You need a more positive outlook, mate, ❰ enzo says, and for the first time in what feels like years, you smile. katherine's locked in a tomb, stefan still hasn't rescued you, you're some crazy doctor's test subject... but you have a friend, at least. you're not alone. this would be so much more unbearable if you were alone.
your happiness is short-lived.
the door to the cells opens, and you push yourself up to standing — slowly, because your stomach is still stitching itself up, but something about being on the ground when whitmore's around makes it twist even worse than it does when he's got his hands inside it. you're helpless right now, weak and starving, but you don't want to look it. vulnerability isn't something that comes easily to you.
even so, you can't look whitmore in the eye. ❱
Who's next? ❰ he says, spinning the key ring around his finger. neither you nor enzo say anything — neither of you want to draw attention to yourselves, neither of you want back under his scalpel — and eventually whitmore makes the choice himself. he steps toward your cell, reaching for the door. ❱ Two one zero five one, you seem to have more energy.
❰ you take a step back. you can't help it, you don't want to go back in that room — you were there yesterday, there's still an angry red line slowly closing up on your stomach, your eyes are still sensitive from last week — ❱
I take that as an insult! ❰ enzo's voice is loud in the quiet of the room. he rattles the bars of his cell and looks directly at whitmore, and that stops whitmore in his tracks, draws his attention from you to enzo. you can't help the relief that washes over you like a flood when whitmore's focus is off you, but the dread that follows it is just as visceral. ❱ I'm far more energetic than my neighbor here. Can't believe you didn't notice.
❰ enzo can't take your place. he shouldn't, it's not fair, whitmore chose you. but your stomach hasn't healed, and you're afraid of more pain, and even knowing it's wrong to let enzo do this, you can't bring yourself to speak up. ❱
Your turn, then. ❰ whitmore opens enzo's cell and leads him to the bloody room, and there's nothing for you to do but wait.
you hear everything in the cells. that room isn't far, and whitmore doesn't bother to try to dampen the sounds that come from it. you can hear every scream, have convinced yourself you can hear the quiet hiss of a blade slicing through flesh, the slick wet slide of gloved fingers through guts. it's just as bad as being under the knife yourself, knowing that enzo is in there so you don't have to be. there's no escaping the sound, no way to avoid it, and your insides twist as you pace around your cell, full of fury and fight and the sickening clarity of thought that comes with abject impotence.
every time enzo stops screaming, you stop in your tracks, panicked. what if he's dead? what if whitmore's killed him, by accident or design, and now you're alone? how will you get through this without him, how will you stay sane, how will you keep hold of your self without him?
when the screams start up again, the relief hits you like a truck, but revulsion follows soon after. you're glad your friend is in pain, because at least it means he's alive. that is what you've been reduced to.
you hate whitmore so much it feels like you could choke on it.
it's dark when whitmore brings enzo back. he throws enzo into his cell and enzo doesn't even try to pick himself back up, just lays where he's fallen, breathing laboured and eyes unfocused. without all the screaming, it's so quiet in the basement. the soft music on the radio doesn't fill up the space the way enzo's agony had. ❱
Why are you doing this to us? ❰ you don't talk to whitmore anymore. you did, when he first captured you, but that only ever made things worse, the experiments more painful, more drawn out. you learned that he hates distractions generally, and maybe your voice specifically, so you started keeping quiet out of a simple sense of self-preservation — aside from the screams. he never seems to mind those.
none of that matters right now. enzo is on the ground, you've listened to him scream himself hoarse for endless hours, you haven't seen sunlight for weeks, and you don't even know why.
whitmore turns around slowly, eyeing you for a moment, and your reflex is to shrink away from his attention, make yourself small and unnoticeable, because having his attention never means anything good — but you hold your ground. when whitmore speaks, he sounds as detached as ever. ❱
Because, two one zero five one, I am seeking out the smallest indivisible unit of your biological makeup. And once I can understand you on a cellular level, I can put you to use.
❰ to use. as though you're an animal, or a tool. the answer is almost scarier than not knowing, and you don't have anything to say in response. whitmore walks away, and you just try to breathe, clutching at the bars of your cell like they're all that can keep you standing. maybe they are.
stefan will find you. stefan will get you out of here. you and enzo both. ❱
❰ it's been a long day. it's been a long century, and you're tired, and you just want to drink yourself into unconsciousness and avoid thinking about all the things that have made it a long century. you still haven't been able to get the taste of elena's lips off your tongue. what you thought were elena's lips. your heart hasn't stopped screaming for you to fall at katherine's feet and kiss the ground she walks on. she's alive, she's here, what does it matter that she ignored you for a century and a half when she's here —
you turn from the bar to leave the parlor and stop in your tracks. ❱
Very brave of you to come here, ❰ you say. it's not the steadiest your voice has ever been, but given the circumstances you think you did pretty well. katherine's sitting on the couch when you turn back around, long legs crossed, smooth, olive skin of her shoulders and arms on scandalous display. all you want is to kiss her. all you want is to kill her. ❱
I wanted to say goodbye, ❰ she replies, and you don't believe her for a goddamn second. there's a long pause as you wrestle with your impulses, trying to convince yourself to leave it alone, don't give her what she wants — ❱
Leaving so soon?
❰ you step closer. katherine tilts her head, gives nothing away. ❱
I know where I'm not wanted.
Don't pout, ❰ you say, lifting your glass to your lips. get out, you have to get out, she'll sink her claws in and then what will you do — ❱ It's not attractive on a woman your age.
❰ katherine gives a huff of a laugh, eyes never leaving you even as you hide behind taking a swig out of your glass. ❱
Ouch. ❰ she almost sounds impressed. you set your glass down and turn back around, trying not to look too much like you're fleeing before her, knowing you're failing. it's hardly a surprise when katherine blurs in front of you, face as impassive and uninterested as she's been this whole time. it burns you, how little she cares, while you're tearing yourself up from the inside out over her. she's beautiful. she's terrible. she's the love of your life. ❱ What, no goodbye kiss?
Why don't I kill you instead?
❰ god, you're pathetic. she's not worried, not even a little, and what's worse is she doesn't need to be. you could never bring yourself to do it, and you both know it. ❱
What are you doing here?
Nostalgia, curiosity, et cetera.
I'm better at the enigmatic one-liners, Katherine. What are you up to?
❰ you're on the defensive, is what you are. you haven't been on the defensive in decades. god, you need to get out of this room. every moment with her is a temptation you don't need, a chance for her to niggle under your skin and set up shop the same way she did a century and a half ago. you should be smarter than this, but you're not. you know you're not. you always were a fool for love. ❱
Trust me Damon, when I'm up to something, you'll know it.
❰ there's another pause, and then katherine seems to have had enough, stepping forward, crowding into your space. ❱
Come on. Kiss me. Or kill me! Which will it be, Damon? ❰ she's close enough to touch, now — close enough to kiss. ❱ We both know you're only capable of one.
❰ it hurts. she wasn't supposed to be like this. your reunion wasn't supposed to be like this. survive wars and decades alone and — survive, and she was supposed to be the prize at the end of your very long road. she was supposed to fall gratefully, happily into your arms, eyes alight with mischief and love. she was supposed to be your happy ending.
you turn, suddenly, try to walk away and put space between you —
but she blurs in front of you and shoves you to the ground, and there's only so much you can resist. you can feel your resolve crumbling. it's nauseating, how weak you are for her. how little she deserves it. how little she ever deserved it. ❱
My sweet, ❰ she lowers herself on top of you slowly. ❱ innocent, ❰ traces her fingers over your chest. ❱ Damon...
❰ you surge up, grab her by the throat and roll the two of you over so that you're the one on top of her. she let you do it, you know she wouldn't have put herself in this position if she believed for a second you were a real threat. you want to be a threat. you wish you could be a threat. all you are, though, all you have ever been —
is hers.
you kiss her, ravenous, and she just smirks into it, so pleased with herself it's vile. you don't care. you missed her. ❱
That's more like it, ❰ she breathes, kisses you again.
things get a little blurry from there. she pushes you against the wall, you know. your shirt is torn open, hers too. you have her pressed against the bureau, you're drowning in her, your lips against her jaw and her harsh breaths puffing against your ear. god, you missed her. you could almost forgive all of the years of loneliness, all of the pain, if she just — ❱
Wait, wait. ❰ you pant against each other, breaths mingling, and it almost hurts to pull away but you have to, you have to know. ❱ Brief pause.
❰ katherine shoves you away, puts feet between you. she looks — apprehensive, maybe, or just annoyed by the interruption. maybe something else. her back is to the wall now, her hair is wild and her tank top is torn and you love her so much you could die from it. you did die from it. all you want is for her to make it worth it. ❱
I have a question, ❰ you breathe, heart in your throat. please make it worth it. ❱ Answer it, and it's back to fireworks and rockets red glare. Answer it right, and... ❰ your voice catches. please. ❱ I'll forget the past hundred and forty-five years I've spent missing you.
❰ there's tears in your eyes. your voice is thick with them. please, please, let me get what i want — ❱
I'll forget how much I loved you, I'll forget everything and we can start over. This could be our defining moment, ❰ you step forward, arms spread, eyes on katherine but mind on the future, on what could be if she would just — if she could say it, just once — ❱ because we have the time, that's the beauty of eternity —
❰ you're back in her space. the two of you are at a tipping point, you can feel it — you're at a tipping point, and you want katherine to drag you down with her so badly you can taste it. your hands press to her cheeks, her hair. ❱
I just need the truth, just once —
Stop. ❰ she holds her hand up, and you quiet as easily as a loyal dog. your hand doesn't leave her face, stroking over her hair and thumbing at her skin. ❱ I already know your question, and its answer. The truth is, I've never loved you.
❰ you stop breathing. ❱
It was always Stefan.
❰ never. never? not even when you were worth loving, not even when you were human — never. you were always just a way to get to stefan. and why should you have ever believed otherwise? it's not as though she was subtle. it's not as though she ever did more than warm her bed with you. you should have known. you should never have wanted more than that.
there's nothing to say. you would just cry if you opened your mouth. loudly, embarrassingly, like a child. katherine takes your hands from her face and walks away, and you stand there, frozen.
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You need a more positive outlook, mate, ❰ enzo says, and for the first time in what feels like years, you smile. katherine's locked in a tomb, stefan still hasn't rescued you, you're some crazy doctor's test subject... but you have a friend, at least. you're not alone. this would be so much more unbearable if you were alone.
your happiness is short-lived.
the door to the cells opens, and you push yourself up to standing — slowly, because your stomach is still stitching itself up, but something about being on the ground when whitmore's around makes it twist even worse than it does when he's got his hands inside it. you're helpless right now, weak and starving, but you don't want to look it. vulnerability isn't something that comes easily to you.
even so, you can't look whitmore in the eye. ❱
Who's next? ❰ he says, spinning the key ring around his finger. neither you nor enzo say anything — neither of you want to draw attention to yourselves, neither of you want back under his scalpel — and eventually whitmore makes the choice himself. he steps toward your cell, reaching for the door. ❱ Two one zero five one, you seem to have more energy.
❰ you take a step back. you can't help it, you don't want to go back in that room — you were there yesterday, there's still an angry red line slowly closing up on your stomach, your eyes are still sensitive from last week — ❱
I take that as an insult! ❰ enzo's voice is loud in the quiet of the room. he rattles the bars of his cell and looks directly at whitmore, and that stops whitmore in his tracks, draws his attention from you to enzo. you can't help the relief that washes over you like a flood when whitmore's focus is off you, but the dread that follows it is just as visceral. ❱ I'm far more energetic than my neighbor here. Can't believe you didn't notice.
❰ enzo can't take your place. he shouldn't, it's not fair, whitmore chose you. but your stomach hasn't healed, and you're afraid of more pain, and even knowing it's wrong to let enzo do this, you can't bring yourself to speak up. ❱
Your turn, then. ❰ whitmore opens enzo's cell and leads him to the bloody room, and there's nothing for you to do but wait.
you hear everything in the cells. that room isn't far, and whitmore doesn't bother to try to dampen the sounds that come from it. you can hear every scream, have convinced yourself you can hear the quiet hiss of a blade slicing through flesh, the slick wet slide of gloved fingers through guts. it's just as bad as being under the knife yourself, knowing that enzo is in there so you don't have to be. there's no escaping the sound, no way to avoid it, and your insides twist as you pace around your cell, full of fury and fight and the sickening clarity of thought that comes with abject impotence.
every time enzo stops screaming, you stop in your tracks, panicked. what if he's dead? what if whitmore's killed him, by accident or design, and now you're alone? how will you get through this without him, how will you stay sane, how will you keep hold of your self without him?
when the screams start up again, the relief hits you like a truck, but revulsion follows soon after. you're glad your friend is in pain, because at least it means he's alive. that is what you've been reduced to.
you hate whitmore so much it feels like you could choke on it.
it's dark when whitmore brings enzo back. he throws enzo into his cell and enzo doesn't even try to pick himself back up, just lays where he's fallen, breathing laboured and eyes unfocused. without all the screaming, it's so quiet in the basement. the soft music on the radio doesn't fill up the space the way enzo's agony had. ❱
Why are you doing this to us? ❰ you don't talk to whitmore anymore. you did, when he first captured you, but that only ever made things worse, the experiments more painful, more drawn out. you learned that he hates distractions generally, and maybe your voice specifically, so you started keeping quiet out of a simple sense of self-preservation — aside from the screams. he never seems to mind those.
none of that matters right now. enzo is on the ground, you've listened to him scream himself hoarse for endless hours, you haven't seen sunlight for weeks, and you don't even know why.
whitmore turns around slowly, eyeing you for a moment, and your reflex is to shrink away from his attention, make yourself small and unnoticeable, because having his attention never means anything good — but you hold your ground. when whitmore speaks, he sounds as detached as ever. ❱
Because, two one zero five one, I am seeking out the smallest indivisible unit of your biological makeup. And once I can understand you on a cellular level, I can put you to use.
❰ to use. as though you're an animal, or a tool. the answer is almost scarier than not knowing, and you don't have anything to say in response. whitmore walks away, and you just try to breathe, clutching at the bars of your cell like they're all that can keep you standing. maybe they are.
stefan will find you. stefan will get you out of here. you and enzo both. ❱
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you turn from the bar to leave the parlor and stop in your tracks. ❱
Very brave of you to come here, ❰ you say. it's not the steadiest your voice has ever been, but given the circumstances you think you did pretty well. katherine's sitting on the couch when you turn back around, long legs crossed, smooth, olive skin of her shoulders and arms on scandalous display. all you want is to kiss her. all you want is to kill her. ❱
I wanted to say goodbye, ❰ she replies, and you don't believe her for a goddamn second. there's a long pause as you wrestle with your impulses, trying to convince yourself to leave it alone, don't give her what she wants — ❱
Leaving so soon?
❰ you step closer. katherine tilts her head, gives nothing away. ❱
I know where I'm not wanted.
Don't pout, ❰ you say, lifting your glass to your lips. get out, you have to get out, she'll sink her claws in and then what will you do — ❱ It's not attractive on a woman your age.
❰ katherine gives a huff of a laugh, eyes never leaving you even as you hide behind taking a swig out of your glass. ❱
Ouch. ❰ she almost sounds impressed. you set your glass down and turn back around, trying not to look too much like you're fleeing before her, knowing you're failing. it's hardly a surprise when katherine blurs in front of you, face as impassive and uninterested as she's been this whole time. it burns you, how little she cares, while you're tearing yourself up from the inside out over her. she's beautiful. she's terrible. she's the love of your life. ❱ What, no goodbye kiss?
Why don't I kill you instead?
❰ god, you're pathetic. she's not worried, not even a little, and what's worse is she doesn't need to be. you could never bring yourself to do it, and you both know it. ❱
What are you doing here?
Nostalgia, curiosity, et cetera.
I'm better at the enigmatic one-liners, Katherine. What are you up to?
❰ you're on the defensive, is what you are. you haven't been on the defensive in decades. god, you need to get out of this room. every moment with her is a temptation you don't need, a chance for her to niggle under your skin and set up shop the same way she did a century and a half ago. you should be smarter than this, but you're not. you know you're not. you always were a fool for love. ❱
Trust me Damon, when I'm up to something, you'll know it.
❰ there's another pause, and then katherine seems to have had enough, stepping forward, crowding into your space. ❱
Come on. Kiss me. Or kill me! Which will it be, Damon? ❰ she's close enough to touch, now — close enough to kiss. ❱ We both know you're only capable of one.
❰ it hurts. she wasn't supposed to be like this. your reunion wasn't supposed to be like this. survive wars and decades alone and — survive, and she was supposed to be the prize at the end of your very long road. she was supposed to fall gratefully, happily into your arms, eyes alight with mischief and love. she was supposed to be your happy ending.
you turn, suddenly, try to walk away and put space between you —
but she blurs in front of you and shoves you to the ground, and there's only so much you can resist. you can feel your resolve crumbling. it's nauseating, how weak you are for her. how little she deserves it. how little she ever deserved it. ❱
My sweet, ❰ she lowers herself on top of you slowly. ❱ innocent, ❰ traces her fingers over your chest. ❱ Damon...
❰ you surge up, grab her by the throat and roll the two of you over so that you're the one on top of her. she let you do it, you know she wouldn't have put herself in this position if she believed for a second you were a real threat. you want to be a threat. you wish you could be a threat. all you are, though, all you have ever been —
is hers.
you kiss her, ravenous, and she just smirks into it, so pleased with herself it's vile. you don't care. you missed her. ❱
That's more like it, ❰ she breathes, kisses you again.
things get a little blurry from there. she pushes you against the wall, you know. your shirt is torn open, hers too. you have her pressed against the bureau, you're drowning in her, your lips against her jaw and her harsh breaths puffing against your ear. god, you missed her. you could almost forgive all of the years of loneliness, all of the pain, if she just — ❱
Wait, wait. ❰ you pant against each other, breaths mingling, and it almost hurts to pull away but you have to, you have to know. ❱ Brief pause.
❰ katherine shoves you away, puts feet between you. she looks — apprehensive, maybe, or just annoyed by the interruption. maybe something else. her back is to the wall now, her hair is wild and her tank top is torn and you love her so much you could die from it. you did die from it. all you want is for her to make it worth it. ❱
I have a question, ❰ you breathe, heart in your throat. please make it worth it. ❱ Answer it, and it's back to fireworks and rockets red glare. Answer it right, and... ❰ your voice catches. please. ❱ I'll forget the past hundred and forty-five years I've spent missing you.
❰ there's tears in your eyes. your voice is thick with them. please, please, let me get what i want — ❱
I'll forget how much I loved you, I'll forget everything and we can start over. This could be our defining moment, ❰ you step forward, arms spread, eyes on katherine but mind on the future, on what could be if she would just — if she could say it, just once — ❱ because we have the time, that's the beauty of eternity —
❰ you're back in her space. the two of you are at a tipping point, you can feel it — you're at a tipping point, and you want katherine to drag you down with her so badly you can taste it. your hands press to her cheeks, her hair. ❱
I just need the truth, just once —
Stop. ❰ she holds her hand up, and you quiet as easily as a loyal dog. your hand doesn't leave her face, stroking over her hair and thumbing at her skin. ❱ I already know your question, and its answer. The truth is, I've never loved you.
❰ you stop breathing. ❱
It was always Stefan.
❰ never. never? not even when you were worth loving, not even when you were human — never. you were always just a way to get to stefan. and why should you have ever believed otherwise? it's not as though she was subtle. it's not as though she ever did more than warm her bed with you. you should have known. you should never have wanted more than that.
there's nothing to say. you would just cry if you opened your mouth. loudly, embarrassingly, like a child. katherine takes your hands from her face and walks away, and you stand there, frozen.
you breathe. ❱