Nags Head is a little town in Dare County with a population of barely three thousand people that comes to life during the long summers, making it a busy vacation spot due to its beaches and the sand dunes of Jockey's Ridge.

Bonnie must have spent more than a few afternoons on the beach because her dark skin has taken on more of a bronzed gold. Damon can see it clearly though the light is dying. She's wearing a pair of fitted high-waist shorts that look a bit retro and a coral cami top with spaghetti straps, one of which keeps falling off her right shoulder, making her carry her grocery bag with her left hand. He can tell the weight of it is cutting off her blood circulation from the way she keeps on moving it from one hand to the other every now and again.

The little pain implies she's alive to feel it, so Damon feels no urge to go and help her. It's been awhile since he saw her, saw the way her steps seem to become a little dance when her mind drifts away, the way she pushes the hair back from her face when it tickles her.

His steps are soundless, and it's easy for him to blend in with the shadows creeping around, but when he sees her turn her gaze over her shoulder he grins at her intuitive nature. Still, she can't catch him. Damon walks, mimicking her pace, and it feels almost like walking with her the way they did when they used to go grocery shopping on the Other Side. She always came back for him, back then. But this time she didn't. This time she sent a lousy letter, didn't even take the trouble to learn how he was managing without her and supplied a picture to show just how wonderful she was without his shit to clean up after. Some part of his rational mind knows that the smile was not a laugh at his expense, some sort of subliminal message to twist the knife into his insides, but he is bleeding all the same without her, so it does not change a thing.

"Don't you miss me?" he whispers, watching her back as she walks ahead of him. Almost like she heard him, Bonnie slows down, looks over her shoulder again before a male voice calls to her. The boy jogs to her, offering to carry her bag. She politely refuses but he insists, taking it from her hand, which she massages, as he takes on walking at her side.

He doesn't like the boy, doesn't like the way he looks at her, doesn't like that she smiles up at him, and can't guess if the silence between them is companionable or just awkward. He can hear her laugh at a joke he made, and it doesn't have the same inflection it had with him, so he can't help but wonder if that's the kind of laugh Enzo could entice from her when she hit her head and decided to go for that loser. Damon thinks it actually sounds just a little bit empty, just a little bit sad, but that's probably him imagining what he wants to see, only it doesn't look like she's going to knock his teeth out and tell him how she belongs to another.

When they reach her house he doesn't stop at the picket fence but follows her onto the steps and inside the front door like he's been there many times before. Is the boy the reason why she suddenly wants to make a normal life for herself in another state? Damon slips his hands inside the pockets of his jeans, his fingers brushing the Polaroid tucked within, and forces himself to take a breath and lean back against a wall, waiting patiently for the boy to leave.

#

Her mother's insinuations about her attraction to Nathan are a whisper under the voice of her own reason; and sadly, both of them agree on the point. The look he sports today, with the temperature rising constantly in the last week, is different, but she can still see the obnoxious way he behaves, if only to hide his shyness, and she knows what attracted her to him.

The same way she knows now, with such painful, humiliating clarity, what it is that attracted her to Enzo. And she'd like to hide; hide from the choices she made in the last four years, from herself and the perfect face she sees whenever she dreams at night.

"You seem troubled," he says, peeking at her as he takes the two steps of the porch.

Bonnie pushes the front door open, shakes her head to deny it, "No, I'm just tired," and doesn't look him in the eye as she holds for him. Truth is, she had some ties to cut and it hurt. Enzo did not take seeing her return from the dead only to break things off with him very well. What she had to offer was not what he wanted, so they broke it off cleanly, holding nothing in their hands.

"You're alone?" he asks, looking around before following her into the kitchen.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmurs. Everything is neat and practical, like every vacation house, and he watches her as she puts away the groceries.

"I could keep you company," he suggests, slipping his hands inside the pockets of his pants. She raises her eyes, and though she's not really surprised by his proposal, she's not ready for her own. There's a little part of her, a very desperate little part, that wants to say yes, throw herself into whatever this might be – a one night stand or a four-year relationship in which she'll tell herself how happy she is and how he's the only one – but she's done this before and she has no idea where to start and pick up the pieces of herself. And then there's another one, one that wants to retract into a corner and tell him not to touch her, because she can't bear the idea of being touched by anyone. If he does, if someone does, she'll bruise and bleed and break and cry.

"Thanks, but I'd just rather eat something and go to sleep," she explains with a tight smile, letting the fridge close on its own.

"Maybe we could go swimming tomorrow?" he proposes casually. "I have a boat. We can roast in the sun and be in peace off the coast." Damon would have thrown out a passing comment about rubbing the sun cream on her back. She almost smiles thinking of the impertinent sound of his voice.

Nathan can't play the part to the end because he cares too much what other people think of him.

His tone is different, a little bit remiss, like the first refusal was an unexpected rejection that wounded him more than he let on. She can read him easily and it makes her feel both sad and guilty.

"I don't think we should," she replies softly, adjusting the strap of her top.

"Why not? I like you," he protests, "and I thought you liked me." Did she lead him on? He flirted with her and made her feel pretty when she didn't know anything about herself but what she saw in the eyes of those around her, but he didn't seem serious about her. She was really just the new girl in town, the only one that he still hadn't made fall at his feet. Remembering her life made her grow distant, more indifferent, if not cynical about her taste in men, and it drew him closer.

He's a good guy that mistook the thrill of the challenge with the sting of love. Bonnie knows the difference now.

"There's hardly a girl in town that doesn't, is there?" she asks, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "But summer flings are not my thing."

"Maybe that's not what I want from you," he presses, sounding a little bit hopeful, and maybe a little bit scared, too.

"You don't really mean that and I'm okay with it," she explains quietly. She fears that raising her voice would make the walls inside tremble and awaken the pain that has her numb. "I'm just… getting over someone, and I need time on my own, you know."

"I get it," he says, but she doesn't believe he does. She actually envies that of him. "But if you decide otherwise I might be of help with that," he suggests, with his flirty grin in place. "You know where to find me."

Bonnie giggles and nods, "I do."

She doesn't accompany him to the door. She barely rummages through what she just brought to decide what she's going to cook for herself – probably nothing, because her stomach is full already, mostly of the memories she's swallowed down, everyone one of them resurfacing through her consciousness – when she hears the front door opening and closing again.

"Nathan?" she calls. "Did you forget something?" she asks without turning, trying not to sound tired. She'll make herself an herbal infusion, she decides, opening one cabinet to look for the dried pomegranate flowers. She can hear the sound of his footsteps but he doesn't say a word, so she puts the small jar on the shelf and turns towards him.

For a moment she thinks it's a trick of her mind and her heart breaks. Then she realizes that it's not and it only feels worse because Damon stands there as an existing reminder of that part of her she misses, that part that makes her drag herself around like there's a limb missing.

"Damon," she whispers, her breath shallow as she tries to compose herself, to freeze her face into a mask that won't give away the state she's in. She's so happy. She's so fucking happy, and she shouldn't be because he does not really care about her, not enough, not as much as she does for him. He's happy on his own, he's happy because of Elena and she'll die a thousand deaths before she'll let him see the effect he has on her – the way her legs can't stay steady, the way her heart is beating out of her chest, the way she can't look away from his annoying, handsome face, from that shade of blue that's sinking into her very soul until it becomes the color of every breath she'll ever take.

Bonnie wants to ask whether the warmth of his body pressed to her side while watching movies on his bed is something her mind invented or if it was as real as it seems in the moments her thoughts slip away from her. "What are you doing here?" she asks instead. "If you need help, I'm sorry but I haven't got control of my powers back just yet, so you'll have to ask somewhere else," she says, trying to rationalize his presence in her home.

Damon looks stunned, but her words seem to sober him up quickly. They drip inside his brain like dew falling from a leaf, snapping him out of it.

"I was worried you'd crinkle my shirt jumping into my arms. What luck that you can actually hold yourself back," he says with an sardonic grin that does not warm his eyes.

Oh, she wants to do that, to wrap herself around him and feel his arms trapping her, his hands pressing her against his chest for just a short century or so until she can peel herself away, but she can't. She must tear him away from her heart, like a band-aid on a bleeding cut, so she crosses her arms under her breast to shield herself from his familiarity, to keep from crumbling under his gaze.

"I just came to check on you," he explains, his jaw set. He can hardly be offended by the fact she thinks he came to her for help. She's his Plan A half the time they're in trouble. And she's Plan B the other half. But the implication rubs him the wrong way. "And see the appeal of this boring, little town," he says, grimacing as he looks around the house. "Or was the kid the appeal of it?" he asks pointing his thumb over his shoulder, eyes wide in mocking wonder. "What did you call him? Armand? Is he the reason why Enzo vanished into thin air?"

"Nathan," she replies. "He's not a kid, and what–"

"Not interested," he interrupts her in bad grace, but she's not about to protest, because if he doesn't linger on Nathan, he won't notice nor guess the resemblance that attracted her to him at the beginning, and he won't connect the dots to discover why Enzo's gall was so endearing to her. And she won't be humiliated on top of heartbroken. "I thought you needed a ride back home so here I am," he offers with a tense smile.

He can feel her resistance like an invisible wall, but he'll be damned if he won't break it down. She really doesn't get it, he thinks, her power – not the one that makes his brain bleed down from his nose, no, not that one.

"I'm staying here," she says, stark, looking away from him. From where he stands, Damon can barely see the green of her eyes hidden by the fan of her lashes with the sun disappeared behind a dark cloud putting the earth in a stifling blackness. "I'm happy here," she insists.

"And you plan to take out a mortgage, and live the American dream, don't you?" he asks, irritated. "That's why there's more furniture in a crypt than in this house."

"So what?" she asks unnerved, fearing this is what she's been really waiting for, for him to come and drag her away and lie to her about her place being next to him on a bed while they watch a stupid movie together and she can feel his warmth. "I like the minimalist style!"

"You like dreamcatchers hanging from every window, and the house smelling like someone just said the freaking mass!" he yells, unable to understand why she's being so stubborn about this, why she wouldn't want to come back – though the list of losses and troubles she gained since she met him should be a hint.

"I'm happy here!" she yells back a lie.

"Too bad, then, because I won't leave you alone!" he cries out, his face contorted in a grimace. "You think you have a right to be happy after all the crap you've put me through?" he asks. "I've been searching every fucking hole to find your body! I barely got any sleep–"

"Oh, I bet," she mutters. He's told her so many times how he had planned to spend his time once Elena was back. She's sure he followed the program to the tiniest detail.

"I've been way more balanced when I had my humanity off. And all of this because you didn't have the time to let me know that you weren't actually rotting somewhere–"

"I had an accident!" she protests, feeling insulted he'd think her so egoist on purpose.

"And you broke all your ten fingers and couldn't remember my phone number?" he yells.

"Yes! Exactly!" she's fuming, too, by now, "I lost my memories and I wish I didn't get them back at all!" she screams.

She has that power, he thinks again. Her voice comes out and the ground breaks apart and somewhere a continent is disappearing under water. Other people might be unaware of it, but he knows better. She is everything, and everything is falling away from him.

"Everyone goes on! Everyone can be happy without me, so why can't I? Huh?" she asks, almost trembling in her frustration. "Why should I always be stuck in the same damn place, wanting something I can never have?" she demands, "But you can't stand it when the world doesn't revolve around you!" she accuses him, "And right when my life can finally be about me, you show up and ruin everything!"

She's out of breath and the moment she stops holding on to her rage she's going to cry, and she really can't. Not in front of Damon. Damon who is sad, and looks a bit like she's just ripped his heart out of his chest and it's attached to the rest of him by the last vein.

"I thought we were friends," he says. His voice sounds unsure, all his rage seeming to have abandoned him.

She won. Bonnie won this confrontation. She's proud, happy even…really, truly. It hurts so much she wants to die.

"Yeah, we were," she says, trying to sound impassible. "At some point. But things have changed," she says, "I suppose I still owe you a congratulatory gift, though," she adds with a shrug, "I'll pick something and I'll send it over."

She's so cold, so distant it's probably winter on this side of the planet. When he drags himself out of her house, away from the life she wants so much that has no space for him, he'll probably find a blanket of snow outside.

Still her words make so poor sense his brain latches onto it, stupidly.

"Congratulatory gift?" he hears himself asking.

"For your wedding," she explains, "I'm sure Elena was lovely in white. I don't suppose you saved a slice of cake for me, did you?"

"Wedding?" he asks again. Something is not right here. There's a piece he's missing in all of this and it spurs his mind into action, spurs his anger. She's being too sure about this for someone who's just guessing. And he remembers the sharp feeling in the middle of his chest, the petals falling under Elena's feet while she descended the steps towards him, waiting at the foot of the stairs. He remembers looking around all fucking day, waiting for Bonnie to show up in a pretty dress demanding a dance they could never have.

"Whenever we spoke about our weddings, we always said we'd be each other's maids of honor, but I guess it was only Caroline," she says, her voice has an sardonic quality about it.

"You guess or you were there?" his voice takes a slight shrill. She's far too gone to care about it.

"I wasn't dressed for the occasion…" she just explains.

"You were there and you couldn't bother to tell me?" he asks, barely holding it together.

"I didn't want to steal the spotlight on your special day," she says, shrugging it off.

"Matt's."

"What?" she asks, confused and oblivious.

"Matt's special day," Damon explains. His gums itch while he thinks this torture could've ended two weeks ago but she decided against it. Maybe he's rubbed off on her and she likes the smell of blood, now. Of his blood.

"I don't understand," she says, shaking her head.

He can see the wheels turning in her head but she doesn't catch the meaning of it, because it's too absurd to her that he's not gone and jumped the broom with Elena when he had the chance.

"Right?" he asks, "I don't understand it either," he says, almost laughing. "The girl I was waiting for comes back from her life-long nap, wants nothing more than for me to fuck her into the mattress but I can't get it up because I'm too sad about the fact that the girl I thought to be my best friend died." he explains in a pressing, feverish tone. His lips curve into a sinister grin as he stares at her breasts, where her heart should be. Does she even need one to know where to hit and hurt the most? "I didn't even care about her. All I cared about was stocking up on some fucking scented candles that smelled like you."

"No," she says, unable to let herself believe. "No, that's not–" but he really doesn't care about what she has to say. He's heard enough and now it's her turn.

"I did my best to be her loyal dog, wait around for her without letting my feelings for you get out of hand. I've put myself to sleep for years and it didn't work," he says, his voice too light to not sound scary, "I couldn't get rid of you… so now, tell me Bon-Bon," her nickname on his bitter tongue feels threatening, "Why should I let you get rid of me?" he asks, taking a step towards her, and then another.

"It's was Elena," she says, trying to get hold of her panic as she takes a step back by reflex. "It was always Elena."

"Yes, it was," he says, his canines slipping out as he grins at her, and suddenly she's pressed against a wall and she can see black veins around his eyes, feel his breath hitting her mouth, "Until it wasn't," and he's kissing her, hard, trying to break a resistance that's made only of stupor.

She has this power, he thinks, to make things alive with her mere touch. A volcano woke because of her.

She doesn't really care that he's angry. She doesn't really care that his teeth are on the verge of tearing apart the tender flesh of her mouth. She doesn't care that his chest is so hard she can't breathe as he crushes her to the wall. Her brain latches on slowly but surely to his words, to what they mean, and her arms hook around his shoulders, her tongue pushes into his mouth, and she gives as much as she gets and suddenly his mouth is very human and so good that's she could cry.

"You're a stone-cold bitch," he accuses against her lips while his hands sink into her hair, tone so tender she doesn't even mind the insult. Her heart is so full it could burst any moment.

"Damon," she breathes.

"You want to get rid of me?" he asks, his lap pressing into her stomach, letting her feel his growing hardness, "Let's see what you can do," he says, tongue sinking into her mouth to kiss her deep and slow as one hand ungracefully pulls down the strap of her top that kept falling off her shoulder during the afternoon, baring the supple flesh of her breast.

His caress is harsh, possessive and her moan is almost pained. Some part of him is wondering if he's hurting her, because her eyes are wet and yet she is not actively trying to push him away. She's not trying at all.

"Did you miss me?" he asks, the blood pumping south makes him half suicidal and he pinches her nipple with his fingers trying to share the pain with her. His heart is bare and if her feelings aren't, at least her body needs to be.

Bonnie moans her "Yes". Her top rips so easily and she barely offers any resistance. Her eyes are clouded with desire and he can smell her scent. Not the incense of her candles, or the smell of her soft hair, but the scent of her sex, getting wet for him.

"I thought of you all the time," he says. Damon pulls at the button of her shorts, her hips follow the forceful movement of his hand and she swallows her breath. "Tell me you thought of me, too," he demands, his hands slipping inside her shorts, under the thin fabric of her panties, but only ghosts on her sex. There's a tingling sensation spreading all over her skin, from the ends of her hair to the tip of her toes.

The lace of her thong tickles the back of his hand and one fingertip finds the trace of her arousal.

"Not that stupid kid, not Enzo," he says, his anger is trying to bubble up again but desperation has taken over now. "Tell me you thought about me."

Her slender fingers grip at his shoulder, her hips move trying to make his finger pass the confines of her femininity. "I did," she moans, words stumbling out of her, "I thought about you. Every day. Every day."

He uses the back of his hand to push her shorts down. Her sex is covered with a ginger crochet-lace thong panty and he kisses her mouth to stop his brain from going into overload. She makes a delicious sound and her hands pull him closer instead of pushing him away. In the back of his mind there's a scared voice that tells him to do this right, to make her come mercilessly so that she won't be able to push him away. Not tonight, anyway.

One finger slips into her, trying her sweet wetness and meeting little resistance. Her flesh takes him eagerly. She's tender, and warm, and his brain is getting squeezed inside his skull. There's an insistent pulsing against the zipper of his jeans, but she's naked and beautiful and wet. And she's there. He can ignore himself for awhile.

Long enough to drag his slick finger slowly halfway out, and then drive it in again. His hand is trapped there by the lace of her thong and there's not a chance in hell he can complain about that.

Bonnie bites at her lower lip and two more fingers push inside her. She's tight but she's wet more than enough, and she says, "Yes," purrs it so nicely he could hear it all day long and not get tired of it.

Damon kisses her mouth keeping the rhythm of his hand steady as he tries to use the other one to work the button of his jeans.

"I'm hard for you," he says, bent so that his forehead presses against hers, "Always was hard for you," he says, while her eyes look up at him. "We used to fall asleep together, and your body… so close… made me go insane," his pumping fingers take a new rhythm and her mouth falls open. "Your smell lingered between my sheets and I woke up hard in the middle of the night wishing you would come into my room and put me out of my misery, one way or the other."

"Please," she moans, feeling his hardness pulsating against her stomach. Her fingertips graze at it before he pins them up against the wall.

"I'm an asshole, Bonnie," he says, slowing down the sweet motion of his talented fingers just when she was reaching her high. She tries to force her thighs shut to keep his hand there, force his fingers up inside her, but it's useless. "I'll make your world revolve around me, because mine revolves around you and it's only fair, do you understand?"

She can only nod and make an "Uh-huh" sound in response, like her brain can't properly function because his fingers found the strings of her thoughts and pulled at them while he worked her up.

"It's only fair, Bonnie," he says, pulling his hand away from her sex to suck his fingers dry as he holds her gaze. "It's only right," he repeats, using his hand to drive his hardness where she needs it, and not quite.

Damon teases her with it, traces the outer lips with its thick head, massaging the outside of her.

"Don't you agree?" he asks, scattering kisses against her temple and forehead as she tries to push herself down on him. Her hands grip at his shirt, pulling, and he looks at her face, cheeks flushed with desire.

"You can try," she says, eyes daring, trying to spite him for tormenting her so. Bonnie wants him so much she can feel the emptiness of not having him inside gnawing at her.

"I think I will do that" he says, reaching down to hook his hands behind her knees and pull them up. It's a fluid motion, he pulls her up like she weights nothing, her legs wrap around him in a way that's very familiar and yet not. Bonnie's fingers grip the back of his neck, scratching the skin with short nails, her eyes are set on his while he pulls her down, and when he parts her and penetrates her, it's tight and warm and wet and glorious.

Her back arches and she tries to uses her tiny hands on his shoulders for leverage.

"I think I'll try, Bonnie," he says, hands gripping her hips to pull her up and then down again. He keeps her there as he looks up. Her face is leaning close to his. She looks almost angelic, despite the pain she's given him, despite it all. The locks of her hair fall against his nose, he can smell the summery scent of it, can see the days she's spent without him. Maybe with Nathan. And he needs to be deeper into her core.

"Damon," she moans, her voice dripping with want and pleasure. He knows she's not thinking of anyone else but him and he'll keep it that way. He takes a step, pressing her against the wall, spreading her knees enough for him to take her as deep as possible.

Damon buries himself into her, between the softness of her walls, basking in the delicious squeeze of her body and hiding his face in the crook of her neck so he can let the feeling have its way with his sanity.

Damon can feel her legs hook up higher on his hips, hear the soft panting of her breath against his ear, her hands slipping up under the shirt he's still wearing. His muscles are tense and the fabric provides a delicious, yet frustrating friction against her breast.

Bonnie winds her hips as he thrusts in and out of her, enjoying his almost aggressive assault on her sex. This is how hard he missed her. It makes her soul happy, knowing that. "I thought you had forgotten about me." It makes her body greedy, to have him inside. "I thought you didn't want me." She confesses against his ear, and her core tries grip at his aching length to keep him there, to never lose him.

Damon pulls his head back in surprise, her words hitting him so hard he loses his tempo for a short moment, but he recovers quickly. He can't help but search her face while his hips thrust inside her with an unrelenting force, causing her to shut her eyes to take in the sensation of him. This singular moment gave meaning to the torture of the last months. This singular moment told him they are truly together in this.

His burning gaze refuses to leave her face and Bonnie finds the perfect shade of blue when she has the strength to open her eyes again.

It's like he's trying to tell her all the things he can't find words for. She can feel them all inside, filling her to the hilt.

The intensity of him is going to make her come undone. She can't last much longer, she knows, and she's ready to welcome the end. Wishing they can start again.

When Damon feels the quivering of Bonnie's wall begin, he grounds himself into her faster as he kisses her face reverently, enjoying the spasm of her sex until it's so impossibly tights he slows the vigorous force of his thrusts. Her body massages his hardness and he must squeeze his eyes shut to fight off the end.

Not yet, it can't end, yet. He wants this to last as long as possible.

And he manages to not climax, only welcomes the rush of her sweet release, waiting out the throbbing of her sex so that he can pick his pace again. She holds to him as she can, though the pleasure left her limbs weak. Bonnie counts on him to take care of her, and he does. His arms are around her as he's driving up inside her, thrusting sweetly, and then furiously so, until she's with him again on the peak of it all.

Bonnie comes again, and he follows.

It's her power, Damon thinks, as he holds her tight and breathes hard against the skin of her shoulder. She opens herself up and it's forgiveness of all sins. And world peace. And it's them.