A/N: Almost three years later and chapter 2 has finally arrived! Second chapters are often harder to write than the first, a little easier than the last, but nerve wrecking in any case. I just want to thank everyone for the overwhelming support and love you showed to chapter one. I still can't say I'm continuing this, I have so much left to finish, but I did want to add to it. Hope you enjoy!
The place was coming down around her. Plumes of smoke grew thicker, nastier, and she could hardly breathe. This wasn't how she saw herself dying. She always pictured she'd be in a bed with her children and grandchildren surrounding her. She wouldn't be afraid. She wouldn't be alone. When you're loved, you never die alone.
But that's not how her story would end. She would die here in this farmhouse, powerless, literally broken, and terribly alone. Why did any of this have to happen to her.
Tears ran from the corner of her eyes. Anytime she tried to move, shooting, blinding-hot pain oscillated through her entire body, mostly in her abdomen. Her babies. They were coming. Three times she's lost consciousness, and she knew when it happened again, it would be final.
Something crashed next to her sending shards of glass flying everywhere. Bonnie Bennett-Lindholm was too weak to shield herself. Tiny, pinpricks of glass burrowed into what exposed skin it could reach and penetrate. She winced and moaned at the agony. It was endless and relentless.
With what little energy she had left, Bonnie reached down in her reserves for her last drop of Power to summon her familiar. Yet she felt nothing. Their connection—gone. Empty. Void. That would only be possible if…if her familiar was dead.
The huntress must have killed Cesare.
A fresh batch of tears streamed down her face.
Maybe…maybe Cesare sensed her distress and told…
"BONNIE!"
She coughed. It was so hard to hear over the rumbling of the foundation and the roaring fires, but maybe someone had just shouted her name? Bonnie dared not to even hope for a rescue at this point.
"BONNIE! WHERE ARE YOU? ANSWER ME GOTDAMMIT!"
Her face was smiling but the nerves beneath were practically paralyzed. She couldn't feel it.
A sharp wind blew past and then someone was kneeling over her, wrapping an arm underneath her back, lifting her, cradling her.
She couldn't see through her tears but she knew this face well enough. "Dayyy-mmmon."
"Don't talk," he ordered through clenched teeth, and then, she was no longer on the floor.
She was flying, moving fast but the heat of the fire still licked against her skin that was dirtied and bloodied.
Damon got her far enough away from the imploding farmhouse, settling her in the back seat of his car. His face was carved into stone. He was too incensed and pissed off to form more than a few words at a time. He was going to gut whoever did this to her.
"Hold still," he brought his wrist up to his mouth and sank his fangs in.
"No," Bonnie murmured softly, so softly he barely heard her.
His eyes went wild. "Bonnie! You're not dying like this."
"Wait."
"Wait for what?!" Damon raged.
Bonnie smiled weakly at his intensity. Still the same old hot-blooded vampire she had known since she was a girl. "The babies…they're coming. My water broke."
Damon didn't think his eyes could get any bigger. "Shit."
"You're going to have to deliver them because…I'm not going to make it to the hospital."
"Can you try?" he was near hysterics.
"I wish," she said on a scream. "Please, Damon. It's too soon for them to come!"
In the background the roof of the farmhouse buckled and caved in. The sound was monstrous.
Nostrils flared to handle the volume of air circulating through his lungs, the muscles in Damon's jaw flexed as he quickly calculated the odds. He could run Bonnie to the hospital faster than driving…that idea was nixed when a gush of bloody water rushed from between her splayed thighs. Bonnie fumbled with her underwear and Damon nearly passed out.
He could see a tiny dark head with matted curls, crowning.
"Okay," he said mostly to himself. "Okay," he was up and searching through his trunk where he luckily had a blanket, thankfully a first-aid kit, bottle of water and yes some bourbon. He sanitized his hands and remembered what he had seen in countless medical shows hoping they hadn't taken creative license on instructing a woman when to push.
"Breathe," he reminded Bonnie. "Deep breaths. On the next contraction, bear down and push. You're gonna push for ten seconds, okay?"
Bonnie was too busy screaming in agony.
"OKAY BONNIE?!"
"Yes, I heard you. It hurts, Damon."
"I know, baby, but this will be over soon. All right? Do you feel a contraction coming?"
"They haven't stopped."
"On the next big one…push!"
What she was going through felt like giving birth again.
Surrounded by people, dying was still a lonely walk. In that moment when it's just you and death and you make a place for your regrets, you think of the lives you touched, the lives you should have touched, and the ones that touched you. You say goodbye to comfort and dignity and make one final plea for the living to carry out on your behalf. Remember. To remember you.
She was drifting away, riding an avalanche that would bury her for good this time. Her lips moved though no one could see it through their tears. Even with their superior hearing they missed her final words.
"…stay together…"
Her heart contracted and released once, again, and then…nothing. She was dead.
.
.
.
Something happened. She couldn't explain it. Only that she was…grabbed. Backwards, she was being hauled backwards. And with the speed, her thoughts went in reverse and she couldn't stop the torrent. Pain, loneliness, abandonment, and anger emotions she had shucked after taking that final indrawn breath came rushing back. Chills stole her heat, racked what was left of her existence. Weight, crushing pressure came next like she was being stuffed into a package she wasn't meant to fit.
What the hell was going on?
She was expanding now, senses returning. She could feel something under her. Her lungs strained for a drop of oxygen. Her heart pounded in tandem in a space that felt about as big as the eye of a needle. Muffled sound bombarded her ears, and the strongest thought on her mind was she had to get out.
She fumbled, unable to control her limbs. They felt like nothing and unbearably heavy simultaneously. She opened her mouth. Her jaw resisted. So she gave up and did her best to concentrate. Unfortunately there was just too much to grip on to. The feeling of fibers against her face distracted her. What was that? Hair? Right, it was hair. Something on her skin, covering her from the chest to her knees irritated her. She couldn't move her toes; they were imprisoned in some kind of hard material.
The hunger though, the funny taste in the back of her parched throat quadrupled her misery. She finally opened her eyes after several tries, and once she did, she was welcomed to the sight of darkness.
Something was close to her face. The minute her arms and hands cooperated, she flattened her palms on the object and pushed. Air and light rushed in startling and blinding her.
She sat up, heaving for a breath, drained, hungry, and confused.
222.
The scene in front of Bonnie Bennett didn't make sense. Everything hurt. Colors were too bright, sound was too loud, and the smells…they were so overwhelming that for a second she thought she might be sick.
A presence drawing near caught her attention and Bonnie whipped her head to look. A pair of green eyes in a beautiful russet face offered her a tentative smile.
"It's okay, mom. I'll explain. Promise."
Bonnie blinked. Mom? Her jaws moved with concentrated effort. Language, vaguely she knew she possessed the ability to form sounds with her mouth and tongue and both felt swollen. She managed, "Who are you?"
The smile on the woman's face vanished into one of apprehensive fear. "You don't…know who I am?"
Bonnie's lids closed and reopened owlishly. She said nothing because she wasn't sure what to say. What was going on? What was happening to her?
Eyes became watery, breaths shaky. "The sacrifice," the triplets murmured resignedly. What candles remained burning, blew out.
Bonnie's eyes danced around for a moment. The walls, the windows, the ceiling, she recognized none of what she was seeing. Then she saw him. Dark and pale, a dichotomy that made her absently touch her throat. Bonnie frowned wondering why Damon Salvatore was looking at her like he was having an embolism.
He had conversed with ghosts. Dined with killers who recounted murders that made his stomach turn. Consorted with angels that wanted to save everyone but themselves. He had seen and done much of everything, dipping his fingers in different pots like a buffet. After all that you'd think he'd be prepared for Bonnie coming back to life. Inside his guts, birds were devouring horses, trees were uprooting the dead, and the sun was crashing into the moon. Damon had gone cold and prayed this wasn't a cruel joke.
He took a step forward. Stopped. His head rotated toward Elena but five seconds later he was gaping at Bonnie again who was making an attempt to move before realizing she wasn't in bed.
She was in a padded box, no not a box but a coffin. If she was in a coffin that meant she died. "Oh," Bonnie gasped and started coughing.
"Mom?" Caeden went to her, or at least made an attempt, but was bumped out of the way.
Damon flashed to Bonnie patting her gently on the back until her coughing fit subsided, murmuring it was all right. He checked her hands to make sure she hadn't coughed up blood or anything else vital. They were clean, soft. His thumb unconsciously rubbed her pulse, feeling that telltale beat.
It was supremely disconcerting looking into the face of the young woman he should have been a better friend to, should have taken better care of instead of wasting so many years. But here and there he saw the wizened Bonnie flickering in her notorious eyes. Damon couldn't help himself. He impatiently framed her face, feeling life rushing beneath her dermis.
His forehead crumbled and evened out at an alarming rate. "Hi."
"Hi?"
Her confused timbre made Damon laugh a little. "How do you feel?"
Stefan hated to be the one to disturb Damon and Bonnie's moment, but there was the matter of Elena who was curled up on the couch doing a fairly decent impersonation of Lord Voldemort before he inhabited his body.
Right when he was about to say something, the triplets shifted in his direction, each wearing the same fiercely protective expression. Stefan wasn't scared of them, in theory, but understood it took diplomacy to handle Bonnie's daughters.
"Let them have this moment, Uncle Stefan," they spoke in unison.
It was frightening whenever they did that.
Jeremy objected to this, of course, as he hobbled closer. "I don't care about them having a moment. I want you three to reverse what you did to my sister. Now!"
Caroline's eyes got even bigger. No one yelled at the triplets and survived. She watched as the girls turned their focus on Jeremy, moving precisely, more in sync than a phalanx of soldiers.
Coming under fire, Jeremy's knobby knees began to shake. He swallowed. Matt wagged his head. Funerals would never cease to amaze him.
Stefan intervened, "Caeden, Faye, Loki," hands on his hips. "Knock it the hell off. You've done enough for tonight."
Caeden and Faora dismissed Jeremy as inconsequential, yet Loki continued to glower.
"If he opens his mouth again demanding we do something, he might not like what comes out of it," Loki warned and turned away.
"What is going on?" Bonnie hiccupped softly.
Damon angled his body to block the rest of the room, to be the center of Bonnie's attention. His hands hadn't stopped cradling her cheeks. Asking him to relinquish his hold was the impossible. "What's the last thing you remember?"
Memory, everything was jumbled to Bonnie. "I…"
Damon saw her eyes roll into the back of her head. Her body went limp. The triplets were immediately on him, and he hissed at them to get back as he scooped Bonnie out of the coffin.
"She's our mother. We'll take care of her," Caeden protested.
Damon growled, "You've done enough damage tonight. Stefan," he barked not once looking away from Bonnie. "Can you get Elena situated in one of the guest…in my room? Caroline…"
"I know. Tell everyone the wake has been cancelled. On it."
It was there Loki remembered, "Dad."
222.
The moon was strange tonight. Pale greenish-blue. The color of the Aurora Borealis. In his mind he felt her snuggling up to him in bed, the only turf on which they mutually agreed never to bring any of their issues to. Her warm body heating his, her soft lips at his ear she whispered a story about Mars falling in love with the moon. That regardless of the millions of miles separating them, he vowed to be her one and only lover. That he would never leave her. He had always pictured himself as Mars but little by little, as truths slipped through the cracks like rainwater, he finally realized this whole time she hadn't been talking about them but about him.
Now they were both without her.
Low profile tires rolled over herringbone brick. The Triton SE luxury sedan was brought to a stop in front of an antediluvian house that survived two major wars and a lot of bloodshed. Looking up at the structure, he sneered for his own benefit and told his driver to wait for him.
His old bones rattled like wind chimes as he exited the car and lumbered to the door. A wreath of orchids and calla lilies hung beneath the peephole, and knowing they were her favorite flowers made the reason for his being here that much harder to accept. His eyes turned misty, he sniffled, wiped his bulbous nose with a handkerchief before pressing down on the brass lever opening the door.
Faora sensed him long before he appeared. The door swung open and for two tenths of a second she looked away from the ensuing drama, and towards the archway that her father now occupied.
Bright, evergreen eyes met hers; the sorrow etched in them went soul deep. Her father's bald head caught the light from the lamps outside, and the dark suit he wore shielded him from the chilly elements. His gray beard covered a mouth that sometimes twitched. Her father had suffered with facial muscle spasms his entire life that he often hid by constantly smiling. He wasn't smiling now which meant his face was twitching uncontrollably.
Faora tapped Caeden on the shoulder hoping to garner her attention but she was too busy arguing with Uncle Damon.
Viggo Lindholm, the estranged ex-husband of Bonnie Bennett ambled his way inside the boardinghouse. The only one to take notice of him was his middle daughter—Faora her lovely dark green irises widening. He expected to see despondent faces and his daughters clutching one another; however the scene he arrived on…it didn't make sense.
When he was contacted by Caroline who told him of Bonnie's passing Viggo hopped on the first available flight from Sweden to Mystic Falls. He had retreated to his ancestral home after his divorce, periodically returning to the states to see his daughters. His relationship with them had become strained. A man could make a ton of regrettable mistakes when he fell under the belief his wife loved another more than she loved him. Still there had been no excuse for his actions since Bonnie had been innocent. It had been a supreme error in judgement that Viggo believed could have been worked out. Only, Bonnie's obstinacy made such a feat impossible.
Every day they were separated, Viggo missed her fiercely. Missed his family. Missed getting the chance to see his daughters grow and flourish. He had lost count of the number of times he pled with Bonnie for forgiveness, and even when she gave into him on those lonely nights, she hated herself for her weakness. He ripped their family apart. Something he would have to live with for the rest of his life, which he didn't have too long to live.
"Girls," Viggo said.
Several heads whipped in his direction. He blinked and rooted around in his pockets for his glasses. While he struggled to get them on, Loki smiled waiting for the fireworks. Oh, sure her uncle wanted to slaughter her and her sisters for draining his precious—now geriatric—girlfriend of her youth and beauty, but he disliked her father more than he could ever hate them.
Viggo blinked and realized that Caeden stood in front of him. Wordlessly, she enveloped him in a hug that he returned, yet he looked back to Damon standing in the middle of the living room. His fingers dimpled the fabric of Caeden's dress and she grunted a little in protest at her dad's tight hold.
No one made a sound…except Elena. She groaned pitiably, thrashing her head on a couch cushion because her joints ached, and her throat was irritated—she was so thirsty. Her vision, she could hardly make out distinct shapes, and her hearing wasn't the best. Sound seemed to go in and out. Why was everyone whispering?
Stefan carefully slid his arms beneath her back and knees, lifted her. She gave a startled cry at suddenly being moved. "It's all right, Elena. I have you."
"Stefan?"
The vampire retreated to the stairs giving Viggo a small nod of acknowledgement unsurprised the older gentleman would go right back to glaring at Damon.
Viggo ended the embrace with his eldest.
"Dad there's something we need to tell you. Mom…she…she's alive. She's okay."
His lower lip puckered. "What are you talking about?" his gaze volleyed between the splitting image of his ex-wife to the vampire he couldn't stand who was holding a young woman in his arms. Viggo stopped thinking, stopped breathing as he got a real good look. His chest rose and fell alarmingly.
"Dad," Caeden touched his shoulder, worried. He had high blood pressure and she was kicking herself for not warning him, but she had been vowed to secrecy in order for the spell to work.
"Someone explain…Bonnie," he fumbled with his words as he skirted around Caeden and entered the living room.
"I'm taking her upstairs. She needs rest," Damon disappeared leaving behind a burst of wind.
222.
Caroline cocked her head to the side, taking Elena's measure. Seeing her age fifty years in seconds had been scary and freakishly enthralling and that made her feel like the worst kind of friend in the world. She figured the least she could do was be outraged on Elena's behalf since the woman was so frail now she could barely talk above a whisper. However, she understood the triplets' malice. Didn't mean she sympathized or agreed with what they had done to one of their mother's oldest friends, but she got it.
Elena stirred, whining pitiably as she came to. Her hooded lids opened to reveal confused brown orbs. Some of the color had returned and Caroline was curious as to how good Elena's vision was. The immortal tried to imagine aging, but that was a difficult task when she had stopped aging at seventeen.
The doppelganger smacked her dry lips together, "Damon?"
Moving into action, Caroline sat on the edge of the bed, gently picked up one of Elena's reed-thin hands that were surprisingly warm. "Hey, Elena."
"Caroline? W-where's Damon?"
Caroline pressed her lips together. She knew exactly where Damon was. In another bedroom on this very floor. With Bonnie. "He's just taking care of something. He'll be here shortly."
"What happened to me? Did something go wrong with the spell?"
Not exactly. "I don't have any answers at the moment. I wish I could tell you what's going on," Caroline apologized.
Elena sniffled. Perhaps Kai lied, omitted that while yes she would remain sleeping so long as Bonnie lived, she'd age. A myriad of emotions ransacked Elena and she knew she'd feel better if Damon were here because he had a way of easing her flustered mind, distracting her from whatever storm was brewing. But he wasn't here. Caroline was being vague, Bonnie was dead, and…
Elena went back to her last thought. There had been that perfect moment of awakening, and knowing it was real and that she wasn't dreaming it for the billionth time. Of being cushioned in Damon's arms. Something happened. Her senses, body functions began to dull, dampen and she felt withered and gray. Damon had mentioned some names, names she had never heard before but he had spoken with familiarity.
There had been chanting, right? Elena remembered hearing chanting. Only one breed of people chanted. Witches. Had witches done this to her? Why? She hadn't done anything. Why would they do this? To ruin her chances of having the life she had been cheated out of having fifty, sixty, however many years ago?
Caroline saw Elena becoming visibly upset as she seemed to be piecing together the events of last night.
"Witches did this to me," she finally said. Rheumy brown orbs pleaded with Caroline, "Why?"
The blonde vampire started to retort and changed her mind. The answer was simple. The triplets wanted their mother back and Elena was instrumental. Almost deadly instrumental.
"They…did it for Bonnie," Caroline admitted reluctantly.
Elena blinked. "Bonnie? If I'm awake that means she's dead," her voice faltered at the end. She still didn't want to think about that.
Caroline shook her head. "She's not dead, Elena. Bonnie is alive."
Shock tightened Elena's emaciated features. "She's alive? How? Shouldn't she be…because of Kai's spell. Did she find a loophole?"
"She didn't but her…daughters did."
"Daughters? Bonnie has daughters?"
"Yes, she does. Fifty years have passed since Alaric and Jo's wedding and the spell took effect. Bonnie lived her life, she had…has children and they were the ones who…"
"Did this to me," Elena's chin quivered. None of this was making sense. Why would they do this to her? They didn't know her and she sure as hell didn't know them. It wasn't her fault what Kai had done to both their mother and to her. "I want to see Bonnie."
"She's not…conscious at the moment."
Elena inhaled sharply. "Her daughters…I want to talk to them."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
Elena frowned, adding more lines to her face. "They're punishing me for something that wasn't my fault. They should know Bonnie wouldn't approve of this."
"I'm pretty sure they do know that, Elena." And because Caroline knew her nieces exceptionally well, she knew they didn't care. "They're with Bonnie right now. I'm sure everything will be worked out."
Elena clamped her mouth wanting to argue further but came to the conclusion Caroline was right. She was in no physical condition to go up against anyone. Tiredness was urging her to close her eyes, sleep, and once morning came hopefully Bonnie, Damon, or someone would be able to convince Bonnie's daughters to reverse whatever they had done to her.
Caroline stayed with Elena until she began snoring lightly. She rose from the bed and traipsed down the hall, poking her head into the room where Bonnie had been laid down. She was once again surrounded by her daughters with Damon holding up the far wall, arms crossed, scowl on his face.
He looked at her with a raised brow.
"Elena was asking for you. She's asleep now."
Damon nodded once and went right back to staring at Bonnie.
Despite her worries of leaving Damon alone with Caeden, Faora, and Loki, Caroline trusted they'd behave themselves in the meantime, and journeyed downstairs to help Stefan finish straightening up the living room.
"Everything all right up there?" Stefan folded and stacked chairs.
"For now. This is the calm before the storm."
Snorting, Stefan believed that was an understatement.
"Where're Jeremy, Matt, and Viggo?"
"Matt's granddaughter picked him up. Viggo is somewhere. Jeremy is probably in the kitchen taking his pills, which reminds me I need to hide the alcohol."
Caroline plopped down into a chair. "This is…madness but I'm not surprised."
Stefan concurred with a nod. "I'm not either. My brother is completely fucked."
The two looked at one another. Caroline slapped a hand over her mouth but her laughter could still be heard. Stefan didn't hold back.
222.
Unrest. The house had been in unrest or maybe that was just him. With dawn approaching he sat outside in the garden, flexing and curling his hands, elbows braced on his knees staring into nothingness. Seven days ago he had a clear concept of his emotions: heartbroken, anxious, guilt. Today he couldn't grasp much of anything. What was it said about two great forces colliding? How it could lead to cataclysmic chaos? The two great loves of his life, one realized the other unrequited, were back in the here and now. Damon rubbed and gripped the nape of his neck, dying for a drink, dying for a clone. Escape.
The really terrible truth? One he wasn't ready to say to anyone let alone himself? He was…
"Are you really that surprised, Uncle Damon? Did you honestly think we would let our mother die?"
Damon's jaw hardened at the sound of Faora's voice. She hadn't spoken the words haughtily, maliciously, or even smugly; just matter-of-fact as if reading straight from a textbook.
The problem for Damon wasn't that the girls would do anything for their mother. He expected nothing less from them. What he had an issue with was using Elena, siphoning her youth and vitality to pretty much 'power up' Bonnie. It was cruel and insidious. There was no nice way to say it or dress it up.
"Faye if you know what's best for you, you won't take another step."
Naturally she didn't listen.
Damon knew she wouldn't because she didn't fear what he might do, which made his anger flare all the more. He was tired of these chicks dismissing him, writing him off. She and her sisters may have thought they had immunity simply because lashing out at them would spell true and complete expulsion out of Bonnie's life. And…they may have had a slight point, but that wasn't the point. He was Damon Fucking Salvatore and he always got even.
He abruptly rose from the bench, faced her, his vampiric visage out on full display.
Faora didn't look sad or remorseful about her actions, Damon noticed. In fact, she'd do it again and wouldn't just stop at rapidly aging Elena. She'd kill her. That detail had him shudder inwardly because Faora used to be so sweet and gentle. Any time he was injured after facing off with an enemy, she would try to nurse him back to health despite the constant reminders that he healed quickly. She just liked to mother people.
Now, his sweet little princess was a cold-hearted bitch.
"What has Elena ever done to any of you?" Damon questioned, veins fattening with rage. "You don't even know her."
"I know enough," Faora replied coolly. "You're mad at what we did to your girlfriend, and yeah it's fucked up," she agreed with the barest hint of remorse, "but that's not the full reason why you're so pissed off."
"It's not?"
"No, it's not," Faora moved closer. "You're upset because you have another shot with my mother and you want to take it, but you feel conflicted because Elena's back, and you think you owe her for the years she's lost. You feel you have no choice but to be with her since you waited a century and a half to be reunited with Katherine, but you hadn't fallen in love with anyone else during that first trial separation.
"You're mad and resentful of the circumstances. If you choose one, you lose the other. You feel compelled to do what you think is right. And the right thing for Damon is to be with Elena, only…Damon isn't madly in love with Elena Gilbert any longer. You're mad because you fell out of love with her and in love with my mother and you're going to have to break a heart. That's why you're pissed. Say I'm lying."
Damon pleaded with his mouth to say something, anything, recite the alphabet, but nary a sound would come.
A self-satisfied smirk lifted Faroa's lips. "Just as I thought."
"That's right act smug but your mother doesn't know who the fuck you are."
Faora's nostrils flared and her chin quivered.
"Good job," he mocked derisively.
Just as he had seen Bonnie do a million times, Faora squared her shoulders, jutted her chin up. "We knew there'd be a consequence. The spell might have failed. Might have killed her, us, and Elena. Mama losing her memory…in comparison to not having her at all, we can deal with it."
They could but Damon couldn't.
"In any case, Uncle Damon the road for you isn't any easier. We won't know how extensive her memory loss is until she wakes up. She might have lost her memories of us but she also has lost her recent memories of you. If she's been reset from the first time she died. That means she's at the stage where the two of you meant absolutely nothing to one another. What are you going to do if that's the case?" she asked softly.
Things went dark for a moment. Damon saw himself flying over to Faora, but a figure moved behind her, and from the shadows stepped the last guy on earth he wanted to talk to.
"Faora, my love why don't you go inside," Viggo suggested. "I need to have a word with him."
For once Faye didn't put up a fight. She retreated inside leaving her father alone with Damon.
The two men sized one another up but it was Viggo who shook his head. It had been ten years since the last time he saw Damon and despite knowing what he was, he despised the fact he hadn't aged. At all. He thought Bonnie's sickness might have some kind of an adverse effect on the immortal, maybe give him a beer belly and a couple of gray hairs, but Damon remained untouched, aesthetically preserved. The contempt and jealousy he lugged around…like his testosterone Viggo let it drain out of him. He was an old man grimacing at the last stage of his life. It took too much energy to hate someone his ex-wife loved.
Damon wasn't seeing the aged man in front of him but the strapping, handsome guy Bonnie had introduced a month after dating Viggo. His hair—when he had hair—had been blonde, shaved low on the sides, longer up top; eyes sharp and evergreen, a face and physique to rival his own. He looked at the man who married Bonnie, sired children with her, and as much as Damon longed to let the old hurt burn, he stood stoically.
"My girls are clever, I'll give them that," Viggo began, "but they shouldn't have interfered. Bonnie wouldn't want this. They should have let her rest."
"I wouldn't let them hear you say that. That's a hot topic for them."
Viggo's grin was boyish and successful at erasing a decade off his face. "I still love Bonnie. We had some good years together. However, the whole time there had been a third party in our marriage."
Damon didn't fidget at the implication.
"I'm too old to hate you for past sins. If you love her which I suspect you still do then love her the right way. Either she comes first or leave her alone. Do you hear me, boy?"
Damon snorted at the "boy" comment. "Yeah, I hear you, old man."
222.
"Where were you?" Loki fired at her sister who crept back into the room.
"Outside having words," Faora replied taking position on the far side of the bed, next to her mother's head. "Has she woken or mumbled something in her sleep? You know how she can have an entire conversation while knocked out cold."
Loki chortled. "No. She's been like this while you were busy giving Uncle Damon a hard fucking time and don't deny you weren't. I can smell the salt you poured into his wounds."
"Whatever, Artemis."
Loki's tinkling laughter earned her a scowl from Caeden. "Don't look at me like that," she directed at her older sibling." She loves baiting him."
"And you love coddling him."
Loki clucked her tongue then shrugged. "Has anyone talked to dad?" she maneuvered the debate to safer ground.
Caeden nodded. "We spoke briefly."
"I left him alone with Damon," Faora said after a moment.
"There might be a funeral after all," Loki quipped.
At that moment, Caroline meandered into the room, wringing her hands. She had something delicate to broach and knew Bonnie's daughters could react in two ways. "How is she?"
"Comfortable," Caeden tucked strands of Bonnie's hair behind her ear, marveling at its softness, feeling the fibers of life. "Was there something you needed? Or…something you want to say?"
Not much could be hidden from they who missed nothing, Caroline mused. "You're not going to like this but I think it might be good in the long run. I think…I think it would be a good idea if you guys headed home."
Three pairs of somber forest green eyes became fiery.
"Bonnie doesn't remember who you are," Caroline quickly explained. "If she wakes up to find three faces that are eerily similar to hers staring down at her…assuming she has her powers do you want her to use them against you?"
None of the young women blinked or twitched or looked uncertain. However, Caeden broke first, garnering evil glares from her younger sisters.
"She's right," she admitted softly. "Going into this we didn't know what the outcome would be. If it would even work. If we'd get mom back. She's alive and for now…and for now that's going to have to be good enough."
But that was unacceptable to Faora who geared up to object. "We can't just leave her. She's going to need us."
"We're not leaving her for good. I do believe with time her memory will come back. It's just going to take a while for this brain of hers to download over seventy years' worth of memories," Caeden argued.
Faora and Loki exchanged looks. But the former stubbornly insisted, "I can't leave her."
"We'll be back tomorrow. Let's just give mom some space tonight," Loki urged.
"I'll be here," Caroline promised. "I'll do my best to answer any questions she might have, get her caught up on things depending on what she remembers. I'll call if things go downhill."
Caeden kissed Bonnie lightly on the cheek who twitched at the contact. Loki was up next kissing her mother's hand and whispering a famous Bennett blessing. Faora, predictably, was the hold out.
"Come on, Faye. Mama is fine."
"Anything could happen…magic can be so fragile and thin."
"We did everything by the book, you know this," Loki propped a hand on her hip. "We took no shortcuts. We cut deals and made promises now you have to believe. It's been three hours already. If it were going to fade it would have done so."
Caroline could earnestly say her interest was piqued. What exactly had her nieces done? She knew what had been done in the past to bring Bonnie back, but this time had been wildly different. "What did…"
"No questions, Aunt Caroline," Loki interrupted, her clipped tone like steel. "There are something's better off not knowing. Faye, let's go."
Faora shook her head, obstinate, determined not to leave. She couldn't abandon her mother, wanting to hear her voice again, wanting to feel her soothing touch only a mother could provide to her child. And she knew she was being a bit of a doubtful brat but she couldn't help it. Being the middle child she was sometimes overlooked. Caeden was the overachiever—developing first, learning skills faster, mastering things almost on her first try. Loki was the baby and kept everyone on their toes. Then there was her. Not fast or slow, not perfect or an adorable nuisance. Yet Bonnie took time out just for her and Faora wanted that connection back.
But she resigned herself to the harsh truth it wasn't going to happen tonight.
"Call us if anything changes," Caeden addressed Caroline who nodded. "And no matter what…don't let mom see Elena."
Ten minutes later, Loki sat behind the wheel of her Jaguar. Faora walked to the left side of the car and fell into the passenger seat.
The wipers going, it cleared the windshield of light drops of rain. It was dark, deathly quiet, but Loki examined her sister who seemed fixated on one window in particular.
"We made the right decision, didn't we?" Faora asked and looked at her sister across the console. Her bravado from earlier had all but melted away and was replaced with crippling anxiety. What if they made a mistake? What if bringing their mom back resulted in more than just memory loss? What they've done to Elena would be seen as a declaration of war because if there was one thing that was repeatedly hammered into their heads growing up was how much Bonnie loved and protected Elena. "Mama will understand why we I what we did?"
Loki drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. "Your guess is as good as mine on which way the dice will roll. All we can do is brace ourselves," she paused. "Mama is gonna whoop us good. Ain't you excited?" she shimmied in her seat and revved the engine.
Faora snorted.
"We're going to be there for her and that's all that matters," Loki declared and shifted into drive.
"And Uncle Damon…?" Faora became distracted by the song playing. It was an old school record that had been wildly popular back when her mom was in her twenties.
"…he better call Becky with the good hair…" Loki sang and zoomed down the winding driveway.
222.
Quiet. The boardinghouse was quiet when he came back inside. The coffins were gone, the furniture was put back in their rightful places, and the flower arrangements had been cleared away. Looking around you'd never think this was the scene of a wake for a beloved woman. Just another gaudy house, haunted, but well looked after.
Damon eyed the drink cart but turned from it and grabbed the balustrade, one foot on the bottom step. He craned his neck to the top of the stairs. Who was he going to look on first? Everything within him was pulling in one set direction but whatever shards of nobility he still lugged around, they were begging him to see to the other one first. But alas, the decision was taken out of his hand. He heard a door open and soft, tiny feet whisper along the floorboards. His lids fluttered shut and he inhaled deeply, smelling her. He went slowly, climbing the stairs one at a time hoping to prolong the moment despite the fact his muscles twitched in rebellion for him to move his ass faster.
When he made it to the top of the stairs he found himself incapable of taking another step. He drunk her in. Those bare toes, those dancer's legs, that beautiful skin. Damon couldn't look away. There she stood distracted by a mirror, distracted by her own reflection. Damon observed as she touched her cheeks, her fingertips lightly grazing lips he had spent hours obsessing about how they tasted, their degree of softness. She stared at her arms next then flattened her palms along her stomach.
The floorboard beneath Damon's shoe loudly protested at the weight.
Her head snapped up toward him.
Her eyes met his and it was like a sledgehammer slammed into his chest. Something happened Damon didn't believe could happen twice and with the same person. And that feeling, that sensation grew.
Damon listened to her heart change rhythm and begin to pound. He'd been without that sound for seven days. "I'm not," his voice was barely strong enough to carry the sound down the hallway to her ears. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Bonnie tilted her head a fraction and resisted looking around to see if anyone else was near. The way he was looking at her…should be bothering her more than it did.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Bonnie. Do you know where you are?"
Infinitesimally, she nodded.
"Do you know who I am?"
Again she nodded.
Relief made Damon take a huge step forward. "Good. Good. Now, this is important…do you know who you are?"
This time instead of nodding, Bonnie narrowed her eyes. "Yes. Now can you answer something for me?" she rasped. Her throat was painfully dry. And unbeknownst to her, she hadn't used her voice in this body in over fifty years.
"Anything."
"Why the hell am I here?"
Damon smiled. "Long story. Can I tell you something?"
Bonnie stiffened. "Do you have to say it while practically standing on top of me?"
It was then Damon realized that yes, he was hovering above Bonnie. His legs, of their own volition, had carried him across the space that separated them. He didn't move and his smile deepened at the flash of annoyance that crossed Bonnie's face. Damon missed that too.
"What do you have to say to me, Damon?"
I love you. "You have crust in your eye."
Bonnie's jaw slackened and then her tiny fist punched the center of his chest. "I do not." As Damon chuckled he saw her discreetly try to clean her eye.
"Come on, judgey," he motioned with his head towards the staircase. "You gotta be starving. What do you say to a stack of pancakes?"
Her nose wrinkled but she fell into step with Damon who tried not to stare at her too openly.
Bonnie shyly glanced up at him. "You're being nice to me. Why? Did someone die?"
"Depends on how you look at it…"
Down the hallway, the door to Damon's bedroom was cracked open and looking out was a dull brown eye.
A/N: Thoughts? Thanks so much for reading XOXO!
