Fic: Your Heart, My Provenance - White Collar/The Vampire Diaries, Neal/Damon, PG
Title: Your Heart, My Provenance
Fandom(s): White Collar/The Vampire Diares
Pairings, Characters: Implied Neal Caffrey/Damon Salvatore, Stefan Salvatore/Elena Gilbert
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: This is pt. 2 of Red Collar, a comment!fic that just sort of happened the other day thanks to executrix, though you needn't read that to read this.
Summary: Some of the paintings are beautiful. Portraits so realistic it’s unsettling. Cityscapes that seem to spill streetlight and exhaust fumes into the attic, eclipsing the smells of dust and age and, here, canvas.
The first time Elena hears the name Neal, they’re debating how to get a hold of the moonstone. She says Stefan’s plan sounds impossible.
Damon says, “That’s because it is impossible.” Then he gets this look on his face that contradicts his words. “But I know a guy who’s pretty good at making the impossible possible. At least when it comes to stealing things.”
He shares a look with Stefan. One of those indecipherable, Salvatore looks that make Elena happy - sometimes, when all the anger and the bitterness of a century of wrong choices and misunderstandings rise up between them, it’s easy to forget that Damon and Stefan can be like this, so connected it’s… well, inhuman - and uncomfortable at once. These looks exclude her, and Elena isn’t used to be excluded anymore.
Elena sees the moment Stefan understands what Damon’s look is telling him because an expression of disapproval at once covers his face. “Uh-uh. We’re not bringing him into this.”
“Him who?” Elena wants to know.
The worst thing about The Look is that, when one Salvatore doesn’t like what the other Salvatore’s look is saying? Violence often follows. And or/one brother’s storming out of the room - in this case, Damon.
Elena picked up enough during their argument to know that Damon wants to call an old friend… an old vampire friend, someone he’d turned, and Stefan doesn’t think it’s a good idea.
“He’s even crazier than you,” Stefan had said at one point.
Elena tries to imagine a vampire more unpredictable than Damon. It’s difficult.
She’s still curious and Stefan leads her up to the attic, through the myriad of curious things that he or his brother have accumulated over their many, many years, to a wall of paintings in a far, back corner.
There are more paintings leaning against the wall in various-sized stacks - about twenty in all. They’re-
Elena can’t say what they are. Some of them are beautiful. Landscapes that make you stare, wonder if you’re looking at a real place and, if so, if you could go there. Portraits so realistic it’s unsettling. Cityscapes that seem to spill streetlight and exhaust fumes into the attic, eclipsing the smells of dust and age and, here, canvas. Elena considers the other smell she’s only noticed in this corner of the space, almost sweet and slightly metallic.
All of the paintings are signed “Nielson Cafert” in small, neat script.
“Neal painted these,” Stefan says, watching Elena’s face.
“Oh.” She gets it. Some of Neal’s paintings are beautiful… But some.
Oh, they were just as masterfully painted as the others. Lush with details and optical illusion and realism… That’s the problem. Some of Neal’s paintings are of things Elena shudders to think came from anywhere but Neal’s own, dark imagination. And even then, Elena can’t imagine a mind dark enough to dream up some of the images in the paintings near the back of the stacks.
Stefan doesn’t look horrified by any of them - another reminder of what he once was - but he does look wary as he takes Elena to a final canvas, tucked into an alcove on the other side of a large armoire and a free-standing set of shelves packed full of dusty, old books - reading material unfit for the library downstairs, Elena figures.
The canvas is huge, taking up most of the space in the alcove, and covered with a thick tapestry. When Stefan pulls it down, the sweet, metallic smell gets stronger.
“Oh my god…”
It’s- Brilliant. A monochrome of reds and burgundies and dark brownish blacks. At first, Elena doesn’t see a pattern in the brush-strokes visible in the thick layers of dried paint, but when she looks closer, she realizes… It’s a portrait of a couple. A male couple locked in an embrace.
Elena feels her face heat. “This-”
“Is a bit much?” a smooth, unfamiliar voice says from behind them. Elena turns to see Stefan already glaring at Damon, standing with a handsome stranger in a nice suit - minus its suit jacket, and with his shirt-sleeves rolled up. Elena wants to say he looks young, but she’s learned better, when it comes to vampires. He’s got a kind smile and very blue eyes, dark hair. This is Neal, Elena realizes, with a jolt - thrown off-kilter for a moment by the paradox of this smiling man having painted the darkest of those stunning paintings. “I was going through a macabre phase,” Neal says, sounding sheepish.
Elena’s face heats more as she looks between him and Damon, who is watching her with a carefully neutral expression on his face. The couple in the painting-
Well. It isn’t as detailed as some of Neal’s other work, but Elena knows Damon’s profile when she sees it, and Neal’s face is unmistakable.
“It’s- It’s amazing,” she babbles, to cover up her nervousness. “How did you get the paint to-”
Damon coughs, looking at once awkward and like he’s trying not to smile. Stefan glares at Damon harder. He looks… embarrassed? By the painting or just in general.
Neal’s smile doesn’t really change except that it gets perhaps more sheepish. All three of them are giving Elena the feeling that she’s missing something - like she’s a little girl who’s stumbled in on some “grown-up” talk happening, and everyone thinks she’s just adorable for being ignorant.
“What?” she asks.
“Elena, darling, that,” Damon says, motioning to the painting, then pressing his hands together. He enjoys himself way too much as he says, “That isn’t paint.”
“Then what-” Suddenly, the faintly sweet, metallic smell of the painting makes sense. And perhaps in a moment the implications will make her ill, but for now Elena feels only shock.
Stefan looks concerned. Damon gazes at the painting as if nostalgic, and Neal looks at Elena - again - like she’s such a child and he admires her for that. For a second, Elena can clearly see, in his casual attitude standing in front of such a grisly testament to past crimes, how old and not human Neal is. Then he scrunches up his face like they’re talking about a bad hairstyle or crappy starter car. “Macabre, right? I told you. I totally overdid the whole ‘sinful creature of the night’ bit for a while.”
Neal recovers his cheer and slaps his hands together, as if slapping shut the lid on their conversation.
“So. I hear we’ve got a moonstone to steal. Theft is one of my specialties.” Neal grins.
“Spec-” Elena begins to ask, but out the corner of her eye she sees Stefan shaking his head at her. “Nevermind.”
[end.]
Fandom(s): White Collar/The Vampire Diares
Pairings, Characters: Implied Neal Caffrey/Damon Salvatore, Stefan Salvatore/Elena Gilbert
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: This is pt. 2 of Red Collar, a comment!fic that just sort of happened the other day thanks to executrix, though you needn't read that to read this.
Summary: Some of the paintings are beautiful. Portraits so realistic it’s unsettling. Cityscapes that seem to spill streetlight and exhaust fumes into the attic, eclipsing the smells of dust and age and, here, canvas.
The first time Elena hears the name Neal, they’re debating how to get a hold of the moonstone. She says Stefan’s plan sounds impossible.
Damon says, “That’s because it is impossible.” Then he gets this look on his face that contradicts his words. “But I know a guy who’s pretty good at making the impossible possible. At least when it comes to stealing things.”
He shares a look with Stefan. One of those indecipherable, Salvatore looks that make Elena happy - sometimes, when all the anger and the bitterness of a century of wrong choices and misunderstandings rise up between them, it’s easy to forget that Damon and Stefan can be like this, so connected it’s… well, inhuman - and uncomfortable at once. These looks exclude her, and Elena isn’t used to be excluded anymore.
Elena sees the moment Stefan understands what Damon’s look is telling him because an expression of disapproval at once covers his face. “Uh-uh. We’re not bringing him into this.”
“Him who?” Elena wants to know.
The worst thing about The Look is that, when one Salvatore doesn’t like what the other Salvatore’s look is saying? Violence often follows. And or/one brother’s storming out of the room - in this case, Damon.
Elena picked up enough during their argument to know that Damon wants to call an old friend… an old vampire friend, someone he’d turned, and Stefan doesn’t think it’s a good idea.
“He’s even crazier than you,” Stefan had said at one point.
Elena tries to imagine a vampire more unpredictable than Damon. It’s difficult.
She’s still curious and Stefan leads her up to the attic, through the myriad of curious things that he or his brother have accumulated over their many, many years, to a wall of paintings in a far, back corner.
There are more paintings leaning against the wall in various-sized stacks - about twenty in all. They’re-
Elena can’t say what they are. Some of them are beautiful. Landscapes that make you stare, wonder if you’re looking at a real place and, if so, if you could go there. Portraits so realistic it’s unsettling. Cityscapes that seem to spill streetlight and exhaust fumes into the attic, eclipsing the smells of dust and age and, here, canvas. Elena considers the other smell she’s only noticed in this corner of the space, almost sweet and slightly metallic.
All of the paintings are signed “Nielson Cafert” in small, neat script.
“Neal painted these,” Stefan says, watching Elena’s face.
“Oh.” She gets it. Some of Neal’s paintings are beautiful… But some.
Oh, they were just as masterfully painted as the others. Lush with details and optical illusion and realism… That’s the problem. Some of Neal’s paintings are of things Elena shudders to think came from anywhere but Neal’s own, dark imagination. And even then, Elena can’t imagine a mind dark enough to dream up some of the images in the paintings near the back of the stacks.
Stefan doesn’t look horrified by any of them - another reminder of what he once was - but he does look wary as he takes Elena to a final canvas, tucked into an alcove on the other side of a large armoire and a free-standing set of shelves packed full of dusty, old books - reading material unfit for the library downstairs, Elena figures.
The canvas is huge, taking up most of the space in the alcove, and covered with a thick tapestry. When Stefan pulls it down, the sweet, metallic smell gets stronger.
“Oh my god…”
It’s- Brilliant. A monochrome of reds and burgundies and dark brownish blacks. At first, Elena doesn’t see a pattern in the brush-strokes visible in the thick layers of dried paint, but when she looks closer, she realizes… It’s a portrait of a couple. A male couple locked in an embrace.
Elena feels her face heat. “This-”
“Is a bit much?” a smooth, unfamiliar voice says from behind them. Elena turns to see Stefan already glaring at Damon, standing with a handsome stranger in a nice suit - minus its suit jacket, and with his shirt-sleeves rolled up. Elena wants to say he looks young, but she’s learned better, when it comes to vampires. He’s got a kind smile and very blue eyes, dark hair. This is Neal, Elena realizes, with a jolt - thrown off-kilter for a moment by the paradox of this smiling man having painted the darkest of those stunning paintings. “I was going through a macabre phase,” Neal says, sounding sheepish.
Elena’s face heats more as she looks between him and Damon, who is watching her with a carefully neutral expression on his face. The couple in the painting-
Well. It isn’t as detailed as some of Neal’s other work, but Elena knows Damon’s profile when she sees it, and Neal’s face is unmistakable.
“It’s- It’s amazing,” she babbles, to cover up her nervousness. “How did you get the paint to-”
Damon coughs, looking at once awkward and like he’s trying not to smile. Stefan glares at Damon harder. He looks… embarrassed? By the painting or just in general.
Neal’s smile doesn’t really change except that it gets perhaps more sheepish. All three of them are giving Elena the feeling that she’s missing something - like she’s a little girl who’s stumbled in on some “grown-up” talk happening, and everyone thinks she’s just adorable for being ignorant.
“What?” she asks.
“Elena, darling, that,” Damon says, motioning to the painting, then pressing his hands together. He enjoys himself way too much as he says, “That isn’t paint.”
“Then what-” Suddenly, the faintly sweet, metallic smell of the painting makes sense. And perhaps in a moment the implications will make her ill, but for now Elena feels only shock.
Stefan looks concerned. Damon gazes at the painting as if nostalgic, and Neal looks at Elena - again - like she’s such a child and he admires her for that. For a second, Elena can clearly see, in his casual attitude standing in front of such a grisly testament to past crimes, how old and not human Neal is. Then he scrunches up his face like they’re talking about a bad hairstyle or crappy starter car. “Macabre, right? I told you. I totally overdid the whole ‘sinful creature of the night’ bit for a while.”
Neal recovers his cheer and slaps his hands together, as if slapping shut the lid on their conversation.
“So. I hear we’ve got a moonstone to steal. Theft is one of my specialties.” Neal grins.
“Spec-” Elena begins to ask, but out the corner of her eye she sees Stefan shaking his head at her. “Nevermind.”
[end.]