(Sorry this took a while. Sometimes you just have to let these things cook. Many thanks as always to my readers - you are wonderful! - and to every one of you who took the time to review. I am a praise junkie, I admit it. Lately, conversations about Damon with afanoftvd, CreepingMuse, RomanticVoltaire, WildYennifer, and tukct81 have helped tremendously. Thanks, ladies! I know I said one more chapter, but I changed my mind. There's still plenty more to come...)

Chapter 4: Waiting

Just leave the bottle.

I'm fine.

Before she died and everything went to shit, here's what I actually thought would happen. This was my plan: Elena would come back, again, propelled by her love for me which, yes, improbable as it was still seemed pretty impossible to deny, back then. She would throw her tasty little body at me, or beg me to kiss her, or whatever, again, and I would tell her all of it, the three times she came to me, what she wanted, what I did, the way she felt, really felt. How I made her forget it all just to save her from what she feared, but now I just couldn't let her go. How we owed it to ourselves to try, or some shit. I would help her through it, all understanding and caring and indulgent but still strong and I wouldn't cave. I would get her there again, to that point where she was ready to believe in us, and then I would – get this, because this is really the crux of the plan here – I would not compel her to forget.

That's it.

And we would face the shitstorm of her judgy friends and my heartsick little bro. We would send Jeremy to Timbuktu for his own damn good and we would finally be – I don't know. Happy? Like that's possible. Well, whatever. We would have been something.

But my plan was kind of dependent on her not dying.

Now I have to drink twice as much booze because there's no one to share this watered-down bottle with. And Stefan is over there bringing her raccoons and squirrels and trying to make her feel like she didn't just die.

And apparently that's enough for her.

I wonder if she's told him yet. Because you know she remembers. It's been a week.

The fuck of it all was that phone call. Sure, I was a masochist to ask her to choose, but you'd think, after everything, that that loophole would have made an appearance in a moment like that. Instead, I had to listen to her throw my words back in my face. You know why she could "only think about right now" and how she only cared about me but loved Stefan? Because I told her to! Fuck. All those memories were in there somewhere, I could hear them in there, but she couldn't quite get to them. That same refrain: maybe if she'd met me first. That was her memory of it, that first night, before Stefan saved her, smashing up against her subconscious. Everything was right under the surface, but too far to reach by herself.

In those last few minutes before I expected to die, if she had come to me instead, not to Stefan, I would have undone it. I would have made her remember. Maybe that's selfish. Okay fine, not maybe. It would have been selfish, but don't you think she would have wanted to remember something like being in love with a guy who's about to die so she could have a fucking moment with him before he kicked? But you can't do that over the phone. No eye contact. I just had to let it all go. I had to let her go.

And then when Ric… Do you have anything older than you back there? Top shelf, my good man. Thaaaat's the one.

And now that she has remembered? Because there's no way she hasn't, it only took Caroline a day. That shit comes flooding back fast. So now, where is she? Who knows. Maybe I was wrong about her. If she loved me – hey, even if she didn't – you'd think she would have confronted me at least, all fiercely indignant and self-righteous and adorable. So what if she's angry? She has every right to be angry; I can handle it. Sure, I did it for her, but I did it for me, too. I finally gave in. I could have turned her away. I've said no to her before. I'm the only person in her whole fucking life who does. I could have ended it before it started.

You don't know what it's like to want someone like that. To love someone like that.

When Meredith told me what she'd done… Look, Elena opened her eyes and Stefan was right there, wrapping his coddling, patronizing arms around her, and it was like I wasn't even in the room. He rushed to apologize for letting her die – which is something he and I will definitely discuss as soon as this is all settled and I have time to choose just the right stake. And she took responsibility for dying because she told him to save Matt – which is something else that will have to be discussed because that shit is not acceptable. And then it was all hugging and weeping and I'm so sorry, you never wanted this. Stupid, whiny crap. And still, it was like I wasn't in the room. I just stood there, waiting. For five fucking minutes. Then I left. No one cared.

And I haven't heard from them since.

I'm fine. There's a lot to go through at Ric's and it's not like I can leave that vampire hunter shit to just anyone. It's good, you know? It's good to be there. Plus I can't go home. I can't watch.

I used to imagine what it would be like when Elena turned. How I would teach her. What I would teach her. She would have made the most incredible vampire, naturally fierce and powerful but at the same time noble, regal. She would have been a fucking queen. And I wanted to be there with her, watching her, helping her the first…. I really thought I was right about her. If it wasn't love, I don't know what the fuck it was.

Doesn't matter. I'm fine.

Hold on, phone. "Stefan. Long time, no having anything to do with me whatsoever."

"I need your help. It's Elena."