A/N: Hello, me again. So I'm not sure many were hoping for a sequel to this particular story, but well after some "prodding" I decided to give it a go. I do have a plot in mind, but I guess I'm going to see what interest is like before deciding if I will flesh this out into a full-fledged story.

Two years after the aftermath

New York City—November 2015

WHY DID THINGS like this happen at the end of a relationship? Why, when you're finally ready to move on from the person you thought you'd love forever and things didn't work out, life decided to throw the whole kitchen sink at you? Why did she ever believe and hope that the mountains that popped up in her life would level the hell out and let her catch her breath? Why did she think she could uproot her life (for love) and think it would make her feel secure and settled in who she was? Why did she think the universe was done having its way with her?

Bonnie Bennett had no answers and she knew she should have some answers. What, with being a psychologist and all. Alas, psychology was not birth control.

She tapped her nails on the double sink counter, waiting. Waiting for time to wind down on the clock and give her the results of her fate. Of their fate. She wasn't alone in the bathroom, nor would she be alone in whatever came next, however she felt alone. Her possible baby daddy sat on the floor next to the door, quieter than he's ever been. Paler than she's ever seen him apart from those months searching for…her husband. Ex-husband now. Grim in features, in spirit, Damon Salvatore was here but he was a million miles away.

Anyone who knew their story (many did as it got leaked to a media source who then hunted them down and stalked them until lawyers were brought in), figured they'd run away the first chance they got and get married. Damon wanted to. Dropped enough hints to refurbish a condemned house. Bonnie had been on the same page, yet something niggled her. What if the same thing happened to Damon that happened to Stefan? What if he went on a trip, fell and bumped his head, lost his memory? Damon traveled a lot for work, often going overseas, leaving Bonnie for weeks at a time, thus stirring up her anxiety once more.

And, could she marry Damon knowing his relationship with Stefan was still broken, rocky, pretty much non-fucking-existent? Could she honestly build a happy life knowing how badly she had to hurt someone in order to achieve it?

The questions wouldn't stop pestering Bonnie. The guilt, it never fully diminished or went away. It wasn't biodegradable. It was pollution. As much as she loved Damon, as much as she wanted a life with him, she finally had to admit to herself that with a very valuable and irreplaceable piece of his soul missing, she wasn't enough to fill in that gap. That space was not meant for her to start with. That space would always rightfully belong to Stefan.

Arguments started. Long silences. No communication. Things just broke down between them. They loved each other but it felt so tainted because they started all wrong.

"We can start over," Damon presented his case.

"Yeah, we can do that, but you still wouldn't have your brother in your life."

So things officially ended between them eight weeks ago. Just long enough for Bonnie to start having symptoms and realize…she was late.

Here lied Damon Salvatore. A thirty-six year old man seated on the bathroom floor of his ex-girlfriend's condo waiting to find out if he was going to be a father or not. His butt had gone numb as well as his hands that dangled lifelessly between his splayed thighs. He sat with his knees drawn up, head down. He lifted it once it began to burn and stared into the middle distance.

He knew better than most how unpredictable life could be. His experiences didn't make him special or separate from any packs, just human. As a human, but more specifically a Salvatore, he had to learn how to roll with the punches because the punches came often…via Giuseppe Salvatore's fists. He learned survival tactics in the form of concealing his emotions, and letting his actions disprove people's preconceived notions about him. That way he'd always have the advantage, the upper hand.

That cutthroat instinct was decanted into a more personable being the moment he let Bonnie Bennett into his life. Not when he met her. He thought her eccentric. A perfect match for…Stefan.

Stefan. Damon didn't want to think about him right now.

"One of us is going to have to make the other into an uncle at some point." His brother said those words to him a few weeks after being resurrected from the figurative dead.

Looks like that might be happening in the next nine months.

Getting that call from Bonnie surprised Damon. Alarmed him. Made his heart speed annoyingly. Infused him with a spark that suspiciously felt like hope. Now his insides felt all wrong and out of whack and he wasn't sure what he honestly wanted. Did he want to be a dad? Was he ready for the possibility of co-parenting if he and Bonnie could never get their shit together? Could he tell her and mean it when he inevitably said he'd support whatever decision she decided to make?

He was scared shitless.

If things had gone to plan, the plan being he and Bonnie being married, he would be attacking this moment with anticipation. He'd be bouncing on his toes, ready to buy out Babies-R-Us, upgrade to the dopest minivan he could find, already start looking for prestigious daycares and preschools. Put his condo on the market and move to Long Island. The Italian in him would demand Bonnie quit her job and be a stay-at-home mom. She'd never go for that but he'd use every trick in his book (mainly just his tongue, dick, and fingers) to get her to change her mind.

Now he was nothing but a spectator, in a sense.

All of that flashed through his mind in the eight minutes it was taking for the pee on that stick to seal their fates.

Two alarms went off. The one on Bonnie's phone and the other on Damon's. The breath they had been holding, well they were still holding it. Damon's heart lurched. Bonnie's stomach knotted.

"Do you want to look together or do you just want me to tell you?"

Bonnie's voice was raspier than normal. Dry throat. His was sand at this point. Damon pushed to his feet and sidled beside her, the test resting between them on the counter.

They looked at each other. So much history and then not enough.

"Are you scared?" Damon asked.

"Terrified."

"Do you wa…" he inadvertently coughed. "Do you want to…are you ready to be a mom?"

"Are you ready to be a dad?"

"I asked you first."

Bonnie dug her toe into the tile floor. Her heart palpitated and if it weren't for her grip on the counter she'd be on the floor. Having Damon here she hoped would ease the anxiety, but her anxiety ratcheted up. There were so many things she wanted, but most of all she just wanted to be happy. A child would be a ton of responsibility and she never saw herself raising a baby on her own, but millions of women did it every day. However, she knew no matter the outcome, Damon would be there. Reminding herself on that fact helped ease some of the tension, and she could begin to detect small rays of light at the end of the tunnel. The love was still there between them, palpable. And that love could have possibly created a new life. The thought was sobering and frightening in equal measure.

She stretched out her hand. Damon stared at it and after a moment of hesitation, he held it.

"I want to be a mom," a tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm ready."

Damon blew out a breath and nodded. "Me too. Let's see if we're going to be the most grossly attractive parents on the face of the earth."

Bonnie laughed her first genuine laugh in weeks.

After a minute long beat, they both looked down.

:::::

DAMON INHALED bitter cold air. He stood outside of Bonnie's building. Heard the sounds of the city, hoping the loudness of it would replace the blood that had drained from his skull hours before. Rubbing his hands together, he glanced at Bonnie's spot one final time and then began the journey home.

He pulled out his cell. Saw what time it was. A muscle in Damon's jaw flexed and he wondered if he should make this call or not. Avoiding was just another form of hiding.

Resigned, he searched his contacts, found what he was looking for, and hit the call option. Phone up to his ear, he dodged foot traffic and stopped at an intersection. The line rang until it clicked over to voicemail. Damon hadn't really expected anything different.

"Hey…Stefan, it's been a while, more like seven months since the last time we spoke or I talked to your voicemail. I just wanted to say…" he paused. It was right there on the tip of his tongue. "I just wanted to say…Happy Birthday. Hope you have a good one wherever you are. Take care."

Ending the call, Damon jogged across the intersection the minute the light turned green.

:::::

HE GRASPED THE headboard as his head fell back and his mouth opened but sound did not escape. Talking was impossible anyways, and breathing was just barely being accomplished. He laid spread eagle across a bed big enough to sleep four comfortably. The sheets were unimaginatively snow white, a perfect contrast to the amount of sinning that happened atop of them. Though to be fair sin and perfection did not come in any one color.

His back arched as his hard cock was taken deeper down a very flexible throat. Expletives sailed from his lips. A hand crept up his muscled torso before retreating to hold him still at the hip. This was too much and then not enough. Licks and sucks along his shaft made his eyes pop open but then shutter closed once more. He chuckled a little when she tapped the hardened crown of his dick against her lips before enclosing them once again, swallowing his rod like there was no tomorrow. She was amazing.

His balls drew up and he felt the heat, tingle, rush of impending climax. His grip tightened on the slats of the headboard, his toes curled, every muscle he possessed tensed.

He mouthed repeatedly in a mantra that he was coming. His end was imminent. The rollercoaster was coming to its final drop, and it would be lights out, curtains closed, the end.

Glutes flexed and tightened and he roared as cum rushed through his shaft and exploded through the tiny slit at the top. He thought she might pull away so he could shoot his creamy jizz on her cheeks, chin, give her a nice glazed coating, but no. She swallowed every dollop, sucked until her cheeks were hollow and his sacs were depleted. There was nothing left for him to give. Not without a thirty minute cool off period.

His muscles unclamped and he fell limp against the bed. His eyes rolled and he sighed in contentment.

For five minutes he languished right there in bliss. The cares of his world were forgotten and peace was his best friend. Steaming warmth emitted from every extremity, and his heart eased from his thunderous pace to its regulated, controlled tempo. He was happy.

"Ready for round two?"

And then he was not.

The sound of her voice was all wrong. As was the color of her eyes, skin, hair. He was shoved out of his warm cocoon of ignorance, and forced outside into the bitter cold of truth, because she just had to speak and break the illusion. Or, remind him it was an illusion to begin with.

Stefan Salvatore released his death grip on the headboard and, after a beat or two, he sat upright. His head swam and he had a horrible taste in the back of his throat that wasn't the bourbon he had drunk for most of the night. That taste was disappointment and bitterness.

Soft hands stroked his stomach but his rising from the bed stopped all of that. He didn't want to be touched right now. He didn't even want to look at her. That would be rude and he was raised—well his upbringing left a lot to be desired. He could never forget the lessons his nonna literally beat into his head, though. He should show his companion some level of respect. And really, it wasn't her fault she was a substitute, a stand-in for who his soul to this very day cried out for.

Reaching for his Oxford, he shrugged it on and buttoned only a couple of buttons. Next he swiped up his boxer briefs and jumped into those followed by his trousers. When he was decent he faced the woman who lied curled on her side, naked. Beautiful and naked and looked sex ravaged but also empty in a way that he could almost believe she was an inanimate object. Already guilt and unease swept through Stefan. He hated using people. He had never really been comfortable with that if he couldn't give something back, but he had nothing to give to that woman. She took paltry offerings from him and never complained, but he vowed tonight would be the last night he used her.

She must have read the intent in his eyes. Hers clouded for a second then cleared, and finally she smiled as if she expected it and was fine with it. Her feelings wouldn't be hurt.

She rose with a fluidity that was captivating and mesmerizing. Even with mused hair and smeared lipstick, she was red carpet ready. Stefan saw the fine bones of her spine when she bent to reach for her dress, watched her shoulder blades work as she turned the garment right side out. He itched to grab his camera but he didn't want to be viewed as a creep on top of being a heartless prick.

In seconds she was dressed since she hadn't bothered to wear any underwear. She fluffed her hair, ran her fingers through the tangled strands, tutted when her locks wouldn't obey or she realized it wasn't worth trying to salvage. Everyone would know what she had been up to. Plus, they wouldn't think anything of it, wouldn't blink. Their coming together had been predictable. She the model and he the photographer. They went together like jocks and cheerleaders, actors and actresses.

"Do you mind if I clean up a little?" she asked in a dulcet voice.

"No, please. Take all the time you need. I'll wait for you."

Her grey-blue eyes sparkled, "You don't have to, Stefan. I've hogged you long enough. I'm sure Giuseppe wants his guest of honor back."

It still made Stefan cringe hearing that name despite the fact she wasn't talking about his father, but a fellow photographer he struck up a friendship with. It was jarring, nonetheless, and frequently Stefan had to remind himself that Giuseppe Bastianich was not the bastard whose loins he came from.

He said nothing as she picked up her discarded stilettos and made her way to the bathroom, quietly shutting the door.

Stefan released the breath he had been holding and left the bedroom. He loitered in the hallway, unearthed his phone, and stared at it. He had been doing a lot of that for a while now.

The decision to put a specific number to use was taken out of his hands when the bedroom door flew open. His date was surprised to see him, having assumed he retreated downstairs. Truth of the matter was, he didn't want to go back downstairs and mingle. He'd had as much socializing as he could stomach for one night.

She blushed and stepped out into the hall. "You didn't have to wait for me."

"I wanted to. It's what friends do and you've been a good friend to me, Eva."

The compliment threw her for a second but she beamed nonetheless. She hadn't operated under any pretenses that what they shared, quick and/or drawn out romps whenever she was in town meant more than the two of them having sex.

"Then I'm glad we're friends, Stefan." Pause. "This is going to be the last night we hook up…isn't it?"

Instead of answering right away, Stefan extended an arm that Eva accepted. She was taller than him by three inches without her heels. With the heels, she towered above him. She glanced at his profile wondering what was going through his mind, why she had sensed distance long before they snuck away upstairs. She could guess but she liked knowing facts.

They were downstairs that still teemed with people though it was nearing two in the morning. Now on the main level, Stefan unwound his arm from Eva's, kissed her hand, her cheek, and said, "Enjoy the rest of the party."

"You mean your party. It's your birthday."

Stefan smiled weakly. "I'll call you."

Leaving the condo by revolving door, Stefan was plopped out into the cacophony of New York City. Even at this late hour, signs of life were everywhere. He barely paid any of it attention as he advanced north, tucking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket he made sure to retrieve before bouncing. He walked on autopilot to his place, but paused.

Somewhere amid the seven million souls that called the Big Apple home were two people who, at one point, meant everything to him. One of those two people he could say his relationship was more than shaky; it bordered on being non-existent, but still retained a pulse of life to it. It wasn't altogether dead. Yet, life fizzled without a spark. The other person…Somewhere in one of the five boroughs laid his ex-wife. Somewhere was the former Missus Stefan Salvatore.

He tried. He tried for months, for a year now going on years to move on. In many ways he had. He was making a name for himself as a photographer, but that pesky thing called love, in him, it was stubbornly fixed.

Stefan's fingers itched for a cigarette despite he hadn't smoked since he was sixteen year old punk who thought he knew everything. But he needed something to take the edge off, to drive away the chaotic feeling that stirred every time he thought about…

His ex-wife.

Somewhere in New York was who he could no longer deny was his soul mate. And somehow they'd be one again.

"I'm coming for you, Bonnie."

::::

A/N: And there you have it folks. The drama continues. Are Bamon expecting parents? And just how does Stefan think he's going to win back his former wife? And to reiterate, Bamon did break up, but have they reconciled? Let me know what you think? Thank you so much for reading.