A/N: As we're hanging on in there (as usual lol) I thought I'd write my version of how 5x17 might've ended. I loved the episode and I have no doubt that everything is going to be fine, but sometimes it's just hard to focus on the bigger picture while watching intensely sad scenes and fan fiction is always the best remedy for that ;)
Summary: Post-5x17. There is one journey that you can only take up by not leaving. Damon/Elena. One-Shot.
Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries belongs to L.J. Smith & CW.
Half Through The Night
"We need rules."
Elena's voice catches Damon off guard.
Or maybe it is her tone, not her voice. Or perhaps even just her words, not her tone.
Or it may be the very fact that she's talking to him at all right now instead of starting the engine of her car.
Damon turns away from the window and for a few moments he's just looking at her, at her dark silhouette in the light of the fireplace, the crackling of wood the only sound, and he can't stop his mind from conjuring up with painful vividness a few unhelpful memories of them in this room. "We'll survive this." "I wanted to dance with you today." "I'm not sorry that I'm in love with you." "I like our life when it is like this."
Elena's looking at him as if she was expecting him to say something, do something... while at the same time hoping he wouldn't say or do anything. She looks feverish and he doubts it's only because of the firelight.
"If I'm going to stay, we need to agree on some rules," Elena says in a determined voice when she decides he's probably not going to react to her former statement. She's trying to sound natural, as if what she was saying actually made sense in the context of what she said not even an hour ago.
Damon turns toward her even more, blinking. Almost involuntarily, he quickly looks her up and down and without really putting the thought into words he realizes that she doesn't have her suitcase with her. She is bare-footed and isn't wearing her jacket.
"Rules," he echoes, not quite knowing what else to say, because he doesn't allow himself to believe he knows what she's up to just yet.
Elena bites her lip and nods awkwardly, nervously tucking strands of hair behind her ears and crossing her arms over her chest.
Damon takes a few steps forward. He puts the glass he was holding in his hand on a nearby table without sparing it a glance, his eyes focused on Elena, never leaving her face as he continues walking toward her.
Her eyes widen a little in odd kind of dismay. Odd, because, for a split second, it almost looks like she's smiling. She draws a breath.
"You're not going to Whitmore?" he blurts out and instantly scolds himself for asking such a thoughtless question that will no doubt only unnecessarily draw her attention back to where it was half an hour ago.
But she seems unfazed by the inquiry, her serious expression telling him that she knows exactly what she's doing and yet there is that trace of panic in her expression that hints at her not quite knowing what she's doing.
"I finished packing-" Her breath catches in her throat and she's forced to start again. "I finished packing and then I realized... that once I get there... I'll still be thinking about your hand, next to mine, only that I won't be able to take it, because you won't be there," she whispers the final part of her sentence almost breathlessly, her eyes meeting his and she looks terrified, as if she just said... as if she just realized something frightening – and exhilarating.
Damon stares at her, afraid to move, not sure if she just made a new decision or was still in the process of deciding or perhaps was merely commenting on the decision she's made before.
"But if we're not breaking up, we need to establish some rules," Elena says with a trace of feverish urgency in her tone, words tumbling off her tongue in a hurry as if uttering them fast could endow them with more logic than she thought they possessed.
Forcing himself out of cautious bewilderment that threatened to turn into flamboyant joy on the spot, Damon grinds his teeth almost to the point of crushing them. "Right," he says in the most sensible voice he can muster that happens to also be insensibly husky and faltering.
"Right," Elena repeats with a hint of consolation in her tone, apparently relieved he isn't arguing the point or making fun of it. "So from now on, we have to talk... more. I know we do, but we need to actually reach some meaningful, progressive conclusions." She thrusts up her chin, satisfied with her well-rounded proposal. "So we'll talk and only talk instead of," she exhales shakily, "making-out and-"
"Making love so many times we lose count half through the night."
He really did just genuinely want to helpfully say something relevant to prove he is completely on board with whatever she has in mind, but somehow it seems Elena didn't understand his words that way if a glare she sends him is any indication.
"Yes," she mutters through her teeth, but then regains her composure before adding with a hint of finality. "We'll just... talk."
He nods, curiosity as to what else she'll say overshadowing any traces of amusement brewing in his mind. He's waiting for her to continue, but she just looks at him and after a few moments shrugs a little and widens her eyes signaling that she's said everything she wanted to say and thankfully, he's being lucid enough not to point out that it was just one rule that she listed.
He nods again and they exchange faint smiles and then he suddenly realizes, all at once, that they're not broken up, that she's not moving out, that she'll spend the night here and will still be here in the morning, and before he knows what he's doing, he storms toward her, cradles her face in his hands and is about to kiss her-
"Damon." Elena's voice is gentle, but also warningly solemn.
He shakes his head, because it really wasn't his intention to break her rule as soon as she made it. He opens his mouth to explain just that, but then thinks that his explanation is probably not going to sound very convincing if he's still cupping her face and his lips are a mere inch away from hers.
But she almost left and now she is right here in front of him again and he just can't bring himself to putting some distance between them right now.
"Damon," Elena says his name again, but this time he can't make out the intention behind her tone, because there is no clear warning in it, and it sounds simultaneously scolding and pleading.
"So..." His forehead falls against hers and he can't summon enough strength to speak above a whisper. "What would you like to talk about?" He practically gasps out the question and thinks that the only reason he can get away with it is because she's panting and they're just both being utterly ridiculous.
Elena's lips quiver and her eyes cloud over with conflicting emotions as she's struggling not to look at his mouth even as her lips are almost touching his. "I think," she says at last in a voice so raspy that it makes the color rise to her cheeks. She clears her throat. "I think it'd be better... easier to talk if you weren't doing this."
"Doing what?" Damon asks, because while yes, his fingertips are caressing the sides of her face and his forehead is pressed to hers, but it's not like she can't push him away.
Although in all fairness she probably can't, because her hands are currently occupied with clutching his shirt and pulling him closer.
"You know what," Elena says evasively and actually straightens up, so their foreheads aren't touching anymore.
However, her eyes flicker to his lips – and stay there until he grazes her lips with his thumbs and her eyes shoot back to his in alarm.
"Damon," she says for the third time, and if it was anger resonating in her voice he would've ignored it, but there is a trace of disappointment in it, so he slides his hands off her face and takes a step back.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, eyebrows furrowed.
After a moment of silence Damon wonders if he should repeat the apology again, because she's standing motionlessly, looking at him without blinking as if she was hypnotized and unable to hear anything at all.
"I didn't mean to-"
"I know," she says, snapping out of her reverie almost too suddenly, wrinkling her forehead. "Maybe-"
She averts her eyes, her expression hardening, but her hands are trembling and he takes an unwarranted leap and prompts her, taking advantage of her abandoned sentence.
"Maybe?..."
Elena's eyes dart back to him and he can see that she's doing her best to remain quiet, opening and closing her mouth until something breaks and she says with forced reluctance:
"Maybe we could still kiss. I mean," she quickly continues and he isn't sure if she's speaking so quietly or perhaps the sound of her voice is just muffled by the noise that their heartbeats make. "If we're not breaking-up, it'd be weird if we didn't."
She says it in such a no-nonsense, reasonable tone that it honestly doesn't even cross his mind to laugh.
It does, however, crosses her mind to smile when he says, with a grimace on his face as if he was agreeing to something painful and difficult, but absolutely necessary:
"You're right, Elena."
But despite confusing appearances, she's being serious and in order to keep herself in the serious mode, she does the only thing that can prevent her from smiling right now: she flaunts herself into his arms and presses her lips to his.
It's a simple, chaste kiss and she draws back rather proud of herself and trying not to dwell on the taste of his lips-
Unfortunately, his arms are now locked around her and she can move her mouth away from his only far enough to draw a breath before he captures her lips in a decidedly less commendable, much more heated kiss.
She firmly places her hands on his shoulders in order to stop him from deepening the kiss, but then he changes the angle and that distracts her so much that instead of pushing him away, she accidentally wraps her arms around his neck and deepens the kiss herself.
She wants to say we shouldn't, but... shouldn't they? Everything he said that night he broke-up with her, everything they said yesterday and everything she said today was simultaneously true and not true at all.
They were doing both good things and bad things for each other when they were together. They were also doing good and bad things when they weren't together. And they were doing good and bad things for, because of and despite of all the people they loved. So it really wasn't about some odd, quizzical problem between the two of them, but rather about who they were. And their mutual inability to let go of each other was not toxic, but just a backlash of this honesty that first ignited the fire between them and has been consuming them ever since, replacing, for better, for worse, the notions of right and wrong - with love.
Perhaps that was the dark side of unconditional love: that it enabled them to be themselves, and fearlessly so.
"It's so late today," Damon mutters against Elena's lips, running his fingertips up her side, his other hand tangled in her hair, maneuvering her mouth into another kiss."Maybe new rules should start being effective tomorrow?"
As apologetic as he sounded a few moments earlier, he doesn't sound very apologetic right now. But his voice is heavy with need, not teasing, and so she finds herself unable to protest or resist.
Just like the night before, they land in their bed within seconds, the stairs a blur, the remaining pieces of clothing flurry shadows cast to the floor.
They kiss relentlessly with frenzied passion as if they haven't kissed in a century rather than just one day.
Damon's hands are gliding over her skin, his lips moving from her lips to trail open-mouthed kisses across her neck, her collarbones. Elena closes her eyes and threads her fingers through his hair, subconsciously cradling his head to her chest anxiously, protectively, so hard that he looks up and feeling his gaze, she opens her eyes and they just look at each other for a longer while.
"I don't know what we should do," Elena says in a whisper, splaying her palms over the skin of his back.
Gently, Damon pushes few strands of hair off her face and cups her cheek with his hand. "But what do you want to do, Elena?"
She leans into his touch with a soft smile. "I want to be here. And never leave."
His eyes light up and she finds herself smiling even more at that.
"That sounds like a good, meaningful, progressive conclusion to me," he says with a faint smile.
He leans down and kisses her and she places her hands on either side of his face, marveling at the sudden, overwhelming tranquility that comes with the realization that as long as this is the conclusion they reach every day, every time, they're going to make it through darkest of nights.