Disclaimer: I don't own TVD or its characters. No copyright infringement intended.
AN: This is the first time I've been inspired to write a fic for TVD, even though I've watched it off and on since the beginning. The dynamic between Bonnie and Enzo, and the spark of chemistry in their scenes really hooked me.
Enzo knocked softly, but firmly, on the cabin door. In a moment, Bonnie opened it—tentatively at first, peering over his shoulder to ensure that he was alone, and hadn't been followed. Then she pulled the door open to allow him admittance. Her mind smiled, thinking it odd that she was allowing him to enter his own cabin. "Hey," he greeted her, punctuated by slight nod of his head.
"Hi," she returned with uncharacteristic shyness, the oddity of their situation was never far from her consciousness.
Enzo's hands were encumbered with three bags of groceries, one precariously balanced. Bonnie relieved him of the bag that seemed most in danger of ending up on the floor, and headed to the kitchen. Enzo pushed the door shut with his foot and went to join her.
She placed the bag she'd taken from him on the counter. He followed suit. Working in silence at first, they started unpacking the bags. She put a few items into the fridge—a quart of milk, a large carton of Greek yogurt … She turned and Enzo handed her a bag of plump, ripe tomatoes, a bunch of fresh basil, a container of buffalo mozzarella. She raised an eyebrow, but took them from him without a word, and put them away as well. When she turned back, she could see him stocking the pantry with boxes of pasta, and jars of olives, and placing a few onions and a head of garlic in a bowl on the counter.
"What did you tell her this time?" Bonnie asked at length.
"Rayna Cruz sighting," he answered. "That elusive huntress just keeps slipping through my fingers," Enzo added with a self-satisfied smile.
"Well, either Alex is completely clueless, or …"
"You worry too much, love. Alex is preoccupied right now—obsessed even. Recapturing Rayna Cruz is her immediate priority, which makes it a great cover. You let me worry about Alex. All you need to worry about is researching why the Armory wants you so badly, and honing your other limited life skills, like starting a decent fire without benefit of witchcraft."
"Hilarious." She narrowed her eyes at him, in faux indignation. "So are you rushing back to tell Alex the disappointing news that the Rayna Cruz sighting was a false alarm?" Bonnie asked. Was that an implicit invitation? she asked herself. Would he take it as such?
She got her answer. "Actually, I was hoping you could catch me up on your research over a caprese salad and glass of wine," he gestured to a bottle of red wine he'd left sitting on the counter.
"I'd like that," uncharacteristic shyness again colored her mien.
Six months later …
Bonnie returned to the cabin from an early morning ramble through the surrounding woods. Though the day promised to be fair, the morning was brisk. She bundled up in a fleecy jacket, and scarf. She loved this weather—the first herald of fall—the change in the air and light—a few trees already giving up their leaves to the earth. She didn't have a favorite season. Each one had its merits. Perhaps as a witch, an appreciation of that fact was innate—ingrained somehow. She could take this same ramble in the spring or on a snowy winter morn, or on a summer morning that promised to be a scorcher later on. Each one had its merits. Her new solitude offered her many opportunities to reflect on the aspects of being a witch that weren't linked to doing spells or channeling magic. Perhaps, because she was no longer practicing magic, she had a growing appreciation for oneness with nature, for its balance, and for her now-suppressed ability to tap into all of that richness and transform it.
She had a newfound appreciation for solitude as well—but it had its limits. So she found herself pleased to see Enzo's car in the drive in front of the cabin when she returned from her walk. She loved giving him a hard time about his car, calling it a "beater", just to hear him defend it as a "classic." "A man and his car enjoy a special bond, love," he told her once in response to her disparaging jest.
Going inside, she found him sitting at the small table that served as her desk as well as for dining. He'd made coffee and brought pastries to go with it. He looked up from whatever it was he was reading on his phone, and smiled.
"Ah, there you are."
"I wasn't expecting to see you today," she replied in lieu of a greeting.
"Spur of the moment thing," he responded.
"So, what excuse did you offer your incredibly overbearing boss this time?" Bonnie asked, as she removed her jacket and scarf, laying them on the back of the couch. She went to pour herself a cup of coffee.
"No excuse needed," Enzo told her. "Alex is sending me to Florida on a quest for some mystical mace." With his accent, he managed to make everything sound classy, even snarky comments.
"You're kidding—a mace?" she snickered as she put plates on the table, and checked out the pastries.
"I kid you not. It's supposed to have ended up in the 'new world' courtesy of some conquistador's galleon," he used air quotes for emphasis in his reply.
"And just what is this mace supposed to do that makes it so mystical?" she wondered aloud.
"It's believed to render whoever wields it impervious to all types of weapons."
"Probably spelled with a powerful protection spell," she observed.
"Maybe I should try it out before I deliver it to the Armory, just to confirm its authenticity."
Her mind skipped back to another time and place, and a different mystical weapon. "Just remember, things aren't always what they seem—like Rayna's sword, and the Phoenix Stone."
"Yes, by all means, let's not forget the bloody Phoenix Stone," a current of bitterness charged his response.
Bonnie sipped her coffee, then said, "Yeah, things really went to shit when that thing came into our lives." Then turning the conversation, she added, "So, how long are you going to be away?"
"Don't know, love—a few days, maybe a week, maybe longer—it's hard to say. Which is why I stopped by—to bring you these. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and brought out a plastic bag filled with pills—pills that would suppress her magic and keep her off of the Armory's radar. "That should last until I'm back," he added as she took the bag from him.
"Thanks." Her eyes fixed on the pills as she turned the bag in her hand. "Not just for these," she said, "for everything."
When she looked up, her eyes met his, and she thought she noticed a flush of color suffuse his cheeks.
"Well," he said, rising in a slow, reluctant move, "I should get on the road. I'll be in touch when I get back. It's a shame you can't join me. You and me searching for mystical objects in south Florida sounds like fun."
"Are you kidding? A road trip in that beater?"
"You wound me Bonnie Bennett—you know it's a classic beater."
She walked him to the door. "Happy mace hunting," was all she could think to say. Then she watched him slide behind the wheel, turn the car around, and pull away down the drive.
Some months later …
"Been organizing again, I see," Enzo said standing in the doorway of the cabin surveying the tidy stacks of research materials Bonnie had made.
"Yeah, it was getting unwieldy, even for me," Bonnie looked up from the book she'd been reading, and pushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm glad you're here." She was surprised, but not unpleasantly so, to see him midday, midweek, and unannounced.
"That sounds promising," he responded in that throaty voice that made Bonnie slightly uncomfortable. He strode in and closed the door behind him.
"You wish," she said tilting her head for emphasis. "Seriously though, I found a fascinating account of one of your ancestors. I don't think it has anything to do with the Armory's interest in me, but I thought it might help you fill in some of the gaps in your personal history," she said as she went to the table and began looking through a stack of books. "Maybe I left it in the bedroom. I won't be a minute," she told him as she retreated into the other room. But she was. She was gone several minutes in fact.
By the time she returned, book in hand, Enzo had picked up the guitar and was plucking out a tune. She watched him for a brief moment and smiled. It was so easy for him, but now she knew it was nowhere near as easy as he made it look. "That's lovely," she told him.
Lifting his eyes from the instrument to meet hers, he said, "You would think so. It's that infernal tune you're constantly humming."
She allowed her smile to grow into a deep chuckle, "Yeah, it's kind of an unconscious thing I do when I'm concentrating. It's why I never study in libraries."
He played the melody again. "Where do you think it should go from here?" he asked.
Bonnie set the book aside, and sat beside him on the couch. She looked down and let her hair form a curtain that concealed her face. It felt weird humming the simple tune consciously for a change, but she did it anyway, and it grew beyond the short passage that she repeated so often while she worked. When she got to the end, she started again from the beginning. He joined her this time, trying to pick out the melody as she hummed. When they reached the end of the newly extended tune, he said, "I like it. We should work on it together."
Bonnie pulled her lower lip between her teeth. Her lips curled to a shy smile. "Really?"
"Yes, really. But in the meantime, you should practice those simple chord progressions I taught you while I take a look at that book."
"Chord progressions? It would be more fun to work on our song," Bonnie's voice entreated him playfully.
Enzo responded with mock gravitas, "Perhaps, but you'll never be able to play it, if you don't practice."
"I see you've met my old piano teacher," Bonnie replied.
He handed Bonnie the guitar, and retrieved the book from the end table where she'd placed it. "I've bookmarked the most interesting chapters," she told him as she positioned her fingers on the frets. She strummed, repositioned her fingers, and strummed again.
They sat companionably, if atonally on occasion, for the better part of an hour, before Enzo looked up and said, "You're right, this is interesting, but I'd better be getting back. I'll finish this next time." He bookmarked the page, and set the book aside.
"Would you like to stay for lunch?" she asked.
He looked at his watch. "I'd like nothing better, but I've already stayed too long. I have to get back."
She'd stopped playing, but didn't set the guitar aside. She looked at him, "so, what did you tell her this time?" By now, she looked forward to the inventive stories he told his cousin—and boss—to cover for his absences.
"I told her that I'm supplementing my meager income from the Armory by giving guitar lessons," was his snarky response. "Some students are desperately in need of my help," he added as he made his way to the door. "See you soon, love." With that he strode out, closing the door behind him.
Bonnie sat with the guitar still in hand, but not playing, just humming their tune. Several long moments passed before she heard his car pull away. All at once, the cabin seemed incredibly still and quiet. Bonnie sighed, and then let the sound of chord progressions fill the void.
~The end~