Forever Is Not Enough

The Good Son

1864 - Mystic Falls, Virginia

The afternoon sun was high in the sky when Damon awoke. Without opening his eyes, he stretched his arms out around him, hoping to find Elena at the end of his fingertips, but no one was there. The room was silent, aside from his own heartbeat. Disappointment was on his face before he even opened his eyes. As he fell asleep earlier, he ran his thumb lightly over Elena's collarbone – already rising and falling slowly – and he thought about waking up to find her still next to him. He could wake her up and watch her eyes open, still drowsy with sleep, and perhaps she would smile a little when she saw him. Or perhaps her eyes would open in panic when she realized where she was and what she had done, but he didn't want to think about that. He wanted to think about the taste of her lips when she gave him one final kiss goodbye. Instead, there was no one but him. The spot where she had lain had grown cold and the smell of her skin had disappeared from the sheets.

The sheets themselves were in dire need of changing, and he wondered if anyone would ask questions when they did. He shrugged off the thought; a massive wound in his body had been leaking all sorts of substances not twenty-four hours ago, so it was possible no one would think twice about it. He leaned over and grabbed his trousers from the floor, but his shirt was harder to find. He finally spotted it peeking out from under the other side of the bed. He knew he wasn't supposed to be healed, so of course, he couldn't leave his room, but the after effects from Katherine's blood in his veins still made him feel a little anxious.

He laid back against his pillows and tried to distract himself with his thoughts. Now that he was healthy, he could go back to the fight, although he didn't know if that was a good thing or not. He hadn't even made a dent in the time he owed the Confederate army before he was shot, so when he went away once again, he would be gone for a long while. He would have to say goodbye to Elena again. The image of her flashed through his mind and the worried knot in his stomach twitched. Perhaps he'd have to say to another new face by the time he left. He pictured a bouncing little boy sitting on Elena's lap. He would have her big brown eyes and his wavy black hair. He would have rosy cheeks and all the love they could offer him. It was a happy image clouded by the thought of what would happen if he were born out of wedlock. Suddenly, the child was taken from Elena's arms and the word 'bastard' tumbled around in his brain. Elena had no family who could raise the child, nor did Damon. Elena would have to leave Mystic Falls to have the child, and might never even see it. He suddenly felt very ill.

Just then, his nurse came in. "Oh, good," she smiled. "You're awake." He went to sit up before she pushed him down. "No, dear! You'll rip open your stitches again." He lay back and watched her with wide eyes as she pulled his shirt up. Nothing was there, not even his bandage, and he looked guiltily up at her. She gasped, "Mr. Salvatore, you've removed your bandages!"

"Well, I don't need them anymore, do I?" he asked, confused.

"Miss Gilbert gives you too much from that bottle," she sighed. "It's a shame to see such a bright-eye go balmy."

She pulled back his shirt once again and began to treat the spot on his stomach as she had every day, taking no notice of the perfectly unharmed skin that sat there now. "I don't-" he began.

"Quiet, dear. You're never to take your dressings off, do you understand? It could make your situation so much worse." His eyebrows drew together in a confused grimace, but he nodded anyway. "You're lucky this time," she smiled sweetly, touching a hand to his forehead. "Your fever has gone down as well."

"Where's Elena?"

"She's at tea with the Donovan girl, talking up her brother, I suppose."

He nodded, "Stefan?"