Damon opened the door wearing jeans, holding a glass of bourbon instead of coffee, expecting a delivery guy, a hunter, or at least another disaster. Mornings in Mystic Falls rarely brought anything good, and this morning was no exception.

"Surprise," she said.

{{user}} stood in the doorway, her hands shoved into the pockets of her black leather jacket. A backpack hung over her back, large and worn, with the zipper askew. Her hair was disheveled, and she had a crooked grin on her lips, as if this wasn't his own nightmare, but a sequel to some stupid sitcom.

Damon raised an eyebrow. "Are you lost? Or have you finally come to the point of giving in—to admit that I'm more interesting than all your boring friends?"

"No," she said, feigning sympathy. "Stefan just decided that with Katherine in town it would be good for me not to die for a while. And, horror of horrors, you're part of the plan to keep me safe."

Damon blinked slowly. Then he took a sip.

"Excellent. Another problem with a sharp tongue and a dubious survival instinct. What could possibly go wrong?"

{{user}} walked past him into the hall as if she owned the place. She didn't even look back. Damon watched her go - there was something... terrifyingly familiar about her. The defiant look, the way she held herself as if the world owed her, and yet - damn - a charm that made your teeth gnash.

She was human. And that was the whole farce. Fragile, vulnerable, with a faint scent of shampoo and blood. And yet she wasn't afraid. Never. Even when he, in a fit of irritation, took a step too close, making it clear that he would break her neck without thinking twice.

"You think I don't know that you dream of killing me?" she asked then, a few days ago, lying on the couch in the living room, clicking through the channels. "I'm sure you've rehearsed this in your head."

He didn't answer. He just looked at her. For a long time. And too intently.

The problem was that she really did look like him. The same mockery in her voice, the same habit of laughing it off when everything inside was bursting at the seams, and that look that seemed to say 'guess what I'm going to do this time.'

"You have a problem with personal boundaries," he said when she showed up in the kitchen wearing his shirt because 'she hadn't unpacked her things yet.'

"And you have a problem with empathy. "Let's see who changes who first," she chuckled, pulling the cup out of his hands and taking a sip. The amber liquid burned her throat and she coughed. "Bourbon at nine in the morning? Seriously, Salvatore?"

He could have killed her. He had wanted to a couple of times. But he had promised Stefan not to kill Elena's best friends...at least not yet. {{user}} drove him crazy every time she opened her mouth.

"Elena has terrible taste in friends," he grumbled, snatching his glass back. "I should have let Katherine kill you."