AN: This idea wouldn't leave me alone so I had to take a break from writing my upcoming multi-chapter fic to get this down! It's my first attempt at Damon POV, so I hope I did him justice! Enjoy!

Thank you to Kate for all her help with this! She's truly wonderful!

Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Vampire Diaries'.

Damon groaned, twisting in his bedsheets as he threw the pillow over his head in the hopes that it would drown out the words he had been unable to forget. It was no use. Two words echoed in his brain on a constant loop with each passing minute, and not even the excessive amount of alcohol he had consumed the night before could do anything to stop them.

"I'm pregnant."

She's lying to me, he decided. She had to have been lying. She couldn't possibly be pregnant... could she? No, he scolded his treacherous mind, if he let the thought in for even a second, then that made it real. It couldn't be real. It couldn't be true.

They had always used protection. He and his girl had always been careful. At least, he thought they had. There had been that one time at her place but... did he use a condom? Had she been on The Pill? Growling, he threw the pillow away from him, and grinned maliciously when it connected with the wall, knocking down a picture frame in the process. He felt as if all of the rage that had built up in his chest was just begging to be released in a fit of destruction that would ensure his bedroom ended up completely unrecognisable.

This was not how things were supposed to turn out. He wasn't supposed to get her pregnant.

Not yet, anyway.

No, he winced, he was getting ahead of himself. Way ahead of himself, like five to ten years ahead of himself… for the dozenth time. It couldn't have been worse timing. He'd been so close - this close - to finally getting her to agree to go on a date with him and he'd possibly gone and blown it by knocking her up.

Why did his life have to be so fucked up?

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he rested his elbows on his knees and palmed his face. Catching a whiff of his breath, he recoiled in distaste. To top it all off, he'd gone on a bender and crawled from bar to bar as each one threw him out for being too drunk, too rowdy, too obnoxious and altogether too much trouble. Really, the list was endless.
And no matter how trashed he got, it didn't erase the facts.

She was pregnant. With his baby, he had no doubt about that.

Sure, he reasoned, some people may have thought otherwise based on preconceived judgements dictated by her choice of career but he knew her. He knew what she was beneath her uniform, if it could even be called that. Before he could help it, he'd fallen for a stripper with the strappy, transparent platforms and the barely there lingerie and everything.

She was so much more than that, though; so much more than a scantily dressed piece of skin. She was everything, to him at least, but he'd gone and ruined that all now.

Pushing himself off the bed, he begrudgingly grasped the bedside table for support before he stumbled in what he hoped was the direction of the bathroom. Falling against the doorjamb, he allowed himself to ease his aching lungs. Why were they aching again? His eyes flitted down to his naked chest and he grimaced at the spotting of purple along his ribcage. Right, he recalled, bar number three with the bouncer that did not like being referred to as Disney. But, seriously, he'd been asking for it – who named their son Walt these days? He trailed his fingertips over the offending marks that marred his alabaster skin and winced when even that soft pressure had pain exploding from that very spot.

"Stupid," he muttered, wanting to bang his head against the wall. All he had wanted was to go to her work, ask her out for dinner, coffee, a fucking ice cream cone if that was what it took, but she'd surprised him… as always, he chuckled humourlessly.

So, instead of seeing her after work, she had come to see him. With a jaw-dropping, heart-stopping, mind-altering revelation, he might add. She'd caught him off guard. Of course she had, she always did. When he'd opened the door to see her there, he'd been dumbfounded.

She'd been all soft, chocolate waves, freshly-washed face with just a little bit of pink lip balm for her perfect pout and wide, doe eyes with just a hint of a twinkle that excited him to no end. Her long, black coat had been wrapped around her body so carefully, so tightly, exactly how he wanted to be and then he'd seen her dainty feet encased in her city-worn Converse, the grime shrouding what used to be white material. She looked so out of place in the city - too small, too innocent - but right here, in his apartment... well, she looked like home.

He didn't know what he had expected from her when she showed up outside of his door, whether it was supposed to be a late night booty call, or that she had finally decided to give into at least one of his numerous proposed dates.

What he hadn't expected was for her to tell him that she was pregnant. Well and truly pregnant, not just some scare or a faulty pregnancy test. In fact, four tests and a doctor's appointment later had confirmed her pregnancy; she even had the pre-natal vitamins to prove it.

He supposed he should have reacted better than his wide-eyed, open-mouthed silence but she had floored him. She'd ripped the carpet out from under him and he'd fallen on his ass - hard. He'd barely registered the soft whispers of his name that fell from her lips or the comforting stroke of a hand down his arm. The closing of his door had been a mere echo in the silence of his apartment as he had stood there motionlessly, for how long, he wasn't sure. When conscious thought had finally returned to his brain, he'd done the only thing he could in this type of situation.

He drank.

A decision he regretted immensely right now for a number of reasons. His pounding head was one, aching muscles were another but the most important was Elena. Of course it was her. She'd plagued his every thought ever since he first saw her seven months ago. After that, he'd had no hope in hell not to fall for her.

"I am telling you, man, you're going to regret this decision for the rest of your life!" he slurred, patting the sandy blonde on the back before looping his arm around his friend's neck and promptly rubbing his knuckles against his scalp.

"Damon!" the other man grumbled, prying Damon's arm from around his neck. "You're my best man, seriously, this is the kind of advice you choose to give me?"

"Oh, Ricky," he chastised, shaking his head wryly as he flagged down a scantily dressed waitress and ordered more drinks. "I'm just trying to prepare you for reality. Marriage isn't all about sex and love. That's what women want you to believe so they can trap you. After that ring is on her finger, all it's going to be is nagging about leaving the toilet seat up and doing chores around the house. Seriously, get out while you still can."

Alaric scowled at him, huffing slowly as he massaged his crinkled brow. "You do realise how extremely misogynistic you sound, right?"

He rolled his eyes and made a waving motion with his hand. "Technicalities." He winked at the busty blonde that had oh, so graciously bent right over when placing his drink on the table and provided him with a great eyeful of her heaving cleavage. His eyes scanned over her petite body as she turned expertly on her heel and provided him with an exaggerated wiggle of her hips that were encased in a pair of neon pink, lacy panties.

"Ow!" he enunciated, grimacing as he turned to face his friend, if he could even be deemed that now. Rubbing his arm with a dramatic pout, he muttered petulantly, "What the hell was that for?"

Alaric squinted at him in disbelief, his blue eyes fluttering helplessly as he gripped the tumbler tightly in one hand before downing the amber liquid in a single gulp. "That's it.I'm out of here."

"You can't go," he whined, grabbing Alaric's arm before he could stumble from his chair. "We haven't even got you a lap dance yet," he smirked, wriggling his eyebrows with all the promise of sinful - and secret - opportunities on the horizon.

"Damon," Alaric sighed, shaking his head wearily. "I never wanted to come to a strip club anyway. Did you not wonder why I didn't invite any of the other guys? Did you not think that maybe I just wanted to spend my stag night drinking some good liquor with my best friend?"

He sobered immediately, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as words failed him. "I'm... I'm sorry, Ric," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck warily. If there was one thing Damon Salvatore did not do, it was apologies. "I just wanted us to have a wild night, like we used to back in college."

"I get that," Alaric nodded, palming his arm soothingly, "but we're not nineteen anymore, Damon. We're twenty-seven; we have to grow up eventually. Look, I'm going to head on out of here. Not to sound like an old man, but these places are really loud!"

He chuckled, though he couldn't hide the pained look in his blue eyes. "You do that," he nodded, gently shooing his friend away from the seedy establishment and back to his home comforts of a loving fiancée and a warm bed.

He closed his eyes and slumped in his seat, his head falling back to rest against the wall. In some way, the pounding beats that surrounded him were comforting, they aided him in his efforts to forget about Alaric's words and his own thoughts about the future and whether he was destined to be alone forever. Sure, he liked his life of sleeping around, a different girl every night and all that, but once upon a time, he'd dreamed of having a wife, children, a white picket fence. Everything.

He'd had his naive, young heart broken though, and with that, his dreams had shattered. His heart was no longer full of hope; in fact, he found it hard to hold the broken parts together in some semblance of even the shape of a heart. That was in the past. He'd made do's with it and there was nothing more to it. He wouldn't let another woman trample over his heart like she had done. He was in control now and nothing would change that.

"Can I get you anything, sugar pie?" a sickly sweet voice whispered in his ear.

Blinking his eyes open, he recoiled at the make-up caked face in front of him. He hadn't realised that someone's face could be that orange. Shuddering inwardly, he shook his head as he tried to keep the grimace from becoming visible on his face. "No, I'll probably just finish my drink," he gestured to the glass in his hand and shrugged his shoulders, "and leave."

"Would you like some company?" she winked, tip-toeing her fingers up his jean-clad thigh. He caught her wrist as it neared dangerously close to where he did not want her touching him. Not tonight. He so wasn't in the mood to pretend to be interested just for a quickie in a bathroom stall. He opened his mouth to flash her a charm-filled decline when something caught his eye. No, not something, someone.

She couldn't possibly belong here, right? She looked so out of place, it was almost shocking. Sure, she had the raw materials; hair coiffed so high that he wondered just how much damage she had caused to the ozone layer with the numerous cans of hairspray she must have used, a face marred by make-up (something she clearly didn't need), a skimpy lingerie set that didn't match her sense of naivety and virginal essence and finally, six-inch heels that, if the way she wobbled with every step was any indication, she could not walk in. Gripping the stripper's wrist (Cookie? Candy? Whatever it was, it was sickly fake just like the owner of said name) a little bit tighter, he pulled her closer so she had to kneel on the chair beside him if she had any hope of staying on her feet.

"Who is she?" he questioned urgently, his eyes never leaving the gorgeous brunette as she stumbled around the room with a silver tray of drinks clutched tightly in her hands that he could tell - even from his position on the other side of the bar - were shaking.

"Oh," the blonde frowned, he guessed by the clear deflation in her voice that it was a question she got asked a lot. "That's Bambi."

Bambi? How apt, obviously he hadn't been the only one to take notice of her large, open doe eyes that looked so innocent. What the hell was she doing in a place like this? he wondered. Sticking it to Daddy by showing him she was not his little princess anymore? No, he refuted, that couldn't be it. Maybe her innocent, girl next door appeal was all an act? If it was, then that girl deserved an Oscar.

She didn't want to be here, he realised after a moment's deliberation. He could tell by the way she gulped and stuttered every time a man looked her up and down when she took their order, the way she tensed when a hand slid down her bare skin and the way she looked away when they slid bills into her underwear. He was right. She didn't want to be here, so why was she?

And, more importantly, why did he care?

God, what was wrong with him? Some hot chick walked in and suddenly, he was all about finding out her life story. No, that wasn't him.

But even as he had his own internal argument, his eyes were incapable of leaving her. She had captivated him with her soft curves and gentle features but it was the sad look in her eyes that hit him in the place that he thought was irreparable. His chest ached just looking at her and he found that he wanted to fix it, whatever it was that was making her sad. Realising that he still had the stripper - Candyfloss, he had known it was some type of confectionery and her blonde curls just so happened to resemble the sugary snack - in his grasp, he released her and turned his imploring gaze on the her. The one that could make panties drop with just one blink. It worked as expected and, with a flutter of his eyelashes, she was putty in his hands.

"What's her real name?" he purred, circling his index finger around the inside of her wrist. She barely even registered when he pressed down on her vein and recorded the rapid pulse that was sending blood rushing through her veins. He chewed on his lip deliberately, watching as her eyes honed in on the action and her own mouth parted.

"I'm not supposed to tell clients that kind of information," she protested weakly, her breath the husky whisper of an aroused woman.

"Oh," he pouted and returned to gently caressing her wrist before toying with her fingers thoughtfully. "I guess that's too bad; there would have been a tip in it for you."

She inhaled sharply, her breasts threatening to spill from the heavily padded cups of her bra. Leaning forward, she gasped, "The kind of tip I want?" She flicked her eyes down to his crotch, as if her proposition hadn't been as obvious as it was desperate.

"No," he deadpanned, realising that the aroused stupor he had led her into was going to do nothing for him now. "A hundred bucks. For her name."

Candyfloss grumbled something quietly before throwing her hand out into the space between them, her palm raised upwards. "Elena," she enunciated, scrunching her hand around the green bill he pressed into her hand. "What is so special about her anyway? She's not a virgin if you're hoping to corrupt her."

"What would make you think that?" he frowned, watching as sh- Elena bent over the tables to collect the empty glasses, oblivious to the stares that followed her and her womanly wiles of seduction that she had no clue she possessed.

"Please," Candyfloss huffed, fluffing up her blonde curls. "She always gets propositioned at work but, of course, she plays it off as nothing. The boss doesn't think so, though, andit's exactly why he hired her. The virgin look pulls in the punters and her seeminginexperience just adds to the appeal. It makes the guys think they have a chance with her so they come here more often, spend more money and when they don't get her, they'll go for one of the rest of us. In the end, the guy upstairs wins out and that's all that matters."

Nodding his head ruefully, he threw some bills on the table and pushed himself from his chair. He turned to leave when a manicured hand landed on his shoulder and slowly pivoted him around.

"For what it's worth, she might not be available…but I am."

The slightly distant expression on her face haunted him. She was ready to be second best, just like that; ready to spend a night with a man that she knew clearly wasn't interested in her. And, for the first time, he really looked at her. Her blue eyes were no longer sparkling but now, they seemed calm. Not in the serene sense but more that she had accepted her fate a long time ago. With a nod, - he didn't dare pity her in fear of what she'd do to his crown jewels - he left the bar with one thing on his mind; he never wanted to see Elena look at him the way Candyfloss had.

An hour later, his balls were officially frozen. Seriously, why had he decided to wait in the alleyway instead of at that late-night café a block away? Oh, yeah, because he was afraid that Elena would sneak off before closing time and he'd miss his chance to meet her. Hearing a commotion in front of him, he slipped further into the darkness of the alleyway and watched as the scene unfolded before him.

"Caroline, I'll be fine, I walk home every night."

It was her.

It had to be, that soft voice which carried a melody with every sentence could only belong to her. Shoes scuffed against gravel and finally, he saw her. Her face shone in the glow of the lamp and he was able to detect her red-tinged skin from, what he guessed was, her scrubbing at trying to remove the layers of make-up that had been applied to her face. Her height had seriously diminished and his eyes scanned down her body, noting the strappy heels hanging from her fingers and the Converse trainers that were slipped onto her feet.

He watched as she held the door open for someone and that's when he saw the blonde from earlier. Candyfloss who was, in fact, Caroline. He could detect the worry in her eyes and the slight shake to her voice as she stared at the younger woman in front of her before the two women shared a tight embrace and Caroline tottered off down the alleyway. So, they were friends. He wondered if Caroline's previous warning of Elena's imminent disinterest was, in fact, a warning for his own well-being or if it had been a silent ploy to protect her friend.

He watched as she fumbled with the locks, her uncontrollable bun blocking out all of the light from the lamp so the door was shrouded in darkness. Finally, after a few more attempts, the clinking sounded signified that the bar was locked. Deciding to take his chance, he stepped forward as audibly as possible and coughed to make his presence known.

"You should know that I am armed with a pair of heels which are very pointy and can do major damage," she warned, stumbling backwards slightly at his sudden appearance.

"Relax," he attempted, stepping out of the shadows and into the glow of the lamp so she could see his face as he raised his hands up in silent surrender. "Elena, right?"

She pointed one heel towards him in silent challenge as her eyes squinted with suspicion. "How did you know that?"

"You might want to ask that loose-lipped friend of yours," he suggested, wriggling his eyebrows mockingly as a small smirk played at his lips.

"Caroline," she grumbled, lowering her weapon as she rolled her eyes before muttering a few choice obscenities towards the night sky. "Look, what do you want? I don't do private shows so, if that's what you're looking for then I'd suggest you hit up one of the other girls."

He watched as she turned around quickly, her coat whirling to surround her bare flesh before his shout stopped her in her tracks. "No, that's not what I- I was won- Do you want to get coffee sometime?"

Stupid. Idiot. Moron. Dumbass. Complete and utter ignoramus. Had the suave and sexy Damon Salvatore completely deserted him or was he really that stuttering and unsure guy that resembled a love sick teenager asking his crush out on a date? Not that she was his crush. Nor was he asking her out on a date, for that matter. No, definitely not.

"Seriously?"

Oh, no. Eyes were squinting, chin was jerking, arms were folding and hip was jutting. This was not good. (He tried to ignore the part of anatomy that thought her feisty side was very good indeed.)

"What? You think you can buy me coffee and I'll sleep with you? Well, newsflash, you conceited ass, I'm not Julia Roberts, you're not Richard Gere and this sure as hell isn't Pretty Woman!"

Flared nostrils really weren't a good sign either, right? He should back off. He should back off rig-

"Elena, I'm sorry!" God, what was he doing! Apologising twice in one day, what had happened to him? "I-I didn't mean it like that- Well, I do want to get coffee but not the sex. Actually," he frowned, tilting his head to the side in thought, "I wouldn't say no to that but-"

"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, storming up to him. He froze, his eyes widening in a way that would have been comical to anyone but him, as she grabbed the lapel of his jacket and yanked him down to her height. Her nose scrunched up and she growled. She actually growled. And, God, did he find that sexy. Which was exactly the wrong reaction. "Jerk!" she spat, pushing him away from her abruptly before making a quick getaway. The only sign that their encounter had actually happened was the dazed expression on his face that some might have said resembled a wondrous smile.

Ever since that night, he had been in trouble. Over the months, he'd worn her down somewhat considerably. He'd fallen for her.

And it complicated everything.

He knew she knew. Hell, everyone knew.

He was constantly buying her flowers (ones he'd seen in the dumpster later) or inviting her out for meals and drinks and any-fucking-thing that he hoped she'd accept (she never did) or sticking up for her when things got rowdy (which apparently she wasn't too fond of when he acted as the permanent bodyguard).

She'd finally given in one day, three months later. Not in the way he had hoped. It was true, hope had fought its way back into his heart and he longed to be able to save her from the life she was living. She didn't need saving, though (her words, not his). But she had come to him one night and what a glorious night that had been. He guessed he should have thought about it but when she'd been there, standing in front of him with her chocolate eyes swirling with golden specks of lust and then she'd been pressed up oh, so deliciously against him and he'd completely lost the ability to form rational thought.

Their coupling had been intense. He wasn't sure if it was because of his feelings for her or if it was the way that they fit together so perfectly. Maybe it wasn't either of those reasons. Maybe it was because, for the first time, she had opened up to him. Of course, she hadn't said anything (bar some moans of his name and chants to a man up above), but he'd seen it in her eyes. She wasn't sad or worried, she simply was.

And it was beautiful… before it ended, of course. Five minutes later and she was crawling from his bed in search of what little clothes she had arrived in. An awkward goodbye followed before she practically ran from his apartment.

It had got better since then, though. She stayed the night now, practically owned a few drawers at his apartment and her eyes had never seemed brighter. But there was still a problem; she was holding herself back. He wanted to blame it on the pregnancy but her lack of forwardness with information about herself had stemmed from something long before the date of conception.

Which brought him right back to the original case at hand. He was going to be a father.

That should have scared him a lot more than it did. He expected to feel some sort of panic, like something was sitting on his chest and stealing the air from his lungs. He didn't expect to feel a swelling instead. Unless, maybe that was how it would kill him in the end, by creeping up on him slowly? Somehow, that didn't feel right.

Was he... happy? He couldn't say. Surprised? Obviously, but that still didn't explain the weird sense of warming in his heart. It was almost like it was expanding, making more room for the love he was sure to feel for this baby. His baby.

Their baby.

Pushing himself out of the bathroom, he froze when something caught his attention. Facing the mirror, his heart nearly stopped at the sight before him. His raven hair stuck up at odd, ridiculous angles from his fidgety fingers and dark circles underlined and shadowed his eyes. His jaw was stained black with his stubble and coloured splotches decorated his torso. Not sparing his reflection another glance, he turned to the shower and turned the knob as hot as it would go, pleased when he found it to be scalding. He had to make himself presentable.

After all, he had a girl to win.

Taking a deep breath (one that failed to calm his racing heart and queasy stomach), he raised his fist towards the blue apartment door with the gold embellished plate with the number 17 on it. He had only seen this door once before and, even then, he'd been too busy pushing Elena up against it and kissing her to worry about what the outside of her apartment looked like.

"God," he growled, slamming her back against her apartment door. He murmured a soft apology against her lips but she simply whimpered in response to the nipping of his teeth against the soft flesh of her lip. He slid the keys from her hand, his lips never once leaving hers, and he jammed the key towards the keyhole. Metal scraped against metal as he missed the opening, once, twice. Third time, success! He stumbled through the door, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, as his hands fought to untangle her small body from her coat.

"Bedroom?" he grunted, chuckling huskily when her tongue trailed along his jaw.

"Right here," she motioned behind her to the couch.

Understanding dawned on him and he perched her on the arm of the couch, giving her one last deep kiss before reluctantly breaking their contact. She moaned petulantly as he moved to pull the bed from the couch. With an arm wrapped around her waist, he rolled them both onto the bed and somehow ended up on top of her.

Clothes were torn from bodies; flying buttons and soft tears were ignored as they deemed it an unavoidable consequence of their coupling. It was always like this between them; hot and uncontrollable like fire. However, when they were both naked, he slowed. His fingers were no longer dancing The Rumba across her skin but were, in fact, trailing invisible patterns on her flesh that had goosebumps erupting all over her body.

She tried to pull him in, silently begging for him to join them so very intimately. He refused, skirting his hands down her thighs as he settled himself into the open cradle of her legs. His nose brushed against her forehead as he rubbed his pubic bone slowly against her clit.

"No foreplay," she whimpered, squeezing his biceps between her fingers. "Enough of that in the alley."

Normally, he would have tested her, would have seen how far he could push her. Not tonight. Tonight, he was going to show her how much she meant to him. He inhaled deeply and slid home. They gasped in unison, both equally surprised at how well they fit together, even after so many times together.

His arms dipped beneath her back as he rested her on his forearms, his hands cupping the back of her head. His thrusts were slow and deliberate, never faltering in rhythm even when she pushed her heels into his ass which was her code to 'take no prisoners and fuck her'. He could tell she was confused, it had never been like this between them. They'd always be quick and hot, never slow and intimate. He could see it in her eyes.

That spark.

She felt something, and it wasn't just because of their coupling. Theywere connected on a much deeper level. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, her hard nipples scraping against his pectorals with his forward and backward movement. Her breath hitched as he hit her G-spot but he continued with his steady rhythm until they both fell over the edge. Their orgasms rolled over them simultaneously, quite a feat he considered, and their eyes locked. That's when he saw it.

The twinkle in her eyes that made him want to wait for the day when she would agree to go on a date with him. Yes, when, because it was that twinkle in her eyes that proved that she had feelings for him. He just longed for the day when it would reside in her irises permanently.

That had been four weeks ago and they had barely seen each other since. He thought he had scared her off completely, he thought he had come on too strong but, now he realised, that on that night, the first night he had spent in her apartment, they had made a baby.

Shaking himself from his reverie, his knuckles collided with the wood three times in quick succession before he let his arm fall back to its original position hanging beside his leg. The door swung open to reveal a very annoyed Elena.

"Caroline, I swear-"

He smiled sheepishly as her sentence faded into a shocked gasp and he followed her silent command when she gestured for him to make his way into her apartment. He couldn't help but allow his eyes to drift over her small form, noticing how fragile and young she looked. Her hair had been scooped back into a messy bun atop her head and a tatty, pink robe shrouded her body and hid all of her curves from his view. Her legs were covered in baggy sweats and comically sized slippers adorned her feet which depicted the yellow bear he had come to know as Winnie the Pooh.

Her apartment was the same as it had been four weeks ago; a well-worn couch sat in the middle of a dingy living room/kitchen/bedroom, her bed covers were laid out on the sofa as if she had been planning to sleep the day away; appliances from the kitchen hummed endlessly but he supposed she must have got used to the constant noise over the years and, if he had to guess, he'd say the cupboards would be empty save for a couple of non-perishables.

Turning around, he noticed her wary form as she leaned against the apartment door with her arms crossed protectively against her chest. He frowned, a pain emanating through his chest that had nothing to do with the bruises that littered his torso, as he looked at her face. His blue eyes softened, noticing her red-rimmed irises, tear-tracked cheeks and the way her lips turned downwards at the corners. He took a cautionary step towards her, his step faltering when she buried her head against her shoulder.

"Please, don't," she whispered, closing her eyes tightly against the tears that clouded her eyes. He watched as she swiped at one angrily before it could slip down her cheek. "I don't need your pity."

"You think that's why I'm here?" Was that voice that he was hearing his? The hoarse, hurt tone was not one he had ever recognised before.

"Well, why else would you be here, Damon?" she bit out, biting her lip to stifle her cries. "You got a stripper pregnant; you do realise what that will do to your career, right?"

He shook his head wildly, running an errant hand through his hair. God she was so dense. Did she not see that she was the most important thing in his life? "Fuck my career."

Elena gasped, reeling back in shock, clearly not expecting the steady words that shot from his lips. "You love your job, you can't just- you can't give it up! Especially not for me."

"Not for you?" he scoffed, his tongue slamming against his front teeth as he tried to hold back the words that were ready to burst from his throat. He couldn't say them now, not like this. He was powerless to stop them, they'd been resting on the tip of his tongue for months now and apparently his brain wasn't going to swallow them back up like it had done so many times before. "Do you have any idea of how much I love you? Well, here's a clue – it's a hell of a lot more than anything else in my life!"

He breathed harshly, palming his cheek roughly as he collapsed against the back of the couch. The silence that followed was comforting, not tense like he may have guessed, and he was glad that she hadn't just rejected him as soon as the words left his mouth.

Taking a chance, he allowed his eyes to slide from the hardwood floor and up the length of her body. He didn't know what expression he expected to see on her face; disgust, shock or indifference had been the highest scoring possibilities. What he hadn't expected to see was such despair written across her face; her eyes were wide with pools of moisture threatening to overflow from her eyelids, her eyebrows nearly blended in with her hairline and her mouth was open so wide, he was scared she may have dislocated it.

"You can't."

God, he winced, why did she have to sound like she was in such pain? Couldn't she just tell him that the feelings were one-sided so he could at least pretend that he was moving on with his life?

"Why can't I?" he questioned coldly, though his voice somehow sounded light with interest. "Tell me, Elena," he cajoled, enunciating his next words with a step in her direction, "why can't I. Love. You."

"Because you don't want to be with someone like me!" she snapped, gesturing around her madly. "My life is a mess. God, there's so much you don't know."

"Then tell me," he begged, reaching forward to cup her cheeks tenderly. His thumbs swiped at her falling tears as he pressed his forehead tightly against hers. "Please."

"I never wanted to be a stripper," she confessed, sniffling softly. He pulled her against his chest and cradled her there gently. "My parents died when I was seventeen and my brother and I were left in the custody of our Uncle John. We thought it would be okay, we knew that Uncle John hadn't always been around but he seemed nice."

He frowned, moving his hands to her neck as he tilted her face up so their eyes connected. "He didn't... I mean, he didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No," she shook her head negatively. "But, he gambled. A lot. We lost everything and Jeremy, my brother, sunk into a depression after our parent's deaths. He thought the best way to cope was with drugs and it nearly destroyed him. Uncle John wouldn't help, though, said he didn't have the money to send Jeremy to rehab. I used my trust fund – the only thing John couldn't get his hands on – and I sent him to rehab. The thing was, when he turned eighteen, John kicked us out, saying he couldn't afford two kids. I was twenty, which meant I was now in charge of my younger brother with no money and no job. I made sure he used his trust fund to go to college but he doesn't know the true extent of everything."

"What do you mean?" he whispered against her soft skin, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as he tried to offer her whatever comfort that he could.

She sighed, finally allowing herself to relax in his embrace. "He didn't know that John lost everything and he still doesn't know that I used my trust fund to pay for his rehab. He doesn't know that his trust fund doesn't cover the cost of his college nor does he know that I strip to make sure he can stay there and out of this shitty apartment."

God, she was amazing. He was astounded by her. She was so selfless, so caring, so loving. So why couldn't he love her? "You didn't answer my question."

"You can't love me, Damon," she murmured, her fingers clawing at his jacket. "My life is a mess, I mean, what could I offer you, Damon Salvatore, hot-shot lawyer?"

"I just need you," he promised, peppering her cheeks with kisses. "Nothing else, only you."

"What about the baby?" she muttered, her palm unconsciously fluttering to her flat stomach, the one that would soon expand with their growing child.

"I'll love him or her as much as I love their mother." He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, trying to convey just how much she meant to him. His brow puckered at the slight pull of resistance that he felt oozing off of her in waves. "Just let me love you," he breathed against her lips.

"I'm scared." She bit her lip before soothing the mark with her tongue. "I want to let myself feel for you but what if we don't work out? It's not just me I have to think about anymore."

He dared to let out a sigh of relief; she felt something for him, it was just about her freeing herself of her inhibitions. "What if we do?" he questioned breathlessly, rubbing his lips sensually against hers, breathing in each other's air.

A long stretch of silence followed and he held his breath unknowingly in anticipation for her answer. His heart stuttered in his chest as her eyelashes fluttered upwards and her doe eyes stared endlessly into his cerulean ones.

"Okay."

He'd never heard a more beautiful word, and even cited in a nearly inaudible whisper, the effect wasn't lost on him. "Okay?" He dared to hope that fate wasn't playing some cruel joke on him, because more often than not, it did exactly that.

"Okay, Damon," she smiled. "We can be together and we can have this baby together."

"One more stipulation," he winced, "or two."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Go on."

"I don't want you working in the strip bar anymore," he confided, "and I want you to move in with me. Let me take care of you."

"Okay."

It couldn't be that simple, could it? One word and he'd got everything he wished for, he'd gotten his happy ending.

"You'll never leave me, right?" she whispered, minutes later when they were cuddled up on her old, uncomfortable couch. His fingers trailed over her arm listlessly, glad that he was finally allowed to do this. To just be with her and hold her and touch her whenever he wanted.

"Never," he vowed, kissing her hair softly. "We'll survive this."

I hope you guys liked it! Amy xo

Twitter: _amygerrard