A/N: Hi, guys! I'm sorry this is up a day or two later than expected; I had a crisis with my dog on Wednesday night and it was an awful (and expensive) couple of days while she was in the animal hospital recovering. And speaking of awful days, how horrific was 4x14?! I spent a good hour or so crying after just seeing the preview for next week; I don't think I'll be able to handle the actual episode.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it means the world to me.
Happy reading!

March 2011

I've been sick with this awful flu for a week now, and I'm miserable.

I literally feel like I've been hit by a train: every bone in my body aches, my head pounds like somebody's beating on it with a mallet, my throat burns and rasps every time I open my mouth and I'm so unfocused and dizzy all the time that I can barely hold up a conversation.

I haven't been able to go to school and I've been frantically covering my shifts at work, because nobody wants Baby Gilbert showing up and coughing all over the customers. Caroline's been bringing me my homework, but I'm so congested and flaky that it's been useless to even try.

So, here I am one Saturday night, curled up in the fetal position on the sofa and wishing for my tastebuds to stop making every cup of lemon and honey tea taste like dishwater. It's Stefan's 17th birthday, and he's throwing a party, so naturally Caroline's abandoned her ailing best friend, most likely to dance and flirt with Tyler Lockwood all night. Jenna and Alaric have gone out too, but Katherine agreed to spend a night in with Elijah to keep an eye on me and make sure I don't choke to death on my own phlegm. Gross.

My fever has spiked a little; I know this because I'm wearing my most comfortable sweats, wrapped in a polar fleece blanket and my skin feels damp with perspiration, yet I'm still shivering. I cross my legs and chew on my pencil as I study my math textbook, but absorb nothing.

The doorbell chimes, and I glance towards the stairs. I wasn't aware we were expecting any guests tonight.

"Can you get that, midge?" Katherine calls from her bedroom. She's probably ordered pizza or something, I sigh to myself.

I unlock the door and swing it open, only to find the unavailable guy of my dreams waiting patiently on the doorstep.

"Hey, Baby Gilbert," he smirks at me, and if my cheeks weren't crimson already from my fever my blush would have been glaringly obvious. Small favors.

"Hi, Damon," I croak. I cringe inwardly at the god-awful sound that emits from my throat. Could this be any more embarrassing? I'm dressed like a homeless person looking half-dead while he gets to look just as flawless as ever.

He holds out a large silver thermos to me. "Kat told me you were sick."

"What's this?" I ask curiously, taking it and wrinkling my nose in confusion.

"Homemade chicken soup. My mom always made it for me when I was sick; I swear it works miracles."

"You made it?" I ask incredulously, opening the lid and sniffing the contents. My sense of smell is only just beginning to return, but this smells heavenly.

"Of course. Don't look at it like I've poisoned it; Christ, Elena."

I return to my position on the couch with the blanket, hoping it might make me look a little less like a train wreck. No luck. "What are you doing here?"

"Baby brother is throwing his little party at our father's place so, naturally, I vacated the premises." Damon says, his expression a little sour. "Dad got the promotion in New York; I can't wait for him to move out. He'll leave me the boarding house and Stefan will go back to his mom's and I'll have peace and quiet again."

I hear Kat's footsteps down the stairs as I take a sip of the incredible soup. It's hot and soothing on my sandpaper throat, and it doesn't taste like the throat lozenges and cherry-flavored cough syrup that I've been living on. I notice that I've stopped shivering too.

"Hi, Damon," Kat says cheerfully, sauntering into the room. "How are you feeling, midge?"

"Like shit," I mutter, and Damon laughs.

"What are you studying?" He asks, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Math," I groan, and he looks over my shoulder at the mess of algebra on the page. "Everything's just sort of melting together, but Mr Carpenter is going to give us a test next week and I'm already behind as it is."

"Ugh, I remember that guy," Damon sighs, rolling his eyes. "He just talks and talks and talks and he doesn't care if you understand or not. I swear, half the time he didn't even know the answers to our questions."

"Maybe you should try that history paper for Ric's class?" Katherine suggests. "You're much better at history anyway; it might be easier for you to focus."

I nod, flipping my math book closed and picking up my binder. I highly doubt that a change of topic is going to improve my academic ability right now, but I'm sick of all those x's and y's and cosines and derivatives and if I have to measure one more angle in radians I might just scream.

"Good luck studying," Damon smiles sympathetically at me, before following Katherine back upstairs to Elijah.

I sit and drink my soup and stare at the blank page for a while, but nothing comes to me. By the time I glance up at the clock on the wall, it's past nine-thirty and I toss my schoolwork aside, ready to bury myself in a mindless rom-com.

The first scene of 27 Dresses flashes on the screen. There's movement in the kitchen, but I figure Kat must have come down in search of snacks or something.

I'm startled, then, when Damon flops down next to me on the sofa with a bowl of buttery popcorn.

"What are we watching?" He asks, shoving a handful into his mouth.

"Chick-flick," I tell him, and he grimaces. "What brings you down to the room of the invalid and desperate?"

"Your sister and her boyfriend clearly needed some alone time, so I said I'd hang out with you and help you with your studying… what exactly are we studying?"

"James Marsden's face," I joke seamlessly. "It's an essential part of my coursework."

"I guess I'd prefer this to the makeout session going on upstairs at this moment…"

"Ew!" I shriek, shoving him in the chest and spilling popcorn all over us. He raises an eyebrow suggestively at me, smirking and devouring another handful of the snack, and I look back at the television awkwardly.

We continue to watch in comfortable silence, broken occasionally by the odd joke. As the final credits of the movie roll, I sigh dreamily.

"I love weddings."

Damon doesn't respond, and for a moment I think he must have fallen asleep, but when I look at him he's sitting with an unreadable expression on his face.

"What, you don't?"

"I don't understand the point. All that money wasted on something that means nothing? Why bother?" His voice is bitter and I know there's more to the story.

"Marriage means something-"

"No, it doesn't."

I blink at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He regards me carefully for a moment, as if waging an inner battle within himself, before he concedes with a sigh.

"My father married my mother, but he left her with a kid to raise on her own. Then he married someone else, but he left her too in the end. What's the point of all that junk over a shitty little piece of paper that holds no weight? Just because some certificate said he was legally tied to my mother didn't make him stay."

I hear the deep, emotional scars in his voice and I feel his pain acutely. I can relate – a certificate that said Isobel was my mother didn't make her stay either. I can't stop myself from hating Damon's father, whom I've never met, for causing Damon to disbelieve something as important as marriage.

"So you'll never consider marriage?"

"Not likely," Damon says shortly.

"Not even," I swallow hard, "with Andie?"

He stares at me for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Baby Gilbert, Andie and I have only been together for eight months. It's too early to be thinking about any of that stuff." He smiles fondly at me for a moment. "Gosh, you're so innocent. You have a lot to learn, but it's endearing."

I flush slightly, but inwardly I'm relieved the topic moved away from marriage, because obviously Damon doesn't feel comfortable discussing it. Instead, we start talking about work, and Damon tells me a story about a customer who tried to steal a DVD player by hiding it inside a pillow they were purchasing. As he talks, my exhaustion starts to take over, and I fight to keep my eyes open.

He stops his recollection when I yawn widely.

"Bedtime," he orders, but I shake my head.

"My bedroom is next to Katherine's. I don't know about you, but I don't want to listen to whatever's going on in there while I'm trying to rest."

"Sleep here then," Damon suggests, putting one of the couch cushions in his lap and motioning for me to lie down. "I'll still be here a while longer, I'll just find some sport or something to watch on the television with the volume turned down."

"I really should do some more math homework…"

"Bullshit. You're not going to get anything done now. I'll tell you what: if you're still having trouble with it later in the week, I'll come over and help you, okay?"

I hesitate for a moment before nodding and lying down, stretching out my aching legs. Damon pulls the blanket up to my chin for me, and brushes my hair out of my face, placing his palm on my forehead. I smile tiredly up at him as my eyes flicker shut, dropping off almost immediately, but not before I hear his smug voice through the haze of sleep.

"Your temp is coming down. See? My chicken soup does work miracles."

Just a short one for now. Please review and let me know what you thought! ~ Kim