Chapter 4: All Appearance

(Reference: 1x09 "History Repeating")


Damon

After seeing Z off to school in her new "adult" attire, I decide to check in on Stefan who has apparently blown this whole thing way out of proportion. I mean, Lexi's not even dead, and he's still moping around like the teenager he pretends to be. Boring.

"Rise and shine, Stefan!" I call as I enter his room, extending a mug full of Bambi-juice to him in offering. "You'll be late for school."

He sits up with a look of utter bewilderment on his face when he sees me.

"What are—what are you doing?" he asks.

I smirk, give him a little eyebrow action, and say, "Peace offering."

Predictably, he gives me the brush off. At least he gets out of bed to do it.

"Come one, you need it for blood circulation," I tease. "Does dead flesh good."

I drop the smile when all I receive for my efforts is a blank stare.

"Stefan, she's not even dead!" I reason.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," he retorts coldly.

"What makes you say that? Why are you so sure I didn't know?"

"That's not the point," he says, frustrated.

"Then what is?"

"You would have done it anyway!" he growls. After a beat of silence in which I internally acknowledge the truth of this statement he repeats, "You would have done it anyway, so it doesn't matter."

"Alright, I'm sorry," I say, only partially lying.

"Step aside, please," he says, still giving me the cold shoulder.

I can't help the twinge of guilt that hits me at the thought of the alternative if Z hadn't been here.

"I got the town off our back," I justify. "It was for the greater good, but I'm sorry."

"And to prove it, I'm not gonna feed on a human for at least a…week," I call as he leaves the room in a huff. "I'll adopt the Stefan-diet, only nothing with feathers." I take a sip of what may be the last human blood I partake in 7 horribly excruciating days.

Returning, Stefan jeers, "'Cause I realize that killing your closest and oldest friend is beyond evil, but somehow, it's worthy of humor." He slings one of those horrible plaid button-downs of his over his lean shoulders as he walks toward me.

"Are you mimicking me?" Well, at least he's got some 'tude back.

"Yes, Stefan, now that the secret society of vampire haters is off our back, I can go back to my routine of 'How can I destroy Stefan's life this week?'."

I smirk to myself.

"And I can go back to sulking, and Elena-longing, and forehead brooding. This is fun, I like this."

"And I," Stefan continues as he finally packs for school, "will finally reveal the ulterior motive behind my evil and diabolical return to Mystic Falls." Well, that escalated quickly.

"Yeah, I'm done."

"That's just like you, Damon," I mock on my way out. "Always have to have the last word."

There's only one person I'd trust with a secret like that, brother, and it ain't you.


Nadezhda

Compelling my way into a teaching position at the High School was surprisingly easy. Actually, it was rather anticlimactic really. I was vaguely disappointed. But, boring as this job will undoubtedly prove to be at least I'm the teacher in this scenario.

Once again, I am eternally grateful that I wasn't turned younger.

I mean, I know I'm small and could probably pass for younger—especially in a world where a thirty something man can play a teenager believably on screen—but I cannot even imagine how these immortal teenagers do it.

Adolescence was bad enough the first time around. At least, I never had to deal with high school. Ugh.

Turns out the history teacher Damon took out has already been replaced, so I have to settle for English instead. We just sent the previous teacher on an extended vacation of indeterminate length to some unheard of location on the other side of the world.

Or, you know, a shallow grave. But, don't worry, we have a plan for that too.

Actually, if I'm being honest, I might prefer this subject. Lord, knows I'm well-read enough for it.

The part that really sucks about all of this? My hair. I made the mistake of letting Damon dress me this morning as a sort-of/not really apology for dropping the Lexi-shaped bomb on Stefan yesterday.

Needless to say, the change is not to my liking.

See, sometime in the last few decades I developed something of a fondness for the punk-rocker look in my own style—I blame the 70s—and have taken to styling my hair in a variety of unconventional ways.

Lately, I have streaked my black tresses with subtle blue highlights and taken to braiding the hair on the left side of my head in a pseudo half faux-halk to showcase the 12 piercings all along my ear.

I know, I know, cliché. But what can I say? I like it. It's like hiding in plain sight.

Anyway, in the span of 15 minutes Damon had undone all my hard work at an edgy appearance and managed to make me look downright—ugh I can hardly say it—respectable. Shudder.

My hair lies in graceful waves to frame my face which is in turn clear of any but the lightest of make-up. He wouldn't even let me wear eye-liner, the jerk. And in place of my usual corset top and leather jacket, I wear a classy blue dress that looks alarmingly adult.

I hardly recognize myself.

But this was my idea and I will see it through. So, no more pity party. Put your big girl panties on, Nadezhda, and make it look real.

The bell rings to signal fourth period and I take a deep breath, paste on a friendly smile and turn to greet the host of upturned teenaged faces all focused on me.

Huh. What a small world, looks like Stefan's in my first class of the day. He's got that puppy-love, kinda dazed smile on his face as he looks at the brunette turned in her chair to face him. Poor kid's got it bad.

Uh, where was I? Oh, right.

"Good Morning, Class!"

"Good Morning!" they all chime back. I see Stefan staring at me with that dark look in his eye. Guess Damon didn't tell him I was here. Though, admittedly, he looks less constipated than I would have expected after last night's announcement. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

"My name is Ms. Salvatore, and I'll be subbing Ms. Wilkins…intermittently…while she's away." I smile cheerfully out at them as they all turn to my given namesake.

"But don't worry," I assure them all. "There will no special treatment for my little brother over there." Elena looks shocked. Stefan just glares.

Bet I know what you're thinking, Stefan. I see what Damon means about the forehead wrinkles. How does he do that?

"So, anybody want to tell me where your teacher left off?"

A gorgeous blond in a blue peasant top and a fake Barbie smile answers, "We were just about to start the Scarlet Letter."

Oh, great. Colonial American Literature. My favorite. "Yeah, we're not doing that. Why don't we do a creative exercise today? We can just breeze through main themes—I'll let your next sub field that one—and I'll find us a book to study for next time that doesn't make me want to blow my brains out."

Amid the startled laughter and confusion, it occurs to me that I may have inadvisably just let my mouth run away with me again. Oh well. I studied that shit one semester in college and I am one hundred and twelve percent sure I don't want to ever again.

"Alright, how about this? How many of you little over achievers read the book over the summer like you were meant to?" Everyone raises their hand. Unsurprising. Whatever.

"Ok. I don't actually care if you did or not. We can still discuss the themes with or without the text. We all know the story, right? Girl named Hester has a baby out of wedlock. She's married, but her husband hasn't been around in a while. Everyone knows she cheated on him. The townsfolk make her wear a big red 'A' on all her clothes to mark her as an adulteress. Sound familiar?"

Some shaky head nods. Works for me.

"If you're really smart and book-wormy you know that Arthur Dimmesdale, the reverend, is the father and he feels so guilty about it that there's this whole disturbing scene in the second half where he flogs himself in the name of God like some crazed ascetic monk in the Dark Ages."

I seem to have their attention for the moment at least, so I clear my throat and continue.

"Most people think this book is about slut-shaming or the witch trials in Puritan New England, and yeah there's some truth to that, but the real theme here is a little deeper, a little more subversive.

"See, because, Hester broke the rules. She didn't conform and she was a social pariah because of it. But by the end of the book, you aren't judging her for her mistakes. You're not even really hating on the townspeople for how they treat her. No, you're looking at yourself and you see your own worst enemy.

"It's like Sartre says in 'No Exit'—the correct translation, not the popular one—"Hell is the Other". Hell fire and damnation, those are just ideas. They're concepts of a reality we can't reach from our side of life.

"But hell on earth? That's not something other people thrust upon us. It's not about how they see us. It's about how we think they see us, and consequently, how we see ourselves."

The silence that follows this speech seems to suggest I wasn't going to get anywhere talking to them today. I think I actually spooked myself there for a second.

"Ok!" I say with forced cheerfulness. "Looks like we've got about 35 minutes left till lunch. How about we spend the rest of the period just thinking about that theme? If you've read the book, great. I applaud you. If not, just write whatever comes to mind. There's no word count. Just write till it feels finished and you can turn it in to me at the end of class or tomorrow morning. Whatever."

The next half hour flies by in the hush of silent mouths and scratching pencils as I think about this new epiphany of mine.

Damon would be crushed if he heard my theories on his long lost love, and if this new doppelganger is anything like the last one I can't imagine he'd want the heat this is going to bring down on her either. I need to hear his side of the story.

It's time for a few more secrets to be revealed and I am not looking forward to it.

Unfortunately, it seems Stefan has no intention of letting me off the hook with this one at least. Ah well, it was going to happen sometime.

"Salvatore, huh?" he questions with a wry smile. "Something you and Damon want to tell me?"

"Yes, Stefan. Your brother and I are deeply in love—or lust—and we just couldn't wait to make it official," I joke, flashing my daylight ring. "See? He got me a ring and everything."

Stefan is unimpressed. Grr.

"Look, I needed an excuse to be here without raising suspicion so, for all intents and purposes, consider me Ms. Natalia Salvatore, your older brother's twin sister."

He frowns, but seems to understand and lets this pass without further comment.

"Listen," he says, all but wringing his hands in his sudden nervousness. "I just wanted to thank you for what you did for Lexi. I don't know what I would have done if—"

"You would have gut-staked your brother and spent the next few months railing at him in impotent rage because, despite everything, you still love him," I snap.

"So let's cut the crap, Stefan. What I did, I didn't do for you. I didn't even do it for her. I did it so your brother wouldn't have to shoulder the crushing weight of your grief, and so the three of us wouldn't get ourselves spotted by a bunch of paranoid wannabe slayers, ok?"

I turn to storm out of the room, irked, but when I reach the door I can't help but offer this final parting shot, "Think about that the next time you try to 'control' your brother."

Ugh. I need a drink. Wonder if any of these teachers have the backbone to help me out.


Ah. This job may be worth it after all, I think as I take a grateful swallow from my new friend's flask. Turns out the new history teacher's got some balls.

"Alaric 'Ric' Saltzman, you are my new best friend."

He chuckles knowingly, reclining back in the plastic chair of our teacher's lounge lunch table. "Who's your old one?"

"Oh, just this homicidal maniac with a heart of tarnished gold," I reply with a dismissive wave.

"Sounds like a catch."

"Oh, he is," I say seriously. "So, Ric, what's your story?"

He lifts an eyebrow at me. "Well, Lia, that's an invasive question, don't ya think?"

"Yep," I admit. "But you'll answer it."

He chuckles, but there's a wistful expression on his face that only further sparks my curiosity.

"What's with the face," I say, with a circular motion of my forefinger to the subject in question.

He smiles sadly and wipes a hand over his scruffy features. "God, you just really remind me of someone."

"Someone good?" I ask with a purse of my lips.

"Yeah…," he breathes, lost in his memory.

"Someone you lost?"

He looks up sharply at my curious gaze and I back track with a passive hand gesture, raising them in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. Tactless."

He stares for a moment longer before sighing in defeat to my persistence. "No, it's ok. Just kind of recent, you know?"

"Right. Sorry I asked."

After a beat of silence, he breaks the tension with a change of topic. "So, Salvatore, huh? Like the founding family?"

I groan in what I hope is a believable affectation of exasperation under a familiar question. "Yep. Just like it."

"I think I have a Salvatore in one of my classes…Stefan? I think."

"Yeah, he's my brother."

"Brother? Really? And you teach at his school?"

I give him a somewhat irritated look through pinched eyes. "Now who's being invasive?"

He chuckles. Oh, he is such a dick. I like it.

He raises his coffee mug to his lips and I catch sight of a particularly gaudy ring. One I recognize. I'd know those symbols anywhere. I'm not a nearly 900 year old necromancer for nothing.

He catches me staring and correctly guesses the object of my thoughts. Not surprising.

"Uh, it's a family heirloom." Right. Sure. Let's go with that. "Kinda hideous, huh?"

I attempt to look merely amused. "Yeah, no kidding."

Looks like the new history teacher just became a hell of lot more interesting. Wonder what it means.


Packing up to leave the school at the end of the day, I hear the telltale buzzing of my phone signaling an incoming text message.

From "Sexy Beast": Meet me outside. Plan in motion.

I roll my eyes at the moniker—Damon must have snuck into my phone—but it's the contents of the message that have me rushing to follow instruction.

We haven't spoken a word between us about what he said the other night and I had begun to worry he was too drunk to remember or wish to, but if this is what I think it is, he may finally be ready to admit what I already suspected and I can return the favor.

At the edge of the car park, I see Damon's leather jacket hovering threateningly over a pretty dark-skinned teenager who looks suitably terrified at the interaction. I catch a glimpse of their conversation when I focus my inhumanly sharp ears across the way.

"….need my help," he's saying. "And you know why, you little witch, because you have stumbled into something you need to stumble out of."

So she's a witch. That explains why he's interested in her, but what is he on about? As I focus on the girl, I feel a cold shiver down my spine. It's a familiar feeling, an old friend even. I catch a glimpse of petticoats and old world posture in the corner of my eye. Now, why is this girl being haunted?

I move closer as they argue on, oblivious to my presence.

"Just leave me alone, or I swear I'll—" she attempts to sound threatening as she races for her car door. Before she even gets there, however, Damon has smoothly blocked her escape.

"Ooh," he chuckles, sliding into place. "Don't. No threats."

By this point I am almost upon them, looking over the top of the car beside the girl's into Damon's pale blue eyes. The witch notices the brief flicker of his gaze and looks to me with an expression that can only be described as helplessness. I meet her eyes, and shrug. Damon chuckles as her heart rate spikes even higher in her fear.

"Look," he starts again with a wagging finger and a mocking pout, "A: you hurt me last time, B: I wish you no harm. Believe it or not, Bonnie, I want to protect you."

His expression suddenly turns serious, and I immediately believe him. I don't know why yet, but he means it.

"Let me help get Emily off your back," he explains.

For a moment, the natural curiosity of a young witch overtakes her when she asks, "How do you know about her?"

"I know a lot of things," he says cryptically, taking a threatening step forward in a move that causes her to jump in renewed terror. She backs away until her back is pressed firmly against the same car upon which I have propped my elbows in my growing boredom.

"And I know more about that crystal than you do, and I know that she's using it to creep inside you," he brushes his hand almost lovingly along the tender skin of her cheeks.

"Ha! See how scared you are?" She jumps again. "And you should be, because I will get that crystal even if I have to wait for Emily to give it to me herself," he snarls.

"So, next time she comes out to play, you tell her" he chirps with false cheer as he opens her car door for her, "that a deal's a deal". He smiles and jerks his head to indicate her exit, waving facetiously as she peels out in a hurry.

I round the car I have been leaning upon, and come to stand at his side. "So, Bennet-witch I take it?" His smirk is all the answer I need.

"You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

"Not here," he says, cocking his head toward the blue Camaro I barely make out across the lot. "Come on."

x

"So, let me get this straight," I ask from the solitary confines of his precious car. "You made a deal with Emily to reopen the tomb she sealed with her amulet if you preserved her family line and now that self-same family, out of some deep-seated hatred for you, won't cooperate?"

"That's about the sum of it, yeah."

I sit back, against the leather seat, processing this new information while I stare at the 'Mystic Grille' bar and restaurant through the windshield. Apparently, Damon's "plan" tonight mainly consists of getting sloppy drunk in some local hangout after finally confessing the worst kept secret of all time.

"You'd think they'd have some sort of respect for the man that single-handedly guaranteed their continued existence," I grumble. "Or at least some gratitude."

"Yeah."

Without another word, he blurs through the door and strides across the parking lot toward the lit-up building and its alcoholic comforts.

I sigh, resigned, and follow.


Elena

Bonnie is shaking. I know this whole witch thing is new to her—hell the whole 'vampires are real thing' is new to all of us—but I hate that it might be my fault she's so scared. I have no idea what Damon is up to, and frankly I don't want to know, but I know it can't be anything good.

I was shocked to see his 'friend' Lia turn up at our school today. Scared too, if I'm being honest. I know next to nothing about her, but if she's with Damon I'm not sure I want to.

From what Bonnie said, it seems a safe assumption that she's with him on whatever diabolical scheme he has going and, while a part of me wants absolutely nothing to do with whatever undoubtedly horrible thing it is, I can't shake this terror that my friends will suffer for it if I don't.

It's amazing to me that such a noble, sweet, gentle guy as Stefan can have such a monster for a brother. Then again, a couple weeks ago I could never have imagined "Stefan" and "vampire" in the same sentence, and now I can't think of him at all without seeing it.

It scares me that I can have such deep, tender feelings for a guy that could kill me without even trying—more, that might want to—but I can't deny that a part of me finds it oddly comforting.

It's like, I know that he has the ability to be this terrifying monster—there's no denying it, just look at Damon—but the fact that I somehow know he would die rather than hurt me, makes me feel safe with him in a way I haven't felt since my parents died.

When I first found out about them, I was frozen by the fear of what he could do to me if I stayed with him, but now the only thing scaring me is that he might leave.

I know he thinks that leaving will protect me from his world, but it's not him I need protection from. If there's one thing I know, it's that he'll always be there to rescue me. Even when the threat is his own brother.

Mind made up, I make the call.


Stefan

I enter the Grill to find exactly the scene I both feared and expected when I left Elena's porch: two leather clad backs faced toward the bar, booze and blood hanging conspiratorially between them.

I can see Lia pointing toward Alaric Saltzman, Damon looking on suspiciously, and assume she must have met him when she ran like a bat out of hell from my attempted thank you this morning.

She shocked me this morning when she turned up unannounced in that school teacher persona, telling everyone she's my brother's twin sister.

What's funny is that it wasn't so much the cover story itself that surprised me, nor even her unsolicited presence at the high school of all places, but rather the ease with which she adapted to it.

No one can deny seeing these two together, that they have a bond that can only be matched by that formed in utero.

Honestly, in the short time I've known her she's managed to remind me more forcefully of my brother at any given turn than anyone I have ever met.

Based on what she did for Lexi and the concern she shows for Damon, it seems that the one fundamental difference between them is the compassionate heart she seems to carry within her chest. It gives me hope that she can find Damon's too.

Interrupting their furtive whispers, I wedge myself between them with my back toward the smaller of the two.

"So, Stefan," I say by way of greeting, gratified by the evident surprise on my brother's face, "I've been thinking, I think we should start over." Damon rolls his eyes, and I can hear Lia scoff behind me. "Give this brother thing another chance. We used to do it oh, so well once upon a time."

Recognizing the taunt in my tone for what it is, Lia chuckles under her breath as Damon responds lamely, "I don't, Damon." He wrinkles the skin between his eyebrows in what I assume is meant to be his version of what he has dubbed my "brooding forehead".

I can't help the slight smile that comes to my face at the attempt. "I can't trust you to be a nice guy. You—you kill everybody, and you're so mean. You're so mean, and…" he trails off and I shake my head in amused incredulity.

He gives up and admits with a smirk and an eye-roll, "You're really hard to imitate and then I have to go to that lesser place."

I snicker and turn to the bartender, "Can I get a coffee please?"

As I turn back to Damon, an arm snakes around me to snag the half-empty bottle on the bar in front of him. "Hey!" he protests without heat.

"You snooze, you lose, baby," Lia taunts. "And, I have a feeling I'm gonna need it for whatever little heart to heart Steffy-poo here is about to drag you into."

I pause in my reply to mouth 'Steffy-poo?' to my brother. He only rolls his eyes again, though this time affectionately.

Shaking my head, I acknowledge to myself that I am unlikely to understand a word between these two and resolve to return to my original agenda: getting Damon to open up.

"So what's with the bottle," I ask.

"Is that judgment I hear in your voice?" Lia mock gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth. "But this is a 'no judgment' zone, Stefan. You should be ashamed of yourself."

I rub my temple in mild irritation before directing my gaze yet again to my brother. He seems far more amused by Lia's continued interruptions than I am.

"I'm on edge. Crash diet. You know I'm trying to keep a low profile," he quips.

"Well, you're the one that had the brilliant idea to go all 'Invasion of the Bunny Snatchers' on me. I'm feeling outnumbered here," Lia complains.

"I told you, it was an olive branch," he argues, completely ignoring me. The level of exasperation in his voice leads me to believe this is not the first time they've had this debate. And they've only been together a few hours.

"Well, it was a stupid idea."

"I was trying to apologize."

"Yeah, 'cause we all know how great you are at those. Right, Stefan?"

I hum noncommittally rather than be dragged into their banter. I came here with a plan, and I aim to see it through.

"You could always leave," I say to Damon, but I'm directing it to both. "Find a new town to turn into your own personal gas 'n sip."

Lia just snickers in response. I guess she's conjuring the image in her mind.

"I'll manage," Damon replies.

The bartender sets a new bottle in front of him, having noticed the previous one's disappearance, and I wonder whether he's compelling the staff to get this kind of service.

Giving me a cynical look that is devoid of the playfulness from a mere moment ago, he says, "You know, you don't have to keep an eye on me."

"I'm not here to keep an eye on you," I assure.

"So why are you here?" challenges the girl on my right.

I shrug. "Why not?"

I take the bottle and make a break for it. After some quiet bickering behind me, they follow.


Nadezdha

Boys are dumb. Boys are so dumb they don't even know how dumb they are. And these Salvatore boys are dumber than most. As if Damon can't tell exactly what Stefan's up to with this whole brother-bonding bullshit. Subtle he is not.

What's really stupid though, is that it probably won't even matter. Yeah, I bet you anything that by the end of the night Damon will have spilled his guilty little guts out of sheer frustration and some misguided attempt to make amends.

I mean, why he feels bad at all is beyond me. Lexi's not even dead, and he's still acting all mad at himself for killing her. I don't know what Stefan said to him, but from his attitude at school this morning I can guess.

It's sad that he doesn't seem to know his brother well enough to recognize this dismissive attitude of his for what it is—guilt.

Granted, Damon's probably the worst apologizer (is that even a word?) in the world, but that doesn't mean he never regrets anything, only that he refuses to dwell on it. It's a defense mechanism for the self-proclaimed monster to avoid the eternal pity party his brother seems to love so well.

It's also possible that I am the slightest bit drunk with all this introspection. I glance down at the bottle in my hand. It's the second of the night, and I think I'm starting to feel the effects. God bless vampire-metabolism.

I got tired of buffering the weird fraternal display before me a little while ago and have resorted to entertaining myself with a bottle of vodka—not like I can get sick mixing liquors anyway—ever since.

They're playing darts or some shit while they shoot the breeze and I got intensely bored intensely fast.

I noticed Alaric here earlier and made a point to direct Damon's attention to him and his magical ring, but I don't know how much really registered through his Katherine-addled brain. I suppose now's not a bad time to do a little recon.

Through the clamor of the crowd and all their mundane conversations—(seriously, I think the whole town is here, is there anywhere else to hang out?)—I can make out the sounds of flirty banter from across the room.

"…I'm a returnee," the strawberry blonde that I recognize as Jeremy's aunt is saying. "Left town for a while, now I'm back."

"Why'd you leave?" Ric asks, sounding genuinely interested. Oh, a budding romance for my favorite new history teacher. That's gonna spark some drama later.

"School," she answers, but I call bullshit. From the look on his face I'd say Ric agrees with me.

"And then there's the real reason…" she caves, taking a sheepish sip of her drink as she averts her eyes.

He chuckles.

"I was wronged," she admits. Ooh, details! Wait…why do I care about this again?

"Guy named Logan."

"What'd he do?" Is this really appropriate flirting material? Is this some weird new mating ritual I can't possibly understand? Because I don't think it is.

"Basics," she sighs. "Lied, cheated, lured me back in, left me again."

He nods, lips pursed.

"Your turn," she offers. "Any sad relationship stories?"

He clears his throat, a little uncomfortable. He has that same wistful look on his face I saw earlier. I squirm on my barstool, anxious for more of the story.

"Mmm, basics—fell in love, married young, my wife died." Ouch.

She looks at him with those big dewy eyes of hers, obviously sympathetic, and says simply, "Oh. Wow."

"Yeah, that's always a good conversation stopper."

No, no, but we were just getting to the good stuff.

"What happened?" she asks.

He huffs, "Well, you me and the, uh, North Carolina Police Department are all wondering the same thing," he says in what I assume is a sad tone, but the look is gone and his voice sounds almost detached. "It's, uh, it's what's known as a cold case." There's a new look in his eye.

The girl just looks shell shocked. I suppose this was a little heavy for flirty banter. See? What did I tell you?

"So why'd you move here?" she asks with a forced smile. Her attempt at salvaging the conversation, I assume.

"Oh, a change of pace, new scenery," he says tonelessly, the former warmth all but gone from his voice. "I like it here. It's got a lot of rich history."

Hmm, to say the least.

The girl, whose name is Jenna apparently, manages to steer the train-wreck of a conversation back to the safely mundane prattle of typical dating small talk and I decide to cut out while I'm ahead. I am officially interested in that man's back story, and I make a mental note to keep a close eye on him.

I decide to play with the boys a little while. Can't be more boring than Jenna's description of this town's staggeringly long list of social events. I take the final harsh swallow of my once full bottle of Stolichnaya, and hop off my stool to rejoin the Tweedles.

Can I just take a moment to say how absolutely mortifying it is that a creature of my age and strength, that should have this entire town fraught with pure terror, has to leap from a barstool like a toddler from his high chair? Ugh.

I return to Damon's side just soon enough to hear him telling Stefan all about reverse psychology and how he's never going to fall for it. Right…

"I mean, it's a little transparent, but I admire the effort."

"You prefer the brooding forehead?" Stefan teases.

I groan, "Guys, seriously. We're still doing this?"

Damon turns to look down at me, an insulting pout on his face, to taunt, "Oh, is my little Zee Zee getting cranky?"

I glower at him, unamused. "Oh, trust me Damon. When I'm cranky, you'll know about it."

"Ooh, what are you gonna do to me?" he smirks.

"To you? Probably nothing," I smile sweetly. "But the bar full of patrons behind me may have something to say about it when I start tearing throats."

Damon laughs, "Yeah, they probably would." He then leans his face real close to mine, his full lips puckered out in that same simpering pout from earlier, as he pinches my cheeks like a proud Papa. "You're so cute," he coos.

I slap his hands away so hard I hear his wrist crack and promptly stick out my tongue.

Stefan, long since forgotten, groans loudly. "Can we not do this?" he whines.

"Why, Stefan?" I ask, cocking my head. "Was there something you wanted to do?"

"Yeah, Stefan?" Damon echoes, suddenly serious. "Seriously, what game do you think you're playing?"

Stefan just stares, his face very close to his brother's and taunts, "That's a funny question, considering the fact that I have been asking you that for months."

Damon grumbles incoherently.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" Stefan prods.

"Touché," his eyebrows concede.

After another brief pause of tense silence, I can't take this anymore. "Ugh! Either kiss and make up or let's get the fuck out of here already!" I exclaim.

When this fails to meet with my impatient standards, I grab Damon's hand in a literally bone-crushing grip and offer him a sickly sweet smile. "Damey, I'm bored. Let's go." And without further adieu, I drag him from the building as Stefan trails behind.

By the time we've escaped any potential witnesses, I'm fairly certain I've ground Damon's hand to a bloody pulp. "God, you're so abusive," he whines.

"Oh, stop being a baby."

"Yeah, downside to my diet? Getting hurt actually hurts a little bit," Stefan offers helpfully, with a sympathetic look at Damon's soon to be club hand.

I sigh dramatically in exasperation, "Fine!" and release his hand which Damon then clutches protectively to his chest with a reproachful look in my direction.

I stride a few steps ahead of them, then spin around with my hands on my hips in a wide-spread stance as I ask, "So? Where are we going?"

"What, you're gonna let somebody else lead now?"

I shrug. "I guess."

Stefan opens his mouth to make a suggestion, but a brilliant idea has just occurred to me and I beat him to the punch. "Wait, wait! I know exactly where we should go!"

I make to grab for Damon's hand again, but he darts quickly out of my reach. Fraidy cat.

Stefan chuckles.

"Follow me!" I sing, and take off in a burst of vamp-speed in my chosen direction, taking Damon's bourbon with me for good measure. They have to follow me now. Hah!

A few moments later, they find me perched on a very large tombstone, perfectly at ease. It's one of those gigantic bible-holding angel things like from that one skeleton movie. You know, the one that sings?

"What took you guys so long?"

They look blankly at each other as though questioning my sanity.

"A cemetery?" Stefan asks. "Why are we in a cemetery?"

"Family bonding," I chirp. "Duh."

Damon guffaws and I feel better already. Stefan just gives me a look that screams 'There's something very seriously wrong with you' and I graciously choose not to take offense.

"You're drunk," Damon chuckles.

"Well, yeah, maybe a little," I admit as I take another gulp of bourbon before Damon steals it back. Not nice, thief!

It seems Stefan is not done with his very serious plan yet though because he proceeds to climb aboard the nearest headstone and wax nostalgic about the starry skies.

"Do you remember when we use to—" he begins.

"Yeah, ok. I get it," Damon snaps. "What do you want, Stefan?"

Stefan frowns, but looking into Damon's expectant gaze, surrenders the façade. "Wasn't real, Damon."

Damon just raises an eyebrow in the universal gesture for 'go on'.

"Our love for Katherine."

"Oh, God," Damon scoffs, rolling his eyes heavenward in search of patience as Stefan lectures on in that patronizing tone.

"She compelled us, we didn't have a choice. Took me years to sort that out, to truly understand what she did to us." I groan internally. I know this song, and it doesn't end well. Stefan really has no idea, does he?

"Oh, no, Stefan." Damon pats his knee as he lurches to his feet. "We are not taking that on tonight." He offers me a hand down from my perch, and I slide gracefully to my feet beside him, offering Stefan a pitying look as I trail along behind.


Damon

Jesus, this is so not what I needed tonight. All I wanted was to spend a little time with my best friend, while I drink away my feelings in a room full of strangers. What's wrong with that?

Then Stefan shows up with all his fake brother-bonding bull shit, trying to get me to open up about my feelings or what the fuck ever. Still, that I could have handled. But, Katherine? He really wants to get into that with me?

At this point, Katherine and all her lies, her secrets, is the last thing I want to talk about. I love the woman. I've loved her fiercely and devotedly for 145 years—and if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to save her—but that doesn't mean for a second that I want to talk about it.

I stroll away, Z at my side with her little hand caught in mine, when I hear him call after me, "What do you want with Katherine's crystal?"

I freeze. Z's hand gives a jolt in mine, squeezing tightly.

"How do you know about that?" I ask.

"Come on. You knew Elena would tell me."

Sure, but that doesn't explain how he connected it to her from Emily. Not even Bonnie knew that.

"How did you know it was Katherine's?" I ask, a lingering suspicion stirring in the back of my mind. "Emily gave it to her on her last night. I was with her, you…weren't" I smirk, though the sentiment feels forced.

Z turns her face to look up at me with concern swimming clearly in her eyes. I look away.

He pauses, mouth open on a hesitant breath. Finally, he says, "I was the last one to see her, Damon."

What?! That can't be…That would mean…

In the eerie darkness of the cemetery, the moonlight casts long shadows across my brother's face. Every sharp edge darkened in an ominous mien—the face that stole my dreams. "Now what do you want with Katherine's crystal?"

I cock my head as I consider this question. This is why after all these years, I will be the one she chooses. I will be the one that proved his love for her, whose faithfulness stood the test of time. What does he have to offer in comparison to that?

"She didn't tell you?" I ask, the hint of a smirk fighting its way to the surface.

"We had other things on our mind." I hear Z's gasp before I realize that I've even moved. I flash forward to stand toe to toe with my eternal rival—the man I've even called my mortal enemy—my little brother.

"I could rip your heart out and not even think twice about it," I snarl.

"Yeah, I've heard that before," he nods, unfazed.

I feel a hand grasp my sleeve, tugging me away with subtle insistence. "Damon…" she breathes.

Something hard and cold clenched around my heart eases slightly at the sound. I offer Stefan a hard smile, and clap my free hand to his shoulder. "I have a bigger surprise, Stefan."

I allow Z's hand to pull me gently away, strolling backwards from the look of shock I put there. "I'm gonna bring her back."

This time when we walk away, I don't wait for him to stop me.


Nadezhda

That was cruel. I have half a mind to kill Stefan myself after the way he spoke to Damon. He knew that was the worst way to hurt him. He knows his brother still loves her. What's more, Stefan believes that he never did.

There's a part of me that just wants to take this man beside me, wrap him up in my own unwavering affection, and never let another soul touch him with such hate in their heart. I hate that the world causes him such pain and that I am helpless to stop it.

If he'd let me, I'd whisk him away to the other end of the earth if it could bring him some relief, but he has unfinished business here and he'd never leave it undone. Not even now.

When the scuffing sounds of Stefan's footsteps are near enough behind us to be within even his pitiful hearing range, he abruptly says, "Before Katherine and the others were killed in the church, do you remember what it was like in this town?"

Stefan's sharp eyes are on me when he says, "Yeah, I remember the fear and the hysteria."

"The townspeople were killing vampires one by one. When they came for Katherine, I went straight to Emily, said 'I'll do anything. Name your price. Just protect her.' She did."

"How?" he asks, puzzled.

From the looks he's throwing my way, I think he has a strong suspicion. Not this time, Stefan.

Damon throws his arms out in a full-body shrug but says, "She did some kind of spell with the crystal," wiggling his fingers to sign 'witchy juju'.

"And while the church was burning and we thought Katherine was burning in it," he shakes his head, "she wasn't."

"But I—I saw her go inside…" Stefan stutters.

"There's a tomb underneath the church," Damon explains. "The spell sealed Katherine in that tomb, protecting her."

"Are you telling me Katherine is alive?" Stefan asks, appalled.

Damon shrugs. "Well, if that's what you want to call it. She's been trapped in a mystical holding cell for the last a century and a half, but you're the expert on starving a vampire, so how do think she's doin', Stef?"

I have to admit, the prospect does not excite me.

Stefan only looks concerned, and not a little confused.

"Did you know that witches can use celestial events to draw energy to their magic?" Damon continues, smug in his recovery of the upper hand. "Pfft! Me either!" he taunts. "But to give the crystal its power, Emily used the comet that was passing overhead, and in order for that crystal to work again…"

"The comet had to return," Stefan mutters, finally putting it together.

"Downside—long time in between comets, and a couple of hiccups along the way with the crystal, but the comet passed, and I got the crystal," he declares with a smirk that quickly becomes a grimace. "And then Caroline got the crystal, and now Bonnie has the crystal, and here we are."

Stefan frowns, again at a loss. "Why would Emily—why would she do this for you?"

"Because she knew they were gonna come for her too, and she made me promise that her lineage would survive."

"I remember. You—you saved her children."

"Yeah, it's the only thing keeping me from ripping that little Bonnie girl's throat out to get my crystal back," he grumbles. Then, sighing, "Oh well. Deal's a deal. So…you wanna bond some more?"

Yet again we leave Stefan to brood and find ourselves a further ground to rest upon. I'm starting to think all this storming off if just for dramatic effect. We only seem to move about 5 feet at a time.

I want to offer my support, or at least my presence, but I know Damon too well to think he'll accept either in his present state. His vulnerable human self is buried deep within the sarcastic, cynical vampire at the moment, and not even I can coax him out.

A shrill ring in the silence of the night alerts Stefan to an incoming phone call from his lady love, causing him to pause in his slow trek toward us as we edge further and further away.

We eventually find a polished bench seat someone must have donated in memoriam, and lounge in wait for the conclusion of Stefan's oh so important phone call.

"What's wrong?" he says, by way of greeting.

The tinny sound of Elena's voice through the ear piece replies, "It's Bonnie."

"What happened?"

The girl's barely contained panic is clear as she explains Emily's sudden possession of her friend's body, and her cryptic warning.

"What did she say?"

All attention is on her response when she repeats, "She said, 'I won't let him have it. It must be destroyed,' and then she left."

"She left? Where do you think she went?"

"I don't know—I don't know…Fell's Church. That's where she took Bonnie in her dreams."

We're gone by the time Stefan turns around.


We hide in the shadow of the trees, the predatory gleam in our eyes a threatening glow in the darkness which lies over the ruins.

A young girl in a yellow peasant top emerges stony eyed and determined in the moonlight, the little pink flowers dotting her shirt a bright innocence in a moment preceding an inevitable violence.

Damon stalks toward her with a lethal feline grace, startling the inhuman coldness in her eyes to a flash of latent power and I know at once how this ends.

"Hello, Emily," he croons. "You look different."

She comes to a grinding halt in her journey, turning to face him with squared shoulders and a confidence unsuited to her young charge.

"I won't let you do it," she swears.

"We had a deal," he reminds her with a barely concealed rage. Damon's not one for moral indignation, but the honor of a binding contract is a principle even he will not breach.

"Things are different now. I need to protect my family."

"I protected your family," he growls. "You owe me."

"I know," she replies, eyes glistening in an unexpected sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"You're gonna have to be a lot more than that," he snarls, rushing her with a sudden burst of superhuman speed.

She raises a hand in defense as he approaches, sending a surge of power through him that propels him from her and is stopped only by a harsh collision. The tree branch stalling his headlong fall impales him through the chest. He shouts in pain.

"Damon!" I cry out in my fear. When I see that the wood has missed his heart, I attack.

"You bitch!" I yell as I rush her, attempting to breach the circle before she can command and seal the ritual site.

She repeats her defense from before, throwing sheer force and power at my speeding form. It is enough to halt my assault, but I only stumble back a few steps before I bat it off. I feel my fangs elongate in my rage, and I smile. "You're gonna have to do a lot better than that, little girl."

I draw from the remnants of my last feed, their life-forces surging through my body in an explosion of incredible power and I call forth to the spirit within this little witch. She may have the magic of Nature on her side, but I am mistress of the dead.

"I am more powerful than you can imagine, Necromancer. Do not test me," Emily intones.

I growl, and with every drag of her staff through the dirt, I throw another surge of power through her fragile human body. I throw everything I have into the siren song that is the irresistible call of the necromancer to the spirit world, but I begin to think the dwindling force of the stolen lives within me are no match for this centuries' old power.

They hover beyond her like a thousand whispering voices as they fill the field between us. The ghost of Emily Bennet is powerful enough, but she is not alone.

Dimly, I am aware of the sound of masculine voices raised in desperate argument. One frenzied, the other defensive.

'You saved everyone in the church?'

'They killed 27 people and they called it a war battle. They deserve whatever they get!"

"27 vampires, Damon. They were vampires."

My whole body screams in protest, my head pounding a sharp tattoo on my vulnerable mind. There is an intolerably high-pitched ringing in my ears and I feel as though my insides boil at the sound.

Come to think of it, the last time I faced off against a spirit this resistant was when that witch Ayana corrupted our servants to do her bidding. Damn these Bennets.

I am beginning to suspect the full weight of her lineage between her time and this is behind her, yet even this would not explain the sheer power she brings to bear. It is old, and deep, and immense. I fear I am no match.

It is not until a blaze of pure heat erupts in a roaring fire inches from my undead flesh, that I realize the earsplitting scream in my ears has arisen from my own throat.

I feel myself wrapped in a familiar embrace, surrounded by cool leather and an enticing after-shave, and drawn gently to the ground beyond the flames' reach.

"No, no please," he sobs into my ear though I know his pleas are not intended for me. I have failed him. I allow the darkness to overtake me.


Damon

Having already disposed of the exsanguinated remains of my previous attempt at her revival, I hold her fragile body in my arms.

I watch the flickering grey veins of would-be true death under her skin and the cold of her flesh seeps into my own bones in my fear for her. She was a goddess tonight in her defense of me. I've never seen such power, nor such unbridled rage outside my own heart. If I lose her now, I don't think I'll ever recover.

"Damon?" she croaks weakly, those dusky blue-purple eyes finally making an appearance. In the wake of Emily's betrayal, the relief I feel is transcendent.

"Hey," I greet softly, offering her a sad excuse for a smile.

"I'm sorry," she breathes.

"For what?" I ask, bewildered.

"I couldn't stop her," she explains. "I suck."

I somehow manage to find a huff of amusement for her choice of words, but assure her honestly, "Are you kidding? You were magnificent."

"Hmm," she hums, pleased. "Damon?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm hungry."

I laugh, my tongue salty from my tears.


Later, lying sated and alone beside a few unfortunate campers, we find the courage to break our long and bloody silence. She looks a little unreal reclining there in her school-teacher dress and her practical heels, blood drying where it coats her mouth and pours down her bare chest.

"What happened after I…?" she trails off uncertainly.

"Died?" I finish with a barely-there smirk. She glares and I answer, "Well, the crystal went 'Kaboom!' and I tore that little witch's throat open."

"Good," she says.

"She's not dead," I somehow feel the need to clarify.

"I know," she sighs.

I arch a brow at her, and she must see the question in my eyes for she continues, "You don't break deals. You just had to teach Emily a lesson."

I stare at her in wonder.

"What?" she asks, alarmed.

"You just…surprise me."

She grunts noncommittally and, with some difficulty, props herself up on her elbows to offer me a patented 'Nadezhda Ivanova Glare'. "You think because everyone else jumps to conclusions, that they're all so quick to think the worst, that it must be true. You should sue yourself for defamation of character."

I laugh with more genuine mirth than I would have thought possible after a night like this one. "God, I don't deserve you," I chuckle, not entirely joking.

She looks sad suddenly. "No, you don't. You deserve so much better."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've hidden things from you…so many times. I'm keeping all these secrets…God it took me two years to find you when… and now I can't even stop some stupid witch from destroying a necklace?!" she cites, biting her lip guiltily. "I'm not a good enough friend to you."

I'm not even touching the Augustine mess. That's a guilt trip she most definitely does not need. Nor do I need to give her one for that matter. She has such a complex about that that even bringing it up is a tearjerker, but the lying…

"Well…," I say thoughtfully. "If you feel so bad for keeping secrets, why don't you just tell me?"

"Oh, I want to," she assures me. "Honest!"

She averts her gaze from mine. "I just don't know how…"

I hold my silence, knowing she will break it.

"Umm, the thing is that what I know and what I suspect are two vastly different things, and the things I know are kind of irrelevant at the moment."

"Ok," I narrow my eyes in thought. "You said something about Elena being in danger from the person hunting Kat—Katherine?"

She squeezes my arm sympathetically when my voice breaks on the name. Taking a deep breath for courage, I repeat the one revelation from that night that has haunted my waking thoughts ever since, "You said you knew she was alive before you knew about the tomb."

"Yeah," she squirms in discomfort. "That'd be one of those things I suspect, and you're not gonna like it. You're not gonna like it at all."

"What aren't you telling me?"

She swallows, nervous. "Umm, look, let's just say I've known your Katherine for a long time," she says.

I feel a twinge of pain at the name, but more at the statement. I'm not sure how to take that confession.

"Well, no, I guess it'd be more accurate to say I knew Katarina a long time ago," she amends. "I don't know much at all about Katherine."

"You know, I've actually been thinking about that," I say, my voice chill with a false calm. "You claim you didn't know that Katherine and Katarina were the same person before this month, but I could swear you've been in my head enough times over the years to have seen her in my dreams. How do you explain that if you supposedly didn't know what she looked like till you saw that picture in Stefan's room?"

She exhales through puffed cheeks, annoyed. "Come on, Damon. You and I both know that dream-walking's not exactly an exact science. How many times have you looked in on someone else's dream and accidently projected your own thoughts on the image?" she argues.

I frown, silently conceding the point. It certainly sounds plausible if not entirely satisfying.

"Besides, I taught you that and I have never been in your head without your permission since. If I ever saw Katherine in your dreams, I just assumed it was a fluke of an 800 year old mind imposing on a 50 year old newbie."

"But you'd described her to me and well…Katarina tended to be on my thoughts quite a lot back then though not as you knew her."

Growing a tad impatient with her reticence I prompt, "What are you trying to say?"

She fills her lungs with a gasp of unnecessary oxygen and on a single exhale releases, "I don't think Katherine's in the tomb!" into the air.

I blink. Minutes pass in silence.

"Say something!" she cries.

I leap to my feet. "What am I supposed to say to something like that?!" I shout. "You tell me that the woman I have spent one hundred and forty five years attempting to rescue from a tomb, is out and about scott-free and hiding from me, and I'm just supposed to be ok with that?!"

"No! Of course you're not supposed to be ok with it!" she assures me, flashing to her feet beside me.

Then, calmer, she says, "I'm just saying that you should consider the possibility that Katarina is not who you think she is. She's spent five centuries running from the most powerful creature on the planet, and she didn't do it by being dumb enough to fall into her own trap."

"Trap?"

"Oh!" she gasps, a hand flying to her mouth. "I didn't mean to say that, I just—I have a theory that she planned to fake her death in 1864 and that's why, if she's out, she hasn't contacted you. She needed someone to tell her story."

"So you're saying that she settled in Mystic Falls—only possibly at random—seduced me and my brother, turned us into vampires, faked her death, and abandoned us, all so she'd have a couple love-struck immortal witnesses?!"

I don't realize the dangerous tone I have adopted until I find myself towering over a weak and trembling Z as she fights the urge to cry.

"I'm sorry," she loses the battle to her tears. "I know you don't want to hear it. I don't even have any proof. I just thought you should know," she whispers.

As I turn to look at this woman—so pale, and small, and fragile without the usual presence of her dark power—I am reminded forcefully that I almost lost her tonight to my obsession.

She has only ever wanted to see me happy and, as angry as I am at the very idea that she could be right, I recognize that this is only her further attempt to do just this.

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut against the surge of unbidden emotion, releasing a few tears to trail beneath my normally cold eyes, and pull her into me. Come what may, this girl here in my arms is the finest prize I never won, and I intend to keep her.