AUTHOR'S NOTE: So I don't know about you guys, but after tonight's episode I'm HURTING. My TVD heart is breaking for baby girl Gilbert and mostly I want to bury my head in my pillow and weep. But I didn't want to disappoint you and I promised to post something by tonight, so here it is. Since I wanted you to have something, I split a chapter in two - it was a long one anyway, and the breaking point came pretty naturally. So let's take a moment to let Damon and Elena reflect on this massive life change before we cut to their much anticipated reunion, shall we? (You hate me right now, don't you. Note the lack of a question mark. MORE SOON I PROMISE)
Elena stood under the scalding spray of the shower, grateful that she hadn't dropped off her duffel before forcing her earlier confrontation with Damon. Despite having seen the healing effects of vampire blood on more than one occasion, she was dazed to feel the clotted blood tangling her hair - it had clearly been a vicious injury - without experiencing any pain. Having her own conditioner on hand was both useful and necessary in detangling the matted mess streaming down her back.
God bless Caroline for reminding her that she had a change of clothes and her toiletries. At least she wouldn't have to kick off this new life in a borrowed shirt and day-old underwear.
The whole experience in the shower was a sensory overload - standing beneath the pulse of the faucet, the air filled with scents that blended into one warm aroma. Her own vanilla body scrub, her shampoo and conditioner, both hinting subtly at citrus, the underlying sharp, fresh tang of Damon's Irish Spring soap. The sound of falling water echoed in her ears, louder than she was used to but not unpleasant.
And as she let the inevitable sobs take over, she tasted the salt of her tears.
She'd taken that first tentative sip of blood, and while one part of her - probably the lingering human part - recoiled from the act, the other part, the newly born vampire, rejoiced. Her own blood swam faster, and she understood now the way Stefan had once described the transformation to her after Vicki Donovan turned. He'd described the way everything became amplified, from personality traits to physical sensation. He'd also told her that, for Vicki, the process was particularly vicious both because she was a user of God knows what variety of drugs, and because she'd put off the idea of feeding on human blood.
That was part of the reason Elena hadn't needed the time Caroline offered to make her own decision. Vicki's behavior had spiraled out of control - which was saying something, since the girl had always been more than a little off balance - in the period of time between her death and her own rebirth. Ultimately, she'd folded under the considerable weight of her bloodlust, killing a man, feeding from him, without thought or hesitation.
And Stefan had also told Elena that if Vicki didn't feed at all, she'd slowly... fade away. Her cravings would intensify and without satisfying them, she'd be all the more unstable until her body simply shut down.
The last thing Elena needed now was to waste time in denial. She was a pragmatic person; when something went wrong, when something needed taking care of, she did just that. She didn't shy away from her problems, even when those problems threatened to suffocate her.
It was that pragmatism that had her rapidly producing a story to offer Caroline, who'd inevitably asked the dreaded question - "So... how did this happen, exactly?"
Caroline was a bright girl, clever and quick on the uptake. Elena had little doubt that her friend had already figured out that the Salvatore brothers played some kind of role in her death. Clearly, they hadn't elaborated on said role, or Caroline wouldn't have bothered asking the question and forcing Elena to rehash everything.
With fresh blood singing in her veins, she'd felt like she'd just done a line of cocaine. Well, she imagined that's what it felt like, with everything becoming so intense and her train of thought moving at a rapid, near deadly pace. The world was sharper - and apparently, so was her brain. She'd never been the greatest liar, but she wouldn't allow the accident of her death to overshadow her new life.
No one could know Damon had hurt her. No one could know his moment of blind rage was the reason the blood that revived her was in her system.
So she'd simply made a few revisions to the story she'd told Stefan. According to her new version of events, when she and Damon faced off against Kol at Scary Mary's, the Original had given her a careless shove. She'd fallen at just the wrong angle and slammed her head against the corner of a table, cracking her skull. Dazed and bleeding, she'd accepted Damon's proffered wrist. They'd needed to move, and there hadn't been time for any delicate Florence Nightingale histrionics, no time for the gentle tending of wounds. She'd needed healing, and she'd needed it quickly.
Barely a day later, a combination of poor timing and a desire to, per usual, keep the Salvatores from murdering each other, led Elena to step into the fray of flying fists. It was simply a case of the wrong place at the wrong time, an accident, plain and simple.
Elena could only pray that, with each telling, the lie would become closer and closer to fact. Because no one could know the truth. No one would. This was her rebirth; she wouldn't let it be tarnished before she'd even begun. This was her life now, and damn if she wasn't going to live it.
Elena Gilbert dealt in reality, plain and simple. Even when reality took on a decidedly unreal aspect. After all, how many people were there who could face the knowledge that vampires weren't confined to fiction without checking themselves into a mental institution?
But Elena had managed to accept something entirely against everything she believed when she'd wrapped her head around Stefan's vampirism. She hadn't wanted to - God, she'd fought the idea tooth and nail, turning it over in her head, trying to explain away the things she'd seen with her own eyes. But she'd also gotten out of bed the morning after she'd figured out what Stefan was, and she'd gone to confront him. No hesitation. She went directly to the source and listened as he explained all the things she so vehemently wanted to ignore. And she accepted all of it, came to terms with a concept completely foreign to her reality - and she did so with strength, determination, and a steely sort of grace.
What had happened, had happened. There was no use wishing it away. She had to take action, had to learn how to live this new life that had been forced on her. Anything else would be an exercise in mental torture.
Still, at the end of the day, Elena was only a girl on the cusp of adulthood, grappling with the challenges that came with growing up in a world where vampires walked in sunlight and werewolves prowled beneath the full moon.
How am i supposed to handle this? she asked herself the question desperately, and even her thoughts sounded panicked. God, how do I do this? I'm only human!
And then she had to close her eyes and fight to steady her breathing. Because no, she wasn't only human. She wasn't human at all.
When Caroline had suggested a shower to refresh Elena, to wash away the literal aftereffects of her death, she'd looked Elena calmly in the eye, giving her friend a smile that was sympathetic and sad and encouraging and proud and loving all at once.
Elena had held Caroline's gaze for a long moment, then managed a nod. Caroline was right; a shower would help calm her, allow her the time to collect herself before having to face the outside world.
Neither Caroline nor Elena actually said it, but they both knew the biggest reason for Elena to take a bit of time for herself. She needed to grieve. She needed to cry.
That was the sound Damon heard as he tentatively approached the door to his room. Quiet but distinct beneath the rush of water, he heard each gasping intake of breath, each shuddering sigh. His heart physically ached in his chest. It was a sensation he'd never understood until Elena became a part of his life - it seemed like one of those overdramatic expressions romantics used to describe heartbreak.
It had been fairly unpleasant to discover that the phrase wasn't as figurative as he'd once believed.
Every protective instinct in his body propelled him forward, ready to run to Elena's side, to hold her or comfort her or simply let her vent the anger, frustration, the sheer desperate impotence she must be feeling. God knew he was. Damon's hand hovered over the doorknob, then dropped again.
He closed his eyes and took a breath before retreating from the door. The last thing she needed now was to be caught with her defenses down; she had to be feeling achingly vulnerable already. And God knows she didn't need him getting distracted from the matter at hand by the knowledge that the only thing separating her body from his was a brief terrycloth towel. She needed his friendship, needed a shoulder, a hand to hold. He wouldn't complicate an already impossible situation with his own selfish needs.
As he'd said to his brother, none of his needs, or Stefan's needs, or anyone else's - none of that mattered right now. All that mattered was Elena.
Distance, he decided. He'd give her a few more minutes of distance and let her come to him on her own terms rather than forcing any conversation.
He couldn't leave her alone much longer, though. He had to see her with his own eyes, see her alive and walking and talking. Because his last image of her was a terrible one that would haunt him forever, and he needed so badly to replace it.
Caroline had come downstairs, taken one look at Stefan, and decided it was necessary to get him the hell away from Elena. She'd planned to go straight to the hardware store, then realized the one in Mystic Falls probably wouldn't be equipped with all the materials they'd need to shore up the gaping hole in the boarding house foyer. And then there was the trickier - and more pressing - matter of the devastation in the front hall. Caroline had no idea what kind of industrial solvent would help remove the stains left behind on the foyer floor, a terrible reminder of Elena's own death. She'd have to go several towns over to some hardware chain - Home Depot, she thought - which meant a lengthy drive.
The pain still broadcast on Stefan's face had her demanding his company. Yes, she was perfectly capable of making the journey herself. Instead, she claimed that she'd need Stefan with her to take care of any heavy lifting.
"I may be a vampire, but I'm still a girl," she'd said cheerfully, "and therefore, it's your job to do the home repair and mine to wield the credit card."
For the first time since Elena's death, Stefan's mouth had curved into the slightest of smiles.
She'd instructed Stefan to grab a jacket - "It's getting nippy, don't want you catching a cold," she'd admonished - while she retrieved Elena's bag from the car. During Stefan's brief absence she'd held a quick whispered conversation with Damon. Their low tones helped their words from intruding on Stefan's consciousness; if he'd focused on the sound, he would've heard them clearly.
He didn't want to focus; he didn't want to hear.
Caroline's words were rolled rapidly off her tongue. She needed to get Stefan off the premises, stat.
"I don't think she's ready to see Stefan any more than he's ready to see her. I asked her if she wanted me to stay or if I could go run errands and she said she was okay - as long as you were here. So just... be good to her, and be gentle." she'd said the last word pointedly, and Damon had winced. He'd opened his mouth, not to defend himself but to apologize for what he'd done, but Caroline cut him off. "Doesn't matter anymore, Damon. Although if this little fight doesn't motivate you two from seeking anger management, I don't know what will." She waved away the thought, not interested in soothing Damon when she knew it would be an exercise in futility. He and Stefan would have to come to terms with the accident on their own time.
"For now, forget all that. Unless Elena wants to talk about it, the 'd' word is off limits. She needs us all together, not fighting. Besides, I figure you're beating yourself up enough for both of us. Anyway, she's in the shower. Just... I don't know - don't crowd her, but let her know you're there, okay?"
"I never meant for this to happen," Damon said, eyes bleak.
Caroline's eyes turned sympathetic, and she'd extended a hand and brushed it over his cheek. "I know, Damon. I know that." Withdrawing her hand, her expression suddenly turned calculating. "Hey, you're a master of manipulation and scheming..."
"Thanks," he'd answered dryly.
"We've gotta come up with a way to explain what happened. When Jeremy and Bonnie and everyone find out about Elena, we have to distance you and Stefan from it. Put the focus on Kol and try to downplay the whole part where - well, you know." Damon opened his mouth to ask what she meant about Kol, then quickly shut it. Clearly, Elena had put her own spin on events. He wasn't about to interfere with what the girl he loved wanted and needed. Whatever he could do to make things easier, he'd do.
"So yeah... while we're gone, start doing some of that scheme-y stuff you're so good at, kay?"
Caroline left Damon mulling over whether he'd been insulted or complimented as she darted back into the house to bring Elena her duffel; minutes later, she was back outside, hopping in the driver's seat while Stefan rode shotgun in her sporty roadster.
"Take care of her or I'll have to kick your ass," she'd called out, sounding a little more enthusiastic than necessary. Shooting him a grin, she'd waved and driven away.
Damon wasn't sure what the best course of action was in terms of taking care of Elena. He knew she'd resent any kind of coddling, but at the same time, she was a passionate, loving person. She didn't shy away from human contact - she was a hugger, a hand squeezer. How many times had she laid a comforting hand on his arm?
How many times had he wanted more, so much more, but gratefully, pathetically, settled for whatever scraps she'd tossed him?
Yes, Elena was a toucher. And he liked to think she'd gain comfort from physical contact with him, but decided not to give it - well, not to give too much of it, anyway - until he'd felt her out a little.
It hadn't been all that long since Caroline gave Elena blood, but early on in the transformation, the rough road was made slightly smoother when your body was running on an ample amount of nutrients. Ultimately it was her call, but since he couldn't think of anything else to offer her, he decided on some comfort food.
The twisted thought had his lips curving. Ah, blood. The vampire equivalent of chicken noodle soup.
He listened for another minute, hugely glad to hear only the sound of water hitting porcelain. She'd stopped crying, which made it a tiny bit easier for him to stop himself from breaking down the door. Instead, he slipped out of the room just as Elena turned off the shower. A few more minutes. He'd give her just a few more minutes.
Even if waiting killed him.