If I Only Had A Heart

He hated mornings. The light moving steadily across the room, the sun's bright rays seeking and eventually shining on the sleeping figure beside him. Causing the tousle-headed, gently snoring object of his nocturnal affection to stir.

He dreaded mornings. The lifting of the heavy eyelids, the soft doe like gaze and sleepy smile almost instantaneously replaced with eyes reflecting pain, lips trembling with sorrow. As reality flooded back, erasing the memories of the night before.

He detested mornings. The turning over, the pulling away from his touch, the rejection of his attempt at comforting. The silent form lying still, on the opposite side of the large bed, not responding to his empty attempts at providing words of solace.

He loathed mornings. Resented the ripping away of temporary pleasure, the fleeting comfort sought and found in each other's bodies. The peace that was theirs for a few hours each night before dawn destroyed what they had fought to build.

Sighing, he rolled over and dragged himself, naked, from the bed. Made to leave the tomb-like bedroom to seek refuge in the stinging shower. Heard her light footstep in the hall. Shit. What was she doing here? And why hadn't he been aware of her arrival?

Turning, he found himself staring into wounded eyes, eyes that now also mirrored another emotion, one he couldn't quite discern. "Your sister is here," he announced quietly.

"Figures" was the response, the voice flat, devoid of emotion. "She texted me at least a million times last night. She's probably coming to ask you to help find me. Tell her you don't know where I am." He pulled the covers over his head, effectively ending the interchange.

With vampire speed, he pulled on pants discarded hastily many hours before and stepped out into the cold hallway, pausing to shut the bedroom door behind him. Turning, he confronted Elena, now only steps away.

"Well, well. Breaking and entering. How very un-'All-American-Girl-Next-Door' of you. Oh, I forgot. This humble abode is your home as well. So," he continued, performing a mock bow, "To what do I owe this early morning visitation? Missing me?"

Elena shot him a look. "Jeremy didn't come home again last night. He isn't answering my texts or picking up his voice mail. He left the party with Matt but Matt says he's sure he saw him going into the house." She stopped and looked up at him. Christ, what was it with these Gilberts and their puppy-dog eyes?

"Well, did you check under the beds and in the closets? Maybe he's developed some weird drug-induced aversion to sleeping on mattresses. Didn't you say he'd started smoking weed again?" Her glare substituted clearly for her unspoken words.

Throwing up his hands, he declared, "OK. OK. But I don't know where he is, Elena. He certainly isn't here or I'd have heard him stumbling around. I'm sure he'll turn up safe and sound, eventually."

Elena slumped against the wall. Shaking her head she whispered, "I don't know how to help him, Damon. He's suffering and I can't make it better. Alaric left last night. He feels like he's not helping either. Jeremy is slipping away again, and I've been too busy trying to find Stefan, dealing with my own stuff, I haven't been there for him."

She began to cry softly. Reaching out, he pulled her in for a hug. It was torture to touch her, to hold her slight body against his. They had tried to put the kiss behind them. He got that she had only been trying to comfort him, believing him to be dying, but God help him, he still loved her.

Even as the self-confession raced through his mind, he felt a pang of guilt, remorse, as his mind's eye pictured the young man hiding out in his bedroom.

How had he ever gotten himself into this mess? He tried to tell himself that things had happened accidentally, that he hadn't set out with a plan to get Jeremy Gilbert into his bed. But, if he was being honest with himself, the events leading up to that first time hadn't entirely been due to happenstance.

The physical healing from that Lockwood cur's bite was complete, as if it had never happened. The emotional pain inflicted that night and the ones following never receded. It nipped at his heels as he spent his days searching for Stefan, it gnawed at him every time he allowed himself to think of Elena and her admission of love, her lips on his, and gouged at his stomach whenever he thought of the future.

A future without Stefan. With Elena as his 'friend'. He foresaw himself stuck for an eternity in Mystic Falls, relegated to the tedious task of protecting both the annoying otherworldly creatures and the equally tiresome humans living within its confining city limits. Shit.

So he began to drink. A lot. And often. He travelled far afield to compel and fed on stupid, trusting mortals. Spent the balance of his nights having mindless, boring sex with Andie. Until her endless prattle, her useless attempts at easing his mind drove him to banish her from the boarding house.

And then one sleepless night, a few weeks after Stefan's departure. He found himself at the cemetery, wandering aimlessly through the rows of headstones. Bottle of bourbon in hand, he paused to take a long swig.

Heard the shouting, the swearing coming from across the dark expanse. In a vampire instant, he found himself face to face with a distraught Jeremy Gilbert. Who stopped mid-yell in shock at his sudden appearance.

"What the hell, Gilbert?" He exclaimed, "Screaming at dead people? Well, dead vampires to be technically accurate. I doubt that Vicki or Anna can hear your little tirade. Seriously, your outburst is only serving to frighten the neighborhood raccoons and the residential skunks."

"Fuck off, Damon" retorted the still visibly startled teen. "Just leave me the hell alone." Jeremy's words were full of bravado but he could sense the tension in the younger male.

Suddenly he felt sorry for the obviously suffering youngster. He decided to change tactics. "I'm just giving you a rough time, little Gilbert. You probably have your reasons for calling out to non-existent vampires. I seem to recall you had a 'thing' for both of them. And you're going through a tough time. That's bound to dredge up old stuff. Make you irritated at the 'dearly departed'."

Jeremy began to stride away from him. Furiously he threw back over his shoulder, "You don't know me, asshole. Go fuck yourself with your psycho-babble bull shit."

Ouch. The kid was really angry. He got anger. And he wasn't one to walk away from the possibility of conflict. Sparring with others distracted him. So without really planning it, he found himself once again blocking Jeremy's path.

"Whoa there, Gilbert. Don't get your boxers all in a knot. I wasn't trying to analyze you, I'll leave that to your sister and Alaric. I was simply trying to make sense of the sight of you yelling expletives in a dark, empty cemetery. Maybe you're high?" He peered into the other male's dark eyes. Reached out a hand with the intent of pulling Jeremy's face closer to his own.

With some force, his arm was knocked away. "I told you to fuck off. Jesus, Damon. You are such a jerk. Why can't you go away? It's none of your business what I'm doing, if I'm high or not, or where I choose to hang out." But the boy looked defeated, deflated. He balanced himself precariously on a squared-off tombstone, supporting himself on extended arms. The tall teen closed his eyes and sighed loudly.

He found himself staring intently at the young male's face. The family genes were evident, even with the eyes shut. Although Elena's constant, pinched look wasn't evident, the familiar way of holding her mouth when stressed was.

It gave him pause. Jeremy Gilbert. Alone, vulnerable. Needing an ally, a shoulder to lean on. Maybe even to cry on. That would totally piss Elena off. If it was him that Jeremy came to rely on, turned to in his time of need.

The more he thought about it, the more he warmed to the idea. Retribution could be his. Pay back, so to speak, for her daring to trifle with his affections, playing with his emotions. It seemed only fair that he could cause her some pain in return. Or, at the very least, cause her to interact with him on a subject other than Stefan.

Oh yes, this could be fun. He stepped closer to Jeremy, placed the palm of his hand softly against the young man's cheek. Leaning in, he whispered gently, "It's going to be OK. I'm here for you, Jeremy. I want to help, you can count on me. I won't leave you. Ever. I promise."