Disclaimer: Not my characters, obviously. Just playing in their world for a while.

Author's note: This one-shot was inspired by Sam Smith's beautiful song "In the Lonely Hour," hence the title. If you haven't heard it, it's definitely worth a listen. :)

For this story, I'm assuming that Alaric erased all of Elena's positive memories of Damon, not just the ones mentioned on the show.

Warning: Contains spoilers for 6x06.

Edited to fix the date. My bad. Thanks for catching that!

I need someone that I'll look to
In the lonely hour, I need you

Four months of being stuck on May 10, 1994 in a wash-rinse-repeat prison and all the love of his life could offer him when she saw him for the first time was small talk. Awkward small talk, at that. No hug. No kiss. No "I've missed you," or "I'm so glad you're back." No "I love you, Damon." Ouch.

Instead, Elena had spent most of her time avoiding him and jumping out of windows in the middle of the day on a crowded college campus just so she wouldn't have to come face to face with him. When she'd finally caved an hour or so ago, he'd had such high hopes for their meeting. Would she magically remember all the things Alaric had erased when their gazes locked? Nope. Oh, their eyes had connected, but hers hadn't held a shred of love or desire. Just curiosity and confusion. Loads. And maybe a slight hint of regret? Who the hell knows.

While he'd stood there in the doorway to her dorm room digging his hands into his pockets until the seams started to tear in an attempt to keep from reaching out and taking her into his arms, she'd studied him much the same way a scientist examines a specimen under a microscope. Clinical. He guessed it was fitting seeing as she was masquerading as a pre-med student these days. Her gaze ran over him, but it lacked the usual intensity. When she spoke at last, it was hesitant, unsure.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I just . . . um, I wasn't ready." She looked down at her feet and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"Yeah," he muttered, already hating the defeated tone of his voice. "Surprise," he added quietly.

From there, the conversation had limped along in fits and starts, never really going anywhere. How was college this semester? Good, good. Learning a lot and really enjoying the classes. What was it like where you were? Repetitive. Grungy. Plaid. Pancakes.

After half an hour of the mind-numbing madness of missing memories, Damon had bid her goodnight and slipped away, more frustrated than he'd ever been in his long life. After hitting the liquor store, he'd made his way to Alaric's place, intent on crashing there while his friend recuperated in the hospital under Jo's vigilant watch. Original vampire no more. Damn.

Entering the apartment and slamming the door closed behind him, he turned to glare at the slab of wood. He'd never thought of doors as sinister objects, but if today was any indication, they were more than capable of evil. Resisting the urge to tear the thing off its hinges and throw it through a wall (because Ric really wouldn't appreciate it and neither would the neighbors, probably), he shucked off his borrowed jacket and cracked open the bottle of bourbon he'd snagged from the store. Taking a few long pulls from the bottle, he kicked off his boots and settled himself on Ric's bed, his head falling back to knock against the wall.

Was it too late for take backs? Maybe chilling with Bonnie hadn't been so bad after all. Minus one crazy, jam-eating sociopath, they'd had an okay time. God, he really wished she was here now. She'd be able to lend an ear, maybe talk some sense into Elena, that kind of thing. Jesus, Bon, couldn't you have let me come get you so we could've gone home together?

Taking another swig of the heady liquid, he closed his eyes and let visions of happier times play out behind his lids. Times when Elena loved him. Saw a future with him. Etc., etc. His depressing walk down memory lane was interrupted by the buzz of his phone. Fishing it out of his pocket, he checked the display, rubbing his eyes to make sure what he was seeing was real. Elena Gilbert. Huh. Must be she'd thought of some other mundane thing to tell him.

Answering the call (because what did he have to lose?), he put the phone to his ear. "Hey," he greeted her softly.

"Hey." When the line went quiet, he thought maybe she'd changed her mind and hung up on him, but the sound of her breathing told him she was still there.

"Elena? You okay?" he asked uncertainly. Or am I just gonna listen to you breathe for the rest of the night? Which is fine, I guess. Could be worse.

"Sorry. I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep. I picked up the phone and yours was the first name that popped into my head. Almost like a reflex . . ." she trailed off.

He sat up, his interest piqued. "Really?"

"Yeah." She paused again, and he downed some more liquid courage. "So, listen. I was freaked out earlier, and I acted like an idiot. I think seeing you, being close to you, it was too much. I kinda blew a fuse." He chuckled at that. "I called you because . . . I have an idea."

He was definitely intrigued now. "What's that?"

Her voice was tiny but cautiously optimistic. "I was thinking that maybe you could tell me about a few of the good times we had. Y'know, the stuff Ric compelled me to forget."

Whoa. "Um, sure. Anything in particular?"

She cleared her throat. "Nothing too intense. Baby steps."

"No recaps of sexytimes, then?" He could practically feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

"Uh, no. Not just yet," she murmured.

Yet? "Suit yourself. Hmm, let me think." He jogged his memory for something that fit the bill. Landing on one he thought might work, he took one last sip of bourbon before capping the bottle and setting it aside. He needed to have his wits about him if he was going to do this properly. Drunken storytelling would most certainly lead to NC-17 memories slipping past his lips. There's this delicious sound you make when I bury my . . . . Shit. Focus, Damon. "How about the time we went on a road trip to Atlanta?"

"Sounds good. When was that?" He couldn't help but smile at the genuine interest in her voice.

"A few years back. You were still a junior in high school. You'd been in a hell of an accident and I found you before some vampire got his fangs into you. You'd smacked your head pretty good, and you passed out after I pulled you from the vehicle. I wanted to keep an eye on you, so I tucked you in my car and hit the road."

"Um, that sounds like kidnapping," she said skeptically.

He laughed. "Yeah, you accused me of that back then, too. I was trying to ruffle Stefan's feathers, but my intentions weren't completely shady. I never compelled you during the trip. I wanted it to be real," he swallowed thickly as he echoed the words he'd said to her all those years ago.

"Go on." Relieved that she hadn't shut him down, he released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"We went to a bar that belonged to a friend of mine. You needed a break from the drama, so we indulged in burgers and fries, and I learned about your unnatural aversion to pickles. We drank some beers, which turned into shots with everyone at the bar later that night. I think I was actually more trashed than you were."

The giggle that escaped her was music to his ears. "I had a bit of a rebellious streak when I was younger, so I'd been building up my tolerance for a while."

"Apparently so," he agreed. "Anyway, it was all fun and games until I realized that my friend wasn't a friend anymore, and she was working with a vampire in order to kill me. Not that I didn't deserve it," he said ruefully, thinking of Lexi.

"What happened?" Her tone suggested that she was completely drawn in by what he was telling her.

"The vampire took you in order to draw me out. When I found the two of you, he beat the ever-loving hell out of me with a baseball bat before dousing me in gasoline. He was about to turn me into a vamp fireball when you begged him not to do it." Her heartfelt plea was as fresh in his mind as it had been that night in the alley. Please, don't hurt him. He continued, speaking softly. "You saved my life. Even though you knew that I was far from being a saint, you still chose to help me."

Silence filled the virtual space between them. As he pulled at a loose thread on his jeans, he knew he'd pay a ridiculous amount of money to get a glimpse of what was going through her head right now. Disgust at aiding someone who'd killed his brother's best friend? Relief that she'd never have to experience these memories again? Or maybe, just maybe, an inkling that he wasn't a complete monster? His internal debate was interrupted when she spoke, ending his torment.

"Thank you for telling me that. It helps. I'm glad we were . . . friends," she finished tentatively.

Friends? He eyed the bottle on the nightstand. He sincerely hoped Alaric had more stashed somewhere because clearly one wasn't going to cut it. "Yeah, me, too," he replied lamely. "Listen, I better go." I have a date with alcohol-induced unconsciousness. "G'night, 'Lena."

His finger was hovering over the "end" button when her panicked response reached his ears. "Damon, wait!"

"Hmm?"

"Can we talk again tomorrow? Maybe go through a few more memories?" Caught off guard by her request, he was momentarily speechless. Fortunately, what she tacked on next sealed the deal. "Please?"

How the hell can I refuse? "Uh, yeah. Sure. Just call whenever you're ready."

"Good." Was he imagining things, or was that a hint of relief in her voice? "I'll talk to you then. Night, Damon."

"Night." When the line went dead, he slid his phone back into his pocket. They still had a long road ahead of them, no doubt, but at least this was something. He could work with this, build on it. He would remind his girl how much he loved her. He would help her remember how much she loved him, too.

For now, it was enough just to know that she still needed him.