A/N: PRAISE GOD AND THE RIVER THAT DIDN'T EAT MY BETA, TROGDOR19, BECAUSE SHE'S BACK! WHOO! And just in time...

Chapter 22: Good Enough

I glance at the clock on the very back wall, and it's 7:57 P.M.

Absolutely perfect.

The whole day went smooth as freshly shaved female legs, and if they offer me this job you better damn well believe I'm going to take it. And not just to seclude myself from the world of high-waisted pencil skirts and painted toenails, or because of the intoxicating prospect of being able to play any course I choose on Sunday mornings when the green fees spike into the stratosphere, but because it's fun and I'm damn good at this shit.

And by all means, I shouldn't be. Normally I have zero patience for people and if they're too dumb to understand what I'm saying, then I don't want them within earshot of me. However, our Human Resources department is apparently doing a pretty decent job of weeding out the paste-eaters when they hire people because the ratio of brainless questions to valid ones was surprisingly tolerable. What's more is, they actually listened to every single thing that I had to say, and they got it. They actually fucking got it.

By no means was the crap we went through self-explanatory, and if they screw it up we're gonna have a lot of issues, but I'm a little excited to shove them onto the phones tomorrow and have them try out the maze of things they learned from me. I want to see them get that first call and instead of stumbling a bit because this is new, watch them hold their heads high because I gave it to them straight and didn't let them down.

It's a rush I didn't expect: to be heard. To be respected. To have people look at me and not see an aimless twenty-something, a nameless debit card willing to pay their bar tab in exchange for the loss of their panties. Because I just spent ten hours with forty people looking to me for guidance and to tell them the answers to problems they couldn't solve, and I took care of them. And we laughed and joked and had fun the whole time, but we also got shit done.

I can't describe the relief, the racing in my pulse because I didn't screw this up. For once, I did right by people that needed me, and there's a glimmer of hope that when I lay in bed tonight and stare at my ceiling, that maybe I'll be able to sleep. Because I may not be good enough for her, but today, I was good enough for them. And right now, that's good enough for me.

"Alright," I say and lean back against the desk in the front of the room. "We've got about three minutes so any last pleas for mercy, curveballs you wanna throw me, speak now or dot dot dot."

A chuckle ripples through the room, Ric leaning back in his chair and looking cheerfully smug, his arms crossed as he shakes his head at me.

"When are we implementing the new process?" Elena asks and I look at her.

"Immediately. Which reminds me—thank you, Elena—to make sure you guys restart your computers when you leave tonight, but to not shut them down completely because we're going to be rolling the software update through at midnight."

"Okay." She smiles at me and I look away.

"Anything else? Last call…" I drawl teasingly. No one says anything and I jerk my chin at Jeremy in the back of the room.

"Alright everyone," he says. "Y'all have a good night and be sure to thank Damon, and we will see you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Damon," they all return and I salute them, pushing off the desk to go wipe off the whiteboard as they begin leaving the room.

Too bad I drank that bottle of Pappy Van Winkle already, because I could stand to congratulate myself tonight.

"Hey," a soft voice says from behind me, and I don't turn around but I still brace myself.

"Did you have a question about something, Elena?"

"No, you explained everything perfectly." There's a smile in her voice, and it wipes all the pride I was feeling right out of my body.

"Then you should probably go log out."

I turn to face her, leaning back against the board with my arms crossed, and she glances around and steps a little closer. "You won't even talk to me for a few minutes?"

"Unless it's about work, we have nothing to talk about," I tell her flatly, and her face falls.

"Damon…"

"Damon," Jeremy says from the back. "You got a minute?"

"Sure thing," I tell him and look back at her. "Excuse me," I say quietly and begin to walk away, an act that is starting to become all too familiar.

"Nice job today," Jeremy says when I reach him, shaking my hand. "We've been doing a little chatting back here, and if you're up for it, we've got a proposition for you."

I smirk and barely let the obvious follow-up pun die on my tongue, trying to ignore the sight of Elena looking over her shoulder at me with a disappointed glance for brushing her off before she heads out the room.

I shift my weight and clear my throat, focusing back on the trio of managers in front of me that have the power to alter my state of happiness more than anyone else does at this moment.

"We have to introduce this training to the rest of the teams over the course of the next few days," Jeremy's supervisor, Ben, tells me, and I nod. "And we'd like to have you lead those training sessions as well."

My eyes dart to Jeremy and he subtly nods at me, and I grin smoothly at Ben. "Sounds like a plan."

"Great, now as I understand, you don't work on Fridays so we're going to have three teams in here at a time the remainder of the week."

"Not a problem," I tell him confidently.

"Glad to hear it. At least one of the supervisors from the teams will be in attendance each day, but other than that, it's all you. Nicely done, Damon."

"Thank you," I tell him and he claps me on the shoulder before turning back to Jeremy. "So, explain to me again your reasoning for why you think Romo is going all the way to the Super Bowl next year…" he says and I step back, excusing myself and walking out of the training room.

I walk straight and strong all the way back to my desk, but when I reach it, I stop.

Because there's a whole wheat zucchini muffin with chocolate chips sitting atop a napkin next to my phone, and peeking out from under the corner is a tiny piece of paper.

I log out of my phone and grab my cell and car keys from the drawer, and I stand there and stare at the muffin for two whole minutes before I grab it and throw it away.

But I can't stop myself from taking the slip of paper with an elegantly scrawled "If you change your mind" written above what I know with absolutely certainty is Elena's phone number, and I slide it into my pocket.

Christ in a sandbox, I'm fucking exhausted.

All week of training people how to set up rentals, which I can now do with my eyes closed and one of my hands making obscene gestures behind my back, and everything has still gone smoothly, kudos to me and to the delight of the managers who I've been saving from having to do the training themselves. But talking and answering questions and basically performing in front of sixty people ten hours a day has left me a little dry for any spare synaptic firing. I probably couldn't talk Ric through how to take the lugnuts off a tire right now. So since my mind is the equivalent of ambrosia salad, I figured I'd make the rest of me match.

I suck in another breath and my right hook lands a little off, the Everlast punching bag swinging awkwardly and calling me a pussy. I hit it again harder, faster, pummeling it down until my muscles are burning and I can't breathe, can't think, can't remember the numbers that I've punched into my phone numerous times each day, but I've never called.

I swing until I can't hear her voice, see her face, as she stopped me tonight on my way out to the parking lot and asked me how I've been. How hurt she looked when I didn't answer, and then I left.

There's nothing to say. If there was, I would have called her. But I haven't and she knows that as well as I do and every single day that I've stopped by my desk to log in before heading to the back of the building, she glances at me and her expression is pure disappointment. And it's really pissing me off.

I don't get it. I have no idea what she wants from me anymore, and I doubt she knows either.

"Hey Damon," Rebekah says sweetly as she enters the gym, and I pivot to glance at her over my shoulder.

I jerk my chin at her casually and turn back to the Everlast bag, and I flinch when it strikes me that she can see the tattoo on my back. I've never cared before, but now… It feels too private.

I'm still debating whether I should take off my gloves so I can grab my t-shirt from my gym bag when she stops next to me.

"What are you doing here on a Thursday?" she teases, apparently not noticing my arched eyebrow at her question. "You're more of a Tuesday/Wednesday kind of boxer…"

Okay, that's just fucking weird. Because she's right, and does that mean that she actually knows my schedule? I decide to brush it off because I'd rather assume that she's just here every day.

I shrug, and she tilts her head at me, frowning worriedly.

"You okay? You look stressed…"

"Work," I supply with a strained smile, and she bites her lip. And my idiotic brain suddenly decides to make a tallied comparison between how much I like her doing that versus when Elena does it, and guess who comes out on top? Let me give you a hint, she's not blond.

"You never told me what you do for a living," Rebekah says coyly, and I clear my throat before sliding my mouth into a forced smirk.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"You know I can," she tells me and yeah, I bet she has a ton of secrets that I don't want to know anything about. I repress a shudder.

"I'm Batman," I whisper playfully, and she laughs. God, how did I never notice before how shrill and annoying that is? "And as such, it requires studious physical training…"

She nods at the hint and takes a step back, unknowingly loosening the invisible noose that feels coiled around my neck. At least she doesn't seem pissed about me blowing her off, so hopefully my car is safe from key marks or slashed tires.

"Let me know if you're ever looking for a sidekick," she says with a wink before strutting off towards the treadmills.

Her ponytail swishes from side to side with each exaggerated step, and I force myself to control my snort. Elena was right, her clothes do look like underwear and it's so…I don't know what it is, but it isn't good. And it certainly isn't as enticing as that quarter-inch of shoulder that I wasn't supposed to notice but held my attention all the same when Elena showed up in that workout top and yoga pants.

I realize I'm smiling and I grimace at myself. I've got to stop this shit.

I blow out a breath and continue wailing on the Everlast bag, but it's no use. Because my body isn't aching for a fight, it wants Elena. Once was not enough and it's only been two weeks since the soft grazes of her tender fingertips and the sultry scratch of her delicately manicured nails and the stark contrast between her warm breath and a cool metal barbell and mother fucker, I need to get this together.

The last thing I need is a hard-on when I'm thirty feet from a massively bad decision that I have no interest in making, but I know good and well Rebekah will try to convince me of its brilliance if she notices the status of my basketball shorts.

The mistake I want to make is to call Elena so I can lose myself in the affection of a nagging, prissy, secretly rebellious brunette who gripes at me about incorrectly folding my socks before she sticks her tongue out at me and flashes me a piercing that no one else knows about. I want the woman that can damn-near drink me under the table after complaining about the calories in bourbon versus light beer, and when we're tired and laying quietly, the only thing that I'll know is that her arms are holding me snugly to her, soft pink lips pressed to my hair as she reverently caresses the two black bars behind my shoulder blade because she feels them in her heart.

I need the woman that hates that she loves me.

No, that's not right. Because she doesn't love me, she loves him.

I lock down and punch more fiercely with brutal speed, wincing at the strain on my knuckles. I don't know if I'm going to have to break my hands on this Everlast bag to get over her, but it may be worth a shot because it's not going away.

My left fist connects harshly and instead of hearing the slap and groan of leather against leather, I'm distracted by the sound of a door bursting open from one of the side rooms that people use for yoga and dance classes and other non-machine exercise shit. I turn to look in a reflex, and I flinch when Elena runs from the room, her hand clasped over her mouth as she darts into the ladies' restroom.

What the fuck?

"Sucks to be her," Rebekah drawls with a laugh and I ignore her, half-jogging my way over to the closed restroom door. I listen, wincing when I hear the unmistakable sound of someone getting sick.

I don't think before I go back to my gym bag and bottle of water, reduced to undoing the Velcro with my teeth to get off my boxing gloves before I grab everything and run back to the bathroom.

"Elena?" I call out, rapping my knuckles on the door.

"Damon?"

"I'm coming in," I tell her, and she immediately groans.

"Don't you dare…"

I open the door anyway, wishing I could lock it behind me, but I can't.

"Please, Damon, I'm fine," she says from behind a closed stall door and I drop my bag on the ground, speedily grabbing a few paper towels and wetting them with cold water in the sink. I take a step and then stop, bending to dig the roll of Lifesaver peppermints out of my jeans from where they're folded in my bag.

As soon as I have them I hastily make my way towards the stall, hearing her cough and spit again. And I know I should be running in the other direction because she's my kryptonite, and I should also be completely disgusted by what's happening three feet away from me, but the only thing I feel is worry and guilt and I know it's not my fault, but I can't stand to know that she's feeling this way. I mean, is she just stressed because of everything that's going on between us and that is what's making her sick or…Jesus, she's not pregnant is she?

Holy shit. And I've been ignoring her every time she tries to talk to me…

I damn near break off the handle when I try the door, finding it locked. "Open up."

"Go away," she says breathily, and I roll my eyes.

"Don't make me break the door, Elena," I warn, and after a long moment and the sound of the toilet flushing, the lock clicks open.

I can't get the door open fast enough and she's kneeling on the floor, her back facing me and without warning she lurches forward and I hit my knees behind her, sweeping her ponytail out of the way. But she's not throwing up, she's just gagging and gasping for air and it slams a panic button inside of me that I haven't felt pressed in nine years.

She finally catches her breath after a second and her body sags, a whimper escaping her.

"You're okay, I've got you," I whisper and she nods faintly, taking the wad of toilet paper I hand her. She wipes her mouth and I pass her my water bottle, rubbing her back soothingly as she rinses and spits.

"What are you doing here?" she asks shakily, taking another drink of water, and I feel myself faintly smile.

"Putting my acquired knowledge from years of binge drinking to good use, I'd say."

Her shoulders shake lightly in silent laughter, and I lay one of the wet paper towels across the back of her neck. She shivers and then releases a breath like it's the best thing she's ever felt, and I take the water bottle from her, setting it down on the floor next to us.

"You good or-"

"I think I'm done," she says quietly like she's ashamed, and I frown at her tone. I wrap my arm around her shoulders securely, keeping her with me as I sit back and lean against the closed stall door, my legs stretched out on either side of her. Her head drops back onto my chest, and I lay the second wet napkin over her forehead. "Thank you," she breathes, and I shrug.

"No sweat. Although if you really wanted to play doctor, I could think of better ways."

She chuckles softly, then groans. "Don't make me laugh."

"Sorry," I say quietly, and for some reason, that's when reality decides to step in.

Like how I'm sitting in a bathroom stall with Elena relaxing against me, feeling her over-heated skin bleed through her sleeveless-spandex top into my bare chest, the softness of her yoga pants from where her legs are brushing against mine. I've said more words to her in the last two minutes than I have in two weeks, and I'm not supposed to be this close to her, to need to stay here so much.

She takes a deep breath and shifts, then jerks a bit. "Really?"

"Really what?"

"I can feel it, Damon," she says quietly, a hint of a smile in her voice, and my brow furrows. I glance down and roll my eyes when I realize what she's "feeling," then reach between us. She squirms a little when my knuckles brush her bottom, and I pull my hand back out.

"Thanks for the ego boost," I tell her and show her the roll of peppermints, and she daintily snorts. I open the package and hand her one, then pop one in my mouth.

We're quiet for a few minutes, and I realize I have no idea what to say to her. Seriously, where do we begin? I'm utterly torn between wanting to offer to take her home and pushing her away so I can leave before I'm sucked back in, when luckily, she speaks for me.

"You've been busy," she tells me quietly, and I sweep her ponytail to the side so it stops tickling my shoulder, but it falls right back.

"Mm-hmm."

"Is that why you look like you haven't slept in a month?"

Do I look like a zombie or something? Why is everyone saying that?

"You're one to talk," I reply, because if I'm a zombie, then dammit, she's one too.

She shrugs. "Speaking of which, everyone's talking about you at work."

I bite the inside of my lip, turning over the napkin on the back of her neck so the coolest part touches her skin. A bead of water drips off of her and lands on my bare chest, and I try not to flinch. "Something scandalous I hope?"

"Hmm," she mumbles and makes a sound like she's rolling the peppermint around in her mouth. "They all say you should be a trainer, since you've been doing so well with the rental stuff."

I clear my throat.

"They're right," she adds quietly, her right hand resting on the top of my thigh and her thumb tapping against me. Whether it's a conscious action or not, I can't be sure. "I'm really proud of you."

The corner of my lips turns up where she can't see, and I take the napkin off her forehead and fold it in half, lightly pressing it to her cheek and jaw. She hums contentedly with a smile, and I blow out a breath.

"The gossips aren't far off," I tell her, and she immediately stiffens. I ball up the napkin I had against her jaw and throw it in the hazardous waste trashcan for tampons and all that other gross female stuff. "In a couple of months, we'll see what happens."

She turns her face away from me, quietly muttering, "Congratulations."

I tilt my head, watching her profile. "Liar," I say plainly, and her eyes close.

"You really hate me that much?" she whispers, and I wince. And I almost don't, but I have to and I wrap my arms around her, holding her into me. I lay my cheek to her hair, and when I take a deep breath, she breathes with me.

"I don't hate you," I tell her honestly. "I'm just trying to make this easier. It's…impossible to see you every day."

She nods, her arms covering mine. "I'll miss you," she tells me, and I smile sadly.

"Back at ya."

She sinks a little further into me, and I hate that she was just throwing up but a selfish, sick part of me is glad for no other reason than allowing me to steal these five minutes with her. No fighting, no tears, just acknowledging that we have an unmistakable something that still hasn't faded, despite how complicated everything else is that surrounds us.

"Are you at least excited?" she asks, and I shrug. "It's a big move, Damon."

"Yeah, well it's about time I do something other than the bare minimum."

"Don't say things like that," she reproaches, and I roll my eyes. "You never gave me 'the bare minimum.'"

I scoff. "That's different," I tell her and she shakes her head. "I had a reputation to uphold."

Elena laughs heartily, and I smile. "Excuse me for forgetting how cool you are."

"Yeah, you better apologize for that," I tease.

"Remind me to ask your mother if you came that way or that was something you just developed over time. Oh, and that reminds me…"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Don't tell her I said this, but your muffins? Totally better than hers."

"Bullshit."

"It's true! Because she always puts cinnamon in them and I hate cinnamon, but I don't have the heart to tell her that."

I chuckle. "Figures. I make her put cinnamon in everything because I love it, and I hate peppermint."

"You hate peppermint?" she bursts out, peeking at me over her shoulder, and I nod.

"I'm being persuaded to feel otherwise, but yeah."

"Then give me those Lifesavers," she snaps playfully and I hand them back to her. She pops another in her mouth, and I pull off the towel from the back of her neck and throw it away.

"Feeling better?"

She nods. "So much better."

"Good," I smile. "So, you gonna tell me or…"

She throws a hand up in exasperation. "Of course, the first thing you assume is that I'm pregnant."

I swallow, my head dipping and lips brushing against the quarter-inch of bare skin on her shoulder. "Are you?"

"Yep, you totally caught me. Congratulations, Daddy."

I freeze.

"Jesus, Damon, relax already. I was just joking."

"Hilarious," I deadpan.

"First, there is about as much chance of that happening as me eating an 84 ounce steak," she says haughtily, and her tone starts to unwind the knot of nerves in my stomach. "Second, if the world became an acid-trip rodeo and I did eat my weight in cow…" She trails off and I glance at her, and when her eyes dart to mine, she swallows. Her voice drops lower when she tells me, "I wouldn't know for a while."

"Let me know when you find out," I say seriously, and she scoffs, looking away.

"Yeah, okay."

I sit up and shift a little so I have a better look at her profile. "Elena…"

"Damon, your mom mentions the word marriage, and the next thing I know you're bolting out the door and can't get rid of me fast enough."

"You heard her?" I ask, shocked, and she nods.

I shake my head at myself for being so stupid as to ever think that being with her would be a bad thing, and she glances down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Look, what happened back then doesn't matter," I tell her strongly. "The point is, I've seen the single mom life and I wouldn't do that to you. And I know it happening this way isn't what you want…" More like it happening with me isn't what she wants, but that's a whole other conversation of fucked up proportions. "But I'd be whatever you needed me to be, Elena. It'd be your decision."

She's quiet for a moment before very softly, she says, "Damon?"

I brace myself.

I won't run from my responsibilities, and I won't repeat the mistakes made by my mysterious sperm donor of a biological father. "Yes…"

"That's not the bare minimum," she says a little smugly, and I squeeze her tighter.

"You're such a smartass," I tease, and she laughs loudly, pulling my arms closer around her like I'm some sort of blanket. And I guess since she's comfortable enough to giggle and make jokes about this, it makes it easier to believe what she said earlier. Chances are, everything's probably fine. And if it isn't, at least she knows where I stand. "So if I didn't knock you up-"

"Damon!"

"Then why are you throwing up in the bathroom of my gym? And what are you even doing here? Oh wait, I know," I say lightly, then drop my voice to a creepy whisper. "Stalker…"

"You're such a jerk," she grumbles, but still settles more comfortably against me. "And you're not the only one with a membership here, you know. You just never asked. All you wanted to know was if I knew where it was, which I did because some of us prefer to work out in the morning."

There's a silent lance of fear and guilt that rushes through me. The questions I never asked because I never thought I had to… The things she chose not to tell me.

It doesn't matter. Maybe if we can just stay here for a little while longer then we can figure us out. There has to be a way to get through this. I'm not ready to give up on her and she's certainly not pushing me away and for the first time in weeks, it feels like there's hope.

It may be the best thing I've ever felt.

"Uh-huh."

"It's true. But anyways, I was dumb and I didn't eat today and I got overheated and then…" She waves her hand towards the toilet and I grimace.

"Why didn't you eat?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Nothing sounds good lately."

"Nothing? In the whole world of available culinary options, nothing sounds good?"

She looks back at me over her shoulder, an eyebrow arched in a challenge. "Who's the smartass now?"

"Alright," I say and think, toying with her ponytail and letting the strands slip through my fingers. "What about…roasted artichokes, maybe a little bit of spaghetti squash on the side?"

"You can make that?"

I snort. "As long as it's made out of peanut butter and jelly, absolutely."

"Oh my God, that sounds so good."

"PB&J?"

"No, the artichokes and the squash…"

I grin smugly. "Yeah, well first we have to get off this disgusting bathroom floor. And thanks a lot, because I'm pretty sure we both need to be quarantined now."

She chuckles and turns onto her side, her head laying over my heart and one of her little hands resting against my neck.

"I'm all sweaty…" I drawl, and she shakes her head.

"Don't care."

I hug her tightly and she feels so good. I really have missed her, more than I ever wanted to admit.

I cradle her cheek in my hand, and she covers it with hers as I drop my lips to her crown. "Can we go home now?" I mumble against her hair, and when she nods instead of asking whether I mean her place or mine, no whisper of resistance to the thought of us staying together, I swear I could probably smile for a year. "You know we have to go grocery shopping first, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Okay."

I shift back to press a kiss into her forehead and she hums happily. "You make it impossible not to love you," she tells me, and though her voice is soft and sweet, her words send ice shooting through my veins.

My eyes pinch closed and I huff an incredulous breath, then prop her forward. I get up and grab my water bottle, then open the stall door and stride towards where I left my gym bag by the sink.

"Damon?" she says questioningly from behind me, and I shake my head.

"Can't believe you just said that," I tell her and hook my bag over my shoulder, my jaw shaking as I stare her down. "Actually, I can believe it. What I can't believe is that I was stupid enough to think that anything had changed."

"What are you talking about? I thought-"

"I mean the fact that you don't love me, and you don't even want to because that role has already been filled."

She gasps. "That's not what I meant…"

"Oh it's not?" I ask sarcastically, and she's steadily shaking her head no, but I don't believe her.

I never should have let myself start to trust her again. All she does is reel me in close enough to rip my heart out. And she's got it down to a fucking science.

"You told me, point blank, that nothing I could do would ever matter because you're always going to love him more." She sucks in a breath, and my voice drops lower, brokenly. "And I get it, Elena, I do, and I've been trying to respect it. Which is why I'm not talking to you and why I'm not calling, and why in about six weeks you're not going to have to see me ever again."

"Damon, please. Let me explain…"

"No!" I snap at her, and she flinches. I grit my teeth, trying to calm down. "I need to you to respect the fact that I can't do this anymore. It hurts, Elena, and I'm done being fucked around by you so you can change your mind every two minutes about what you want and what you're ready for. It's not going to make any difference in the end."

I reach for the door, and she steps towards me. "Don't leave like this…"

I blow out of the bathroom before she has a chance to stop me because I'll never be good enough for her and we both know it, and I'm five long strides towards the exit of the gym before I realize that my eyes are stinging.

I don't respond to Rebekah asking if I'm alright, and I lift my chin when I roughly push open the door to the parking lot. I gulp the hot summer air that isn't tainted by the perfume of a woman that will never care about me in the way I feel about her, and when I get in my car and slam the door, it feels more final than any other time I've left her behind.

I tear off my hand wraps and let them cascade onto my floorboard, everything that was secure only moments before unraveling into nothing more than a mess I have no desire to clean up. I scrub a hand over my face and start my car, my engine hungry for speed when I pull away and I let her have it all because she's the only one that's never let me down.

And I don't look back.

I never do.

A/N: Alright, let me have it. Come on, you guys are never shy. PLEASE keep in mind, nothing is over until it's over. AND WE'RE NOT OVER YET. So PLEASE *gets down on knees and begs* stick around for the next chapter, because every single one of you matters and what you think matters and I DO hear you. I do.

All my love.

-Goldnox