A/N I loved this scene. It was by far one of my favourites. It didn't make sense to me that Elena should not have been just a little bit affected by Damon's sacrifice so I wrote this as a potential missing scene. Not one of my best works but anyway, enjoy.

Crossbow bolts

Most people, on the brink of an untimely death, have the opportunity for a few final thoughts, or words, before it comes unexpectedly rushing up to them, at least in books and films anyway. Thoughts such as 'Stefan is going to be so upset' or words like 'tell him that I love him'.

As it was Elena barely had time to gasp as Vanessa emerged from the doorway and in one fluid motion levelled the crossbow, releasing the trigger…and suddenly it was Damon's face in front of her own in a twisted expression of pain. His hand gripped the shelf next to her as he tried to steady himself, harsh chokes forcing themselves past his lips before pain overwhelmed him and he collapsed to the floor.

Alaric was already pinning the attacker to the wall and only Elena stood, still frozen in the moment of the gasp, as her mind tried to catch up.

She should be dead.

Slowly her eyes dragged from Alaric to the fallen vampire.

Damon.

Panic swelled her veins as she dropped to her knees beside him. Tucking her hair automatically behind her ears her hands quivered over his body, unsure what to do. He was on his side, eyes closed, black hair covering a face creased with pain. He wasn't moving and the bolt jutted from his back accusingly. Elena unsteadily reached out her hand and touched his shoulder, squeezing it gently through his leather jacket.

"Damon," she whispered numbly and suddenly full comprehension rushed through her in heat and dizziness.

It must have been less than a heartbeat; less than a heartbeat for Damon to move across the room and take the arrow in his back. That was too short a time for him to know…to know whether or not the bolt was entirely wooden. Elena gave a dry sob, pressing a hand to her lips as the other gripped his shoulder and she tried to calm her breathing. He wasn't dead. He hadn't disintegrated. It hadn't hit his heart…but it could have…he hadn't known that it wouldn't. For that moment, that brief moment, it didn't matter that he had killed Jeremy. It didn't matter that she was supposed to hate him, because really she still cared, cared so much that it was hurting her. Her fingers left her mouth and brushed the dark hair from his eyes almost jerkily.

"C'mon Damon, wake up." She moved closer until her face was just over his. Her hand was trembling as it rested on his cheek. "Wake up." A light touch as she traced his jaw with a finger, moving to press her palm to the soft skin, willing his eyes to open. Her gaze skimmed over him, memorising every feature, breath harsh as she tried to swallow back tears. One spilled over and trailed a salt line down her cheek, splashing onto his. Fingers skimmed over, wiping it away, and paused at the corner of his mouth…Her gaze locked. Temptation rang, compelled her, and she delicately whispered her touch over his lips…and wondered what they would feel like against her own…

There was a judder under her hand, a groan, a cough and she was looking into half-open ice blue eyes.

"I knew you still cared," Damon croaked, fixing her with a mischievous glance.

Elena dropped her hand like he'd scalded her and leaned away from him. The vampire gave a pained smirk, easing himself up onto an elbow.

"Very sweet of you," he raised his eyebrows, "and I enjoyed the wake up." He dropped his gaze to her hand and she clenched it into a fist. His eyes eased slowly back up to her face. "Not to criticise Elena but, for next time, you're supposed to wake me up with kiss."

"There won't be a next time," she snarled and got to her feet abruptly, leaving him lying on the floor. Reaching the desk she spun till it hit her back and leaned against it, arms folded protectively in front of her. Damon smirked but it swiftly turned into a pained grimace.

"Damn it," he hissed as he tried to twist his arm behind his back. After the third attempt with the bolt remaining stubbornly out of his reach he dropped his hand to the floor and shot Elena a look.

"Little help?"

Elena merely glared at him.

"It's your back," she told him sharply.

"It's your arrow," he countered.

The pang of guilt reminded her of what he'd done, what he'd risked and it made her angry…because he was right.

"Fine," she hissed, and straightened up, dropping her arms back to her sides.

Gripping the shelf Damon dragged his body up onto his feet and braced himself against the surface of the desk. Elena walked up behind him and reached for the arrow, her fingers halting hesitantly just before she touched it.

"Pull it out Elena," he said slowly, patronisingly, like she was a chid.

As she wrenched the bolt from his back she let the anger boil through her blood, let it sing in her ears and reinforce the wall of hate around her heart, because she knew she still cared far, far too much, and the more she cared the more he could hurt her. It wasn't going to happen again.

Displaying the bolt to him between two fingers she dropped it to the desk. There was a note of finality in the responding thunk. Never again.