"Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe
Yes, to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you" – The Hollies, The Air That I Breathe, 1974.

ELENA POV

I stare at Damon for what feels like hours but can probably be measured in several short seconds. Vampire? He said 'vampire.'

Vampires don't exist.

Vampires are fairy tales – scary ones told to disobedient children. Vampires are alluring creatures of the night in gothic romances, like Dracula, or Louis, or even Lestat.

Vampires aren't a sexy, mysterious stranger who saved you from being bitten in a dark alley. Bitten. And his face changed. And so did Damon's. Was I drugged? I analyze myself for signs and feel that aside from a rapid heartbeat and some shortness of breath – both symptoms of anxiety and completely normal under the circumstances – I seem to be fine.

Damon is looking at me uncertainty, obviously waiting for an answer.

"Vampire," I finally choke out. He nods once, moving toward me slowly, like he's afraid he'll scare me away with any sudden movements.

"Vampires don't exist, Damon," I argue with what I convince myself is my best rational voice.

"Then how do you explain what you just saw," he asks me almost too smugly. I can tell there's a part of him that's enjoying this a little too much.

"Maybe I'm drugged," I reply, despite not believing it.

"Do you feel drugged? You're the pre-med student. You know the symptoms."

"Maybe," I desperately search for another explanation. "Maybe it was all just a clever illusion. Holograms!"

"Want another demonstration," he asks with a smirk, then when my eyes widen in fear, he hastens to add, "I promise I'll never hurt you, Elena. You don't have to be afraid of me."

Curiosity getting the better of me, I take a step forward. The inquisitive medical student in me is reeling with wonder and fascination, while another part of me is telling me to bolt. The medical student, along with the part that desperately wants to trust Damon, wins. "Show me," I request, my voice a mere whisper.

He looks surprised, but pleased, almost impressed. He steps closer and takes my hand in his as his face changes. Dark veins line his face while his eyes turn red, flooded with his own blood.

His canines elongate into fangs.

I can feel my breath hitch. I gasp as he gently brings my hand to his face, urging me to feel him, the veins protruding under my sensitive fingers. There is something oddly sensual about this moment. This can't be real; it just can't. But I see it so clearly in front of me.

Maybe I'm dreaming. I pinch myself as hard as I can.

"You're not dreaming," he chuckles, his voice a velvety, seductive melody, as his face returns to normal, eyes bluer than they have any right to be.

"How did you know I wouldn't run?" I finally ask, wringing my trembling hands together to calm myself.

"You're too curious for your own good, Elena. Lots of smart girls are. You should really be more careful."

I can't tell if he's genuinely concerned or mocking me. Perhaps both. His voice is filled with a kind of admiring amusement, like he's impressed.

"Why haven't you ever tried to bite me," I blurt out, my curiosity once again making itself known.

He barks in laughter and waggles his eyebrows flirtatiously. "Do you want me to?"

I blush, grateful for the cover of the night. How does he make everything look and sound so sexy? I shouldn't be feeling this way – and then I remember the command the man – no, vampire – gave me.

"Why couldn't I say anything, when he told me not to speak?" I decide to change the subject, hoping to hide my obvious attraction.

"Look, this is gonna take a while, I can already tell. Why don't I buy you drink?" He runs his hand through his hair. He takes a stop closer to me, bolder this time, and takes my hands in his. "You're still trembling. You're trying to convince yourself you're fine, but there's no way you're not freaked out right now, believe me."

"Can you use mind control?" My voice comes out in a frightened hush.

"Yes."

"Have you ever used it on me?"

"No!" He was very quick to shut that down, I notice, and his face becomes very serious. "Elena, I promise you, I would never do anything to hurt you."

"Why not?" I ask, frowning. What makes me so special? The fact that I resemble his ex?

He looks taken aback by the inquiry, then stares at me for a few seconds, like he's weighing his answer. Finally, he sighs and just shrugs, looking baffled. "I have no idea. I just can't stand the thought of it."

He looks sincere, and I nod, deciding to take his word for it, visibly relaxing. A part of me wonders if I'm just letting my curiosity get the best of me, but I shove it away. It'll have to do for now. "Okay. Let's get that drink, but I have a lot of questions," I add sternly, pointing my finger at him.

He smiles at he so softly that I don't think he even realizes he's doing it, then places a hand on my lower back to lead me out of the alley.

DAMON POV

Elena continues to surprise me. She's brave and a little reckless. Smart, and just the right amount of crazy. I fully expected her to bolt. She almost did, but I could tell that delivery matters with her. I had to calm her down, not frighten her away. And it seemed to work.

Working on that insatiable curiosity of hers seemed to do the trick.

I take her to a quiet little dive bar in the East Village, within walking distance from the NYU dorms in case she decides that this is all too much and wants to go home early, but so far, I can almost see her synapses going off and her brain working a mile a minute to process all this new information.

She's picking at her burger, obviously trying to gather her thoughts. I can almost feel the wheels turning. "So what was that? That mind control?" she finally asks, looking directly into my eyes. Her gaze is unflinching, almost challenging.

If she's afraid, she's doing a great show of hiding it, and it's sexy as all hell.

"It's called compulsion," I calmly answer, indulging a smirk as I take a fry from my plate and eat it, building her anticipation. If she wants more, she'll have to work for it. I'm not one of her sad little schoolboys who probably fall all over themselves just to get her to acknowledge them.

She raises her eyebrows, not willing to play my game, and waits for me to continue. I actually have to stifle a laugh. Good for her.

Then something inside her seems to cave to her curiosity again, and she leans forward. "How does compulsion work exactly?"

"It's like hypnosis, but a lot more powerful and potent," I reply, taking another fry off my plate, then notice that she's taking the pickles off her burger. Sacrilege! "Come on, Elena! You don't like pickles? What's wrong with you?" I tease, taking her pickles for myself.

"How can you even eat if technically you're supposed to be…" she lets the question trail off, obviously nervous about exposing my big secret. Cute.

I make a show of playfully looking around, reducing my voice to a whisper "Dead?" She looks amused and half-rolls her eyes at my antics. "It's not such a bad word. As long as I keep a healthy diet of," I widen my eyes, playing on her paranoia on the next word, "blood in my system, my body functions pretty normally," I explain with a grin, eating one of her discarded pickles in demonstration.

"What else can you do?" she practically breathes out in excitement, that I can tell is fighting for dominance over her fear.

"Just the usual," I reply with a smirk, as though I'm discussing something as casual as the Sunday ball game. "Enhanced strength, speed, reflexes. Healing."

Her eyes widen perceptibly, and her excitement grows almost exponentially. "Healing? Really?"

My own eyes narrow of their own volition as memories I'd buried two decades ago suddenly flood unbidden, of another medical researcher who took an interest in my healing factor. My head's filled with screams, scalpels, pain, before I shake it off.

She looks alarmed. Shit. She noticed. Her big brown eyes are wide with empathy and her soft, fragile human hand takes mine in hers so gently. What is the matter with this girl? I just pretty much told her I could kill her without breaking a sweat and here she is, going on Mother Theresa on me. "Are you alright," she asks me with such genuine concern, It's almost heartbreaking. "Where did you go?"

"What makes you think I went anywhere," I ask with cool indifference. There is no way in hell I'm continuing this line of conversation tonight.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Two weeks ago, my switch didn't even have a prayer of flipping back, and now I can almost feel my humanity crawling back up from the pit where I stuffed it, drowned it, burned it.

But it survived, and now Elena's presence is making it rise from the ashes like the most annoying fucking phoenix in existence. If I was smart, I'd cut and run. Tear her throat out. Never see her again.

Except I can't. The thought of her in any pain just makes me physically sick.

It's because she looks like Katherine. It has to be.

"We had a neighbor back home," she says after observing me a few moments. "He would always disappear like that, too, when he came back from the war. Did you go back to the fire? The one where Katherine…," she asks, leaving the thought deliberately unfinished. Her voice is so soft, so caring. It's just so jarring to me to see that face and hear that distinct timbre hold those emotions.

She thinks I'm having flashbacks about Katherine? I can work with that. What a deep, soulful guy I am. Thinking about my lost Lenore. Sure, let's go for it.

"I think about it sometimes, yeah," I reply evasively. That's all she's getting, and it's technically the truth.

"Did you know her when you were human," she asks, never having let go of my hand. She's tracing these intricate patterns on it. I don't think she even realizes she's doing it, and it's so gentle and soothing – and I feel like a fucking pussy. I pull my hand away. She looks disappointed for a bit there, but sits up straight and covers it, no longer leaning forward toward me. I guess I asked for it.

"I did, yeah," I reply.

"Are you alright talking about her," she asks considerately, frowning.

"I'm fine with it," I tell her truthfully. If I'm being honest, I have no problem talking about Katherine. It's talking to Elena about Katherine that's suddenly starting to feel very wrong.

"How long ago was it when …" she asks, again, letting her question trail off, not wanting to say the words that she assumes will hurt me.

I paste a smirk on my face, ready to bring this party somewhere fun again, and away from my tenacious humanity's clutches. "Why, Elena!" I chide. "If that's your sneaky way of asking my age, then I should tell you I don't like beating around the bush," then I look at her, letting my eyes take on a smoldering look. "I like an approach that's direct. Fast. Rough."

She visibly blushes and I could hear her heartbeat accelerate immediately. I almost laugh when she looks down, trying to hide her eyes. It's okay to be turned on, Elena. God, this girl's so intoxicatingly innocent in some ways, but so smart and bold in others.

Suddenly, I see her regain control of herself, unwilling to give me this upper hand. I admire her stubbornness. "Fine, Damon," she smirks right back at me, probably trying to hide her trembling emotions, but I see right through her. "How old are you? When did you turn?"

"I'm one-hundred and thirty-eight years old," Elena, I drawl, taking a sip of my beer, while watching her almost use hers a safety blanket. Pretty sure there's nothing left of that label she managed to claw off. "I was turned in eighteen sixty-four, at twenty-five. Specific enough for you?"

"And here I thought you'd ask me to do the math myself," she grins. "I was gonna try to impress you, though speed arithmetic's admittedly not my thing."

"What? Guessing speed probability isn't either," I gasp in mock indignation, making a show of putting down my beer bottle and getting up. "Then what the hell am I doing here? Now I need to find someone else to go help me cheat in Vegas!"

Elena's melodic laugh tickles the heart that I allowed to freeze almost twenty years ago at Whitmore, when I realized I couldn't save Enzo and survive, and I can practically feel it melting when she grabs my hand, pulling me back into my seat. Her smile is so open and warm.

"I never said I was bad at speed probability," she leans in conspiratorially. "Speed arithmetic is concrete thinking, but speed probability is abstract. Different part of your brain. I'm your girl to take Vegas by storm," she supplies with a wink.

"Oh, is that what you want? To be my girl?" This is going a lot better than expected. I'm about to congratulate myself on a slam dunk that I'd celebrate with blood and steamy sex with Elena tonight, when her smile suddenly falters. She looks like she's bracing herself.

"That depends," Elena finally asks, though the confidence that was just in her voice is now completely gone. "Are you over your ex?" She looks at me, and her eyes are so vulnerable and frightened and I wanna lie to her so badly. Why can't I? I am a fucking fantastic liar, so why can't I fucking lie to her now?

She stares at me for a moment longer, and then I can see her entire face fall as she nods to herself. "I thought so," she whispers, though I'm only able to catch it because of supernatural hearing.

"You can help me get over her," I tease suggestively, knowing some girls love that wounded, vulnerable sap image. It's what would explain the great mystery of Stef scoring so many good-looking ladies.

Maybe that's why Katherine … nevermind.

Her eyebrows knit together in a frown and she looks almost angry for a moment. "No," she finally says. "Damon, look. I respect grieving the dead, really. But you really need to put her behind you, before you date someone new." I'm about to interrupt her and let her know just what I think of her advice, when she bets me to it and continues. "At least with me."

Behind the anger, I can see the rush of raw emotion. Fuck. I have to tell her. "So about that," I begin, infusing my voice with all the swagger, all the charm I could muster. "Katherine's still alive." She looks like she's about to furiously interrupt me, so I hold my hand up to silence her, urging her to let me continue. "She's my sire. She's the vampire who turned me in eighteen sixty-four," I explain at her confused look. "But because if the anti-vampire hysteria that began to take hold of my hometown, I got a witch to agree to trap her and a few others in a tomb for their own safety. I'm sorry I lied to you Elena," I say with sincerity that surprises me. "But telling you the truth would have required revealing the supernatural to you, and I wasn't sure you were ready for it."

She looks down at her hands for a moment and nods. "No, I can understand that. I'm glad that she's alive. I'm just sorry she's trapped. Is it forever?"

"Just the next thirty-two years," I reply, so relieved that she hasn't blown up at me yet that I say the next words without thinking. "I've already waited one hundred and thirteen, so finding ways to pass the rest of the time should be a breeze."

She's grown suspiciously quiet. The Elena I met was animated, sharp, quick. She's just staring at me, scrutinizing me through what I can clearly tell is silent fury. "For the next thirty-two years," she repeats. "You said I looked like Katherine, Damon. How much do I look like her exactly?"

Shit.

"It must be a whole lot, if you mistook me for her," she continues when I don't answer, her anger steadily increasing in her voice. "

"Elena," I placate, hoping to soothe. "I didn't mean that you were just a way to pass the time. Come on, this is the most fun I've had in a while and can tell it's the same for you. Let's just drop this, and I'll beat you in another game of pool," I cajole, waggling my eyebrows at her in a way that's been very successful with ladies in the past.

She's clearly beyond this however. "How. Much," she repeats, and I hear the very distinct tremor in her voice.

"Identical," I finally tell her, not willing to lie.

I can literally see her heart breaking in her eyes.

I can fix this, though. I'm Damon fucking Salvatore. I've had women eating out of the palm of my hand for the last deca – I never finish the thought because all I feel is a resounding slap on my cheek.

She's already out of her seat and her beautiful, brown eyes are filled with tears. Her plump, kissable lips are trembling. "I will not be your rebound, your replacement, or your placeholder, Damon! Find some other idiot girl for your game!"

With that, she runs out of the bar, and I let her. This is good. No, this is very good.

She was getting under my skin, and now she's gone. I wanted this. Otherwise, why would I have ever fucking let this happen so disastrously in the first place. I throw a few bills on the bar to cover our drinks and step out into the night.

I need blood and I need a hard, meaningless fuck. But what I really need to get back to who I was before I met this girl who started messing with my humanity switch and turning me into a fucking pussy.

ELENA POV

I run all the way back to my dorm, the road ahead of me blurry with my tears. I knew it. I fucking knew it! I almost wince when I catch myself swearing, but I'm so distraught that I can't help it.

Except I didn't know It, and it's even worse than I thought.

He lied. He lied about everything.

He lied about being human.

Except he didn't. He told me the whole unadulterated truth as soon as I asked him, and probably would have told me more if I kept asking him questions.

But he definitely lied about Katherine. God, I look just like her?

A more rational part of my brain wants to argue that he could have easily lied but chose not to. It's not like I found some indisputable evidence. No. I asked, and he just told me the truth. Without strings. Without asking for anything in return.

He just gave me the truth like it was no big deal.

And on top of that, he saved my life, asking for nothing in return. Did I even thank him?

So what was really bothering me? Oh, that's right. It's the fact that I was falling for this guy so hard, that I was willing to overlook that he's a vampire, but all I am to him is a way to "pass the time" until the real love of his life is freed from some magical tomb.

The rational aspiring medical doctor and scientist inside me understands that a part of me is focused so hard on the heartbreak because I'm having trouble processing the existence of the supernatural on top of it all. But I can't be bothered to pay attention to her. Not now. Not when all I want is to cry and a warm hug.

I run into my dorm, and flop head-first onto my bed, bury my face in my pillow, and just feel myself becoming numb as I cry out every emotion inside.

I'm Elena Gilbert, and I'm a fucking idiot.

DAMON POV

I don't need to change to enter the club. My white tee and black leather jacket, piercing blue eyes, and easy grin are all the dress code I need for even the most exclusive spots.

Now that my subconscious finally got rid of Elena – humanity switch temptress – Fucking – Gilbert, I need to celebrate with the most un-Elena-like girl in this whole place. I

I see her almost immediately. Blonde, pale, scantily clad, vulgar enough to make a red-light district working girl blush, and a mean expression pasted on her delicate face. She's perfect.

I slowly make my way over to her, approaching her with the grace of a wildcat. She notices me immediately but tries to hide it. Two can play this game, sweetheart. You'll be begging for my cock before the night is over. As soon as I'm there, I start making moves on her uglier friend, which is setting Blonde Beauty Queen's teeth on edge. I have my back turned to her completely now, while her friend is rubbing herself all over me. Hey, maybe this is even better. A three-way would definitely get those innocent doe-eyes out of my system.

It doesn't take long before Bitchy intimidates her friend into leaving, and I don't have the energy to fight her on it. A three-way can wait for another night. We leave the club and head back to her place. She invites me inside.

Idiot.

I've got her against the wall immediately, kissing her eager lips hungrily. My hands are sliding all over her, squeezing her breasts, her ass, her thighs.

Normally, I like this with a bit more finesse. I actually enjoy the act of seduction, the foreplay.

Sex is a fucking art to me.

But not tonight. Tonight I just need to get her out of my system, because I can't have this annoying switch come back on.

"I knew I'd get you back here," Annoying Bimbo slurs at me and I can almost feel my dick softening.

"Stop talking," I moan, my annoyance obvious in my tone.

She looks put out. Guess spoiled little princesses are more used to having guys wrapped around their manicured little fingers. "And if I don't," she asks challengingly.

I get real close to her, until my eyes are only inches from hers. "I'll fucking leave and find someone else to entertain me tonight," I growl into her face, calling her bluff.

She wastes no time in taking my clothes off, and within minutes, I got her on her knees with her ass up in the air. I don't want to look at her fucking face.

I thrust inside her already wet core. Her walls squeeze my cock gloriously, and instead of her back, I close my eyes and I see the face of my dark princess.

Katherine, I have to stop myself from breathing out. Her beautiful face is caught in the throes of ecstasy. She's calling my name, gasping and panting beneath me.

Then, she opens her eyes and looks at me. But instead of her usual smirk, I'm shocked to find that she wears an open smile. And her beautiful, brown eyes aren't in the least bit cold or calculating; instead, they're filled with empathy, warmth, and love.

Elena's eyes.

I'm sorry again for the delay. I feel like I'm always making this apology, but work has been really hectic. I'm thinking about only posting on AO3 after this chapter; I like the layout there a lot more. This site also prevents me from responding to any of the very kind anonymous reviews I've gotten, but there it's possible to do; replying is more user-friendly. If you want to keep reading, my name there is Healing_Lights. Please bookmark or subscribe.

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