I am so sorry this update is majorly late guys, but I struggled with this chapter more than I have ever with any chapter. I rewrote the first part, like 6 times. It has gone through various levels of sucking. I hope that this version isn't completely terrible. This chapter took way too many hours, and I am dying to hear what you guys think.

A big thank you to all my fabulous readers who take the time to leave me a review. It means a lot to me. And another thank you, not to mention a yellow hippo, for my amazing sounding board Cher Sue. She put up with all my writer's block, and is a big reason this chapter got posted.

I hope you all enjoy!

Clusterfuck. It's a word so appropriate for my current circumstances, I'd swear it was created for just this purpose. The woman I love has vanished, in a city of hundreds of thousands of people, and my supernatural backup is the cast from Dumb and Dumber. To top it all off, my faith in my brother's capabilities has fallen even further, as Stefan maintains his usual status quo of LVP (least valuable player). It's amazing what an uncanny impression Stefan can do of those street performers who act like real life statues in Central Park. All that's needed is a spiteful pigeon to poop on him for the look to finally be complete. Blondie scores one for the fairer sex, as she at least looks fired up and ready for a fight. Granted her anger is probably directed at me for the little misunderstanding with Charlotte, but hey at least she's got the spunky attitude down pat.

However, I quickly rethink my position when her dainty little hands start beating on my chest like a two year old with bongo drums. "An eternity on your hands, and your oversized libido couldn't wait 24 hours to find your first rebound skank?" Caroline scolds bitterly. Her protective mama bear instincts nearly tear a hole through my new shirt, like I really needed to go shopping again. Once her tiny fists prove inadequate, she stomps her heels right on my big toe, just to prove she means business. Eventually I have my fill of teenage theatrics, grip her arms at her sides, and hand her off to Stefan. We share a conspiratorial look, and he gets the message, as he gently holds her back, keeping her from breaking a nail while she tries to pummel me. He keeps whispering comforting clichés into her ear, and somehow it actually calms the overactive blonde. Stefan is like the Caroline whisperer. I store this knowledge for later, since it could possibly save my life one day.

In the meantime, I resume business as usual. Riling Blondie up is practically my full time job, and she certainly deserves a little punishment after allowing Elena to walk in at the exact wrong moment, so I turn on snark that I know makes Caroline's skin crawl. "First off," I remark patronizingly, "I think I need to have a little chat with Liz about playing nice with others and confronting your anger management issues." Unable to control her kill Damon urges, Caroline struggles against Stefan's grasp. In a showing of sibling solidarity, he simply holds her tighter the more that she pulls against him, like a Chinese finger trap for vampires. Pushing past the limits Blondie would usually allow before killing me, I give a disapproving wiggle of my finger in front of her face. The venom directed at yours truly makes me deeply regret my taunting insult, since I think she's about ten seconds away from biting my finger clean off. I've faced down originals before, but Caroline's 'don't mess with me' stare is downright terrifying. I'd say fun with Caroline time is officially over.

Not wanting to outrun a pissed off vampire cheerleader, I switch gears from instigator to diplomat. "Not that it's any of your business," I preface indignantly, not wanting her to believe she has any power over me, "but I didn't come here to get into some girl's pants." Her quick survey of my tone, facial expressions, and overall sincerity prove insufficient, so she takes a step back, awaiting more information so she can make her final ruling on my guilt, and then likely chop my head off. "The vampire whose neck little miss warrior princess broke, happens to be have been sired to me 70 years ago. After I stopped her from sexually assaulting me, I was planning on asking some questions. That was of course until Elena knocked her unconscious."

Blondie's embarrassment personifies the expression boy will your face be red. Caroline listens, scowls, and ultimately erupts in a fit of giggles at my description of the 'attack' I so unfairly received. I scoff at her school girlish reaction to the cause of my current misery. It's sexism in action if I've ever seen it. If this had happened to Elena, Caroline would be holding the first pitchfork, and she'd turn the unsuspecting man into swiss cheese. But because this happened to me, suddenly I'm not a victim. I feel there should be some parade I need to march in or hotline I should call to report such obvious hypocrisy.

My outrage at the blatant double standard takes away my focus from the uncomfortable stance Blondie and my brother have adopted. They shift back and forth from each foot, and they're both so in sync I'd swear they choreographed this earlier. And their guilty expressions are identical as well. If they keep this up, I'll be expecting matching sweater sets on these two next Christmas.

My patience wears razor thin with all this secret keeping, and eventually my quota for social nicety runs out. "What the Hell is it?" I grill suspiciously. "You're both being awkward and weird, and seeing as how I'm the only one with the right to freak out at this moment, grow a pair and pull it together."

Caroline shuffles her feet a bit more, does the whole innocent avoidance act, and then her blabber mouth instincts take over. "This might be a bad time to tell you this," Blondie begins carefully, trying to choose whichever words won't result in her eyebrows being singed off after my angry explosion. "But Elena found a way around the sire bond," Blondie announces timidly, then ducking behind my brother for cover.

Contrary to everyone's expectations, I don't implode or lash out. Hell I don't even yell at the pitiful excuses for vampires I see standing before me. I almost wish I had, because that story would make me sound a lot less like a teenage girl. Now I'll disavow to the grave that this ever happened, but I somehow manage to stumble over my own feet, and come crashing down hard on the gravel pavement. Not exactly my most graceful moment, but I feel I should be cut some slack. My entire belief system centered around the idea that no one gave a damn about me, not of their own free will anyway. That's what made the sire bond so easy to believe, because it made more sense than Elena simply loving me. But if what Blondie was saying is true, then Elena came down here of her own free will, to win me back, to fight for me, or some equally ridiculous romantic cliché. I try to tramp down any hope that might be bubbling up in my chest at what that could truly mean. Still in shock, I pose my question to the group, unsure who I'm even addressing. "What are you talking about?"

The prettier and I'm convinced smarter member of my dynamic duo chimes in, apparently feeling pretty confident that I don't in fact intend to decapitate anyone standing within ten feet of me. "She broke through whatever stupid sire bond order made her forget you," Caroline confesses bravely, no longer afraid of my reaction. "She broke it because she missed you, because she needed you."

Blondie's eyes are getting all teary eyed, caught up in whatever romantic crap she's constructed in her head. Unfortunately for me, I think Elena's energetic little friend might have forgotten the part where Elena left me sixty seconds after finding me. It kind of puts a kink in the 'epic' reunion scene Blondie had envisioned. "And just a quick recap for those who seem willfully ignorant of the facts, Elena's gone," I recall angrily. "She split the second she saw Charlotte's lips become surgically glued to mine. Your friend possessed such perfectly terrible timing; you'd think the universe created this moment just to screw with us both."

"That's not entirely accurate," Blondie counters weakly.

"Oh, no, I'd say it was a pithy description," Stefan agrees carelessly. "He definitely covered all the major plot points," he remarks, putting his sadly neglected wit to good use. My brother's sarcastic entrance into the conversation raises certain questions that have been nagging at me ever since he first arrived. What is he even doing in New Orleans? Stefan doesn't look murderous, so I think the city's college coeds are safe, but my brother's motives shift so rapidly that I once considered buying him a mood ring just to keep track of his ever fragile emotional state.

"Not that I don't enjoy brotherly moments like this one, but why'd you crash the party, Stef?" A slight crinkle of his eyebrows, leads me to believe he's actually hurt by my brusqueness, as if he's still my dorky kid brother who throws a fit whenever I don't let him hang out with the 'cool kids.' I don't have time to marvel at the absurdity that Stefan still takes what I say seriously, because my blundering brother gets all rambling and kind of stammery. And of course this happens after I tossed my phone, with its helpful video function, out my car window. Stefan's nervousness is pure comedic gold, and I curse myself for not being able to capture this Kodak moment for posterity.

"I'm not really sure why I came," Stefan admits genuinely, not even lifting his head to look me in the eyes. "I remember something about Caroline kidnapping me and there was forced singing involved, but the rest is a bit of a blur. But the long and short of it is, I plan to drag you back home, and in case you were curious, no you don't get a vote in the matter."

Must say I'm impressed. In my absence, his retorts have gotten snappier, and Stefan's backbone is like that of a real boy's. But I still eye him skeptically, trying to imagine a universe where Stefan would be willing to drive me back into the arms of the girl who broke his heart. That was my thing. I thought only I was idiotic enough to pursue such self destructive goals.

"Why the suddenly philanthropy, brother?" I question him suspiciously. My spidey senses won't let me accept that this is an act of benevolence. One too many betrayals in my life have left me with what I'm sure my resident therapist would label as trust issues, and Stefan's the cause of most of them. So there's got to be another reason, another angle that he's playing at. Because if there's one fact I've accepted as gospel truth, it's that my brother hates me. Most days I can't even give him a reason not to. So why would he want to help me now?

In my extensive list of life's mysterious questions, I add that one to the top, with a big fucking star next to it. As if he's not freaking me out enough, I start to notice the misting of Stefan's eyelids, and I fear that he's caught whatever wave of romanticism has Caroline in a tizzy. He puts his arm on my shoulder, and I ignore every instinct that tells me to shrug it off. Since he did come all this way, I might as well throw him a bone.

"We've spent 160 years together," Stefan reminisces nostalgically, "Always in and out of each other's lives, but for the life of me I can't think of a single person who knows me better than you do. But I barely know you," Stefan admits, hanging his head in shame. "I'm not sure that I ever really tried to. I didn't get it. I didn't want to. I buried my head in the sand, and then blamed you when it all fell apart." Stefan stares back at me expectantly, just waiting.

I don't want to give in. I don't want to break whatever indifferent nonchalance has become Stefan and I's go to way of dealing with each other. I'm too afraid that this is some cruel trick that he's playing on me. I attempted the same thing once. He'd hardly be in the wrong to give me a taste of my own medicine. But something in his eyes holds me back from whatever sarcastic, mean spirited retort I had planned. He looks truly sorry, the same way he did after he apologized for forcing me to turn in 1864. So even if I make a fool out of myself, with egg on my face, I don't care. I want to believe him. I want my little brother back.

"It wasn't your fault," I offer as consolation, knowing my martyr baby bro is probably finding some way to shoulder all the blame for this. "It's not like Elena and I were advertising what was going on between us. Any significant conversation we ever had took place far away from anyone's prying eyes. Getting chummy with the town misanthrope isn't exactly the juicy gossip I expect her to gush over with Judgy." And my self pity makes this conversation all the more depressing. God do I need whiskey right now. But Stefan of all people fancies himself my new cheer leader. The thought itself is almost as ridiculous as the image of Steffie wearing the outfit with Pom Poms

"That wasn't it," Stefan counters, with surprising conviction for someone who's spent the last few months majorly clueless. "She was never ashamed of you," he promises, taking a moment to collect his thoughts as if he's finally putting the confusing puzzle pieces together. "Elena just didn't know how to explain it. In hindsight, it might have been incredibly stupid, but at the time, that's the price she was willing to pay," Stefan claims cryptically, choosing to leave out the rest of his thought to build suspense, like we don't have enough dramatic tension already.

"The price she paid for what?"

He peers down at me, quirking his eyebrow in deep concentration, weighing the pros and cons of answering my question. And once he does, I'm tempted to fall over again, until I remember I'm still on the ground. "The price of letting her love for you grow in secret," Stefan replies uncomfortably. His awkwardness only makes me feel worse. His one little sentence made our back and forth go from spilling food on your shirt awkward to walking into school naked awkward. I don't know what to say, or how to act. Stefan's got his hero hat back on. He hasn't even tried to hit me once. And now Stefan, the same guy who convinced me to walk away a mere 36 hours ago, is waxing on about Elena and I's forbidden love. Someone really has to write all this down, because I'm having trouble keeping track of Stefan's mood swings. Maybe Blondie would be willing to create some sort of instructional chart to help me keep it all straight.

After waiting patiently for me to speak, yell, or storm off, I finally settle on patting the corner of pavement next to me signaling for my little brother to take a seat. Once he finishes searching the area for booby traps, he sits down, not any surer than I am how to have a heart to heart after all this time. And it certainly doesn't help that Blondie is gazing on with an aggravating 'AWW' expression on her face. She looks like someone just sent her a picture of a group of puppies cuddling each other. Her sappiness is overwhelming. Trying my best to block out the image of Blondie squealing to herself, I ask my brother the honest, no bullshit question that pops up whenever we attempt the whole brother bonding thing.

"Is this for real?" I ask hesitantly, not wanting to burst any family togetherness bubble Stefan and I've formed in the past 5 minutes. "Because if this is one of your 12 steps for a recovering blood addict, I'd just as soon skip the family hug." He rolls his eyes at my deflection.

"I'm not trying to play you, Damon," Stefan promises earnestly, making a surprisingly convincing case. "Elena said some things back in Mystic Falls, about mistakes I've made, assumptions, about you, that weren't completely fair." After a century and a half of relying only on myself, and occasionally Elena, trust was a lot to ask of someone like me.

"So all is forgiven?" I ask defensively. "One conversation with Elena, and suddenly we're headed to the latest diner for malts and a burger?"

"God no," Stefan objects immediately. By his reaction, you'd think I'd suggested a friendly game of vervain dodge ball. "We can barely manage polite chit chat most days. If we try and force it, I predict death, carnage, at the very least mean spirited banter." Its official now he's just trying to confuse me.

"So what do you want?" I ask in exasperation, because I'm not sure if he even knows. A second away from writing this off as another one of my brother's phases, he reels me back in like some kind of masochistic moron.

"A chance," he replies hopefully. His wide eyed optimism is basically my kryptonite. And he has the gall to continue being all sappy and touchy feely. "While I don't see hugging in our near future, that doesn't mean we can't find a way to be civil, to figure out how it's going to work with the three of us, for all eternity."

"It sounds like a bad soap opera," I joke kiddingly, gaining an amused smirk from my typically morose brother.

"Yeah," he remarks distantly, with more on his mind than he's letting on. After about 15 pokes to Stefan's chest, which used to be my standard method of forcing the truth out of him when we were kids, Stefan finally opens up with what's on his mind. "It really is going to suck isn't it?" He questions darkly, pain lacing his hardened features.

"What?"

"Seeing you two together," he answers sadly. His question brings up all the images of myself standing on the sidelines watching the Stefan and Elena show, the gut wrenching agony of listening to every I love you, and being cut deeply with every lingering kiss. I don't even need to think about the question; yes this will most certainly suck for him. "I still love her," he confesses with difficulty. "Maybe not like I did, but rejection is painful no matter what the circumstances. And I can't help thinking that if I were good enough, if I were better, that she would've stayed." And with that, I feel like a complete prick. It's not a new sensation by any means, but it creeps in every time I think about how Elena and I came together. I need to believe that we did everything that we could, that we fought as hard as possible against what we felt. Because the alternative is that we were unbelievably selfish, me most of all.

"I know how you feel," I acknowledge, thoroughly ashamed, not just of sleeping with Elena, but of loving her, of hurting him, of all the choices I've made that have caused my brother pain. Since I believe more in penance than apologies, I graciously offer, "Want to hit me?" This causes Stefan to stare at me like I've grown an extra head, or possibly bunny ears.

"No," he finally replies with a smirk.

"Stake me."

"No."

"String me up by my toes and set me on fire."

"That last one's pretty tempting," he responds lightly, "but no."

We share a moment of rare laughter. And I try searching my memory for the last time we just enjoyed each other's company. I'm embarrassed to say that I'd need to reach back nearly 70 years to recall such an event. "So what do we do now?" I glance over at my brother who has a peculiar smile on his face. It's unnatural, like an open minded witch or a newcomer without a secret agenda. Stefan kicks a few rocks out of his way before answering our eternal question.

"We try really hard not to kill each other," he proposes somewhat seriously. "I mean if we've managed to avoid fratricide for this long, surely our brotherhood can survive one teenage girl." I work to keep a straight face, but I can't avoid the telltale curving of my lips. His sudden cocky demeanor is aggravating. Stefan is taking far too much joy in the knowledge that I temporarily found him funny. Clearly this must be stopped.

"See now you're just getting all mushy with your squishy girly feelings, and frankly it's embarrassing us both," I tease mercilessly. "And in case you haven't noticed, we've got bigger problems than your awkward display of brotherly emotion."

"Right," Stefan recalls, in a far better mood than I typically expect from him. "You kind of screwed that one up pretty quick didn't you?" Stefan teases me with a smile on his face, because apparently someone gave him the impression that he was funny. I blame a certain cheerleader. And apparently my humiliation is not yet complete, because Stefan isn't finished mocking me just yet. "I mean Elena came here to practically offer herself to you on a silver platter, and my quasi blessing was the shiny bow on top of all of it. And you still messed it all up in the first sixty seconds."

"Remind me again why I don't kill you?" I deadpan seriously. Stefan's ashen face restores my faith in my comedic timing. He breaks out in a nervous laugh once he realizes I don't intend to murder him . . . you know today.

"I should have known you wouldn't kill me," Stefan comments confidently.

"Oh, yeah, and why's that?" I challenge.

"I was nice to you for like a solid minute, so killing me now would saddle you with a pretty massive guilt complex for the next century," Stefan reasons.

"Great," I sarcastically remark, "So in summary, I'm having the day from Hell, and I can't even punch you in the face without guilt." Stefan appears pleased at my violent sense of humor, and I have to admit, the punk is kind of growing on me.

Caroline reasserts her presence once she feels we've finished our little 'moment.' "Okay, so this really isn't your kind of day so far, but let's not focus on the negative. While you two were sharing in your little bromance moment, we seem to have forgotten about our primary objective, i.e. finding Elena. We need ideas, or ooh I know, a committee, a brain trust dedicated to an Elena Gilbert search party. So start spit balling. Remember there are no bad ideas."

"Why don't we start calling out her name," Stefan proposes optimistically. "She's a vampire, so we know that she'll hear us."

And after an internal facepalm, I turn to Blondie and reply, "So much for that theory," I contradict. "There are in fact bad ideas, and I think calling out for Elena like a lost puppy dog tops the list."

Caroline swoops in and fulfills my brother's usual role of the coddler of the group as she rubs her hand across his back in an oddly intimate gesture. "No, it wasn't that bad," Caroline counters positively. "We'll just call that Plan B," Blondie compromises, placating Stefan with a lingering look that lasts far too long to be platonic.

"Okay, before this gets more awkward, Blondie hand me your phone," Caroline scowls at the nickname, and I'm pretty sure at my cock blocking of her tender caresses. Regardless, she hands me the device, huffing in protest. I quickly find the phone tracker app that Bonnie showed me when Elena and Caroline were trapped in the school with my old buddy's alter ego. Who needs witches when you've got technology? "You two, carry on with whatever this is," I order, while gesturing between them both. "I'm going after her."

As I gain my bearings and try to follow the green dot with Elena's name next to it, I can hear Blondie's cheerful encouragement. "We're all behind you," she shouts out with supportive optimism.

And my brother tries to covertly whisper. "Oh, God this is going to go so badly."

"Are you kidding," Blondie adds, "She's going to skewer him like a shish kabob."

And these are the people supposedly on my side. Man do I need better friends.


Elena's POV:

(Sitting friendless and well on her way to being tipsy, the eldest Gilbert waits for the cavalry to come busting in.)

It's only a matter of time, I speculate, as I toss back another guzzle of whiskey that I swiped from some bar along the way. The foul taste and burn of the bourbon does nothing to deter me from swallowing another wretched mouthful, because I made the rookie mistake of falling for a womanizing jackass. And I have only myself to blame. My friends, my family, sometimes even complete strangers all warned me, not to mention every movie, TV show, and book about heartbreak should have cautioned me against the perils of falling for a charming set of blue eyes, but Damon has such pretty eyes.

I then curse myself for my weakness and my stupid tear ducts betray me. I was convinced that I was too proud to cry over him. Stupid, annoying, pain in the ass, he even interrupts my moping. Just as I'm muttering to myself about how differently this moment went in my head, the vampire gigolo in question appears. "I'm pissed at you," I mumble in between the alcohol induced hiccups and the crying. "I road tripped with Caroline and Stefan, visited every fruit stand in 1,000 miles, and when I finally find you, you've got your tongue down some random chick's throat." Damon takes a step back, giving me space, but unfazed by my rather insistent rejection.

"First off," Damon points out, "my tongue was firmly inside my own mouth. Secondly, she wasn't random," he replies in his own defense. "Her name is Charlotte."

"Whoa, 10 points for learning the skank's name," I reply sarcastically. "Unfortunately for you, that is not enough to earn my forgiveness, so I'm going to go find an alley without you in it."

Barring my escape route, Damon vamp speeds in front of me, shifting around every time I try to break free. "Don't make me chase you around the whole damn world," Damon pleads intensely. His eyes well up with tears of his own, and my heart breaks at the sight. "I've got an eternity to play cat and mouse with you, and I'll never stop."

The feelings become too much and I need to escape. I make a strategic fake out and nearly slip free from his grasp. One stray arm is all that stops me from my freedom. Damon catches it, and speeds me against the nearest wall. My back against a concrete surface brings back unwanted, and arousing memories of frantic kisses in that motel in Denver. "Will you stop being so stubborn and listen to me for a second?" Damon shouts in frustration. "Give me five minutes," he requests in desperation. "If after that you want to run off, join a convent, fine, I won't stop you, but you came all this way. You might as well hear me out." His stupid puppy dog eyes are my undoing.

"You've got three minutes," I relent hesitantly, unable to leave without an explanation. Damon takes a minute to form actual words. I don't think he ever expected to make it this far.

"She's been sired to me for the past 70 years," Damon admits after a fashion. "And I thought if I asked super nicely, that she might actually help."

My skepticism can't dissipate with a few crumbs of information. "So not only is Charlotte super slutty, but she's also your little love slave, forced to serve you for all eternity."

Damon takes my catty comment with a grain of salt. "I'm the victim here," he asserts dramatically. "Why is no one else seeing that? She came out of nowhere, and wouldn't take no for an answer. I feel dirty and used." His absolute insistence in his innocence is hard to ignore. Damon is nothing if not persuasive. Unable to resist his charms, I crack a tiny smile. Sadly Damon picks up on it immediately.

"See," Damon remarks excitedly, "You don't want to be mad at me, because as much as that might've hurt seeing me with someone else, I know you trust me." That one word grounds me, because I know that he's right. Snapped necks, attempted murder, and a long list of nameless victims weren't enough to turn me away. I do trust him, with my life, with my heart, with everything. He even sweetens it by adding, "There's never been anyone else for me." My heart gives an embarrassing flutter, and I'm practically giddy, for about ten seconds. "I mean if all I wanted was to get laid, I had 8 really hot . . ." He notices my disapproving pout and self corrects. "I mean ugly, really homely women who came onto me, and I promptly turned them away."

His quick save does little to quell my temper. "Why couldn't I have fallen for some boring nice boy, one with dimples, and absolutely NO man-whore tendencies?"

He uses his own mischievous smirk, which is the bad boy equivalent of dimples. "Well that wouldn't have been near as interesting, now would it?" Damon challenges teasingly. "But since you're kind of stuck with me, why don't you tell me what you're really doing here," he asks with anticipation. The hopeful, little boy wonder is written across his face, and I just want to cuddle the fuck out of him.

"I came here because I love you," I state with simplistic clarity. "And life isn't the same without you in it," I confess vulnerably, opening myself up, with my heart practically laying at his feet.

Damon is entirely overwhelmed by my confession. I lead him over to the crate that I had previously been perched on when I was balling my eyes out. He keeps stuttering and barely managed any coherent thoughts. It is mostly a combination of, "What, why, when, how, what," over and over like a broken record. On one hand his reaction is pretty funny, but then the guilt prone part of me feels terrible. I can't shake the fear that his doubts are somehow my fault. I never explained to him how I felt, because our love is complicated. How do you tell someone that you fell in love with them in pieces? How do you explain only falling for the best parts of someone at first, and then learning to love the rest? I spent so long thinking that's not what love should be. I should've known that I knew absolutely nothing about love when I was seventeen.

My philosophical life questions distract me from Damon's hilarious reaction to my confession. When I stop talking, he interrupts, "No, go on, I like where this is going. I'll just be down here." His face is paler than usual and he looks like he's about to be sick, or perhaps pass out.

"Are you sure you don't need smelling salts, or possibly a paper bag to breathe into?"

Never one to admit weakness, Damon laughs out loud and quickly snatches me until I end up on his lap. He even tickles me, until I finally say uncle and Damon releases me. "Now that is what I call payback for insulting my manliness and suggesting I was going to swoon like a southern belle in a corset. Whenever you feel the need to elaborate on your sudden love for me, I'll be waiting." He tries to hide the anxiety in his voice. Damon tries to pretend that this doesn't matter, and that it's all some big joke, but I know better.

"You kept me sane," I remind him, "kept me standing, and you kept me strong when everyone else either abandoned me or judged me. How could I not love you?" He has a flash of light, of hope, and then it dims again.

"Trust me plenty of people have managed," Damon scoffs, refusing to consciously acknowledge his own insecurities. Luckily growing up with Caroline has provided me with a wealth of experience in inferiority issues. If there's one thing Care's taught me, it's that blunt is always best.

"You're really messed up, you know that," I state with conviction. My odd turn around earns me Damon's undivided attention. He doesn't appear hurt by my summation, but I think he's wondering where my soft gentle nature vanished to. Damon spent nearly a century and a half hating himself, and after lifetimes of self-loathing, he started to believe that everyone else should hate him too.

I search for the comforting words that will make him feel better, and I'm reminded of an angry conversation we had, screaming at each other about what kind of person I expected him to be. It didn't occur to me until now, how much he had internalized what I'd said, how he took it as criticism, as an indictment on his character. It was just another in a long string of misunderstandings, because all I ever wanted him to be was himself, but I don't think Damon ever believed that.

"I was wrong," I admit repentantly, wanting to open up my mind to let him see, to let him understand just how much I loved him. "I never wanted to change you. All I wanted is for you to be the best version of yourself. But just in case you missed it, I love you," I reaffirm emphatically. "And not just the best parts, not just the parts that save me or love me back, but ALL of you. We both want to be loved, be accepted, and I found that in you. I like to think you found that in me too."

Damon isn't one for wavering, and when he reacts, it's instantaneous and intense. The unnecessary air rushes out of my lungs as Damon embraces me in a crushing hug. Most couples would seal the moment with a kiss, but this is the first time Damon ever hugged me. That fact alone is a huge step forward in his personal growth. He keeps opening and closing his eyes, like he expects to blink and for me to be gone, so I just clutch him tighter. I let him know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere.

His fingers feel so good running through my hair that I almost don't hear him when he speaks. "Almost two centuries and you're one of the two people who ever said those words to me and actually meant it. The last one was my mother, and I don't need to tell you how long ago that was."

I caress his shoulders as I bask in the glow of our reunion, and I feel a sense of intense pride at Damon actually sharing with me. "She would've liked you," Damon promises, regaining his 'happy' face, which I had only recently discovered for the first time. I reward his openness with a few passionate kisses. I can't get over the exhilaration I feel when he's touching me, claiming me, and somehow freeing me from the world's expectations.

Once I pull back from Damon's embrace, I swear he nearly purrs in sexual frustration. "Not to ruin the moment," I preface carefully.

"But you're totally going to ruin the moment," Damon finishes. His head starting to bang against the alley wall behind us.

"It's nothing bad," I promise reassuringly, "I just want to know what now?"

"That's what you're worried about?" Damon asks in teasing disbelief. "That's the easy part. Pick a life path. If you want to check in on our crack team, we can go find broody and blondie, I'll call them right now. If you want to compel ourselves into the nearest hotel room, that can certainly be arranged," Damon offers with a seductive round of eye sex. "Or if you want to find this cure everyone's so Hell bent on having, we can do that too." His last suggestion said with a bit of reluctant doubt finding its way into his voice.

"Well option one is pretty much an inevitability, but option two sounds like the most fun," I joke seductively.

"And option three," Damon pushes cautiously.

"Not interested," I reply with ease, causing a slack jawed response from Damon. I can practically count all of his teeth and even see his tonsils in the back of his throat.

"Run that by me again." Damon requests in a state of shock.

I take our happy carefree moment, and add far too much seriousness to it. But this needs to be said, I need to say the words aloud, to someone at least. Damon's the only one who will accept it, the only one who would understand. "I don't want the cure anymore Damon," I admit freely, feeling a weight lifted with my admission. My human life was over, but my vampire life, that was just beginning, and I wasn't willing to sacrifice that.

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