Damon wakes up at the crack of dawn with Elena laying on her side, her back to him. He glances at his Vacheron Constantin watch, he's grateful it's still dark outside. Ever so cautiously, he slips out of bed, grabs his clothing, and creeps out of the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him.

He walks across the plush carpeting and sits down at the desk to write Elena a note. She'll hate him, of course, and rightly so but her safety is more important than his feelings.

My dearest, Elena.

This is a letter that I never wanted to have to write. To say that I've agonized over it is an understatement. I come to it now without having had much sleep for a few days, but with a clear realization of what I must do. It's not that I don't love you, I do. God help me, I am so in love with you... Just believe me when I tell you that I'm doing this for you. And I know you're angry and outraged- you have every right to feel that...

I'm selfish because I make bad choices that could hurt you. I shouldn't have let things get this far but that's who I am, Elena, and I'm not gonna change. And there's no apology in the world that encompasses all the reasons that I'm wrong for you.

You'll forever be in my heart.

Goodbye, Elena.

Martin de Porres

Damon folds up the letter and stuffs it in an envelope. Sneaking back into her room, he lays it on the pillow. A tear escapes his right eye and trails down his cheek as he stares at her sleeping form. "I love you, Elena," he mouths the words and makes his escape...

An eerie silence fills the room, broken only by the sounds of Elena waking up. Extending her arm, she snaps open her eyes to find nothing but an empty space. Confused, she slugs her body into a sitting position, swinging her legs over the edge of the large bed. She blinks once, then twice. Yet, no matter how many times she does it, she still finds the same empty space.

Elena rises to her feet, her balance shifting when she notices the envelope laying in the hollow formed by Martin's head. She raises her eyes, staring at the ceiling as an uncomfortable feeling begins to prick at her belly.

The look in her eyes changes when she opens the and pulls the letter out. There is no twinkle in her brown eyes, no smile tugging at her lips. Instead, darkness and anger overshadow them.

Who the fuck does Martin think he is? She spits after reading his empty words. And if he thinks he's going to just walk out of her life, he has another guess coming. Fuming, she pulls up the desk chair and opens her laptop, determined to find out where he might have absconded to.

Elena picks up her cellphone. "I'm going to kill him," she blurts out as soon as she hears Caroline's voice.

"What did he do?"

"He took me out to watch a meteor shower and left me with a Dear Jane letter this morning. I don't care how long it takes, I'm going to find him and get an explanation. I'm so angry."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'm going to the police, maybe they have something on him? Perhaps they can even check with Interpol?"

"Wouldn't Matt have found that out?"

"Caroline, you and I both know that Matt isn't exactly a top-notch gumshoe."

"I suppose you're right."

"Hold down the fort, will you? I don't know how long this will take."

"Of course, Elena. And smash him in the jaw for me when you find him."

"Oh, believe me, that's at the top of my agenda. Talk to you soon," Elena adds and clicks off her phone.

She quickly throws her things together, checks out of her hotel, and directs the taxi driver to take her to the police station.

"What about him?" the Inspector taps a picture as Elena thumbs through a stack of them. "Or this one, perhaps?" she points to another photo.

Elena studies the pictures carefully. "Yeah. That-"

"We believe they're all the same man."

"Oh, my God. They're all him?" Elena asks dumbfounded. "I've never seen him in disguise."

"We don't believe he uses them as he once did. He fled the country out of Côte-d'Azur International Airport. We've got a handful of false identities used on visas, passports, and leases. Nicholas Owen, Louie Guanella, Vincent Ferrer, Thomas More, Charles Borromeo, and there are others."

"Martin de Porres..." Elena abruptly looks at them as if a lightbulb has lit in her mind. "They're all names of Catholic Saints. Can you access the Côte-d'Azur passenger list for the last 10 hours?"

"Oh my God!" The inspector remarks. "Yes, I think it might be possible."

"Good," Elena remarks, knowing she's hot on his trail.

Damon's standing with his back to the American Airlines check-in counter at Heathrow Airport in London. Deep in conversation, his head snaps to the side when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Elena?"

"Hi there." Elena stares at him, arms crossed over her chest.

A look of awe washes over Damon's features. "I'm...I'm overwhelmed. You found me."

"Wasn't very hard. Four people with saints' names flew into London today. John Vianney, Isaac Joques, Bernadette Soubirous who is in fact a woman, and Vincent Ferrer-"

"Named after a saint who betrayed his best friend," Damon finishes her thought.

"How could you do it?" Elena asks, her tone full of venom.

"l-l had to. I'm not a good guy," he mentions casually as he hands his Visa to the woman at the ticket counter.

"I want the truth."

"You flew all this way to get the truth?"

"Yes, I did!"

Damon waggles his brows teasingly at her. "No. It's because you're in love."

Elena glares at him. "Who are you?"

"No one has a clue, least of all me." Damon turns to the woman. He pockets his card and airline ticket.

"Why would you do this to me?"

Damon pulls her aside. "Fifteen million reasons."

Elena's brows draw together in consternation. "Fifteen million? What are you talking about?"

"Listen, Elena, you have to get away from me," Damon cautions, his eyes piercing in intensity.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me who you are and why you lied to me."

"Elena, you don't know what you're dealing with here."

"Then tell m..." her voice trails off when a flight is called overhead.

"That's my flight. Do yourself a favor and forget you ever met me." Damon stares at her for several seconds before losing himself among the crowd at Heathrow.

"You're not getting away from me that easily," Elena mutters under her breath and approaches the ticket counter. "I want a ticket to wherever he went."

"Yes, mam..."

Several minutes later, Elena is headed to the departure lounge for the next flight out to Prague.

Damon filches a glass of champagne as he mingles with the crowd. Eyes peeled, he brings the crystal flute to his lips. He's taking a huge chance by walking into the snake pit but if he's going to save Elena, it's a risk he's willing to take. Trying not to attract attention, he works his way up the stairs and ducks into one of the rooms when a security guard appears. His eyes narrow when he notices a familiar figure leaning against the bathroom doorway.

Elena?

Her long, wavy brown hair is clinging to her shoulders. She's wearing a low-cut black dress and high heels. She wears a smirk on her face as she approaches him.

She traces his abs with her fingers and her nails scrape over the fabric of his crisp white shirt.

"What are you doing here? More games perhaps?" she asks in amusement, her mouth hovering over his ear and her breath puffing warmth all over his skin.

"What are you doing here?" Damon echoes, confusion swirling in his mind as her hand moves dangerously lower and her palm hovers between his legs.

"Mmmm..." She bats her long eyelashes at him.

"No really, Elena. I told you to stay away."

She gives him a painful squeeze. "I told you several times already that I am not Elena and you would do well to remember that!" She steps back with a wicked grin. "Are you going to show up in Moscow, too?"

"Moscow? What are you up to?" Damon queries, his brows drawing together as he scrutinizes her.

She flirtatiously toys with a lock of his hair. "Let's just say I like courting danger and living on the edge."

Damon doesn't know what to make of her. Before he has a chance to probe deeper, the sound of throat-clearing comes from behind him.

A sigh of exasperation passes the woman's lips as she steps into the other man's arms.

"Marcel, there you are," she states and pulls him into an almost x-rated kiss.

Stunned, Damon watches them for a few seconds but leaves when he catches a side-eye from Elena. Aware they're both playing with fire, he's more confused than ever as he leaves the room and makes his escape.

As he's skirting his way through the guests, Damon catches a glimpse of Niklaus Mikaelson. So many conflicting emotions are running through his head, making him feel unsettled. Although he should follow Klaus, he opts to leave rather than risk being seen.

Once outside, he races up the stairs to the bridge, runs to the railing, and looks down into the river but sees only dark, choppy waters below, now becoming obscured in the gathering fog. He turns and looks to the embankment. Damon can faintly see Marcel and Elena scurrying along the promenade toward a car.

Damon reaches a vantage point at the top of the stairs. Watching intently, he sees what looks like the two of them slide into an Aston Martin Vanquish. He watches for several seconds. Between the next beats of his heart, all hell breaks loose. The car explodes and bursts into flames, the force of the blast sending Damon flying backward.

"Elena?" he mumbles dazedly as he struggles to his feet.

Shock washes over Damon's face. His heart is nearly pounding out of his chest as he watches the burning car in stunned silence for a moment, a curious crowd starts to gather. Remembering Niklaus, he rushes down the stairs towards the embankment.

Sirens wail as a Prague police boat arrives at the dock. Three policemen leap off the boat and run toward the burning car.

Damon races across the bridge and out of sight.

Damon enters the darkened entryway. He glances up at the stairwell. Naked light bulbs illuminate the way up. He slips off his jacket and unscrews the bulb. He crushes it in his shirt and scatters the glass fragments on the steps. He moves to the next one and there's the soft sound of another bulb being popped in cloth, glass fragments dropping and Damon's at the door.

In the darkened room, Damon goes to a vase with flowers, picks it up, and unscrews the bottom, retrieving a Colt automatic. He moves through the rooms, checking them as he goes.

Finding it secure, he sits down in the chair and pours himself a glass of bourbon to calm his nerves. Damon's head has become foggy as if every eyelash weighs more than it should and his eyes drop closed.

A rhythmic crunching sound and from the darkness on the other side of the room, Elena staggers toward him, scarred and burned. She's dying on her feet.

Damon tries to speak but nothing will come out.

"I needed you, and - you weren't there. Where were you?"

He reaches out to grab Elena but can't seem to touch her. She suddenly vanishes into thin air, and Damon awakens from the dream and finds himself leaping to his feet, gun cocked and pointed, and staring at a living breathing Elena.

"What are you doing here?!" Damon keeps his gun trained on her.

Elena freezes, her hands half-raised.

"It's okay, Damon. I'm Elena. What's wrong with you?" she asks, her eyes darting between him and the gun pointed at her head.

"Don't move," he demands.

Her right-hand moves a fraction and she freezes again.

"You were in the car!"

"No...I...I wasn't in a car."

"Shut up! I saw you. You were in the car."

"No, I wasn't in any car. I ran to the bridge."

"Don't give me that! I was on the bridge. You weren't," he snaps and throws her on the bed. "Take off your coat," Damon demands.

"What?

"Take off your God damn coat!" He grabs a sleeve and literally tears the coat off her, half spinning her around. The coat hits the floor like a dead body. Elena begins to shiver as he circles her, running his hand cursorily across her body, accentuating her shivering.

Damon grabs her by the wrists. "Who sent you?"

"No one sent me! I came to find you. Who are you...really?"

They are interrupted by the chimes of the clock as it hits three in the morning.

"You want to know who I am?" Damon releases his grip on her wrists, and rips the drawer out of the bedside stand, letting it fall to the floor. He picks through the contents and pulls out a photo.

"I have many names and I was hired to kill you," he states and shoves the picture in her hands.

Elena sits up on the bed, her eyes glued to the photo in her hands. "This isn't me."

"What do you mean it's not you!?"

"Just what I said. This isn't me. I don't know who she is and yes, she looks exactly like me but it's not me," she waves the photo in front of his face.

"Just how much of a fool do you think I am?" Damon asks, glowering at her.

"I'm telling you this isn't me. And what do you mean you were hired to kill me or rather her? Is that what the romance was all about? Get close enough to kill me?"

Damon takes the photo as he circles Elena. "There's two of you? he looks at her dumbfounded. "How can it be?"

"I don't know. I was never informed that I had a long-lost twin or anything. I don't know who this woman is," she snaps at Damon.

"This explains so much. I couldn't wrap my mind around you having two such distinct and separate personalities and her insisting that her name wasn't Elena."

"You didn't answer my question. Was all the romance just an act?"

"No, no!" Damon shakes his head back and forth. "I'm in love with you, Elena. I left to find a way to keep you safe. I thought you were her," Damon states as he points at the picture, "other people likely do too."

"Wait? What? Oh my God, are you a paid assassin?" Elena gasps at the realization as she distances herself from him.

"I'm not going to sugarcoat it. Yes, you were going to be my last assignment. But I fell in love with you instead. If you want to walk away when this is done, I understand but right now, I need to keep you with me. If Esther Mikaelson sees you, she'll think that whoever planted the car bomb, missed her target."

Elena collapses onto the bed. "Who is Esther Mikaelson?"

"A female version of Don Corleone if you've ever watched 'The Godfather.'"

Elena presses her hands to her cheeks. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet. I'll figure something out," Damon sits beside her and brushes a strand of hair off of her cheek. "Try to get some sleep."

"Last time I went to sleep, you were gone when I woke up." Elena pulls away from Damon. "How can I trust you?"

Damon rises from the bed and locks eyes with hers. "You can't."

Just so there's no confusion. Esther is targeting Katherine, not Elena but Esther does NOT know that two women wear the same face and that's why Elena is in danger, too.

Thank you SO much!

And thank you, Eva and Elena, for the story idea.

Chapter title: 'Take The Money and Run' by The Steve Miller Band.

'South of Santa Fe' is also in progress.

Have a beautiful day. Thank you all again.