Author's Note: This is probably the most personal story that I've ever written. It's something I needed to write, and it was one of the only times I sat down and words just sort of flowed through me and the outlining of this fic came quicker than anything else I've written for this fandom. Part of my inspiration was no-humanity Elena, except she's human. I tried to think of how a human Elena would function after tragedy kept hitting her, but she doesn't have the option to turn it all off. She's a more distant and raw version of herself, without the mask of everything being okay we see in the pilot episode. Damon comes along...and I wanted to see how they could grow and somehow mend each other like we saw on the show, especially in s2 and 3. This fic is a human au, told in third person, primarily from Elena's pov. I hope you enjoy chapter one of this fic. -Jackie-
Chapter 1
She sat down and looked at the group of miserable people, sitting on cheap fold out chairs arranged in the shape of a U. They all wore the same expression, which was actually void. A blank, displaced look. Lost. No one wanted to be there, and yet, they were. Nursing a cup of shitty coffee and avoiding eye contact with Mr. Griffin, a man in his mid-fifties, who always wore all denim, in mismatched shades of blue. Denim shirt, acid wash jeans, and a braided belt. He was nice in a grating way, because it always made Elena feel bad for never participating in group discussions, and she could do with less guilt in her life. Plus, he was genuine, which was annoying as hell.
Elena knew the ones in the group to look out for and avoid were the people who wanted to be there. Who thought that going to a meeting in an empty Sunday school room at St. Andrew's Episcopal Church, was a great way to spend a Wednesday evening. They liked to purge their grief every week. Same story. Their mom committed suicide when they were three and they couldn't get over it. Their cousin committed suicide because the family couldn't handle their coming out. Purge. Cry. Drink bad coffee, eat stale cookies, go home and press repeat the following week.
The meeting was about to start when a tall man with raven black hair walked in. He wore a leather jacket and when he took off his silver aviators, revealed the most tranquil blue eyes she'd ever seen. The color of a pool on a hot summer day. He sat across from her and didn't bother apologizing to Mr. Griffin for being late. Instead, he sat back with his arms folded across his chest, like he was the one waiting on us to start. The arrogance was staggering.
Not to be deterred, Mr. Griffin started the meeting with his usual speech about the importance of moving on and not letting blame keep us from naturally progressing in life. Then he asked for people to share. A girl with small brown eyes and her hair in a high ponytail stood up. She couldn't have been more than twenty-one. She was an immediate crier. Didn't even utter a word before the tears started to fall. She started to tell the story about her roommate of two months committing suicide. Her roommate was a bit of a recluse, didn't like going out and preferred to stay in and read with her cat, Muffin, on her lap. One day, she came home to find her roommate dead with a note in her pocket.
She wiped her nose, tears streaming down her face. "The note said for me to feed and take care of Muffin, and I don't even like cats."
Elena snorted. She couldn't help it. This girl's last note on earth was to make sure her annoying roommate took care of her cat. Even thinking about it caused her to burst into a fit of giggles. Morbid laughter. Everyone, including Mr. Griffin glared at her as she got up to excuse herself and get some air. She caught the guy that came in late's eye. He smirked. Maybe he thought the situation ridiculous too.
Elena didn't say anything during the entire meeting. Mr. Griffin did that thing where he waiting for a painstakingly long time for the last person to share, glaring at her the entire time, but she stayed resolute. So did the new guy, but no one really expects the new guy to say anything. Mr. Griffin will start giving him the glare in a couple of weeks.
She put her purse over her shoulder and made her way toward the cookie tray before she left. They may be stale, but they were free and she had a late shift at the diner to get to. Stale cookies and coffee with sugary creamer would have to be dinner.
"Shame on you," a voice said, just as she popped a cookie in her mouth. She spun around and saw the guy that walked in late, wearing a smirk that she was sure dropped panties across the country. She wasn't so easily fooled.
"I wasn't the one that walked in late," she retorted.
"The meeting hadn't started yet, so I wasn't technically late."
She shrugged and left to grab another cookie and refill her coffee.
"So what's your story?" he said, catching up to her as she left the church, coffee in hand.
"I have work, that's my story," she replied, picking up her pace.
He wasn't to be deterred. He chased her down the sidewalk until he was in step with her. "You don't seem like you want to be there."
"Not want to be at a victims of suicide support group? I wonder why?"
"Where do you work?" he asked. Pressing. This guy would not give up.
Elena stopped and turned towards the man, not caring who'd heard what she had to say. "Look, I'm there because the court ordered me to go. I got drunk and drove into a McDonalds drive through at 3 in the morning. Ran right into the sign that posts the menu. It was either this or AA and I sincerely wish I chose AA. Addicts would be more tolerable than miserable people who can't move on with their lives."
His eyes widened. "You're the McDonalds girl?"
Damn the evening news and the kid in the car behind her who posted the entire accident on youtube. She rolled her eyes and continued to walk towards her work while he followed. She pulled her long brown hair in a ponytail and unbuttoned her navy peacoat as she walked. She was already late to work and didn't want to hear about how she was slacking off on the job from Danny, the owner's son who was trying to make a name for himself by exerting power over the wait staff.
The guy from group continued to follow, pestering her with questions that she continued to ignore. Usually, her attitude rubbed people the wrong way, but he didn't seem bothered by her obvious brush-off. Maybe he thought she was lying about work, so could follow her home and catch her in some obvious lie, but that couldn't be it, because he saw her take off her jacket to reveal the most cliche powdered blue uniform waitress uniform, complete with a white peter pan collar and ruffled apron. Surely he'd leave once she started her shift, so she'd just have to deal with his annoying presence for another couple of minutes and then he'd go.
He stopped talking. Elena walked into the diner and turned around. He was gone. She sighed, unsure if she hoped he'd at least annoy her to the front door of the Cable Diner. She doubted whether or not he'd ever go to group again. There were plenty of people that came for one session and then left. She wished she had that freedom, but she had to continue to go for another six months and then she could tell Mr. Griffin and his denim ensembles to fuck off.
"You're late," Danny said, as she walked around the counter to get her ticket pad. "I don't know why you're always late. You don't have a boyfriend, you're not in school, and you don't have a kid to take care of."
She shrugged. "Sorry, Danny."
He gave an irritated sigh. "You're taking over Sandy's section. You need to take table 5's order, and table 4's food is almost up."
She nodded, tucking a pen and pad in her pocket, so she could grab a pitcher of water and walked over to the table.
"Hey, Elena," said a guy in a John Deer hat, wearing coveralls.
"Hey, Bob," she tried to smile. "The usual today?"
He looked over his menu. He always did this. Every night he came into the diner, sat in the same booth and ordered the same thing, but insisted on looking at the menu, forcing her to patiently wait while he made up his mind. She was willing to bet that he'd never deter from his usual of steak and eggs over easy with a cup of coffee and cherry pie.
"I'll get," he paused, flipping the menu back over. "The steak and eggs over easy with a cup of coffee and cherry pie."
"Good choice, Bob," she said, taking his menu and filling up his water.
She walked behind the counter and placed the ticket on the turn style.
"Bob?" Reggie said, from the kitchen.
She nodded at the cook. "You have table 4's food ready?"
"Yup," he pushed plates forward from the kitchen end of the little window that divided the kitchen with the diner. Elena expertly put the four plates of pancakes and omelets on her arm and walked over to the table.
After Elena ran the order and refilled drinks, Danny got her attention and motioned her to go to him.
His pale face was flushed with anger. He stood in his pleated khakis and a white polo shirt, drumming his fingers on the counter, waiting for Elena to put down her water pitcher and walk to him. "Table 4 complained about your attitude."
She had gotten them their food and refilled all their drinks. What could they possibly complain about? "What did they say?"
"You slammed down their plates and got ketchup on the man's shirt," he explained.
She scoffed. "I hardly think he noticed considering he just came off of a shift at a disposal company."
"You don't smile," Danny said. "You're short with the customers."
"I smile," she replied, a little too defensively.
He shook his head. "I was willing to keep you on staff because you're willing to work the overnight shift, but I can't have you on staff if you're going to be surly with customers."
She panicked. She needed this job, especially since the hours saved her sanity. "I'll apologize to table 4 and offer them each a slice of pie on me."
He nodded approvingly. "That's the kind of attitude I like."
She tried really hard not to roll her eyes and excused herself so she could take care of the table.
The rest of her shift went as smoothly as can be expected. Elena just tried to stay busy and out of Danny's way and was grateful when he left at midnight to go home.
When her shift was over, she put her pea coat back on and made her way home in the early morning hours. The sun was barely coming up over the horizon as she walked up Russian Hill and past the famous Lombard Street until she hit her condo, an old blue victorian mansion turned into a living complex. She lived on the third floor, had a reading alcove that looked out over the city, hardwood floors and a renovated kitchen with Grecian tiles. Most importantly, she had a large claw footed tub she could boil alive in on a nightly basis.
Her life was arranged in small moments linked with other small moments to get her through the day. Meaningless routines to keep her from thinking. A walk to Union Square on the weekends, with a book in hand. Coffee from a little Parisian cafe while she watched people walk by, her leather bound notebook open, pen in hand. When people started saying hi or referring to her by name, she switched things up. Found a new place to walk to, a new cafe, a new farmer's market to peruse. Compartmentalizing her past, pushing it back into the recesses of her mind in an effort to stay alive.
She opened her apartment door, placed her keys in a bowl beside her door and hung up her jacket. She walked to the bathroom and turned the faucet on her bathtub to a scalding hot temperature and then added some lavender oil and rose petal salts. While the water was filling up, she walked to the kitchen and made a cup of tea. Even after a night shift, she wasn't tired. She was never tired. Her mind a constant rip current of information. Thoughts. Dark bottomless thoughts that begged to pull her under.
Elena's phone rang while she was waiting for the kettle to boil. She looked at the caller id. Jenna. If she hadn't already avoided her previous five calls, she would've pretended like she'd never heard her phone ring. Instead, she picked up her phone and accepted the call.
"Hi Jenna," she said, pouring the water from the kettle into a large black mug.
"Elena," she said, sounding relieved. "You had me worried."
She felt a twinge of guilt but pushed it aside. "What's up?"
"What's up?" Jenna sighed. "Elena, you can't do that!"
She bit her lip, wishing she hadn't picked up her phone. "I…ummm…"
"I'm worried about you. You don't return my calls or emails. I haven't heard from you in over a month. You can't do this, Elena. You can't shut me out."
Tears started welling up in her eyes. No, she couldn't cry. She couldn't allow herself to give in. She took a deep breath and swallowed back tears. "I've been busy with work."
"At the diner? You don't even have to work. You have plenty of money to go to school and figure out the rest of your life. Hell, Elena, you could easily get an internship anywhere you wanted and work your way up. You have that freedom. That's what you should be doing, not wasting your life waiting tables at a diner," she said. It sounded as though her Aunt Jenna had been saving this lecture for the right moment.
She took a sip of the tea and tried to restrain the sad anger coming to the surface. "I'm fine. I like my job."
Jenna let out an irritated breath. "You are not fine. You are isolating yourself from any human contact. You are slowly dying, Elena and I can't bare to watch it happen."
Elena could hear Jenna's sobs over the phone. She couldn't do this. She couldn't allow herself to picture Jenna standing in her pale cream-yellow kitchen in her cottage in Virginia Beach, with her husband Alaric nursing a beer while watching the game. The normality was painful and something she knew she'd never deserve.
"I'm going to a victim of suicide support group every week," she offered.
Jenna let out a croaked skeptical laugh. "The court is making you go and I doubt you're participating."
Jenna did know her better than anyone. "Look, Jenna. I just got off a shift…"
"Elena, don't do this. I love you. You won writing contests in high school, even traveled to D.C. to pick up an award at a banquet. You used to cycle professionally and could've gone to the Tour de France if you'd have kept it up. You have the biggest heart and were more worried about the weak, unable to stay afloat in this horribly cruel world than yourself," she paused and Elena could hear her crying. "I love you. I love you. I love you," she said it over and over, hoping it'd sink into Elena's head. Hoping Elena would magically be Elena again. "You have always been in my heart. You have so much to contribute to this world, a whole bright future ahead of you. Don't let yourself get sucked in this darkness."
Elena hung up and threw her phone across the room, which luckily landed on the sofa. She closed her eyes, batting away tears. Sucking back emotion. Her hands were clenched so tightly in fists, her nails drew blood. She looked at the blood pooling in the palm of her hand. Sliding down one of the lines on her hand until it dripped down her wrist. She felt nothing as she wiped away the blood until the bleeding stopped, standing in her kitchen, wishing she were back at work with Danny yelling at her.
Abandoning her coffee, Elena went to the bathroom and stripped. She slid into the boiling tub, hoping to numb her mind when she heard loud thumping. Constant loud thumping. A low base drumming through her walls. Thump. Thump. Thump. She could've been in a club, one she might have visited before everything. Did someone new move in? Maybe the noise would go away…but it didn't. She tried just going with it, making it a part of her bathing experience, but the more she thought about it, the angrier she got. How dare this person play their music so loudly, this early in the morning? The beat had to be bleeding through the flooring, annoying the couple that lived there. Was it a couple or a lawyer…she couldn't remember. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Was this person actually lifting weights? Did she actually hear the sound of dumbbells hitting the floor? Who was this person? Not being able to stand the noise any longer, she got out of the tub, threw on a plush black robe and made her way next door, not caring that she was dripping wet or that her mascara was probably dripping down her cheeks.
She stomped to the front door of the apartment next to hers and banged on the door. When the person that lived there didn't answer, she used two fists to obnoxiously bang on the door. Then she started yelling. "Open the fuck up!"
After what seemed like ten minutes of exhausted banging, the door opened. She jumped back in surprise and yelped. Standing before her was the same cool blue eyes that followed her to work the previous evening, except he was shirtless, wearing low-slung navy gym shorts. She tried not to look at his sweat slicked chest and defined abs, complete with the mythical V that only seemed to appear on actors paid to pretend to be superheroes or ripped soccer players. She diverted her attention to his face and looked into his cool blue eyes. "You live here?" she yelled.
He smirked, making his face look alight with a devilish glow. "I've lived here for three months."
He had? She didn't even notice.
Elena placed her hands on her hips. "And you chose now to start playing music loud enough to conjure a line outside your apartment door of eager college girls expecting to be admitted to some porno club?" she yelled.
His smile grew, showing off a dimple on his cheek. Her stomach fluttered and she suddenly became aware of the fact that she was only wearing a robe and he had a perfect view of the crest of her breasts. She self-consciously closed her robe tighter.
"Porno club?" he laughed. He had a nice laugh that reverberated through her making her skin tingle.
"Whatever. Can you just turn down the music? I just got home from work," she pleaded.
He folded his arms and shook his head. "No."
Elena scoffed. "No?"
He shrugged. "I own the condo and I have every right to play my music as loud as I want. No one else is complaining."
Her eyes narrowed. She didn't care if she was standing in the middle of the hallway, she was going to kick his ass, maybe not physically, but she could verbally spar like a pro. "You self-absorbed asshat," she yelled, pointing her finger, while her other hand rested on her hip. "You think I don't know what's going on? You followed me last night after group to my work and I bet you followed me there. There's no way this is all a coincidence. What kind of person stalks someone to a victim of suicide support group? I hope the bad coffee was worth it."
His eyes darkened. "You are so very wrong."
"Turn down your fucking music!" She cried in exasperation.
"No," he replied, slamming the door in her face.
Elena stormed back to her apartment, fuming. Anger flowed through her veins. There was no possible way she was going to get any sleep, which wouldn't be out of the realm of her normal. She went into her room and changed into a black camisole and pinstriped boxers. The music had stopped. Maybe he did get the hint. Suddenly, there was a banging at the door. She knew exactly who was at the door and relished at the idea of being on the other end of a slammed door.
She opened the door, blocking his entrance. She was no match for him, he bypassed her, walking directly into her kitchen and slammed the door behind him. He'd put on a fresh cotton gray shirt and somehow smelled amazingly male. Sweat mixed with laundry soap.
"You can't just walk into my apartment!" She yelled.
He ignored her and started cleaning up her mess. Washing out her mug and putting it back exactly where it's supposed to go, putting the honey back in her cabinet and wiping down the counters. She stood there, completely mesmerized by his meticulous cleaning and in shock. Maybe he was so angry, this was his way of calming down. If so, he was welcome to abuse her apartment for such an instance any time he wanted.
"Why are you cleaning?" she muttered, unsure if he'd answer.
He spun around and placed his hands on the counter as if he needed to steady himself. He was angry. It radiated in an invisible waft. She was sure her downstairs neighbors could feel it. "If you'd have listened to anything I said last night when I walked with you to the Cable Diner, you'd have known that I live next to you, that my name is Damon Salvatore and I've seen you enter your apartment and the building several times. You seemed…" he paused, trailing off. Less angry. "Interesting."
"However, I was surprised to see you at the victims of suicide support group, which is why I decided to talk to you, not that you'd have noticed."
She didn't believe him. "So you're saying that we just happen to be neighbors and happen to go to the same support group?"
"Small world," he replied, sardonically.
"You can leave now," she said, pointing to the door.
He gave her an incredulous look. "You don't believe me?"
She shook her head. "Not for a second."
"You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met, and I don't even know your name!" he yelled, unmoved. Not ready to give up.
Elena smirked. "You bring it out of me."
He growled, but instead of leaving in a fury and turning his music back on, he turned around and proceeded to organize her cupboard, moving her glasses from one shelf to another, so she could find her wine glasses and champagne flutes easier and using a clean cloth, wipes down the cabinets. She didn't know what to do. For one, she was mesmerized by his ability to organize her shelves and part of her hoped he'd move to the junk drawer that really needed organizing. But she also didn't know why he was still here. Did he expect her to tell him her tragic life and fall to the floor, overcome with sorrow and tears? Because that would never happen.
Before she could tell him to go, again, he opened her fridge, and then shut it because it was a fucking disaster containing condiments, cheese, half drunk wine, champagne and probably some old fruit. He took a deep breath and opened it again, pulling out a container of orange juice she forgot she purchased the previous day. It was supposed to go with the champagne.
Damon poured himself a glass, downed it in one gulp and took a deep breath. "I got married young," he said, leaning against the refrigerator, his arms folded, a look of inexplicable pain in his eyes. She didn't want to hear this but remained immobile as he spoke. "We had a little boy, Daniel," he says.
Had.
Had.
Elena closed her eyes as he continued. Pushing back something, everything, instead concentrating on the fact that she still had to go to the farmer's market and get her coffee at the little bistro around the corner.
"I was out of town on business. I was gone too much, trying to provide the lifestyle I wanted the family I loved….love….so much to have. We had just moved into a home in the Bay Area and I had to fly to Los Angeles for a meeting. I was supposed to put up a protective fence around the pool, but I didn't have time, because I had to leave for the meeting. My wife was unpacking boxes in the kitchen…."
"Don't," Elena said in a hushed whisper. Why was he doing this to her? She knew what was coming and couldn't stop the tears coming down her face, no matter how hard she tried. "Please stop."
"Daniel wandered off and after realizing he wasn't playing with a building set on the floor in the kitchen like he was supposed to, she looked for him and found him face down, floating in the swimming pool I was supposed to have protected him from."
Damon wasn't crying, he was staring at the floor, his voice like a detached version of himself and it only then occurred to Elena, that she was the first person he's told this story to. Maybe that was why he went to that group meeting, to say what he needed to say, what she couldn't do herself.
"My wife blamed herself, her family blamed me. She tried to move on, tried to be brave, we tried to make it work. I was so consumed in my own pain, I was blinded to hers. About a year after everything happened, I flew to New York for a meeting. I didn't want to go and even then, I knew that I shouldn't have gone. I called her every hour. I made her talk. I wanted her to cry because it was only then that I knew my wife was in there somewhere. I tried contacting her when my plane landed, but she didn't answer. I called our neighbor to go over and check on her, but she didn't answer the door. I told Frank to fucking break in and by the time he did, she was already gone. She'd been seeing a doctor without me knowing, and was prescribed sleeping pills and overdosed. I cradled her in my arms and prayed to God for the first time in my life that she'd wake up. She left a note. Some incoherent generic bullshit about how she couldn't live with herself. She spent the time I was gone arranging her affairs, planning the moment she'd completely fuck with my life by ending hers."
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. So lost. Elena used both of her shaking hands to wipe the tears streaming down her face. There was a deep untouched anger in his words. Unlike her, he was at that meeting last night actually looking for some sort of peace or closure.
"My name is Elena Gilbert," she said, softly. "Do you want to watch some TV?" she asked.
He looked up at her, gazing into her eyes. Searching and she knew he saw it, the same flicker of utter brokenness that he saw in himself and he nodded, following her to her living room, he sat in an armchair while she laid sprawled on the sofa, with her head resting on a pillow while Damon flipped through morning talk shows.