Fanfic: for tomorrow, the sun shall not rise (1/1), pg
Title: For Tomorrow, The Sun Shall Not Rise
Author: crowandfog
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~700
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Elena, Others
Show/Books: Show
Category: Angst, Drama, Romance
Spoilers: AU after 2x08, but certain major events (or variations of them) still occur. Certain moments might not make sense if you haven't finished Season 2. (Heck, it might not make sense regardless, idk. Consider this an experiment in obscurity.)
Warnings: Character Death. (Thus far, in 50% of my fanfiction, someone dies. I do not know what this means.)
Summary: Four times Elena tried to tell the truth, and one time she did.
Author's Note: I started this story, nigh a year ago, in response to daydreamblvr6's prompt, "Damon/Elena, I was waiting on a moment, but the moment never came" (though this is probably far from what was expected). Well, I finally got my act together, so here it is.
Author's Note 2: This can kinda be tied into my scheme for the Warm Up the Winter meme (which I promise to finish someday, even though hiatus ends Thursday) because its roots can be found in the scene I chose to highlight from 2x08.
Dedication: I dedicate this to badboy_fangirl because she's awesome, but also because I remember her saying (more than once) that I don't write enough fanfiction. So I think she deserves a dedication for all the encouragement (that she might not even remember giving me, at this point). ETA: I actually wrote this dedication before I knew that she was retiring. So I feel like she deserves this even MORE as a thank you for her wonderful (and huge) contribution to the TVD fandom. I wish her the best in all her new endeavors.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries. All content belongs to its rightful owners.
**********
She wanted to tell him immediately. She wanted to tell him what she had not known before, what his tears had taught her, but he was gone so quickly--in the blink of an eye. And she knew, instinctively, that the wind now beating at her bedroom curtains would not carry her words out the window (and to his heart).
So she sat on the bed. (Her fingers fondled her necklace.)
So she waited.
The first time she tried, they were standing on the Gilbert front porch. It was appropriate, she thought. After all, they had said so much to each other while standing there before. This was where she had locked him out. This was where she would let him back in.
Things were not going well, however. They would not--could not--agree on whose life was worth saving, and their words were sharp and short.
Then, Jeremy threw the door open and rocked their world with five simple words--"Stefan's trapped in the tomb"--with Katherine.
So she ran to the car. (He was seated, with the key in the ignition, before she even reached the door.)
So she waited.
The second time she tried, he was sitting at the bar in The Grill, nursing a scotch (of course). She hadn't meant for the location to be so public, but neither had she meant to wait so long. The clientele was scarce that evening, but her courage was present in full force.
Yet, when she approached him and called his name, he looked up at her--not with blue eyes, but swollen, broken red--and she knew that the night of Rose's final descent into hell was not the night to start telling the truth.
So she stood by his side. (She ignored the blood on his jacket.)
So she waited.
The third time she tried, he was reading the truth in the way that she gripped his bicep, in the way that she pleaded with him to behave, in the way that she gazed into his eyes.
She hadn't planned this one at all, and nothing about it was what she would have wanted. The bathroom was gross, and both of her legal guardians (not to mention, her...stepfather?--she didn't like the math) were just in the other room. But she felt she owed him an explanation.
They were interrupted when her uncle-father rushed in, and he took advantage of the opportunity to slip away from her.
With her best friend's life in danger, she knew there wasn't any time to waste.
So she let him go. (He really thought she'd stay put for John?)
So she waited.
The fourth time she tried, she sought him out to comfort him. She thought her confession would do him some good.
She knew that he was afraid. She knew he hadn't accepted their plan. He had no faith--especially not in Elijah--so she tried to lend him her own.
But her words came out all wrong, he fell off the ledge, and, the next thing she knew, she was choking on his version of the miracle cure.
Her anger with him--with her new situation--bubbled violently under her skin. She'd been waiting for the perfect moment, but what matter is a moment when you're going to live forever?
So she walked out the door. (She ignored the blood on her lips.)
So she waited.
The fifth time she tried, she no longer had a choice. Her body began moving of its own volition the instant Stefan uttered the words "werewolf bite."
As she stepped into his bedroom, she recognized that there could be no more waiting. It was now or never, she knew.
It was now and never and never and never. For tomorrow, the sun would not rise, and there would be no light shining from the east. No more warmth in the air. No more morning dew.
The burden hidden between her breasts, the great beast that she could not lay down, carried her across the room and brought her to her knees beside him. So quiet, so still.
So gone.
"I remember," she whispered. Her forefinger traced the contour of his eyebrow before her thumb traced the contour of his cheek. A sad smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she tried for the last time.
Elena would not--could not--say that she succeeded (and yet).
"I remember it all, Damon. I remember it all...
...and I love you, too."
Author: crowandfog
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~700
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Elena, Others
Show/Books: Show
Category: Angst, Drama, Romance
Spoilers: AU after 2x08, but certain major events (or variations of them) still occur. Certain moments might not make sense if you haven't finished Season 2. (Heck, it might not make sense regardless, idk. Consider this an experiment in obscurity.)
Warnings: Character Death. (Thus far, in 50% of my fanfiction, someone dies. I do not know what this means.)
Summary: Four times Elena tried to tell the truth, and one time she did.
Author's Note: I started this story, nigh a year ago, in response to daydreamblvr6's prompt, "Damon/Elena, I was waiting on a moment, but the moment never came" (though this is probably far from what was expected). Well, I finally got my act together, so here it is.
Author's Note 2: This can kinda be tied into my scheme for the Warm Up the Winter meme (which I promise to finish someday, even though hiatus ends Thursday) because its roots can be found in the scene I chose to highlight from 2x08.
Dedication: I dedicate this to badboy_fangirl because she's awesome, but also because I remember her saying (more than once) that I don't write enough fanfiction. So I think she deserves a dedication for all the encouragement (that she might not even remember giving me, at this point). ETA: I actually wrote this dedication before I knew that she was retiring. So I feel like she deserves this even MORE as a thank you for her wonderful (and huge) contribution to the TVD fandom. I wish her the best in all her new endeavors.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries. All content belongs to its rightful owners.
**********
She wanted to tell him immediately. She wanted to tell him what she had not known before, what his tears had taught her, but he was gone so quickly--in the blink of an eye. And she knew, instinctively, that the wind now beating at her bedroom curtains would not carry her words out the window (and to his heart).
So she sat on the bed. (Her fingers fondled her necklace.)
So she waited.
The first time she tried, they were standing on the Gilbert front porch. It was appropriate, she thought. After all, they had said so much to each other while standing there before. This was where she had locked him out. This was where she would let him back in.
Things were not going well, however. They would not--could not--agree on whose life was worth saving, and their words were sharp and short.
Then, Jeremy threw the door open and rocked their world with five simple words--"Stefan's trapped in the tomb"--with Katherine.
So she ran to the car. (He was seated, with the key in the ignition, before she even reached the door.)
So she waited.
The second time she tried, he was sitting at the bar in The Grill, nursing a scotch (of course). She hadn't meant for the location to be so public, but neither had she meant to wait so long. The clientele was scarce that evening, but her courage was present in full force.
Yet, when she approached him and called his name, he looked up at her--not with blue eyes, but swollen, broken red--and she knew that the night of Rose's final descent into hell was not the night to start telling the truth.
So she stood by his side. (She ignored the blood on his jacket.)
So she waited.
The third time she tried, he was reading the truth in the way that she gripped his bicep, in the way that she pleaded with him to behave, in the way that she gazed into his eyes.
She hadn't planned this one at all, and nothing about it was what she would have wanted. The bathroom was gross, and both of her legal guardians (not to mention, her...stepfather?--she didn't like the math) were just in the other room. But she felt she owed him an explanation.
They were interrupted when her uncle-father rushed in, and he took advantage of the opportunity to slip away from her.
With her best friend's life in danger, she knew there wasn't any time to waste.
So she let him go. (He really thought she'd stay put for John?)
So she waited.
The fourth time she tried, she sought him out to comfort him. She thought her confession would do him some good.
She knew that he was afraid. She knew he hadn't accepted their plan. He had no faith--especially not in Elijah--so she tried to lend him her own.
But her words came out all wrong, he fell off the ledge, and, the next thing she knew, she was choking on his version of the miracle cure.
Her anger with him--with her new situation--bubbled violently under her skin. She'd been waiting for the perfect moment, but what matter is a moment when you're going to live forever?
So she walked out the door. (She ignored the blood on her lips.)
So she waited.
The fifth time she tried, she no longer had a choice. Her body began moving of its own volition the instant Stefan uttered the words "werewolf bite."
As she stepped into his bedroom, she recognized that there could be no more waiting. It was now or never, she knew.
It was now and never and never and never. For tomorrow, the sun would not rise, and there would be no light shining from the east. No more warmth in the air. No more morning dew.
The burden hidden between her breasts, the great beast that she could not lay down, carried her across the room and brought her to her knees beside him. So quiet, so still.
So gone.
"I remember," she whispered. Her forefinger traced the contour of his eyebrow before her thumb traced the contour of his cheek. A sad smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she tried for the last time.
Elena would not--could not--say that she succeeded (and yet).
"I remember it all, Damon. I remember it all...
...and I love you, too."