Chapter Seven

Seven Years Ago

The funeral for Stefan and Damon's uncle Zach began at 2pm on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. It was over by four.

Elena had finished her early shift at the Grill with plenty of time to go home and change into appropriate funeral attire first – the same black dress she'd worn to her parents' funerals.

Now that the service had concluded, Elena watched funeral goers in black streaming through the parking lot, searching for their vehicles. Bonnie and Caroline had already left, but she'd stayed behind to spend some time with Stefan.

The day was nice and clear, though quite hot, as they were wont to be at this time of the year in Virginia. In order to air out her car before she hopped in, Elena opened the windows for a moment. While she was waiting, she heard a smooth voice somewhere off to her right.

"Car trouble again, Miss Gilbert?"

Looking over, she saw Damon Salvatore leaning against his motorcycle only a few spaces down. She couldn't stop a smile from appearing on her face. On this day of his uncle's funeral, he wore the black bike leathers she'd seen him in yesterday, his chosen color blending in perfectly with the crowd. Well, blending in except for the silver studs and hoops running the length of his ears and the lick of black ink visible in the hollow of his throat. He'd never blend in here in Mystic Falls with piercings and tattoos. They gave him a dark edge that was an incredible turn-on.

Smoke idly curled upwards in a thin gray swirl from the lit cigarette in his hand.

"No," she replied, "not this time, thank goodness. I'm just letting it cool off before I get in."

"Stefan around?" he asked, twisting to look.

She shook her head. "He said he wanted to be alone." He'd taken the death of his guardian hard. She hadn't been fully convinced by his claim of wanting to be alone and tried to stay by his side, but he pretty insistently shooed her away and went off to be on his own. Plus, things were still a little weird after what happened last night when Stefan overreacted to her hanging around Damon, so ….

"Ah." Damon smirked, one eyebrow rising inquisitively. "Got somewhere else to be?"

"Not right now." It just so happened that she had the rest of the day off. No work or plans.

He took another hit off his cigarette, letting the white stick rest on his lips for a moment. Cigarettes were totally gross and totally bad for you, but boy howdy were they sexy as hell when Damon Salvatore was the one smoking them. A last inhale, and he flicked it away. Then he threw his leg across the bike and motioned for her to get on behind him, that crooked smirk still on his perfect lips. "Get on."

She hesitated, chewing delicately on the inside of her cheek.

His eyes widened teasingly. "Let me guess – you have to work."

"Oh, no, it's not that …"

"Some other soul-crushing responsibility you daren't neglect?"

"No."

"Afraid to be seen with me?"

"Of course not." She hoped he didn't really think that.

"Then come on. We'll have fun. You know you want to."

Yes, she really, really, really did. She worried the inside of her cheek again. "I don't know ..."

He rolled his eyes. "Just get on, Elena."

Well, really, what was her alternative? Go home and be sad? No thank you. She closed up her car and pulled herself up on the back of the motorcycle, careful to make sure her dress didn't ride up to high and reveal things it shouldn't. She found the spare helmet and unhooked it, slipping it on with ease.

"You're getting to be a pro at this," he told her.

She laughed, pleased by his comment, but she didn't know if he could hear her through the helmet. He twisted the throttle, which made the engine roar, and they set off. He took them out of downtown Mystic Falls until they were zooming through single lane country roads. They saw almost no other cars, and the only ones who saw them were cows and horses, grazing placidly as the motorcycle raced by.

Finally, they came to a small town, and he leaned back, slowing the bike's speed so they could converse. "Hungry?"

"Starving!" she assured him.

"Good, me too."

They went through a drive through and got some food. He zoomed them out of the small town for several miles until they came to an unfenced field. An enormous dilapidated barn stood in the middle of the field, a decaying guardian long abandoned by its builders.

He parked his bike near the barn, and they got off. They both removed their helmets, and Damon removed his gloves and his jacket and lay them in a neat pile on the back of his bike.

After they'd devoured their food, Elena said, "So, this is pretty and all, but why exactly did you bring me out here to the middle of nowhere?"

"Well," Damon tilted his head and grinned, "I knew it would piss Stefan off."

She crossed her arms. "Is that the only reason?"

Smoldering blue eyes grew heavy-lidded and hot, made her forget her train of thought. "And you're not the worst company in the world," he allowed. He got out a bag that clinked as it fell to the ground.

"What's that?" she asked, but he didn't answer. He upended the cloth bag and dumped several cans of paint onto the ground. As he picked them up and began test spraying them, she remembered how he'd told her he'd gotten in trouble with the law for vandalism and trespassing, and she realized what he was going to do with the paint. He was going to spray paint the side of the barn. "Hold on, isn't this vandalism?" The same crime he'd already been in trouble for?

"Yep." He picked up a black can and began spraying on the side. From the first moment, she was awestruck, by his energy, by his passion, by his creativity. He was amazingly talented. He tossed a paint can her way. It rolled to a stop at her toes. "Help me. This barn is huge."

"Are you encouraging me to commit a crime?" she protested. "I can't do that."

He winked. "I think there's a secret rebel inside you waiting to break free. I sensed it from the moment we met."

"A secret rebel?" she asked skeptically.

His eyelids lowered dangerously, half-concealing those electrifying blue eyes. His eyebrow piercing caught the sunlight and sent rays shooting everywhere like a tiny super nova. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"I …," she began, then trailed off when she didn't know what to say. She ended up going with, "… I have no idea what you're talking about." Good grief, she hadn't sounded even remotely convincing.

His answering grin dared her, and well, ugh, how could she refuse anymore? She picked it up. "What do I do?"

"Shake it, like so, good, then just press the top down – ah!" She'd sprayed him, turning a good portion of his arm blue.

She sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, my god, I'm so sorry."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll pay you back for that," he vowed.

"I really didn't mean to."

He pointed at the side of the barn. "Just aim it that way next time, okay?"

She set her chin determinedly. "Got it. What do I do now?"

"Anything you want." He turned back to the wall and began spraying some more.

She focused on the bottom right corner. First, she just tested it out, learning the speed and pressure of the paint in order to get a consistent spray. Then, she practiced making lines and shapes. This was actually pretty fun.

When she looked over, Damon was smiling at her. She smiled back.

"Those are some nice shapes," he said, indicating her corner of the barn.

"Hey," she said and sprayed in his direction again, "be nice, it's my first time, remember?"

"What - I said they were nice," he laughed and dodged to the side.

"Well, yours is …." She backed up to take a look at the whole side of the barn. Breathtaking.

The black silhouette of a larger-than-life girl was dissolving mid-stride into a kaleidoscope of dragonflies, and in her hands was a bouquet of perfectly black roses. The details he'd managed to put in, with spray paint, took her breath away. He'd shaded it in such a way that she could see each vein and fold of the black petals. The girl looked like she was literally in mid-motion as she disintegrated, the dragonflies coasting in giddying swirls and swoops in her wake, for all the world as if they were about to soar off of the barn on their gossamer wings in search of a nearby pond.

"Wow," she said, hushed voice filled with awe, "you are," she searched for words strong enough, "incredibly talented."

"What can I say? You inspire me." His voice was whiskey-rough and sincere, and she was incredibly flattered. "Plus, I noticed your necklace."

When he mentioned her necklace, her hand went to the lapis lazuli dragonfly necklace she wore, the only spot of color on her funeral attire. She wore it because funerals were hard, and it was the last gift her mother had given her before she died. On the day of her parent's funeral, as Elena stood before the inscribed headstone that was somehow now supposed to represent her parents, a dragonfly had landed on the back of her hand for almost a minute before flying away, bright blue to match the gift from her mother. And even though it was silly, Elena had taken it as a sign that her parents were there, watching over her. So wearing the necklace made her feel close to her mom and brought her immense comfort in difficult times.

"That's supposed to be me?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It's abstract."

"What it is is incredible," she said, "it's beautiful. This is why you had a run in with the law, isn't it?"

He nodded. "More than one run-in. One man's art is another man's destruction of property. Or something like that."

"They're wrong," she said. "This isn't vandalism. This is talent and skill and perspective. It's true art. It should be saved and put somewhere safe where everyone can enjoy it, like in a … a … a museum or an art gallery!"

He reached over and rubbed his thumb over a speck of blue paint on her cheek. His touch was gentle, visceral, electric. Her pulse leapt. Her gaze fell to his lips.

"That's one hell of a motivational speech, Miss Gilbert," he said. "Maybe if you tell the judge that the next time I get in trouble, he'll believe you." A rueful laugh. "Because they never believe me."

"I will," she vowed to him fiercely. "Though I hope there is no next time."

He smiled and tilted her chin up. "You are truly something else."

"I promise I won't tell anyone. Maybe whoever's barn this is likes art and will leave it. It's not like they're using the barn anyway. It's in terrible condition. You've actually improved it." She was babbling.

He leaned in close, so close that his blue eyes seemed to fill her entire field of vision. "Go right ahead. It's okay if you do. We won't get in any trouble. This barn is on Salvatore land. I mean, Stefan might get annoyed, but that's just a bonus, really."

Her gaze dropped to his mouth again, as if it couldn't stay away. That carnal, sinful, beautiful, perfectly shaped mouth. It suddenly registered, what he'd said. "Wait, are you serious? This is your barn?"

"Mm-hmm. Technically speaking."

Before she had a chance to reply in any way, he did the most unexpected thing in the world. He kissed her.