There are several reasons for the late update. One of the main reasons was, and still is, a massive drop in confidence concerning my writing - that, in turn, caused writers block that I'm still getting over. I'm not exactly happy with this chapter, much like I haven't been happy with anything I've written for the past few months, but I am happy that I'm writing at all (for a while I simply couldn't).
But I don't want to focus on the negative, and I have A LOT of reasons to be grateful. Namely, all of you dear readers. Honestly, I have to thank each and every one of you for every review you've ever left me. Your incredible support and love is what helped me to write both this chapter and in general. And for everyone who voted for me for the Bamon-Awards, thank you so much. I have the most amazing and dedicated readers in the world. I sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter and that you won't have to wait so long for the next update.
This chapter is dedicated to babyshan211. Thank you for all your help!
Bonnie squinted against the sunlight streaming into the library from the large windows and frowned.
Why do I listen to Damon?
If she hadn't let him talk her into getting drenched yesterday she would have woken up today feeling refreshed and ready for the day's work. Instead, her head felt like a slow building pressure cooker and she struggled not to curl up on one of the large, plush chairs that inhabited the room and drift asleep.
Finishing off the last of the shelves, Bonnie sighed. Now, finally, it was off back to her cubby-hole of a room for a nice, long nap before dinner.
Uplifted by the prospect of finally being able to rest, Bonnie all but sprang out of the library and into the oncoming tray of soup carried by a young woman.
Luckily for Bonnie, though rather unfortunately for the woman, the tray grazed her good arm in a way that sent the scalding liquid away from herself keeping her safe and dry. The woman was an entirely different matter.
Shocked into stillness, Bonnie watched as the young woman give a startled cry, stumbling back with lifted arms before crumpling onto the hall floor in a weeping mess. Her sobs seemed to pull Bonnie out of whatever stupor she froze into and she struggled to form an apology.
"I'm so sorry!" Bonnie exclaimed, rushing to the woman's side. She was simply covered in soup – chicken noodle by the smell of it. Vaguely, Bonnie couldn't help but notice that hardly any of the soup made it on the carpet. She blamed the last month spent cleaning for that little observation. Turning her attention back to the shaking form beside her, she continued, "I am so, so, so, so sorry. I didn't see you there. Are you alright?"
The woman's tears continued unhindered, if anything they increased and were joined by a slight keening sound that made Bonnie's stomach twist. Had she even heard her?
Bonnie bit her lip uncertain of what to do when the woman finally spoke between broken sobs, "Thomas is going to skin me, for sure – I know. I can't go back to that kitchen. He's already mad at me. If I go back he'll skin me. He will, he will. I can't go back."
Bonnie's good hand formed into a tight fist, her teeth still worrying her bottom lip, as she thought. She remembered Thomas, the grey man from the kitchen, and she knew the woman beside her had good reason to be concerned. In the brief instant Bonnie had interacted with the man it had seemed he was itching for an excuse to take out his aggression.
The woman sobbed harder and the pressure in Bonnie's head worsened. This was her fault. There was no way she was going to let Thomas get his hands on this girl when she had done absolutely nothing wrong.
"Hey..." Bonnie began slowly, in her most soothing of voices. It was hard to think around the tight cottony feeling in her head, but after some sluggish searching she came to a solution. "It's going to be okay. Thomas doesn't ever have to know about this."
That got the woman's attention, as she shot wide, watery eyes up at Bonnie, hope flashing in their depths.
"Here's what we'll do. I'll go and get another bowl of soup and take it where it needs to go, while you go and clean yourself and –" her eyes flickered briefly over the small mess on the floor – "all this up, and no one will be the wiser."
The woman's arms abruptly found purchase around Bonnie's neck, and Bonnie almost fell on top of the girl from the force of the tug. "Thank you," the woman repeated until Bonnie managed to pull herself away.
"Where am I taking this soup?"
"The soup goes straight to Mr. Salvatore."
Bonnie felt herself still. "Which one?"
"The elder son."
Bonnie struggled not to roll her eyes. "Of course." It's always Damon.
After a small wrong turn somewhere in the second West Wing corridor, Bonnie managed to find the kitchen. It wasn't as busy as the last time she had been there, but just as oppressive. It seemed that the lunch rush had died and now there was a lull prior to the madness that was sure to be dinner.
Flicking her eyes around the kitchen, Bonnie quickly spotted Thomas in a corner, his back to her as he read something over. From the stiff set of his shoulders she could tell he was already in a mood. This was good though. If she could somehow get her hands on another bowl of soup and get out of there without him knowing, that would be perfect.
Her head hummed nastily as she attempted to brainstorm a game-plan. First M.O., she had to locate the soup.
"Bonnie?" A small voice to her right called quietly.
Turning towards the voice she smiled. "Gladys."
The woman who had helped Bonnie in the kitchens the last time she was here. They had seen each other around the grounds a few times since, and Bonnie had, not only, come to discover her name but also her generous soul. She was really very sweet and Bonnie enjoyed their brief interactions greatly.
"Wha ya do here?"
"There was a little accident with the soup for Mr. Salvatore. Any chance I could get another bowl full?"
Gladys glanced quickly at Thomas's preoccupied form. Relaxing, she smiled at Bonnie and nodded. "Stay here."
Gladys moved quickly across the room to grab a silver tray, spoon and a delicate porcelain bowl. Then expertly, with one arm holding the tray, she moved to a large copper pot and ladled a good helping of soup. Quicker than lightning she was standing in front of Bonnie again.
"Thank you." Bonnie said, slowly moving the tray so that a corner of it rested lightly on her broken arm and most of the weight was supported by her good hand.
"Lucky fi ya, dere was still plenty of soup." Gladys commented as she helped Bonnie adjust the tray for her comfort. "Now, go'on, before Thomas see ya."
Bonnie didn't need to be told twice.
Reaching the hallway on the second floor, Bonnie paused.
There were several plain white doors on either side of her and one up just a little further in front of her. She was certain Damon's room was beyond one of these doors, she just wasn't exactly sure which one.
Okay, think. Katherine's room is behind that door. Her eyes landed on the door to the right of a small table with a vase on it and she gave a tiny shudder. She wouldn't be forgetting that anytime soon. Refocusing, she continued to think despite her protesting head. If I were Mr. Salvatore, I would put Katherine in the farthest room possible from Damon.
Which meant...
She turned to face the door farthest to the left near the banister of the stairs leading down.
As good a guess as any, she thought as she made her way over before freezing awkwardly when she realized she had no way to open the door. Her one good arm was currently balancing a tray which after a few minutes had gotten considerably heavy. She glared menacingly at the door and contemplated her options.
What felt like minutes passed and nothing came to her. She shifted her weight impatiently in an attempt to ease her load by resting her good arm slightly on her hip. A deep, heavy breath lifted its way past her lips and she frowned.
If she couldn't figure out a way to open up this damn door soon –
The door gave a soft groan as it swung open and a wide-eyed Stefan unexpectedly stood in front of her.
"Bonnie..." he began, and then noticed the tray. "Ah. I see you brought the soup. You'll have to forgive me; I shall have to leave you with my brother for a short time. I'm afraid he's not in the best temper, as is the case any time he is bed-ridden."
She nodded sagely. "It's fine. I'm certain I can handle it."
He rewarded her with one of his small, warm Stefan smiles and moved to hold the door open for her. As she passed he whispered a quick good luck and then shut the door behind him.
Walking further into the room, what Bonnie saw brought her to a sudden halt. She had never seen anyone look so pathetic.
Damon lay in the midst of strewn covers, half on him and half on the floor, his forehead dripping unpleasantly with sweat and his shirt soaked through with it. He was pallid, his cheeks coarse with stubble and eyes circled darkly, perhaps from lack of sleep.
"You look like death warmed over."
He snorted darkly, his voice hoarse as he replied, "That is precisely what one wishes to hear whilst in the midst of dying."
"You're not dying, Damon." She assured matter-of-factly and made her way over to the small table by his bed, eager to set down her tray. He watched her with eyes bright from what she suspected was fever. She couldn't help feeling this was karmic justice for her headache, which had lessened slightly upon entering the room.
"Is that my soup?"
She nodded.
"I asked for that some time ago."
Bonnie pursed her lips and tried for patience. Stefan was right; this would not be fun.
Taking a steadying breath, she answered simply, "There was an incident. Now, sit up properly."
He did as he was told, managing to pull himself up to lean against his headboard. Then, carefully picking up the tray, Bonnie set it gently over his lap and backed away to lean against the bedside table.
A moment passed and nothing happened. Damon sat looking expectantly down at his tray as if he thought the soup would magically float its way past his lips if he stared at it long enough. Bonnie watched him curiously, wondering what the hell he was waiting for.
"Well?" He asked suddenly, lifting a brow even as he continued to stare down at his tray.
"Well?" She echoed, frowning.
He looked up at her, eyes widening in disbelief. "You cannot seriously mean for me to feed myself." He seemed baffled by the very notion.
"Yes I can."Her frown deepened.
"But I'm convalescing!"
"Well, I can't feed you. I only have one good arm." She held her arm up to further illustrate her point.
"Precisely! One perfectly good, usable arm with which you can feed me."
She felt her jaw drop as she shook her head. "No. Damon, you're perfectly capable of feeding yourself."
His lips pushed together in the semblance of a pout, which failed to gather any sympathy from her. She ignored the flutter in her stomach. He was so horribly pathetic.
"This is no way to treat an invalid, Bonnie." He whispered hoarsely, and she winced just imagining how sore it must feel. "If I perish from the effort, think of how guilty you'll feel."
"I promise not to feel any guilt." She countered even as the pesky emotion pawed at her chest. "Now eat. The soup will be good for your throat."
He heaved a sigh. Making a large show of effort, which she was sure was completely put on, he picked up his spoon and lowered it into the soup. Raising the spoon slowly, his hand shook to a ridiculous degree, spilling most of its contents over its rim and back into the bowl below.
"Honestly!" she exclaimed, even as she struggled not to smile at his dramatics. Moving forward she grabbed the now empty spoon out of his hand and pointed it accusingly at him. "I have never met a man so incapable of taking care of himself."
"I need you, Bonnie." He answered pathetically, his overly bright eyes shining up at her and she frowned abruptly as she felt the fluttering in her stomach return and intensify. She backed up slightly and the distance between them seemed to ease the unsettling sensation.
"You brought this upon yourself, you know? It was you who assured me 'no ailment would befall either one of us.'" She said, tossing the words he had used yesterday back at him. She leaned her hip against his side-table and took in the picture he made in all its miserable glory. "And now look at you."
"It's customary, when visiting someone on their death bed, to pay your respects, not remind them how ill they are and refuse to feed them their last meal."
She snorted derisively. "You're nowhere close to dying. You wouldn't leave me like that."
Bright blue eyes snapped to meet her green ones as her back stiffened uncomfortably. That hadn't come out right – the way that sounded – It sounded like she...
She shifted her gaze awkwardly, unsure where to look. She could feel his eyes boring into her – and suddenly she felt like she was the one with the fever. Pulling at the collar of her dress, she cleared her throat and tried to clarify.
"I meant... in the sense that, I can't get rid of you – much like a rash... or the plague."
"Ah."
She watched from the corner of her eye as he refocused on his soup. Relaxing, she became aware of the weight in her hand and looked down to discover she was still holding his spoon. Sighing, she relented, "Alright, I'll help you, but I hope you know I'm only doing this because I'm such a good person."
The corner of his lips pulled up the tiniest degree. "The purity of your soul is a shining emblem for all."
Ignoring the sarcasm, Bonnie sat on the edge of his bed beside his tray. "This is not going to be easy." She remarked, noting the awkwardness of their positions. After many trial and error attempts they found a way of working together to get the soup from in the bowl to in his mouth rather than across his duvet.
Comfortable with the rhythm, Bonnie could take in the man in front of her. This much closer she could practically feel the sickness radiating off of him in waves. His breath was warm and heavy as it fanned across her hand with each spoonful she feed him.
"I hope I don't catch whatever it is that you have," she frowned.
Between mouthfuls, Damon answered thoughtfully. "Should that occur, I swear to play your nursemaid... and bring you soup dutifully... and the purity of my soul will be blinding."
Laughter brushed softly past her lips before she could stop it and she realized she wasn't as bothered by that fact as she would have been a few weeks before. So what? She found Damon funny. That wasn't such a bad thing. Though the smug smile spread across his face right now had her feeling differently.
Pursing her lips, she sobered. "You'd only do it because you felt guilty for making me sick in the first place."
"I do believe the pot is calling the kettle black."
"What does that even mean?" She asked, her hand pausing in its motion to gather more soup. She had heard the saying on several different occasions but didn't really understand it.
His brow furrowed in contemplation briefly before he answered, "I think... it means you're a hypocrite, Bonnie."
"What?" She exclaimed, narrowing her eyes. "How am I a hypocrite? I'm not guilty in the least."
"Oh?" He shot her a pointed look. "I traversed in the rain to see you. In truth, the blame could be placed entirely upon your person."
This time, the fluttering had expanded into something akin to lapping waves. Warm, languorous and disorienting, they spread across her stomach and she blanched, abruptly finding the deep mahogany wood of his side-table fascinating. "That's absurd. You're absurd."
"Your hair has changed." He noted unexpectedly as he lifted a heavy arm to tangle his hand in her curls. His fingers brushed gently against the base of her neck and she shivered, somehow managing to get goose-bumps even as her blood caught fire in her veins. Maybe she had already caught whatever Damon had?
"So soft." He uttered, sounding almost trance-like, his hand absently weaving strands between his fingers as he memorized the texture, and she was suddenly feeling very light-headed. Definitely sick. Irregular heartbeat, constricted breath, not to mention the fact that everywhere Damon touched felt like it was literally on fire.
"Miss. Katherine!"
Bonnie nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Stefan's voice just beyond the door, and she fought the urge to throw herself across the room to place as much distance between herself and Damon as possible. Forcing herself to take a few deep breaths, she felt less fever-ridden, her faculties slowly returning to normal.
"Have you come to visit my poor brother?" Stefan continued at a very unnatural volume and it made Bonnie look over her shoulder at the door questioningly while Damon let his hand drop back down to his side.
Was Stefan trying to warn them of the impending visitor...? Just what exactly did he think they were doing in here?
What had they been doing in here? The warmth returned tenfold as she remembered the way Damon's hand had gotten lost in her hair, but she pushed that aside. There wasn't anything inappropriate about her feeding Damon soup was there?
She glanced over at Damon for some sort of clue, but he looked just as confused.
"I'm certain he shall appreciate the company."
If Katherine was answering at all Bonnie couldn't hear her; probably because she was speaking at a normal volume like a normal person.
"Allow me to open the door for you, and together we may enter."
Damon shot Bonnie a look that clearly conveyed his level of exasperation and she was forced her to bite her lip to keep from laughing in agreement. She only just managed to compose her features and continue feeding him when Stefan and Katherine entered the room.
"Miss. Katherine!" Damon exclaimed hoarsely, in tones much louder than necessary. His smile was teasing, and though it was directed at Katherine, Bonnie felt it was for her benefit. With her back to the two guests, she took comfort in knowing she could glare at him effectively without anyone else being the wiser. "To what do I owe the honour of this visit?"
"Do I require a reason to visit one of my favourite Salvatore brothers?" Katherine replied, her voice light and flirty.
Clever, Bonnie thought darkly, considering there's only two of them.
"Of course not. Forgive me. Your presence is always welcome." His features softened into genuine affection. It made Bonnie's stomach tighten horribly and the pressure in her head build.
"Whatever brought on this sudden ailment, do you think, Damon?" Katherine inquired innocently. Too innocently...
It dawned on Bonnie, as she stilled her movements in an effort to not draw attention to herself, that Stefan had come upon Katherine lingering outside Damon's door. Katherine with her vampire hearing. Bonnie's eyes rounded dramatically and she took a deep breath to stop her heartbeat from spiking. Katherine had heard something, that was a given ...The question was: how much?
Bonnie watched warily as Damon answered with a tired smile, "I have not the faintest idea. I suppose it must be a product of my ill fortune."
"There was a storm last eve. Did not you hear it? Perhaps you caught a draft from your window."
Damon's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, but his face gave nothing away. "Yes, that is quite possible."
"The book you requested, Damon." Stefan said, stepping forward to place a thin novel on his bedside table. "It took me quite a while to locate it. It was in an entirely different area from where you claimed it would be."
Bonnie forced herself to gather another spoonful of soup and was rewarded with the sound of metal scraping against porcelain. Looking down, she noticed the empty bowl and took that as her cue to leave. Standing suddenly, she bent to attempt to pick up the tray with one hand when Stefan stopped her.
"Please, allow me."
And before she could protest he had lifted the tray and was offering it to her. She took it from him slowly, with a smile of thanks, making sure to adjust it so that it sat on her much like before. Turning, she was greeted with Katherine's hard eyes and soft smile.
Creepy.
Aiming for polite, Bonnie smiled, though it pulled at her face unnaturally and landed somewhere closer to a grimace, and said, "If you'll excuse me."
"Of course," Katherine replied, moving to one side and allowing Bonnie to pass. Stefan followed her to the door in order to open it and she thanked him once again. Hearing the door close behind her she made a mad dash down the stairs, wanting to put as much distance between herself and everything in that room.