Disclaimer: Still don't own Vampire Diaries or anyone involved with it.
A/N: I'm sorry this is so late. Bronchitis sucks. Lots. :-( I also apologize if this chapter is a bit rough – I'm giving it all I've got, but it was a really rough week. I beg you – be gentle. HA!
Now, for you guys. Your reviews, your comments, the time you've taken…it's gone beyond encouraging at this point. It's something so much bigger to me. I mean it sincerely when I say, that *you* have taken over as the inspiration of this story. You are amazing
There is so much negativity regarding D/E these days, and of course Season 2 has been pretty brutal. Sometimes it feels like the pairing is doomed to be degraded as predictable, pathetic, and even repugnant. And that *kills* me, because I think there's something so profound between these two characters. Yes, I am that far gone. ;)
Wow…waxing poetic. Sorry! In short, you guys remind me how great these two are with every single comment. Thank you a thousand times over. Keep them coming and I'll do them every bit of justice I can.
I have no idea why I'm doing this. I might just be that sick of this ridiculous curse. Or of not knowing my own past.
Or maybe I'm just trying to avoid the boarding house because I might run into Damon there and that's not happening. It's been five days. Five days, and I can still feel his hands on my face when I close my eyes.
That scares me a hell of a lot more than my vampire doppelganger.
I double check my pack and set my shoulders. I don't have much to offer her this time. Just blood and company. Blood was enough to make her talk before. It'll probably work again.
At least, I hope it works. Katherine's the only one that seems to have any real answers about what I am. And why I exist.
Halfway down the steps to the tomb, I stop, shocked to hear voices. Fear snakes up my spine and I turn, poised to run, my fingers already reaching for my cell phone.
That's when I realize it's not just any voice.
It's Stefan.
"This is your fault. You destroy everything good," he says, and he sounds so torn. Almost bereft.
"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you, Stefan?" Katherine says, "But me being bad doesn't explain you being here."
For one moment I think he's trapped in there with her again. I'm ready to fly down the stairs and then I remember.
There is no spell.
Stefan told me himself that Elijah's command is the only thing holding Katherine in this tomb. He's here by choice.
I want to be dreaming. I want to wake up, shaking my head and holding my chest, deliriously grateful that it isn't real.
"So, why the mercy mission?" she asks.
"It isn't a mercy mission," Stefan says. "I just can't stand to see anyone suffer. You know that."
She chuckles at that, a wicked parody of my own laughter. "Anyone, Stefan? Or me?"
The pieces come together with an almost audible click in my mind. He's helping her.
My brain, my whole being rejects the thought immediately. Stefan wouldn't do this. Not unless there was a totally reasonable explanation behind it.
"Whatever I felt for you was a long time ago, Katherine," he says. "It's not who I am. Not anymore."
I should feel better, but I don't. I can tell by his voice that there's more he's not saying.
"Then why are you here, Stefan? Every day. Same time. You know as well as I do it takes longer than twenty-four hours for starvation to set in."
His sigh takes me out at the knees. It's a brutal confirmation that this is real. This is true. There is no mistake and no un-hearing any of this.
"Just drink the blood so I can go," he says.
My body slips into autopilot. I pad softly up the stairs, retracing my steps back to my car. I don't cry. I don't scream or shake or fight the urge to run back to him, demanding an explanation.
I don't think I want an explanation. Not yet.
I start my car and crank the heat. And then I drive. I take the bridge out of town and head south the highway. Because I don't want to go home. And I don't want to think. I want to go somewhere to forget.
I drive to the next town over, one that's home to a couple of warehouses and a small community college. It's also home to a little bar that Caroline, Bonnie and I discovered.
This place is nothing, a total hole in the wall with maybe six tables and a couple of bartenders. But the bartenders are always college boys, boys willing to overlook ID for a short enough skirt.
I'm wearing pants. But I've got red lipstick in my purse and a tank top under my shirt. Hopefully it will be enough.
"So, how's that little blonde friend of yours?" Randy asks, pouring my third shot.
Wait. Maybe fourth. Fifth? Crap, I have no idea. But I feel no pain.
"You mean Caroline?" Off his nod, I continue. "She's good. I guess you could say she's developed a bit of a bite."
"Just a shame you being here all alone," he says, and yeah, maybe he's looking at my boobs, but so what? He's kept his hands behind the bar.
And there's a table of about six women in their mid-thirties behind me, so it's not likely anything's going to happen.
"Hey, I should text her!" I say, punching in a quick message pleading for her company. "How much do I owe you, anyway?"
He just winks at me and makes a little zipping motion with his fingers at his mouth.
He's kind of cute, really. Twenty-two, maybe twenty-three, with short brown hair and quarterback arms. I might have dated a guy like this a year ago. A guy with a million dollar smile and no fangs in sight.
I suck down my shot and laugh at every one of his awful jokes. Right now, I don't care if he's flirting. I don't care about anything at all.
I'm dancing by the jukebox when I realize my soccer mom table has vanished. The bar is completely empty. And Randy's not behind the bar anymore.
I feel a stab of fear, but I refuse to give it purchase. Panic gains you nothing. I need to be rational here. He's probably harmless and I've got pepper spray if not.
Of course it's in my purse.
Which is at the bar.
And Randy is walking into my little jukebox alcove, getting way too close for comfort.
"We've got the place to ourselves," he says, trying to pull me in for a spin. "Let me get you another drink."
I dodge smoothly, eyeing my options for escape. They aren't good. "I think I've hit my limit."
Drunk or not, I'm still smart enough to know when someone's getting grabby.
"Hey, where's that old dartboard?" I ask.
I'm not quite scared. Not really. But I wouldn't mind holding something I could stab an eye out with all the same.
"I've got some games in the back you might like."
I feel a sick chill on the back of my neck at the way he says 'games.' When he reaches for me again, I push him back lightly. "Okay, buddy. I'm not that drunk."
"You sure about that?"
"I'm sure," I say, looking him dead in the eye to make sure he knows I mean it.
He tries again, reaching for my shoulder, and I shove him off, harder this time. "I'm serious!"
"Ooh, feisty," he says.
Dread settles in my middle. This can't be happening. I look for the door, but it's out of my line of sight. I'm practically in a cave back here, bathrooms to my right and him blocking my way out.
He shakes his head, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "You know what I think?"
Probably.
"Sure don't," I say, because I'm not about to give him bait.
I start skirting around a table, but he's right with me. This is going to get ugly. I can feel it. And he's big enough that I don't like my chances. I fight my swimming head, trying to formulate a plan.
"I think you like me," he says.
"You don't know how wrong you are. I've got a boyfriend," I say, swallowing hard
"I'll bet you do," he says, eyes lingering on the tank top I'm regretting. "You're a hot little thing."
"God, she is, isn't she?" a new voice asks.
My body goes limp with relief before I even lay eyes on him.
Damon.
He's sitting the table behind Randy, a cruel smile curved beneath those beautiful eyes. I feel the adrenaline recede, my ribs going loose enough to allow me a long, deep breath.
"I'm a little busy here, buddy. And we're closed," Randy says, keeping his focus on me.
"Oh, well, don't let me interrupt," Damon says, landing silently on the floor behind him. I can see the veins around his eyes, dark against his pale skin.
Randy turns around, going pale. Damon smiles, flicking his tongue behind his fangs. "Want to make it a threesome? I bet I could rock your world."
Randy is terrified. Shaking. Maybe pissing his pants if I'm smelling things right. He bolts left, but Damon's there before he can move two steps. He's enjoying this way too much.
He snarls a hand around Randy's throat and then there's no fun in it. There's murder in Damon's eyes. "I'm going to feed you your own kidney for touching her, you worthless piece of shit."
"Damon, don't," I say. "Let's just go."
He cocks his head at me, pulling a pouty face with fangs. It's ridiculous.
"You're no fun," he says, tossing Randy over the table like a handbag. The momentum rolls Randy right off of it. He crumples onto the chairs, landing with a grunt.
Damon's next to me then, sliding an arm around my shoulders and handing me my purse. I should probably be put off by his display, but I'm not. I practically melt into his side.
"You know he could still live with one kidney," he reasons.
"Can we go already?"
Outside, I draw in a long, cold breath. My eyes still feel heavy, my limbs too loose, but I am on my own two feet and unbelievably grateful for it.
I lean back against the outside of the building. The sky stretches above us, velvety dark and pricked with stars. Damon, of course, isn't looking at the stars. He's pacing groves into the pavement in front of me.
"Thanks, Damon. I mean it. How did you even know I was here?"
"Caroline had to deal with the dog. She couldn't reach Stefan, so she called me."
"I ask for a friend and she sends in the calvary. Nice."
"Hey, what are friends for, right?" he chimes back, sarcasm dripping from every word. He stops in front of me, flashing me a look of pure rage. "You are really trying to get in touch with your inner stupid, aren't you?"
"Okay, you're mad," I say, too tired to care.
"No, I passed mad twenty minutes ago. I'm in a whole new place now."
"Look, I appreciate you being here, Damon. I do. But I really don't need this. Not now."
He's on me so fast, I imagine briefly what Randy must have felt. But then I don't think about anything at all, because his hands are braced on the wall on either side of me and he is close. Too close.
"So, what inspired this, Elena? A little trouble in paradise? It has been what six, maybe seven days since the last big drama."
His words are like a knife, but I force my face to be like stone. To reflect nothing. "I just needed some space."
"No, you don't. You need a lobotomy. Both of you do."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means it's ridiculous how often you both play this card."
"What card?" I say, and my head is still spinning, but I can't tell if it's the liquor anymore. It could just be him.
Damon tilts his head, batting his lashes and affecting a sugary falsetto that doesn't sound anything like me. "Oh, Stefan, I love you so much! But we have to save the rainbows and the unicorns, so we can't be together. We just can't!"
"You're an asshole. And this is none of your business," I say, pushing under his arm.
He watches me walk towards his car without trying to stop me.
"It's not my business, Elena?" he calls after me. "I walk through fire barefoot to keep your ass alive, catching hell for it half the time—
"You know I appreciate…your help," I argue lamely, trying to wrench the passenger door open.
He darts into my path before I can get in. And if the death-stare he's giving me is any indicator, he's still ten kinds of pissed.
"It's not like I haven't thanked you," I say.
Damon's face twists into a sneer. "Right. My favorite was the one you whispered over my brother's shoulder, hoping to God he couldn't hear you."
"You're delusional." I say, moving again.
He blocks me out of the car for the second time. "Am I, Elena? Am I delusional about what a shit deal this is, me saving you from your endless suicidal glory so that you can rush into my brother's bed for Round Twenty-Nine of the MakeUp Sex World Championship?"
"That's what this is about for you?" I shout, tonight's refreshments liquor still slurring my words. And my judgement. "All you're concerned with is what kind of payment you should get for being my friend?"
His eyes tell me I've got it all wrong, but it's too late for that now. Anger's coursing through me. Anger and other things.
"You want a damn payment, Damon? Will that shut you up?"
I launch myself on him like the crazy person I've become. I've got his collar tangled in my hands and I'm mashing my lips up against his. It's awful.
But it should work. He should bend me back and kiss me until I can't feel or think about anything but him. He should be changing my religion about now, but he's not. He's doing nothing. And that's even more insane than me because this is Damon.
Damon!
He'd screw a parking meter if it winked at him.
But I know why he doesn't respond. He knows me well enough to know I'd never do this in my right mind.
What he apparently doesn't know is that my mind isn't right anymore.
I pull back, mortified by my actions. God, what's wrong with me. What's wrong with me?
I drop my gaze to my feet. I want to apologize, but tears come instead. Burning with humiliation, I scrub them away with my hands, but he knows. He has to know.
I won't look at him, but I can feel him looking at me. And I can feel that his anger is gone. I don't want to see what's replaced it.
I can handle his pissy theatrics. Anything else and I might never get myself back together.
"What did he do?" Damon asks gently.
I pick at my jeans, wishing I could erase the last minute. Wishing I could disappear altogether.
"Is Stefan in trouble?"
"No. I don't know," I say, looking up with a sniff. "He's feeding Katherine."
Damon closes his eyes, an expression settling over him that I rarely see. I think it's weariness.
"You're sure?" he asks.
"I went to the tomb and overheard them. They…it's been going on awhile. I was upset, so I came here to get away. I didn't want to think about it for awhile, okay? I just wanted to…I don't know, have a little fun and…forget."
He holds up his hands, giving me half a smile. "I get it. Hell, Elena, I wrote the sheet music for this act."
My laughter takes me by surprise.
"I can talk to him," he offers, shrugging.
"No. I'm a big girl. I can handle it."
"Feeding Katherine is dangerous. Keeping her strong…" he trails off, shaking his head. "Bad idea doesn't begin to cover it."
"I'll talk to him, get his side of it. He deserves that much."
"I don't care if it was a request from the Pope-I'm not going to like it."
"Me either," I say, rubbing my eyes, where I can feel the beginnings of a headache blooming. "Look, Damon, it's late and I feel like crap. Do you think we can be done with this for now?"
"Not quite."
My stomach just has time to tangle itself in a knot before I feel his hand at the nape of my neck. His chest brushes mine and my body goes into short circuit. Every part of me feels charged. Electric.
I take a breath, but there's nowhere to run. I'm trapped between Damon and the steel of the car. And I am about to come completely unhinged.
"That was your one," he says. "You don't get any more."
I want to ask him what he means, but if I open my mouth right now, God knows what I'll end up doing with it. His finger and his thumb slide down the back of my neck and I have to bite my tongue not to moan, it feels that good. His eyes follow my every movement. I know he's listening to every hitch of my breath.
"When you kiss me again," he says softly, "all bets are off."
Damon lets me go without another word. He even helps me into the car with his standard, easy manners. As if nothing happened here at all. As if my legs still work.
I let out a shuddering breath in the cabin while I wait for him to settle behind the wheel.
We're halfway out of town before I have the presence of mind to think about Damon's choice of words, a choice that prickles at the back of my neck like a warning. He glances over at me, calm as you please.
"You want me to swing through a drive-through? You've got to be hungry."
I manage to nod, but I am a thousand miles away. I've still got his words running on endless loop in my mind. When you kiss me again.
Not 'If.' No, he said 'When.'