Author's Note: The title of this chapter is inspired by Goldfrapp's "We Radiate," which was featured in TVD's episode, "Memory Lane." I hope you enjoy it!

8:02 p.m. – Merlotte's Bar and Grill

Elena emerged from the bathroom to find Damon deep in conversation with an unbelievably attractive blonde man, who looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties. The hard-bodied male had clearly made himself at home in the side of the booth previously occupied by Elena, herself. His long legs dangled across the bench. And his heavily muscled arms were sprawled out across the radiator behind him.

The table, which had been empty when Elena left it (save for a couple of paper placemats), was now littered with beer bottles and empty highball glasses. The two ridiculously good-looking men were laughing uproariously over a story the blonde man was telling, which, judging by the guilty looks on both guys' faces, upon noticing Elena's presence, was decidedly sexual in nature.

So much for not trusting strangers, Elena thought to herself, glibly, as she extended her hand to her vampire companion's new best friend. "Hi, I'm Elena Gilbert," she said, with a polite smile. "And I see you and Damon have already met."

The blonde man nearly leapt out of his seat to shake Elena's hand. A large goofy grin spread across his face, as he did this, making the full-grown adult look rather childlike and innocent. And yet, Elena could already tell, based on the story he was telling Damon, that he was most certainly neither. "Heyyyyy, Elena Gil-bert! I'm Jason Stackhouse. Your boyfrie . . . er . . . Damon . . . told me all about you! I feel like I know you already!"

"Oh he did, did he?" Elena asked, with a pointed look in Damon's direction.

"Yeah . . . but he didn't tell me you were a supermodel," Jason exclaimed, raising Elena's hand to his lips, and kissing it gently.

"Hey! Watch it," Damon joked, with a smirk. "She's taken."

"Sorry," Jason replied, placing his hand in front of his mouth, to stage whisper to Elena. "Hey, if that guy over there ever gives you any trouble," he offered, jerking his hand in Damon's direction, "you just call your new pal, Jason. I will kick his ass from here to next Sunday."

Elena laughed. "I may just take you up on that, Jason."

Jason then gave an exaggerated bow to the table, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "Listen, I'd love to stay and hang out with you guys, but I better be calling myself a cab. My sister works here. And she will kill me, if she sees me this wasted on a week night."

Damon winked. "Your secret is safe with us, Jason. As far as we are concerned, you were never here."

"Nice meeting you, Jason," Elena added.

"Thanks, you too," replied the more than slightly inebriated, Jason, as he headed toward the door. "Oh . . . you better keep an eye out for your travel buddy, over there, Elena. He sure knows how to knock back those drinks! The dude drank me under the table!"

"I'll try," offered Elena, stepping sideways, so that she was standing directly over Damon's seat.

"I can't leave you alone for a second, can I?" Elena inquired, with a feigned annoyance that was belied by the smile that was forming at the corners of her mouth.

"Nope . . . guess not," replied Damon, cheekily, his blue-green eyes disarming Elena with their effortless charm.

Elena extended her hand in front of Damon's face. "Come on . . . get up," she said. "We have places to go, and people to see."

"Oh really," said Damon, flirtatiously. "Could you be more specific? Because, I'm kind of happy staying right where I am."

"I may have figured out where Klaus has taken Stefan," Elena replied.

"That must have been one productive trip to the ladies' room," remarked Damon, gently grabbing on to Elena's hand, and clasping it, in a way that sent shivers throughout her body.

"It was," insisted Elena, pulling gently on Damon's arm.

It wasn't until Damon rose from his seat, that Elena realized just how drunk he actually was. Rising from the booth, Damon stumbled over his own feet, and fell forward, right into Elena. On instinct, Elena wrapped a hand around Damon's waist, and placed her other hand on his chest, to keep him from falling.

They stayed like that for a few moments, mesmerized by one another's eyes, and aroused by the heat of one another's touch. For the second time that day, Damon and Elena found themselves in this position, with their faces inches apart, and their hearts beating in unison . . . secretly not wanting the moment to end, but knowing, full well, the reason it needed to do precisely that.

After a few beats, Damon righted himself, and managed to stand on his own. "Sorry about that," he muttered breathlessly. "I may have overdone it a bit with the bourbons."

"Gee, ya think?" Elena inquired, sarcastically.

I almost kissed him! I can't believe I almost kissed him. Here I am, on this supposed mission to rescue Stefan from Klaus, and all I can think about is kissing Damon . . . drunken . . . impulsive . . . irresponsible, Damon. What the heck has gotten in to me? She thought to herself, trying to cover up her true feelings by amplifying her annoyance over Damon's bad behavior. "Give me the keys. I'm DRIVING!" She scolded, reaching into Damon's right pants pocket to collect her prize.

"Umm . . . those aren't the keys," Damon remarked wryly, as Elena's hand accidentally brushed against something hard and distinctly un-key like, through the fabric of Damon's jeans.

"Sorry," she mumbled, as she felt the heat rising in her cheeks.

Damon haphazardly tossed a one-hundred dollar bill on the bar, as he moved toward the door. Noticing him weaving ever so slightly, as he headed into the cool night air, Elena sighed, wrapping her arm around his waist once again to keep him steady. As she did this, Damon fumbled in his LEFT pants pocket for the car keys, which he promptly handed over to Elena, with a sheepish grin.

Elena found herself in close contact with Damon for a third time, as she dumped his strong, but not particularly obedient, body into the passenger seat of the car. Errant limbs and body parts became entangled with one another, as Elena had to practically climb over Damon to adjust the car seat to accommodate for his long legs. Damon groaned a bit, when she struggled to put on his seat belt for him. However, eventually he complied with her wishes, groggily laying his heavy head on the headrest, and closing his eyes to prevent the world from spinning out of control. He was getting drunker by the minute.

Putting the key in the ignition, Elena turned toward Damon with a mixture of concern, amusement, and frustration. "So, basically, I can count on you to be COMPLETELY useless tonight?"

"Noooooo, I'm never useless," Damon slurred. "Well . . . sometimes I am . . . I guess. But vampires process liquor fast. We are quick to drunk . . . and even quicker to sober. I should be my charming self in an hour, tops."

"Well, THAT'S a relief," remarked Elena, sardonically, as she typed Fangtasia's address into the On-Star system, and backed out of the driveway of Merlotte's.

"Elena," Damon mumbled, his voice sounding far-away, as if he was half-asleep.

"Yes, Damon," she replied.

"You are beautiful . . . and perfect . . . in every way . . . He'd be crazy . . . to let you go."

"Sober up, Damon. We've got work to do," Elena replied tonelessly, as she took a glance in her rearview mirror.

And yet, when she saw her reflection, she was surprised to find herself beaming from ear-to-ear.

8:10 p.m. – Fangtasia Bar and Nightclub

Having sent away their respective "underlings," Eric and Klaus promptly retired to Eric's office, in order to discuss "business."

"It is my understanding that the werewolf community in Louisiana is one of the largest and most organized in the world," began Klaus conversationally. "Is that correct?"

Eric nodded, uncertain as to where this was going. "Why yes, that's true. But what importance is that to you? Were you planning on writing some kind of Louisiana Travel Guide for your bloodsucking buddies back home?"

Klaus smiled slightly, but otherwise ignored his friend's sarcasm. "Do you think you could get me in touch with the leaders of that community? I would very much like to speak to them. And I suspect that a testimonial from the Vampire Sheriff of Area Five will offer my message a certain amount of credibility."

Eric leaned forward in his office chair, his eyebrows furrowed. He was not sure he liked the direction in which this conversation was headed. "My dear Klaus, of course, I would have no trouble brokering the connection you seek. And yet, I must ask, why on Earth is it your intention to consort with the likes of smelly unhygienic flea bags?"

Klaus clasped his hands together, a frighteningly intense look in his eyes. "I wish to build an army . . . a very unique army, with a rather specialized skill set. Only werewolves possess this particular skill set. Plus, I consider them expendable. And, I suspect that the war I plan to start will result in many casualties."

Eric rose from his seat, and began pacing around the perimeter of his office. As old a friend as Klaus was, the Viking Vampire simply wouldn't abide a war being started in his own territory. It would put too many of his people at risk. It would put Sookie at risk."

Klaus instinctively intuited his friend's concerns. "Wipe that constipated look off your face, Mr. Northman. I wouldn't be stupid enough to start a war in a territory where the Supernatural World has such a public presence. That would be suicide. Besides, it would destroy the element of surprise. And, as you know, there is nothing I cherish more than a good surprise. No sir. My war will begin in the great state of Virginia, in a small town called Mystic Falls."

Eric was beyond relieved to hear this, but tried his best to appear unaffected by his companion's most recent admission. A good leader never lets the enemy smell his fear. And when you are a Vampire Sheriff, everyone is an enemy, even your oldest and dearest friends. "Good to know," he replied, with an air of boredom. "And, just out of curiosity, how many of Louisiana's 500 finest werewolves are you planning to need for this army of yours."

Klaus grinned widely, raising a rather expensive glass of blood to his lips. "All of them," he insisted.

8:17 p.m. – Outside Shreveport Regional Airport in Louisiana

Katherine Petrova stretched out indulgently like a cat across the seat of the largest stretch limo she had ever encountered in her over 500 years on Earth. Purring contentedly, Katherine kicked off her stiletto heels, as she ran her fingers across the luxurious black leather seats. To her left was a small mini-fridge, which she was pleased to find, contained within it a fully stocked bar. "Jackpot," she exclaimed gleefully, as she extracted a bottle of Gran Patron tequila from the fridge, untwisted the cap, and proceeded to down the contents of the bottle, as though it was going out of style.

From her purse, she removed a small silver cell phone, selected a number from her contact list, and patiently waited for the answering machine to pick up. The person she was calling never deigned to answer her own phone. Such were the "perks" of royalty, Katherine suspected.

"My dearest, Sophie Anne," she cooed into the phone. "Thank you so much for sending your personal limo to retrieve me from the airport. You do know how I love to travel in style. And I get to do it so rarely, in this infernal century. Your driver just informed me I should be arriving at your mansion in a few short minutes . . . your Queen's mansion. I can't believe you've gone and become a Queen on me. How droll!"

"I look forward to tearing up the town with you, during the next few days," she continued. "I just really needed to get away. I'm afraid I've gotten myself into trouble again, with some rather unsavory characters. I know . . . what else is new, right? But the good news is that the people who are after me are over a thousand miles away. And they'll never find me here . . ."

8:33 p.m. – Fangtasia Bar and Nightclub

By the time the pair had reached Fangtasia, Damon was already on his way toward sobriety. And though Elena seemed eager to get right down to the business of finding Stefan, the elder Salvatore brother insisted on "just one dance." Elena rolled her eyes in protest, but ultimately took Damon's hand, and allowed him to drag her onto the dance floor.

While en route to the center of the nightclub, Elena noticed that someone had handed Damon what appeared to be an already-opened bottle of beer. She quickly snatched it from his hand. "I'll take that!" She exclaimed, surprising Damon, by tilting her head back and chugging down the entire contents of the bottle. One beer won't hurt, right? Elena thought to herself. I am on vacation, after all.

But when the taste of the drink hit Elena's mouth, she coughed violently, spitting red liquid all over the floor. "Ugh!" Elena exclaimed. "What kind of beer is THIS? It's awful!"

Damon laughed, and took the bottle from her hand. He then turned it around, so that she could see the label, which read Tru Blood. "I hate to break it to you . . . but that is most definitely not beer." He offered smugly.

"What is it . . . some kind of hard liquor, or something?" She asked.

"Nope . . . its synthetic blood . . . made specifically for vampires trying to quit cold turkey. I, myself, prefer the real deal."

Elena gagged. "I just drank synthetic blood from a bottle . . . And I thought our town was weird," she noted.

"We Radiate" by Goldfrapp began blasting from the speakers of the nightclub. "I love this song," said Elena, as she began to un-self-consciously move her body to the music.

Damon moved toward Elena, placing his hands on either side of her hips, and pulling her in close, so that their stomachs were touching. They began to sway effortlessly in time with the song, grooving, grinding, and thrusting their bodies to its infectious beat. Their muscular forms fit into one another perfectly, like two puzzle pieces snapped together. Elena closed her eyes blissfully, as the music began to take her away to a simpler time and place . . . back when she was just a carefree high school student . . . back when her parents were both still alive . . . back before she met Stefan."

A strand of hair got in Elena's eyes as the pair danced, and Damon gently brushed it away with his finger tips, causing Elena to open her eyes. When she did so, she found Damon staring at her, his hypnotic eyes were intense, filled, as they were, with longing . . . hoping . . . and wanting. She wondered briefly, whether her eyes looked the same way. The thought frightened her. So, she quickly broke the gaze, focusing instead on Damon's neck, which only served to make her even more hot and bothered.

Small droplets of sweat began to form on Elena's forehead, chest, and stomach, causing her shirt to cling the curves of her body. But that wasn't the worst of it. Elena began to feel a certain familiar wetness forming between her legs, followed by a feeling of pleasurable warmth that radiated from her groin, down her legs, and across her midsection. This has got to stop. Elena thought to herself. I need to get a hold of myself, before I do something I'll regret.

"I'm thirsty. I'm going to get something to drink," Elena said in Damon's ear, as she quickly disentangled herself from him, and headed toward the bar.

In front of Elena in line was a man with light brown hair, and chiseled features. His back was to her, but she recognized him almost immediately. "Stefan?" She called out.