A/N: A huge thanks to my readers for your patience in waiting for this chapter. I feel like I've been saying that too much lately, and am working to get these updates up faster.
In this chapter we'll see a flip of the coin. The other side of sorrow. I decided to go with a Damon POV chapter again, as he's working through so much right now. This chapter is about just that. In a way, he's been somewhat self-absorbed since he came back. Rightfully so, maybe, but he's about to get a reality check. At the same time, we're going to dig a little more deeper into Elena's psyche and watch Damon's fears unfold along the way. This chapter is a bit unsettling, so just a head's up.
I've chosen The Lumineers' "Stubborn Love" for this chapter. Thanks again for reading. :)
Through the Ghost
Chapter 9: Subborn Love
Present Day - December
About dinner tonight...I don't think it's such a good idea...
Damon's finger hovered above the SEND key until the traffic light changed and he was able to cross the street. It was 5 pm and he was 2 blocks away from Elena's clinic, which meant he had about 5 minutes to either send the text or stuff the phone back in his pocket and stop doubting himself.
He had a lot of big things coming up. Alaric would be officially all moved in as of tomorrow, and he'd soon be staying busy with the bookstore and his old friend. That would leave him less time to think about Elena and all the changes that had happened between them in just the two weeks since Thanksgiving. They were falling into a pattern of seeing each other every day, and while it was great, it also came with a lot of challenges. Like feelings.
Meeting for coffee in the morning was one thing. It was simple exchange between them that lasted no longer than half an hour, and it gave him a reason to wake up early in the morning. He told himself it was a way to get used to getting ready for work, which would be starting soon, but he also knew seeing Elena first thing in the morning was a good enough reason of its own.
But that was a public place, packed with people who had no idea of the unspoken issues lingering between them. There wasn't much awkwardness because how much could one say over a 16oz cup of coffee? So they spent their mornings talking about little things, like any normal pair of friends would do. And he was happy with it, so he wasn't so sure why she had to go and ruin it by suggesting they spend alone time at her house, eating dinner, where there was little to no chance of interruption. But he'd had to make a choice, and when she'd asked him, she'd looked so fucking sweet that he couldn't turn her down.
That was two days ago. He'd had time to think since then. And panic.
Agreeing to dinner with Elena could be a mistake for two reasons. One, he wasn't so sure it she hadn't asked out of pity. The night of Thanksgiving when they'd left her parents house after his freak out, he'd completely blown it. She asked him to take her somewhere, anywhere in the whole world if he wanted, at least that's what her eyes had said, and he'd decided the best place to go was just home. Back to his apartment. He'd left the ignition running, put the car in park and opened the driver's side door all while Elena sat next to him looking completely defeated. But what had she expected? Them to go somewhere special to them? Somewhere they used to go before...well, before everything? Not in his state of mind and certainly not in hers. She put on a tough face but deep down he knew she was only held together by the chemicals balancing out her system. It just wasn't fair to go there.
And two...the way she'd tried to stop him from running into his apartment that night had really scared the shit out of him. Yeah, she was faster than him now; most people are. But he hadn't figured on her practically falling out of the passenger side and cementing her feet to the ground in front of him. The no eye-contact plan took a nose dive when his name left her lips in a raspy plea. She'd blinked up at him through her thick dark eyelashes in a way that had him thinking back to the kinds of looks she used to give him. In the bedroom. And lord. One head-trip a day was plenty. If she kept looking at him like that, he was going to end up doing something stupid and he actually liked the way things were going between them. At least when they were in public.
He'd won that night, if anyone was counting. He'd even got out of it with just a sweep of her hand from his shoulder down his right arm with a firm squeeze of his hand at the end. No hug. No awkward see you later. The only thing he could think of to say was I'm sorry, figuring he didn't really need to tack on the reason behind his apology. He was sorry for everything, really. There'd never be enough time or the right words to make her truly understand that. They hadn't been truly alone since, and she'd used text messages to secure their coffee plans so he couldn't really gauge her feelings from the tone of voice.
Every time he saw her she looked completely fine. Her hair was always wavy and damp, as if she'd just stepped out of the shower and thrown some kind of taming product in it. Her lips were colored a nice shade of red and she smelled sweet like flowers when she rattled off their orders at the coffeehouse counter. And every time he thought it would get easier to be around her, as if something would just click one day and he'd realize they really were just good friends, instead of always feeling like they were teetering on the edge of something more. She seemed so put together that sometimes he felt more apart than ever.
So maybe he was worried over nothing...over-thinking again. What would be so terrible about trying to be with her again, anyway? At first it was the idea that he'd be haunted; that he didn't deserve a good life or a second chance when his buddies hadn't been given the same. But the more time he spent with her and the less over-thinking he did, he realized the only thing keeping him from trying was the idea that it just might not work out. That after all he went through, she went through, and all those years of waiting, that it had all been for nothing. That maybe they just weren't meant to be.
He just couldn't imagine being the carefree man she'd been with back then. And she'd loved him, he'd learned. So that brought a whole new set of challenges.
He didn't see the street light change at the next crosswalk because his eyes were squeezed closed, but he felt someone shove him and the blare of a siren reminded him where he was and where he was headed. One block. He pressed a key and lit up his screen again as he crossed with the crowd around him. She was staring at him, a digital copy of the sandy photo he'd carried with him in Iraq.
His gut ached as he pictured her reaction, which he would see either way, in about two minutes. He'd settled on a text message because he, too, was afraid to let her hear the sound of his voice. He didn't want to disappoint her.
If he sent that text, he'd watch her from across the street, because he didn't have it in him to say it to her face. And didn't that make him an asshole. She didn't expect him to show up at her office. He imagined her pushing the glass door of her office and getting into her car, figuring on going home and changing, checking the meal she'd been cooking all day for them in her crock pot. Could he really back out now just because he was afraid? The old him wanted to punch the new him in the nuts for even thinking about it.
Too late now. His feet had carried him where he needed to be, though his head was still a few blocks back, scrambling to figure out what the hell to do. Damn feelings. Damn Thanksgiving. It would've been easier for him to swallow if she'd freaked out when he hallucinated. The fact that she just got it, that she still trusted him meant she was vulnerable, that he he still had the power to hurt her and he hated it.
He held his breath as he stood in front of her office, tracing the letters of her name painted on the glass front door until it opened and he was met with a pair of familiar blue eyes. The last time he'd seen them they'd been boiling over with shocked jealousy. Now they were blank and disbelieving, as if Damon's return had been just an idea until they'd come face to face. And this was real. All of it.
"Looking for Elena?" Matt asked flatly, but shook his head before Damon could answer. He backed himself inside the office again and gave the door a good shove so Damon could walk through, too. Well, all chance of talking himself out of the dinner with Elena was shot. Truthfully, he'd gone to her office hoping he'd get a bout of courage, in either direction, and just know the right thing to say when he saw her. It had worked that way years ago, and many of the interactions they'd had recently sort of reminded him of the way things used to be. Simple and undemanding. If he could sort through the shit-cloud in his head, he was certain they could stay friends. And if he couldn't...
"I hope you know what you're doing," Matt said seriously. The hard edge in his voice kicked Damon back. This wasn't Elena's love-sick friend who'd punched him in the jaw out of envy; this was the man who'd loved and cared for Elena when he'd just walked away. The protectiveness in Matt's voice was almost intimidating, his warning loud and clear.
"You think you have some God-given right to show up whenever you feel like it and make everything go back to the way it was," he swallowed before lowering his voice, "And I'd say you're wrong..." he laughed bitterly. "But we all know how it works with you." Was this guy really 30-years-old? He sounded like a child. He sounded like the boy who hadn't gotten the girl when he was a teenager.
Damon frowned. "How what works?"
"You. Elena," he said quickly and took a breath, working up what was sure to be a pouty, pitiful speech. "She's never been one to come right out and talk about her feelings...but we were supportive. All of us. When you were fighting and she was home, falling apart at the seams..." he shook his head. "I didn't make a fucking move, man. I knew you didn't have a choice...and she really believed you'd come home to her and everything would turn all happily ever after. She didn't have to say it for everyone to know. And it was hard to sit back and watch it, knowing I could make her happy, too...that I was home, here, and it would be so easy if she only gave me the chance. But I watched her cry over you. Every day. She didn't doubt your for a second. I'll bet that makes you feel like shit."
Damon's stomach churned with guilt and sorrow as Matt's words hung in the air. He wasn't finished; neither of them were. Each word he said stuck with him like a new scar.
"And it should, because she showed up on my doorstep two years ago, sobbing," his eyes narrowed as he locked on Damon for the first time in years. "And it went on and on and on..." he said painfully. "And I couldn't be supportive anymore. Why should I? You were home. You had a choice and it wasn't her. So what the hell was I supposed to do? The woman I love,comes to me, finally, telling me you've turned her away. Was I the second choice? Yeah. Always," he shrugged. "But to me, being Elena Gilbert's second choice was better than any other woman's first choice. Because I love her. I always have and I always will. Now here you are," his bitter smile strengthened. "And when you mess her up again and leave, I'll still be here."
It took a lot to rile him up; Damon's self-control was still amazing, as unstable as he could be at times. But a shiver ran through him as a storm of images brewed in his head.
Colonel Elena Gilbert. Gilbert. Elena. Lena. The fight she'd put up the first time he'd kissed her. The twinkle in her eyes as she stared up at him at her mother's house the first time they'd made love. The laughter and the stupid little fights they'd gotten into about things he couldn't even remember now. The fear in her eyes as she told him she was pregnant.
Then the happiness faded away and he was flooded with the rest. These days it was easier to remember the bad than the good. Because no matter how good they'd been, how wonderful, it still ended in the same miserable way.
Deployment. No baby. Prescription stability. And now this.
She'd loved him. Of course he'd known it. He could see it in the teardrop stains on the letters he never answered. He'd wanted to. He'd written responses but never mailed them, afraid he'd say the wrong thing, that he'd push her away somehow or it would seem like he was pressuring her to answer his proposal. But now he knew. He should've sent them. He should've been stronger, bolder, more courageous. He wished he could've been strong enough to go to her, even in his condition, and tell her he loved her. Because he did. Of course he did.
Of course he does.
And he had no right to be upset to hear the way Matt had loved her while he'd been away. He should be happy she had someone when he was gone. He just couldn't bear the thought of her trying with anyone else. It was then that he realized he really was selfish.
"If you really knew Elena, you'd know she doesn't know what she wants. She thinks it's you...that you'll somehow make her happy because nothing else has. Don't you get it? She doesn't know how it ends...and she hates not knowing how ends. She's confused. She's sad," he emphasized. "And she wasn't, until you came home and reminded her. You want to be a hero? Say goodbye."
Now that he mentioned it, Elena had always had a problem letting things go. She'd been fine at first, but the closer they'd gotten, the more things had started to bother her. What if he was right? What if she was just trying to complete some circle?
The back door of the office opened into the lobby revealing Elena. Her eyes caught on Damon first and she looked at the clock on the wall.
"Damon," her eyes lit up as she said his name. "What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting up in an hour," she said softly, then her eyes shifted to Matt when she heard him snort, and she frowned as if the situation just dawned on her. "Is everything okay?"
Now he felt like an idiot for almost canceling. As predicted, the soft, sweet look on her face threw him off balance for a moment and made him forget what he was worried about.
"Fine," Damon said with a nod. "Just a little filler conversation until you were ready," he walked over to her when she tugged on her coat and fiddled with the buttons. Standing beside her, he felt powerful, but he wondered why he still felt the need to stick it to Matt, to prove she wanted him to be there as much as he wanted to be there.
"Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?" Matt asked, smiling, and Damon felt a twinge of jealousy. Yeah, things had been kind of weird between them, but the guy had been pretty plain about what he wanted. He was going to use their business partnership and Damon's probable screw ups to remind Elena where she really belonged in life. With him.
"Of course," she nodded without smiling. "I'll see you then. Have everything ready." He nodded , smiling at Damon as he pushed through the door. When he gone, the knot in Damon's stomach loosened and his soft exhale surprised him; being alone with her was so bittersweet.
"You surprised me," the gentle tone of her voice slammed him with guilt.
"I'm sorry," he frowned and rubbed the creases in his forehead. "I just started walking here. I didn't really have a plan once I caught up with you. I get ahead of myself. A lot."
"It's a good surprise," she tipped her head. "C'mon," she flipped the lights off at the front of the building and set the alarm pad for the night, motioning him out of the building so she could lock it. Her teeth chattered as she unlocked her car and they slid into the seats wordlessly. As he stared at the iced over windshield before them, he figured it would take a good fifteen minutes before it would thaw enough for good visibility.
"I'm getting a car with automatic start before next winter," she shivered. "
"This is what you use to scrape your car?" He smirked when she nodded, pulling a frayed snow brush from behind her seat. "I'll be out there for hours." He popped the handle of the passenger door and began working to clear the windshield. As the snow and ice disappeared, he was met with the warmth of her brown eyes, and it was peaceful. And peace, he realized, came from doing simple things. He was still able to help her, if only like this. If it could just stay like this forever, it would be okay.
She shook the snow out of her hair as they ascended the steps of her apartment. Although she'd been to his place more times than he could count, this was the first time he had the chance to get a glimpse at the space she now called home. Her personal space back by the base had started out plain, with white walls. By the time he'd left for Iraq, the two of them were everywhere, held in collage frames with inspirational quotes that said everything she never had the courage to tell him herself. Dream. Love. Happiness. Even in her time of sorrow, there'd been a light at the end of the tunnel.
While going to her place was hardly a big step in the grand scheme of things, it sure as hell felt like a big deal. Would he see himself on her walls now? The more he thought about it, the more he hoped he would. They were friends with a past. She'd loved him then, and he'd loved her and he shouldn't be so worried that things would somehow get messy between them now. But he was, because things with her had always been messy.
While she'd been to his place several times, he'd never let her in his bedroom or anywhere near the belongings he held dearly and couldn't bear to let her see; if she found those letters he'd never mailed, she'd surely never forgive him. He couldn't dream of throwing them away. As long as they existed, he existed. The happy Damon. The sure Damon. And although he'd been too afraid to show her his vulnerability in a time when he knew she was barely staying afloat, he'd meant every word he'd written.
While he sang a different tune, he really just wished he'd come home unscathed, good as new. He wished he was the same man that had kissed her goodbye that morning, because he would know what to do with her now. He would know the right words to say.
It felt like an eternity before they reached her front door. She fiddled with her keys, dropping them once before she managed to unlock it. He took a deep breath and already felt home. It was cozy and bright, the heater cranked to a perfect temperature to take the bitter cold redness out of his cheeks. It smelled wonderful and he couldn't help from wandering into the kitchen to have a look through the clear glass top of the crockpot on her counter.
"Hey," she said behind him, making him jump. Her hands were warm from the gloves she'd worn in the car, and they touched him lightly on his elbows as she peeked around his shoulder to look at him with mock frustration. "No peeking."
"It smells really good," he admitted, because it did. Aside from the awkward meal they'd shared on Thanksgiving, he'd been sustaining himself on burgers, fries and pizza. He'd learned to take a lot of things with a grain of salt, but he'd have been stupid to not see what she'd done for him. Thanksgiving was one thing; it was a tradition. But this...her cooking for him, intentionally, on a day that meant nothing to the rest of the world, meant everything to him. Just knowing her had been his greatest treasure; loving her had been a privilege. It didn't feel good to doubt her.
"It should be. It's been in there since 9 this morning," she smiled lightly as he turned toward her.
"You know, I'm really glad you're here with me," he heard her breath catch in her throat nervously as she slid her hands up the length of his arms and rested them on his shoulders, brushing away invisible lint. It had been a habit she'd gotten into years ago, and strangely enough, he felt just as warm when she did it now.
He looked at her cautiously, afraid to ask her what she meant. Here as in her apartment? Here as in New York? Here as in with her? She blinked a few more times, as if trying to memorize the moment, and he lost all chance of trying to figure her out. So instead of screwing it up, he decided just to smile.
"Things have been crazy and I'm glad we finally had a chance to do this," she breathed. "Celebrate, I mean. Your job, I mean," she clarified.
"Right," he nodded.
"You know you had me worried for a minute when I saw you at the clinic," he stood there still, arms at his sides, fully aware that she hadn't yet moved her hands from his shoulders. They'd stopped brushing, the only movement her thumbs on his collarbone.
Yep. There was definitely a reason he'd avoided alone time for as long as he could. His hands formed fists, then shifted back to flat palms as the tension pulsed through him; a slow death by beautiful memories that would stay just that. Why did she have to touch him? They'd reached some kind of norm while they were out every morning. No touching, just easy conversation over a caffeine fix. But now she was breaking all the unwritten rules, as if they were hiding a secret from the rest of the world.
The food smelled amazing and he focused on that instead. He just had to get through dinner and then he'd head home, go to bed and start focusing on work.
"I thought you were going to cancel. I'd be stuck eating all this by myself," she added with a tiny, truthful smile. He could get used to this honest side of her; it was much easier than gauging her feelings on facial expressions.
"Or with Matt tomorrow," he said quickly, unaware of how bitter it sounded as it left his lips. He waited a beat, expecting her to recoil and back away, take a breath and regroup...anything but what she actually did. Her warm hands moved up to the side of his neck and she pulled his focus from the crockpot back to her, staring at him with complete certainty. His shoulders sank beneath her touch as he released an ashamed sigh. "Never mind," he said softly, shaking his head and pulling his gaze away from her again. "Let's just eat."
She must've been on her tiptoes because she sank a few inches in front of him.
"It's not like that,"
" And if it is...really, Elena. Forget I said anything. I get it," he shrugged and he felt her nails dig gently into his shoulder, silently asking him to not shut down.
"I have a business dinner with him tomorrow. We're going to a restaurant with a few of the other practices in our building. It's going to be boring and drag on until everyone has a few too many glasses of wine and we all realize we don't want to be there anymore. Trust me. It's nothing. I don't even want to go."
His stomach dropped as he caught the tenderness in her voice. "It's...like I said, never mind. It's whatever. It's not my business."
"Maybe it is," she offered, but he saw her wince as he shook his head again. He swallowed and the feeling of her warm skin against his neck was enough to set him straight. She must've felt his chest heave because her hands dropped as soon as her eyes did, and she wandered a few feet away as if embarrassed.
"You should know something. I was going to cancel tonight. Not because I don't appreciate it. It's just this," he tossed his hand up to emphasize the small space between them, "You make it seem so easy when we both know it's not."
"No. But you make it so hard and it doesn't have to be," she said. "It's just me, Damon. It's okay,"
Just you. No such thing. If he could go back and rewind time, he'd do everything in his power to make her realize there was no such thing as just Elena. She'd been a lot of things to him over the years. A physical therapist. A fellow soldier. A girlfriend. The mother of his unborn child. There was nothing simple about her and he hated that she always sold herself short.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized how surprising it was that she hadn't been snatched up by some other guy...other than Matt...because she was a catch and deserved to be happy and be loved by someone who could always put her first.
"I know," he nodded.
"Good. Now," she took a breath, "Sorry to leave you out here by yourself, but I've had a really weird day and I'd planned on at least showering before you got here. Do you mind if I hop in quickly?"
"I'm fine," he assured her. "What am I going to do?" But his smile saddened because he already saw her answer in her eyes. Leave. She probably figured he'd be gone the minute he got the chance, especially after what had just happened. "I'm fine," he repeated simply, even though it was becoming more clear what he had to do.
She seemed to think it over a few seconds before walking away. Strangely enough, it felt good to be alone with his thoughts. He sat down on her leather couch for a few minutes, bouncing his legs nervously as if he were somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. He saw his favorite picture of the two of them, hanging directly across from him, and the ease on his face reminded him how easy it once had been. Before they'd gotten pregnant, before he'd been deployed, he'd had real dreams. The younger versions of themselves were full of life and happiness and possibility; they didn't fear the future the way he did now.
December 2008
"Come on, we have to go," she smirked down at him, her hands pressed into the soft pillow on each side of his head. He blinked a few times, until his head cleared enough to remember why Elena was straddling him in nothing but grey Army t-shirt. It had been a hell of a night. Again. Which meant he was about to have a hell of a morning if he didn't get his ass moving.
"Actually, I'm kind of sick," he frowned, grabbing at his throat. "Come to think of it, you're looking kind of shitty yourself," he smirked. "Think it'd be obvious if we both called off sick today?"
"Yes. I do." She ran her hands over his buzzed hair playfully as her eyes widened with possibility. "We aren't doing that," she shook her head and some messy hair fell over her eyes. He pushed it away and sighed, grabbing for the half-empty water bottle on his nightstand and unscrewing the cap.
"Alright," he shrugged. "So I guess you better hit the showers, then," he wiggled his eyebrows and secured her in his arms. He dashed to the bathroom with her slung over his shoulder. He turned on the hot water and set her down in her t-shirt under the hot spray and held the curtain closed with a laugh, knowing she hated wet clothes.
He needed to hear her laugh. Over the past few weeks, they'd spent countless hours in bed, and she seemed happy then. It was all the other times that she seemed out of it, unsettled. When they bumped into each other in the chow halls, she was quiet and reserved, as if she didn't want to be seen with him. It wasn't true, of course, and anytime he brought it up she assured him of that.
"How's the water?" He called out, smiling brightly though she couldn't see it.
"You think you're funny," she said, turning off the water and ripping the other side of the curtain open with a smile. She peeled her top off and tossed it aside, pulling him into the small stall with her.
He'd learned to keep a duffel of clothes at her apartment after the first time he'd slept over, so he worked quickly to get dressed for the day. She emerged from the bathroom 20 minutes later, her hair soaking wet, tied up in a neat bun. At first glance, she looked professional and stern, but her eyes danced with playfulness as she pressed a kiss on his cheek.
"I made plans with Caroline tonight," she smiled. "You can come too, if you want, but keep in mind she doesn't really get us,"
Of course she didn't. Elena had never come right out and told her. When the three of them were together, there was a lot of eye shifting and confusion, but he got the idea that Caroline knew not to ask questions. She'd just been so affectionate around her family that he'd assumed it would be different when they got back. But it all came back to one thing; duty.
It had been just a few weeks since Thanksgiving and his realization that he loved her. He hadn't said it yet, and wasn't sure when he should, but they'd been spending a lot of their free time together, and he knew it was more than just about the sex. They were getting more serious faster than she probably wanted.
"Na, you enjoy your time," he smiled. "It's a good chance to get some actual sleep. It's been a few weeks." She nodded, smiling and motioned toward the door. "Hey, Elena..." She spun around at the sound of her name.
"You'd tell me if something was bothering you, right?" He asked seriously. "If you were unhappy or I was doing something wrong? I don't want to push you."
"Yeah, of course. But everything's fine," she bit her lip, a trait he'd learned was associated with nervousness. "You don't have to worry." But he'd felt her pull away from him when he complimented her lately, and worried she was getting in deeper than she'd wanted.
"Come here," he pulled her back, pressing a kiss to her mouth. He felt the tension ease out of her and smiled against her lips. "I know this is all still new, but I need you to promise me you'll always be honest with me. Even when you don't want to be."
"Okay," she said softly.
"I know it doesn't seem like a big deal, but it is to me, okay? Just promise me,"
"Damon," she smiled. "I said okay. Okay?" He waited still until she finally said, "I promise."
Present Day - December
He realized he'd been holding his breath when Elena came back into the room in a pair of leggings and a long teal shirt that hung well past her waist. Her hair was wet, twisted up in a messy bun, and it made him smile for the simple fact that she was make up free. It had been the way he'd first met her, and while she looked nice either way, it was good to know some things never change.
She poured them two ice cold glasses of water before plopping down next to him on the black couch. He drained his quickly as she talked about her day, and was thankful for the ice, which he chewed to keep himself from saying something stupid about Matt or life in general. He got the feeling she had a much more positive outlook on life these days.
Somewhere in the middle of her talking, he zoned out. He remembered the look on Matt's face when they'd run into each other earlier, then noticed he was nowhere on her walls. She'd made their breakup sound peaceful enough, but he'd felt the tension buzzing in the lobby of their clinic. Things were bad between them; even a guy who'd been out of the loop for awhile could see that.
She doesn't know what she wants. She thinks it's you...that you'll somehow make her happy because nothing else has. Don't you get it? She doesn't know how it ends...and she hates not knowing how it ends.
The longer he thought about it, the more it made sense. Terrible sense. And he couldn't stand that the voice of reason had come in the form of Matt.
He wasn't sure how long she'd been quiet, but he felt her shoulder nudge his and snapped back to reality. "You still with me?"
"Yeah, sorry," he cleared his throat, knowing he was about to walk into a firestorm. But he didn't have a choice...not after what Matt had said. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course you can," she frowned and he knew the tone of his voice had just given him away.
"Why are we doing this?" He set his cool, empty glass on a coaster on her coffee table and inched closer to the edge of the couch. Away from her.
"Dinner? Like I said, we're celebrating your new job," She said hopefully, but he shook his head and she seemed to understand. "I'm happy for you. I'm proud of you,"
"Thank you. But that's not what I mean," Matt's words ran through his mind. She doesn't know what she wants. We all know how it works with you...
"Doing what? Spending time together?"
"Any of it. All of it. Why do you just drop everything for me? Why do you make me dinner and meet me everyday for coffee and act like everything's fine?"
"Because it is fine, Damon. You're home. I'm happy. This is right. This is the way it's supposed to be."
Oh God no. Anything else would've been more settling than that. How had he not seen it before? Had she really waited, all this time, just because she thought the only way she could be happy was if he came back to her. The thought sickened him, knowing he'd both prevented her from happiness and somehow propelled her sickness.
"No, Elena. It isn't," he panicked. "There is no supposed to be. If there was, our lives would be a whole hell of a lot different. We're supposed to have a child. You were supposed to say yes when I asked you to marry me. I'm supposed to be dead," he emphasized, and as you can see, none of that happened, so living to fulfill those plans is kind of pointless, don't you think?"
"No," she said angrily, and he could hear her voice break. He'd done it again...brought up the baby just weeks after he'd promised himself he wouldn't ever mention it again. "I'm not living to fulfill anything. I'm doing this because I want to..."
"You want to what?"
"Help you, be there for you, I don't know..." her voice picked up an edge and he knew he was pushing her too far, but all he could think about was her father, about her greatest purpose, and her obsession with fixing people and situations that were broken.
She'd talked about not feeling like she'd done her job overseas, about wanting to be sent to Iraq where she could really feel like she'd made a difference. She craved fulfillment, even with him. She'd never seemed excited about the baby until it was too late, and he hadn't really thought about it then, but it made perfect sense now. She'd suffered loss upon loss in her lifetime; all she wanted was to believe she had a choice in life.
"I just know this is right," she added.
"Why?" She had no idea the ideas that were spinning in his mind, and he probably sounded more harsh than he'd meant to at first. But a the conversation progressed, he realized he was panicked. Maybe it shouldn't matter why she was wanted to be with him, but it did. It really did, because he'd love her more than anyone in the world and he couldn't handle being anything but the same to her.
"Damon..." she swallowed and he saw the darkness settling in. Matt was right about that, too. She puts on a tough front, but she's still fighting, everyday. "You know why."
"I'm afraid I do, and I want it to stop," he said seriously. "I don't want you changing your life for me, and I know you are. I know things are bad with Matt. I know you've been skipping out on work to go to things with me," he held up his hand when she opened her mouth to interrupt. "I know you, Elena. I may have been gone for a long time, but I still know how you are. You have to fix everything. You get it in your head that it's your job. But I'm not a project. I can assure you that all promises and plans are now null and void," he said firmly. He didn't need to elaborate much more than that; there were only a few promises made in their time together.
"I'm home. I came back to New York because in my head, I knew what I needed. I didn't think about what it would do to you...or maybe I thought when I got here you'd push me away and then I'd finally accept the way it was going to be. Maybe I needed closure, too."
"That's not the way it's going to be. Why are you doing this? You were fine just a few minutes ago. You've been fine for weeks. Now all of the sudden I'm doing something wrong because I want to spend time with you? All the sudden I have some ulterior motive for wanting to be with you? It doesn't make sense."
And of course it didn't, because neither of them were really that stable about their relationship or lack their of. How could they figure out who was right and who was wrong when there was a constant burning of sadness in both of their hearts? She just wore a more believable mask on the outside.
"We were fine, Damon."
"Maybe. But we've been getting closer lately. Things are getting real. It would be easier if you didn't touch me or hug me or pretend like this is going somewhere, because I'm just screwed up enough to start thinking that you might actually still want me. And I don't want to think like that. I can't think like that."
"I wish I'd never given you reason to doubt me," she managed. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I might still want you?"
"Because you don't even know me," he said roughly and her head fell into her hands as he continued. "You can't let me go because I'm still broken. You're unfulfilled, and there's nothing you hate more than not having that control. I won't let you base the rest of your life on me. Because you've lived a whole lot longer without me than you have with me."
"And I was unhappy. The whole time. I'm happy now," she insisted.
"Exactly," he said sadly. "You don't want me. You want the idea of me. You're saying you can't be happy without me...and I think maybe you need to be, because that's too much pressure on both of us," his heart ached. "We need to stop this. We need to eat a nice dinner and then we need to say goodbye. Nicely. We need to part as friends, for good, while we still have good memories and before this turns ugly, because if it goes much longer we're going to screw something up. Think of it this way: I'm just a guy you spent a couple of months with at the end of your your military career. It was good and then it ended. Because it did end, Elena. It did. If it hadn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. It isn't supposed to end differently, because it already has."
She stood, making her way into what he assumed was the bathroom without giving him a second glance. Her eyes were dry and big, and she looked as if she'd just been told the biggest secret in the world, as if she simply couldn't process it.
When she emerged a few minutes later, she stepped lightly into the kitchen to switch off the crockpot. The serving spoon slammed against the ceramic plates and she dished up their chicken, and all the while he wondered if he'd finally gotten through to her or if she was really just angry. He probably owed her an apology, although all he'd ever told her was the truth.
Unsure of what to do or say, he waited silently on the couch, watching her pull the rolls out of the oven that she'd thrown in a few minutes before, and grab a head of lettuce and some carrots out of the fridge, as if making a salad would clear her head. Her shoulder bounced as she chopped.
Maybe making a salad would just buy her some more time away from him. All the while he wondered why she was still feeding him dinner. If he was as big of an asshole as it seemed he was, he didn't deserve to be there, eating her food in a warm, cozy home.
Did he really think he could walk away from her forever? It hadn't worked before and it wouldn't work now, but he needed to give her the choice now that she'd gotten a chance to know him again. Things were getting too cozy; he needed a reality check. He needed a way to give her an out...because he knew she'd never try to take it on her own.
His head ached the more he thought about it. He could've probably handled it better.
"Dammit!" She yelled, slamming the knife down on the counter and bringing her finger up to her mouth. He stood immediately, all trace of anxiety gone, and rushed to her side. With the plate of steaming hot chicken next to them, he pulled her finger from her mouth and frowned.
"Well shit," he said, wide-eyed. "Let's get you in the bathroom and wash it off." Blood didn't scare him. He'd seen plenty in his day. But Elena's blood meant something different. The last time he'd seen her bleeding he'd lost a part of them, and he'd forever associate her pain with it. He couldn't save the baby, but he could fix her finger.
He turned on the faucet and slid her finger under the water as he opened the trifold mirrored doors of her medicine cabinet above them. Thoughtlessly, he rummaged through, knocking over bottles as he searched for rubbing alcohol or antibiotic ointment or gauze until he found what he needed. Methodically, the water was off and her wound was cleaned, wrapped and determined to not need stitches. He wasn't a doctor, but he knew a thing or two about flesh wounds.
As he placed the box of gauze back up in the cabinet, her bottles of prescribed medication fell into the sink. He stared at them for a moment, reading the name of the drugs just below the bolded ELENA GILBERT, before grabbing them out of the basin.
He'd known about the anxiety medication. She hadn't told him about the anti-depressants. The bottle was full and he quickly scanned the date it was filled. Three months ago. It didn't look like she'd taken a single one. He remembered her saying Matt hated her medicine because he'd thought it made her weak. As he looked up at her, he realized she was crying.
The past twenty minutes were a blur, but as he thought them through, he realized she wasn't crying about her finger. She swiped at his hand, grabbing for the medicine and shoving it into the cabinet before slamming it closed. Though her tears had fallen silently, he heard her gasp for air as if she couldn't hold it in anymore. Her hands shook as they moved to tuck some damp, loose strands of hair behind her ears, but they just fell forward back into her eyes. Her chest heaved up and down and he knew she was probably seeing stars with all the hyperventilating she was doing.
She swiped at his hand, grabbing the bottles and shoving them forcefully back in the cabinet. She went to look at herself in the mirror, but instead ended up seeing him watching her. It was never good when both of them felt powerless, so he took the first step.
His fingers slid up to move the hair again for her, ensuring it stayed put this time. Afterward, he rested his hands on her shoulders and his chin on the top of her head, all the while staring her right in the eyes in the mirror. She was strong, but not that strong, and he'd pushed her too far. He pulled his eyes away from the mirror and reopened the cabinet, handing her the bottles of pills.
"I'm sorry I upset you," he said softly. "But you need to take your medication, Lena. You haven't been taking these, have you?"
"No," she shook her head and put the bottle down on the sink. "I don't need it."
He frowned. Just weeks ago, when he'd come home, she'd been fine taking her medicine. She'd taken it right in front of him. It was no secret and nothing to be ashamed about. Sometimes she was scared...sometimes the shit running through her head was just too heavy to sort out on her own. He accepted that and thought she did, too.
"My doctor prescribed them to me even thought I told him I was fine. I didn't want them. I got them filled just to have them. To look at them and tell myself I didn't need them."
"Why?"
"Because I need to be happy now. I don't need it anymore," it came out like a sob. "You're home. I have everything I wanted. Life's a dream, right? So why the fuck do I still feel like this?"
He took a sharp breath just as her head crashed into his chest, soaking his grey shirt with tears. Her fists collided into his shoulders again and again, as she hammered out her anger and fear and anxiety as she hadn't been able to while he was gone.
"What makes you sad?"
"I don't even know anymore. It started when I lost the baby. It tripled when you left for Iraq," she said honestly, and he knew she was doing her best to fulfill the promise she'd made him so long ago, even though he'd told her she no longer had to. "I was back and forth while you were at war, but I never fell completely over the edge because I wanted to believe you'd come back. And I was a mess because I was terrified that my life wasn't going to turn out the way I thought it was supposed to. You're right; i'm a control freak, because things work out the way I need them to when I'm the one in charge. So when you sent me away I finally lost it. I was pissed, but I grieved for you as if you'd died, because the man I loved would've never done that to me. That's now how it was supposed to end and I couldn't get past that."
Ugh.
"I still see my therapist and my doctor, mostly because I'm afraid if I don't I'll somehow regress. But like I said. I have everything I want now. I shouldn't need it anymore. I shouldn't be afraid and I shouldn't be sad. Nothing traumatic happened to me. I just loved too hard and too much, which was exactly what I was afraid of when we first started seeing each other."
He wasn't sure what to say, because in a way she'd just said he was the reason she'd been hurting for years. Why the hell would she even want to deal with him anymore?
"I'm so sick of people telling me what I need to do with my life. Focus on work. Find someone to love. Be myself. Love myself first. Then you come home and you're right; everything changes. I don't have to pretend I'm happy with the way life is going, and nobody has to pretend that you don't exist or that you never did. Mom and Jeremy get it. You're home. You're safe. I got what I wanted, so why can't I just be happy without the pills? I have nothing to be sad about...but I am... and I'm just so sick of it."
Her words soaked into him slowly and his heart began to race. "Me too. I know I should be better by now, but I'm just not. I want to be happy again."
In a way, he was admitting things without the I still love you. And to think, all this because she'd decided on an impulse salad.
"If I want to fucking spend time with you, I will, okay?" She tightened her fists on his shirt. "Not because I'm a control freak and not because I need to fix you. You're wrong, okay?"
"Okay," he said, although the tone of voice she used was full of control. He'd never heard her plead with him this way. "But I need you to do something...not for me...for you. You need to take care of yourself, Elena. You need to take your medication. Please."
"I haven't even started it. No one else knows. You can't tell them. They'd think I'm crazy. And I'm not. I don't always need to be right."
"I know," he said quickly. "And I know I have no right to preach it to you when I'm not on any myself. But that's me and I can handle it. It's you I'm worried about. Take it. Please,"
He felt her nod against his chest and pressed his hands against her back, wanting to comfort her. He listened to his own advice and stopped over-thinking as one hand came up to cradle the back of her neck so he could press a kiss to her forehead. At first it only made her cry harder, and her hands fisted his shirt. He closed his eyes and kissed it again. And again. And this time on her right cheek, and then her left, the salt of her tears soaking into his dry lips, filling a void in him he hadn't really known was there. He continued the soft kisses until her sobbing stopped and he felt her relax and move closer to him, pressing her forehead against his warm lips again before looking up at him.
"I'm sorry. I'm not normally like this," she sad sadly. "I just really don't want to say goodbye to you," she whispered, her voice cracking. His heart leapt in his chest, relieved. "Not again. Please." When he didn't answer, she just pushed harder. "I mean it, Damon. Promise you won't give up. I know I'm scary right now, but I won't always be this way."
"You're not scary," he rested his cheek on the top of her head.
As she cried the words before him, he realized things were messier than they had been earlier. He hadn't enabled her; he was her disease. The confident woman who'd lingered at his shoulders was gone, replaced with this desperate Elena. He told himself she'd just hit a rough patch, that he'd pushed her too far. He couldn't stand to see her this way, a ball of emotions just over him. Now their dinner was cold, Elena's blood still smeared on the cutting board and he'd wondered what would've happened if he'd canceled. Deep down he knew she'd have held it inside until it exploded, because that's what she did.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly.
He wanted to believe she was okay giving up the control and letting things be. He wanted to believe that she was right...that the doctors and therapists had all been wrong about her needing to be on medication, but a piece of him shattered as she raised herself up on her tiptoes so she could whisper in his ear.
"Good, because this isn't the way it's supposed to end,"
He closed his eyes and hugged her again as it dawned on him just how similar they really were.
A/N: I really wanted to focus on Elena this chapter because we know she had a rough time all those years and we know she has anxiety, but we haven't seen a real breakdown until now. And I was sad, really, as I wrote his doubts in her. It may seem strange to some to think he's taking Matt's word for it when he's never liked the guy, but it's important to remember how easily Damon doubts things these days. He's only ever loved her. He's only ever really believed in her, and to find out it might all just be due to her need to control the way things end was really startling. We see her so desperate to prove she doesn't need control, but at the same time, she's still begging him until he finally agrees.
Thanks for reading.