Character/Relationships: Damon POV, Damon/Elena, Stefan/Elena
Summary: We all have weapons in our arsenal.
Word Count: 962
Warnings: Brief profanity.
Notes: This was written for tvd_las; the challenge was "weapons we wield." I did well. :)
Damon is used to striking out with words. Much more often than not, his barbs draw metaphorical blood. This pleases him. Other times, he goes for the literal. He uses his superior strength, those wickedly sharp teeth, or a handy stake if it's a vampire that needs to be taken out. He brandishes his weapons with the intention to hurt, kill, and maim. And he succeeds nearly every time. He's not unique in this. Everyone that he has ever met in his living and undead life strikes out as well, wounding in a fashion that fits their particular persona. Be it human, vampire, werewolf or any other supernatural goobley-gook running amok in the world, whatever weapon of choice does the trick. Everyone intentionally uses what they have in their arsenal to draw blood.
Except for Elena Gilbert. She's a different sort altogether. Oh, he's sure there are others like her who wound without intention, who can destroy a person with a sweet look, a gentle word, a gesture of kindness. He's just never met one, or at least one who was willing to turn those weapons on him. She does; she has. And it's a real bitch. How this one slip of a human girl can rip him to shreds with her sweet looks, gentle words and unexpected, yet frequent gestures of kindness is just wrong. But there it is. And here she is.
He looked into his glass, avoiding her for the moment. Too much introspection made him raw. He hated that. Damon grimaced.
"Damon," she repeated, and came over, standing in front of him. "Is there a reason you're ignoring me?"
Plastering a cocky grin to his face, he glanced up. "Because it annoys you and I find that amusing?"
She rolled her eyes. "You can come up with something better than that." She paused and he heard the slight intake of breath, the undertone of worry present. Fantastic. Now she was going to get all introspective on him.
Here we go.
"Nothing is wrong, Elena. I'm simply enjoying a glass of fine Scotch on this blustery evening. Alone." His smile hardened. "Now go away." She didn't move.
He sighed with heavy exaggeration and lightened his smile once more. "Shoo fly, don't bother me."
Instead, she sat down next to him. He waited for her to speak, to offer up some analogy about her own pain, followed by a solution to make it all better. It didn't come. She was quiet. Finally, he looked at her. She met his gaze steadily, understanding there. And pity.
"Do not pity me," he bit out, unable to cover his anger with snark and a smile.
She merely shook her head. "I don't pity you, Damon. I feel sorry for what you do, what you've done, what has happened to you, but I don't pity you. I just," she broke off and looked down, bending her head slightly, the curtain of her dark hair shielding her from his gaze. He raised his hand hesitantly and began to reach over and brush it back, but he was too slow for once. She sat up and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I just don't like to see you like this. I know that you're frustrated. Katherine is back, but nothing is what you expected. I know what that's like. To have an expectation of how things are going to happen because it's not just what you want, but what you need." She shrugged. "And then nothing is like what it’s supposed to be."
Elena met his gaze fully, and he knew that his expression was as open as hers. She smiled just the slightest. "It sucks, I know." She let out a heavy sigh. "And I'm sorry." Reaching out, she placed one hand over his and Damon had to turn his face away.
He wondered if she realized, even in her empathy, what she did to him. How she made him ... feel again. How she broke him over and over. How she tore through his carefully constructed walls of devil-may-care insouciance. He pulled away from her and stood up. Frankly, it pissed him off. And the number one reason why had just entered the foyer.
"Damon," she began, but trailed off when Stefan made an appearance in the room. Elena looked at Damon for one moment longer, regret in her gaze, and then a smile flashed across her face as she turned to his brother. "Stefan," she breathed his name and it was a quick cut to him.
He pasted on a wintry smile and raised a brow in Stefan’s direction. "Brother." Swiveling around, he headed to the fire. He didn’t need to see her rush to Stefan’s side, kiss his lips, stand so close that the two practically became one. He could hear every movement and it wasn’t even 1864 all over again because at the end of the night, Elena would still be with Stefan. He didn’t even get to share her.
"Good night, Damon." At that, Damon turned back to face them. He knew that Elena was unaware of the undercurrent of possessiveness in his brother’s tone, the firm grasp he had on Elena’s shoulder, the message of both warning and triumph that was in Stefan’s gaze.
Damon's eyes twinkled, and he waved goodbye with his fingers. "Have fun, you two." His grin turned lecherous. "Don’t do anything I wouldn’t ... which leaves you with so many possibilities." The satisfaction dimmed in Stefan’s eyes. Point to Damon.
"Good night, Damon," spoke Elena, her voice soft, the sentiment genuine, and it took everything in Damon to maintain his smile. With one glance of rueful sympathy, she left the room, hand in hand with his brother.