Set in an alternate version of season two. Jeremy's a vampire and Katherine's an even crazier bitch than we thought.

Never Let Go

Together, they'll learn that some bonds don't break after all.

"Damon," she says desperately, and he stirs a little more. "Damon. I need you to wake up. Wake up." She pulls on the ropes that were securing her to the chair, but just like the hundred other times she tried that, the knots don't loosen. "Damon!"

His eyes finally flutter open, and she thinks it's the most amazing thing she's ever seen. He looks around confusedly for a moment before his memories return to him. Katherine. Elena. It takes more effort than it should for him to turn his head, but he just barely manages it. Elena is watching him with wide eyes, and they seem so terrified that he has to look away.

"Damon." She whispers this time, but it seems like even her quiet words echo off the walls. They are obviously in a basement, but that's about all she can come up with. It is remarkably large, bigger than the one beneath the boarding house, and it is made up of nothing but four dank walls. The staircase is on the other end, and it looks wooden and rotted.

Damon ignores her, instead examining the ropes that are binding him. He yanks at them experimentally, and is surprised when they give under his strength. He expected them to be coated in vervain, therefore preventing him from doing much moving, but apparently that precaution wasn't necessary. He removes his hands from the tangled mess and begins to work on the ties around his ankles when Elena speaks again.

"That's not right. This doesn't make sense." He glances up at her, and can practically see the cogs turning in her head. "It's not like she's just going to let us escape." She's right, and he knows it, but he's still trying to figure everything out himself, so he doesn't say anything. "We won't be able to get out the door," she concludes, and he glances up at her because he's surprised at how sure she sounds.

"What makes you think that?" His voice is raspy because his throat is unbearably dry, and it's all he can do not to think about the blood pulsing through Elena's veins.

"Untie me," she responds, and it takes nearly all his energy to stand up and make his way to her. He'd been injected with vervain hours ago, but the effects won't completely wear off for days. His fingers fumble with the knots because it will take less strength than actually ripping them apart, but she shows no sign of impatience at the slow process. He slumps against the wall as soon as he succeeds in freeing her.

She makes her way across the cement floor warily, like something might spring out of it and attack her. The stairs look dangerous in themselves, but she figures they're safer than a psychopathic, centuries old vampire twin, so she takes them on bravely. At the top is heavy-looking steel door that was definitely made for either keeping things out, or keeping them in. She touches the knob, wishing with everything she has that it would just miraculously turn beneath her fingers and they could make a nice, anti-climactic escape.

Her hopes aren't exactly crushed when the knob remained stubbornly in place because she hadn't really been expecting the alternative.

Damon hears her sigh from across their prison, and gathers that they were very much locked in. Perhaps once the vervain wears off a bit more he could break the door down... But that isn't going to happen without blood, and he knows it. They're going to be trapped until they're rescued then, because he isn't going to drink from Elena. He just isn't.

"So this is her diabolical plan," Elena says, suddenly uncharacteristically lighthearted. "She sticks you and I down here, waits for you to kill me or for me to just die off of, I don't know, starvation, and then she either lets you go to deal with Stefan's wrath, or kills you herself." She takes a moment to absorb her own words and then nods her head, as if in approval. "Clever."

"You're taking this well," he points out, and is impressed with how he managed so sound a lot less pained than he feels.

She crosses her arms and sits down in the chair he had been tied up in. "Yeah, well, someone needs to take on the inappropriately unperturbed role, because apparently you're not up for it." She leans back with a sigh and tries not to let how panicked she is show on her face. She's scared, and without Damon's sarcastic comments to distract her, she isn't really sure how to deal with it.

"I don't think I'd be up for Angelina Jolie if she walked in half naked right now." Ah, she thinks, there he is.

"You're sick," she informs him, and he doesn't answer because he's just so tired.

When he wakes up, Elena is a few feet down from him, standing on her toes in an attempt to see out a tiny window that is just a couple inches too high. She jumps up and catches a glimpse of what is out there, but is so unsatisfied with it that she jumps up again, just to make sure her eyes didn't deceive her.

They did not.

"What's out there?" Damon asks, and though his voice is still hoarse, his body feels a little less weighed down, and the only thing still screaming in agony is his gums. He tests his legs by slowly standing, and they seem to be okay with taking on his weight.

"Nothing," she replies simply, and he rolls his eyes. "I can't see much. It's dark. There's grass. Trees. Bushes." He comes up behind her to take a look for himself, and finds that her description was pretty accurate. There was nothing memorable about their surroundings that could indicate where they could possibly be.

"How long was I out for?"

She glances at the silver watch she'd put on that morning, and wonders if it's a good or bad thing that they have a way to keep track of time. Will it get to the point where every minute feels like hours? "About four hours. It's almost ten."

"What time did she take us? Around four this morning?" He notices that she doesn't look him in the eye, and he guesses it's because she doesn't want him to see whatever emotion she's trying to hide. It's dignified, but unnecessary. Even a human would be able to feel the fear radiating off of her.

"Yeah. I was getting up for a glass of water."

He nods, and they both kind of walk away from each other. She heads for the chairs again, and almost checks to see if she's worn a path in the floor because she's done this a million times over the past four hours. It was much better when she was knocked out, and had no sense of time. At this thought, she removes the watch and tosses it to the floor.

She sees him cross the empty space much like she had hours earlier, and ascend the stairs slowly. She assumes he isn't strong enough to blur with speed, and wonders how long he'll last before his thirst is too overwhelming.

She hears a distinct thud as he must have tried to overcome that pesky door, and a mumbled curse or two follows it. The door isn't going to budge, and they both know it, so why he is wasting his limited energy on something so hopeless is beyond her. She hates that she feels like she has already given up, but she won't be disillusioned into believing Katherine left some possibility of escape.

Her life depends on a rescue, and that's all there is to it.

"I'm guessing she took our phones," Damon says, and she nods her head in confirmation. They probably wouldn't have service down here anyway. "So we wait," he asserts quietly, taking his time coming down the stairs. They creak and groan creepily, and the sound reverberates n Elena's mind long after they go silent.

"Stefan will find us soon," she states, and she sounds so positive that he almost believes her.

His fangs pierce through his gums persistently, but he refuses to give in to the need. She is lucky to be asleep, and waking her up via teeth-in-the-neck would probably be unpleasant, to say the least. But despite his disgust with the thought, he can feel the veins surrounding his eyes begin to protrude, and he fights to regain control.

When the wave of hunger passes for the moment and his expression returns to normal, his entire body relaxes. The periods of time between each episode are getting shorter, and he can admit to himself that the thought scares him. Being completely trapped with no choices or opportunities sucks, and he hopes he is never again submitted to this kind of torture. Waiting for his brother to get his ass in gear before he tears open Elena's neck is an experience he'd rather not ever have to live again.

"Damon?" Elena calls from the corner she curled up in, and his head snaps up because he hadn't sensed her wake up. When his eyes meet hers, he sees the desperation there that had been missing since he'd untied her. She isn't even trying to hide it anymore. "Do you think he'll make it in time?"

She straightens up against the wall and leans her head back against it like it's the only thing keeping her from crumbling down. He wonders how hard it was for her to keep herself together for the amount of time that she did, because it was a lot longer than he would've expected.

"Yes," he assures her, though he sounds more convinced than he feels. What if Stefan doesn't make it? What if she dies down here? What if he kills her? A dry laugh interrupts his thoughts.

"I don't believe you," she says, smiling sadly. His chest constricts for a second, because she's already giving up and it's so unlike her. She shouldn't be giving up for at least another week or two or three. Except that she doesn't have a week, he remembers. Because he'll be sure to snap before then.

"Here I was thinking you trusted me," he mutters in attempt to distract her. He makes his way over to her and slides down the wall on her left side. Maybe it's dangerous to be this close to her when he's this hungry. Or, maybe he has better control than he gives himself credit for.

"Now, why would I do that? You're evil and mendacious." She doesn't open her eyes, but her smile doesn't seem so lugubrious, and he's grateful for that at least.

"I resent that."

"You love it," she admonishes, not missing a beat. They laugh quietly, but silence returns soon enough and they understand that there is really no escaping it. There is a long period of time where neither of them moves or says a thing.

"I'm scared," she finally admits, and her stomach growls as if in agreement. He imagines she's too proud to complain about how hungry she is, and respects her for it. It's not like they can do anything about it.

"I know," he responds, and he can suddenly smell salty tears.

She isn't making a sound, but they pour in a steady stream down her cheeks, and all he can think of is how much he wants to kill Katherine for this. He knew she was a bit sadistic, but this is ridiculous. He's never been the best a comforting, but he couldn't just sit there and do nothing, so he slides his arm around her shoulder, and finds that it's not as awkward as he thought it would be. She turns into his chest and lets her warm tears soak up his black t-shirt. They've been stuck in a smelly basement for who knows how long, but he still smells spicy and fresh and unmistakeably Damon.

She clenches a handful of his shirt in her fist, and he responds by pulling her tighter against him, wrapping his other arm securely around her. He presses a kiss into her hair on impulse, and she nestles further into him, almost as if she never plans on letting go.

He awakes with a start due to a loud screeching. It takes a moment before he realizes it's the door. And it's opening. Elena is still curled against him, dried tears on her face that neither of them had had the energy to wipe away. She looks broken and it almost feels like he's being physically ripped apart.

"Elena," he says, but she doesn't move and he wishes he could speak louder. "Elena," he repeats, his throat straining with the effort. He hopes he never comes in contact with vervain ever again. "Someone's here." He strokes her hair and puts his lips closer to her ear. "Someone's here."

Her eyes finally open and he wonders just how deeply she was sleeping. He can tell it's Stefan prying the door open because it's taking him so damn long, and he rolls his eyes. "Come on. Let's get out of here," he tells her, and her eyes widen like she still doesn't understand what's going on. He pushes her hair behind her ear and tries to smile, but his lips are dry and cracked, so it probably doesn't appear as charming as he would have liked.

Stefan is suddenly crouching behind them, concern and relief somehow in his expression at once. "Elena," he breathes, and she looks up at him for the first time. He reaches out and extracts her from Damon's arms, and she numbly falls into his embrace. His hands are warm and comforting, but she doesn't really feel safe.

Jeremy appears at the bottom of the stairs in a flash, and wraps an arm around Damon to provide a crutch. They hobble behind Stefan, who's carrying Elena, and slowly make it up those fucking stairs. They seem to be in an abandoned barn or something, but he doesn't really care to take in the details. He can smell the bags of blood that must be waiting in the car, and he just can't get there fast enough.

Stefan reluctantly leaves Elena's side to drive, and Jeremy takes his place. She grips her brother tightly, like she's afraid she'll be pulled away, and they both settle in the back seat. Damon slips into the passenger side and immediately grabs the blood and tears open the bag. Even while very much preoccupied with his hunger, he doesn't miss the curious glance Stefan sends him out of the corner of his eye.

The first thing Elena did when they arrived at the boarding house was take a shower. She was tired and hungry, but her priority was washing the basement grime off of her skin and out of her hair. Now, stepping out of the tub, she is eager to find something to eat to and drink. She slips into the clothes that were left for her on the sink thanks to Jeremy, and then picks up her dirty ones. She prepares herself for a nasty, dank scent, but is surprised to smell only Damon. She takes an extra moment to inhale it.

She brushes through her hair quickly and then exits the bathroom, puffs of steam following her out. She's about to make her way downstairs and back to Stefan, but stops in front of Damon's room instead. She thinks about it for a second, and then decides to tentatively knock on his door. There's no answer, and she can't hear anyone inside, so she quietly pushes it open.

Aside from the large, inviting bed in the center of the room (which she carefully avoids, because it would be so easy to just crawl in and take a long, long nap), the first thing she notices is a tall bureau with one partially opened drawer. She quickly pads over to it, loving the way the soft carpet feels on her feet in place of a cold, hard floor, and peers in. An assortment of t-shirts and button-ups are neatly folded in piles, just waiting to be worn.

Happy that she so easily found what she was looking for, a ghost of a smile lights up her face. She pulls out a familiar black one that he'd probably love to wear ever day for the rest of eternity and presses it against her face. Much better.

She listens carefully to make sure no one is approaching, and then swiftly pulls off her green sweater and replaces it with Damon's shirt. She begins to button it up as she exits the room, and then rolls the sleeves up to her elbows. Satisfied with this, she resumes her journey downstairs. There is no one in the living room, which is unusual, so she proceeds to the kitchen where she hopes there is a gourmet meal waiting for her. Hell, she'd be fine with a bowl of stale Cheetos.

She enters the room, and all three of her favorite vampires turn their heads. Stefan's by her side in a second and places a comforting hand on her arm, though his eyebrows are drawn together in his classic deep-in-thought face. Damon sets down a glass of blood down beside another one full of alcohol, and tilts his head curiously. She knows he's thinking about how she very much stole his shirt, but he doesn't say anything.

"Elena, I brought you some clothes. Did you see them?" Jeremy asks innocently, apparently not noticing that she is wearing the jeans he'd retrieved from their house for her.

"Yeah, Jer. Thanks."She blushes and rubs her arm awkwardly, as if to wipe away the stares. "I just... the shirt was uncomfortable." Jeremy nods even though he picked that sweater out specifically because he knew she loved it. Jenna gave it to her last Christmas, and she wore for like three days straight.

"Here, I got you a sandwich. Not many places are open at three in the morning, so there weren't many choices," he tells her, pushing a plastic bag towards her. She could have attacked it right then, but instead takes her time going to the counter. She smiles reassuringly at Stefan and avoids eye contact with Damon.

After picking at her sandwich for a few minutes, she grows annoyed with the silence. She can't eat with this tension surrounding her, consuming her. There's an obvious question hanging over their heads, and no one is coming out and giving her the answers. She gives up on the patience thing and just asks.

"So what happened with Katherine?"

Jeremy and Stefan catch the gaze of one another, trying to figure out how to tell the story. With Damon, they just put it bluntly because they didn't really care how he took it, but Elena could react differently. What would she do, knowing Katherine is still out there somewhere?

"She's gone," Damon says for them, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. What were they planning to do? Lie to her? Elena looks up from the plate in front of her to look at him. He sees her swallow slowly.

"Gone as in...?"

"Not dead," he clarifies bluntly. "Just gone." She nods, and Jeremy releases a sigh of relief. Elena isn't one for hysterics, but after being locked in a basement by some crazy bitch, you never know.

Stefan feels equally relieved, but he's too focused on the fact that Damon's scent is all over her to relax.

She stares at herself in the mirror for an lengthy amount of time, inspecting every detail of her face but not really seeing a thing. There are dark circles beneath her eyes from restless sleep, her lips are chapped, and her hair is drying in uncharacteristic waves because she couldn't be bothered with trying to fix it. She looks exhausted and confused – but mostly, she just looks broken.

The current time is not lost on her – four A.M., and she locked herself in the bathroom for the specific reason that there are no clocks in there to haunt her. She didn't think anything in there would haunt her, until she saw her own reflection. Now, all she can think of is that every time she looks at it, she is going to see her. She won't be able to do her make-up with out being reminded of the night her reflection escaped the mirror.

When she recalls being stuck in that basement only hours earlier, she realizes that it really wasn't that horrible. Yes, she was terrified that no one would find them and she'd die in that dark, morbid space, but her life was not truly threatened, was it? Damon's thirst, intensified by the vervain that in his system, was well on its way to become unmanageable, but his teeth were not magnetized to her neck or anything.

The only torture they faced was not knowing. They had no idea when or if they'd be rescued, or even if anyone who'd want to rescue them was still alive. They didn't know if Katherine was going to come back later and kill them slowly, or if a pack of wild dogs would be let loose on them.

They didn't know, and they had no way of finding out.

A shadow cast by a hanging towel suddenly catches her eye, and she can feel her breath hitch. Every sensible part of her is completely aware that it is not Katherine hiding in the corner, but she's terrified all the same. She concludes that not even the bathroom is safe place for her, and automatically, she can think of only one place that is.

But it's not really a place at all.

She swiftly flips the light switch as she exits and makes sure not to look back into the darkness before going down the familiar staircase. She allows her instincts to guide her around the corner and into the living room, where a fire is burning despite the warm night. Her increasing heart rate calms at the sight of him sitting in a large, cozy-looking chair, and she lets out a deep breath of relief.

His eyes flicker to her as approaches, but he doesn't say anything. She intends to sit on the end of the couch closest to his chair, but when she gets to her destination, it just doesn't feel comfortable to her. Her mouth twitches as she tries to comprehend what it is that her body wants her to do, and it's an almost comical revelation when she finally understands. She needs to be near him.

He's surprised when she sits on the floor in beside his legs and leans against the front of the chair, but once again, he remains silent. He knows she isn't able to sleep because he could hear her tossing and turning for the last hour before she went to hide away in the bathroom. It isn't difficult to empathize with her struggles, but he wishes she would just relax already. He doesn't want her spending her time agonizing over the previous day's activities the same way he is.

He sees her fidgeting with the hem of her shirt – his shirt – and he gives up hoping that she lets the experience go. The air is thick with words they won't say and questions they won't ask, and he realizes that for a vampire, it's getting pretty hard to breathe. She won't stop licking her lips, and he can't stop biting his, and it's so quiet that it's loud.

"Why are you wearing my shirt?" he finally asks, because the silence reminds him of things he doesn't want to think about, and more importantly, what he doesn't want her to think about. It isn't until after the words are out of his mouth that realizes that he probably succeeded in doing exactly opposite what he set out to, and for once, he curses his impulses.

"You know why," she says, and even though maybe he does, he continues anyway because anything is better than the silence.

"Maybe I don't. Tell me," he presses, his voice flat and even. Emotion is one of those funny things that he doesn't like to deal with if he doesn't have to. And even when he does, he finds it easier if he just pretends he doesn't. Right now, his thoughts are swirling with anger, confusion, anxiousness – but Elena doesn't need to know about any of that.

"It makes me feel safe," she admits, blushing. She feels annoyed that he made her say it, because she could tell by the look on his face when she entered the kitchen earlier that he already knew, but the feeling disappears quickly. She recalls the days when it was practically omnipresent, and wonders when things changed.

"It's a shirt," he points out, and she rolls her eyes with a halfhearted laugh which he secretly smiles at. She brushes a hand through her hair and snorts when it gets caught. Shaking her head, she seems to talk without even meaning to.

"But it's your shirt," she suddenly clarifies, and they both sober up again. He doesn't have anything to say except obviously so the silence returns and hangs between them. This time, she's the one that refuses to tolerate it. Refuses to, or just can't. "It smells like you," she adds quietly.

"And my scent can ward off danger," he tells her knowingly, like it's a common truth. She nods with a smile, but he doesn't bother hoping that the doom and gloom has made it's final exit. Her face is only partially visible to him at this angle, but he can see that the smile is unnatural and may as well be turned upside down.

"Come 'ere," he abruptly demands, his voice low and gentle. It's a new sort of tone that he's never really used before, but he thinks he pulls it off quite nicely.

"What?"

"Come. Here," he repeats, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards at her confusion.

She stands up because she doesn't know how to refuse him – doesn't want to refuse him – and when he slides to one side of the chair, she squeezes in beside him. His arm fits around her perfectly, like he was always meant to hold her this way, and she thinks that it is much more comfortable when they're not in a dingy old basement. She maneuvers herself so that she is able to face him without sacrificing the feeling of his arm wrapped around her, and looks into his eyes experimentally. She isn't sure what she thought she'd discover there, but she guesses it was something along these lines.

All of her anxiety slips away, and she understands that she's found the peace she's been looking for.

He puts his hands on her shoulders and watches her seriously. His eyes find hers and she can't help but notice that they're not right. They're beautiful and deep and loving, but they're green. They're green, and they're not blue. "Elena, I can't help you if you can't talk to me," she hears him say desperately, and she regains focus. He's searching her face for a reaction, and she can tell he is hoping to see her give in to him. But she can't.

"I said I didn't want to talk about it. You can help by just... being there for me," she tells him quietly, feeling awkward as she shuffles her feet. The floor is particularly scuffed up in this spot by the front door, she observes. Anything to get her mind off this conversation. She attempts to swallow the lump in her throat, because even though her body wants to cry, she is determined to stay strong. She can't break down every ten seconds.

"Elena." He releases her shoulders, and she is grateful because she was starting to feel boxed in and claustrophobic. She doesn't like what she hears in his voice, and that informs her that she certainly won't like whatever expression is on his face, so she keeps her head ducked and tries not to get too irritated by the patronizing tone he had been using. "I love you, you know that?" His sweet words make her feel a little more relaxed, but she doesn't melt into them like usual. She nods, and waits for him to continue. "Then why don't you trust me?"

She feels like she should be more surprised at his accusation, but she can't really find it in her. "Stefan, I do," she assures him, and is startled by how she much she sounds like she's lying. Okay, so maybe she doesn't trust him quite as much as she used to, but it's hardly his fault. She only has so much trust to spread around, and lately most of it has been directed towards a new source. But how is she supposed to tell him that?

He clenches his jaw and she can tell that he sensed some sort of dishonesty as well. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and then he's talking again, and she wishes he would just stop. She needs more time to think, and he just keeps pushing her to explain the root of her problem. It's uncharacteristic of him to pressure her into something she isn't ready for, and she doesn't know how to handle it. "Not enough," he says quietly, lowering his eyes. "Not enough to tell me what's been really bothering you."

She takes a deep breath and then sums up all the courage she has, because she guesses that if she doesn't talk to him now, doesn't tell him what he needs to hear, then she'll regret it. She'll regret it because what keeps them together is honesty, and if she allows that to fall apart, what foundation will they have left to base their relationship on? She won't lose him over her unwillingness to communicate her issues.

"What's bothering me," she starts shakily, running a hand through her hair. "is that I can't eat, I can't sleep – I can't function – because all I can think about," she pauses, and wishes her pride would just take five. The discomfort in revealing her weakness and vulnerability is new, but powerful. She thinks maybe it rubbed off on her from someone. "...is how easily I can be broken."

A sympathetic, comforting smile appears on his lips before he pulls her into an embrace. She doesn't want sympathy, she just wants to be put back together, but she thinks that this will do for now. Some of the tension between them already seems to have faded, and she thanks God for that, because another second in that atmosphere would have suffocated her.

"It's okay, Elena. I won't let anything happen to you. I swear, you're safe here with me."

She can feel the rumbling of his voice in his chest, and that distracts her for a moment while she takes her time registering what he said. And then, it sinks in, and her stomach drops and her mouth goes dry. He doesn't understand. She opened up to him after all that persisting, and he doesn't understand her. Perhaps she shouldn't have expected him to comprehend something she hardly understands herself.

Her gut twists, and she feels like she's just revealed a secret to a stranger.

"Stefan – I have to go," she says, before removing herself from his arms. She knows that he does care, but that doesn't prevent an invisible wall from building up between them. He'll tell her they can scale it if they work at it, but right now, she just needs to get away. He's confused and concerned, but she has to get away and think. "I just have to... go," she repeats when she isn't sure how to elaborate, and he just watches her silently while she grabs her jacket and heads out the door. All I can think about is how easily I can be broken.

She didn't mean physically.

Her eyes are burning as she walks across the front porch of the boarding house, and she doesn't know if it's because of potential tears or the fact that she's barely slept in over a week. She's contemplating this when the slam of a car door pulls her out of her hurt, tired thoughts and back into reality. Damon's in front of her as soon as she lifts her head, and she thinks it's quite a coincidence that he always appears just in time to rescue her.

"What happened?" he asks, placing his hands on her shoulders. Unlike Stefan's, his voice sounds slightly angry - but otherwise, this is a perfect example of deja vu. She begins to pray that this isn't going to be some sort of instant replay, but remembers that God isn't exactly on her side and gives up. Her hand quickly wipes her cheek to check if any tears had escaped without her noticing, but there is no evidence of her emotional turmoil. She looks at Damon curiously, and wonders how he picked up on it so fast.

"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it," she tells him, hoping that the line works better on him than it does on Stefan. If she has to deal with the same thing twice, she'll probably explode. Though, this is Damon, she reminds herself. He knows her.

He releases her shoulders and smirks with narrowed eyes, and she blushes at the intense way he is looking at her. She doesn't let herself glance in any other direction though, because these eyes are blue, and she has been waiting for them.

"So I don't have to kill my brother?"

She wonders if maybe this is some manipulative way to get her to purge, but smiles despite her suspicions because how could she not?

"No," she laughs out, wiping underneath her eyes again because they're watering. It's more from the wind than anything else, but he might not know that. Don't pry, she begs him silently, and somehow, she thinks he hears.

"Alright," he says devilishly, as if he doesn't believe her and will kill his brother anyway. It's the lopsided smile that makes her forget that murdering people is a bad thing. "That's all I needed to know." He throws an arm around her shoulder and guides her to his car, and it isn't lost on her that he just got home, but is leaving again just for her sake.

She realizes that he's the only person in the world she wants to be with right now.

She's still laughing about one of the inappropriate jokes he made in the car when they enter her house. It's dark and empty, and she's surprised because Jenna's usually home around dinner time. She walks passed the stairs and down the hallway towards the kitchen, and smiles when she hears Damon right behind her.

"What do you wanna do?" she asks over her shoulder, making her way to the fridge. She opens the door while waiting for an answer, and frowns at all the empty space.

Damon reaches over her, and grasps the handle of a pitcher on the top shelf. "Drink punch and watch bad TV," he tells her, opening a cupboard and pulling out two glasses. "What do you want to do?"

She rolls her eyes out of habit, but by time he's poured the juice, she's grinning appreciatively.

"Thank you," she says as he hands her the drink. She smiles brightly because she's not thinking about Stefan or Katherine or her own emotional instability, but about Damon and how he's managed to distract her from it all. He leads the way to her living room where they both plop down on the couch like the lazy bums they wish they could be, and she reaches for the remote.

They're watching a stupid movie with a nonsensical plot when her mind begins to wander and inevitably comes to a rest on Damon, much like her eyes do. He pretends the movie is actually interesting while she inspects his profile, and she's grateful for that because she just wants to think for a little while.

She decides he's probably the most beautiful person on the planet – with his unbelievably blue eyes and flawless features, not even Stefan's handsome face can compete. Yeah, well, she always knew he was attractive – it's not like she has selective blindness – but this is different. She is in awe, because this bond she has with him has allowed her to open new eyes, and see more than just a gorgeous guy in a leather jacket.

She hopes but doesn't know that their connection will never be severed, that nothing can penetrate the firm grip they have on each other. Something is telling her that things like this don't last, that she'll come to point where she'll have to let him go. They can't go on with this unspoken agreement, carry on under this untitled relationship forever.

It's like taking in a lost kitten. You get attached, and then you have to let it go. Damon's a lost kitten, she realizes (but she'll keep that to herself) and maybe he's hers for now, but soon, eventually, in time...

She leans over and presses a brief kiss to his lips. It's hardly a kiss at all, really, but something more and something less. He looks over at her, maybe a little bit surprised or maybe not at all, and smiles softly.

They don't say a word. They don't have to.

"Stefan..."

They weren't doing anything besides sleeping, clothes on and everything, but the situation could easily be misinterpreted. She slides away from Damon and tries to inconspicuously pull her hand away from his before standing up. She glances at him quickly and notices his eyelids fluttering, and knows he's waking up.

Stefan's standing in the doorway looking broken but not surprised, and that's what hurts the most. Did he see this coming? He doesn't even know what 'this' is. We were just sleeping, she's about to tell him, because he's aware that she's been having trouble doing that lately, but he speaks first.

"It's okay, Elena. I understand." He smiles sadly and takes a few steps closer to her. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear in the way that used to make her catch her breath, and only looks a little disappointed when it doesn't work this time. He takes a deep breath and blinks slowly. "You're in love with him."

And she didn't know it until he pointed it out, but isn't that what this is? What other word could accurately describe the need for she and Damon have one another, the desire they have to be fit with the other half of their whole?

Stefan used to be that other half, she acknowledges. But now her shape has changed and her edges are jagged, and forcing them together would be painful and wrong. She can't do that to him – and she can't do that to herself. She won't do that to Damon.

Seeing Stefan's hurt expression laced with love and understanding makes the tears well up in her eyes. He's beautiful, too, she remembers. They both are, the Salvatore brothers. Sent from God or Satan or maybe a work of art that they formed an alliance just to produce – because something about them is otherworldly, and it's not just the whole vampire thing.

She is undeniably drawn to both – it's just that the lure of one has eclipsed the lure of the other.

She can hear Damon sitting up on the bed slowly, and she tries not ponder how awkward this must be for him – Hell, how awkward it is for her – because this is a moment she'll remember for the rest of her life, and she doesn't want to soil the good with the bad.

She finally nods, unashamedly but apologetically, and welcomes the kiss Stefan leaves on her forehead, reminding her of what they once had, and maybe a way of telling her that they could have it again, someday.

And then he's gone, and Damon's arms are around her and her arms around him and for the life of her she doesn't know why she ever wanted it any other way. She knows that the turning point that she was so sure they'd reach, the one that would tear them apart and leave them in pieces, will be efficiently avoided - because she is never letting him go.

This is one bond that will not break.