[Just like that, the fear's gone. She cares for him - all of him, not this angst-y, wallowing kind of pity. Elena might've reveled in it. (Elena always did go for dark, brooding boys, especially in her fiction.) She wasn't Elena, though, because she rises to her feet and holds out a palm like she's about to give him one of those infamous aneurysms...

It never manifests, because she's got more control over herself than she thinks, even with the bourbon.] No way. I didn't drive myself all the way out here for you to send me back home like some sorority girl.

[She snaps her fingers, summoning herself a glass of ice water. Which she sips with relish as she looks at him with her usual Disapproving Stare.]

So you're going to tell me what Elena said - or did - this time, and I'm going to listen to every single word.