Arms of the Ocean

by insightfuldamon

Elena Gilbert is stuck. She's been running her family's restaurant, The Lunch Box, in Newport Beach, California, since she was a teenager, and has done so while enduring immense personal loss. One day, while running, a mysterious stranger starts running with her, just as a ghost from her past reenters her life; both men forever changing her life. (Delena/Human AU)

10. Chapter 10: A Thousand Miles

Author's Note: Thank you so much for all of the support. I truly love reading everyone's thoughts on the story. It makes my day to see notifications in my email that people are actually reading this story and surprisingly liking it. In this chapter, we get a little more background on both Damon and Elena. We also see how scrappy and smart Elena is, and how like on the show, she uses the fact that people think she's weak to her advantage. I have the whole story (it's a long one) outlined, and I've gotten to a point where a fair amount of research is required, which is why it took me a little longer to post this chapter. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter of Arms of the Ocean.

Chapter 10: A Thousand Miles Out to the Sea Bed

It's odd being in Newport on Christmas. The weather is sunny and a perfect seventy degrees. The grass seems unnaturally green, the air smells like eucalyptus and blue irises. Boats decorated like the front yard of a very exuberant neighbor during the holidays, dance across the water at night for the Christmas Boat Parade, marking the beginning of the holiday season. Palm trees are strung with lights, and frozen hot chocolate concoctions are sold at malls during holiday shopping.

"Elena," Aunt Jenna croaks, waking up. I leap off of my perch on the bench near the window that overlooks Newport to give her water. I take the cup from the night stand and sitting on her hospital bed, try to pour some in her mouth. "You shouldn't be here," she says. "You're supposed to be skiing with John in Tahoe."

"I'm not leaving you," I say, putting the cup back down and curling up next to her. She looks so frail and about twenty years older. Her skin is a pasty and has a greyish tinge to it. She wears a paisley blue scarf over her head and her skin is cold.

"It's depressing being in a hospital on Christmas," she comments.

"It's just a day," I tell her. "When you're out of here, we can throw a cheesy as hell ugly Christmas sweater party, drink eggnog and decorate a tree in obnoxious colors that my mom would've hated."

Jenna tries to smile, but fails. The constant rounds of chemo, the double mastectomy, losing all of her hair, the dozens of medications she has to take, is really overwhelming her and I fear her giving up, which is what I thought when she told me to spend Christmas with John and Jeremy. "What do you want to do today?" I ask. "I could see if I can take you for a walk. Get you outside for some fresh air."

Jenna shakes her head. "Let's watch a movie."

I brighten. There's a DVD player in her room, and I can check out movies from the front desk. "What movie do you want to watch?" I ask.

Jenna gives me a guilty look, which means only one thing. "You want to watch Crazy, Stupid Love again, don't you?"

Jenna lets out a guttural cough that sounds painful. "Ryan Gosling makes me happy," she says hoarsely.

"Ryan Gosling makes everyone happy," I remark. "I'll go to the front desk and see if they have it."

I get off the bed and race to the reception desk. A nurse in pink scrubs with auburn hair tied in a bun greets me with a kind smile. "I'm looking for a movie to check out to room 4237. Do you have Crazy, Stupid Love?"

The nurse pulls out a binder, and flips through it. "I'm sorry, we don't have that one," she hands me the binder. "Why don't you look through here and see if there's anything you want to watch?"

I sigh. Jenna hasn't made a request for anything since she was admitted to the hospital two weeks ago, and I wasn't going to be able to give her the one thing she asked for. I can't use my computer because the wireless signal is extremely weak on this floor, and it's Christmas, meaning there's no way I'd be able to find it nearby.

I move to the other side of the station to flip through the binder, while the nurse helps other people. Seeing nothing that Jenna would like, I hand it back to her and walk back to the room.

Nurse Kelly is checking her vitals when I get back to the room. Jenna looks at me hopefully, but I just shake my head. "Nurse Kelly, would it be okay if we took a walk around the hospital."

"Jenna can't walk, but I don't see why she can't be pushed around in a wheelchair. Take her to the courtyard. Sun will do you some good, Jenna," she says to us.

Jenna reluctantly agrees, and after some effort, Nurse Kelly and I get her in a wheelchair. It's nice getting her out of her room and wheeling her around Hoag hospital. I talk her ear off about nothing while we sit in the courtyard and people watch. Jenna reminisces, which I hate because her tone is sad and one of someone who's giving up, like she'll never put up Christmas stockings or build a gingerbread house again.

Eventually, she asks to go back to her room and I reluctantly take her. When we reach her room, there's a DVD on the nightstand with a handwritten note on a sticky with the hospital insignia on it. It reads Merry Christmas in all caps. Jenna and I spend the rest of the day watching Crazy, Stupid Love over and over again, and I don't mind, because Ryan Gosling truly does make her smile.

XXXXXX

Nothing went according to plan. When Mr. WWF showed me the drugs, I told myself that there's no way I could take the drugs across the border without getting caught. So, I decided to play along and comply, until I had the opportunity to get one of them alone and use the gun in my ankle holster to shoot him, then take out the other one. This all played out in my head perfectly; a very Die Hard scenario where Damon and I escape amidst a cloud of smoke.

The only opening I could think of where I could pull off the John McClane act, was when I had to transport both of the large coolers to the Porsche. Surely one of the apes would offer to help. They didn't.

"I'm going to need someone to help me get this into my car," I demand. They exchange looks and laugh. Mr. WWF walks over to one of the coolers, pulls out a handle and drags it on the floor. It has wheels. Fuck.

"Take it by yourself, little girl," Mr. WWF's sidekick says. Apparently, they could tell I was going to try something, and found my pathetic situation humorous.

My next plan is to delay them as much as possible, and pray that Damon comes to. I make such a big deal about having to take both coolers, that I tell them I'll have to take them to the car one at a time. They are not having it.

I try to buy time by flattering them. "You seem like smart men," I lie. "Don't you think your boss will be upset when he finds out someone outside your fine organization is involved?"

The sidekick smirks. "As long as the product is delivered on time, he won't care."

Damn. "Well, you obviously have over thirty grande worth of product you want me to deliver. Don't you think it's risky sending that much inventory with me?"

The big one glares at me. "Ricardo only sells the most pure product," he says in surprisingly good English. "You're carrying just over a half a million dollars worth of product, and I don't trust you," he says. "But I trust that you don't want your boyfriend dead."

Holy shit. Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. $500,000 is just going to hang out in the back of the Porsche while I drive across the border. And did he just call Damon my boyfriend? Holy fucking shit. I can't help it but I shake my head. There's no way I can do this.

"You have five hours to get to Newport," he spits. He walks over to me, still sitting on the floor, and takes out a knife. He takes time showing me the blade and the wooden handle with a detailed carved crucifix. I guess something to pray to before he guts you.

"Pretty knife," I say, quavering.

He smirks. "Say another word, and when you return, your boyfriend will be alive but not whole."

I look over at Damon, who's still completely knocked out and nod. The man moves the blade dangerously close to my arm as he cuts me loose. He doesn't allow me time to rub my wrists where my bindings were, instead he continues to speak very closely to my face, making sure I understand every word he utters.

"No phone calls. No telling any friends. No police. No sampling the product. No stopping unless you need to get gas. You are to drive there, drop off the product, and pick up payment, ALONE. Call us when you've made the drop and we won't kill your boyfriend. If we find out you told anyone, we kill him and keep you." He punctuates ever sentence, making his instructions clear; I don't do what he says, Damon and I are both dead or worse, Damon's dead and I'm "kept"; a fate I'm sure is worse than death, which I think is the point.

I nod as he moves away from me, slowly grazing the wrong end of the blade against my cheek. I get up off of the floor and crawl to Damon.

"What are you doing?" the side kick spits.

I ignore him, looking at Damon. They must've hit him from behind, because his face is still perfect, slightly tan from running outside, his lips velvet pink, his long eyelashes and the quirk of his brow. I draw his face with my finger, memorizing it so I'm motivated to to what I have to do. I lay a soft kiss on his lips and feel a faint exhalation on my lips. "Preparati," I whisper so lightly, it sounds like the feather of a breath, as I dig into his pockets for the car keys. When I find them, I show the keys to the men, in answer to their question.

I'm somehow able to take the coolers from the boat to the car. They gave me the phone and turned on a GPS app so they can track me. I guess it's what they used when Evan made drops. When I sit in the front seat, it's surreal to look to my left and not see Damon passed out or giving me orders with his chair in a close to vertical position.

I take my phone out of the charger and set the GPS directions for Newport. I've missed several calls and don't respond to texts messages from Caroline about the delivery of my dress for Friday. If I make it to Friday alive, it'll be a miracle. Stealing Tyler's phone will be cake compared to this.

Before I pull out, I scan the map, looking for a clear spot to pull over that won't look like I've stopped on the phone they gave me, which is currently in the cup holder. I wouldn't put it past them to have turned on some audio recording device, so the mouthpiece is face down. I find the spot fifteen minutes from where I am, in the direction Damon and I came from when we did target practice, and pull out of the parking lot.

After driving east, I pull over near the same abandoned warehouses. I casually circle the lot before I park the car, making sure I'm the only one there. I get out of the car, and open the trunk. I take out both coolers, lying them on the ground, and like Damon instructed just a couple hours ago, I punch in 122513 and open the secret compartment. It's as deep as I remembered, and I think this plan may actually work.

I open the coolers, take out both shelves of fish, and stuff Damon's 007 secret compartment with half a million dollars worth of cocaine. I have to readjust some of his weaponry, but it works and I can close it. I cover the compartment with the coolers filled with God awful smelly fish, and open the suitcase Damon packed me.

My suspicion that he packed me something a little revealing was correct. I take off the shirt that I've been wearing all day, and put on a thin strapped black camisole that shows ample cleavage. If Damon and I survive this with all of our limbs and brain function, I'm going to call him out for forcing me to wear a tank top running, but packing me something that showed off my tits. Maybe he thought he'd be the only one to view them, something I can't think about with him knocked out and lying on a boat.

I hop back in the car and continue my drive to Newport, and it doesn't take me long to reach the border. The line to get into the United States is incredibly long. Merchants in push carts walk between rows of cars selling water and sliced fruit or cucumbers. It's nothing like it was going into Mexico, which only adds to my anxiety, not to mention, I'm on a deadline. The NEXUS line isn't nearly as bad as the other lanes, but the wait feels like an eternity as I look at the clock, knowing I have just three and a half hours to get to Newport, and I'll be hitting rush hour traffic.

I'm next in line at the San Ysidro border crossing. The men approach my car, and I roll down my window so I can hand them the NEXUS card and my fake passport. An agent, wearing Oakley sunglasses and an army green uniform with a bullet proof vest approaches the car.

"Good afternoon, miss," he says. "I just need to ask you a few questions."

He scans my passport and smirks. "Leia Walker, huh? Kids must've bugged you about that in school."

I nervously laugh. Shit, my agent is a dork. I subtly pull down my tank top so that the more of my cleavage is showing. "Yeah, you wouldn't believe how many lightsaber jokes there are."

He looks at the NEXUS card, and his brow furrows. "This was purchased by Dan Solo?"

God, if we survive this, I'm going to kill Damon. I try to channel Caroline and throw a flirty giggle at the officer, instead, I sound like I have something stuck in my throat. "My boyfriend. We met at a Halloween party, if you can believe it, dressed as the characters we were taunted for. He's still deep sea fishing on a boat in Ensenada, I have to come back for him later," I ramble. I really need to shut up.

One of the officers who was walking around the car, walks up to the dork that's now staring at my cleavage, and not listening to anything I said, thank god. He whispers something to him, and they both turn their attention to me.

"Ma'am, we're going to need you to pull over to one of the spaces over here," he says, pointing to parking spaces in front of a building.

"Why?" I blurt out, my anxiety completely apparent.

He takes off his sunglasses and analyzes me. "We need to inspect your vehicle."

I nod and pull the car over to a parking space. That's when I see the dogs. Three snarling German shepherds leashed, and another officer holding them back. I get out of the car, and am instructed to open up all of the doors. The officers pull out the coolers and open them up. They immediately back away once they catch a whiff of the fish. I stand by, watching everything unfold while praying to every God imaginable.

An officer with short blonde hair and pale skin approaches me. "Why would anyone want to transport rotting fish?"

I decide to play dumb, and shrug while twisting my ponytail with my finger. "I don't know. My boyfriend caught it."

"Your boyfriend who is not with you?" he spits.

I'm so anxious and overwhelmed by the situation; watching dogs sniff every orifice of the car, hanging out a little too long right where the drugs are, that I start to cry. The tears are very real, drawn from shear fear that I'll be living a very real version of Orange is the New Black, but also come out of a desire to look more innocent than I am.

"Really. I don't understand why you're doing this," I sob. "My boyfriend just wanted to go on his boat and scatter his brother's ashes. He wanted me to drop the fish off so he could be alone," tears are rolling down my face. "Why doesn't he want me with him?" I ask the officer. "Am I not good enough to comfort him? Are we going to break up?" I search the officer's eyes, and I may be going to hell for the lie I told, but he has a look of sympathy on his face.

He pats me on the shoulder uncomfortably. "We'll have you on your way shortly."

He joins the other officers, one of whom has cut open one of the fish, inspecting it. "These are clean," he states. "Rotting, but clean."

The dogs are still focused on the trunk, but the officer holding them thinks nothing of it, because he pulls them back. They throw out the cut open fish and put the coolers back in my trunk. They thank me for being patient and I'm sent on my way.

I did it. I was able to cross the border with drugs. It's euphoric, this feeling of barely scraping by. I imagine it's the same feeling you get when you skydive and don't die after the drop. I feel like I could do anything, and that Die Hard scenario I thought of earlier, actually seems possible, until I see what time it is. Crossing the border took longer than I thought, and I have just two and a half hours to get to Newport. Meaning, I have to speed and make a deal with God that I'll go to church if there's no traffic, which would be an actual miracle considering it's 4:30.

It's one of those times where you can't listen to music when you drive, because there's so much going on in your head. It's taking all of my effort to focus on the road, and the fact that I need to find a large touristy gas station so I can fill up the car and figure out some sort of disguise so I don't get caught as Elena Gilbert: Drug Mule. Especially, if Richard Lockwood is there, and considering it's Pete's boat, there's a good chance he'll see me. Pete would recognize me in a heartbeat. The guy's seen me in diapers.

Traffic is horrible. There's an accident that they're trying to move out of the way, and I'm starving. We threw out the Starbucks goodies when we stopped on the way to Mexico, so while I'm stuck in traffic, I search Damon's glove compartment for a protein bar or something edible. My stomach is in nervous knots, the car smells like a sewer, and I still manage to be hungry. I could really go for gummy bears right now.

While searching through the compartment, I see a thick rectangular card with velcro attached. I thank God. I really really thank God, because it's a FasTrak pass, meaning I can go into a faster lane, limited to people who have the pass. Damon either doesn't drive this car that much and forgot he had it, or he figured we wouldn't hit traffic, or more likely, he thought this was going to be a very different trip and was hoping to draw it out a little longer by being stuck in traffic, or get lost trying to find a short cut. I honestly wouldn't put it past him.

I attach the FasTrak and with some difficulty because traffic is so heavy, change lanes. It's like being in the first class of freeways. The lanes are a little bigger, there's more room, and I comfortably pass the parking lot that is California traffic. I drive at normal speed, and stop at a truck stop outside of San Clemente. I have exactly ten minutes to find a hat or wig or bandanna or something, and fill up the car.

After filling up the car, I go into the gas station and purchase the first items I find, gummy bears, navy blue coveralls, glasses, and a black and white trucking hat that has the grizzly bear on the California flag, with the words California Love underneath. I go into the bathroom to change, taking off my jeans, I pull up the coveralls over my gun holster. I tuck my hair in the hat, and put on the glasses.

I look at myself in the bathroom mirror, and I look batshit crazy in the coveralls with reading glasses you could only buy at a truck stop and a trucker hat. If you caught a glimpse of me, you wouldn't recognize me right away, and if you didn't know me well, I'd look like a different person, which is what I was going for.

I have a feeling those docks are closely monitored and if Richard finds out that Damon and I were in Ensenada and know about the operation he has going on, I'm screwed. He already knows I was at the docks last night, and until I have solid proof that links Richard to his activities in Mexico, I need him to think I know nothing.

When I get back to the car, I put my jeans back in my bag and start the car. The drive into Newport doesn't take long, considering I can take the private toll roads. I pull into an empty development under construction, and after making sure everyone has gone home, I transfer the drugs back into the coolers. Before covering them with fish, I look at the piles of premium coke. If I could skim off the top, I could use it later on.

I dig into my makeup bag for a container to put it in. My Laura Mercier luminous powder would work. I empty the white makeup powder into the bushes and using one of Damon's knives from his secret weapon stash and slice open a seem in the packaging and dump close to fourteen grams into the makeup container. I can't imagine Evan transporting this much product, without taking a little off the top.

I close the seem with packing tape I expertly pealed off of another kilo of coke, and put it back. Does anything look suspicious? No. Am I dead if they weigh it? Possibly. I put the makeup container back in my bag, close the trunk and get back into the car, making my way to the docks.

I park the Porsche in a spot that allows me for easy departure. I'm supposed to transport the product to Pacific Pete 3, and hopefully I'll just have to drop off and then I can leave. Pulling my cap low and making sure my black rimmed glasses are securely on, I completely zip up the large coveralls and pull the two coolers to the boat.

The men from last night give me a suspicious once over and greet me. The one that roughed up Pete greets me. "You have the delivery? You're late."

"It's 7:03!" I yell.

The other one laughs. "Jorge, stop messing with our new courier."

Oh, hell no. I'm not their new anything. "I'm just filling in until you find Evan's replacement."

This causes more laughter, and I realize that he's absolutely right. I return successfully, there's no way they'll let me go. I essentially passed some sick test where I was able to cross the border with drugs and wasn't caught. They'll likely make me do it again. I just have to take this one step at a time, and focus on getting back to Damon.

They take the coolers and motion for me to follow them. I look both ways and don't see Richard or Pete. We move into a cabin similar to the one Evan was holed up in, except instead of a television and an Xbox, there's a table with scales and packaging so they can sell the drugs in smaller quantities. They open the cooler and aren't at all put off my the waft of smelly fish, instead, they casually place the compartments on the floor and remove the packs of cocaine.

My hand nervously plays with the zipper on my coveralls. It was stupid to take some of the drugs, and I'm having serious regrets. "Did you have trouble crossing the border?" One of them asks, while weighing each kilo.

"Yes," I reply. "They made me pull over, but the fish smell threw them off."

They laugh, like this is something they do every day. No big deal, just another evening as a member of huge crime organization. I'm tempted to ask about Richard, but have to do so so I don't draw suspicion. I'm supposed to be Leia right now, I remind myself.

"So," I hesitate. "Your boss wasn't upset Evan is dead?"

They continue to weigh the kilos, and I hold my breath as they get closer and closer to the one I took from. "Our boss doesn't care about him. As long as the product is delivered on time," Jorge says, echoing something similar to what the other goons said in Mexico.

This seems odd to me. If Tyler was friends with Evan, and Evan was being kept alive for a reason, it seems like Richard would be upset. Maybe they're lying and he doesn't know, or maybe Richard really doesn't care.

"He knows we have the situation under control," the other one says.

They don't, because there's no way I'm doing that drive again. "I have the return coolers," someone says from behind me.

I turn around to see a short man, with a black eye so enormous, that it's almost swollen shut. I'm surprised he can walk on board without running into walls. Pete. We make eye contact and there's a look of alarm and recognition. Shit.

"Take the coolers to Leia's car," orders Jorge.

Pete hesitates. "Where's Evan?"

Jorge gets up and walks over to Pete, getting close to his face. "What did we say about asking too many questions, Pacific Pete?"

Pete shrinks back, clearly afraid of another blow to the face. "Not to ask any," he replies, trembling.

For whatever reason, I feel the need to intervene. "Stop. I'll take him."

I dangle my keys, walk over to Pete and grab a cooler, hoping my blunt initiative distracted them. "You don't know where to deliver the coolers," Jorge says.

"Back to the boat in Ensenada?" My voice squeaks.

"No," he laughs. "We'll text it to the phone Hey-Suess gave you. They're expecting you at one in the morning."

"Hey Seuss?" I ask slowly. "Like Dr. Seuss?"

Jorge doubles over laughing. Between wheezes, he spells out the name for me. "J-E-S-U-S, guera."

My idiocy seems to have distracted them effectively, because they're no longer weighing kilos, instead they're laughing and ready to send me on my way. And the big guy in Mexico's name is Jesus? Possibly explains the obsession with crucifixes, but looking at Jorge's arm, who has the same intricate thorny rose entwined crucifix tattoo, seems to be a running theme.

I leave them, laughing while Pete and I walk out to the Porsche, carrying the coolers. When we are far enough away where I don't think anyone will here is, I ask Pete what I've been dying to ask him since I found out he lied about the bounced checks and sold me tainted fish. "Why did you do it, Pete? You've been providing the restaurant with fresh fish for close to 25 years," I pause to open up the trunk.

Pete places the coolers in the trunk, and looks upset. I've never seen him like this. "Elena," he says. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't say anymore, which is frustrating as hell. "I deserve an explanation," I demand.

Pete places the other cooler in the car. "I could ask you the same question, Elena. What would your mother think if she knew you were transporting drugs?"

Oh, he has some nerve. "You are not allowed to bring up my mother. Not after what you did to the restaurant," I pause. "And do you think this is by choice?" I say, motioning to my outfit.

I'm suddenly worried. Pete is obviously more loyal to Richard than to me. What if he tells him I was here? Pete closes the door to the trunk. "Are you going to tell Richard I was here?" I'd like a heads up if I'm going to have to move to Mexico and live as Leia Walker for the rest of my life.

Pete looks offended. "No, Elena. I wouldn't do that to you."

"But you'd lie to me about a bounced check and sell me bad fish?"

"I had no choice, either," he says. "You need to leave. Sell Richard your restaurant and leave. It's only going to get worse."

"What's going on Pete? What does Richard have on you?"

"Listen to me very carefully, Elena," Pete looks around the deserted lot, and drops his voice so I can barely hear it. "Richard Lockwood owns Newport, and people who don't listen to him or don't agree to his changes, are a threat."

With that, Pete leaves. I climb back into the car and drive back to the empty lot where I put the drugs back into the cooler, so I can do the same thing, in case the coolers get searched again.

It's dark out, and because I don't want to draw attention to myself, I use the light on my phone to see. When I open up the trunk and take out the coolers, I notice how much heavier they are than the ones I had. I open the coolers, and notice that this time, they use clean fish, except unlike the last batch, there's a clean layer of ice. I lift up the two heavy layers of salmon, and let out a gasp. There's dozens of small wooden crucifixes.

I pick one up to examine it. It has the same carved markings of Jorge's and Jesus's tattoos. It feels heavier than it should be, so I run my finger along the outside of it, and feel a clean ridge at the top. I twist it, and to my surprise, it opens.

Looking inside, I see gold pebbles. I pour some into my hand and feel them between my fingers. None of this makes sense. Why would Richard exchange gold for drugs? Or is he moving it? I pour the contents of the crucifix back in, and proceed to open another one. This one is full of diamonds.

He must have twenty four wooden crosses full of gold and diamonds. He steals from my small restaurant, and meanwhile he's dealing with thousands, probably millions of dollars. He doesn't get to get away with this.

It's a combination of feeling tired, stressed because Damon is hurt somewhere, and a little cocky because I got away with it when I did it earlier, but I take the black bottle of Kate Somerville face mist from my makeup bag, and empty it into the dirt. I take a little from each of the crosses and pour the gold and diamonds into the empty bottle of face mist, so it looks like they all weigh the same. I then close everything up tightly, and place all the crucifixes into Damon's secret compartment. I put the bottle of gold and diamonds into my makeup bag.

When I get back into the car, I use the phone they gave me to call them. They texted me on the way here the address to the docks in Newport, so I call that number. They sent me two pictures of Damon, still unconscious on the floor of the boat, but judging by the sun shining through the window in the background, they just took those pictures the moment I left. Jorge answers.

"You delivered the product," he states.

"Yes, now let me talk to my boyfriend," I say, my voice cracking at the word boyfriend. It feels weird to refer to Damon as my boyfriend, when I have no clue what we are, except right now we're partners in crime.

"What's your boyfriend's name?" he asks.

Shit. If Damon said his name, either to flash his influence or on accident because he just came to, I'm screwed. If he said Dan Solo, Jesus might be a huge nerd and put two and two together. I decide to risk it.

"Dan Solo," I reply casually. "Why?"

He laughs and there's a brief pause. "Elena," Damon groans.

I panic. He doesn't sound good. His voice is cracked and rough. "Damon, are you okay?"

"Run, Elena. Don't come…."

The conversation is abruptly interrupted. I hear loud thumps in the background and shouting. "What's going on?" I yell into the receiver. "Talk to me, Damon."

"You'd better get back here," Jesus says. "I don't think Danny is going to last long."

"Don't you dare hurt him," I shout, anger surging through me. "I did what you asked. Your product was delivered, and now I have something to return. If I think for a second that you hurt Dan, I will fucking take your payment and run."

"Get back here," he repeats, and hangs up. Oh, he is messing with the wrong person.

The place I'm supposed to deliver the items is a warehouse outside of Ensenada. After the conversation I had, I devise a plan. I find myself wired and anxious to get this whole thing over with. My ass hurts from sitting in a car for over ten hours, and my head hurts from trying to run through every scenario I may encounter. Considering the sun has long gone down, the drive to the Mexican border for the third time that day isn't bad. The border officer doesn't even look at my passport, instead he flags me though, which is surprising considering it's my third time passing through the border.

I drive until I hit the spot where Damon and I had target practice. I'm going to have to do what I need to do in less than ten minutes, or it's going to look suspicious since they're tracking my GPS. I empty my duffel in the back of the car. Damon is going to go into a blind rage when he sees the mess I've created in the back of his Porsche.

I take out half the crucifixes and put them in the duffel bag, and the other half I divide equally in each cooler. I move the bag to the side of one of the warehouses and cover it with old ply wood. I pin the exact location with the phone Jesus gave me, take off my coveralls and put my jeans back on, making sure that the gun is tight against my leg and covered. I find another ankle holster in Damon's 007 compartment and strap it onto my other leg, along with one of his knives.

Once I'm back in the car, I zoom out of the lot and drive to where Damon is. Once I've parked, I look in Damon's luggage and find what I was looking for, Damon's light jacket, similar to the one he had me put on when he picked me up walking home from Crystal Cove. It smells like dune grass near the ocean. Damon. I inhale deeply before I put on the jacket and slip the phone in it.

Carrying the coolers, I approach the warehouse. I hear the sound of air breaking and feel a whack, hear a pop, and fall to the ground as everything goes.

XXXXXX

I hear my name being shouted over and over, except it's not my name, and someone is trying to jostle me awake. "Leia! Leia!"

My eyes open and I am in mind numbing pain. I reach up and place my hand on my head and look around once my vision is focused. We're in a room with aluminum siding. It's completely empty, except Damon is holding me, my head resting in his lap. It's comfortable, and I really just want to go back to sleep instead of deal with any more life threatening drama, then I remember the money that's still at the abandoned warehouses and how nothing went according to plan.

I was supposed to go in and negotiate, instead they got the jump on me and dragged me in here. I shift my legs. Yup, the idiots didn't search me, so I still have the guns. I'm about to tell Damon, when he interrupts me.

"Elena," Damon whispers. He's using my real name, this is serious. "I need to tell you something."

I squint at him. This is a first, Damon has never offered up information. "Go on," I say, sitting up.

His hair is a tousled mess, and his still perfect face looks tortured, and his usually sky blue eyes are grey and hooded. He seems tired and by the way he positions himself, they kicked him in the ribs. The sleeve of his henley is ripped and there's blood on it.

"I came to Newport because I wanted to buy The Lunch Box," he says.

Well fuck, I knew there was a reason. I knew it. I feel so vindicated in my anger that I jump from my spot and punch him hard in the arm where the sleeve is ripped. He shrinks back. " . .Cunt-breathing. Liar," I yell, punctuating every word with a hard thwack in the arm.

He just sits there and takes it, until I get it out of my system and sit back. "Why?" is all I ask.

Damon waits. "Speak, dammit!" I yell, getting back up to hit him.

He puts his hand out to stop me, so he can speak. "I've always been interested in buying The Lunch Box, it's sitting on prime real estate and I heard through several resources that it was going to be up for sale, so I thought I'd come down and check it out."

The Box's land can't be worth that much. I know that the average price of a home in my area is over 2.5 million, and I technically own The Box's land because my great great grandmother bought it when she started the restaurant, but it's in the middle of the PCH and no one has ever shown interest in it until recently. "Is that why you started following me?"

Voices outside of the room interrupt us. I hear shouting in Spanish, and they hover behind the door. I push his revelation aside and sit up. I grab a gun out the ankle holster and toss it to Damon. He catches it, wide eyed, mainly, I suppose, because I threw a gun at him and I don't think you're supposed to do that. "We aren't done with this conversation," I hiss.

Damon checks the magazine and puts the gun in the back of his pants. I decide to leave my gun in my ankle holster because I'm going to have to do a lot of talking and I don't want to use it unless I have to. It would be stupid if we started popping off shots right now, when I have no fucking clue what kind of place we're in, and Damon seems to agree, since he put his gun away.

The men walk in, and I'm ready. I make quick eye contact with Damon, silently telling him to go along with my plan.

Someone I don't recognize opens the door. He and another person I don't recognize both holding guns, shout at me in Spanish, motioning for me to follow them. I know what Damon's thinking, and I pray he doesn't do it. I turn to him and shake my head. We needed to get out of here without creating a bigger problem.

One man points his gun to my back while the other one guides me down the hallway, which is barely illuminated by a flickering of random construction lights hanging on the wall. My heart is racing, because I know that I'm about to enter a room full of anger, directed at me. I have to remind myself that these are men that see me as someone who they can use or sell.

We walk into the center of the warehouse where the coolers I transported sit next to a fold out table. I scan the room. There are a couple of guys in white coveralls with masks bagging and weighing coke, but for the most part, this seems like the smaller part of a larger organization. Like this is used for the sole purpose of transferring product, and is in a location where they can leave in a moments notice, if they need to.

The man pointing a gun to my back forces me to a kneeling position, keeping the steel pressed firmly between my shoulder blades. My hand lightly flits to my gun, making sure it's still there. The weight calms me. Jesus walks up to me and slaps me hard across the face. I don't let it knock me off balance, instead I take the slap, straighten and glare at him.

"Missing something?" I spit.

He gnashes his teeth. "Where's the rest of the delivery?"

"Get your goons off of me," I demand.

Jesus motions for them to back up, but I stay in the kneeling position. "It's in a secure location," I lie, because I don't know how secure that location is. "Let me and Dan go, and I'll give you the coordinates."

He laughs. "No," he motions to the guy that guided me into the room and says something in Spanish. He leaves. "You did a good job transporting the product. We had a bet going on whether you'd land in jail or not. The winner would get to shoot your boyfriend."

With that, I hear shots go off. The idiot behind me runs out to see what the commotion is, leaving me alone with Jesus and the men bagging coke. "Looks like Hugo got to do the honors," he says.

I panic, because what if he's right? Is Damon dead? In that instant, I decide to just go for it. I grab the gun out of my holster and stand up, pointing it at Jesus before he has a chance to get a weapon if his own. The men who were bagging coke stop what they're doing and have a look of alarm on their faces.

Jesus sneers. "You won't shoot me."

I aim for his leg and releasing the safety, pull the trigger. I miss completely, but there's an evident look of alarm. "You should've listened to me and taken my offer," I say, repositioning my aim.

Jesus casually walks over to the table, not caring that I have a gun pointed at him. "What are you doing?" I ask, my confidence wavering.

"You're not going to shoot me," he repeats, grabbing a large gun off of the table. Shit. He's half right. I aim and shoot again, this time hitting his arm on accident. I jump back in surprise, because I actually shot someone, and shooting a gun fucking hurts. He doubles over, but is still able to grab the gun off of the table and aim it at me. The men that were working near us, start to surround me. Wildly, I let another shot go off before the men jump and disarm me.

Holding me down, Jesus, who's bleeding profusely, approaches me. "Where's the product?"

Oh God, I'm going to die in Mexico and I'm not going to have the opportunity to kick Damon's ass. I try to wriggle myself free, but the men hold my arms back tightly. I still have the knife, if I can just get to it. "It's on the phone," I gasp.

He speaks something else in Spanish, and the men grope me, trying to find the phone. "I can just give it to you, there's no need to feel me up," I plead.

They let go of me long enough for me to take the phone out of my pocket and toss it up high in the air. It has the desired effect, everyone except me dives for it, giving me enough room to run. Shots go off and I dodge them just as Damon comes in and shoots, shielding me from fire. "Get back," he yells at me.

"Let's go!" I scream. Damon seems hell bent on killing everyone in the room. The two men that were working on bagging coke are on the ground. I'm unsure if they're dead. Damon powerfully strides over to Jesus and punches him, because who needs guns when you have fists to let out your aggression. A pool of blood forms around Jesus.

Since no one else is firing, I walk over to Damon and try to pull him away from Jesus. "Dan," I say, but Damon is unresponsive, he continues to lay into Jesus, who's out cold. "Damon," I plead.

He stops mid-punch, and allows me to pull him away. "Come on," I say gently, grabbing his arm and guiding him to a standing position. Damon walks towards the door, but I stay back momentarily. I walk over to one of the men Damon took down and grab my Glock. I look at the phone tossed in the air, cracked and lying on the floor. I shouldn't take it, I really shouldn't take it, but I reach down and quickly put it in my pocket.

"What's that?" Damon asks.

"Nothing," I say. "Let's go."

Damon and I run out of the warehouse and I lead the way to his car. I toss him the keys and we hop in, and peal out of there. We stop once so Damon can clean up my mess in the back while I put the weapons away. He doesn't ask where my duffle went, instead he puts it in his empty gym bag. Damon and I also change, because it wouldn't look good to try to cross the border into the United States covered in blood and dirt.

We drive in silence for a while until we get to the border. Damon asks for the passports and the NEXUS card, and I hand it to him without saying anything. Unlike my first trip through the border, the car isn't searched. The officer does ask why it's the second time in twenty four hours we've crossed the border into the United States. Damon is such a charmer that when he sarcastically tells the officer I had to go back home because I forgot my makeup bag, the officer let's us go through, laughing.

Damon wants me to comment on his sexist joke, but I don't. Instead, I lay my head against the window and drift off to sleep.

XXXXXX

I wake up and realize I'm not in the car anymore. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, before I realize I'm in a hotel room. I'm lying in the same black tank top and underwear. In a temporary state of panic, I look for Damon, and am relieved to see light coming from the bathroom and hear the shower turn off. I get out of bed and search for my jeans, which are neatly folded on an armchair.

Once my jeans are on, I find the keys to the Porsche on the desk and slip them in my back pocket, just as Damon walks out of the bathroom wearing only a towel tied around his waist. I can't help but scan his body in admiration. Damon is an adonis, lean and cut. His shoulders have definition from hours of disciplined workouts. I can't help but want to run my tongue down his lean washboard abs, past the mythical V that I've only heard rumors about existing, and down the happy trail to…

"Admiring the view?" Damon asks, smirking. I roll my eyes and my gaze falls on the gash he bandaged up on his arm, and the purpling of his ribs. In my blatant ogling, I failed to remember he was knocked out and injured not long ago.

"You're injured," I comment.

"You're leaving?" Damon asks, ignoring my observation.

"I somehow woke up without pants and I had a desire to not be pants-less around you."

Damon narrows the gap between us, his gaze raking over me, stripping me naked. "What can I say? They magically fell off."

"And landed perfectly folded in the armchair," I add.

Damon walks a little closer in all of his glisteningly wet glory. I want to scrap my teeth down his chest and lick up every last drop. I can't let him get any closer because I'm tired and I want nothing more than to get lost in him, but I need to process everything he's told me and that's happened tonight.

"Did you follow me because you wanted the restaurant?" I ask, taking a step away from him, and almost tripping over the desk chair.

He sighs. I think he was hoping I'd drop it after everything that followed his confession. "At first, yes."

I momentarily swallow back my anger. "Did you come into the restaurant that day with Malibu Barbie because you wanted to buy the restaurant?"

"Malibu Barbie?"

"Damon, focus."

"Yes. I was assessing the value of the restaurant."

"Am I a fucking mark?" I'm pushing him now. Slamming my fists against his glorious chest. "Where you trying to woo me into selling the restaurant to you? Is that why you told me not to take Richard's offer? Is this just all apart of some ancient rivalry with the Lockwoods?"

Damon takes it, like he did before. I beat my fists against him, red hot fury flowing through me. "Was it real? Was any of this real?" I ask, tears streaming down my face. Damon catches my fists and backs me against the wall.

"Don't do that, Elena," he growls.

"Do what?" I say through gritted teeth.

"Demean yourself." He pins me there, crossing my arms above my head and holding them firmly in place. "You're going to listen to me," he demands, looking down at me. "You are not a mark. We are real. We are fucking real, dammit. I have wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you."

I search his blue eyes for truth, wanting to believe him. "Let go of me," I plead unconvincingly.

He releases me and I bolt to the door, but Damon's faster and blocks me from leaving. "No running Elena, remember?" he says, calmly.

"You don't get to tell me that, Damon," I yell. "Not when you've been lying to me this entire time."

He moves forward, once again, closing the gap. "You can't do that," he walks closer. "You can't take every moment and lump it together to negate everything we've been through."

"I can if our first moment together was a lie," I say, using the gap between Damon and the door to swing it open and dart out.

I don't make it far. Much like last week, Damon chases me and easily picks me up by the calves and throws me over his shoulder, walking me back to the room while I pointlessly pound my fists at his ass, yelling every expletive at him and not caring who I wake up. I'm tempted to yank the towel off of him, but I think Damon would only appreciate that.

When we get back to the room, he throws me on the bed and leans over me, my back is flat on the mattress and so he's inches from my face. "You do not walk out in the middle of a discussion," he orders.

"This isn't a discussion Damon, this is a fucking Earth shattering argument," I lash out, trying to break free from his grasp, but he keeps me easily pinned beneath him, his damp hair starting to drip on my face. He leans closer, his knee parting my legs so he can hover next to my ear.

"We aren't over," he seethes. I gasp as he nips at my earlobe, and moves his head so we're locking eyes. His skin is still flushed from the shower and he smells deliciously clean after the long day. His lips, velvety smooth and as mad as I am, I long to taste him one more time. He stays a half an inch away from my lips, gazing at me with tangible hunger, waiting for me to make the first move.

I grab the back of his neck, and pull him to me. His mouth crashes over mine, tongue thrusting into my mouth. I sigh contentedly, fisting his hair, attempting to bring him closer to me as he continues his ministrations. Kissing me until I'm breathless. My hands slide from his scalp and scrape down his back, feeling every sinewy muscle.

Damon moans as I circle my hips and flip him so he's flat on his back and I'm straddling him. I continue to kiss him feverishly as he grabs my hips, finding the hem of my camisole he starts to pull it off of me. I part only so he can completely take it off and toss it aside, then continue the assault on his mouth, my hair cascading over my shoulder as I work my way down his chest.

Damon moans my name and I look up. "Do you want me to stop?" I whisper.

Damon answers by flipping me so I'm back flat on the mattress. "I want you," he replies, taking off my jeans until they're at my ankles so I can kick them off. He admires my black lace boyshorts, laying feather light kisses at the apex of my thigh. "I like these," he says horsely, pulling them off. "I like you like this better."

He sucks my inner thigh and I buck slightly as his mouth finds my clit and he circles it with his talented tongue. His wet hot mouth continues to swirl around my bud. "Oh fuck," I gasp as a wave of pure pleasure hits me.

"Towel. Off," I pant.

Damon lifts up long enough for me to yank it off of him. I'm trembling as he moves from my clit to my hipbone, leaving imprints of kisses as he makes his way up to my breast. He pauses, looking at them greedily, he rips off my bra. Yes, he actually rips off my expensive black Natori lace bra and tosses it aside, but I don't care because they were in the way of him doing what he's doing right now, which is sucking on my nipple, while massaging the other breast and flicking the nipple until it beads. He buries his face in my chest, he moves to the other breast and repeats the same ministrations.

I knock my head back and gaze at the ceiling, giving Damon better access to my neck as he climbs his way up my body. He kisses my jaw, and the sensitive spot right behind my earlobe. I intwine my legs with his, my hands tousled in his wet hair. I feel his hard as steel cock on my abs, causing me to arch my back with anticipation. He lifts his head up with a contented look on his face. "Condom," he states.

I admire his full naked form, down to his taught ass as he leans over and pulls one out of his bag and sheaths himself. "Optimistic?" I jokingly inquire.

He turns his head, smirking as he leans back down to shut me up with a kiss. "Prepared," he replies.

He positions himself between my legs and watches me as he slowly enters me. He gives me a moment to adjust to the sensation of being full and then continues to go deeper. Damon is extremely well endowed, and I can see why people say bigger is better, because hell yeah, bigger is way better. I feel my face flush and then spread throughout every facet of my body. I am on fire and Damon is taking his time pushing into me. "Dammit Damon," I yell. "Fuck me!"

I hook my legs around his back and pull him deeper as he starts to slowly pull out and then thrust into me. I let out an audible cry as he continues to pound into me. Our bodies slick with sweat, I claw at his back and bite into his shoulder as he continues his assault, consuming me. I circle my hips, causing Damon to moan, and using his thumb, he presses my clit, making me completely unravel as he releases.

He lazily kisses my forehead, my nose, my jaw, my clavicle, and sucks on my lower lip before he collapses on top of me, burying his face in my neck, he bits me, returning the favor from a few minutes earlier. He lays there, splayed on top of me for a few minutes before he gets up and disposes of his condom. I feel my eyes droop by the time he comes back and lays next to me, pulling me tightly to him.

I wake shortly after Damon falls asleep, and carefully move his hand from my waist. I look at him and memorize this moment. He looks so peaceful, his lips slightly upturned in a smile, like he's having a good dream. I quietly get up, find my jeans and put them on. My tank top is across the room, so I tip toe over and slip it over my head, not bothering with a bra considering it lays in several pieces across the floor. I check on Damon, who's still fast asleep, before I grab by bag and making sure the Porsche's keys are still in my pocket, leave.