Somewhere in the mountains west of Harmon by a hundred miles or so, Elena Gilbert stood over two bodies. These were not clean kills. The woman looked as if a chunk of flesh had been torn completely out of her throat, her head twisted and bent at the most unnatural angle, atop the man she'd been hand in hand with. The bite on his neck was cleaner, but not perfect. Blood, muscle, viscera, and jagged skin stared back up at the hunger crazed vampire.

Fangs extended from her gums, sharp and coated in blood, just like the rest of her. The satisfaction should have lasted longer. Instead, it drained away slowly at first and then all at once until a sob gurgled up through blood and regret. A hand came to cover her mouth, but the sight of the blood as it entered her field of vision nearly made her jump back. She saw the bodies again in an entirely different light. Crooked necks and arms snapped from holding on too tight, a vision she never thought herself capable of bringing to life. Still, she stood in disbelief. How could this have been her work? A tentative step back, careful, thinking, and then a few more until she was running away again.

For a brief moment, she thought about going home. God, what a concept. The place had never felt as such, but now she longed for the walls of her childhood bedroom. Where was she supposed to go now that she'd run away from everything and everyone? Going back home felt like giving up. Going to her apartment was a death wish, and going back to the country house filled her with an unidentifiable amount of shame. In the end, however, there was only one place she could go, only one place with people who could help her, despite the growing shame in her chest. And in the aftermath of her mistakes, with blood on her hands and in her hair and on her clothes, there were only a few people like her who, she hoped, would understand.

By the time she made it back to the country house, all of the lights were out. Had everyone gone to sleep? Figured her a lost cause or assumed she'd fine her own way back? Or maybe they were just listening to her request for space. A request she wished to take back more than anything else. But just like everything else, she didn't know how to do it.

She turned the handle of the front door slowly, trying to minimize noise. Not that that particularly mattered given the circumstances. The door creaked open and she stepped inside. A few candles glowed warm, cinnamon wafting through the air, their light flickering high on the walls. Closing the door gently behind her, she leaned against it, her palms flattened against it and her head lolled back, eyes closed. Taking the first step forward seemed impossible and it took everything she had not to turn around and run all over again. But who would that help?

"Have a good time?" Damon's voice came from across the room. He didn't speak particularly loud, but she heard it in full clarity. He must have been sitting in one of the wing back chairs. They had to stop meeting like this.

All words caught in the center of her throat, like a lump, and her lower lip wobbled. How awful, how such a question could unravel her so easily. "No," she said, finally. The words rough and raw.

Damon stood up, his silhouette wreathed in candlelight. She could see his form, but not his features as he walked slowly in her direction. She shrunk back against the door, with nowhere to go, fighting everything that told her to turn away so he wouldn't see her, wouldn't see what she'd done.

Once in front of her, his eyes found hers. She watched as they trailed away, following the blood down her neck and chest. One hand came out to graze against the back of her arm, lifting it to look at her hand.

"First kill's never pretty," he said, no judgment to his tone, but a different sharpness she didn't understand.

If she cried now, would he see her tears? She pushed them away and hoisted up the walls around her instead, brick by brick. Always afraid, always running from something, even when standing completely still. "It wasn't," she said, voice as solid as the stone she surrounded herself with. She took a step to the left, but he put an arm up faster, barring her in.

"We're not doing this again," he said, stern.

"We're not doing what?" Elena snapped, that same unfamiliar anger roiling in her stomach once more. She needed to get away from him, needed to go anywhere else. Need to be alone regardless of how little it would help and how much she would regret it as soon as the silence closed in.

His knuckles grazed her cheek and she flinched, closing her eyes. He curled a finger under her chin and lifted it. "I'm not going to let you do this to yourself, Gilbert." His piercing blue eyes were waiting for her when her lids flicked back open, and the intensity of them made her want to close them immediately, but she didn't. She looked at him, instead. Why did that feel like risking everything she'd built around herself? Why did meeting his eyes make cracks form in her defenses? She hated him for that.

"And what exactly am I doing to myself, Salvatore?" she asked.

He moved his hand, dragging his knuckles along her jawline then burying his hand in his hair. "You're covered in blood in the middle of the night and you can hardly stand to look at me—"

"But that's nothing new," she cut in.

"And you don't feel like yourself. Not really," he said, voice lower than before. "You didn't really understand what you were doing. Not until it was already done."

Elena turned her head to the side, trying to shrug off his hand, but he didn't move, didn't lower his gaze, only continued to look at her with that knowing stare and she could only squirm as he read her completely.

"Surprised you came back at all. I was prepared to drag your ass back here," he said, looking down his nose at her.

"Starting to think I shouldn't have."

"Is everything you're feeling intensified? Turned up to eleven?" he asked, taking a step closer to her. "Every emotion heightened, fear, hunger, lust." He dragged his thumb along her lower lip and she shivered.

Her body felt alight, buzzing. But it didn't distract from all the other emotions racing through her. Her shame, her guilt, her fear. And the anger. The anger was the worst of them all.

"Is this the same speech you gave Katherine?" she whispered.

Damon jolted back like he'd been slapped, working quick to regain his composure. But it was too late, she already had the upper hand. She slipped out from under his grasp and walked away.

He didn't let her get more than a few feet before his hand shot out to grab her forearm. When she turned to look at him, he wore a completely different expression. "Katherine doesn't have anything to do with this."

"I disagree," Elena said coldly, looking from his grip on her arm to his eyes.

"You need us, Elena," he said, words kind and soft, a tone she'd never heard before. Not from him. "To get through this."

She wrenched her arm away from him. "I am sick of you telling me what I need. I'm fine."

Damon had the audacity to laugh, taking another step closer for everyone she took back. "You killed someone tonight, Gilbert. You really think you're fine? You think that's fine? That person had a family. Parents. Maybe even a kid. Siblings. You killed them. You think that's fine?"

Another step back. Shock crossed her face, but still, she tried to block out his words, tried not to think about what she'd done. "Stop," she whispered, a crack in her facade.

"You said you're fine, so this should be fine. Right?" He looked her up and down again. "That's a lot of blood, Gilbert. Maybe it wasn't just one family you ruined, but two. Maybe even three?"

Everything broke as her hands went into her hair and met matted strands caked with blood. She looked around, feeling stranded until Damon took a long step forward and crashed into her, wrapping his arms tight around her midsection just as she felt like she was about to collapse under the pressure of everything that had happened, under everything she'd done. Her arms didn't go around him, but he held her regardless, leaning his head against hers.

"You're right, Gilbert. You don't need us. But it'll be a hell of a lot easier if you let me in."

She nodded, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. But she didn't say anything. There were no words for all of the things she felt, for everything that had happened and everything that would continue to happen.

"And Elena?" he said, pulling back a fraction just enough to catch her eyes. "You're not Katherine. This," he said, a brief glance to her lips. "It has nothing to do with her."

Elena nodded numbly.

"Let me clean you up," Damon said, and she nodded once more, just before he scooped her up in his arms and whisked her away up the stairs.

The last twenty four hours seemed days long. How could so much have happened in such little time? Only a day prior she'd been human, no hunger to contend with, only fear of what was to come. Unfortunately, that fear hadn't quite faded. There were still many threads left unwoven. Her brother had not been returned, and none knew what Klaus planned to do with his newfound power. There would be time to worry another day. For now, her brain could use the rest.

Damon set her down on the edge of his bed. Leaning over her, he tucked a piece of hair back behind her ear, looking at her like she meant something to him. Maybe she did. His words downstairs had rendered her speechless, and she could only look at him, searching his face for something, unsure what exactly she wished to find there.

In a blur, he disappeared then reappeared a second later, holding a damp towel. He took her hands into his first and began working to remove the dried blood. "I didn't want this for you," he said, pausing his ministrations to catch her eye.

Her lids closed for a second, but she made herself open them again, made herself look at him, made herself feel. "Me either," she said, with a soft sigh. "But I wasn't ready to die, either."

He nodded and continued to wipe her hands free from blood. He finished one and moved on to the next while she tried not to look at the reminder of the people she'd killed and the families they must have had, and how they would be found in the woods, and how their case files would undoubtedly have the words animal attack scrawled on them. It seemed fitting, to be called an animal, remembering what had been done, remembering how they had looked.

"I meant what I said," Damon said. "We'll help you through this." He set her hand back down and sat down next to her. He tilted her chin upward and started on her neck. "The beginning," he started, then paused, searching for the right words, "It's not easy. Stefan still struggles, but the rest of us, we eventually got it figured it out." He angled his neck to look at her, wiping the blood off her chin as he spoke.

Elena reached out and grabbed his hand in a moment of weakness or poor judgment or any number of emotions acting up as they had throughout the day. "Thank you," she said. "For everything." He'd taken care of her now more times than she could count. "Maybe if I'd just listened to you in the first place…"

"Well let's not be unrealistic," he said, chuckling. "You were never going to listen to me. About anything. That's one of the things I like about you."

All of her problems seemed to melt away in response to his laughter, to this banter that they'd held in common for so long, now. For the first time that day, she smiled. It was small, the corners of her lips just barely turned upward. But it was something. "Who knew you liked more than one thing about me," she teased.

He wiped the last bit of blood off her collarbone, cleared his throat, and stood up. He disappeared into the bathroom and the sound of rushing water echoed in the en suite. She had half a mind to reach out for him, to throw her arms around him entirely and bury her face in the crook of his neck and tell him everything that she'd been thinking that entire day. Another small part of her thought it best that he'd put distance between them, as she didn't deserve his kindness after all she'd done. The families of the people she'd killed would sleep with no comfort that night, so why should she?

When he returned after a minute or two, she'd hardly moved, still wringing her hands together in front of her chest, still just as shell shocked as she'd been an hour ago. He held out a hand, brows slightly furrowed as he looked at her, trying to identify exactly what was the matter, but it was too many things to pinpoint just by looking at her expression, at the faraway gaze in her eyes and the crinkle between her brows.

After a beat, she took his hand, standing up from his bed and letting him lead her into the bathroom. Just like the rest of the house, the bathroom was extraordinarily nice, with tiled walls and floors and golden accents. A claw foot tub, larger than she'd ever seen sat against one wall and was filled to the brim with soapy water.

He dropped her hand to motion toward the towels and a stack of folded clothes on the toilet. "If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll be in the next room over." Then, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and left, closing the door behind him.

After removing the blood soaked clothes, the exhausted young vampire sank into the tub of hot, sudsy water with a satisfied groan. Her bones ached in a way that could not be cured by a warm bath, but it helped nonetheless. While it couldn't fix all of her problems, it did whisk away many a negative thought. After scrubbing her skin hard enough to leave it red—if only momentarily—and washing her hair twice over to get the last remnants of blood out, she wrapped herself in a towel, dried her hair, and changed into the clothes Damon had left for her. They were warm and soft and smelled like him. This too calmed her mind.

But when it came time to slip back into his bed alone, she could only toss and turn. She could only see the faces of the people she killed, see the way Klaus had looked at her before draining her blood, could only remember all of the terrible things that had come out of her desire for more.

Throwing back the comforter, Elena slipped out of Damon's bedroom and tiptoed down the hall to the next room over. With a hand on the doorknob, she took a deep breath once, twice, and then went to turn it, nearly jumping out of her skin when the door opened inward to reveal Damon in loose fitting pants and nothing else. There'd be something she wanted to say, but looking at his bare chest and forming words at the same time seemed completely impossible.

He cleared his throat and her eyes snapped up to his. His arrogant smile made her regret coming to his door at all, and with pursed lips, she rolled her eyes.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, eyes slowly drifting down her body, buried as it was under his clothes.

Elena nodded. She gave herself a mental pep talk, clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to figure out just how to say the words she wanted to say, to ask the question she wanted to ask. The words never came, her brain was much too addled to put together anything meaningful anyways, and maybe it was a bad idea, but she couldn't think of another way to get her feelings across. So, instead of speaking, instead of asking him to come back to his bedroom as she really wished to do, she took a step forward, her eyes flicking between his lips and his eyes. No more thinking. It had only caused trouble.

In one motion, she stepped forward, pressed presser her body against his, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him. He reacted with similar abandon, arms winding around her waist and pulling her even closer still, the pair of them moving backward as they kissed. Damon's hand shot out to close the door, and then he was pressing her against it, kissing her hard and fast.

Her hands delved into his hair, anything to hold him as close as possible. Fingers teased the hem of her shirt, touching bare skin. She hummed against his mouth, her hands moving from his hair down to his shoulders. He pulled away from her and for a moment their eyes met, both looking at one another wild with desire. Elena's hair damp from the shower in loose waves and Damon's messy from her hands. The corner of her lips quirked up in a half smile half smirk and she tilted her head toward the door with a question on the tip of her tongue. Damon returned the smile, and when she opened the door to leave, he followed.

They barely made it inside his room before they were wrapped up in each other again, one of his hands weaved through her hair, holding the back of her head as he slowly kissed down the column of her neck.

She was putty in his hands. There were no thoughts in her head except for ones of him. She didn't worry about anything else except for what she'd do if he stopped. Thankfully for both of them, he didn't. Instead, he slowly lifted her shirt off, tossing it on the floor next to them. Then, he had her in his arms again, her legs wrapped around him as he carried her back to his bed. Hovering over her, he kissed down the center of her chest.

"Damon," she whispered, that single word filled with so much want. Not only for this but for him, entirely. He lifted his head to look at her, a brow raised to match the cheeky smirk that graced his lips. He'd never looked hotter, and she found that it didn't annoy her as much as it used to. He leaned forward and captured her lips again, this time slow and tender, parting them to slide his tongue along her bottom lip.

Elena never in a hundred years would have thought she'd end up here, in this moment, pressed against Damon and kissing him like a woman starved. But there was nowhere else she'd rather be, and as the late night turned to early morning and kisses turned into much more, the two never separated, and Elena eventually fell asleep with her head on his chest. Despite the day she'd had, somehow she found restful sleep.

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! It's definitely my favorite one so far, so I can't wait to hear all of your thoughts! Only seven more chapters to go! Second part of "A Bistro in Burlington" will be up soon. I'm moving across the country this weekend, so it may not be up until after I get settled early next week. We'll see.