Chapter Text
"Elena, would you like to dance?"
What Elena would actually like, very much, would be to wipe that smug smirk off his obnoxiously handsome – where did that come from?
Obnoxious face, she corrected, making sure to mentally cross out the adjective that followed it in her previous, traitorous thought. Much better.
She had the perfect method, too, her lips curving into an expression sharp enough to rival his.
"I'd love to," she said, her countenance filled with theatrically faux sweetness, about deliver her perfect one-two-punch-switcheroo, when she felt Stefan tense at her side. He'd been unnerved ever since they returned from Atlanta, clearly uncomfortable with whatever this thing was that transpired between her and Damon. And while Elena was relatively certain that her best bet would have been to just tell her boyfriend that it didn't mean anything –
Elena paused. Was Stefan her boyfriend again?
He'd side-stepped her confrontation about keeping vital Katherine information from her very effectively, and she'd been so preoccupied with oscillating between feeling grateful for his river rescue and distressed about the news of her adoption that she realized that they never had a proper conversation about this, aside from Stefan admitting to having watched her all Summer.
She found herself growing angry again, and unlike the last few hours, she'd had considerable trouble fighting every instinct to step away from him. She was so confused, so caught between feeling guilty, indebted, infuriated. She needed to think, to process, and so much has happened recently that she like everything within her was vigorously shaken, the pieces inside so fractured and scattered that it would take eons before the chaos settled, and anything became clear again.
Oh, what could one dance hurt?
She extended her hand, a hint of challenge sparkling in her expressive dark eyes. "Let's see what you've got."
Damon looked surprised for a moment, the arrogant smirk disappearing into an expression of astonished vulnerability. Perhaps she'd been successful in wiping it away, after all, she mused, though certainly not in the way she planned.
He recovered almost instantly, however, his ever-present mask firmly in place, as he led her to an already crowded dance floor. "Let's make this a little more interesting." She raised an eyebrow in an attempt to appear casually interested, but trepidation began to build within her. While she was more than happy to beg Lee to spare his life or have a few harmless drinks with him, this man – this vampire – was still a killer, an apparently remorseless one. She shuddered to think of what he'd find 'interesting.' Seemingly unaware, or just careless of her inner turmoil, he cheekily continued. "If I manage to impress you, then –"
Breathing a sigh of relief, Elena rolled her eyes, teasing him from beneath her lashes. "I'm half-expecting you to awkwardly stomp all over my toes, so the bar's already pretty low."
"Ouch!" The hand that wasn't holding hers theatrically pressed to his heart. "I'll have you know that unlike Marvin the Paranoid Android's hair gel supplier over there," he said, gesturing to Stefan with a tilt of his head, "I actually know what fun looks like." But just as quickly, there was a certain something in his eyes, flashing with such unguarded magnetism, and yet utterly playful and unbothered, that Elena could swear that her heart would beat straight out of her chest if he kept it up any longer. "And as for your 'bar,' raise it – considerably. And if I surpass those lofty expectations, then you owe me another dance."
"Ooh, two whole consecutive dances? How will I ever recover from the scandal?" Elena gasped, surprised by how easily they'd always fall into another type of dance, the sharp retorts and wicked laughter of which were far more dangerous than any spin around a ballroom.
Damon smiled, clearly enjoying this, as well. "At a time of my choosing," he was quick to correct. "So, it might be more scandalous than you can handle."
"I'll take my chances. You're on," she replied with a saucy grin, delighted when he took the moment to spin her into the center of the dance floor.
Whatever Elena had expected from this – it certainly wasn't what transpired. She meant to leave after the first song concluded, but it had felt like eons since she'd had this much fun – except that was a lie, she grudgingly admitted. She felt this light and free only the night before, when she and Damon began an impromptu drinking contest in Bree's bar. In moments like this, she almost felt her again – the girl she was, the one she locked away behind an impenetrable wall. Except with each laugh, each jibe, each gleeful quip, the wall began to crumble – its once impervious façade peeling, cracking under the weight of this special place – and the girl imprisoned within felt safe enough to peek outside.
"You're good at this," she breathed, barely able to contain her laughter as she was pulled into yet another cuddle spin.
"I've got moves you've never seen!"
"I can just picture it now," Elena teased. "Damon Salvatore, badass vampire extraordinaire – using every spare moment in the fifties to brush up on the latest dance steps."
Something in his expression immediately hardened, the jocularity wiped from his normally mischievous eyes. "Not exactly."
Her hand softly touched his cheek before she even realized it was happening, the stark shift in his demeanor troubling her. "Damon?"
She saw him force a mockery of his earlier smirk, not quite reaching his eyes, which finally managed to expunge their haunted look. "Not my favorite decade," he said, clearly attempting a frantic search for whatever familiar defenses had served him well. "Ugly dresses, lame slang, godawful entertainment. Bad hair. Stef's gel obsession still gives me flashbacks."
"No, there's more to this," she intuited, her voice as soft as silk as her eyes darted between his, watching his own walls reform. "It's okay; you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." She chewed her lip, fighting the well of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her at the thought of what it could be. "But you can, if you'd like. I'd listen."
"Elena –"
"Will you, someday? Tell me?" The words were out before she could catch them, as though ripped from her very soul.
"Maybe," he finally said after several long, silent moments, looking more open than she'd ever seen him. A stunning vulnerability that she'd never associate with Damon, confirming her suspicions that there was so much more to him than he revealed to the world.
She squeezed his hands in both of hers. "You win," she breathed, desperately hoping that her smile would convey the depth of her gratitude that he allowed her to see this part of him. "Consider me impressed."
In response, he brought her hand to his lips, an echo of that day in the Boarding House that now felt like a lifetime ago. When she felt the softness of his kiss, Elena finally felt air leave her body, scarcely remembering to breathe. No, nonono, this couldn't be happening. It was just a dance.
By the time Elena made it to the punch bowl, she was trembling.
"What was that?" Bonnie asked, who seemingly materialized out of nowhere while Elena desperately gripped the table, forcing herself to get it together.
"It was…" Elena replied, forcing herself to take deep breaths to calm her thunderous heart. She willed her facial muscles into a bright smile like she'd practiced all Summer, the kind that finally convinced everyone she was fine, despite the agony tearing her apart. And even as she formulated the words, she could feel the weight of their inauthenticity, teasing her conscious mind as they stirred the spark already firmly embedded in her heart. "Just a dance."