One year later. Chicago, Illinois

The house is a total loss. Elena shines her bright light on the dripping walls, looking for anything that may provide a source for the smoke she is still chasing. Second-floor beams above her groan as the building settles. The fire shatters what had once been a beautiful, well-kept home. It is like walking around inside a sarcophagus. The place feels like it is dying.

The kitchen smells of something nasty, the sharp smell of burnt cleaning supplies making Elena's eyes water. Coupons fluttered from the counter to the floor, turning them into a sodden mass in the standing water. Pictures on the refrigerator had bled away color in the heat, leaving behind the ghosts of people barely discernible.

The big calendar on the wall beside the phone has been reduced to darkened, curling pages. Elena lets the light linger on it, the month of November half marked off with Xs. Thanksgiving is next week and they chose to travel early. She is grateful they had not been caught in the inferno.

This is so incredibly senseless. The fire looks like it has been set which is why she's here.

A wisp of gray catches her attention as the house breathes. Some smoke is coming through the central air ductwork. Elena touches her radio. "Ethan, check the utility room again."

"On it," comes back from him.

Elena walks through what had once been the patio door, stepping out into the night. The massive spotlights from the fire engines in front of the house cast strange shadows onto the backyard through holes in the house.

Fire is supposed to be an accident, not a weapon, not something enjoyed. Elena kicks a smoldering chunk of wood ripped from a window frame away from the evidence. She loves her job but she hates arsonists. They destroy and too often Innocent victims and injured firefighters are left to pay the price. She has to find this guy before someone gets hurt.

Fire is an arrogant beast. If in control, it challenges with ferocious disdain of anyone who approaches. If forced to retreat, it likes to lie low, patiently waiting...

Connor Jordon, a big man with a big shadow walks over to her.

"He's escalating," Elena tells him as she shines her flashlight.

Connor bends down to pick up a dime laying in the debris. "We knew he would. Eight fires in 12 weeks, he needs his fix." Elena's friend rises gracefully to his feet. "I thought this had the sound of one of his. Late at night, edge of the district." He looks at Elena.

"He's choosing the night shift."

Connor brushes his hands on worn jeans. "Tell me about this fire."

"It was in the walls," Elena states as she trains her flashlight beam in front of them.

"Center of the house?" Connor speculates as he and Elena slog across the now muddy yard mud.

"I believe so. There was too much ambient heat to assume it started on the second floor and worked down within the walls, not enough fire scarring on the siding to show an origin point in an outside wall," Elena elaborates.

"Do you think he's doing this for attention?"

"Yes, he wants the attention—ours, the press, and ultimately the public's."

"We could have a panic on our hands if we don't stop him before the press connects the fires. Andie Starr is a bulldog when she's on a story," Connor expresses wryly.

"Tell me about it," Elena agrees. "She has called me a couple of times for an interview but so far I've been able to dodge."

Smoke twists in their direction, the heavy ash particles making Elena cough. "What time is it?"

Connor sends her sent a sympathetic smile and glances at his watch. "2:45."

Three hours in and Elena feels like she's run a marathon. The fire turnout coat sits heavy on her shoulders. It sticks and rubs at her neck as she moves. Her clothes underneath the coat are a sweaty mess. If not for the smoke in the air, she'd be embarrassed at the smell of her perspiration. She'd kill for a shower.

She had recorded some of the crowd when she first arrived. Some firebugs stand around to watch the firemen go to battle with the flames. Among those watching tonight, no one stood out to her.

Elena turns back to the house and watches guys turn a nozzle back on to deal with a pocket of fire found smoldering in the wall between the garage and the breezeway.

She locks eyes with Connor. "This isn't going to be his last fire."


It's almost 4 am by the time Elena arrives home. She takes a quick shower to rinse off the soot and grime then goes straight to bed, falling asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Blindly, Elena reaches over and slams her alarm off. Her mind is fuzzy, the last remnants of a dream being chased away as she struggles to lift an eyelid. It was a wonderful dream of a warm lazy afternoon at the beach. Damon walks out of the ocean, water dripping in rivulets down his chest and across the rippling muscles of his abdomen, but the detail quickly begins to fade even as she tries to hold onto them.

With a mental sigh, she cautiously opens one eye. The bright fall sunlight cuts the room in half and dust-motes dance in the wall of light. Elena pulls the bedspread over her head to keep it out but it's not going to work. She's awake now and already worrying about ...

Five weeks have gone by. Five ache-filled ones since she's had any real conversation with him. A text here and there but that's it. Over the last twelve months, they tried not to go longer than eight weeks without seeing each other. She's returned to Mystic Falls and Damon's come here. Last March, he surprised her with a visit. He wanted to see the Chicago River run green for St. Patrick's Day. They also spent a glorious ten days in Turks and Caicos where they dined on the local cuisine and spent hours lazily making love in their seaside bungalow. The pristine white-sand beaches, crystal clear waters and blue skies are truly paradise.

But now, Elena doesn't know what's going on with him. Has he decided that the long-distance thing isn't working for him anymore or if there is something else going on with him? She knew all too well when she agreed to a long-distance relationship that it would be hard, so, so hard to maintain the romance and keep it flourishing. And she loves him so damn much she couldn't bring herself to say no when he suggested it.

Never would she have thought someone- Damon- would have such a profound and lasting impact on her life, nor did she ever expect the pain at his lack of communication to last this long or bore this deep.

As days turned into a week and the weeks became a month, she allowed herself to think her feelings for him would slowly fade...instead, they sit in the pit of her stomach like a lead knot.

Despite how she feels, she can't allow herself to get absorbed into a maelstrom of self-pity. She has a job to do and so as she has every morning before, Elena drags herself out of bed and pads across the carpet and into the bathroom to get ready for the day.


Fire Station 22 - Chicago, Illinois

Smoke pours with confused indecision from every window of a five-story factory as the pumper and ladder company pulls up.

"I hate it when have to fucking go look for it." Alex stares up at the confusing smoke pattern.

"Call in another alarm. We're gonna need some backup," Damon tells him as he and his men begin strapping on air tanks and masks.

Nik drags the rig's suction line to the hydrant. A beautiful illegally parked Lexus is blocking the way. "These moments do try me..." He looks at Damon who is admiring the car.

"Be gentle," Damon smirks.

Nik gives Damon a nod and smashes the brass coupling through the rear passenger window, runs the line through, and shatters the other window before connecting up to the hydrant.

Damon and Alex pull the hose off the bed and move out. They stop at the door ready to go in.

Mason, the station's probie, takes a hose roll and runs to catch up when he's cut off by dazed workers shouting incoherently at him.

"Hey, probie! How 'bout it, huh?" Damon pushes past the workers and takes his position on the hose line.

Damon eases the door open. Thick smoke rolls sickly out over their heads. "Stay beside me," he tells Mason as they enter the building.

Inside the smoke is like liquid lead. Going by feel, they hump the hose up one staircase after another, crawling on their hands and knees toward a dull red glow. Turning a corner, they enter a room that's completely ablaze. Damon looks up in wonder at the buffeting waves of flame in the ceiling, at the screeching timbers crumbling to the white-hot floor, at the walls howling in bestial agony. It's the most horrifying, and wonderful thing he's ever seen.

"It's gonna flash, Damon. We gotta get behind it," Nik cautions.

"Listen to it. It's a baby. It'll just steam on us. It won't flash. Go high in the ceiling."

Nik and Alex shrug and pull their helmets down tight, expecting the worst. Nik opens up the nozzle, turning loose a high-pressure blast of water at the ceiling. The fire screams in manic anger and heaves a cloud of howling steam that whirls back and bakes them.

Mason gasps for air as swirling ash batters his facemask.

"I knew you were a coward!" Damon says to the fire as if it could reply. "C'mon!" He beckons his men. "Let's go."

Going for the throat while the fire's confused and defensive, the firemen scramble through the boiling cloud. They hit it in the ceiling, in the walls, forcing it back and back. It howls and claws in anger, furiously throwing cinders and broken timbers in their faces.

The walls echo with their screams as it retreats to a corner.

"Hook us up to a stand-pipe."

Mason runs back to the wall to hook up his hose roll to the building's water system. He goes to unscrew the cap with his hydrant wrench but it keeps slipping off the nut.

"Hurry!" Damon yells. "We're going to lose this."

Mason finally gets it hooked up and runs back.

There is a sudden, shattering vibration that shakes the building to its foundation followed by a sucking sound.

The fire crew immediately gathers in the center of the floor. They turn over tables, chairs, and anything they can use to form a barrier.

BOOM! BOOM!

Damon and Mason duck behind an overturned desk while Nik and Alex clutch the hose lines.

CRASH!

In an instant, the world comes apart as all four walls of factory windows explode in a hail of glass. A wave of howling flame pours in after it, shrieking and hissing.

Nik takes the hose line and is opening fire. Water and flame crash and snarl across the floor in a blood-curdling roar. It's a thrashing, murderous standoff.

Damon seems totally unaffected and is already on his feet and over the top of the barricade, the others backing him as he mercilessly drives the fire back, trapping it finally into a corner.

The fire hisses, spits, and shakes the walls with ferocity.

But it's all bluster now, the fire's dying...


Damon and the rest of the company rip open the walls and beat the last weak flames in a final flurry of dingy sparks. The moment the smoke clears just a fraction, cigarettes appear in everyone's mouth. Their talk is easy and obscene, the intense camaraderie of shared danger. Ash clods are thrown playfully back and forth in the afterglow

of having taken on the worst there is and walking away one more time.

"This shit's happening too often. It could've flashed. Should've flashed," Nik comments.

"But it didn't," Damon counters as he drops his cigarette and stomps it out.

"Hey, probie. You did okay," Alex says as he pours a bottle of water over his grimy face.

Damon stares at them for a few seconds before interrupting. "C'mon guys, let's roll some hose...


The Crow's Nest Pub is packed with firemen, probies, girls, and other customers. The horseplay around the bar suddenly stops at the sweet sounds of a siren. Everyone steps outside and cocks an ear. And here it comes, the real thing, screeching past them in a full-tilt rush to shouts and raised toasts.

"That's my uncle's company," Landon, one of the other probies remarks.

As Damon turns, he is suddenly confronted by an old woman. She grabs his cheeks and starts rattling something in a language he doesn't recognize.

"širdies daužyklė," the woman remarks, elbows the blonde, and smiles as she rakes her eyes over Damon.

"Yes, grandma, I'm sure he is a heartbreaker," the younger woman laughs and urges the old one forward. "Sorry," the blonde says over her shoulder at him as she follows the woman into the pub.

Damon shakes his head, wondering what that was all about...He turns around just as two attractive jean-clad legs step up.

His eyes grow wide as recognition dawns on his face. "Elena?"

"Damon? What are you doing here?"

"You look great," he stammers out.

"Thanks for calling." A loud crack echoes as his face jerks to the side.

"What was that for?" Damon stares at her as he rubs his palm down his cheek to soothe the sting.

Silence hangs between them for several moments as she glares at him.

"Barely a peep from you for five weeks and suddenly you're here in Chicago and partying no less."

"Uh... I've been sorta keeping a low profile...I moved here..."

"Huh?" Elena looks at him in disbelief.

"What? Do you think I'd just dry up and blow away when you left? The world does turn once in a while."

Elena's eyes go icy. She swings at him again but this time he catches her by the wrist, stopping her.

"Let's not fight, okay? I came here for you, Elena."

"Why the silence, then?" she asks as she stares unblinkingly at him.

He doesn't answer and Elena glares as he pulls her aside.

"What would you do if I kissed you right now?"

"Why - why are you asking me that?"

"I'm asking you that because I'm pretty sure I'm about to find out what you'll do." He steps even closer to her.

"I'm still mad at you." Elena's heart is pounding blood through her body at breakneck speed.

"Yeah," he breathes, with a small smile on his face, still not touching her with anything more than his eyes. "That's about to change."

"Damon!"

He puts his hands on her shoulders. "Time to shut up now," Damon whispers, and Elena feels his lips touch hers, and light matches along every one of her nerve endings.

Oh, holy mother. He smells amazing and feels even better.

"Really tell me to stop, and I will," Damon murmurs, his lips never leaving her. "At least I'll try..."

Everywhere Damon touches her, little charges go off. Her lips, her neck, along her arms, spreading across her chest, rolling through her groin, and then rippling down her legs.

When the dust finally settles, they are both breathing pretty heavily. Damon is leaning over her slightly, and his hands have left the sides of her face.

"It's good to see you," he exhales the words softly against the soft skin of her neck, making her shiver.

"How can I stay mad at you after that?" Her body moves closer to his as he tightens his embrace around her. He leans his forehead against hers, his sweet lips mere inches from her own.

Elena pulls back slightly and looks up at him.

He kisses her fully again, his arms pulling her against him completely, his mouth moving across hers with urgency. Elena pulls away and tucks her head under his, and they stand like that for a moment. Her cheek is pressing against him, hearing his heart beating in rhythm with her own.

"I can't believe you moved for me."

"Moving here is the easiest decision I've ever made. I love you."

Elena's heart is full to bursting, but she can't help but tease him. "How'd you know it would work out in your favor?"

Damon rocks them back and forth as they dance to the music that's blaring from inside the pub. "Oh, Elena. I thought you'd learned by now, silly girl."

"And what would that be?" she asks, feigning insult.

He locks eyes with hers, his sexy, arrogant smirk firmly in place. "I always get what I want."


One more chapter. Thank you all so much.

Chapter title: 'You Are the Reason' by Calum Scott.

"širdies daužyklė" - heartbreaker in Lithuanian.

The beautiful sparkling emerald green color that is released in the Chicago River every year on St Paddy's Day is called Leprechaun Dust. The ingredient of the Dust is a secret. The orange dust turns green as soon as it hits the water in the river.

Have a fabulous day and we'll see you soon for the final chapter.