AUTHOR'S NOTE: I felt bad leaving you guys with that cliffhanger, which isn't to say this one cuts off at a better point, but it's at least better than Damon strangling Elena. So here you go, a second chapter posted like an hour after the last one. I hope you all leave reviews or decide to follow, but most importantly, I hope you enjoy it!


When Elena came to, the first thing she saw in the mercifully dim light were the mahogany blades of an overhead fan lazily spinning in the center of the ivory-toned ceiling. And she smelled, instantly, the soft hint of crisp, clean Old Spice deodorant, a scent that always lingered in this almost uncomfortably familiar room.

She was in Stefan's room.

She was in Stefan's bed.

And that fact alone made her feel a sharp pang of grief, of guilt, not only because this bed was no longer hers to share, but because she didn't want to share it. She didn't want to be in it, period. Being there, even though she lay fully-clothed atop the bedspread, felt like a betrayal to Damon.

Damon...

Now she sat bolt upright, her hand immediately flying to her throat.

That bastard had strangled her.

Which didn't explain the fact that her sudden movement caused her head to swim dizzily. Now her hand moved over her scalp in search of the source of her pain. She quickly found it - a sizable knot at the back of her skull that was violently sensitive to her touch. She hissed out a breath, which alerted her to even more stinging pain, singeing her abused throat. She tentatively swallowed and the hurt was so intense tears filled her eyes. It felt like she'd taken a gulp liquid fire.

She knew instinctively that the knot hadn't been caused by Damon - directly, anyway. She remembered the instant before his grip on her throat sent her tumbling into the darkness - remembered his wild eyes, remembered them taking on that violent red hue, remembered his lips peeling back into a snarl, flashing wicked, wicked fangs.

And she remembered the moment those eyes had cleared, his face shifting back to the one she loved so goddamn much. Remembered the staggered expression he'd worn when his gaze whipped to his wonderful hands, his deadly hands, and realized what he'd been doing. He'd been so stunned by his own actions that his reflexes, normally lightning fast, failed him. She dimly recalled an instant of violent pain accompanied by the sound of breaking glass as her legs gave out and unconsciousness claimed her.

"Hey, you."

Elena's fixed gaze jerked upward in a jarring movement that had her stomach lurching dangerously. Her vision swam, and she wondered if she was going to pass out again. Instead, the roiling in her stomach increased nastily. She lifted a hand to her mouth, and met his eyes, his tender, loving eyes. She didn't need to speak (thankfully); he immediately understood, and a waste basket was shoved into her lap seconds before she vomited.

Taking a breath was nothing, nothing compared to the pain she felt as the bile rose in her bruised throat, and the moment she'd emptied her stomach the basket was replaced by a cup of chipped ice.

She tried to ask for water, but the blurred face hovering over her moved from side to side as her request was denied. "Just suck the ice, Elena. It'll be easier on your throat, i promise." When she simply stared down at the cup, a hand crossed into her line of sight, picking up a piece of ice and sliding it gently between her lips.

She was hand fed several more chips of ice before finally finding her voice and managing a strained "thank you."

"Of course, sweetheart. Don't talk anymore, okay? Just be still, close your eyes. I can't let you fall asleep though. You've been out too long already and you might have a concussion - you probably do, since you're sick, too." Slender, elegant fingers crept toward the back of her head, whispering over the throbbing bump, making her gasp involuntarily. He withdrew his fingers so quickly she would've thought she'd imagined his touch - if it hadn't hurt so goddamn much.

"Shit - shit, I'm sorry. We need to ice that, too. Don't go anywhere." A teasing smile accompanied the words, but she couldn't make herself return it.

He was back at her side in an instant, offering her a ziplock bag filled with ice. She looked at it as blankly as she'd studied the cup he'd given her, so he took it upon himself to press the ice to her head. She flinched, but he didn't draw away this time, simply made soothing sounds and looking at her worriedly. In his other hand he held something resembling a green tube. A Freezer Pop, she realized. He'd gotten her a Freezer Pop to ease the fire in her throat - and a green one, too. Her mouth curved into a little smile. She wasn't sure if the green was coincidence or if he'd chosen it specifically. Did he know it was her favorite flavor?

She took the popsicle from his hand and brought it to her lips, tentatively tasting and swallowing the flavored ice. It burned and soothed all at once, but the latter gradually took over and she abandoned all hesitation, greedily sucking down the rapidly melting ice. Within minutes she was tipping her head back - and God, that hurt like hell - to squeeze the last drops from the plastic tube.

Now she swallowed slowly, eyes closed, basking in the cool sensation before opening her eyes again.

"Is there - another?" The words came out as a barely intelligible croak, but he gave a little laugh, understanding her question.

"One sec."

During his brief absence she sucked another piece of ice; it wasn't as satisfying as the Freezer Pop, but it was better than nothing. When he came back into the room he had two more in his hand, making her smile. Apparently he did know her favor flavor - the popsicles were both green. He used his teeth to tear the plastic open, then passed it to her.

She took her time with the second popsicle, closing her eyes again. Between the vicious aching of her head and the somehow exhausting process of soothing her throat, she started to drift off.

"Nuh uh." She was given a little shake, forced back into consciousness. "No sleeping."

She looked up with an expression so baleful, so pathetic, that he had to laugh. and then his eyes dipped to her slender neck, ringed with bruises, and his gaze darkened with barely restrained fury. He'd managed to quell his anger in his desperation to make sure she was okay, but now it flooded his veins.

He took her limp hand, bringing it to the ice pack he still held against her head. "Don't move it," he commanded in a clipped tone. Confused by his abrupt shift in attitude from tenderness to temper, she complied, frowning up at him.

He paced like a caged animal, swiping a hand through his hair before pausing to stand beside the bed. His expression was inscrutable when he finally broke the tense silence.

"I'm not gonna rush you, but when you can talk, I'm gonna need you to tell me what the fuck happened to you. okay, Elena?"

Her voice was soft, the words scouring her throat like sandpaper, but she forced herself to speak.

"Okay, Stefan."

Damon was doing 78mph on the infamous Route 66, dreaming vaguely of the Pacific Ocean and hot girls in barely-there bikinis. He envisioned curvy girls, skinny girls, busty girls, flat-chested girls, girls with pale skin, girls with dark skin, girls with endless legs, girls with petite frames. After all, he'd had plenty of time to develop a strong appreciation for every variation of the female form.

But damn it, they all had her face.

And they all had bruises forming necklaces around their throats.

His gut clenched and his eyes flicked down to the screen of his cell phone, daring it to ring, begging it to ring. He knew Elena was okay; there was no way in hell he'd have left if there was any doubt in his mind that she was still in danger. She'd still been unconscious when he'd all but shoved her into Stefan's arms, but her chest rose and fell with each labored breath. But she had been breathing.

Stefan hadn't asked a single question when Damon showed up in the salvatore living room cradling her limp body. His eyes were all for Elena. Damon placed her in Stefan's arms, knowing she was where she needed to be. Where she wanted to be. She'd been right in saying he didn't deserve the name salvatore. He sure as hell wasn't a savior. but Stefan was; Stefan would take care of her.

Damon's steadfast policy of trusting no one but himself had crumbled over the past year. It had been a defense mechanism - don't let anyone get too close, don't start to feel, fuck obligations and long-term relationships. Nothing had mattered except Katherine. She was the one who brought him back to Mystic. Faith in her love for him kept him going. The blind belief that he could find her, bring her back to him - it was the only thing he was truly invested in. He'd had plenty of women, even a handful of friends, but none of them really mattered. All that mattered was finding his soulmate.

And he had. It just hadn't been Katherine.

Still, he'd been wary of trusting Elena - or anyone else. Look out for number one and all that. But it hadn't taken long for his resolve to fade, for him to let her in. And before he knew it, he was developing relationships left right and center, with Caroline, with Jenna, even with Jeremy, the poster child for teenage angst. You couldn't call them friendships, really. His only true friend was ric. But relationships, yes. These men and women weren't just extras populating the stage that was his life. They were people, and they mattered.

He'd spent multiple lifetimes protecting himself from the world by keeping everyone at arm's length. Now his lip curled at the irony of it all. Turned out, he should've been protecting the world from himself.

Protecting Elena. It always came down to protecting Elena.

And now he'd harmed her. Nearly killed her. Loving someone so much that passion overruled everything else was dangerous. He couldn't risk hurting her again. So he'd given her to the one person he knew would go to the ends of the earth in order to keep her safe, and he'd fled.

It was a roadside sign outside a little gas station that stopped him from leaving town right away. it was only one word, painted in huge letters. "ICE."

She'd need ice. Her throat would beg for it. Feeling a little insane, he'd bucked a violent u-turn, steered into the parking lot, and jumped out of the car. It was all he could give her now. The only way he could even begin to apologize. Bags and bags and bags of ice.

Rational thought returned when he entered the little store adjacent to the gas pumps. He was being crazy. They had a whole fucking freezer in the basement full to the brim with ice. What the hell was he doing? Spinning on his heel he'd headed straight for the door, only to be distracted by a box of freezer pops.

He remembered Elena's addiction to the popsicles - she'd sucked them down all summer, and fuck if it wasn't unbelievably sexy to watch. Ignoring the protests of the man behind the counter he dug into the top box in the stack, then the one under it, then the one under that, systematically digging through them. He'd gone on to discard all the red pops, the orange, the purple, the blue. Then he'd taken the remaining pile of green popsicles, he'd shoved them into one of the now-empty boxes, and walked out.

He'd gone home but hadn't ventured past the doorstep. Instead, he dropped the box of popsicles in front of the door, held the doorbell down for ten solid seconds, returned to his car - he'd left it idling with the key in the ignition - then shot out of the driveway.

The popsicles were a shit peace offering, but he'd already done the only other thing he could think of: get the hell out of dodge. Get the hell out of Elena's life.

He looked at his cell again, wondering if anger and shame had possibly rendered him deaf to the world and he'd somehow missed the sound of the phone ringing. No such luck. Which meant Elena hadn't talked to Stefan yet. God knew if his little brother was aware of what transpired between Damon and Elena he'd have picked up the phone immediately and called Damon in a rage.

And if Elena hadn't told Stefan yet... oh, Jesus. Maybe she hadn't told Stefan because she couldn't tell Stefan. Maybe she hadn't woken up. Maybe she never would.

Damon's blood ran cold as he made another insanely illegal u-turn, tires screeching as he swung the car around and headed right back to square one.