A/N: So this story had been on my mind for a long time. Maybe it's a little silly but I had to write it down. I have some more Delena one shot ideas, but I don't know if I will post them here or just keep them to myself. They all AU/AH just like this one. I just love to play with Damon and Elena in different settings and circumstances.

A huge shout out to LeighJ11, my beta who look at this little snippet and corrected my mistakes! :)

"Excuse me… I don't understand what you are trying to say," I muttered with desperate exasperation. I pushed my words out slowly, as if that would make the language barrier between me and the vendor any easier to break down.

The man, still not noticing that despite my wanting to speak Italian, I simply couldn't, grabbed my hand tightly and ran his thumbs over my bracelet. I tried to free myself from his hold and glanced around the market for any help. However, it seemed that everyone around me had turned a blind eye to the seller's impoliteness.

I turned back to the man, still clutching my hand with two large ones and pulled my wrist free. Not wanting to just turn and leave but feeling like I had no other choice, I attempted to leave despite the man's rapid words of Italian following me. It was only as I turned on my heel did a stranger's voice say, "He said that he wants to buy your bracelet."

I looked up in surprise, barely seeing the man in front of me due to the overpowering sun turning him into a shadow, not a person. "Um, can you please tell him that it's a family heirloom and so it's not for sale?"

I looked back at the vendor while the mysterious man behind me translated what I had just asked of him. With my back to him, nothing but his scent registered with me and washed over me in soft waves of allure. This caused me to peep back at him over my shoulder while he talked, my eyes trailing over his dark hair and light skin.

These both told me that he may be a local here but he didn't have a typical Italian accent in his English pronunciation, which I listened to with all my attention as he negotiated with the vendor fiercely. He eventually stopped speaking and I turned back to the vendor just in time to see him enter his tent with a resentful scowl on his face.

I once again turned back to the man who had helped me. "Thank you." I smiled and turned to leave but the man stepped in front of me, blocking my path. It was only as he moved out of the direct sunlight did I notice that the left side of his face, from temple to chin, was disfigured by a large scar. Thankfully, it hadn't damaged his stunning blue eyes.

"Don't stare!" He growled angrily, frightening me. He abruptly turned on his heels and started to walk away at a fast pace.

I blinked in surprise before shouting, "Wait!" I only jogged a few steps before I managed to snag my hand around his arm which was warm through his coat. "I'm sorry, I was just surprised. I… please don't be angry with me. I didn't mean to be so rude."

The man turned back to me, and I could see the angry and embarrassed expression that had adorned his face moments ago had slipped away, leaving room for a new and softer expression. "It's all right. I'm the one who should be sorry." He shook his head tightly, as if disgusted with himself. "I'm still touchy about it," he admitted with a timid smile.

"Did it happen recently?" I asked attentively. His expression immediately darkened again and he only graced me with a tight nod. I quickly tried to reassure him. "I won't pry." Instead, I decided to change the subject. "How do you speak English so well?"

"I grew up in the States," he answered with a light smile that I hadn't seen on his face yet.

He could melt even the hardest and coldest of hearts with that smile, I thought to myself. We started to head out of the bazaar, side by side. I decided to keep the conversation going and avoid the topic of his scar, despite my curiosity. "Oh, I see. Then, how come you know Italian so well?"

"That would be my mother," he answered and smiled at the floor. "She was only willing to speak in that language." He laughed at a memory I had no access to.

"Did she not like the country?" I glanced at him and was rewarded with a shake of his head.

"She moved out here because of my father."

"But…" I started, already a thousand questions forming in my mind until he cut me off.

"Ok, wait." He flashed that smile again, the one that could melt ice and it almost made his scar disappear. "Now I'm asking the questions. If you don't mind that is…" He stared at me intently, as if worried he had offended me.

"Of course," I answered, my cheeks flushing. Sometimes I was very nosy. "It's a bad habit of mine," I continued my own thought process and he seemed slightly confused. "I'm a journalist," I clarified. "It comes with the job to ask so many questions. Ask me anything you like," I rushed out, still blushing.

The man eyed me silently for a few moment before suddenly taking my hand. My heart leapt in my chest as I wondered what would happen next. Just because he was handsome didn't mean he couldn't kidnap me, or hurt me. I calmed down when he pulled me towards the nearest seat. How stupid of me to jump to such dramatic conclusions. Then again, I was a journalist.

As he stared me closely once more, I found all thoughts of being kidnapped fading and instead, in contrast, I was hoping I didn't look too haggard from all the running up and down I had done this morning.

"Why did you come to Rome?" The man finally asked after we made ourselves comfortable on the bench he had chosen, which was situated under a large oak tree.

On the square, in front of us, a small fountain sprinkled water skywards and the drops fell back into the pool with an almost tranquil timing. I watched the water as I answered, "I want to settle down here."

The stranger, whose name I still didn't know, raised his eyebrows in surprise. He probably did this for a while before I turned my eyes back to him at his silence. It was only when he had my attention again did he continue to speak. "But you don't even speak Italian."

I cocked my eyebrow and smiled coyly. "To my knowledge, this is a metropolis. They understand English."

"Not everyone," he answered immediately and glanced at my bracelet, reminding me of the vendor who had wanted it so desperately.

"I'll learn the language," I replied adamantly. "Sooner or later," I added with less confidence, and a shrug.

"You'll be forced to," he answered with a very matter-of-fact tone. "Why here anyway?" Came the next question.

I didn't exactly want to get into the details of my life with a stranger and so I avoided answering and deflected. "Why not?"

"True." He accepted my decision. "Do you live alone?"

My spine flared hot for a moment and pulse jumped. Maybe I was over reacting but that didn't seem like a question you ask in normal conversation. I shouldn't and didn't want to be talking to strangers about my personal life.

He seemed to notice that this had panicked me and spoke quickly to calm me. "Don't get me wrong! I'm just not as good in asking questions as you are."

I smiled wryly. I decided as long as I didn't give out my address, it was okay to answer him. "Yes, I live alone…" I replied while I watched him smile in embarrassment.

"I'm doing terrible trying to ask questions. Why don't you tell me about yourself instead?" The stranger asked with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Hmm…I don't really know what to say, I'm quite boring. I arrived a week ago from New York. I've always wanted to learn Italian, especially in my childhood. But I forgot about it for a long time. I don't even know how to say…" I trailed off, glancing around for inspiration and pointed at the first thing I saw. "…cat in Italian."

I watched the black cat approach us after I said the word and laughed out loud.

The cat walked all the way over to us and nudged his head at my legs. I smiled as I reached down to pick it up, wary of it running off or scratching. But the cat was calm and purring as I put it on my lap and stroked its head.

The man reached over and ran his long fingers through the cat's fur as he said, "Gatto."

"What?" I asked, puzzled.

"The cat. It's 'gatto' in Italian," he explained.

The cat meowed approvingly before jumping from my lap and disappearing behind the trees and into the park. I decided then and there that I was going to get a cat.

We sat in silence for a few moments, watching the spot where the cat had disappeared, as if expecting it to reappear and play with us. I finally spoke once more, turning to look at the stranger beside me. "We don't even know each other's name."

He grinned softly, as if he had been waiting for me to bring this up. "Don't you feel like that's refreshing? A stranger, with whom you can discuss anything, and everything."

"If you feel that way, then why won't you tell me what gave you that scar?" The question slipped between my lips before I could stop it.

I wanted to facepalm. What is wrong with me? I felt ten times worse when the smile slipped from his face again. He was silent and stony for an age, to the point that I was going to burst with all the apologies' trying to fall out of my mouth. It surprised me when he finally spoke.

"A few months ago, someone came at me with a knife," he said bluntly. I gasped in shock but he continued with the story. "On the streets. In the daylight."

I felt my stomach tighten and wanted to curse myself for being so god damn curious all of the time. "I'm so sorry," I whispered. For asking, for the incident, I didn't know. Maybe both.

"They confused me with someone else. Can you understand that, Elena?" He buried his face in his hands.

A giant cold hand swept over the back of my neck, over my cheeks and prickled my scalp. I shot up, terrified and numb. I was in danger. I backed away from him and towards the fountain, my heart picking up speed as he looked up sharply at my evacuation, cursed and followed me with agitated footsteps.

"How do you know my name?" I demanded, my voice a lot stronger and less frightened that what I felt inside. I looked around quickly, trying to find people to help me. There was none. Where was everybody!? My heart picked up quickly, my pulse pounding and I felt sick.

"Don't be afraid of me. Please," he pleaded, rubbing his scar angrily. I scoffed with bravado I didn't truly feel. He grimaced. "My last name is Salvatore," he said quickly, as if this would make me feel better.

My throat was tight with panicked tears but I managed to answer, "Am I supposed to know you?"

"I was the reason…" he broke off and swallowed tightly, as if suppressing emotion. "You move out here," he finally said.

My eyes widened considerably. "Damon?" I gasped.

He nodded softly and held his hand out hesitantly as he spoke. "I know you were there, in the hospital." His tone was a little more intimate now and I swallowed as it took me back to an afternoon I would rather forget.

I was arranging for a divorce, when the police called. They told me that my husband was arrested for attempted murder. When I realized the true meaning of their words, I had rushed to the hospital where I was confronted with a dying man, who had no health insurance.

"I…" I stuttered, as tears pooled in my brown eyes. "I'm so sorry!" I gasped around a sob, throwing my arms around him.

Damon Salvatore, whose life was ruined by my husband, stroked my hair and whispered, "It wasn't your fault."

No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't stop the tears from falling in rapid concession down my cheeks. The mere memory of the pain and worry was still tormenting me. I remember them telling me in the waiting room that the man, who had been stabbed, would most likely not survive his injuries if he wasn't immediately transferred to surgery. I had fled from the guilt, leaving only the money that would cover the cost of his operation.

I pulled away from him, my face wet and no doubt ugly from my ruined makeup and clogged nose. "But… how?" I gasped.

He shushed me, sweeping his thumbs under my wet eyes. "I couldn't die before meeting my guardian angel," he whispered with a heartbreaking smile.

"I'm not an angel," I whispered, my chin wobbling in shame. "Nowhere near it."

Damon took my face between his hands and looked deep into my eyes, ignoring my denial. "Thank you, Elena."

I shook my head in disbelief. "How can you thank me? I can only thank you! That you can forgive me, so easily. What Mason did...? What he did to you… I always knew he was dangerous… But I never, ever thought… It's my entire fault! We fought that day. He was so, so angry. Because of me! All because of me! And you were right there. He thought you were… and hurt you so… god! I'm so happy you're alive!"

"You saved my life," Damon answered simply.

"I didn't," I protested. Didn't he hear a word I just said?

"Don't fight me on this!" he flashed me a show of his white teeth in a grin. "If you didn't cover the hospital costs…"

I interrupted him fiercely. "It was the least I could do!"

I raised my trembling hand, running my fingers over the scar marking his beautiful face. "He did this to you," I whispered, my breath catching.

"Yes."

I didn't know what had gotten into me but I stood on my toes and clinging to his neck, I tried to get near his face. "I'd appreciate if you bent down a little," I said, smiling at the stunned man, who then wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned towards me. It was incredibly intimate as I dragged my lips over the injured skin.

"Elena?"

"Hmm?"

"The parents of an Italian family, with about twenty members, are covering their children's eyes from us."

I laughed and pulled away from him which caused a disgruntled growl from him. "I didn't mean you should stop."

I shrugged my shoulders before I started to walk away teasingly. "You coming?" I stretched out my hand and a moment later it disappeared in Damon's palm. "So, Damon Salvatore."

"Yes?"

"How did you find me?"

"It was meant to be." He winked at me and I resigned myself that this meeting was indeed fate.