A/N: This is a song fic based on the song, you guessed it- "Low Is A Height". It's by Great Northern, and its a really beautiful song, in a haunting sort of way,so i suggest you listen to it beforehand. It will get you in the proper mood for the story, lol. This scene is set early to mid season 2, sort of a response to my own pondering of, what if Damon decided to get back with Katherine? Katherine would probably see how soft he's gotten, and tell him to prove himself somehow. Or at least, that's something i could see happening.

As Elena approached the Salvatore boarding house, her pace slowed. That's odd, she thought, noticing that the front door was slightly open. She took the last few tentative steps that closed the space between her and the ajar door, and lightly pressed her fingers to the handle, pushing it the rest of the way open.

"Stefan?' She called out, walking through the thresh hold and closing the door behind her. But no answer came. She twisted her head side to side, looking down the long hallways, her brown hair cascading around her shoulders as she moved. But there was no one approaching her from either end of the house.

She walked to the edge of the sunken living room, checking for either brother, her eyes scanning from the pillow-laden couch in front of the fire to the half-empty glass bottles of Scotch that Damon kept at the bar.

Drink to the sun.

But the room was empty. She'd have to check upstairs.

We write to millions.

"Stefan?" She called again, grasping the wooden railing of the staircase as she made her way up.

The turn at the landing of the stairs enabled her to see the hallway at the top out of her periphery, and at first she couldn't tell what she was looking at.

"Matt?" She asked, confused.

You kill everyone

"Mattie?" She asked again, her voice breaking in a whisper. This couldn't be happening.

Around you…

But it was.

"Oh my God, Matt!"

And then Elena was flying- running up the remainder of the stairs faster than if her life depended on it- because it was Matt's that did.

Matt was lying, head to the side, eyes closed, body sprawled out and blood down his shirt, unmoving. A sight Elena had seen all too many times.

"Matt! Matt! Oh, god, Mattie," Elena continued repeating. Her hands went to his neck, trying to turn his head so she could check- and there it was: bite marks. Bloody and ugly, oozing sticky red that made her want to be sick.

Save yourself, from the ground you break.

But she wasn't sick: despite her crying and pleading, she remembered what to do: check his pulse. Check his breathing. Is he breathing? Is he alive? CPR. Gotta do CPR. Her head went down to his chest, as she fumbled around at his wrist, trying to remember everything she'd been taught in the safety class she'd taken in middle school.

And there it was, faint but steady: He was breathing. His heart was beating. He was alive. She wasn't too late.

About thirty seconds into administering CPR, Matt began coughing. He was awake.

"Elena-" he groaned, reaching out for her.

"Matt!"

And then she was hugging him, rocking him back and forth, closing her eyes as tears of joy came next, and muttering sentiments of how afraid she had been and how it would all be okay now.

From the lives you take.

But as she stood up, half-supporting Matt's weight on her shoulders, another flash came from the corner of her eye. Boots. And jeans. Black leather. Damon.

"Matt, hold up- I have to- just trust me, okay? Go to my car. Go to my car and wait for me and I'll be right behind you."

Matt nodded, not having seen Damon, who was half-hidden in shadow. Elena's eyes followed Matt as he continued down the stairs, and out of sight. As soon as he was gone, she turned.

I lock the door

"You."

Damon sauntered out of the shadows, not stopping until he was right in Elena's face. His pace was easy, his shirt unbuttoned- it was reminiscent of the day of the auction, but also of the day Vicki had died.

"Me."

Elena didn't flinch; her horrified expression met his arrogant one with all the tenacity she could muster.

"You did this. Why? Why would you do this?"

Spinning the dust in a room.

"Because I'm a vampire?" Damon replied, smirking, his chin still partially covered in Matt's quickly drying blood.

Another tear slid down Elena's face, and she wanted to vomit more than ever.

"Because I told him to," came a silky voice from behind Damon. A voice that was painfully recognizable. Katherine.

Still like the sun, around you.

Katherine wrapped her hands around Damon's torso, propping her chin on his shoulder, a wild glint in her eye as she looked Elena up and down.

"And my boys do what I tell them to." Katherine's voice was nothing but a purr, a feline bastardization of Elena's compassionate tenor.

She nipped at Damon's ear, and he returned Katherine's touch, just barely, their eyes showing all the intimacy that was needed in that moment.

Don't like the space of

All of our space of…

Elena's disgust was evident on her face, as was the pure rage. She could think of a million things to say to this- this doppelganger of hers. And Damon- he'd dashed every good notion she'd ever had for him, in one fell swoop. But she didn't have time for insults would most likely get her killed. So she kept her reply simple.

"I should have let you burn in Atlanta," She spat, her arms folded across her chest in a defensive stance. Her voice was low, full of hate, and sharper than a stake to the heart.

Damon's expression immediately clouded over, his carefree body language gone. He now held a look that, given the light blue of his eyes, was reminiscent of glass, shattering. What Elena said had effected him. What Elena said had hurt.

And you've just become a word.

"And you," Elena continued, her eyes daring to look into Katherine's, so similar to hers, and yet so different. "You should have burned one hundred and forty-six years ago."

Katherine's face showed her shock as she made a small gasp of indignation; had her little look-alike descendent really just said that to her?

But Elena was down the stairs and running to help Matt before anything else was said.

"Well," Katherine huffed, removing herself from Damon and standing before him, her lower lip in a pout. "That was rude."

Damon looked up at her, barely aware that she was even still talking. The crushing feeling was still weighing him down, tugging at where his heart lay, unbeating.

He fleetingly wondered if he looked as lost as he felt in that moment. If Katherine's distasteful expression meant anything, he must have. She didn't approve of weakness.

"What did she mean, anyways? When were you in Atlanta with her?"

"It doesn't matter," Damon mumbled, leaving the room, with Katherine in it.

In the moments after Elena had spoken those words to him, he knew- this was the lowest he had ever fallen. The lowest point he had ever reached.

And not because of brutality- he'd done much worse things than what he'd done to Matt. Matt had even survived.

No. This was his lowest point…because Elena had raised him up. Elena had held him to a standard higher than he'd ever been before, even in his humanity. She had trusted him, believed in him, and now...that was gone.

I've fallen so far, he thought, making his way back to his bedroom.

But low is a height.