Author's note: Welcome to post-comet fallout, everyone, and the next step of our journey in this story! :D

Happy International Women's Day, everyone! Wishing lots of joy. :)

Sorry for the delay again. Things are still super-busy, so I'm trying to find time to write (and post) whenever I can. But I appreciate all the feedback very much! The responses to the last chapter have been incredibly kind, and I'm wholeheartedly grateful. Thank you, truly, for the beautiful words. You're all so very lovely.


Mid-October 2009

Anna had been a veritable puddle of emotion. Her reunion with her mother had gone from tearful affection to annoyance at being treated like a child – which she suspected was common among independent adult children suddenly finding themselves under parental supervision again, even though she was the one who mounted the rescue, she grumbled.

Pearl Zhu had been up for a few hours now, antsy at having to rely on these strange contraptions that kept her source of sustenance cold and had a distinctly unpleasant aftertaste. Plastic, apparently. She'd been trapped for so long, nearly a century and a half, without the life-giving essence that she found herself continuously craving since her release – hangry, her daughter called it – and starting to feel downright claustrophobic within those four walls.

On top of everything, that idiot Noah wouldn't stop gawking at her, desperation clearly written all over his face as he obviously needed something. At least he stepped out. Finally.

But the worst part is that her daughter – her precious, intelligent, kind, sweet, apparently gullible Annabelle – was on the verge of repeating her mistakes.

"So, you're telling me that she looks identical to Katherine Pierce and she's a Gilbert, and you trusted her with your secret!?" Pearl demanded, absolutely incensed that her daughter could have been so careless.

"For the fifth time, Mama, yes. She helped me rescue you," Anna replied through gritted teeth, her irritation mounting by the second.

"Do you not remember what happened to me? When Johnathan Gilbert," Pearl spat the name like acid on her tongue, a gesture that looked out of place on the otherwise elegant woman, "discovered that I was a vampire? He turned on me immediately! All his falsely ardent declarations of love, suddenly forgotten."

"Not sure how I could have forgotten, since I led the entire operation to get you out!" Anna shot back, growing visibly annoyed.

Pearl softened immediately, retracting. In truth, her emotions were a bit erratic after the trauma of nearly a century and a half of desiccation. She'd have outbursts, mood swings – Anna's normally calm and collected mother – the very image of elegance – had difficulty adjusting to freedom again. Combined with having to acclimate to a modern world, this should have been expected.

Taking Aurelia's offer would honestly be ideal. But there was still Noah to worry about. At least it seemed like Damon was safe, which shocked Anna to her core, and almost made her feel guilty about leading him on about Katherine. Almost.

Maybe she was wrong about him, she thought with profound relief, and guilt - and she couldn't really afford to spend any more energy on this train of thought while her mother needed her.

Wasting little time, she texted her annoying and definitely mentally unstable roommate to come home. It was time to send him out on his wild goose chase for Katherine – to make good on her promise to give him a lead.

She'd barely had time to hit 'send' when she heard aggressive knocking on her door, combined with a decidedly familiar breathing signature.

Anna groaned. Great. Like she needed more stress today.

She opened the door to find a furious Elena outside, her chest heaving with righteous rage. "I can't believe you, Anna Zhu!" she fumed, storming inside the house.

"Come inside, Elena!" she snarked toward the figure who had already done just that.

"You ever heard of answering texts? I must have tried to reach out to you at least twenty times!"

"I've been busy," Anna gestured upstairs, sounding every bit as annoyed.

Deciding to forgo any preamble, Elena jumped right to it. "So that was your big secret! The one you asked me to trust you about!"

"Yep," Anna answered simply, refusing to apologize for doing everything it took to save her mother.

"Anna, how could you?" Elena growled, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "You lied to me about being a human, fine, that I understand – you didn't owe me that information, but I was grateful that you trusted me with your secret. When you lied to me about Damon's so-called 'condition,' I let it slide. When you insinuated that you planned to use me, I was forgiving, because I understood –"

"This isn't any different, E," Anna stressed. "It's for the same reason.

"But what you did to Damon was so heartless!" Elena accused.

"He wouldn't have helped otherwise!" Anna shot back.

"How do you know?" Elena pleaded.

"I couldn't take the chance! And believe me, he would have done the same if the roles were reversed, and he knows it. Damon is relentless when it comes to protecting the people he loves. That much, I read correctly," Anna argued passionately. The tension between them was thick for several whole moments as they stared at each other in a standoff – fuming Elena against uncompromising Anna. Finally, Anna sighed, deflating a bit under the pressure of the last few tumultuous hours. She knew that Elena desperately wondered, even though she hadn't asked. "He knows that you didn't know, Elena. It's okay. I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't put you in that position with him."

Elena nodded, and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. She was so sick of crying, but there were so many conflicting emotions within her. She felt ecstatic for her best friend, finally reunited the mother, whom she'd missed for over a century; she felt betrayed, but this was the least vivid of the emotions swirling within her; but there was another that lingered – that danced on the edge of her consciousness as bright and intense as the comet that lay at the center of this whole story – her heart ached for Damon. For what she imagined must have been his utterly broken, shattered, eviscerated heart.

He must have felt so unloved. So alone.

"We have to help him find her," Elena insisted, a pained edge to her voice. She'd be lying to herself if she thought that the suggestion only hurt because she felt awful about what happened to Damon. The thought of sending him after someone else – stop. Stop, Elena, she chided herself. He was never hers, she thought with a pang. Just send him away and try to forget he ever existed, she resolutely decided.

"He said he doesn't want to," Anna supplied with a surprisingly casual shrug, glad to have at least one less task to worry about. It was a welcome surprise to have Damon be considerably less of a danger than she anticipated. Maybe she owed him an apology?

Ugh, not today. She couldn't handle any more today.

"And you believe him!?" Elena replied, aghast at Anna's surprisingly blasé attitude.

Anna took a moment to truly consider, surprised by her own words. "Yes."

"I have to go see how he is," she said, though her voice was subdued, both anticipating and fearing that confrontation. She had no idea what to expect, both from Damon and from herself.

"Be careful," Anna said sincerely. Although she was positive at this point that Damon wouldn't hurt her, the entire situation was still a powder keg, and Elena's emotional pain, from what Anna could plainly see was the development of very real feelings, was more than a distinct possibility.

"He won't hurt me, Anna," Elena said with utmost certainty, like it was the most stalwart truth on which she could count. She made to leave, then suddenly turned back, squeezing Anna in a fierce embrace. "I'm still really mad at you, but I'm also so happy for you," she choked.

Anna squeezed back just as ardently, surprised to find her eyes misting with tears. "I know, E. Thank you. For everything."

Elena nodded, blinking back her own tears. "Of course," she whispered.


Elena stood outside of the Boarding House, trying to gather her nerve. Would he come greet her like last time? Signature smirk ever-present and sardonic retort in hand? She waited one, two, three moments. Nothing.

Feeling awkward just walking in, she knocked on the door and waited. After several seconds, she realized that she couldn't hear any approaching footsteps, but a quick tug showed her the door was unlocked. Should she?

Yes, she would. He was her friend, and she needed to check on him.

Elena gingerly walked into the Boarding House, unsure of what she'd find in there. Immediately, she was hit with the pungent smell of bourbon, marked by the stains on Damon's precious rug.

This wasn't good. Last time, he wouldn't even let her touch his couch with her shoes.

The bottles were scattered everywhere, while an immobile Damon lay half-on, half-off one of the sofas, gazing blankly into the ceiling. He looked completely indifferent to his surroundings, not so much as acknowledging her presence.

She tilted her head to the side, trying to will away any sign of dismay from her face, a forced playful smile replacing it. "It's like a bourbon distillery exploded in here."

Expecting their usual repartee to immediately take place, Elena braced herself for a witty remark, trying to sharpen her own series of retorts in anticipation of what he might say.

Instead, he said nothing. Elena's face fell.

"Damon?" she called softly, stepping forward. She could have sworn she saw him twitch, barely, but that was all. She waded through the veritable obstacle course of bottles to take a seat next to him. Tenderly, she reached out to take his hand, relieved when he allowed it. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, you know, walking on sunshine," he drawled, finally looking considerably more alive. The signature smirk Elena had come to know as his mask was back.

She looked dubious to Damon, as if trying to decide whether or not to pursue her earlier line of questioning. He hoped she wouldn't.

But secretly, unwilling to admit this even to himself, he wished that she would. He wanted to badly for someone to care - for her to care. He practically craved it. If his conscious mind had even an inkling that this was true, however, he likely would have run from any interactions with her. Thankfully, Damon was a wiz at denial.

"It's okay to admit you're hurt, Damon," Elena soothed, scooting closer as he finally sat up straight. "What she did to you was awful."

"No, I don't get hurt, Elena," Damon mocked, a musically wry timbre in his voice affecting jocularity that he didn't feel.

Inside, he was a wreck. The one-two punch of Katherine's betrayal and his humanity fully returning left him positively reeling. Every emotion he'd kept at bay for over 60 years now – every bout of empathy – assaulted him full-force. All the murders he committed in New York in the '70s, the Boarding House massacre of the '90s.

Leaving Enzo behind.

Maybe he deserved to have Katherine lie to him and string him along this way. He was nothing but a monster. He didn't deserve to be loved. Or even tolerated.

Almost every time he closed his eyes he saw the bodies, the scalpels, Enzo's screaming face in the flames.

He deserved hatred. He'd give them something to hate, he thought with an inward sneer.

Maybe that way he wouldn't allow anyone else to ever get close enough to hurt him again, either.

"You mean you don't admit you get hurt," Elena insisted, not buying it, then bit her lip – finding it ironic that her next words would wound her immeasurably. She squeezed his hand with reassurance that she didn't feel, her own heart breaking, bracing herself. "Anna and I can help you find her – Katherine," she said, surprised that her voice only shook a little.

He looked up sharply, his features immediately contorting in a mixture of rage and anguish. "I don't want to find her!" he cried, aghast at the notion, snatching his hand back.

"Damon…"she reached out.

"No, I mean it Elena!" he interrupted, growing increasingly agitated. "Why the fuck would I want to find that lying bitch?"

She shrank back, never having seen him like this – and then she realized. Seeing her – her face – must have hurt him more. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't have come –" she said shakily, abruptly moving to get up, to get away.

Immediately softening, he took both of her hands back in his, his eyes filled with contrition. She didn't deserve this. All Elena had ever done was try to help him. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken it out on you. It's not your fault."

Elena felt her heart flutter when he squeezed her hands, for an entire moment believing that he was truly looking at her this way – that the affection in his gaze was meant for her – forgetting that she looked like Katherine, but the realization returned like always, and her heart sank like a dead weight deep in her soul. Her presence must have been so painful for him, after that betrayal. What was she thinking? "I – I didn't think. I forgot that just seeing me is probably a reminder." At his furrowed brow, confusion clearly written on his handsome features, Elena moved to elaborate. "Because I look like her."

"Elena, no," he sighed, emphatically refusing to let her believe this. "No. You're not any kind of painful reminder. You don't make me think of her." At her dubious look, he forcefully repeated, "you don't."

How she wished that were true, but she had so much trouble believing it. After fighting to save Katherine for 145 years, would he really just be able to let her go so quickly? Her eyes were downcast, unable to meet his, while she tried to gather her bearings. This was about his betrayal – his pain – not hers. It took all her willpower to finally look at him, and force a smile on her face. She studied him, looking him up and down. His normally well put-together appearance was in disarray. He looked to have missed a button and his shirt was decidedly wrinkled riding up his side, revealing a fraction of sculpted abdominal muscles that made her mouth suddenly dry, prompting her to look away. Her gaze landed on his neck - a lipstick stain. Peripherally, she thought she saw discarded lingerie in the distance. Elena fought back a strangled cry, hating herself for being so wounded by the image. Although she could have guessed just by Damon's flirtatious energy that he must have sought out that kind of entertainment regularly, seeing actual evidence of it rattled her more than she cared to admit. His 'company' must have left a while ago, she reasoned, and forced herself to look into this eyes. Somehow, she managed to conjure a smirk. "Aren't we grungy today? Looks like Anna and I had the right idea about your wardrobe change."

He smiled – sincerely. A flash of life back in his eyes. It sent Elena's heart soaring over a precipice.

She braced herself for one of his signature comebacks that didn't come. Instead, the cerulean expanse of his eyes took on a decidedly vulnerable expression, peering deep within her own dark gaze. He studied her – there was something so guileless, so trusting in the way he looked at her that seemed to beckon her to reward his trust, not to hurt him. "You really didn't know?" Damon asked, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. She felt his query more than heard it, the stark vulnerability in his eyes soaring straight into her heart.

She shook her head, returning as much sincerity. "I didn't know, Damon," she all but whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He brought one of her hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against the pulse point of her palm. She felt a shiver run through the course of her body. The gesture felt profoundly intimate, but somehow not sexual – which was unexpected, coming from him. Instead, it was pure affection, gratitude for being her. Until then, she doubted that he was capable of such a gesture.

"Thank you," he said softly.

She stared numbly for a whole few seconds, wondering if she'd survive this. Everything within her fought to keep him out of her heart, but she already knew it was a losing battle. It was only a matter of time. The thought devastated her. How easily he could break her. She'd fight to keep her heart for as long as it took. A smile that didn't reach her eyes, "Anytime." The space and sound of heartbeats traversed the room as the energy dissipated, reforming into something new – something neither was willing to accept. Not yet. "I should go," she whispered, praying internally that this wouldn't spiral out of control, but already knowing that it would.

He nodded. "Go keep that diary of yours safe, Elena – for now," he said with a subtle threat, and a wink that she found both obnoxious and endearing.

She couldn't help the laugh that escaped, her thoughts a whirlwind as she slowly made her way to the front door. In the distance, she heard a rhythmic whirring noise. She turned to ask Damon about it, but he was gone, evidently using his supernatural speed to blur away. She followed the source of the sound and was shocked to find a washing machine in the middle of a load downstairs.

Of course, it probably shouldn't have surprised her. Damon and Stefan certainly wore clothes, so it stood to reason that they'd have to be cleaned. She just didn't automatically associate soothing quite so domestic with them - a pair of vampire brothers.

Elena looked at the washing machine, cycling through whites. She fingered her beloved scarf delicately. It was made of cashmere – a gorgeous, vivid crimson. It'd get ruined in the wash, but – but it would definitely stain the clothing. And maybe it'll incite a strong enough reaction in Damon to knock him out of his funk.

With a shaky sigh, she took it off and threw it into the machine before she could change her mind, nodding for good measure, remembering that the closest he'd come to a real smile from him all evening resulted from a reminder of their ever-present prank war.

If it helped Damon be a letter less miserable – if it spread some measure of joy – maybe it would indeed be the scarf's best use.

She dug around in her pockets, and smirked when her fingers found an even better ingredient to join her scarf – a small bottle of glitter she pilfered at the pageant.

Into the washing machine, the contents went.

Following that, she took off her green socks and threw them in, hoping that they would fade in the wash, too. There, enough.

With that, she slammed the lid on the machine hard enough for Damon to hear even in his half-drunken, half-depressed state, and ran out of the house, stifling the most massive giggle she'd felt in ages.


It didn't take Stefan long to return from his hunt. By that point, Damon's had retreated into his bedroom, to undergo his nearly nervous breakdown in privacy. How the fuck did she manage to burrow so deeply into his heart? Despite the pain, there was a part of him that was almost relieved that he could stay in Mystic Falls, to be closer to her and he hated himself for it.

Because while he was acutely aware that he was falling for her, he was just as cognizant of the fact that she didn't love him. How could she? How could anyone? He groaned, then threw the tumbler in his hand into the fire.

Elena was just being sweet, kind. She felt sorry for him, he sneered.

How did he manage to get himself into an even worse conundrum than with Katherine? This was supposed to be harmless fun!

At least Katherine was every bit as monstrous as him – at least –

His reverie was interrupted by Stefan's annoyed shout from downstairs. He instinctively smirked. This should be good. Just the thing he needed to brighten his day.

He blurred downstairs without a second thought to find Stefan's forehead muscles in a mealy workout, trying to break their own personal record, while he scowled at a no-longer-white tank top in his hand. Instead, it seemed to be a mess of patches - stained with green and red, and sprinkled with a generous coating of glitter.

Damon could do absolutely nothing about the uproarious guffaw that he unleashed. "Trouble at Santa's workshop, Steffie?"

"Screw you, Damon. What the hell is this?"

"Don't ask me! You're the one whose Backstreet Boys tanks look like they're covered in elf vomit," Damon sassed, enjoying every bit of their interaction.

"A red scarf and green socks? And glitter? Don't you have anything better to do with your Saturday night? This is the thanks I get for taking care of you after Katherine?" Stefan asked sulkily. "For having to wear earplugs after you brought home - what was her name again? Krystle with a K?" he mocked the chosen moniker.

Damon stepped forward, taking the proffered items from his mopey brother's hands to analyze them. Elena's scarf – he recognized it from her visit earlier today, and suddenly there was a deep warmth spreading through his chest at the gesture. It was undoubtedly ruined – the material not meant for a warm machine wash. Something inside him chocked as he realized that she sacrificed it to make him feel better – to snap him out of the near-depression, attention that the two-faced bitch that inspired it didn't deserve – to make him laugh.

Elena undoubtedly must have thought that the clothing was his, an effort to continue their prank war. He pocketed the scarf and went back upstairs, suddenly feeling scores lighter.


The next evening found Elena journaling furiously. She had so many emotions to process. Yes, Anna lied, but she also did it to save her mom. And while Anna said that she was positive that Damon wouldn't have helped otherwise, Elena wasn't so sure. She didn't see what Elena saw – how he tried to help her, despite pretending to be an unfeeling monster.

There was something about him – something vulnerable – that he tried to hide. And yet, she'd seen it brave its face enough to know just how beautiful and powerful it could be.

But a part of her understood. This was her mother, and Anna was unwilling to leave anything to chance. Who's to say that Elena would act any differently if she were in her place?

And Damon – Damon said he didn't want to search for Katherine. That he didn't see Katherine when he looked at her. The intensity, and affection, and vulnerability of his gaze when he looked at her.

She wanted to badly to believe him.

But she couldn't handle a horribly shattered heart on top of everything, not now. Before she could properly analyze her thoughts, she heard a knock on her window.

Behind it, she found his smirking face – seemingly back to normal. Her heart fluttered in outright relief. Speak of the devil. He must have been standing on her trellis, probably angling for another invite.

His eyes were aglow with mirth, and it melted everything inside her. She opened the window, her laughing face hanging out to greet his. Before she could say anything, she found a rectangular, giftbox shoved into her hands. "Bribe to get inside?"

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh Elena, Elena. I don't need a bribe for that. My reputation's going to do that work for me."

She blushed, but pretended not to understand his innuendo. "And yet, my diary's safe."

"For now," he winked, then tossed her what looked like a compass.

She barely caught it as it awkwardly flew from hand to hand until she finally got a handle on it, prompting a chuckle from him. She looked at him quizzically. The arrow pointed to him. "What's this?"

"Vampire-detecting compass that I stole from the Council. Can't let them get their grubby little hands on it now that I've decided to stick around," he winked, delighting in and utterly charmed at the naked joy that flooded her face at the news. "Wanted to keep it someplace safe."

"Safe even from you," she purred with a wink of her own to save face, leaning on her windowsill with her elbows, yet unable to keep the genuinely wide smile from lighting her face.

"Again. For now," he said, then pressed a kiss into her hand, predictably accelerating her heartbeat and the flush to her cheeks. She had to distinct impression that this was precisely his plan. "Goodnight, Elena," he breathed, and blurred into the night, leaving her flushed and flustered.

She pulled back into her room to examine the contents of his present.

Inside, she found an even prettier red scarf than the one she sacrificed, completely new. She marveled at the intricate stitching – its unusual, wavy design. How did he find it so quickly? A giggle and a joyful smile rose on her face of its own accord at the gesture, touched beyond measure. She fingered the soft material, luxuriating as she pressed it against her cheek.

This one was even more special now, because it came from him.

Inside, she found a note in old-fashioned cursive. The message blurred with each coming word, as the tears in her eyes sprang forth, touched by the gesture.

To the most inimitable person I've ever met. Her mind and heart are beautiful, and completely her own. She's no one's copy. She's original, unique, and when I look at her, I see only her. She's Elena. And she's an enormous pain in my ass.

- Damon

P.S. Steffie extends his thanks for finally helping him land his audition as Santa's Mopiest Elf.


Thanks for being utterly delightful everyone.

The compass enters the chat.

Much love, all! :D