This Thing, Between You and Me
Title: This Thing, Between You and Me
Author: coquilleon
Summary: It's starting to hit Elena just how human she and Alaric really are.
Characters/Pairing: Elena/Alaric
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG - 13
Notes: I feel like there's a kinship here.
She recognizes that look - it seems to be a permanent expression on her own face these days. He's lying on top of the sheets, hands folded loosely on his chest, ankles crossed. His eyes don't leave the ceiling the whole time she leans in the doorway, head against the pane, watching. He's thinking hard about something, thoughts spiraling deeper and deeper until it feels like he's in a trance. He hasn't said it, but... she knows. "You okay in here?"
Unknowingly, Alaric proves her right when he barely stirs, eyes blinking slowly once, twice, before sliding down to fix on her. "Yeah, I'm…" Closes his eyes for a few moments and opens them back up. "You doing okay?"
Elena shrugs and pushes way from the door. "I'm…" She walks further into the bedroom - first her parents, then Jenna's, now Alaric's. She remembers burrowing under the blankets with Jeremy, squished in between their parents when the Southern thunderstorms got to be too much. It wasn't even two months ago when she and Jenna chose to stay in one night, clad in pajamas, junk food placed strategically around the hills made by their legs underneath the covers and had a Sandra Bullock marathon. Now, she perches on the end of the bed, back against the foot board. Casting glances around the room hails Alaric's boots, his jacket, a few textbooks, and his shirts in the closet. She's used to the room, used to his stuff, but the combination of the two familiar things don't merge seamlessly.
She looks back at Alaric, who's watching her quietly. "I'm okay, I guess." They both know it isn't true. Elena can't help but wish she'd just left the sentiment unfinished like he did. The empty house creaks, nothing moves outside, and she knocks the tips of her fingers against the toe of his boot. His eyes slide away from her to fix back on the ceiling, sinking back into whatever thoughts had taken hold of him not so long ago, and soon she's treading through her own minefield.
~..~..~
The acrid smell of something burning hits her as soon as she's through the front door. "Ric? Jeremy? What's that smell?" Its second nature for every worst possibility to flash into the forefront of her mind, (so much blood, Uncle Jon lying motionless on the floor, a hooded figure darting around in the shadows, Jeremy dead, neck twisted at an unnatural angle) and it takes a little effort to force away the apprehension that speeds her pulse. The bang of a pot going into a sink sounds and a second later the hiss of water evaporating into mist. "Jeremy?"
Elena hangs her bag on the banister and goes into the kitchen. Ric's there, his back to her. "Ric?" He looks over his shoulder and gives a sheepish smile. "I uh," he turns back to where he holds a sauce pan under the faucet. "I forgot I left this on the stove."
Relief trickles into her veins. "What were you trying to make?"
"Just some spaghetti." He turns the faucet off, sets the full pot down to soak, and turns to face her. "Got distracted, sorry."
Elena smiles and moves toward the sink to see the damage. She's about to ask what he was distracted by, but when she turns her head, catches a whiff of brandy on his breath. He doesn't see her smile slip, waits until she can hitch it back into place as she stares down into the murky, tomato water, and flashes another grin at him. "I'll cook. Go into the den."
"I can-"
She pushes against his shoulder, and turns to reach into the already cabinet for a box of noodles. "Go."
~..~..~
"No harebrained scheme to find Loverboy, today?" And Damon's voice always makes her feel something odd - regret, anticipation, pressure. She shrugs, and settles down into the couch. Alaric fiddles with the coffee maker in the background.
"No, I guess there isn't," she mutters and tries to ignore that spark of hopefulness in his grey eyes.
~..~..~
"Still have no idea what you're doing there?" Alaric asks as he passes her a mug and Damon is long gone.
"Nope."
~..~..~
"How are things at home?" Caroline's golden hair shines in the sunlight as they walk. It's muggy and hot out here, making even shorts and tanks tops seem unbearable.
"Okay. I've barely seen Jeremy lately. And Alaric…" Why is it that she can never elaborate when it comes to him?
Caroline is silent for a moment, matching Elena's stride and bumping their shoulders. "Elena…" And Elena hates that tone of voice. It never means anything good. She doesn't look over to Caroline. "People… they're starting to talk."
"People are always talking, Caroline."
"Yeah, I know. Just- they think it's weird. That Alaric is living there. I mean," she rushes to clarify. "I know what he's doing there, just keeping an eye on things. But… it just seems-"
"Yeah I know how it seems." To be honest, gossiping neighbors is the least of her problems right now. Caroline must realize that, because she lets the subject drop.
~..~..~
The beer bottles clink together as she picks them up from the dark living room table. The only light that shines is the one in the entrance way and it casts the rest of the place in a murky orange light. A half empty whiskey bottle rests in the middle of all the papers and she can't help but think that she's happy that Jeremy isn't depressed, anymore - all the influx of available liquor could have been a problem.
Well, more of a problem.
Overhead she hears the sound of footsteps, a door closing, and the shower starting up. She picks up a wide tumbler and worries that one day he'll be too drunk to avoid tripping over the edge of the tub or slipping in some water, and she'll have to break down the door to help him avoid a concussion. Imagines busting in to see him unconscious, beads of water rolling off of his naked body as she tries to help him-
She swallows hard and picks up the whiskey bottle to hide behind the potato chips in the pantry.
~..~..~
She drops down beside him on the couch and tucks her feet underneath herself. She doesn't feel like being alone, and can't find Jeremy. He's never around these days, but whenever she does see him he has a harassed look about him that she's too selfish to ask about. He knows that if it gets really bad he can come to her.
Right?
And asking Damon to hang out would just send a message. Wrong or right, Elena doesn't know yet.
"What are we watching?" she asks as she leans around him to grab a beer. Ignores his raised eyebrow and holds her grip away from him when he halfheartedly tries to take the bottle away.
"James Bond."
"Casino Royale?
"Goldfinger. What's that face for?" he says, teasing at her scrunched nose. "You have no idea about the classics."
"Yeah, yeah." But she grins anyway, taking a few sips of the bitter liquid in the bottle before handing it back over. Puts her head on his shoulder when he takes it back.
~..~..~
"This is a bad idea."
"Was a bad idea," Elena says, tongue a little too heavy in her mouth, not that she notices. Not when her feet swinging back and forth seem so mesmerizing at the moment. "I'm already drunk-"
"You're not drunk. You can't get drunk while I'm living here - the rumors-" And he's drunk too, must be if he can't remember that the rumors possibly can't get any worse.
Elena snorts. "Fine. Tipsy. We're tipsy together. That's not so bad."
"That's not so bad," Ric echoes and pushes himself away from the kitchen counter to make his way over to the island where she perches on the marble. "But it's still bad," he mutters and grabs a beer.
"Then why'd you let me drink?" She means it to come out annoyed, but it only comes out curious. She looks at his profile, a few inches away from her. Watches as he takes a drink of Guinness, and sets the bottle down before looking into her eyes.
"Figured you had some stuff to forget, too."
The moment hangs, heavy and thick, and their faces are a little too close. Her pulse speeds up, and can smell the faint scent of whiskey on this breath. Or maybe it's her own - with their breaths mingling its hard to tell.
It's when she blinks and looks down at his lips, slightly parted and soft looking that he seems to snap out of whatever it is that is happening. "No- I uh-" He sets the bottle down, and turns to leave the kitchen. There's a brief pause in his steps, as if he's going to turn around and say something else, but then Elena blinks and he's gone.
Author: coquilleon
Summary: It's starting to hit Elena just how human she and Alaric really are.
Characters/Pairing: Elena/Alaric
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG - 13
Notes: I feel like there's a kinship here.
She recognizes that look - it seems to be a permanent expression on her own face these days. He's lying on top of the sheets, hands folded loosely on his chest, ankles crossed. His eyes don't leave the ceiling the whole time she leans in the doorway, head against the pane, watching. He's thinking hard about something, thoughts spiraling deeper and deeper until it feels like he's in a trance. He hasn't said it, but... she knows. "You okay in here?"
Unknowingly, Alaric proves her right when he barely stirs, eyes blinking slowly once, twice, before sliding down to fix on her. "Yeah, I'm…" Closes his eyes for a few moments and opens them back up. "You doing okay?"
Elena shrugs and pushes way from the door. "I'm…" She walks further into the bedroom - first her parents, then Jenna's, now Alaric's. She remembers burrowing under the blankets with Jeremy, squished in between their parents when the Southern thunderstorms got to be too much. It wasn't even two months ago when she and Jenna chose to stay in one night, clad in pajamas, junk food placed strategically around the hills made by their legs underneath the covers and had a Sandra Bullock marathon. Now, she perches on the end of the bed, back against the foot board. Casting glances around the room hails Alaric's boots, his jacket, a few textbooks, and his shirts in the closet. She's used to the room, used to his stuff, but the combination of the two familiar things don't merge seamlessly.
She looks back at Alaric, who's watching her quietly. "I'm okay, I guess." They both know it isn't true. Elena can't help but wish she'd just left the sentiment unfinished like he did. The empty house creaks, nothing moves outside, and she knocks the tips of her fingers against the toe of his boot. His eyes slide away from her to fix back on the ceiling, sinking back into whatever thoughts had taken hold of him not so long ago, and soon she's treading through her own minefield.
~..~..~
The acrid smell of something burning hits her as soon as she's through the front door. "Ric? Jeremy? What's that smell?" Its second nature for every worst possibility to flash into the forefront of her mind, (so much blood, Uncle Jon lying motionless on the floor, a hooded figure darting around in the shadows, Jeremy dead, neck twisted at an unnatural angle) and it takes a little effort to force away the apprehension that speeds her pulse. The bang of a pot going into a sink sounds and a second later the hiss of water evaporating into mist. "Jeremy?"
Elena hangs her bag on the banister and goes into the kitchen. Ric's there, his back to her. "Ric?" He looks over his shoulder and gives a sheepish smile. "I uh," he turns back to where he holds a sauce pan under the faucet. "I forgot I left this on the stove."
Relief trickles into her veins. "What were you trying to make?"
"Just some spaghetti." He turns the faucet off, sets the full pot down to soak, and turns to face her. "Got distracted, sorry."
Elena smiles and moves toward the sink to see the damage. She's about to ask what he was distracted by, but when she turns her head, catches a whiff of brandy on his breath. He doesn't see her smile slip, waits until she can hitch it back into place as she stares down into the murky, tomato water, and flashes another grin at him. "I'll cook. Go into the den."
"I can-"
She pushes against his shoulder, and turns to reach into the already cabinet for a box of noodles. "Go."
~..~..~
"No harebrained scheme to find Loverboy, today?" And Damon's voice always makes her feel something odd - regret, anticipation, pressure. She shrugs, and settles down into the couch. Alaric fiddles with the coffee maker in the background.
"No, I guess there isn't," she mutters and tries to ignore that spark of hopefulness in his grey eyes.
~..~..~
"Still have no idea what you're doing there?" Alaric asks as he passes her a mug and Damon is long gone.
"Nope."
~..~..~
"How are things at home?" Caroline's golden hair shines in the sunlight as they walk. It's muggy and hot out here, making even shorts and tanks tops seem unbearable.
"Okay. I've barely seen Jeremy lately. And Alaric…" Why is it that she can never elaborate when it comes to him?
Caroline is silent for a moment, matching Elena's stride and bumping their shoulders. "Elena…" And Elena hates that tone of voice. It never means anything good. She doesn't look over to Caroline. "People… they're starting to talk."
"People are always talking, Caroline."
"Yeah, I know. Just- they think it's weird. That Alaric is living there. I mean," she rushes to clarify. "I know what he's doing there, just keeping an eye on things. But… it just seems-"
"Yeah I know how it seems." To be honest, gossiping neighbors is the least of her problems right now. Caroline must realize that, because she lets the subject drop.
~..~..~
The beer bottles clink together as she picks them up from the dark living room table. The only light that shines is the one in the entrance way and it casts the rest of the place in a murky orange light. A half empty whiskey bottle rests in the middle of all the papers and she can't help but think that she's happy that Jeremy isn't depressed, anymore - all the influx of available liquor could have been a problem.
Well, more of a problem.
Overhead she hears the sound of footsteps, a door closing, and the shower starting up. She picks up a wide tumbler and worries that one day he'll be too drunk to avoid tripping over the edge of the tub or slipping in some water, and she'll have to break down the door to help him avoid a concussion. Imagines busting in to see him unconscious, beads of water rolling off of his naked body as she tries to help him-
She swallows hard and picks up the whiskey bottle to hide behind the potato chips in the pantry.
~..~..~
She drops down beside him on the couch and tucks her feet underneath herself. She doesn't feel like being alone, and can't find Jeremy. He's never around these days, but whenever she does see him he has a harassed look about him that she's too selfish to ask about. He knows that if it gets really bad he can come to her.
Right?
And asking Damon to hang out would just send a message. Wrong or right, Elena doesn't know yet.
"What are we watching?" she asks as she leans around him to grab a beer. Ignores his raised eyebrow and holds her grip away from him when he halfheartedly tries to take the bottle away.
"James Bond."
"Casino Royale?
"Goldfinger. What's that face for?" he says, teasing at her scrunched nose. "You have no idea about the classics."
"Yeah, yeah." But she grins anyway, taking a few sips of the bitter liquid in the bottle before handing it back over. Puts her head on his shoulder when he takes it back.
~..~..~
"This is a bad idea."
"Was a bad idea," Elena says, tongue a little too heavy in her mouth, not that she notices. Not when her feet swinging back and forth seem so mesmerizing at the moment. "I'm already drunk-"
"You're not drunk. You can't get drunk while I'm living here - the rumors-" And he's drunk too, must be if he can't remember that the rumors possibly can't get any worse.
Elena snorts. "Fine. Tipsy. We're tipsy together. That's not so bad."
"That's not so bad," Ric echoes and pushes himself away from the kitchen counter to make his way over to the island where she perches on the marble. "But it's still bad," he mutters and grabs a beer.
"Then why'd you let me drink?" She means it to come out annoyed, but it only comes out curious. She looks at his profile, a few inches away from her. Watches as he takes a drink of Guinness, and sets the bottle down before looking into her eyes.
"Figured you had some stuff to forget, too."
The moment hangs, heavy and thick, and their faces are a little too close. Her pulse speeds up, and can smell the faint scent of whiskey on this breath. Or maybe it's her own - with their breaths mingling its hard to tell.
It's when she blinks and looks down at his lips, slightly parted and soft looking that he seems to snap out of whatever it is that is happening. "No- I uh-" He sets the bottle down, and turns to leave the kitchen. There's a brief pause in his steps, as if he's going to turn around and say something else, but then Elena blinks and he's gone.