A/N: This is AU. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not my characters. They belong to their respective owners who wouldn't allow them to be great. The plot is mine.

He was searching for a beautiful death. Death could be too many things. It could be let of its leash to slaughter enemies, opposition. It was the period mark to a life long or short-lived. And it could also be meaningless, the impulse of desire and greed, a mistake caused by negligence, ex or internal. Quick and painless was a cheat, applying torture beforehand was laborious. Death needed its own veneration.

And from where he stood the world had forgotten that…

His pen hovered above the page. What should he write next?

Thump. His head jerked upwards at the sound. The empty table by the window was no longer empty. A woman sat there now. A pretty woman with toffee brown skin, black hair that touched her shoulders, and a mouth that wasn't quite centered. He noticed these things about people, the little details that made up a whole. Being something of a non-deviant voyeur, it was a practice he had no desire to part from.

Her widow's peak hairline was dotted with beads of sweat as was the center of her chest. He watched her breathe slowly, methodically. In and then out. Such a docile lifeform. She turned her head to look out the window and he finally availed himself of the fact it was drizzling outside. He stood corrected. That wasn't sweat on her skin but rain.

He resumed trying to climb into the head of his main character, yet couldn't help but steal peeks at the woman.

She was blocked from his sight. A waitress had arrived at her table to take her order.

"Coffee. Black," he heard the woman say succinct but not harried.

"Anything else?"

"A chocolate almond sconce, please. Thank you."

"I'll be right back with your order."

When the waitress slid away he was staring straight into a pair of viridian irises. Caught, he knew not where to look but at her. He was mistaken. She wasn't docile but very much alive, perhaps even too alive. She was a torch. Thrown and shaken he managed to offer a smile that was reciprocated, more reserved and shyly before disappearing quickly.

She reached for a napkin out of the dispenser and blotted her forehead and chest. With the lady distracted, the man drank his fill of her. She wore a tan trench coat. It was a bit warm for a coat, the overcast sky and rain notwithstanding. Sheer, black hosiery covered her legs, runner's legs—he amended. Well-formed calves that dipped to delicate ankles and ankles that led to small feet housed in a pair of dark navy pumps with super skinny heels made of metal. Fascinating, he had not quite seen a pair of footwear like that that.

The woman pulled her hair away from her face revealing a tattoo on her neck. An intricate B, about the size of a dime, was inked into her flesh right beneath the lobe of her right ear. He couldn't help but wonder if it were her initial or stood for something else.

He was caught staring again and felt the blood rush to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

The woman knew precisely what he had been gawking at.

He figured he should say something to ease the awkward tension. "Nice tattoo."

"I regret it but not the tattoo artist."

His mind only interpreted that statement one way.

Annoyed because he knew his cheeks were a bright cherry red, he swiped his drink and chugged on the straw sucking sour lemonade down his throat. He was saved from further embarrassment as the woman was brought her beverage and tasty dessert.

"You're blushing," she said the moment the waitress left to check on her other customers.

"Sorry," he forced a cough.

"What were you thinking?"

"Nothing I want to share."

She laughed then. A throaty sound that made his ears and cock twitch.

Feeling a subject change was in order before his thoughts went somewhere he was in too public a place for it to go, he inquired, "Taking a break from the office?"

The woman stirred sugar into her coffee. She seemingly hadn't heard his question as she appeared to be completely absorbed in the task at hand. Feeling inept, he was ready to pretend he hadn't said anything.

"I actually just got off from work," she replied and licked the rim of the spoon.

The man swallowed having followed the trail of her pink tongue coursing along the eating utensil. "O-oh," he stuttered, "you work the late shift?"

"I work a shift that never ends."

He didn't want to generalize or jump to conclusions, and doubted questioning her any farther on her occupation would be appropriate. But his curiosity burned, nonetheless. Burned with an endless pursuit of knowledge or for the meaning in something mundane. He watched for a minute longer, checked the time to see how much he had left before he needed to return home.

"You're not going to ask how could I be off from work if my shift supposedly never ends?"

"I don't want to pry."

Her gaze dipped to the legions of papers scattered on his table. "If I didn't want you to pry, I would have told you to fuck off the first time I caught you staring."

He was floored by her brashness but found it…refreshing in a sense. People loved trading pleasantries when most of the time they honestly did not care if anyone was having a good day or not, or if they were making a good impression. He watched her nibble the sconce and lick the crumbs away. Witnessing it strangely emboldened him to be, well, bold.

He capped his pen, "So how is it that you're off from working a shift that never ends?"

She smiled then. Nothing to it but a quirk of the lips that made her cheeks fuller. "Most would consider what they do a twenty-four hour job. I'm not any different. Except…what I do, I can't really talk about," her voice dipped conspiratorially. "But, I'll say this..."

The ding of the bell that chimed each time the door opened interrupted what she had been preparing to say.

"Nah, I think I'll keep that to myself."

"Just like that?"

She nodded slowly, "Just like that. What are you working on?"

He cleared his throat, brought his attention to the mountain of papers strewn across the table. "Ah, just messing around with a story. It's not a big deal."

"You're a writer?"

"Trying to be."

"You're doing it old school, handwritten."

"I prefer to write over typing."

"What's your story about?"

He paused wondering if he should tell her about the thoughts that had been swarming in his head lately that had him pacing the floors of his apartment at odd hours of the night. Would she think he was corny or needed therapy if he were to explain he was writing about those mythological immortal creatures that drank blood? Hadn't the world been inundated enough with stories about vampires? In his opinion he didn't believe he was writing about vampires, but a man's desire to court death. His character had a vice and the vice was admiring pretty necks.

"A love story," was what he went with.

"I love love stories. What's yours about?"

Nervously he scratched the back of his neck. This woman was asking him to expose a side of him he wasn't completely comfortable with showing. Looking at her earnest expression, seeing she wasn't secretly laughing at him, made his shoulders relax. "I'm not really sure. I'm not an expert on love but to write about it well, I think you need to experience it at least once."

"Maybe that's what you should write about," she suggested and sipped her coffee. "Write about a love that shouldn't exist between two people but it does and they do what they can to protect it."

Intrigued, he arched his brows, "Protect it from what?"

"From their need to self-sabotage."

"Don't you think that idea has been done to death?"

"No, because I believe no two loves are the same."

"Do you have a lot of experience with love?"

The woman sighed and if he weren't mistaken her hands shook a little. "I do."

"Are you in love right now?"

He stared at the woman expectantly, but her waitress interrupted, checking to see if she needed anything. He averted his gaze and when the waitress disappeared and he felt it was safe, he looked up. She was gone. Surprised by her abrupt disappearance he first looked in the direction of the bathroom but saw no sign of her. Just as he snapped his head toward the entrance of the restaurant, he caught a glimpse of her standing still, holding his gaze before vanishing around the corner.

He had a decision to make. Let the encounter fade or pursue. He should pursue as a good citizen because the woman left without paying her bill—he stood corrected seeing several dollar bills tucked beneath the saucer, thin curls of steam still rose from her unfinished cup of coffee.

Grabbing his coat, hurriedly stuffing papers into his satchel, he left a tip with jittery hands and took off, nearly bumping into an inbound customer.

"Sorry," he threw out distractedly.

The humid air struck him in the face. Sights of the city caught up with him, blasting his ears, making him wince. He didn't really know what he was doing besides making a fool of himself. She had to be long gone by now, and if he did manage to catch up with her, what would he say? He'd cross that bridge when he got to it. If he did.

The man checked north—nothing, he turned south and yes! There! He saw her waiting at the end of the block for the light to turn green. He took off, not too fast as to draw attention to his approach, but fast enough to reach her.

He cursed as the light changed and he was still half a distance away. He thought about calling out to her, but what if she thought he was one of those guys who couldn't take a hint that a woman wasn't interested, or misconstrued their quick conversation into thinking they made a love connection? Already embarrassment spread to his cheeks which he ignored as his loafers pounded the dirty pavement.

He dashed across the street just as the light began to turn yellow. It seemed while he ran like an Olympian to reach her, the woman strolled with careless abandon. Even footfalls, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket at a pace that suggested she was in no rush to get anywhere important. She melted and reappeared in the minimal traffic that crowded the sidewalks. He was gaining on her, getting close enough to pick up whiffs of her perfume. A fragrance that took him back to lazy afternoons tanning on a white sandy beach.

"Excuse me!" he called out when he was close enough to be heard.

The woman turned her head but not enough to see him, and just as quickly she was looking forward again. Her gait changed and she was walking with more determination.

"Wait, miss!"

He tripped over a discarded bag, cursed, and when he looked up he lost sight of her. No, wait he saw her turn down another corner. He rushed off this time breaking into a full run and came to a sliding stop.

There was nothing down this street. No businesses, clothing stores, restaurants, nothing but an alley that led to nowhere special from the look of things. This couldn't be right. He stepped back into the middle of the sidewalk that was now devoid of people. Where had everyone gone? Brow furrowing, the man licked his lips. Should he just cut his losses? He did have a conference call he was probably going to be late for it if he wasn't already. Just as he made the decision to go back, he saw her standing at the far end of the alley.

He didn't move. His legs were weighted by concrete suddenly. His self-confidence waned like elasticity in a rubber band stretched one too many times. Defeat and stupidity were beginning to beat him up. He did all of this chasing with no guarantee she'd agree to exchange phone numbers or have dinner with him. But, she was seemingly waiting for him.

Clearing his throat, he began to amble down the alley. The worst she could say was no. Being no stranger to that word, he'd survive, live to see another day, continue on with his work. No harm, no foul.

He blinked and once again she evaporated into thin air. "What the hell…"

Don't you know you shouldn't travel down dark alleys, alone?

Glass cracked beneath his foot but that wasn't concerning. It was the fact the fine hair on the back of his neck began to lift, rise as goose bumps rippled across his skin.

"The fuck!" the man roared the second something heavy landed on his shoulders, knocking him temporarily off balance. His satchel and coat fell from his hands that he immediately raised to push whatever landed on top of him off.

It took a second for him to realize those were legs wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He tripped backwards, back ramming into brick hoping to dislodge whoever the hell decided his shoulders was the perfect place to rest. He couldn't shake her, and it was a woman, the stockings being a dead giveaway. And something was very familiar about those legs.

Something silver flashed in his line of sight and before he could comprehend, a wire was wrapped around his throat. This bitch was trying to garrote him.

Crouched awkwardly on the man, Bonnie Bennett crooned, "Let me see your true face, lover."

The man deliberately dove, head first to the pavement. Bonnie tucked herself as best she could, rolling once her back smashed into the concrete. The wind was knocked out of her. She lost a shoe, ripped a hole in her stockings but for the most part she was okay. It took two seconds before she flipped up to her feet, wobbling a little. Her skull and shoulder pounded and ached, but she ignored the pain refusing to even smart or wince.

The man was slower to rise, pressing one splayed hand against the asphalt, the other balled into a fist. He rose to his knees, craned his head, glared at her. He unfurled the wire from his neck. Wiped at the blood trickling down from a cut along his hairline.

"What the hell are you doing?" he wheezed.

Instead of answering, Bonnie removed a stake from her coat pocket. Taking the tip she ran it along her throat, watching him watch the stake. She nicked below her clavicle. A drop of warm blood pebbled and dripped from the superficial wound.

The man's nostril's flared as his chest rose and fell. Walls felt like they were closing in on him. He couldn't explain why it seemed the bones in his face were shifting, remolding themselves. Into what? He had no idea. Additionally, his eyes burned and a very dry and agonizing thirst charred his mouth. This had to be adrenaline.

"I don't know what the hell—"

"Damon Salvatore…" confusion lit the man's face, "Born in 1839 to Giuseppe and Lillian Salvatore, brother to Stefan Salvatore, native of Mystic Falls, Virginia," Bonnie rattled off. "Turned in 1864 by Katherine Pierce aka Katerina Petrova."

He blinked rapidly. Turned? What did she mean by that? "What do you mean turned?"

"What do you think it means, Damon?"

Grasping at straws, he had no idea what alternative world he or this woman tripped into. But he was going to clear up this case of obvious mistaken identity right now. "I don't know…" he smacked his suddenly dry lips together, "I don't know what kind of drugs you're taking but I don't know this Damon. My name's not Damon."

"You're wrong about that but right about something else. You don't know who you are because they made you forget. That's okay because I'm here to help you remember."

"By trying to kill me?" he shouted but waved his hands around dismissing the question. "It doesn't matter. You're a sick bitch. Stay the fuck away from me," he collected his satchel and coat, grimacing at the stains on his jacket.

"Damon, I can't let you leave."

He rounded on her, "My name's not fucking Damon! And I sure as hell wasn't born in fucking 1839."

For a second she saw his sclera become vein-filled. He pierced his lids closed, shook his head. When their eyes met, his glacial blues spat so much fire Bonnie was surprised she wasn't sizzling.

Bonnie tilted her chin down a little, "I know I've given you no reason to trust me, but I had to get your attention."

"For what?" he didn't even know why he was still entertaining this psycho, and why he hadn't whipped out his phone to call the cops. Then again beautiful women always messed with his mind and common sense.

"To tell you the truth. To get you to stop and really think about the last eleven months of your life. What do you remember?"

His jaw ticked yet he said nothing. He turned to leave.

Every fiber of Bonnie's being roared that she couldn't let him walk away. Months of searching, dead ends, leads that led to skirmishes, skirmishes that led to death. Finding him, waiting for the right time to approach had flayed her nerves raw to the point Bonnie had been numb when she walked through the doors of that café. She couldn't let him leave her behind. Not again. Now was her chance. Their chance. No, she wouldn't let him out of her sight. Besides, that was not who they were. That was not their creed. In a sense they were orphans beating their fists against anything that crept out of the shadows threatening to abduct one of them away from the other. All that history, pain, love was lost to Damon. Who he really was, what he really was he had no clue. Half an hour ago she could have been a conquest to warm his bed. Or someone to share the occasional cup of coffee with as they tripped through the infatuation stage, terrified and giddy on where things could go.

Bonnie hobbled forward, grabbed his hand and placed it on her chest. She felt him flinch when she touched him. He faced her, scowled.

"It would take you next to nothing to punch your fist through my chest and take out my heart."

Horror made sweat bead on his upper lip. He tried to pry his hand from her clasp.

"You've done it before…it was less messy then."

He wagged his head, "You're not making sense. I'm not trying to make light of this, but did you escape an institution?"

"Feel what you are!" Bonnie yelled impatiently. "You can hear my heart beating. You can feel the blood rushing through my veins. Feel. It."

Damon smiled but it was a smile that basically told Bonnie how crazy he thought she was. "You need you to let me go now."

"I can't do that."

"Why!" He was beyond irritated.

"You're my husband!"

13 Months ago, the last night they were together

He held her tightly for the first time in months, but it would be for the last time. Did she know? he wondered as he slowly rubbed her back, gripped her quivering shoulders as he clasped her nude and wet body to him. They stood motionless and quiet in the shower, being pelted but neither really felt the water hit and warm their skin. They were as close as two people could get, but it still wasn't close enough. With her cheek tucked into his chest, her soft sobs in his ears, tears pooled in his eyes, its salt coursing down his cheeks, dripping into her hair.

He loved her but he couldn't do this anymore. Couldn't do them, though admitted they hadn't been them in the last year. It was an inescapable truth mired in facts. Love, some would say never had an expiration date. Others believed it had a set deadline, a date where it would dissipate and there'd be nothing one could do to keep from losing it. Damon Salvatore knew with all his heart that he loved Bonnie Bennett, but he was tired of being the only one to believe that.

She was losing him. She knew that. Felt it each time he came home a little later than the night before. Saw it in how, whenever she entered a room, his smile no longer lit up his face the way it used to. Sensed it in his tone. He spoke to her but he sounded dead. There was no life, no animation, and no one needed to tell her she was the catalyst. She wanted to reverse it, make it stop, start over. She just had no idea how. Changing stirred anxiety, anxiety made her paranoid, and her paranoia made her unreasonable.

More tears at the knowledge of her shortcomings, her mental prison, her physical hell gushed from her closed eyes.

"We should get out," Damon said.

"Five more minutes," Bonnie bartered and hugged him closer.

The feel of her petite body was familiar, conjured a thousand and one memories, most of them good, plenty more spectacular. He reveled in it though it hurt. He inadvertently hurt her as she consciously hurt him. Neither had been strong enough to walk away, but he found a sliver of it—courage and Damon was going to use it. They had tapped danced around the emptiness of their marriage long enough. Someone just had to be brave and bold to call it quits, to pull that trigger.

Looks like I'm it, he thought and kissed her forehead. "Five more minutes," he agreed.

Bonnie would take those five minutes and turn it into five years. She could be the vivacious woman Damon met and married. She could get her confidence back, believe in herself and her capabilities, contribute to their home, stop resenting him because he got to leave the house every day and do something he loved. She would start working on her music, maybe even teach again. It wasn't too late.

With a shuddering sigh, she pulled back, blinked up at her husband, the love of her life.

Slowly his lids parted revealing a soul as beautiful and tortured, resilient yet broken as hers. Her chest rose and fell as she allowed Damon to really look at her because for months she had been dodging, concealing her love letting negativity override the most important thing they shared: friendship. She looked into the eyes of her best friend and couldn't really figure out if he recognized her. Recognized who she wanted to be so badly. Bonnie wondered if all he could see was everything he hated. The whiny nag, the woman who refused him, shut him out because she felt useless, undesirable.

Please see that I'm trying, Damon.

Damon brushed her cheeks with his thumbs as he roamed her features, trying in earnest to get his last fill, remember every detail he could. Lonely nights would hit and he'd need the picture of her to get him through. He wanted to remember Bonnie like this before inevitably crushing everything.

Bonnie clung to him, fighting against the words that had been climbing up her throat for months that she painfully swallowed down. She was tired of the strain, the fight, tired of ignoring the inevitable. Her heart beat frantically, abnormally. She had to say it. Had to know how bad things were. How close things were to the end. Bonnie couldn't live in the dark any longer. She needed her husband to tell her the truth.

Bonnie tilted her chin up, inhaled, and pushed out, "You're leaving me…aren't you?"

13 Months later, present time

Bonnie knew she had gone too far, said too much too soon.

He yanked his hand off her chest and backed himself into an invisible corner. This woman had some major screws loose. He didn't have a wife nor had he ever been married. He had never seen this woman until today. Was this some sort of human trafficking scam? He searched both ends of the alley for a white van with tinted windows.

"You come near me again…I'll have you arrested. Just stay away."

He fled like Eurydice was sucked back into the underworld.

Bonnie stood where she was, planted as if she were the roots of a palm tree. Bend with the wind but never break. Bonnie understood that's exactly how she had to be. Her insides though were crackled sugar glass.

A wind blew. Strands of her hair danced and tickled her cheeks. Coldness—the deathly kind slithered beside her.

"I see things went swimmingly, little lamb."

"You have to follow him," Bonnie glanced at Damon's younger and troubled brother, Stefan.

"My place, it seems is to forever trail at the hem of his shadow. Lucky me," he snorted and swung in front of Bonnie.

She tensed. He sensed it and smiled.

Physically he was not the Stefan that she knew. This Stefan before her, his skin was moon pale, his eyes too animated with an eerie circle of mercury right around the pupil. The blue veins around his jawline and beneath his lower lashes were precursors of what had been done to him.

"You cry for my brother," he thumbed her thudding pulse.

"We both want him back, Stefan," Bonnie reminded and maneuvered her neck out of his reach.

He said nothing to that. Tipped his imaginary hat and proceeded to follow his brother's scent. When he was some distance away from Bonnie, a corner of his blood red lips ticked up, "Do we?"

A/N: Do I know where I'm hoping to go with this if I am persuaded to continue, vaguely. Do I hope you guys feel something while reading, naturally. Has it been hard af to write post series, yes. Do I want to let Bamon go, never. Some questions: who made Damon forget? Why? What's up with Stefan? What was going on in Bamon's marriage? I hope to hear from you guys. Thank you so much for reading!