Elena steps daintily into the large stall shower in the Salvatore Mansion, allowing the thick white towel draped around her body to fall to the floor, as she enters. She is greeted by a powerful rush of hot water, as it cascades across her shoulders, and down her back, pooling onto the ceramic tile beneath her bare feet. As the water beats down upon her, Elena feels her muscles relax instinctively for the first time in what seems like a year.

Klaus is dead. Her friends are safe. Damon has opened her heart, mind, and body to a world of emotions and sensations, she never even knew she was capable of feeling. And Stefan . . .

Elena blinks, as the tears fill her eyes. She feels as though she has been fighting them off constantly, throughout this whole ordeal. But here . . . alone in the shower . . . she finally lets them come. The salty liquid runs down the curves of her face, intermingling with the water from the shower, until it is impossible to tell which was which. So, immersed is Elena in her own unique mixture of joy and sadness that she barely notices someone knocking on the shower door.

"Damon," she says, as she turns toward the frosted glass.

Though the modesty of the shower door obscures the specifics, she can tell he is naked. Damon's long lean body stands silently outside the stall, a vampire awaiting entrance into her "home." Should she let him in?

Elena opens the shower stall and steps aside so that Damon can enter. As Damon slides the door closed behind him, Elena can't help but admire the sheer perfection that is his body. During their time together, Elena has seen Damon without a shirt on many times. And yet, this is the first time she's really had the opportunity to admire his entire form. She notes, with a bit of naughty amusement, that the Damon Parts she hadn't yet seen, are just as breathtaking, if not more so, than the ones she already had.

Damon is pleasantly surprised by what he sees as well. Though the elder Salvatore Brother has often imagined what it would be like to be with Elena, on some level, he had always imagined that her body would be identical to Katherine's. Here, in the shower, he could see that it isn't.

While Katherine had been raised to a life of feminine leisure - a lady perpetually in waiting . . . for her next feeding - Elena has lead a significantly more active lifestyle. Elena Gilbert is a modern woman, one more comfortable in jeans than in skirts . . . a cheerleader . . . a woman whose human legs are not at all un-used to running from danger. As a result, Elena's body is taut and more toned than Katherine's could ever be. And though she is a "mere mortal," Elena gives the impression of being stronger, and in some ways, more powerful, than the woman Damon had once spent over a century pining over.

"So, is this how you got women to have sex with you back in the 1800's, Damon . . . by surprising them in the shower, with your rock hard abs and uncommonly large . . . muscles?" Elena challenges.

Damon smiles mischievously. And suddenly, Elena has the overwhelming urge to throw him up against the wall of the shower, wrap her legs around his waist, and have her way with him, right then and there. But she controls herself, keeping her hands firmly on her hips. During the past 24 hours, Damon and Elena have gotten pretty hot and heavy in some of the strangest places, and under the most inconvenient of circumstances: in a forest, through the bars of a makeshift jail cell, in the backseat of Caroline's car, on top of a large stiff piece of construction equipment.

But those were extenuating circumstances. Elena is nothing like the centuries' worth of shallow, dumb floosies, Damon has bedded in the past. And she is DEFINITELY nothing like Katherine. Elena wants to make these important facts clear to Damon, before they can become . . . whatever it is they are about to become to one another.

Rather than answer Elena's pointed question, Damon decides to ask one of his own. "May I?" He inquires, pointing at the bottle of Pantene shampoo positioned on the shower ledge.

"Help yourself," Elena replies, secretly disappointed. Maybe he really just wants to take a shower? She thinks to herself.

Damon pours a generous amount of shampoo into his right palm, and clasps it to his left, rubbing his hands together to create a generous lather. But rather than put the shampoo on his own head, he moves behind Elena, and rests his hands on top of hers. Damon is so close to Elena now, she can feel his cool breath on her neck, contrasting with the steam of the shower. His finely muscled stomach brushes ever so gently against the center of her back. And the hardness between his legs, quietly makes its presence known, just above her backside.

Damon's soapy fingers brush delicately against the back of her neck, as he reaches for her long dark hair and lifts it toward the top of her head. He then begins to slowly and methodically massage her scalp. The bones in his fingers move in a deliciously circular motion, making their way around the top of her head, and slowly around her skull.

When Elena's whole head is covered with a rich and foamy lather, Damon sets to work on gently rubbing her temples, and the delicate skin around her ears. The movement of Damon's magical fingers both mesmerizes and intoxicates Elena. Her eyes flutter closed, as she allows herself to relax into his chest, sinking even deeper under his spell. "You are good at this," she whispers dreamily.

"I know I am," Damon whispers back in her ear, as moves Elena's limp and docile body closer to the shower head, allowing a firm spray of water to cocoon them both. As the shampoo is washed from Elena's head, dripping in liquid clumps, down her back, shoulders and chest, Elena turns her head so that she can rest it on Damon's firm chest. Until now, she hadn't realized how tired the stresses of the past few days have made her. Damon hugs her close to him, which makes her feel safe and protected, so much so that she feels as though she might fall asleep right there in the shower.

Without letting go of Elena, Damon reaches for the vanilla and caramel-scented body wash, and pours a generous amount onto Elena's back. As Elena dozes in Damon's arms, her body drifting in and out of sleep, Damon lovingly begins to work his hands across her body, his palms radiating out, first across her entire back, and shoulders, then around her arms, beneath her arm pits, and through the gaps between each of her fingers. Parting their bodies briefly, Damon soaps Elena's chest and stomach, causing a gentle moan of pleasure to erupt from Elena when his fingers linger over happily across certain pink areas therein. Elena turns obediently, still half asleep, so Damon can work on her legs and feet. But by the time, Damon's soapy fingers have made their way between her legs, Elena isn't so sleepy anymore.

All thoughts of resisting Damon have now left her brain. In fact, Elena is thinking about nothing at all, but Damon . . . Damon . . . and more Damon. Giving in to her desires, as she subconsciously knew she would from the minute Damon had entered that shower, Elena presses herself insistently against his body, pushing backward, until they have reached the wall of the shower. Hungrily, Elena's mouth meets Damon's, her lips fitting against his, as if the two were created for the soul purpose of being pressed against one another. Their tongues dance together to the beat of the water against the shower walls.

Damon hoists Elena upward, his hands placed firmly on the curve of her buttocks. She wraps her legs around his waist, and her hands around his neck, as if THIS is what she has been waiting to do her entire life. And, in some ways, it IS. Their bodies begin to move in unison, as an, at-once familiar, and yet, entirely new, sensation travels across Elena's body, causing her to gasp in pleasure. "Bite me," she whispers in his ear.

"Are you sure?" Damon asks breathlessly, his body so close to release that he finds himself barely capable of forming words.

"Yes," Elena replies insistently. "I'm going to bite you too."

The pressure building in Damon's head becomes too much to bear, and his fangs emerge. Unable to hold back any longer, Damon chomps down on Elena's shoulder, just as he feels the delicious pleasurable but painful sensation of small human teeth on his own neck. Elena cries out, as the blood drips from her neck, her own lips caked in red from Damon's blood. For a second, Damon wonders whether he has hurt her. However, the blissful smile on Elena's face, tells him otherwise.

Suddenly, the world around Damon and Elena evaporates, and they find themselves in the Mystic Falls Church. But it's not the Church, as it looks now. It's the Church the way it looked in 1864. "Where are we?" Elena whispers to Damon, as she turns toward him at the front of the Church.

"Where do you think?" Damon inquires with a seductive smile.

Far from their former naked states, Damon is now clad in a suit, similar to the one he reserved for special occasions, back when he was still a young man . . . a young human man, living in Mystic Falls during the late 1800's . . .events like Easter Sunday, baby christenings . . . and WEDDINGS. Elena is clad all in white. Delicate lace envelops her arms, and cascades across her body, in an ornate, but elegant, pattern. On her head is a silver tiara, accented by a long translucent veil.

"Do you, Damon Salvatore take this woman, Elena, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, honor her, comfort her, and keep her, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?" The Priest inquires.

Damon looks deeply into Elena's almond shaped brown eyes and smiles, "I do," he replies.

"Do you, Elena Gilbert take this man, Damon Salvatore, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, honor him, comfort him, and keep him, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Elena says excitedly, before she can even process what is happening.

"By the power vested in me under the laws of the State of Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife," answers the Priest, before turning to Damon, "You may kiss the bride."

Damon leans in toward Elena, and slowly lifts her veil from her face. Then, gently cupping her face in both of his hands, he pulls her in for a long, sweet, and sensuous kiss.

A cheer erupts from the church pew. On their feet, dressed in 19th-century appropriate attire, are Caroline and Tyler, a wedding ring conspicuously sparkling from the blonde vampire's finger. Also in the audience are Alaric and Jenna, looking as proud as parents, as they watch Jenna's only surrogate daughter marry the man she loves. Jeremy pumps his fist in triumph, "YEAH! Go Damon!" He shouts inappropriately. Standing next to him is Bonnie, who jabs an elbow at him, in faux annoyance, but the smile on her face belies any sense of anger she meant to convey.

And there, in the front pew, out of the corner of her eye, Elena spies Stefan . . . and Katherine? Katherine is clapping, and offers a seductive all-knowing wink at Elena. Stefan has his arm wrapped affectionately around the other Petrova Doppelganger. He looks at Katherine lovingly, before turning toward Elena, with a grin on his face. "It's OK," he mouths to her. "I'm OK."

"Thank you," Elena mouths back with a smile.

"Are you ready for this?" Damon asks Elena, his blue-green eyes sparkling.

"I've been ready for THIS all my life," Elena replies, linking her hand with Damon's, as the two walk together out of the church, ready to spend the rest of their lives . . . well . . . Elena's life anyway . . . together.

Back in the present day, Elena and Damon emerge from the shower, and stand naked before the bathroom mirror. The image of her and Damon together in this way reminds Elena of earlier that evening, when Elena (then dressed as Katherine) was preparing to battle Klaus. And Damon had fed her his blood for the first time, to heal the curling iron induced burn mark on her neck. That moment . . . when she first realized she was in love with Damon . . . that it had ALWAYS been Damon . . . now seemed so far away. So much had happened to them since then. So much had changed.

And yet, here she was, standing in front of Damon, with a wound on her neck, staring at her reflection in a mirror. So, maybe, not that much had changed after all. The fact that they were both alive and together, so many hours later, was a true miracle. And yet their everlasting love for one another was, perhaps, the biggest miracle of them all. "In blood there is truth," Elena remarks to her reflection, as Damon kisses her neck.

Truer words have never been spoken . . .