Hi friends! I know. It's been a bit. There is an update below, but before we get to that, can we chat for a minute?

I really really appreciate your support. I love reading your reviews. I love your theories and your reactions and your guesses about what will happen next. And I really love writing. I also love the pings, asking for another update.

I'm asking politely for you to remember that this story isn't the only thing I have going on in my life. I have a full-time job, I freelance as a writer, I blog, I'm training to teach barre classes, I'm in leadership of my town's Junior League. I go to church, I take barre classes and go to the gym, I volunteer. Somewhere in between all of that, I try to have a social life, go on dates, see my family, and play with my dog. I have a lot going on. I write my fan fiction stories at night and on the weekends and some nights and weekends, I want to step away from the computer and read a book or watch a movie.

So, I'm asking that you remember that. Again, I don't mind the reviews and PMs that ask me to update soon or inquire as to when a next update will be. It lets me know you like what I'm doing. But, when those reviews turn nasty and threatening, I don't like it and it does, in fact, do the opposite. It takes the joy out of writing, and so, I don't do it. Which means you don't get a timely update.

Please, please continue reviewing and asking for another update. I love and appreciate all of the support. But, don't be ugly. Don't drop F bombs or threaten me. It's not nice. It's rude and hurtful. So please, be kind.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Vampire Diaries.

Mondays were good, Elena decided. Mondays, from now through November, were definitely going to be good.

As part of her contract with Giuseppe, she negotiated to work from home on Mondays and Tuesdays after a race, unless an event or something with one of the drivers required otherwise. Since she was now going to be spending nearly every weekend traveling, she asked to have two days at home during the week, a makeshift weekend. Giuseppe readily agreed.

This was the first time since moving back to Mystic Falls that Elena truly had the house to herself. She had dropped Molly off at school, returned home, and immediately put her pajamas back on. Now, she was curled up in front of her fireplace, ignoring her growing inbox in favor of having some time to herself.

Part of her was itching to pick up the phone, call Damon, and demand they talk. She was sure he was still asleep. It was still relatively early, and he was infamous for sleeping half the day after a race. While she knew he needed time to process everything, she also knew they needed to talk. She needed to tell him everything. He deserved to know the whole story.

He had been sullen on the plane. He finished strong at Daytona, better than anyone expected. Elena thought he did it for spite, just as much as he had for the fact that the whole point of racing was to win. Damon tended to do exactly what everyone thought he wouldn't in an effort to prove them wrong.

He had been one of the first on the Salvatore Racing jet. He had gone all the way to the back of the plane, took a window seat, and plugged his earphones in. With his hoodie pulled over his head, he at least pretended to sleep until they landed at the small Mystic Falls airport. Then, he disembarked last, hopped into his SUV, and left without a backwards glance for anyone.

She was facing down the unknown.

She was relieved Damon knew the truth. Lying to him was exhausting. The guilt she carried over keeping such a big secret was exhausting. Everything was in the open now. She wished, however, that it had been her who told him, rather than him figuring it out over a shared like of a strange breakfast combination. It was her own fault for not telling him sooner. Now, they had to figure out how to move forward.

She didn't like the dance they were doing. Damon knew, she knew he knew, but no one else knew he knew. He wanted time to process everything. She could understand that. But did she poke the bear, so to speak, or did she continue to go along with his wishes? The longer he went, keeping everything to himself, the worse it would be. The longer he was allowed to go without confronting his family, the harder it would be for them to recover. It was already hard enough. If nothing else, she wanted the Salvatores to come through on the other side as a family. She owed them that.

Most importantly, she had to consider Molly.

She didn't want Molly to know Damon was her father yet. Damon had to choose if he wanted to be in her life or not. If he chose not to, Molly would be none the wiser, at least not until she was much older. If he, as she hoped he would, chose to be involved in her life, however, Elena needed to be sure he would stick around, that he would be a good influence. She knew too well what it felt like to go to bed with Damon in her life and wake up without him in it. She wouldn't allow Molly to be hurt like that.

There were a million questions she didn't have the answers to. She didn't like not having the answers. Nor did she like not knowing all the questions. But, for now, she could only take things as they came.

And guard Molly's heart with her own.

"Our NICU is theregion's most advanced neonatal intensive care unit and serves as a referral center for premature and sick newborns," Dr. Fellows said, leading the group of drivers and key Salvatore Racing staff through the halls of the University of Virginia's Children's Hospital. "We have 51 beds, as well as a number of parenting suites that give parents privacy during their child's stay. They can get some rest, shower, have a place to escape the NICU for a while. It's also a great place for parents to care for their baby before they go home, that way if any questions or problems arise, a doctor or nurse is nearby."

"Care for their baby… You mean, like, if the child is going home on oxygen or has a feeding tube or something, parents can basically simulate the home environment, but if something happens, they have help just down the hall?" Caroline asked. The doctor smiled kindly at her while Damon, keeping to the back of the pack, forced himself not to roll his eyes. Caroline had been firing off question after question since the moment they walked through the doors of the hospital an hour earlier.

"That's exactly what I mean," the doctor agreed. She was aware that Caroline was pregnant and very curious about everything the hospital offered newborns.

"How many babies are born premature each year?" Stefan asked. Dr. Fellows opened her mouth to answer, but Elena beat her to it.

"1 in 9," she said. "About 450,000 a year." Dr. Fellows smiled kindly at her.

"It was your daughter that was born early, right?" she asked, remembering Elena from the check presentation they had just left. Elena nodded.

"She was seven weeks early," she confirmed. "She was at Children's Hospital Los Angeles."

"They are among the best," Dr. Fellows said with an approving nod of her head. "She was in excellent hands."

"She was," Elena confirmed. "Community Hospital of San Bernardino was practically in our backyard, but my dad is a doctor and insisted on Children's. I can't thank them enough for what they did for her."

At the back of the pack, Damon shoved his hands in his pockets and balled them into fists. Molly was his child too, and yet no one bothered to mention that because Elena was the only one who knew he knew the truth, and no one else seemed to be any closer to offering it up. No one asked him about Molly or her stay in the NICU or how she had recovered. He found out right alongside Dr. Fellows which NICU his kid had been in. It was infuriating. It grinded his guilt gear a little harder.

"She's perfectly healthy now?" Dr. Fellows continued. Elena nodded.

"She's doing wonderful," she said. "She's on the small end of the growth chart, but other than that, she doesn't have any residual effects."

"That's great," Dr. Fellow replied. "That's why I do this – to see happy outcomes like your little one. Salvatore Racing's generous donation will continue to allow us to provide the highest levels of care and research." Damon bit his lip. The hospital staff had been falling all over them since they arrived, $50,000 check in tow. After a presentation in front of hospital staff and the media, followed by a round of interviews, they were now getting their very own private tour of the hospital, complete with a photographer to capture it all. He was just waiting for the "NASCAR driver with sick kid" photo op. They followed Dr. Fellows through a set of double doors and into a small room. A double sink and cabinets lined one side.

"I have arranged for you all to visit with some of the NICU patients, namely their parents, who could do with a pick-me-up," Dr. Fellows said. "We will be breaking into small groups and I have nurses waiting to escort you. There are just a few rules we need to follow before we allow you to go in."

Damon half listened as the doctor told them to wash their hands and put on gowns, gloves, masks, and even boot covers over their shoes. She confirmed no one had a cold or cough and, after a lot of commotion to get properly suited up, she led them into the NICU. Almost right away, an older nurse came up to him.

"You're Damon Salvatore, right?" she asked. Damon nodded.

"Yes, ma'am," he confirmed. Even wound tight like he was at the moment, he was polite, charming. He knew how to do his job, both on and off the track. She gave him a kind smile.

"Come with me," she said. "I have a family I want you to meet. They are big fans of yours. The dad especially. He's been telling their son all about how you were going to be at the hospital today. I tried to get him to go down to the check presentation, thought he would at least get to see you up close and personal, if he didn't get the chance to meet you. But, he didn't want to leave his little boy, even for a few minutes."

He had been racing his entire life, but he would never get used to the idea that there were people out there who looked up to him. They bought t-shirts with his face on them. They purchased models of his car and waited around the race track in hopes they would get an autograph. As the made their way through the NICU, he noticed the sections were lettered.

"What are the letters for?" he asked as they passed a baby girl sleeping soundly in a hospital crib. She was wearing a colorful headband and there were drawings that looked to have been done by a small child around her bed. A nameplate said "Katelynn." She didn't look sick to Damon.

"We organize the NICU by pods," the nurse explained. Damon got a glimpse of her name badge. Her first name was Betty. "This," she tilted her head in baby Katelynn's direction, "is Pod D. These little fighters are going home any day now. It's a really good day when you get to move a baby into Pod D. Pod C is a step down unit. The babies are still in need of around the clock care, but they are out of the woods, so to speak. Pod B babies are primarily born with birth defects. Some of them have had a number of surgeries already." She stopped and placed a hand on a baby's incubator as they walked by Pod B.

"This little guy is named Blake," she told Damon. "Bless his soul, he has a broken heart. He's only five days old and has already had two surgeries. He has a third scheduled for tomorrow, but we may need to postpone, depending on how he does overnight. His mom is still hospitalized, looks like his daddy has either gone to visit her or is trying to get some sleep. Lord knows he needs it."

Until now, Damon hadn't really noticed the tiny patients in the individual incubators and cribs. He had only seen a maze of medical equipment, heard the beeping noises of machines and the low hum of doctors, nurses, and parents conversing. Now, looking down at Blake, he wanted nothing more than to look away. He was only 5 days old, but he had been through hell. He was dramatically swollen, and his small body was practically covered in bandages and tubes. A monitor beeped out the not quite steady rhythm of his heart. As much as he wanted to look away, he wanted to trade places with the little boy too. No child should be faced with so much, especially when they were brand new. Betty started to walk again and Damon pulled himself away from Blake to follow.

"Pod A is for our preemies and micro preemies," she told him. "These little ones were too eager to get out into the world for their own good, so they need a little help before we can send them out there."

"What's a micro preemie?" Damon asked.

"A baby born extremely early," Betty answered. "They weigh less than 1 pound, 2 ounces, or were born before 26 weeks. They face a number of health issues, and tend to spend quite a bit of time with us."

As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't help but look at the babies as they passed. Some of them were surrounded by parents and loved ones, personal effects and get well wishes. Others were all alone. To his right, a mother was crying silently as she rested her hand against her baby's incubator, unable to touch him or her. A cold chill ran through Damon and stayed there.

"Charlie?" Betty asked as they rounded a corner. "Luanne?" A big man, dressed in flannel, looked in their direction. He was exhausted, his eyes heavy with dark circles, his facial hair a few days old. The woman to his right, who Damon assumed was his wife, barely glanced at them, her attention on the small baby in the incubator in front of her. "I have someone I want you to meet." Damon watched as Charlie's eyes lit up in recognition.

"Damon Salvatore," Damon introduced himself. With more courage than he felt like he had, he joined the family at the incubator and offered his gloved hand.

"I'm Charlie," the big man said hurriedly. He shook gloved hands with Damon. "Charlie Floyd. This is my fiancée, Luanne."

"I'm pleased to meet you," Damon replied. Luanne looked up at him and offered him a sad smile.

"We're tickled to meet you as well," she said politely. "We're big fans, especially my husband. I'd shake your hand, but…" She titled her head towards the incubator. It was then that Damon noticed she had her hands in the incubator with her baby, one of her fingers gripped tightly by the tiny infant. "If I take my hands out, I'll have to go wash them again and, well…" she trailed off, but Damon nodded in understanding.

"That's my son," Charlie explained. Pride rolled off him. "We named him Lincoln Jacob, Lincoln after Luanne's grandpa, Jacob after mine."

"He's beautiful," Damon said automatically, looking down at the baby. He was small. Incredibly small. His diaper was so big on his tiny body that it came to just under his arms. A tube down his throat was helping him breathe, and a number of other monitors and IVs ran in and out of him.

"He's a bitty one," Charlie said. "He was born at 30 weeks. He's two weeks old today. He's a pretty scrappy little guy." Somewhere in the NICU, an alarm went off. Damon looked in the direction it was coming from and saw several people in scrubs rushing towards an incubator. No one else seemed to give the alarm a second glance, however, aside from a few curious onlookers like himself.

"That happens a lot," Luanne explained. "Most of the time it's nothing. A baby pulled a lead off or something. But sometimes, it's something big." She glanced across the room at the baby's incubator and seemed to relax minutely. "That's Oliver," she told Damon as the crowd around him started to disperse. "He's always pulling his leads off. Looks like that's what happened."

"He's another scrappy one," Charlie added. "He was born addicted. He's doing pretty well though. His grandma thinks she'll be able to take him home with her soon. His mama's in jail." Damon didn't know how to respond to that, but Charlie said it so casually. He found himself wondering what the stories of the other babies around him were.

"Any idea when you will get to take Lincoln home?" he asked. He realized too late that it may have been an insensitive question. He didn't know much about the NICU and neonatology, but he did know those parenting suites Dr. Fellows mentioned were also a place parents could go to say goodbye to their children in private. The doctor had spared them that minor detail.

"Not for a while yet, but we're hopeful for next month," Luanne said. "My birthday is on the 17th, St. Patrick's Day. It's a longshot – it's already the last week of February – but it would be the best birthday present in the world, getting to take him home." Damon gave her a smile.

"My daughter's birthday is on the 10th," he heard himself saying. He hadn't even thought about it. He had merely opened his mouth and the words came out. He was thankful everyone else was too wrapped up in whatever they were doing to hear him.

"You have a daughter?" Charlie asked, surprised. "I didn't know that." He scratched his head as though confused. He thought he knew everything about the oldest Salvatore.

"I do," Damon confirmed. "It's – complicated, but I do. She will be three on the 10th." He nodded towards Lincoln. "She was a NICU baby, too."

"How is she doing today?" Luanne asked. She looked at him hopefully. Damon smiled again.

"She's doing great," he said. "She's beautiful, smart as a tack. She's small for her age, but other than that, she doesn't have any residual side effects from her NICU stay." Damon felt another wave of mixed emotions, but disguised it well. He had to repeat what he heard Elena say about Molly as he had never been given the chance to be there to find out for himself.

"That's good," Luanne said. "That's really good." She looked relieved, hopeful.

"Yeah," Damon agreed. He gazed at the baby, wondering if that was how Molly had looked. Did she rely on a tube to breathe? Did she pull her leads off? Eat through a tube? He had no idea.

"You look like you're doing better yourself," Charlie said, appraising Damon. "You drove real well at Daytona too. Twelfth ain't bad at all."

"I'm a lot better than I was a few months ago," Damon confirmed, giving Charlie a friendly half smile. He liked the man, he decided. "I'll take a twelfth place finish at Daytona. At least this time."

"How is it driving a Chevy this year after being in a Toyota for the last few?" Charlie asked. For the next several minutes, Damon talked racing with Charlie, both men happy for the distraction in front of them. Betty excused herself to check on a baby nearby, but when she returned, she had Dr. Fellows with her.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Dr. Fellows said with a friendly smile. "I'm just going to check on our little guy here." Charlie dropped his conversation with Damon and turned his full attention to the doctor. Luanne remained where she was, although she had to remove her finger from her son's grasp.

"How's he doing, Doc?" Charlie asked after several moments of the doctor listening to the baby with her stethoscope, using her fingers to feel along his abdomen, and reading some of the machines hooked to the baby.

"No real changes to report from this morning," she said with as much compassion as she could. "Which isn't a bad thing. I still think we will try to begin weaning him from the ventilator tomorrow or the next day and transition him to CPAP. He hasn't had any more episodes of bradycardia since yesterday morning and that's a very good sign. He's getting stronger as the days go by. I know it's not easy to hear, but just be patient. Lincoln is a fighter. He's going to be just fine."

Damon felt his heart twist for Luanne and Charlie as he took in their downcast faces. It was hard for them to believe the small little boy laying in an incubator was going to be okay. He could understand why.

"Thank you, Dr. Fellows," Luanne said softly. Charlie nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Doc," he repeated.

"No need," she said with a smile. "This is what I do." With that, she moved on to the next incubator.

"Would you mind maybe taking a photo with us?" Charlie asked Damon timidly. "You don't have to, and I know we're dressed in all this hospital stuff, but it would mean a lot to us if we could get a photo with you." Damon smiled at Charlie.

"I would be happy to," he said, genuinely meaning it. They flagged Betty down and passed her Charlie's iPhone. Damon posed with Charlie and then moved to squat down next to Luanne for another photo, and then Charlie joined them for another.

"I really appreciate this," Luanne told him as Charlie went to retrieve his phone from Betty. "Charlie is such a fan of yours and he's been so wonderful during all of this.'

"I'm happy to do it," Damon said. "The least I can do is take a few photos."

"I'm sure it brings back memories for you," Luanne said. "Being here, I mean. I'm sure you spent hours in the NICU with your own little girl." Damon's smile faltered, but he quickly put it back in place. The only memories he had were of the fact that he wasn't there.

"Yeah," he said for Luanne's benefit. "It does." He looked down at Lincoln once more and noticed that the baby's skin was somewhat translucent. He wondered if it had been the same for Molly. He bit his lip. "Would you mind if I said hello to Lincoln?" he asked. Luanne smiled at him. "I'll understand if you say no," he said. More alarms went off, but he ignored them this time. "He's kind of the star here, though, and I just – you know, thought I'd say hello to him too."

"I would like that," she said. "It will be kind of cool to tell him a famous race car driver came to visit him while he was in the NICU." Damon grinned sheepishly.

"I don't know about famous," he said as he moved to change places with Luanne. As he took her seat, nerves settled in. He was sure some psychologist would tell him he was trying to make up for not being by Molly's side when she was in a NICU thousands of miles way. They would probably be right, but he chose not to think about that. He observed the baby, not really sure what to do now that he was seated beside him. He looked even smaller up close.

"You washed your hands before you came in, right?" Luanne asked. Damon nodded. "Then, if you're comfortable, go ahead and take off one of your gloves and reach in. He's tiny, but he has a strong grip."

Damon could hear his heart beating in his ears as he removed a glove and threaded his hand through the incubator's opening. He placed his pinkie in the little boy's hand and almost right away, the boy grasped it. Just as Luanne said, his grip was strong. It was contradictory, that something so frail in appearance could still be so strong. He swallowed hard as feelings of regret washed over him, followed quickly by a fresh round of anger at Elena and his family. That anger was again quickly replaced by guilt. It was a rollercoaster he wanted off of.

"Hang in there, little guy," he heard himself whispering to Lincoln. He didn't notice when Luanne and Charlie snapped another round of photos. He didn't notice the photographer with Salvatore Racing captured the moment. He didn't even notice the doctors and nurses working frantically on a baby across the room. All he could focus on was the tiny boy in front of him. "Your mom and dad really love you. It might not seem like it now, with all these tubes and not being home in your own bed, but you're a pretty lucky little guy."

An image of Molly standing before him, offering him a cookie to cheer him up, floated into his mind. He couldn't reconcile the fact that the vibrant little girl had once been this sick, this tiny. He couldn't even reconcile the fact that she was his. But in that moment, it didn't matter. Because right then, all he could focus on was the fact that he hadn't been by his daughter's side while she was in the NICU.

He needed air.

Gently, he extricated his finger from Lincoln.

"Thank you," he said to both Luanne and Charlie. "All three of you will be in my thoughts." He managed to politely and quickly part ways, signing an autograph for Charlie and another for Lincoln's nursery on a piece of hospital letterhead Betty produced. He made a mental note to sign one of his hero cards and get it to them, something more substantial than hospital letterhead, as he hurried out of the NICU.

He made his way through the halls until he found what he was looking for. He shoved through the door to the balcony and gulped in the cold late February air. His hands were shaking. He wished desperately for one of the valiums he had stashed in his sock drawer, even though he'd sworn to himself yet again that he wouldn't touch them again. He was so preoccupied with trying to bring himself under control that he didn't notice Elena, perched on the top of a nearby picnic table. The seventh floor balcony was otherwise empty.

"Damon?" she asked quietly.

Damon turned at the sound of her voice. His eyes narrowed at the site of her. He hadn't spoke to her since he returned Molly to her at Daytona. He knew he needed to, but it was easier to avoid her for now. He had no idea what to say.

"What?" he demanded. The word came out harsher than he intended it to. Her eyes widened at his tone. He noticed her tearstained cheeks. She had been crying. "What, Elena?" he said again, this time a little softer.

"I just… You… Are you… Are you okay?" she stuttered. She clasped her hands together in her lap and leaned forward, wanting to make herself as small as she could. Of all the times for her and Damon to have a confrontation, this was one of the worst. Damon snorted.

"Am I okay?" he repeated. "Hell, no, Elena! I am not okay. I haven't been okay for a long time. I've spent most of the last hour being reminded of the fact that I have a three year old daughter that I didn't know about. The same daughter that spent God knows how long in a NICU fighting for her life while I was blissfully ignorant to her existence a couple thousand miles away!"

"38 days," Elena answered. Damon realized she had been crying for a while. Her voice was raw.

"What?" he asked, not hearing her the first time.

"38 days," Elena said again, her voice stronger. "She spent 38 days in the NICU."

"And you were by her side every single one of them, weren't you?" he asked. Feeling guilty, Elena nodded. Damon started to pace.

"I know absolutely nothing about her time in the NICU. I know that she was born seven weeks early, spent 38 days in the NICU, and other than being small for her age, she's just fine now. How could I let that happen, Elena? How could I not be a part of her life? Do you really hate me that much? I know I screwed up, but dammit, Elena!"

"Damon, no," Elena said with a shake of her head. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed like Damon was faltering somewhere between anger and guilt, jumping from blaming himself to blaming her in the span of a few sentences. "I didn't hate you. I don't hate you." Damon sighed and shook his head as he ran his hand over his face.

"I don't know how to handle this," he admitted. "I don't know where to begin to handle any of this."

"I don't know how to handle it either," Elena confessed. She wiped at her eyes. Damon bit his lip for a moment, something that was becoming a nervous habit, but knew he couldn't not ask her.

"Are you okay?"

Elena looked at him, surprised. Then, she gave him a sad smile and a half shrug. "Being here brings back a lot of memories from Molly's time in the NICU," she told him. "Just, all the sick babies and the worried parents…" She blew out a breath. "It's also the anniversary of Jeremy's death. So, you know, bad day."

"I guess bad day is one way to phrase it," Damon replied, feeling a wave of empathy for Elena. He found himself moving to sit beside her. "Did Molly ever have any of those scares? Like when the alarms go off and the doctors come running?" Elena nodded.

"Three times, all during the first 10 days she was there. She pulled her breathing tube out once. Her pulse rate dropped another time, and she pulled a lead off the third time. It was terrifying every single time." Damon shook his head.

"I should have been there," he said. Elena could hear the sadness in his voice.

"I wanted you there," she told him, taking a chance. "Damon, I know we have a lot to talk about, a lot to figure out, but believe me when I say I wanted you to be there." Damon pursed his lips.

"I know," he admitted. "That's what pisses me off the most about all of this. I want to be mad. I want to be furious. And, I am. I'm so mad, Elena. At you, at my parents, Stefan, Caroline. But, I know you tried to reach me. I know my parents did. I just… God, I can't begin…" Elena reached over and put a comforting hand on his arm purely out of instinct as she felt his frustration rising.

"It's a lot to take in," she said carefully. "I know it's not the same, but it was a lot to take in when I found out I was pregnant. It's terrifying to become a parent when you aren't expecting it."

"Today, being in the NICU… It made me realize what I missed. What if we had lost her, Elena? What if Molly hadn't made it? I would have never…" He trailed off, his voice cracking. Elena squeezed his arm.

"No 'what ifs'," she told him firmly. "Molly is fine. She's happy and healthy. We can't do 'what ifs.' Trust me, Damon, you will go crazy if you start thinking about all the 'what ifs.' We can't change anything, so there's no use in thinking about what could have been different."

"It's hard not to think about all the what ifs, when you have so many regrets," Damon replied.

Elena didn't know what to say. That one sentence told her so much about Damon. She removed her hand from Damon's arm.

"I should get back," she said. "I just – needed a minute." Damon nodded in agreement.

"I guess I should get back too."

"Take a few more minutes, if you want," Elena told him. "We're just about finished, anyway."

"I'll be in in a few, then," Damon said, grateful for the reprieve. Elena stood and made to move, but Damon reached out and stopped her. "You okay?" he asked again. Elena gave him a smile and nodded, relieved they seemed to be ending on good terms, at least this time around.

"I've gotten pretty good at pulling myself together," she told him. "I'll see you later."

Elena left, leaving Damon to his thoughts. He closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands. He had a laundry list of regrets over the last few years. Elena had always been one of his biggest. His pride had kept him from crawling back and begging for forgiveness. He had very little pride left now, however. And suddenly, he felt like he had both nothing and everything to lose.

He was biding his time.

His appearance at Tuesday night family dinner once again surprised his family. This time, he made it a point to arrive thirty minutes before dinner and was putting on a good show of mulling around, making small talk with his father and Stefan while his mother and Caroline finished dinner.

"Dinner is on the table!" Caroline called from the dining room.

"Shall we?" Giuseppe asked. He placed what remained of his pre-dinner glass of bourbon on the bar cart in his study, ending their discussion of the upcoming weekend's race at Atlanta. Damon had barely participated in the conversation, working to keep himself in check until just the right moment. Stefan mirrored his father's motions and followed him out of the study. Damon downed what was left in his glass, poured himself another shot, and threw it back, before he too followed. He entered the dining room as the rest of his family sat down. Wordless, he took his usual seat at the opposite end of the table from Giuseppe.

"Giuseppe?" Ginny asked as she settled into her seat. "Say the blessing?" Giuseppe nodded and bent his head. The rest of the Salvatores followed his example. Damon rolled his eyes as he listened to his father give thanks for food, family, and good health. They were all a bunch of hypocrites.

"Amen," he finished.

"Amen," the family echoed.

For the first several minutes of dinner, conversation was minimal as they passed dishes and heaped their plates full. Damon went through the motions, but barely tasted his food, waiting, growing inpatient as the family debated current events. He planned to wait for the right opening, but was starting to consider just blurting it out when Caroline provided him the perfect opportunity.

"You know, I'm so glad we got to go to the NICU today," she started. "It made me feel so much better about things, actually seeing for myself the care those babies get. I know the chances of something going wrong are relatively small…"

"You and that baby are going to be fine, dear," Ginny interrupted, reaching over to briefly grasp Caroline's hand. "Stop worry about things you can't control."

"I'm with Caroline," Stefan piped up, wiping barbecue sauce from his mouth. "We're nervous enough about being first time parents. Seeing the NICU, it's good to know where our baby would go, should something happen."

"I'm sure it's a big relief too, knowing that you will know if your child does end up in the NICU," Damon spoke up, his eyes on Stefan. Stefan looked at him sharply, not sure he heard Damon correctly. Silence fell over the dining room. "You will get to be there if he or she needs to spend time in an incubator, breathing through a tube. Hell, you will know if your child even needs a tube to breathe."

Silence met his ears. He looked around the room slowly, meeting the eyes of first his mother, then Caroline, then Stefan again, before settling on his father. For once in his life, Giuseppe Salvatore was speechless. Damon glared daggers at him.

"Every last one of you knew I had a child," he said, his eyes never leaving Giuseppe's. For some reason, his father's betrayal hurt worse than the others. "You knew, for three years, that Elena was raising my daughter. And not one of thought that was something I should know." His voice was even, quiet.

"Damon, we tried…," Stefan started.

"I know," Damon cut him off. "I know you tried. But, you had me at your mercy, lying in a hospital bed in the living room just down the hallway from where we're sitting now, and even then, none of you thought to mention Molly."

"You had just been through a horrible accident," Ginny said. Giuseppe could hear the note of panic in her voice. He knew one of her greatest fears was that Damon would leave and never come back. He had done it before and would still be gone, had it not been for Talladega. "We couldn't tell you something like that while you were recovering…"

"I have a kid," Damon interrupted her. "A kid! She spent weeks in the NICU without me by her side. She took her first steps, said her first words, had her first day of preschool, all without me there. She's going to turn three two weeks from today, and she has no clue that the guy she's been tossing cheese puffs around with is actually her father. It's not just me you screwed out of time. You screwed her over too."

That was perhaps what angered him the most. It hurt that they lied. It hurt that they didn't tell him about Molly. But, the fact that Molly had no idea who her father was hurt worst of all. She had been robbed of the chance to grow up with a daddy, and no matter how great of a job Elena seemed to have done with her so far, the child still needed a dad.

"Damon, son, I know you're angry," Giuseppe started. Damon turned to him. The dangerous look in his eyes was enough to make Giuseppe fall silent once more.

"Yes, I'm angry," he said. "I'm fucking furious." Ginny chided him about his language, but he ignored her. "I'm also hurt. I have a little girl. Think about that, for a minute. I went to bed one day without a daughter and woke up the next with one. And all of you knew. None of you told me."

"We did everything we could to tell you," Ginny told him. "I called you over and over. Your father, your brother, Caroline. We all tried to tell you. But, you kept pushing us away, Damon! You wanted nothing to do with us! And then you were off, doing who knows what, and the next thing we all know, Molly is nearly three years old and you still don't know about her!"

Damon could hear the anxiety and hurt over his past actions in his mother's voice. He owed his family, especially his mother, one hell of an apology, but he couldn't bring himself to give it right then. He wasn't sure he would mean it at the moment if he did.

"Look, I will continue to drive for you," Damon said to his father. "I signed a contract and I'm going to honor it. I'll keep showing up like I'm supposed to. But right now, I need you all to just leave me alone. I need to figure all of this out, and I can't do it with you around."

With that, he pushed his chair back, stood, and made to leave the dining room.

"Damon, stop," Stefan said, standing as well. "Let's talk about this…" Damon turned to him.

"Stefan, I said to give me space, leave me alone. I don't want to talk right now. I don't know when I'm going to be ready to talk. I don't even know if I'm going to be a part of Molly's life. So, just leave me the hell alone for a while. You owe me that. All of you do."

He left the room then, leaving his family in his wake. They remained where they were, sitting in silence.

Damon knew about Molly. They had no idea how, but he did. They listened as his footsteps carried him towards the front door. They heard it swing open, then shut with a sense of finality.

"How did he find out?" Stefan finally asked, looking around the room as though someone had an answer. Caroline just shook her head, already reaching for her phone.

"I don't know," Giuseppe answered. He kept his eyes on Ginny who hadn't said a word, but he could tell her mind was racing. "I don't think Elena told him."

"What makes you think she didn't?" Stefan asked.

"She didn't," Caroline piped up, reading her phone's screen. "I texted her to see if Molly was in bed yet, so we could talk. She says he figured it out at Daytona. She's putting Molly down for the night, but said she would call once she's asleep."

"The signs were all there," Giuseppe mused. "I'm surprised it took him this long." Across the table from him, Ginny slid her chair back and stood. "Tesoro?"

"I'm not losing him again," she informed her husband, a fiery look in her eye very similar to the one Damon had flashed minutes ago. "I just got him back. Barely." With that, she turned to leave the room.

"Tesoro, we can't go after him tonight," Giuseppe said, standing as well. He knew his son. Damon was too much like him. He needed space tonight. He had asked for space and they did, indeed, owe him that. Tomorrow, they would start the long and slow process of trying to right their wrongs. "He needs time."

"I'm not losing him again," Ginny repeated. She glared at her husband, daring him to challenge her. When he didn't, she turned and left the room. Again, no one spoke, listening to Ginny as she walked through the house. To their surprise, she didn't leave. She made her way down the hallway, passing the library and Giuseppe's study. She opened the door to her small sewing room and shut it quietly behind her.

"What do we do now?" Stefan asked his father. He was at a loss. Giuseppe sighed, feeling older than he was. He removed his glasses and rubbed a hand across his face.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know."

And there we have it.

Fun fact - I originally had Damon figure it out while visiting the NICU. But, as tends to happen when I write, things took a direction of their own and Damon found out another way, a way I like much better.

And thank you, too, for reading my very long AN at the beginning. I really want to emphasize that I appreciate each and every one of you. I just ask that you be kind. There is already too much darkness in the world. Let's not bring it here, okay? Feel free, if you're ever curious about what I'm up to, to check out the link to my blog and social media that is within my profile.

Let me know what you think!