And Longer chapter for ya'll! And DE's first meeting! (Note: Elena's dress is inspired by the one Katherine wore to the masquerade in S2)

Enjoy :)


Her sister was right; Elena hated dance clubs.

There was never any parking, which is why she'd opted for a cab tonight, and the line to get in forced her to wait outside in the chilly, post storm air, only to be visually groped by the heavily muscled bouncer that checked the I.D's at the door.

Then, once that checkpoint was passed and the "of age" infinity symbol stamp was placed on the back of her hand, she had to push through a crowd just to find the bar.

The dress Katherine had put her in was a decent length, ending just north of her knees, but was tight, especially around the bralet style top that gave her more cleavage than she actually had.

The sheer black lace and her peek-a-boo breast gained her some lewd attention that made it difficult to reach her destination, but with a few death glares and hard passes, she managed.

As expected, the bar was also crowded and loud, as different people shouted over the music to get the bartender's attention, but since it was centered against the wall on the further side of the wide space, it was a good vantage point.

Clinging tightly to the small purse in her hands, she waited for a barstool to become available and swept in as soon as one opened up.

Pulling down her dress and running a hand through her now volumized and curled hair, Elena settled into the stool and gained her barings.

Sight would be her best tool tonight, because the other senses were too overloaded to help her out much.

She could hear nothing outside of the house music and crowd blur, the vibrations of both so strong she could feel the pulsing beats throughout her entire body, and the smell was a harsh mix of alcohol, sweat, and hundreds of different perfumes.

She took a few breaths with her mouth, and focused on the thrumming of her own heart, trying to find a more calm center.

Three deep exhales, and she was focused.

First thing she needed to do was establish the base observations.

Bar. Dance floor. DJ stand. Stairs that led to a second floor balcony. Bathrooms. Another bar. Cages next to the DJ's set up with scantily dressed women dancing suggestively in them.

Strobe lights. Lasers. Dry ice fog effect.

Someone had clearly spent a great deal of money on the place, from the amenities and the somehow timeless decorum, to the surround system that carried the music all over.

The light fixtures were not only blinding, but set up in a way that would disorient, which backed her theory of Salvatore using the club to peddle drugs.

After all, what was a good trip without a pretty show?

She checked out the bar again.

The alcohol was the general stuff, with the more expensive brands resting on the top shelf, and the bartenders were clearly well trained and fast paced.

There were healthcode certifications and, she supposed, a liquor license on the wall behind the bar.

No doubt everything was perfectly up to code on that side of the legalities.

Not seeing anything further, she scanned the crowd.

The dance floor was packed, and so was the second floor balcony that overlooked it.

People were dancing, or more accurately, grinding against one another, hands disappearing into places Elena didn't want to consider, and she exhaled in disgust.

Maybe she should have let Katherine come instead; no doubt her free spirited sister would have enjoyed this scene much more than she was.

But then, Katherine's habit of getting distracted by her more base nature was exactly why Elena had opted to take point.

If her sister had been here, flirting with the bartender, or dancing with a stranger, she might have missed something important.

Something like a familiar young blonde, rubbing up on a man much older than herself in the darker corner of the bar space.


Elena had to blink a few times, to be sure the smoke wasn't getting to her head, and that it was actually Caroline Maxfield sitting a few yards away from her.

The lighting was poor, but after a harder look, she was certain; Julian's nineteen year old daughter was sleazing it up with some frat boy wanna be, in a club associated with his possible business rival.

She almost had to laugh.

Given that Julian kept Caroline out of the loop on everything about his "business", it was probably a coincidence the spoiled Prada-Princess had ended up here.

A hot guy, a fake I.D, some underage drinking...Elena could see the whole picture pretty clearly.

Did Julian know that his precious angel was using Daddy's money to play big girl?

Probably not.

With the shake of her head, Elena pulled out her cell and snapped a few pictures.

Even if it wasn't related to Damon Salvatore, no doubt Julian would still pay her for information like this.


"There's something you need to see, Boss."

Alaric's loud whisper was almost drowned out by the beat pumping on the dance floor below, but Damon caught the words and turned to his Head of Security, "What's the problem?"

Ric motioned with a finger for Damon to follow him down the hall, to the back where the office and monitoring room was.

The music faded as they turned to the left, to the room where the camera footage was displayed, and Stefan was already inside, arms crossed as he studied one of the screens.

"Is there a problem?" Damon repeated, looking between his two men.

Alaric pointed to one of the monitors, "She showed up about thirty minutes ago."

Damon followed his finger to a frozen image of the line outside.

Standing next to the bouncer, in a deliciously tight dress, was his intruder.

The image wasn't perfect, but it was a hell of a lot more clear than the one he had zoomed up of her outside his home.

A predatory excitement lit his nerve endings.

He had been unable to sleep last night, thoughts of this woman and her intentions tormenting his mind and frustrating him to no end.

"Tell me her I.D was scanned," he looked over to Alaric who had already jumped on the computer at the small desk, "Looks like it."

A few clicks and, "Here she is."

The file was pulled and the license picture gave him a more accurate view of her face.

Damon smiled, his eyes eating up the information, "Katalena Pierce. Twenty-three. Lives in the city. Very good, Ric. I'm impressed."

Alaric smirked, "Oh, I'm not done yet. I followed her movements throughout the club, and found her in real time. She's over by the main bar; hasn't moved since she got there."

"Spying again, it would seem," Damon shook his head, but had to admit, "She's brave to come here."

Stefan shrugged, "She probably doesn't realize she's been compromised."

"Good," Damon chipped, watching the girl on the screen as the bartender handed her a glass of water, "Then we can catch her off guard and contain her if necessary. She is young and should scare easily. It won't be hard to find out who she's working for."


The minutes passed slowly as Elena chewed on a piece of ice from her now empty glass, and continued to scope her environment.

There was little else to learn from her current location, though she was beginning to suspect that more than drugs was being ran from the club.

She had noticed a few extremely beautiful women sidle up to different averagely attractive, yet well dressed men, and disappear with them, only to return a few minutes later to do the same thing to someone else.

Of course, without hard facts, she couldn't officialize her assumption, but she was trusting her gut on this one.

Secured mansions, prostitutes, drugs, clubs...what was next? Guns? Money laundering?

Salvatore was shaping up to be a formidable kingpin.

No wonder Julian felt threatened; the competition was ambitious indeed.


"Blow job, or Sex on the beach?"

Elena jumped as someone nearly shouted the question in her ear and turned to see one of the sloshed dancers that had made a pass at her earlier, standing near her stool.

"Excuse me?" she demanded as her brow arched.

"I'm asking if you want a drink," the guy's slurred clarification was paired with a suggestive grin, "A Blow job or Sex on the beach? I'm willing to pay for either."

Oh god, he even winked.

Elena was about to tell the guy where he could shove his offer, when a tall body stepped between them, cutting off his advance.

"How about I pay, and you leave the lady alone?" Her savior's voice was accented and cold, but it caught the drunk hassler's attention.

As did the $100 bill the man produced from seemingly thin air.

Knowing a good thing when he saw it, the bad pickup liner grabbed the money and disappeared into the crowd.

What the hell?

Elena shook her head, "Thanks. But you probably could have saved yourself some money. Guys that cheesy and sloppily drunk are usually harmless."

"Perhaps," the man turned around to face her, and she almost fell off her barstool, "But you can never be too sure about one's intentions."

Holy shit.

Damon Salvatore.

Her target, in the flesh.


Elena slid back onto her feet and tried to school her expression as her brain shouted suggestions in panic.

Most of which were ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!

Face to face interaction with a target was never a good idea, as it upped the chances of them recognizing you, but he would definitely remember her if she did something weird like run full speed from the bar.

As it were, he was already focusing in on her, gaze unwavering; and she had a feeling that the center of this man's attention was a very bad place to be.

She took a breath, and decided that a short conversation and a polite dismissal would be the best route to ensure her anonymity.

"Well, thank you again," she spoke carefully, "I would offer to repay your kindness, but I'm not carrying that sort of cash."

The man grinned, and she realized that the pictures she had taken did not do him any sort of justice.

Damon Salvatore was an absolute show stopper.

Ink colored hair was cut and styled in a way that made a girl think of running her hands through it and it fell against the collar of a button up shirt that clung to the muscles of his chest and arms.

His thick lashes surrounded eyes so blue they reflected every light in the room, and that smirk of his was more inviting than any pickup line she had ever heard.

How the hell was a man like this flying under any radar?

"I am hardly in need of cash," she caught the hint of an accent again, and recalled that he had come to the States not long ago; hadn't Julian said his family was Italian? His surname supported the theory, "But I would accept a dance."

The offer was tempting, she had to admit; and not only because the thought of his obviously well toned body pressed against her own made the temperature of the room jump ten degrees.

It was also a chance to open up avenues of conversation to find out more information for Julian.

Of course, this was a little more hands on, literally, than she preferred, but it might be worth it if she could gain some intel.

"I was always told not to talk to strangers," she baited him a little, gaging his reaction, "Let alone dance with them."

His smirk widened to flash a set of white teeth, and his hand extended, "My name is Damon Salvatore. I own this place."

"Really?" she played along and shook his hand, totally not shivering when their skin touched, "This is your club?"

"You sound surprised," he noted, as his fingers enclosed around hers, "Now, how about that dance?"

After a split moment of deliberation, Elena decided to accept the offer, and gave a small nod.

He seemed pleased by her decision and pulled her out toward the dance floor.


Perhaps this indulgence was a little more self-gratifying than necessary, but Damon could not help himself.

His little intruder was a good actress, quickly brushing away the recognition in her eyes when he had greeted her, and had coyly played in the conversation before agreeing to a dance.

The stiffness in her body was obvious, when he led her from the bar, and her suspicion was smart considering the fact that she was stepping right into a trap.

Stefan was hidden among the crowd on the balcony, weapon ready.

Of course, he had no intention of ordering a hit just yet; dead women tell no more tales than dead men, but it was leverage that he could use against her when the confrontation inevitably came.

He just had to get her into a favorable position.

Stopping just short of the dance floor crowd, Damon whirled Katalena closer and wrapped an arm around her waist.

She fell into him, pressing both hands against his chest to catch herself, and he smirked as her cheeks turned pink at the sudden lack of distance between their bodies.

The color complimented the appealing bronze glow of her skin, and he stared at her shamelessly.

Reality was so much more striking than a mere picture.

However, she was not one to stay off balance long and once she straightened herself, her hands moved to his shoulders.

They swayed to the music too slowly to match the beat, but neither of them were really here to dance, were they?

"Your place seems pretty popular for the short time it's been open," Katalena started, and the statement was innocent enough that he may not have recognized it as the fishing expedition it was had he not already known her agenda.

This was going to be her game, and he was interested enough to play along.

"It's doing well enough," he admitted, "Especially since it is attracting women as beautiful as you."

Her gaze dropped, as if she were uncomfortable with the compliment, though he could not imagine why.

She was beautiful, a point that was advertised by her flirty dress, smokey eyes, and dark curls.

In fact, if he hadn't already considered the ways he might need to cut into her body, to either draw out information or to send pieces of it to her employer, he would have entertained fantasies of what else it could do for him.

Unlike the blonde a few nights ago that had offered little for him in terms of pleasure, his intruder was alluring; a mystery guarded, and the challenge presented was like a siren's call.

He needed inside her head.

"Is SINC your only club?" she asked, brushing away the compliment, "Or do you dabble in other business?"

A more brazen casting of her line; he wasn't sure if he was amused or offended..

The woman was brave, but did she really think he would crack so easily?

"Oh, I dabble," he offered unhelpfully and there was a flicker of slight frustration in her eyes when he didn't elaborate.

He enjoyed giving her a taste of her own medicine, but she schooled the reaction quickly, and moved on with the thinly veiled interrogation, "Your accent...you aren't from here, are you?"

He would have bet all the money in each of his encrypted accounts that she already knew exactly where he was from.

There was a steadiness to the way she posed the question; knowledge behind those thickly framed lashes.

"Home is more a state of mind than a physical place," he said vaguely, then twirled her to the beat of the song.

She moved more easily than she had at first, and when she came flush against him this time, it was on purpose, "Do you have something against straight answers?"

He couldn't help but smirk, "It depends on the question."

His palm slid to the small of her back, pressing her body firmly to his and she exhaled sharply at the increased contact.

He tilted her back in a swivel, quick enough that her hair whipped out, and when he drew her in again, she sprouted a surprised smile, "You're good at this."

Whether she meant dancing or avoiding straight answers, he wasn't sure, but used the moment to throw her off guard.

With a sharp spin, he swirled her out, moving with her to the music, and then tugged harshly, closing the distance and using her off balance to sweep her feet, dropping her lowly toward the floor.

He caught her weight just a few inches before impact with an arm around her waist, and he grinned as she gasped.

"I've got moves you've never seen," he assured her, then lifted them back so she was standing in his arms.

Their gazes held and Damon studied the details of her eyes.

Barely covered dark circles hinted toward restless sleep, wavy eyeliner suggested she did not wear it often, and something unreadable encaptured him about her irises themselves.

They gleamed with intelligence but somehow seemed distant; something he did not expect, given her obvious attempt to withdraw information.

As if she was empty and took no pleasure from her intent.

Her teeth found her bottom lip, and his eyes fell to them as she subconsciously bit at the skin.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered what it tasted like.


"Why did you come to my rescue earlier?" she asked suddenly, and the change of topic surprised him, "I doubt I'm the first girl tonight that that perv has offered to buy a drink for."

"I'm certain he was offering more than just a drink," Damon reasoned and his intruder was clearly unamused by the statement.

"I'm serious," she insisted, "Why did you get involved?"

Damon shrugged nonchalauntly, "Savior complex. I can not help myself sometimes, but I'm working on it."

That earned him another unexpected smile, this one more genuine, and it transformed her whole face.

"A savior complex, huh?" she taunted him, and her gaze shifted off through the crowd, "And here I thought you were just concerned for my well being."

"Maybe I was concerned," he went along, "That a pretty woman was being hassled at my bar."

Her brow arched as something caught her attention, "Does it concern you that your bar is serving alcohol to minors?"

Damon blinked, then followed her gaze.

"You see something I do not?" he asked as he scanned the crowd across the room.

Katalena nodded, "The blonde at the end, practically sitting on the lap of her date...she's underage, and your bartender just poured her another shot."

He honed in on the girl she was referring to, and felt a jolt of recognition that changed the entire game.

"You know her," he guessed, loosening his hold on Katalena's waist.

When her attention moved back to him, there was a fake aloofness to her tone, "No. I'm just observant."

Cazzata.

The lie fell easily from her lips and Damon's jaw set in annoyance.

And just when he was beginning to actually enjoy her company…

It was time for some interrogating of his own, "Tell me, what is it you do with such superior observational skills?"

"Well," she appeared to think it over, "Tonight, I'm trying to save you from a hefty fine and possible liquor license suspension. Tomorrow, who knows?"

Katalena smiled softly, and just like that, his irritation evaporated, "It would seem I'm not the only one with a savior complex."

She shrugged, "What can I say, we all do what we must."

"I prefer to do what I want," Damon corrected, leaning closer to that piercing gaze staring up at him.

"And what is it that you want, Damon?" she provoked with a teasing lilt, and he shook his head, "That is quite the loaded question, cara mia. How about a trade? I will show you mine if you show me yours."

She blinked, then pursed her lips, "Maybe I don't know what I want."

"Now, that is not true," all but ignoring the music now, Damon had her body flush against his own, her chest pressing into his with each breath, "Your eyes betray you."

"My eyes?" she smirked curiously, "How so?"

He reached up slowly, so that she would not flinch away, and brushed a curl from her face, letting the back of his knuckles linger near her temple, "They are spento...dead...sad. You are unsatisfied with your life. Empty. Something is missing."

Katalena's jaw moved as his hand dropped and she studied him, "And what do you suppose that is, mysterious stranger with all the answers?"

Damon smirked, "The same things that everyone wants when they do not have it. Passion. Adventure. Maybe a little danger. You crave to be consumed by more than what you are."

She let out a small laugh, "My eyes tell you all of that?"

"Yes, Katalena," she stiffened at the sudden use of the name she had not yet given him, "As does the fact that you were spying on my home. You must be unsatisfied with your life, to so thoroughly risk having it ended."


All pretenses dropped from her expression and her body was out of his arms before he even had time to register the panic in her face.

She faded quickly into the crowd and Damon followed, slightly impressed by her flight reflex.

But he knew she only had two choices of exit; the front door or the more hidden alley entrance on the other side of the club.

Clearly having formulated an escape route, Katalena beelined for the less crowded side door and dipped outside past a group of smokers that were entering without once looking back.

The outside air was cool, and Damon's breath swirled around him as he stayed on her heels.

He advanced on her as she sped to a jog around the corner of the building, catching her before she could turn around the bend to the street.

"Not so fast," he grabbed her shoulder, but the moment his palm touched her, Katalena moved at a lightning pace, catching his jaw with her elbow before whipping herself under his arm and kicking out to drive a sharp heel into his stomach.

It sank into his skin and knocked his breath from his lungs as she pulled away; losing the shoe in the process.

Damon gasped out in pain and doubled, as his grip slipped and she took off at a sprint.

Something fell from her purse as she ran, kicking off her other heel in the process, like some twisted Cinderella.

Catching his breath, he watched as she disappeared into the night.


"Damon!" Alaric's voice cut through the air as the man ran to his side, "Shit."

He must have noticed the shoe still lodged in his boss's stomach, "Are you alright? I can go after her-"

Damon shook his head and gripped the sandle, "Don't bother."

With a wince he yanked the heel from his skin, and motioned to the matching one laying on the concrete a few feet from them, "Grab the other."

He scoped the area to make sure they hadn't drawn any attention as Alaric did as he asked.

"She must have dropped this too," and returned with drawn brows, having picked up the shoe and a busted cell phone, "How did she figure out you were on to her?"

"I told her," he admitted, lifting his shirt to check the bleeding wound.

It throbbed, but seemed mostly superficial.

Alaric was even more confused now.

"Why?" he asked, as they were suddenly joined by Stefan who jumped in, "Had to fight the crowd to follow you. Did she get away? What happened?"

"I let her go," Damon stated for both of their benefit, "We don't need her."

The two shared a look before he elaborated, "I know who she's working for."


Elena did not stop running until she had rounded nearly four blocks, made her feet raw, and found an open taxi.

She all but jumped into the back and gave a random address to the driver.

It was a testament to the state of the city that the man didn't even blink at her frazzled appearance.

The background noise of some radio talk show, and the muffled buzz of outside traffic, helped calm Elena down.

By the time they stopped at the location, her heartbeat was almost back to normal.

She paid the driver, then found another cab one block away from the place where the first one had dropped her off at.

The diversion tactic was one she had used before to shake a tail, not that she knew for certain she was being followed, but it seemed better to be safe.

Her trip ended with a bus ride that dropped her off near her home street, and she walked the remaining half mile to her house.

No shoes meant her feet were aching and frozen, not to mention probably missing some skin, but she didn't dare stop.

Damon Salvatore knew who she was.

How long? Had he known from the moment he approached her in the club?

He had to, right? Why else would he single her out?

And why had he let her go so easily?

Of course, she had left her shoe embedded in his gut, which might defer any normal man, but someone with so much to lose couldn't be counted as normal.

Maybe he had had her followed and she had lost them?

She double checked her surroundings, just in case, but the street was nearly dark and there were no cars that had followed the bus to the stop.

She wasn't being tailed then...which brought her back to the question of how the hell had Salvatore known who she was.

Well, not exactly who; he had called her Katalena...but he had known that she had been at his house.

Elena stopped midstep.

The house.

She had known his security was tight, had even witnessed some of the measures he took in person, but perhaps there was even more that she had been unaware of?

Had he been watching her watch him?

The thought made her shiver, but seemed the most logical.

Damn it.

She hated being compromised, and even worse, knew that this would mean she might need Katherine's help on the case if she had to alibi herself.

Her home came into view and Elena sighed, half in relief, half in regret, and dragged her feet all the way to the front door.

She didn't relish explaining what had happened to her twin, but knew that she would have to, if they were going to firstly, keep themselves protected, and secondly, figure out what to do now.

She exhaled slowly and went inside.


Nadia must have been in bed asleep, because Katherine was alone on the couch, curled up with her feet tucked beneath her, watching a rerun of America's Next Top Model.

"Oh hey," she smiled when Elena stepped past the dining room table, "You're back! And...you're not wearing shoes."

Kat's smile faltered as Elena's appearance registered, and she jumped to her feet, "Are you alright? What happened?!"

Elena waved her down before she could work up a panic, "I'm fine, just had to make a quick getaway."

Brown eyes, identical to her own, widened, "Your cover was blown?"

She laughed dryly, "Yeah, I'm starting to think I never had it."

"Explain," Kat pressed as Elena turned and motioned for her to unzip the dress.

"I met Damon Salvatore in person tonight," she said as her twin helped her undress, "He knew who I was, though I didn't realize it until it was too late."

Katherine flinched as she shimmied out of the dress, "Shit. How bad was it? If we need to find somewhere to lay low, I can wake up Nadia and-"

"No, no," Elena shook her head, "Not that bad. At least, not yet. He knew "Katalena". I think he may have caught me spying on his house yesterday, but I'm not sure how he got the info."

Her sister breathed out in relief and sank down into one of the dining room chairs, "Did you get a drink at the bar?"

"Yeah, but it was water," she limped across the room to where a basket of laundry was sitting in the chair across from the couch and fished out a pair of shorts and a tank top, "Plus, they stamped me at the door."

"Did they card you at the door?" Kat asked when Elena flashed her the infinity stamp.

She slipped on the shorts and paused, "Actually...now that you mention it-"

"That's how then," Katherine deducted, "You used the Katalena I.D, right?"

Elena nodded, and thanked her lucky stars that she had.

"Then we should be fine," her twin reassured her, "All the info, down to the address, is fake."

"Yeah, but finding intel on the man is going to be a lot harder when he knows our face," Elena pointed out, throwing on the tank top and joining Kat at the table.

She sat down and lifted her leg to inspect the bottom of her foot.

The damage wasn't too bad, though she would need to wash them with soap and peroxide before bed.

"We'll figure it out," Kat promised, "We always do."

"I know," Elena agreed halfheartedly and sat back in her seat.

She would give herself tonight to let the adrenaline die down, then tomorrow she would work out a new plan.

Being outed did not mean that she couldn't still complete the job, just that she would have to proceed more cautiously.


"So...he caught you off guard? Must mean he's even better looking than that blurred picture suggested." Katherine stated, bringing her out of her thoughts.

"What?"

Her sister smirked, "I'm right, aren't I? About Damon being good looking?"

"Inappropriate, much?" Elena chuckled, "God."

"Just answer the question," Kat insisted and she rolled her eyes, "Okay, he wasn't...bad looking."

Katherine grinned, "So I am right!"

"Don't let it go to your head."

She laughed and made a wistful face, "The bad ones are always the most attractive, aren't they?"

Elena shook her head, but silently agreed.

Damon Salvatore was very bad indeed and, as much as the thought shamed her, very attractive.

She recalled the way she had fallen into his chest and the warmth of his arm as it wrapped around her waist.

For so many reasons, the memory should not give her that warm tingling feeling in her stomach, but her body was oblivious to her truth her brain knew.

That no matter how "hot" he may be, Damon Salvatore was nothing more than a trouble wrapped paycheck.

One they needed to cash in on.


A lot going on, but hopefully ya'll liked it!

As far as first meetings go, you have to admit, it was eventful!

Can't wait to see what ya'll think! :)