Since you have been kind enough to leave so many reviews, here's another mid-week chapter. Enjoy the Delena time-out while it lasts. ;)

ELENA

Unfortunately, I didn't stop at one beer. It only served to slightly dull my feeling of responsibility and put me into party mood. Damon didn't make another effort to stop me, damn him, which is why I ordered a second. That, and every other drink that followed its path, efficiently annihilated every bit of common sense and self control I normally possessed.

The atmosphere got more cozy as I made friends with other guests in the bar and was invited to a game of pool. A girl and I teamed up against two of her friends, betting that with united girl power, we could beat them. Well, we couldn't. In fact, we were losing miserably, but had a lot of fun going down. Damon observed us from the bar where he chatted with Bree. From time to time, I could feel his gaze on me, sending shivers down my spine for inexplicable reasons.

"Are you always this bad, or is this pitiful performance owed to your current level of intoxication?" his voice suddenly appeared close to my ear. Since I hadn't heard him approach, it made me jump.

"Nope. I suck at this game," I admitted, beaming a smile. "But I still love it!" I tried to focus on my next shot, aiming for the red and white striped ball that was a sure hit. Or so I thought. I managed to pocket the eight instead. Too bad – game over.

"Well, in that case – maybe you should invest a little effort and learn how to play it more successfully... especially if you're wagering money on the outcome. My money, if I might point out." Damon gave our opponents a pointed stare, and they quickly caught the hint and retreated, without insisting on collecting their wager.

"You know, you don't have to be so rude..." I admonished. "They were really nice.."

"They were shamelessly taking advantage of two seriously inebriated girls, one of who doesn't know how to tell the front of the cue from its back."

"Hey, I'm not that bad!"

"Yes, you are. But I'd be more than willing to teach you..."

"You're probably an expert at pool, huh? I should have guessed! Is there anything you don't excel at?" Admittedly, I had been more than a little impressed with his medical 'almost' degree.

Damon shrugged. "There are a couple of areas that never sparked my interest. Surfing. Singing in a choir. Stepdancing. All that far-eastern stuff like yoga, origami and feng-shui."

"Riverdance is actually pretty cool."

"Yeah, well maybe next century." He tossed me the cue-stick. "So, do you want me to teach you how to handle that wood or not?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "I've just been waiting for you to make a pun like that..."

"Not my fault. It's an innuendo in itself. The origin of pool is actually French: Billard is the name of the game, and the cue-stick is called a 'queue'. Which is French for tail or penis."

"So you want to impress me with your French, now, too?"

"There a quite a few things I'd love to impress you with, Miss Gilbert!" Damon said seductively.

"Well, maybe next century," I retorted. "For now, I'd just love to hit some balls..."

He arched an eyebrow. "I'm sure you would. Now who's making improper and painful innuendos?" He placed the object balls in the rack and removed it. "Care to take the break shot?"

"Sure." I leaned forward and concentrated on the cue ball, striking it with force. With a satisfying, smacking sound it sent the object balls scattering across the table. Unfortunately, not a single one found its way into the pocket - except for the cue ball. Too bad. It might have worked better if my hands were less shaky and my head less fuzzy. Or maybe not.

"This is going to be a lot of work..." Damon sighed dramatically. "Now listen and learn. First of all, power is not what you should be concentrating on. Driving the cue ball into the rack will only result in it ricocheting off anything in its path, causing more damage than need be. Only utilize the amount of power you can control." I briefly wondered why this advice sounded strange coming out of his mouth.

He showed me where and what angle to position my feet. "You need to have your body in a stable position. Bring your legs together and bend your knees. It doesn't matter if you keep your legs straight, bent, or just the back leg straight for other shots, but for breaking, you want to keep your center of gravity lower for better stability. Now bend forward at the hips and line up your body with the intended break angle."

He stepped beside me and gave me a slight push, which resulted in me losing my balance. "If I can unbalance you as easily as that, your stance is not stable enough. Let me show you..."

He reset the rack for the breaking shot and demonstrated how to execute it, while explaining each step in detail and calling my attention to the various points he had just made.

I found that I couldn't really concentrate, though. I was too distracted by watching the play of his muscles underneath his all too tight, black shirt. The weren't over-pronounced like those of body-builders, which I didn't find attractive at all. Just strong and well-toned, like every fiber on his body, vibrating with power.

No wonder he preferred wearing shirts that were clinging to him like a second skin. Not only the shirts. When he bent over the table to take the shot, I was granted an excellent view of his rear and couldn't help but notice that his pants were just as tight, hugging him in all the right places. As I had never been a visual person, I was a bit taken by surprise by my body's delighted response to the sight.

Damon straightened up and arched an eyebrow at me. "I hope you like what you see, Miss Gilbert! Though I have a feeling you weren't really looking at the shot I just demonstrated..."

I blushed, embarrassed that he had caught me ogling him shamelessly. "No, I wasn't... I mean, of course, I was – watching the shot, I mean." Geez, I was babbling. Must be the tequilas. Hastily, I downed another one, just to divert my attention.

Damon gave me a lewd smirk and confidentially leaned closer. "You know... if you wanna see me naked, all you have to do is ask..." More heat shot to my cheeks and I smacked his arm before shoving him out of my personal space. He grinned and handed me the cue once more. "My turn," he said, quite in contradiction with his action, which had me confused for a moment. "Watching," he specified, with another wicked grin, making it clear that he didn't really mean my performance. "Unless you want to chicken out?"

I briefly considered doing just that. But no, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. I could handle this. "No. Of course not," I said bravely, straightening my back and approaching the table with determination and steady steps. At least, they still seemed pretty steady to me.

Quickly, Damon set up the rack once more. This time, he stepped behind me, nudging my feet into the correct position and correcting my stance. Well, maybe that was not his only intention. My heart picked up its beat, especially when he put his hands on my hips. "Hold the cue as level as possible and pull it back slowly, rotating your hips as you do," Damon said, demonstrating how he wanted me to move them. "When your arm comes forward, your right hip should come, too. The transfer of body weight is what generates power."

At the moment, all I could feel were his hands, and it despite his slightly cool body temperature, it generated heat and made breathing difficult. I should never have agreed to this. His teaching me was just a ruse to get his hands on me, and apparently, I wasn't handling his closeness very well.

Damon pretended not to have noticed my reaction and did an excellent job at hiding his smug contentment. "Now, remember," he continued in that low, even voice, close to my ear as he leaned over me to correct the angle of my cue. "You want this first stroke to be smooth – a controlled and fluid movement, not a jerking blast." It was probably no coincidence that his lower body was pressing against my behind and that his advice seemed to carry an innuendo. Evoking images and triggering an involuntary response was exactly what he had been wanting to achieve. God, I had to stop this! As much as I was astutely aware of the fact that he was arrogant, dangerous and a player – he still oozed sex, and much to my chagrin, my traitorous body was highly receptive to it.

With a trembling hand, I took aim and shot – missing the cue ball entirely. Damn it! Damon quirked an eyebrow. "You really are miserable at this..." he observed, humor in his voice. "Though I think it's your concentration that's off for some reason."

Yeah, why might that be? I huffed, slightly irritated with myself.

"Maybe we should try this again when you're sober..."

"I'm not drunk!" I said with as much dignity as I could muster, hurriedly bringing some distance between us. Unfortunately, I stumbled over my own foot, which didn't exactly support my claim. It seemed that my body refused cooperation on all levels tonight. Damon, ever the savior, caught my arm and helped me find my balance.

"Right," he remarked drily. "Just slightly buzzed. Mind you, I'm not complaining!"

"Maybe we can play darts instead?" I suggested, wondering if it was better suited to keep some distance between us. Besides, I was slightly better at that.

"No way! You don't get to wield any dangerous weapons tonight."

"You're a vampire. What harm could a dart possibly do to you?"

"You forget that there are fellow humans around, Elena. And with your aim, they'll all be cowering behind the bar in no time. Besides, getting a dart in my bum would still hurt."

I giggled at the idea, which somehow caused a hiccup. Beyond being embarrassed, I thought this was actually pretty funny and erupted in a fit of laughter. Damon arched an eyebrow. "Maybe we should just get you home?"

"No," I objected determinedly. "I don't want to leave just yet. Let's have another try at this. I'm sure there's a brilliant pool-player inside me that's just begging to come out."

"Hm... maybe if we do some really deep digging..." Damon mused, then shrugged. "Fine with me. Just don't hold me responsible for any of your actions later on!"

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. I remembered only fragments of it: Pool lessons that involved more banter and more shots – some of them consisting of more tequila – a lot of laughing and some touching, later on music and dancing.

I couldn't even recall how we got back to his house or what happened there. From looking around next morning, we had continued the party right there in Damon's living room, where I must have fallen asleep on the sofa.

At least, that's where I came to eventually – moaning and with the mother of headaches. "God, I never felt so awful in my life!" I groaned, when I heard Damon racketing about in the kitchen.

"That's probably because you never got drunk like that before," he offered. "It was fun watching, though..."

"What exactly happened last night? I'm afraid I don't remember much of it..." I frowned, finding what looked suspiciously like my bra on the arm of the sofa. Up to this point, I hadn't even realized I wasn't wearing it underneath the shirt anymore. The possible implications made me look up in shock.

"Don't look at me," Damon said, spreading his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I have nothing to do with it!" I wasn't convinced, trying hard to find access to the memories that surely had to be there. My searching mind wasn't coming up with anything helpful. Not even with birds. Oh my God! I couldn't have had sex with Damon without remembering any of it, could I? I felt myself blush. "Have I... Did we...?

"Nope," he thankfully immediately negated, before adding with a lower voice and a hint of smugness: "Though I had the distinct feeling yesterday that you might be signaling interest..."

Gosh – I probably had. Groaning, I swore to myself that I was never going to get that wasted ever again. Especially not around a vampire who had openly admitted to lusting for my blood. And who usually didn't say 'no' if an opportunity presented itself in the rather obvious way I had probably presented myself last night.

"Then why...?" My unfinished question seemed to surprise him.

"Well, call me old-fashioned, but I usually don't have sex with women who are drunk to the point of unconsciousness..."

"Yes, you do," I said, unfazed and with utter conviction.

A small, lopsided smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Well, you're right – I do," he relented. "But only with women who I'd much prefer don't remember afterwards." He turned, putting the full intensity of his gaze on me.

Although he didn't say it aloud, I also heard what he had left unspoken. He would want me to remember. I gulped, my heartbeat accelerating by a at least a beat per second. God, did he know about the devastating effect his eyes had on me? If he could use them like that, what did he need his other weapons for? With great effort of will I managed to break the hold of his gaze. "Well, your method of seduction sucks. A true gentlemen wouldn't make guests sleep on the sofa."

"As we both have established before, I'm not a gentleman. But I did offer my bed – the night before, when you were in truly bad shape that was none of your making. Yesterday though – I warned you! You weren't listening – again! Besides, I was afraid you might snore."

"I don't snore!"

"Well, given that I slept in my bed while you didn't, I have no way to confirm that. But you're welcome to share it with me any time you like, and I promise you won't long for a gentleman ever again!" Damon smiled smugly and then pointed at the bra on the chair. "Now – do you prefer to get properly dressed before or after we have breakfast?"

I shot him an accusative glance, feeling slightly resentful about his cheerful manner. "How come you're so chipper?"

"As I said: Alcohol, taken in its pure form, doesn't have an effect on me. Yet you insisted on trying to drink me under the table. I didn't feel obliged to remind you. And given that, for various reasons, I figured it wouldn't be wise to feed from you yesterday, which I didn't, I am fine and you're – not."

"Thank you! Don't think you earned any brownie points for that."

He grinned, while I collected the various pieces of clothing that I was missing and retreated to the bathroom.

Again, I felt much better after having taken a shower and brushed my teeth. To my surprise, Damon took me to the main house for breakfast. "You'll get something more nutritious than muffins in Marisol's kitchen."

"What about the other hotel guests?"

"There aren't any for the moment. Mostly, we have visitors in summer or for the annual festival in town." Not that I had much experience in economics, but surely a hotel could not be sustained with guests as scarce as that. "How do you make any profit with it?"

"I don't. The hotel is more of a hobby, helpful to keep up appearances."

"Then what do you live on?" It couldn't be on a decent man's work. The salary he got paid for his assistant job surely couldn't enable him to entertain his luxurious lifestyle – driving a fancy car, dressing in designer clothes and maintaining at least two big houses.

"It's easy enough to generate money if you live long and plan ahead. An investment in time usually pays off if you can afford to wait."

"Investments like what?"

"Whatever increases in value with time: a piece of land, old cars, furniture, art. Even shares, though there has been the occasional economic world crisis that ruined some of those. Besides, I do have some skills that sell – I wrote a couple of books on history, on the civil war, for instance. Critics were amazed at my insights."

"Oh, I can guess..." We had arrived at the main building and Damon led me straight into the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, it looked like a place where time was lost – it was easy to imagine I was back in the era of Lincoln. On second glance though, I found that there had been added a few amenities – such as an electric oven and a dishwasher.

A middle-aged, black woman with an apron and a warm smile on her face came to greet us. "Elena, this is Marisol, my guardian angel and helping spirit. She's also a great cook. Marisol – this is Elena, a close friend of Alys's back from Mystic Falls."

Marisol didn't seem to wonder why I was here with Damon while Alys wasn't. Or maybe she did and had come up with an explanation that she didn't comment on. On Damon's request, she happily fixed us a breakfast worthy to write home about, with bacon, eggs, cheese and waffles. I had the distinct impression that she was one of these people who thrived on mothering others. She positively beamed on watching us dive into it and was clearly disappointed to hear that we were going to leave after breakfast.

"Will you be home again soon, Master Damon?" She actually called him master! I raised my eyebrows at him, having a hard time choking my laughter. He gave me a reproving look and turned to answer Marisol's question.

"I'll probably come back in a couple of weeks. At the latest for the festival."

"You really should bring Mistress Alys, then. I can't believe I still haven't met her!"

"I'm sure you will, Marisol. I promise!" Appeased, she retreated into the kitchen. "Don't laugh!" Damon told me sternly. I didn't. I merely grinned widely. "Yes, Master Damon. Sir!"

"I haven't told her to call me that! She's pretty old-fashioned, and this whole retro thing has her really enthralled. Her family has been serving the Salvatores for generations. Marisol has been the keeper of this house even while our 'uncle' still lived here. Hiring her back was the logical thing to do after I bought the place."

"What's this festival she was talking about?"

"Something equivalent to your Founder's Festival. The only occasion that attracts people from outside town to Fells Church."

"Have you been attending it?"

"Not recently. I skipped it a few times while my relatives still owned the place – so as not to get people suspicious about my youthful age. But this year I can't bail out. It's kind of expected of me to be there, being the owner of one of the oldest plantations. Especially since I benefit from it – it gets tourists to town, some of whom spend the weekend at the hotel."

"How much is a few times?"

"About thirty years, I guess. Long enough to fog people's memories. It would help if they didn't have everybody dress up in period costumes, though – you won't believe what a different haircut and the current fashion can do to change people's perceptions."

"They all wear costumes from the late 1800s? That sounds like fun."

"If you really think that, maybe I should bring you next time."

I didn't say anything to that. This weekend admittedly had been pleasant, and Damon had really kept up his promise of behaving civilly most of the time. But I knew that this was due to the circumstances of my rescue – I wouldn't be able to count on it if I dared to came back into his territory again. It wouldn't be wise to push my luck. Still, I felt a pang of regret when we were on our way back to Mystic Falls again. This had been a short break, putting off the unpleasant things that waited to be dealt with. Especially Stefan.

As if he had read my thoughts, Damon threw me a quick glance before directing his attention back on the road. "Are you gonna tell Stefan?"

"About this weekend?"

"About the accident and what led to it. Because you really should tell him, Elena."

"I'm not sure. At the moment, I'm a bit out of sorts with him."

"Yes, I figured that much. May I ask why, exactly?"

I sighed. To my own surprise I found myself telling him about the photograph I found.

"So what are you making out of that?" Damon inquired. "You think he's got something to do with the death of your parents?"

"He must have, Damon! The photo was taken the morning they left for their hiking trip. I never saw it before – it hadn't been developed yet. They had the camera with them. It must have drowned with the car, and yet, Stefan somehow got his hands on it."

"But you don't know that for sure..."

"Well, no. We were mourning more significant losses at the time."

"They might have lost it before the accident happened," Damon offered. I raised my brows. "Sure. And Stefan just happened to come by and find it. Very likely."

"You can't seriously believe he killed your parents! Come on, Elena – it's Stefan we're talking about! He couldn't hurt a fly. He can't even stand the sight of blood. And I don't mean that as a compliment!"

"I know. I don't really believe he did it, either. But whatever the explanation: he lied about everything. We never met by coincidence. He knew about me beforehand." As Damon had. He must have been thinking about that, too, because he added soberly: "We all have our secrets, Elena. It might not have been the right time to explain."

"Why are you even bothering to defend him?" I wondered. " I figured you must be gloating inside!"

"Because you need to talk to him and tell him about the accident. You need protection."

"Protection? From what?"

Damon's eyes were dead serious as he tried to make his point. "Elena, this vampire – whoever he was... his appearance on the road wasn't coincidental. He was waiting for an opportunity to take a hit at you."

"What?" I stared at him in disbelief.

"Think about it! It's highly unlikely that he was idling about on the roadside, waiting for some attractive girl to drive along to make a road kill out of her. There are easier ways to get a meal, believe me. And you said he'd been following you ever since you left Elijah's house. That proves that he must have been stalking you for a while."

I felt an icy weight settle in my stomach. So I hadn't been paranoid. An unknown vampire had been stalking me, and he knew where my friends lived. He had tried to murder me in cold blood. Falling prey to a vampire was bad enough, but knowing that this had been something personal made my blood run cold.

"But why would he want to kill me? I don't even know any vampires except for you, Stefan, Alys and Elijah."

"That's about four vampires more than the average person is acquainted with. Maybe it doesn't even have to do with you, but with Stefan. That's another reason why you need to tell him. He might have an idea who the guy is and why he wants to hurt you."

"You think he might be coming back for me?" I asked, feeling outright scared now. Damon threw me another sideway look. "I think you shouldn't be taking any chances," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Somebody needs to watch out for you. Just in case."

*'*'*'*'*'*

We picked up my car from a garage about 50 Miles south of Mystic Falls. Just like Damon had promised, it had been repaired and showed no traces of the accident. Damon settled the bill and refused to even discuss it.

He wanted to head straight back to campus for one of his seminars, whereas I intended to stop by at the boarding house first. I needed to talk to Stefan, and there was no sense in putting it off.

While Damon was inside the office to do the paperwork, I quickly typed a text message to Stefan, asking him to meet me at the boarding house in about an hour. He promptly answered back, promising that he would be there.

I had briefly spoken to Alys yesterday afternoon – before getting into my drinking contest with a non-intoxicateable vampire – and had told her about my fight with Stefan. Given that Alys had implored me to hear him out, he must have given her a convincing explanation for being in possession of the incriminating picture. I only hoped that it would be good enough for me, too.

I felt a little weird getting out of my car when I reached the boarding house. As if I was somehow stepping out of an alternate reality and back into a life in which fundamental things had changed. And yet the last 30 hours seemed surreal, like a far away dream.

Entering the parlor, I had a weird flashback of a very similar scene. Was it only two weeks ago that I had come to talk to Stefan about inexplicable events and unbelievable secrets? And here we were again, Stefan guilt-ridden and worried that I might react badly to whatever he had to say. If this was typical for our relationship, it was probably a good thing that we hadn't carried it any further.

Again, it struck me how different he was from Damon, who was just being himself, no matter what anyone thought about it. Everything seemed more natural with him, and that was saying a lot given that Damon was a truly complex person and not easily dealt with.

"God, Elena, I'm so glad that you're back safe and well!" was the first thing Stefan said, and I could see that he was fighting the urge to wrap his arms around me. Wisely, he refrained from doing so and ended up crossing them in front of his chest, as if completing the embrace without me. Alys pulled me into a hug, though. Since neither of them yet knew about the true nature of the danger I had been in, their relief could only ascribed to my coming out unscathed of a minor car accident – or a weekend with Damon. I briefly wondered what had been troubling them more.

"If you two want to talk in private, I can go up to my room..." Alys offered, but I stopped her by putting a hand on her arm. "No, please. From what I understand, you're privy to all of this anyway. You don't have to go for my sake."

"Not for mine, either," Stefan agreed. "If it wasn't for you, Elena probably wouldn't even be talking to me after finding that picture." Stefan's gaze shifted from her to me. It was full of anguish and pain. "I can imagine how upset you must have been, and I'm so sorry about that. I'd been wanting to tell you everything that evening – but I never meant for you to find out like that."

"Find out what?" I asked, my voice trembling a bit. What if it had been an accident? Damon had made it very clear that it was easy to lose control. And I had always suspected that there was a reason for Stefan's rigorous abstinence from human blood. "That you are somehow responsible for my parents' deaths? That you kept the picture and sought my company to atone for a feeling of guilt?"

His eyes went wide with horror. "What? No! God gracious – no! Is that what you've been thinking?"

"I really didn't know what to think," I said flatly.

"I can't believe you even came back to face me if you had such suspicionss... You got it all horribly wrong." Stefan ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of distress.

"Then tell me." I sat down on the sofa, prepared to take on whatever he was going to throw my way, despite my nervously twisting fingers. Stefan remained standing, one hand propped against the mantlepiece of the fireplace, the other rubbing his forehead. "I have never told you how I became a vampire," he said, quite out of context.

"No, you didn't. And I never pushed for an answer, since you clearly didn't want to talk about it. All I know is that you haven't been like this for very long."

"To me, it seems like eternity, but I still don't have a vampire's perception of time. I guess a while down the road, the stretch of a decade or more will be nothing but a blink."

"So, how did it happen?" I asked. I could not yet see what his personal story could have to do with the death of my parents, but it was clearly difficult for him to find a point to start. So if that's what was needed to understand, I was willing to go along with it.

"I was attacked – not by some stranger, but by a woman who I had known superficially. It's nothing I care to remember. She fed on me, fanged me, and left me for dead – I never understood why she did it. The emergency doctors pronounced me dead, and I ended up in the hospital morgue. The pathologist who was called and informed about a new entry got suspicious on hearing that the victim had suffered severe injuries to his throat and lost a fair amount of blood. He came in immediately, and, being a vampire himself, he recognized the symptoms. He completed the change and saved me with his own blood. He created me."

"Was there no way he could have saved your life without forcing you to become like him?"

"It was too late for that – I was in transition already. All he could do was help me live through it by feeding me vampire blood. It was either that or drive a stake through my heart, making real what everybody believed at that point: That I had died on the way to the hospital. He was very supportive about all this: He found me a place to stay and helped me and my family to learn how to live with me being dead."

"Your family? He told them?"

"He did. But even though they were incredibly supportive, I still had to leave them. But we stayed in contact for many years." His picked up the picture of my parents and me from the table, looking at it, then turning his gaze on me. "Until they died."

The meaning of his words struck like a blow into my stomach. I was rendered utterly speechless, stunned, unable to even think.

"No..." I breathed tonelessly, shaking my head in denial and refusing to consider what he was getting at. It wasn't possible. Stefan sat down on the small table right opposite the sofa and took both of my shaking hands in his. "Yes, Elena," he said, his eyes full of emotion when his gaze connected with mine. "They were my parents, too."

A/N: Congratulations to Lizzy, who saw this coming all along! I hope it wasn't too obvious, though. It definitely was unexpected for Elena, for reasons that will be explained in the next chapter and hopefully will make sense.