THE VAMPIRE DIARIES: Confessions [1/1]
Title: Confessions
Chapter: 1/1
Author: ladyknight_fic
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries (TV-verse)
Characters: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore, Damon Salvatore, Katherine Pierce
Pairing: none in particular, but the general love-square (Stefan/Elena/Damon/Katherine) is vaguely implied if you're looking for it.
Genre: General/Romance
Rating: T
Summary: He'll never say it out loud, never even write it down, because pulling the thought out of his head will make it solid, real. - A series of confessions.
Spoilers: none really, but I'll say Season 1 to be safe.
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 661
Disclaimer: These characters belong are the property of L. J. Smith.
A/N: I've never written drabbles before (I've never been able too; I'm too long-winded) so I'm a little nervous about posting these but…I guess we'll see?
- - -
Elena
She wishes Stefan were more like Damon.
Not all the time, of course, but sometimes, like when she's had a trying day and she just wants to escape. In those situations, Stefan likes to ask questions, needs to ask questions, so that he can get to the root of the problem and fix it for her.
Damon isn't like that. He doesn't poke and prod, doesn't fish for information, doesn't urge her to get all her feelings out into the open so they can work through them. He doesn't try to shoulder her burdens in addition to his own.
What he does do is stop the clock, drag her off the field for a five minute breather.
And he has an uncanny knack for knowing when she needs a time out…maybe because he's had so much experience with needing to get away, forget, pretend that everything is right with the world.
This is not to say she doesn't love Stefan, because she does, but…there's just enough between them to make the kind of man she needs.
Not for the first time, she curses the Salvatore brothers.
- - -
Stefan
Sometimes when he looks at Elena, he sees the other woman, the first woman, Her.
He'll never say it out loud, never even write it down, because pulling the thought out of his head will make it solid, real.
It's not Elena's fault. How could it be? She doesn't know any better, doesn't realise that tilting her head to just that degree, lowering her eyelids just that fraction, echoes of someone else.
All it takes is a glimpse for everything to become distorted, for him to see that fuzzy outline of Her. And then Elena is gone and only She remains, whispering in his ears, combing her fingers through his hair, pressing butterfly kisses to his chest.
Katherine.
- - -
Damon
When he learns that Katherine is back-really back-he doesn't feel joy or love or even anger.
All he feels is fear, pure and unadulterated.
Because he knows Katherine, understands her and her need to play games, to mess with people's heads.
And he knows himself.
It's only a matter of time before she has him on that slippery slope, the one that will take him back, back to what he was before Ric and Jeremy and Bonnie.
Before Elena.
He's only just got Stefan back, and already he can feel his brother slipping out of his fingers; there's no way she'll be happy until she's torn them apart again, ripped them to the point where there's no going back, no chance of repair.
He'll let her do it, he knows he will, because he was never able to resist her, never had the strength even to try.
He's never been so afraid.
- - -
Katherine
She did love them.
In her own way.
It wasn't the deep, unashamed, all-consuming love that some people have, that Damon had for her.
But it was love.
There are some who would disagree-though never to her face-and say that what she felt for them was nothing more than transferred affection, influenced by their devotion to her.
They would back up their claims by noting how she abandoned them, how she just walked away and never looked back, even to the point of letting them believe she'd burned or been imprisoned in a tomb.
But what those people, those accusers, never knew was that some nights, when she was lying in the arms of one or the other, she would feel a strange quiver in her stomach, almost like butterflies.
No one knew that, not even Pearl.
And no one would ever know it because, though she might have loved them once, they were now nothing more than a recollection, weaved into the fond memory of a time when she'd held the heart of a town in the palm of her hand.
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