Disclaimer: Not my characters, obviously. Just playing in their world for a while.
Author's note: Thanks so much for all the feedback! This week's episode was just heartbreaking enough to make me want to continue this story. I'll try to stretch it out to four or five chapters if you're interested. :)
I don't need suggestions of how to start anew
In the lonely hour, I need you
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Damon was dragged out of blissful oblivion by the most annoying sound in the world. Wait. Second most annoying, he corrected himself, remembering Kai crunching his way through a bag of pork rinds.
Refusing to open his eyes, he shot out a hand and fumbled around on the nightstand for the source of the disturbance. Sending an empty bottle crashing to the floor (oops, make that two), his fingers continued their clumsy trek. When number three went over the edge with a wet slosh—Damn. What a waste—he made a mental note to clean up his mess once the fog in his head cleared.
He finally located the vibrating nuisance and put it to his ear. "'Lo?" he rasped, sounding like he'd just finished gargling with vervain mouthwash.
"Damon? What's wrong?" As Elena's voice shocked him the rest of the way into consciousness, he sat up too quickly, smacking his head on the edge of the shelf above Alaric's bed.
Letting out a string of curses that would make a pirate blush, he ran a hand over his face. Feeling something stuck to his cheek, he peeled off whatever it was and held it up to the light. What he discovered was a Post-it note with his handwriting scrawled on it in splotchy black ink: Don't forget to tell Elena about the time you—unfortunately, he couldn't make out the rest.
Huh. Apparently, Drunk Damon was considerate enough to leave reminders for Hungover Damon to follow up on. Too bad his drunk self had shitty penmanship.
"Damon! What the hell's going on? Are you okay?" He could tell Elena was nearing panic mode, so he wracked his bourbon-soaked brain for an appropriate response.
Peachy keen. Right as . . . never mind. Better leave rain out of it for now. Well, let's see. I was just drooling on my best friend's pillow, sleeping off the obscene amount of alcohol I consumed last night. You? Deciding to shelve the sarcasm, he cleared his throat and put her mind at ease. Or tried, at any rate. "Hey. I'm fine. Just had kind of a . . . rough night."
"Sounds like it. I'm glad you're alright." Pausing like she'd just realized what she'd said, she quickly forged ahead, the words coming out in a rush. "Can we still get together today?"
Get together? He'd assumed they would only be doing this over the phone since she'd been so wigged out when she saw him yesterday. Had she changed her mind? "Absolutely. What time?"
"My last class gets out at 2:30. Can you meet me on campus? There's a quiet spot where we can talk." The note of hopefulness in her voice was impossible to ignore.
"I'll be there."
"Great. See you then."
When the call disconnected, he tossed the phone on the bed and looked down at the disheveled clothing he'd slept in. He needed blood, coffee, a shower, a shave, and a fresh change of clothes, in that order. Or maybe he'd skip the shave? Elena had always liked it when he was a bit scruffy.
Smiling to himself, he headed for the fridge and snagged a bag of O positive, counting on the vital sustenance to wipe the rest of the cobwebs from his mind and help him choose which memories he would share with Elena next.
###
The place she'd picked out for their meeting was surprisingly perfect. Damon had been expecting it to be someplace relatively crowded where she wouldn't have to be alone with him. A bar or a restaurant, maybe. As it turned out, she'd had quite the opposite in mind, Damon noted as he surveyed the park-like area at the forest's edge. There were a few wooden benches scattered about and a paved walkway running through it, but as far as he could tell, there was no one else here.
Spotting Elena sitting on a bench by a tall maple tree, he approached slowly, not wanting to spook her, especially given the reaction she'd had to him last night. Purposely crunching leaves and twigs beneath his boots, he made his way over to her. She looked up when he finally reached her, and he realized she had been reading something—a slim volume with a leather cover. A diary? Given the speed with which she stuffed it into her purse, he guessed it wasn't intended for his eyes. Still, he couldn't resist teasing her a bit. "Doing a little light reading? Not getting enough assignments in your classes?"
"Aren't you funny," she said wryly. "Actually, I was trying to jog my memory, but it's not working. Besides, these entries are only from the time when we were together." She patted her bag, indicating the hidden book. "It doesn't cover the stuff that came before, like the one you told me about yesterday."
Hmm, interesting. He plopped down next to her on the bench, stretching his arm out along the back of it, mostly to see how she'd respond. When she didn't scoot away, he took that as a good sign. "So, what else do you want to know?"
She picked up a leaf and spun it around by the stem. "I decided on the place. You choose the memory."
"Oookay." Feeling bold, he opted for something more personal, more . . . intimate without pushing her too far too fast. "How about the first time we kissed?"
"Our first kiss?" Elena asked, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "What was it like?"
"Gross, come to think of it," Damon admitted.
"Excuse me?"
He chuckled at the offended look she gave him. "Sorry. This is the part where I say 'It's not you, it's me.' I was about to meet my maker after Tyler the Wolf Boy bit me, and I was all sweaty and delirious. You ignored the state I was in and gave me the sweetest kiss. Told me you'd stay with me until the end. If it wasn't for the agony, I'd have thought I'd already died and gone to Heaven." Unable to stop himself, he reached out and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "I don't consider that our real first kiss though, seeing as I wasn't much of a participant."
"Which one, then?" Her voice was quiet and a bit rough around the edges.
He closed his eyes and returned to the night on Elena's front porch after her brother had embraced his inner Rambo and Damon had compelled him to leave the insanely dangerous Mystic Falls behind and never think of it again. When he reopened them, Elena was staring at him intently as if she were impatient for him to begin. "You'd had a bad day. Understatement, I know. Klaus was gunning for Jeremy, Ric got mowed down by a hybrid that your brother later beheaded right in front of you, and you learned that Stefan was being shady, but for a good reason. After I'd reset Jer's compass so that it was pointing toward Denver, we had a little discussion on your porch.
"I was trying to be the 'better man'—your words, not mine—but all I could think about was how much I wanted to kiss you. I knew I shouldn't because of Stefan-related reasons, but in the end I couldn't help it . . ." he trailed off, replaying snippets of their conversation in his head.
. . . 'Cause I thought, for one second, that I wouldn't have to feel guilty anymore.
Wait, what are you talking about? Guilty for what?
For wanting what I want.
"I started to leave, but then I changed my mind, marched back up the steps, and . . . kissed you." Damon's gaze landed on Elena lips, which were parted ever so slightly, and he forced himself to look anywhere but at her mouth. "Sorry. Words don't really do it justice. I guess you had to be there," he added softly. Oh, the irony. Pulling his trusty flask from his jacket pocket, he took a swig while he waited for Elena to process what he'd told her.
"Show me."
He choked on the bourbon, coughing and spluttering as he got to his feet and turned away so he wouldn't spit it all over her. Finally recovered, he spun around and faced her once more. "What did you just say?"
She stood and walked toward him. "You heard me. You said yourself that words alone couldn't give me the whole picture, so show me." Stopping mere inches from him, she looked up at him expectantly.
"Are you sure? You nearly short-circuited yesterday, and I wasn't even touching you. What do you think is gonna happen if I do this?"
"I don't know, but I'm willing to find out."
"What about 'baby steps'?"
"Reading about our relationship—the highs and the lows—made me realize that I don't want to go slow. I want my memories back now. Every day without them is a day wasted when I could've been—" She cut herself off, and he desperately wanted to know what she had been planning to say. What? Loving me? "Just kiss me. Please."
He searched her eyes for any hint of doubt but found none. Well, here goes. Tucking his hands under her hair, he placed them on either side of her throat, his thumbs brushing over her jaw. Leaning in, he covered her mouth with his. The kiss was unhurried, gentle, just as it had been the first time, and history continued to repeat itself when she lifted one of her hands to grip his. What was different was the low moan that escaped her, one he could feel beneath his palms where they were resting on her neck.
When he finally pulled back, he drank in her dazed expression, a near mirror image of her original reaction. Instead of saying goodnight (it was only the middle of the afternoon, after all) and walking away like he had before, he stayed put, his fingers caressing her soft skin. "How was that?"
"Good," she whispered, seemingly unaware that she was leaning into his touch. "Well, better than good, obviously. And I felt something. It was almost like déjà vu, only more intense."
"I like the sound of that," he murmured in approval.
"Maybe that's the key," she said excitedly, her features lighting up. "Not just hearing or reading about the memories but reliving them, feeling them."
"I can get on board with that plan." He smiled at her, his mind already whirring with the possibilities.
This show-and-tell business was going to make their little trip down memory lane so much more enjoyable.
