the low road // 05 rain
Title: the low road // 05 rain
Author: that_treason
Rating: M overall (M this chapter)
Length: around 3200 words (this chapter)
Characters: Damon/Elena
Spoilers
through 4x18
very AU after that
Warnings
references to sex while switched off
vampires eat people & vampires kill people
Disclaimers
Everything belongs to the people who own them.
I am just borrowing.
continuation of this prompt from upupa_epops:
“Damon/Elena, AU from 4x17. When Elena reaches to steal Katherine's addresses, Damon impulsively decides to screw the high road and team up with Elena instead.”
// 05 RAIN
Maybe irritation is like rage - a baser emotion, more caused by chemicals than any higher function. Or maybe it's just the latest crack in the walls around Elena's heart. Either way, Elena is full of aggravation, right up to the brim.
She never stops to consider why tonight has gotten under her skin - or what that frustration might mean. She's too busy seething quietly, turning it all over and over in her mind: Damon's false hunt and the fall into the mud and the brown-haired witch that chased them off.
She needs a release, a way out of this eternal loop in her thoughts, the incessant review of all the ways the night did not go as planned.
So she picks a fight with Damon and calls it logic. Calls it release and distraction and tells the finer points of what it all might mean to go to hell.
"Excellent hunting demonstration," she says, with obvious contempt.
Apparently her mood isn't quite contagious yet, because there's humor in Damon's voice when he replies. "You were so dead serious back in the hotel with all that 'I want to see you dangerous again' stuff - I thought it was the perfect opportunity to lighten the mood a little."
"Lighten the mood," she repeats his words slowly, dragging them around her tongue. There's a fizz in her brain from those words - she can't understand them, can't understand the point of them.
Damon sighs to himself as they make their way across the field, towards the woods and the car parked just beyond them. It's obvious he wants to keep the conversation from devolving into a fight, wants to defuse her like a bomb before there's any chance of an explosion that will only hurt them both.
But it's too late and too bad: Elena is done with being soothed.
"That's what you are now, isn't it?" she says, never once turning her head to look at him. "All patience and calming tones and lightened moods. You're not a vampire, you're a grandmother. Next you'll be putting on an apron to bake me cookies. Want to pat me on the head and tell me what a good job I'm doing?"
He stops short at the edge of the trees, lets her continue on past him toward the road. "And what is it you're supposed to be good at exactly? The piss-poor defense you attempted back there?" He looks down to the earth as he continues, "Ric has to be rolling in his grave - for more than one reason, now that I'm thinking about it - but especially after seeing the thrilling defense you managed."
She spins around to face him and starts to reply. "If I'd known-"
He cuts her off, suddenly angry and very, very tired. "-but you wouldn't know, would you, if I was just some asshole trying to attack you."
She takes an unnecessary breath and looks at him, quirks her head to the side and studies his face in the dark.
"You absolutely are some asshole." Elena wraps her lips around the repetition of the curse, savors the surprised expression on his face at her uncharacteristic profanity. "Doesn't change the fact that if I hadn't specifically asked to watch you hunt a human, my guard would not have been down. Under normal circumstances, it would have been zero trouble for me to catch you in the act."
Damon snorts and shakes his head. "Honey, you do alright, but-"
She doesn't let him finish, jumps in and cuts him off with petulant snark. "Ever think maybe you've lost your edge, Damon? All these years in Mystic Falls babysitting a pack of teenagers. Maybe there's just no dangerous left in you, so you'd rather talk about my failings."
Her mouth presses outward into a wide sly grin. Brown eyes stare razors into blue as the words come tumbling out. "Maybe the only prey you can hunt is the kind that you ask to wait on a rooftop for you."
He explodes sideways, slamming her back into a tall willow tree. Her skull cracks against the trunk while her arms fly wide and wild from her sides. Rough bark scratches her bloody in patches, on her bare legs and neck, and pulls at the dress stretched tight around her body. There's a sting on her skin and a ringing in her ears, but it's only for a moment - and then everything is healed and perfect again, stasis returned.
"Careful, sweetheart. There's mud in my hair and I'm just the slightest bit edgy."
She laughs in his face, full of amusement that never reaches her eyes. It excites her that she's finally antagonized him past the breaking point.
"I'll remember that for next time - if I want the old Damon back, I have to rub dirt on him first."
"You want to see me fucking dangerous, Elena?" he asks. "You had your chance back there with the witch! You're the one who told me to get over my anger, remember? Told me to think. So here we are yelling at each other in a field about it - that is," he says, smug smile back in place and dangerous charm in his voice, "unless you'd like to go back, give it another go. She's probably bluffing about having friends anyway, with a personality like that."
She smiles coldly and shakes her head. "I meant what I said: the little witch wasn't worth the trouble she'll bring us. Of course, if she'd already been hunted down - like someone promised she would be - she'd have been in no position to cause any trouble later on. So I fail to see how this is my fault."
Damon opens his mouth to respond, face written with anger, but something - some thought or instinct or the look on her face - gives him pause, and there are no quick words from him.
Instead he stares into her eyes like he's looking for something he's lost. His voice is low when he asks, "What the fuck is this all about, Elena?"
"I just wanted to watch you hunt, simple as that. I wanted to learn something from you. After all this time," she says, words tumbling out in a rush, "all these conversations where you harp on me to learn to be a better vampire, and I'm finally interested in getting that from you and-and- you have to go and be so Damon about it."
She can see the regret seeping into his eyes - regret for snapping her into the tree, regret for everything that's happened tonight. The angry tension in him fades and his grip on her arms loosens, but he doesn't back away from her or the tree.
"Oh."
"Now he gets it," she says, eyes never leaving his. She waits for him to say anything, to respond to what she's said, but nothing comes, so she presses him again.
"You want to hunt me, Damon? Fine, we can play that game - here and now, you and me, here in these trees. But if I catch you before you can catch me, you have to teach me. Really teach me. No more bullshit, no more jokes."
"Fuck, Elena," he whispers. He runs his fingers along her jaw and up into her hair, to brush a lock behind her ear. "Of course I'll help you, no question - but for now let's go back to the hotel, snack on a maid, clean up a bit. Tomorrow we can talk it through or beat on each other or whatever you want."
His face is soft and his patience is returning and soon enough he'll be comforting her again. Elena doesn't let him have the chance. She gives her head a sharp shake and says, "I won't be humored anymore, Damon. I won't ask you for something again when you've already proven that you'll do whatever you want, whenever you want. I won't wait till tomorrow or the next day or the next for you to change your mind again."
She points a finger into his chest. "I beat you at this, you lose, and you teach me with no more screwing around. Not tomorrow - now."
"Elena-"
"What's the matter, Damon? You can't be that scared of 'one little baby vampire.' Or are you really that put out by a bit of dirt in your hair? Finish what you started."
"Fine," he spits the word at her, patience finally snapping. "You want to learn to hunt? Lesson one: come get me."
And then Elena's finger points into empty air. Damon's gone, flashed off in some direction, too fast for her to notice the direction. She doesn't move, just lets herself lean against the the trunk and listen, remembering for once not to breathe.
Thunder rumbles closer and the breeze picks up. The tree sways in response, ready for the ancient rhythm of a spring storm to begin. Her ears are full of white noise: insects buzzing, leaves rustling, night bird calls, water gurgling in a nearby creek. She doesn't try to think about or analyze all that sound, just remains still and filters it, searching out some tiny speck of intention.
Like the slightest whisper of grass bending under a careful boot.
She follows the sound with her mind. It moves in a slow and lazy arc through the field, circling her position at the edge of the trees. Damon is waiting out in the darkness for her first to make the first move.
Her hand sneaks up automatically to tuck a breeze-pulled curl behind her ear while she thinks things through.
Damon never plays fair. Even though he's said "come get me," thereby presenting himself as prey, she know that in reality he'll do something unexpected, go on the offensive instead of hiding or running. Turn the game around and hunt her to keep from ever being caught himself.
And when he'd caught her for a second time in the same night, he'd get another chance to gloat. Probably pour out a bourbon for Ric back at the hotel - complete with some fake mournful look on his face, all the while laughing at her with his eyes.
Elena decides right then: she's going to rob him of the satisfaction. She will catch him - in a way that Damon would never anticipate. And when it's all over, there will be no room left for him to gloat.
She takes off into the woods, directly away from the sound of Damon in the darkness of the field. She weaves in and out of the branches as the wood becomes a tangled thicket, moving quickly for a human, but never reaching for true speed. She doesn't try to cover any noise she makes as she crashes through the brush.
The wind picks up, full of the smell of rain. Long strands of hair swirl into her face but she ignores them and presses on.
She runs, continuing even when the sky breaks open above her. Water pours down, soaking her dress to her skin in moments. Her hair plasters down onto her face. She's only made her way for ten minutes or so when the rain forces her to pause when her wet, dark locks cover over her eyes and mouth.
Night flares into day for a brief second when lightning crashes down so close. Elena spins around to peer through the pouring down darkness, but there is no swift and deadly shadow that she can see. She kicks off her ruined slipper shoes and puts her hands to the hem of her soaked dress - pulls it up, yanking against the tide of water that flows along the contours of her body. It sticks and stutters, wet fabric unwilling to let go of cold flesh, but ultimately the friction is no match for her strength.
Then all at once it pops free and becomes a crumpled rag in her hands.
She lays the fabric down along the exposed tree roots at her feet. It sticks to the bark, a brilliant blue flag against the wine dark wood. She looks again, back along her path through the woods, but there is still no sign of him. Lightning illuminates the trees but the world is full of static - rain falling, leaves crashing. She has no real chance of seeing him - has to instead pin her hopes on her likely too short head start.
When the thunder follows lightning seconds later, she throws herself straight up to catch hold of a thick branch above her head. The bark is rough on the wrinkled skin of her fingers, easy traction she uses to leverage herself around and up, coming to crouch on the tree limb like a bird. She listens again from high up on her perch - all her focus pitted against the white noise patter of rain on leaves.
But the storm is still too much for her to handle - she sees him before her ears can detect any hint of his presence. She watches him creep into the shadow of her tree, sees him crouch to examine the display she's left for him down below. He runs a hand along the length of her abandoned dress, as if looking for any clue - a bloodstain or a tear that might tell him where she's gone. She knows in that moment that his senses proved no better than hers against the downpour: he lost track of her in the noise of the storm.
Damon stands again and leans against the tree. She watches him go preternaturally still - the pure predator inside him rising to the surface and setting aside his human mask. She knows she has a handful of moments before his eyes turn upward to meet hers.
Elena steps from the branch and falls to the earth. Her bare toes ram into the mud with the full force of her fall.
His shock at her sudden appearance is written on his face - blue eyes flared wide and mouth parted - but his expression softens when his eyes drift down to take in the picture she makes: body naked and hair dripping and not one ounce of shame.
Her hands come up to touch his face and pull delicately at damp dark locks that have wandered into his eyes. He makes no attempt to pull away, just stands while she explores him with her fingertips. She leans her face in close, eyes locked on his lips as her palms skim along the line of his jaw. Her breasts press against his soaked shirt when their lips meet and each of them tastes the rain.
Elena has Damon's undivided attention when her hands twist with brutal precision to snap his neck, but there's nothing he can do to stop it.
He slides boneless to ground, limbs scattered across the roots of the old oak. His head lolls awkwardly to one side, as clear a sign of death as any.
Elena pulls the blue dress up from the ground, where it's grown heavy with water and mud. She wrings it out and shakes it dislodge the dirt, with no care for the garment's longevity. She manages to bring it back to a semblance of respectability, before slipping it back over her head and settling it on her hips. It's obviously wrecked, torn open in half a dozen places, but the holes aren't in places that would cause your average Kansan to blush.
Only after she's clothed does she pause to look down at Damon, crumpled on the ground. He looks so simple lying there, all the aggression and the anger and passion stripped away. She studies his face - thick lashes framing eyes that seem at peace, more peaceful than at any time when he's awake, no matter how comforting he might seek to be.
The downpour starts to taper off, fat drops replacing the driving lines of rain. The woods echoes with the sound of heavier water meeting new leaves, individual pops and patters taking the place of the storm's static. Thunder rolls again, but it's farther away. The storm is moving off.
She looks off along the path of the storm, following the ever more distant lightning with her eyes.
She should go. Any irritation she felt before has dissolved away with the rain, down into the earth, exchanged again for the coldness of reason. She should go. She knows it. She should get free of this last connection to her old life - save herself from the trap of emotions for good.
But instead Elena kneels down on the moss beside him, straightens his limbs and pulls his head into her lap. Arranges him so that the bones will knit together smoothly as life returns. His black hair is disheveled and muddy; it twists in all directions. She smooths it with a wet hand, rubs the dirt from the places the rain hasn't swept clean.
She doesn't know why she does it. It is a thing that just happens, like the rain falling down from the sky.
This man. With a heart so full it makes him reckless - the opposite of everything she thinks she should want. It makes absolute and perfect sense to leave him here. Strike out on her own. Begin again, start over.
But even with her heart missing from her chest she can't let him go. The emptiness within seems to be emptying the world without - squeezing everything down, to the taste of blood and the sound of a heartbeat.
Damon forces himself through somehow, creates his own personal exception to the simplicity of the switch. There's something about him that she doesn't understand anymore - but she knows she wants that understanding back. Wants to know why she feels she has to keep him. He's become a puzzle she needs to solve, an itch in the back of her mind.
Back in the hotel all she wanted was to want again - something more than blood, something to distract her from Damon's perfect patience. Strange that she should find herself here now, with a want so connected to Damon and what he can give her.
So she watches him while the rain slows to nothing. She watches him while life creeps back into twitching fingers and fluttering eyelids. She searches for some sign of what he means to her.
But there are no easy answers to be found in the healing ruin of his body.
"Much better...this time." His voice is hoarse and slow as life returns. He brings a hand to his head, rubbing dirty fingers through newly smoothed down hair.
"Better," she whispers to him, voice soft and calm. "But mostly it was a trick. I meant what I said before. I want you to teach me - really teach me. I want to be more than I am now."
"Like I said before I'll teach you." he croaks. "But tomorrow...ok? I need a drink before we do anything else."
