Author's Note: Helllloooooo lovies! In honor of my son's 3rd birthday I am putting you all out of your cliffhanging misery! I posted the end of the previous chapter at the top of this one to help jog your memory. Enjoy!
Previously on River Deep Ocean Wide:
"Thanks again for agreeing to meet with me, Ric. I know things are a bit…tense right now, but I wanted to check in with you."
"You mean you wanted to know if I was going to report your brother," Ric chuckles mirthlessly.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my fingers tightening around the armrests of my chair. When I glance at Caroline, her eyes are still frozen open, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.
"I take it you don't exactly share my views on the matter after all?"
"I wouldn't say that," Stefan says smoothly. "Whether or not we are looking at the same matter I think is the more important question. Care for a beer?"
"Spoken like a true lawyer," Ric laughs, more warmly this time. "No, but thank you." I hear the scuff of one of their dining room chairs as he takes his seat, another as Stefan takes his.
I look at Caroline and she looks at me, her face ashen.
"What do we do?" I mouth silently to her.
"I don't know," she mouths back.
And then there's no time to decide on a different course of action, because they start talking again.
And once they do, it's impossible not to listen.
Chapter 26: The Case and the Cab Ride
"Alright, Stefan, I'll take the bait," Ric says, "In what way are we not looking at the same thing? It seems to me that there is a law—a law that exists for good fucking reason, might I add—that Damon decided didn't apply to him and Elena."
"Is that really what you think happened?" Stefan asks, his voice as calm as if he were asking about the weather.
"I take it you don't?" Alaric shoots back.
"Honestly, Ric? No, I don't," Stefan says. "What makes you think that?"
"Are you serious, Stefan? I know you lawyer people are good at twisting the facts to get the version you want but come on. How else can you spin this thing? Elena was his client. He was her therapist. Any romantic interaction after those two things happen equates to his taking advantage of her, and her being taken advantage of. End of story."
"Does it though?" Stefan asks. "Just think about what you're saying for a second. Do you really think Elena is the type of girl who allows herself to be taken advantage of?"
I hold my breath, but Ric is silent.
Stefan goes on. "Look, I defend people in Elena's position for a living. You aren't the only man at this table with principles, Ric, and I get where you're coming from, I really do. There is right, and there is wrong. No grey, no middle ground, no exceptions to the rule. I used to think like that too. But enough cases come across your desk and you start to see that not all infractions—and certainly not all offenders—are alike."
"And you think Damon is different?" Alaric asks, the incredulity evident in his voice.
There's a second of silence that stretches on too long before Stefan's response, and I can picture with perfect clarity Stefan's patient quiet, his lips pressed together as he forces Ric to weigh the strength of the echo his words leave behind.
"Look, the reason the APA instated that regulation in the first place was to prevent a person in a position of power, like Damon was in their situation, from manipulating or taking advantage of someone of a weak mind. Exploiting people. And let me just be clear that I agree with you, Ric. I see all kinds of cases detailing every imaginable therapeutic offense and I can tell you unequivocally that the rule exists for very good reason. Like the case I worked last year when a therapist that specialized in sex addiction had his license revoked for sleeping with his clients under the guise of teaching them to practice 'mastering their urges.' Or the case I was working on just last month, when an MFT counseled a client out of her marriage, only to swoop in and start up a relationship with her himself."
"Holy shit," Alaric says.
"Yeah you're telling me," Stefan says, barking a choked, joyless laugh. "So as you can imagine, it's not difficult to look at the reality of what transpired between Damon and Elena and see that the rule shouldn't apply to them, even though technically, it still would."
"I'm sorry, but I'm just not buying that, Stefan," Ric says, weariness bleeding through his frustrated tone. "Damon told me after their very first session that he was attracted to her. Their very first session! It's not as though Damon didn't see this coming, yet he didn't do a damn thing to prevent it. He should have referred her to another therapist and I told him as much that night. But he didn't."
"How do you know that?"
"Well she stayed on his schedule, didn't she?" Alaric says exasperatedly.
"Yes, but again, you are missing something very important here," Stefan says. "You aren't factoring in an entire half of the equation."
"Okay, Stefan. Please, enlighten me."
Stefan just waits. I hear my blood whooshing though my ears in the suddenly infinite silence.
"Elena," he finally says, all the hardness from his tone gone as it wraps around my name.
Alaric says nothing.
"Did you know that Damon did try to refer her to another therapist?" Stefan says, the smile evident in his voice. "Under the guise of not wanting their inevitable out-of-therapy interactions to affect the quality of her therapy, considering how much they were going to see each other during the wedding planning and because of their personal connections to Caroline and me."
"No," Ric says, the barest hint of a pause behind his words. "I didn't know that."
"She shot him down," Stefan says, almost laughing. "She poked holes in every one of his arguments until he had no choice but to agree to continuing therapy with her, or risk telling her the real reason he wanted to refer her to someone else."
"Because he wanted her," Ric supplies.
"Because he could see himself falling for her," Stefan corrects. "But it was Elena who convinced him that he was the best person for the job—that discontinuing therapy with her and sending her off with someone else was actually going against what was best for her. So he told himself he would put his own feelings aside for her sake, to give her the best chance she could have at recovery."
"Well, he should have known better," Ric says.
"Really?" Stefan counters. "Why would Damon know better, Ric? I'm actually really interested in this. See, I know everyone looking at this situation from the outside is concerned about the influence Damon has over Elena, but you want to know what I see?" Stefan asks, a lingering smile evident in his voice. "I see Elena influencing Damon."
My heart is thundering in my chest. Caroline reaches over and wraps her fingers tightly around my hand where it sits limp in my lap. I squeeze it back, offering her a shy smile in exchange for her proud one.
"Let's just take a moment to consider her for a second," Stefan continues. "And not as some theoretical figure in the equation of this law. I'm saying let's really look at Elena. She survived the car wreck that killed her parents at 16 years old. And we're not just talking about any car wreck, Ric. Their car flew through a divider and off a bridge, sunk to the bottom of a river, and the car filled all the way up with water before she was rescued, bare seconds away from drowning."
"Holy shit," Ric says.
"Yeah," Stefan agrees. "Then, she is placed in the custody of a 23-year-old Jenna, who I have no doubt did the very best she could under the circumstances, but you and I both know—and even Jenna herself will readily admit—that she didn't know what the hell she was doing and their relationship is more sisterly than parental. Point being, Elena basically raised herself from the time she was 16 years old. She finished high school at the top of her class, then moved to attend college in a strange new city all on her own, then hustled her ass off to get a low level job at the literary agency at which she is now the leading agent."
Caroline pokes me in the arm, wearing a sly smirk as she winks proudly at me. But I avoid her eyes, embarrassed to hear my whole story laid out like that, as if it were something to be proud of.
"And it's not just that, Ric," Stefan plows on, not even giving him a chance to respond. "Elena would probably kill me for telling you this, but did you know that she's had post traumatic stress disorder for the better part of a decade? And she's handled it without any professional help. She hasn't let any of it get in the way of her accomplishing anything and everything she's ever wanted to do."
"Holy shit," Ric says, and I feel myself blushing from head to toe. "From the accident? Is that why she went to see Damon?"
"Yes, according to Elena, it is. See, and the thing that gets me is that most people would fold under that kind of a burden, you know? And rightfully so, if you ask me. But in Elena's case, despite everything that's happened her, she's managed to lead a well-balanced, successful life. She did that, Ric. All she needed was a little help getting over that last hurdle, getting her attacks under control."
Stefan releases a long sigh.
"And as for Damon," he says wearily, the subtlest hint of regret weaving itself between his words. "For as long as I can remember, he's worn the responsibility of the whole world on his shoulders. He's been a great brother to me, but he never had anyone to lean on."
Stefan pauses. And to Ric's credit, he remains silent as he waits for Stefan to continue.
"After our mother died, all he had was our father, who I'm sad to say did a hell of a lot more harm than good. And I don't know how much you know about his wife, but I can assure you Katherine didn't do anything but make things worse for Damon."
"I know enough to know you're right," Alaric says, not bothering to conceal his disgust.
"My point being," Stefan continues, "since Elena came into his life, he's been a completely different person. Yes, they met in therapy, and yes, they had many sessions together over the course of a few months. And you can't deny that Damon has changed Elena, and if that makes her impressionable, so be it. But she's changed him too, Ric."
I hold my breath, waiting to hear what Ric will say.
But it is Stefan who speaks first. "Besides," he says, "I've spoken to both Damon and Elena individually and they both told me separately that things were always 100% professional and above board in the office and I believe them. They forged a connection outside of therapy. They became friends, and they fell for each other. Oldest story in the book."
"Okay, Stefan, I hear you," Alaric allows. "And that may very well be true. But how can they claim that their feelings for each other outside the office weren't influenced by what was going on inside the office?"
"That's a fair point, but listen…let's look at this a different way," Stefan says, implementing his trademark gift for diplomacy. I can't help the small smile that tugs at the corners of my lips.
"If we can take off the table that Elena is some weak victim of Damon's superior powers of persuasion, then all we're looking at now are two intellectual equals who happened to meet in a professional setting and fell in love. I work for my father, Ric. Elena is Caroline's superior and they're as good as sisters. I challenge anyone who works with someone they care about to draw a clear, straight line between personal and professional feelings. It can't be done. But that doesn't make it wrong. I know I'm better for having worked under my father. And I can't even imagine what Caroline would do without Elena in her life, and visa versa."
Caroline's hand darts back to mine in my lap, clutching it fiercely. I squeeze back, and when I look up I see that she is fighting back tears. I shake my head with an indulgent smile, and her shoulders tremble in silent laughter before she dabs at the corners of her eyes.
"Love changes all of us, Ric," he says simply. "I'm guessing you're experiencing a little of that yourself lately, if I'm not mistaken," Stefan ribs good-naturedly. "Why should it be wrong for Damon and Elena?"
Ric sighs heavily into the silence. But it is followed with a weary chuckle that sends levity ballooning into the space between their words like the first breath of fresh air any of us has inhaled all evening.
"I don't know, okay? Uncle. You win." I hear the rustle of fabric and the subtle scrape of chair legs jostling against the hardwood, and I picture Ric rearranging himself like he always does when he gets animated.
"Damn it, Stefan, you are in the right fucking profession," he says, his words harsh but his tone light, the smile in his voice as clear as if I'd seen it. "I knew it was a bad idea to come see you because I just knew you'd lawyerize me into seeing things your way."
Stefan chuckles warmly. "Happy to be of service," he says.
Ric makes a sound between a heavy exhale and a growl. "Now I just feel like a real jerk, you know? I mean, I already felt like shit for snooping around his phone like some crazy ex-girlfriend instead of just talking to him about it man-to-man. And then when I saw those texts I just lost it. I'd had too much time to build it up in my mind, you know? I just wasn't thinking. I couldn't believe he'd actually let things get that far. And then I was so pissed, all I could think about was reporting him."
Stefan sighs heavily. "Well, Ric if you're still thinking about reporting him I think you owe it to yourself to really ask yourself why before you do. Is it because you don't trust Elena to know if she's really in love him? Is it because you think Damon as a practicing therapist is a danger to his female clients? Really think it over, because it's a decision you can't go back from. It'll destroy your relationship with Damon, and after everything…"
"I'm not gonna report him, Christ," Alaric swears as though it's the most ridiculous thing in the world, and I feel my shoulders actually fall with the relief. "If I were going to report him I would have done it by now. Shit, he's my best friend. Or he was," he says, sadness touching his tone for the first time tonight. "I'm not sure if Damon's going to be able to forgive me for this one."
"Of course he will. I told him he was an idiot for thinking he could keep it a secret from everybody. You know Caroline. She probably would have figured it out within a matter of a few weeks. And I can't promise the fall out from that revelation would have been any less spectacular."
I glance over to Caroline, who shrugs one shoulder while wearing a guilty expression.
"I do know Caroline," Alaric chuckles. "That's a downright force of nature you're married to, you know that?" he adds, sounding just a little bit awestruck.
"Indeed," Stefan agrees fondly, sounding like a man who still can't believe his good luck.
"So what about that son-of-a-bitch Dad of yours," Ric asks. "Would he really report Damon if he found out?"
"I think he would, unfortunately," Stefan says wearily. "As much as I hate to admit it. But I've been working on a solution that would absolve Damon of any legal ramifications, if and when my Father ever got wind of it and tried to pull something. Did you know that Damon never charged Elena a penny for their therapy sessions?"
Wait, what?
"What?" Ric says.
I hear a tiny gasp, and when I turn to look at Caroline her hand is clapped over her mouth, her eyes are wide.
"Yeah. According to Damon, they never agreed on a price. So Elena told Caroline to pass along her credit card info to Damon and work it out so that Damon could charge her card after every session. But get this." Stefan says, sounding more than a little smug.
The hairs on the back of my neck start to stand up, as if they've sensed what's coming before my mind can finish putting the pieces together.
"Damon never did." Stefan continues. "So technically, if Damon gets rid of his notes and deletes her from his calendar, there is absolutely no evidence whatsoever that Elena was his client."
I gasp, pressing my hand to my mouth in utter shock.
"Holy shit," Ric says.
"Yup," Stefan agrees.
I turn my whole body in my chair to face Caroline. I widen my eyes pointedly, asking her to show me if it's true.
She bobs her head up and down before dropping her own hand from her mouth. She is grinning from ear to ear.
And I feel my face crack open in a beaming smile
"Wow," Ric breathes. "Well why didn't you tell me that in the first place?" Ric laughs, and I hear the sound of his hand cuffing Stefan's arm. "You could have saved me from having to sit here and listen to your little court case for the last half hour."
"I wanted to see if I could change your mind a little bit about the two of them before I laid all my cards out," Stefan says. "Maybe see if I could help clear things up for you before you found out they got off on a technicality and stormed off into the sunset. You're with Elena's aunt, you know. She's the one and only family member she has left, besides the adopted ones like Caroline and me. And you too, Ric. Elena and Damon have lost enough people they love in their lives. I didn't want them losing you too."
"Well…damn," Ric swears. "Your brother owes you one. I owe you one," he says. "Does Damon know?"
"Yeah he does. I had to double check on a couple things, but I gave him the good news yesterday morning."
Wait.
Yesterday?
All the elation drains out of my body like water slipping through a sieve.
Damon's known we could be together for a whole day and he never called me?
I think of his face in those pictures. The way he was looking at that girl who looked so much like me, but wasn't. She had never been his client. She didn't come with a two-year trail of heartache and risk and baggage.
She was free.
And so, apparently, was he.
I feel my insides quiver and hollow painfully before I freeze in my chair, forcing every ounce of emptiness inside of me to turn to unfeeling stone. I can't break down right now, so I do the only thing I know how to do instead.
I go numb.
Ric leaves after what could have been minutes or hours. And when Caroline and I emerge from Stefan's study, much to his surprise, I take their congratulations and say my goodbyes as quickly and politely as I can.
They give me odd looks and ask if I'm okay, and I answer that I'm fine. Lies. Just in shock. Autopilot. I'm fine, I promise. Don't break down. I tell them I just need to get home and call Damon.
But in the end, I don't.
I let the tears fall freely once I'm on the curb, counting on the strange magic of this city to hide me in plain sight while I try and fail to pull myself together.
A cabbie pulls up and I look him over out of habit before I slip inside, and even that simple action reminds me of how much Damon has infiltrated my life, of all the holes that will be left when he is no longer in it. I scrub the salty wetness from my face with both hands, quieting the hiccup in my throat as best I can with a few deep breaths and a hard swallow before trusting myself to drop my hands.
"Where to, Miss?" the cab driver asks in his thick New York accent, turning halfway around in his seat to ask me instead of just glancing up into his rearview mirror. His face looks weathered under his newsboy cap but not unkind, his eyes regarding me with gentleness despite the practiced indifference of his demeanor. It hits me that I am totally that girl, the one who is sobbing in the back of a taxi just like they do in all the movies. And he is a mere cigar away from the glamorized stereotype of people in his profession. It almost makes me want to laugh.
Almost.
I sniffle instead, smiling weakly through my tears. He returns my smile with an almost imperceptible one of his own.
I like him, I decide.
"I'd like to just drive for awhile, if you don't mind," I say.
"Sure thing, Miss," he says with a nod, turning back to the street before us as he shifts gears and pulls smoothly away from the curb.
I try to hold back my tears at first, glancing self-consciously at the rear view mirror from time to time to make sure I don't have an audience. But his eyes never stray from the streets that stretch out before us, melting into each other under the eternal brightness of the streaking city lights that never dim, that never waiver.
And I let the weariness overtake me. I allow the pliant leather of the seat beneath my body to catch me, the cool smoothness of the glass at my temple to soothe my jumbled thoughts. The tears I was holding in begin to streak silently down my face, unbidden, and I let them fall.
They accompany me through the asphalt threads of the city, each one weaving itself into the fabric at large with deftness and authority and a uniqueness all its own. And as they do, my imagination takes me up like a bird bobbing through the skyscrapers, riding pockets of air between the bricks and stone and steel that punch proudly up into the sky and then higher, so that when I look down over the glittering expanse of it all I can see how small it all really is, how small I am.
And as I float slowly down to the earth my thoughts begin to coalesce, coming together in the quiet of my mind, in the space my emptying tears have left behind.
And I relearn once again what it means to exist in this world—in this tiny slice of it that I call my home.
In this life where Damon no longer loves me.
We drive.
Author's Note: Ummmmmm, yeah so…I'm pretty sure everyone is prepping their baskets of rotten produce to lob at me right now. But before you do, what do you think friends? Lots of info downloaded here. What do we think of Stefan's little courtcase? The loophole? Dying to hear your thoughts. And if your heart is still roaming your chest, looking for a Nightlight shaped target to punish, there's handy review box for purging your tortured thoughts, feelings and/or basketfuls of moldy tomatoes.
If you are looking for something to ease your pain, you are in ridiculous luck. A one Miss Goldnox has an amazing AU/AH fic started called Auto In, and I paid her in Muse Baby pictures for the privilege of reading through all of her completed chapters and LET ME JUST SAY that IT IS THE LIGER'S LADY PARTS (Goldnox's turn of phrase, not mine). Read her sexy sexy Damon and be happy.
Love, hugs, and thanks to my long suffering beta, Trogdor19, who has been enjoying a completely one-sided and needy relationship with me while battling Honduras' patchy internet and a growing mound of real-life problems so…yeah. She is the cat's pegasus-patterned pajamas. Can we all go and leave her a lovely review for her hot Delena sexting In Time We Trust chapter she posted today and make her feel awesome? Because she totally is and I don't think the Honduran internet or the time-space continuum is doing much to acknowledge that fact.
Trogdor, if you're reading, know that I am applying every once of my ninja godmother powers your way so you can catch up and get back to enjoying the monkeys! Big hugs and internet repairing vibes to you! And I don't know what it does but it sounds scary so whatever you do, DON'T SEND THE MOOSE.
Until next time, lovies…
XOXO,
Nightlightbright