~oOoOo~

Short, yes. Sorry 'bout that, but it's another chapter. :P
Enjoy!

Elena

Elena sighed as Brady came back outside. She smiled sweetly, nodding in his general direction as she leaned over the railing outside.

"Are you okay?" He asked, carrying a bag in his hand filled with what Elena assumed was vervain.

"Yeah, why?" She asked.

"You just seem kind of...out of it," He said. "And Stefan looks like hell in there."

She sighed, wishing she cared more about that. "It's just..Damon's missing, and I don't understand why he doesn't care."

He shrugged. "From what I've heard, Damon's not one to hang around for too long. Maybe he left. Did you consider that?"

"Sort of," She admitted. "But it just seems so unlike him. He wouldn't leave me."

It sounded selfish, but she believed it was true.

He shrugged again. "I gotta get going," He said. "You should talk to him. Stefan, I mean. He looks upset."

She sighed again. "Thank you, Brady."

"Thank you," He said, making it obvious he was talking about the vervain, before leaving. She felt the wind rush past her before she heard Stefan say, "Damn werewolves."

"Werewolf?" She repeated. "You let a werewolf take vervain?"

He shrugged. "We have a truce at the moment. They don't know Damon killed Mason."

"So you just gave away the vervain. Very smart, Stefan," She hissed. He winced at her tone and looked down, and she sighed, turning to face him. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't be. You're stressed, it's understandable."

"That doesn't make it okay," She said, putting her hands on either side of his face. "I love you."

He smiled weakly, leaning down and kissing her forehead. "I love you, too."

She sighed, leaning into him, a little reluctantly.

"Hey," He began, "it'll be okay. If he comes back, great, if not...then not. It's Damon, you had to have known he wouldn't hang around much longer. I mean, it's been two years."

That still didn't settle her stomach. In fact, it made her heart fall that she wasn't good enough to keep Damon's interest. "Right. Of course."

"Are you okay with this now?" He asked.

"Not really." She wasn't going to lie. "I just don't think he would leave like that without so much as a goodbye."

"You don't know him like I do." Something flashed in Stefan's eyes. Remorse? "He tends to leave without so much as a second glance."

She sighed. "I just want to know if he's okay."

He nodded. "Hey, I've got something to finish. Will you be here when I get back?"

"Of course, Mister Salvatore," She said, trying to be playful.

He just sighed. "I'll see you later, Elena."

He kissed her forehead and she nodded, sighing once he was gone. She missed being able to play. When she was with Matt, they always did lame jokes like that. Mister Donovan. Miss Gilbert. When they were younger, ten or so, he used to call her Misses Donovan. It always made her smile. Then her parents died, and she went into a brooding sort of state, and her and Matt grew apart. She was pretty sure Caroline liked him now, which was good. She wanted her friends to be happy.

She wanted to be happy though, too. She wanted to be the Elena she was before her parents died. The confident, happy Elena. The one who liked pet names and going out on a Friday night, who liked to take a break every now and again and just . . . leave town, her family in distress, go away for a weekend of drinking and playing pool, making the bartender and crowd shellshocked at how high her tolerance for alcohol was. So high she could out-drink the vampire who'd been drinking himself to sleep since eighteen-sixty-four.

Georgia, last year. Bree's bar. "Vampires can't procreate. But we love to try."

She smiled slightly at the memory. That had been the most fun she'd had in a long time.

At that, her phone rang. She didn't bother with the caller ID, she just answered. "Hello?"

"Elena?" Someone croaked. His voice was ruined, rough and hoarse from lack of using it. Or screaming. She had sounded like that when she came home from a concert with Caroline a few years back. Her eyes widened as he coughed, a harsh, violent sound. A cough that would bring tears to your eyes. "Elena, is that you?"

Oh, God.

"Damon?"