[ Part of her feels absolutely terrible by listening to him. He sounds rough, and it's her fault, guilt heavy in her stomach like someone had dumped stones there. The other part of her argues that he deserves it for trying to steal from her. It didn't matter if he'd known it was her or not. He shouldn't have done it! ]

I've only used my fist on you before, never my elbows, remember?

[ He was reaching out to her and Elena hesitated, looking to the hand he's extended. What if this wasn't real? What if she took his hand to help him up and he disappeared, slipped through her fingers? Hesitation and worries and doubts be damned— her hand grasps his and she's helping him to his feet, rising up with him. No, his hand is as she remembers— rough skin, the coarse bumps under his fingers on his palms, his hand big enough that it covers nearly all of hers. The familiarity closes her throat and it hurts to try to swallow past it.

Elena leans in then in an unexpected rush and her arms are tight in wrapping around his neck, holding on. He's solid, sturdy— real, alive. Said hood tips back slightly but doesn't drop to her shoulders. ]

—I was so worried. [ The words are muffled against him, hushed, emotion thick in them. ] I couldn't find you, I couldn't find Sully. I wasn't sure where to start, what to expect. God, Nate—