Fluid rounds pt.2

The bar smelled of whiskey, cheap cologne, and faint desperation. Tom sat hunched over the counter, nursing a drink that he'd lost track of a while ago. He swirled the amber liquid lazily, staring at the way the light fractured through the glass. For once, things felt quiet—or at least quiet enough.

The calm didn't last long. His phone buzzed against the worn wood of the bar, and Tom glanced at the screen. Stefan. His lips curled into a grimace, and his face twisted like he'd bitten into a lemon.

"Girlfriend?" the bartender asked, leaning on the counter as she polished a glass. She had sharp eyes, the kind that could dissect a man with a single glance.

"Worse," Tom muttered, shaking his head. "My little brother."

The bartender smirked. "Oof. You gonna answer, or let him sweat?"

Tom hesitated, but eventually sighed and picked up the call. The moment he did, Stefan's voice came through like a bullet.

"Where the hell are you?" Stefan snapped, his words sharp and frantic. "And why haven't you called? What the hell is going on, Tom?"

Tom held the phone away from his ear, wincing at the volume. "Easy, tiger. You're coming in hot." He took a deliberate sip of his drink. "What's the problem?"

"You haven't checked in, that's the problem!" Stefan's tone was biting, but there was a crack in it—fear, maybe. "And Elena is with Damon. I don't know where she is, and Bonnie's no help."

Tom frowned, leaning back in his seat. "Damon?"

"Yes, Tom. And instead of panicking like a normal person, you're… I don't know, doing whatever it is you're doing right now. Drinking, probably."

Tom sighed. "Look, Stefan, I don't have a good reason for not calling. But if you're that worried about Elena, you know what you need to do."

"And what's that?" Stefan shot back, his voice taut.

"Call her, dumbass," Tom said, his tone dry. "Keep calling. Do whatever it takes to get through. Something tells me she'll pick up."

Stefan hesitated on the other end. "And if she doesn't?"

"Then you try harder," Tom said simply. He hung up before Stefan could argue, tossing the phone onto the counter with a tired sigh.

"Kids," he muttered, raising his glass to the bartender.

She poured him another without asking, topping off his drink with a practiced hand. "He sounded like he was in trouble," she said.

"Always is," Tom replied, taking another sip.

"You have a girlfriend?" the bartender asked, her tone casual but curious.

Tom hesitated, the words caught somewhere between his throat and his chest. Finally, he said, "It's complicated."

She chuckled softly, wiping down the counter as she watched him. "Figured as much. You've been handing out advice left and right today—why not take some of your own?"

Tom offered a faint smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Mine's not that simple. At least the ones they love are still alive."

The bartender paused, her rag stilling in her hand. Her expression shifted, softening. "What was she like?"

Tom leaned back, his gaze turning distant, as if the memory of her lived somewhere just beyond the room. "She was… a handful," he said, his voice quieter now. "Stubborn, hardheaded, and she had the shortest fuse. Once she got angry, it was like trying to stop a train—it took a hell of a lot to calm her down." He let out a low chuckle, but it was tinged with something heavier. "But I've never felt more alive than when I was with her."

His hand went to his collar, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. From beneath it, he pulled out a small silver piece dangling from a chain. It caught the low light of the bar as he held it up for the bartender to see.

"This," he said softly, "is my last memory of her."

She leaned in to get a closer look, her brows furrowing with curiosity, but before she could ask, he tucked it back beneath his shirt. "Things were… fun with her," he added, his smile returning, faint but warmer this time.

"You don't sound so jaded now," the bartender said with a smile of her own, though there was a hint of sympathy behind it.

Before Tom could respond, Damon pushed through the door of the office, his presence breaking the fragile quiet that had settled over the bar.

"Where's Elena?" Damon asked

Tom jerked his thumb toward the door. "Outside."

Damon nodded once and disappeared the way he came.

The bartender watched him go before turning back to Tom. "He's not as bad as Bree said," she said with a teasing lilt.

Tom raised a brow, finally breaking out of his reverie. "Really? I thought she loved him."

The bartender smirked, leaning against the counter. "She does. But you know what they say—'You hate the ones you love and love the ones you hate.'"

Tom gave her a skeptical look. "Yeah, I've never heard that one."

She laughed lightly and went back to her work, leaving Tom to his drink and his thoughts.

At the far end of the bar, Bree emerged from the back room, her face set in a frown. She walked over to Tom, shaking her head. "Sorry, but I can't help you," she said.

Tom hummed thoughtfully. "Hmmm. Maybe you can help me another way."

Bree raised an eyebrow. "I doubt it. One Salvatore is bad enough."

Tom's smirk faded into something sharper, colder. "I was wondering if you could make me a daylight ring."

Bree stiffened, her eyes darting toward Damon before settling back on Tom. "I can't," she said finally. "I don't have the spell."

Tom leaned forward, his voice low. "I'll give it to you. Don't worry about that. And I won't charge you a thing."

Bree hesitated, pulling her hands back as if his touch burned. "I'll think about it," she said, her voice quiet. "But I'll need time."

Tom nodded. "Take your time. Just remember—we're out of here after sundown."

Outside, Elena was pacing by the car, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. She'd just ended a call with Stefan, and now she leaned against the car's hood

Damon appeared silently beside her, his expression uncharacteristically soft. "You all right?"

Elena didn't look at him. "No. I'm not."

Damon shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to say. He wasn't great at comforting people—never had been. Before he could cobble together something resembling empathy, Elena's stomach growled audibly.

Damon smirked, the tension breaking. "Hungry?"

Elena sighed but nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Come on," he said, gesturing toward the bar. "Let's eat. Maybe you'll feel better."

Inside, Tom was well into his next drink. He sat at the bar like he belonged there, like the world outside didn't exist. Damon led Elena to a seat beside him, and the two brothers exchanged a glance.

"Having a good time?" Damon asked, his voice laced with mock cheer.

Tom scoffed. "Oh, a jolly good time," he replied, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Damon waved at the bartender. "Three burgers," he said.

Elena looked at Tom, her brow furrowed. "Why is he drinking like that?" she whispered to Damon.

Damon shrugged. "That's just how he is. Best not to poke at it. You don't want an answer. Trust me."

Tom ignored them, his gaze fixed on the counter. After a moment, he turned to Elena. "Talked to Stefan yet?"

Elena nodded. "Yeah. I just don't get it. Why didn't he tell me? Am I… am I related to Katherine?"

Tom chuckled darkly. Damon, on the other hand, frowned. "I doubt it," he said. "Even if you were, it would mean Katherine had a kid before she turned. And I just don't see that happening."

Tom arched an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Damon shot him a look. "Yeah. And slow down on the drinks, will you? Your breath's horrible."

Elena ignored them, her mind racing. "But… if it's possible, then—"

"Why does it matter?" Tom interrupted, his tone calm but pointed.

"Because it's weird!" Elena said, exasperated. "It would mean he's trying to replace her—with me!"

Damon chuckled. "Okay, that would be creepy."

Tom smirked, leaning back in his chair. "If he wanted to replace her, he could've done it with any raging, hormonal—" He stopped, glancing at Damon. "No offense."

Damon raised an eyebrow. "Yes, offense. She's my girlfriend."

Tom grabbed a fry from Damon's plate and popped it into his mouth. "Well, she killed me."

Elena blinked, staring at him in shock. "Wait. She killed you?"

Tom nodded, his expression unreadable.

"And you're just… sitting here, eating burgers together like it's no big deal?" she asked, incredulous.

Tom shrugged. "That's because they're all I've got left. Family's family. And anyway, if I killed everyone who hurt me, I'd be pretty lonely."

Damon leaned back in his chair, smirking. "We've got a different set of morals—or lack thereof. You've heard the saying, 'Life's too short to hold grudges.' Well, for us, it's the opposite."

"It's not that deep," Tom added, his tone dismissive.

Elena frowned. "But you're… technically dead. How are you even eating?"

Damon gestured toward Tom. "You want to take this one?"

Tom nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "We're alive enough," he said finally. "Our bodies work, mostly. But to function, we need blood in our system. Otherwise…" He shrugged.

"So Katherine couldn't have had a kid when she was…" Elena trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

Damon sighed. "No. We can't procreate. Though we love to try," he added with a sly grin.

Tom laughed, nearly choking on his fry. "Would've been fun if we could," he said. "Then, who knows? Maybe Elena could be related to us."

Damon glared at him, choking on his beer this time. Tom laughed harder, clearly enjoying his brother's discomfort.

Elena shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite everything. "You two are impossible."

The bartender returned, setting three beers on the counter. Elena reached for one hesitantly.

"Can I?" she asked.

"Knock yourself out," the bartender said, sliding it toward her.

Tom raised his bottle, smirking. "To making love," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Damon shook his head. "No."

Elena chuckled, taking a small sip from her beer.

The bar smelled of whiskey, cheap cologne, and faint desperation. Tom sat hunched over the counter, nursing a drink that he'd lost track of a while ago. He swirled the amber liquid lazily, staring at the way the light fractured through the glass. For once, things felt quiet—or at least quiet enough.

The calm didn't last long. His phone buzzed against the worn wood of the bar, and Tom glanced at the screen. Stefan. His lips curled into a grimace, and his face twisted like he'd bitten into a lemon.

"Girlfriend?" the bartender asked, leaning on the counter as she polished a glass. She had sharp eyes, the kind that could dissect a man with a single glance.

"Worse," Tom muttered, shaking his head. "My little brother."

The bartender smirked. "Oof. You gonna answer, or let him sweat?"

Tom hesitated, but eventually sighed and picked up the call. The moment he did, Stefan's voice came through like a bullet.

"Where the hell are you?" Stefan snapped, his words sharp and frantic. "And why haven't you called? What the hell is going on, Tom?"

Tom held the phone away from his ear, wincing at the volume. "Easy, tiger. You're coming in hot." He took a deliberate sip of his drink. "What's the problem?"

"You haven't checked in, that's the problem!" Stefan's tone was biting, but there was a crack in it—fear, maybe. "And Elena is with Damon. I don't know where she is, and Bonnie's no help."

Tom frowned, leaning back in his seat. "Damon?"

"Yes, Tom. And instead of panicking like a normal person, you're… I don't know, doing whatever it is you're doing right now. Drinking, probably."

Tom sighed. "Look, Stefan, I don't have a good reason for not calling. But if you're that worried about Elena, you know what you need to do."

"And what's that?" Stefan shot back, his voice taut.

"Call her, dumbass," Tom said, his tone dry. "Keep calling. Do whatever it takes to get through. Something tells me she'll pick up."

Stefan hesitated on the other end. "And if she doesn't?"

"Then you try harder," Tom said simply. He hung up before Stefan could argue, tossing the phone onto the counter with a tired sigh.

"Kids," he muttered, raising his glass to the bartender.

She poured him another without asking, topping off his drink with a practiced hand. "He sounded like he was in trouble," she said.

"Always is," Tom replied, taking another sip.

"You have a girlfriend?" the bartender asked, her tone casual but curious.

Tom hesitated, the words caught somewhere between his throat and his chest. Finally, he said, "It's complicated."

She chuckled softly, wiping down the counter as she watched him. "Figured as much. You've been handing out advice left and right today—why not take some of your own?"

Tom offered a faint smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Mine's not that simple. At least the ones they love are still alive."

The bartender paused, her rag stilling in her hand. Her expression shifted, softening. "What was she like?"

Tom leaned back, his gaze turning distant, as if the memory of her lived somewhere just beyond the room. "She was… a handful," he said, his voice quieter now. "Stubborn, hardheaded, and she had the shortest fuse. Once she got angry, it was like trying to stop a train—it took a hell of a lot to calm her down." He let out a low chuckle, but it was tinged with something heavier. "But I've never felt more alive than when I was with her."

His hand went to his collar, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. From beneath it, he pulled out a small silver piece dangling from a chain. It caught the low light of the bar as he held it up for the bartender to see.

"This," he said softly, "is my last memory of her."

She leaned in to get a closer look, her brows furrowing with curiosity, but before she could ask, he tucked it back beneath his shirt. "Things were… fun with her," he added, his smile returning, faint but warmer this time.

"You don't sound so jaded now," the bartender said with a smile of her own, though there was a hint of sympathy behind it.

Before Tom could respond, Damon pushed through the door of the office, his presence breaking the fragile quiet that had settled over the bar.

"Where's Elena?" Damon asked

Tom jerked his thumb toward the door. "Outside."

Damon nodded once and disappeared the way he came.

The bartender watched him go before turning back to Tom. "He's not as bad as Bree said," she said with a teasing lilt.

Tom raised a brow, finally breaking out of his reverie. "Really? I thought she loved him."

The bartender smirked, leaning against the counter. "She does. But you know what they say—'You hate the ones you love and love the ones you hate.'"

Tom gave her a skeptical look. "Yeah, I've never heard that one."

She laughed lightly and went back to her work, leaving Tom to his drink and his thoughts.

At the far end of the bar, Bree emerged from the back room, her face set in a frown. She walked over to Tom, shaking her head. "Sorry, but I can't help you," she said.

Tom hummed thoughtfully. "Hmmm. Maybe you can help me another way."

Bree raised an eyebrow. "I doubt it. One Salvatore is bad enough."

Tom's smirk faded into something sharper, colder. "I was wondering if you could make me a daylight ring."

Bree stiffened, her eyes darting toward Damon before settling back on Tom. "I can't," she said finally. "I don't have the spell."

Tom leaned forward, his voice low. "I'll give it to you. Don't worry about that. And I won't charge you a thing."

Bree hesitated, pulling her hands back as if his touch burned. "I'll think about it," she said, her voice quiet. "But I'll need time."

Tom nodded. "Take your time. Just remember—we're out of here after sundown."

Outside, Elena was pacing by the car, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. She'd just ended a call with Stefan, and now she leaned against the car's hood

Damon appeared silently beside her, his expression uncharacteristically soft. "You all right?"

Elena didn't look at him. "No. I'm not."

Damon shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to say. He wasn't great at comforting people—never had been. Before he could cobble together something resembling empathy, Elena's stomach growled audibly.

Damon smirked, the tension breaking. "Hungry?"

Elena sighed but nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Come on," he said, gesturing toward the bar. "Let's eat. Maybe you'll feel better."

Inside, Tom was well into his next drink. He sat at the bar like he belonged there, like the world outside didn't exist. Damon led Elena to a seat beside him, and the two brothers exchanged a glance.

"Having a good time?" Damon asked, his voice laced with mock cheer.

Tom scoffed. "Oh, a jolly good time," he replied, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Damon waved at the bartender. "Three burgers," he said.

Elena looked at Tom, her brow furrowed. "Why is he drinking like that?" she whispered to Damon.

Damon shrugged. "That's just how he is. Best not to poke at it. You don't want an answer. Trust me."

Tom ignored them, his gaze fixed on the counter. After a moment, he turned to Elena. "Talked to Stefan yet?"

Elena nodded. "Yeah. I just don't get it. Why didn't he tell me? Am I… am I related to Katherine?"

Tom chuckled darkly. Damon, on the other hand, frowned. "I doubt it," he said. "Even if you were, it would mean Katherine had a kid before she turned. And I just don't see that happening."

Tom arched an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Damon shot him a look. "Yeah. And slow down on the drinks, will you? Your breath's horrible."

Elena ignored them, her mind racing. "But… if it's possible, then—"

"Why does it matter?" Tom interrupted, his tone calm but pointed.

"Because it's weird!" Elena said, exasperated. "It would mean he's trying to replace her—with me!"

Damon chuckled. "Okay, that would be creepy."

Tom smirked, leaning back in his chair. "If he wanted to replace her, he could've done it with any raging, hormonal—" He stopped, glancing at Damon. "No offense."

Damon raised an eyebrow. "Yes, offense. She's my girlfriend."

Tom grabbed a fry from Damon's plate and popped it into his mouth. "Well, she killed me."

Elena blinked, staring at him in shock. "Wait. She killed you?"

Tom nodded, his expression unreadable.

"And you're just… sitting here, eating burgers together like it's no big deal?" she asked, incredulous.

Tom shrugged. "That's because they're all I've got left. Family's family. And anyway, if I killed everyone who hurt me, I'd be pretty lonely."

Damon leaned back in his chair, smirking. "We've got a different set of morals—or lack thereof. You've heard the saying, 'Life's too short to hold grudges.' Well, for us, it's the opposite."

"It's not that deep," Tom added, his tone dismissive.

Elena frowned. "But you're… technically dead. How are you even eating?"

Damon gestured toward Tom. "You want to take this one?"

Tom nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "We're alive enough," he said finally. "Our bodies work, mostly. But to function, we need blood in our system. Otherwise…" He shrugged.

"So Katherine couldn't have had a kid when she was…" Elena trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

Damon sighed. "No. We can't procreate. Though we love to try," he added with a sly grin.

Tom laughed, nearly choking on his fry. "Would've been fun if we could," he said. "Then, who knows? Maybe Elena could be related to us."

Damon glared at him, choking on his beer this time. Tom laughed harder, clearly enjoying his brother's discomfort.

Elena shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite everything. "You two are impossible."

The bartender returned, setting three beers on the counter. Elena reached for one hesitantly.

"Can I?" she asked.

"Knock yourself out," the bartender said, sliding it toward her.

Tom raised his bottle, smirking. "To making love," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Damon shook his head. "No."

Elena chuckled, taking a small sip from her beer.