Author's Note: This is a one-shot for Olga. Well, not exactly a one-shot….my stories seldom are. I think this will be three short chapters.

Thanks for the signature. It's exactly what I wanted. Sorry this took so long. I've taken a few liberties with your prompt. Hope that's ok.

Rating: Mature – language, violence, subject matter, Stefan

Damon leaned against the side of his car and listened as the gasoline hissed through the tubing. He'd left Mystic Falls three tanks of gas ago. He wouldn't reach his destination for at least four more.

Seattle seemed kind of cliché for a vampire. Cold and damp, especially now that winter was settling in, close enough to the home of Twilight, he'd almost considered changing his destination. But he'd lived there once half a century ago. Then, the darkness helped hide his movements at night. Now, the ever-present gloom matched his mood.

He chuckled sourly to himself, and the elderly couple shuffling through the decaying parking lot turned to look at the leather-clad figure next to the classic car and practically ran for their vehicle. He hadn't lost his edge – at least not all of it.

A popping sound signaled the fuel tank had filled, and he removed the spout from his car. Who was he kidding? He wasn't the vampire he once was when he lived in Seattle. He hadn't been for a long time. Not since an impromptu dinner party a long time ago when his prey saw the humanity he'd kept buried for over a century. The instant the words came out of Elena's mouth, he should have realized he was doomed. "I'm sorry. You lost her too." Six words changed his life.

Two weeks ago, he'd been in heaven. As they'd expected, Elena began changing after she transitioned into a vampire. He wasn't surprised to find a darker and infinitely more interesting Elena buried beneath the surface. Stefan was.

He was surprised to discover his brother didn't like this new Elena. And the new Elena liked Damon very much. So much so that Stefan couldn't handle sharing her any longer – probably because he realized she was no longer torn 50/50 between the brothers, and now he was on the losing end.

If he'd been surprised when he heard Stefan had broken up with Elena, Damon was astonished when she'd looked at him the night after the Miss Mystic Falls pageant. She'd said she wanted to dance, but her eyes made it clear she wanted so much more.

The night he'd spent with her was beyond his wildest dreams. And he thought he had been dreaming until he woke up to discover she was still with him the next morning.

It wasn't a dream.

But it turned into a nightmare.

"Elena's sired to you, Damon." Stefan's words began Damon's spiral into his own personal hell. A trip to New Orleans did nothing to fix the problem – despite the witch's assertions that Elena had to have loved him before she turned.

If she'd loved him, then why had she chosen Stefan. Without that choice, she wouldn't have been on that bridge, and Damon wouldn't have been here in between towns that he'd miss if he blinked too quickly.

But that the last time he spoke to her as a human wasn't why he was here. Not really. The drizzle-chilled metal of his car seeped into his back as his feet refused to move. Just like that night at the cabin.

He'd sat there, leaning against the rail beneath the tiny white lights a dead Gilbert had strung a lifetime ago, and Elena beckoned him to come inside. She wanted him. She looked so innocent, it was practically painful…and he knew from experience that innocent was one thing she was not.

So he sat there. Watching her.

She and Jeremy looked like normal siblings.

He and Stefan had been that way once. Hadn't they? Despite the vampire-influenced clarity of mind, that was a time period that blurred like a timeworn photograph. Maybe it was better that way.

Elena wasn't easily dissuaded. While he was in the deepest point of his melancholy, she'd come to stand next to him on the porch.

A naughty grin crossed her face as she twirled mistletoe over his head.

He knew what she wanted. He wanted it too. Every inch of his body remembered the way her sweat-slickened body writhed against him. He could still see her eyes as they changed from chocolate brown to black with lust. He could hear her moans of pleasure when she could no longer form words.

God, he'd have liked nothing more than to have thrown her on the ground and taken her right there on the patio. And she would have let him.

Because, despite all her protests, that wasn't Elena.

And that's exactly why he had to let her go.

Sorry this one's short. It kind of had to be, you'll see why in chapter two. I hope to get the next chapter up by Tuesday (or Wednesday at the latest). Reviews make me type more quickly – or at least that's the general idea.