Chapter Nineteen: If Only Manifestation Worked This Well

Elena Gilbert

"So, why did you wait for me?"

There it was. The dreaded question.

Elena looked over at Damon in the passenger seat, who was deliberately avoiding her gaze. Having made her stop off at a gas station, he was now munching on snacks that were unsuitable for a late morning breakfast and trying to connect his phone to the Bluetooth receiver on her stereo because apparently Build Me Up Buttercup just couldn't wait until he got home.

Her eyes returned to the road, shifting her grip on the wheel as she replied flatly, "I'm asking myself the same question."

In her peripheral vision, she caught him glancing at her, waiting to see if she would amend her answer. She didn't – she couldn't – because she didn't actually have an answer. The moment her tire was changed and she got into her car, she'd started the engine, fully prepared to leave. Then she'd looked over at the passenger seat, and... the car had suddenly felt incredibly empty.

It was an unwelcome and absurdly suffocating feeling. It wasn't like she missed him... or, at least, she didn't think so. It was more like she'd lived in a haunted house with a mischievous poltergeist – one that she had begrudgingly gotten used to – then a long-overdue exorcism had left the place feeling barren and uncomfortably quiet.

So – being a glutton for punishment – she'd reconjured the poltergeist, and now he was getting crumbs in her car to compliment the dampness he'd brought in with him.

Fabulous.

The scenery outside began to change, scattered houses indicating they were now on the outskirts of town. She flicked on her turn signal and used the maneuver as an excuse to steal a few more glances in Damon's direction, trying to make sense of what she felt. Having him there should have been annoying – it was annoying – so why the hell did it feel better than not having him there at all? Did she really have such a big void in her life that the universe somehow thought he would be the appropriate person to fill it?

Her knuckles tightened on the wheel, the weight of her thoughts manifesting into tension as a punchy beat started playing through her speakers.

Oh great, he's connected his phone.

"Whhhaaaa do you build me up..."

Oh great, he's singing.

She switched off her stereo.

Damon rolled up the now-empty wrapper and shifted in his seat, lifting his hips as he shoved it into his pocket to bin later. He tutted, "You're a killjoy, Elena. You need to learn to have a little fun."

She almost chuckled at the irony. Oh, Damon was good at having fun, that was for sure – but it was usually at her expense, taunting and pestering her at every opportunity. Which of their interactions did he expect her to find fun? Sending her flirty anonymous messages? Chasing her through the woods? Wrestling him for the phone? Pinning her to the bed?

She smiled to herself.

Damn it... okay, maybe in retrospect it had been fun... but it certainly didn't feel that way at the time. Of course, getting her revenge on him had always been amusing. She turned her head, raised an eyebrow at Damon, and smirked. "Drawing on your face was pretty fun."

He swung his slackened head towards her. "You know what I think...?"

Internally groaning, she took the next turning onto a narrow street. Only a few minutes until she was back at her apartment. "I'm guessing I'm about to find out."

Damon's lips spread into a wide, knowing smile. "I think you're deliberately avoiding having a good time around me because you're worried that – deep down – you might actually like me."

Ouch!

He hit a nerve, and she didn't even know why. That couldn't possibly be true, could it? She refused to believe it. He was a complete clown... and maybe clowns were likable in the right circumstances, like a circus or a kid's birthday party. But stick a clown in a wedding ceremony, or funeral, or operating theatre, and suddenly they become wildly inappropriate. "Maybe you're just difficult to like because all I ever get to see is an egotistical buffoon," she countered lightly. "But, by all means, prove me wrong and show me that Damon Salvatore has a deeper, more serious side."

Damon smirked and gave a half-shrug. His voice was tinged with challenge. "Fine, I can be serious. Come up to the penthouse, spend the afternoon with me, and we'll talk about, I don't know... politics or climate change or something else equally unfun."

"See, joking again." Elena huffed a dry laugh. "And do you always have to refer to your home as your 'penthouse'? It sounds so cold and pretentious."

Damon's smirk faltered. For a second, something raw flickered behind his eyes. He exhaled slowly, dropping his head, and when he finally spoke, his voice dropped too. "Okay, you want serious, Elena? I'll tell you why I use that word – because I bought it with the money I inherited from my mother." He turned his head, catching Elena's surprised gaze. "Sure, I also invested in Rose & Savior, and I'm proud of that – I made a friend in Rose, and we rebuilt that place into something warm, welcoming, and full of life. That's exactly how my mother was. But the penthouse?" He paused, emitting a humorless chuckle as he shook his head. "It's just empty, Elena. I felt more warmth and comfort in the few minutes I was in your apartment than I've ever felt in my own."

Elena hesitated to speak. Just minutes ago, she was contemplating the void she had in her life, picking at the edges of how empty it felt. Now Damon was telling her that he had slotted himself into her small, imperfect world and found comfort there? The sadness of that revelation lodged deep in her chest, and when she finally found her voice, it came out soft, laced with concern. "So why do you have it? You could buy something else...?"

"It's not the apartment, Elena – it's you." Damon's jaw flexed. His voice was almost pleading. "When they say a home needs a woman's touch, it's not just the furnishings, it's the entire atmosphere. I stay where I am because every time I walk into that apartment, it reminds me that there's not a damn thing I wouldn't give up to have that same comfort I had as a kid – to have a family of my own one day." He placed his hands on his knees like he was trying to anchor himself. "And I need that reminder because every time I'm outside the apartment, I convince myself it's never going to happen."

Elena's throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. "Why do you think that?" she asked quietly.

Damon gave her a rueful smile. "Maybe because whenever I actually like someone, I ruin it by acting like an egotistical buffoon." The smile morphed into a facial shrug, but his eyes stayed locked on hers, searching for that much-needed understanding – even acceptance – of his flaws.

For a beat, Elena said nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice was teasing, but the warmth in her eyes gave her away. "Mmmm... well, maybe that side of you isn't so bad after all..." A smile tugged at her lips as she added, "...in moderation."

Damon smiled back at her. After a moment of silence between them, he asked, "So, was I deep enough for you?"

Elena's lips flattened, and she closed her eyes for far longer than she should have for someone who was driving. She groaned, "Was that another innuendo, Damon?"

"You have a dirty mind, Elena," he accused teasingly, "but, yes, it was, actually."

Seeing Bonnie and Enzo coming out from her apartment block in the distance, Elena slowed the vehicle, her gaze momentarily lingering on the pair as they strolled onto the street and spotted her car. Deciding to park out front, she signaled and carefully eased the car toward the curb, bringing it to a smooth stop. "I'll let it slide this time."

Elena switched off the engine, grabbed her bag, opened her door, and stepped out into the fresh air. Bonnie's bright smile widened as she approached. "Thanks for being here, Bonnie. Did you have any problems locating the cameras, Enzo?"

Holding out both his palms, Enzo presented the cube-shaped devices, which were larger than Elena expected them to be. "One hidden in a ceramic oil burner in your living room, one on a kitchen cabinet beside a fondue set, and there was another one hidden behind Polly's cage but it seems she didn't appreciate the invasion of privacy, so she destroyed the lens."

Elena swallowed. "Any in the bedroom or bathroom?" It didn't seem likely, recalling where Elijah had been in her apartment, but she needed to be sure.

Bonnie placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "No, nothing in either of those rooms."

Relief washed over Elena, and her shoulders relaxed. "Thank you, both of you."

Enzo cut in with a more serious expression. "There's just one thing, though," he said. "Somebody came by while we were there, asking if you were home."

Elena frowned. "Who was it?"

"Don't know," Bonnie replied, exchanging a glance with Enzo. "Some guy, but we didn't recognize him. He didn't leave his name."

At that moment, Damon emerged from the car, shutting the door with a deliberately firm click and strolling toward the group. "What did he look like?" he asked urgently.

Glancing at the unfamiliar passenger, Enzo's eyes stopped on Elena as he jutted his thumb in Damon's direction. "Is this Stefan's brother? The doolally stalker? You gave him a ride?" Looking back at Damon, Enzo lowered his eyebrows, staring intensely at the markings on his forehead. "Are those horns?"

"The halo didn't work out too well for me," Damon replied sarcastically. Then he clapped his hands to regain Enzo's attention. "Description. Chop chop, and don't leave out any details. We need a full report of this guy from head to toe."

Bonnie tilted her head towards Damon. "He was wearing a suit..."

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Damon stopped her. "Enough said." He turned towards Elena. "You can't go home, Elena. He's going to turn up at your apartment again, I can feel it in my doolallies."

Enzo crossed his arms and shook his head. "You're not using that word correctly, mate."

Elena rolled her eyes at Damon. "The cameras are gone," she reminded him sternly. "He's not keeping me out of my apartment, Damon." She glanced back at Bonnie and Enzo, determination flickering in her eyes. "Thanks for letting me know. And for taking care of the cameras."

"Anytime," Bonnie said with a reassuring smile. "Call me if anything else happens. Or if you need to spend the night at mine."

"Oh, she'll call you," Damon assured her.

Ignoring him, Elena nodded at Bonnie, her lips curving into a grateful smile, and gave her a warm parting hug. Turning toward the apartment block, she was already reaching for her keys when she realized Damon was following close behind her.

"Elena, spend the night at Bonnie's," he implored. "Call Caroline over. Have a girls' night. I'll order you seafood."

She stopped suddenly, turning to face him with an irritated expression.

"Okay, no seafood," he conceded, as Elena walked away again.

Pushing through the door and into the lobby, Elena headed towards the elevator. She felt Damon's silent presence behind her, like he was her self-assigned bodyguard – one that was overly protective and invasive. Damon stopped beside her as she pressed the elevator button, the doors sliding open instantly. They stepped inside the small space and he leaned casually against the wall, watching her as she pressed the button for her floor. She attempted to hit the button to the penthouse, but it refused to light up.

"You need a key card for that floor," he explained, the doors closing.

"Okay," Elena sighed, stepping back and sweeping her hands in the direction of the control panel, "so use it."

"I'm walking you to your apartment."

The soft hum of the ascending elevator coincided with Elena's groan, the air between them thick with tension. She didn't bother to argue with him. Did she even want to argue with him? Or was there a small part of her that liked the idea of him escorting her to her apartment like a gentleman?

Elena almost chortled out loud at the thought. Damon was certainly no gentleman. For starters, he appeared like a drowned rat in his mucky, damp clothes. A drowned rat who looked like the wilderness and smelled like the earth. A drowned rat who desperately needed to get out of those clothes and into a shower.

Oh great, now she was imagining him naked. Elena quickly shook that thought from her head and got back on point. There were a lot of points to be made. He was also rude, stubborn, and intrusive. Aside from invading her inbox, her apartment, her car, and her getaway cabin, he was also invading every thought in her head – including what he would look like out of those clothes again.

Elena sighed in relief as the doors finally slid open, revealing the hallway to her apartment. Damon stepped aside to let her exit, and she walked down the hall, her brisk footsteps in time with her heartbeat, until she reached her door. She slid the key into the lock, casting a quick glance back at Damon before pushing it open and stepping inside.

As soon as she turned to say goodbye, Damon waltzed right in behind her.

"Erm, I didn't invite you in," she pointed out.

Damon, who was complacently surveying his surroundings like it was home, replied, "Calm down. I just want to make sure you get your phone up and running and then I will run along out of here." He turned to Elena and cocked his head with a pout. "Safety first. Put my mind at rest."

Elena's eyes narrowed. "My safety isn't your responsibility."

Damon smirked. "It's become my hobby, so humor me."

Throwing her hands in the air in defeat, Elena closed the door. "Fine. But the second my phone's working, you're leaving. Got it?"

"Got it," he replied, though the mischievous glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.

Placing her bag on the ground, she informed him, "First, I'm going to get changed out of yesterday's clothes before I start smelling as bad as you do."

Ignoring her insult, Damon raised an eyebrow, his grin devilish. "Need a hand with that?"

Elena froze, her jaw tightening, and she shot him a withering glare. "Absolutely not."

He chuckled, low and amused as she disappeared into her bedroom and shut the door firmly behind her.

Elena leaned against the door for a moment, taking a deep breath. Damon had now invaded her inbox, her apartment, her car, her getaway cabin, every thought in her head, and was now back to invading her apartment again. So why wasn't she more mad about it? Was it that she'd promised him that they'd start on a clean slate? Or had she just given up expecting him to behave any differently? Or maybe, just maybe, she was starting to accept that this was Damon's version of caring – and, as frustrating as it was, maybe she didn't entirely hate it.

That was a lot of maybes.

Shaking her head, Elena moved toward her closet and quickly changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a clean Henley top. She'd barely pulled the top over her head when she heard Damon's voice through the door.

"Hey, can I use your bathroom?"

"Yeah, go ahead," she called back, distracted as she folded her discarded clothes.

Moments later, the sound of running water drifted through the apartment. Frowning, Elena paused mid-fold.

Was that...?

She froze, listening intently. Yep, it was definitely the shower.

Elena stormed out of her room, her eyebrows knitting together in disbelief. Did she manifest this, or was she just psychic? Or was it just typical Damon and his never-ending audacity? She headed straight for the bathroom door, throwing it open without hesitation, and charging inside.

"Damon, what the –"

Her words died in her throat as she took in the scene. Damon stood just outside the shower, hot running water gradually misting the air around him. He was completely naked, his back to her, every detail of his lean, sculpted frame on full display. Broad shoulders tapered into a strong, defined back, down to the sharp angle of his waist, and finally the firm, muscular lines of his butt.

And Elena's brain completely short-circuited.