Hours later, the five of them—Elena, Damon, Caroline, Stefan, and Marcus—sat in the living room of the country house nursing blood and bourbon. For a long while, they avoided each other's eyes. Perhaps in fear of what they'd find there. Elena, afraid of the sadness she might see in Caroline's, for losing her love no matter how horrible of a man he'd become. Damon, afraid of the disconnect he might see in Elena's. Would she still love him now that they'd accomplished their task? Had those words she'd said under threat of death been true?

They stared into crystal glasses, swirling amber liquid around the bases, no one quite certain how to navigate the new world they found themselves in. For they'd all been murderers already, of course, but to murder a friend was a category only Klaus could place himself in.

Eventually, it was Damon who broke the silence with a sideways glance toward Elena as his hand dropped onto the top of her thigh and squeezed. "Walk with me?" he asked, a sullen sort of kindness to his eyes, genuine in a way she didn't get to see from him often.

"You were really going to do it, weren't you?" he asked, lifting up her free hand with his own and lacing his fingers through hers, looking down at them all the while. He didn't need to specify exactly what he meant, because the feeling of the dagger pressed against her breastbone hadn't left her mind in the hours since they'd left.

He rubbed his thumb gently on the back of her hand, lifting his eyes to find hers, lips pressing together. She didn't need to answer, didn't need to speak aloud what they both already knew.

She spoke the words anyways. At least so they would both know, without a shadow of a doubt, what she would do for him, for love. "Yes."

In a quick motion, he set both of their glasses down, simply so he could take her face into his hands. "I haven't said it—I should have said it. You deserve to hear it, Elena," he started. She shook her head, nothing he spoke would be something she didn't already know. Nothing he said could be news to her now. Somewhere along the way, she'd learned the ins and outs of him, learned every bit of him he'd exposed. "I'm sorry."

Her brows furrowed, but Damon didn't give her a moment to speak, only tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and continued looking at her with so much love. "For giving you so much shit over the past two years. For not telling you everything when I should have. For pretending and lying, and for everything else."

She slipped her hands atop his. "It's forgiven. It's been forgiven." Silence hung in the pause between her words as she returned his gaze, unable to take her eyes off his for even a second. "Everything I said tonight, Damon? I meant every last word. I love you, Salvatore."

"I love you too, Gilbert."

ONE MONTH LATER

Elena stood before the unmarked grave, cold wind blowing hair away from her face and biting at her nose. She twisted the stem of a white lily between her fingers, looking down into the center of it. If not for the sparse grass beginning to grow over his resting place, she might have walked right past it entirely. At the same time, it felt as if the plot could grow over completely or be covered with a thick layer of snow, and she would still find her way to him.

Words didn't come easy. Shoving her emotions away, deep down into the caverns of her chest, had been a good idea in theory, but in practice, it only made them harder to sort through. Something she'd been working diligently at in the time since Klaus' death, now that there was no threat of imminent death hanging over her head.

From the moment she'd sank that dagger into his chest, she'd felt more alive than ever before. But it didn't change what had been lost. It didn't change the if onlys that raced through her mind. If only she'd had a better control on her bloodlust if only Caroline had been able to help him before his heart stopped. But all of those if onlys led back to the same person, Klaus. No matter how much the blame tried to fall on her shoulders, she could always trace it back to him.

Because sure, if she hadn't applied for Harmon, hadn't gotten in, hadn't moved, hadn't met Damon, hadn't done so many things, maybe he'd still be alive. But behind each thing she could have not done, it was still his compulsion that had Jeremy bleeding out on her living room floor. It took a month's distance from the sight, but deep in her gut she knew that Klaus would have found her wherever she was. And maybe if, because that was the word of the hour, she'd never met Damon and Caroline she would have died right alongside her brother. Or perhaps in his place. There were, unfortunately, no good outcomes when it came to his interference. That didn't change the fact that she would continue to dwell on it, however. At least now, maybe, it would be without as much guilt.

She knelt, placing a hand atop the soil, a few blades of grass sticking out here and there—reading to freeze in the coming winter. "I love you, Jer. Thank you," she said, words catching on the wind and twisting through the air, hopefully finding him somewhere. "For everything."

ONE YEAR LATER

The year following Klaus' death went on as time always does after tragedy. Slowly at first. Then, a funny thing happened. Days turned into months and distance grew long between past and present. The anniversary of that fateful night slipped by unnoticed, and Elena continued about her life. She continued seeking an education at Harmon College, albeit with a new professor, after Dr. Bartlow disappeared one night without a trace.

A few months after Klaus' death, Stefan and Caroline departed Harmon together. Caroline with dreams of seeing the world, and Stefan determined to get his bloodlust under control. With the pair gone, the country house often felt empty, but the twins returned on weekends to share drunken nights with Damon, Elena, and Marcus after long hours of translation. In that third year of their education, the twins finally calmed down on the mockery of their good friend Jeremy. Whether or not that was after being threatened by Damon, Elena would never know for certain.

Of course, Harmon's Great Minds crumbled with the death of its many members, and with those who remembered it seeming few and far between, it would likely never see the light of day again. Though, that was probably for the best anyway. Elena wasn't certain the town needed any more men's clubs, secret or otherwise.

Most of her time, however, was spent curled up with a book in Damon's Harmon apartment, candles casting warm firelight around her. Peering over her book, she caught his eyes from across the room, the corner of her lips turning upward as he wiggled a brow. She held up the book, attempting to finish one last chapter before she fell forward too far into distraction and temptation.

Damon only smirked, tilting his head toward the hall that led to his bedroom. Elena rolled her eyes, then let them drift back down to the page. Unfortunately for the book, the words just didn't interest her as much as the man lounging a mere few feet away. Despite this song and dance they did most nights, she still found herself placing a bookmark into the novel and tucking it back onto the shelf before crossing the room, her fingers lingering on the spine of the book for a second, teasing him with her contemplation.

"Elena…" he said her name, long and drawn out just as her fingers danced on the edge of the shelf, not quite turning to look at him. His eyes burned on the back of her head, reminding her of their first meetings and his same smoldering glances. Except now, they made her long for him instead of producing a bubbling rage deep in her chest. Despite everything, the feeling was kind of the same.

Before she could turn, Damon appeared behind her, pushing her hair away from her neck and kissing it slowly, nicking the skin playfully. His other trailed slowly up her arm.

"Hungry?" she asked, arcing her neck to give him better access. Sharing blood, especially on nights like these, had become commonplace. The exchange of blood linked them together, connected them on another level—not that they weren't already interconnected by trauma and near death experiences.

Damon nodded, his fangs moving slowly against her skin before he pulled away, turning her in his arms then wrapping them low around her waist, pulling her close to his chest. Despite both their ability to move in a flash, each of their movements was slow and delicate. Even the piercing of her skin was slow, but not painful. Her back arched, and she pressed herself against him even more, if it was possible. Once she recovered from the initial shock of pleasure, she lurched forward to sink her teeth into Damon's neck, their blood transferring in equal measure as they stumbled backward, intertwined and humming.

Most nights went on in that same way, sometimes ending with them falling into bed or pressed up against each other on the couch, their clothes discarded all around them.

But it wasn't about the sex—or, at least, it wasn't completely about the sex—being together brought out the best in them both. Elena tested Damon's nerves every second of the day, but she also taught him how to care about anyone other than himself. And he taught her how to manage her bloodlust and how to cope with all that had happened. They taught each other much in between arguments and kisses, study sessions and hunts.

As years passed, the love they found with one another did not waver. It grew only stronger, their bond unbreakable, forged in the dark of night when faced with one another—forged after last breath declarations of love and moments of savior, and forged in every second thereafter.

A/N: Hey! I am so sorry for the long wait. I moved across the country and then got laid off from my job, so I've been in a depression slump, but I'm hoping to get back into writing-maybe with a short story before diving back into At Dawn, if there's still any interest in that. I hope you enjoy this short little Epilogue to wrap up this story. Thank you so much for your support along the way. This was my first ever fanfic, so all your faves and comments mean so much to me!