Early spring 2019
If not for a quirk of fate, catching a fleeting glimpse of him in a wall of pictures, she wouldn't be where she is right now, standing there and watching him like a voyeur. He is bigger, beefier, twenty pounds, maybe more. It's all muscle though, the kind gained from hard work, heavy lifting, and from living where the winters are harsh and bitterly cold.
His face is covered by a full beard that furthers the illusion he's become someone else. His hair is still dark and messy but it seems thicker, certainly longer and hanging loosely to just below his shoulders.
The image of Paul Bunyan flashes through her mind, making her laugh out loud. But there he is, chopping wood with strong muscular arms and back. And he's good at it. But then, he's always been good at everything. He's dressed for the part – work boots, blue jeans, and a heavy looking black buffalo check flannel shirt that does nothing to hide his perfectly sculpted chest.
Glittering snowflakes fall soundlessly, taking their time before they reach their destined places of rest, enveloping everything in a calm, silent coldness that is comforting in its own special way. It covers the mountain tops and clings to the trees. It doesn't seem to bother him; he continues swinging the ax methodically, precisely splitting the wood, seemingly oblivious to anything and everything around him. But she knows it's a ruse, he's never been oblivious to anything.
Elena continues to watch him, and even from this distance she can see the roughness of features. He wields the ax like a professional lumberjack. With brawny arms, he raises it above his head smoothly and slams it down powerfully, easily splitting the log. The sound reverberates and rings loudly in her ears.
A sudden gust of wind lifts her hair off her shoulders and blows snow in her eyes. Her breath is pale against the numbing air, she blinks thoughtfully as the frost patiently kisses her face, captivated by the soft, dusty illusions of light that sit heavy on her eyelashes. She looks up at the sky. It's a somber grey save for the band of salmon pink that hovers over the mountains. The dusky grey peaks give the bottom a jagged edge, whereas the clouds above soothe it with charcoal swirls.
Feeling a chill, she pulls her coat tighter around her neck. She takes a step along the bumpy path that leads to his house. Suddenly Elena wonders if he knows she's there. She used to be able to tell when he was close by - an almost imperceptible shift in the air, a slight tingle running down her spine - but eight years have gone by and there is none of that now.
She isn't even sure he'll want to see her after everything but she is here now and can't not try.
He gives no indication that he's aware of her approach. Sucking in a breath, she picks her way through the snow and comes to a stop almost directly in front of him. He doesn't acknowledge her presence, instead he just picks up another log and drops it on the block.
Not expecting it, she jumps a little when he speaks.
"You better move. Wood chips fly everywhere."
Even his voice, although recognizable has a different timbre to it. It is rough and matches his appearance perfectly. His eyes though - they are the same. Calm as the sky before the storm, but as wild as the sea during one. He finally glances up at her when she doesn't heed his advice; the blue is still piercingly intense and his expression is unreadable.
He shrugs and swings his ax. Pieces of wood fly up and rain down on her. She can feel little shards settling in her hair along with the snow.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," he says gruffly, grabs another log and drops it onto the chopping block. He swings hard and it splits in two, raining even more debris on her head.
"Damon," She speaks to him for the first time in eight years, it sounds strange - even to her - like a melody she's heard both a thousand times over and never before.
Silence lingers in the air, thick and heavy, like a blanket. He simply stoops over to pick up another another log.
Fragments of thought, splinters of words, and droplets of quietude spin into a kaleidoscopic jumble. Is it even within the realm of possibility that he doesn't recognize her? As unfathomable as the thought is, she's about to open her mouth and tell him when he speaks again.
"What are you doing here, Elena?" He drops the ax onto the ground and it thumps dully.
A small smile plays on her lips. He knows exactly who she is. And Damon being Damon cuts right to the chase. God, she's missed him.
He opens his mouth to say something when a noise sounds from the trees behind her. He raises his hand to silence her as he scans the forest surrounding them. She watches as he does a slow sweep of the property, moving nothing but his eyes.
"Let's get inside," he says abruptly, and heads for the house.
The path sparkles and crunches underfoot as she follows after him, shutting the door behind her when she walks over the threshold. She shakes out her hair as she looks around his house. It's a moderately sized cabin, and she inherently knows that he built it himself. There is something about the attention to detail and she runs her fingers gently over one of the logs, not at all surprised by its smoothness.
She takes in everything while he bangs around, doing something in the kitchen. There is an intricate stone fireplace built into one wall. She's certain he chose and laid each stone himself.
There is a comfy looking couch and a matching chair. In between the two is a small coffee table that he likely built too.
She has a hard time picturing him building things and not running around in climbing shorts, shirt and shoes.
"How did you find me?" he asks stepping into the room from the kitchen. He holds two coffee cups and hands one to her.
"Thanks," she says, gratefully taking a sip of the hot liquid. "Would you believe me if I told you it was nothing more than happenstance?"
An eyebrow arches and he takes a drink from his own cup. "Care to elaborate?"
Elena smiles knowing he'll never be satisfied with that answer. "Do you mind if I sit?" she asks, sinking down into the couch.
"Sure. Hand me your coat," he commands as he sits his coffee mug down on the table. She slips out of it and gives it to him. He removes his own as well and throws them over the back of an old looking rocker.
Elena takes another sip of coffee as he settles into a chair, picks up his cup and waits for an explanation.
"I stopped at a little café slash pub in town - McGill's I think it's called?" He nods in affirmation. "Yeah, while I was waiting for my food, I got up to browse the extensive wall of photos. I looked past it at first and then did a double take, almost comically snapping my head back. I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when I saw you in one of them. It was quite a shock, but I did summon the nerve to ask about you and Enzo directed me here."
Damon shakes his head in obvious frustration. "If I've told him once, I've told him a thousand times to take down that damned thing."
She hides a smile behind her coffee cup. "How did that happen anyway? You've always hated having your picture taken," she arches an eyebrow.
He sighs and drinks the rest of his coffee. "I helped him build that place and at the time, his girlfriend went around the place taking pictures of damn near everyone during every phase of its construction. Unfortunately, she got one of me. Enzo has a devilish streak, hanging it for the sole purpose of pissing me off."
Unable to stop herself, Elena laughs out loud.
"What story did you tell to get him to disclose my whereabouts?"
Elena shrugs. "I simply told him that I was an old friend and that we hadn't connected in a very long while. He was practically rolling on the floor with laughter. When I asked him what was so funny, he said I was lying because you're a loner who doesn't have any friends."
"Enzo is a hoot," Damon remarks dryly, but she's pretty sure she caught a hint of a smile under all that hair.
"He seems like the kind of guy who doesn't take shit from anyone."
"Mmmm," Damon agrees and stretches his arms out on the chair's armrests. He quietly considers her... "Why did you come?" he finally asks.
"Did you really think I wouldn't, after seeing your picture?" Her mug is empty and she shivers a little when she sets it down on the table.
Damon stands and reaches for a blanket that's laying at the other end of the couch. "I meant, why did you come here, to this town?" He moves closer and wraps it around her shoulders before sitting down again.
She snuggles the blanket around her. "I was just passing through on my way back to Colorado. I was hungry and it's the first place I saw so I stopped. I must have stared at that photo for half an hour before someone named Bonnie asked me what was on my mind." She brings her knees up and curls further into the blanket. "Given all the time that's passed, I never thought I'd see you again, Damon," she adds, her voice trailing softly.
Damon nods but remains silent.
Elena shivers again and can't decide if she's actually cold or if being so close to him again is what's giving her the chills. "I can't get over how fricking cold it still is at this time of year. You wouldn't happen to have another blanket?"
Damon stares at her momentarily. The emotion in his eyes is fathoms deep, the force of it causes goosebumps to erupt on her skin.
"I'll start a fire," he says pushing up and out of the chair. "We had a late snowstorm and it's supposed to get pretty cold tonight."
There's a pile of wood stacked up next to the fireplace and he begins gathering logs in his arms. She watches him, hardly believing she's actually in the same room with him after so long. There are so many things she wants to say, to ask, but she has no idea where to begin.
"Do you know about Ric?" she asks as he throws some of them into the fireplace. She doesn't know if he's kept in contact with anyone back in Estes Park. She's often wondered if he some how knows that his once best friend is married and now has twin daughters.
He kneels to arrange the wood, stuffs some kindling underneath the grate and lights the whole pile with a match.
"I heard," he says softly, standing up. He doesn't turn around, just rests his hand on the mantle, watching the new-born flames lick the kindling like a hungry kitten. They flicker and dance in shades of orange, red and yellow. The smoke twists in the draft toward the chimney and in minutes the flames grow ravenous, hungrily devouring the fuel. Soon the small of wood smoke drifts through the small house like incense.
While staring into the hearth, Elena's mind drifts to the past. Reeling over Jenna's tragic death, coming to terms with it took a lot of time and a heavy toll on all of them. Ric met Jo three years after... it didn't take long for him to propose. The popping sound of the wood snaps her out of her musings.
"Damon?"
He turns around slowly and she's almost expecting him to tell her to go, but he just looks at her, his normally expressive eyes now again unreadable.
Setting her cup down, she meets his stare, "Why didn't you come back?"
*Paul Bunyan is a giant lumberjack in American folklore. His exploits revolve around the tall tales of his superhuman labors, and he is customarily accompanied by Babe the Blue Ox.
Thanks so very much for the exceptionally warm welcome for this story. It means so much to Eva and I. If not for you all, we wouldn't be here. Our personal lives are incredibly busy with work, family, etc. We make time because we both love Damon and Elena so much and aren't ready to say goodbye to them just yet.
Thank you Eva, like I've said before, I have these ideas pop into my head and it's you jump, I jump.
Chapter title: 'Needle in a Haystack' by The Velvelettes.
Let us know what you think. We just completed 'The Quiet Room'. Right now we're hard at work on 'Cold Wind to Valhalla'.
Have a terrific day, thank you all, you're all amazing beyond words. We'll see you next time.