As Damon entered the house, it was exactly how he'd left it. Silent. Elena wasn't here. She was gone before he left, and she was still out. He bested she was with Bonnie, but that was just a hunch. He flipped on lights and grabbed a granola bar from the fruit basket on the counter, trying to sate himself until she got home. Not eating all day was coming back to bite him in the ass. On the wall hung the phone, which he hadn't really noticed they had. A red '1' flashed impatiently on the tiny screen. Curious, he stabbed it. It beeped, then flowed into a message from some unfamiliar voice.
"Hey, Salvatore. It's me. Mikaelson. Kol."
Who?
"I haven't heard from you in a month or so. Hoping you're alright. And too, was wondering- can I hitch a ride with you to report this weekend? I'm sort of out of a car at the moment and don't have a way there. Anyways, let me know. Talk soon." The machine beeped again to signify that that was all. Mikaelson? He didn't know a Mikaelson. Then again, he didn't know his wife from Adam's house cat a few weeks ago. But he had to report. That was part of the army, no doubt. He didn't really know what to expect. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in thought. He flipped through a calendar on the counter to see the day, seeing Elena had scribbled down on this coming Friday: Damon Ft. Lee.
"Alright, Damon. You can do this. It's just a report. Whatever the hell that consists of." He'd spent six damn years in this crap and /none/ of it stuck? What kind of crap was /that/? Surely there was a loophole for amnesia. Unless he just had to start all over. Wouldn't that be special? He snorted a little at the thought. He was so deep in thought, he didn't hear when someone came in.
"Hey, Damon." He jumped a little at her voice, but she was looking away the moment he did. He was thankful. She unloaded her purse from her shoulder and took a deep breath, turning to him. She'd mulled over her afternoon with Bonnie, the things they talked about concerning him. She needed it off her chest, and as much as Bon helped, she needed to tell him more. She wove her hands together, anxious. "Can we talk?" Damon gave her an inquisitive look, but he nodded and pulled out the chair at the bar for her to sit. She did, but her toe-tapping just turned into knee-bouncing. She put a hand on it to make herself stop.
"What's up, babe?" He didn't sit and she kind of wished he had.
"I know that all of this about Mary Jo was a lot. And about Carol, and the war. Won't you talk about it?" Damon coughed a bit of a laugh and it rubbed her the wrong way. She almost wanted to slap him. "I'm serious, Damon," she said a little sharper. /Keep your patience, Elena./
"What am I supposed to say?"
"It's been like a week, and your haven't said a thing. You're supposed to come to me with /whatever/ it is and I feel like you don't want to, Damon. You've been through seven hells- I want to help, but you have to give me something to start with." He scratched his temple with a single finger, taking in her words, but he didn't seem to want to be apart of the conversation.
"Look, Elena, I just have to deal with this in my own way."
"You always do that and it's not good for you. You turn into a hull- like some puppet. You don't tell me things, you don't confide in me."
"I do confide in you."
"No. You /trust/ me. That's not the same thing." Two blue eyes flickered between her and the wall, accompanied by a flustered sigh.
"Elena-"
"I swear to God, if you try to end this conversation I will pack my bags and I will go to Bonnie's." He nodded, rubbed his neck, and cleared his throat. In a way, he understood what she meant. Damon just hadn't realized that he'd done it.
"Fine." He found the other bar stool and pulled it to sit next to her. "I don't know what to do with all this. I learn something new about myself everyday. I find a scar, a photograph, some weird flashback that I know nothing about. I'm overloaded, Elena. And I'm not as overloaded with the good things as I am the bad. I keep hearing that my shitty-ness and inability to have a decent relationship hasn't faded since I last remember, which is maybe high school. Your brother, my brother, my best friend- or whatever we are now – all tell me, I /sucked./ I kept you in the dark about getting shot, I was obviously an ass about the baby when she died." He shook his head. "I'm not a good husband, but I found the best damn wife out there." Elena traced the sandy-colored tile of the counter tops absentmindedly.
"You came back the first time, hurt, and you had gone dark. I don't know what you saw, if it was the gunshot, I don't know- but you were a completely different person when you got home. You started freaking out over loud noises, those night terrors came in and you were like a stone. And I was so scared, the more times you went over there, the more withdrawn you'd get. And you did. The only thing you ever told me about being gone was Carol's death, after the third time you saw it in your sleep. You woke me up, wild, screaming, pulling on me." Elena swallowed, hating those recollections in her mind, but they were so vivid she could live them all over again as she sat here. "I don't want you to just suffer with that, Damon. I want to help you. Hell, I can at least listen. I promise you, I want to hear what you have to say. You don't have to pin it all up." Elena stopped tracing grout and laid her hand on Damon's. "You're a good husband. I've told you that."
"That's an opinion," he blockaded.
"/Wrong./ It's a fact. Well, partially." Damon frowned.
"What do you mean partially?"
"Partially, because you're not my husband. /Yet./" Elena dared to crack a smile at him, trying to lighten his mood. It must have worked, because a chuckled came from somewhere in his chest as he rubbed his eyes.
"Again I say, best /girl/ ever." She smiled a little more and pulled herself closer to him.
"So whatever it is that you're telling yourself that's keeping you from talking to me: it's a lie, and you need to forget about it. /Please./ I don't want to lose you." Damon pressed his lips to hers in a silent thank you and as a reassurance that he wasn't ever, as long as he could help it, going to ever leave her side.
"I do need your help with something, though. Maybe. I'm supposed to report this weekend." Elena's smile turned upside down.
"I completely forgot about you going back this week. What are you going to tell them?"
"I really /don't/ know. I'm guessing I can just try to tell them what happened see what goes from there." "They won't keep you, will they? As a soldier? You're basically new now; you don't know the procedures anymore."
"I don't know, gorgeous. I might let someone give me an idea."
"Like who?"
"The person who called me. Some guy named Mikealson?"
"Ew. Him?"
"Ew? What do you mean 'ew'? He's supposedly a friend."
"Yes. A friend who calls only when he needs something." Elena rolled her eyes.
"He needs a ride."
"And I need a million dollars, but I'm not going to get it," she bit.
"You're really mean sometimes, aren't you?"
"I'm not mean. I'm intolerant to greedy people." Damon sighed. "Don't call him back, Damon."
"What? Just a call?"
"You know what? I don't take you to the reportings. So you can do /whatever/ you want, babe." She chuckled and got up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "But about the whole thing: I think you should really find an official as soon as you get there." He nodded in agreement, that bit of nervousness settling back in his stomach.
"I will, babe. Promise."
Friday morning at 345, Damon was driving around the boondocks looking for the house number that Kol had given him. 6014 Old Church Road. He was really beginning to question it. Houses were few and far between the further the GPS took him, and at some points the signal would even drop out. Eventually, he found it. Not a house, but a single-wide trailer with a gruffly-built set of stairs and a pile of garbage waiting to be burned against the woodline in the back yard. The screen door swung open and a dark-haired, slender guy trampled down them and up to Damon's truck.
"Morning, Damon!" he said as he slammed the door shut behind him.
"Morning," Damon said a little flatly, trying hard to place him. It failed.
"You're chipper," Kol noted as they started out.
"I'm just a little out of it," he shrugged in response.
"Well, are you ready? I'm feeling a bit excited myself."
"Excited?"
"Yes. I need some occupation. My day job laid me off, so I've been kind of bored lately." Damon nodded, not quite sure how to take this guy. Or to approach him.
"Can I ask you something, Kol?"
"Of course, man. What's up?" Damon tightened his grip on the wheel, slightly annoyed.
"You think that if I told someone I lost my memory in an accident while I was home, they might...I don't know what to call it...recycle me?" In the passenger's seat, Kol's brows came together in contemplation of his friend's words.
"What do you mean? Are you trying to get out?"
"Oh, no. Not intentionally. I'm just trying to find out what to expect."
"Expect? You really lost your memory?" His eyes grew as he realized that the accompanying hesitated answer was a yes. Reluctantly, Damon began to recount his past 3 months of life.
"I'm relearning everything, essentially. My life."
"You don't know me then do you?" He sounded slightly crestfallen, and Damon was beginning to think old Damon saw more in this guy than Elena did. Damon, regretfully, shook his head in reply to Kol's question.
"No, I don't."
"Damn. I'm sorry, man. You're really missing out." He laughed, but then gave a more serious tone. "Really. I'm sure it's difficult."
The rest of the ride Kol recounted some of the antics that they'd gotten into in the compound in Iraq. Smuggling alcohol, exchanging the good their girls sent them in care packages during their time away for Playboys and rarely-if-ever-seen cigars. Damon wished he could remember /this/ part of the war. It would be better than the only thing he /did/ recall.
When they arrived, Damon immediately started looking for someone he could tell his situation. People were everywhere in a sheet of camo-green, no one really standing out as an overhead. He even lost Kol in the mix. Before he could really start asking questions, they were all ordered into formation. Damon was lost, but followed suit with the 300 others that at least knew what the hell they were doing. Someone stood up front – a woman with hair drawn into a tight golden bun and a look of hellacious ferocity. She paced along each row and started rattling off a reminder of what they were here for. Usually, Damon knew he would care, but today he didn't. He wanted to tell his story to someone before he was in over his head.
"You're going to be tested medically as well as physically," the woman stated. As she got closer, she seemed to shrink in stature. "And you'll be seen that you're fit enough to be deployed to Afghanistan two weeks from today."
"/What?/" Damon blurted, and obviously it was wrongly done. He could have whispered and gotten away with it, but he panicked. War? He couldn't leave. He couldn't remember where half the shit was in his own house, much less what he was supposed to do in combat. Three rows up, the blonde-headed woman was shouldering her way through the rows back to Damon's, eyes glued to him as if he'd asked a forbidden question. She scraped a long glance over him, scrutinizing, and he could tell she wasn't one that was to be questioned. She had a name on her uniform: Branson.
"Problem?" she said shortly, quietly even, but it didn't erase the pissed-off tone in her voice. Damon shook his head, not daring to meet her gaze. He knew enough to know /that/ was a step in the wrong direction.
"No, ma'am," he promptly responded, feeling a little sick as the idea of deployment really sank in.
"Alright, then. Shut up," she spat, then slowly turned and went back down the row to continue her speech. "Does anyone else have a question before I try to speak again?" Her eyes darted over the group of men and women, but no one so much as breathed. When there wasn't an answer, Branson continued. Talking himself down, he realized he might not have much reason to panic. If he was being evaluated physically, he wouldn't pass what high standards they surely possessed to defend the people. Or at least he would think. He heard the brash voice of Branson call for soldiers with a name beginning with A-J to go in one direction, the rest of the alphabet in another. Shit. So much for sticking with someone he knew.
A short time later, Damon had veered himself away from the crew of soldiers and into a building that was supposedly administration. Though he didn't see anyone alive here, he was about to try his damnedest to find someone superior. He twisted doorknobs, finding almost every one locked. Was everyone on damn lunch. He peeped through the window of an office, seeing the clock hung over the wall. It wasn't even 8 AM yet.
"Ha. I'll just wait here, then," he snickered, and he sunk to the floor to do just that. Someone would be through shortly, and they'd get him into an office of some person that would help him. Surely. He needed to call Elena, but his phone was in his truck. Leaving to his vehicle was surely something frowned upon. Then again, he was here in administrative services instead of being evaluated on a field. He was sure to get reprimanded. He heard footsteps—boots, no less –coming down the corridor. He got back to his feet, but as he looked up he was really not happy to see who they belonged to.
"Well, isn't it the Chatterbox from the formation?" the woman that was Branson sang, amused. "You're out of place here, aren't you?" Damon shook his head, but he realized he wasn't at attention before he could even speak. He started too, but he felt like he was far too late. So, he just tore into why he wasn't with the 150 others outside in the blustering sun.
"Before you put a strike on my record, I need some sort of assistance. I've been on medical leave for a while now following an accident. I lost my memory, and an injury I sustained in the war- I think –is worse than before. I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do." Branson narrowed her eyes at him. Whether she was thinking or trying to decide on how to take his story, he'd never be sure.
"You don't remember any of your basic training? Your deployments? Any of it?"
"No, ma'am. I didn't even know I was enlisted until my wife told me."
"What's your name, soldier?"
"Salvatore. Damon Salvatore." He was awaiting some sort of yelling, a referral to someone higher than her. Something.
"You honestly think that you're no longer fit for service?" She was still as a statue, only her mouth moving when she spoke.
"I do. Ma'am." Again the look of scrutiny was on her round face. Like she doubted every word he was saying. Labeling him a weakling. But he wasn't, according to his dreams. So when she nodded solemnly, it completely caught him off guard. Branson pulled a brass key out of her pocket and pushed through the door Damon had been waiting by. No one was there, but she found a computer and pointed to a chair across from her.
"Let's see what we can do for you, Salvatore."
–
Elena hung over the sink, feeling like hell. Caroline was supposed to be here within the hour, and she couldn't stop throwing up her guts. She plugged a pin or two into her curly hair, leaving it at that. Eyeliner, some blush. She wasn't pale. Yet. God, if she caught that virus from the Sheriff, Elena would kill her. She hated being sick. Took away from her routine.
"Knock knock!" Caroline's voice chimed through the hallway and into the bathroom where Elena had just dropped her makeup back into the bag.
"Come in! I'll be there in a moment!" She brushed her teeth, even the smell of the toothpaste getting to her, and threw on her shoes. Caroline was waiting at the bar, having already fixed herself a cup of coffee and reading the untouched newspaper.
"Why do they print these? Everything that's news is depressing." She pursed her lips out, as if to prove her displeasure, and then laid it back down.
"I don't know. I save it for Damon. He reads it every morning after his run." Elena picked up her purse, but felt slightly queasy again.
"Well," Caroline started, downing the rest of her coffee and then neatly setting it in the sink, "Let's go. Those mimosas aren't going to drink themselves." She saw Elena's face as she turned, and she sank into a concerned mode.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Fine. Let's just go, Care," she muttered, not wanting to ruin the day she had planned. On the other hand, Caroline wasn't all so convinced.
"If you're sick, we can do this next week. No biggie," she said smallishly, as if not to aggravate her with her concern. Elena shook her head.
"I'm just hungry. Once I eat, I'll be fine."
But the idea of eating grew more disgusting as she thought about it. Brunch meant meat and eggs and oatmeal- and god knows what else. And frankly, she wanted none of it. At one point she thought she might hurl at the thought, but for the sake of Caroline's car she kept it down. Now they were at her mother's, and a spread was in the other room. Elena was doing her best to avoid it for now, staying in the parlor room with a few others. Sheriff Forbes—or Liz, as she preferred outside of work –came out of the kitchen, looking much more feminine than usual. She was actually quite a gorgeous woman when she wasn't a pack mule of police gear. She was nicer out of uniform too, but she'd never say that.
"Matt!" Elena grinned when she saw her friend come through the door. He held the hand of a thinnish girl she wasn't sure she'd ever seen. She was dressed rather LA for tiny Mystic Falls, but it took a moment for the pieces to fall together in her mind.
"Lena!" He wrapped her in a hug despite the girl beside him who fidgeted nervously. Regardless, it made Elena feel like they were in high school again.
"I've missed you!"
"Gah, I missed you too! How is everything? Damon?"
"He's really good, actually. He's gone to report this weekend," Elena carried on, smiling over at the blonde stranger. "Who's this?" A proud smile lit up Matt's face as he wrapped an arm around the girl's waist.
"Elena, this is my girl, Rebekah Gerard. Rebekah, this is one of my best friends from high school, Elena Gilbert." Rebekah smiled sweetly, extending a ,nd for Elena, who accepted it kindly.
"It's nice to meet you, Elena," she smiled. "I've heard lots of good things about this little town. I'm ready to see for myself."
"Bex is going to move into town next month," Matt piped in. Rebekah rolled her eyes, still smiling.
"Yes, I am. He's telling everyone. And I thought /I/ was excited." She laughed, and someone called out for everyone to come eat. Ten-thirty on the dot. Elena lingered, letting herself catch the last of the line. Caroline popped out of the dining room into the one where Elena sat, a plate full of food and her mimosa in hand.
"You're last?! You were the one so hungry you were sick earlier!" she huffed. "Here." She picked up a tiny quiche from the edge of her plate and Elena thought she might lose it.
"Care, no. I'm good. Thanks." She gently pushed her friend's hand away, feeling a little better that it was gone. That mimosa, though, she might go for. She held out her hand for it.
"What is /wrong/ with you? You're all about brunch usually." Caroline reluctantly passed the glass over, watching as Elena took a long sip. "Right now you look like-"
"I might throw up."
"Yes. Exactly." Caroline popped the quiche into her mouth, groaning with pleasure at the taste. "Mm. This is /heaven./" When she opened her eyes to make sure Elena didn't want the second one, Elena was gone. She blinked, confused, and made a bee-line to the power room.
Elena felt her forehead break out into a cold sweat as soon as the orange juice hit her stomach. Her head swam and she was sure she might not be able to make it down the hall. She all but tripped over her own ankles as bile rose out of her throat and into her mouth, and just as she hit the door of the bathroom, she lost it all in the toilet. The most wretched thing any person had to endure, she felt, was vomiting.
"Elena?!" Heels click-clacked on the tile, but Elena just groaned in response. She heard water running, and then a cold rag laid over her cheek. /God, that felt good./
"This happened yesterday. I'll be fine in a couple minutes. Just go back out there, Care," she said, waving her away. "Don't let me damper your morning."
"Damper my-? Elena, you should know better than that," she scolded, rummaging through the cabinet. "Here. Take some of these. They'll help." She popped three antacids out of a bottle into Elena's hand. "You said this happened yesterday?" Caroline started to inquire.
"Yeah. And the day before. But I didn't vomit. Just queasy. I think I caught something."
"That's weird. Like morning sickness," she pondered as she was going through the cabinet again, this time in search for a thermometer. Elena wrinkled her nose.
"Morning sickness..." She couldn't say she knew what that was like. She'd never had it with Mary Jo. She got nauseated at certain foods, but never anything like that. But out of paranoia, she began to count. And slowly, she started to panic.
"What day is it?" Caroline blinked.
"Uhm...I don't know?"
"Care, /what day is it?/" Elena said through clenched teeth. Quickly Caroline glanced at her watch, the dial reading out that it was August 2.
"The second," she nodded and looked to Elena who was only now turning a paler shade. Elena was counting again, this time out loud.
"Oh my God," Elena whispered. "I can't be." She scrambled to her feet, starting to search for her keys only to realize she came with Caroline.
"Please let me borrow your car, Care. I need to go to the pharmacy /right now./" She held out her hands, almost desperate. She wanted to know for sure so badly, she'd almost steal the sheriff's patrol car if Caroline didn't answer quicker.
"Look, Elena, calm down. Maybe you got that thing Mom had last week. You two work together, and-"
"Care, KEYS." Caroline took her clutch purse from underneath her arm and unzipped it, pulling out a box instead a wad of keys. Much to Elena's surprise, it was a pregnancy test. Elena blinked.
"What are you doing with that?" Caroline rolled her eyes.
"Well I was going to use it, but you're in much more of a panic than I am over this situation."
"You're-"
"Elena, you owe me a test. Now piss on that stick and tell me what happens!"
Elena kept checking and rechecking the box. It was only supposed to take 3-6 minutes. Caroline wasn't knocking, so she must not be anywhere near that long. But god, was this not going on like 20 minutes? At least it seemed that long.
"Anything?"
"No. Not yet," Elena itched, bracing herself against the counter as she watched the test on the sink. She reached over and opened the door, letting her friend in. Care walked in a peeped over at the test. "How long has it been?"
"Two minutes?"
"Oh my gosh!" Elena groaned. "I don't know if I can do this again, Care."
"What?! Elena Marie Gilbert, I can't believe I just heard you say that!"
"I'm serious, Caroline. The first time didn't pan out so well." Caroline gaped at her best friend.
"There is soap on that counter and I'm about two seconds from using it to wash your mouth out! You know better than to say stuff like that! What happened to Mary Jo wasn't your fault. It's something that just happens." She rubbed Elena's shoulder lovingly and reassuringly. "You're the best mom I've ever seen, Elena. And—oh my gosh."
"What?! What is it? Is it?" Elena hid her face behind her hands. She couldn't look. She was afraid of the positive, and she was sure she'd be devastated if it was a negative. Caroline suddenly grabbed Elena and spun her around, holding the test up for her to see. And on the tiny little screen against a white background was a plus. A positive. A yes.
"Elena, you are! You're pregnant!"
"Oh my god!" Elena felt like she might cry. "I'm having a baby!" Both the girls let out squeals of absolute delight, and hugged each other up. Elena really didn't know what to think. She really was ecstatic. Overjoyed. She'd prayed for a long time for a second chance, and she just might have been granted it. She felt the tears rise in her eyes, and she quickly dabbed at them to save her makeup. She wanted to call Damon, stat, but she knew that he was involved and maybe not even on the planet at the moment. He came home tomorrow morning, though. Would she even be able to sleep she was so damn excited?
"Oh my gosh. Okay. Wow," she laughed, trying to put herself back on solid ground. "Brunch thing. Outside. I'm sure people are wondering where we are." She straightened herself up and repinned her hair. "And I need a ginger ale. Maybe that'll calm me down some until I can think straight."
"Anything you want, Mama," Caroline teased, taking Elena's arm. Elena laughed, laying a finger on her lips as they waltzed back into the dining room to join the rest of the guests.