Teacher by day

Goodbye, my almost lover Goodbye, my hopeless dream I'm trying not to think about you Can't you just let me be So long, my luckless romance My back is turned on you Shoulda known you'd bring me heartache Almost lovers always do Alaric Saltzman I'm your new History teacher. __________________________________ Independent Alaric RP-blog (season 1-3)low-activity account multi-verse multi-fandom tracks tag vampirehunterbynight Gifs are not mine unless stated otherwise.If you want me to credit/remove anything, please let me know.

[ricsidiotbestfriend]

the deathbed || dalaric

[ricsidiotbestfriend]

Oh, Alaric. Everyone should have one. But since there’s only one available, Damon doesn’t intend to share. At all. With anyone. So there.

He’s not expected to get out of bed, is he? Alaric will bring everything over. Damon is intensely grateful for the tissues, reaching out to take the box, opening it and clumsily pulling one out before he plows his nose.

“I think I’m definitely dying,” he promises. “My nose won’t stop running. My head hurts. Fuck, everything hurts,” he says, letting his head drop back onto the pillow. Right now is exactly when he should be making ‘I’m Damon, pet me’ faces at Alaric but instead all he can do is lie here.

“I had colds as a kid. Everyone has colds. Were they this bad? Is this what happens when you have a perfect immune system for a hundred and forty years? Get Stefan. He can turn us both.” … he’s mostly joking. Mostly. Although… worth thinking about? No, it’s really not. He’s promised. He’ll try. For a year. And then decide.

He really doesn’t want to whine. Or, he does, but he doesn’t really want to make Alaric put up with it. Also, he wants drugs.

“Can you just get the drugs before I’m more snot than human? I fucking hate this,” he says. Hmm, he can smell the soup. Sort of. That’ll be good, once the drugs are working. “I dragged you from work.”

There’s a sorry in there somewhere.

“Thanks for coming home.”

Home. The loft is home. So strange.

[vampirehunterbynight]

He sits down on the bed, one hand on Damon's blanket-covered thigh, squeezing it slightly.

“You're not dying,” he says with a smile that looks both relieved and probably hilariously in love. Look at his own, private idiot, the man who could turn his whole world around with a simple cold. “I promise you're not. You're strong, okay? You're just not used to feeling like this.”

Weak, probably. Hot, definitely. And sweaty, in the non-sexy way.

“You won't die, we won't call Stefan and he won't turn us.” He's calming them both down and he stays close for a moment longer. “Yeah, you dragged me from work, but I couldn't have stayed. You had me worried.”

He's not saying it to make Damon feel bad, he's not blaming him.

“I wanted to make sure you're okay, this is new for me as well, you know?”

He gives Damon's legs another squeeze and gets up, once again heading for the counter.

“You'll feel better soon, I'll keep an eye on you. I happen to know a secret that is going to make you feel a lot better.”

Drugs and orange juice in one hand, a glass and the soup container in the other, he returns to place the food on the nightstand and hands Damon the medicine.

“You have to give it time before it works, okay? Promise me you won't take all of it at once, it won't work faster or better if you take more than you should.”

[ricsidiotbestfriend]

If Damon was very quiet, he was pretty sure he could hear the gears in Alaric’s head grinding. Putting it all together. There were things he could do. He could actually take this pain away, but it wouldn’t actually do much good in the long run. One of the truly sucky things about being human, that. They actually had to get through this sort of shit.

He waited.

He watched Alaric’s eyes – humans were generally extremely appealing to Alaric; he liked them, as a rule, found them attractive, as a general guideline; but this one, wow. Those eyes, dark hazel with flecks of just about every color there was a name for; strong jaw, that little depression on the front of his bottom lip… very nice indeed. Broad shoulders, and he was tall, and Damon had a weakness for tall men.

He snapped out of it.

“How do I know,” he said, glancing at the ceiling. He didn’t like lying, much. He wasn’t especially good at it (most angels weren’t). “You won’t believe it. You’re still not sure you believe this.” He waved theatrically at the photographs.

Aw, why not.

“I’m an angel,” he said, and as he said it, he stretched his wings out behind him – impossible to see by looking directly, but the shadow, the shimmer in the air; Alaric would see that. Whether he believed or not wasn’t really Damon’s problem.

“I’ve been down here a long time, looking after people. I don’t know why I got drawn here but it’s always for a reason. So it’s your lucky day. Guardian angel, etc. Not everyone gets one, no matter what the children’s books want you to think. Questions? I have things to do, you can ask me over a drink when I get you out of here.”

[vampirehunterbynight]

An angel. With wings, shadowy wings he could sense, almost see behind Damon. Had this happened yesterday, he would have ignored it, he would have taken it as a trick of the light, something he was only imagining. He would never have believed that angels – or at least this one – did exist.

Today – Well, his wife was a vampire, why not accept the fact that angels were real, too?

“So that's why you're helping me. Because you're my guardian angel. My wife got herself turned and I will be free, soon, because you found her and made those pictures.”

Alaric wondered if he sounded as empty as he was feeling inside. He should probably say 'thank you' or something to that effect.

“Guess I should count myself lucky you did.” He managed a smile, just barely, and he was sure it looked like he was in pain. Which was true. Pain that would get worse once he had a moment to himself.

“A drink. I could use a drink. I suppose your guardian duties don't include smuggling alcohol inside here for your... what I am I, your current project?”

It sounded a lot harsher than he meant it, he did appreciate his help, it was just too difficult to show it right now.

He looked up at him, then, really looked at him for a long moment. 

“Thank you.”

[ricsidiotbestfriend]

the deathbed || dalaric

vampirehunterbynight

It takes Alaric ten thousand years to get home, by which time Damon’s illness has definitely reached terminal stage. He’s had headaches before, but they last as long as it takes for the blood vessels to repair; they don’t steadily go from a mild irritation to a horrific tumor-like agony in the space of a few short hours. And the running nose, the pain in his actual face – what’s back there that can actually be painful? Is it his bones? Is it possible for bones to hurt?He pulls a tissue out of the box – fucking fuck, last one, Ric had better have bought more, that’s the sort of thing he’d think of, right?

Damon pushes further under the blankets, still unable to decide if he’s hot and feverish or cold and in need of wrapping up in a blanket. Both. Neither. And what asshole gave him a cold? Alaric’s not sick.

Eventually, the door opens. Damon has no intention of behaving like some grand hero. He looks like shit because he feels like shit.

He pushes the blanket back a little way and meets Alaric’s eyes, across the room. “Did you bring the drugs?” he asks, hopefully. “And I finished the tissues,” he adds, pointing to the pile by the bed. “How long does this last for?”

[vampirehunterbynight]

If he's honest with himself, he's still shaking a bit. Damon's text has shocked him a lot more than a cold (or even the flu) should have. He finds himself wondering over and over again if, whatever magic has turned him human, also could somehow have taken away his strength with it. What if a normal cold weakens him to the point where it becomes dangerous?

Diseases are something they haven't talked about yet, but once this is over, they are going to sit down and look into it. Maybe ask Bonnie to have a look at him or even a regular doctor, see if they can find something out.

And yes, he's worried, he can't and he won't deny it and even though he makes himself sound calm in his texts, his heart is racing as he jogs up the stairs to the loft.

Damon is in bed and he looks bad. For someone as vain as him, looking like this means he's close to dying. He can't help but stare, just for a second, then closes the door behind him and puts the bags on the counter.

“I brought the drugs, I brought tissues, chicken soup, cough drops, more tissues.  Orange juice, tea, water.”

He turns around and walks over to the bed, holding out a new box of tissues.

“How are you feeling?”

[vampirehunterbynight]

ricsidiotbestfriend

 [text]: Yes. Soup. drugs. And DVDs. [text]: I sort...

I’ll write you a small starter on the weekend. <3

YES please!!! Also, KICK Damon’s ASS pls, for me, Ric was SO worried!!!

[vampirehunterbynight]

[text]: Yes. Soup. drugs. And DVDs. [text]: I sort of love you, you know. You'd better still think I'm hot when I'm drowning in snot.

[unsent text]: You scared the hell out of me.[text]: This is the first and only time I’m coming home because you have a cold.[text]: I love you too.[unsent text]: Don’t ever do that again.[text]: You get better and I’ll show you how hot you are.

[vampirehunterbynight]

[text]: I am a family emergency! [text]: I looked on the Internet and people work and study and blah blah blah shit people do when they have a cold. I'm too weak to pull up the blanket.

[text]: You don’t have the Spanish flu.[text]: Stay in bed, I’ll be back home soon.[text]: I’ll get you some soup.

[vampirehunterbynight]

[text]: It's not a cold. It's not a normal cold. A normal cold can't be this bad. It's the Spanish flu. I'm telling you, this is the flu that killed a billion people. Or a million, I can't remember. Everything hurts, Ric. [text]: Does that mean you're coming home?

[text]: And how would you have caught the Spanish flu?[text]: Been to Spain lately?[text]: I can’t go back since everyone thinks I have a family EMERGENCY.[text]: You’re not dying, Damon.

[vampirehunterbynight]

[text]: It's swine flu. Bird flu. Spanish flu. Bubonic plague. I don't know, it's fucking horrible and I'm dying and I need drugs.

[text]: You have a cold. Is that it?[text]: Just in case you were wondering, I just left my class for you and you have a cold.

[vampirehunterbynight]

[text]: No, it's bad. It's really bad. I think I'm dying. [text]: Bring drugs. A lot of drugs.

[text]: What sort of drugs?[text]: What happened?

[vampirehunterbynight]

[text]: I need you to come home. Urgently. Right now.

[text]: What’s wrong?[text]: You know I can’t just leave school.[text]: Is this one of your ‘I’m horny and I need you’ things?

[vampirehunterbynight]

If you go down to the woods tonight

[ricsidiotbestfriend]

Alaric isn’t even taking this seriously, and Damon is sick of it. He’s human. They’re both human. They could end up dead. Alaric seems to forget every day that if things go badly, Damon can’t just zoom in with super powers and save them both. Fuck, until Damon takes his thumb out of his ass and starts taking the whole ‘exercise’ thing seriously, Alaric’s the stronger one. And he’s joking about –

Oh.

Oh. It’s deliberate. Trip Damon up. Make him think about something other than their likely demise. Well done Ric. Asshole. Damon is way too easy to play.

“Sending you filthy text messages is being useful,” Damon says. He tries to make it sound flippant, purr the way he knows Alaric likes it, but that’s impossible when he’s this tense. “You’d wither and die without my selfies.” Fine, Alaric wins. For now. “And it’s not my fault you’re always losing things in my pants.”

He accepts the kiss, fairly graciously, for a man who’s just been so terribly affronted.

“Used to come here often,” Damon says, playing along, half telling the truth; if he was being perfectly honest, he’d say something more along the lines of ‘right through there, that’s where I almost killed Vicki Donovan. My bad’. But he just listens out with ears that are way too dull and watches the bushes with eyes that can’t see further than a handful of yards in front of him.

He tenses, hoping Alaric’s seen him do it, recognized that things have just kicked into action.

“Nice spot through here,” he says, leading the way. There’s a clearing, but that’s hardly the point. They’re being watched. He’s not even sure where from. Just, there’s a footstep, too careful, trying not to be noticed. He pats his pocket, and pushes his sleeve back just far enough. Ah, it’s ridiculous. No one would have a picnic through here. It’s nasty, doesn’t smell great, bound to be some great rotting animal carcass within a couple of dozen feet.

Someone might come back here to make out, away from prying eyes, though. Damon puts down the picnic basket, and reaches for the lapels of Alaric’s jacket, pulling him close. Manhandling Alaric until he gets that he’s supposed to be pinning Damon to a tree.

“Almost like you’re ashamed of me,” Damon jokes. “Bringing me out here. I’m hurt.” He sounds wooden. He’s not aiming for realism, here. Alaric looks confused; has he seriously missed that Damon is trying to convince him to make out for cover? How many people get to do that, Black Widow and Captain America aside?

He has the grenade from his pocket tucked into his hand, pin hooked around his little finger. Ready to pull it and throw it as soon as he has an idea of which direction is likely to be the right one. He mouths against Alaric’s ear.

“Do you hear that?”

Secret lovers. It could mean his heartbeat. Lucky Alaric is smarter than that.

[vampirehunterbynight]

Now it's Alaric who needs a moment to catch up with what Damon's doing, taking too long to realize that Damon is trying to tell him something. It's the tone of his voice that tips him off, the way Damon doesn't sound like he means it, like he is distracted. Someone is watching them, they are not alone anymore.

Splitting his attention between making sure that he holds Damon just the right way to make it look like he's about to kiss the air out of his lungs and getting his weapons ready to fight isn't easy, but he manages fairly well. Damon's breath is warm against his skin and there's a nervous hitch in his voice he’d bet Damon isn't even aware of.

“You drive me crazy,” he says, a little louder than is probably necessary, then pulls his head back as if to look at him –  the moon reflects in Damon's eyes just the right way, making them glow for a second, unbelievable that he isn't a vampire anymore – but he's trying to figure out where their observer is hiding.

There's movement, a sound, to the left, behind a large tree. Big enough to hide behind, but not close enough for them to throw the grenades. Not yet. They need to draw them out and for that they have to pretend they are distracted. 

Which is going to be a lot easier that it should be in their situation.

Alaric leans closer, lips brushing across Damon's briefly – not too much or things are going to escalate one way or the other – while he makes sure he keeps his right hand free, ready to throw the vervain-grenade at a moment's notice.

It happens so fast, there's a rush of movement, a shadow blurs toward them. Alaric drops the grenade, but it needs

– one

    –  two

         – three

seconds to activate, enough time for the vampire to grab Alaric's shoulders. He is pulled away from Damon and sent stumbling into the nearest tree. There's a second of confusion (he isn't used to someone going after Damon in a fight, it's always been him because he's human and slow, easier to knock out) but he doesn't waste a single second. Alaric's back on his feet immediately, whirling around, ready to pull the vampire off his partner.

[vampirehunterbynight]

ricsidiotbestfriend:

Damon hadn’t been expecting that. He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t believe they were real,” he said, incredulous. “All the time she was – you know what, I really don’t want to rub it in your face. Yes, there are vampires, and yes, unfortunately, your wife is now one of them. Which sort of puts her out of my jurisdiction, but it doesn’t matter.” Technically she belonged to hell, or would, if she didn’t die soon, as baby vampires often did. Dead at the hands of hunters. Dead because they got caught outside in the daylight. Whatever. It was worth more than he could afford to intervene there, but that didn’t mean it was insurmountable. Maybe down the track. He had other things to think about right now. “It’s possible. And it’s done. She’s dead. Technically. But she’s also running around town dressed like your favorite nightmare and biting people, instead of picking up the phone and telling the police not to charge you with murder, so… if I were you I’d find a way to see it in the best light possible. Tomorrow, maybe this afternoon, they’ll tell you you’re free to go, probably with a stern warning to stay in town. I’ll pick you up. I’ll take you to the first bar we can find and you can binge drink to your heart’s content.” Weird, Alaric still didn’t look happy. “I can’t tell you the why,” Damon said, more kindly. “But I’m prepared to bet that if you think about it for long enough, you’ll figure something out.”

It was too much to process, too much to understand right now.

Isobel wasn't dead.

Isobel was a vampire.

Isobel had left him.

Isobel had left him.

Like Damon had said, she didn't care about what might happen to him now, she didn't care that she was basically destroying his life. Turning it into a nightmare.

Maybe he had sometimes wondered if it could be true, but then forced himself to ignore the idea. Ignored the tiny voice at the back of his mind that had warned him that she could be right. That there was more between heaven and earth than he had always believed.

His head was reeling, he could barely follow Damon's explanations. She's dead. It was impossible, couldn't be – and yet it was exactly what had happened. He knew it now, could see it now. However it worked, however you got yourself turned into a vampire – Isobel had found a way to make it happen and she had made her choice.

It should have come as a relief to him that there was proof, that the police no longer had a case, that he was a free man. Or would be. That he could go home and continue to live his life as if nothing had happened.

But was there really a home to return to? What was left, now that a part of him, a part of home was gone?

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

It was out before he could stop himself. And it probably wasn't the question that should be asked if you were in this situation, but it was the only thing he felt strong enough to address right now.

“How do you know about all this?”

[vampirehunterbynight]

Normal | Dalaric

[ricsidiotbestfriend]

It’s always been weird, hearing Alaric talk to him like this. You’re amazing. Anything like that. He craves it as much as it makes him want to bury himself in the blankets and vanish. He wants to grip Alaric’s shoulder and make him say it five times, and also make him swear he’ll never say it again. It’s not enough and it’s too much. For now, he’s too busy thrilling to the way Alaric is bundling him closer to bother questioning much of anything. He’s fighting to keep his eyes open (and incidentally, wouldn’t mind a quick shower, or at least a minute to clean himself up).

He purrs, as Alaric kisses him roughly, and thinks for a moment. They’re a bit far into things for Alaric to get jealous or possessive over a hundred and fifty year old fancy, so he shrugs. “I had a friend,” he said. “We signed up for the Confederate Army at the same time. I didn’t care much either way but he didn’t want to. He was a Lockwood.” Damon shrugged. “We kissed, once. Could have gone further if we weren’t in a two-man tent in an encampment close to the front lines and either of us had any clue what we were doing.” He rests his ear against Alaric’s chest, over his heart. “He didn’t make it home. At the time I thought he just lost it but… I think… first time he killed someone, boom, his curse was triggered. I don’t think he wanted to come home.” He shrugs. It’s too long ago now to have much emotional resonance for him, but there’s a twinge. He props up his chin and meets Alaric’s eyes.

“For the record, my history teacher was about seventy years old with great tufts of ear hair that made it impossible for him to hear, and a penchant for corporal punishment.” He leans forward and closes his teeth over Alaric’s nipple.

“There you go. Deep dark secrets. I also like long walks on the beach. Scratch that, I can’t stand the beach. Send everywhere. Sand in places you really don’t want sand.”

He pushes himself out of Alaric’s arms to use the bathroom for a minute.

“If you’ve moved an inch when I get back, we’re breaking up,” he says, batting his eyelashes. He only takes a minute or two to tidy up, but he pauses to stare in the mirror a moment. He already looks different, somehow. There’s something calming about it. He’s settling into skin that won’t be unchanging any more.

He flicks off the light and crawls back into bed alongside Alaric, face to face. “Fine, you’re working. You should be able to walk. I won’t.”

[vampirehunterbynight]

Lockwood. Sometimes he forgets that Damon's been living in Mystic Falls long before he himself was even born and that vampires and werewolves were already around back then. He wonders how many werewolves accidentally triggered their curse during that war – or any war before or after, but then Damon distracts him with a decidedly not pleasant description.

“Ear hair,” he says and makes a face, hissing as Damon's teeth find his skin. “No wonder you jumped on the first teacher who knows how to look after himself.”

Bathroom is a good idea and he prepares to get up, but all too soon he has his arms full of extremely snuggly Damon and he wants to tease him for it. The problem is, no words come to mind. He's too happy, too relaxed, too content. Perfect end to a perfect evening.

“We should find you something to do for the day.”

He's only half teasing. Damon won't (and doesn't have to) work, but he still needs something to distract him, to keep his mind  busy.

But not now. Right now Damon's mind is focused and Alaric pulls him close, burying his nose in his neck for a second.

“Love you,” he mumbles against skin that is pleasantly warm and maybe he's guilty of snuggling as well.

He doesn't care, everything he wants is right there in his arms, settling in for the night.

[complete thread]

[positivityshouts]

meredithcheats: is a treasure. Playing a character who has left isn’t easy but she is keeping Meredith alive so graciously and well. I love both muse and mun recklessly and hopelessly and in forever grateful for their presence in my life.

[ricsidiotbestfriend]

Damon had to feel sorry for the guy. He did, really; dark shadows under his eyes, still in the same clothes he was wearing days ago – when would they give him a nice orange jumpsuit? Oh, hopefully never.

“I took it,” Damon said, pushing another under his nose. This one had a date stamp at the bottom. Marked yesterday. “Well. Last night. Your wife won’t be walking around in the sunshine any time soon, Mr. Saltzman. I think you know how this goes.”

He was waiting for Alaric’s expression to change. It was there, somewhere, the understanding of what his wife had done.

“I suppose I should have opened with the good news. These photographs, and a dozen others, including one taken just as someone blew a red light – me, for the record, you’re very welcome – for a time reference, have made their way to he homicide department, just this morning. They’ll be investigated, and you’ll be out… well, I don’t think you’ll be watching ‘Law and Order’ tonight, but tomorrow night, you should be fine. As far as they’re concerned, she’s complicit in her own disappearance.”

There was not, unfortunately, an immediate outpouring of gratitude. Alaric looked stunned, pale. Damon reached across the table, to where his hand was cuffed to the table, and tapped the back of it, infusing him with just a touch of grace (ugh, why did he do that? Again? What was it about this man that was making him go the extra mile? Faithless woman, maybe. Big brown eyes, alright, possibility).

“You must have know she might do this. Took me about a day to find out she was completely obsessed with vampires.”

[vampirehunterbynight]

His eyes were glued to the photo, he couldn't look away. What he was seeing there and what Damon was saying didn't make any sense. How could it? He had seen her, lifeless, her body dangling from someone's arms. There was so much blood, no one could have survived it...

No one.

Something about the way Damon was talking about it, something about his voice kept him focused, had him look up finally.

“No.”

It couldn't be true. Vampires didn't exist. Her studies had been about folklore, myths, fairy tales. Something teenagers these days loved reading about.

Not real.

Damon was still looking at him. Watching him. He wasn't arguing, wasn't trying to convince him. He was waiting, almost patiently. Waiting for Alaric to understand. To accept it.

It had to be some sick joke.

“It's not possible.”

Damon moved and touched his hand, briefly, just for a second. And it was only then that he realized that Damon couldn't have know about Isobel's studies. He was a stranger, he had never met her before.

“Vampires aren't real,” he said, but even he could hear the doubt in his voice now.

His thoughts were racing, he was trying to make sense of everything and failing spectacularly.

“Why?”

[ricsidiotbestfriend]

Smooth. Damon glanced at the cop who hadn’t yet closed the door. “I’m your public defender,” he said, and the cop left. “Wow, are you bad at playing along. Don’t you watch any television at all? Lawyer means I can talk to you privately, and bonus points for this very nice suit,” he said, straightening his sleeves. “You don’t look like you’re losing your mind, yet, but a little more time and you might. So maybe you could be happy to see me, since I am here to get you out. You wouldn’t believe the places I can bullshit my way into. Or out of.” He opened his shiny briefcase, and pulled out a file, placing it on the table. He pushed it across to Alaric and opened it to a large photograph. Of Isobel Flemming. Gorgeous woman. Ice water for blood, but very attractive. Under other circumstances… “Need you to confirm that’s your wife,” he said. She was coming out of a bodega with a bottle in a brown paper bag. Could have been any day in the last couple of years, but what he hadn’t said yet was that the photograph had been taken the day before.

[vampirehunterbynight]

Alaric was irritated. He'd barely slept in days, he didn't have the slightest clue what was going to happen next and now he had a stranger posing as his 'public defender'. No, wait, not a stranger but the guy who had talked to him on the first night right after this nightmare had begun.

He was about to open his mouth and tell him where to stick his suit when the guy – Damon he remembered dimly, his name was Damon – held out a photo of Isobel.

It took his breath away, his blood running cold almost instantly. He didn't know how to feel, could barely breathe, wide eyes fixed on her face.

“That's her – that's Isobel – where did you get that?”

He had never seen her in those clothes before and her expression was all... wrong. Cold. Empty.

Alaric wanted to reach out, pull it closer, but his hand stopped moving before it touched the photo and he looked up at Damon.

“What is going on here?”

[vampirehunterbynight]

If you go down to the woods tonight

[ricsidiotbestfriend]

“Oh, really?” Damon gives Alaric a withering look. “You’re going with short jokes? That’s just tacky.” He shakes his head. But yes. That’s how they do it. Him in front, Alaric just behind and beside. It’s the way they’ve always done it, why mess with the dynamic now? Alaric has always had his back. Even when – especially when – he didn’t deserve it.

“We have a good reason to be wandering the paths,” he says, reaching into the back seat. “I prepared a picnic.” Ha! He’s hilarious. Nice househusband from the 1950s. “I packed some nice sandwiches, crusts cut off, of course. A nice bottle of pinot grigio. And half a dozen vervain grenades, because neither of us are that fast and we can use a trick or two. Also, I was lying about the sandwiches and the wine, so don’t start salivating, it’s just gross. I wasn’t lying about the grenades, and really, they’re much more useful on a day like today.”

He pulls one out. “I just realized next time you’re making these I can actually help, instead of having to avoid the loft for two days.” What a weird thought. He can grow the stuff. Eat the stuff. Smoke it. Rub it on his skin. Not that any of that sounds particularly appealing, but there you go. “There’s gainful employment for me. Growing this. Making grenades. Those little darts you enjoy so much.”

He’s stalling. He climbs out of the car, adjusting his sleeve over the stake launcher, and reaches for the ‘picnic basket’.

“I can keep my hands to myself. I don’t like your chances,” he retorts. Now, they have to start acting like a pair of idiots, easy targets. And hope whoever this is doesn’t know Damon from when he was still a vampire, because there are not a lot of them dumb enough to try to tangle with him.

“We should go down that path. There’s a clearing a little way in. Pretty. Close to the edge of the Falls.” He pauses for a second to stick a grenade in his pocket, and to toss one to Alaric. “Nice spot for a picnic. And to see what we can see.”

[vampirehunterbynight]

Might have been tacky, but it works, Damon's glaring now, no longer worrying. Distracted. Good. They are getting ready to get out of the car, armed and prepared to chase down whoever is dumb enough to attack them tonight.

“Picnic, huh? Good thinking, I should have eaten something before we left, so stop talking about food, okay?” If this goes down the way he wants it to, they should be back home in under two hours. (Not that their hunts have the tendency to be easy or even predictable.)

Damon has a point, the vervain is one of the things that have changed, they no longer have to worry about accidentally hurting him when he's stocking up his arsenal. Maybe there will even come the day when Damon tries his luck at designing a weapon for himself, who knows better than an ex-vampire what works best against them?

“So what you're saying is you can finally do something useful when I'm out of the house teaching? How am I going to survive without your text messages? 'Heading to the shower, wish you could soap me up' or 'you left something in my pants, wanna come and get it?' And let's don't forget your selfies, if one of my colleagues ever finds my phone and looks at the pictures? They'll throw me out because they're going to think I'm surfing for porn all day.”

He doesn't give Damon the chance to reply, he pulls him close, just for a second, for a short kiss and a few words whispered against his lips. “Thanks for helping me.”

And then he starts walking, following Damon down the path.

They don't talk at first, too focused on their surroundings, the sounds and movements, but once they reach the clearing he steps closer to Damon.

“Nice place you found here, do you come here often?”

Play it cool, pretend you're distracted, that you have eyes for the man in front of you only. Which, in all fairness, isn't that difficult. Damon has that look on him, the one that says 'I'm not sure whether to kiss or kick you'. For a second Alaric wishes they could just enjoy the night and have it to themselves.