A/N: Oh god. Why am I starting anything story? It's not like I have ten million others unfinished or anything.

Truth is, the only inspiration I'm getting right now if for stories that I have yet to write, and now my other stories are suffering from it. I'm sorry ot those following some fics; especially 'What is this?' I swear, I'll get around to it.

Stick with it, I've written an outline so I know where it's going, but that doesn't always help. The first chapter is always the worst, what if you all hate it? It's nearly as bad as writing an epilogue, god, it's hell sometimes.

i

'I'm in.' She thought dejectedly, shaking her head as she drove through the streets of the unfamiliar city, searching for the place she should have been this entire time. Two words, two syllables, four letters. It was barely enough to form a sentence yet those two words, that pathetic excuse of a sentence had thrown her head first into everything. She almost wished it was something more poetic, maybe a bit more flare would have done them good; perhaps it would have prepared her, and him, for the road bumps, or I guess you could call them giant, relationship-destroying grenades if you liked, thrown their way. It had always seemed ironic to her; two words so simple, forming something that was as far from the spectrum of simplicity as you could get. She was tossed into the deep end, fed to the lions. Every danger-ridden metaphor you can think off; she'd done it. Those two little words, spoken in the darkness of a club so long ago into the ear of man she'd just met had been truer than she could have ever fathomed at the time the spilled out of her mouth.

'I'm in.' she thought again, finally spotting the place she needed to be. She whirled the rental car into the turn-off recklessly, fighting her way through the sea of cars to find a space. As if acting on autopilot she parked, probably illegally outside the loading bay, and hurled out of the car, sprinting frantically through the throngs of people. She powered effortlessly through the security detail guarding the backstage entrances. Over time they had learned her face, and when she disappeared so had his spark. They let her through without question.

Breathing heavily, she finally arrived backstage. Waiting in the wings, she laid eyes on the man who had been everything good and bad in her life for longer than she could even remember. Her heart clenched in her chest as she watched him where he most belonged; on the stage, pouring his heart into the music VISION played.

'I'm in.' the words seem to mock her now. If only she'd known all that time ago that those words would be so true; that they would dominate her life and throw her into the limelight without so much as a warning. Once you were in, you were in; you didn't just step back with a goodbye and a 'thank you very much'. She had been ready then, even if she hadn't realized it and she was ready now. She was in deeper than she'd ever thought and for once, she was happy to stay where she way. She wasn't fighting for a way to the surface anymore.

She took a deep breath as the thunderous cheers echoed over the cavernous stadium.

'I'm in.'

Elena Gilbert sighed, as she stood alone on the crowed sidewalk and stared at the huge luminous building in East Manhattan. The slick concrete walls were bare of graffiti; devoid of the street art that spilled over the walls near her home in a golden corner of the small island, bringing the dull grey concrete to life. Others may disagree, maybe they would claim it was a public disgrace or vandalism but Elena was young, she saw the beauty beneath the harsh paint marking the old grey walls. The streets were packed with sleek black town cars instead of the typical yellow NYC taxis. This wasn't her place. It couldn't have been any further from her place if you tried. Caroline Forbes was used to this, the money, the town cars, the air of the filthy rich. She loved the electric feeling behind these clubs. She also loved to be late. She called these places classy; Elena called them boring. Too many security guards, the drinks were too expensive and you always had some bitchy bartender looking down her nose at you like you were scum of the earth.

The pulsing beats echoed onto the bustling streets as bodies heaved and shoved, fighting to get to the front of the long queue twisting and winding it's path long past Elena's range of sight. Two unbelievably huge guys blocked the entrance to the doorway of La Volpe, guarding the clichéd velvet rope that barred access to the club, causing the general public to wait out in the cold where they belonged. Obviously. Antonio Volpe, the Italian living the life of a twenty year old rather than that of one in his late forties, catered exclusively to the rich and famous and sly like a fox as his name suggested. She always wondered somewhere in the back of his mind if he'd taken his Italian roots to heart and become the sly bastard he was on purpose. He was the perfect servant of the upper crust of New York. His clubs were of the highest elite and as private as a public building could be, if you could even class something so guarded as public; the insides were a mystery to those left out in the cold, those without the pleasure of being born wealthy. Under the same name across the world, many of Volpe's nightclubs dominating the nightlife of the city it inhabited. Volpe was ingenious, true to name; he was loved by the privileged, the heiresses, the rock stars and the many people who made names for themselves merely by existing. She gave credit where credit was due, but the exploitation of true talent left a sour taste in her mouth, as did the vast majority of people that surrounded her. There was the rich to her left, the famous to her right and their ass-kissing sycophants crawling over them everywhere she fucking looked.

If Caroline was champagne, late arrivals and classy clubs where a decent bottle of whiskey might cost the same as her rent; she was the backstreet clubs of New York. The small hidden treasures off the beaten track. The venues where talent was essential for success was where she and Caroline often ended up, much to her blonde friend's amusement. Caroline had been blessed with money, good looks and a heart of pure gold. She had the wealthy father, the beautiful mother and the picturesque life that inevitably sucks to live in. Of course, Elena had been part of that world at one point. Nine years old and at Gala events and balls, dressed up in pretty dresses and ribbons like an ornament on the mantel; it wasn't the life a child should live, and maybe someone; some higher power or God or mad scientist realized that, because in a heartbeat her whole life came crashing down around her and in that same heartbeat her parents were gone too.

And there stemmed her distaste for those in the limelight, including herself. Her parent's deaths didn't stop her from being a Gilbert and the etiquette so many people expected her to follow. These rules, the strict guidelines had caused numerous problems between her and Caroline's parents, until one day she crossed some line they had drawn years back when she'd first moved in and they kicked her out. It seemed like they were glad to be rid of her.

So she stood alone on a crowded sidewalk waiting for a best friend who was always reliable twenty minutes late every time they went out with thoughts too heavy for a Friday night. She grunted in irritation and reluctantly stalked over to the bouncers that had irritated her so much when she'd first spotted them; they even had the fucking sunglasses like they wore in Men in Black. That was just ridiculous. It was nearing midnight. You don't need sunglasses at midnight. Flashing her ID, the rope was moved aside for her. Her name didn't carry the same weight Caroline's did, but after he died, Elena had discovered her father had known Volpe, so with a stroke of luck, helped by her father's unhealthy habits appetite for ridiculously aged whiskey, and a slight twinge of anticipation she stepped through the doors.

Even she had to admit, Volpe knew how to run a club. There was the main room, with the heaving dance floor and flashing strobe lights. It had a dark oak wrap-around bar and many little alcoves off to the side where several couples stood doing god knows what. There was a set of mirrored doors directly opposite each other across the wide, crowded dance floor – guarded by bouncers, of course – that led towards the second and third tiers of the club. Third tier was her secret love in all of Volpe's clubs. Quiet and abandoned, no one bothered her, and the added exclusivity of the upper levels was the only asset she had found in any of the places. And the drinks, she drinks were pretty great too. She'd never make it through a night in one of these places without copious amounts of alcohol on offer. Saying that, she didn't always feel like getting completely shit-faced, it was just nice to have the option.

Escaping thankfully through the door into the relative silence of the stairwell she followed the hallways, finding her way upwards. Again only needing a quick check of ID she found herself on the third tier. Perhaps she should have waited outside for Caroline. When you know your friend is going to turn up twenty minutes late at least and you only wait about thirty seconds, all you can hope is that they realize you're not in the mood to wait in the freezing cold surrounded by millions of ass-kissing minions screaming over Z-list celebrities. She shrugged to herself, knowing that she looked clinically insane but not quite minding, as she slipped behind the bar and trailed an eye over the enormous racks on the back wall. Why such an empty area of the place needed so much hard liquor was a never-ending mystery to her.

"Bourbon." A soft voice said behind her. The noise of fabric on leather sounded as the man sat heavily on the leather topped barstool.

Ignoring the voice, she kept looking at the bottles. Nothing seemed to jump out at her. In the way some foods just sounded really good sometimes and you just had to eat them, the same was true of drinking sometimes. And right now, there was nothing.

"Seriously?" The guy snapped grouchily. "If Volpe's hired a bartender he could have at least hired a good one."

She turned around irritably, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at the man before her and looking at him with utter disdain as she leant her hands on the worn bar top. "I'm not a bartender." She said, looking more closely at his face. She knew him from somewhere, she was sure of it.

The man nodded in understanding a sly smirk fleeing across his face. He stood up and vaulted himself over the bar so he stood behind it with her. "I knew it." He said smirking. And there it was again; she bit back a curse exasperatedly. How could someone she'd never met seem so familiar? She almost laughed at the thought, everyone in New York seemed to have some claim to fame. "Volpe would never hire a bartender for the third tier."

"I hope not." Elena said sighing. "This is the only reason I tolerate these places."

"They aren't so bad." He said, meeting her eyes and effectively melting her as she finally realized exactly who she was. It hit her like a ton of bricks; it was like a million clay bricks crashing down on her.

Damon Salvatore, possibly the world's most desired man, and a member of VISION, a band which she had seen years ago when they were just starting out, stood next to her. Leaning casually against the mini-fridges under the bar and gazing at the endless rows of bottles, the whole thing seemed slightly surreal. With a voice with bourbon and honey, eyes like slivers of ice and hair like the night sky, there was no female on earth who would not sell her soul to have just one night with him. VISON had five members; Tyler Lockwood, Matt Donovan, Klaus Mikaelson, Stefan Salvatore and then, the blue eyed devil himself.

He truly was the devil in disguise in most of the tabloid's eyes. VISION's bad boy. The one you could count on for a good story. There was always a new picture of him, leaving a club with a new girl on his arm. Then there was Katherine Pierce, the infamous ex-girlfriend. That story seemed to be the turning point for millions of women; before her he was involved, he had a serious girlfriend on his arm and then after her, he seemed intent of sleeping with half the population of New York, as well as assorted others on his tours. Nothing is more appealing than a little bit of risk, and Damon Salvatore seemed to offer that. Katherine Pierce had been as much of a heart breaker then as Damon Salvatore was a womanizer now, but the world felt for him, the tabloids told his story for him. He'd been so blatantly in love one year, and the next he was on a crashing downward spiral. There was always some rumor floating about concerning him; he was in rehab, he was dead, he was retiring from music. He was on drugs. He was an alcoholic.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that she'd broken his heart.

"What," she pointed out grinning as she pulled out a beer and hit the bottle top off against the wood. She sighed, her thumb brushing over the slight chip she'd made. "The screaming fans don't do it for you?"

The man cringed, looking slightly disappointed. "Sometimes I just want to go to an island somewhere far away were no one knows who I am."

"It's not so bad. I'm not one of your crazy stalkers." Elena said matter-of-factly, shrugging her shoulders and taking a drink. "I did see you once though four, five years ago at Rockwood. Don't get me wrong, you're great and I love your stuff, but sometimes your other fans are too much to deal with."

"Tell me about." He groaned, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. "And you saw the Rockwood gig? No fucking way." He turned to her, his grin a mile wide. "That was our last backstreet gig. Right after that we got scouted and everything was a thousand miles an hour from there. I wish I could go back sometimes." He added wistfully, glancing absently at her. "Being able to go to some venue and wait months for a slot. I miss having to really work for it."

Elena eyes him curiously. "You got sick of getting mobbed downstairs?" she asking, amusement coloring her voice.

"The endless women throwing themselves at me?" he asked her wide a wide smile. "You kidding? It's great."

"So, you come up here to stare an endless bottles of bourbon but you don't pick one?" she asked, more amused by the situation than curious. He'd been staring at the bottles since he'd got here.

Damon glanced sideways at her, his eyes appraising her with unreadable scrutiny. "I wasn't planning on drinking more than a beer." He said quietly, his tone ambiguous.

"Why order one if you're not planning on drinking it?" she asked, reaching down to pull a second beer out the mini-fridge. "Have you seen the prices here? I don't care how famous you are, this shit's expensive."

Damon chuckled lightly, his eyes tighter than they had been a moment ago. He waved a hand dismissively. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors." He pointed out, tapping his fingers on the table in a steady rhythm.

"Rumors hardly count as evidence." She told him, handing him an open beer. He took it gratefully, taking a long gulp. "I heard you were dead actually."

Damon laughed again, the melody a little freer as it echoed around the empty room. "How do you think I got up here unnoticed?" he asked, his eyes twinkling mysteriously.

"Damon!" someone yelled faintly from the stairwell. Then there was the sound of someone storming up several stairs at a time and cursing irritably as he went.

"Unnoticed." Elena echoed sniggering, a grin splitting across her face. "I'd say you have about five seconds to hide."

Damon looked at her incredulously. "Hide? Where?"

"Four… Three…" she drawled, miming looking at her watch, which she was actually wearing for once. She rolled her eyes and shoved at his shoulder, pushing him down to the ground. She was struggling to regain her composure when a large hand grabbed her hand suddenly and yanked her to the ground. "Ow!" she yelled in a hushed voice, just at the door swung open. She glared at Damon who just smiled innocently, leaning casually against a fire extinguisher.

"Fuck." The voice said loudly once. Elena giggled, clamping a hand firmly across her mouth to stop the sound bubbling out. Damon shot her a look, looking hesitant for a moment or two before throwing his own hand on top of her own. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That bastard." The voice repeated, slowly getting quieter and quieter until it faded away completely.

Damon shook his head and removed his hand from her mouth. "Hiding is not your forte."

"Getting away unnoticed clearly isn't yours." She retorted trying to stand up in her heels but getting up from lying on the floor was always difficult. Damon scoffed and held out his hand, hauling her halfway to her feet before he dropped back down suddenly, a sheepish look on his face as he dropped her hand in his haste to get down, making her crash back to the floor noisily. "What the fu-?" she began ask loudly before his hand clamped over hers for the second time inside sixty seconds.

"ELENA!" Caroline yelled loudly as she stormed into the room, her high heels clacking against the all-wood floor. "Elena I know you're in here, you spend your life avoiding fun!" Damon gently removed his hand, holding up his other hand in a gesture to keep her silent. His blue eyes were even more beautiful up close; made up of a thousand greys and blues, she could spend hours looking into them.

Finally looking away, Elena made a face at Caroline's words, scoffing silently. Damon smirked at her for a moment, then his eyes turned wide in shock as Caroline began to make her way over to the bar and seemingly sat in one of the seats. Apparently this was too much for Elena to take because just then, right when you can't laugh, everything is immediately funnier. She giggled uncontrollably, both hands clamped over her mouth in a futile attempt to stop the sound coming out.

Caroline's head appeared above them, her emerald green eyes clouded in suspicion, then amusement then they went so wide in shock it was almost comical.

"Hi." Damon said, completely unabashed. He held his hand up from his position lying on the floor as if to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Caroline shook his hand slowly, her eyes boring into Elena's shamelessly. "Pleasure." She said dryly. Damon smirked and stood up, taking Elena's hand without warning and yanking her upwards. He held out his hand to her this time, his eyes nearly melting her on spot.

"Damon Salvatore." He introduced casually. "Nice to meet you. I don't think we've met."

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, taking his hand and shaking it just to humor him. "Elena." Caroline was staring in disbelief as her best friend. This girl hadn't been around in years. God knows how many guys tried to hit on her, she was a beautiful girl after all, but she'd never – as in it was unheard of in all the years Caroline had known her – seen her play back.

"Well, Elena." He said his eyes dancing as her name rolled off his tongue. He held out his hand again, this time an invitation. "Would you like to dance?"

Next thing she knew they were in the midst of the crowd with Damon's hands on her hips as his chest pressed to her back. The pounding beat of the music took her over, the strobe lights wiping away her resignation as the moved her hips to the music, reaching one arm behind her to wind around his neck.

His breath was hot in her ear; his lips brushing against the skin of her neck as his hands roamed over sides, her stomach, her hips. He spun her around so she was pressed tight against his body, her arms automatically draping around his shoulders as the music moved them. His mouth found her shoulder without much thought, brushing his lips across the warm skin of her collarbones setting her on fire as electricity sparked between them. His hand roamed freely over her back, the feel of her hips, the gentle dip of her spine and the smooth skin of her thighs.

Then she was cold, suddenly disorientated on the dance floor. His hands weren't on her anymore. She couldn't feel his hot breath tickling her ear. He shot her an apologetic glance as she finally spotted the interruption, a vaguely familiar man with striking emerald eyes talking rapidly to Damon. Damon was shrugging, gesturing at her in what she assumed was an explanation. The man seemed to roll his eyes and shoved Damon's shoulder gently, causing him to punch him lightly in the gut and make him way back to her.

"There's a party." He told her quietly, his lips near her ear again. "I've been told it's 'mandatory' by my little brother of all people, something about someone who can do something or another for us that clearly is going to decide the fate of our future. God, you should have heard him." He shrugged, his hands flailing wildly in exasperation, his blue eyes standing out against the dark room. "You in?"

Elena shrugged, her eyes sparkling in delight as the club lighting illuminated her face. She nodded, leaning in to brush his lips against his ear.

"I'm in."

~E 25/1