The inside of Damon's house is more grandiose than its outside. Oil paintings of generations of Salvatores adorn the dark walls. Matching oak furniture with jewel-toned cushions lies artfully arranged around a crackling fireplace. Oriental rugs cover polished hardwood floors. Antique knick knacks cover wooden end tables and sit atop old bookshelves.

I see Damon poke his head around the corner of what I assume is his kitchen. He walks over to Bonnie and I. "Stuffy, isn't it?"

I spin around to let my eyes feast on the spectacle of this room. "I love it."

"You do?" His voice raises at the end of his question, almost as if he's in shock that my response is so positive.

"There's so much to see in here," I marvel, walking over to a portrait of a solemn Basilio T. Salvatore on the closest wall. "It's perfect for people who live and breathe history. I could stay here for days and never get bored."

"I can give you a tour if you'd like."

"Really?"

He extends his arm to me. "You joining us, Bennett?"

She shakes her head. "I'm more of an explore-on-my-own kind of girl."

"In that case, don't get stuck in the dungeon downstairs. It was built to hide escaped slaves, so if you scream, no one's going to hear you."

"You have a dungeon?" I search his expression for some sign that he's joking. He grins at me.

"Stick with me and you'll find out." As he leads me upstairs, my head reels from the knowledge that Damon's house has an actual dungeon in it.

As we walk down the hallway, the eyes of dozens of painted Salvatores stare at us. "So, is there a portrait of you on these walls?" I ask as we pass a prim-mouthed Francesca Salvatore. Damon rolls his eyes.

"Try two," he grumbles, stopping me in front of a portrait of a sullen-faced boy wearing a pastel suit. "Exhibit A: me at seven."

I scrutinize the portrait and see his familiar blue eyes staring at me. "Oh my gosh!" I exclaim, stepping close to the painting. "You're so little! You were so cute as a kid!"

"Just as a kid?" he pouts. I playfully glare at him before turning my attention back to his portrait.

"Were you trying to look miserable? You look like someone just told you that you couldn't eat dessert for the rest of your life."

"Hey, I'd like to see your seven-year-old self sit inside for hours each day during the summertime. Let's see how cheerful you look," he retorts, grabbing my hand and gently tugging me away from the painting. "I went through a pirate phase that summer, and every day I'd pretend to sail the high seas on the creek out back. Why would I want to sit for a stupid portrait when I was in the middle of a smuggling expedition to South America?"

I smile at the thought of a young Damon pretending to be the captain of a pirate ship. I'm so caught up in the image that I barely register what he's saying to me in the present.

"…boring spare bedroom here, boring spare bedroom there, Stefan's room, bathroom…"

I stop us in front of Stefan's bedroom doorway. "This is your brother's room?"

"Yep."

"Can I see it?"

Damon's face hardens. "If you must." I'm hurt by the sudden sharpness in his voice, but I'm so curious to see Stefan's room. Damon never talks about his brother. The only things I know about him are that he's a musical prodigy who's played in concert halls all over the world, that Mrs. Salvatore died while giving birth to him, and that the mere mention of him makes Damon feel inadequate. Maybe if I see Stefan's room and learn more about him, I can find a better way to help Damon work through some of the tougher things he endured when he was younger.

The door to Stefan's room creaks as I push it open. I poke my head inside. Filled bookshelves line the walls. When I step closer, I see that they hold tons of sheet music and leather-bound journals. I pick the top piece of music off the pile and see that it's Maurice Ravel's Gaspard de la nuit. February 13, 1993 is written in careful handwriting on the front page's upper right-hand corner.

"He always writes the first date that he played the composition correctly on all of his sheet music," Damon explains. I whirl around and see him leaning against Stefan's doorframe. I look back down at the Ravel music.

"How old was he in 1993?"

"Five."

"Holy shit," I gasp, setting the sheet music back on the stack. "You realize that's one of the most difficult pieces of piano music ever written?"

"So I was told."

I wince at the flash of pain that passes across his face and decide right then that I don't have to see any more of Stefan's room. I've learned enough for the moment. I walk out of the bedroom and turn down the hallway, eager to continue Damon's tour. When I find myself walking alone, however, I turn back towards Stefan's bedroom.

"Damon?"

He steps out of his brother's room and walks towards me with a piece of paper in his hand. He hands it to me. I see that it's the Ravel piece.

When I look up at him, he shrugs. "Keep it until you learn it. Stefan won't mind."

"Are you sure your brother won't mind you giving away his stuff to a complete stranger?"

A small smile cracks his lips as I accept the music. "Better a piece of old sheet music than his diaries."

"Diaries?"

"Sorry, journals," he corrects, making quotation marks with his fingers. "I read them once or twice. Fascinating stuff, Stefan's musings on how Suave styling gel gave his hair more lift than American Crew styling gel."

"Maybe he's hoping that someone will discover them and turn them into a TV show," I suggest. Damon wrinkles his nose.

"Worst show in the world."

Damon leads me back down the hallway, but I realize that he didn't show me its final room. "Wait a minute, mister. Where's your bedroom?"

He stops in his tracks. "You want to see my bedroom?"

"The tour wouldn't be complete without it."

He sighs. "It's not as interesting as Stefan's," he says, doing an about-face in the middle of the hallway. I roll my eyes at him.

"I don't believe that for one second." We stop at a doorway at the end of the hallway. I look at Damon for permission to enter. He nods. I turn the doorknob.

I'm overwhelmed by shades of brown. Chocolate hardwood floors. Ten-foot walls of chestnut wood. Equally tall curtains of mixed shades of copper and fawn that cover large windows. Most notably, a king-size bed with a russet headboard on top of another Oriental rug. The room is sleek. Masculine. It smells of Damon's spice.

"I told you it's not that interesting," Damon says. I hear an understated hope for approval in his voice. I see a stack of books at the corner of his bed and walk towards it.

"I like it more than your brother's room," I admit, crouching down to the books so I can read their titles. Bell Irvin Wiley's The Life of Johnny Reb and The Life of Billy Yank sit under Reid Mitchell's The Vacant Chair: The Northern Solider Leaves Home and J. Tracy Power's Lee's Miserables: Life in the Army of Northern Virginia, from the Wilderness to the Appomattox. On top of those sits Music of the Civil War Era by Steven Cornelius and Christian McWhirter's Battle Hymns: The Power and Popularity of Music in the Civil War. Irwin Silber's Songs of the Civil War rests at the top of the stack.

I look up at Damon, who's moved to sit on the edge of his bed. "Since when do you study music's impact on history?"

He hesitates. "Since an insightful person told me that the relationship between the two was important."

I try to contain my excitement at Damon's subtle compliment. "Are you planning to do anything with the information in those books?"

For some reason, Damon's body language becomes tenser. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that…"

He cuts himself off when we hear Matt and Bonnie greet Alaric and his new girlfriend. He stands up and paces to his bedroom door. "Take your time up here; I'm going to say hi to Ric and Meredith," he says, watching me with an undistinguishable expression for a moment before disappearing. I slowly stand to my feet as I hear his footsteps travel downstairs. I want to know what he was going to say before Alaric arrived. What did he need to ask me about Civil War music? My fingers trail across the top of the stack of books before I roll the Ravel sheet music in my hand and follow him down to the living room.

The woman standing next to Alaric – Meredith, I presume – is a slip of a person. The top of her head barely reaches Alaric's shoulders. As I step closer, I see that her face has feline features that belong on someone from the 1920s. She'd make an adorable flapper for Halloween.

Alaric makes space for me in the small circle of people that's formed in Damon's living room. "Good to see you again, Elena. Happy Thanksgiving."

"You too, Alaric." I turn to face presumably-Meredith and extend my hand to her. "Hi, I'm Elena."

"Meredith." She gives my hand a firm shake. As she withdraws her hand from mine, her brown eyes dart between the people in our group. "Okay, Ric explained how everyone knows each other on the ride over here, but can someone give me a quick reminder?"

"Elena's one of my graduate students at the university," Alaric explains, "and Matt and Bonnie are her friends."

"And the three of you are in a band together?" Meredith asks, eyeing each of us in turn. Matt nods.

"There are two others in the band, but they're spending the holiday in Miami."

"Got it." Meredith's studious gaze turns to Damon and I. "And the two of you?"

Damon and I both open our mouths to answer at the same time, then close our mouths at the same time to let the other person answer, then reopen our mouths once more. We laugh at each other. A quick glance around the circle reveals that we're the only ones laughing, so I nod at Damon to let him speak.

"I'm Elena's advisor for her MFA thesis project."

"He stole her from me," Alaric adds, winking at me. "Told me I'd be doing her a disservice if I continued to advise her instead of letting him take over."

I whirl to face Damon. "Damon Salvatore, you did not!"

His eyes twinkle, though the rest of his expression is unapologetic. "Come on, we both know that Ric couldn't advise his way out of a paper bag. I saved your novel!"

"Whoa, trying to impress a lady here," Alaric interrupts, cupping his hands over Meredith's ears. "Let's save the talk about my incompetency for after dinner when we're all too drunk to remember it, okay?" Meredith giggles, and as I watch them share a meaningful look, my heart twinges with jealousy. I resist the urge to glance at Damon. Those looks of adoration are never going to pass between us.

"What can we do to help?" Meredith asks, shrugging off her peacoat. Damon takes it from her and hangs it next to my jacket on the hooks by the entry door.

"You should ask Matt. At the moment, he's in charge of the kitchen."

Meredith turns her megawatt smile to Matt. "If you need anything chopped, I'm pretty good at that. It kind of comes with the territory of being a surgeon."

"Yeah, uh, I guess it does." Bonnie and I eye each other at the sound of Matt's nervous laughter. He catches our not-so-secret glance and glares at us. "I could use your help cutting the celery and onions for the stuffing."

"I bet you could," Bonnie mutters, winking at Matt when the intensity of his glare increases. Damon snorts, and I see him shake with silent laughter out of the corner of my eye. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Poor Alaric, bless his heart, just looks confused.

"So, Meredith," Matt says loudly, shooting Bonnie and I one last glare before leading Meredith into the kitchen. "You're a surgeon, huh? I bet you know all sorts of fun ways to kill people and hide the evidence…"

When the two of them are out of earshot, Bonnie, Damon, and I quietly snigger. Alaric just shakes his head at us. The four of us settle into the furniture next to Damon's fireplace.

"I hear congratulations are in order, Elena," Alaric says, adjusting his body position in the armchair across from me. "Damon told me that you finished your novel."

"The first draft of my novel," I correct as Bonnie rests her legs in my lap. "Only a billion more drafts to go."

"Hey, none of that talk here," Damon says, wagging his finger at me from the armchair next to Alaric's. "Be proud of what you've done."

"Fucking right, Gilbert," Bonnie adds. "I can't even read a three-hundred-page book, let alone write one. Listen to Teach and brag a little."

"It does feel nice to have a complete first draft, but I want to get other opinions on it before I decide what I need to change." I look at Alaric. "I'd love to get your opinion on the current draft if you have some time."

"Yeah, I'd be happy to read what you've got."

"Great!" I stand up and walk over to the door. "I'm going to run out to Matt's car and get your copy so it's not forgotten."

"A bit presumptuous of you, eh?" Alaric teases. I give him a sheepish grin as I slip my arms into my jacket. I hear the movement of leather to my right. When I look over, Damon's wearing his jacket.

"I'll walk out with you."

I feel my cheeks flush at the thought of being alone with him once more. "It'll only take a minute, Damon."

"Maybe, but the tour's not over." The corners of his mouth curve upwards.

I'm suddenly very eager to be alone with Damon outside.

As Damon opens the door for me, I look back and make brief eye contact with Bonnie. She makes a lewd gesture at me with her tongue. I wrinkle my nose at her before continuing outside.

I start to walk towards Matt's truck, but I feel Damon's fingers curl around my wrist. "I want to show you something."

"What about Alaric's copy?"

"We'll grab it when we return. Here, come with me." He releases my wrist, but we walk alongside each other to his backyard. I release a breath I didn't know I held when it comes into view. It's an unadorned field approximately the size of a football stadium, but it's so green and lush that it's just as impressive as the rest of the boarding house. Autumn-kissed woods surround the backyard and create a natural fence that just begs people to explore past its borders.

"It must have been amazing to grow up here," I breathe, taking in the sheer vastness of this yard. "This place is perfect for snowball fights in the winter and catching fireflies in the summer. Oh, and fall football games!"

Damon's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Maybe, if I had other people to play with."

I frown. "What about Stefan, or your friends from school."

"Father yelled at me if I roughhoused with Stefan. And after Mom died, Father shipped me to boarding school in upstate New York. When I returned to Atlanta for the holidays or summer, the few friends I had returned to their homes in California, Michigan, or London."

"Few friends?"

He sighs and looks around the yard. "I know this may shock you because I'm so amazing now, but I wasn't exactly popular when I was in school. I was picked on because I liked History so much. The fact that I earned my Ph.D. in the subject that caused me so much misery as a kid is a testament to how much I like it."

Damon's expression grows distant, and I assume that he's remembering his less pleasant memories of boarding school. I hate that he looks so sad. I reach over and touch his arm to snap him out of his reverie.

"Forget about those jackwads who picked on you," I offer. "I'm sure they all live shitty lives anyway. You definitely came out on top."

His mouth quirks up, as if he's attempting to smile. "You think?"

I gesture to the boarding house with one arm and the backyard with the other. "You're living in an amazing house, you've got your dream job, and you're spending Thanksgiving with some kickass people. Your life looks pretty good from where I'm standing."

He smirks. "Well, you are standing in the best spot in the backyard."

"Oh really?"

"Only the best for you, Elena."

I blush at his words. If Damon says anything about it, I'm going to blame my redness on the brisk air. Before I can think of a snappy comeback, Damon takes my hand and tugs me towards the woods.

"Come see the creek."

He helps me over fallen trees and leads me around shrubbery until we're standing on the bank of a small creek. The woods are quiet except for the occasional chirps of idle birds and the constant sound of lapping water. A felled trunk creates a narrow bridge from one side of the creek to the other.

I eye the trunk-bridge. "Can you walk across that?"

"What, that tree?" Damon walks over to the trunk and places one of his feet on it. "Maybe when I was seven…"

"And now?"

He smirks at me. "Is that a challenge?"

I smirk back at him. "Is it?"

"Feisty. I like it." He takes off his leather jacket and hands it to me. I hug it to my chest and watch as he steps onto the log. He stays still for several seconds before he extends his arms and starts to walk across the tree trunk. I should probably be impressed with his balance. Truthfully, I'm more focused on how much I want to squeeze his ass in those black dress pants.

When Damon's halfway across the trunk, I call out to him. "How deep is the water?"

He snorts. "A foot, maybe a foot and a half. Why, are you worried I'm going to drown?"

"Just checking." I lay his jacket down on a tree stump and sneak over to the base of the log. After I look and make sure that he's not paying attention to me, I place my foot on the trunk and kick it.

The slight movement makes Damon hesitate. I snicker under my breath as I move the trunk again. He yelps. As he cranes his neck back at me, I nudge the trunk again.

"Oh, now I see why you asked about the water."

I giggle as he wobbles on the trunk. "I thought you could use the extra challenge," I tease. "You're not eight anymore. You should be held to higher standards."

"You're a brat, Elena Gilbert." He laughs as he says it. "I'd like to see you do better!"

I wrestle off my jacket and lay it next to his before I walk up to the base of the log. "You better move, Salvatore. I'm coming after you."

He scoffs. "I'm not worri—oh, shit!" he mutters, noticing that I'm already a quarter of the way across the trunk. I laugh as he struggles to turn around on the log, and I take advantage of his shaky balance to close the gap between us. When we're three quarters of the way across the log, I reach out and tap him on the shoulder.

"Can you move faster, please?" I say as sweetly as possible. "I'm trying to prove a point to someone."

"Were you a tightrope walker in a former life?" he demands. His arms make windmill motions in what I assume is his attempt to stay balanced on the wood. His abrupt actions make me wobble for a second, and I stick out my arms to right myself.

"Don't know, but I'm making a great case for that possibility right now, don't you think?" As Damon takes one step, I move with him, and both of us eventually stand on the other side of the creek bank.

Damon collapses onto the carpet of leaves. "That was terrifying," he gasps. His chest heaves up and down. "You're going first on the way back. We'll see how well you do when the log happens to…shake…a bit."

"Probably just as well as I did on my way over here," I tease. Damon barks out a laugh and rolls over to his side. He props his head up with his arm and looks at me.

"I'm liking this snark, Elena. It suits you."

"Snark? Me? I don't know what you're talking about."

He laughs again. "Are you this much of a brat to everyone else, or did I win an unspecified lottery?"

"If by a "brat" you mean at ease, then no, I'm only a brat around the people I feel comfortable around. It's a limited group. You should feel privileged to be a part of it." I hug my legs close to my chest, starting to feel the air's chill once again.

"So privileged," Damon echoes. He sits up and faces me. "I'd never have guessed that you don't feel comfortable around others. You hide it really well."

"Thanks. I've had years of practice." I sigh and look at the creek. "Don't get me wrong, I like being around people, but it takes a while for me to warm up to them. I'm crazy-jealous of Matt for being able to have a conversation with someone he's just met. I suck at making small talk. If I don't have anything important to say, I'd rather stay quiet and let others do the talking while I get to know that person through observation."

"Creepy."

I shrug. "Maybe, but I'd rather be creepy than insincere."

"Believe me, Elena, you are anything but insincere." When I look over at Damon, his eyes lock with mine. The shiver that courses through me has nothing to do with the cold.

"Shit, you're cold." He jumps to his feet and pulls me to mine. "We should head inside before we turn into popsicles." As he gestures for me to lead our tree trunk bridge crossing, I mentally curse my involuntary shiver for ending this moment with Damon.

I hop off the log and grab my and Damon's jacket from the nearby tree trunk. As we slip into them, I realize that this is the second interrupted conversation we've had today, the first one occurring in his bedroom. "Hey Damon, what were you going to ask me about earlier?" I elaborate when his forehead wrinkles. "We were talking about the Civil War music books you had in your bedroom."

"Oh, that." His expression grows uneasy as we navigate our way back to the boarding house. "It's nothing."

"You're nervous, so it's probably something…"

Damon sighs. "I have to teach a graduate course next semester, and the department chair wants it to be a new offering."

"Wow, you really have the opportunity to teach about anything you want." We've made it to Matt's truck, so I open the door and grab the bound copy of my draft off the floor. "What did you have in mind?"

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "AclassonHistoryandMusicwitha focusontheCivilWar?"

"Sorry, what was that?"

I see Damon clear his throat. "A class on History and Music with a focus on the Civil War?"

The binder in my hand crashes to the ground. So does my lower jaw. "You're going to teach a class about music?"

"It's a dumb idea," he snaps, storming away from Matt's truck. I crouch to pick up the binder and race after him.

"It's not, Damon. It's not a dumb idea at all." When I grab his arm, he stops walking, but his body continues to heave with angered exhalations. I instinctively throw my arms around his waist and hold him until he calms down.

"I'm an idiot," he mutters. I feel him shake his head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm the least qualified person to teach anything about music."

"But you're more than qualified to teach the historical aspect of the class," I counter, taking a small step away from him so I can look him in the eyes. "And yes, you're new to music, but the fact that you have those books in your room shows that you're willing to put in the effort to round out your knowledge."

"I don't know if four-and-a-half months of gradual music immersion will be enough to teach an entire class about it."

As much as I want to boost Damon's confidence and tell him that his music knowledge will be more than adequate, I know in my heart that he's not the right person to teach the music portion of this class. "Could you co-teach the class with someone who knows a lot about music to compensate for your lack of knowledge?"

He levels me with a meaningful stare. "You."

"What? No, I was thinking more along the lines of a professor from the Music department."

Light fills his eyes. "Elena, it has to be you. You're perfect."

You're perfect. It has to be you.

Damn it all to hell if I don't remember those seven words the next time I touch myself.

"…we'll balance each other out because you know as much about music history as I know about regular history. It'll be a cinch to design the class because we already know that we work well together. Oh, and you'll get paid to spend time with me!" He levels me with a puppy-dog stare that makes my ovaries clench. "I can't teach this class without you, Elena. You know I'm no good without you."

I'm no good without you.

That clanking noise? Yeah, it's the sound of five more words adding themselves to my spank bank.

My head reels from a combination of trying to process Damon's unexpected request and trying to prevent my brain from converting his words into fodder for the Naughty Things playlist. I need time away from him to think about this proposition. "When do I need to make a decision?"

"December 1st."

"Can I think about it until the 30th?"

He frowns, but he eventually nods. "Sure. I'll just think of something else in case you say no." His voice is curt. It's as if he already expects me to turn him down. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled at the prospect of being Damon's Teaching Assistant. Professionally speaking, it's an amazing opportunity to gain some classroom experience teaching the subjects I love. On a personal level, I'm giddy just thinking about all the time I'll get to spend with Damon both in and out of the classroom to plan and execute this course.

On the flip side, even in the off-chance that Damon's no longer dating Dr. Pierce, he'll still be my professor and I'll still be his student, so yeah, having all of my teeth pulled might feel more comfortable than continuing to spend time with him in such close proximity.

We walk back to the boarding house in silence, but just before we go inside, I touch his arm. "I want to do it," I insist, searching his eyes for some sign that he believes me. "I just need to make sure that I can give you the commitment that you deserve."

He looks at me for several seconds before shaking his head. "Sometimes I wish…" he murmurs, but he doesn't finish his thought as he opens the door and follows me inside.

Four heads swivel to face us as we walk into the living room. "Did you get lost on the way to Matt's truck?" Bonnie teases. Alaric and Meredith chuckle at her words, but Matt's face remains impartial.

"We were continuing the tour," Damon says, shrugging out of his jacket. I hand him mine, and he goes to hang them up before returning to the room. "What's the status on food?"

"Matt and I wrestled the turkey into the oven, and the stuffing's prepped," Meredith says. "According to him, the only things left to cook are the mashed potatoes, sausage-stuffed mushrooms, and whatever you're making."

"In that case, I should probably get started on my Italian stuff if we want to eat around six. When does football start?"

"In three minutes, fucker," Bonnie says, glancing up from her grommet watch. "I was beginning to think that this whole 'kickass television' thing was a ploy."

"Please, Bennett, I'd never lie to you. I don't want to get my ass kicked," Damon laughs, motioning for all of us to follow him. He leads us down a winding staircase into a dark hallway of weathered bricks. As we walk through it, I look around for an old lock or secret passageway that could lead to this supposed dungeon. I'm still not convinced that it exists. Seriously, who lives in a house with a dungeon?

I'm about to demand that Damon show me the alleged dungeon when we enter what can only be described as his man-cave. Framed Civil War memorabilia and travel posters to Civil War sites dot the room's brick walls. Sleek lamps hang from the exposed wooden ceiling beams. Four high-backed bar stools sit around a mahogany bar; matching cabinets stocked with expensive-looking liquor bottles and a variety of glasses rest behind it. An elegant billiards table stands at one end of the room; at the other, a three-piece sectional leather sofa faces the advertised fifty-inch flat screen, electronic equipment, and another gas fireplace.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Bonnie whoops, strutting over to the sofa and flopping down on it. She snatches the remote control from the cushion besides her and turns on the television, flipping the channel to watch the Texans take on the Lions. "Come get me when the food's ready!"

Damon chuckles as he faces the remaining four of us. "I'm going to head back upstairs to start my half of the cooking. Help yourselves to anything in the cabinets and mini-fridge except for the bourbon. Matt, do I need to keep an eye on any of your stuff?"

He looks down at his sports watch. "Turkey's due out around five, but everything else is set on my end."

"Do you need any help?" Meredith offers. Damon shakes his head.

"Nah, I've got everything under control. If the game gets boring, you can stop by and chop some more veggies."

While Alaric gets Bonnie and Meredith drinks from the bar, I stop Damon before he heads upstairs. "I'm beginning to think this whole dungeon thing was a ploy," I tease, crossing my arms as I narrow my eyes and try to look annoyed. Damon smirks at me.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Elena."

"Then where is it?"

"I'm not just going to tell you where the dungeon is, Elena. Where's the fun in that?" He winks at me and starts to head back to the kitchen. "Why don't you explore the boarding house and see if you can find it yourself?"

"Your house is huge. What if I get lost and can't find my way back?"

The smirk on his face grows wider. "I think there's some leftover bread cubes from Matt's stuffing. Leave a trail of those."

"Oh!" I gasp, lightly smacking his arm with my fingers. "You are an awful person, Damon Salvatore!" He laughs at me as he removes my hand from his arm, squeezing it once before heading back down the hallway and up the stairs.

For the next four hours, the six of us alternate between lounging in front of the fireplace and watching football and preparing some part of the Thanksgiving meal. I wander around the boarding house in search of the dungeon. I don't find it, but I do find Damon's second portrait in the house's abandoned scullery. I blow the dust off the frame and eye Damon in his high school graduation cap and gown. His hand rests against his chest and curls around a rolled diploma. His face at eighteen no longer carries the baby fat he had when he was seven, but those icy eyes and raven hair of his are just as beguiling as ever. I imagine he was quite the heartbreaker in high school, though whether or not he was aware of it is the real question to be asked.

At 5:30, Bonnie, Alaric, Matt, and I make our way upstairs to help Damon and Meredith set the table. The entire boarding house smells of our pending Thanksgiving feast, and my mouth waters at the aromas of turkey, garlic, melted cheese, and nutmeg that fill the air.

Damon lowers a stack of china plates into my waiting hands. "Be careful with these," he warns. "They were my great-grandmother's. I don't think they've been used in fifty years."

My thumbs trace over the smooth china. "And you're trusting me with them?"

"Better you than Bonnie. She'd likely drop them on purpose for some drum rhythm inspiration." He looks over at Bonnie as he says this. She continues her conversation with Alaric and Meredith, but as her hand raises to seemingly scratch her hair, her middle finger extends towards Damon. We chuckle, and I scamper off to set the table. Bonnie and Meredith eventually join me and help me place silverware, cloth napkins, and refilled drink glasses at our designated spots. I note with pleasure that I'm seated between Damon, at one head of the table, and Matt. Bonnie's at the other table end, with Alaric seated to her immediate right and Meredith next to him.

When we finish setting the table, the men bring in the food. My eyes bulge at how quickly the table disappears, and when we all sit down to eat, I brace myself to consume everything in front of me.

As Alaric goes to heap some of the garlic mashed potatoes onto his plate, Bonnie smacks his hand away from the spoon. "Back the fuck off, Teach. We haven't said grace or gone around the table and said what we're thankful for!"

Damon's eyebrow raises. "You say grace?"

"Screw you, Other Teach. My Grams raised me right."

"Screw you, my Grams raised me right," Matt repeats. "Nice, Bonnie."

"Fuck off, Donovan. Now everyone hold hands." I pinch my lips together to keep from laughing at Meredith's baffled expression as Bonnie leads us in a short prayer. Sure, Bonnie's a metalhead badass, but every now and then I catch glimpses of the woman who attended church with her Grams every Sunday and values togetherness more than anything. She doesn't show us this part of her very often, but her communal side is just as much a part of her as her penchant for pounding a fast rhythm on her drum set.

"Amen."

My left side feels warmer than my right. I look over and see Damon look down at our joined hands, then up at me. His thumb rubs the skin on the top of my hand as he glances back to Bonnie. "What are you thankful for, Bennett?"

"Napalm Death's new album and warm socks."

I stare at Bonnie, expecting her to say more, but when she slumps back in her seat I elbow Matt to speak next. "Uh…I guess I'm thankful that the bar's doing so well and that I get to play music with my best friends every weekend."

I'm up. "I'm thankful that all of my family and friends are happy and healthy, that I'm making progress with my novel, and I'm especially thankful to Damon for inviting us here today."

A small flush colors Damon's cheeks. He clears his throat. "I'm thankful for my job, and I'm thankful for everyone here." He looks at me when he says this, and now it's my turn to blush. We continue around the table – Meredith's thankful that a little girl she operated on gets to spend today at home with her family, and Alaric is thankful that his article on weaponry used in the War of 1812 was accepted for publication in a prestigious periodical. We clink our glasses together, cheers to the day, and dig into the feast before us.

Two hours later, the six of us slump in our dining room chairs, our stomachs slightly more bloated than they were when we started the meal. "I don't think I can eat another bite," Meredith groans, resting her head on Alaric's shoulder. "So…much…food."

"Hey Damon, do you think we could get away with wearing sweatpants to teach on Monday?" Alaric asks, his words slurred from the seven beers he drank today. Damon's head lulls to his chest as his eyes flutter shut.

"Maybe if we pair them with a nice shirt."

"God damn," Bonnie mutters, slowly standing to her feet. "That mac and cheese you made was fucking amazing, Teach. I call dibs on those leftovers. And on Matt's sausage-stuffed mushrooms. And on whatever's left of the chocolate bourbon pecan pie."

"No way," I chime in, clutching my hand to my stomach. "I'll fight you for that. And so will Matt."

He chokes out a laugh. "Only if the fight happens next week. I'm not doing anything before then."

"Seconded."

"I third."

We sit in stuffed silence for five more minutes before we summon the energy to clean up. Everyone clears the table, and Damon and I wash and dry the dishes while everyone else spoons the leftover food into Tupperware containers. Sometimes he and I brush against each other when he hands me something to dry, and the resulting flutters in my stomach have nothing to do with the ton of food floating in it.

When everything's in the dishwasher or refrigerator, the six of us stagger back downstairs and sink into the sofa.

"Is there another game on?" Bonnie murmurs with half-open eyes. She grabs a pillow from the floor, rests it on Matt's lap, and lays down on him. He stretches his hand out and feels around for the remote. Two minutes of maneuvering later, the television turns on to the Patriots versus Jets game.

"Damon, is it okay if we crash here for the night?" Alaric asks, holding a sleeping Meredith in his arms. "I think I've had one too many to drive her home."

"Actually, everyone should just crash here tonight. It's not like I don't have the space, and we've all had one too many for the road."

My heart speeds at the realization that I'm spending the night in Damon's house. Memories of the night we accidentally slept together in his office surface. I quickly tell myself that tonight won't be like that. There are seven bedrooms in this house – no way is there a need for us to share. I feel a severe glance from my right, and I turn to see Matt spear me with a meaningful look. I can tell that he's not happy about staying here longer than necessary. When he eventually shrugs and falls back into the sofa, I know he's realized that there's no way he, Bonnie, or I can drive us back to our apartment after all of the beer and whiskey that's in our systems. I'm booze-warm and happy, and I'm sure having Damon seated next to me is only exacerbating those feelings.

As the football game drones on and the Patriots clobber the Jets, my eyelids grow heavy from food, booze, and sheer exhaustion. It's been a long day, but the day has been so good. I love Damon's house. Hopefully I'll set foot in it again. As I slip out of consciousness, I wonder if he'd host Caroline and my's joint graduation party here in May.

The next thing I know, I'm being cradled by a pair of strong arms as I'm carried up the steps. I instinctively throw my arms around my carrier's neck and nestle into his or her chest. When I inhale, I'm surrounded by Damon's spicy scent.

"Where are you taking me?" I mumble, slowly opening my eyes and blinking up at him. His grip on me tightens as he stares at me with a tender expression.

"You fell asleep downstairs, pretty girl." We walk through his living room and start up the second flight of stairs to the floor with the bedrooms. "Hush now. I'll take care of you."

"That's nice." I close my eyes and curl back into him, feeling his chest move in and out against my body. I hear the creak of an opening door. Shortly after, my body's laid on a plush surface. When Damon pulls away, I yearn for his warmth to return.

"There's a t-shirt and a pair of my old sweatpants at the foot of your bed if you want to change into them," he murmurs. The bed sags with his weight as he sits down. I groan into she soft comforter.

"I know I should change but I'm so comfortable right now." I stretch my limbs before opening my eyes again. Damon's still looking at me with that same tender expression. His hand reaches over to my face to brush a stray tendril of hair behind my ear.

"I should probably leave so you can go back to sleep."

No. I don't want him to leave. I want him to stay and talk with me, and I grab his wrist when he goes to stand up. "Don't leave. Stay here."

The gentle look on his face softens even more. "I'm going to change into something to sleep in while you change into my clothes, and when I finish I'll come back. Okay?"

"You'll really come back?"

"I promise."

The bed lifts, and when I hear the creak of the bedroom door I reluctantly sit up and start to take off my clothes. I debate whether or not to remove my bra, seeing as I usually sleep without one, but I decide that it would cross one of the lines that hasn't been sleep haze-muddled by my brain just yet. I shiver when I look around the elegant bedroom and realize that I'm wearing nothing but my underwear in Damon's house. For a moment, I feel empowered. Sexy. Then the more conscious part of my brain reminds me how inappropriate this is, and I quickly scramble to toss his oversized University of Virginia t-shirt and silky black sleep pants onto my body.

I'm pulling my hair out from underneath the shirt when a soft knock sounds on the door. "Elena? You decent?"

Unfortunately. "Come in."

The door opens, and Damon quietly pads into the room wearing another University of Virginia t-shirt that's fraying at the sleeves and gray sweatpants. I stare at him as he closes the door. I've never seen him so casual. He's always in button-ups and dark jeans or pants, and he definitely looks hot in those, but there's something about seeing him bare-footed and comfortable that just tugs at my heartstrings.

I clear my throat. "I don't think I've ever seen you so dressed down."

He chuckles as he crosses the room to sit next to me on the bed. "Do you think I can get away with this look at school?"

"You'll have to convince the department chair to institute a Casual Friday policy."

A yawn emerges that I can't muffle, and I cover my gaping mouth with my hand. "Sorry about that."

He frowns at me. "Are you sure I shouldn't let you get to sleep?"

"I'm okay, really. I like talking with you."

His frown disappears. "I like talking with you, too."

I lay my head down on the pillows on my side of the bed. Damon joins me after some hesitation. We lie in place and look at each other in companionable quiet.

"Thanks for hosting Thanksgiving, Damon." I adjust the pillow and cover another yawn with my hand. "I really liked seeing your house."

"I really liked having you here," he admits, his blue eyes locking with my brown ones. "I can't remember the last time there's been this many people in the house at once."

"Does it get lonely being out here by yourself?"

He hesitates. "I've become an expert at doing things on my own," he finally says, rolling onto his back. He stares up at the ceiling. "Sometimes it's not so bad."

I frown, wondering if he felt any pains from Dr. Pierce's Thanksgiving absence. "You didn't feel lonely today, did you?"

He continues to look at the ceiling. "I never feel lonely when I'm with you, Elena."

My heart pounds at the sheer joy that his utterance gives me. It then pounds even harder at the gross injustice that this bright, giving man's gifts are being wasted on a woman who doesn't deserve to benefit from them. "Damon?"

"Hmm?"

I pause, but my heart needs to know the answer to the question I asked him on Monday so badly. "Why are you dating Dr. Pierce?"

When he doesn't immediately answer, I curse myself for resurfacing this topic that's clearly a sore to us both. Stupid me allowed Damon's sincere compliments to make me bold and ask him to stay with me. I keep crossing the lines that I create for myself—

"I first met Katherine at a conference in Chicago last November," he suddenly says, abruptly stilling my thoughts. "I was about to present an abridged version of my dissertation to a room filled with at least two hundred people. I felt so terrified that I spent an hour beforehand puking my lunch in a bathroom stall. This paper was my life's research. I'd spent so many hours researching and writing it, the words on those pages felt like they were an engrained part of me. I'm sure you feel the same way about your novel, right?"

"Of course."

"Anyways, when I eventually calmed myself down enough to go into the conference room, I walked up to my seat on the panel and sat down. Two seconds later, I heard the chair beside me move, and when I looked over, I saw the most beautiful woman in the world grinning at me. I remember comparing how Katherine's gaze felt on me to the feel of being struck by lightning. I was frozen in my seat as we appraised each other, and I felt like such a fool for being rendered so mute."

"I can imagine," I murmur, trying not to scowl. Damon sighs and continues to stare at the ceiling.

"I felt like my blood had turned to liquid electricity the entire panel just for being near her. When it was finally my turn to speak, she placed her hand on my thigh just as I was standing up to go to the podium. She leaned towards me and whispered in my ear, 'Impress me, handsome'. Of course that just made me even more nervous. There was no way anything I had to say would impress this woman. She carried herself so highly. It was like she knew that she was better than any of us in the room, and anything I had to say would just sound like gibberish to her."

"Well, I stammered my way through my presentation. I thought it could have gone better, but afterwards I had a dozen or so people approach me and compliment me on my research. I didn't want to talk to any of them, though. I only wanted to talk to her, and I was crushed when I didn't see her anywhere. I reluctantly gathered my things, and when I looked up, there she was, staring at me with a come-hither expression that turned my legs to jelly."

He laughs. "She told me to cancel any plans I had that night because I was taking her to dinner. I was so turned on by her forwardness. I knew that nothing would stop this woman from getting what she wants, and the fact that I was what she wanted blew my mind. When we talked that night over dinner at one of Chicago's best restaurants and she told me about all of her accomplishments, I felt even more baffled that she'd bother to spend time with me. I resolved that if this woman agreed to go on a second date with me, I'd do everything in my power to impress her."

"How's that working out for you?" I can barely keep the bitterness out of my voice. Damon rolls on his side and faces me.

"At first it was great, you know? I was finishing my doctorate in Virginia, and she had her job here in Atlanta, so the long distance thing worked well for us because we couldn't afford to see each other all of the time. She always told me about the research trips she went on to Bulgaria, and I'd tell her what schools wanted to interview me. By this point, I was sick of long distance. I wanted to be with her, and I asked her if she'd mind if I applied to the U of A. I remember feeling hurt when she didn't immediately say yes. She always acted like she wanted to be with me when we visited each other every month or so, so I was really surprised when she asked me if I really wanted to be in Atlanta. I did, so I applied for the job. I'd already met Ric and a lot of her other coworkers through the department events she took me to and I knew that they liked me, so it wasn't a surprise to either of us when I got the job offer. I moved back into the boarding house this summer, and I was pumped to spend more time with Katherine."

"I'm assuming she didn't feel the same way?"

"Apparently not." His eyes drift down to the design on the comforter. "I don't think I've done a single thing right in her eyes since I moved here in July. If I want to spend time with her, she yells at me for distracting her from her research. If I try to give her the space she asks for, she berates me for not prioritizing her. I don't know what she wants from me, and I'm exhausted from trying to figure it out."

As I look at Damon, I realize that the circles under his eyes have grown darker since I first met him in late August. "Does she still make you happy?"

I could burst from the anticipation of hearing his answer. "When I'm with Katherine, I remember feeling that for the first time in my life, someone wanted me to succeed. Father and Stefan thought that pursuing a History Ph.D. was a waste of time, but here was this gorgeous woman who shared my passion for the subject, and she just happened to be interested in me. I wanted to be worthy of her so badly. Part of me still does."

"Being worthy isn't the same thing as being happy," I point out in a soft voice, trying not to cry at how tightly he's still wound around her little finger. "You've got so much to offer someone, Damon. Don't waste your time on someone who doesn't appreciate everything you are. There are plenty of women out there who can support you and make you happy."

He goes quiet for a second, and I'm so sad that I just want to roll over and cry myself to sleep. How can he not see how toxic Dr. Pierce is to his sense of self-worth? How does he not know how special he is? How can—

"Elena?"

I try not to sniffle. "Yes?"

He quiets again. "What if I met an incredible woman who makes me want to be a better person in all aspects of my life and who makes me happier than anyone I know, but we can't be together because of current circumstances?"

My breath hitches in my throat as I try to process the implications of his words. Could he mean…? No, he's probably talking hypothetically…but maybe he's not…

I finally formulate an answer. "If I met someone like that, and I was currently dating someone, then I wouldn't waste any more time with a person who I knew wasn't right for me." My heart's pounding so hard, and I hope that Damon doesn't hear the tremors in my voice.

Damon's brow crinkles. "Even if it's going to take months or years for the circumstances to change so you can be with that person?"

"If he's into me as much as I'm into him, then I hope that he'd be patient and proactive enough to straighten things out on his end so that when the circumstances finally align for us, we can be together."

Damon nods. As my mind spins from everything that's been said in this bedroom, Damon reaches for my hand. "You know you're my best friend, right?"

I wish I could form a coherent response, but I'm so dumbfounded by his admission that I simply lay there and stare and him. He doesn't seem to be thwarted by my non-responsiveness. "I can't tell any of that stuff to Ric, but I feel like I can tell you anything." He pauses. "I've never had anyone like that in my life."

My heart aches right now, and all I can do is give his hand a squeeze. "I'll always be here for you, Damon. You can count on me."

"I know."

I yawn again, and Damon rolls over to look at the digital clock on the opposite nightstand. "Shit, it's two in the morning."

I slide underneath the covers on my side of the bed and turn off the lamp on the nightstand closest to me. "We talked for a while."

"I should let you get some sleep," Damon says, his face illuminated by the orange glow of the lamp light on his side. He still looks so sad, and I know that I should let him leave, but I can't bear to see him walk out of that bedroom door with so much weight on his shoulders.

"Stay."

He surveys my face. "Yeah?"

I nod. "Please."

He studies my face for a moment before nodding. "I'll grab a blanket."

I exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding as I watch Damon walk over to the closet and retrieve a fleece blanket. He walks back to the bed and spreads the fleece on his side before slipping beneath it. I stay on my side of the bed as he turns off his lamp, feeling my eyelids flutter shut.

"Goodnight, Damon."

He interlocks my fingers with his. "Goodnight, Elena."

A belated Happy New Year to you! And in honor of the Thanksgiving theme of this chapter, I'm so thankful for you and all of the support you've shown BIYE. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter - it's more than twice the length of my usual updates, so I'm sure you can find something to comment on :)

Thanks to everyone who's volunteered to assist me with the Capstone Project I'm completing next semester on fanfiction – what it is, why people read/write it, etc. I'm still looking for volunteers to answer a questionnaire about your fanfiction experiences. If you're interested, please PM me with your email address (the email at domain dot com format gets past the FF website filters) so I can email you the questionnaire in January. If you're on the fence and want more information, I'm more than happy to elaborate about my project!