Disclaimer: Still no owno
Warning: Nope I'm so nice
Notes: So I decided to put up the next chapter which is still all about Jess. Who is awesome. Basically Damon's pov.

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click clack, tick tock

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Her heels click on the pavement outside. He sits at the bar, still drowning his sorrows. Still mulling over losing Elena. Over her drowning - coming back a vampire. Stefan not being able to save her in time too. Saving Matt. Being not the dumbest brother alive, but coming in a very close second.

It's not like he really cares though, about the vampirism. Everything's better than her dying these days. These days where he's a pathetic, brooding idiot. Not as bad as Stefan, but there's this nagging little old-damon (back when he still could live with himself, back when he still was irrevocably cool) voice in his head, saying 'yet'.

Her heels click and he sits. He drains the glass and leans over to order another when her hand touches the bar.

"Hello, Damon."

He should wonder how she knows him; he should be freaked out, finding her creepy. But when he looks up to see her pearly-white skin, her blonde hair and enormous blue eyes, she's just a kid.

So he offers a 'hi' muffled in whiskey on the rocks.

"I couldn't find your brother, so would you please fetch him for me?"

It's only now that he notices her accent. Something european, he thinks. Something european, mixed with Klaus' en Rebekah's british - mixed with Elijah's creepiest nasal new fucking Zealand-y tone – but it's all just a hint to her perfectly fine american.

She demands though. Not playing nice with him at all. He thinks he likes it. Sort of. He doesn't think he really knows what he wants (what he likes).

He used to like these women, demanding things. Not trying to hide the fact that they are vicious, vicious creatures. And then Elena came along and now he's not sure of anything anymore. If he loves her for trusting him so much, or if he hates her for being so vicious, so so vicious while pretending to care.

And this one is not pretending to care. Not about him anyway. Using him, shamelessly, to get to his brother.

Just like the rest of them. She's no different. Demanding things like a spoiled little rich kid. Of him. She's like barbie-barbie-klaus. Baby-Rebekah.

He smiles to himself.

She's way too young for him anyway.

Fetch Stefan. In her dreams, he thinks.

So he says.

She looks at him so icily he thinks for a second he can feel te cold inside his chest.

"Why are you being unhelpful right now?" She demands, suddenly sounding so innocent, and so young.

He refrains from telling her 'fuck you that's why', and listens instead.

Listens to how she hasn't taken a breath the entire conversation. How her heart doesn't beat. How her eyes don't flutter. No he sees they don't flutter, her icy glare still set upon him. He decides she has had years to practice that glare. Years, decades, centuries... All the while looking like the perfect sixteen-year-old.

He's self-destructive, but not self-destructive or stupid enough to underrestimate this girl; this woman. This girl is not stupid. But she's no different either. Really a baby-Rebekah then, he supposes.

"Wanna borrow my phone and call him? He'll pick up." He says offhandedly, trying to deflect. He doesn't like the way this conversation is heading. He was hoping Stefan would not be involved.

She pouts.

"I thought you'd be nicer. Stefan was very nice."

Great, that's just what he needs; another freaking Stefan-groupie.

"He's not that great either. Might snap and rip people apart, that one."

She laughs at that. Just slightly. Just a chuckle.

"Oh Damon Slavatore, please don't play the big innocent."

She taps lightly on the bar and he knows that's it -

"Your brother, Damon..."

...And he sighs and dials the familiar number himself. He is not particularly feeling like talking to Stefan, whom is as we speak probably crying over Elena's baby pictures, wallowing in his own disgusting sadness of how she'll never grow old. Never have kids. Maybe he should take a break from it all and realise that it's all his very fault.

"Damon." He's using his broody-voice extraordinaire.

So he mentions that, before he sees how she's smiling brightly, as if she's actually happy to hear him.

He hisses – hisses because this is all so unfair – 'do you want to talk to him, girl?'

She just smiles serenely, and it's not the deranged, creepy, age-old vamp reaction he expected from her at the word 'girl'. He feels just that little pinch in his chest, like someone is stabbing him with a needle, only once – only once – but enough to make him sigh again.

"There's someone here for you and she couldn't find you and she wanted me to fetch you." He trails of in yet another sigh, this time of embarrassment – but she doesn't really care about that, does she, and neither does he.

"Okay…" Comes Stefan's voice, now sounding more curious than hollow, "Who is it, Damon?"

"Well, I don't really know, now, do I? She just showed up here demanding stuff from me."

Stefan just mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'jesus'.

"Jess?" He questions then, almost exasperated.

The girl starts jumping up and down and squealing, and apparently Damon really was mistaken – she is an idiot, vampire or not.

'I'll be right there,' and the dull 'click' of Stefan hanging up on him is all he gets. All he gets before she pats him on the shoulder and runs through the front door of the Grill. It's probably her way of thanking him. (For something she forced him to do.)

He sees them outside.

Reuniting.

He doesn't even know the girl.

Jess.

Jess, Jess.

Jess, Jess, Jess, Jess.

Doesn't sound very age-old vampire to him.