Present.

He kept his distance. He knew he was being cold to Elena, but he did nothing to stop it. He wasn't cruel or rude but simply aloof.

Elena was quite aware of it. In fact, she would have preferred his cruelness or his biting wit to this. At least then, she knew he had passion. But this…? It was strange. But even she wasn't herself. Some moments she felt okay and other moments, she felt out of control. She was still trying to adjust to everything. Her mind was a tornado. She realized that lately she was having conversations with herself.

Damon jumped down into the rotting basement of the old Salvatore Estate. It was morning and the sound of a chirping sparrow was heard in the distance. Damon watched as particles of dust and pollen floated through the streams of light—light that fell on the corpse of what was once his brother. Decay was apparent. Stefan's skin was sunken in, his skull jutting out against it. The stake was buried, still, prominently in his concaved chest. Damon walked slowly closer. It felt quite surreal. Almost as if he was not even there. Almost as if this wasn't his brother. He wasn't sure that he felt anything at all. He crouched down, his eyes drinking what was left of his brother's body. A small fly landed on Stefan's forehead, rubbing its feelers together. Damon swatted it away suddenly, disgusted. He stood quickly, he felt ill.

He covered his face with his hand and tried to clear his mind. His fingers slid down his face before his arm relaxed at his side. His eyes were still closed.

"What are you doing here," he asked lightly.

He turned and looked at Elena who was standing under a thick stream of sunlight. Her hand was clutched around the ring that dangled on her neck and her eyes were fixated on Stefan. She took a step forward and stopped dead in her tracks.

"It's my fault," she whispered.

Damon said nothing to discredit her admission.

"You really shouldn't be here," he said finally.

"I followed you," she said softly.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that."

"Damon, I'm sorry…"

"Stop."

"What?"

"I don't have the energy for melodramatics or remorse right now," he sighed. "You should go. I'm going to bury him and I don't want you standing around while I drag his body to a hole in the ground." He turned back towards Stefan.

"I had to kill him," she whispered.

Damon froze, his eyes staring vacantly in the distance but his ears were alert. He turned back to Elena.

"What did you say," he asked.

Elena lifted her head, her eyes were suddenly different.

"Kill or be killed. I had to do it."

Damon rushed to Elena and gripped her shoulders, shaking her violently.

"Stop it. Snap out of it. You're not Katherine. You're Elena."

Elena's head bent forward, her hair over her face. She laughed cruelly.

"You can't get rid of me that easy, Mr. Salvatore," she purred. "Not even a stake to the heart can keep me down."

"Katherine," panic crept into his voice.

He shook Elena again, shouting.

"Stop it, goddamnit. Elena…!"

Elena's legs crumpled underneath her and she slid to the floor in Damon's arms. Damon pushed her hair from her face. Her eyes were rolling back into her head as her body began to spasm—her back arched and joints stiff. Damon clutched her to his chest.

"Shhh, shhh. It's okay. I'm here. Elena, I'm here. Come back. Push it away. Push it all away," he whispered into her ear.

Elena's fingers were outstretched and pale. She shook violently before her entire body fell limp. Damon continued to rock her, whispering to her.

After what seemed like an eternity, Damon felt her turn her face into his neck as he was bent over her. He lifted his head and saw her tired eyes staring up at him.

"Elena," he said delicately.

"You," she said softly, her eyes smiled tiredly.

Damon nodded.

"Me," he assured her, kissing her forehead. "It's me."

"What happened," she rasped.

Damon thought of her admission, her cold laughter…

"You fainted, sweetheart," he said finally.

"Oh…!"

She struggled to sit up but fell back against Damon's chest, exhausted. He felt her body tense and followed her gaze to Stefan's body just a few feet away.

"Oh," she whispered again. "I…"

"Shh," Damon petted her hair. "Let's get you back in the house. You need to rest."

"I'm so sorry," she shut her eyes as Damon lifted her in his arms.

"Don't think about that right now."

"I'm sorry," she repeated over and over.

He wondered who she was speaking to—him or Stefan.

Damon listened to Mamie Smith sing the blues as the record player spun vinyl underneath its needle. He was drinking a mint julep, his finger swinging lazily to and fro. He watched Elena through the window, his eyes keen but his body relaxed. He crushed the mint leaves in between his teeth…

She wore a pale pink bohemian dress with long, loose sleeves and a lace back. A straw gardening hat sat atop her head with a pink sash around the brim as she was bent over a rose bush. With clippers in hand, she snipped the beautiful red bloom and placed it in a basket that was slung over her other arm. She leaned over a small rose bud and took in its sweet scent, smiling to herself. The breeze was cool and her voice, very low, was whispering into the wind.

"It's too bright out here," she sighed, annoyed.

"It's beautiful," she murmured again.

"He's watching you, you know…" She breathed.

"I know…" Her voice was smaller.

"He thinks you're crazy," she giggled lightly.

"Aren't I," she asked quietly.

"Yes," she hissed. "Crazy. Dangerous. Beautiful."

She snipped another rose and placed it into the basket and sighed.

"You let him kill me," she continued.

Elena lifted her hand up, almost violently, turning her face from the window.

"No. No," her voice shook, "You let him have me. On the floor. You let him degrade me and you…"

"I saved you," she said again.

"I know."

"Elena," Damon walked onto the porch. "Is everything okay?"

He held his drink and began to swill it in the glass.

Elena turned, squinting against the sunlight. She delicately tugged at the brim of her hat and smiled. She lifted her basket.

"Pretty, huh?"

Damon nodded as he took a sip of the julep.

"Beautiful," he said, his eyes gazing into hers from across the lawn.

Elena felt her face flush and she looked away and into the basket. She watched as her hand curled around one of the flowers and crushed it harshly between her fingers. The petals rolled in between her thumb and index finger. She frowned, feeling very warm and lightheaded all of a sudden.

"Stop it," she whispered to herself, feeling dizzy.

"Elena?"

Damon watched as Elena picked up her gaze to him with deliberate slowness.

"Yes, Damon?" She asked sweetly.

"Did you want to rest," he asked. "You look a little tired."

She threw the basket carelessly on the grass and brushed her hands together, ridding the last bits of petals from her fingers.

"Love to."

She walked across the lawn—swinging her hips and keeping her gaze level with his.

As she walked up the porch, she glided her hand across his shirt as she passed him and into the house.

Damon watched her saunter into the living room, the scent of jasmine mingling in her wake.

It was obvious that the battle was far from over.