After sweet-talking the night watchman, Elena is sitting near the water's edge with the pier logs.
She flips through the pages using her flashlight. Two nights ago, Mason Lockwood, 9:47 PM, docked the "Siren's Call." No departure time logged. Tyler was right. Mason was there, hours before he washed up dead.
She tucks the clipboard under her arm. The "Siren's Call" was his boat. It was the kind of vessel that could get caught in a storm or tangled in something worse. She scans the pier. Moored boats sway gently, but Mason's is nowhere to be seen. Did it sink? Drift off? Or did someone move it? The questions pile up, and she's determined to learn the answers.
A shadow shifts behind her, and she spins with her flashlight. Damon steps into the beam, his hands raised against the glare in surrender. "Easy, Gilbert," he mocks. "You gonna blind or just interrogate me?"
She lowers the light. "You scared me. What are you doing here?"
"Could ask you the same," he shoots back, stepping closer. "Stefan said you were poking around the pier. Figured I'd see what trouble you're stirring up."
"I'm checking the logs. Mason was here the night before last. Docked his boat, no record of leaving. You know anything about that?"
Damon's jaw ticks, but he doesn't look away. "No. The last time I saw Mason, he was three sheets to the wind, yelling at me outside Joe's Bar. That was a week ago." He pauses and glances at the clipboard. "You think that proves something?"
"Maybe," she says, holding his gaze. "Maybe it's nothing. But I'm not letting it go until I know."
He smirks with a faint curve of his lips that's more respect than mockery. "You're stubborn as hell, you know that?" He steps closer, and a flicker in his eyes makes her breath hitch. "Most people would've dropped this by now."
"Most people aren't me," she replies matter-of-factly. She doesn't move or back down, and neither does he. The wind tugs at her hair, brushing strands across her face, and for a moment, they're just two shadows on the pier, caught in a pull neither wants to name.
Damon's gaze drops to her mouth, then snaps back up, like he's caught himself. He shoves his hands in his pockets. "You're going to get yourself in deep, Gilbert," he says quietly. "Deeper than you think."
"I can swim," she counters, daring him to see her, really see her. And he does, she can tell, in the way his eyes linger, and how his smirk falters.
"Yeah, you can." He has spent years building walls after Katherine's death and Mason's hatred, and after every failure. But Elena's different. She's relentless and fierce. He hates and likes it. That scares the hell out of him.
She shifts the clipboard to her other arm. "You don't have to help me, you know. But I'm doing this with or without you."
Damon tilts his head, studying her like he's seeing her for the first time. "You're a pain in my ass, rookie..." He looks away for a beat before turning back. "Fine. What's the plan?"
"Find the 'Siren's Call.' If it's still out there, it might tell us what happened. You know these waters. Any guesses where it could've gone?"
He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "If it didn't sink, it could've drifted west. Currents pull that way past the rocks. There's a cove a mile down. It's hidden unless you know where to look. Mason used to tie up there when he was dodging harbor fees."
"It sounds like the dreaded Isla de Muerta. It's an island that cannot be found except by those who already know where it is."
"Please, Elena. Isla de Muerta? More like Isla de Bore-ta if Mason's taste in hideaways is anything to go by. Trust me, that little dent in the coastline isn't some mythical lost paradise. I know where it is because, unlike some people, I pay attention to my surroundings... especially when there's a chance to get away from, well, you know."
"A little brevity never hurts," Elena defends herself. "I guess I'll start there. Tomorrow, first light."
"We start," he counters. Damon catches her surprised look and scowls, like he's mad at himself for caring. "Don't get used to it. I just don't trust you not to drown out there."
"Noted," she says. "See you at dawn, Damon."
She turns to go, the clipboard tucked under her arm. Damon watches her. He doesn't want her slipping under his skin, but she's there anyway, in a way he hasn't let himself be since Katherine.
He mutters a curse under his breath, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets, and follows her shadow down the pier, knowing he's in deeper than he'll ever admit.
It's dawn and Elena is already at the water's edge with her wetsuit zipped tight. She adjusts the straps of a small dive bag slung over her shoulder. She has a flashlight, a knife, and a flare, just in case.
The cove Damon mentioned waits a couple of miles west, hidden beyond the rocks. She hopes they'll find the Siren's Call to see if it holds answers about Mason's death.
She hears him before she sees him. Damon emerges from the dune path, his wetsuit hugging his gorgeous frame. "You're early again," he remarks, stopping beside her.
"Habit," she replies, meeting his stare. There's a charge between them, and he looks at her like she is a puzzle he can't solve. "You ready?"
"Born ready, Gilbert," Damon smirks. "Let's get this over with." He nods toward the water, where a small lifeguard skiff bobs at the shore. "Faster than swimming. Currents are a bitch this early."
She follows him to the boat, climbing in as he unties the line. The engine sputters, and they pull away from the beach. Damon steers with one hand, his other resting on the throttle. Elena watches him and the way the sunrise carves shadows along his jaw. She feels something stirring beneath her ribs. He's a mess of walls, but there's a quiet strength she didn't expect.
"You're staring," he says without looking at her.
"Checking your navigation," she shoots back, covering the flush creeping up her neck. "I don't want us to get lost before we start."
He glances at her with a flicker of amusement. "I know these waters blindfolded, rookie. You're safe with me." It's a throwaway line, but her stomach flips, and she looks away, focusing on the water.
The skiff rounds the rocky outcrop, and the cove comes into view. It's a narrow inlet framed by cliffs. Damon cuts the engine to let the waves carry them in. "There," he says, nodding toward a shadowed corner where something bobs against the rocks. It's a small boat, half-submerged with a cracked hull. It's Mason's boat, The Siren's Call.
Elena's breath catches. "That's it," she remarks, reaching for her dive bag. "We need to get closer."
Damon ties the skiff to a jutting rock, then grabs his gear. "Stay sharp," he warns. "If it's been here since Mason died, it won't be pretty."
They slip into the water, the cold biting through her wetsuit as she swims toward the wreck. Damon's beside her, and she matches his pace. The boat is tilted with its deck awash with seaweed and debris. The cabin's still above water.
Elena climbs aboard first and slips on the slick deck. Damon steadies her with a hand on her elbow. His touch lingers a beat too long, and she meets his eyes to see the flicker of something.
"Thanks," she mutters, pulling away. She shines her flashlight into the cabin. Empty beer cans litter the floor, a fishing rod is tangled in a corner, and a tarp is bunched up near the wheel. Nothing screams murder, but nothing feels right either.
Damon steps past her, crouching to inspect the tarp. He pulls it back, revealing a coiled rope with frayed ends stained dark. "Blood," he says flatly, but there's tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before.
Elena kneels beside him. It's dry and brown, but unmistakable. "Could be fish blood," she shrugs. "Or…"
"Or not," he finishes, his eyes meeting hers. They're close now, close enough that she can see the flecks of gray in his blue irises. "Mason wasn't fishing that night. He was drunk, maybe, but not working."
Her throat tightens as the implications sink in. "So what are we looking at?"
Damons stares blankly at the rope. She's doing this to him. Her relentlessness and her refusal to let him hide. He hates how it draws him in and makes him want to trust her. "I don't know," he admits finally. "But I don't like it."
"We'll figure it out," she remarks, and means it. His eyes snap to hers. For a heartbeat, they're raw and unguarded. She feels it, something electric sparking where their skin meets.
He pulls back, standing abruptly. "Let's not touch anything else. We don't want to mess anything up if it's a crime scene. Liz should see this."
Elena swallows the strange ache in her chest as she nods.
Damon's walls are beginning to crumble, and she's holding the hammer, whether he likes it or not.
The skiff heads back toward Mystic Beach. Elena grips the boat's edge as the spray cools her face. She steals a glance at Damon. He's focused on steering so hard his knuckles are white on the throttle. Something is brewing beneath, and she feels it.
"You're quiet," she observes. "What's going on in there?" She taps her temple.
Damon's eyes flick to her, then back to the water. "Just thinking," he mutters. "That rope… doesn't sit right."
"Blood never does," she replies, but her mind's racing too. "You think it's Mason's?"
He shrugs. "Could be. Or it could be some dumbass who cut himself gutting fish. But with Mason's luck, I wouldn't bet on it." He pauses, then adds, "He was a mess, but he didn't deserve… whatever this is."
Elena leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she stares at him. "You didn't hate him as much as you let on, did you?"
"Don't get all shrink on me, Gilbert. Mason was a pain in my ass. Doesn't mean I wanted him dead." He cuts the engine as they near the shore. The skiff drifts in, and for a moment, he sits there, staring like there's a ghost he can't shake.
She doesn't push, not yet. Instead, she climbs out and helps him pull the boat onto the sand. They work together, and when the skiff's secure, she straightens and brushes wet sand from her hands. "We need to notify Sheriff Forbes."
"Yeah," he agrees. His eyes meet hers, and she sees it again, that flicker of something he's fighting to bury.
"You don't have to do this alone," she says softly. "Whatever's coming, I'm in it too."
Damon's breath hitches for a beat, and he looks at her like she's a rogue wave he didn't see coming. One that might pull him under if he's not careful. "You're too damn stubborn," he remarks and steps close enough that she can smell the salt on him. "You keep this up, you're going to make me like you, Gilbert. And I don't do that."
"Wouldn't want to ruin your reputation," she teases with a smile. He's letting her see him, even if it's just a glimpse. It's not much, but enough to stir something in her chest.
Damon shakes his head and steps back. "Come on." He jerks his chin toward the station. "Let's call Liz before you get any more ideas."
They reach the station just as Stefan steps out. "What'd you find?" he asks.
"A rope with what looks like blood on it," Damon says tersely. "From the Siren's Call. She's wrecked in the cove, just like I thought."
Stefan's brow furrows, his gaze shifting to Elena. "You think it's tied to Mason?"
"Could be," she shrugs. "Sheriff Forbes needs to get forensics out there. They'll be able to tell us if it's human blood, Mason's perhaps, or fish blood."
"This is getting messy. You two sure you want to keep digging?"
Damon snorts, crossing his arms. "Too late to back out now. Your rookie here's got a taste for it."
Elena shoots him a look, but there's a teasing spark in his eyes. She turns to Stefan. "We need to know what happened. If it's just a drowning, fine. But if it's not…"
"Then we've got a problem," Stefan finishes, nodding. "I'll run over to the sheriff's office. You two hold down the fort today. And try not to kill each other," he calls out.
"No promises," Damon quips, but his glance at Elena softens the edge.
"You're not as bad at this as you pretend," she comments. "Helping, I mean."
"Don't get used to it, Gilbert. I'm still an asshole." He turns toward the tower, but not before she catches the faintest curve of his lips.
Elena leans against the railing of Tower 3. Her sunglasses are perched on her nose as she eyes the water for trouble. The beach is full. Kids shriek as they chase waves, and a volleyball game kicks up dust near the dunes. It's a normal shift, or as normal as it gets with a blood-stained rope consuming her thoughts.
Damon is sprawled on a chair, one leg kicked up on the bench, his arms crossed behind his head. His sunglasses hide his eyes, but she knows he's watching too. The silence between them isn't tense anymore, not like it was. It's settled into something companionable, threaded with an undercurrent she can't quite name.
She feels how his grudging respect has softened into something more. Elena's curiosity about him keeps tugging at her, opening feelings she didn't plan for.
"Busy day," she comments, breaking the quiet. "You think the beach knows we're onto something?"
Damon tilts his head toward her with a lazy smirk. "If it does, it's not talking. Probably laughing at us instead." He drops his leg, sitting up straighter, and pulls off his sunglasses.
His blue eyes catch hers, unguarded for once. "You're good at this, you know. The lifeguard thing. Didn't think you'd last a week."
"High praise from you. Should I frame it?"
"Don't push it, Gilbert," he says, but his grin betrays him. It's a genuine thing that makes her heart skip. He stands and steps close enough that she can feel the heat. "I'm just saying you're not as green as I thought. Takes guts, digging into this mess with me."
"Takes guts to let me," she counters. "You're not as closed off as you pretend, Salvatore."
"You're seeing things," he mutters, but he doesn't step back. Instead, he lingers, and his eyes search hers like he's caught off guard by how much he's letting her see. It's dangerous. He feels it gnawing at the edges of the armor he's worn since Katherine. But Elena's not Katherine. She's strong and fierce, and damn if that doesn't chip away at him, piece by stubborn piece.
Before he can say more, an urgent shout interrupts. A woman is waving near the shallows and pointing out past the breakers. "Someone's out there!" she yells.
Elena's already moving, grabbing her rescue tube from the bench. Damon follows behind her, his tube in hand.
The moment their feet hit the sand, they're running. The crowd parts as they sprint to the water. First in, Elena dives and swims hard. Damon's strokes mirror hers. The man is caught in a rip current, pulling westward.
"Angle left!" Damon shouts over the waves. She adjusts, and they close the gap together. He reaches the man first, hooking an arm around his chest, while Elena secures the tube on his other side. The man's gasping, panicked, but they've got him.
They fight the current back to shore as the man's weight drags at them. By the time they hit the sand, a crowd is gathering. A woman sobs her thanks as they lay him down. He's coughing, alive, and Elena checks his pulse. "You're okay," she assures him calmly. "Just breathe."
Damon kneels beside her, brushing wet hair from his face. "Nice teamwork, rookie," he commends her.
She meets his eyes and smiles. "Told you I can swim."
He chuckles and looks away briefly. He doesn't want to feel whatever this is. But it's there, and try as he might, he can't outrun it any more than she can.
Stefan jogs over. "Everyone good?" he asks, his eyes darting between them.
"Yeah," Damon sighs as he stands and offers Elena a hand. She takes it, and he pulls her up, holding on a second longer than he needs to. "We've got it covered."
Stefan claps Damon on the shoulder. "Sheriff called while you were out. A forensic team is at the wreck as we speak. Rest up, both of you. You've earned it."
Elena brushes sand from her knees. Her still hand tingles from Damon's grip. "Tomorrow, then," she remarks, glancing at him.
Damon nods and heads back to the tower.
Thank you all for reading. ️ ️
I did post the first chapter of "Chaos Theory: Baby Edition" yesterday. It's a short and fluff-filled story. ️
Have a fabulous day.