Fic: My Secret is Fatally Gorgeous
Title: My Secret is Fatally Gorgeous
Author: lit_chick08
Pairings: Elena/Alaric, hints of Elena/Damon, references Elena/Stefan, Alaric/Isobel, Alaric/Jenna
Rating: R
Spoilers: everything, including released spoilers for Season 3
Word Count: 11,424
Disclaimer: These characters belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, and Julie Plec
Summary: Elena is starting to believe she is cursed to love men she should not want; Alaric is starting to believe he is cursed to love women he cannot keep
A/N: Title and cut text comes from Black Dresses by Spill Canvas
He sleeps on the couch for the first three weeks after Jenna dies, after Stefan leaves, after the world implodes yet again. Jeremy offers him the guest room (John's room) or his parents' room (Jenna's room), but he refuses, insists the couch is just fine despite the fact he wakes up every morning with his back screaming in protest. There is a perfectly good bed in his apartment, but the idea of returning to that place makes his skin crawl. Not to mention the idea of leaving Jeremy and Elena to fend for themselves in the wake of everything which has happened would make him feel like a Grade-A douchebag.
And it isn't so bad. He keeps a bag with a change of clothes and a few toiletries near the door, swapping them out when he needs something new, and, though he never says it, he can tell Jeremy appreciates his presence. And sure, it sucks to be living in the place where almost every memory he has of Jenna occurred, but he likes to think Jenna would appreciate him looking after the kids she loved so much.
Not that they're kids, not anymore.
At the beginning of his fourth week on the couch, he wakes up to the feel of someone gently shaking his leg. Blinking awake, trying to wince under the weight of his hangover, he sees Elena standing at the foot of the couch in her pajamas, tears drying on her face.
“Elena? What - “
“I had a bad dream,” she whimpers, sounding so much younger than her seventeen years, it made his heart ache. “Jeremy's spending the night at Bonnie's and...Can I just sit here with you for a little bit?”
He sits up instantly, throwing the blanket off of him, and he feels a short sting of embarrassment as he realizes all he is wearing is a pair of athletic shorts. If Elena notices, she does not say anything; instead she curls up beside him, drawing her long legs up to her chest, and leans her head against his shoulder. He instinctively wraps an arm around her shoulders, and Elena collapses against him, her body trembling.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head emphatically, and Alaric instantly knows what she was reliving.
He isn't sure when they fall asleep, but, as sunlight starts to creep across the carpet, Alaric awakens to find their positions have shifted; Elena is curled around his middle, her arms clutching his torso like a life preserver, and he is half slumped against the arm of the couch, his entire body screaming in protest as he moves.
When Jeremy comes home, he asks, “How often does Elena come into your room because of nightmares?”
Jeremy pauses for a moment as if considering whether or not to tell the truth. Finally he divulges, “At least three times a week, sometimes more.”
Alaric nods silently, and, for the first time in a month, he notices just how exhausted Jeremy looks.
He finally takes Jeremy up on his offer, moving into the guest room that afternoon, John Gilbert's belongings neatly packed in cardboard boxes and tucked away in the attic, gone but not forgotten.
* * *
The nightmares never seem to stop.
She does everything Bonnie tells her to do - a blessed crystal under her pillow, a bag of herbs tied to her headboard, reciting the words Bonnie wrote on a slip of paper for her before burning it - but they still return. Sometimes it is the sacrifice, Jenna's terrified face, the stake going into her aunt's body; other times it's Rose, chasing her through the boardinghouse, the feel of her festering wound against Elena's fingertips.
But usually it is the car accident.
Stefan may have compelled the memory of him rescuing her away, but Elena can recall with startling clarity the details leading up to her parents' deaths. She remembers the sheets of rain, the sound of windshield wipers, the Beatles song her father was singing along to under his breath; she remembers the sudden sensation of sliding, her mother shouting her father's name in panic, and then the jolt of the car hitting the railings and careening downward, her body being flung hard against the door despite the seat belt she wore.
The water from the Willow Creek was ice cold as it started to flood the car. She hadn't been able to unfasten her seat belt and her right arm screamed with pain, her shoulder dislocated, her elbow broken; she was bleeding from where her forehead had bounced off the window. Her father kept chanting her name, and Elena remembers screaming for him.
Her mother wasn't moving. She didn't stir, didn't moan with pain, didn't do anything; Elena recalls her father reaching across, checking her pulse, and when he moaned, Elena knew her mother was dead, that they were going to die too.
The last thing Elena remembers before waking up in the hospital is the water reaching her chin, her hand trying desperately to unhook the belt; the last words she hears her father say are, “It's going to be okay, Elena. Just hold on, sweetie.”
Elena wakes up screaming, flinging her blankets away as if they are the water, pushing every ounce of oxygen out of her lungs. She doesn't even realize she was asleep until Jeremy and Alaric are rushing into her bedroom, panic on their faces, a knife in Jeremy's hand, a vervain grenade in Alaric's. At the sight of them, Elena begins to sob, more out of embarrassment than anything else.
“I'm sorry,” she cries, burying her face in her hands, so humiliated she can barely speak. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”
“It's okay,” Jeremy assures her, sitting down on her bed and pulling her into a hug. “Just scared us a little.”
Elena looks over Jeremy's shoulder to Alaric, standing near her bedroom door in a pair of pajama pants, his hair in a dozen different directions. She feels such a rush of affection for both of the men in her room in that moment, Elena nearly began to cry again.
“I'm okay,” she assures Jeremy as she pulls back, smiling weakly. “I didn't mean to wake you guys up. Go back to sleep.”
“You sure?”
She nods quickly. “I'm sure, Jer. I'll be fine.”
Jeremy nods before climbing to his feet, shuffling back towards his room. She turns to Alaric to tell him the same thing when he says, “I was going to get something to drink. You want?”
She finds herself agreeing without really thinking about it, following him down the stairs in silence. It isn't until they are standing in the kitchen Elena realizes she is wearing only a long tank top and boy shorts; for a moment she wonders if she should go upstairs and put something on, but Ric hasn't said anything, so she doesn't. She watches as he begins to pull things out of the cupboards and, after a moment, asks, “Are you making hot chocolate?”
“Yeah. Why, you don't like?”
“It's 95 degrees.”
Pouring milk into a saucepan, he divulges, “My sister always said hot chocolate fixes everything.”
“You have a sister?”
“I have three. Two still live in Boston where we grew up, and one lives in Colorado with her Air Force Captain husband who thinks the entire Saltzman clan is insane.”
“What makes the Saltzmans insane?”
“For starters, they name their sons Alaric.” His smile is so warm, Elena cannot help but smile in return as she hops up onto the counter. “Mostly we're just...passive-aggressive and competitive.”
“You're neither of those things,” she points out.
“Which is why I don't really fit in and put 600 miles between myself and them.” Lifting a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, he adds, “Anyway, my oldest sister used to say every problem in the world is fixed by hot chocolate.”
After a few minutes, as he carefully poured the contents of the pan into two large mugs, Elena asks, “Think we could make those Irish hot chocolates?”
Alaric pauses for a moment, indecision warring on his face, before pulling out a bottle of Bailey's and adding a healthy splash to both mugs. Handing her the mug, he quips, “I'm the worst guardian ever, aren't I?”
Elena smiles as she accepts the drink, wrapping her hands around the ceramic for warmth. “Well, you're not technically our guardian, so it's more like you're the worst history teacher ever.”
He laughs, loud and free, and the sound makes Elena grin, her nightmare momentarily forgotten. They sipped their drinks in silence for a few minutes before Elena offers, “I'm sorry I keep waking you up. I know it's got to be irritating.”
Alaric shakes his head. “Don't worry about it.”
“But - “
“After Isobel...” he began, “I couldn't sleep. I'd stay awake for days because every time I closed my eyes, I'd see it all over again. If there had been someone else there, someone to go to, I would've woken them up or crawled into bed with them too.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Really. Grief, it's...After everything you've been through, it's understandable.”
“I just don't want you and Jeremy to suffer because I'm such a basket case.” Staring down into her mug, she murmurs, “I wish you could've known me before. I used to be fun.”
“Yeah? Me too.” He lifts his mug slightly, and Elena clinks hers to his before taking a sip. It is still too hot, singeing her tastebuds, but she takes another for something to do. Alaric leans back against the counter and they drink in silence, bare shoulder to bare shoulder, both lost in their grief.
When she finishes her drink, Elena hops off the counter, setting her mug in the sink before turning around and impulsively wrapping her arms around Alaric's middle. He hesitates only a second before he returns the embrace. Elena knows she should be embarrassed, hugging Alaric while she is half-dressed, while he is half-dressed, but she is so grateful for him in that moment, she doesn't know how else to express herself.
“If you have another nightmare, you can always wake me up,” he tells her softly, his hand petting her hair comfortingly. “I won't get mad, I promise.”
There is such tenderness in his voice, Elena can easily understand how Isobel and Jenna fell in love with Alaric Saltzman.
* * *
A few weeks later, Alaric wakes up to cool air slipping beneath his comforter. Opening his eyes, he sees Elena sliding beneath the blanket, keeping her body balanced on the edge of the mattress furthest from him. He watches her try to settle into the blankets without disturbing him, but he can see the way she is trembling, the tension in her back.
“Elena.”
She whips around so fast, it makes the bed bounce. Her eyes are wide, still pink from crying, and she sniffles. “I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you. I just...I just needed to be by someone.”
“It's okay,” he assures her. “Nightmare?”
Elena nods. “I've been...usually afterward I just go downstairs and make hot chocolate,” she explains, smiling weakly, “but tonight I just couldn't...I couldn't stop being scared, and I needed...I can go.”
“No,” he disagrees, placing his hand atop hers to still her movement. “It's fine. I told you you could come in here anytime you want.” Sitting up, he reaches over the side of his bed and picks up an extra pillow before offering it to her. Elena takes it, slipping it beneath her head, before sighing.
As she stares up at the ceiling, she asks, “How long after Isobel disappeared did you start to feel normal again?”
He mimics her position. “I'm hoping for any day now.”
Elena laughs mirthlessly before divulging, “I really like how you don't sugarcoat things for me. It's a very nice change of pace.”
“Well, you've never particularly struck me as someone who needs protecting. Mostly because you're going to charge into the fray no matter what I say anyway.”
“I wish I was as tough as you make me sound.”
“You are that tough, Elena. If you weren't, you wouldn't be here.”
“I wasn't supposed to be here.” Her voice is so soft, Alaric has to strain to hear her confess, “I was supposed to die in the river with my parents, but Stefan pulled me out because my dad told him to save me first. If he had just let me go, if he had pulled my dad out first - “
“Stop,” Alaric orders, sitting straight up, suddenly so angry he can barely stand it. “I don't ever want to hear you finish that sentence.”
Elena blinks in surprise at the ferocity in his voice, and Alaric briefly considers apologizing as she sits up, tears shining in her eyes. And then she whimpers, the saddest, most heartbreaking sound he has ever heard, and he cannot help but pull her into his arms. She is half-straddling his body as she wraps her arms tightly around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. Alaric has never heard anyone cry like this, and it brings tears to his own eyes to think about all she has been through, all that is still awaiting her. Elena's hold on him is iron tight, and he finds himself whispering soothing nothings in her ear, stroking her back, doing anything he can to calm her.
When she has finally cried herself to sleep, Alaric gently lowers her to the mattress, tucking the blankets around her, brushing her hair out of her face. It takes him hours before he can fall back to sleep.
In the morning, as he stumbles downstairs for coffee, he finds Jeremy getting breakfast, already dressed for work. Taking one look at him, Jeremy pours him a cup of coffee and hands it over.
Alaric grunts his thanks, sinking down into a kitchen chair.
“Elena in your room?” Jeremy asks as he shovels cereal into his mouth, one eye on the clock.
He nods slowly, unsure what Jeremy's opinion is going to be of the situation.
“Thank you,” the younger Gilbert says with such gratitude, it startles Alaric to full alertness. “I love Elena more than anything, but I can't...I can't do this alone, you know? And I don't even know where to start. I'm glad you're taking care of her.”
Unsure what else to say, Alaric lamely replies, “You're welcome.”
Jeremy nods briskly before finishing his breakfast. “Well, I got to run. Um, when Elena wakes up, tell her we're all meeting up at the Grill for dinner. You can come too if you want.”
Alaric promises he'll pass along the message before sitting silently in the kitchen, wondering how exactly this had become his life.
* * *
“I already told you I'd take care of this, so stop worrying,” Damon orders as Elena follows him through the downstairs of the boardinghouse.
“Are you kidding? I'm just supposed to 'stop worrying' that my boyfriend is on a blood bender with an un-kill-able vampire/werewolf hybrid? Are you drunk?”
Damon exhales through his clenched teeth, and Elena knows he is irritated with her. Ever since she found all the press clippings about Klaus and Stefan's escapades, he has been on her ass to leave the hunting up to him, to try to go about her life while he does the heavy lifting. She knows Caroline and Bonnie are helping, that it is Alaric's handwriting annotating some of the clippings, and it frustrates the hell out of her that Damon thinks she is too weak to handle the situation while everyone else is allowed to take a turn.
“Elena, you don't know what you're dealing with here.”
“I know what Stefan's like on blood - “
“No, you don't!” Damon snaps, his voice sharp enough to slice flesh. “What you saw before, that wasn't even the fucking warm-up! He's a monster right now, Elena, and you have no idea what he's capable of because I have no idea what he's capable of. So, no, I'm not going to let you go hunt for him because, for all I know, he's hunting you right now!”
Elena freezes, sickened by the picture Damon is painting of the gentle man she loves; she knows the blood can change Stefan, warp him into someone he isn't, but the idea he could hurt her...It brings a brand-new reality into her life, and Elena wishes she had never pushed the issue.
Realizing his mistake, Damon steps forward to lay a comforting hand upon her arm, but Elena jerks back, shaking her head. She doesn't want his pity, doesn't want him to act like what he said isn't true; if Stefan is a threat, she needs to know, needs to know how to protect herself and the people she loves.
That night, her dreams are full of Stefan, blood on his face, death on his breath, Klaus laughing as he rips into the necks of everyone she loves. Elena wakes with her heart pounding so strongly, she is certain she is having a heart attack. She makes it as far as the staircase before her legs cannot carry her anymore, her body giving out as the tears come; she sinks to her knees at the top of the stairs, trying to muffle her cries with her fists.
Elena isn't sure how long she sits there, but suddenly strong hands are lifting her and she is able to make out Alaric through her tear-filled eyes. He shushes her softly as he carries her to his room, setting her on the bed as he fetches a glass of water; when he returns to the bed, Elena lies on her side, assuming the fetal position, and Alaric fits his body behind hers, his arms encircling her.
“You're safe,” he whispers as she takes deep, shuddering breaths. “You're safe, Elena. No one's going to hurt you. You're safe.”
She isn't sure she' is ever going to feel safe ever again.
* * *
It starts to become a daily occurrence.
Every night Alaric goes to bed alone, and every night she shows up, slipping beneath the covers. Sometimes she keeps her distance, barely hanging onto the edge of the bed, and those are the nights he knows the dreams were bad but tolerable; it is the nights she tucks her body tightly against his, the tremor of her body strong, he knows the nightmares have terrified her, that she needs to feel safe.
There is a part of him which is happy he can provide her with the momentary comfort, that she feels safe with him.
There is another part of him which is starting to wonder if this is only making things worse.
A week before her birthday, Alaric wakes up to find Elena is not beside him, and he is startled by the quick twinge of disappointment in his chest. He has become used to her presence beside him, of waking up with her hair inevitably in his face, her long legs tangled up with his. He feels ashamed that he is missing her morning presence; if she is not in his bed, it means she has slept soundly, and he knows how badly she needs that.
As he enters the kitchen, he finds Elena standing at the stove scrambling eggs, her long hair gathered in a high ponytail, a tiny pair of sleep shorts revealing every inch of her legs. When he reaches to remove the orange juice from the fridge, he realizes the oversized tee she is wearing is the one he wore the day before, the one he had thrown on his bedroom floor before bed last night.
“Did you sleep with me last night?” he asks as he reaches past her to get a glass.
Elena smiles in amusement. “Yeah, though I figured you wouldn't notice. You were out. I could've jumped on that bed and you wouldn't have rolled over.”
“Didn't think I was that tired.”
“No, but you were that drunk,” she counters as she uses the spatula to remove the eggs from the pan. “You and Damon reeked of it last night.”
Alaric rubs a hand over his face, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. He and Damon had been working on the Stefan problem, and the research had turned into polishing off the brand-new bottle of bourbon Alaric had bought earlier in the week. Though he hadn't thought he was that drunk, the light throbbing at the front of his skull proved differently.
“Sorry about that.”
Elena shrugs, handing him a plate. “You're a big boy, Ric. You can do whatever you want.”
“Yeah but - “
“You snore pretty bad when you're passed out,” Elena interrupts with a playful smirk, popping a piece of bacon into her mouth. “I almost went back to my bed, it was so bad.”
“Why didn't you?” he can't help but ask.
She is quiet for a beat before admitting, “I don't really like to sleep alone.”
“Me either.”
There is a moment where Alaric feels it, feels something building in his chest he is too afraid to identify; as Elena stretches for a glass, Alaric admires the long, lean line of her body, and he realizes he needs to stop.
And yet he still reaches out and tugs gently on the bottom of the shirt she wears. “Thief.”
Elena grins, wide and brilliant, and Alaric tries to remember the last time he saw her smile like this.
He never wants her to stop smiling like that.
* * *
She hates the dress Caroline bought her for this party she had begged her friend not to throw. It is white and flimsy, reminds her more of a nightgown than a dress, and she cannot wear a bra with it, which is immediately what draws Damon's eye. As everyone wishes her happy birthday and pulls her into hugs, Elena wishes she could be anywhere else.
After suffering through the cake cutting and sneaking away from Caroline's watchful eye, Elena steps out onto the patio to find Damon and Alaric seated on the railing, a bottle of bourbon between them. She feels an irrational stab of anger; both of them had been hassling her for over a week about enjoying the party, about spending time with her friends, and now they were hiding out and getting drunk.
“Don't look at us like that,” Damon orders as she stands before them, her hand on her hip, irritation on her features.
“All the shit you gave me about this party, and you two aren't even inside!”
“Well, in our defense, we're the only people here legally allowed to drink,” Damon grins.
“And it's just in poor taste to get drunk with my students,” Alaric chimes in with a smirk.
She turns her attention to Alaric, and notices for the first time just how rough he looks; a beard covers most of his face, his hair needs cut, and he is under-dressed when compared to everyone else in the party. Elena feels an overwhelming sense of guilt hit her at the realization that she has probably been playing a large part in his unrest; so wrapped up in her grief over what she has lost, she has forgotten he has lost the person he loved as well.
Before she can say anything else, Bonnie is behind her, grasping her by the shoulders and tugging her back towards the dance floor, leaving Elena to look over her shoulder before the sight of Damon and Alaric was blocked from her view.
An hour later, after finally escaping the hell which was the Cupid Shuffle, Elena ducks into the den to find Alaric sitting on the couch.
“Hiding again?” he asks.
“Taking a break,” she corrects, crossing the carpet to sit beside him. “Faking excitement is kind of exhausting.”
They are quiet for a minute, Elena reaching over to take the glass of bourbon from his hand to have a sip, before Alaric reaches into his pocket and extracts a small, gray box. He sets it on her thigh before taking his glass back, draining it of alcohol.
“It's not much,” he warns her as she picks up the box, carefully removing the lid and lifting the cotton around it. “I just saw it and thought of you.”
Elena stares down into the box at the small, silver dreamcatcher inside. It is suspended on a thin chain, tiny turquoise beads in the center, and the sight of it brings tears to her eyes.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, running her finger around the edge of the circle. “It's pretty.”
Alaric shrugs before shifting as if uncomfortable; Elena senses he wishes he had another drink in her hand.
“This your subtle way of kicking me out of your bed?” she teases as she closes the box.
“A man would be an idiot to kick you of his bed,” Alaric replies before seeming to catch himself, his eyes wide as if he is surprised what has just escaped his lips.
It isn't that men haven't made similar comments to her before; hell, Damon makes them, at least, twice a day, and it doesn't embarrass her, not anymore. Elena knows she is attractive, and she is comfortable in her body.
Or at least she was until she found out she wasn't the only one who had it.
But hearing Alaric say it, seeing the way he hides his eyes from hers as if he has said something he knows he should not have, makes everything south of her belly button clench in a way Elena has not felt since Stefan left.
She leans forward, pressing her lips to his whiskered cheek, before silently rising and leaving him on the couch.
* * *
He knows he fucked up.
It wasn't as if he had planned on saying what he had, but the bourbon loosened his tongue, and she just looked so beautiful sitting there, her dark hair spilling around her shoulders, that white dress a perfect contrast to her olive skin. He forgot himself for a moment, and he is afraid that moment is going to ruin everything.
It is his humiliation which spurs him to stay after the party, helping Caroline and Damon pick up empty cups and decorations. The busy work sobers him up, and, by the time he finally heads home, Elena's party has been over for hours, and he is exhausted.
As he enters his room, he sheds his top shirt and jeans, kicking them into the corner of the room. It is not until he is tugging his undershirt over his head he sees a familiar lump beneath his covers. Grasping the edge of the comforter, Alaric pulls it back to find Elena fast asleep on her pillow (and he is not even going to begin to consider when the pillow officially became hers). Her long legs are bare, a glimpse of pink panty visible beneath the hem of her shirt, and Alaric nearly groans as he recognizes the shirt as his favorite Duke tee, the one he knows for a fact was in his dresser earlier today.
This has gone too far; he knows this now. The right thing to do, the proper thing to do is to wake her up and patiently explain why she cannot just sleep in his bed because she is lonely.
And then her eyes flutter open and she gives him a languid smile.
He is so fucked.
Carefully he sinks down onto his mattress, settling back against his pillow, tugging the blankets up around his waist, suddenly wishing he had put on pajama bottoms before getting into bed with his underage ward.
Except she's not underage now; she's legally a grown woman now, a line of thinking he is certain will not lead anywhere good.
“Bad dream?”
Elena shakes her head as she slips closer to him. “No, I just...I sleep better when I'm with you.” Hiding her face behind the spill of her hair, she offers, “I can go.”
The correct response is to agree, to let her leave him alone in his bed with the thoughts which betray the memory of his dead girlfriend and the guilt which accompanies said thoughts.
The incorrect response is to pull her against him, to run his fingers through her hair, to kiss the top of her head.
Alaric has never really been smart about making the right choices.
* * *
It is a Sunday afternoon, school starts the next day, and Elena is making lunch while Alaric is doing some sort of prep work at the table. As she is hunting for onion powder in the cabinet, she off-handedly remarks, “I hope you're shaving that beard before tomorrow.”
“Why?” he laughs as he shuffles his papers around.
“Because the beard is ridiculous. And it scratches.”
“Scratches?” Ric echoes as he gets to his feet, crossing to the refrigerator.
“Yes, scratches,” Elena insists. “Every time you spoon me, I end up getting brush burn all over my shoulders.”
“Then stay on your side of the bed,” he counters with a grin. “I like it. It makes me look rugged.”
“It makes you look homeless,” she corrects. “You need to shave it.”
“Well, since I don't plan on rubbing my beard against my students, I'm keeping it.”
“Sure, that's what you say now, but then some pretty little freshman is going to smile at you, tell you her sob story, and next thing I know, you'll be making her hot chocolate and I'll be yesterday's news,” Elena says in a melodramatic voice she had learned from Caroline years earlier.
“Yes, that is exactly my master plan for this school year,” Alaric deadpans, taking a pull from his bottle of beer.
“I thought so.” Turning the burner off, she quips, “I guess I'll just have to find some other teacher to put up with my neurotic ass in the middle of the night. Think Mr. Russo would be up to it? I mean, he is ninety-six-years-old, but there's wisdom behind those eyes.”
“And dementia.”
Elena playfully glares at him. “Don't mock my new cuddle partner; that's just petty.” Reaching for plates, she adds, “And at least he's clean-shaven.”
“I'm not getting rid of the beard.”
“Then the young freshmen you're planning on seducing aren't going to give it up because beard burn is not sexy.”
He grabs her so quickly around the waist, Elena lets out a shriek of surprise. And then, as he began to purposefully brush his beard against her shoulders and neck, Elena begins to giggle and cry for him to stop, twisting her body in escape attempts. He holds her fast, her body pressing tightly against his own, and Elena manages to turn her body enough so that she is now facing him.
“You're such a jerk,” she laughs as he runs his chin the length of her shoulder one last time. When he pulls back, she lifts her hands, catching his cheeks in her hands, and she glimpses a flash of something in Ric's eyes before he quirks an eyebrow in confusion.
“I miss seeing your face,” she confesses, her thumbs stroking the layer of hair on his chin.
The front door opens and they pull apart, Elena quickly turning back towards lunch, Alaric returning to the kitchen table, greeting Jeremy as he enters the kitchen.
She doesn't stay with him that night, her body still singing with adrenaline from their exchange in the kitchen earlier in the day; it takes her hours before she can fall asleep, and, when her alarm goes off for her first day of senior year, Elena is already exhausted.
Jeremy beats her to their bathroom, and Elena stumbles across the hall. As she pushes open the door, she finds Alaric standing in front of the sink, his face covered in shaving cream, a towel cinched around his hips.
“Thought you were keeping the beard,” she can't help but say.
Alaric mock-glares at her from the corner of his eye. “Well, I can't be losing girls to Mr. Russo. I've got a reputation to maintain.” He extends his razor towards her. “Want to do the honors?”
Elena cautiously takes the razor before pausing, unsure how she will reach his face. Ric steps away from the sink, gesturing for her to hop up. Once she has positioned herself on the edge, he steps between her legs and waits. She is nervous, afraid she might nick him with the blade, a nervousness which is not helped by Alaric's hands resting on her thighs.
When she has gotten into the rhythm of it, Elena allows her eyes to flick upwards for a moment; her cheeks flush when she realizes he is staring at her, an intensity and affection in his gaze she recognizes from the few mornings she has woken up to find him studying her. She hates how much she likes the feel of his eyes on her, how much more peaceful she feels when she is with him; Stefan is the man she loves and Jenna was the woman Alaric loved, and Elena knows this is all probably some weird kind of projection.
Except...she really hates the idea he is only being nice to her because he misses Jenna because her missing Stefan has very little to do with why she always wants to be with him.
Reaching behind her, Elena grabs a washcloth, patting his face clean of shaving cream. “Done.”
Leaning forward, Ric rubs his now-smooth cheek against hers. “Better?”
She doesn't know why she does it. As he pulls back, she catches his face in her hands, keeping him in place as she presses her mouth to his. Immediately Alaric pulls back, and Elena feels rejection and humiliation warring for top billing inside her body.
She tries to hop off the sink, to put as much ground between herself and Ric as possible, but he steps in her way, keeping her trapped on the edge of the basin. Elena opens her mouth to apologize, to claim insanity and vow to stay away from him for the rest of her life, when he inclines his head towards hers, his forehead against hers.
“We can't,” he groans against her lips, voice thick with tension. “God, Elena...we just can't.”
“I'm sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn't mean - “
His mouth swallows her words, and Elena cannot help but softly moan as his tongue ghosts across her own; the kiss lasts only a few moments before Ric steps away, running his fingers through his hair, before disappearing down the hall.
Everything's ruined now, and Elena can't help but think it is all her fault.
* * *
He locks his door that first night, too afraid of what he will do if Elena shows up in his bed.
He keeps it locked for a week, but she never comes, and Alaric knows it's over now, the strange flirtatious friendship they had. Now it is awkward, beyond uncomfortable, and he hates himself for not being a better man, a stronger man.
Three months after the first kiss, Alaric sits in the living room with Damon, a bottle of bourbon being passed back and forth. He is well on his way to drunk when Damon asks, “How do you think Elena's doing?”
“With what?”
“With calculus,” Damon retorts, rolling his eyes. “With everything, dumbass.”
“Better,” he states after a beat. “She isn't having nightmares anymore.”
“I'm glad she's...Stefan isn't coming back, man. Last time he got like this, it took 30 years for him to get his ass back in line. I don't want her to wake up at 48 and realize she didn't let herself have anything because she's so busy waiting for him to come back.”
“And you want to help her through the rough patch?” Alaric can't help but drawl, the alcohol having loosened his tongue past the point of safety.
Damon glares at him for a moment before gritting out, “It's not my style to prey on the weak.” Reconsidering, he corrects, “Well, it's totally my style, but not with Elena. She's so fucked up right now, any guy that would even consider it is a fucking asshole.”
Alaric finishes the bottle.
By the time Damon leaves, the entire world is at an angle, and it takes Ric an inordinate amount of time to climb the stairs. He isn't sure why he does it; any logic he possesses has been drowned in bourbon, and all he can think about is her.
The door to her bedroom is cracked, and, through his blurred vision, he can make out her sleeping form in the center of her bed, the blankets tangled around her legs, hair scattered across the pillow. He tries to gently lower himself beside her, but his coordination has left him, causing him to drop unceremoniously next to her. Elena instantly comes awake, panic in her eyes, before relaxing at the sight of him.
“Ric, what are you - “
“'M gonna sleep here,” he slurs, throwing a heavy arm across her middle, trying to pull her her body against his, pressing a series of wet kisses to her shoulder. “Miss you so much, baby.”
Elena pushes at him, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor. “You're drunk.”
“Jus' a lil'.”
She gets out of bed, glaring at him. As she rounds the foot of the bed, Elena grabs her robe before stomping across the hallway.
The last thing Ric hears before passing out is the door to his bedroom slamming.
* * *
Elena doesn't go to school the next day, feigning cramps when Jeremy asks what's wrong. She calls the front office of the high school and tells the secretary Alaric is sick and will need a sub; and then she sits at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and waits.
When he finally comes downstairs, Elena feels her heart clench and her stomach flip; she has never particularly liked confrontation, and she especially hates confrontation with someone for whom she cares. Part of her wishes she could go back to the weeks after Jenna died and make different choices, rely on different people; no one would have begrudged her taking comfort in someone as long as that person wasn't her dead aunt's boyfriend, her technical stepfather, the only man who had stepped up to take care of her and Jeremy.
Alaric stumbles to the coffeepot, pouring himself a large cup before sinking into the seat across for her. He is barely able to open his eyes, and the anger from the night before starts to fill her heart again.
“You drink too much.”
The words hang there for a moment, heavy and solid, before Alaric lifts his head.
“I know. I'm so sorry, Elena.”
“What did you think was going to happen last night?” When Alaric simply shook his head as if confused, she presses, “What were you going to try to make happen last night?”
His eyes went wide at what she is implying. “That wasn't why I got into bed with you.”
“No?”
“No,” he emphasizes, his hands trembling as he rakes them through his hair. “No, I wouldn't...I wasn't trying...I respect you enough to not...”
“To not what?” she pushes, masochistically wanting him to say it, to put a name to what has been brewing between them over the past six months.
Locking gazes with her, fire in his eyes, he snaps, “To not sneak into your bed for a drunken hook-up! That's not the guy I am.”
“Then what guy are you?” Elena challenges, her irritation gaining steam. “Are you the guy who was just trying to be nice while I was upset? Are you the guy who held me every night because he didn't want to be alone either? Are you the guy who kissed me back in the bathroom?”
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Alaric begins, “If things were different - “
Elena holds up her hands. “Stop. Don't act like you don't know what I'm saying.”
“You're her niece!” he grits out, his voice pained. “You're Isobel's daughter. I can't...I can't be that guy, Elena, and still at look myself in the mirror.”
It feels like an indictment, like he's telling her he cares about what Jenna would think while she does not, like he is honoring the memory of his fallen love while she is forgetting Stefan easily. Elena cannot remember the last time she felt this hurt.
“Fine,” Elena says as she gets to her feet, trying not to show the sting of his words is having on her tender heart. “Then don't climb in my bed and tell me how much you miss me because you're too drunk to give a shit.”
She stays in Stefan's room at the boardinghouse for the next two weeks.
* * *
Stefan and Klaus leave 10 bodies on the Mystic Falls football field, one on every yard line. They are all women, ages 16-22 according to the police department, and each and every one of them bares a striking resemblance to Elena. Ric stands in Liz's office with Damon staring blankly at the crime scene photos of women he does not know, women which were collected for their look, women who had such atrocities committed against their persons, Liz confesses to never seeing anything worse in her life.
Alaric studies these poor girls, their olive skin spattered with blood, their long, dark hair framing their horrified faces, their long legs twisted in unnatural angles like a child's Barbie, and, for the first time, he understands just how dangerous Stefan is now.
Everyone has gathered in the boardinghouse, and Elena stands in silence near the fire. Whereas everyone else suddenly looks younger to him, Elena now appears to have aged a lifetime in the past ten hours; as Damon dances around the exact details of what they have done, Alaric watches Elena, watches how her hands have begun to shake, how her breathing has become shallow and rapid.
She is about to lose it completely, and he knows her well enough to know she will not want to do it in front of everyone.
Alaric crosses to the mantle as Damon, Caroline, and Bonnie begin to talk over each other about what step to take next, and, very softly, he places his hand on the small of her back. Elena flicks her eyes up, and she mouths, “Get me out.”
There is no safe place in town, no place Stefan has not been invited inside, and so, when Alaric excuses the two of them, exchanging a pointed look with Damon, he ends up on the highway, Elena sobbing pitifully in the passenger's seat. When he changes lanes to get off the exit which will return them to Mystic Falls, Elena begs, “Please don't go back,” so he keeps driving, unsure whether they are headed.
They are at the North Carolina state line when he needs gas; he pulls off at the next exit, texting Damon to let him know they are fine, went for a drive, and not to worry. Elena stays in the car, her tears finished, and, as he climbs back in the car, she asks, “Can we stay here tonight?”
“Stay here?”
“Get a motel room or something,” she clarifies. “I don't want to go back yet.”
There is a chain hotel down the street, and, as Alaric hands over his credit card to the desk clerk, Elena idly flips through the tourist brochures. The moment they are inside the room, she announces she is going to take a shower, and Ric turns on the television as he calls Damon and briefly explains the situation.
“Tell Jeremy we'll be back tomorrow,” he requests as he toes off his shoes, settling down onto the queen-sized bed Elena requested.
“She going to be okay?”
“I don't know,” Ric admits.
He is turning down the bed when Elena emerges from the bathroom wearing the camisole she had been wearing beneath her sweater and a pair of panties. She is rubbing a towel against her hair, trying to absorb the moisture, the hotel-issue comb in her hand. As she perches on the edge of the bed, Alaric gently takes the comb from her hand, situating himself behind her; gathering her hair in one hand, he begins to carefully work out the tangles.
He used to do this with Isobel; he tries not to think about that now.
“He's a monster now,” Elena murmurs after a beat. “Those poor girls...”
“Don't think about that now.”
“I'm not getting him back,” she continues, her voice soft but certain. “Even if we get him away from Klaus, he won't be the Stefan I knew. Every time he touches me, all I'm going to be able to think about is those girls and what he did to them.”
“Elena - “
“They looked like me,” she interrupts, turning her head to look over her shoulder. “He killed ten girls that looked like me and left them at my school. How can I ever look him in the eye again and trust him not to hurt me?” Looking forward again, giving him silent permission to continue to brush her hair, she repeats, “I'm not getting him back.”
He finishes with her hair, idly collecting it in one hand before letting it spill around her shoulders. Now that he is done, his hands feel restless, the adrenaline in his body making it impossible to rest. He quickly gets off the bed, heading towards the bathroom for his own shower, and tries to remember when everything had gotten so goddamn complicated.
* * *
It's strange, sleeping beside him after so long. There is a part of her which knows it is better to keep her distance, to give him peace after having drug him so far away from home; but there is another part, a louder part, which reminds her of the comfort she found when encircled in his arms, and Elena finds herself sliding across the mattress, tentatively snuggling up to him.
She thinks it is instinct more than anything else which makes him wrap an arm around her, pulling her in close to his body, and she sighs as her forehead brushed against his chest. Double-checking to make sure he is actually asleep, Elena softly touches the light dusting of hair on his chest, curious; neither Matt or Stefan had it, and she feels a peculiar mixture of shame and arousal burn through her body as she wonders what it would feel like against her bare breasts.
Ric shifts, arm tightening around her, and Elena feels the burn of his skin where it meets hers. She's forgotten how warm men can be, what it's like to be pressed so tightly against someone whose heart beats his own blood. Stefan was never cold exactly, but he was also never hot, never able to give his warmth to her; it made him self-conscious sometimes, what he perceived to be one of his shortcomings. The heat from his skin is so intense, Elena wonders if this is how she felt to Stefan, if it is why he used to hold her so tight.
“Stop moving,” Alaric mumbles sleepily without opening his eyes.
“Sorry,” she whispers back, smiling despite herself.
“Why so squirmy?” he asks as the hand on her back slips upwards to the nape of her neck, his thumb gently stroking the skin beneath her ear. Elena shivers at the motion, and she feels it again, that flush of arousal quickly chased by the shame of thinking of sex while ten girls lied in the morgue, while Stefan was out there, drunk on blood and Klaus's influence.
Elena doesn't answer; instead she traces his collarbone with her index finger before gliding up the line of his neck. He subtly follows the caress, and Elena slowly leans forward, pressing a light, wet kiss to the hollow of his throat. Ric exhales shakily, his fingers reflexively grasping her hair, and want flares so sharply in the pit of Elena's stomach, she can barely breathe.
“Elena, no,” Alaric protests, beginning the process of untangling his body from hers, now fully awake. Pushing at her shoulders, he insists, “You're upset. You don't want this.”
“I do,” Elena stresses, following his movement, tossing her leg over his lap, straddling his body. Grasping his face in her hands, “Just once. No one has to know; it'll just be between us. No one will know.”
“You're hurting right now - “
“So make it better,” she requests, bringing her face close to his, her voice thick with need. “That's what you do, Ric. You make it better, you make it go away.” Kissing his bottom lip, she swears, “I won't tell anyone.”
When Ric kisses her, sudden and ferocious, Elena wonders if this is what it feels like to break a man.
* * *
He wakes up to dark hair spilled across his chest, a warm body tucked into his side, and the taste of Elena on his lips.
In the shower, as he sets the water to scalding and stands beneath the stream, he tries to block out the echoes of her pleasured cries, of his name passing through her parted lips. He can still feel her curves beneath his palms, the way her thighs trembled in his grip, the way she rolled her hips impatiently as his tongue teased her towards orgasm. When he turns away from the shower head, he hisses as the water hits the scratches she left behind, gasping as she clawed at his shoulders for purchase. His body aches in a way which would normally make him feel full of pride, but now it is a reminder of his sin, and Alaric isn't sure he has ever hated himself more.
He immediately reassesses this as he exits the bathroom to find Elena sitting up in bed, the crisp white sheets wrapped around her body looking delightfully debauched.
She looks at him for a moment before dropping her eyes. “Do you hate me now?”
“No,” he automatically answers, surprised by how strong of a reaction the question elicits. “No, of course not.”
“I know you didn't want this to happen,” Elena begins, still keeping her eyes averted, shame written all over her face.
“I wanted this happen to months ago,” he corrects, trying to inject as much sincerity as possible into the words. “I just didn't want to want it.”
Elena finally lifts her head, and he can see tears shimmering in her eyes. “Really?”
Sinking onto the bed beside her, he chuckles mirthlessly. “You didn't rape me, Elena. I wasn't trying to be a martyr here. Of all the hardships I've endured in my life, making love to you...Not even in the top hundred.”
Elena leans forward, wrapping her arms around him, and Alaric returns the embrace, trying not to wince when he feels hot tears against his neck. “God, we are so fucked up.”
This time his laugh is genuine as he guides her face away from his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. “It won't be like this forever.”
He isn't sure if he is referring to their grief or what exists between them.
He isn't sure he is ready for either to end.
* * *
Despite what she promised him, Elena slips into his bedroom that night, catching Alaric off-guard. She sees the anxiety on his face, the unease, but she pushes through it, climbing across the bed to reach him.
“Elena - “
Rather than use her words, she extends what is in her hand, the Gilbert ring resting in the center of her palm. Alaric eyes flick between the ring and her face before stating, “John gave that to you for your child.”
“And when I have a baby, you can give it back.” When he made no motion to take it, Elena picked up the heavy silver ring, reaching for his hand and pushing it down his finger. “I need you to be safe. I'll be able to sleep at night if I know it's protecting you.”
“I don't want - “
“It's my ring,” she cuts in. “Not Isobel's, not John's, mine, and I'm giving it to you.” Voice softening she adds, “Please.”
After a beat he nods reluctantly, promising he will keep it on. Elena sighs in gratitude before turning to leave. Alaric's hand on her wrist stills her, and Elena waits, curious, excited, nervous.
“Stay,” he requests, word so soft Elena almost misses it entirely. She doesn't say anything, doesn't move, afraid she to misconstrue why he is asking her.
His hand slipping beneath the hem of her top answers any questions she has.
It feels more elicit here, Jeremy asleep down the hall, Jenna's empty room next door. As Ric undresses her, she feels the cool metal of the Gilbert ring against her skin, and, for just a moment, it reminds her too strongly of the feel of Stefan's ring. She twists her torso sharply, rolling onto her stomach to hide her face, and Ric moves her hair to the side, begins to press kisses across her back, his hands slipping beneath her body to cup her breasts. As she breathes through the sting of Stefan's memory, Ric tugs her panties down before returning his lips to her back, softly asking for consent.
She's never had sex like this before; her encounters with Matt had almost always occurred in the backseat of a car, stumbling and fumbling kids trying to figure out what felt good. Stefan had always wanted to see her face, assuring her there was plenty of time for everything.
“You're so beautiful,” Ric pants against her shoulder, snapping his hips, forcing a moan from her body. “God, Elena...”
She loves the way he says her name, like it's something sacred and profane. It makes her feel deliciously sexy, and for the first time in her life she feels like a woman, not a teenager who is playing at a game she doesn't fully understand.
But when it is over and she sneaks back into her room before Jeremy awakens, Elena remembers this is not how things are supposed to be.
* * *
He's never liked secrets.
As Alaric watches Damon playfully tug at the ends of Elena's hair like a child on the schoolyard, he feels something primal roar in his chest, jealousy so toxic coursing through his veins, it nearly chokes him. He wants to march across the room, demand Damon keep his hands to himself, carry Elena away to a place where he is the only one who can make her laugh like that.
But she is not his girlfriend, so he just pours another bourbon as Caroline's birthday party continues around him.
He is five bourbons deep when Elena sidles up to him, her cheeks flush from the drinks she has consumed, and gently lays a hand on his wrist.
“I think you've had enough.”
“I think I can make that decision.”
Her mouth twists into a semi-pout. “I don't like it when you drink.”
“Well, I don't like it when you and Damon are all over each other.”
A half-smile on her face, she assures him, “Damon and I are just friends.”
“I'm intimately familiar with what you think friendly behavior is,” Ric meanly retorts, and he instantly wishes he could take it back, especially when her face crumples.
Elena doesn't respond. Instead she shakes her head, stalking down the hallway of the boardinghouse, and he tries to follow her as best he can without making it look like he is following her. He spots her ducking into the bathroom at the end of the hall, and he pushes his way in, startling her.
“Get away from me.”
“Elena, I'm sorry - “
“Whatever. Get out!”
He has never heard her voice so sharp, so angry, and he hates that he is the reason for it. “I didn't mean - “
“To call me a whore?” Elena interrupts, fury burning brightly in her eyes. “Good to know. It's always comforting to know the guy I've been sleeping with for the past three months doesn't think I'm a total slut.”
“I didn't mean that at all! I was just angry and jealous - “
“Jealous of what? I literally spend every night with you! When exactly do you think I'm sleeping with Damon, on my lunch hour? And don't forget, I studied for that chem test with Matt last week, so I'm probably sleeping with him too.”
“Elena - “
“God, and Tyler gave me a ride home yesterday, so I must have fucked him to say thank you.”
“Stop it!”
Shaking her head in disgust, Elena growls, “If I wanted to be sleeping with Damon, I could've been doing that for the last year-and-a-half. But I'm with you and you should trust that.” Tears starting to shimmer in her eyes, she adds, “You should trust me.”
“I trust you. I don't trust Damon when it comes to you.” The fire going out of his body, he confesses, “I don't want him to take you the way he took Isobel.”
“I'm not Isobel. You can't...” Crossing her arms over her chest, Elena sighs, “You can't punish me for what she did. That's not fair.”
Ric nods in agreement before replying, “Then you need to realize my drinking is not the same as Stefan's drinking.”
It isn't until later Alaric realizes, with those statements, they had tacitly agreed what existed between them was more than just comfort.
* * *
Katherine returns with Elijah in tow, a plan to rescue Stefan and kill Klaus once and for all on her lips, and Elena instantly worries about what is not being conveyed to her about this plan. Alaric starts spending his evenings at the boardinghouse, part of the unofficial war council Elena is not allowed to join, and she starts to worry another blood bath is awaiting her loved ones.
She is sitting at the kitchen table, reviewing her admission packets to William and Mary, Duke, and Wake Forest when Katherine saunters into the house as if she owns it. Elena wants to work up some sort of indignation, but, if she knows anything about Katherine, it is that apathy will get under her skin far more than anger ever will.
Pulling a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator, Katherine leans against the counter, pulling the cork free before swigging. “You know,” the vampire begins, “I thought when I rolled back into this sleepy little 'burb, you and Damon would be fucking like bunnies.”
“So sorry to disappoint.”
Katherine shrugs. “Your loss. He's a-fucking-mazing in the sack. And that's high praise considering I only had him when he was human. With 150 years of practice, I'm sure he could get the job done and then some.”
“Did you want something?”
“Is the teacher good in bed?”
Elena cannot help but react, her head snapping up in shock. Katherine just smiles serenely, waiting for the explosion, the denial, the feigned outrage. Instead all Elena can do is whisper, “How?”
“You really should close your curtains at night.” She walks over to the table, wine extended, and Elena grasps the bottle, taking a heavy swallow. “Since he's still breathing, I'm going to assume Damon doesn't know.”
“And you're going to tell him?”
Katherine purses her lips as if considering. “I thought about it, but it's not really a challenge getting Damon riled. And anyway I support this.”
“What?”
“You don't want to be a vampire,” Katherine reminds her. “That automatically rules out any kind of happily-ever-after with our boys. And you just love being human, which means husbands and babies and PTA meetings. The teacher could give you that.”
“You're only saying this because you want me out of the way.”
Face darkening, Katherine corrects, “I'm only saying this because you have a fucking shot here. The curse is broken; once we get rid of Klaus, we're finally free. You get a life, Elena. Why wouldn't you take it?”
“I thought you liked being a vampire.”
“I became a vampire because the alternative was being murdered. I made the choice because there wasn't another one available. I don't care if you fuck the teacher or marry a complete stranger; just do something that doesn't tie you to this shit forever.” Katherine shrugs. “And I want you out of the picture.”
Elena finishes the bottle.
* * *
When Stefan is back and better, Alaric waits for the hammer to fall. Despite what she swore all those months ago, he knows her feelings about Stefan are incredibly complicated, and he will not hate her for going back to him.
At least, that's what he tells himself. He's not actually sure what his reaction is going to be.
She leaves for Duke in three days, and he doesn't want to be the one to breach the topic. The living room is filling with boxes and tubs to pack into the car on Thursday afternoon, and Alaric watches as Elena runs around the house, frantically packing boxes and running to the store for whatever she finds she has forgotten. Jeremy mocks her endlessly, insisting she should just call Caroline and have the vampire organize the boxes, but Elena ignores him; Caroline is doing the majority of the heavy lifting when it comes to Stefan's rehabilitation, and Alaric knows she has deferred admission to Columbia in order to do so.
Wednesday evening, as Elena is struggling to close one of the massive tubs, Alaric sits on the couch, watching, dreading saying goodbye to her tomorrow afternoon and leaving her three hours away where he will not be able to be there if she needs him. Jeremy is worried too; they had discussed Elena's departure the night before and, coupled with Bonnie's departure for Tulane, both were feeling powerless.
With an exhausted sigh, Elena drops down beside him, declaring, “I'm never going to college again.”
“It'll be easier next year,” he assures her.
“I'm so not ready to think about that.”
“Getting nervous?”
“Why would I be nervous? I mean, I'm just leaving everyone and everything I know to go to a place I know no one.” She suddenly swings a leg over his lap, straddling him with a look of determination on her face. He can't help but smile, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her face, and she leans forward, brushing a soft kiss to his mouth.
“Can I pack you?”
Ric chuckles. “You're going to love it. Within a week, you'll have a million friends, every guy is going to want to date you, and you'll forget all about your secret, middle-aged boyfriend.”
“And you're going to end up with some woman who can, you know, drink legally and rent a car, and you'll forget all about your secret, jailbait girlfriend.”
They are both quiet for a beat, Ric absently stroking her thighs with the tips of his fingers, Elena playing with the hair at the back of his head when he blurts out, “I love you.” At her startled expression, he rushes on, “I just wanted you to know that. This wasn't just...I'm really going to miss you.”
“I love you too,” Elena whispers before sealing her mouth over his for a moment before pulling back. “I don't have classes on Fridays.”
Confused by the rapid change of subject, he says, “Okay?”
“I just mean...You could come see me or we could meet halfway or something. No one knows us in Durham. We could...We could be normal there, see if it works outside our bedroom.”
He loves the way she calls it “our” bedroom; it never fails to make his heart race.
“You want to do that?”
Elena tentatively nods. “I understand if you don't - “
“I do,” he quickly assures her. “Of course I do.”
They decide on a weekend in September, and, when Alaric pulls away from the curb of her dorm, Jeremy scrolling through his iPod, he feels a sense of peace steal over him knowing when he will see her again.
“You ready to be an only child?” Ric teases as he pulls onto the interstate.
“I'm ready to get a good night's sleep again.” At Alaric's confused expression, Jeremy laughs. “You two are loud as fuck, you know that, right? I haven't gotten a full night's sleep in six month.”
“You've known the whole time?”
Jeremy laughs again. “Well, you two are horrible at being quiet, sneaky, or discrete, and I walked in on you two having sex on the living room floor and neither of you noticed, so...yeah, I've known the whole time.”
Alaric feels his face burn brightly in embarrassment. “I don't - I don't know what to say. Why didn't you say anything?”
He shrugs. “Figured there was a reason you didn't want anyone to know. And...You know, before our parents died, Elena smiled all the time. She was, like, irritatingly happy, and she had this laugh, this ridiculous giggle that made everyone around her smile too. After they died, she was this whole different person. One night, I got up to get a drink, and I heard her laughing in your room, that same, stupid laugh that used to drive me crazy, and I thought, 'hey, she's happy again.'” Returning his attention to his iPod, he concludes, “As long as she keeps laughing like that, I'm cool.”
Ric doesn't tell Elena about Jeremy's knowledge until he comes down for the weekend. The horror on her face is positively acute, and he hurriedly explains how fine Jeremy is with everything, how it is alright. After a moment Elena relaxes against his chest and sighs, a hint of pleasure in her voice, “Someone knows about us and didn't freak out.”
Alaric knows there is still a very real chance one of the Salvatore brothers is going to murder him when they find out.
As they drift off to sleep, limbs hopelessly tangled, Alaric isn't sure he cares.
Author: lit_chick08
Pairings: Elena/Alaric, hints of Elena/Damon, references Elena/Stefan, Alaric/Isobel, Alaric/Jenna
Rating: R
Spoilers: everything, including released spoilers for Season 3
Word Count: 11,424
Disclaimer: These characters belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, and Julie Plec
Summary: Elena is starting to believe she is cursed to love men she should not want; Alaric is starting to believe he is cursed to love women he cannot keep
A/N: Title and cut text comes from Black Dresses by Spill Canvas
He sleeps on the couch for the first three weeks after Jenna dies, after Stefan leaves, after the world implodes yet again. Jeremy offers him the guest room (John's room) or his parents' room (Jenna's room), but he refuses, insists the couch is just fine despite the fact he wakes up every morning with his back screaming in protest. There is a perfectly good bed in his apartment, but the idea of returning to that place makes his skin crawl. Not to mention the idea of leaving Jeremy and Elena to fend for themselves in the wake of everything which has happened would make him feel like a Grade-A douchebag.
And it isn't so bad. He keeps a bag with a change of clothes and a few toiletries near the door, swapping them out when he needs something new, and, though he never says it, he can tell Jeremy appreciates his presence. And sure, it sucks to be living in the place where almost every memory he has of Jenna occurred, but he likes to think Jenna would appreciate him looking after the kids she loved so much.
Not that they're kids, not anymore.
At the beginning of his fourth week on the couch, he wakes up to the feel of someone gently shaking his leg. Blinking awake, trying to wince under the weight of his hangover, he sees Elena standing at the foot of the couch in her pajamas, tears drying on her face.
“Elena? What - “
“I had a bad dream,” she whimpers, sounding so much younger than her seventeen years, it made his heart ache. “Jeremy's spending the night at Bonnie's and...Can I just sit here with you for a little bit?”
He sits up instantly, throwing the blanket off of him, and he feels a short sting of embarrassment as he realizes all he is wearing is a pair of athletic shorts. If Elena notices, she does not say anything; instead she curls up beside him, drawing her long legs up to her chest, and leans her head against his shoulder. He instinctively wraps an arm around her shoulders, and Elena collapses against him, her body trembling.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head emphatically, and Alaric instantly knows what she was reliving.
He isn't sure when they fall asleep, but, as sunlight starts to creep across the carpet, Alaric awakens to find their positions have shifted; Elena is curled around his middle, her arms clutching his torso like a life preserver, and he is half slumped against the arm of the couch, his entire body screaming in protest as he moves.
When Jeremy comes home, he asks, “How often does Elena come into your room because of nightmares?”
Jeremy pauses for a moment as if considering whether or not to tell the truth. Finally he divulges, “At least three times a week, sometimes more.”
Alaric nods silently, and, for the first time in a month, he notices just how exhausted Jeremy looks.
He finally takes Jeremy up on his offer, moving into the guest room that afternoon, John Gilbert's belongings neatly packed in cardboard boxes and tucked away in the attic, gone but not forgotten.
* * *
The nightmares never seem to stop.
She does everything Bonnie tells her to do - a blessed crystal under her pillow, a bag of herbs tied to her headboard, reciting the words Bonnie wrote on a slip of paper for her before burning it - but they still return. Sometimes it is the sacrifice, Jenna's terrified face, the stake going into her aunt's body; other times it's Rose, chasing her through the boardinghouse, the feel of her festering wound against Elena's fingertips.
But usually it is the car accident.
Stefan may have compelled the memory of him rescuing her away, but Elena can recall with startling clarity the details leading up to her parents' deaths. She remembers the sheets of rain, the sound of windshield wipers, the Beatles song her father was singing along to under his breath; she remembers the sudden sensation of sliding, her mother shouting her father's name in panic, and then the jolt of the car hitting the railings and careening downward, her body being flung hard against the door despite the seat belt she wore.
The water from the Willow Creek was ice cold as it started to flood the car. She hadn't been able to unfasten her seat belt and her right arm screamed with pain, her shoulder dislocated, her elbow broken; she was bleeding from where her forehead had bounced off the window. Her father kept chanting her name, and Elena remembers screaming for him.
Her mother wasn't moving. She didn't stir, didn't moan with pain, didn't do anything; Elena recalls her father reaching across, checking her pulse, and when he moaned, Elena knew her mother was dead, that they were going to die too.
The last thing Elena remembers before waking up in the hospital is the water reaching her chin, her hand trying desperately to unhook the belt; the last words she hears her father say are, “It's going to be okay, Elena. Just hold on, sweetie.”
Elena wakes up screaming, flinging her blankets away as if they are the water, pushing every ounce of oxygen out of her lungs. She doesn't even realize she was asleep until Jeremy and Alaric are rushing into her bedroom, panic on their faces, a knife in Jeremy's hand, a vervain grenade in Alaric's. At the sight of them, Elena begins to sob, more out of embarrassment than anything else.
“I'm sorry,” she cries, burying her face in her hands, so humiliated she can barely speak. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”
“It's okay,” Jeremy assures her, sitting down on her bed and pulling her into a hug. “Just scared us a little.”
Elena looks over Jeremy's shoulder to Alaric, standing near her bedroom door in a pair of pajama pants, his hair in a dozen different directions. She feels such a rush of affection for both of the men in her room in that moment, Elena nearly began to cry again.
“I'm okay,” she assures Jeremy as she pulls back, smiling weakly. “I didn't mean to wake you guys up. Go back to sleep.”
“You sure?”
She nods quickly. “I'm sure, Jer. I'll be fine.”
Jeremy nods before climbing to his feet, shuffling back towards his room. She turns to Alaric to tell him the same thing when he says, “I was going to get something to drink. You want?”
She finds herself agreeing without really thinking about it, following him down the stairs in silence. It isn't until they are standing in the kitchen Elena realizes she is wearing only a long tank top and boy shorts; for a moment she wonders if she should go upstairs and put something on, but Ric hasn't said anything, so she doesn't. She watches as he begins to pull things out of the cupboards and, after a moment, asks, “Are you making hot chocolate?”
“Yeah. Why, you don't like?”
“It's 95 degrees.”
Pouring milk into a saucepan, he divulges, “My sister always said hot chocolate fixes everything.”
“You have a sister?”
“I have three. Two still live in Boston where we grew up, and one lives in Colorado with her Air Force Captain husband who thinks the entire Saltzman clan is insane.”
“What makes the Saltzmans insane?”
“For starters, they name their sons Alaric.” His smile is so warm, Elena cannot help but smile in return as she hops up onto the counter. “Mostly we're just...passive-aggressive and competitive.”
“You're neither of those things,” she points out.
“Which is why I don't really fit in and put 600 miles between myself and them.” Lifting a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, he adds, “Anyway, my oldest sister used to say every problem in the world is fixed by hot chocolate.”
After a few minutes, as he carefully poured the contents of the pan into two large mugs, Elena asks, “Think we could make those Irish hot chocolates?”
Alaric pauses for a moment, indecision warring on his face, before pulling out a bottle of Bailey's and adding a healthy splash to both mugs. Handing her the mug, he quips, “I'm the worst guardian ever, aren't I?”
Elena smiles as she accepts the drink, wrapping her hands around the ceramic for warmth. “Well, you're not technically our guardian, so it's more like you're the worst history teacher ever.”
He laughs, loud and free, and the sound makes Elena grin, her nightmare momentarily forgotten. They sipped their drinks in silence for a few minutes before Elena offers, “I'm sorry I keep waking you up. I know it's got to be irritating.”
Alaric shakes his head. “Don't worry about it.”
“But - “
“After Isobel...” he began, “I couldn't sleep. I'd stay awake for days because every time I closed my eyes, I'd see it all over again. If there had been someone else there, someone to go to, I would've woken them up or crawled into bed with them too.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Really. Grief, it's...After everything you've been through, it's understandable.”
“I just don't want you and Jeremy to suffer because I'm such a basket case.” Staring down into her mug, she murmurs, “I wish you could've known me before. I used to be fun.”
“Yeah? Me too.” He lifts his mug slightly, and Elena clinks hers to his before taking a sip. It is still too hot, singeing her tastebuds, but she takes another for something to do. Alaric leans back against the counter and they drink in silence, bare shoulder to bare shoulder, both lost in their grief.
When she finishes her drink, Elena hops off the counter, setting her mug in the sink before turning around and impulsively wrapping her arms around Alaric's middle. He hesitates only a second before he returns the embrace. Elena knows she should be embarrassed, hugging Alaric while she is half-dressed, while he is half-dressed, but she is so grateful for him in that moment, she doesn't know how else to express herself.
“If you have another nightmare, you can always wake me up,” he tells her softly, his hand petting her hair comfortingly. “I won't get mad, I promise.”
There is such tenderness in his voice, Elena can easily understand how Isobel and Jenna fell in love with Alaric Saltzman.
* * *
A few weeks later, Alaric wakes up to cool air slipping beneath his comforter. Opening his eyes, he sees Elena sliding beneath the blanket, keeping her body balanced on the edge of the mattress furthest from him. He watches her try to settle into the blankets without disturbing him, but he can see the way she is trembling, the tension in her back.
“Elena.”
She whips around so fast, it makes the bed bounce. Her eyes are wide, still pink from crying, and she sniffles. “I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you. I just...I just needed to be by someone.”
“It's okay,” he assures her. “Nightmare?”
Elena nods. “I've been...usually afterward I just go downstairs and make hot chocolate,” she explains, smiling weakly, “but tonight I just couldn't...I couldn't stop being scared, and I needed...I can go.”
“No,” he disagrees, placing his hand atop hers to still her movement. “It's fine. I told you you could come in here anytime you want.” Sitting up, he reaches over the side of his bed and picks up an extra pillow before offering it to her. Elena takes it, slipping it beneath her head, before sighing.
As she stares up at the ceiling, she asks, “How long after Isobel disappeared did you start to feel normal again?”
He mimics her position. “I'm hoping for any day now.”
Elena laughs mirthlessly before divulging, “I really like how you don't sugarcoat things for me. It's a very nice change of pace.”
“Well, you've never particularly struck me as someone who needs protecting. Mostly because you're going to charge into the fray no matter what I say anyway.”
“I wish I was as tough as you make me sound.”
“You are that tough, Elena. If you weren't, you wouldn't be here.”
“I wasn't supposed to be here.” Her voice is so soft, Alaric has to strain to hear her confess, “I was supposed to die in the river with my parents, but Stefan pulled me out because my dad told him to save me first. If he had just let me go, if he had pulled my dad out first - “
“Stop,” Alaric orders, sitting straight up, suddenly so angry he can barely stand it. “I don't ever want to hear you finish that sentence.”
Elena blinks in surprise at the ferocity in his voice, and Alaric briefly considers apologizing as she sits up, tears shining in her eyes. And then she whimpers, the saddest, most heartbreaking sound he has ever heard, and he cannot help but pull her into his arms. She is half-straddling his body as she wraps her arms tightly around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. Alaric has never heard anyone cry like this, and it brings tears to his own eyes to think about all she has been through, all that is still awaiting her. Elena's hold on him is iron tight, and he finds himself whispering soothing nothings in her ear, stroking her back, doing anything he can to calm her.
When she has finally cried herself to sleep, Alaric gently lowers her to the mattress, tucking the blankets around her, brushing her hair out of her face. It takes him hours before he can fall back to sleep.
In the morning, as he stumbles downstairs for coffee, he finds Jeremy getting breakfast, already dressed for work. Taking one look at him, Jeremy pours him a cup of coffee and hands it over.
Alaric grunts his thanks, sinking down into a kitchen chair.
“Elena in your room?” Jeremy asks as he shovels cereal into his mouth, one eye on the clock.
He nods slowly, unsure what Jeremy's opinion is going to be of the situation.
“Thank you,” the younger Gilbert says with such gratitude, it startles Alaric to full alertness. “I love Elena more than anything, but I can't...I can't do this alone, you know? And I don't even know where to start. I'm glad you're taking care of her.”
Unsure what else to say, Alaric lamely replies, “You're welcome.”
Jeremy nods briskly before finishing his breakfast. “Well, I got to run. Um, when Elena wakes up, tell her we're all meeting up at the Grill for dinner. You can come too if you want.”
Alaric promises he'll pass along the message before sitting silently in the kitchen, wondering how exactly this had become his life.
* * *
“I already told you I'd take care of this, so stop worrying,” Damon orders as Elena follows him through the downstairs of the boardinghouse.
“Are you kidding? I'm just supposed to 'stop worrying' that my boyfriend is on a blood bender with an un-kill-able vampire/werewolf hybrid? Are you drunk?”
Damon exhales through his clenched teeth, and Elena knows he is irritated with her. Ever since she found all the press clippings about Klaus and Stefan's escapades, he has been on her ass to leave the hunting up to him, to try to go about her life while he does the heavy lifting. She knows Caroline and Bonnie are helping, that it is Alaric's handwriting annotating some of the clippings, and it frustrates the hell out of her that Damon thinks she is too weak to handle the situation while everyone else is allowed to take a turn.
“Elena, you don't know what you're dealing with here.”
“I know what Stefan's like on blood - “
“No, you don't!” Damon snaps, his voice sharp enough to slice flesh. “What you saw before, that wasn't even the fucking warm-up! He's a monster right now, Elena, and you have no idea what he's capable of because I have no idea what he's capable of. So, no, I'm not going to let you go hunt for him because, for all I know, he's hunting you right now!”
Elena freezes, sickened by the picture Damon is painting of the gentle man she loves; she knows the blood can change Stefan, warp him into someone he isn't, but the idea he could hurt her...It brings a brand-new reality into her life, and Elena wishes she had never pushed the issue.
Realizing his mistake, Damon steps forward to lay a comforting hand upon her arm, but Elena jerks back, shaking her head. She doesn't want his pity, doesn't want him to act like what he said isn't true; if Stefan is a threat, she needs to know, needs to know how to protect herself and the people she loves.
That night, her dreams are full of Stefan, blood on his face, death on his breath, Klaus laughing as he rips into the necks of everyone she loves. Elena wakes with her heart pounding so strongly, she is certain she is having a heart attack. She makes it as far as the staircase before her legs cannot carry her anymore, her body giving out as the tears come; she sinks to her knees at the top of the stairs, trying to muffle her cries with her fists.
Elena isn't sure how long she sits there, but suddenly strong hands are lifting her and she is able to make out Alaric through her tear-filled eyes. He shushes her softly as he carries her to his room, setting her on the bed as he fetches a glass of water; when he returns to the bed, Elena lies on her side, assuming the fetal position, and Alaric fits his body behind hers, his arms encircling her.
“You're safe,” he whispers as she takes deep, shuddering breaths. “You're safe, Elena. No one's going to hurt you. You're safe.”
She isn't sure she' is ever going to feel safe ever again.
* * *
It starts to become a daily occurrence.
Every night Alaric goes to bed alone, and every night she shows up, slipping beneath the covers. Sometimes she keeps her distance, barely hanging onto the edge of the bed, and those are the nights he knows the dreams were bad but tolerable; it is the nights she tucks her body tightly against his, the tremor of her body strong, he knows the nightmares have terrified her, that she needs to feel safe.
There is a part of him which is happy he can provide her with the momentary comfort, that she feels safe with him.
There is another part of him which is starting to wonder if this is only making things worse.
A week before her birthday, Alaric wakes up to find Elena is not beside him, and he is startled by the quick twinge of disappointment in his chest. He has become used to her presence beside him, of waking up with her hair inevitably in his face, her long legs tangled up with his. He feels ashamed that he is missing her morning presence; if she is not in his bed, it means she has slept soundly, and he knows how badly she needs that.
As he enters the kitchen, he finds Elena standing at the stove scrambling eggs, her long hair gathered in a high ponytail, a tiny pair of sleep shorts revealing every inch of her legs. When he reaches to remove the orange juice from the fridge, he realizes the oversized tee she is wearing is the one he wore the day before, the one he had thrown on his bedroom floor before bed last night.
“Did you sleep with me last night?” he asks as he reaches past her to get a glass.
Elena smiles in amusement. “Yeah, though I figured you wouldn't notice. You were out. I could've jumped on that bed and you wouldn't have rolled over.”
“Didn't think I was that tired.”
“No, but you were that drunk,” she counters as she uses the spatula to remove the eggs from the pan. “You and Damon reeked of it last night.”
Alaric rubs a hand over his face, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. He and Damon had been working on the Stefan problem, and the research had turned into polishing off the brand-new bottle of bourbon Alaric had bought earlier in the week. Though he hadn't thought he was that drunk, the light throbbing at the front of his skull proved differently.
“Sorry about that.”
Elena shrugs, handing him a plate. “You're a big boy, Ric. You can do whatever you want.”
“Yeah but - “
“You snore pretty bad when you're passed out,” Elena interrupts with a playful smirk, popping a piece of bacon into her mouth. “I almost went back to my bed, it was so bad.”
“Why didn't you?” he can't help but ask.
She is quiet for a beat before admitting, “I don't really like to sleep alone.”
“Me either.”
There is a moment where Alaric feels it, feels something building in his chest he is too afraid to identify; as Elena stretches for a glass, Alaric admires the long, lean line of her body, and he realizes he needs to stop.
And yet he still reaches out and tugs gently on the bottom of the shirt she wears. “Thief.”
Elena grins, wide and brilliant, and Alaric tries to remember the last time he saw her smile like this.
He never wants her to stop smiling like that.
* * *
She hates the dress Caroline bought her for this party she had begged her friend not to throw. It is white and flimsy, reminds her more of a nightgown than a dress, and she cannot wear a bra with it, which is immediately what draws Damon's eye. As everyone wishes her happy birthday and pulls her into hugs, Elena wishes she could be anywhere else.
After suffering through the cake cutting and sneaking away from Caroline's watchful eye, Elena steps out onto the patio to find Damon and Alaric seated on the railing, a bottle of bourbon between them. She feels an irrational stab of anger; both of them had been hassling her for over a week about enjoying the party, about spending time with her friends, and now they were hiding out and getting drunk.
“Don't look at us like that,” Damon orders as she stands before them, her hand on her hip, irritation on her features.
“All the shit you gave me about this party, and you two aren't even inside!”
“Well, in our defense, we're the only people here legally allowed to drink,” Damon grins.
“And it's just in poor taste to get drunk with my students,” Alaric chimes in with a smirk.
She turns her attention to Alaric, and notices for the first time just how rough he looks; a beard covers most of his face, his hair needs cut, and he is under-dressed when compared to everyone else in the party. Elena feels an overwhelming sense of guilt hit her at the realization that she has probably been playing a large part in his unrest; so wrapped up in her grief over what she has lost, she has forgotten he has lost the person he loved as well.
Before she can say anything else, Bonnie is behind her, grasping her by the shoulders and tugging her back towards the dance floor, leaving Elena to look over her shoulder before the sight of Damon and Alaric was blocked from her view.
An hour later, after finally escaping the hell which was the Cupid Shuffle, Elena ducks into the den to find Alaric sitting on the couch.
“Hiding again?” he asks.
“Taking a break,” she corrects, crossing the carpet to sit beside him. “Faking excitement is kind of exhausting.”
They are quiet for a minute, Elena reaching over to take the glass of bourbon from his hand to have a sip, before Alaric reaches into his pocket and extracts a small, gray box. He sets it on her thigh before taking his glass back, draining it of alcohol.
“It's not much,” he warns her as she picks up the box, carefully removing the lid and lifting the cotton around it. “I just saw it and thought of you.”
Elena stares down into the box at the small, silver dreamcatcher inside. It is suspended on a thin chain, tiny turquoise beads in the center, and the sight of it brings tears to her eyes.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, running her finger around the edge of the circle. “It's pretty.”
Alaric shrugs before shifting as if uncomfortable; Elena senses he wishes he had another drink in her hand.
“This your subtle way of kicking me out of your bed?” she teases as she closes the box.
“A man would be an idiot to kick you of his bed,” Alaric replies before seeming to catch himself, his eyes wide as if he is surprised what has just escaped his lips.
It isn't that men haven't made similar comments to her before; hell, Damon makes them, at least, twice a day, and it doesn't embarrass her, not anymore. Elena knows she is attractive, and she is comfortable in her body.
Or at least she was until she found out she wasn't the only one who had it.
But hearing Alaric say it, seeing the way he hides his eyes from hers as if he has said something he knows he should not have, makes everything south of her belly button clench in a way Elena has not felt since Stefan left.
She leans forward, pressing her lips to his whiskered cheek, before silently rising and leaving him on the couch.
* * *
He knows he fucked up.
It wasn't as if he had planned on saying what he had, but the bourbon loosened his tongue, and she just looked so beautiful sitting there, her dark hair spilling around her shoulders, that white dress a perfect contrast to her olive skin. He forgot himself for a moment, and he is afraid that moment is going to ruin everything.
It is his humiliation which spurs him to stay after the party, helping Caroline and Damon pick up empty cups and decorations. The busy work sobers him up, and, by the time he finally heads home, Elena's party has been over for hours, and he is exhausted.
As he enters his room, he sheds his top shirt and jeans, kicking them into the corner of the room. It is not until he is tugging his undershirt over his head he sees a familiar lump beneath his covers. Grasping the edge of the comforter, Alaric pulls it back to find Elena fast asleep on her pillow (and he is not even going to begin to consider when the pillow officially became hers). Her long legs are bare, a glimpse of pink panty visible beneath the hem of her shirt, and Alaric nearly groans as he recognizes the shirt as his favorite Duke tee, the one he knows for a fact was in his dresser earlier today.
This has gone too far; he knows this now. The right thing to do, the proper thing to do is to wake her up and patiently explain why she cannot just sleep in his bed because she is lonely.
And then her eyes flutter open and she gives him a languid smile.
He is so fucked.
Carefully he sinks down onto his mattress, settling back against his pillow, tugging the blankets up around his waist, suddenly wishing he had put on pajama bottoms before getting into bed with his underage ward.
Except she's not underage now; she's legally a grown woman now, a line of thinking he is certain will not lead anywhere good.
“Bad dream?”
Elena shakes her head as she slips closer to him. “No, I just...I sleep better when I'm with you.” Hiding her face behind the spill of her hair, she offers, “I can go.”
The correct response is to agree, to let her leave him alone in his bed with the thoughts which betray the memory of his dead girlfriend and the guilt which accompanies said thoughts.
The incorrect response is to pull her against him, to run his fingers through her hair, to kiss the top of her head.
Alaric has never really been smart about making the right choices.
* * *
It is a Sunday afternoon, school starts the next day, and Elena is making lunch while Alaric is doing some sort of prep work at the table. As she is hunting for onion powder in the cabinet, she off-handedly remarks, “I hope you're shaving that beard before tomorrow.”
“Why?” he laughs as he shuffles his papers around.
“Because the beard is ridiculous. And it scratches.”
“Scratches?” Ric echoes as he gets to his feet, crossing to the refrigerator.
“Yes, scratches,” Elena insists. “Every time you spoon me, I end up getting brush burn all over my shoulders.”
“Then stay on your side of the bed,” he counters with a grin. “I like it. It makes me look rugged.”
“It makes you look homeless,” she corrects. “You need to shave it.”
“Well, since I don't plan on rubbing my beard against my students, I'm keeping it.”
“Sure, that's what you say now, but then some pretty little freshman is going to smile at you, tell you her sob story, and next thing I know, you'll be making her hot chocolate and I'll be yesterday's news,” Elena says in a melodramatic voice she had learned from Caroline years earlier.
“Yes, that is exactly my master plan for this school year,” Alaric deadpans, taking a pull from his bottle of beer.
“I thought so.” Turning the burner off, she quips, “I guess I'll just have to find some other teacher to put up with my neurotic ass in the middle of the night. Think Mr. Russo would be up to it? I mean, he is ninety-six-years-old, but there's wisdom behind those eyes.”
“And dementia.”
Elena playfully glares at him. “Don't mock my new cuddle partner; that's just petty.” Reaching for plates, she adds, “And at least he's clean-shaven.”
“I'm not getting rid of the beard.”
“Then the young freshmen you're planning on seducing aren't going to give it up because beard burn is not sexy.”
He grabs her so quickly around the waist, Elena lets out a shriek of surprise. And then, as he began to purposefully brush his beard against her shoulders and neck, Elena begins to giggle and cry for him to stop, twisting her body in escape attempts. He holds her fast, her body pressing tightly against his own, and Elena manages to turn her body enough so that she is now facing him.
“You're such a jerk,” she laughs as he runs his chin the length of her shoulder one last time. When he pulls back, she lifts her hands, catching his cheeks in her hands, and she glimpses a flash of something in Ric's eyes before he quirks an eyebrow in confusion.
“I miss seeing your face,” she confesses, her thumbs stroking the layer of hair on his chin.
The front door opens and they pull apart, Elena quickly turning back towards lunch, Alaric returning to the kitchen table, greeting Jeremy as he enters the kitchen.
She doesn't stay with him that night, her body still singing with adrenaline from their exchange in the kitchen earlier in the day; it takes her hours before she can fall asleep, and, when her alarm goes off for her first day of senior year, Elena is already exhausted.
Jeremy beats her to their bathroom, and Elena stumbles across the hall. As she pushes open the door, she finds Alaric standing in front of the sink, his face covered in shaving cream, a towel cinched around his hips.
“Thought you were keeping the beard,” she can't help but say.
Alaric mock-glares at her from the corner of his eye. “Well, I can't be losing girls to Mr. Russo. I've got a reputation to maintain.” He extends his razor towards her. “Want to do the honors?”
Elena cautiously takes the razor before pausing, unsure how she will reach his face. Ric steps away from the sink, gesturing for her to hop up. Once she has positioned herself on the edge, he steps between her legs and waits. She is nervous, afraid she might nick him with the blade, a nervousness which is not helped by Alaric's hands resting on her thighs.
When she has gotten into the rhythm of it, Elena allows her eyes to flick upwards for a moment; her cheeks flush when she realizes he is staring at her, an intensity and affection in his gaze she recognizes from the few mornings she has woken up to find him studying her. She hates how much she likes the feel of his eyes on her, how much more peaceful she feels when she is with him; Stefan is the man she loves and Jenna was the woman Alaric loved, and Elena knows this is all probably some weird kind of projection.
Except...she really hates the idea he is only being nice to her because he misses Jenna because her missing Stefan has very little to do with why she always wants to be with him.
Reaching behind her, Elena grabs a washcloth, patting his face clean of shaving cream. “Done.”
Leaning forward, Ric rubs his now-smooth cheek against hers. “Better?”
She doesn't know why she does it. As he pulls back, she catches his face in her hands, keeping him in place as she presses her mouth to his. Immediately Alaric pulls back, and Elena feels rejection and humiliation warring for top billing inside her body.
She tries to hop off the sink, to put as much ground between herself and Ric as possible, but he steps in her way, keeping her trapped on the edge of the basin. Elena opens her mouth to apologize, to claim insanity and vow to stay away from him for the rest of her life, when he inclines his head towards hers, his forehead against hers.
“We can't,” he groans against her lips, voice thick with tension. “God, Elena...we just can't.”
“I'm sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn't mean - “
His mouth swallows her words, and Elena cannot help but softly moan as his tongue ghosts across her own; the kiss lasts only a few moments before Ric steps away, running his fingers through his hair, before disappearing down the hall.
Everything's ruined now, and Elena can't help but think it is all her fault.
* * *
He locks his door that first night, too afraid of what he will do if Elena shows up in his bed.
He keeps it locked for a week, but she never comes, and Alaric knows it's over now, the strange flirtatious friendship they had. Now it is awkward, beyond uncomfortable, and he hates himself for not being a better man, a stronger man.
Three months after the first kiss, Alaric sits in the living room with Damon, a bottle of bourbon being passed back and forth. He is well on his way to drunk when Damon asks, “How do you think Elena's doing?”
“With what?”
“With calculus,” Damon retorts, rolling his eyes. “With everything, dumbass.”
“Better,” he states after a beat. “She isn't having nightmares anymore.”
“I'm glad she's...Stefan isn't coming back, man. Last time he got like this, it took 30 years for him to get his ass back in line. I don't want her to wake up at 48 and realize she didn't let herself have anything because she's so busy waiting for him to come back.”
“And you want to help her through the rough patch?” Alaric can't help but drawl, the alcohol having loosened his tongue past the point of safety.
Damon glares at him for a moment before gritting out, “It's not my style to prey on the weak.” Reconsidering, he corrects, “Well, it's totally my style, but not with Elena. She's so fucked up right now, any guy that would even consider it is a fucking asshole.”
Alaric finishes the bottle.
By the time Damon leaves, the entire world is at an angle, and it takes Ric an inordinate amount of time to climb the stairs. He isn't sure why he does it; any logic he possesses has been drowned in bourbon, and all he can think about is her.
The door to her bedroom is cracked, and, through his blurred vision, he can make out her sleeping form in the center of her bed, the blankets tangled around her legs, hair scattered across the pillow. He tries to gently lower himself beside her, but his coordination has left him, causing him to drop unceremoniously next to her. Elena instantly comes awake, panic in her eyes, before relaxing at the sight of him.
“Ric, what are you - “
“'M gonna sleep here,” he slurs, throwing a heavy arm across her middle, trying to pull her her body against his, pressing a series of wet kisses to her shoulder. “Miss you so much, baby.”
Elena pushes at him, nearly sending him tumbling to the floor. “You're drunk.”
“Jus' a lil'.”
She gets out of bed, glaring at him. As she rounds the foot of the bed, Elena grabs her robe before stomping across the hallway.
The last thing Ric hears before passing out is the door to his bedroom slamming.
* * *
Elena doesn't go to school the next day, feigning cramps when Jeremy asks what's wrong. She calls the front office of the high school and tells the secretary Alaric is sick and will need a sub; and then she sits at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and waits.
When he finally comes downstairs, Elena feels her heart clench and her stomach flip; she has never particularly liked confrontation, and she especially hates confrontation with someone for whom she cares. Part of her wishes she could go back to the weeks after Jenna died and make different choices, rely on different people; no one would have begrudged her taking comfort in someone as long as that person wasn't her dead aunt's boyfriend, her technical stepfather, the only man who had stepped up to take care of her and Jeremy.
Alaric stumbles to the coffeepot, pouring himself a large cup before sinking into the seat across for her. He is barely able to open his eyes, and the anger from the night before starts to fill her heart again.
“You drink too much.”
The words hang there for a moment, heavy and solid, before Alaric lifts his head.
“I know. I'm so sorry, Elena.”
“What did you think was going to happen last night?” When Alaric simply shook his head as if confused, she presses, “What were you going to try to make happen last night?”
His eyes went wide at what she is implying. “That wasn't why I got into bed with you.”
“No?”
“No,” he emphasizes, his hands trembling as he rakes them through his hair. “No, I wouldn't...I wasn't trying...I respect you enough to not...”
“To not what?” she pushes, masochistically wanting him to say it, to put a name to what has been brewing between them over the past six months.
Locking gazes with her, fire in his eyes, he snaps, “To not sneak into your bed for a drunken hook-up! That's not the guy I am.”
“Then what guy are you?” Elena challenges, her irritation gaining steam. “Are you the guy who was just trying to be nice while I was upset? Are you the guy who held me every night because he didn't want to be alone either? Are you the guy who kissed me back in the bathroom?”
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Alaric begins, “If things were different - “
Elena holds up her hands. “Stop. Don't act like you don't know what I'm saying.”
“You're her niece!” he grits out, his voice pained. “You're Isobel's daughter. I can't...I can't be that guy, Elena, and still at look myself in the mirror.”
It feels like an indictment, like he's telling her he cares about what Jenna would think while she does not, like he is honoring the memory of his fallen love while she is forgetting Stefan easily. Elena cannot remember the last time she felt this hurt.
“Fine,” Elena says as she gets to her feet, trying not to show the sting of his words is having on her tender heart. “Then don't climb in my bed and tell me how much you miss me because you're too drunk to give a shit.”
She stays in Stefan's room at the boardinghouse for the next two weeks.
* * *
Stefan and Klaus leave 10 bodies on the Mystic Falls football field, one on every yard line. They are all women, ages 16-22 according to the police department, and each and every one of them bares a striking resemblance to Elena. Ric stands in Liz's office with Damon staring blankly at the crime scene photos of women he does not know, women which were collected for their look, women who had such atrocities committed against their persons, Liz confesses to never seeing anything worse in her life.
Alaric studies these poor girls, their olive skin spattered with blood, their long, dark hair framing their horrified faces, their long legs twisted in unnatural angles like a child's Barbie, and, for the first time, he understands just how dangerous Stefan is now.
Everyone has gathered in the boardinghouse, and Elena stands in silence near the fire. Whereas everyone else suddenly looks younger to him, Elena now appears to have aged a lifetime in the past ten hours; as Damon dances around the exact details of what they have done, Alaric watches Elena, watches how her hands have begun to shake, how her breathing has become shallow and rapid.
She is about to lose it completely, and he knows her well enough to know she will not want to do it in front of everyone.
Alaric crosses to the mantle as Damon, Caroline, and Bonnie begin to talk over each other about what step to take next, and, very softly, he places his hand on the small of her back. Elena flicks her eyes up, and she mouths, “Get me out.”
There is no safe place in town, no place Stefan has not been invited inside, and so, when Alaric excuses the two of them, exchanging a pointed look with Damon, he ends up on the highway, Elena sobbing pitifully in the passenger's seat. When he changes lanes to get off the exit which will return them to Mystic Falls, Elena begs, “Please don't go back,” so he keeps driving, unsure whether they are headed.
They are at the North Carolina state line when he needs gas; he pulls off at the next exit, texting Damon to let him know they are fine, went for a drive, and not to worry. Elena stays in the car, her tears finished, and, as he climbs back in the car, she asks, “Can we stay here tonight?”
“Stay here?”
“Get a motel room or something,” she clarifies. “I don't want to go back yet.”
There is a chain hotel down the street, and, as Alaric hands over his credit card to the desk clerk, Elena idly flips through the tourist brochures. The moment they are inside the room, she announces she is going to take a shower, and Ric turns on the television as he calls Damon and briefly explains the situation.
“Tell Jeremy we'll be back tomorrow,” he requests as he toes off his shoes, settling down onto the queen-sized bed Elena requested.
“She going to be okay?”
“I don't know,” Ric admits.
He is turning down the bed when Elena emerges from the bathroom wearing the camisole she had been wearing beneath her sweater and a pair of panties. She is rubbing a towel against her hair, trying to absorb the moisture, the hotel-issue comb in her hand. As she perches on the edge of the bed, Alaric gently takes the comb from her hand, situating himself behind her; gathering her hair in one hand, he begins to carefully work out the tangles.
He used to do this with Isobel; he tries not to think about that now.
“He's a monster now,” Elena murmurs after a beat. “Those poor girls...”
“Don't think about that now.”
“I'm not getting him back,” she continues, her voice soft but certain. “Even if we get him away from Klaus, he won't be the Stefan I knew. Every time he touches me, all I'm going to be able to think about is those girls and what he did to them.”
“Elena - “
“They looked like me,” she interrupts, turning her head to look over her shoulder. “He killed ten girls that looked like me and left them at my school. How can I ever look him in the eye again and trust him not to hurt me?” Looking forward again, giving him silent permission to continue to brush her hair, she repeats, “I'm not getting him back.”
He finishes with her hair, idly collecting it in one hand before letting it spill around her shoulders. Now that he is done, his hands feel restless, the adrenaline in his body making it impossible to rest. He quickly gets off the bed, heading towards the bathroom for his own shower, and tries to remember when everything had gotten so goddamn complicated.
* * *
It's strange, sleeping beside him after so long. There is a part of her which knows it is better to keep her distance, to give him peace after having drug him so far away from home; but there is another part, a louder part, which reminds her of the comfort she found when encircled in his arms, and Elena finds herself sliding across the mattress, tentatively snuggling up to him.
She thinks it is instinct more than anything else which makes him wrap an arm around her, pulling her in close to his body, and she sighs as her forehead brushed against his chest. Double-checking to make sure he is actually asleep, Elena softly touches the light dusting of hair on his chest, curious; neither Matt or Stefan had it, and she feels a peculiar mixture of shame and arousal burn through her body as she wonders what it would feel like against her bare breasts.
Ric shifts, arm tightening around her, and Elena feels the burn of his skin where it meets hers. She's forgotten how warm men can be, what it's like to be pressed so tightly against someone whose heart beats his own blood. Stefan was never cold exactly, but he was also never hot, never able to give his warmth to her; it made him self-conscious sometimes, what he perceived to be one of his shortcomings. The heat from his skin is so intense, Elena wonders if this is how she felt to Stefan, if it is why he used to hold her so tight.
“Stop moving,” Alaric mumbles sleepily without opening his eyes.
“Sorry,” she whispers back, smiling despite herself.
“Why so squirmy?” he asks as the hand on her back slips upwards to the nape of her neck, his thumb gently stroking the skin beneath her ear. Elena shivers at the motion, and she feels it again, that flush of arousal quickly chased by the shame of thinking of sex while ten girls lied in the morgue, while Stefan was out there, drunk on blood and Klaus's influence.
Elena doesn't answer; instead she traces his collarbone with her index finger before gliding up the line of his neck. He subtly follows the caress, and Elena slowly leans forward, pressing a light, wet kiss to the hollow of his throat. Ric exhales shakily, his fingers reflexively grasping her hair, and want flares so sharply in the pit of Elena's stomach, she can barely breathe.
“Elena, no,” Alaric protests, beginning the process of untangling his body from hers, now fully awake. Pushing at her shoulders, he insists, “You're upset. You don't want this.”
“I do,” Elena stresses, following his movement, tossing her leg over his lap, straddling his body. Grasping his face in her hands, “Just once. No one has to know; it'll just be between us. No one will know.”
“You're hurting right now - “
“So make it better,” she requests, bringing her face close to his, her voice thick with need. “That's what you do, Ric. You make it better, you make it go away.” Kissing his bottom lip, she swears, “I won't tell anyone.”
When Ric kisses her, sudden and ferocious, Elena wonders if this is what it feels like to break a man.
* * *
He wakes up to dark hair spilled across his chest, a warm body tucked into his side, and the taste of Elena on his lips.
In the shower, as he sets the water to scalding and stands beneath the stream, he tries to block out the echoes of her pleasured cries, of his name passing through her parted lips. He can still feel her curves beneath his palms, the way her thighs trembled in his grip, the way she rolled her hips impatiently as his tongue teased her towards orgasm. When he turns away from the shower head, he hisses as the water hits the scratches she left behind, gasping as she clawed at his shoulders for purchase. His body aches in a way which would normally make him feel full of pride, but now it is a reminder of his sin, and Alaric isn't sure he has ever hated himself more.
He immediately reassesses this as he exits the bathroom to find Elena sitting up in bed, the crisp white sheets wrapped around her body looking delightfully debauched.
She looks at him for a moment before dropping her eyes. “Do you hate me now?”
“No,” he automatically answers, surprised by how strong of a reaction the question elicits. “No, of course not.”
“I know you didn't want this to happen,” Elena begins, still keeping her eyes averted, shame written all over her face.
“I wanted this happen to months ago,” he corrects, trying to inject as much sincerity as possible into the words. “I just didn't want to want it.”
Elena finally lifts her head, and he can see tears shimmering in her eyes. “Really?”
Sinking onto the bed beside her, he chuckles mirthlessly. “You didn't rape me, Elena. I wasn't trying to be a martyr here. Of all the hardships I've endured in my life, making love to you...Not even in the top hundred.”
Elena leans forward, wrapping her arms around him, and Alaric returns the embrace, trying not to wince when he feels hot tears against his neck. “God, we are so fucked up.”
This time his laugh is genuine as he guides her face away from his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. “It won't be like this forever.”
He isn't sure if he is referring to their grief or what exists between them.
He isn't sure he is ready for either to end.
* * *
Despite what she promised him, Elena slips into his bedroom that night, catching Alaric off-guard. She sees the anxiety on his face, the unease, but she pushes through it, climbing across the bed to reach him.
“Elena - “
Rather than use her words, she extends what is in her hand, the Gilbert ring resting in the center of her palm. Alaric eyes flick between the ring and her face before stating, “John gave that to you for your child.”
“And when I have a baby, you can give it back.” When he made no motion to take it, Elena picked up the heavy silver ring, reaching for his hand and pushing it down his finger. “I need you to be safe. I'll be able to sleep at night if I know it's protecting you.”
“I don't want - “
“It's my ring,” she cuts in. “Not Isobel's, not John's, mine, and I'm giving it to you.” Voice softening she adds, “Please.”
After a beat he nods reluctantly, promising he will keep it on. Elena sighs in gratitude before turning to leave. Alaric's hand on her wrist stills her, and Elena waits, curious, excited, nervous.
“Stay,” he requests, word so soft Elena almost misses it entirely. She doesn't say anything, doesn't move, afraid she to misconstrue why he is asking her.
His hand slipping beneath the hem of her top answers any questions she has.
It feels more elicit here, Jeremy asleep down the hall, Jenna's empty room next door. As Ric undresses her, she feels the cool metal of the Gilbert ring against her skin, and, for just a moment, it reminds her too strongly of the feel of Stefan's ring. She twists her torso sharply, rolling onto her stomach to hide her face, and Ric moves her hair to the side, begins to press kisses across her back, his hands slipping beneath her body to cup her breasts. As she breathes through the sting of Stefan's memory, Ric tugs her panties down before returning his lips to her back, softly asking for consent.
She's never had sex like this before; her encounters with Matt had almost always occurred in the backseat of a car, stumbling and fumbling kids trying to figure out what felt good. Stefan had always wanted to see her face, assuring her there was plenty of time for everything.
“You're so beautiful,” Ric pants against her shoulder, snapping his hips, forcing a moan from her body. “God, Elena...”
She loves the way he says her name, like it's something sacred and profane. It makes her feel deliciously sexy, and for the first time in her life she feels like a woman, not a teenager who is playing at a game she doesn't fully understand.
But when it is over and she sneaks back into her room before Jeremy awakens, Elena remembers this is not how things are supposed to be.
* * *
He's never liked secrets.
As Alaric watches Damon playfully tug at the ends of Elena's hair like a child on the schoolyard, he feels something primal roar in his chest, jealousy so toxic coursing through his veins, it nearly chokes him. He wants to march across the room, demand Damon keep his hands to himself, carry Elena away to a place where he is the only one who can make her laugh like that.
But she is not his girlfriend, so he just pours another bourbon as Caroline's birthday party continues around him.
He is five bourbons deep when Elena sidles up to him, her cheeks flush from the drinks she has consumed, and gently lays a hand on his wrist.
“I think you've had enough.”
“I think I can make that decision.”
Her mouth twists into a semi-pout. “I don't like it when you drink.”
“Well, I don't like it when you and Damon are all over each other.”
A half-smile on her face, she assures him, “Damon and I are just friends.”
“I'm intimately familiar with what you think friendly behavior is,” Ric meanly retorts, and he instantly wishes he could take it back, especially when her face crumples.
Elena doesn't respond. Instead she shakes her head, stalking down the hallway of the boardinghouse, and he tries to follow her as best he can without making it look like he is following her. He spots her ducking into the bathroom at the end of the hall, and he pushes his way in, startling her.
“Get away from me.”
“Elena, I'm sorry - “
“Whatever. Get out!”
He has never heard her voice so sharp, so angry, and he hates that he is the reason for it. “I didn't mean - “
“To call me a whore?” Elena interrupts, fury burning brightly in her eyes. “Good to know. It's always comforting to know the guy I've been sleeping with for the past three months doesn't think I'm a total slut.”
“I didn't mean that at all! I was just angry and jealous - “
“Jealous of what? I literally spend every night with you! When exactly do you think I'm sleeping with Damon, on my lunch hour? And don't forget, I studied for that chem test with Matt last week, so I'm probably sleeping with him too.”
“Elena - “
“God, and Tyler gave me a ride home yesterday, so I must have fucked him to say thank you.”
“Stop it!”
Shaking her head in disgust, Elena growls, “If I wanted to be sleeping with Damon, I could've been doing that for the last year-and-a-half. But I'm with you and you should trust that.” Tears starting to shimmer in her eyes, she adds, “You should trust me.”
“I trust you. I don't trust Damon when it comes to you.” The fire going out of his body, he confesses, “I don't want him to take you the way he took Isobel.”
“I'm not Isobel. You can't...” Crossing her arms over her chest, Elena sighs, “You can't punish me for what she did. That's not fair.”
Ric nods in agreement before replying, “Then you need to realize my drinking is not the same as Stefan's drinking.”
It isn't until later Alaric realizes, with those statements, they had tacitly agreed what existed between them was more than just comfort.
* * *
Katherine returns with Elijah in tow, a plan to rescue Stefan and kill Klaus once and for all on her lips, and Elena instantly worries about what is not being conveyed to her about this plan. Alaric starts spending his evenings at the boardinghouse, part of the unofficial war council Elena is not allowed to join, and she starts to worry another blood bath is awaiting her loved ones.
She is sitting at the kitchen table, reviewing her admission packets to William and Mary, Duke, and Wake Forest when Katherine saunters into the house as if she owns it. Elena wants to work up some sort of indignation, but, if she knows anything about Katherine, it is that apathy will get under her skin far more than anger ever will.
Pulling a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator, Katherine leans against the counter, pulling the cork free before swigging. “You know,” the vampire begins, “I thought when I rolled back into this sleepy little 'burb, you and Damon would be fucking like bunnies.”
“So sorry to disappoint.”
Katherine shrugs. “Your loss. He's a-fucking-mazing in the sack. And that's high praise considering I only had him when he was human. With 150 years of practice, I'm sure he could get the job done and then some.”
“Did you want something?”
“Is the teacher good in bed?”
Elena cannot help but react, her head snapping up in shock. Katherine just smiles serenely, waiting for the explosion, the denial, the feigned outrage. Instead all Elena can do is whisper, “How?”
“You really should close your curtains at night.” She walks over to the table, wine extended, and Elena grasps the bottle, taking a heavy swallow. “Since he's still breathing, I'm going to assume Damon doesn't know.”
“And you're going to tell him?”
Katherine purses her lips as if considering. “I thought about it, but it's not really a challenge getting Damon riled. And anyway I support this.”
“What?”
“You don't want to be a vampire,” Katherine reminds her. “That automatically rules out any kind of happily-ever-after with our boys. And you just love being human, which means husbands and babies and PTA meetings. The teacher could give you that.”
“You're only saying this because you want me out of the way.”
Face darkening, Katherine corrects, “I'm only saying this because you have a fucking shot here. The curse is broken; once we get rid of Klaus, we're finally free. You get a life, Elena. Why wouldn't you take it?”
“I thought you liked being a vampire.”
“I became a vampire because the alternative was being murdered. I made the choice because there wasn't another one available. I don't care if you fuck the teacher or marry a complete stranger; just do something that doesn't tie you to this shit forever.” Katherine shrugs. “And I want you out of the picture.”
Elena finishes the bottle.
* * *
When Stefan is back and better, Alaric waits for the hammer to fall. Despite what she swore all those months ago, he knows her feelings about Stefan are incredibly complicated, and he will not hate her for going back to him.
At least, that's what he tells himself. He's not actually sure what his reaction is going to be.
She leaves for Duke in three days, and he doesn't want to be the one to breach the topic. The living room is filling with boxes and tubs to pack into the car on Thursday afternoon, and Alaric watches as Elena runs around the house, frantically packing boxes and running to the store for whatever she finds she has forgotten. Jeremy mocks her endlessly, insisting she should just call Caroline and have the vampire organize the boxes, but Elena ignores him; Caroline is doing the majority of the heavy lifting when it comes to Stefan's rehabilitation, and Alaric knows she has deferred admission to Columbia in order to do so.
Wednesday evening, as Elena is struggling to close one of the massive tubs, Alaric sits on the couch, watching, dreading saying goodbye to her tomorrow afternoon and leaving her three hours away where he will not be able to be there if she needs him. Jeremy is worried too; they had discussed Elena's departure the night before and, coupled with Bonnie's departure for Tulane, both were feeling powerless.
With an exhausted sigh, Elena drops down beside him, declaring, “I'm never going to college again.”
“It'll be easier next year,” he assures her.
“I'm so not ready to think about that.”
“Getting nervous?”
“Why would I be nervous? I mean, I'm just leaving everyone and everything I know to go to a place I know no one.” She suddenly swings a leg over his lap, straddling him with a look of determination on her face. He can't help but smile, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her face, and she leans forward, brushing a soft kiss to his mouth.
“Can I pack you?”
Ric chuckles. “You're going to love it. Within a week, you'll have a million friends, every guy is going to want to date you, and you'll forget all about your secret, middle-aged boyfriend.”
“And you're going to end up with some woman who can, you know, drink legally and rent a car, and you'll forget all about your secret, jailbait girlfriend.”
They are both quiet for a beat, Ric absently stroking her thighs with the tips of his fingers, Elena playing with the hair at the back of his head when he blurts out, “I love you.” At her startled expression, he rushes on, “I just wanted you to know that. This wasn't just...I'm really going to miss you.”
“I love you too,” Elena whispers before sealing her mouth over his for a moment before pulling back. “I don't have classes on Fridays.”
Confused by the rapid change of subject, he says, “Okay?”
“I just mean...You could come see me or we could meet halfway or something. No one knows us in Durham. We could...We could be normal there, see if it works outside our bedroom.”
He loves the way she calls it “our” bedroom; it never fails to make his heart race.
“You want to do that?”
Elena tentatively nods. “I understand if you don't - “
“I do,” he quickly assures her. “Of course I do.”
They decide on a weekend in September, and, when Alaric pulls away from the curb of her dorm, Jeremy scrolling through his iPod, he feels a sense of peace steal over him knowing when he will see her again.
“You ready to be an only child?” Ric teases as he pulls onto the interstate.
“I'm ready to get a good night's sleep again.” At Alaric's confused expression, Jeremy laughs. “You two are loud as fuck, you know that, right? I haven't gotten a full night's sleep in six month.”
“You've known the whole time?”
Jeremy laughs again. “Well, you two are horrible at being quiet, sneaky, or discrete, and I walked in on you two having sex on the living room floor and neither of you noticed, so...yeah, I've known the whole time.”
Alaric feels his face burn brightly in embarrassment. “I don't - I don't know what to say. Why didn't you say anything?”
He shrugs. “Figured there was a reason you didn't want anyone to know. And...You know, before our parents died, Elena smiled all the time. She was, like, irritatingly happy, and she had this laugh, this ridiculous giggle that made everyone around her smile too. After they died, she was this whole different person. One night, I got up to get a drink, and I heard her laughing in your room, that same, stupid laugh that used to drive me crazy, and I thought, 'hey, she's happy again.'” Returning his attention to his iPod, he concludes, “As long as she keeps laughing like that, I'm cool.”
Ric doesn't tell Elena about Jeremy's knowledge until he comes down for the weekend. The horror on her face is positively acute, and he hurriedly explains how fine Jeremy is with everything, how it is alright. After a moment Elena relaxes against his chest and sighs, a hint of pleasure in her voice, “Someone knows about us and didn't freak out.”
Alaric knows there is still a very real chance one of the Salvatore brothers is going to murder him when they find out.
As they drift off to sleep, limbs hopelessly tangled, Alaric isn't sure he cares.