What It's Worth
PG-13. 12/21/2004.

Alaric is married to his work, and not to Meredith. It doesn't matter what it says on the certificate; she doesn't need to pull it out of her husband's briefcase to know. She's known for a long time now.

He got a report that there was a man who could carve stone with his mind. They were in Brazil at the time; Alaric was studying the "bloodless surgery" peformed by candomblé faith healers. He'd been taking mountains of field notes, disappearing into the forest for weeks on end--but the minute he read this new story, they were packing. He had made up his mind: they were moving to Italy.

So here she is, in a sleepy little village just an hour or so from Florence. They'd barely unlocked the door to the furnished cottage before Alaric was off to Tuscany to begin his latest adventure. Meredith had unpacked their bags, then trudged down to the market and bought something for her dinner.

She doesn't speak a word of Italian. This is the first time Alaric's moved her to a place where she can't even communicate with people--and the first time he hasn't seen her settled before he left.

Meredith sits down in her new living room, and wearily closes her eyes. She is very, very tired.

Of course, she has a number for Elena in Florence. She could always call. But she's had the number for ten years already, and never used it. She doesn't even know if it would work any more. She doesn't even know if she wants to call in the first place, after so long.

A decade is not a very long time for vampires, but it can be almost forever, for a girl in love.

Meredith pours herself two consecutive glasses of her husband's favorite cognac, walking through the house and randomly straightening paintings on the walls, aligning furniture. The soft pool of fire growing in her belly can't take the chill out of her heart. She is lonely, and tired, and alone.

Meredith rifles through her purse for her little black address book, the one with the tiny combination lock. Alaric doesn't know she can reach Stefan; if he did, he would never have given up his vampire research, never stopped hunting for answers whose questions he had no right to ask.

Her hands are surprisingly steady as she picks up the handset and dials the numbers on the old rotary phone. She holds her breath, as it rings. Rings. Rings.

After the seventh ring, she's about to hang up, when someone answers. "Salve?"

It is not Stefan, but the voice is somewhat similar. She would know its smooth, oil-slick tone anywhere. "Damon?"

There is a slight, barely noticeable, pause before he responds. "Yes?"

"Damon, this is Meredith Sulez, from Fell's Church. Is--is Elena there? Or Stefan?" She thinks about the last time she saw him, going away, into the forest. Alone.

"They're...unavailable at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?"

Meredith clenches her fist around the water glass she's drinking from, which does not contain water. "Damon, I just want to talk to Elena. Can you please get her for me?"

She can almost picture his smile abruptly leaving his face. "I'm afraid that's impossible, Ms. Sulez. She and my brother are on some insipid little second honeymoon."

Meredith's eyes fill. She and Alaric hadn't had a honeymoon. They had a ceremony at the Duke chapel, witnessed by some of Alaric's academic friends, and Alaric was back over at the Institute the very next morning. "Oh," and see, now her hands are shaking. She can only wonder what Damon thinks about her wavering voice.

"Are you calling from Virginia, Ms. Sulez?"

Her mind is racing, and fuzzy at the edges from drink. She doesn't even want to ask when Elena will be back--she knows it will be too long, for her. She's suddenly gripped by this absolute need to see someone familiar, someone from home. It's been so long since she really had a home, too. Her parents disowned her when they learned she had married her former high school professor.

"I...no, Damon. Actually I'm sort of in the neighborhood." Is she laughing? God, Damon must think she's absolutely insane...

"Yes?"

She tells him what town she's in, no doubt mangling the pronunciation, and not caring. She'd rather be mocked than ignored. "And my last name is Saltzman, now. But call me Meredith, all right?"

"Meredith." He lingers very long over the first letter. No one has ever said her name that way. "Is your husband with you?"

"No," and her throat tightens with some emotion that is no longer pain, nor sorrow--anger. "He's off on some hill, spending quality time with a mason."

"I see." And there's that short little pause again, which Meredith imagines is Damon appraising the situation. "Perhaps I could find time to see you later this evening. Would you care for a visit?"

"I don't want to talk about my problems with you, Damon. And I don't want your pity."

"My sentiments exactly. The offer stands."

She thinks about another night by herself in an empty unfamiliar house, paging through old photo albums of better days. She thinks about the cold, perfectly-made bed waiting for her in the other room, the bed that's so big she'll feel dwarfed, insignificant, inside it.

"Yes. I'll be here." She tells him the exact address.

"Is that an invitation?"

"Yes, Damon."

"I'll see you tonight, Meredith. Ciao."

She hangs up the phone, staring at her hands--her once-again steady hands. Then she begins to disrobe, walking to the shower as she goes. It's important she not be a total mess, when he comes.

End.

Notes: Title and summary taken from Dar Williams' "Calling the Moon."

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