Leaving Liz, as Sheriff Forbes insisted on being called, in the Salvatore cellar to make her excuses to her fellow police officers, Abigail wandered back upstairs. She knew that Stefan was somewhere close, even if she'd managed to stay away from him after Caroline and Elena had gotten him out of the Lockwood's chamber of horrors.

He'd been forced to take human blood as well, and Abi wasn't thrilled with that knowledge. Not after what happened when he'd transitioned, or when he'd drank from that girl during Miss Mystic Falls. Abigail Morgan knew that Stefan Salvatore could NOT be trusted to drink human blood and maintain the careful facade of humanity that he cloaked himself in. That from whatever difference there was between human blood and animal, that fragment set aflame in Stefan the baser beast inside of him, and unleashed his obsessive qualities. And she was one of them.

"Abigail," that voice, how often had she prayed not to hear it as she fought to recreate the path forward to the sunlight in her prison? "Are you alright?"

Her eyes had shut as soon as he uttered her name, as soon as the first breath of her name escaped his lips, she'd needed to shut out the world to ask for strength to face him if he'd fallen again. But his concern coated the question that came right after, and that didn't sound like the monster that had waited in his father's office. The creature that had massacred the household to create a tableau that locked her deep within her own mind.

"Abi?" It was Damon's voice, then his warmth was next to her, his fingertips touching her face. "Sweetheart? What's wrong?"

She shook her head and opened her eyes to his bright blue orbs, squinted in concern and waiting to search hers for the source of the problem. "I'm fine, Damon." Sighing, she looked around and found Stefan at a safe distance, carefully out of the way, but close enough to show that he was concerned for her wellbeing as well. "I'm fine, Stefan," she fought to smile, to make it look effortless, even as the memory of THAT day was pressing to come back, to remind all of her and through her all of them of how horribly everything had gone wrong. "It's been a long day, that's all."

Damon didn't look convinced, but he also knew that Abigail had shared all she would, for now. Nodding, he leaned close and brushed his lips against her smooth forehead. Her scent enveloped him as much as her warmth did. "Stay." He wanted her to come back to his bedroom, to slide under his sheets with him, and this time stay the entire night wrapped up with him. He wanted to wake up with her still locked tight in his arms. He wanted the first sight that met his eyes to be HER and the first thing her pale green eyes fixed upon to be HIM.

Abi shook her head with a sigh. "I can't." It wasn't the answer he wanted, she knew that as clearly as she knew her own name. Before he could argue or barter, she reminded him of the reality of their current predicament. "You have the town sheriff held hostage in your cellar. Your brother and his girlfriend are playing cat and mouse with Katherine Pierce in a game that I want no part in -" Damon's mouth opened, but Abi tapped one finger over his soft lips to stop him from interrupting her. "And I have a house, Damon, and I have Cat to take care of."

"Cat?" Damon's eyebrow quirked after he kissed her finger as she was removing it. "You have a cat that's more important than coming upstairs with me and -" he wiggled his eyebrows and she laughed.

"Yes," Abi's smile stayed bright and steady at his teasing seduction. "I do have a cat that's more important than you at the moment." Standing on tiptoes she offered him her mouth for a kiss, which he was powerless to resist. Satisfied with her due, she dropped back down and shook her head again. "Tempting, Damon, you are so very tempting."

"Then give in," he wheadled, but she was already reaching for her bag and keys. "And you call me stubborn."

"You're the older one in this scenario, Damon Salvatore," she reminded him teasingly. "If I'm stubborn, it was a behavior I learned at your elbow."

He followed her to the front door, Stefan had melted away sometime during their private time, so intimate of a bubble they could create that they hadn't noticed. As she opened the door, the sun was down, the moon nowhere near full or worrisome now that they had Lockwood's sorry ass to contend with.

"At least let me know you made it home safe and sound?" He was still behind her as she opened her car door, still hovering, still close. "Don't shut me out, Abigail? Please?"

Abi took a beat, head down and focused on putting her bag on the passenger seat before facing him again. "I can only promise that I'll try," was what she offered, and while it wasn't what he wanted or hoped for, he accepted it. Another long, lingering kiss and she was tucked behind the steering wheel and on her way home.

As she drove, Abigail contemplated how fast her reality could shift. When she walked into that park earlier, she had no plans on being in the same breathing space as Damon, yet here she was - having once more offered her blood to him. She hoped that there had been enough of a break between the first drink and this one that it would make no noticeable change. That nothing especially disturbing or notable had happened that would make him realize that they were linked in a different way now.

She probably shouldn't have let him drink, but seeing him in that dark place - in pain and on the cusp of death - she didn't think. Her body reacted, and she was kneeling and offering before she honestly knew what was going on.

Abigail was reminded of another Catherine, this one literary, also terrible. Catherine Earnshaw who fed off of and loved to the point of obsession Healthcliff in "Wuthering Heights", both were horrible people on their own, but together they fed off of one another and like fanning the flames of Hell, if one was snuffed out - the other suffered. Instead of Katherine Pierce filling Cathy's shoes, however, Abi wondered as she pulled into her own parking spot and shut off her car, was this her role in the tragedy that was the epic love story that Damon alluded to?

Abigail was cursing herself when her dreams were haunted by foggy scenes of Elena and Damon dancing in formal wear while her mother whispered her failures in her ear and Elijah stood watching from the shadows saying nothing at all.

Cat woke her with a sound that probably woke up her neighbors and possibly Satan himself. Jerking upright, blinking rapidly to try to focus her eyes from the harsh and sudden alarm clock that was her irate kitty, she nearly added to the noise when she felt weight added to her bed that went beyond what her feline companion could give. Arms slithering around her waist, the warmth, then finally his scent.

"Shh," his lips were close to her ear, slightly damp, infinitely soft. "If you won't stay with me, then I have to come to you." Abigail considered smacking him, but his nose was nuzzling her ear and his lips found her pulse. "Calm down, Abi, it's me."

"You scared Cat," she admonished in a breath, wondering where the poor beast was now. "I've never heard him make that noise before."

Damon hummed, clearly not at all bothered by his entrance and definitely not slowed by the fact that he'd upset her pet. He wanted her, all of her, and damn the cat or anything else that dared to try to come between him and his need for her. His fingers were sliding down her body, searching for the hem of her nightshirt. Looking for a way to bare her to his hunger, need overwhelming everything else.

"Damon," lyrical, she sounded like music to him. "How did you get in my house?" She hadn't invited him in, he stopped, the realization hitting him like a brick. Abigail realized that she'd been wrong, there wasn't a long enough break between drinks to keep the changes at bay. This was the first, the simplest and if they didn't talk it out, well -

He pulled away and stared down at her in the dimness of the predawn and the street light that poured through the lace curtains of her windows. "Abigail?" His eyes were wide, he hadn't even considered it, not as he'd come rushing over, not how he knew where she was, or how he knew the code of the alarm, or how he crossed a threshold that he didn't have an invitation to enter. All he'd been focused on was HER. Being with HER and needing HER.

"I think we need to talk," Abigail offered, reaching for the bedside lamp, feeling that harsh light was needed for harsh truths.