It's that time of year again, which means I'm participating in the 4th annual DE A2A Holiday Exchange. This time, I've chosen to fulfill Jenn's (jaybunzy0) prompt because she's pretty much awesome and I owe her lots. I honestly have never seen the movie 'Three Days' so I know I've more than likely taken a little liberty with this, but I hope y'all like it.

Prompt: I've always loved the Christmas movie "Three Days" My prompt is how would Damon or Elena handle if that storyline happened to them. Either Damon or Elena (your choice) loses the other on Christmas Eve. Completely distraught because leading up to the others death they were fighting... bad. Bonnie/Jo (basically a witch or angel) gives Damon or Elena the power to relive the last three days of the other's life to make it right. Aka making it the most amazing Christmastime ever. Bonnie/Jo warn them however that no matter what they cannot change fate. On Christmas Eve they will lose them all over again. But we know Damon and Elena. They'll do anything to keep each other alive. How do they relive their three days? How do they prevent the other from dying? What happens Christmas Day? Praying for angst and love and all things Christmas. It can have a happy or depressingly sad ending. Whatever you want.

"I refuse to be one of those husbands that begs for his wife's time. It's never been who I am, but this is getting ridiculous, Elena. You're leaving me with no choice."

We're at it again. What started as four years of blissful dating followed by a year of happy marriage has somehow dwindled to this. Neither of us intended for days that weren't easy anymore, but life happens whether we want it to or not. People evolve, careers get in the way, and priorities change. Romance has a tendency to fade. Even for the strongest of couples.

However, it's Christmas Eve and Damon's right. We should be spending it together in front of our 5 ft. humorously sparse tree the way we have prior years, sharing cups of spiked egg nog instead of apart as I go off to promote my new novel. I know it, but am still too stubborn to admit it.

"The book tour will only be a couple of weeks. Three at the most."

Damon doesn't look at me as he washes our remnants of dinner from our plates. "Which is nothing, but added to the four months you were just gone…"

"Is a lot, I know," I admit, stepping over to sweep my arms around his defined waist. "But we've endured worse."

He turns to me, boring his topaz eyes into mine. "What if I don't want to anymore?"

My nose scrunches as his words assault my front, forcing me to take a step back. "What are you saying?"

With a quick rake of his hand through his midnight locks, Damon releases a sigh. "I don't know. Just that it'd be nice to have you under our sheets once in a while instead of lying in another hotel room. That's all."

"And I'd like that too, but this book is important."

"What about us?" he asks. "Are we not important anymore?"

The look on his face is gutting me. He's not this guy, the needy one who clings as his wife walks away. He's the one with the ambition to get what he wants, including the restaurant he purchased and built from scratch, turning it into a successful business without batting an eye. He's the one who knows the assets he was born with and those he's learned along the way, the one who doesn't think twice about my intentions because we support each other and strive to achieve all of our life goals. And he's the one who has never hinted at asking me to choose between the success of my career and the success of us.

His usual confidence is now shadowed under something I wish I could forget – doubt. I want to ease it, assure him that he still has my heart entirely, despite the distance and despite my lack of effort lately, but I simply don't have the time to work through our issues right this second. That discussion can be had over the phone.

With a quick, deflective shake of my head, I say, "I can't do this right now, Damon. I have to go. My plane leaves in an hour and I can't miss it."

He doesn't attempt to hide the roll of his eyes as he mutters, "Fine," and grabs his leather jacket.

"Where are you going?"

With the jacket in place, he swipes his keys from the kitchen island. "To the bar. Since you don't plan on spending the evening together, Bourbon will be an excellent substitute."

It's right across the street so I don't worry about him getting home safely, but his defenses have my warning signs glaring and with my impending trip hovering in the future, I can't help but ask, "Are you looking for any other substitutes?"

At my question, he finally stops shuffling through the townhouse. With one hand on the front door, he twists towards me. "Elena, despite your infatuation with that book's success, you're still the only thing in this world that I'm infatuated with. I just wish you still felt it in return."

His honesty has always been able to knock through concrete walls that conceal my heart. It's how he first won me over, back when I was too afraid to fall for anyone. Despite what he thinks, I'm still his prize, irrevocably struck through the heart by his precisely-aimed arrow.

"I do." The words are accentuated with a small smile.

"Sure," is all he says before he exits, shutting the door as he goes.

My plane won't wait for me if I'm late, but I can't leave knowing Damon doesn't believe me. Yes, this book's success is important for our future, but solidifying that we actually have one will always take the reigning position.

I quickly slip on my shoes and race towards the door, throwing it open just as I see the car smash into Damon's side.

I wake gasping for air. My hair is matted to the side of my face by a fresh wave of sweat and my heart is pounding out a relentless rhythm in my chest. Instinctually, I glance at Damon's empty pillow. It's Christmas Eve and despite having been gone a year, the habit of seeking his comfort after the reoccurring dream still lingers.

Flipping on the lamp and glancing at his picture on my nightstand, salty tears cloud my eyes as the corkscrew of pain twists into my heart. It's a sensation I'm familiar with, this unrelenting grief. I've suffocated in it every day since the moment that ended his life and the conversation leading up to it. I'd give anything to take that day back. Hell, I'd give anything to take the months before it back. All of my choices, all of my priorities would have been him. Anything to erase that doubt he had in us before I let him walk through the door and out of my life. All that's left of that life now is a void so deep I can barely see the light that breaches its surface anymore.

Simply put, I've become nothing without him. My goals and ambitions, my appreciation for life's little moments, my productivity - they all vanished with Damon.

"Seems I'm right on time."

I gasp as the figure appears next to my bed. It's relatively dark, but I'm still able to make out her features: twenty something, cropped hair, ebony skin with a thin arm breached on her hip.

"Who are you and how the hell did you get into my house?" I demand.

"Easy, Elena," the woman soothes. "I'm not here to hurt you. You're doing enough of that to yourself." She takes a small step closer to my bed and instinctively, I push myself into a seated position.

"I'm calling the cops."

"Don't do that," she clips, frustration present in her tone before it settles. "Listen, my name's Bonnie and I'm here to help you."

I scoff. "Yeah right. Help me how?"

"I'm here so you can see Damon again."

At his name, all of the blood drains from my face. I have no idea who this woman is or who put her up to this, but this is one hell of a sadistic joke.

"You need to get the hell out of my house. Right now!"

Bonnie rolls her eyes as though my threat is nothing more than an annoyance. "See, I knew you were going to be difficult. I tried getting Joe to switch assignments with me, but she insisted I was the right witch for the job."

"Witch?" I sputter.

"Oh yeah. Real life witch, here in the flesh." With a quick snap of her wrist my overhead light flicks on. "Pick your jaw up, honey."

Unaware it had even happened, I snap my mouth closed.

"Now, I don't have much time so we'll get right to it." She takes a seat in front of me on the bed and since I'm too stunned by the events of the evening to grasp what's happening, I don't budge.

"You stopped living your life the night Damon died. All that's left of you is someone trapped on repeat, revisiting that moment time and time again so you can experience a fresh wave of guilt. I'm here to fix that."

Still paralyzed from the shock of the overhead light and what she's saying, I can't say a damn word. So I nod my head, urging her to continue on.

"I'm sure you've seen the movies, read the books, which makes this easier and saves us some time," she insists. Honestly, I have no clue what she's talking about. What movies? What books?

Ignoring my stupor, she says, "Three days. That's what you get. The three days leading up to his death."

"Excuse me?" I spat, finally regaining my ability of speech.

"Oh ghesh. Looks like I'm going to have to spell it out for you," she sighs, accompanied by another dramatic roll of the eyes. "I'm giving you the chance to relive the last three days of Damon's life. Change it however you wish, whatever it takes to help you live your life again. That way, fate is restored."

My brows knit together on my forehead. "What do you mean, fate is restored?"

Bonnie extends her hand to rest on mine. "Elena, Damon was supposed to die that day. Not you too." Noticing what she's done, the witch pulls back her hand and shakes her head. "But really, I'm telling you that you have the chance to see your husband again and you're asking me about the logistics of it all?"

"I'm sorry," I reply, running a hand through my disheveled mahogany locks. "I'm just so confused. I don't believe in this stuff and then you show up in my bedroom suddenly granting me the ability to relive my last three days with Damon."

The hard edges of her expression disappear momentarily as she assures, "I know it's a lot to handle. I get that." Then the softness falls and she's back to strictly business. "But I have other people I have to visit tonight and I can't spend hours here explaining how this whole thing works. Just know: you have the three days. Use them wisely, but understand that no matter what you do, you cannot change what happens. He will still die. This is just to help you fix the moments leading up to it."

The sentences she's spoken are finally creating something solid that I can wrap my head around, despite the absurdity of it all. "So you're serious with this? I'm going to see Damon again?" I don't want to invest myself too fully in the idea, but something has ignited within me and I'm incapable of extinguishing it.

"Yes," she assures. "When I clap my hands, you'll wake up in your room on December 22nd. To Damon, it will be just another day in his life and you need to keep it that way. He can't know you time traveled or I'll end the spell immediately."

"This is incredible."

"I know, right?" Bonnie gushes before immediately recomposing herself. She takes a quick glance out of my window before honing her cinnamon eyes back onto me. "But okay, time for me to go. You ready to see your husband again?"

"Yes." I still have a trillion questions for her, but she'd probably shush me anyway and I'm too impatient. I've never been more ready for anything in my entire life. Blood is surging through my veins and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel alive.

"Then good luck. I'll see you in three days." She lifts from the bed, stretching her arms out to the sides. "And remember, Elena, you can't change what happens. Only the moments leading up to it."

Before I'm able to respond or even consider what she's said, she sweeps her arms together at her chest, blinding me by a white light. It's the last image I have before everything goes dark.

Sunlight stretches through the window of my bedroom, touching me with its warmth and pulling me from slumber. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and stretch my hand onto Damon's side, the way I have since his death. Difference this time is that it hits something solid.

For the second time in an hour, I gasp, suddenly remembering where I am and more precisely, when I am. Shooting into a seated position, I crane my neck towards him and nearly cry from excitement. Seeing him here, completely and utterly alive, has me feeling like I'm charging down an interstate with my windows rolled down. It's exhilarating, but I can't seem to catch my breath. It's lodged in my throat.

My Damon is here.

Unable to resist, I reach over to him. We're finally flesh against flesh. My fingers trace the contours of his face, mapping out the details I have dreamt about for months. I don't want to forget a single one this time. Lingering pictures are nothing when stacked against the real thing. I'd forgotten how utterly remarkable he was - is. How could I have ever taken him for granted?

Popping one eye open, Damon smirks. "Find what you're looking for?"

"Yes." It's breathy, like a prayer. It's fitting considering this moment has been mine for so long now. All I've begged for was another moment with my husband and now I've been granted three days' worth of them.

"You're looking at me weird."

"Am I?" I try to smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes. I can feel it. He's here, but it's limited. I'm suddenly consumed with what he's blissfully unaware of.

"Yes," he states, lifting his hand to twirl his fingers down a ribbon of my hair. "But what's wrong?"

My eyes have always been crystalline portals to him, a direct line to my inner thoughts. Even when we first started out. He'd called me on my fear when all I'd given him was sarcasm and rejection to conceal it in an attempt to push him and our possible future away. I hadn't wanted a deep, forever relationship with anyone, but he'd stuck around long enough to earn it. At least while it lasted.

"I've just missed you," I answer, settling for a portion of the truth so he can't uncover the rest. In this timeline we haven't touched each other in days. I've been sanctioned up in our office writing my next novel for four nights straight, before that I'd been on the road; all the while, he's been working long hours at the restaurant he owns.

"Good," he whispers, inching forward to touch my lips with his. "I was beginning to think I was the only one."

The words are spoken softly against my lips, but their truth is heavy. I'd promised myself that I'd rectify Damon's doubt in us if ever given the opportunity and I planned on following through on that promise. Right now.

"Trust me," I say, pushing his shoulder so his back is flush against the bed. I trail my fingers over the hard planes of his abdomen, raking them over the taught muscle as I head south. I've missed his body more than I can put into words and although I want to hear more of his voice, I'd rather feel him instead. At least right now. "You're not." My voice is low as I take him in my hand. I've always appreciated our choices to sleep naked. It makes entering instances like this so much easier.

He groans, something deep and delicious when I slide my hand along his length. I repeat the action, swirling his shaft from base to tip, pausing only to swipe the pad of my thumb along the mushroom head. From years of experience, I know what this does to him. He's a frenzy of lust right about now.

Right on cue, he sighs and lets his head fall against his pillow. I lean forward to cover his skin with kisses, placing my lips on every portion of his stomach. I'm cherishing him. It's a re-exploration as I once again become familiar with his salty taste. He's always been my favorite flavor. As my hand continues its motions, my tongue glides across the dips of his six-pack I've missed so much. (It always amazed me how fit he was despite working in a place that constantly dangled food in front of his face.) And just as I'm about to replace my digits with my lips, I feel Damon's hand in my hair, pulling me to his face.

"It's been two weeks, Elena." His tongue slips between my lips, parting me as I eagerly allow him entry. "There's no way in hell I'm letting you get me off that way."

As our tongues steal into a wonderful dance, I feel that familiar fire licking my belly, alerting me that despite not actually having sex or touching myself since the moment Damon's mentioning, my body still craves a release. Apparently it was just waiting for the only one that could supply it.

With a quick flip, Damon pins me to the bed and lowers himself to my breasts. He sucks one nipple into his mouth, grinding it subtly between his teeth. I whimper at the pleasure, following it with a moan when he shifts to the other. He's always been skilled in the bedroom and now is no exception. He hasn't even entered my southern territory and already my head is spinning with satisfaction.

With my clit throbbing for attention, I hook a leg over his ass and pull him to me, urging him on. But he's no amateur and he already knows what I need. His fingers replace his lips, kneading one of my breasts, while the other grips onto my thigh and shimmies me to the edge of the bed. Both legs dangle over the side as he stands in all of his carnal glory. I watch him like a hawk, my eyes raking every inch of his surface, soaking him in. He's liquid and I'm the sponge.

I'm slick and eager for his entry, but he prolongs the main event just a second longer as he makes one more pass over my pebbled peaks with his thumb. It's followed by a slow run of his hard length against my sensitive nub. He repeats the action twice more and just as I'm about to groan that I can't take the friction any longer, I feel him push.

It's been over a year and I haven't been touched. So a cry flies from my mouth as he dips into me, stopping when he's fully seated. I fit him like a fucking glove. Always have.

"Fuck, Elena," he pants, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he hovers above me. "I don't remember you being this tight."

He's right. I can feel it too. We're perfect.

"Kegels," I lie, shooting him a wink.

"Never stop doing them," he pleads in appreciation before burrowing his head into the column of my neck. A trail of scorching heat is left as he marks me with his teeth and begins shifting his hips. I sigh. He feels like heaven. With each slide of him against my inner walls, our physical link grows. The stellar feeling of our union replaces the memories of sleepless nights and overwhelming agony I've been submerged in. They fade as his hips strike against my flesh. A tremble shoots up my spine, arching my back off of the bed and against his chest when one of his thrusts lands deep. My hands cling to his shoulders, lodging my nails into his skin as he picks up the pace.

Then his lips are on mine again as our mutual fire combusts. We're engulfed. Hands thrash, hips pound and breaths fly in fierce succession. Every breath he releases, I take and vice versa. We are one. We fuse and break apart, again and again, building to that merciful climax. He shifts slightly and I feel the impact that comes when he pulls back and lifts each of my legs with his arms. The decadence vibrates through my whole body. I want to reclaim his lips with my own, but dear god, this is better. He pounds into me in steady, unrelenting thrusts, pulling out to the tip before slamming back in. The sensation is ethereal and all too soon I'm creeping towards my edge. A few more strokes is all it takes before I close my eyes and see stars, exhaling as I rocket through bliss.

I call his name as I climax, feeling the pressure within me explode around him and with two more pumps into my tightened heat, he joins me. My name fires from his lips in return as I feel him fill me. And after a soft kiss to my forehead, he collapses onto my chest.

I'm too weak to speak or else I'd tell him exactly how incredible he felt and how as soon as I catch my breath, we're doing that again. At least three or fifty more times. I've been in a serious drought, after all.

We're both gasping for breaths, taking in large gulps of air. Damon's midnight locks are stuck to the sweat on my skin and I take the moment to sweep it to the side, freeing his face. With piercing eyes and chiseled features, he's always been a looker, but he's a vision like this – face flushed and lips swollen. Other than the smirk that covers his lips when he's self-assured, this might be my favorite look of his. That very smirk graces his face when he tilts his head to look at me and I take it back - the combination of the two is my favorite look. Hands down.

"Tell me again why we stopped starting every morning like this?" He teases, pulling out of me and rolling onto his side.

I giggle, wondering how I ever let such a satisfying act drift from our life together, when I reply, "Because we're both working adults."

"Oh, right. There is that," he agrees, scrunching his face and lifting his head to rest on his arm. "But I demand we take back the morning quickie before work. If we're not too exhausted afterwards, it might help us be more productive."

His brows are lifted in excitement and I'm incapable of fighting off my smile.

"I like that rationalization."

His arms sweep out to pull me into him. I settle there with ease, soaking up the comfort of his embrace. "And I like you in my bed," he says, placing a quick kiss to the crown of my head.

I want to stay like this forever, entwined in his arms and his body pressed against mine. It's not an option with our looming timeline, I know, but still… "What if we stay here all day?"

My head still rests under his chin and I feel the vibrations of his voice as he replies, "I'm needed for work in an hour. The place can't run itself, you know."

I pull back, just slightly enough to look him in the eyes. "That's why you have an assistant manager."

"You're serious?" he asks, incredulous. The fact that he even needs to ask is all the more reason why it's necessary.

I flip my brows exuberantly towards my hairline and smile. "As a heart attack."

The smirk I adore is back, blinding me in its brilliance. "What happened to my wife? The one that rolls out of bed at 4am before I even crack an eye and locks herself in our office?"

She lost you and can't handle the thought of parting from you again in the next 64 hours.

"She realized what she was missing out on," I say instead, leaning our lips into a kiss. "And you, Mr. Salvatore, are not something to be missed."

"Flattery gets you everywhere."

He's absentmindedly lacing his fingers through my hair and skimming them along my bare shoulder. With each motion, the hole in my heart he created when he disappeared from my life fills just a bit more.

"And I know exactly which egos to stroke to get what I want," I whisper, curving my digits around his length again to put my words into action.

It takes only three pumps before he's at full attention and his hands are on my waist. "Yep. Damn throat infection. I can feel it coming on. Might want to be careful or you'll catch it."

I giggle as he places butterfly kisses along my jawline. "Since I plan on being in this bed all day with you, I don't see how I won't. Might have to take the next few days off from work too."

His fingers slide between my thighs, slipping to part my folds. "Done. Now come here so I can taste you."

He does just that for the next forty minutes.

. . . . .

The first day is spent entirely in bed, only interrupted by the occasional trip to the kitchen. When I open my eyes to the sun of the second day, my muscles are tight in that astonishing way only great sex can manufacture. Somehow we both have the strength for one more romp between the sheets – effectively starting our day the way we both agreed to - before Damon heads to the shower. I take the time to call my editor, letting her know I won't be flying out Christmas Eve for the book tour. She throws back arguments from her end of the line, but I stand resolved in my decision. I'll deal with the repercussions later. As the thoughts of later sweep in to tangle and suffocate the joy of the day, I thread my fingers through my hair and push them away. Then I head to join Damon in the shower.

Four hours later, we walk into The Mystic Grill.

"Nice place you've brought me to," Damon states, holding the door open so I can step inside.

It's exactly as I remember. We haven't been here for at least a year, but the rustic charm still remains - along with the memories it holds. It was where he took me on our first date and after three bottles of Miller Lite, it's where I'd finally let my flight risk tendencies fade enough for him to give me our first kiss. Even with divorced parents and a society that showcases nothing but failed relationships, there was no turning back after that scorcher.

As the hostess guides us to a leather booth in the back, I smile at him. "Yeah, I thought a trip down memory lane was in order."

She hands us our menus and walks off when Damon leans across the table, a mischievous twinkle in his baby blues. "So where are we headed next? The school parking lot where we first had sex?"

"Absolutely," I reply with a wink. "I even rented a 1969 Chevy Camaro so we can recreate the memory."

Damon throws his head back and makes a show of pain by placing his hand over his heart. "Don't tease me. You know selling that car was the biggest regret of my life."

It was one of the hardest decisions we've ever made as a couple, but restaurants aren't cheap and neither was his car. Selling it had seemed like the most logical choice for our future. Along the way, both of us had sacrificed for our careers. He gave up a beloved piece of metal and I gave up something that meant much more.

"If only mine was so small," I muse softly.

He furrows his brows over his menu before setting it onto the wooden table. "Is that what this is all about then?"

Repeating his actions, I ask, "What do you mean?"

"You forget you read like a magazine, Elena. You wake up next to me in bed for the first time in weeks, ask me to skip out on work, and then bring me here. I can read between the actions."

His eyes are sad as they watch me and the impossible question falls from his mouth. "Did you cheat on me?" He shakes his head slowly and appears almost ashamed that he's asked the question before he elaborates, "I don't want to believe it, but it's the only thing that makes sense. Are you doing all of this to reignite our spark and ease your guilt?"

"No, of course not." I flinch at the accusation, feeling hurt and confused and sympathetic all at once. But I can't fault his allegation. To him, I've flipped the switch. Done a complete 180. Of course it required a trigger, but it's not the one he thinks. It's something far worse.

He's visibly relieved, his rigid stance sags as the defenses leave his body. All that's left is concern as he pleads, "Then what's going on?"

I sigh, understanding that he'd figure out my intentions eventually. It makes sense that it only took him this long. "I just realized my priorities have been a little messed up lately. So much of my life revolves around work, that I put us on the backburner. I forgot that we needed time too."

A lopsided grin pulls on the right side of his mouth. There's empathy painted over his features as his hand reaches across the table to link his fingers through mine. "It's okay. Shit happens, Elena."

"It's not," I say with a shake of my head, realizing that this moment is the one I've been wanting to have with him since the accident. We'd repaired the physical portion of our relationship, but the emotional was still severed.

I maintain eye contact and throw as much sincerity as capable behind my next words. Then I declare, "I'm sorry for that. You have to believe me. I am so incredibly sorry."

Tears form in the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall over because there are so many more words and reasons behind my emotions that I want to give him. There's already so little time left together and if anything, I need him to understand how very much I mean the apology I just spoke. "I swear that from here on out, I'll find that happy medium between work and us."

My eyes have diverted to our table, still fighting off the surge of emotions within me, when his fingers touch the base of my chin. "Look at me," he orders, lifting my eyes back to his. "We're fine, Elena. I know that. Life is fucking hard and all couples have their ups and downs. We just had one. But I know us. And no matter what, we'll always have each other's back. Even when other things take priority."

His honesty grips my heart, and his belief in us seals the fragmented pieces. "Promise?"

He nods. "I promise."

"Okay." A single tear escapes and tumbles down my cheek. With a quick swipe of his thumb, Damon clears the evidence, just in time for our waitress to arrive. We both order the same dishes we ordered five years ago. And when she leaves to get our drinks, he leans across the table to give me a quick reassuring peck on the cheek.

I smile, feeling the connection between us that was previous severed and relish in it. If anything, at least I'll be able to say goodbye to him knowing this part of us is no longer broken.

Breaking me out of my reverie, Damon leans back in his seat. "Do you remember how many times I had to ask you to come here with me before you actually said yes?"

"Was it three of four?" I joke.

He laughs, something deep and throaty. I catalogue it in my memory for later use. "Third time was the charm. But my dashing good looks won you over. I knew it was always just a matter of time." He showcases his confidence by following up the statement with a wink. It strikes low in my belly.

"Those looks and your smooth way with words was what scared me the most," I say, remembering the fear I'd held onto when I met him. He was a charmer, a ladies man and I was a guarded girl, untrusting of anyone of the opposite sex. I glance up into those unrivaled blue eyes and admit why it took me three times to agree to dinner, "You had the potential to be my biggest heartbreak."

He reaches his hand across the table, cupping my cheek gently in his palm. "But I wasn't."

Yes, you were.

. . . . .

I wake the third morning with a weight on my chest. It could have something to do with the lack of sleep I got last night - I spent most of it watching Damon - or our time together ending this evening. It's most likely the second. But I can't help it. Time is slipping so quickly and my chest aches as I gaze upon him again. It's all I seem to do, but my eyes are incapable of slipping from him.

For an entire year it felt as though the sun had disappeared and for a third day in a row it's gleaming through the window. My life is glaring in technicolor again. I can't imagine returning to the shades of grey I've been submerged in.

Sensing me staring, Damon stirs and cracks open his eyes. The emotions are back, hovering just behind my lids as I keep the tears at bay. It's the last morning I have with him and I refuse to spend it crying.

He sweeps me against his chest, pulling my head to rest against the base of his chin. I plaster myself against his body, nuzzling as close to him as possible. I can feel the heat of his breath as it dances against my hair. I want to pull back and study him again, memorize every piece of him, but I can't. Because then he'll see everything I am fighting so hard to camouflage.

It hurts to smile. It hurts to look at him. It hurts to know that within a matter of hours he'll be ripped from my life a second time and I'll never have this comfort again. I want to drown in this moment, pause it and remain like this forever. But it's impossible. Minutes will tick; they'll transverse into hours until our time has run out.

It's then that the reality of that officially hits me. I let myself go, the tears that have been fighting for days escape and drip onto his skin. I'm terrified and helpless as I breathe him in, letting his musk envelope my lungs. I want him flowing through every piece of me.

His lips are in my hair, kissing my temple as I whisper, "Thank you for loving me," into his warm skin. I haven't made it easy, but he's never faltered, always loving me with utmost reverence.

At my words, his arms tighten around me as I cling to him like plastic wrap. He repeats the word "forever" over and over until it's more like a melody.

If only his words were true.

The feel of him is so familiar, his touch so soothing that it's almost enough to stop the flow of my emotions. I wish he knew exactly why I was crying. I wish he understood just how deeply I loved him in return. I wish for another tomorrow.

I just wish.

But wishes aren't always granted and I'm living in one now. So I say nothing because I can't and instead we spend the next few minutes like this - me falling apart and him wishing he understood why.

. . . . .

When I've pieced myself back together, we make love, starting our third day successfully. It's slow and sweet, adorned with soothing words and the touch of passion. He worships my body and I reciprocate with utmost devotion. We're absolute.

Afterwards, Damon doesn't ask me about my breakdown as we go through our holiday motions and for that, I'm thankful. I can't fabricate more lies to him when all I want is to be authentic. It's difficult enough pretending to be enthusiastic when he speaks of vacation plans for the future or effective measures for balancing work and necessary time together. And I all but shove a tree ornament into his mouth when he asks about the direction I'm going in my next book.

But the epiphany hits me as we're baking Christmas cookies in the kitchen. Damon's just put them into the oven and his lips are on my neck. I'm falling under his comfort again, forgetting that the clock is always ticking. It's when I hear the screech of the tires and see the car and the street and Damon's lifeless body in unforgivable angles. Immediately after, I know what I have to do.

I realize it doesn't matter that we've had three perfect days or that I've managed to fix the things that were once broken between us because of my detachment. What matters most is that he stays.

I lost him once. I won't – I can't – lose him again. I'm fighting what Bonnie has insisted and I have no idea if it will actually work, but I'm not letting him slip from my grasp again. My world will continue to spin; it won't shift on its axis and knock me askew. We'll stand strong and we'll survive this.

We'll live.

. . . . .

"I'll be back in a half hour. Tops." Damon's trying to maneuver around me so he can grab his coat. He's just received a call from his assistant manager that their shipment of oysters arrived warm. The entire lot is wasted and needless to say, he's fuming.

"Not tonight. It's Christmas Eve," I plead. "There's nothing you can do about it right now anyway. The place is about to close in an hour and even if you call the company, they won't be able to ship out another order until Friday."

"You're right," he sighs, abandoning his mission and plopping himself onto the recliner in the living room.

At his submission, I also breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I've managed to continue my mission of locking him in this house. It's not exactly brilliant, but it's the only option I have of keeping him alive. If he doesn't step foot outside, there's no way he'll be struck by the car.

There's no way he'll leave me again.

"Wait. Aren't you supposed to be packing right now?" Damon asks.

"Yep," I reply, stepping into the kitchen to grab the carton of eggnog from our fridge. "But I told my editor to shove it. It's Christmas Eve and there's no way in hell I'm spending it anywhere else but right here with you."

Damon lifts from the chair and walks the three steps into the kitchen as I pour two glasses of eggnog. "Babe, that's sweet, but unnecessary."

"Actually, it's completely necessary."

I smile at him before grabbing the bottle of bourbon from our liquor cabinet. I've just poured the last 5th of the bottle into our two glasses when I feel his arms around my waist.

"What about your meet and greet? What's that going to do to your book sales?"

I want to tell him that the success of my book means nothing without him to share it with. It's just stacks of money lining a savings account that hasn't been touched in months. But that's breaking the rules of this deal and since I'm already attempting to break the main one, I figure it's best to avoid that. So I settle for a simple, "They're just sales and besides, it's not exactly like we're hurting. I'd rather spend my time with you."

I twirl around in his hold and press my forehead to his. His eyes study mine, searching for uncertainty as he asks, "You sure?"

"Absolutely. I'm finding my happy medium remember?"

The grin on his face is enough to thaw every muscle in my body and probably even the ice outside. It's that gratifying.

"Well alright then," he says, lowering to kiss me just below the ear. It's tender and somewhat untwists the coil of anxiety within me. "Seems our tradition of booze and tree gawking stands true for another year."

"Wouldn't want it any other way."

I hand him his glass of egg nog as we pull apart and grab my own, heading to the living room. He takes a sip before I giggle at the mustache the white cream leaves over his upper lip. Incapable of resisting, I grab his face and kiss him, savoring the mixture of his traditional taste and that of the egg nog. However, it's the connection I crave the most, the physical truth that my plan is working and he's still with me. Each minute brings me closer to conquering our deadline.

"It's delicious, right?" he smirks.

"Sure is," I reply, hiding my fears behind a well-designed grin.

When Damon grabs one of the foot long matches and begins to assemble the logs for our fire, I take my appropriate seat next to our lit Christmas tree and feel the heat from the hearth immediately. It takes only another second before 'Baby, It's Cold Outside' sounds through our speakers. As I laugh at his song choice, Damon sets his drink onto the fireplace mantel and extends his hand towards me.

"Want to get cheesy and romantic with me?"

I take his hand, sitting my glass down on the hardwood floor and reply, "Hell yes."

We sway to the song, the lights from the tree setting our ambience, his hand on my back and my head against his shoulder. We're effortlessly in sync. When all that fills the room is the sound of the music and our steady breathing, Damon twirls me out and says, "Thank you for loving me too."

He pulls me back against him, where I settle with ease. My hand rests on his heart and I feel it beat against my palm. "Trust me; you're easy."

There's that satisfying smirk on his face again that turns my legs into Jell-O. With the music, the twinkling lights and him staring at me like that, I feel convinced that this is how we'll beat the odds - together. Because we have to. Moments like this are irreplaceable, the ones where the world fades and it's only the two of us. I won't lose that.

But a single step to the right is all it takes for my back to hit the mantel and Damon's drink to spill down my back. Despite the interruption, I laugh as the cool liquid glides between my shoulder blades and covers my crimson shirt.

"Shit." Damon's in action, sprinting to the kitchen to grab our hand towel. He's back within seconds, patting the moisture at my back and all I continue to do is laugh. The liquid is freezing and Damon is only making it worse by smearing it over my neck and this is just ridiculous.

"I'm not doing much good, am I?" Damon chuckles, dropping the towel onto the floor in defeat.

Reaching to push his lips to mine, I whisper, "It's the thought that counts."

He drops to the floor to pick up the glass which miraculously didn't break. Setting the glass back onto the mantel, he suggests, "You get changed and I'll clean this up."

I curtsey dramatically and declare, "My savior," before he smacks me on the rump with the towel and I shimmy into our bedroom. I've only been gone a minute or two and I'm switching from my jeans into a comfortable pair of sweats when I hear, "I'm going to get another bottle of bourbon from the bar since we just wasted my last cup. I'll be right back."

Panic strikes me like lightening and I stumble onto the floor when my second leg catches in the material of my pants. I scream, "No," just before I hear the front door shut. Terror shoots down my spine as the event I'd been trying to avoid manifests right before my very eyes. Hastily, I grab my shirt and throw it over my head as I charge for the door. Blood is surging through my limbs and anxiety rips through every one of my organs.

This can't be happening.

Dread consumes me when I throw open the front door only to see Damon already halfway down our walkway. And suddenly, everything flashes in front of my eyes in slow motion: his trajectory, the car only a few blocks down the road.

"Stop!" I scream, desperate and deranged, but not really giving a damn who sees me or how Damon will react.

He twirls around, continuing to walk backwards as he replies, "I'm just going across the street to get us another bottle. It won't take long."

Halfway through the first sentence, I charge towards him. I don't even hesitate. I'm barefoot and freezing, but I know what's about to happen and I won't let it. I will not lose him again.

His smirk fades as I approach, his eyes are wide in shock as I get closer and I hear the car horn to my left and I know it's too close. It's only a few feet away, but I don't stop. Because this is the man I love. The one who completes me and fulfills every desire I've had for my life. I let him down in the past and I won't do it again.

In that second, I understand: I'm going to take his place and that's how I'll restore fate.

It's the last thought I have before my hands connect with his chest, pushing him backwards as the car collides with the side of my body.

Everything is white. The backdrop, the dress I am wearing, even the sleek ground I'm standing on.

"I knew you were going to be difficult," Bonnie chimes, suddenly appearing in front of me. She's in white too. Shocking, I know.

However, the most shocking is my lack of pain. In fact, I feel perfectly healthy. "Where am I?" I question, glancing around and still noticing nothing but an expanse of white horizons.

"Let's call it the in-between."

I've seen enough movies to grasp what she's saying and considering I just threw myself in front of a hurtling vehicle to save my husband, the only logical answer I have is, "So I'm dead?"

She chuckles, catching me by surprise. If she finds this humorous, she's the only one. "No, my dear. Seems you found the loop-hole."

Baffled, I furrow my brows and demand, "What are you talking about?"

"Unconditional Love." She's smiling at me, almost as if she's happy, which catches me by surprise. If anything, our last visit seemed more of an inconvenience for her than anything else.

"I want to be mad at you for causing me more paperwork, but honestly, I'm too impressed," she continues. "But I have to ask. Why did you do it? Why did you throw yourself in front of the car?"

The answer is simple and comes without hesitation. "Because I didn't want to live in a world without Damon. I'd had my chance and I was inconsolable. I wanted to give him the opportunity I knew I couldn't handle." Sacrificing myself so he could live is a choice I don't regret and it's one I'd make a million times over.

"Well that's sweet." She's back to her condescending ways and I roll my eyes in response before she shakes her finger at me. "Elena, I'm about to give you everything you've ever wanted. I'd cut the attitude if I were you."

There's only one thing I want. It's the only thing I've learned that really holds any importance at all. And it has nothing to do with wealth or success. Instead, it has everything to do with love.

"So Damon and I both get to live?" The question fires from my lips in a breathy plea. Internally, I'm begging for it to be true and when she nods her head in response, I nearly break to my knees. But I hold on long enough to ask, "What about destiny and fate and the balance of things?"

She shrugs, as though the three are Tetris pieces that can easily be shifted and reconfigured to work. "We'll figure something out."

My jaw is at my feet and I'm incapable of forming coherent sentences. I get to live and so does Damon. I'm flooded with incomprehensible joy.

"Enjoy your happy ever after," Bonnie declares, grinning proudly. "You've earned it."

"Thank you." The words fumble from my mouth, accentuated by tears that free fall down my cheeks. They're no longer tears of agony and instead shimmering in ecstasy. Pure, exhilarating, ecstasy.

She winks in response, once again holding her hands out to her sides. With one last smile, she says, "Don't waste it, Elena," before she snaps her fingers.

The steady beep of my heart machine wakes me, alerting me that I am in fact alive. I part my lids, slowly adjusting to the glow of the fluorescents in my hospital room. It takes only a second for my vision to clear and the tubes covering my body to manifest. They're everywhere, including the pain. But even in this hospital bed with pain gripping every part of me, I stand firmly behind my choice. I'd still break every bone in my body if it meant my husband got to continue living in his.

Speaking of my husband, my eyes sweep to Damon's sleeping form. He's hunched over the wooden arm of his visitor chair, and a low snore sounds from his direction with each rise and fall of his chest.

He's alive and healthy and perfect.

The surge of relief floods over me and I want nothing more than to speak his name, for his eyes to open and connect with mine so I can feel how very real this moment is. But the dark bags under his eyes are prominent and I'm sure he's exhausted. I know far too well what effect fear and despair can have on a body and I'm sure he's experienced the full spectrum of both over the night. For this second, he's peaceful. So I let him sleep. We'll have our moment later. Because what's a few minutes really, when you've been granted a second lifetime of them?

But he knows; he has to. His eyes are glassy when they open and lock with mine and he's at my side before his name escapes me in a rasp.

"Thank God." The words break when he says them as the concern seeps from his body. It's dripping onto the floor, eliminating everything negative that's swirled around us and leaving only the luminous promise of our future. Thankfully, we've been gifted one. "What you did was crazy. You know that right?"

"Moderately," I tease, shrugging. It's a bad idea because as soon as I do, every inch of me aches. I wince at the pain. "But you're worth a little crazy."

"You still shouldn't have done it." He shakes his head. "Never scare me like that again." It's an order, but the moisture forming in his eyes makes it more desperate than demanding.

"I'll try not to."

His fingers lift to my cheek. They feel like feathers as they skim sensitively over my skin. It's like I'm a precious gem and yeah, I understand. He's touching me the very same way I touched him three mornings ago. When you nearly lose someone, or in my case do lose someone, their importance magnifies exponentially. Suddenly nothing else matters.

I can see it in the way he's looking at me now. The way his eyes shift from my mouth over to my cheek and onto my eyes in wonder.

"I can't ever lose you." He speaks the words softly, but the meaning behind them roars.

"You won't." After everything, it's something I believe entirely.

We sit like this a few seconds longer. His tender touch never leaves my cheek and his eyes never deviate from mine. The connection is there in full force and in spite of all that we've both been through and the state I'm currently in, I'm grateful. If we'd continued on the way we were, we might have both still been alive, but we'd have lost this along the way.

The pad of him thumb skims my lips when Damon finally finds his voice again to ask, "You knew, didn't you? You knew the car was going to be coming for me?"

I could lie to him, but frankly, I don't have the energy. And I'm ready to be open. For so long I'd closed myself off and locked myself in the metaphorical towers that were my office and hotel rooms, hiding behind my work. I saw where that got us and in no way am I ever guiding us down that path again. Not when we've found this.

"Yes."

He nods, unsurprised. "How long?"

"A few days."

"I knew something was up with you," he admits, shaking his head. He's deep in thought, his face full of astonishment, but he stills to ask, "How?"

My lips clip upwards. "Would you think I was corny if I said it was a Christmas miracle?"

He laughs and it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. I get to hear that laugh every day if I want to. Then he teases, "A little."

"Well then it wasn't that," I reply, giggling feebly because I can't help it. And yeah, it hurts like hell, but I don't care. Bruises and bones heal, even hearts, but the scars of losing a life never fade and we've both somehow escaped that fate. Thanks to that, neither one of us will ever take the other for granted again. It's going to be a wonderful life.

I feel the exhaustion creeping over me, threatening to pull me under. I'm trying so hard to fight it and stay with Damon just a little longer, but my body is weak. It needs its rest. So I suggest, "Can I explain everything later? I'm so tired."

He nods, leaning forward to place the gentlest of kisses against my tattered forehead and says, "Of course."

His fingers thread between mine, linking us as I begin to drift, but just as my eyes close, I hear him say, "Merry Christmas, Elena. I love you so much."

My lids are still too heavy to open, but I offer him a satisfying smile. At least I think it is. I'm heavily drugged, after all. Then I reply, "I love you too."

"I'll be right here," he promises.

I drift to sleep knowing it's true. Courtesy of Bonnie, second chances and corny Christmas miracles.

Please read and review! :)

I hope you guys didn't mind the lack of a Christmas feel. When I started writing, I had every intention of throwing in that Christmas cheer, but with each section, the writing just took me in a different direction. A more emotional one… shocking, I know! Ha.

Wishing everyone a Happy Holiday and Fantastic New Year. I'll see you guys in 2015.

Hey, I'm on Twitter and Tumblr: morvamp