On The House (Damon, Elena)
Title: On The House
Rating: G
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Wordcount: 900
Spoilers: 3x15
Warnings: alcohol abuse
Summary: There is a tiny voice in Elena's head telling her that she's going to want to repeatedly bang her head against the nearest wall once she sobers up. But, well, that's hours from now, so what the hell. She is alive, again, and apparently, survivors are supposed to celebrate.
A/N: Damon, Elena, friendship!fic. This is self-indulgence that's been made more readable by ever-neutral (I owe her a kitten). I blame snickfic, whose brilliant post reminded me how much I enjoy writing gen.
On The House
There is a tiny voice in Elena's head telling her that she's going to want to repeatedly bang her head against the nearest wall once she sobers up. But, well, that's hours from now, so what the hell. She is alive, again, and apparently, survivors are supposed to celebrate.
It's not the first time she's come to the boarding house drunk. Actually, it gets easier every time, even though she hasn't done it for a while. It's better when she's quick about it, so she takes a deep breath before she knocks, and then she doesn't bother to say hello when Damon opens the door, just walks right in, and hands him a bottle of whisky. She can tell it puzzles him to see her tonight, and, well that makes two of them.
“What is it?” he asks pointing at the bottle in his hand, and okay, it's a dumb question, but at least he's too surprised to be hostile.
“Do you really care?”
He gives her a lengthy stare before he answers, and she lets him. It's not a pleasant moment; Elena doesn't like it when people see her drunk. She's okay with tipsy, God knows she's fun to be around when she's tipsy, but at some point it gets ugly, and today the ugly started two hours ago.
“No, I don't,” admits Damon finally; he shakes his head, grabs two shot glasses and puts them on a table in front of her.
Elena allows herself to relax. Even now, he won't kick her out. Good to know.
She probably shouldn't be so comfortable around Damon, not ever, and especially not now. She doesn't even want to think about why she's here in the first place, she focuses on not remembering, and suddenly she can't take her eyes off of Damon's hands. She can almost hear a crack of Abby's breaking bones.
“So, is this supposed to be a peace offering?”
“No,” she answers, and Damon lets out a sharp laugh, but pours her a shot anyway.
Truth to be told, she expected him to be more fussy about her choice of whisky. But then, at this time of a night Damon is very likely drunk enough not to care what he's drinking anymore. She sure as hell is.
“You drink too much,” she blurts out after a few rounds, and Damon downs the shot he's just poured before he answers.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
“I mean it.”
“And you come over with a bottle to talk about my drinking problem? Maybe we should talk about yours?”
“I don't have a drinking problem.”
“Well, you bought some whisky and came to talk to your favorite mass murderer. That is a bit problematic.”
“Oh, I didn't buy it,” she cuts in harshly. “It's me, remember? My drinks are always on the house. I'm that awesome.”
“Couldn't possibly relate.”
“I suppose not.”
He relaxes after that, pours another round with much more ease. Elena thinks maybe he knows that she didn't come here to apologize; that she doesn't expect him to apologize. One of the two. Both. Whatever. Details have always been fuzzy between the two of them.
“I'm having an honest night,” she clarifies for him anyway. She figures this is her night, having been so great at surviving and whatnot, so she can say whatever the fuck she wants. “I'm drunk, and I'm having an honest night.”
“So I've noticed. How much exactly did you drink before you came here?” asks Damon casually, and this time she doesn't hear a hint of anger in his voice. Not that it would change anything even if she did.
“Less than you did.”
“Fair enough.”
“Will watch my back when I get drunker?” she asks seriously, and she can almost feel the mood shift in the room. “Please, I just need... You will, won't you?”
Damon puts the near-empty bottle on the table, focuses his eyes on his glass, and Elena knows she's won this one as well.
“I will.”
“Then if you'll excuse me, I have shots to do.”
Damon is funny when he gets drunk, she knows that especially from those few months Stefan was gone. When he's really, really drunk, he gets all smooth and melodramatic; moments like that, Elena can really believe he lived in 1864. This time Damon is being so over-the-top that she briefly considers asking him if he's going to start calling her “Miss Elena”, but something in his eyes makes her shut her mouth. The world is getting pleasantly blurry anyway, so she lets herself sink into the feeling, dives into soft lines, silence and wonderful numbness.
At some point Damon takes her hand and leads her to one of the spare bedrooms. Elena barely notices when he gets some clean sheets for her and puts a glass of water on her nightstand. She's pretty sure someone also takes off her shoes, maybe she does it herself, but she wouldn't swear to it. Somehow it gets stuck in her head that she can't say thank you, not now, not tonight. It's important that she doesn't say thank you; it would be such a terrible thing to say.
She figures that in the morning they will pretend none of this ever happened, so she wraps her arms around Damon's neck and holds him tight for a second before she lets him go.
Rating: G
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Wordcount: 900
Spoilers: 3x15
Warnings: alcohol abuse
Summary: There is a tiny voice in Elena's head telling her that she's going to want to repeatedly bang her head against the nearest wall once she sobers up. But, well, that's hours from now, so what the hell. She is alive, again, and apparently, survivors are supposed to celebrate.
A/N: Damon, Elena, friendship!fic. This is self-indulgence that's been made more readable by ever-neutral (I owe her a kitten). I blame snickfic, whose brilliant post reminded me how much I enjoy writing gen.
On The House
There is a tiny voice in Elena's head telling her that she's going to want to repeatedly bang her head against the nearest wall once she sobers up. But, well, that's hours from now, so what the hell. She is alive, again, and apparently, survivors are supposed to celebrate.
It's not the first time she's come to the boarding house drunk. Actually, it gets easier every time, even though she hasn't done it for a while. It's better when she's quick about it, so she takes a deep breath before she knocks, and then she doesn't bother to say hello when Damon opens the door, just walks right in, and hands him a bottle of whisky. She can tell it puzzles him to see her tonight, and, well that makes two of them.
“What is it?” he asks pointing at the bottle in his hand, and okay, it's a dumb question, but at least he's too surprised to be hostile.
“Do you really care?”
He gives her a lengthy stare before he answers, and she lets him. It's not a pleasant moment; Elena doesn't like it when people see her drunk. She's okay with tipsy, God knows she's fun to be around when she's tipsy, but at some point it gets ugly, and today the ugly started two hours ago.
“No, I don't,” admits Damon finally; he shakes his head, grabs two shot glasses and puts them on a table in front of her.
Elena allows herself to relax. Even now, he won't kick her out. Good to know.
She probably shouldn't be so comfortable around Damon, not ever, and especially not now. She doesn't even want to think about why she's here in the first place, she focuses on not remembering, and suddenly she can't take her eyes off of Damon's hands. She can almost hear a crack of Abby's breaking bones.
“So, is this supposed to be a peace offering?”
“No,” she answers, and Damon lets out a sharp laugh, but pours her a shot anyway.
Truth to be told, she expected him to be more fussy about her choice of whisky. But then, at this time of a night Damon is very likely drunk enough not to care what he's drinking anymore. She sure as hell is.
“You drink too much,” she blurts out after a few rounds, and Damon downs the shot he's just poured before he answers.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
“I mean it.”
“And you come over with a bottle to talk about my drinking problem? Maybe we should talk about yours?”
“I don't have a drinking problem.”
“Well, you bought some whisky and came to talk to your favorite mass murderer. That is a bit problematic.”
“Oh, I didn't buy it,” she cuts in harshly. “It's me, remember? My drinks are always on the house. I'm that awesome.”
“Couldn't possibly relate.”
“I suppose not.”
He relaxes after that, pours another round with much more ease. Elena thinks maybe he knows that she didn't come here to apologize; that she doesn't expect him to apologize. One of the two. Both. Whatever. Details have always been fuzzy between the two of them.
“I'm having an honest night,” she clarifies for him anyway. She figures this is her night, having been so great at surviving and whatnot, so she can say whatever the fuck she wants. “I'm drunk, and I'm having an honest night.”
“So I've noticed. How much exactly did you drink before you came here?” asks Damon casually, and this time she doesn't hear a hint of anger in his voice. Not that it would change anything even if she did.
“Less than you did.”
“Fair enough.”
“Will watch my back when I get drunker?” she asks seriously, and she can almost feel the mood shift in the room. “Please, I just need... You will, won't you?”
Damon puts the near-empty bottle on the table, focuses his eyes on his glass, and Elena knows she's won this one as well.
“I will.”
“Then if you'll excuse me, I have shots to do.”
Damon is funny when he gets drunk, she knows that especially from those few months Stefan was gone. When he's really, really drunk, he gets all smooth and melodramatic; moments like that, Elena can really believe he lived in 1864. This time Damon is being so over-the-top that she briefly considers asking him if he's going to start calling her “Miss Elena”, but something in his eyes makes her shut her mouth. The world is getting pleasantly blurry anyway, so she lets herself sink into the feeling, dives into soft lines, silence and wonderful numbness.
At some point Damon takes her hand and leads her to one of the spare bedrooms. Elena barely notices when he gets some clean sheets for her and puts a glass of water on her nightstand. She's pretty sure someone also takes off her shoes, maybe she does it herself, but she wouldn't swear to it. Somehow it gets stuck in her head that she can't say thank you, not now, not tonight. It's important that she doesn't say thank you; it would be such a terrible thing to say.
She figures that in the morning they will pretend none of this ever happened, so she wraps her arms around Damon's neck and holds him tight for a second before she lets him go.