Shoutout to deenew for being awesome! :)

...

They had packed a good few bags full of stuff they could use - and a few things that weren't strictly necessary. They knew they could always come back to the store. They had even tried to block the doors again so that no more wild animals would be attracted and ransacked the building.

Bags strapped to their horses, they had made their way through the deserted town. Enzo had silently warned her to keep both eyes open, as towns like that were often a breeding ground for obscure characters, outcasts of society from both sides, and criminals.

Bonnie marveled at just how different the world was out there these days, outside of the immediate premises of the military-controlled big cities.

After her parents had died, she'd left the Outskirts with the intention of never coming back there. Her love for the place she had grown up had been tainted by the terrible slaughter of her family, and she had sworn she'd stay away forever, living out the rest of her days in the cities, at her grams' house, seeking a better job than what she could have ever found back home.

But that was all in the past now. She hadn't spoken to her grams in weeks, she hadn't been to nurse school in even longer, and she certainly didn't have a home anymore. Anywhere.

Bonnie exhaled, watching a plume of condensed breath rise up into the cold air. She was standing in front of a small house, much smaller than most of the others they'd seen in this town. She was holding the reins of both horses, waiting for Enzo to come back outside.

He was in there, inspecting every nook and cranny, making sure the house was safe and not already occupied.

Its windows had been barred, its door locked, and it had taken them some effort to even break inside, which Enzo had taken as a good sign. She was still a bit upset that he had been so unwilling to even check out any of the fancier homes, but his reasoning had been that the small ones were way more off the radar of any ransackers and thus safer.

"Alright. I think we found ourselves a place to stay," he said, finally emerging out of the front door and walking down the few stairs.

"Yay…?" She made, giving him a half smile, and he grinned back at her.

"Your attempt at 'excitement' is endearing, love."

Bonnie rolled her eyes at him, but her smile widened anyway.

"Wanna know the best part?" He continued. "There's still some fodder for the horses in the adjacent shed. Let's get these guys settled in and then we'll see whether we can't get the stove working in there to finally get this gosh darn place a little warmer."

He gave a sigh that sounded more weary than he probably knew, and Bonnie felt bad for him again. What was someone like him doing out here, where it got cold even for the Golden. She shook her head, contemplating asking him right then, but she decided it best to wait a little while longer.

...

When they had taken care of the horses and were finally both sitting cross-legged in front of the oven, eating a can of beans and some crackers, she found herself taking him in again.

His face looked awfully drawn, if just as handsome, and in a way it was still boggling to her to know just how little he looked like the stereotypes she'd been confronted with as a kid. Propaganda, of course, she'd known it even back then. Her parents had made sure she saw through the lies, that she knew that people were people, that even the enemy had children, had feelings, hopes and dreams, and fears. No one had told her the Silveren were handsome people, though.

The ones that she'd seen that day, they hadn't been handsome at all, they had been rough looking, unkempt, and wild. But now… She had to wonder whether it had just been a trick of her mind, her memory getting shaped by the terror of the events.

She forced herself to stop right there, she didn't want to bring up those memories again.

"Do you think we Golden are ugly?" she suddenly blurted, closing her eyes for just a second in horror when she realized what she'd just asked. "I mean… you know, because we are your enemy. I'm sure there's propaganda out there to make us look like the bad guys, and I was wondering… whether it paints us in an unattractive light as well, or whether you might actually think we look… strange?" It wasn't getting better the more she spoke. In the end, she just bit her lip and fell silent, concentrating hard on her beans.

He'd given her a curious look. Out of the corner of her eye she could still see him watch her, stare at her.

"I think you are beautiful," he muttered, finally looking elsewhere, and she was strangely relieved and acutely aware that he'd singled her out.

"I'm flattered," she said, honestly, but also jokingly, "that doesn't exactly answer my question, however."

He gave a sigh. There was too much weariness in there again, and a frown began to form on her face, when he replied.

"No, I do not think the Golden are ugly. I do not think they - you - are the bad guys in this war, and I don't think any of it matters."

He ended rather abruptly, and stood up to leave the room, leaving her to wonder what she could have done wrong.

She tried reaching out through their link, unsure whether she should follow him, but he'd warded off his mind even more than usual and other than the constant pulsing pain that was always too strong to completely hide from her, she felt nothing.

Maybe she should just give him some time. He was tired and exhausted after all, even more so than she was, after his ordeal as a prisoner. The fight against the dogs had surely not helped matters, either.

Pressing her mouth together, she sent out an I'm sorry if I said something wrong, then she proceeded to clean up the little kitchen before she would go and try to find herself a place to sleep. She wasn't sure she could or should still try to share the bed with him. She had somehow messed things up, and it gave her a pang.

There was so little good in her life right now, their relationship - whatever that even really was - was still so fragile and nothing she could put a finger on, and she had managed to botch it.

Like she'd botched the bonding, or nurse training, or her stupid other relationships. There had always been something. And not just there. Her friendships: ended. Even the one to Elena and Damon. She hadn't even been able to be a good daughter. Fighting with her parents over how they wasted their perfectly good bond for being farmers and "forcing" her to go down the same route.

She grimaced at the memory. It had been only days before…

No. She couldn't do this.

She hurriedly cleaned up the rest of their stuff, closing the oven, too, already missing its comforting heat, then walking out and into the dark of the rest of the house.

...

He was sitting leaning against the wall by the front door. He'd shoved his jacket against where the crack had let in gusts of icy wind from outside and he was now freezing in his too thin shirt. But he was too tired to get up, too tired to care.

The cold wasn't worse than the pain, anyways.

His eyes were closed as he battled with unwelcome thoughts and feelings, using the pain to wash them away. At least it was good for something. If rarely.

"Enzo? Are you alright?"

He looked up, startled, wondering where she had come from: Bonnie... Had he passed out for a bit there after all? She was sitting hunched in front of him, worry obvious in her face, and it was so jarring to see someone look at him like that, someone like her to boot, with actual real concern. If he hadn't leaned against a wall, with nothing and no one behind him, he wouldn't even have entertained the thought that the worry was directed at him.

"Fine, love," he breathed, annoyed that even speaking was exhausting, and he grimaced, looking at her.

She had the most beautiful eyes. Brilliant green, with highlights, unlike anything he'd ever seen. Long lashes framing them; and he loved it when she blinked and looked at something just through them, as if she could hide there, in a space only for her.

"You don't look fine."

"And here I thought I was a semi decent looking guy." He chuckled briefly and enjoyed seeing her flush even in the darkness of the room. "Which makes me sound rather arrogant," he then conceded, "Which probably goes with whatever prejudices regarding the Silveren you've grown up to believe."

She scoffed. For a second he was sure she'd just leave him sitting there - as she should, but then she surprised him by placing a soft hand on his cheek, then, frown deepening, on his forehead.

"You are fine," she said with a smile, but he could tell that she wasn't feeling particularly happy. "But you have a fever," she said, "which also makes you 'not fine.'"

He raised his eyebrows briefly, then muttered, "I guess there's no denying that. I probably just need some sleep…"

What he hadn't told her was that one of the stupid dogs had bitten him earlier, right in his freaking weapon-arm, tearing the bandage even more, and it had begun to feel like his whole arm was on fire. He really did have some fucking atrocious luck lately. He clenched his jaw against the pain, knowing that she could see right through him.

He took a few shallow breaths, in and out, trying to deepen them, but only making it worse. He stared at her, defeated. She'd find out soon enough. There was no hiding this from her forever.

It cost him too much energy to keep the pain from spilling over as it was. Soon it would be entering the space he shared with her, washing over him completely, like it had done before, when he had still been a prisoner of war, when he had wished he could just die.

But he couldn't. Not anymore. Not when her life depended on his.

"I can't… anymore," he breathed, face falling, words starting to evade him. He averted his gaze, although her face was the only solace he still had. He couldn't let her see. He couldn't let the pain destroy her too. But it was getting too hard. He tried lifting his arm, to show her, but even that wouldn't really work, and he made a clipped sound somewhere in the back of his throat at the sensation blazing through him as bright as the freaking scar on his arm.

She scrutinized him, gently, very softly taking his arm in her hands. She was asking something, but he couldn't quite follow. Couldn't look at her.

"Enzo?" His name.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I can't…"

The pain was so terrible, so grating, obliterating him, and suddenly, he banged the side of his head hard against the wall, startling her, scaring her, and a stifled moan or yell or sob escaped him as he let himself fall forward and into her arms, where she caught him.

Why didn't you tell me? she asked softly, sadly, as she was holding him, swaying them both back and forth.

His reply was just a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings, no words, no shot at conversation. But she seemed to understand him anyway, seemed to read him as if they really were just one mind. Seeing just how scared he was. How in pain. How lost. How alone in this forever.

But when she gently told him You're not alone, Enzo. You have me now. You are not alone anymore, okay?, he slowly felt his pain become the smallest smidgen more bearable, slowly, bit by bit, as she opened her mind wider, allowing it in.