"I don't know what they are called, the spaces between seconds– but I think of you always in those intervals."

— Salvador Plascencia, The People of Paper

It was the middle of the night and the sky was a dark, blank canvas; there was no moon, no stars to cast the town below in silvery light. Stefan's room was pitch black and silent except for the rustle of sheets as Elena tossed in bed. She had a lot of energy; too much energy and it was churning beneath her skin, working her muscles, hindering her from relaxing into sleep. She turned on her side for the fifth time and watched as Stefan slept on his back, completely still. For a moment Elena allowed herself to gaze at his profile, his chiselled jaw and straight nose and eyelashes so long it sometimes made her envious. He had the features of a sculpture, a true Adonis.

"You're staring again," he said, keeping his eyes closed.

"I can't sleep."

"Elena…"

"You didn't change the mattress?"

"It's the same mattress as last night and the night before and the night before that."

"What about the sheets are they new?"

"No," said Stefan. "Now go to sleep."

Elena bit her lip and kept looking at him.

"You're still staring," said Stefan.

"Are you sure this isn't a new mattress?"

"Why would I lie about this?"

"So you can shut me up so I can go to bed."

"But you aren't going to bed," said Stefan.

"I can't sleep."

"Elena—"

"Well what about the room is there something different about the room? Because—"

Stefan sighed and snapped open his eyes, turning his head so that he was looking directly at Elena. She smiled sheepishly at him. "Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"Yeah and now you're going to pay the price."

Elena started to protest but Stefan rolled over so that he was on top of her and her words turned into screams of laughter as Stefan kneeled between her legs and tickled her.

"Stefan, Stefan, please stop! Please!"

She couldn't breathe from all the laughing, tears were in her eyes, her stomach began to ache and she tried to push Stefan's hands away as she writhed uncontrollably on the bed, her legs flailing, a screech in her throat.

"STEFAN!"

He growled and tickled harder, grinning as Elena tried in vain to fight back. He lessened the pressure as he shifted his weight to get more comfortable but Elena saw the opportunity and took it. She lifted her head and pressed her lips squarely against his, reaching up to put her palm on the side of his face. Stefan pushed himself into the kiss so that Elena's head sank down into the pillow, his mouth opening hers with such enthusiasm that she couldn't help but giggle as she moved her hand to grip his neck. Quickly, Elena turned so that Stefan was the one lying flat on the bed and she was on top of him, gently tugging his lower lip with her teeth, eliciting a grumble deep in his chest. He slipped his hand under her tank top, skating his fingers up her bare back so that her entire body erupted into shivers. She kissed him harder, sucking his tongue as his hands glided from her back to her chest, his palms kneading her and massaging her, exploring her with reverence, with passion. Stefan broke away from the kiss, keeping Elena's face inches from his, so close that their eyelashes brushed each other each time they blinked, and he held her gaze as his trailed his fingers further down, a soft caress from her breasts to stomach … beneath the waistband of her pyjama shorts …past the lace of her underwear …

And then —

Elena moaned and Stefan gasped as he eased a finger into her, rubbing and circling, their smiling mouths hanging open and pressed against each other. Elena circled a hand around Stefan's moving wrist and subtly grinded against his movement, relishing the sound of the grumble in his throat, aroused by the feel of him stiff beneath her. When Elena quickened the pace of her gyrating hips, Stefan withdrew his finger, grinning as Elena's lustful frustration passed across her face, kissing her nose to keep it from exploding. Elena narrowed her eyes in playful challenge and moved away, kneeling upwards. She crossed her hands at the hem of her shirt and slid it off, letting it fall to the bedside. She started to lean back down to Stefan but he sat up before she could, his head raised toward her, his lips parted and his eyes raw and fixed and steady on her gaze; his stare had the contrary effect of inflaming her skin and calming her mind. He nibbled on her chin and then kissed her along her neck and shoulder, running the tip of his tongue down her throat, causing Elena to clasp the back of his head and graze her fingers through his hair, clenching the strands, sighing heavily as Stefan's mouth found her breasts. Abruptly, he held her tight around the waist and swivelled, making her squeal and she was pinned back down on the bed, laughing loudly. Stefan kissed her hard and fast and instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his back, pressing him to her, urging him on as he rocked into her and Elena marvelled at how even with the flannel of her shorts and the cotton of his pants, she could feel the intensity of his hardness against her groin and it made her ache all over. With fumbling fingers, Elena untied the strings to Stefan's pyjama pants and then plunged her hand in, gripping his manhood, causing a groan full of need and desire to crack in Stefan's throat and resonate deep within her body. He pulled away from her, his eyebrows creased and Elena slid his pants down as her hands stroked his shaft, becoming more and more eager as his moans echoed in her ears and moistened her thighs. She felt his hands on her waist, tugging off her shorts and then suddenly, finally, wonderfully, he thrust into her and then —

Whoosh.

Elena woke up with a start, sitting upright in bed. She was slicked with sweat and her hair was sticking to her forehead and to her back. She was hot. Really hot. Quickly, she threw the covers off of her so that the cool air could soothe her skin. It was light outside. Painfully bright. Day. Or morning. She squinted her eyes and used her hand as a visor. Why was it day or morning? What was going on? Had she been dreaming? Elena looked around frantically. This was Stefan's room. She was in Stefan's bed. So then what was —? And then she saw the figure by the window. Saw who drew open the curtains.

And then she remembered.

Stefan was gone.

Stefan was —

"Jeremy and I decided it was time for you to get up." The figure moved away from the window to the middle of the room and revealed itself to be Matt. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "That was some dream you were having."

"It wasn't a dream, it was a memory," said Elena.

"Of you and Stefan?"

Elena nodded her head quickly "What time is it?"

"It's almost eleven."

"You shouldn't have let me sleep this late. Maryland is like a four hour drive from here." Elena started inching off of the bed but Matt moved to stop her and she sat back down on the mattress.

"You needed the sleep," said Matt. "You've been going all across the country nonstop all summer. You just got in from Nevada two days ago. Stefan wouldn't've wanted—"

"I thought we agreed we wouldn't talk about him like he's dead," said Elena sharply. Matt raised his eyebrows at her town and then he lowered his eyes. Elena sighed.

"Matt, I'm sorry. I know you're just looking out for me. And I know I don't always thank you even though I really do appreciate you trying to make sure I'm OK," said Elena. "But I'm not going to be OK until I find him." She shook her head, her voice gravelly with emotion. "I have to find out where he is and why he's in so much pain."

"But how do you know he's in pain? And —" Matt licked his lips and took a deep breath. "And how do you know he isn't dead, Elena?"

"I feel him," she said simply. "I know that that doesn't really make sense but …" She looked around the room, casting around for the right words. "It's like a pit in my gut, a void that's been there since Stefan left — since he's gone missing and and it keeps getting bigger and, and, and stronger and I just know it's because he's in trouble. Like my body is responding to his pain even from miles away. And then other times … it's like I can feel him in the room, sense his presence or his … soul or, or something and it's reaching out to me and just when I think I can reach back it's gone." Her voice turned into a strangled whisper. "God, it's killing me." She looked at Matt directly in the eye. "He's alive."

She got up from the bed and walked across the room to Stefan's closet, wrenching open the door.

"And what makes you think that Maryland will be any different than Nevada?"

"The same reason why I thought Nevada would be different from California," said Elena. "Hope." She started taking out a towel and a robe. "I know it's a crappy lead, Matt. I know the other ones were crappy too but I can't sit around and do nothing.

"You sound exactly like how you did when he went off with Klaus," said Matt quietly.

"And he came back to us then, remember?" said Elena, slamming the closet door shut. "I can't give up now just like I couldn't give up then. Stefan doesn't bring that out in me. He … he makes me believe. And I have to believe that I'm getting closer to finding him."

Matt stared at her for a while and then let out a deep breath. "Well you can't drive to Maryland alone," he said. "I can co —"

"No," said Elena, cutting him off. "You need to stay here."

"Elena, you're human again, you need back up."

"And I'll have it," said Elena. "But I can't let you —"

"Look, I'm not new to any of this. I've seen my fair share of danger just by living in Mystic Falls and being friends with you guys. I've been in my fair share of danger."

"It's not about that," said Elena. "I mean it is but it's mostly … You're the glue. You know that right? You're the glue keeping all of us together, keeping us from falling apart, from drifting away from each other. Jeremy and Bonnie and Caroline and Tyler, they all need you here, they need you to hold down the fort."

"They need you too, you know."

"Like I need all of you," said Elena. "But I also need Stefan. And you guys do too. He's a part of us, Matt."

He blinked a couple of times. "Drive safe," he said. "And try to stay off bridges."

Elena returned his grin and watched as he loped out of the bedroom but as soon as he turned his back and closed the door, her small smile no longer pulled awkwardly at the corners of her mouth and her expression slid back into its true form; quietly agonized and full of painful longing.

An entire summer.

That was how long Stefan had been gone.

That was how long Elena had suffered the pit in her gut, the void in her stomach. For two months her body was telling her something was wrong, something needed her immediate attention. For two months, her body had been screaming Stefan's name. At first Elena convinced herself that it was her vampirism, that it had to be some kind of after-shock from switching her humanity back on. But then she'd actually become human again, spelled into mortality by the witches, and the sick feeling within her lingered, intensified. She let herself feel it, embrace it, let herself listen to it.

And then she knew.

Knew it in her heart, in her bones, knew it like how she'd known that on her eighteenth birthday, Stefan had been on the other end of that voiceless phone call — he was in trouble, he was in pain and he was holding on. For her.

It wasn't a question. She had to find him. That was all she wanted. Him back to her. Him in her arms. The feel of his body next to hers, against hers, enclosing hers and … and …

Elena stilled. A chill had entered the room, prickling her arms, the nape of her neck, causing her back to arch and her shoulders to hunch — a movement across her skin …

…

… Stefan stood in front of Elena, watching as tears brimmed her eyes, eyes that were looking directly at him, directly through him because he couldn't be seen, because he wasn't in her world. The desperate desire to hold her overtook his body with excruciating urgency, making his fingers tremor with the impulse to touch her, and he saw it on Elena's face too: the need to be comforted and satiated by what only he could give her — his touch. Her need was like a punch in his chest and Stefan tried to do it. To touch her.

He reached forward, stroking the side of her face, tortured by the inability to feel her skin beneath his fingertips yet solaced by the attempt, by the fact that he was in front of her at all. He traced his thumb along her jaw and slowly, she closed her eyes, almost like she was reacting to him and Stefan parted his lips, sighing heavily, teary-eyed and hopeful. She could feel it. She could feel him. Feel something. He knew it. Elena leaned into his palm, like it was a natural inclination, her face smoothing out into relief; her arm even jerked like she was about to put her hand on his like she'd done so many times before when he'd held her face like this. And then she opened her eyes, her pupils darting back and forth, her eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Stefan?"

The way she said his name, it made his lips tremble. He opened his mouth to respond and then —

It was like a hook behind his navel, dragging him backward at warp speed. And then he collided into something, a body, his body, reanimating its parts like he brought himself back to life. He yelled out her name.

"Elena!"

No sound.

Bubbles.

Water.

He was choked by water. No air. No room. Immediately, Stefan started thrashing around, his fists crashing into something metal. The lock box. His lock box. His tomb. He was drowning. No, he couldn't be drowning. He couldn't accept it. He wouldn't accept it. Stefan banged on the door, pummelled his fists into the indentations he'd managed to cave into the locker from his earlier attempts to escape. Breathe, his brain told him. Try and breathe. Holding your breath is killing you. Stefan tried to fight the impulse; he wanted to die. He wanted to see —

But it was instinct.

He took a deep breath and the water squeezed his windpipe; he tried to cough but only inhaled more water, stuffing his nose, crushing his throat. He was lightheaded but his temples throbbed, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't escape. He just wanted out. Out! Out! OUT! He tried to crack his elbows against the side of his lock box but it was too narrow for him to bend his arms, he was confined to one position, he couldn't even turn over if he wanted to.

More water in the airway.

Everything constricted.

The pain was a particular kind of unbearable. And Stefan wanted to die. Not to stop the pain altogether but to trade this physical torment for the emotional anguish of the Other Side. When he died, he found himself in supernatural purgatory, sometimes for thirty seconds, sometimes for ten minutes, sometimes for even an entire hour. And there, on the Other Side, he could check in on Damon — the sight of his brother a pang to the chest and a comfort to the mind at the same time.

On the Other Side he could see Elena, relish the cruel pleasure of a near-touch, a half-conversation; he could hear her whisper his name, her voice rich with yearning and thick with sorrow, steady with hope. And that was what he wanted more than anything, that was what kept him fighting to wait, fighting to be rescued.

The sound of his name on her lips.