Chapter Nineteen
Antibes, France
2:00am
"Elena! Andrew!" Carol Lockwood's shrill voice pierces her eardrums. "Concentrate!"
Elena grimaces, biting her lip as she tries to make her feet move to the dance steps without stepping on Andrew Fell's feet. At fourteen, she has already hit her growth spurt, standing almost a head taller than Andrew; together they make an awkward, graceless pair as they try to master dancing for the upcoming Founder's Ball.
She throws a dirty look at Caroline who gracefully waltzes about the room on the arm of the current Mystic Falls Middle School's heartthrob. Across from her, Tyler Lockwood is shooting dirty looks at his mother every time her back is turned.
She sighs in frustration, wincing as Andrew treads on her toe.
"Sorry," he murmurs sheepishly.
Elena gives him a reluctant smile, about to reciprocate his apology when someone taps her shoulder.
"Mind if I cut in?" A voice murmurs with amusement.
Elena whirls around and everything begins to meld together in the way only dreams can; suddenly she is separated from herself, watching rather than participating.
In front of her stands the Tyler Lockwood she remembers, eighteen, strong and very much alive. He holds out his hand for her and baffled, she takes it.
"God those classes were awful, weren't they?" He chuckles, nodding his head over her shoulder where her fourteen-year old self still shuffles around with Andrew. The fourteen year-old version of Tyler has since abandoned his partner and is instead being reamed by his mother for making farting noises with Kent Reese instead.
"Aren't you supposed to be..."she trails off, unable to finish.
"Dead?" Tyler finishes for her with a smirk. "Oh believe me, I am. I was just sent to come find you. I'm supposed to take you somewhere."
"Where?"
He spins them and suddenly everything shifts. Elena blinks, finding herself standing in hazy darkness.
"Here," he remarks. "Not really sure what this is but I know this is as far as I can go." He gestures forwards. "There are some people who want to see you."
"But…"
Tyler touches her arm lightly. "I'm sorry all this happened to you, Elena. Look after Care, okay? She acts tough, but I know she's hurting."
She nods, biting her lip. "Of course I will."
His lips curve up into a hint of a smile. "Thanks. For everything."
She nods again, tears stinging her eyes. "Goodbye, Tyler."
"Don't worry," he pats her shoulder gently. "I'll see you on the Other Side someday. We'll get everyone together, make a party of it."
She shakes her head, thinking of all of his and Matt's epic drinking binges. "I don't think that's how it works."
He shrugs. "I've known you since we were in diapers, Elena Gilbert. Since when do you take 'no' for an answer? We've changed all the rules before, done the impossible. We'll do it again."
"Why not?" Elena replies with a smile. He does sort of have a point after all. "I'll see you there."
Laughing, Tyler leans over to kiss her cheek. "See you later, Elena," he murmurs and then begins to walk away, fading slowly as he goes. He's almost gone when he turns around, throwing her one last smile before walking away. "And tell Damon to bring his good bourbon," he calls behind him. Elena waves and then he's gone, leaving her alone.
Ahead of her, there is only heavy mist; she cannot see anything, but as she steps closer, she hears the hum of raised voices.
"…does not need any more protection…" a voice argues angrily.
One more step and Elena finds herself face to face with Esther Mikaelson.
Her expression contorts into a mixture of disgust and rage, because of course of all the bitchy dead witches in all the weird dream netherworlds; it just had to be her.
She stands gracefully dressed in period clothing, head to head with an unfamiliar woman, one who is clearly not in agreement with her.
Dark skinned, with pursed lips, the other woman wears a floor length calico dress, a bonnet sitting atop her head. There's something about the disapproving pucker of her lips that is vaguely familiar, but Elena can't quite put her finger on it.
She's about to say something but closes her mouth when another voice echoes from beyond her line of sight.
"Oh shut up, Esther," a familiar voice snaps.
Anya emerges from the mist, rolling her eyes with irritation.
Esther scowls at Anya but ignores her comment, instead turning her attention to Elena. "Elena," she says warmly. "So nice of you to join us."
Elena glares back at her. "What is this?"
"Don't worry," Esther remarks indifferently. "When you wake up, you won't remember a thing."
Elena glances around but sees nothing but fog, two witches, and a former vengeance demon. "A thing of what exactly?"
"You've been called," the dark skinned woman explains crisply. Her voice has an eerie quality to it. "I'm Emily Bennett."
Elena crosses her arms, surveying the situation carefully. Once this would've un-nerved her, but an audience with three dead witches is sadly not the strangest thing to happen to her…even this week. "Why have I been called?"
"The cure was designed by witches long, long ago," Esther explains. "Since Damon took the cure, the decision of whether or not he will transition again rests in the hands of witches. That task has been granted to the three of us. Emily represents the Bennett line; since they have a vested interest in both Salvatores, she receives one vote. I, as the creator of the vampires that led to his existence, will also receive one vote. You do not get a vote, but you are here to help persuade us one way or another. As the doppelganger, your opinion is to be considered." Esther throws a pointed emphasis on the word 'considered,' making her opinion about Elena's presence, and her potential influence, very clear.
Elena looks to Anya in confusion. "Why are you here again?"
"I was selected on behalf of the Slayers. Since Willow is still alive, I'm considered the only dead witch close enough to them to be trusted to make decisions that will affect them."
"We have to have all three agree in order for a decision to be made," Emily continues. "Esther is against it, Anya is yet undecided and I believe that Damon should be given a chance to transition again."
"Only because the continued survival of your line means you owe him a blood debt," Esther lectures. "One that you should've never initiated to begin with."
"It is not just the Bennetts that must survive," Emily admonishes, her dark eyes flaming with rage. "The doppelganger must be protected."
"The doppelganger seems to do just fine on her own, with the occasional help from my eldest son," Esther replies airily.
Barely able to contain her rage, Elena's fists clench at her sides. "The doppelganger would like to remind you that she has a name," she seethes.
"And this shouldn't even be a question. Damon should transition. Period."
Esther regards her for a moment, blinking with her strange penetrating stare. "There is no need to release another reckless, volatile vampire into the world in the name of your safety."
"Another reckless, volatile vampire like three out of four of your surviving children you mean? You have absolutely no right to decide whether or not Damon lives," Elena spits with every bit of venom she can muster. She's so angry she wouldn't be surprised to find herself literally frothing at the mouth.
"I have been given the right by the Powers That Be," Esther remarks arrogantly. "There are forces at work here that your human mind cannot even begin to understand. We all have our parts to play and Damon's role is finished."
Anya rolls her eyes. "We were all given this right and we don't know anything for sure," she says to Elena. "The Powers That Be are always annoyingly vague. And," she glares at Esther, "you are not the ultimate authority. What we do know is that, as the doppelganger, you need to be kept alive."
Elena straightens, crossing her arms. "I don't suppose you would tell me why?"
Anya shakes her head sadly.
"Fine," she huffs. "Well if protecting me for some stupid doppelganger reason is why you think Damon should or shouldn't survive, let me tell you that there is no one else in the world better suited to protect me."
Esther lets out a callous laugh. "What Anyanka failed to mention, Elena, is that we only have to keep you alive for another year or so. I see no reason to bring Damon back for that. Elijah is more than capable of keeping you alive that long."
"You really don't have a clue, do you?" Elena shakes her head with revulsion. "Elijah has helped me, enormously. But do you have any idea what it does to him to have to look at me constantly? Every time he sees my face he's reminded of what you did to Tatia. Do you have any idea what my constant presence for another year would do to him?"
"You will not persuade me that I ought to make a decision based on Elijah's happiness, or your own," Esther remarks, shaking her head. "In my time, it mattered little whether or not someone was happy so long as they fulfilled their responsibilities. Elijah may not know what is happening, but he knows well enough to put his happiness aside for his obligation to his family and to you."
"I'm sorry," Elena snaps with disdain, "So were you fulfilling your obligations and putting your happiness aside when you cheated on your husband with Klaus's father?" She stares Esther down, unwilling to give her even an iota of satisfaction. The last two times she had an audience with her, she was manipulated, forced into things she did not agree to, but not today. Not while Damon's life is at stake.
Esther's eyes narrow into slits "You listen to me—"
"Elijah is not suited for this task, Esther," Emily interrupts Esther's outburst with a quiet but firm voice. "He does not love her and he is compromised by what you have done to him. His morals may well get in the way of keeping her safe. Damon has no such scruples."
"Our job is to balance nature!" Esther's voice rises with anger. "Bringing him back will upset the balance. And knowing Damon's sheer lack of 'scruples,' as you put it, I have no doubt it will be catastrophic."
"Reverting Klaus back to a human/werewolf state will be more than effective in balancing nature," Anya mumbles. "And who knows, maybe he'll actually make something of himself this time if we let him live. Especially given the future of the Order of Taraka."
"The future destruction of the Order of Taraka has nothing to do with Damon Salvatore," Esther dismisses.
"Well that isn't true at all," Anya snorts. "We both know it'll be—"
"—enough," Esther interrupts. "That has nothing to do with the matter at hand and we are not discussing this in front of her." She jerks her head towards Elena.
"Aren't I supposed to forget all of this anyways?"
"Do not allow yourself to be distracted, Elena," Emily urges. "You were called here for a specific purpose."
"Fine." Elena bristles. She turns to Anya. "You want to take out Klaus and avoid losing too many Slayers in this right? Damon was helping Buffy and Xander strategize. If anyone can come up with a way to do it with minimal Slayer loss, it's him."
Anya shrugs. "Possibly. But Buffy and Xander are plenty capable, especially with Spike."
"I know you don't like him much as a person," Elena continues. "But I know Damon will make the hard decisions he has to so that everyone can and will survive."
Anya shrugs. "It doesn't matter how I feel about him personally; I'm here to make a decision on behalf of the Slayers."
"Make sure I remember this," Elena urges fervently, "And I'll make it my personal mission that as few Slayers die as possible.
"I can't do that," Anya lets out. "But I have to say, why not let him live? In all his years as a vampire, he never killed a Slayer. He has a vested interest in getting them through this and, with Elena's influence, he might actually go on to do something decent with his existence."
"So we are in agreement?" Emily urges.
Anya nods. "Let him live; see what happens. If bringing him back destroys the world, well… the Other Side is boring anyways. Might be fun to watch."
Both Esther and Emily gape at her, unable to fathom her cavalier attitude. Anya shrugs unapologetically. "Once a vengeance demon…"
Emily shakes her head, as if to clear it and turns to Esther. "You have a choice, Esther. We are now at a stalemate. You can continue to argue indefinitely, knowing neither Anya or I will change our minds, or you can agree with us and so we might move on to other matters."
Esther throws up her hands, defeated. "Fine. Send Elena back so he can transition with her doppelganger blood; it will restore him to his former vampire strength." She eyes all three of them with disgust. "You will regret restoring another vampire, mark my words."
Emily eyes her right back, her head held regally. "Coming from the woman who created them in the first place, I'll consider them marked."
Elena jolts in surprise as Anya lays a hand lightly on her arm, suddenly reminded of the physicality the ghosts in this netherworld seem to possess. An idea occurs to her and shrugging off Anya's grip, she steps towards Esther, who watches her approach, perplexed.
She stops just a few inches away, and then her fist surges forwards, her thumb on top, just as Alaric taught her. Her punch collides solidly with Esther's jaw with enough force to send her reeling backwards.
She must feel some version of pain because she crumples, staring up at Elena in shock.
"That was for Alaric," she spits with loathing.
"You'll regret that," Esther fumes. "Just you wait."
"Oh, are you going to call me 'my pretty' and come for my little dog too?" she goads. "I'm not afraid of you, and there is nothing you can do to me or to Damon anymore." She smiles. "I get the impression that whatever happens, we're out of your hands now."
Esther makes a move to get up, abhorrence etched across every feature of her face.
"Okay, I think it's time to separate you." Anya takes Elena's arm, leading her a short distance away. "Nice right hook though." She meets Elena's eyes firmly with her dark gaze. She looks at her for a second, and everything around them starts to whirl.
"It is done," she says with finality.
Elena jerks awake. Bolt upright in bed, her eyes dart around the room, trying to come to grips with her surroundings. Her dream hovers just outside of her consciousness, hazy and indefinite. One thought, however, pulses through her head with absolute clarity.
Damon. She has to get to Damon.
At first, there is only dark oblivion. There's no pain here, no consciousness or worries, just darkness. He floats with no sense of time or space.
Then there's a familiar voice, elusive, indistinct. It rises and falls, but he can't make out the words, just the gentle hum that belongs to his mother.
He reaches for her, but his fingers grasp air.
Images come flying at him, first only in flashes.
His childlike hands lay a rose in front of his mother's grave.
The sharp sting of a whip comes down on his back while his father drunkenly shouts his disappointments.
"I like you now," Elena whispers against his cheek. "Just the way you are."
Stefan stares up at him from the drained corpse in his arms, his eyes wild and frightened, somehow innocent despite the blood dripping down his chin.
Katherine beckons him with a crook of her finger, smiling coyly from where she perches on the edge of the garden bench.
Haggard men in grey huddle against the chilly rain, swapping cigarettes and mildewed biscuits.
His father raises his gun, and the bullet aimed to kill him soars towards his torso.
The images become faster, more distinct. Some of them are memories, but others can only be dreams.
The Mystic Grill is deserted. He stands at the bar, listening, but unable to detect the sound of a single heartbeat. He turns to the empty barstool to ask what it feels like drinking today, but it doesn't respond. It just sits there, the afternoon sunlight throwing it into shadow. He rails, he rants, he screams, he kicks it over, but it doesn't respond. After all, it's only a barstool.
"Scarf," he tells Elena, wrapping it around her neck and tugging her closer for a kiss. The smile she gives him when he pulls away lights up her whole face. He's never seen her smile like that before. He wants to kiss her again and again and again until that look never leaves her face.
He lurks in the doorway to the bedroom, knowing he isn't supposed to be there. From the bed, his mother smiles, beckoning him forward.
"Damon, come meet your new brother."
He creeps into the room slowly, eyeing the white bundle in his mother's arms cautiously.
"What's his name?" he asks, peering into the blankets. A little red face blinks back at him curiously.
His mother shifts slightly and the baby lets out a little yawn. "Your father wants to call him Milton, but I think that's absurd. Does he look like a Milton to you?"
Damon shakes his head no, staring at the little creature with fascination.
"That's what I told him. He's going to be called Stefan." Damon grins at her words, he knows she will get her way; she's the only person brave enough to stand up to Father. "Would you like to hold him?"
Damon looks at the little face again. His brother brings up a hand and waves it weakly. "I don't want to drop him."
"It's alright, lamb. I'll make sure you don't drop him. Hold out your arms." Damon does as she says and she eases the warm bundle into his small arms, making sure he supports his head. His brother doesn't cry out or scream at him; he just watches with big green eyes.
Suddenly, he's lying across from Elena, staring into her brown ones. She gazes back at him, cupping her pillow closer to her head. "I think that you're gonna be the one to save him from himself," she whispers quietly. "It won't be because he loves me; it'll be because he loves you."
Damon shudders, suddenly waking with a ragged gasp. Confused by the darkness around him, his breath comes in painful gulps. Elena's face is still etched against his eyelids, but she isn't here. He has to find her. He thrashes a few times only to meet nothing but resistance on all sides. He blinks, trying come up with his last memory. Was he drinking? His head throbs with pain.
Katherine…Katherine was there. That would explain why he was drinking. He swallows, suddenly very thirsty. Elena was holding his hand. They were in a cavern… It all begins to come back at once. Katherine fighting with Annalise, Pierre holding back Daphne. Running through the tunnel with Elena. A rough grip on his neck, a brief stab of pain, then black.
He focuses on his surroundings with rapidly sharpening eyes. Realization dawns.
He screams.
In the lounge of the yacht, Faith shifts uncomfortably as she watches Katherine down another swallow of vodka, impressed by her ability to hold her liquor. She stares out the window to the quiet docks, and beyond them, the dark shores of southern France. She's getting that itch again, that tingling Slayer instinct that gets under her skin, telling her something isn't right.
"Maybe someone should check on Elena," she murmurs.
"She's fine," Katherine insists, pouring another shot and holding it out for her. "I gave her enough cold medicine to put down a horse."
Elijah looks up from his book, throwing her contemptuous glare. "Please do, Faith. I gave her a quite a lot of my blood, so it's possible she fought it off."
Faith takes the shot of vodka Katherine offers, enjoying the gentle burn as it goes down her throat. She sets the glass on the table and heads down into the depths of the yacht to check that whatever vibes she's getting aren't related to the younger doppelganger.
Downstairs, Faith hears only ominous, heavy silence as she creeps down the corridor towards Elena's suite. It feels heavier and heavier, and the further she goes, the more her senses pique with the notion there is something decidedly off. By the time she throws open the door and tumbles into Elena's suite; she already knows what she will find.
"How the hell did she get off the boat without anyone hearing her?" Katherine yells, slamming the vodka bottle down on the table. "Or seeing her? We were all sitting right fucking here!"
Elijah rubs his temple in exasperation. "We can't rule out the possibility, no matter how remote, that she might've been taken."
"Don't be ridiculous," Katherine snipes. "She's being a brat and she ran off. Somehow." She throws a nasty look at Faith as if this is her fault.
Faith rolls her eyes, pulling on her jacket. "Well if she did run off, we all know exactly where she would've gone, don't we?"
She steps onto the walkway that leads to the dock. There is no denying her instincts, nor where they are pulling her. "You two can stay here and bitch at each other; I'm going to the cemetery."
"Faith—wait," Elijah calls. "If you don't find her there, come find us in town. Katherine and I will make some discreet inquiries in case she went there. Dmitri will remain here in case she returns."
With barely a grunt of acknowledgement, Faith hops off the walkway and onto dock without looking back.
Elena reaches the gates of the cemetery gasping for breath. Pulled from her bed by forces she cannot fully understand, she stares in confusion at the locked gates looming before her.
When she was here earlier today, it was a thing of beauty. Now, faced with the prospect of having to scale it, she is less impressed by the seven feet of iron fencing, topped with intricate, but lethal looking spikes.
The delicate curlicues at least look as if they would make decent footholds, so that is where Elena puts her childhood tree climbing skills to the test. She manages to make it to the top of the fence, but getting herself over the spikes and onto the other side without toppling over and breaking her leg remains daunting.
Gripping the spikes as tightly as possible in her sweaty palms, she raises herself up as high as she can manage without losing her balance. Carefully, she swings one leg over the other side, wincing as one of the spikes scrapes the inside of her ankle. The gate, however, isn't particularly well secured to the ground. As soon as her weight shifts, it swings slightly; in attempts to keep her balance, she winds up tumbling over the other side of the fence. Scrambling, she tries to grasp, something, anything, but it only slows her down a little, scraping up her hands in the process.
She lands on her back on the other side with an agonizing whomp.
Fighting to keep conscious, Elena lies still, letting whatever is left of Elijah's blood in her system to take affect. After a few minutes, she moves tentatively, testing for broken bones. When she finds nothing, she props herself up and quickly makes her way up the hill.
Faith stops short at the gates to the cemetery, not expecting to find them locked. Eyeing them, she looks for weak points in the fence Elena might've taken advantage of. When she finds none, she returns to the main gate, contemplating whether or not a mostly ordinary teenage girl could possibly manage to scale it. She studies it carefully; nearly ready to admit she was wrong and join Elijah and Katherine in town when she sees it.
It's just a tiny scrap of red material, caught on one of the spikes on top of the fence. It is no coincidence that Elena was wearing red pajama bottoms earlier this evening.
Faith sighs. Letting her Slayer instincts take over, she easily scales the fence with a running leap.
She lands effortlessly on her feet and turns to sprint in the direction of the hill where they buried Damon.
She hears Elena before she reaches the top of the hill, her half screams, half- sobs echo hauntingly through the night. Sprinting up the hill, she finds her kneeling in front of the grave, screaming and crying while shoveling the dirt away with bare hands.
Rushing forward, she tugs her shoulder, trying to urge her away. Elena fights her off with surprising strength, digging her hands into the earth like a woman possessed.
"No," she cries. "Help me!"
Faith makes another attempt to gently pull her away, not wanting to hurt her by using excessive strength. "Elena," she says softly, not sure what to do. Despite her personal experience, psychotic breaks aren't really her forte.
"You don't understand," Elena screams, scraping out another handful of dirt with bleeding hands. "He's stuck in there."
Faith is about to resort to dragging her away from this cemetery using whatever strength she has to when the dirt beneath them starts to shift.
Her eyes widen in shock as a fingertip emerges, then a full finger, one containing a familiar looking ring.
Biting back a gag, Faith drops to her knees next to Elena, shoveling dirt out of the grave as quickly as possible.
A thousand questions whirl through her head. How is this even possible when he should've risen hours ago? And what the hell drew Elena here?
Damon's palm emerges and Elena grasps it in hers, tugging with all of her strength. Faith burrows her hands into the ground deeper; they brush what feels like a wrist. She grabs it, pulling up with everything she has.
With her help, more of his arms emerge, then the top of his head. With a decided yank, his head and shoulder materialize.
Faith drops his arm in surprise as Damon's head drops and he begins to cough up dirt. When he finishes, he looks up. Not saying a word, he reaches for Elena. She wraps her hands around his wrists and pulls, while he pushes with all his transitioning strength.
The force it takes for Elena to pull Damon from his grave sends them both teetering over onto the hard ground, where Damon lands on her with surprising force. It knocks the breath out of her, but she doesn't move; she lets him remain half sprawled on top of her, his breaths a ragged, beautiful melody in her ears.
Soothing him, she winds her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck, just the way he likes. "You're okay," she whispers comfortingly in his ear. "We're okay."
"What…" he finally lets out when he has gathered enough resolve to move off of her. Elena pulls herself into seated position, still holding him so he leans against her, his forehead on her shoulder as if he can't quite face looking at the rest of the world just yet.
"…the fuck…happened."
"You were dead," she chokes quietly. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Faith slinking quietly away, granting them some measure of privacy.
"But why did you bury me? I had Katherine's…unless you didn't…"
"Shhh," Elena soothes. "We knew, but you didn't transition yesterday when you were supposed to. Damon, we thought it didn't work."
"Fuck. Elena…" he mumbles into her neck.
"Hey," Elena rubs his back gently. "It's alright, you're okay. You will make the transition, though…won't you?"
He pulls away from her so he can meet her eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I've got promises to keep, cara." He gently cups her face, propping his forehead against hers.
"And miles to go before you sleep?" she murmurs back smiling.
"Something like that," he whispers.
Elena gropes in the darkness, coming up with one of the errant roses that had been scattered over his grave. She pulls away to prick her index finger with it until a small bead of blood bubbles out. Wordlessly, she holds out her finger to Damon.
"Elena…"
"I had a little vervain, but it was only a swallow like twelve hours ago. Your blood has kept me alive so many times. Let me do this for you, please?"
His eyes leave hers, fixating on the tiny red bead of blood balancing on the tip of her finger. Tenderly, he takes it, raising it to his mouth and letting the gentle touch of his tongue sweep over the tiny droplet.
Despite the way it calls to a vampire in transition, the first taste of blood is never euphoric. The body is still confused, trying to reconcile its former hunger for actual food with its newfound desire for blood. He closes his eyes, letting the feeling sink in properly, and then he takes the tip of her finger, lightly pulling it into his mouth.
This time, when the blood hits his tongue, his body is ready for it. Running his tongue along the pad of her fingertip, he gently sucks, drawing the most blood he can from the tiny wound.
He relishes in the euphoria that washes over him; there is no pain, no disappointment here, only Elena. The feeling of her soothes him, bathing him in her acceptance and love; he drinks her in, glorified by the feeling that for once he in his life he is enough. He stops suddenly as a sharp pain pierces his mouth and the telltale itchy web of veins begin to trail across his face. He lets go of Elena's finger, wincing in pain.
"Damon?" She cups his face, concerned.
"It's nothing," he mumbles. "Forgot how much the fangs hurt at first."
Elena nods in sympathy, running her fingers gently through his hair. "It doesn't take long. It will be over in a minute." She runs her thumb over the spidery dark veins that trail across his cheeks.
"Better?" she asks after a second. He nods into the curve of her hand, taking a moment to bask in all his heightened senses. Elena's palm is warm against his skin while the sharp scent of saltwater from below stings his nose. At the bottom of the hill, Faith's voice rings clear as she fills Elijah in over the phone.
"You should drink more," Elena prompts, offering him her wrist. Damon stares at the delicate veins pulsing just beneath her creamy skin. There is nothing he wants more than to whisk her away from here, to bury himself for eternity in the euphoria of her warmth and love…and the memory of a life he can no longer give her.
He swallows, clearing his throat. "I'm fine for right now."
Elena's eyes brim with concern. "Are you sure?"
Damon takes a breath to test his control, more for the sake of his suddenly overwhelming emotions than for the lingering hint of bloodlust. On his command, his veins retract and his fangs recede.
"Positive."
He plants a soft kiss on her pulse point and lets her wrist drop. "We need to get out of here. It's not safe for you out in the open like this." He stands, offering her his hand.
"Damon…" Elena hesitates, wanting to draw out this moment as long as she can. Here it is quiet and peaceful and nothing matters but the two of them. The second they reach that boat they will be back to the ugly world where their brothers are captive and they must plot to take out an evil hybrid.
But Damon is not one to be swayed when it comes to the matter of her safety. "C'mon," he urges. "Faith's waiting at the bottom of the hill."
"But…"
"I'll drink more later, Elena. Promise."
Reluctantly Elena takes his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. Together they make towards the new future that awaits them.
A/N: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! I was floored by the number of guest reviews on the last chapter-thank you! I hope you enjoyed this one, please do tell me what you thought.
Special thank you to my lovely beta Skye who took this grammatical train wreck of a chapter and helped me make it COLASSALY better! I am in forever in your debt, my dear.