Damon finally finds her asleep in the back of his Camaro.

Her inky hair is spread out against the blue seats like a fallen angel. With those long limbs in such a confined space, she ought to be seriously uncomfortable. She could at least have the decency to look a little awkward.

Frankly, she has no right at all to look so thoroughly at home in the backseat of his convertible.

Still, Damon can't ignore that small, primal piece of him that feels a possessive satisfaction at the sight that runs to the bone.

"Elena?" he murmurs.

Nothing.

Elena lies still but for her small human chest, gently rising and falling, slow, and steady, and utterly oblivious to his presence. Apparently trekking halfway across the country, staging a daring vampire rescue and saving his life (twice) are all she has room in the tank for.

Lightweight.

Damon had plans, you know.

Determined plans. Hard-nosed plans, even. He was going to get answers. There was to be examinations and interrogations, ultimatums and demands; he was going to have them all, and he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Hell, the Goddammed Spanish Inquisition wasn't going to hold a candle to him.

"Elena?"

The angel sleeps on, all innocence and beauty, even with that faint line of drool that bleeds down the corner of her chin.

Well - shit.

Resignedly, Damon gently scoops Elena out of the car. She stirs just enough to adjust herself in his arms, turning a cheek into his jacket and sighing contentedly.

And with that, his best laid plans evaporate.

###

As Elena drifts towards consciousness the first thing she's aware of is a vague feeling that something isn't right.

Information seeps through, slowly making its way into her fuzzy, sleep fuddled brain.

This is not her bed. It doesn't feel like her bed. It doesn't smell like her bedroom.

Is that what's wrong?

But no, she hasn't been in her own bed for days. She hasn't been home in days.

The events of the past days fall back to her in waves: being on the road with Damon, cheap motels and monasteries, saving Damon, finding Stefan. Klaus, Katherine, Elijah.

Damon.

Why is she in bed? Where is Damon's car?

Where is Damon?

Elena jerks into awareness with a start, opening her eyes and bolting upright.

"Whoa, there..."

Damon.

The vampire himself, in the far-too-good-looking flesh, is perched on the side of the bed, hands raised in a gesture of defense.

"...you don't want to take someone's eye out."

"Thank God," is the first thoughtless thing she blurts out.

"You're welcome," returns Damon, folding his arms and smirking.

Elena looks down to find herself fully clothed, resting on clean white sheets. She doesn't recognize the room.

"Are we... is this..." Elena looks about her in confusion, "Are we still on the Mikaelson property?"

"Yup."

Damon doesn't offer anything else, continuing to watch her in silent amusement.

"How long have I been here?" Elena asks.

"An hour or two. You were out like a light." His eyes drift over her assessingly, and Elena feels suddenly self-conscious. She runs a hand over her face and absurdly wishes she had a hair brush handy.

Which is ridiculous, of course. Damon's seen her at her worst. Hell, he's seen her dead, thanks to Klaus's curse-breaking ritual. She doubts that was her best look.

"So..." Damon drawls, "...is this carjacking thing a new habit I have to worry about?"

"I don't think it counts if I didn't actually drive it anywhere," Elena points out defensively.

"This time," he points out in return, blue eyes challenging.

Oh. Right.

She'd forgotten about that already.

And honestly, she hadn't given much thought to that, even at the time. She'd just done what she needed to do. Besides, it's not like he'd have had much ongoing use for his car if he'd gone ahead with what he and Bonnie had planned.

Elena pales at the thought of how close she could have come to losing him. "It's not like you gave me much of a choice there, Damon."

"Everyone always has a choice, Elena," Damon says enigmatically.

"No, Damon, actually, they don't," she replies hotly.

She happens to be feeling fairly strongly about that actually, right at this moment.

I will always choose you.

Damn it. These flashbacks are not helping her keep a steady head.

Neither is Damon, sitting far too close for comfort, looking far too beautiful in the afternoon sunlight; it reflects off his glossy locks of raven hair, sweeping its way lovingly over cheekbones and doing sinful things for those crystalline eyes.

Stupid. Beyond stupid, really - how can one actually feel jealous of a sunbeam?

"Fine." Damon narrows those blue eyes for a moment. "So you weren't carjacking, technically, according to the laws of Virginia. Care to elaborate on what drove you to car... squatting, then?"

"I couldn't find you," she says, like that explains everything.

And she hadn't. She had, with increasing panic, searched room by empty room. She'd covered most of the main house without success when she stumbled inadvertently upon Elijah (or, more honestly, when Elijah politely enquired why she was turning his recently reacquired household upside down). And that was when she'd moved to plan B: Asking the original for a favor and staking out Damon's car instead. At least she knew where that was: right where she'd left it as part of her ill-advised mission to take down Klaus alone.

"And so…. What?" asks Damon, "You needed a nap between checking the ashtray and glovebox for loose vampires? It's not a large car, Elena. I clearly wasn't in it."

Elena sighs in exasperation. Why is he being so difficult?

"I didn't want you to... leave without talking to me, alright?"

Damon seems to consider this, leaning back and rubbing lean fingers against his chin thoughtfully.

"Okay," he finally accepts.

"So talk then."

"What?"

"You just said that the reason you'd practically pitched a tent in the back seat of my car was because you wanted to talk to me, Elena." Damon explains patiently.

"So..." He draws out the word like a song, "talk".

Oh.

"I... Well..."

She pauses, marshaling the reasons that seemed so important not too long ago. Still are, really. It's just that when Damon's in the room, she tends to stop thinking in reasons.

"Ric said you were thinking of leaving." Elena bites her lip. "And he said you were talking crazy."

"I am crazy, Elena, as you well know. Nothing new to worry you there, surely?" He draws his eyebrows together and tilts his head as if this is conversation is all very academic.

Oh, come on. He knows full well what she's talking about. Why is he being like this?

Fine. She can play it his way.

"He also said you were talking about asking Elijah to compel you, Damon," she says accusingly, going straight to the heart of the matter.

"Oh, yes. I did hear that cat was out of the bag," responds Damon, nonplussed.

"You… heard." But how? Where? "Ric told you?" Elena is confused. Did the vampire hunter succeed where she had failed? Did he find Damon while she was sleeping? She looks around the room, empty but for the two of them. It doesn't make sense. If Ric found Damon, why isn't he here, making sure Damon doesn't do something rash, like chase down an original for a partial lobotomy?

"Not Ric, Elena."

Not Ric.

"Then who?" she asks, more confused than ever.

Damon is silent for a moment before answering.

"Elijah."

Elijah?

But why -

Elijah?

Oh no. Elena's entire body goes cold as her blood runs to ice.

And then it turns hot.

White hot.

He didn't.

Before she even knows what she's doing, Elena is on her knees, both fists slamming against Damon's chest as she throws her body weight behind them.

"How could you?" she cries.

She honestly hadn't believed it - that he could actually do it. Give her up. Give them up, despite all the reasons she's given him and the pain she's caused. She'd assumed, stupidly, that he wouldn't. That he couldn't. Trusted it, like so many other trusts she'd taken for granted with him. And she feels useless, entirely useless, and so very human as she barrels ineffectually into him, his supernaturally strong body choosing not giving an inch under her onslaught.

No, he doesn't give in, and he doesn't back down. Instead, her merely gentles her barrage of fists by covering them with his own, pulling her further into him as he unfurls her hands against his.

"I couldn't, Elena," he murmurs.

"Of course I couldn't."

He twists his mouth lopsidedly as he looks down at her. "I was just being drunk and hotheaded when I was talking to Ric. You know what I'm like." He frowns, as if in self-recrimination. "Loving you is the single worst and best thing that has happened to me and, God help me, I could never willingly let that go." He gives a mirthless bark of laughter. "Even if I ought to."

But through the relief that floods her, Elena is not ready to concede so easily.

"Then why did you go to Elijah?" she protests.

"I didn't. He came to me." Damon shrugs in a "who knows why originals do what they do" kind of way.

He finally frees her hands with obvious reluctance, skimming down her forearms with the lightest of touches as he releases his grip. But Elena leaves her hands where they rest, cradled against the planes of his chest, unwilling, just yet, to let him go.

Damon stares at them.

Then he stares at her.

He locks her gaze, a question in his ice blue eyes as he carefully lifts a hand to trail tentative fingers along her arm.

"I suppose..." he ventures, "that he had something to say that he thought I needed to hear."

"And did you?" Elena asks, a little breathlessly. "Need to hear it?"

"Honestly, Elena," he continues his careful, venerable exploration across her collarbone, his smooth fingers gliding across warm skin and finally sliding upwards to tilt her chin towards him, "I'd rather hear what you have to say."

"Care to tell me," he breathes, "what was so important that you'd go behind my back to make yet another deal with a crusty old vampire who not only has proven credibility issues but is clearly way past his prime?" His lips lift slightly beneath eyes that seem playful. Only someone focused as intently on them as she is could catch their faint shadow of hesitancy.

"I..." She licks her lips, and Damon's eyes immediately focus on the movement. His eyes smoulder, pupils dilating, as he seems to hold himself back with effort.

Elena wishes he wouldn't.

How the hell, she wonders, have they even made it this far?

Now that she's acknowledged it, she realizes just how badly she's been holding back herself. It seems like on some deep, mostly unacknowledged level, she's spent so much effort on trying not to love him - not to fall for that heart; not to touch that skin; not to kiss those lips (and let's be honest, she's been spectacularly failing at that lately) - it's no wonder she was exhausted.

She's been trying to hold it all back so hard, for so long, she's not even sure she knows how to let go.

Damon leans in, bringing that heart, that skin, those lips, in closer (far too close) to whisper against her ear.

"Tell me."

Except she's pretty sure he already knows. Her mouth might be behind the game, but her body is way ahead of her. Her skin tingles with fiery warmth where Damon's free hand has slipped under the shirt at her waist. Her hands have clawed their way to fist into his shirt, where she can feel his immortal heart pounding just underneath her palms, making her feel heady and powerful.

Damon brushes his smooth nose against her cheek, nudges gently into her jaw.

"Tell me," he repeats, urgently.

"I..."

How does he expect her to talk? How is she even supposed to think, with him so close to her.

"Tell me?" he cajoles on a whisper.

But she can't. She can't hear herself think over the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. She can't breathe when he's taken all the air from the room.

Damon drifts downward, bending his head to examine the puncture wounds of his own making, kissing them lightly, reverently. He gently laves them with his tongue as Elena's hands move to grip his neck, giving into the urge to run her fingers through his silky hair as she opens her neck to give him better access.

Damon groans in defeat.

"Fuck, Elena."

And then he's at her throat, her jaw, his soft lips pressing against her skin, teasing velvety nips that become more insistent until Elena is the one that, desperate to taste him, brings his mouth to hers. Growling, he angles his head to get better access, heat on heat and tongue on tongue, hungry and demanding and until she feels like all there is in the universe is kissing Damon, that this was all she was ever created for.

It's as if this is what she's been craving all her life; the salty tang of Damon Salvatore; and eagerly she drinks in all he offers; the power, the softness, the strength, the love. It ought to be overwhelming, yet she fears she can't get enough.

Finally, Damon pulls back long enough to cradle her head in his hands, searching her face with eyes too blue and too beautiful to bear. Taking a shuddering breath, he rests his forehead against hers.

She can do this.

He deserves this.

Focus, Elena.

Focus.

"I wasn't worried about you leaving."

"What?" Damon, sounding slightly dazed, lifts his dark head from hers.

"I didn't fall asleep in your car because I had a problem with you leaving, Damon."

He's looking at her confused, hair thoroughly tousled, sticking up at odd angles but still looking like the most gorgeous creature she has ever seen on earth.

Elena presses on before she loses her nerve.

"Hell, it wasn't even that I was worried that you'd leave before I told you that I love you."

Damon blinks. Twice. Then a third time.

"I just didn't want you to leave without me."

And finally something processes.

His mouth curves, slowly at first, blooming into a smile so large it can barely fit his beautiful face. Blue eyes ignite dangerously as Elena detects a cockiness rating gone completely off the scale - and she doesn't even mind.

"Not going to happen." he promises. "Never going to happen".

"Now, shut up woman."

"I thought you wanted me to talk?" she asks with mock seriousness, pushing back against him playfully.

"Over-rated," Damon breathes, capturing her hands and suckling her fingers. Then her shoulder. The soft spot behind her ear. Elena loses track somewhere around the vicinity of her right temple.

He pushes her back against the bed.

And Elena lets go.

** THE END **

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A/N:

So we got there! My little story/introductory foray into fanfic, which I thought would take about 10k words, turned out a wee bit epic. Because apparently, I just don't know how to start small. Whoops?

Anyway, Kudos to those who made it all the way with me. Patience of Job, etc etc :)

It's been a swell (if scary) ride :o

I hope you all enjoyed and maybe I'll see you here again some time :)

2015 Update:

So, every now and again a reviewer has had a similar comment - "I loved the story, but I feel it's cut just a smidge shorter than I'd like - could we have some sex, please?" :) Well, I've been far too meek to try my hand at such a thing until just lately (blame the ever-persuasive zaubernuss for this - and if you want to see the results of that little experiment, you'll have to follow her work. It should show up there eventually :) ). Anyway, it's officially under consideration for Fallout. So, if this is something you're interested in as a reader, let me know in a review; should I receive enough interest to warrant it, I shall return with a slightly extended, slightly salacious update for those who want just to peek just a little further into how the story ends - you voyeurs, you! (I understand. I understand... They are, after all, a sweet and sexy pair :) ).

Love to you all,

Dreamthrower