Any Other Name by Panavatar 10/01/03: NC-17 It's morning, and Elena is down in the kitchen scrambling eggs and toasting bread. Her culinary achievements don't extend much farther than that. Yet another reason why it's good to have Damon around. She can't actually recall a time since she first met him that she really, truly hadn't wanted him with her. As to Stefan, there was that brief period after her first rebirth (and she can now remember that time, the triumph of her teeth tearing at him...) but she thinks now that even that hatred was false, just a primal reaction: she called for him before she died, and he hadn't come in time. No, she has really wanted both Salvatores from the beginning, before she knew who they were, even before she knew their names. And she can feel nothing but love for them now, can't feel angry or guilty or frightened over anything at all. What was the saying? Fear not--you can only die once. Elena dishes out the eggs and hovers impatiently over the toaster, knowing if she stares it'll only take longer, but unable to stop herself. She's never been very good at resisting temptation. There's a creak on the stair and she turns, expectant, and a moment later Damon is standing in the doorway, hair sleep-rumpled, the skin of his stomach stark above black boxers. Elena clutches at the edge of the counter, unaccountably nervous and faking self-confidence when she greets him cheerfully: "Morning!" And he nods, and smiles, that liquid gaze sliding over her. "Yes. Do you need anything?" She shakes her head but thinks to herself, You. A heartbeat, and then he is right in front of her, hand on the side of her throat. Soon--his voice in her head--and then he kisses her temple and steps away. But first there are things to take care of. "What?" "Eat your breakfast before it gets cold." He walks across to the hall and goes through the first door, closing it behind him. Elena is still staring in that direction when the toast pops up, and she starts in surprise at the sound. She sits down and spreads the toast with black cherry jam, forks up the eggs eagarly and isn't disappointed. Aunt Judith was always in a rush, and burned them, and Elena never had time for breakfast anyway, what with Matt and the boys that had come before him, and Caroline, and her friends, and all the school things that seemed so important then... And Stefan doesn't make a sound as he comes into the room, but part of her senses him, and she knows. The very sight of him is a shock to the senses, not simply because he is inhuman and beautiful, but because on this morning he seems so utterly changed: it's as if all the time she knew Stefan he'd had amnesia, but sometime during the night everything returned to him. He doesn't look tired or weakened, but whole, unbroken. When he looks at her his green eyes deepen like they always have, but now there's no guilt or sorrow, not even repressed hunger or desire. His hands are relaxed at his sides, and it seems that everything that is in his thoughts is there, on the surface for her to see. He sits down in the chair across from her and even something simple as that makes her wonder at the new grace in him. "Good morning," he says, and he breaks off a fourth of one piece of toast, and eats it. She blinks. He looks back to her plate. "Do you want the rest, Stefan?" And he looks almost surprised. "May I?" "Take it. I can always make more if I want it." She stands, meaning to go wash her jam-sticky hands, but as she steps away Stefan reaches out--grabs her wrist. "Elena," he says, "I need to talk to you." "Okay. Can I wash up first?" Stefan looks down to the grip he has on her, and he immediately lets go. "Yes. I'm sorry." When she comes back she sits down next to him, taking his hand in hers. "What is it, Stefan?" He swallows thickly and averts his eyes, and Elena can see some of his ancient guilt returning. "Last night...Damon and I went hunting. For...people. Humans. And Elena, I'm so sorry, Damon said you wouldn't mind but I didn't believe him. But I did it anyway. I'm sorry." He doesn't lift his head, but glances up. Elena clears her throat and resists the urge to just hug this poor, confused boy and never let go. "Did you--kill anybody?" And then he's looking up, eyes wide. "No!" She has to stop, and think. She knows how the old Elena would feel, but now? She's not sure exactly how she should feel, and even less sure what she should say. She takes a deep breath and decides to speak her heart as she knows it. "Stefan, I can't forgive you for this when I don't even understand why you're apologizing to me. I never said I didn't want you feeding from humans, and it's not like you fed from me, or--" "But, Elena." His voice is laced with that exasperation that comes when another person isn't thinking the way you are and you can't figure out why. "It was with a woman." "What are you getting at, Stefan? What? Did you have sex with her?" "No; of course not." "Well, then why is it any of my business? Why are you so worried that I'd be angry?" "Do you mean that you aren't?" "Have you ever seen me be jealous?" Stefan lets out a breath that he must have been holding for a long time. "No." "Right. And Stefan, I'm thinking about that night when you sent me to Matt's house, even though you knew that we'd.... And now, there's the three of us, and I know you're okay with this. Happy, even." He takes both her hands in his. "I never imagined I could feel this way." And the moment is so perfect, just their eyes meeting and their knees touching, with Stefan so open and unburdened again, his eyes the color of moss. She kisses him, impulsively, and before she knows it she's in his lap, arms locked around his shoulders, and they're laughing even as they kiss. She only pulls back when she hears a door open, and sees Damon across the room. He doesn't bat a lash. "Good morning, brother. I just made a few calls. Elena, you're legally dead, of course, and thus need a new identity. For that, we need to meet a man I know. In Las Vegas." ********* "I'm not getting another car." Damon frowns over the hood of the Ferrari, and Elena frowns right back. "Fine, then. The three of us'll just take the bus to Vegas. We'll have more room on the Greyhound than we will in this." "What are you talking about? Are you blind?" Damon jerks open the driver's-side door so the inside lights come on. "See now? Plenty of room." "For two!" Elena throws up her hand. And there's that smile she's come to almost crave. "Not necessarily." ********* They leave at sunset, three travel bags and an ice chest thrown in the trunk. Elena watches the city through the glass until it is left behind; then she pushes the button to lower the window, sitting back in the leather seat. She breathes in the dark salty sea air, smiling at Stefan by her side. "God, Stefan, I just can't believe he let you drive his car." He beams at her. "He told me I'd fidgit too much if I wasn't the driver." Elena feels several tugs on her hair. "Speaking of fidgeting..." She looks back, finds Damon tangled in the golden strands, blown about by the wind. When she laughs he answers with a clearly annoyed "caw." "Don't be such a wimp! This was your idea!" He pecks at her ear from where he stands on the seatback. "Okay, okay." She closes the window. "Is that better?" Much. Now, if you'd be so kind, and he spreads his wings delicately, obviously needing help escaping, and she lends it. "Damon," she asks while at work, "This man we're going to meet: he isn't like a Mafia guy or something, is he? Because I've seen The Godfather and I don't remember any vampires in it, but--you know. You are Italian, so..." Let's just say he owes me a favor and leave it at that until our meeting, yes? She sighs. "Well. This is getting more exciting by the minute, isn't it?" "Damon, if this mysterious friend of yours harms Elena in any way, I'll kill you." Agreed. Damon preens, casually. And if you don't start driving faster, I'll do likewise, brother. "I'm already doing 75. It's the limit." I'm well aware of the traffic laws here. But you have supernaturally fast reflexes for a reason. The posted speed no longer applies. "I thought you said nothing ever happened for a reason." Shut up and drive. ********* It's a long, long drive through the dark. They stop for the day in some dinky town, stay at the only inn, and watch old movies instead of sleeping. But at sunset they're off again, another four hours to go before they reach the Las Vegas city limits, twenty minutes before they find their destination--which turns out to be surprisingly anticlimactic. It's a plain whitewashed house on a quiet suburban street with striped yellow awnings and a tabby cat stalking over the roof. "Are you sure this is it, Damon?" I should be. I helped design it. His words have his own unique brand of finality to them, so she doesn't ask more as Stefan pulls into the empty driveway and they all get out, with Damon perched securely on Stefan's shoulder. For some reason this neighborhood gets to her, right off. Maybe it's because it's too normal, lacking neither the odd luxury of Damon's house, nor the vacationesque quality of everywhere else she's been since she came back. This place is distinctly average, reeking of nuclear family and cookouts and a life she no longer has, one she never wanted to begin with. Elena feels naked under the streetlamp here, too wrong, too different to be in this place. She hugs herself, all too aware that her chest is too flat under her crossed arms. When she follows the others to the door, and Stefan rings the bell, and they wait, she can't avoid the different weight of her body, different hips, new center of gravity. This body was made for someone else, not her, it seems, and she knows that if someone were to watch her, see her hesitant clumsy steps, look her in the eyes, they would know all her secrets--she'd be laid bare. Calm down, Damon says in her mind, as the door opens and a man she vaguely recognizes beckons them inside. Elena, we're here with you. Always. And that's Stefan, and she nods, still miserable but much less frightened. She lets out a sigh of relief as the stranger bolts the door behind them. When he turns, she has her first chance to really look at him: pretty in a bachelor-uncle kind of way, with gold hair several shades darker than her own. She guesses he'd be in his mid-forties if he weren't a vampire, but his face is so devoid of lines it's hard to tell. It's the first time she's knowingly met a vampire and not been a bit afraid. She didn't notice when Damon changed back from bird-form, but he has and now the man and Damon are shaking hands, closely, holding on a few beats too long. She can tell there's some mental communication happening between them, so she waits until they both turn to her. "Elena, this is an old friend of mine. You can call him Gateway." There's still that feeling of sort of half-recognition, more strongly when the man smiles dazzlingly and holds out his hand. But only when she takes it, and he speaks, does she know. "It's so good to meet you, Ms. Gilbert. Damon's been telling me something of your situation over the last few days, and I'd be happy to help in whichever way I can." "Thank you," she answers, a little dazed because unless she's mistaken her aunt used to own all this man's records, used to play them and sing along in her quivering voice while Elena went up to her room and played Enya instead. But she must be wrong, mustn't she? Damon would have said something. And Gateway isn't wearing any giant rings and his house isn't solid rhinestones (in fact, it's as plain and ordinary as the outside) and after all, that guy died, right? Well, so did she, so that doesn't mean anything. She decides to settle on asking Damon later. Meantime, while she's working things out, Damon and Gateway are talking with their heads close together, rapidly, and Damon gestures for she and Stefan to follow them as they walk down a hallway and stop before a blank wall. Gateway touches the crown molding in a certain place, and Elena gasps as the wall slides back to reveal an open elevator. "Shall we?" he says with a wink, and the three of them follow Gateway inside, the door closes, and they are moving down. When the door opens again, the room they enter is opulent, with lush fabric wall hangings and decadent furnishings. "I don't like entertaining guests upstairs," Gateway explains as he ushers them inside. "It's so terribly oppressive, don't you think? Please, sit down. Would you like anything to drink, dear?" He looks at Elena, who asks for just ice water, and when he returns from getting it, he flops down in an antique chair across from them. "Well, then. Shall we get down to business?" ********* It's three hours later and Elena is sick to death of numbers and papers and legal explanations. By this time she's taken a backseat to the discussions, giving answers only when she needs to. But it all seems to be pretty wrapped up now, so when Gateway offers to give her the grand tour of his underground abode, she accepts. Stefan looks like he's about to protest, but Damon stops him with a touch to the wrist, probably words in his mind. And then she's being led from one beautiful room to another, with her hand holding the crook of the man's elbow. She thinks, I shouldn't feel safe, but she does. The tour ends in a sort of lounge, big TV and stereo, even bigger grand piano. And he tells her to sit on the leather couch, then takes his own seat on the shiny black bench behind the instrument, flipping up invisible tuxedo tails as he does so. Her's warming up on the keys, tuneless notes, when he looks at her and says, "You know who I used to be." It isn't a question, so she doesn't bother affirming it. "But didn't you...die?" And now he's playing something, but she doesn't recognize it. "Oh, yes, of course, but certainly not in the way you heard it. I had our friend Mr. Petite, Dark and Handsome to thank for that. What you heard was just me letting things run their course. It was time to disappear." "Yeah, I know how that goes," she says, and this is all so bizarre. Next thing maybe Stefan's old friend Elvis will call up and invite them over for burgers and fries. She tries to supress a giggle, and fails miserably. "So what do you do now?" And as she asks she knows it's a stupid question, and not really what she meant anyway, but she can't take it back now. "My name is Hans Lieberman, now, but as you've seen, everyone who matters has taken to calling me Gateway." He shifts mid-melody to a new tune, not breaking stride. "They call me that because I'm the one who has the connections to help them live between the worlds. And I know that's why you're here, darling--although from what I understand you haven't done half-bad a job on your own, in albeit a different medium." Elena ducks her head. "Yeah, well...I didn't really do anything. It just sort of...happened." "That's how it always works, with the best of things." He pauses over the keys to study her. "Do you know that this song has two titles?" He continues before she can answer, "First there's 'Greensleeves,' the older, about a woman who won't return the musician's affections, and then 'What Child Is This?' about the infant Christ." She listens as the notes process, coalesce. "No...I never noticed." "It's funny how that works, isn't it? How everything can change, yet stay absolutely the same?" She just listens to him play for a long time, and then, "Yeah," she says in a tiny lost little voice, though she doesn't know why, "Yeah." The music ends and then there's just quiet, and it's finally Gateway who breaks the silence, padding in his bare feet on the thick red carpet to sit beside her. "Well," and his voice is so gentle and familiar, "As I was saying earlier, it's my job to help you navigate the world again. I'm getting you a new driver's license, birth certificate, passport, credit history, bank account--everything you'll need, materialistically speaking. But I have something important to tell you, because Damon said he wasn't sure you'd thought of it." "Okay." And here Gateway looks a bit uncomfortable, but he releases a breath and says it quickly. "All your records are going to list you as male." Elena can feel her blush, and she has to blink hard, force the concept through, because the truth is, no, she hadn't thought about it. Sometimes she forgets her own disparity entirely, not so much that she is the old Elena again, but--well. Sometimes it makes perfect sense that she's a girl with a long narrow boy's body, but smooth female hands and an androgyne face. Since she's come back, since that first night, she hasn't stopped to consider the subject--who she is, what she is, where she belongs. "Oh." And now that it's on her mind she lingers on her voice, lower, more resonant than it used to be, but it could still pass for female if it had the body to match. "Now listen to me," Gateway tells her, one hand on hers. "That wasn't all I had to say. The most important thing I can tell you is it doesn't matter. Understand? It doesn't mean anything. You can be called whatever you like, wear whatever you want, do or say whatever feels right. It's just something on paper." Elena's eyes are burning against her will. "But--if it's just a formality, can't you put it down right? Make me a girl?" "You are a girl and you don't need paper to prove it to anyone who cares about you. But everyone else? They'd make your life hell. Trust me." And she swallows hard, nods. "Yeah. So I need to pick a male name?" "Yes. Ideally, by tomorrow night." ********* By the time they leave, it's nearly dawn. Out on the driveway Elena shivers in surprise when Stefan becomes a falcon, right before her, and she smiles at his newfound Power--feeling something like pride over him. He flutters into the car, and she follows him, watching as he takes up Damon's old perch. For Damon's part, in the driver's seat, he grins his glittering teeth at her, saying, "It's just a short drive." And it is. They pull into the Bellagio front entrance in less than five minutes, the valets already unloading their luggage before Elena's even out of the car. Stefan changes back in her vacant seat and no one stops to wonder where the third man came from. Their room, when they get there, is lovely, and Elena marvels that no one seemed to notice or care when Damon asked for one king-sized bed for the three of them. She's about to say she's hungry, thirsty, but before she can even do so Stefan is on the phone with room service, having her order something quick and adding a slice of chocolate cake. She catnaps on the bed until the food comes, and while she's eating her roast chicken Stefan and Damon are sharing the cake, duelling with forks like children. It doesn't get better than this, she thinks, so, so content in the moment. Nothing else matters. She showers before sleep, sort of surprised when no one joins her, but also grateful. They must know how she needs a little distance to sort things through. And by the time she gets out, she thinks she has. Gateway's right; she's right too. Take the simpler route, because none of it matters at all. She doesn't want pajamas this morning, just skin and clean smooth sheets. Elena climbs under the covers, long hair dampening the pillow. "Scoot over," she hears, probably Stefan but she's too tired to open her eyes to confirm. So she moves to the middle, stretched out on her stomach, and within a few minutes there are two cool arms on her waist, her back, one from each side of the bed. ********* Elena wakes in the middle of the afternoon to the sound of frantic whispers, moans, to the bed moving under her; and she turns to the noise, and--God, she's hard before she knows what hit her. Stefan and Damon are molded together, moving as one, like some new and elegant monster. Stefan's body ripples, low between his brother's thighs, hands rubbing rhythmically over Damon's abdomen. Their mouths are locked on one another, but as she watches they part, as Stefan slides his knees along the sheets for leverage, trying to get deeper, thrusting a little harder now, a look something like desperation on his face. "Say it," he whispers savagely, lowering his head to bite Damon's right nipple. "Say my name, damn you!" Beneath him, Damon undulates, and after another bite to his chest, hisses a breath through clenched teeth, groaning. He moans in an almost petulant way moments later when Stefan pushes Damon's legs back, back towards his body, and manages to enter him further, more thoroughly than before. Elena struggles to keep herself quiet--not wanting to interrupt, but feeling like she might just die if she isn't touched soon. She puts a hand on herself, hesitantly, picturing Damon's--or maybe she should make it Stefan's? And, yeah, maybe Stefan's hand is wrapped around her dick, like this, like it is around Damon's now, and maybe even he's fucking her like that (and how would that even feel?) looking her right in the eyes as he pushes back the foreskin, rubs her glans with his thumb, as his penis swells and thrusts tightly inside her, and-- God, god, god, she thinks, that was sudden. She's breathing in gulps, trying to come down while trying to stay silent. She's downright shaking from the aftermath intensity of orgasm, breathing deep again, continuing to watch. Damon's whole body is arching up to Stefan's now, and his mouth is wide open. He's making these hot little whining sounds in his throat as he moves, intent on Stefan, watching him. Stefan is biting at Damon's collarbones, now and again moving down to positively chew at a nipple. With one hand he supports himself on the bedspread, fingers kneading like a cat; with the other he worries at Damon's erection, moving in time with his own hips, fast and slick. His eyes are narrowed like he has his brother's body memorized, no need to see more than his face. "Say it! Damon, just say it now!" And she sees the exact moment when Damon begins to come, when his clenched face smooths out to an expression akin to peace, and his hips roll up violently a few times, seemingly involuntarily. He grabs the sides of Stefan's face and kisses him, climaxing, leaving semen dripping on both their bellies. "Yes, Stefan, yes," he says softly, when the kiss tears itself apart. "Your name is Stefan." Stefan falls over the brink, too, just like that, and Elena thinks after all these years it's no surprise. She wonders if there will be a point, years from now, when only they will know or speak her real name, and if just that one uttered word will be enough to give her release, as well. She watches as they curl up together, and when they settle, she moves closer, wraps one arm over the nearest, and goes back to sleep. ********* "Have you settled on a name yet?" Elena smiles. Earlier that night, while the boys hunted, she'd thought about it chiefly. She'd been drawn to memories from before her parents died: how her dad used to read to her every night, and she remembered one story especially, her favorite. It was about a valient young girl who could hold her own with any man, who went on many adventures with her older brothers, and who found her way into a whole new world. And there the name was. "Yes...sort of," Elena continues, "See, I want it to be Lu, but that's not really a whole name, is it? It's short for something, and I haven't decided what yet." Gateway nods, looking thoughtful. "Well, there's Louis, of course, and..." "Make it Lucifer," Damon whispers to her, but loud enough so the others can hear. Elena shivers, thinks for a moment, then laughs. "Yes. Do it." "Last name, dear?" "Salvatore, of course." Her eyes flicker to Stefan, who's smiling, surprised, maybe even blushing though she can't tell in the dim light. Damon holds her from behind, a reassuring pressure on her abdomen. "Lucifer," he repeats, and she reaches back to wrap an arm around his neck. "My morning star," he says, and he kisses her hard and hot and strong. END