Sound returned first, nudging her out of the blackness. It sounded like someone was praying or chanting, one word repeated over and over again. The words were distant and muffled, as if she were underwater.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck."

Feeling returned next, and she immediately wished it hadn't. Everything ached, from the soles of her feet to the very tips of her hair. Deeper, more penetrating pain flared at her neck, her shoulder, her wrist, between her legs.

The chanting stopped. There was a faint growl, then something was dripping against her lips. "God damn it, Elena." Then she was being smothered, hard flesh and cold, thick liquid shoved against her mouth. She started to struggle, but her limbs were so heavy, it was like moving boulders. She managed to wrench her eyelids open, to raise her hands to press against the wrist that poured sweet blood down her throat.

She saw the last fleeting veins fading from Damon's cheeks, saw the near-panic in his eyes, the rivulet of blood on his chin. He pulled his wrist away and she coughed as the iron burned her throat. But the blood did its job, the pain receding into a manageable dullness, though it didn't disappear entirely. But she was glad for the pain; it grounded her, kept her rooted to this moment instead of slipping back into the tempting, comforting darkness.

Damon had her cradled in his lap like some grotesque pietà on the lawn, her legs wet with dew. The full skirt of her gown was hiked up to her waist, the bodice torn to shreds. She raised one unsteady hand to her neck and came away with fingers smeared with fresh blood, though the wounds had closed, leaving behind two tiny scabs

Memories returned in fragments. Dancing. The crack of a fractured neck. A look of betrayal. Bloody champagne. Blue eyes glowing with fierce, terrible joy. Green eyes brimming with unspoken agony. Hatred, such intense, burning hatred. The most beautiful, horrible pain all wrapped up in pleasure until she couldn't tell where one began and one ended. Then nothing.

"Elena, say something," Damon said, lightly slapping her cheek. She lay limp and languid in his arms, staring up at the sky. So many stars.

"Ow," she said.

"Not quite what I was looking for." He brought his wrist to his mouth again, but she shook her head.

"No," she murmured.

"I went too far, Elena. Fuck," he said, turning his face away.

"But you're still here," she said.

"What? Of course I'm still here," he said. He leaned over her, blocking her view of the stars. She closed her eyes.

"But you hate me," she said.

"Christ, Elena, don't be an idiot," he said sharply, smoothing hair back from her face. "Do you know how much easier it would be if I did hate you? How many times I've tried to do just that? I don't like you very much tonight, but I still love you."

"You should hate me. I deserve it, after what I did to you," she said.

"Since when does love have anything to do with what we deserve? If it did, you never even would have considered being with me." He rose, holding her close as he carried her into the house. "I'm pissed at you, but I'll get over it. Just like you did all the times I fucked up on a grand scale," he said as he laid her on the couch, kneeling beside her. "Right now I think I'm even madder at myself, though." He took her chin in his hand, turning her head to the side so he could look at the tiny marks on her neck. "I could have killed you."

"I told you to do it. I begged you," Elena said. And why? Elena couldn't answer the question. "Break me." What did that even mean? Why had she needed so desperately to take that pain on for herself, to let Damon take a literal pound of flesh?

"Tell me why you begged me to, Elena. Tell me why you insisted on walking into a lion's den tonight. Twice," he ordered, his hand tightening on her arm.

How could she tell him of the crushing guilt that tinged every aspect of her life? How could she tell him that she'd wanted to put that weight aside, to surrender herself to him, even if that meant letting him hurt her, destroy her, devour her? "I don't think I can explain it," she said haltingly. "Not in a way you'd understand."

"Try me."

"You won't let me be as brave for you as you are for me. You keep forcing me to keep carrying on, and I couldn't stand it. And you were so angry with me. So angry. And I thought maybe letting you...do that would help you not hate me. And that maybe it would let me forget for a minute." She managed a wane, pale smile. "I guess it did that part, at least."

He was silent, staring up at her, his face unreadable. "You really are a martyr. You and Stefan should have a competition sometime. My money's on you for the win, though"

She shook her head, staring down at her lap. "You were right. I'm just like Katherine. She doesn't deserve saving, and neither do I."

Damon pulled her from the couch and into his lap, seizing her face in his hands. "The Katherine thing was a low blow. I wanted to hurt you. Not one of my more flattering character traits, but there it is," he said with a little wince. "And it was a lie. Yeah, you screwed up. Sometimes you do stupid, stupid things. Sometimes you think the world revolves around you. Sometimes you're a real bitch." He smiled, fingertips brushing her cheek. "But none of that matters when you put it all up against your kindness and your compassion and your courage and your freakish ability to forgive." He gave her a gentle shake. "I told you, your greatest burden is to endure. And you've got to do it, Elena. Because I can't even imagine a world without you in it."

Neither one of them would ever be as good as the other deserved. Neither one of them would ever be perfect. But their broken edges fit together and made them both whole. She couldn't possibly have loved him more. "I did it for us; I wanted to get rid of Klaus. For us." Tears spilled down her cheeks.

He pulled her close, and she buried her face into his shoulder. He smelled of blood and grass. "I know, Elena. You tried to do the right thing. You just fucked up on the execution." He ran his fingers through her hair. "Not that I'd know anything about that."

She gave a little hiccuping laugh against him. "Nothing happened with Stefan. I promise."

There was a hesitation. There wasn't an immediate acknowledgment that he knew that, that she had just been trying to help Stefan. She pulled back to look at him, her face stained with tears. "I'm not in love with him. I don't want him back."

"But you still love him," he said quietly. In his eyes, she saw the terrible echoes of the past, of Stefan as the shining golden boy, the one who was chosen again and again.

"We'll always all three love each other, isn't that what you said? I owe him. I want him to be happy," she said.

"Me too, Elena. But seeing you with him, seeing you forgive him, after everything he's put you through...it was hard to see, especially when you two were so cozy at the mansion" he said.

Elena laced her fingers through his. "Let's make a deal. I am going to try to remember that you protect me because you love me. I'm going to try to remember that we can work things out much better together than by either of us going all vigilante. And you are going to try to believe that I chose you. That you are the man I want to spend forever with, however long or short that is. And that sometimes, I'm trying to protect you, too. Because I love you." She kissed him softly, tasting her blood on his lips. "And both of us will try not to do stupid, reckless things. Deal?"

He smiled, some of that hurt bleeding from him, evaporating into the air between them. "I'm in."