Edited: 27/03/18

Chapter 4

A few days had passed since Isabella's talk with Stefan, and she wondered if he was avoiding her now, seeing as she hadn't seen him again. She was also struggling with herself, trying to decide if she should feel worried about him or not, or if she should feel hurt. Despite the admonitions to herself on why she should not become attached to him, she felt that a bond had formed between them. It was flimsy, still in its initial state, but there nonetheless.

And this bond – that should have never even taken shape – was what was making her second guess herself when it came to him: what did he think of her? Of their conversation? Would they do it again? Even though she kept on telling herself that she shouldn't – or that she wouldn't – get attached, that she shouldn't care about him or what he thought about her, she knew that it was useless, and that the seed had been sowed.

But just because Stefan wasn't around, the same could not be said about his brother. She would occasionally see him around town. Though it was easier to find him inside the Grill, sitting at the bar with another man – the both of them usually talking, sometimes discussing, but always drinking to their hearts' content. Damon would always send her these looks – his blue eyes showcasing his curiosity. Though, sometimes, they would also be filled with a calculating glint.

The first time his friend had followed his gaze to her, she had seen him shaking his head and saying something that had Damon rolling his eyes before answering him. Whatever had been said clearly had something to do with her and her lookalike – who, amazingly, she had never seen face to face – because the man was suddenly spitting his drink, then doing a double take, no doubt with the intentions of really looking at her now. Isabella had raised an eyebrow and given him a little wave and then watched as he blushed when caught. He had waved back and offered a sheepish smile though, then had turned back to Damon, who had been observing their little interaction. This guy must be new in town, she had decided, lips twitching, to not have heard about me. Everyone else was able to tell her and Elena apart by now.

After that, he would join Damon in sending her curious gazes, though neither had approached her, for which she was deeply grateful. She was still in the 'avoid Damon' phase, which included anyone associated with him. Although it looked like Stefan was going to be the exception to that rule.

And talking about Stefan, unfortunately for her, Isabella's worries about his vanishing act were starting to take their toll on her. After their talk, she had unconsciously decided she was going to give him a chance – bleeding heart that she was – even if she still couldn't say if she would ever tell him her story. And that was the crux of the matter: he had been so open and sincere with her… and she didn't know if she could reciprocate it.

And now here she was, feeling like an utter bitch.

The guilt gnawed at her, telling her that she couldn't not tell Stefan about herself – it wouldn't be fair to him! But Isabella wasn't ready to do that yet. I doubt I'll ever be, she would try to convince herself. Still, her conscience wouldn't let it go – because no matter how much of a bitchy façade she showed around, deep down she would always be Isabella Swan. And Isabella Swan was a big softie, to whom family was everything.

And Stefan had become family (in the span of one night, her mind would mock her heart).

So, filling herself with determination, she strode out of the hotel room, went to her current car and, before she could talk herself out of it, drove to the Boarding House.

The house was still as beautiful as the first time she laid her eyes on it, she thought fondly. It was also responsible for some of her best memories… Isabella just hoped that the memories of this wonderful place wouldn't be tainted by the new owners and whatever would happen here in the future.

Before her courage left her, she rang the doorbell and waited. She was incredibly nervous and just couldn't stop fidgeting. She bit her lower lip and started playing with the hem of the sleeve of Stefan's jacket (which she had begun taking everywhere with her in the hopes of returning it to him). This is a bad idea, she thought despairingly, ready to bolt. But just as she was about to go back to her car, the door was opened.

She gulped and prayed for fortitude (and hoped like hell Damon wasn't feeling peckish) before turning to greet him. Imagine her surprise when it wasn't Damon who answered the door, but Jenna Sommers. She blinked.

"Hey," said the blonde, looking as surprised as Isabella herself felt.

"Hey Jenna." The surprise faded quickly, leaving confusion in its place. Was she interrupting something? "Is Damon in?"

Jenna tilted her head in confusion, hazel eyes observing her, probably taking her nervousness in. She wondered if she should come back later…

"Sure, come in," Jenna said, stepping aside so the brunette could enter (and dashing the hope that she would be able to postpone this encounter). "I'll call him."

"Thanks," she said, walking towards the living room, while the blonde went towards what she knew was the dining room.

Standing inside the Boarding House, alone, she felt the memories trying to break through the surface. There, in front of the fireplace, is where Zach and I – and Ang, when she was around – would make ourselves a nest of pillows and sheets and sit, basking in each other's presence, enjoying the silence that falls at the end of the day… And there, on that couch, is where we sat together, and Zach told me more about our family…

She stomped on these recollections ruthlessly, telling herself now was not the time to reminisce. (She was also valiantly trying not to cry. She and Zach would never do something together ever again.) She had just made herself at home at one of the couches – a different one from the memory – when Damon walked in and stopped at the sight of her.

:::

When Jenna told him he had a visitor, Damon was expecting it to finally be Elijah. He was not happy that John had decided to invite himself and was, thus, crashing his dinner party. He simply didn't trust the Gilbert or his motivations for wanting the Original dead and was this close to snapping his neck, consequences be damned. Damon just needed one reason – a single one – and then: bye-bye John. His distrust had just skyrocketed because he didn't believe John to be influential enough in the supernatural community to have acquired that dagger and the ashes. So that begged the question: how the hell had John gotten his grubby hands on them? Though an even better question would be: who had told John about them and the methods to get them?

Anyway, imagine his surprise when, after entering the living room, he didn't see the elder vampire, but his little puzzle. The brunette had made herself comfortable at one of the couches but sprang to her feet as soon as she saw him. She seemed nervous to be in his presence and… Hold on a second! Was that Stefan's jacket she was wearing?

He blinked, surprised. When he had interrogated Stefan about his little walk with their supposed great-niece – after he had learnt about it from Elena – the only thing his little brother had told him was that she knew and wasn't afraid. He hadn't told Damon they had gotten this chummy. Oh…! Little Stefan is keeping secrets!

"Why, if it isn't the ever-elusive Isabella Swan," he approached her, a smirk on his lips. "Have you tired of avoiding me?" He saw her cheeks reddening. How adorable, he thought, tilting his head. His smirk widened when she remained silent. "Ah, you won't even try to deny it?"

She shrugged. "There is nothing to deny." She raised her brown eyes and met his azure ones.

"Now where is the drama in that?" He asked her and was rewarded by her crossing her arms and staring at him, unimpressed. Damon just stood there, gazing at her expectantly. He just about crowed in triumph when she snorted and uncrossed her arms, shaking her head at him. Damon loved getting a reaction out of people.

"Please, excuse me, kind sir. For I did not mean to hurt you with my thoughtless actions," she said, bringing a hand to her heart and looking at him with a very apologetic expression.

"That's better," he chuckled and took a hold of her hand, bringing it to his lips, wanting to see if she would blush again. She did. "I forgive you, cruel lady," he stated and got her rolling her eyes in response even as her lips twitched. He was amazed to see as she relaxed in his presence. Humans in the know were never at ease around him.

"Poor, wounded me also wonders what could possibly bring you to my humble abode?" He continued with the dramatics, making an encompassing gesture towards the room and the rest of the house, interested in what she would reveal.

He observed as her eyes followed the movement of his free arm and she took in the room around them, her entire expression softening as nostalgia took place in her visage. Interesting. It meant that she was used to spending a part of her time in the town at the Boarding House. He had wondered about the two rooms that looked like they had been recently used (besides the one that had belonged to Zach). Maybe one was hers? If so, the other was probably her friend's.

"I know for a fact that it is not that humble," she turned to him, a small smile on her lips and answered his question. "I came to see Stefan."

He raised an eyebrow at that. He almost felt hurt at her wishing to see his brother while avoiding him. Almost.

(He could finally see why Stefan had been so defensive when questioned about her. That easy acceptance was a flame to Stefan's moth.)

"But that doesn't explain why you came to me in your quest to find my good brother." He almost felt his lips curling at the irony present in those words. There was no good brother where Damon and Stefan were concerned. There were only the bad brother and the one that could be considered the worst. Every few decades they would somewhat compete for the title, what with his impulsiveness and frequent disregard for life, and Stefan's ripper binges.

She scoffed. "You don't believe that shit any more than I do."

Oh… she curses! How delightful! She was becoming more and more interesting. Quite different from the goody two shoes he was surrounded by.

Damon just shrugged in response and smirked. She opened her mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it, because she closed her mouth and sighed, running a hand through her hair. In doing so, the sleeve of Stefan's – too big for her – jacket slipped, and something on her wrist caught his eye.

He focused on it.

And found himself gaping.

Because it was simply not possible!

With eyes wide and breath catching in his throat, Damon stared at the woman in front of him, as if finally noticing her.

Isabella should be dead!

Or, at the very least, she should be a walking marble statue. Instead, here she was: very human, with a warm body full of pumping blood. Mouthwatering smelling blood, he might add. How did she manage that? He opened his mouth to ask her, but she beat him to it.

"You're the only person that I know who knows for certain where he is."

Damon stared at her for a while, not comprehending what she meant, before it dawned on him that she was answering his earlier question.

"You could have asked one of his friends," he said distractedly, moving forwards and grabbing the hand that had returned to her side. He pushed the sleeve up her arm and examined the scar. He ran his thumb over it and felt her tense.

Fuck!

It was authentic!

It was a goddamned bite from one of those suckers!

With his thumb still on her skin, he could feel the difference clearly: the skin where one of them had sunk their teeth on her was colder and somewhat harder than the rest of her body.

Damon looked at her, plans of having her tell him how she got that bite running through his mind. He could always force it out of her, but he knew that it would upset St Stefan. And an upset Stefan meant the rest of the little gang descending on him like a wake of vultures. He was so not in the mood to endure that. Not now.

"And how, exactly, would I know that he had friends here? Or who his friends are?" She asked him, tone wry. Her body was still tense.

(In a far corner of his mind, he mourned for the easy camaraderie they had shared.)

"Why wouldn't he have friends?" What made this human so special that she managed to survive this bite?

She just shrugged and crossed her arms, waiting.

Damon blinked when her hand slipped from his and he saw her relax again when he didn't make another attempt to grab it. Did she really believe she was safe with him? The thought made him curious, for she clearly wasn't afraid of him, but of the possibility of him asking about the scar.

"Well, he is not here," he said.

She nodded, as if he was confirming something she already knew. She removed the jacket and offered it to him. "Can you give this back to him?"

It didn't escape him that she didn't ask if Stefan was around town, or where she could find him. She was observant.

He looked at the jacket, a plan forming in his mind – a way to keep her in town a while longer. He took it from her, but instead of putting it away as she was clearly expecting, he stepped closer to her and draped it over her shoulders, eliciting a surprised gasp from her. She looked up to him, her doe-like eyes full of questions. "Why don't you give it to him yourself?"

"Like you said, he's not here," she shrugged, then started fidgeting at his closeness. Aww, looks like the little Swan is shy.

"Then call him and ask him when he'll be back," he told her, even though he knew for a fact she didn't have Stefan's number. She wouldn't be here otherwise. At her helpless look, he found himself mentally groaning. Stefan should thank him for being such a good older brother.

Damon extended his hand, palm up. She stared at it before turning her eyes to his. "Phone."

"I wouldn't want to bother him," she answered him. For some reason, she sounded hesitant and insecure to his ears, even if her tone hadn't given her away. Maybe she didn't want to know Stefan's reaction to the bite.

"Bullshit," he found himself reassuring her. Such odd behavior he was having in her presence… Any other person would have already been restrained and compelled. "That's why he bought himself a cell phone, so people could call him," he smiled charmingly, hoping she would trust him.

She bit her lips for a few seconds, then fished it from one of her pockets and put it on his hand. He added Stefan's number and hesitated. Why the hell not? And he added his number as well. Damon called his own and felt it vibrating in his pocket. He quickly erased the call and offered her the phone. "There."

She picked it from his hand and smiled. "Thanks."

He smiled back, all the while reasoning with himself that he was only acting the way he was as a means to gain her trust. If Isabella trusted him and Stefan, she would tell them her story someday, and he would finally have all the answers to his puzzle.

Before anything more could be said, they heard the doorbell ringing. Damon felt his eye widening. Elijah. He got so caught up with Isabella and the theories forming in his mind, that he momentarily forgot he was waiting for the Original. The vampire he had invited for dinner. How could he have possibly forgotten about Elijah?!

He was saved from more thoughts on his stupidity by Isabella's voice.

"I should better get going."

He looked at her and saw her moving towards the door. He blurred to her side. "Alright, Bambi, I'll walk you to the door, like the gentleman I am," he said, putting his hand on the small of her back. They took two steps before she stopped and whirled on him.

"Bambi?" Incredulity colored both her tone and face. He looked at her with his most innocent expression. She was not fooled, he was delighted to notice.

"Of course," he said. "Has no one ever commented on your doe-like eyes?" He tilted his head, genuinely curious. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she simply turned on her heels and resumed walking. He retook his position at her side and looked at her. She was blushing.

"And since when are you a gentleman?"

"How dare you!" He affected being aghast. "I'll let you know that I am a gentleman. A southern one," he declared pompously.

She snorted. "Only when it's convenient."

Oh, they were back to being snarky. Damon certainly approved.

When they got to the door, he almost didn't want to open it. Not with the Original on the other side. And not when the company offered him so much fun. Alas, he had previous plans to attend to, and the elder vampire was essential if he wanted to see them accomplished.

"Well, Bambi, see you soon," he said, opening the door. She gave him the stinky eye (to which he just smirked), turned to walk out the door and froze. Since his attention was still on her, he was able to see the emotions coloring her face in quick succession: surprise, recognition, incredulity and… happiness? He felt himself tense at the last one, then turned to the Original waiting outside the door, hand still up, about to ring the doorbell again.

His slightly widened eyes was the only sign of surprise Damon could detect, brief as it was, for his stoic mask was quick to fall back in place, though his brown eyes were still craved on Isabella with an intensity that unnerved the Salvatore.

"Bella," Elijah said, his smooth voice caressing her name.

"Elijah." Her voice came out as a breathless whisper. Damon felt his brow furrow, eyes darting from vampire to human. They knew each other?

"Bambi?" He heard himself ask, breaking whatever it was that was happening with the two in front of him. Isabella started. She looked at him, met his questioning gaze and blushed. He chanced a look at Elijah and saw narrowed brown eyes fixed on him. Damon almost shuddered at the contained violence in that gaze.

"Bye, Damon," she said and kissed his cheek. He blinked and brought his hand up, taken aback by the gesture.

She turned and he saw her hesitate before throwing her arms around Elijah, surprising both vampires. Though Elijah did return her embrace, making the wheels in Damon's mind turn as he tried to comprehend what the hell was going on here.

(Stings of betrayal coursed through him even as he tried to remind himself that there was no need to feel betrayed, that they hadn't interacted enough for him to feel like this.)

"It's so good to see you," Isabella said and released him, stepping back.

"It's been a while," Elijah said, offering her a smile, and damn it if Damon wasn't surprised to see such genuine emotion on the elder's face.

"We should catch up some time," she said, making Damon grit his teeth.

"I would like that," the Original said, nodding. She nodded back went to her car, offering them a last smile over her shoulder, and drove away.

He turned towards the Original, who was watching as the car moved away. "That was unexpected," he said, trying to fish for some information.

"Not as unexpected as seeing Bella in Mystic Falls," Elijah said, turning to him, regarding him coolly. Damon furrowed his brow at the familiarity with which the other referred to her.

"So, I take it you've known each other for a while."

Elijah nodded. "We met a few years back, in her home town."

Damon felt his eyebrow raising. How did those two meet and what kind of relationship did they have?

But it seemed the matter was closed, for Elijah turned to him and said: "Can I just say that, if you have less than honorable intentions about how this evening is going to proceed, I suggest you reconsider."

Taken aback at the sudden subject change, it took him a while to answer. "No, nothing… nothing dishonorable. Just getting to know you," he smiled.

"Well, that's good," Elijah said, entering the house. "Because, you know, although Elena and I have this deal, if you so much as make a move to cross me, I'll kill you and I'll kill everyone in this house. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

And with that, Elijah let himself be distracted by Jenna and Damon closed the door.