A/N: This just came out of me as I tried to work on some of my mother stories, but my muse is being a two-year old right now and doesn't want to sit still and focus. Out of all my stories this one is probably the most predictable you'll see from me, but has some interesting elements. I'll let y'all be the judge. Enjoy!

*Special note: I'm not sure of the actor who was cast to play Henrik Mikaelson and he was a young guy, but in this story I'm using Ben Barnes, which I know he is used for Book Damon, but hey he's hot so why not. This is also All-Human/AU.

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

Columbia University Medical Center—New York

December 15th 2013 7:08 p.m.

The crooning voice of Nat King Cole added a nice, soothing backdrop to an otherwise poignant display. Rows of doors on both sides of the fluorescent lightened hallway housed room after room of patients barely clinging on to any semblance of human life. The blip of monitors, the whirl of machinery built to keep the heart going, the blood circulating, and the lungs inflated proved to be the only signs of life.

The quiet was library silent—no graveyard silent, with the occasional cough or groan displacing the deafening sound of silence. Anyone specifically not trained to handle the solitude in a place like this would probably go mad in a matter of minutes, and Elena Gilbert-Salvatore was trying to prevent just that.

She twisted the heavy platinum ring around and around on her finger, the weight of it being more than just a symbol of a commitment she made at the largest cathedral church in New York City; it also spelled her continued imprisonment to this never-ending farce. Why'd he have to survive the surgery?

"His blood pressure is stabilizing and the rest of his vitals are normal. He's doing remarkably well post-op. However, with transplants there are several key things we have to monitor and keep a close eye on, so Mr. Salvatore will be with us perhaps longer than he'd like."

Longer than I'd like, Elena groused but nodded her head dutifully at the cardio-thoracic surgeon. She sniffled a little to give off the appearance of being a concerned and frail wife worried about her husband's future prognosis.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Alexander. I know you and your team did everything you could to make sure Damon's heart transplant was a success."

"We did our best," the doctor beamed and patted Elena on the shoulder. "You can sit with him. Are you staying overnight?"

"No, I have to get back home and…um…there are something's I need to take care of," she stammered and kept her eyes far away from the surgeon who stared at her strangely.

Nevertheless, he offered up another reassuring smile before vacating the private room, closing the door after him.

Dr. Corbin Alexander had comes across the gamut of patients and their loved ones illustrating a myriad of emotions. From those who commiserated with his patients almost to the point of death, to those so stricken they decided to detach themselves and became aloof and indifferent to the truth. Every once and a then the top-notch surgeon came across a family member that raised a huge red flag, and though he tried to temper that feeling now, the feeling that something wasn't quite right with the Salvatore's, he swept it aside, writing off Elena Gilbert-Salvatore as being in shock.

And it had been a shock considering before he was admitted to the hospital after having a massive heart attack at the ripe age of twenty-eight, Damon Salvatore, according to his personal physician had been the picture of health. Routinely got his flu shot, annually had his physical, never had more than a cold or sinus infection due to sensitivity to pollen during the spring, exercised religiously, and ate a well-balanced diet. Damon admitted to binging on bourbon more than he should, but he didn't smoke, and his family's health history wasn't much cause for concern.

What caused his heart to become so occluded he needed an immediate transplant or he'd die in less than a year's time? Only a thorough examination of Damon's heart post-surgery would answer that question. The better question to ask was: How did his condition go undiscovered for so long?

Elena's rail thin arms fell to her sides and she grimaced. She walked a little closer to the bed. Damon was so pale he looked dead. There was hardly any difference between him and the white sheets he laid on. He mocked her with that little curve to his bottom lip that he foiled yet another one of her plans to get rid of him. She was so angry she could scream! All he had to do was die after his heart attack, and she could make a new life for herself with his life insurance policy. But no. The bastard lived.

However, she thought she had gotten another chance of being free once Damon was diagnosed with a rare congenital heart disorder and needed a transplant. There'd be no way they'd find a donor in the time frame he was given to live. All she had to do was play her part of the long-suffering wife, bide her time. Damon would keel over one day and wouldn't be resuscitated and she could take her millions, her Pomeranian, her Louboutin's, and start her empire in the south of France.

Karma, fate, whomever called the shots was definitely against her as Damon's name was placed at the top of the heart transplant recipient list, and two months later a donor had been found.

Her brown eyes darted to the various machines monitoring every twitch his organs made. If she were to…detach his IV, or blocked his breathing tube? No, she couldn't take the risk. All fingers would immediately point to the spouse when someone died suddenly, and too many people had seen her enter Damon's room and would be able to say she was the last person seen with him.

Elena braced one hand on the railing of his bed, the other on the mattress and leaned forward to the point their faces were mere inches apart. "You miserable bastard," she intoned heatedly. "If you survive this, I plan to make your life hell just like you tried to make mine hell. That's my promise to you, sweetheart."

She ended her promise with a hard kiss to his cheek, and ten seconds later, Elena rushed out of the room before she saw the flutter of Damon's eyelashes prior to his lids opening.

Lower Manhattan

December 15th 2013 10:10 pm

The lemon martini sat untouched in front of a pair of shaking mocha toned hands. Happy hour was dwindling down. Those who had to report to their Manhattan offices in the morning began shrugging on wool overcoats, stuffing their fingers into gloves, and wrapping scarves around their necks to ward off the winter air.

Bonnie Bennett or rather the former Missus Henrik Mikaelson didn't feel inclined to follow suit. In fact, she wanted to avoid going home at all costs. Everything was empty despite the fact their home was completely furnished and there were pictures of their lives together on nearly every available surface. She just couldn't be there. See him and not hear his voice. Smell him but not be able to touch him. Her chin quivered because he was gone and fate saw fit to make sure she didn't travel into the afterlife with him.

Today had been the day. The day her late husband's heart was given to someone else. Bonnie had been adamant in wanting to know specific dates of when Henrik's organs would be given away. Even now she pulled out his driver's license and ran her thumb over the little red heart signifying him as an organ donor should he die at any point in life.

A car crash is what took her husband of three years away from her. Bonnie remembered bits and pieces of the accident. The last clear memory she had was texting her assistant Lydia who wanted to verify if she wanted to move a meeting with a prospective art buyer to the following week.

Henrik had asked her a question, a question Bonnie tried every single day since regaining consciousness to remember, but for the life of her she couldn't. She remembered smiling, laughing at something he said. Henrik grabbed her bare knee, gave it a squeeze and the next second the car jerked hard to the right and they went spinning before crashing violently into the guardrail.

Bonnie could faintly recall her head bashing into the window and after that the details were fuzzy and incoherent, but she did remember without censor Henrik's lifeless form bent awkwardly over the steering wheel, blood dripping from the ends of his shoulder length mahogany hair.

When she became lucid in a hospital some hours later, her grandmother was there and her father both looking grave. Henrik's parents were there, her usual stone-faced in-laws, but from Esther's blood shot eyes and red nose, and Mikael's unkempt appearance Bonnie knew something was wrong, fatally wrong.

She had to be sedated and restrained to the bed once the truth came out.

Henrik had died on impact.

Bonnie felt life and blood drain out of her.

His body, after being raided for its organs, had been laid to rest six days after the accident. Bonnie attended the funeral with a concussion, sprained back muscles, high on Percocet, and mounting grief. She closed herself off from family and friends, became a recluse of sorts, and the only thing which gave her comfort were the updates from the transplant facility that let her know where his organs were being shipped off to. She wasn't given a name of the recipient since that would be in dire violation if HIPPA laws, but at least she was given a vague idea of where parts of Henrik were being allocated.

Maybe keeping track of him this way was morbid, but Henrik had been Bonnie's best friend. Sounded like a clichéd thing to say, but he had been her prince charming. He was a goofy intellect, the quieter sibling out of the Mikaelson brood, a perfectionist, but also had a wild streak that sent him base jumping in the Yucatan, and zip-lining through the Amazon. Bonnie often scolded him about riding his motorcycle without his helmet and other protective gear, and he could be found using his electric razor in the shower.

Nevertheless, knowing that he still lived, although in others, added meaning to his passing, and tricked the widowed wife into believing he never really died.

His heart now beating in another man's chest.

"Whoever you are I hope you appreciate it," Bonnie mumbled softly to herself and picked up the neglected martini glass.

The stool to her right scraped across the floor drawing her attention. She nearly swallowed her drink down her windpipe as she came face-to-face with her brother-in-law.

"You're becoming predictable, Bonnie."

The woman in question scoffed and sat her glass down heavily on the bar top almost shattering the delicate glass to pieces. The last thing she wanted was to be confronted with a member of the Mikaelson clan and especially not the Mikaelson whose dark features were so similar to her late husband's. Henrik's body had only warmed the ground for three months, and yet Bonnie began to feel as if she were losing her memories of him.

However, they came rushing back to the surface whenever she found herself staring into the deep brown eyes of Elijah Mikaelson, Henrik's older brother, and the only Mikaelson who went out of his way to routinely check up on her.

Bonnie would never go out on a limb and say she had been accepted and embraced by Henrik's standoffish family. Things had always run cool and formal between Bonnie and her in-laws and she was glad Henrik never insisted they visited his family outside of major holidays and special occasions that couldn't be avoided. Her husband had been close to his younger siblings Klaus and Rebekah, and held a grudging respect for his elder brothers Elijah, Kol, and Finn. But from the vibes between Elijah and Henrik from Bonnie's observations, things were often more cool between them than anything else. Bonnie couldn't deny the Mikaelsons loved each other. They just didn't go out of their way to show it or say it. At least not in the presence of others.

So it became a little shocking that Elijah would be the one to reach out to her. Stopping at the house on his way home after a long day of running the Mikaelson family owned restaurant called Treme in honor of their New Orleans roots. Calling her just to let her know he thought about her, and if she needed to talk he was there to listen.

Nothing about Elijah's behavior and concern would be unusual, but Bonnie could fit all her conversations with Elijah on both hands, her toes excluded before his brother's untimely passing.

Yes, her courtship with Henrik had been brief. They only knew each other for a whooping eight months before he proposed and then they were married in a quiet ceremony with only fifty guests in attendance.

Their wedding had been extremely low-key compared to Rebekah's wedding to real estate tycoon Marcel Gerard. The affair had been so lavish it took up three pages in the society section of the NY Times.

"What's predictable about me, Elijah?" Bonnie picked up her glass and took a sip fighting the urge to drain the contents in one swallow.

Intense, chocolate eyes never budged from Bonnie's profile. Elijah waved off the bartender who approached and tried to inquire if he wanted something to drink.

He hadn't seen or spoken to Bonnie in a couple of weeks. The restaurant kept him busy and working well into the AM, and his guilt in slacking on the promise he made to his brother shortly after Henrik's wedding to Bonnie, made him leave work early.

Nothing could dull the pain of losing his little brother so suddenly. Elijah wouldn't wish that on an enemy and he had plenty of those. That aside, Bonnie was essentially alone here in New York. Her family being strained as they were with both her grandmother and father traveling across country for their respective professions, and she never really had a relationship with her mother. The few friends Bonnie had made were gone now, not knowing how to handle a grieving widow. Needless to say, Elijah was deeply concerned about her mental well-being. Henrik had been a huge part of her life and now he was gone.

"Drowning your sorrows in martinis…alone. I've noticed a pattern with you. You only frequent this bar when one of my brother's organs has been given to a patient in desperate need of a fresh start medical wise. Do you think this is how Henrik would want you to spend your days and nights?"

"Look," Bonnie said more sharply than intended. "I'm not drunk if that's what you're trying to get at. This is the only drink I'm having. Sorry you don't approve of how I choose to mourn and remember Henrik's life."

And that was the point Elijah tried to make but constantly failed to make clear. Bonnie stopped living the moment Henrik died. Why she couldn't see it frustrated him, and repeatedly Elijah told himself not to push. Things were still early yet, but he didn't want Bonnie to fall into a rabbit hole she wouldn't be able to climb back out of.

He watched his grandmother wither into a shell after his grandfather's passing. Elijah didn't want the same for Bonnie, and she already teetered on that road.

"Well, if you're going to drink you shouldn't do it alone," Elijah unbuttoned his suit jacket and waved the peeved looking bartender back over. "Scotch on the rocks," he ordered.

Bonnie stared at Elijah askance. Technically they were no longer family and she wanted to know why he was going out of his way to stay in touch with her, to keep the lines of communication open when the rest of his family had written off her existence.

"Why are you really here, Elijah? Why do you care what I do with my time?"

"We're family, Bonnie," he answered plainly.

"No, we're not."

Elijah's nostrils flared at the vehemence in her voice.

"Let's be real," Bonnie twisted on the stool to better face her former brother-in-law. "Your family never gave a damn about me, never really liked me. None of you went out of your way to get to know me or make me feel like I truly belonged. You were nice for Henrik's sake and that's all. I practically heard your mother sigh in relief once Henrik's casket was lowered into the ground because that meant she no longer had to play niceties with her son's colored wife."

"Bonnie," Elijah reproached sternly, "my mother might be a lot of things but being racist and prejudice she's not."

Bonnie laughed ungraciously. "Yeah okay," she said flippantly and drained the contents of her glass. She hopped down from the stool. "I'm done. Thanks for checking up on me, Elijah. I'm fine. You don't have to keep tabs on me for whatever reason. Let this…let this be the last time we see each other. All right? Have a nice life."

Collecting her bag, Bonnie headed for the door. She had already paid for her drink, settled her tab. She wouldn't be coming back to this bar ever again. Henrik's heart had been the last of his organs to be donated. That was it. It was done. He was gone but still lived in the bodies of other people. Maybe now she could teach herself to move on.

The noble in Elijah wanted to go after Bonnie and make her understand that just because Henrik was dead didn't mean all ties with his family had to be severed; however, his pride was what made him keep his ass on the stool. He watched Bonnie leave. The sway in her walk was natural and not intentionally provocative, but it was and he quickly affixed his gaze elsewhere.

Bonnie might want to write him and the rest of his family off. That didn't mean Elijah would let her. He made a promise to his brother and come hell, high water, or no water at all he was going to keep his promise.

Once his drink was placed in front of him, Elijah wasted no time taking it back to the head, ice crashing into his teeth and all. He pulled his lips back as the alcohol smoothly burned its way to his belly.

He might have been too busy to be the bigger brother he should have been to Henrik, but he would make up for his shortcomings in another manner.

Long Island, NY

December 16th 2013 1:02 am

"Shouldn't you be at the hospital playing vigil by my brother's side and not going through his safe?"

Startled, Elena snapped up from her bent posture, long hair flying. She slapped a hand over her chest in a poor attempt to ease her frightened heart. "Stefan…what are you doing here?"

"Why don't you answer my question first, Elena? Why aren't you at the hospital waiting for Damon to wake up from his surgery? What's so important in that safe it can't possibly wait?"

"Has anyone told you, you ask a lot of questions? What I'm doing in my house is none of your fucking business. And if anyone should be answering any questions about why they aren't in a disease ridden hospital it should be you. Last I checked Damon was your brother. Why aren't you there?"

"Hospital policy states only spouses can stay after visiting hours. And since incest is illegal," Stefan finished his thought with a shrug. "Damon just underwent an 8-hour surgery. I think it would be nice if his wife would be at his side patiently waiting for him to open up those legendary big, blue eyes of his."

During the time he spoke, Stefan had been steadily inching his way across the office and closer to his sister-in-law he couldn't stand on a good day. Stefan Salvatore never tried to judge a book by its cover, however he knew from the beginning that Elena Gilbert's cover was photoshopped, faked, counterfeit. Something about her never seemed quite right, authentic. She may have worn a beguiling smile on her face, but there had always been some type of calculation in her eyes.

Stefan also couldn't overlook the fact that Elena never wasted an opportunity to ogle him. He never brought it up to Damon knowing how sensitive and on top of that jealous his big brother could get. The man had model good looks but behaved on occasion as if he were Quasimodo sentenced to live in a bell tower for all eternity.

Elena may have window shopped his merchandise, she had been shrewd and careful never to make a purchase. Still, Stefan knew a gold digger when he spotted one and it had been written all over Elena Gilbert's face. The younger Salvatore wouldn't put it past Elena to hope something would go wrong with Damon's surgery. She probably still had her fingers crossed that the heart wouldn't take, his body would reject it, and he'd be dead before New Year's.

"I have things to take care of, Stefan. I do run this household," Elena sniffed. "Now why are you here? Most importantly when are you leaving?"

Smiling a little, Stefan walked around the imposing cherry wood desk and made himself quite at home in Damon's wingback leather chair. "There's been some changes, Elena."

"What?" the polished woman propped a hand on her hip. She had been looking for Damon's living will and testament when she had been rudely interrupted. Now Stefan didn't appear to be leaving any time soon which was holding her up. She needed those documents to give to her lawyer.

"I'm now in charge of Damon's estate, exchequer, and finances until he is physically and mentally ready and capable of looking after his interests himself."

Elena's jaw torpedoed to the floor. "The hell you are! You have no right! I'm his wife!"

Stefan's smile increased—devilishly. It reminded Elena of Damon's snarky smile when he was about to drop a payload on her head. That certainly wasn't a good sign.

Removing a folded document from the pocket of his jeans, Stefan tossed it on the credenza and Elena wasted no time snatching it up. Her eyes flew over the black printed letters. Power of attorney? Damon had granted Stefan power of attorney over…from what she was reading…everything!

She was livid. She couldn't take two dollars out of the ATM without getting Stefan's permission first.

Elena crushed the paper in her hands and glared at Stefan wishing she had the ability to shoot lasers from her eyes. She would have pulverized him into ash.

"Damon can't do this," she seethed between clenched teeth. "I'm his lawfully wedded wife. He has no grounds to make you head of his estate."

Something else was slapped on the desktop. A zip drive. "Why don't you take a look at that and get back to me about those grounds," Stefan made air quotation marks, "you speak of, Elena."

"You're going to hear from my lawyer," she promised and slammed the crumpled paper on the desk.

"Can't wait to hear what she's going to say after you view what's on that drive. Oh, and be careful on how much damage you do to those credit cards. You're already pushing your limit on several of them, and you won't be getting new ones. My brother shouldn't support lying bitches, but…for some reason Damon still wants you to look nice."

"You mother-,"

Stefan cut off her tirade by holding up a single finger. "I'm the hand that feeds you now so don't bite it. If you're not going back to the city to be with your husband who is literally fighting for his life, then at least make yourself useful and start packing. You won't be calling this place home for much longer."

Elena smirked. She had to give it to Stefan. When he remembered there was a dick between his legs and took charge of a situation it made him hot. However, he was messing with the one wrong. Saying nothing she left the zip drive right where it was and stormed out of the office.

Columbia University Medical Center

December 17th 1:25 pm

His stitches were itching but he had been advised not to touch them. Whatever drugs they were pumping into his body kept him at the right level of numbness. Damon Salvatore could hardly feel a thing.

He wasn't sure how he expected to feel after waking up from the anesthesia. Maybe he expected to feel as if someone punched a hole through his chest and yanked his diseased heart out, and left a pleasing gaping wound behind. He anticipated feeling hollow as if a large important piece of him was missing, but he could discern little thanks in lieu to the various drugs flooding his system.

Already Damon had been bombarded by every single doctor this place seemed to employ. Everyone asked him the same annoying questions, and he gave the exact same answer. He felt okay. Extremely tired, winded, and like he could throw up his entire digestive system. See, he was perfectly okay. Other than that, he was fine or as close to fine as one could feel.

What shocked him the most, besides hearing the plethora of drugs he'd have to take to make sure his body didn't reject the organ, was a visit from a counselor who specialized in holding group therapy sessions for those who underwent major, transplant surgery. No thanks, Damon thought yet managed to smile as best he could at the little old lady while silently telling her with his eyes to make tracks.

Now that he was alone, sucking up all the free oxygen he could get through his breathing line, his fingers trailed over the scar marring the center of his chest. The area was tender causing him to wince, but Damon tried to recreate the surgery in his head. He had seen dramatizations on TV and in the movies, and had the common sense to know they didn't come close to showing what really happened. He even watched the movie Awake with Hayden Christensen and Jessica Alba to get a sense of what he would go through. The movie made him sick to his stomach and a little petrified that the anesthesia would wear off, and he'd feel every incision of the scalpel, every saw of bone as his heart was cut from his body and replaced with a newer, much better model.

Thankfully it didn't happen. He went under being one temper tantrum away from sudden death to waking up with a brand new heart.

Damon still had a difficult time processing the fact he had a congenital heart condition that had done undiagnosed for so long. If anything, he would say the problem had been exasperated by his bitch of a wife.

Why the hell had he married Elena Gilbert?

She wasn't here and he didn't want to think about her. He married her for convenience. He married her because the real woman he watched from afar during his days at Brown University…never knew he was alive. How ironic he came close to dying and beforehand didn't have the courage to reach out and get in contact with the one who slipped through his fingers all those years ago.

Well, with this new start, Damon would rid himself of his pestilent wife, and search under every rock and check every nook and cranny for the girl who stole his heart and refused to give it back.

He would find Bonnie Bennett. And he would use his second chance at life to his full advantage.

TBC

A/N: And there you have it folks. Let me know what you think. I may continue this, or just add this to my ongoing one-shot series Vigne. I haven't really decided. For now I'm marking this as complete. Thanks for reading! Love you!