A/N: This was, uh, a long wait, huh? xD Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

On Thursday afternoon, Rory decided to go through her parents' old bedroom before she tried her father's office. Of course the decision was easy enough to make while she was sitting at her desk with Physics homework in her own room, but when she walked into the hallway, she hesitated.

Rory studied the closed door across the stairs. There was no reason for her not to go in. She was sure it would feel—strange, partially because she'd never been allowed in there when she was little, but that wasn't necessarily bad. And neither Jeremy nor Elena, as far as she knew, were home to ask what she was doing. Jenna was downstairs, but Rory had the sense she could fight a vampire up here and her aunt wouldn't know.

She curled her hand into a fist, her nails biting into her palm. Just do it, Rory thought with irritation. She forced herself to march down the hallway, around the stairs and the banisters. When she reached her parents' door she didn't let herself stop—she grasped the knob and walked right in.

Rory left the door slightly ajar behind her and leaned over to flick the light switch on.

For a long, stifling second, she just stood there, breathing in the closed-up smell of the room. It was—the air was stale and musty, but there was the vaguest trace of her mother's old perfume somehow. The bed was made, the expensive duvet coated in dust, and the digital alarm clock on the nightstand was flashing, as if it hadn't been reset after the power had gone out sometime over the summer. It was simultaneously oppressively still and kind of postapocalyptic, as if she'd leave the room and find the rest of the house had been destroyed and there was wreckage in the streets.

To her surprise, though, and to her relief, she didn't feel much else. She'd been right. It was just…strange.

Rory released a breath and straightened her shoulders before she headed across the room to start searching through her father's old belongings. As far as she knew, no one had touched them since May.

The dust and old receipts seemed to prove her right. Otherwise she found a big old flashlight she remembered from years ago, a dogeared copy of a Dan Brown book, expired medications, fountain pens, and hand cream. His phone charger was still in one of the outlets, and his scrubs still hung in the walk-in closet. We should probably at least donate these, Rory thought as she observed the scrubs. They weren't doing anything for anyone just hiding in there.

Unfortunately, Rory didn't find anything of use. She tried going through her mother's belongings, too, but only found more receipts and family photos, nail polishes, saved cheerleading and softball schedules, and several Philippa Gregory books. Eventually Rory had to give up and leave the master bedroom again.

Once in the hallway with the door shut behind her, Rory felt some tension leave her shoulders. Now what, though? she thought, glancing around the rest of the second floor. She guessed she could try Jeremy and Elena's rooms while they weren't home, even though it was unlikely either would have the watch.

Five minutes later she found the antique on Jeremy's desk, buried beneath old C+ science homework and a few half-used pens. The watch was big and smooth, made of burnished metal, and there were intricate designs carved into the lid and the back. When Rory clicked it open, the clock didn't seem to be working.

She studied the barely moving hands for a second, furrowing her eyebrows. Why the hell would the Founders' Council want this? Rory wondered. She supposed it didn't matter yet, and she ensured everything was back in place before she escaped her brother's room. She didn't slow down until she was back in her own bedroom with the door shut behind her.

Rory perched on her desk chair and set the pocket watch down on top of a pale blue notebook to take a picture and send it to Damon. She went ahead and sent it to Mackenzie and Lauren, too, just because, and she leaned over to shove the watch into her floral-patterned backpack.

She'd barely managed to sit up again when her phone vibrated.

DAMON: k bring that over here
RORY: When?
DAMON: idk. what are u doing tomorrow

Rory started to text back that she'd be free at 4, but she remembered at the last second she was only home because she'd traded her Thursday shift to take Aja's Friday shift. That meant her entire Friday afternoon was gone, but considering the alternative was a completely inappropriate fundraiser involving minors washing cars in swimsuits for cash, Rory preferred to work.

She wasn't interested in going over to the Salvatore house alone at night, though.

RORY: I have to work
DAMON: ugh fine. i'll see u there
RORY: When?

Of course all Rory received in response was

[read 4:59 PM]

Rory rolled her eyes and set her phone back down by her half-empty mason jar of paint water. I could start trying to just call him instead of texting. At least he'd be forced to continue the conversation. Ah, whatever. As if I can make a vampire do anything.

There was an unfortunate encounter the next day, even before Rory had to go to work and wait for Damon to appear. After the bell rang for lunch and Rory visited the usual vending machine to check—Coke Zero was still out of stock—she started back down the science hall. Since she was in the middle of shoving her wallet into her backpack, she wasn't looking where she was going.

And as she rounded the corner onto the next hallway, she fully slammed into Vicki Donovan.

"Sorry!" they said at the same time as they quickly stepped back. Rory had to fumble to catch the root beer she'd just bought and nearly dropped her wallet onto the tiled floor, but she managed to half-zip the lower pocket of her backpack before it could fall. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Vicki fold her arms. Ugh, what now? "Um," Rory more guessed than said as she faced Vicki again, "how are you?"

She hadn't spoken to Vicki since that night on the rooftop of the Mystic Grill, and that felt like a lifetime ago. Rory had glimpsed her in passing on occasion, but they'd managed to avoid each other whenever they had the same shift—mostly because Rory still dove behind dishracks if she saw Vicki coming.

"Oh, please!" snapped Vicki. Rory jumped at her tone, somehow startled, and tried to pretend she hadn't. "As if you're not thrilled."

Rory tried to think and came up with nothing. "About what?"

"Tyler and I broke up," said Vicki, her voice still aggressive. A rush of relief swept through Rory that she did her best to ignore. "And you can tell your brother to leave me alone, too."

Rory had never known what the hell was going on there, and it was even more of a relief whatever that was had ended. "Okay?" said Rory. As she was not about to talk to Vicki about boys, Voldemort or her brother in particular, she cleared her throat and changed the subject. "So, um. It's good that you healed."

Vicki looked so surprised by the swap in subject that Rory qualified, "From that animal attack?"

"Yeah," said Vicki, with much less venom than before but a hint of suspicion. "Thanks."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Vicki shrugged. "Some animal attacked me. I don't know, it was too dark to see."

Damn, observed Rory. Considering she'd heard Vicki wasn't far from the bonfire that night, Damon's compulsion had worked wonders. She fidgeted with her bottle of root beer. She couldn't decide whether to be relieved or further alarmed—Damon was powerful enough. "Why are you asking?" said Vicki.

"Oh, just curious."

Vicki's brow furrowed. Before she could ask more questions, someone strolled up to join them. "Hi, Rory," said Jesse McCormick. He was the school counselor—he'd only recently replaced the old one. Rory had been forced to see the old one back in May, when Elena had been in the hospital, Jeremy had been ditching everything, and their parents had just died. Although Rory had gone to avoid giving Jenna any further trouble, she and Mr. Coleman had mostly stared at each other in awkward silence.

Since no one was forcing her to make appointments anymore, Rory had only met Jesse because they were both around school early. "How are you?" Jesse asked her politely.

"Good," said Rory automatically. I'm being used by a two-hundred-year-old vampire and dealing with the possibility of being a reincarnation of some Old West lady. I'm great! "This is Vicki Donovan."

"Hi," said Vicki, all of her attention already on Jesse. Rory couldn't blame her—Jesse was twenty-something and much better-looking than every other teacher at Mystic Falls High, tan with curly dark hair and noticeably green eyes. It helped that he was remarkably easygoing from what Rory had heard. "Who are you?"

"Jesse McCormick," provided the man in question. He held his hand out, and Vicki shook it. "The new counselor. Well, newer." He let go of Vicki's hand and glanced at Rory. "Your brother keeps skipping meetings—would you mind talking to him for me? I think he's in some, ah, academic trouble."

Still? thought Rory, startled. Was he on probation? She'd had no idea. If he's been skipping school for this long he should be expelled, or arrested for truancy. It seemed absurd that neither Jenna nor Elena had brought it up to Rory again. And shouldn't Jenna have been forcing an intervention or something?

"Sure," said Rory when she realized she was taking too long to answer. She half-glanced at Vicki, who was still looking at Jesse. "I'll see y'all later."

Both Jesse and Vicki said goodbye as Rory navigated around them to make an escape. She looked back over her shoulder once to see the pair talking, Vicki tossing her glossy curls, before she rounded another corner onto the ensuing hallway. Where would Jeremy be right now? Did he have the same lunch period?

Rory paused to text him, but he didn't answer, and she checked the cafeteria. Afterward she headed outside to see if he was hanging around with the stoners behind the school, in the older, weed-eaten lot. He wasn't, but he wasn't far—he was sitting alone at one of the weathered picnic tables in the nearby grass, beneath another oak. He was wearing a navy hoodie, even though it was unseasonably warm that afternoon and the sun was bright.

Rory drew in a breath and strode toward him. "Hey," she called as she approached. Jeremy glanced up, surprised, and when he spotted Rory, he rolled his eyes. Great start. "Why haven't you been arrested?"

He hadn't been expecting that—he blinked at her, taken off-guard. "For what?"

"Truancy."

Jeremy snorted and leaned back a little. "I thought you'd be bothering me about drugs."

"I don't know where to start with that," said Rory. She stopped near his table. "I'm not the counselor. But the counselor does want to see you."

"Screw that," said Jeremy at once.

"Why?" returned Rory.

"I'm not talking to some random dude about whatever he thinks my 'issues' are!" snapped Jeremy.

Rory briefly raised her eyes to the clear blue sky overhead, searching for patience. "Look," she said when she lowered her gaze again. "I can't force you to go to therapy." I should probably be making appointments with Jesse myself. "But if you don't start actually trying to graduate, you're never going to get out of here."

"What, out of high school?"

"No, out of Mystic Falls."

Jeremy studied her for a second, and Rory raised her eyebrows back. "I—don't even know what there is outside Mystic Falls," Jeremy admitted.

"Neither do I," said Rory. "But I'm sure as hell gonna find out." She pointed at Jeremy with her root beer. "If you want to find out, you'd better start going to your classes. All you need are Cs."

With that she turned on the heel of her high-top and marched back across the unmown grass, down to and through the stoners' lot. Rory headed straight into the building through the nearest side door, and once she was in the cold air-conditioning and away from the heavy smell of pot, she exhaled. Well, I gave it a shot, she thought as she unscrewed the cap on her root beer with a hiss. There was nothing else for her to do.

On that count, at least. After school—when Rory had managed to avoid Stefan by abruptly taking a wrong turn and then waiting for him to pass, because she didn't know how to ask him about that Old West lady—she gave Mackenzie a ride to Blackbird Books. "I'll see you in a couple hours," Mackenzie called as she strolled toward the glass doors, near where Rory had parallel parked. Rory waved and locked the Bronco before walking in the other direction, toward the Mystic Grill.

Her shift was a little unusual, mostly because Rory wasn't accustomed to working with any of these people, but the other waitstaff were friendly enough. The customers weren't quite so friendly, ranging from harried parents to rowdy tweens, but at least no one shouted at her. And no one from school even showed up—everyone was at that stupid carwash. It was ostensibly to raise money for the athletic department, which meant Lauren was stuck there with the volleyball team, but Rory could only pray such an event never occurred again.

Rory had just left a receipt with Table 11 when she caught a glimpse of Mackenzie near the doors. She stopped without thinking in the middle of the floor, and Mackenzie threw her a peace sign. Rory snickered and resumed walking to the back, where she got the go-ahead from Robert to take her break.

Rory grabbed her water bottle and strode out across the floor. She took the few steps up to the raised tables, close to the windows, and swung into the little booth Mackenzie had chosen. "That carwash is a godsend," Mackenzie announced. She pulled a can of Diet Coke out of her black leather bag and opened it to take a sip. "I've seen zero classmates."

"I know, right," agreed Rory. She glanced around the Grill, at the parents and random tweens, the tables and carved railings gleaming in the sunlight from the windows and the artificial light from overhead. "Vicki's not working either."

"You should start working Fridays," Mackenzie advised. "Or at least switch shifts more often."

"Probably," remarked Rory. "It isn't like there are any football games to go to." Mackenzie snorted and tried to look as though she hadn't, and Rory grinned a little sheepishly back. "What else is going on over there?"

Mackenzie shrugged. "Not much. Although someone traded in this enormous collection of Nora Roberts books we have to sort through, and half of them have water damage, and my mom left my sister to hang out at the store."

Rory almost choked on a swig of water. "Shouldn't you be over there?!"

"Oh, she'll be fine," said Mackenzie, waving a dismissive hand. "She's obsessed with Thalia." Rory furrowed her eyebrows, and Mackenzie explained, "The Central High girl with the nose ring, she's working the register. Piper is about two seconds away from her 'not like other girls' phase."

Rory grimaced. "The worst one." She'd only started admitting she liked the color pink and pop music last year.

"Tell me about it," said Mackenzie with a significant glance. She drummed her short black nails on the scuffed table. "Any sightings yet?"

Rory shook her head. "I don't know when he's coming in, either."

It was as if the comment had summoned him—past Mackenzie, the doors swung open, and Damon sauntered into the Grill. Rory jumped, surprised, and almost knocked her water bottle to the floor. She scrambled to get out of the booth as Mackenzie twisted around, but it was too late—Damon spotted her.

"Dammit," muttered Rory as she sat back down, giving up. She nudged Mackenzie's leg with her high-top. "Don't piss him off."

"Yeah, I was planning to start a feud with fucking Dracula," retorted Mackenzie.

Rory kicked her in the leg, making Mackenzie jump, as Damon came up, into the sun from the windows. "Afternoon, Rory," he said. He was always more striking in the light of day, that jawline sharp and those eyes bright blue, the contrast between his pale skin and somewhat messy black hair more pronounced. He rounded toward Mackenzie. "Afternoon, whoever you are."

Mackenzie studied him, dark eyes narrowing in calculation. "The demon, I presume?"

Damon gave a startled laugh. "In the flesh," he said, giving her a sarcastic little flourish of a bow. He faced Rory. "Is this one of your two exceptions?"

Rory sighed. No choice now. "Yep. Mackenzie Lee, Damon Salvatore."

"How were you turned?" Mackenzie asked directly.

Damon tilted his head. "Oh, the usual. Drank vampire blood, got shot, woke back up and killed a girl."

"That's usual?" said Rory with disbelief.

"Pretty much. Do you have the watch?"

Rory dug into the pocket of her cuffed jeans to withdraw it. She passed it up to Damon, and as he accepted it, their hands brushed. "Interesting," mused Damon as he clicked it open and shut a few times. He turned it over, examining it. "I knew this as a sort of compass. Maybe it has to be put together."

"As in it's supposed to have a different face?" guessed Rory.

"Yup," said Damon. He considered it and looked down at Rory again, gaze calculating. "I assume the Council wants this to put it together and use it. I want it put together, but you're gonna have to make sure no one can use it."

"Why?" asked Mackenzie.

"It locates vampires," said Damon. Rory and Mackenzie exchanged glances, and Damon held the pocket watch back out toward Rory. "Here. I don't know how you'll stop them from using it, but do it."

Rory took it back. "Sure," she said, and before Damon could do more than start to turn, she snagged the sleeve of his worn black leather jacket. "One second."

As Damon paused and raised an eyebrow at her, Rory let go and withdrew her phone to unlock it with a few taps. She flicked through the Instagram and Facebook screenshots she'd already amassed, mostly either art- or meme-related, and stopped upon reaching the photo of that article they'd unearthed at the Founders' Archives. She held her phone up toward Damon. "Who the hell is that?"

Damon had to take her phone and use two fingers to zoom in before realization visibly dawned—followed by surprised amusement. "You and your research do not mess around," he said with a laugh. He passed her phone back. "That's Katherine Pierce."

"Katherine?!" yelped Rory—this time Mackenzie kicked her, and she quickly glanced around. A few people were watching curiously, and she gave them an apologetic smile. Most of them turned away again, and Rory lowered her voice to a more appropriate volume to demand of Damon, "Katherine as in the ex?"

Mackenzie choked on a laugh and had to gulp her Diet Coke.

"Yep," Damon confirmed, far too blasé. Mackenzie made a distressed noise that Rory understood on a spiritual level. "So you can understand why I was surprised to see you and Elena."

"Why the hell is Stefan trying to date Elena?" Rory demanded. She looked at Mackenzie, who shrugged and set her Diet Coke back down to lift her hands in a hell-if-I-know gesture. Rory glanced back up at Damon. "Does he think she's the reincarnation of that Old West—of Katherine?!"

Damon tilted his head. "Well, that'd be tough to accomplish, since Katherine's not dead."

"What?!" said Mackenzie, as a chill trickled down Rory's spine. How does this keep getting worse?! "Does that mean she's a—?"

Damon pointed at her. "Yep." He faced Rory again. "Maybe you and Katherine had some ancestor in common in the distant past." He widened his eyes significantly. "Who knows with the supernatural?"

Rory's head was starting to hurt, and she wished Damon would stop sounding so amused. "That doesn't explain why Stefan's going for my sister!"

"Hey, I'm not him," said Damon, lifting his hands. "I don't know what the hell he's got going on. I didn't even know you or Elena existed until Stefan moved back."

Rory swallowed hard and glanced at Mackenzie, whose eyes were wide with disbelief. Had Stefan—how did Stefan know about her and Elena? Had he been following them around before they'd even met? He'd been seventeen for a century and a half. He could've been at the hospital the night the twins were born for all they knew.

Jesus, that would be creepier than anything Damon had done. "Wait," said Rory, forcing herself to return her attention to the present and the vampire still standing by their booth. "You and Stefan both dated her? Katherine?"

Damon nodded.

"Did one of you date her first or something?"

"Yes and no," said Damon, to Rory's alarm. "The timeline's a little iffy. Both of us probably think we dated her first, but we won't know until we ask."

That made Rory and Mackenzie exchange quick glances again. Until? "Where is Katherine?"

"You're not getting that much info, Gilbert."

Mackenzie's phone vibrated on the table. "Shit," she said as she plucked it up. "I have to go back." She slid out of the booth and pointed at Rory. "Text me."

"Good luck!" Rory called as Mackenzie left. To ensure Damon couldn't follow her, Rory asked him, "Can you tell me who Katherine even was?"

Damon took Mackenzie's vacated seat without asking and leaned back, throwing an arm over the low back of the booth. "Oh, you know. A hot vampire girl who played all kinds of games and never followed a single rule. Quite unusual for the time." He studied Rory for a second. "She was nothing like you or Elena. Well," he corrected, "she was about as snarky as you."

Rory furrowed her eyebrows. It still didn't make any sense for Stefan to pursue Elena. From what she'd seen, he had a sarcastic sense of humor himself. "If it's any consolation," Damon offered, "time is a little different for us. Stefan could get bored soon."

Somehow Rory doubted it. "Can I tell Elena?"

"What, that you're identical to some ancestor?" said Damon with a hint of skepticism. "Or that you're identical to Stefan's ex?"

That was a fair point. There was no way to give Elena the information without admitting she knew a lot more. Rory huffed to herself and Damon smirked with what might have been sincere amusement. Before she could say more, Rory heard her name hissed from her left. She glanced over and found Travis Cutting, the waiter with the section beside Rory's, waving her back.

Ugh. Her break must've been over. "I'll give the Council the watch," Rory said to Damon as she climbed out of the booth and snatched up her water bottle. "And get it back once they've put the compass together."

"Sounds good," said Damon, and Rory strode back toward the doors. She took the few steps down to the main floor. The twenty-somethings at Table 14 looked restless, and she quickened her pace as she hurried to the back to return her water bottle. At least working provided Rory with doable tasks she didn't have to think about.

Damon disappeared shortly after Rory resumed working, and the remainder of her shift passed with little interest. Not much of note occurred until she'd gotten home and headed upstairs to her bedroom, where she swung the door shut behind her and flung her backpack into the vintage armchair by the window.

Rory strolled over to her desk, to shift some of her sketches around. She had just grasped her desk chair and tugged it backward when she heard an unusual plink.

She paused, her heartbeat already speeding up, and glanced around. Her entire room was still and quiet—aside from the box fan whirring beside her faded white bookcase and a few prints and strings of fake ivy fluttering against the walls. Rory frowned. Maybe she'd imagined—?

Plink.

Rory caught a glimpse of movement near one of her windows, and she realized someone must've been out there, throwing rocks at it. What the hell? she thought, and she checked her phone to see she had no messages before she bit her lip and cautiously moved around her bed and toward the window. She craned her neck to try and peer out of it.

To her surprise and alarm, none other than Stefan Salvatore was down beside the house, between her mother's hydrangeas and the neighbors' big wooden fence. Rory shoved her window open and leaned out it, into the cool night air. "What the hell are you doing?" she half-called down and half-whispered.

"I wanted to talk to you!" Stefan answered, keeping his voice at the same level as hers. He lifted his hands. "I couldn't get into your room—it's like I need to be invited in."

Rory furrowed her eyebrows. "You couldn't have texted me?"

"I forgot my phone at home!"

How?! thought Rory. Ugh, whatever. Why can't he get in here? She leaned back to glance around her bedroom, at the art prints on the walls, the creaky floors, and the vintage armchair, and her gaze returned to her closed door. It still had the old, burnished turn-of-the-century knob that rattled whenever someone turned it.

Hang on. Rory strode toward her door to swing it open, and she looked down, to examine the floor in her room and the floor in the hallway. That's right! Her bedroom floor was still made of that 1910s longleaf pinewood. She was relatively sure that was when this house had been built—at least, that was what her mother, who'd been part of the Historical Society, had bragged about on multiple occasions.

She tried to think. Most of the house had been renovated over the past hundred years—except for this room and the attic, Rory realized. Did they—maybe they still counted as the old house?

Rory had no clue who the hell was in charge of making that judgment call, but if it was true, it was definitely handy. She grinned to herself as she clicked her door shut again, and she walked back to her window to lean out into the night air. "You can come into my room," she whispered down to Stefan.

"Thanks," he answered, and he was gone, faster than Rory could track. She caught a shadow of movement behind her and turned to find him already standing in her room—and his brow was furrowed, worry scrawled across his face. He folded his arms and said, "Elena knows."

Rory blinked. "She—wait, what? You finally told her?"

Stefan shook his head. "She figured it out." He turned and started to pace, the floor creaking beneath his boots. He unfolded his arms to tug at the zipper of his hoodie. "I tried to talk to her, but she just—told me she might keep the secret and asked me to leave." He faced Rory, his expression painfully earnest and concerned. "She was freaking out. Can you talk to her?"

"No," said Rory without having to think about it. Stefan gave her a strange glance, and Rory added, a little defensively, "I don't think the two of you should be together in the first place! And the fewer vampires in town, the safer everyone is!"

Stefan studied her for a second—and he sighed. "You're right," he admitted.

"And not to throw a lot on you at once," continued Rory, because she might as well, "but Katherine was identical to me and Elena?"

Stefan flinched, startled. "How did you—?" Disbelief crossed his face. "Damon?"

"Kind of. Mackenzie, Lauren, and I found an old article with a photo at the Founders' Archives the other day."

"And Damon explained who she was," surmised Stefan. He released a whooshing breath and studied Rory for a second. "Are you sure you want to know why?"

"Why we're identical to some random vampire from the Civil War?" said Rory. "Um, yes?"

Stefan considered Rory for a second, and she raised her eyebrows. That seemed to decide him. "You and Elena are adopted."

For a long second, it didn't register. All Rory could hear was the fan and her own heartbeat, pounding in her ears, and she just stared at Stefan as he waited, with the decency to look kind of apologetic.

And that—it both made perfect sense and no sense at all. Rory had to turn and perch on her bed, her mind racing through it. She'd never felt particularly connected to either of her parents, but whether they were biologically related or not, they were her parents. There was no question about it. And the concept that she might have a whole other set of them somewhere out there—

She heard Stefan shift his weight from one foot to the other. "Can I?" he asked quietly.

Rory silently moved over a little. Stefan sat on the bed beside her, the springs creaking, and for a minute they both remained there in the quiet. "I, um," said Stefan, "I overheard the accident. I was coming back to visit Zach, and I—got there in time to help Elena, but I wasn't fast enough to help your parents."

"Jesus," muttered Rory, and she rubbed her temple. It was really starting to throb.

"When I rescued Elena, I saw she looked like Katherine," Stefan continued. "I stuck around for a while to make sure she wasn't. I just—she seemed so decent that I thought I could—I thought I might try to get to know her." He sighed again. "Which was obviously a mistake."

"Decent?" repeated Rory.

She saw Stefan nod in her peripheral vision. "Being kind to everyone who tried to approach her about the accident, helping your aunt with everything, and even just things like—noticing and moving a cricket from her windshield to a bush. I saw one time she walked one of your neighbors' kids home."

That was right—Elena had mentioned, in passing late that summer, one of the Osborns from a street over had wandered too far from their yard. Rory swallowed hard. "I—guess that makes sense." Stefan overhearing the accident made sense, too, considering no one had known how Elena had managed to get out of the car while it had been sinking into the river beneath Wickery Bridge. "Um," Rory added, "thanks for saving Elena."

Stefan nudged her shoulder a little. "Of course." And with that he stood, pushing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "I'll—I can give you some space."

"Thanks," repeated Rory, and Stefan nodded at her, giving her that polite little smile, before he vanished from the room. Rory waited a second, half-thinking he might reappear. When he didn't, she rose and walked around to sit down hard in her desk chair. She removed her glasses and set them down to pinch the bridge of her nose.

She didn't believe in fate—just karma. And although her parents had forced all three of them through Sunday school years ago, when they'd all still gone to the local United Methodist Church, Rory didn't believe much in that capacity, either.

Rory tried to think. Stefan was—he was the nice one, and his explanation had certainly sounded sincere. God, I cannot be thinking this might be okay. There were still nearly two centuries and an entirely different understanding of time and mortality standing between Stefan and Elena. How the fuck could anyone bridge that sort of gap?

She leaned back again and folded her arms. She hadn't been there for the accident and had done her best not to think about it for longer than a few minutes, but—

Stop it, she ordered herself. She leaned far enough over to open the drawer in her nightstand, and she rummaged through it for a second to find her bottle of ibuprofen. What use was dwelling on anything in the past? There was nothing anyone could do to change it. All anyone could do was figure out how to deal with the ramifications.

Rory sighed as she leaned back and opened the ibuprofen. This entire year had been a disaster, and with every revelation it just seemed to keep getting worse. I can't wait to graduate and get the hell out of here.