Disclaimer: I own nothing, even though I wish I did.
Summary: As the moments lie suspended and immobile in the silence of the clearing and Damon and Elena await Klaus' arrival, the term "impending doom" has never seemed more fitting.
Author's Note: This is my absolute first time writing Damon/Elena, so please be gentle with me? Thanks, and please review!
Also, since the title of this fic comes from "Rolling in the Deep" by Adele, I'd recommend listening to that song as you read. It was on repeat as I was writing this.
scars of your love
It comes to this. The moments lie suspended, immobile, in the silence. The future stretches out wide, unfathomable, unbearable, before her. She wishes that she didn't have to imagine it, but she does. It's so close, right at the tip of her fingertips. She can reach out and touch its frozen form, that's how near it is. The term "impending doom" has never seemed more fitting.
She stands in the middle of the clearing, but she doesn't take anything in. Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, her arms stiff by her side. She can feel her heart beating in her chest.
thudthudthudthudthud
It's fast. Erratic. She can feel her breath coming out in short puffs.
And then she can't breathe at all.
"Elena," Damon says urgently. "Elena." All at once, his hands are on her arms and she can feel her entire body shaking around them. "Elena—you have to relax."
"No," she whispers. "I don't think I can do this. What if—what if our plan doesn't work? What if everyone I care about—what if everyone I love—what if they all die? What if we can't save them?" She chokes back a sob; Damon's seen her crying enough lately (everyone has: Stefan, Caroline, Jeremy, Bonnie, Jenna, the list goes on and on) and she won't cry now. Not in this moment. "This is. This is all my fault."
"Elena." Damon's voice is firm and insistent. She wonders how he keeps it like that, so calm in crisis. It's always been something she's simultaneously admired and hated about him. "Elena, open your eyes."
She's tempted not to. She's tempted to shrug him off, but she can't. She opens her eyes, meeting Damon's own searing blue ones. There's a mask over his entire expression, but there's a hint of vulnerability, of fear, in his eyes. She's always been able to discern that hint of something in his gaze, right from the very first moment, and this isn't any different. He's scared. But he's too proud, too determined, to ever let her know. She keeps her eyes locked on his.
"Damon," she says. "What if none of us survive?"
"You'll survive."
There's that determination. That motivation. That drive. She doesn't miss the you'll survive in place of we'll survive or even I'll survive. He doesn't seem fazed by his choice of words. He knows very well that he won't survive the battle—but he'll travel through hell and back to make sure she's safe. He won't rest, won't stop fighting, even to the death. To the last drop of blood, he'll fight for her safety, but he can't care less about his own.
But she cares. God, she wishes she could stop caring. She wishes that Damon snapping Jeremy's neck could have been the final nail in the coffin for their relationship, but somehow, it wasn't. Somehow, she found herself forgiving him, letting him back in, becoming his friend again. He twisted his way through her heart, engrained himself under her skin, and she couldn't help it. She couldn't help caring, even after everything he had put her through. She still can't.
He's part of her life now. And if he left—if he was hurt or—or, God, if he didn't survive—if he died—
"No," she says. She beats her thoughts to the back of her mind and forces them to stay there. "No." She blinks back tears and meets Damon's gaze unwaveringly. "We'll survive."
"Elena—"
"Promise me."
"You know I can't do that, Elena," Damon says. "You know the dangers."
"Yes, I do," Elena says, "but you can't die."
"I assure you, Elena, that I can die," Damon responds with his typical wit and humor. Even in the midst of crisis, he still retains that sarcasm. It makes her want to hit him around the head. "Even if I'm technically dead, it only takes a stake to the heart."
"Don't talk like that," Elena bursts out. She shakes Damon's hands from her arms and takes a step backward, still keeping her eyes locked on his. "Look, Damon, I know that you don't value your life. I know you don't care if you live or die or even if you're tortured every day for the rest of eternity as long as you save me. But I do care. I do. And I don't want you to die."
"You can't do anything to stop it, Elena," Damon says.
"But you can," Elena said. "You can save yourself. You can—you can—go somewhere safe. Sit this battle out. Stay with me."
She doesn't understand her words. She speaks in desperation, sentences falling from her lips, fully formed, as though she had been thinking them for months, as if they had been circling in the back of her mind for ages. She doesn't even think. She just speaks.
"You don't have to play the martyr," she whispers.
"And I suppose you do," Damon retorts. "Sorry, but you can't put me in a cage and lock me up until the danger's passed, Elena. I'm a big boy now and I can make my own decisions. Besides, wouldn't you rather that I relay this message to Stefan? Surely, you'd prefer it if he survives."
"No."
With that one word—two letters, one syllable—Damon's facade drops before her eyes. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, his mouth drops open slightly, and his entire face softens. All at once, in that moment, he's just a boy. A scared little boy who can't comprehend that one little word. Confusion colors his entire face, but he can't say anything before—
Bang!
It's a firecracker. The signal.
They're coming.
"Oh, God."
Elena can't take her eyes from Damon's. She doesn't have time to explain that simple word—"no"—and she can't analyze the repercussions. She doesn't even know what she meant—she wants to save Damon, the desire to save him courses through her bloodstream, overflowing her entire body, but she can only spare a cursory thought toward Stefan, her boyfriend, her supposed love of her life (what was that all about?)—but she doesn't have time to think about it.
"Elena," he says in a cracked voice. The soft e, the lena coming out on an exhale... it's more than she can take. She can't do this.
"Oh, God. Oh, God."
She's panicking. She can't stop herself.
"I'm sorry," she says. She barely knows what she's saying and doesn't even register the words as they come out of her mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I should have—I should have been a better friend to you. I shouldn't have shoved things down your throat with Stefan, I shouldn't have denied anything, I shouldn't have told you that you lost me forever."
Because he didn't. Because he never could.
Not really.
"I don't want to lose you."
Damon surrounds her. He's all she can see, even in the midst of the clearing, even with Klaus' pursuit in progress as she speaks. His eyes are wide. He doesn't understand. He's confused. He's at a loss for words, he doesn't know what to say. He tries to hide all this, but she can tell. She can always tell.
"Please," she whispers. "Please survive."
"I can't promise that I will."
The sob finally escapes. Tears flow hot down her cheeks, burning a brand along her skin. She doesn't even bother trying to wipe them away.
"If things were different—then it would be you and me. You know that, right?"
"In a world without Stefan."
"No," she says again. That one little word. "In a world without Klaus."
She doesn't know what she's doing. All she knows is that she was staring at Damon's tortured expression, full of fear and pain and terror and confusion, and now—she can't see anything because her lips are on his. She can taste the salt from her tears on his lips, mingling with the taste of him—of Damon. His lips are immobile beneath hers as she moves hers desperately, trying to touch every bit of him. She presses her body tightly against his own, twines her hands through his hair, pulls his face closer, but she can't get close enough. Why was he still so far away?
Damon lets out a muffled noise against her lips. A growl, a moan, a protest? She doesn't care. All she can taste, all she can feel, is Damon.
And finally—finally—finally—
He responds.
"'Lena," he breathes across her lips. He twines his arms around her waist and tugs, pressing her body firmly against his. Every inch of their bodies touch. Their mouths move together frantically. Elena lets out a gasp against his lips and Damon takes the opportunity, sliding his tongue slick-sweet-rough-hot against her own. She returns the motion, shifts their angle, sucks lightly on his bottom lip and nearly lets out a moan—
—and then he's gone.
The loss of Damon chills Elena to the core. It takes her a moment to open her eyes, to focus enough to see what happened.
"Well." Elena takes a step backward without meaning to. Because there he is. Klaus. Standing on the edge of the words, a smirk playing about his lips... the very sight of him makes her heart stop inside her chest and then begin a few seconds later, thudding erratically. She sees another vampire emerge behind Klaus and blur into motion, his arms restraining Damon in a second. She doesn't have time to react, she merely has time to breathe out Klaus' name. Like a prayer. Like a plea. Her mind is still whirring and she still can hardly breathe. She doesn't know what she's going to say. She's not sure if she wants to know what he's going to do. "Look what I walked in on. Two lovers saying goodbye."
"Don't hurt him," Elena whispers. It's all she can think to say.
"But where would the fun in that be?"
She meets Damon's eyes across Klaus' shoulder. He's struggling against another vampire's hold, trying to break free, but the vampire holds him fast. She wants nothing more than to be able to run to him, but Klaus is in her path. She surely wouldn't make it.
"You can have me," Elena says. "Kill me, do whatever you want. Just don't hurt him. Please."
Klaus lets out a laugh. "How touching," he murmurs. "The doppleganger thinks pleas will work on me." He takes a step toward Elena; Damon lets out a growl of protest and attempts to break free once more, but the vampire increases the pressure on his arms, holding him fast to the spot. "I can smell you, you know. The adrenaline, the fear, the longing—it's all in your scent, you realize? God, it's exciting. I haven't sensed these many emotions in a person for a long time."
"I'll do anything."
"Even die?"
Elena nods. "Even die. Just let him go. Please."
"Huh," Klaus breathes. "You really care about him, don't you? I thought it was the other brother you loved?" He shrugs. "No matter. One of them has to die anyway."
He lets out a pleased sigh and, before Elena can have time to react, before she can say anything, Klaus is right in front of her, his face frozen into hard lines and angles. He looms in front of her, a full-fledged smirk on his face, and Elena feels her breath quickening, her heart racing, her palms sweating. She can't move, she can't think. She thinks she hears Damon's voice from behind Klaus' shoulders, but she can't be sure. Because in a second, Klaus has her in his arms.
And then everything turns black with a cold two-fingered pressure against her neck.
–
She wakes up and it's dark. So dark and cold and she can't see anything and she can't move anything. She's tied to something—the wall? A tree? It's so difficult to tell. She scuffs her feet against the surface beneath them: it's solid. She's not outside amongst the mud. She's in a dark room. A dungeon wouldn't surprise her, given the vampire's proclivity toward anything dark and menacing.
She's alone.
Or so she thinks.
"Is anyone there?" she asks, hearing its echo along the walls.
"You're awake. Good."
Elena begins to struggle against the binds holding her. It's Klaus. Of course it would be him. She can't mistake his voice for any other's.
"Don't worry," Klaus says. His face is thrown into sharp relief, all rough angles and hard eyes, when the lantern flares into life beside him. "He'll be along shortly. Along with Stefan, Tyler... and Bonnie, is it? She's certainly given us quite a bit of trouble."
"That's what she was supposed to do," Elena retorts. The adrenaline is kicking in now: her palms are sweating, her heart is beating fast, and she tries to keep that anger bubbling inside her. After all, if she wasn't angry, she'd be terrified and helpless. And if there was one thing she wasn't, it was helpless. Or so she hoped.
"You're lucky you have such a competent witch," Klaus replies. "I wasn't so lucky."
She knows this already, due to what Bonnie had discovered about Luka's sister over the past few weeks, but it is nice to get that little bit of reassurance. They weren't entirely at a disadvantage, even though Klaus was stronger than Damon and Stefan put together—even stronger than Damon, Stefan, Katherine, Tyler, and Caroline put together. They had Bonnie. And she helped. But would it be enough?
She had to hope so. Or else—
She swallows, takes a deep breath.
"We were counting on that," Elena says, every muscle taut with the effort to keep her body still and her voice calm. "We have her. You don't."
"You really think that will save you?"
She feels the shivering start in her arms, but she fights to keep it in check. She tries to keep her eyes level with Klaus', but she can't help blinking several times against the itching at the back of her retinas.
"No," she says.. "I don't. But I hope it will save someone."
Klaus doesn't say anything right away. He steps away from the lantern, shadowing his face with darkness, and takes a few steps toward Elena. He's close now. Almost too close for her liking.
"Who?" he asks. "Who do you want to save above all?"
She doesn't hesitate.
"Jeremy."
"And Jenna, I suppose," Klaus says, "but she's already safe, isn't she?"
The room suddenly seems smaller than usual and it's hard to breathe. Klaus knows that they've sent Jenna somewhere safe—not the lake house or the Salvatore manor, but a small hotel on the boundary between Virginia and Georgia, where hopefully no one would look for her—but maybe he doesn't know exactly where she is? She hopes so, above all. If anything happened to Jenna... after what nearly happened to Jeremy... she wouldn't be able to take it.
Elena tries not to let any of this show, but she knows Klaus can smell her fear. He advances one step closer to her. He's only three feet away now.
"I honestly don't have motive to figure out where Jenna is," Klaus says. "She's not necessary for my plan. However, a vampire is."
That's the cue, it seems, because at that moment, the doors to the dungeon swing wide open, admitting copious amounts of light from the lanterns lit in the hallway. Elena sits bolt upright, straining against the chains holding her to the dais (for that's what she's chained to, she finally realizes), and waits. One second, two seconds, and then, roughly, Damon and Stefan are shoved into the room, sprawling on the floor.
The doors slam and their names escape her lips, but she can't even begin to guess at their order. She struggles against the chains binding her, but she can't break free.
Klaus lets out a laugh: high, mocking, terrible.
"Only one is necessary for the sacrifice. Only one will need to die. If you had the chance to choose who would live or who would die..." Klaus pauses, pacing back and forth before her. He appears deep in thought for a second, but it's only for dramatic effect, Elena knows. Klaus finally continues. "I wonder... who would you choose, Elena?"
She doesn't answer. She watches Stefan and Damon struggle to their feet, supporting each other. She sees the exhaustion on their faces, the way that they seem to be wincing with every moment. She can see the dark rash across Stefan's forehead, probably due to vervain, and the punctures made in Damon's skin due to the wooden bullets. She feels sick, woozy. She doesn't know if she'll ever be able to breathe again.
She meets Stefan's eyes first. He tries to smile and whispers three words:
I love you.
Normally, those words would soothe her, but with what happened just a few hours ago in the clearing with Damon, it's impossible to feel reassured. She wants to raise her hands to her lips, feel the imprint of Damon's lips on her own, but she can't. She can still feel him, though, all strong hands on her back and hard angles against her soft curves, his mouth enveloping hers, his tongue sweeping across hers, that little moan of protest before he returned the kiss—
She averts her eyes from Stefan's without returning the words. Without meaning to, her eyes find Damon, standing slightly behind Stefan, supporting him with an arm around his waist. And his eyes flick upward, meeting hers with a steady gaze.
"I—"
But she stops.
What can she say?
She doesn't know what Damon's expression means. She can barely comprehend what happened, so how can she possibly explain it? What had infected her in that moment that made her kiss him? And what is this feeling now? It's definitely not regret or remorse or anything in that vein. She feels a tightening in her chest, but she can't avert her eyes.
"I must admit, your struggle is amusing. It's not that you will actually get the choice, but the fact that it's taking you so long... the struggle is evident on your face. I wonder why the Petrovas have always had a difficult time making decisions," Klaus responds, amusement lilting his voice into an even more unpleasant tone. "Especially the two most recent dopplegangers. What is it about the Salvatore brothers that makes it so difficult to decide, Elena? What sets them apart?"
"I don't know," Elena says.
"Come now. You must have some idea."
But to tell the truth, she doesn't. She cares about them both—she remembers her words to Rose in the midst of her fever: I care about Damon, but I love Stefan—but she's not sure why she cares so deeply. For a year, Stefan's been the man she loves. From the very first moment, he made her feel alive when nothing else had. He seemed to understand her and he cared for her. He was strong and gentle and reassuring and made her feel so very loved. He still does. She feels safe in his arms—like nothing can possibly touch her, like he'll protect her, no matter what. It's easy and secure with him, but with Damon...
It's the opposite. It's like she never knows what to expect with him. He keeps her guessing time and time again. What are his motives? What is he truly thinking? What does he really want? None of the questions ever have answers, and she's not sure if they ever will. When she's with Damon, her blood boils. Her heart pounds. Her chest feels tight and words spill from her mouth without her control. Her entire body feels like it's spiraling, falling, and so many times, she can't help lashing out: It matters and you know it. I don't want to be saved. And yet, there are moments. Like that dance. Where it was just the two of them and nothing else mattered—
And the kiss.
God. She'll always go back to the kiss.
What does it mean? Why did she do it?
She doesn't know. She can't even begin to fathom it.
They're opposites. Complete and utter opposites. Stefan's presence soothes her and makes her feel safe. Damon's presence sends every nerve ending firing its synapses, every bit of muscle in her body readying itself for fight or flight. With Stefan, conversations are easy, reassuring. She is always calm, always fully in control. With Damon, every conversation is fraught with tension, and she can't help the words that flow out of her mouth. Stefan is expected and that's what she loves, but with Damon, things are exciting, unexpected, and that—is that why she's drawn to him?
It should be easy to choose. But it's not.
"No," Elena finally says. "I—"
A loud bang erupts from the hallway before she can finish. It must be Caroline and Katherine in their portion of the plan: distracting the guards. She hopes that they're okay—or, okay, she hopes that Caroline is okay, because she honestly couldn't care less about Katherine.
"Those must be your friends?" Klaus asks. "Coming to save you?"
"Of course," Elena says.
"Not that you want to be saved."
"No," Elena says. "I don't."
But she doesn't have a choice, because Stefan and Damon appear to have regained their energy. Damon tears his eyes away from hers, glances at Stefan, and then—it's a blur. Stefan is suddenly at her side, pressing his lips to hers, ripping the chains away from the dais, and breaking the links around her wrists like they were paper. She launches to her feet and sways unsteadily. Stefan catches her in his arms until she regains her balance—and then she steps forward, straining—and she sees them.
"Damon!" she screams. Suddenly she feels weak all over again, but she stays on her feet, her eyes trained on the sight before her.
Not only does Klaus have Damon tightly in his grasp, but Damon's head is being yanked in some weird angle. His eyes screw up tightly, his mouth presses into a thin line, but he doesn't say anything. Elena lets out a sound that barely registers and lunges forward, but Stefan catches her around the middle.
"Elena—don't."
"Stefan, do something." Elena's voice is tight with the effort it's taking not to yell, to scream, to do something. "Please."
"If you try anything, he's dead," Klaus responds, still as calm as ever. He increases the awkward angle of Damon's neck and Damon lets out a barely audible groan. Elena struggles against Stefan, but he keeps her close to his chest, arms around her waist, anchoring her to the spot. She wants to break free, she wants to go to Damon, but she can't. She's frozen. "It only takes a nanosecond for me to snap his neck like a twig. Any movement from both of you, and he's gone."
This time, Elena is frozen, but not because Stefan is holding her in place. It's because she doesn't want to move. She doesn't want Damon to get hurt. No, he can't. If he did—she doesn't even want to think about it.
"Now. Who will it be?"
The door slams open again, bathing the entire room in a yellow light from the lanterns. Caroline and Katherine stand framed in the light for a brief moment, and then they're in action, heading straight for Klaus. Elena can see them, they're not going that fast, and even though they have Klaus pinned, Damon is still in his grip—
snap
Damon lets out a groan of pain as Klaus twists roughly on his arm, knocking it out of place. Dark blood stains Damon's shirt an even darker shade of brown and Elena lets out a scream.
"No! Don't! You want me, not him, just let him go!"
But Klaus doesn't. Caroline and Katherine are dragged away from Klaus by two vampires who burst in, keeping them firmly held in their grasp. Everything seems to be still and silent in that moment, even though Caroline and Katherine are struggling against their captor. It's more than she can take: Caroline, Stefan, Damon... all in danger. All because of her. So close to death, and it's because of her. Because of her mere existence, she's put everyone she loves in danger, and now there's nothing—nothing—she can do to stop it.
"Stefan," Caroline breathes. With one swift movement, she manages to twist out of the vampire's grip and deliver one jerk upward, bringing him to his knees. Stefan lets go of her waist and grabs the object Caroline had thrown at him—the dagger. The one that they had taken out of Elijah after much deliberation as they realized they had no choice in the matter. And Elijah had agreed to help them, but only after realizing that he had no choice in the matter either, that it was either help them or be killed (again). He had chosen the former, although Damon and Stefan still didn't trust him—
For good reason. Although that was somehow less important now.
A terrible snap resounds through the room, reverberates against the echoing walls, ricochets against the inside of Elena's brain, brings everything in the room to a sudden standstill. All of the air disappears from the room, from Elena's lungs, and it's all she can do to keep herself upright. Her eyes fall on Damon, his neck lolling uncomfortably to one side. And there's a crunching, a terrible, sickening crunch, as wood impacts against hard chest and digs into his heart.
"That's what you get," Klaus says, "when you think that it will be easy to defeat me. You think that dagger will be enough now? Think again."
A keening fills the room and it's difficult for Elena to detect where it's coming from.
"You knew this was coming."
Elena's knees impact against the cold floor.
"You're lucky I'm not in any hurry for this to be over."
Her heart. It's all she can hear above the sound of Klaus' mocking voice.
"It's no longer a question of who you prefer, Elena, dear. It's a question of who you must live with now that one is gone."
Klaus is gone.
Suddenly.
All is full of that strange keening. She hears Katherine's voice—I'll go after him, catch up with Tyler, give me the dagger, Stefan—and Elena finds herself crawling across the floor, vision blurring. She finally reaches Damon's body. His corpse. His skin is graying before her eyes, veins standing out in harsh relief against that ash-gray skin.
"Damon," she whispers. "Damon, please. You can't—"
Her hands search for the stake. She wrenches it out of his chest, uses it to slice a cut through her wrist, right above the area where it would cause any severe damage to her—but it would give Damon what he needed. She hopes.
"Drink," she whispers.
His eyes are glassy. He doesn't move.
"Elena." She hears Stefan by her side and he sounds nearly as distraught as she is, his voice coming out thick, nearly incomprehensible. "That won't help. Don't—"
She can't help it. She holds her wrist to Damon's lips, hoping beyond hope that he'll drink—
—but he doesn't.
He's gone.
Damon's gone.
Her throat is dry and her entire brain is numb. She feels the tears sliding down her cheeks, she hears the sobs that must be escaping her cracked lips, but she doesn't care. She sees Damon's face, cold, unmoving, immobile. There's nothing hidden in those eyes anymore: they're just glassy and—dead. She removes her wrist from his gray lips, sees her blood staining them.
She runs her hand along his chest, then rests her head against it, closes her eyes, and lets it all out. The sobs, the shaking, the tears—they all escape. A floodgate opens and she doesn't think it will ever close. A gnawing sensation appears in the center of her chest and expands, filling her chest, her heart, her entire body with pain. She curls one hand against Damon's shirt and presses her tear-stained cheek to his chest. One of Stefan's hands drops lightly onto her back and he presses a kiss to the back of her head. But he doesn't fool her. She can feel his own tears dropping, one by one, into her hair. Caroline comes around to her other side and wraps her arms around them both.
And all she can think is:
If this is life without Damon, then she doesn't want it.
–
That night, she spends the night in Damon's bedroom. They all do, actually, because they can't bear the thought of his death any more than she can. They all curl up together in Damon's bed, Stefan and Caroline and Elena and, yes, even Katherine. Tyler isn't there, but that's because he's too busy disposing of Klaus' body with Elijah, making sure that no one else can possibly bring him back to life even if they wanted to. Jeremy's with Bonnie, of course, but they'll come around in the morning, Elena supposes, to make sure that she's still safe. That everyone's safe.
Everyone except Damon.
Elena finds it difficult to sleep that night. She sleeps in fits, starts and stops, twists and turns. She rests her head on Stefan's chest, curls her arm around his waist, tries to find that one comfortable position that always soothed her before today. But somehow she can't. Nothing works. More than once, Caroline and Katherine complain. Katherine grumbles that she's going to snap your pretty little neck, Elena, before someone else does but then she just lies on the other side of the bed, separated from them by Caroline, sprawled all over the middle of the bed, her legs sprawled over Stefan's and her face near Katherine's feet.
The last time this happens, Elena mumbles a fine, I'll stop moving and vows to keep her promise, pillowing her head against Stefan's chest. She closes her eyes.
And she walks into her bedroom, running her hands along her bare arms, feeling the goosebumps there. Her entire body feels slightly weak and her back twinges with every movement she makes. The remnants of her tussle with Rose—and Elijah and Katherine—are still fresh in her mind and the effects are still noticeable on her body. She hopes the pain will go away soon. She wouldn't want Jenna to see her hobbling around and get suspicious about what happened.
She brushes a strand of hair away from her face and looks up. There he is, sitting on her window seat, playing with something in his hands. He looks up, almost as if he knows that Elena's suddenly aware of his presence when she wasn't just a few seconds ago. "Cute PJs," he says, as if he forgets that the last time he was in here, he kissed her and then killed her brother. The last time he was in here, things between them broke. Irrevocably.
But that didn't seem to matter to him anymore.
Elena lets out a sigh.
"I'm tired, Damon," she says, hoping that he'll get the hint. That he'll leave. She's definitely not in the mood for anything Damon has to say.
He stands up and, for a second, she wonders if he's actually going to leave. He walks closer to her, and it's only then that she notices the glint of metal in his hands.
"I brought you this," he says, holding out her necklace.
Elena is taken aback for a moment: she remembers Elijah ripping it off her neck and she knows that he compelled her, but she didn't see where it went. Damon must have gone back and gotten it, but... how did he know where it was?
"I thought that was gone."
Damon shakes his head, the necklace still held out before them. Elena can't help smiling slightly, a simple quirk of her lips as she thanks him and reaches for the necklace. As she nearly closes her hand around it, Damon, a characteristically somber expression on his face, withdraws his hand. Elena lets her hand hang suspended between them, every inch of her body suddenly on high alert.
"Please give it back," she says.
Damon doesn't obey. "I just have to say something," he says, taking a step toward her. Elena instinctively takes a step backward: the last time Damon had to say something to her in this room, it ended up being one of the worst moments of her life. She won't let that happen again. And if he had her necklace... then who knew what he would tell her? What he would make her do? If he wouldn't give her back the necklace, then she didn't trust him. How could she?
"Why do you have to say it with my necklace?" she retorts.
Damon's lips purse as he fights for words. He sounds like he's about to say something—the first syllable escapes his lips—but then he pauses for a second. The hesitation is visible on his face, but he finally continues: "Because what I'm about to say... is probably the most selfish thing I've ever said in my life."
"Damon, don't go there," Elena pleads. She wants to repeat what she said before, that it will always be Stefan, but she stops herself. There's a look on his face that's different than before. He doesn't seem like he's drunk. He doesn't seem like his actions are entirely out of control like he did that terrible night. And even though every inch of her body is telling her to leave or get him to leave, she can't move more than a step backward as he takes one step toward her.
"I just have to say it once," he beseeches, desperation coloring every tone in his voice. "You just need to hear it."
She freezes.
There's a look on his face. A look she can't name or even describe. He's so close now, not even a foot away from her, and his eyes seem desperate, longing, pleading. After what he did to save her today... she can't just tell him no. He might harm everyone she loves, but he would never harm her. She knows that. And, though she can't trust him, she'll hear him.
The seconds stretch. And then it's those words:
"I love you, Elena."
Her lips part. Although part of her had expected those words... although she knew it was coming... the feelings that coursed through her... sadness, regret, apprehension, fear... she doesn't even have time to process them before Damon is continuing, as though he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't continue as soon as possible.
"And it's because I love you—" the words come out of his mouth a little easier this time, with a little more fluid grace, but that doesn't make it any easier for Elena to hear, because her stomach tightens—"that... I can't be selfish with you."
She feels tiny pinpricks of tears beginning to form in her eyes, but she keeps hers glued on Damon's, full of vulnerability and tension and yet, some form of relief. Some part of her had always known Damon's words, even before Isobel's statement ("because he's in love with you"), but hearing them from Damon itself...
It was completely different now. She isn't sure if it changed anything, but hearing it from Damon's own lips...
Yes. That was different.
"Why you can't know all this," Damon continues.
Can't know all this...
Elena doesn't have time to process.
"I don't deserve you," he says. Some part of her wants to protest. That part of her even opens her mouth, about to speak, but Damon doesn't let her. "But my brother does."
The words lie suspended in the air and then—
He's bringing his face closer to hers. His lips are only a few inches away from her own—she wonders if he's going to kiss her—if he's going to do that one last thing before he backs away for good—because that's surely what he's doing, stepping away from the triangle, letting her be happy with Stefan—he's forgetting how much he loved her—he's letting her go—
—and then he doesn't. He doesn't kiss her. He simply presses his lips to her forehead, leaving them frozen against her skin for one, two, three seconds, and then pulls away, his eyes locked on hers. Elena can't bring herself to say anything. She feels Damon's hand caressing her face, his fingers brushing against her cheek lightly, his eyes so gentle, so soft, so tortured.
"God, I wish you didn't have to forget this," Damon whispers.
And in that moment, staring into his eyes, it all becomes clear. He's going to compel her. And she's not going to remember this moment.
None of it. In a second, it will all be gone.
"But you do."
Her eyes close just a second too late.
Everything suddenly feels cold. Her entire body is ice and she gasps for air, bolting upright out of bed, startling Stefan into wakefulness. Her heart beats like a hummingbird against her ribcage, trying desperately to break free from its confines. Her hand searches desperately for the necklace around her neck, but of course it's gone, of course she's been drinking vervain tea instead of wearing the necklace, but she wants it. She wants it in her hand as some tangible reminder. Of what had just happened. Of what she had just remembered.
"Elena," Stefan says urgently, bringing her eyes around to his. "Elena, what's wrong? What happened?"
"It's Damon," she breathes out. "Damon—he compelled me—"
"Compelled you?" Elena can tell that this is news to Stefan and he doesn't seem too thrilled about it. "Compelled you when? Why?"
"It doesn't matter," Elena says. "He just—I—"
She can't say it. She can't speak of what happened. The memory is still too raw, too fresh, too open. Sharing it would just be an insult.
And oh.
She remembers.
That just means that—
"He's gone," she whispers. "He's really gone."
"He's really gone," Stefan repeats. He strokes the hair away from her face, wraps his arms around her waist, presses a kiss to her forehead. "I'm so sorry, Elena, that I couldn't protect him better for you. But it all happened so fast and there's no way we could have gotten there in time—"
"I know," Elena says. "I know."
Normally, Stefan's touch would have soothed her. His words would have reassured her. But how can they now, when Stefan doesn't even know what she just remembered? He asks then, asks what she remembered, but she doesn't tell him. She simply holds in a sob and curls up against Stefan, but all she can see is Damon and his eyes when he told her that he loved her.
That's why everything had seemed different after that day. For some reason, her feelings had been less hostile toward him, but she had always attributed it to the fact that he had saved her life. But after remembering... after what he had done...
It makes sense.
And everything with Rose and Andie, all that had signified...
God, she had been blind. Deliberately blind, but blind all the same. And if she had remembered... would it have changed anything? If she remembered before he died—died to save her—would it have made a difference in the end?
Now she would never know.
Elena feels the tears soaking Stefan's shirt and Stefan's hands running along her back in a feeble attempt at comforting her. But it doesn't work. Elena knows now. She knows too late. And she can't help seeing his face, bright with sadness in that memory contrasted with that ash gray of his face earlier that night... when he died for her... because of her...
She needs to see him. She needs to see Damon's face, however horrible in death it may appear, just one more time before they—before they... dispose of the body. (Even those words bring a fresh round of tears to her eyes, but she holds them in.)
"I'm going to go downstairs," Elena whispers. "Say goodbye. One last time."
Stefan lets out a gentle sigh that ruffles Elena's hair. "Okay," he whispers in return. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"No," she says immediately. "No. I have to do this alone."
Elena presses a kiss to Stefan's lips—more out of habit than anything—and slides out of bed, rubbing her bare arms. She pads to the other side of the room and down the steps, bracing herself for the sight that would meet her in the living room. Her bare feet and arms are cold, but she doesn't care. She closes her eyes at the entrance to the room and then steps inside. She opens her eyes.
There he is, laid out on the couch. If she squints, she can delude herself into thinking that he's just resting there, reading one of the Gilbert journals for the thousandth time. Elena approaches him softly, as if he was just sleeping, about to wake up at any moment and chastise her for waking him up (even though obviously he'd have heard her coming no matter how quiet she was). And finally, she's right in front of him, her hand hovering over his head.
If only he looked like he was just sleeping from this angle... but he doesn't. His neck is still at an uncomfortable angle, his arm still looks disconnected, and of course, that hole in his chest...
Elena doesn't stifle the sob this time.
"Damon," she whispers, kneeling beside him. "I'm sorry."
He doesn't respond. Elena runs her hand along his ashen face, pressing her fingers to his cold lips. If she focuses, she can still feel their imprint on her hand. Her forehead. Her lips.
"You didn't have to die for me," she says. "You could have lived."
If you hadn't loved me is suspended in the air between them. It doesn't need to be said.
She sits down beside the couch, running her hand along his face, his broken neck. She curls her hand around one of his own, trying not to think about how freezing cold it is compared to her warmth. She kisses the back of his hand gently, then rests her head on the couch beside it.
She closes her eyes. What will she do without him? Is this how Damon felt when she told him that he lost her forever? Like her heart is getting forcibly removed from her chest? But for him, it must have been worse, because he loved her and she didn't know it. He thought he didn't deserve her and he let her go. He accepted the fact that he lost her forever, but Elena's not sure if she can do the same. She can't accept this. How can she? Without Damon... life won't be the same. Not even in the slightest degree.
She grips Damon's hand tightly. Tomorrow, she'll have to start forgetting him, letting him go. But for now... for tonight...
She can pretend.
"Stay with me," she repeats. "Stay with me."
As sleep finally claims her, two words run through her mind. What if, she thinks over and over, scenarios swirling through her brain, lulling her into a fitful sleep. Her dreams are full of him: their first meeting, Atlanta, the necklace, the dance, his compulsion... his death. She's lost in them. It's a maze of memories and she can't escape, she can't breathe, she can't think, she watches his death over and over again, different angles every time, juxtaposed with the memory of his face when he said he loved her—
She bolts upright, breathing heavily, as his words resound through her head for the millionth time.
I love you, Elena.
She clutches Damon's hand tightly and feels the tears drying on her cheeks. She glances up at his face without meaning to, knowing she's just going to see the same gray ash as before, but—
—blue eyes.
Blue eyes meet hers.
And one word fills the air between them.
"Elena."