A/N: HOLY CRAP IT'S BEEN FOREVER! *WAVES SPASTICALLY* How have you guys been? I've missed you!

First off, I just have to say a sincere, deeply heartfelt THANK YOU to all of you (whoever you are) that voted/emailed in the Julie Plec Asks the Viewers article and named me as a top DE fan fic writer. The joyful screaming lasted for...a long time :)

And forewarning, this is unbeta'd. Trogdor19 is alive and well, as is our love affair (yeah, baby) but the girl is buried under a busy, on the rise writer's workload and my conscious wouldn't let me pile one more thing onto her To Do List. Even tho she would've let me, but it's also a little fun to get to surprise her every now and then :)

God Bless my fearsome foursome, as you have been kicking all the ass this week, this past year, basically, every single day of forever.

And thank YOU GUYS for hanging around even tho I've been slightly MIA.

Without further ado, let's get rolling on this tribute to one of the greatest Sheriffs in TV history (plus some DE because, I'm me)

Enjoy!

Who We Were

He barely slept last night. Twisting and turning, clearing his throat and kicking off the covers, then pulling them back up before he ripped them away once more. Four times, he reached for his phone, changing his alarm. In the end, he was up before it ever went off.

I listened as he slid out boudoir drawers for jeans and a Henley, dressing in the darkness, walked downstairs with whisper-light footsteps and then made coffee. The smell of pancakes wafted up the stairs, along with the gentle thump of him flipping them in the iron skillet with a practiced twitch of his wrist. But there was never a rhythmic scuff of a fork over a plate, no barstool chair legs scraping over tile. And when he came back upstairs, he smelled of flour and butter, but not syrup. Of coffee grounds, but not creamer.

He never said a word as he built a fire in the bedroom, stoking it until it rumbled low and warm while I laid in bed as I had been doing for hours, my back to his side. He grabbed his car keys and his wallet, paused, then left. I rolled over at the start of the Camaro's engine, quickly fading away, and my hand settled on his pillow.

I am the last person to say anything about how to deal with death, but…he's not handling hers.

It's been two days since Sheriff Forbes drew her last breath, and it hurts for us all. Caroline is inconsolable, Stefan refusing to leave her side even for a moment. Thank God she has him right now because it took hours into the first night for my own tears to dampen, constantly resurfacing under memories of how many nights I slept in a fort in her living room, of waiting with Caroline for her to come home after work. So many days of her smiling as we practiced cheer routines in the backyard, of her cringing at the smell of open bottles of nail polish strewn across the kitchen table. And always, how kind and patient she was with Jeremy and me after our parents' accident.

Whatever memories Damon has of her that are keeping his grin and quips tucked away, he isn't sharing.

He spent most of yesterday in his office, writing. And whenever he came out, it was only for more bourbon. It makes me yearn for my memories, to know how I would have fixed him back when we were at our strongest. I must have used to do…something when he was like this. But I don't remember. All I can do is what feels right now, and hope I'm making the right choice for what he needs.

Which is why after he left this morning, I got up. I showered and did my hair and makeup, then dressed in the black dress I bought yesterday. I went downstairs and saw in the kitchen the evidence of his untouched breakfast and undrank coffee. Then I left. First to the jewelry store, to get him new cufflinks. He has dozens, but I don't care. He's been to his share fair of funerals, too, but only for the select few people he's cared about in his long life. His friendship with Sheriff Forbes deserves something new. Something to commemorate the bond they formed when he was keeping everyone at arm's length, the trust they shared when he trusted no one. Square obsidian stones felt appropriate. Then it was on to the dry cleaners.

When I got there, Mr. Sanders said Damon had been in earlier to pick up his suit. I went ahead and picked up Stefan's too, then dropped it off at Caroline's house for him. He said she had barricaded herself into her mom's room all night but he sat outside the door, and all he heard was crying. And while he and I were on the front porch talking, she came downstairs.

Her blue eyes were rimmed with red, but her voice was a blur of details about flower arrangements and food preparation, if the pastor had gotten back to them about the sermon he was going to give and what they were going to do if there weren't enough seats in the church and how she wasn't happy with the font on the headstone and Stefan just listened, then asked whether she wanted tea or tequila. I left her in his capable hands after she declined my offer to help her get ready, and then I went home.

It was a relief to see Damon's car already here when I pulled in, glad he didn't decide to bail out of town, but guilt flooded me because I wish I would've beaten him home. That way, at least, I could've greeted him with a hug or a drink or just…something. But I wasn't here.

Well, I'm here now.

I head into the kitchen, hoping to see his black mug in the sink or maybe a crystal tumbler with streaks of blood swirling around the bottom, but neither are there. I head into the basement, grab a blood bag from the deep freeze and carry it back up, pouring it into the black mug that was still in the cabinet and then warming it in the microwave. It's then a long walk up the stairs, mug in one hand and tote bag in the other, and I catch the scent of shampoo and body wash and aftershave. Just a hint of cologne. A stranger's perfume and blood.

More guilt burrows in my belly and I keep my steps light as I walk into the room, but still loud enough for him to hear. I don't blame him for needing to feed from the vein, especially on a day like this. I just wish I had gone with him so he knows he doesn't have to hide it from me. Not that he is, seeing as how his jeans and his shirt—with a spackling of blood—are on the floor in plain sight. But still. I just wish he didn't feel so alone.

"Hey," he says when he comes out of the bathroom, black suit and white shirt and his hands fumbling with his tie.

I smile and tilt the glass of blood toward him, and he shakes his head.

"Already ate."

I sip from the glass and take a few steps closer, Damon still messing with his tie and his jaw popping under words I wish he would say. But he won't.

He glances at me when I stop in front of him, holding out the glass for him to take. Damon huffs and accepts it, his eyes following the jewelry store tote bag when I toss it onto the bed behind us.

"Far be it from me to care about tradition, but normally it isn't kosher for the girl to propose to the guy with a ring, and at a funeral." He smirks and I smile, undoing his mess of a tie while he takes a deep pull from the glass.

"Who says it's a ring?" I adjust the balance of black silk falling down both sides of his chest, then start the turns and tucks of the single Windsor knot he prefers. "Maybe I felt the need for some diamonds. They are a girl's best friend."

"So are orgasms."

I bite back my chuckle as he tosses back the rest of the blood, and when he's done, I slide up the knot so it settles against his collar, but not so tight that it'll feel like it's choking him.

"Can't say I disagree with that statement." I bat my eyelashes as I take the glass from him, everything in me a little more at ease when a grin pulls at the corner of his lips.

I step away and set the glass down on the mantle, the fire he lit this morning now almost out. And when I come back to face him after grabbing the tote bag from the bed, he's watching me with a different sort of tension framing his eyes.

"You didn't sleep much last night," he says, voice quiet, and I shrug, taking the velvet box out the tote before flinging the bag onto the chair.

"Neither did you."

I open the jewelry box, his thick swallow evident from the corner of my eyes as I take out the cufflinks.

"I didn't mean to keep you awake."

"You didn't." I smile, taking one of his wrists in my hand and turning it over so I can hook the cufflink through. "There was a big ugly owl on the balcony and it was hooting all night. You didn't hear it?"

I peek up at him as I switch to his other wrist, and I get almost a whole smile for my ridiculous lie.

"Nope. Next time, say something, and I'll kill it for you."

"You got a deal."

I finish with his left cufflink, checking to make sure it's secure, and the strain in his shoulders settles into his normal fierce line when I let him go.

"Obsidian?" he asks, and I nod.

"Would've been canary diamonds, but you failed to kill that owl." I wiggle my finger at him. "Next time, you'll know better."

I smile and turn away to the closet, where his jacket is hanging up, but I'm not a step away when he catches my hand and spins me back into him. My heart races at the intensity of his eyes, his hand secure on the low of my back and urging me forward so my chest presses to his. But it's slow when he leans his forehead to mine, taking a deep breath as his eyelashes fall shut.

"You look beautiful," he whispers, and something about the ache in his voice, the way his thumb is sweeping over my spine and the fact that he used my coconut shampoo instead of his own makes my eyes prickle with unshed tears.

I can't keep myself still and I wouldn't even if I could, and I stretch up, wrapping my arms around his neck and shifting so his cheek is comforted by mine. His arms wind tighter around me, breaths deep but even, and I wish so much that we could stay here for a little while longer. Where he doesn't have to put on a brave face for strangers, he doesn't have to introduce himself or shake their hands and make mind-numbing small talk, all while acting like the fact that he just lost one of his only friends isn't inundating him.

Here, he's safe to be silent, to toast our loss as much as he wants without getting disapproving looks and to wear the clothes he prefers, or just wear nothing and lay in bed and read and read and read until the well of booze and books runs dry.

But we can't stay. We have to go and see faces and forget names and talk. We have to smile and nod and console others. We have to care about their loss, when all I really care about is Caroline's. Damon's. Mine.

"I hate this," I tell him, and his only response is to press a kiss against my temple.

Because I know, he does too.

I hate the sound of funerals. The shifting of starched shirts and pants, the clink of jewelry dragged out for the occasion. The wave of sniffles and the crinkles of travel size tissue packages. The feedback from the microphone and the pause before words cut through the air.

He didn't tell me he was giving the eulogy. But he told someone because when the pastor invited him to speak, there was no surprise from Caroline. Just the same steady flow of silent tears and something that looked a little bit like gratitude.

I spare another glance towards her as Damon reaches the podium, the pastor backing away with a nod of deference, and Caroline clings to Matt's hand. Stefan can't seem to decide whether to throw his worried looks toward her or his brother, and I take a deep breath when Damon swallows.

"We are here to honor the memory of Elizabeth Grace Forbes," Damon starts, his voice strong and clear, and tears flood my eyes. "She was preceded in death by her parents, her ex-husband William Forbes, and is survived by her daughter, Caroline Forbes, and by all those who had the privilege of knowing her."

He shifts his weight, hands steady on either side of the podium, and his eyes catch mine for a single moment. I try to smile, and he looks back to the rest of the congregation spilling out of the pews and into the aisles.

"As a member of one of the founding families of Mystic Falls, Liz spent her whole life in this town. She graduated from Mystic Falls High School in the top ten percent of her class after serving as class treasurer and captain for the varsity track team. Following her graduation, she entered the Deputy Sheriff Training Program where she showed distinction through her knowledge of judicial practices and her superior marksmanship. Once taking a post as a Sheriff's Deputy here in Mystic Falls, she married her long-time partner, the late William Forbes, and had her daughter, Caroline. In the spring of 2002, she was elected as Sheriff, and was re-elected after her four-year term in 2006, and again in 2010."

Damon looks to Caroline, and I suck in a breath in an attempt to get myself under control.

"But she was more than titles," he says, chin lifting. "She was a good person. She cared about this community and could be found at every fundraising campaign, park clean up, bridge rebuilding and Founder's Day event. She watched over the kids of this town and loved them as though they were her own, her front door always open and living room often full. She wasn't just our Sheriff. She was also a guardian, and a mother. And Liz Forbes was my friend."

He swallows and I spare a swipe at my eyes.

"The first time I met Liz, I didn't leave a lasting impression, despite her leaving one on me because when I left town and then returned a few years later, she had no idea who I was. I, however, found the same woman I remembered. Blonde hair, gun holstered on her hip, a devotion to this town only rivaled by her love for her daughter and above all, great legs."

He smiles as a chuckle ripples through the room.

"And she didn't wear dresses all that often," he continues, "but when she did…well, she should've worn them more." A few more chuckles, but they fade under fresh tears and sniffling, more starched clothes shifting and Kleenex packages crinkling. "When I came back into this town a few years ago, Liz was one of the first people I met who didn't outright hate me."

Oh God.

"She welcomed me as a fellow member of the founding families and gave me a job, in a sense, and she was great company while we worked together to keep this town safe. And we had our ups and downs over the last few years, she even tried to kill me once…or maybe it was twice…"

I gasp, but Damon just keeps on going, the rest of the congregation having no idea that he's serious.

"But despite everything, she remained my friend."

He pauses, eyes traveling down the line of us in the front row.

"A lot of bad things happen to good people in this town, and this is no different. Losing Liz is nothing short of a tragedy. But living here and losing these people, it teaches you that life is not what job you held or how much money you managed to put away. It's about the collection of people who surround you at the end." His voice cracks and I clench my hands into fists to keep myself in place instead of going up there to stand beside him.

He needs to do this. For her. For himself.

But at least he knows I'm here with him, because he looks at me when he says, "That's what you really want in life: someone to hold your hand as you transition into the next phase of your existence."

Something tickles the back of my mind, but it's quickly lost as Caroline whimpers and then Matt is trading seats with Stefan, Caroline curling into his shoulder as his arms wrap around her. Stefan lays his cheek to her hair, then gives a nod to Damon to continue.

"And I say existence because…" Damon starts again, his next words shocking because I can't believe he, of all people, says them. "I can't accept that she's gone. She wouldn't allow that to happen. And I know that because on the last day of her life, she and I were in her office, finishing up her open cases because she didn't want to leave anything undone."

Fresh tears blur my vision when a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, his gaze trained on the wooden podium and a single fingertip tapping the edge.

"We went through them all, cleaning off her desk just like she wanted. But she forgot about my unpaid parking tickets. And Jeremy's." I breathe a smile, wiping at my eyes. "She forgot that her birthday was coming up in a few weeks and that we had planned to celebrate by going to the gun range, where I was going to give her the new Smith and Wesson that's sitting in a box in my house."

Grief swirls in my chest. I had forgotten her birthday was in two weeks…

"But I can forgive all that because despite my efforts, sometimes I'm a nice guy and understand that people forget things when they're dying from brain cancer."

I gasp, then breathe, "Easy, Damon…"

His hand moves in a subtle attempt at waving me off.

"What I can't forgive," he says, "is that a person who was supposed to be my enemy, became one of my best friends. And people will say that we should feel lucky to have known her, and they're right. But it doesn't make it better, and it doesn't change what's wrong." His jaw clenches, and it's so tight I'm amazed he gets out the words, "Because the truth is, I miss her. This town will miss her. Her daughter will miss her."

He swallows and then opens his mouth to continue, but then seems to change his mind.

Instead, he looks to Caroline, who mouths the words, "Thank you."

Damon nods, then with nothing more, he steps away from the podium.

There's nothing else to say.

"Exactly how much longer until we can leave?" Damon asks when I come out onto Caroline's front porch, his back to me as he leans against the railing, looking toward the street.

"I don't know," I answer, going to stand beside him. "I'm worried about Caroline. I don't think she's handling this as well as she thinks she is."

He doesn't respond, just picking up his glass from where it was sitting on the railing and taking a long pull.

I sigh and lean my head against his shoulder, the throb of grief in my chest a little comforted. But not much.

I still can't believe she's gone. Sheriff Forbes. The one constant in this crazy town. It's insane to think that she won't be there to break up the next high school bonfire, won't be showing up to Founder's Day black-tie events in her uniform. That her cruiser won't be everywhere at once.

Damon shifts so his cheek brushes the top of my hair, and the corner of my mouth tugs down further. There were so many things in his eulogy that I never knew. I wonder if they were things she told him, or details he unearthed for his speech. And I can't bring myself to ask.

He knew a different side of her than I ever did. To me, she was always Caroline's mom and the Sheriff. I hate to admit it, but I never really thought about the things she had done in high school or how she became a pillar of security in this town. The person, the woman she was without the uniform. But Damon did.

My brow furrows as I think about what else he said. That after the first time he met her, she didn't remember him.

He must have compelled her, left town, then came back years later. I wonder when that was. How long he had stayed, why he was here in the first place. Fleetingly, I wonder if Sheriff Forbes wasn't the only person he met on that visit.

No, he would've said something.

Then again, maybe not. With the whole memory erasing mess, he's been careful about what he tells me of our history, respecting my declaration to leave the past exactly where it is. Except for when he tried to recreate a date that—based only his description—must have been a whopping success since it sounded perfect. A little romantic, a little mischievous, basically everything about him that I find irresistible.

I close my eyes and the memory is so close, but just out of reach. If I concentrate really hard, I can hear whispers in French and irritated hisses, and I can almost smell popcorn. But not quite.

It's so frustrating. The memories I told him I don't need in order to love him, but that I still miss. Because I want to know what our first kiss was like: if I kissed him or he kissed me, and how we managed to stop because whenever I taste his lips, the entire world melts away.

I flinch at the buzz of a vending machine, but it must be the refrigerator in Caroline's kitchen I'm hearing.

Damon straightens and I do the same, watching as he throws back the rest of the bourbon in his glass.

"Want anything?" he asks, and when I shake my head, he tilts his, then lightly squeezes my hand as he walks past me, heading into the house.

What I want, he can't bring me, so there's no use in asking. Because what I want is for Bonnie to be here. For Sheriff Forbes to have never gotten sick. To go back to the day when I asked Alaric to erase my memories of Damon, and to leave the room before he agreed.

Damon Salvatore is Stefan's brother. He was a monster. And then he died.

I hug my arms around myself, looking at the abundance of cars lining both sides of the street. I know those words so well, burned into me that they are, but they're wrong. He's done many things that have been monstrous. Be he, himself, is not a monster.

A monster is not someone who gets up the morning of a funeral and makes breakfast for his family, despite not being hungry due to grief. A monster is not someone who writes a eulogy that was just as much for Caroline as it was for Sheriff Forbes, even though Caroline openly despises him.

"That's what you really want in life: someone to hold your hand as you transition into the next phase of your existence."

That same prickle at the back of my mind appears when I recall his words in the church, how he looked at me when he said them.

I close my eyes and push against the brick wall I can sense is there, disguising what I know about the night Damon died instead of what I suspect actually happened. What my mind tells me is that he drove his car into the front of the Grill, igniting a gas explosion. And the memory says I wasn't there, but somehow, I can nearly smell the gas, feel the vibration of his car's engine and the ache in the bones of my left hand. I can almost hear glass shattering and feel the heat of flames. I shouldn't be able to. Not unless I had been with him.

"Elena, who was Damon Salvatore?"

"He was Stefan's…"

No.

"He was my…"

I push harder.

"He was my…"

Damon's cologne cuts through my concentration, his hand light on my back.

"He was Stefan's brother. He was a monster. And then he died."

I open my eyes to find Damon watching me, a glass of bourbon in his hand and another held out to me.

"Thanks," I say and take it, sputtering after taking a deeper drink than I should have.

"Yeah, it's strong."

I flinch for a reason I don't understand and his eyebrow quirks, gaze trained on mine. A fire crackles and pops and I glance toward the house.

"It's not really cold enough for a fire, especially with all those people crammed in there."

I look back to Damon when he doesn't say anything, just breathing a little faster than normal and trying to hide it by taking a drink.

"What's wrong?" I ask, and the corner of his lips pulls up.

"We're standing on Caroline's front porch instead of being at home, naked, in bed. That's not enough for you?"

I roll my eyes because both Stefan and Caroline probably heard that, but Damon just wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him.

He bends down, lips brushing my ear when he whispers, "Say we can go and I promise you'll never look at diamonds the same way again."

Heat floods my cheeks because I know he means it. And it still feels new to me every time we're together, but he moves and touches me like he already knows every single inch of my body. I guess because he did.

Does.

There's never a shade of doubt in his eyes that what he's doing, what he's going to do, is anything but what I need and secretly want, confident that he will dissolve me into raw moans and gasps and leave me tingling from head to toe, exhausted but desperate for more. And it's so unfair because I'm still discovering what he likes. Which, yes, is basically everything, but it'd be nice to know a secret of him, something I do that no one else ever did and drives him wild. I have a suspicion there used to be something because whenever I kiss or nip his palm, his eyes roll back under a thick rumbly growl, but he doesn't say why.

I curl tighter into his side, more than ready to take him up on his offer after the awfulness of the day, but still knowing we should probably stay a little longer. Except we've been here for hours and we've shaken all the hands, talked to all the well-wishers. I managed to get Caroline to stop crying about an hour ago and when I listen for her, Stefan is busy trying to convince her to go lie down and get some rest. But then someone starts telling her a story of her mom as a teenager and it interrupts her refusal.

I don't know that I'd be any more help to Caroline today when she already has Stefan keeping a close eye on her. Feeling badgered is the last thing she needs right now.

I take a sip of bourbon as Damon does the same, only he does it without wincing, but he does scowl at the glass and I know he wishes it were a better brand. Everything he wants and needs is back at the house: escape from the tie he keeps tugging at, the people who keep trying to pry out of him details about his friendship with Sheriff Forbes. Escape from the blatant reminder that she's forever gone.

"Elena, who was Damon Salvatore?"

"He was…he was my—"

Caroline suddenly bursts into tears inside the house and then Stefan is shushing her before a door shuts, the sound of her whispering, "She's gone, Stefan, she's gone…" a little more muffled.

Pain and worry slice at me from every angle.

"Caroline's crying again," I tell Damon even though I know he can hear her, and after taking a sip, he looks down at me and winks.

"It's her mom's funeral," he says. "She can cry if she wants to."

Something about his words feels like he just punched a hole in the brick wall of my mind, but before I can decide what it is about them that are so familiar, he takes my glass and sets it down on the rail.

"I almost forgot," he says and places his glass beside mine, then reaches into his pocket. "Got you something."

My mind is still swirling, trying to grasp onto whatever memory of him is doing its best to push past invisible mortar and crumbling rock, and it slips a little farther into my consciousness when he takes out a square, white jewelry box. He slides off the top, and inside is a necklace.

The chain is thin, but looks strong. And in the center is a pendant: an elongated diamond shape of a bright blue Lapis Lazuli stone, set in what is probably platinum and with four small diamonds on each point.

It's gorgeous, and perfect, and I'm stunned.

"You made me a daylight necklace?"

He clears his throat, but his voice is clear and teasing when he says, "Needed a backup. Your history with jewelry is spotty at best, and I can't have you bursting into flames after every time you feel the need to pick a fight with someone other than me."

My bottom lips trembles, but Damon just twirls his finger in a gesture for me to turn around.

"When did you do this?" I ask as I turn, sweeping my hair to the side.

"This morning."

My eyes close, tears sneaking onto my cheeks.

This morning, when he was preparing to say goodbye to his friend, probably thinking over the words of the eulogy he had written and had to pick up his suit for the funeral…

He settles the pendant against my collar, drawing the chain around either side of my neck, and after he clasps it closed, the cool metal falling against my skin, the brick wall in my mind just…explodes.

"It's your party, you can cry if you want to…"

I gasp, my whole body buckling under endless images of fireplaces and gowns I wore while we danced and the feeling of his hands on my skin and the smell of popcorn and the taste of rain on his lips and I can't slow it down…

My phone pressed to my ear, heart thundering.

"I love you, Damon, and it's the most real thing I've ever felt…"

The shine on his leather jacket; dark, spicy cologne and a smile at the corner of his mouth that has me completely entranced.

"You want a love that consumes you. You want passion, adventure, and even a little danger."

Shadows of flames reflecting in his eyes, heat seeping through the white lace of my graduation dress.

"I'm not sorry that in death, you were the one that made me feel most alive…"

Trying to breathe as he watches me, remembering the echo of his lips against mine.

"It's right, just not right now…"

My cheeks cold with tears, his body shivering even though he's burning up with fever.

"I like you now, just the way you are."

Shock rooting me in place in the middle of my bedroom, along with awe and humility and every emotion I've ever possessed, all at once.

"I love you, Elena, and it's because I love you that I can't be selfish with you…"

Rain cascading down on us, tasting the smile he wore when he kissed me and my soul light from the weight of my love for him. Of how much I am hopelessly in love with him.

"Promise me this is forever…"

"I promise."

"Elena…" Damon says, his voice fast and worried and I faintly register his arms locked around me, holding me up, but the memories don't stop coming and I can't find my voice to comfort him when he says, "Elena, what's wrong?"

"Elena, who was Damon Salvatore?"

"Damon Salvatore was my boyfriend. I loved him and he died."

Shrieking agony rips through me and I bite my lip to contain my scream, because it hurts.

I lost him.

He died.

He died and was gone and left me after promising he never would and I…

"Elena, talk to me…"

My eyes fly open at his voice, the sound I would have done anything to hear again. I glance down at his arms, crossed over my chest and holding me to him, and I can feel him.

He's alive.

A smile fights through my tears and I spin around, crashing my mouth to his. He startles but his hands are steady on my waist, and then he gives me exactly what I need because that's what he's always, always done.

His head dips as he kisses me deeper, pulling me closer into him. I tremble at the solidity of his chest, the heart locked away within it that whispers truths to me when we're alone in bed. My hands are shaking as they cradle his jaw, broken so many times right before my eyes and usually, because he was trying to protect me. I run my fingers through his hair, as black and silky as the negligée he bought me a week before I left for Whitmore, the one he shredded off my body before I ever reached the bed.

My arms wrap around his neck as I push up on my toes so I can be closer, and a moan rumbles from his throat and over the slide of my tongue against his, touching every part of me and reminding me of days spent in bed and nights when we did anything but sleep, of hours disappearing like minutes and all the times I tried and failed to keep him in the room by changing the time on his phone.

He always caught me. But he always stayed.

"Elena…" he breathes, but he doesn't get anything else out because I have to keep kissing him, touching him, feeling him because I missed him, so much, and he's back.

He's back.

"Elena," he tries again, this time cupping my face in his hands before languidly kissing me once more before he pulls away.

And it's so sweet how he does it, so the Damon he only ever is with me. Like how he lets himself laugh, really laugh when we're on one of our ridiculous, dorky dates, or how looks at me at the end of the breathtakingly romantic ones: as if I'm the sun and the wind and all the water of the earth.

It breaks my heart for all the nights I missed while he was dead, and even more for when he was alive and I was pushing him away. I almost can't take the regret of what that must've been like for him. To claw his way back from hell just to be with me and find me…gone. And yet, right in front of him.

He leans his forehead to mine, keeping us separate as he catches his breath, and when he sweeps his thumbs over my cheekbones, my hands grasp the lapels of his jacket because I won't let him go. Not ever again.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he says, still a little breathless and I can't stop smiling. "But what the hell has gotten into you?"

I laugh and then steal one more kiss before leaning back, my hands on his jaw making sure he sees in my eyes the truth of what I'm about to say.

"Damon," I start, my voice breaking over his name. "I remember…"

FIN

*Obsidian - formed as lava from volcanic eruptions cools within the earth. The speed at which it cools prevents crystallization and the rock forms as solid volcanic glass. It is a stone of protection, honesty, sincerity and truth. It is said that Obsidian will bring out the Warrior spirit in you, help you reach into your subconscious to reclaim yourself, and help you find or re-discover forgotten abilities. It can help to prevent negative energy from affecting you, and also keep your thoughts from turning negative. It's also believed that its mirror like surface acts as a mirror to help you see your own flaws, but that the stone will also provide insight into correcting those flaws.

A/N: There you go guys, a little bit of everything, just the way we like it :)

So, you may be asking: GOLDNOX, WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?

Well, let me tell you :)

Apart from spamming agents and trying my best to tempt them with my manuscript (2 full manuscripts out by request right now. Huge deal, guys. HUGE) I have also been transitioning Swap Out to Amazon, which is available by me - Katie Golding. Same EVERYTHING, (sex included) apart from the names. And as for Order Up, the story of that sweet hearted pizza delivery driver? It's fighting for its life on Kindle Scout (same deal, same sex, different names.) What is Kindle Scout? You nominate unpublished books that you think deserved to be published, and at the end of 30 days, if it's selected for publication, YOU, the NOMINATOR, GET THAT BOOK FOR FREE. YEP. FREE. It's pretty kickass. And Order Up only has 9 more days (as of 2.17.15) to be voted for. *Rally Cry!*

What's that? You want TWO free books? Well, OKAY! MrsL488 / Sandra is currently hosting a GIVEAWAY on her blog, Reads and Reviews! Triple w DOT readsandreviews DOT com SLASH giveaway TO ENTER. AS EASY AS A CLICK OF A BUTTON. OH! And she's also giving away a $25 Amazon gift card! How sweet is that?

Okay, enough of the boring stuff. Hope you are all doing well and enjoying TVD as much as I am, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts on the one shot.

Happy Reading!

-Goldnox