ship: bonnie/damon
word count: 4,090
summary: FBI Agent Bonnie Bennett has been tracking an elusive thief for the better part of three years. But when a botched job ends in murder, the stakes hit an all-time high. / Damon Salvatore has sticky fingers, he can admit that. What he doesn't have is 'trigger-happy' fingers. Which is why he needs Bonnie's help to solve a crime someone is trying to frame him for.
i.
Bonnie knelt, an elbow resting on one knee while she used a pen-sized flashlight to get a better look. There was a body in front of her; two shots to the chest with blood caked on the chin and dried to a dull looking 'security' badge pinned to the victim's chest. He was young; if she had to guess, mid to late twenties, making him her age.
"It doesn't make sense," she murmured, more to herself than her partner.
"Criminals escalate." Caroline stood on the other side of the body, arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her dark blue windbreaker, marked with 'FBI' in bold yellow letters, was left open and unzipped, showing the top of her gun, clipped to her hip. "He came in for the diamonds, hit a snag, took out the guard before he could get caught."
"But that's not his M.O. He's been caught before; he takes them down, he doesn't kill them." Bonnie frowned, staring down at the bullet holes, center mass.
Caroline stared at her a moment, and then took a breath. "Maybe… Maybe you're too close to this."
"What?" Bonnie looked up, her brow furrowed. "I've been chasing this guy for three years…"
"Exactly. This is getting personal for you. You feel like you know him. And sometimes that helps; it can make anticipating their next move easier. But Bonnie… Every time we get close to this guy, he slips out of our hands."
"That's my point, Caroline." She stood, her chin tilted stubbornly. "He's too smart for this. He's outmaneuvered us over and over again. This…" She pointed to the body. "It's sloppy."
"That's what criminals do! They slip up and that's how we catch them."
"No, not this guy. I'm telling you, it's not him."
"He left his calling card," Caroline reminded. "Once it's processed, it'll come back like all the rest. No prints, generic ink, and pig's blood. Details only he could know."
Bonnie shook her head. "Him and everyone who's ever opened the file we have on him."
Caroline's eyes widened. "Do you hear yourself?" She circled the body and glanced around to make sure nobody else in the room might be listening. "You can't just go around accusing our own people."
"I'm just saying, we're not the only people familiar with this case. We've got local LEO's in three different states, not to mention anybody that processed the scenes and the evidence. It's not hard for someone to—"
"To what? To become a copycat?" Caroline's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"I don't know." Bonnie sighed. "I just, I know in my gut that something isn't right here."
Caroline stared at her a long beat, and then nodded. "All right. Just… be a little more discreet with your observations, okay? The last thing we need to do is make ourselves pariahs…" She looked around quickly and then tipped her head. "C'mon. They need to finish collecting everything. We'll get coffee, I'm buying, and you can tell me a little more about this gut feeling of yours."
Bonnie smiled faintly. "You had me at coffee."
ii.
"You seem distracted."
"Hm? Oh. Sorry, it— It's work." She smiled apologetically. "My head's just somewhere else right now."
She and Caroline had called it quits around seven. After going over what they knew and adding what little information they had to their target board, they hit a dead end.Again. Needing to decompress, she'd called Jeremy, but distracted as she felt, she was regretting that now.
"It's fine." He searched her face curiously. "Unless you want to raincheck…?"
"No, no. It's been… God, weeks, since we went out." She shook her head. "I'm okay. Tell me how your day was." She pulled her wine glass closer and played with the stem.
"I sold a painting." Jeremy grinned. "Yeah, it was pretty great, actually."
"Yeah? Which one?"
Bonnie tried to stay focused, tried to hear what he was saying, but after a few minutes, her mind drifted back to the crime scene of earlier. Something just wasn't sitting right with her. Three years she'd been tracking down this thief and while he always liked to push his boundaries, hitting riskier and riskier places each time, this was different. The placement of the body, the perfect shots to the chest, the way the calling card was placed on the victim's forehead, like he wanted it to be obvious. She wouldn't call her perp 'subtle' by any means, his calling card was proof of that alone, but he was never so blatant. He enjoyed the chase. This wasn't like all the others…
"Bon?"
She looked up to find Jeremy staring at her and a waitress standing by the table. "Right, sorry. Um…" She opened her menu, gave it a quick look over, and then ordered her usual. She and Jeremy came here so many times, she practically had it memorized. Some days she liked that routine. Today she did, since it made the awkwardness ebb just a little. But others, she wished they'd go somewhere else, try something new, expand their horizons a little.
"You sure you're okay?"
Bonnie forced a smile. "Yeah, fine." She sipped at her wine and cast her gaze away.
It caught on the bar, where a few people were scattered, seated on stools, facing away from the diners. Except one. Dressed in all black, an elbow resting behind on the bar, he was looking out at everyone. Pale skin, black hair, and sharp blue eyes. He turned to look right at her, through her, and she watched as the corner of his mouth hitched up in a faint smile. A smirk, more like. The bartender placed a glass down for him, and he plucked it up to raise in her direction in a silent cheers.
Bonnie's heart thumped, but she wasn't quite sure why.
Frowning to herself, she turned her eyes back to Jeremy. He was fiddling with his napkin, unfolding it to lay across his lap. His mouth was moving, but she wasn't listening. She assumed it was more about work, but couldn't find it in herself to pay attention. Instead, she let her eyes wander back toward the bar, to the dark stranger that had caught her eye. But he wasn't there. Instead, an empty glass lay at the bar, and the mysterious man had disappeared.
Shaking it off, she returned her attention to Jeremy and tried to focus on the present.
iii.
Just as dinner was coming to a close, Jeremy had gotten a call that he said he couldn't ignore. Ten minutes later Bonnie received a 'sorry, had to leave, rain check' text. She wouldn't call herself disappointed. She and Jeremy were casual. Friends for much of their lives, they occasionally slept together, when work and life permitted. While she could definitely use the stress relief, her head just wasn't in the game. It was probably better that he cancelled.
Settling the bill, she moved to the bar. One drink, she told herself, then she'd go home, run a hot bath, and try to relax.
She'd just ordered a bourbon and was fielding texts from Caroline when the stool next to her moved.
"Date leave? Seems like a waste of a good dress."
Bonnie looked up from her phone, ready to turn away whomever was bold enough to try and hit on her. She paused, however, when she found the man from earlier staring back at her.
"Emergency. It happens." She peered at him searchingly. "Do I know you?"
His lips spread in a wide smile. "You know, I've used that line a few times myself, but it's a trip being on the other end of it."
She winced. "Sorry. No. I wasn't…"
"Well, now my ego's bruised." He pointed at her glass. "Bourbon?"
She nodded.
"Good taste." He shook his own glass, the same as hers, ice rattling inside. "So, new drinking buddy, have you got a name?"
"Bonnie." She held a hand out for him to shake.
He took it. "Damon."
"And do you regularly make friends with strangers, Damon?"
"Isn't that how friends are made? We're only strangers until we know each other, right? So far, you're miles better than my last drinking buddy. He was a sad drunk." Damon scrunched his nose up. "Where's the fun in that?"
"We've all got our stories, I guess." She sipped at her bourbon, letting it linger on her tongue. "Are you a local or…?"
He shook his head. "Small town, Virginia, originally. Now I travel a lot, for work."
"Yeah? Where to?"
"Everywhere." He shrugged. "What about you?"
"Salem, when I was a kid. Moved out here after high school. Joined the academy and I've been here ever since. Well, for as long as my job lets me. I bounce around a lot for work too."
"Anywhere interesting?"
"Unfortunately, I can't say I've had the pleasure of sight-seeing…"
He hummed. "Waste. The best part of my job is getting to see the world. Pick it apart and enjoy it."
"Sounds fun."
"It can be." He shrugged. "What about you? You said the 'academy'… Don't tell me you're a police officer."
She half-smiled. "Not exactly."
"Ahh, alphabet agency." He nodded as he looked her over. "I can see it."
"See what?"
"The buttoned down Bonnie that sheds the badge and the work jacket for a nice dress and some good wine." His eyes paused on the delicate gold choker around her neck. "How's it feel?"
She stared at him, breath catching as his eyes raised to meet hers. "How's what feel?"
"Not to hide behind a mask."
Swallowing, she stared at his mouth a beat. "Who said I was wearing one?"
He smiled, slow and suggestive. "We all wear masks. You've got yours in your badge and your gun and a wall full of accomplishments. But inside, you're desperate to be more than that."
Her eyebrow arched. "Take a few classes in psychology?"
"I dabbled."
Humming, she took another, much longer, drink of her bourbon. "So this is what you do? Find pretty girls at the bar, imply their lives are boring and yours is exciting, suggest they're sexually repressed and, what…? Take them up to your hotel room?"
He grinned. "If I said 'yes,' would that work?"
She scoffed and rolled her eyes.
With a laugh, he shook his head, and reached over to drop a hand atop her forearm, thumb stroking atop her skin. "I'm joking. Hey, I thought we were just having a very deep discussion. I like to have those over alcohol, so I have an excuse for being particularly insightful."
Unconvinced, she raised an eyebrow at him. "Uh-huh."
"You know, you're a little paranoid, Bon-Bon. Work stressing you out?"
Bonnie pursed her lips and cast her gaze away. "Work's fine. And I'm not paranoid. I'mcareful. Are you this forward with every stranger you meet?"
"Only the devastatingly attractive ones."
She huffed a laugh and shook her head.
"What, you don't think you're beautiful?"
"I…" She reached up and ran a nervous hand over her hair. "I'm not answering that."
"Why?"
"Because, it's a trap. If I say I do, I'm a narcissist, if I say I don't, I'm lying."
He stared at her searchingly, mouth tipped up at the corner. "It must be exhaustingthinking so hard all the time…"
She bit her lip. "Is this the part where you offer to take my mind off things?"
"Do you want me to?"
Yes.
Her phone rang, demanding attention, and Bonnie turned to it. Caroline's face was smiling back at her. Plucking it from the bar, Bonnie thumbed the 'Answer' button. "Hey. I wasn't ignoring your texts, I just got distracted."
"Never mind that. Can you talk?" There was a fluttering noise. "Guess who got the report back already."
Bonnie frowned. Turning in her seat, away from Damon, she said, "There's no way the results are back this quick."
"I might've given the lab rats a little incentive."
"Caroline…" she sighed.
"What? I know you. You've probably been obsessing over this, wondering if it's really him. Well, now you'll know."
She chewed her lip and took a deep breath. "And?"
"And it's just like all the rest. No prints, pig's blood, and the writing's a match."
Bonnie's shoulders slumped. "So it's him?"
"I mean, like you said, a lot of people know certain details, but… With the writing…"
"It's hard to get something like that exactly right, yeah." She closed her eyes. "Okay. Thanks for calling, and for pushing it through."
"Of course. Don't worry about it. See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah, bright and early. We need to reevaluate what we know about this guy."
"Sounds good. Night, Bon."
"Night." With a sigh, she put her phone down on the bar and turned, only to find that Damon had slipped away during the conversation. She was strangely disappointed by that, but maybe it was for the best. That man had 'regret' written all over him. Standing from her stool, she finished off her drink and decided to call it a night.
iv.
After a long cab ride home, Bonnie was tired. It'd been a disappointing day and all she wanted to do was put it behind her. Walking into her apartment, she kicked off her heels and closed the door behind her, sliding the chain into place and turning the deadbolt.
She was just walking down the hall when she realized something was off. Lights were on that she'd purposely turned off before she'd left. It was small, something easily forgotten, but she knew she'd turned them off. Pivoting, she cast her gaze around and tried to listen for any sounds, any sign that someone was there with her. She couldn't hear a thing.
Mind in overdrive now, she tried to figure out what to do. Her gun was in her bedroom, locked away for safety. Down the hallway, there was a bathroom, a den, and a possible unknown assailant between her and her gun. She could leave or call for help, but some insecure part of her brain wondered if maybe she was overreacting, and couldn't help but think of how embarrassing it would be to have cops storm her place only to find it empty
A very certain part of her, however, was sure that she turned off the lights.
On silent feet, she made her way into the brightly lit kitchen for a knife. It wasn't perfect but it would do. Crossing back into the hall, she looked both ways and then started toward her room. Fear and adrenaline coursed through her, making her heart beat just a little too fast and her palms grow damp with sweat. She was trained for this; she knew how to incapacitate an enemy. That fact didn't calm her nerves as much as it should.
Bonnie had just made it to the double doors of her den when a voice rang out. "I hope you don't mind. I helped myself to a snack."
v.
Bonnie whirled toward the voice, knife raised threateningly. She paused, however, when her eyes landed on a familiar face. "Damon?"
He waved a hand from where he was seated in an armchair, a bowl of green grapes just to the left of him. "Guilty."
"What the hell are you doing in my apartment?"
"Boy, you are really behind…" He popped a grape into his mouth and then stood.
Blood was rushing in her ears; she wasn't sure if she should be relieved or a hell of a lot more scared. "How did you even know where I lived?"
"I went through your purse while you were talking to your partner." He waved a dismissive hand and rolled his eyes. "Trust me, this is all going to make sense in a minute."
"Great, then you can tell it to the police." Digging into her clutch, she pulled her phone out.
"Bonnie, listen to me, I'm who you're looking for…"
"Hah." Dialing 9-1-1, she lifted the phone to her ear. "Unbelievable. My first night off in three weeks and I get a freaking stalker… Caroline was right. I need to an invest in a dog. A big dog."
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"
"Bonnie, listen to me, I'm not a stalker. I'm the guy you're looking for!" He stared at her seriously, his brows hiked. "The guy you have a whole crazy wall dedicated to. New York, Chicago, Washington, am I ringing any bells here? Two-point-five million in diamonds. Four-point-three in paintings."
Bonnie stared at him, her eyes wide and her mouth slack.
"Hello? Is anyone there? Do you need help?"
Bonnie blinked and then shook her head. "Hi, yes, sorry. I misdialed. There's no emergency." She kept her eyes on him as she took a few minutes to reassure the person on the line that she was sincere in saying there was no emergency and she was sorry for wasting their time.
Finally hanging up, she eyed him suspiciously. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't arrest you and have your ass thrown in some windowless cell somewhere…"
He stared at her a long moment. "I didn't kill him."
Bonnie's eyes narrowed.
"Look, I've done a lot of questionable things in my life, and yes, stealing is at the top of that list. I've made a living out of breaking into secure places and taking whatever I like. I'm not denying that. But Bonnie, you know me. You know how I work. I don't kill. I don't need to." Hands held high, he walked toward her. "Whoever did this, whoever used my card, they're setting me up."
"Why?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm here, why I need your help."
"So tonight, at the bar, what was that?"
He see-sawed his head side to side. "Originally, I was tailing you. I needed to know if you were going to bring Van Gogh back here or if I'd have a chance to talk to you."
"You've never heard of calling someone?"
"I thought the hands-on approach might be more your style."
She snorted. "Oh, I'm sure you did."
"Okay, so I might've gotten a little… flirtatious at the bar. Can you blame me? You, in that dress…" He whistled appreciatively.
Bonnie waved her knife at him. "Stop trying to distract me. You followed me to the bar, you broke into my apartment, all because you wanted to tell me you didn't kill someone?" She shook her head. "Why does it matter? That's not going to stop me or the FBI from nailing your ass for stealing millions of dollars worth of other people's property."
"Theft and murder are two different things," he pointed out. "And, point in fact, I have a reputation to uphold. I run a clean business. I'm in and out, no one gets hurt."
"No one gets killed, you mean. You knocked a guard unconscious in Chicago. And you broke another guy's arm."
"I was still working out the finer details of my job. I wasn't as sneaky back then." He waved it off. "I've grown."
"Oh my God," she muttered under her breath. "Fine. So you want me to catch whoever set you up, I will, but I'm still arresting you."
"Mmm, not quite. I want you to help me catch my impersonator. After that, if you wanna pull out the handcuffs, well…" He smirked. "I won't stop you."
Bonnie huffed incredulously. "You want me to work with you?"
"Yup. A little Bonnie and Clyde type action. C'mon, it'll be fun."
"You are… crazy."
He shrugged. "Not the worst thing someone's called me."
Bonnie stared at him, brow knotted. "I don't get it. You could've called, emailed, sent a letter with your calling card attached, and stayed in hiding the whole time. So what's this really about? Because it can't just be because you want to play detective."
Damon stared at her a long moment, his dismissive attitude slowly melting away. With a sigh, he dropped his hands to his sides. "The guard that you found… He wasn't a random target. He was a message."
"To you?"
He nodded.
"Why?"
"I don't now. Look, you don't make a lot of friends in my line of business. I must've pissed someone off and this is there way of getting back at me."
"So they set all of this up, killed this man, because you did something. A man is dead because you got tangled up in something and your life is so screwed up that you're not even sure what or who is the reason for all of it."
He ground his teeth, but nodded shortly.
"So why him? Why this guard? Why use him to send the message?"
Damon licked his lips. "Before all of this, years ago, I really did grow up in Virginia. Mystic Falls, to be specific…"
A light bulb went off in her head. "That's where the guard was from."
"I knew him. I wouldn't call us friends, exactly. He played on the same football team as my brother. They ran in the same circles. I dated one of his exes. Small town. Whatever. The point is, this isn't a coincidence. Somebody killed Matt Donovan to send me a message, and they're setting it up so that I go down for his murder."
"So, you want to find the person that killed your friend." That, at least, she kind of understood. "And I should help you do this instead of just locking you up and figuring it out on my own because…?"
He grinned then. "Because you need me… You need what and who I know."
Her eyes narrowed. "It might take a little longer, but I'm sure I can piece it together on my own. There can't be that many Damon's that lived in Mystic Falls, Virginia."
"Maybe not. But that was a lifetime ago. The people I know now, the people behind all of this, they didn't know me then. So whatever you find out about me from that little Podunk town isn't going to help you solve Donovan's murder any faster."
"You're suggesting I just completely ignore the part where you're an international thief, like my entire career doesn't depend on this."
"Consider it a two birds, one stone situation. I told you, you help me do this, you can throw the book at me when it's all over."
Bonnie frowned, unconvinced. "How do I know you won't just sneak off as soon as we find the person responsible?"
"You don't. Which is why you're just going to have to trust me."
"Trust you…?" Her eyes widened as she motioned around her. "Did you forget the part where you broke into my apartment?"
"Admittedly, some fences need mending." He waved it off. "We'll get there." Turning on his heel, he walked back to the armchair and took a seat, putting his feet up on a stool and pulling the bowl of grapes into his lap. "Just you watch, by the end of this, we're going to be best friends. I really think this whole 'stealing' thing has given me a bad rap…"
Bonnie took in a deep breath and let it out on a resigned sigh.
She had a feeling her life just got ten times more complicated, and the odds of her getting that bubble bath went right down the drain.
"We need ground rules," she decided. "First, no breaking into my apartment. Or eating my food. And definitely no stealing for the entirety of this… 'partnership.'"
Damon grinned. "Anybody ever tell you you're a control freak?"
"No."
"I wasn't too far off the mark earlier, was I? You're wound up tighter than a coil. You know, when we put the bad guy behind bars, we should celebrate. Just you and me… We can pick up where we left off back at the bar. When you were seriously considering letting me take you upstairs to my hotel room."
"I was not…"
He smirked, and popped a grape into his mouth. "Weren't you?"
She glared at him. "From here on out, this is professional. You are a resource. Not my friend, not my partner, not anything. We find whoever killed Matt Donovan and then they and you go to jail."
Damon smiled, unperturbed. "Deal."
Bonnie frowned, shaking her head at herself and the ridiculous turn this job had just taken.
As if he was reading her mind, Damon said, "Lighten up, Bon-Bon… You never know, I might just grow on you."
Turning on her heel, she left the room, muttering, "Yeah, like a fungus."
end notes: that's all she wrote, folks!
this feels like the beginning of a white collar-esque type show, which is fitting. recently, absentlyabbie messaged me a bamon gifset that gave her some feels, with the additional idea of: "damon the thief, bonnie the fbi agent or PI or something who has spent the last couple years chasing him (and getting close) who ends up tangled in things that are inadvertently his fault and force them to possibly join forces)." This is what came of that…
for the record, this is not a WIP. it's to be filed under a one-off of something with potential that i will likely never return to. i have no plans to come back and write more to it. i just had the idea bug in my head and needed to write it. that said, i hope you enjoyed it!
please, if you can, try to leave a review!
- Lee | Fina