DISCLAIMER: Guess what? I own nothing! Whee!

A/N: Right. You guys? Rock so freaking hard it's not funny. Really. I wish I could send you things. Chocolate or presents or sunshine or something. Because you guys make me want to write. No lie.

Which is a really darned good thing, because I had to totally rewrite this chapter. ACK! Yeah, it was…on reread…just WRONG. Mostly because *this* scene wouldn't leave me alone. So I changed it.

Warning. I'm not a fan of bashing Stefan, and this is no way an effort to do that. However, I think there's something going on with him in the last few episodes. I wont bore you with the obsessive little details I've picked up, but I did want to mention that this isn't an effort to assassinate Stefan. It's something I think could be plausible, though I know full well the writers would never sully Saint Stefan with such ickyness! Pshaw, they have Damon for that! (grumble grumble)

Anyhow…I'm SUPER nervous about it coming across badly…but I have to get it up, because I want it done before the ep tomorrow. Which leaves me…uh…not a lot of time. So if you're really feeling kind…review? Pretty please? It really is the best thing. This one's ELENA'S POV. Back to Damon in part 4

And...uh...please don't kill me...it really does get happier.

((CHAPTER 3 - ELENA POV))

I bolt upright in bed, still feeling hungry hands on my thighs and a name that isn't Stefan on my lips.

I push my damp hair back from my forehead and try to ignore the steady throb between my legs. Stefan sits up, but he doesn't ask me about my pounding heart or sweat-drenched shirt. Just like I don't ask him about the growing collection of blood bags in his trash can.

This is what we've become in the aftermath of our great triumph. Funny. I thought killing Klaus was supposed to make everything alright.

I offer a fake smile. Stefan's isn't any better.

"Can't sleep?" he asks.

I shake my head and he nods. This is the best we manage anymore, the polite pretense of a relationship I think we both know is heading for the shore.

And why is that so surprising?

Everything is different now. Our whole universe flipped like a coin. Did I really expect us to stay right where we were a year ago?

"Do you want some water?" I ask, glancing towards the bathroom.

He shakes his head, fingers twitching against the covers. I can tell he's too antsy for small talk. Probably because he's hungry. He's always hungry these days.

I head to the bathroom anyway, brushing my teeth and letting the cold water from the sink run over my wrists. A thin red scar remains from Stefan's first bite. Back then, my blood was plenty. A few crimson drops…it was like an elixir.

Not anymore. Whatever he could take from me wouldn't be enough.

When I return to the bedroom, he's fully dressed, sliding into a pair of sneakers.

"I'm going to run out for a coffee," he says, and my eyes drift to his shaking hands. "Might as well get an early start on the day."

I smile and pretend to believe him.

Just like he pretends I wasn't having a sex dream about his brother.

And then I sit there on the side of the bed listening to him make his way down the stairs. He grabs his keys from the table and then I hear the front door open and close.

I stand up as soon as I hear his engine rumble, darting quickly out of the room and down the dark hallway. I haven't been to this particular section of the boarding house in six days and yeah, I admit it. I've been avoiding this. Avoiding him.

I'm poised at the door, hand almost, but not quite on the handle.

Then I remember that I don't have time for this. I am not some fourteen-year-old girl who has the luxury of sitting at home dissecting what that brush of Damon's fingers meant. Or what was really going on in my head when I kissed him, not on the cheek, or the forehead, but right on his neck.

I don't have time to go there, because this isn't about what happened that night. It's about Stefan, who I would bet my left hand is not going out for a cup of coffee right now.

I push open the door, surprised to find Damon's light still on. Inside, I manage exactly two steps before I freeze.

He's sprawled out on his stomach, a single white sheet riding across one leg, a book still open beside him. He's out cold though, arms around a pillow, looking for all the world like some misplaced angel.

I clear my throat and Damon's body shifts. I hate myself, God, I really do, but I can't help but to watch him wake up, the play of muscle against skin as he rolls over, the flutter of his dark lashes opening to reveal brilliant blue.

Sometimes I think he's too pretty to be real.

"Let me guess. There's a crisis," he says, voice like gravel-coated velvet. It goes right through my middle to a dark, secret place it definitely doesn't belong.

Before I can respond to that, he's out of bed, stalking towards me in his boxers, that lethal smirk of his even more dangerous on his sleepy face. "What is it? Witchy turned your brother into a frog? Caroline's pregnant with vampire puppies?"

"It's Stefan," I say.

He sighs then, amusement disappearing. "Of course it is."

He's standing right in front of me now and I'm suddenly intensely aware of my skimpy tank top, of the faded cotton shorts riding low on my hips.

"He's drinking human blood," I say.

Damon gives me an odd look. "Um, yeah, but since he's drinking your blood, is this really 3 A.M. newsworthy?"

"He isn't drinking my blood," I say, blushing. "Not for awhile now."

Damon looks at me as if I've announced that the Easter Bunny is waiting downstairs for a hot breakfast. "Why? Did you stop offering?"

"He stopped asking," I say, feeling my cheeks go even hotter.

Damon presses his hands to his eyes with a sigh. "Peachy. I'm sure he's got it all under control. So, I'm guessing Saint Crackhead isn't here?"

"He said he was going out for coffee."

"Yeah, and I'm the Virgin Mary."

"I know," I sigh, still wishing I'd pulled on another shirt. Or that he'd put on some pants. "That's why I'm here, Damon. He's in trouble."

"No, Mystic Falls is in trouble. The place is about to look like the set of a Rob Zombie movie. Stefan can't eat a parakeet without needing a change of clothes."

I cross my arms over my chest and frown. "This isn't funny, Damon. He's your brother and he needs help. How can you just stand there and not react to that?"

Damon's face goes indescribably dark, his smirk thinning into something much colder.

"This is a reaction," he says. "It's just not the one you want. As much as it might kill you to realize this, I'm not here so you can spoon feed me the right thing to do at every fork in the road. Has it ever occurred to you that I might not give a shit about the right thing?"

"No, Damon, I never think about that," I say, voice dripping sarcasm. "I never lie awake wondering if any of it is real with you. If any of the good I see is my own stupid imagination."

"Well don't heap all the compliments on at once!"

"I'm not finished!"

We're yelling now, fists clenched at our sides, eyes sparking. God, it's always like this with us. We can't ever stop pushing each other.

I take a steadying breath, forcing myself to use a softer tone. "I do think about it Damon, but at the end of the day I come to the same conclusion every time."

He tips his head. It's as close to asking as he's going to come.

"I know you aren't this person. I know you love Stefan and you will always help him."

He laughs at me then, cold and low and cruel. "I made my peace with my Messiah brother a long time ago," he says. "Yeah, I love him. And I'm sure the hell not going to watch someone take him out. But I'm not sitting around this shithole town to rescue him from whatever Lifetime drama he's gotten himself into this week."

"Then why are you here?" I snap.

"You know damn well why I'm here, Elena."

My words from that night whisper between us. Yes. Yes, I do know why he's here. And it's scaring the shit out of me.

My heart is jack-hammering in my chest because I know where we're standing. In the shadow of the Rubicon. Inches from the place we can never come back from.

"Don't do this now," I say, my voice the barest whisper. "I'm not here for this."

"You're not?" he asks, and he's moving closer, his fingers trailing up my arms, eyes roving every inch of me.

God, do something! Do something!

But I don't. I just stand there, spellbound by the play of his hands on my skin.

"Is this really why you're here right now?" he continues, voice now low and husky. "Is your boyfriend the reason I hear you wake up every night, Elena? Is Stefan the reason you're creeping into my bedroom wearing a t-shirt I could read the newspaper through?"

I jerk back, slapping his hands away from my arms. My cheeks are on fire. Of course they're on fire. All we ever do is burn.

"What about you, Damon?" I snarl back. "Is this really your priority right now? Wearing me down so that maybe, just maybe you can finally add me to the notches on your headboard? Is that the goal?"

He steps back then, something unreadable passing over his face.

That look gives me courage. It should give me the brains to shut the hell up, because deep down I know I'm going too far, but I've snapped like a reed and I just don't give a damn anymore.

"I could be anyone, couldn't I?" I say, the words spraying out of me like bullets. "It's about the chase, right? The thrill of the hunt. I could be anyone on this whole planet. It wouldn't make a damn bit of difference to you as long as I belonged to Stefan."

And then he's on me again, hands on my face, fingers wide and threading into my hair, his eyes so blue and soft I could fall right into them. I don't realize I'm crying until his thumbs move across my cheeks, catching my tears.

I feel like a monster. And he's looking at me as if I've still got the seal of heaven on my face.

"This isn't about my brother, Elena," he whispers, leaning in until I have to close my eyes because I can't face that truth.

And I can't deny it anymore, either.

His fingers brush down my cheeks, sliding along my jaw. I can feel the longing in that touch. The reverence. It sends an ache through my center, and it's all I can do to not whimper. Especially when he lets me go.