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There’s a tiny, fluffy Cockapoo yapping and zooming around the lounge, flashes of little white fangs bared, and a sweaty, red-faced Elena Gilbert mirroring its every move. Apparently she’s enjoying it, letting herself laugh. It’s a booming sound, carefree and innocent and happy. It’s a good sound, Damon’s not sure he’s ever heard it come from her before. The thought wouldn’t hit him so hard if he wasn’t so confused right now, the sight of her coming down the stairs in that blue dress etched in his memory, the feel of her in his arms still leaving him with goosebumps.
And yet, it’s nowhere near as confusing as why there’s a random puppy in her house.
The puppy bounces off the couch, then off the wall, and starts running Damon’s way. Elena spots him first and stops chasing; when the puppy catches up, it goes almost as Damon would expect. Animals are typically better at spotting predators and it freezes, claws scratching at the hardwood floors, yaps at Damon and takes off in the opposite direction. Except it quickly comes back, running up and down between him, Elena, and the back door, and growling when it’s clear no one is chasing him.
It might be broken. Dogs were never Damon’s forte; he had a cat as a child, a horse from age eight until he died, turkeys and chickens in the garden that led to a brief stint of vegetarianism.
“What’s up?” Elena asks.
“What’s with the dog?” Damon counters.
“Dave,” she says and the puppy pauses a moment.
He tests the name, bringing the dog back his way, and shakes his head. He’s not even gonna go there; there are weirder things going on than the dog being called Dave. “And where did he come from?”
“Aunt Jenna agreed to dog sit for a friend, mostly to piss off Uncle John. He got here last night, he’ll be gone tomorrow when her friend’s brother can pick him up.” The idea of losing him so soon seems to make her sad, but she perks up when Dave nips at her socked foot and she goes back to chasing him around the room. “So what’s wrong?”
“Why would anything be wrong?”
Without stopping, Elena lets him see the skeptical frown on her face. “You never just drop by. You’re either looking for Stefan or trying to mess with Stefan or need to tell me that something’s happened to Stefan. So which is it?”
None of the above, and he doesn’t want to lie about it. But she doesn’t need the whole reason either. Only Damon needs to know that Isobel was right, that he can’t get Elena Gilbert out of his head, that he just wanted to see her, that despite his chronic indecision all the way up until he heard her laughing through the door, he’s glad to have come to see her in a moment she’ll think back on fondly and that he now gets to be a part of it.
“Stefan’s fine, back to pining and moderately healthy self-loathing. But I was passing on my way to the square and I thought I’d check in. You know, after everything.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Elena stops chasing again, frown deepening as skepticism becomes suspicion. “You live on the other side, you have to come through town and the square to get here.”
Damon shrugs, buying time. “I didn’t come from home. I was already out.”
“Where?”
“Never you mind. Dave’s about to bite you.” Dave was, but he swerves and bites Damon’s shoe at the mention of his name. A puppy-sized bite mark digs into the leather, but Elena’s giggling so manically he reins in the urge to kick the little monster off. “Thank you.”
“I hid all my shoes,” she says, curling her toes. “Socks, I care less about.”
He considers the same, not that he’d planned on staying too long, and decides against it. His socks, safely hidden beneath leather boots and thick jeans, are sky blue and say Thursday around the ankles. The days-of-the-week set were a supposedly funny gift from Millie and he wears them when he’s run out of laundry. Elena doesn’t need to see them, she’d have a field day. He also doesn’t want to explain who Millie is.
Elena thankfully puts him out of his misery by picking up the manic puppy and cuddling him in her arms. He likes it, mellowing out and flopping into the crook of her elbow. Then she ruins it by dropping him into Damon’s arms; the puppy makes it worse by not even noticing, still flopped.
“Just for a sec,” she calls, disappearing into the kitchen. Damon keeps still, slightly afraid of what might happen. He hears glass clinking and the tap running in the kitchen and doesn’t dare tell her to hurry up.
Elena slides back in, a glass of water in one hand and a protein bar in her other. She’s clearly well practiced, nothing spills and she comes to an easy stop half a foot in front of him.
He finds himself whispering when Dave kicks out a paw. “Did Jenna talk this through with you before saying yes?”
“Yeah,” Elena replies with a chuckle. “What did you want me to tell her? Don’t bring a dog to Mystic Falls, the local vampires might make a meal out of him? It’s not like he’s a golden retriever,” she adds, mocking.
“Mine could be Cockapoos.”
It only makes her laugh harder. Damon knows, deep down, despite whatever lie he tells himself, he’ll strive to be the one who keeps doing it. God, he’s pathetic. “Yeah, you look real hungry right now. We’re both absolutely terrified, aren’t we, Dave?”
Dave licks Damon’s hand. He holds back a grimace. “Why am I holding him again?”
“No reason, I just wanted to see how long you would.”
Scowling, Damon drops the dog on the couch, gentler than he would have liked, and backs away from Elena’s snicker. “I’m gonna go before you owe me a new pair of boots.”
“Oh, so it’s for my sake?”
“For the sake of your bank account,” he lies. If he sticks around any longer, she’ll see it and everything will go to crap. “Look, he’s already gearing up.”
Dave readies to pounce. Damon disappears before the yapping can start all over again.