Are we ready for the evening's second chapter? I hope so. It's a big one.
Couple of things - if you haven't seen Days of Thunder, Google the plot to get the reference Caroline makes (not necessary though, Caroline is just being snarky)
Duels - At Daytona, for the 500, they qualify in two Duel races - short races in a shortened field, essentially, and then qualify drivers for the Daytona 500 based on times. It takes place a few days before the actual race. The 500 is the only race of the season where there's a lot of lead up and pomp and circumstance - it's the first race, so it's a big deal.
And now - we read the big one!
"Elena, I need your help."
Elena looked up from the document she was composing to find Caroline standing in her doorway, holding several hangers draped with clothing.
"With what?" she asked suspiciously, although she already had a good idea.
"My Daytona wardrobe!" Caroline exclaimed. She tossed the load of clothing into one of the chairs across from Elena's desk and collapsed into the other. "Whose idea was it to have a race at the beach in February? I haven't been working on my beach body like I should have. Why didn't I think about the fact that I will be at the beach for over a week when Stefan and I were eating a pumpkin pie straight out of the dish a few nights ago?"
"Care, you look amazing," Elena told her. It was true. Caroline was tall and toned and looked fantastic in everything from little black cocktail dresses to pajama pants. "Whatever you decide to pack for Daytona will be fine."
"I need outfits for vendor events, for media events, for the beach, for shopping, for race day, for strolling the infield… I can pack for a weekend, no problem. But almost two whole weeks in Daytona? That's too much to deal with."
"Caroline, breathe," Elena instructed. "And then, tell me what's really going on." Caroline sighed.
"I'm so glad you're home," she admitted. Elena had always been able to see straight through her.
"I'm glad I'm home too," Elena replied patiently. "But you aren't freaking out over outfits to wear to a NASCAR race because you're happy I'm home. You've been to Daytona a time or twelve by now." Caroline glanced over her shoulder and then stood to shut Elena's office door.
"Can you keep a secret?" she asked, returning to her seat. Elena raised an eyebrow.
"Seriously?"
Caroline smiled. "Molly, right," she said, glancing at a photo of Molly on Elena's desk. "It's just… I have news and I'm dying to tell everyone, but I – we – don't want to tell everyone right now, but I have to tell someone, because if I don't, I'm going to go crazy."
"Spit it out, Care," Elena said, a smile already forming. She had a feeling she knew what was coming. A huge smile broke out on Caroline's face.
"I'm pregnant," she said. Even if it was exactly what she expected, Elena gasped, her eyes growing big as her hand flew to her mouth in surprise.
"Caroline!" she squealed. "Oh my God!" Elena stood so fast her desk chair rolled away into the wall behind her. She met Caroline at the end of her desk and the old friends threw their arms around one another, hugging tightly. "Oh my God!" she said again. "Care!"
"I know!" Caroline replied giddily. "We just found out. I'm only about five weeks along, which is why we want to keep it quiet, but I couldn't not tell you. I had to tell you!" There was another round of shrieking and hugging. Elena finally pulled away to wipe at a few happy tears.
"You haven't told Ginny or Giuseppe?" she asked.
"Not a chance," Caroline said with a shake of her head. "We're going to wait until I'm closer to eight weeks to tell them. You know how Ginny is. The second she finds out, she's going to be ridiculous and overbearing. More so then she already is. We just – wanted to keep it to ourselves for a little bit."
"So, you told me," Elena said, her eyes sparkling.
"Well, I had to tell someone!" Caroline said. She returned to her seat and Elena to hers. "Which is why I need your help with the clothes. I need something to camouflage my weight gain." Elena narrowed her eyes.
"Weight gain?" she asked. "You're not remotely showing. I've had a baby, remember? You'll start showing soon enough, but as for right now, enjoy wearing the pre-baby jeans."
"My boobs are already bigger," Caroline stated.
"Yeah, that was the first thing that got bigger on me too," Elena said, crinkling her nose at the memory. "And then my belly popped and everything else got big."
"And you were right back to pre-baby weight two months after Molly entered the world," Caroline reminded her. "You've set the bar high, given me something to aspire to." Elena rolled her eyes.
"My weight loss had a lot more to do with a premature baby and an ex-boyfriend who wouldn't answer his phone," she reminded Caroline. "I barely ate for weeks. I can only hope your pregnancy goes a lot smoother." Caroline unconsciously rubbed her belly.
"I'm terrified," she admitted. "Like, scared to death. I'm having a baby, Elena. I'm going to get really fat and I'm going to push a tiny human being out of my body. And then? Then, I'm going to have to take care of it. I dropped a dozen eggs just this morning, Elena. If I can't get eggs from the fridge to the frying pan, how am I going to keep a baby alive?" Just like that, Caroline had gone from elated to panicking.
"It is scary," Elena agreed. "But, at the risk of sounding like a walking, talking cliché, becoming a mom is the single greatest thing you will ever experience. Trust me, it all comes to you naturally. Somehow, you will just know what to do."
"Thank God you have a baby already," Caroline said with a shake of her head. "I'm going to have a 100 questions for you. A day."
"Ask away," Elena said. "I'm not expert, but so far, Molly is turning out pretty well."
"She's the best," Caroline confirmed. "And she's going to make a great big cousin." Elena smiled.
"She's going to be so excited."
"Ginny is going to be so excited," Caroline said. Elena laughed.
"I don't envy you," she said. "She worried me to death and I had the whole continent between us for most of my pregnancy." There was a knock on Elena's door.
"Come in!" she called. The door opened and Damon appeared in the doorway. He took in Caroline and Elena, and then the pile of clothing.
"Did I interrupt a Clueless reenactment?" he asked.
"No, but now that you're here, we can reenact Days of Thunder," Caroline fired back. "You can be Cole."
"Caroline!" Elena exclaimed as Damon frowned. Caroline just shrugged. "What do you need, Damon?" Elena asked. He held up a piece of paper.
"Dad said to bring this to you." He took a few steps into the office and placed the paper on her desk. Elena glanced at Damon and then picked up the paper. It was a one page summary outlining Damon's probation from NASCAR. She glanced over it quickly. She had asked Giuseppe for the details, details she needed in order to plan for Damon's media schedule. She didn't understand why he had Damon deliver it to her instead of just emailing it to her himself.
"Thanks," she said softly. Damon just shrugged and gave her a sad sort of half smile as he backed out of the office and closed the door.
"What was that all about?" Caroline asked. Elena picked up the paper again, studying it without really seeing it.
"I asked Giuseppe for the stipulations around Damon's probation so I could manage his interviews accordingly. It seems Giuseppe had Damon deliver them himself."
"Probably a good reminder for the idiot," Caroline muttered. Elena didn't reply. Instead, she refocused and read over the probation rules. They were pretty standard, stemming from a fight in the garage pre-Talladega and intentionally wrecking another driver. As Damon hadn't raced since Talladega, his probation, 12 races worth, started with Daytona.
"He just has to keep his nose clean," Elena said. "No fighting in the garage, no fighting on pit row, no intentionally wrecking other drivers. 12 races is nothing, really. He's lucky that's all NASCAR handed down."
"Well, there was also that $100,000 fine," Caroline recalled. "And all those ownership points they docked from the Mikaelsons."
"There's a lot more going on with Damon than meets the eye," Elena said. "I just don't know what it is."
"Elena…," Caroline warned.
"What?"
"I know that tone."
"What tone?"
"That 'I'm going to fix it' tone," Caroline said. "Whatever is going on with Damon has been going on for years, since before the two of you broke up. Just because you haven't seen him in nearly four years, and have been raising his kid for nearly three, doesn't mean you can sweep in and fix whatever is going on with him."
"I'm not trying to fix anything," Elena argued. "I'm just… Curious."
"Do yourself a favor, and don't be curious," Caroline advised. "He's a mess. You have enough going on in your life without trying to fix Damon."
"I see where you're coming from," Elena said. "But, either way, Damon is a part of my life. Especially once I tell him about Molly."
"All I'm saying is you can't fix someone who doesn't want to be fixed," Caroline said. She reached into the pile of clothes and picked up a green dress. "What about this for casual daytime wear?" Elena bit back a sigh and started giving Caroline her opinion on outfits.
Even as Caroline held up one article of clothing after another, the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that there was a lot more going on with Damon than any of them realized wouldn't go away.
"You've been busy."
Damon barely glanced up from the transmission he was working on.
"Anything I can help you with?" he asked Giuseppe.
"I came down to check on last minute preparations before the haulers leave for Daytona in the morning, saw the door open, and thought I would look in and see the progress." Giuseppe entered the garage bay and walked slowly around Damon's Camaro, observing his work. "She's looking good."
"Thanks," Damon muttered, eyeing his father suspiciously. Giuseppe wanted something.
"You're hand assembling the engine," Giuseppe commented.
"Just like they did in '69," Damon agreed. Giuseppe's eyes swept the garage bay.
"In a room that's almost as surgically clean as the one those engines were put together in," he observed. There wasn't a tool out of place, not so much as a loose screw or smear of grease. Damon's apartment looked like an atomic bomb went off nearly all the time, and his childhood bedroom hadn't looked much different, but he had always kept his work space in the shop spotless.
"What do you want, Dad?" Damon asked, putting down the tool in his hand and turning on the stool he had perched on to face his father. Giuseppe leaned against the car and crossed his arms.
"I wanted to talk to you," he told Damon. "For a few minutes, one on one."
"That's never good," Damon muttered.
"You're not in trouble," Giuseppe said carefully, hoping to convey with his tone that he merely wanted to have a conversation. "Daytona is next weekend. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," Damon said with a shrug. "Just ready to race."
"Your mom said you mentioned that your shoulder is still bothering you."
"I practically crushed it four months ago," Damon pointed out. "It's always going to be a little sore."
"That extra padding I wanted you to try when we were testing at Daytona might make things a little more comfortable." Damon shook his head.
"The cockpit is tight enough without adding unnecessary crap," he said. "I don't want it."
"Fair enough," Giuseppe conceded. "Your head is in the game? You're ready for everything that's going to happen next week?" Damon opened his mouth to reply, but Giuseppe hurried on. "I'm not asking as your owner," he said. "I'm not asking as your boss, or, as you're fond of calling me, your prison warden. I'm asking as your father." Damon sighed, his defenses crumbling as quickly as he had constructed them upon Giuseppe's arrival.
"I'm as ready as I can be," he said. "I just need to get in the car and race." He left it at that. In truth, he was nervous. Testing had helped him take the edge off, but he needed to be in a race environment. He hoped facing his fears – racing again, at a restrictor plate track – would help him get over them. Face them head first. If a person was afraid of heights, they climbed high to get over them. Surely it worked that way with racing as well.
"You're not alone in this, Damon," Giuseppe told him. "You have a whole team – and your family – behind you." Damon nodded.
"I know," he admitted. He picked up a bolt and started playing with it, twirling it between his fingers. "I just need to get back in the car."
"Soon enough," Giuseppe said. "The Duels are in four days." He was grateful for the way Damon was being eased back into racing. Rather than being thrown right into a 43 car field race after his accident, they were able to gradually work him in, first with testing and then with the 25 car field twin duel races. He would be on the big stage with the Daytona 500, but he would have at least had some behind the wheel time before taking on a track almost as notorious as Talladega for its big crashes.
"Here's to qualifying," Damon muttered.
"You will," Giuseppe said with confidence. Damon didn't bother to dispute him. He was determined to qualify on his own, not with a provisional spot. Giuseppe crossed his arms and leaned against the car. "Your mom was thrilled that you stopped by for dinner the other night."
"I was in the area," Damon said. "And I was hungry." Giuseppe nodded. He knew there was more behind why Damon stopped by. He also knew Damon wasn't going to divulge more than he wanted to.
"You should stop by more often," Giuseppe venutred. "We'll obviously be in Daytona next week, but I think your mom wants us to go out to dinner as a family on Tuesday – keeping with the whole family dinner on Tuesdays thing. And of course, there's race day breakfast."
"I'll have to check my schedule," Damon said. Giuseppe knew that was as good of an answer as he was going to get. He pushed off the car, preparing to leave.
"I'm going to head back to my office and finish up a few things," he told Damon. "But Damon, at Daytona, just keep your nose clean, okay? Focus on the race. I don't care if you win or finish dead last, just focus on the race. And keep some distance between you and Matt, both in the garage and on the track, if you can."
"I'm not planning on going anywhere near that asshole," Damon stated. Giuseppe nodded in approval.
"Maybe stay away from the Mikaelson brothers while you're at it," he suggested. "At least off track."
"They're my friends," Damon replied.
"There's a word I wouldn't choose myself," Giuseppe mused. "Although I supposed the young one – Colin? – isn't all that bad."
"Kol," Damon corrected.
"Close enough," Giuseppe shrugged. He could admit that the Mikaelsons were decent drivers. It was their off the track behavior he didn't approve of, coupled with the fact that their father stole his son away from him and promptly headquartered him out of their Daytona operation instead of leaving him in Mystic Falls. While Damon was ultimately at fault for the choices he had made in the last several years, Giuseppe still held Mikel Mikaelson responsible. "Don't stay too late."
"I won't," Damon replied.
"We have a driver's meeting in the morning," Giuseppe continued. Damon nodded.
"At 9:00, sharp," he said. "I'll be on time."
"Very well," Giuseppe said with a nod. He took several steps to the door, but stopped in the frame. He looked at Damon. "You're going to be fine, son." Damon swallowed hard.
"Okay," he said, his chest suddenly tight.
With a final nod, Giuseppe was gone. Damon blew out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"35 laps left," his spotter said into his earpiece. "It's going to get dicey. Kenseth and his team agreed to draft with you. Stay low and stay in the draft. Kenseth is two cars behind you. He's going to need a couple laps to get around the number 12, and then he'll get up with you."
"Got it," Damon replied. "How are we looking on fuel?"
"Solid," came the voice of his crew chief. "It's going to be close, but we have enough to make it to the finish line. Rumor is the seven car doesn't have enough to make it to the finish without a caution. How's the car feeling?"
"Good. Real good. If I can get through this lapped traffic, we can be there at the end."
"That last adjustment seemed to do the trick."
"It did," Damon agreed as he passed the start/finish lap. 34 laps to go. "Now shut up and let me drive." His crew chief chuckled.
"Over and out," he said before the headpiece fell quiet. Another couple of laps went by. The headpiece crackled to life once more.
"Kenseth is making his move," came his spotter's voice.
"I see him," Damon replied, glancing ever so quickly into his review mirror.
"Watch the 22. He's drifting down the track."
"He's going to get hung out of the draft," Damon replied. In his rearview mirror, the black and yellow car of Matt Kenseth appeared. Like he predicted, the 22 car fell out of the draft and started losing position on the track rapidly.
"And there he goes," the spotter said. Silence resumed as Damon and Kenseth worked together, navigating lapped traffic and picking off one driver after another. Damon felt a certain thrill of vindication when he moved into the Top 5, passing one of his father's drivers. He crossed the start/finish line once more. 25 laps to go.
The spotter let out a sudden explicit.
It happened fast.
A lapped car directly in front of him got loose as they went into turn 4. He watched the driver, a young kid barely old enough to be driving in the series with only a handful of starts under his belt, fight to save the car. He couldn't. He went sideways.
Damon reacted quickly, jerking the wheel to the left, intending to drive through the infield to avoid the crash. He lurched forward as Kenseth's car crashed into the rear of his. He fishtailed, fighting the wheel to keep the damage minimal, already cursing the fact that he had gone from being in position to finally win at Talladega – to win at all – to finishing at least a few laps down, if at all.
He was regaining control of the car when he was hit hard from the side. Another car hit him and then a third. He lost his bearings, couldn't figure out which way his car was facing, all the while fighting his wheel out of instinct. Another car hit him. He went airborne.
He was flipping. Over and over, metal crunching around him. He could see the stands, see the grass and the sky as it came around and around in one big blur. He felt nauseous. He felt like a rag doll, his body at the mercy of the laws of physics as his car tumbled down the straightway. He thought he saw the start/finish line.
24 laps to go.
His car came to a stop.
His head hurt.
He smelled smoke.
He couldn't move his shoulder. Or his legs.
It was hot.
There were people yelling.
Someone was calling his name.
There was fire.
He needed to move.
It was so hot.
He needed to get out of the wreckage, away from the flames.
He couldn't move.
Who was calling his name?
He was really sleepy.
Everything really hurt.
It was so hot.
He closed his eyes.
Damon gasped and sat bolt upright in his bunk, or as upright as he could, his head smacking the low ceiling. The crew member in the trunk below him, his gas man, grunted. Damon lay back on his pillow his heart racing, his breathing shallow. He threw an arm over his eyes and realized there was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.
The nightmares were coming more frequently. He wasn't sure how much of it was actually what happened and how much of it was pieced together from what he was told and what he had seen on replays of his accident, but it was the same dream, time and time again. One lap, he was fine, driving ever closer to a win at Talladega. The next lap, he was flipping through the infield.
He tried to draw in deep breaths to calm himself. It was stifling hot in his bunk. He kicked his blankets off, but it didn't help. The bunk space was small anyway and at that moment, it felt like it was growing ever smaller. He couldn't take it. He needed space. Air.
As quietly as he could, he slipped out of the bunk, trying not to wake his crew members as he padded to the front of the motor home. He grabbed the white t-shirt he had taken off and thrown onto one of the bench seats in the front of the home earlier before opening the door and stepping off the bus.
The air was a comfortable cool, the humidity low. Florida in mid-February felt a lot like Virginia in late April. He breathed in deep, trying to calm himself. He thought of the Valium he had tucked away in his duffel bag, but he didn't allow himself to give in to the temptation to turn around and dig the bottle out. He couldn't. Valium took care of a lot of his problems, but it messed with his motor skills, slowed down his reaction time. He couldn't be anything less than on top of his game for tomorrow's Duels. Or, he corrected himself, realizing it was after midnight, the Duels later that day. He closed his eyes, tilted his chin upward, and pulled air in through his nose, pushed it out through his mouth.
"Damon?"
Her voice was as angelic now as it had been four years ago. He opened his eyes and turned his head in the direction of her voice.
"Hey," he said quietly. "What are you doing up?"
"I have had way too much coffee," Elena answered. She looked comfortable in what could only be called a luxury lawn chair. It was wide and overly padded. "I woke up extra early to get some work done before we had to be at the airport. You witnessed Molly on the plane. And then it was go, go, go from the moment we arrived. Hence all the caffeine I've consumed and why I'm still awake now."
"Molly was pretty entertaining," Damon said, taking a few steps in Elena's direction. Elena snorted.
"That's a nice way to put it," she said. As Elena didn't travel much when she was with the Marcos, Molly had never been on a plane before. She had been terrified at takeoff, enchanted by the clouds and views for the first hour, and then a nightmare for the rest of the flight, once she grew bored. Elena had brought along plenty of things to entertain her, but none of them had held her attention. She wanted to run and play, things she couldn't do on a plane.
"The first hour was good," Damon reasoned, making Elena chuckle softly. She looked at him and could tell something was off.
"Your turn," she said. "Why are you awake? Your rule about getting a good night's sleep before a race no longer apply?" Damon sighed.
"Couldn't sleep," he admitted. He nodded towards the empty lawn chair nearby. "Mind if I pull up a seat?" Elena shook her head.
"There's plenty of grass to go around." Damon smiled at her and pulled the chair around so it was positioned next to Elena and then settled into it.
"Working on anything exciting?" Damon asked, trying to make conversation. Elena shrugged.
"Just reading a proposal from one of the sponsors about an event they want us to participate in in a couple of months."
"How's your motor home?" he asked.
"Full of Caroline's crap," Elena replied. Damon chuckled. While a number of drivers had their own motor homes for themselves and their families, he was sharing his with his team. It didn't make sense for him to have one to himself, with no family of his own. Caroline had declared that Elena and Molly would be bunking with her and Stefan, as she claimed she never saw Stefan during race weekends anyway. His parents had their own motor home, parked a few spaces down.
"I assume Molly is sleeping?" he asked. Elena picked up a baby monitor Damon hadn't noticed.
"Like a rock," she confirmed. "She wore herself out with all that entertaining on the plane and then running up and down the infield, over and over and over again."
"She looked like she was having fun," Damon commented. He had watched her for a while, playing with some of the other drivers' kids, laughing and running and having the time of her life. He had wanted to join her at one point. Her life looked a hell of a lot easier than his. Elena nodded.
"It will be good for her to travel like this," she said. "Once she gets used to the plane, of course. She's going to grow up the same way we did, traveling to race tracks on the weekends, seeing places, meeting people. I'm going to take her to the beach tomorrow. She'll love getting to play in the sand again."
"Did you take her to the beach a lot when you were out west?" Damon asked curiously.
"Fairly often, yeah," Elena nodded. "We were about an hour, hour and a half from the beach, so it was usually something we did on weekends. She loves the water. She was practically born knowing how to swim. I put her in swim lessons as soon as she was old enough, but she's a natural. I don't let her swim in the ocean, of course. She's too little. She loves to play in the surf though."
"Maybe she'll turn out to be an Olympic swimmer," Damon mused.
"Right now, she wants to be Elsa when she grows up." Damon furrowed his brow.
"Who?"
"Elsa," Elena clarified. "The princess from Frozen."
"Oh, that blond chick that freezes everything," Damon said, vaguely remembering commercials for the movie. Elena laughed softly.
"That would be the one," she agreed. She cocked her head a little as she looked at Damon. She saw the faint dark circles under his eyes, the worry lines. He wasn't quite 30, but he looked older than he was in that moment. "Any reason in particular that you couldn't sleep?" she asked.
Damon wanted to tell her something about his bunk being uncomfortable or someone was snoring, anything but the truth. He found himself unable to think of anything other than telling her the truth, however. There was something about her, some underlying magnetic pull that still existed despite their years apart and how their relationship ended, that pushed him to confide in her.
"I had a nightmare," he admitted quietly, as though he were afraid of being overheard. And, in a way, he was. They were in the infield, and while teams were sectioned off from the media and general public, there was still plenty of opportunity for someone to eavesdrop. He didn't need the press or his fellow drivers knowing he had bad dreams about Talladega. "I have them sometimes, but they've been happening more often lately."
"What happens in the nightmare?" Elena asked, pushing gently for more information.
"It's the Talladega crash," he confessed. "I don't know how much of it is what I remember and how much of it my mind is making up, but it's the exact same dream, every time. There are 35 laps left in the race. My spotter and crew chief are talking to me, Kenseth has teamed up to draft with me. We move into the five and six spots and I'm thinking I've got a chance to go for the win with just 25 laps left. And then a lapped car loses control. I manage to avoid it, even though Kenseth gets me in the rear, and I just about get my car under control when I start getting hit over and over. Then I'm airborne. I can see the infield and the sky as all the sheet metal rips away while I flip down the front stretch. I flip past the start/finish line and think '24 more laps to go.'
"I finally come to a stop, and there's this moment where I realize I'm not flipping anymore. Then my head hurts and I smell smoke. Other things start to hurt and I can feel the flames, see their reflection off my dashboard." He stopped and shook his head, suddenly remembering another detail from the accident. "My dashboard was intact. My car was in pieces, but my dashboard didn't have so much as a crack in it. I didn't remember that until just now." Elena nodded in understanding. She knew Damon was telling her more than he had really ever shared with anyone about his accident. Why he was telling her was a different matter.
"Then what happens?" she prompted. Damon had a faraway look in his eye.
"I can feel the heat from the flames, see them. It's really hot. I know that I need to move, that I need to get away from the flames. But I can't. I can't move. I don't panic, don't really react. I just think that I need to get away from the flames. I hear people calling my name and I start to think about how sleepy I am. There's a lot of smoke and everything just hurts really bad. People keep yelling my name and I just… Go to sleep. That's when I wake up – right after I go to sleep."
"You said you've been having these nightmares more and more frequently?" Elena asked after a few moments.
"Yeah," Damon admitted. "This is the third time this week."
"Think it has anything to do with Daytona?"
Damon didn't answer right away. He didn't understand how Elena could still see through him. They hadn't been together in four years, but there was still something between them. He had no idea what it was, if he should even try to figure it out, but he knew it was there. He didn't need it to be any clearer than the fact that he was sitting outside her motor home, confiding in her about things he didn't even discuss with his family.
"It has everything to do with Daytona," he admitted. He blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm scared, Elena. Not of racing or being back behind the wheel but of… Not having it. Of not being able to compete, not being able to race for the checkered flag week in and week out. All I need is to get out on that track and fail. I can't fail at this, Elena. Racing is all I have."
Elena's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't know why. Her instinct was to reach out to Damon, cover his hand with hers and offer him any sort of comfort she could. But, she didn't. She couldn't. She could have, of course. It was as simple as reaching her hand out to him. But she couldn't deny the inexplicable pull she still felt towards him, despite the fact that deep down, she was still angry with him.
"It's not all you have," she said. "I know things have been rough between you and your parents, between you and Stefan. But, they love you, Damon. You would have to be blind not to see that." Damon fiddled with his fingers.
"I know they do," he admitted. "It's just… I worked really hard at pushing them away for a long time. It's hard to come back from that."
"You nearly died, Damon," Elena said carefully. "A near death experience puts a lot in perspective. I don't think they're as upset with you as you think they are."
"Mom's not," Damon agreed. "She's just… Overbearing. She wants to baby me, fix everything. On one hand, it's kind of nice to have someone there, trying to take care of me. On the other, it's really annoying. She's always turning up at my apartment, leaving food, hunting me down at the shop and asking me if I'm feeling okay, telling me I need a haircut or that it's time for a shave.
"And Dad… I don't know where I stand with him. One minute he's riding my ass, the next he's clapping me on the shoulder and saying good luck. I know he's my boss and that he stuck his neck on the line to give me a chance, but it would be nice if he would just let up for a day, you know? Give me some room to breathe, to make decisions without wondering if I'm making the right one. He's got so many rules that I can't keep them all straight. It's easier to not give a damn than it is to try and live up to his expectations.
"Stefan… When I was recovering, he would come into my room for five minutes, not say much, and then come up with an excuse to leave. Even when I was able to come home, he would drop by Mom and Dad's, but he wouldn't really visit with me. He would stay in the kitchen, or go to Dad's study. If he did spare a few minutes for me, he was gone before he got comfortable. Now, we have these weird moments where we talk like we're brothers again and then he turns around the next day and either avoids me or is lecturing me about something."
Damon blew out a breath and shook his head.
"I'm sorry," he told Elena. "I'm tired and apparently the dam has broken, so I'm rambling. You don't need to hear about all my problems." This time, Elena couldn't help herself. She reached over and covered Damon's hand with hers. It was an innocent gesture from the outside, but both felt the electricity that passed through them.
"It's okay," she told him. "I'm glad you're talking about it. You need to." Damon fought the urge to turn his hand over and link his fingers with Elena's. Her hand over his felt better than it should. But, it was innocent. He needed to do innocent with her. Holding hands was too intimate for whatever they were. He wouldn't really call them friends, but they were – something.
"Can I speak frankly?" she asked.
"Could I stop you?" Damon countered, knowing Elena was going to say whatever she was planning to say. She smiled.
"No," she admitted, getting him to chuckle.
"Then, by all means." Elena took a deep breath. Someone had to give it to Damon straight, and it may as well be her. It had to be her – she was the only person he had confided his fears in.
"You nearly died, Damon," she started. "One lap, you were headed for the front of the pack. The next, you were being pulled out of a burning heap of metal. Your mom, dad, Stefan… All of them were there. They saw it. I know how bad it looked on TV. I can't begin to fathom what it was like in person, let alone how your mother felt when it happened. I know how I felt when Molly was in the NICU and when I realized she was allergic to nuts. It was horrible, easily the most afraid I've ever been. Whether she was a newborn or in her twenties, I would still feel paralyzing terror if something happened to her.
"I know you hadn't spoken to your family in years before the Talladega crash. I know you pushed them away when they tried to talk to you. I know, from personal experience, that you changed your phone number, ignored emails. I don't know why you did any of that – and I don't think they do either – but they didn't stop loving you, just because you decided not to be a part of the family. Imagine if the roles were reversed. Imagine if it had been Stefan that crashed at Talladega and you had to watch it, had to wonder if your brother was going to live through surgery.
"The worrying and fretting over you your mom does? That's how she makes sure you're okay. The tough love from your dad? That's how he makes sure you're okay. That's how they reassure themselves that you are still alive and well. And the distance with Stefan? That's because he doesn't know how to act around you. You don't see it and I don't think they do either. But I do, because I'm on the outside. They walk on eggshells around you because they are afraid that the first time something goes wrong, you're going to take off again and they're going to lose you all over again."
Damon was silent. It wasn't that Elena had told him anything new. He had enough sense to have figured out everything she had said for himself. He had plenty of time to think about things while he was lying in a bed, trying to regain range of motion in his shoulder. But, he had opted not to face any of it. They had largely swept the last four years under the rug, didn't mention them, save for the occasional jab from Stefan. It was easier to pretend they never happened than to confront them. He and Elena were doing the same thing, come to think of it.
"I'm sorry," Elena said, taking his silence to mean he was upset with her. Damon shook his head and before he could stop himself, turned his hand over and laced his fingers through hers. He squeezed her hand. God, it felt good to hold her hand again.
"You don't have anything to be sorry about," he said. "You didn't say anything I don't already know. It's just – hard when you hear someone else call you out on it."
"I just wanted to make the point that you aren't alone," Elena said. "You have more than racing."
"If I don't do well this season, I won't have that," Damon mumbled. Elena squeezed his hand the way he had done hers. His hand felt different than it used to. It was rougher, his skin having lost some of its youthfulness from when they were together. Yet, the simple act of linking their hands felt as familiar and as right as it had years ago. She wished she could remember the last time Damon had held her hand. It had been when she had thought they had a lifetime of handholding to go and so she hadn't thought it as significant then.
"You are a great driver, Damon," she started. He snorted.
"I haven't won a race since Texas almost two years ago. I've only had seven top 10 finishes in the last two seasons. Seven, Elena. That doesn't say 'great driver' to anyone." Elena sighed.
"You are a great driver, Damon," she said again. "You have all the talent and skill you need. Forgive me for being blunt, but you can't perform well on the track if you're not taking care of yourself off the track. And it's not a secret that you have done anything but take care of yourself off the track since you went to drive for the Mikealsons. If you want this, if you want to be successful on the track, you have to put your head in the game." She squeezed her hand yet again. "And, you have to believe in yourself."
Damon swallowed past the lump that had formed in his chest. He hadn't felt this vulnerable since – well, since the first time he made love to Elena. It was neither of their first times, but it had been the first time he had been in love and had wanted her to feel that, see that side of him.
"I'm trying," he said, although deep down, he wondered just how much he actually was trying. "It's a lot harder than one would think."
"I know," Elena admitted, thinking of the hours she had spent wondering how she was going to be a mother when she was so utterly unprepared. She had been sure she would fail, that she would forget to support Molly's head or not know if she needed to be fed or held or changed. Even now, she had her doubts, but her instincts had kicked in as soon as Molly had been born via emergency c-section and together, she and Molly had figured it out.
"Thanks for listening," Damon said. He made himself let go of her hand and roughly rubbed his now free hand over his face. "If you don't mind, can we keep this between us? My dad already thinks I'm unstable. He doesn't need to know I'm having nightmares too."
"Of course," Elena said. She opened her mouth to say something more, but the sound of Molly whimpering filled the air. She picked up the baby monitor. "That's my signal," she said, already standing. "Try to get some rest, Damon. You've got a big day tomorrow."
"I'm going to sit our here for a few more minutes," he replied. "I'll see you in the morning." Elena nodded.
"See you in the morning," she agreed. She keyed in the code for the motor home and a moment later, she was inside. Damon remained where he was, already missing Elena's company.
Elena absentmindedly ran a brush through her hair, watching Molly through the windshield of the motor home. She had begged to go outside almost as soon as she woke up and finally, once there was coffee brewed, Elena relented. Ginny and Giuseppe had relieved her a half hour ago when they emerged from their motor home, allowing her to get dressed and ready for the day. Molly was still in her nightgown, her hair all over her head, but she was having fun, kicking a ball around with, of all people, Damon. She wondered if he had slept at all last night.
"Do you really think he has absolutely no idea?" Caroline asked. She sat down at the small kitchen table to put on her shoes.
"I don't know," Elena sighed as she watched the pair. Damon had emerged from his motor home a few minutes ago, exchanged a very brief hello with his parents, and almost right away joined Molly, casually kicking her ball back and forth with her. There was a small smile on his face, she noted, that grew a little bigger each time Molly laughed. "He's so good with her, so natural. I want to think that on some level, he knows."
"Stefan thinks he does," Caroline admitted. "Based on things Damon has said."
"Damon has a lot on his mind," Elena replied. "Even if he does have an idea that Molly is his, he isn't taking the time to think about it right now."
"When are you going to tell him, Elena?" Caroline asked bluntly. She had played along with Elena and the rest of the Salvatores. But now that she was having her own child, she was struggling with Damon being deprived of the opportunity to be Molly's father. Every child deserved a father and Damon deserved to at least have the chance to decide if he wanted to be one, regardless of how unqualified his behavior made him.
"After Daytona," Elena said with an absoluteness that hadn't been there before. "He needs to get through the 500. As soon as the race is behind him, I'm going to tell him. I can't keep putting it off."
"You have to tell him," Caroline said firmly. "Even if the 500 doesn't go well for him, you still have to tell him." Elena nodded.
"I know," she said softly. She watched as Molly ran towards Damon who scooped her into his arms and started to tickle her. She started to laugh and squirm. He let her go and she ran away from him, stopping several feet away and laughing. While Molly was too little to understand, Elena was sure on some level, the child knew Damon was her father, or was at least someone important. As vivacious as she was, she was shy when she first met people. With Damon though, she had bonded with him almost instantly.
"Come on," Caroline said, standing. "Breakfast is ready and you know how Ginny gets if we keep everyone waiting." Elena looked at Caroline who suddenly looked a bit green as soon as she pushed open the motor home's door.
"You okay, Care?" she asked. Caroline breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth.
"Ginny made eggs," she said in an undertone, glaring at the spread Ginny had laid out on their picnic table through the home's window. It was Ginny's tradition, to make a big breakfast before qualifying and race days. "Eggs make me sick these days." Elena smirked.
"Want me to cover for you?" she asked. "I'll tell her we had sushi for dinner last night if you need to make a run for it."
"You're the best friend, ever," Caroline declared. She took another breath and her color returned a bit. She nodded once. "Okay. Let's go." The two women left the motor home.
"Molly!" Elena called. "Breakfast!"
"Gigi made eggs and bacon!" Molly sung out, skipping towards the table. Damon followed slowly. Elena gave him a small smile, hoping it offered him reassurance. After last night, she knew more about why he was uncomfortable being around his family. As they settled around the table, Damon ending up at the end, with Molly beside him and Elena on her other side, Elena could sense both surprise and relief that Damon was joining the family for breakfast.
They started passing dishes around, loading up their plates, Elena helping Molly with hers. Stefan and Giuseppe were already talking about the day's Duels, Damon listening intently, but not adding to the conversation. Elena glanced at him. The faint circles under his eyes were darker and she knew he had slept very little after he woke up last night. She knew too that his nerves were more pronounced this morning than they were last night.
"Oh!" Ginny suddenly exclaimed, standing. "I forgot…" She didn't say what she forgot, but she entered the motor home and returned a few moments later with a bottle of ketchup. "Here you go, Damon," she said, placing the bottle in front of him. "I know you like ketchup on your eggs. For reasons I will never understand." Damon smiled at her and, Elena noted, it was genuine.
"Thanks, Mom," he said, reaching for the bottle. He was the only one in the family who liked ketchup on his eggs, a combination that disgusted the rest of them. Even Elena had thought it was gross when they were dating. Beside him, Molly moved so she was sitting on the picnic bench on her knees, her princess nightgown pooling around her.
"Can I has some too, please?" she asked Damon as she watched him squirt ketchup on his eggs. Caroline jumped up from the table suddenly and sprinted towards their motor home, Stefan on her heels as Elena said something to Ginny about eating bad sushi the night before. "I like catch-sup on my eggs too."
Damon looked at Molly. Sitting there beside him, her blue eyes on his as she waited expectantly for ketchup, he knew. He was surer than he had ever been about anything in his life.
Molly was his daughter.
He knows! And I think its fair to say that really, he's known the whole time. He just can't deny it any longer. Now, he has to figure out how to deal with it.
I hope, too, that he and Elena's conversation and his nightmare were some good insight for you all as to what happened over the last few months/years. Damon is right - everyone is sort of ignoring what happened in favor of keeping the peace. A watched pot never boils, but an unwatched pot... Those suckers boil and then they boil over. Trust me - I forgot about a boiling pot on the stove just today and had quite the mess to clean up.
Please let me know what you think!
I can't wait to tell the rest of this story!