By the time I got back, Alaric was sitting on the couch, just staring at the fire with shadows dancing in his eyes. He didn't look up at me and I hated the way my heart clenched.

I stood there for awhile, snow melting into my hair as I shifted back human. The cold slithered and spread through out my body, but I paid the almost painful feeling no mind. I watched as he watched the fire, his head slightly tilted to the side. There was no doubt that all he had known were cold and empty nights.

I made up my mind that tonight would not be a cold an empty night for him. I couldn't say the same for myself. I deserved a cold and empty night, a night to control myself.

It would get worst before it ever gets better, my monster whispered to me. It was right, and right it will always be. Especially when the truth rendered me unable to lie to myself.

So I turned away from him, heading upstairs to change. Once my hair was in it's usual bun and I had on a black sweater and fuzzy socks, I made my way back down to cook.

He was still watching the fire.

I began plating the food, a good size bowl of spaghetti with homemade tomato sauce. It wasn't like Jackson's cooking, but it would have to do. For myself though, I spiced up a couple bags of blood, the noodles practically drowning in it. I had to constantly keep wiping the drool from my mouth at how good it smelled. Garlic does anything but repel us.

I sat both plates across from each other at the four seat table and then sought out Alaric in the living room. I slowly approached, careful not to frighten him. Like before, he was still staring at the fire.

"Do you like fire?" I asked softly, standing just 10 feet away. He didn't look at me, and just when I thought he wouldn't answer, he spoke.

"Fire is," he paused, "like us."

"How so?" His nose scrunched up in thought at the question. Like I had questioned the law.

"The b-begining and end." I couldn't help the small tug at the corner of my lips. Isolation didn't drain his intelligence, he just isn't used to speaking. That doesn't mean he forgot how too.

"You know," I told him, "they call fire the Warmth of Destruction."

Alaric looked at me finally, curiosity etched in every line on his stunning face. "Then w-what's ice?"

I shrugged my shoulders, turning towards the kitchen. "You tell me," I called over my shoulder, walking to the table.

Alaric followed, a small frown in place. I pulled out his chair in invitation before plopping down in mine, a habit Jackson hated.

Not waiting to pray to the stars or my ancestors, I dug in. The blood rolled over my taste buds like soft velvet, and I savored it behind closed eyes. I knew he was watching, like he always would. I could pratically feel his apprehension.

"I'll o-owe you," he said and I opened my eyes slowly, matching his confusion.

"What?" I sputtered, all thoughts of blood forgotten.

"The f-food."

"What about the food?" I asked as he stared down at said food then back up at me. But before he could repeat himself, my mind caught up. "Oh, you think you owe me for the food," I chuckled then went back to eating. "Don't worry, it's free."

And with that, we ate in silence. It was comfortable for him, but I hated the silence. It made me think; made me worry if they were really coming home. A small shadow in a dark corner of my mind whispered what I feared the most. They have gone to join mother.