did not make a sound. If his fingers had not been covered in blood and holding the ash-stake so tightly to stave off the sickness rising in his own throat, he would have assumed he was only causing her measureless pleasure, the way he had done a million times before.
She did not make a sound as any kind of life fell away from her, yet as Damon pulled the stake from her, he let out a howl that would rival that of the most distraught wolf. Sobs tore from Damon's chest as he held her like they did in the movies, pain shooting through his every movement, his every breath a breath of agony and resentment, and, perhaps most horrifyingly, a breath of pure selfishness and shame. He wished he had something, some way to bring her to life again.
He did not care that it would hurt her, he did not care that it was against her wishes. She had been gone for a moment, not even a heartbeat in his extended lifetime, but it felt as though everything were rushing up to meet him, all of the pain and hurt he had held onto because of Katherine, all of the love and happiness he could feel for Francesca, they mixed, fought and combated, in an attempt to dominate within him. His emotions battled, they fought, and, as they swirled, Damon went numb.
He felt sick.
He was in pain.
He was alone.
He held her body close until the morning, when the sunlight streamed through the windows and he felt the familiar heat of its rays. Slowly, carefully, he reached for his wife's... for Francesca's hand, cold and unmoving, and kissed it lightly, sliding away her wedding ring, and with it, the Lapis Lazuli which protected her skin. She may have been dead, but she was still a vampire, and as though the sun's light recognised this, it began to burn her, until all Damon held within his fingers was a simple, silver wedding band.
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2010
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"I... I didn't know." Elena bowed her head as she watched Damon close off to the rest of the world. His eyes went dead – anyone would have been able to see the defences slide in front of his pupils, losing his eminent sarcasm and definite smirk, and his forehead creased a little more in the middle, making him look as though he were about to cry.
"I know." Even his tone was flat, so stark and dry compared to the lightness which usually followed with his words.
"Is that why... Stefan-"
"I don't want to talk about that." Damon replied flatly, knowing that there would be a time where Stefan would explain to Elena what he found when he stepped into The Bedroom hours past midday.
A shadow of Damon, darkness in the corner and everything, absolutely everything smashed to pieces, aside from the pair of earrings she had worn on their wedding day, the Lapis Lazuli Wedding Ring Damon had strung onto the bracelet around his wrist for fear of bending or breaking it as he did what he did best – caused destruction, and a small, black notebook which had everything she had ever written for him, to him, for his eyes only.
He did not want to think of that.
Elena could not bear to watch it. Damon did not want her to see it. He rose, crossed the room and fled, seeking solace and safety on his own, again.
He did not want to think again.
But he did, and it was as though the noise would never stop.
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A/N:
I'm afraid to ask, but Review?
