Author's note: Hi everyone! Very sorry for the delay. It's been exceptionally busy.
I noticed that I get my fastest writing done when I'm actively supposed to be doing something else. What's up with that? :D
If anyone else had been in the Boarding House when Damon's familiar made him aware of Elena and Anna's plan, they'd practically be able to hear him rolling his eyes. Flintstones vitamins in his bourbon. What a couple of amateurs. He took his prized bottle of bourbon – the oldest in the house – and hid it away before the drunken girls arrived to take their haphazard vengeance for what he considered to be a brilliant prank, if he said so himself.
He then found the compartment for his beloved and treasured bottle of Chateau Cheval Blanc 1950 and hid that away for good measure, too, even if he was relatively certain no one else knew of its existence.
Luckily, Stef was out serenading the squirrels with an emo blend of Poe, Eeyore, and probably some country song about how his hair gel left him with nothing but split ends, or whatever it is mopey little brothers did when they needed a boost in the self-righteousness, so he wouldn't be around to interrupt what Damon was increasingly confident would be a very entertaining evening.
He didn't have to wait long. Almost as soon as he secured his two beloved bottles, he heard a knock on the door and the telltale swoosh of a vampire arriving in his room through a window. Anna must be feeling pretty sloppy if he could hear her, he figured, given that she had a whole 400 years on him.
He strolled to the door languidly, casually, letting Elena's anticipation build. He'd gotten good at recognizing her heartbeat, the cadence and melody of her breaths – little signature signs that were uniquely her.
Opening the door quite suddenly, he let the growing smirk rest on his face a while before leaning against the doorframe and feigning perfectly sardonic shock. "Elena!? I didn't expect to see you here so soon."
Elena stood still for several whole seconds, the combination of the alcohol and adrenaline running through her body, bringing with no avoidance to her attention the laced affection of his smile, subtle shades within the spectrum of blue that were his eyes, the thick coat of raven lashes that framed them, making them impossibly alluring. She got lost for several moments that seemed to stretch into eons, just staring, before her consciousness seemingly careened back into her body full force and the lazy smile on her face became more purposeful, intended. "Hi!" she greeted cheerfully, walking inside before the vampire before her had a chance to extend an invitation. Yeah, she didn't expect to be back so soon, either. And it's not like she and Anna came up with a plan. 'Distract Damon,' Anna said, Elena inwardly scoffed, mentally mocking her vampiric friend's tone. Right now, Elena was the one desperately distracted.
This was certainly a quick turn-around from 'stay away from Damon,' Elena thought wryly. The champagne must have affected Anna more than she thought.
Damon had a stifle a chuckle as Elena wobbled in, lacking any air of subtlety or flair. It was really adorable. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he purred, enjoying her reactions. Any subtext of her obvious attraction had made a clear and unequivocal leap into 'text,' because she hadn't a prayer of hiding it in her current state, and he couldn't resist needling her a bit, if only for his own amusement, and definitely to tease her about it later.
Elena released a shaky breath as he approached her, a hint of a smirk languishing on his face as he cocked his head to the side to study her, enjoying her physiological reaction to his closeness – her dilated pupils, her racing heartbeat, the heady scent of arousal only discernible by a vampire's olfactory prowess. He knew that anything she tried desperately to hide – even from herself – during any other time in their interactions would be out in the open now.
Watching her try to wiggle out of what she was clearly craving was going to be fun.
Her gaze flickered to his lips for several seconds longer than she would normally allow, and only ran away to stare at the wall behind him when she saw his grin widen in response.
Elena swallowed, her breath releasing in fitful clusters, hushed and booming all at once to her ears. She could practically feel her heart beating out of her chest. He was so close, almost touching her. She shut her eyes, willing the feelings to go away. She'd never wanted anyone so much. Her gaze rebelliously wandered to his lips again, and she couldn't stop herself from wondering if they were indeed as soft as they looked – what it would be like to kiss him.
Of its own volition, her hand found his, squeezing it briefly, then letting her thumb trace patterns along his fingers as she struggled to regain an ounce of sanity. She pulled him closer, and he let her.
What was she doing? She couldn't understand her own behavior. This was so unlike her.
Why, oh why, did she allow Anna to ply with her champagne?
She then mentally rolled her eyes at her own question. It's not like she put up any resistance – after the evening they had, practically any emotional buffer would suffice.
"There was a reception after the pageant," she breathed, marveling at the closeness, subconsciously inhaling deeply in an effort feel his breath, his scent, his essence – close enough to kiss. Her eyes briefly found his lips again, then returned to his eyes, and she was lost again. "I wanted –"
"You came here for a dance?" he asked with undisguised amusement.
"I only came to tell you that you missed dancing," she corrected, knocking herself of her stupor, her tone matching the teasing note of his, forcibly injecting some sass into her demeanor before she did something stupid like lean forward, and ... "The Founding Femmes nearly started a riot without their favorite arrogant jackass around."
"Can't have that," he retorted sultrily, wrapping an arm around her waist, swaying to a melody that couldn't be heard, but had to be felt. "In a town this size, that might've gotten even more attention than my display of brilliance earlier tonight."
Elena narrowed her eyes. "Maybe we should have just let them fight it out over their sexy boytoy."
"Sexy, am I?" he asked with a sultry lilt to his voice.
"Of course, that would be your takeaway. I forgot your ego has its own gravitational field," she snarked as her tipsiness forced her to lose her footing, and she crashed into his chest.
"Gravity is a force of attraction, Elena," Damon smirked as he caught her, watching her instantly spring upright again. "Thanks for demonstrating basic physics. Might want to give Stef a lesson. I hear he's been stalking unsuspecting girls in the park and subjecting them to bad comet analogies again. Next thing you know, he'll be asking for zodiac signs."
Elena smiled, having narrowly avoided Stefan during comet night when he saw her with Anna, and promptly beelined in the opposite direction. She wondered precisely what her friend said to him to make him so petrified if approaching her in her presence.
"Does he do that a lot?"
"Only if he's finally managed to outsmart all the wascally wabbits in our woods. Gives him confidence enough to pull out his rolodex of cliches," he smirked, taking a chance to spin her again, albeit slower this time. He'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he enjoyed the closeness, the way his own undead heart sped up in her presence, which he grudgingly had to admit had absolutely nothing to do with her resemblance to his sire. Elena laughed at his joke as she allowed herself to be gathered back into his arms, and his heart seized at the twinkling sound, his own smile joining hers without will or prompting, all on its own. While a part of him resented how comfortable she was in his presence, another reveled in it – yearned for it.
As the remnants of the laughter in her voice escaped into the night, Elena allowed her expressive doe-eyes to trail up to his. She bit her lip, gathering her courage – knowing the social lubricant in her system was giving her wings. "You want me to think your ego's huge, because you're hiding something."
"You mean aside from a chiseled set of fangs?" he snarked, wrapping his arms around her from behind, to spin her outward, eliciting giggling delight.
"You hide behind your wit and your charm, like everything's a joke to you. But I think whatever's inside that you're keeping locked away is even more special, Damon," she breathed, when he pulled her close again. "I've seen glimpses of him when you weren't looking," she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "He gave me vervain and talked to me about books. And he told a group of girls that they didn't have to stick to Founding Family mores - that they can break free from what Mrs. Lockwood and Mrs. Fell and their whole posse want to mold them into. That they can -"
"All that was just to get a rise out of you both and make you look bad," he interrupted with a sharp roll of his eyes.
"Was it?" she asked seriously, a hint of dubiousness slick in her tone, her gaze piercing into his.
At times, when she looked at him – spoke to him – it was almost as if she could see the man behind the carefully-constructed persona he projected. Both the charmer and the monster fell away, and all that was left was Damon. There were these moments, where it seemed like in her almost naïve display of empathy, she reached out to cradle his heart in her hands.
With a gentle touch, soothing it, healing it, nurturing it as though it were special.
He shook the feeling away as quickly as it came.
"I'm an open book, Elena," he lied with a practiced roll of his eyes. "What you see is what you get."
"And here I thought you weren't a liar," she sassed, the laughter in her eyes matching her rising smirk. "Or maybe I'm not the one you're lying to."
"So does drunk Elena turn into an armchair psychologist?" Damon teased, desperate to change the subject.
"Not normally," she frowned. "Champagne usually makes me happy, giggly, want to dance," she elaborated, gesturing between them. "Maybe you just have this effect on me" she grinned.
"Trying to peel away my 'outer layers,' Elena?" he snarked with mirth in his voice, setting her up for another spin. "If you want to see me naked, all you have to do is ask. No need for all this metaphorical pretense.
In the heady combination at her emotional and physiological response to his words, his presence, Elena tripped over her feet again, lamenting not for the first time that she was normally a fantastic dancer, and maybe she should have taken it a bit easier on the alcohol consumption.
"Whoa – easy there, Isadora Duncan," Damon sassed with a charmed grin as Elena crashed into him again. "Not that I'm not used to beautiful women falling all over me, but I think your happy feet need a bit of a recharge," he prompted, guiding her over to the island in the kitchen and helping her onto a stool. "What are you in the mood for?" he asked, handing her a glass of water as he rummaged through the 'fridge.
"Is that … blood?" Elena asked, the shock of seeing the dark, red liquid casually stored away in Tupperware – the touch of domesticity in direct contradiction to the jarring contents.
"Oh yeah," Damon snickered. "Stef's rodent collection for every day, and avian when he needs some extra pep in his step to soar like an eagle," he expressed with a sardonic flair for drama, pantomiming words by waving his hand across the room. "Of course, in his case, it'd be more like a terminally-aggrieved pigeon. You are what you eat!" he sang lightly.
Elena fought to keep her voice from trembling as she leaned forward, the liquid courage in her system guiding her to ask questions she would have normally avoided. "Where's yours?"
Damon only smirked in response with a subtle lift of his brows. "Right where I want it to be," he replied sultrily, avoiding the question – or perhaps not avoiding it at all, Elena thought with a shiver. He studied her for a moment, before laying both hands flat on the table between them, leaning forward as his face reached for hers as though by the force of gravity. "I'd quit cheerleading if I were you," he said, keeping his voice light.
"Why do you say that?" she asked, taken aback by the abrupt change in subject.
"Oh, I saw you at practice. You looked miserable," he cajoled, though there was an underlying current of sincerity.
"You saw that?" she breathed. He'd stopped by briefly to speak to Anna a week prior. He couldn't have looked at her for more than a minute or two. How? How did he notice, when almost no one else did? How did he manage to see that - to see her?
"Am I wrong?" he challenged.
"I used to love it," she reluctantly admitted. "It was fun. Things are different this year. Everything that used to matter doesn't anymore."
"So don't let it. Quit. Move on. Problem solved. Ta-da!" he countered playfully, tapping both hands on the table and drawing a reticent giggle from her before she calmed.
"Some things could matter again," she argued.
"Maybe... but, seems a little unrealistic to me," he supplied almost apologetically.
"Why do you do that?" she frowned.
"Why do I do what?"
"Why don't you let people see the good in you? Why do you pretend to be scarier than you are? Like you want me to be afraid of you, only to follow up with -" being able to truly see me, she wanted to say, before she was interrupted.
He clenched his jaw. For a second, he entertained the idea of opening up to her - of explaining that when people see good, they expect good, and he didn't want to live up to those expectations - feared that he couldn't. But no. Going that route just invited her more - let her deeper inside, and she had already become way too good at finding the small cracks in his armor, and flowing inside like warm water than soothed his very soul. "I am scary, and you should be afraid. I'm a vampire, Elena."
"If you really posed any danger to me – if you wanted to hurt me – you would have taken my blood when I offered it to you. You wouldn't have danced with me just now – you would have just taken what you wanted," she argued, growing annoyed by his stubbornness.
"What makes you think this isn't what I want?" he asked, trying to inject some malice into his tone. "What makes you think I didn't? I was the one who gave you the vervain. Maybe Stef was telling the truth, and it is fake. How do you know you're not just an amusing puppet to me, Elena?"
"Because – you didn't," she insisted, not knowing entirely why – just an ardent feeling that she couldn't shake. "I know you didn't," she added, with more confidence. "Stop being so… difficult. You act like I should be afraid of you one minute, and then you flirt the next, and then you do something really sweet like dance with me and offer me dinner when I'm obviously too drunk to stay upright," she insisted, perhaps a bit too loudly, and Damon had to wonder if the argument was directed at him alone, or also at the vampire upstairs.
Inside, however, something bloomed deeply in his chest at the notion of someone believing in him – at seeing him – seeing the good in him.
He'd had enough. Her tenacious hold on him was becoming entirely too much to handle – his switch was practically begging to not only flip fully toward humanity but disintegrate entirely, never to function again – not while she was around. It's like she gripped his humanity like a vice, dragging it ever forward, and he was helpless to stop her. He had to act fast.
"You're so sure about that," he deadpanned.
"I am!" she cried, happy to finally make some headway.
"Remember those two animal attacks from a few weeks ago? The couple killed right outside of town?" he asked with an almost mocking innocence.
"Yeah?" she replied impatiently, not sure why he decided to bring them up. Was it just another desperate attempt to change the subject.
"I killed them," he shrugged with an indifference that was almost obnoxious in its sheer gall.
"Why!?" she asked, flabbergasted as she struggled to sit upright on her stool, becoming wobbly from the combination of the champagne coursing through her system and the piercing onslaught of his words.
"Because I'm a vampire, Elena," he replied in the tone of someone stating the very obvious.
"But Anna said that killing isn't necessary, and that it's careless. Because you could draw hunters," she cried desperately, going for the practical approach first.
"I wanted Stef out of the way for when I rescued Katherine," he shrugged indifferently, grabbing a blueberry from the basket he took out of the refrigerator to place on the table in front of her and popping it into his mouth like he was discussing the weather. "He'd run, or the hunters would get him after I left. I didn't really care much."
Elena instantly deflated, her hands trembling at the memories that forced their way into her mind - the recurrent nightmares she'd had with crushing consistency since late May. Those people had families who loved them – that mourned them. That now felt as she did. "Couldn't there have been another way?"
"Probably," Damon shrugged. "But this was the easiest one, and the most fun."
"But – but, what if someone sent them out to buy something? Or someone encouraged that outing? Do you have any idea what they'd be going through? How they'd mourn them? How they'd blame themselves?" she replied before she could stop herself, the words tumbling forth of their own accord.
"Doing an awful lot of projecting there, Elena. How do you even know anyone cares about them at all?" he retorted with a thoughtful frown, tilting his head to the side to study her.
"How do you know someone doesn't?" she shot back.
"I don't really care," he supplied, satisfied that his words finally appeared to be having the desired effect. Good. Now she would leave and want nothing to do with him.
Elena reeled back, practically folding in on herself on the stool. She bit her lip to keep it from quivering. She took a shaky breath, blinking through the tears suddenly pooling in her eyes. Elena came closer, placing her hands on Damon's arms. "Just put yourself in their shoes. What if someone you cared about was killed by a vampire?" she asked breathlessly. "Or a vampire hunter?" she added as an afterthought.
Damon swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to stop the tumult of images that suddenly assailed his mind – of Elena lying lifeless, blood gushing from her neck – the eyes that gazed at him with such openness and empathy and teasing mirth, empty and unblinking. "I'd kill them."
"And would that take away the pain of Katherine's death?" she asked, though it felt like shards of ice were impaled into her very veins at the recollection that he loved someone who looked exactly like her – that it was Katherine that he was seeing when he looked deep into her eyes.
Damon was quiet for several long moments as he fought to gather himself, school a wryly nonchalant expression back into place as he wrestled with the notion that it wasn't Katherine that he immediately envisioned. He rolled his eyes melodramatically, and let his smirk widen. "Fiine! If you're going to make such a spectacle out of it, I'll try to kill a little less – just for you."
The tension in Elena's body released in a laugh, and her own matching eyeroll. "Your sacrifice and commitment to the preservation of life is truly inspiring."
"My acts of charity only extend to showing off this," he gestured ostentatiously up and down his body, "display of perfection to the deprived denizens of Mystic Falls. For not killing," he inflected up, pretending to think as he tapped his chin playfully in contemplation, "I want something in return."
"What?" she asked dubiously, playfulness finally returning to her tone.
"An invitation!" he announced, cutting up some eggplant that he'd fished out of his refrigerator to fry into stalks. If he had more time, he'd be able to show off some of the culinary skills he'd accrued over the last century and a half, but at least he'd be able to smugly feed her obsession, thanks to the knowledge his familiar generously bestowed.
"Absolutely not!" she replied heatedly, flailing her arms in opposition, though she couldn't hide the longing gaze at the eggplant, which he noticed in satisfaction.
"Why not? My 'Living Audition for Mope Island' brother has one," he scoffed in a way that he sincerely hoped sounded airy, breezy, and not at all pouty.
"Yeah, because we're doing a group project together, and it was my turn to host! Besides, were we all supposed to meet here? So that our human classmates could see yours and Stefan's blood in the 'fridge?" she vaguely gestured at the vessel hosting the offending Tupperware.
"Blood in the 'fridge? That's all Stef's." he repeated with exaggerated incomprehension, as though he found the very notion baffling. "Why would I keep gross, refrigerated blood when it's so warm and satisfying right where it is?" he leered with a suggestive wink, his gaze focused on her neck.
She rolled her eyes on the most ostentatious way she could, though she couldn't resist the heat rising in her cheeks. Time to change the subject back to something safe. "There's no way I'm inviting you in, Damon," he insisted. "No, absolutely not. After that stunt you pulled with the kiddie pageant, I don't even want to imagine what you'll do with full access to my room."
"And what do you think I'll do?" he asked in a manner that just hinted at a dark sensuality.
"I'm serious! I'm not inviting you in, Damon," Elena huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Why not?" Damon smirked.
"You've made your designs on my diary perfectly clear! What's to stop you from stealing it and … and … publishing it on the school website?" unwilling to be taken in by what she was certain was a distraction.
Damon laughed. "A vampire invited in your house could do a lot worse than steal and publish your diary, Elena," he retorted with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, I could just compel a bunch of humans to break in, ransack your house, and bring me your diary for my publication pleasure."
"But you won't!" Elena jabbed her index finger at him in an excited manner. "You won't because it lacks your 'finesse' and you like your doucheyness to come in artful packages."
Charmed, Damon couldn't fight the rising, genuine smile on his face, then scrutinized her for a few long moments, reluctantly admitting to himself that this was probably the most enjoyable evening he'd had in ages, and if he had to fully commit to being honest with himself, he'd like to have more of them. Or as many as he could squeeze in before he rescued Katherine and left town, an idea that was becoming less appealing by the second.
"Fine, an amendment then." He walked over to her, taking her shoulders in his hands. "I want you to start keeping more vervain on you, in different parts of your person. Maybe start drinking it, too."
"Damon," Elena sighed. "My best friend is a vampire. What if she gets hurt?"
"Then she can carry a blood bag."
"Which can go bad. What if it's an emergency, and a hunter attacks her and –"
"Elena," he interrupted, his voice serious. "Anna is a lot more durable than you are. I promise you that she'll fare a lot better against a hunter than you would a vampire who wants to hurt you. Drink the damn vervain."
"I thought you said you didn't care about us humans," Elena teased, with a blush starting to rise to her cheeks.
"You're entertaining, and I like having you around – for now," he replied with a teasing air, deftly avoiding the accusation, before turning back to her, his voice suddenly serious -urgent, almost vulnerable. "What you said before – I just need you to know that what happened with your parents was not your fault." Her eyes were downcast, unable to meet his. He placed a finger under her chin lift it, guiding her gaze. "Elena…"
"I wasn't talking about me," she replied brokenly, by now unable to stop the onslaught of tears. "I was just being objective."
"It's a small town, Elena. The local gossip mill only has so much to talk about. I know what happened on the night we met in May," he said softly, his lips curving into a gently teasing smile. "And your belated Beltane party."
"Then you also know it's all my fault," she shot back, almost angry at him for defending her. "I wasn't even supposed to be there that night – I snuck out, and I called them, and now –"
Before he even realized what he was doing, he had her wrapped in his arms, letting the cloth of his shirt on his shoulder absorb her cascade of tears. One arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, while the other drew comforting patterns on her back, alternating with stroking her hair. He whispered mantras into her ear about it not being her fault that he doubted she registered or even heard as her body trembled in his arms from silent sobs that she desperately tried to stifle.
His switch all but destroyed, everything in his heart connected to her. He needed her to see that it wasn't her fault. He needed her to feel better, to stop punishing herself so severely.
"Elena it was an accident," he finally spoke, when her sobs began to subside.
"Jeremy's an orphan because of me – and Jenna had to uproot her life," she insisted, not hearing him.
"Elena –"
"I destroy everything I touch," she chocked bitterly, interrupting him, pushing him away. "You'd be much better off – I would just screw up –"
Damon's heart lurched in his chest, as his mind instantly flashed back to May 10, 1994 – one of the worst memories in his existence, when he, on the verge of reclaiming his humanity, instead indulged the monster of all backslides and murdered every boarder in this very house, leaving only Zach alive. The memory still haunted him in moments when his dimmer switch inched toward humanity, ate at him, gnawing him alive.
"I'm not trying to screw up your dumb, new life."
"You don't have to try, Damon. All you have to do is exist."
He wanted to reconnect with his brother – and while he probably shouldn't have fed on the house's occupants, Stefan's words during his most vulnerable moment in decades pierced him so much that he immediately lashed out.
A distant part of his mind wondered if he'd ever be able to forgive himself for his actions that day, should his humanity ever fully return.
"Hey!" he interrupted her in turn forcefully, the words seemingly cascading from her very soul breaking his heart. He knew entirely too well how they felt, because they were emblazoned in his, as well. He wouldn't let her feel this way – feel what it was like to be him. She didn't deserve that. He found himself feeling oddly thankful that she turned up in such a state, knowing that she'd never be this open with him otherwise – not this soon, at the very least.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Anna plied her with champagne, to loosen her inhibitions. They'd be unlikely to have this conversation otherwise, and she needed to hear this.
"Stop it. None of that," he soothed, his thumbs gently wiping the tears from her cheeks.
She turned away from him, unable to look into his eyes – afraid of the admonition, the revulsion she'd find in them, despite the kindness of his words. Kindness she didn't deserve.
He gingerly placed his hands on either cheek, drawing her to look at him, to meet his eyes. Reluctantly, fearfully, she agreed. "It's not your fault, Elena. None of this is," he said with piercing intensity.
"I thought you wanted me to wear even more vervain?" she sassed weakly.
"I'm not compelling you," he replied with a subtle roll of his eyes. "I just want you to understand," he followed up more gently. "Accidents happen every day. It doesn't have to be anyone's fault."
She nodded, though he could see she didn't believe him – not yet. Experience taught him that matters like this take time, and a single conversation wouldn't be a curative panacea, anyway. More than likely, Anna's had filled her with similar notions.
"I'm sorry ," Elena said weakly, clearly embarrassed by her outburst. "I didn't mean to – all this," she vaguely gestured to herself.
He schooled his expression to an angry frown of mock-admonition, pointing to the wet spot on his shoulder. "You should be, Elena. This is John Varvatos. Your tears make me look like an emo kid chasing The Cure tribute bands, and thanks a lot more Steffie's gig than mine. Next thing you know, the forest animals will line up outside the front door, paying me protection carrots just to not feed on them."
Elena laughed, grateful for the distraction, the lifting of her mood. The sound nearly made his heart swell, pride and relief filling him instantly. His fingers continued to stoke her cheeks, despite the tears no longer being present. Without noticing it, he found himself inching closer.
Involuntarily, her gaze flickered to his lips again, and she noticed his do the same, before he swallowed a thick lump in his throat and forced himself to look away.
"I should be getting home," she said, her voice suddenly strained.
"Yeah, that's a good idea," he replied instantly, distinctly uncomfortable at his emotional trajectory. He pulled away from her, though it almost felt like he had to wrestle with a force to do so, a magnetism against which he had hardly a weapon to defend or deflect.
"The prank war is still on, Salvatore," Elena insisted with a genuine smile, by now considerably more sober, as she stood from her stool. She couldn't analyze her feelings on this strange evening – not yet. All she knew is that so much happened – and she had to get out of there. She had to leave this room right now, right this very second, before she –
"I wouldn't have it any other way," he replied with a matching expression, closing the door behind her as she walked out, no doubt to wait for her vampire escort.
The second Elena stepped away from the threshold, an Anna-shaped blur raced down the stairs, swiftly appearing before him, contempt written all over her lovely features.
"What the hell are you doing?" Anna asked, without any real bite to her tone. She almost sounded disappointed.
"What are you talking about?" Damon inquired, genuinely confused.
"I expected some seduction, maybe some attempts at blood play – but not this. Are you just actively trying to break her?"
"What the fuck are you on about, Anna?"
"Noah's gross little obsession, I can handle, but this is so much worse – so much more insidious. I know you plan to leave with Katherine as soon as the tomb's open, so why are you trying to get her to fall in love with you?" she accused.
"I'm not –"
'She's been through enough, Damon," Anna interrupted, growing visibly annoyed. "She has trauma up to the fucking rafters and she doesn't need a broken heart on top of everything. The kiddie pageant stunt was cute – annoying, but cute. This is just plain wrong."
"I'm not trying to make Elena fall in love with me, for fuck's sake," he shot back, exasperated.
"Aren't you?" she eyed him dubiously. "Then what the fuck are you doing?"
"I'm not doing anything! You're the one who snuck into my house with your pathetic attempt at payback."
"Oh my God," Anna gasped at his sincere confusion, realizing what was happening with a startled guffaw. "You care about her."
"What?" Damon asked, scandalized by the notion. "No, I don't. I mean, sure, she's entertaining. But I don't care about anyone in this one-cell tower town. I'm just here to get Katherine and get the fuck out."
"Yeah, whatever you have to tell yourself, Damon," Anna snarked, visibly relaxing as she made to leave. "For what it's worth, she clearly cares about you, too. God only knows why."
I needed Elena to have a reason to bring subtext into text, to speak honestly about this with Damon, because I just like to do that in my stories. It's an important message for her to hear, and an absolute crime that it never happened in the series - where to me it was obvious that she was PTSD-coded with survivor's guilt. But I also can't imagine either of them being that open that quickly without proper prompting (in CG, they happened across a very similar situation, so it just came out), so champagne was there to take care of that. I set it so that they were celebrating Beltane in Chaotic Good, and since all my stories are set within the same multiverse, I kept it here, too. :D
Happiness and love to all. :D
