A/N: One more chapter after this and Differences will be a wrap. Enjoy.

Act VIII Scene 4

Two weeks ago…

The pavement broke his fall. Spitting out a concoction of blood, saliva—where those shards of teeth?—Damon Salvatore rolled his head against the bumpy and rocky asphalt and begged the world to stop spinning. He didn't have time to add on "please" as he saw a men's size twelve boot headed right for his abdomen.

Damon grabbed the man's leg, sat up with a grunt, made a fist and jabbed it right in the family jewels. He was sure the prick felt his ball sack climb through and body and found new lodgings in his throat.

The crowd which assembled to witness the massacre winced, "oohed", and men cupped themselves feeling second-hand pain.

Damon's opponent bit into his quivering lower lip, face turning an interesting shade of red and pink while the bottom of his eyes lined with tears. He teetered dangerously and fell, his shoulder taking the brunt of his fall.

"All right, that's enough! Break it up! Walk!" yet another man shoved his way through the crowd to get to the scandalous-filled center.

By the time he made it two vampires were on the ground, one holding himself tightly between the legs, the other, studying his enflamed and swollen knuckles. He thrust out a hand to the obvious victor of the fight.

Damon ran his tongue over his teeth, wiped blood from his nose, and finally accepted the proffered hand to which he was hoisted to his feet. He bent over taking in much needed gulps of air. Unfortunately his head didn't feel connected to the rest of him, almost like a phantom decapitation. Fire and sharp pin pricks of pain shot off in his back, ass, and his neck. He could use another drink, but he doubted he'd be let back in the tavern to order one.

Anyone might wonder what the hell he was doing. Why he seemed to gleefully be on a path of self-destruction because he couldn't get a small thing like the urge to kill under control. Maybe he wasn't on a crash course, but Damon was over brimmed with nervous and psychotic urges. He saw no other outlet for a release besides one dripped in violence—fighting. Bare knuckle brawls were invigorating and tested the lengths of his ingenuity and stamina.

However, bruised and battered Damon still felt tragically the same.

"Thanks," he coughed and attempted to stand to his full height, just for a wave of nausea to hit and nearly plant him on his ass once more. When the hell was his vampire healing factor gonna kick in? he wondered petulantly.

The robust bouncer nodded and clapped Damon on the back, which almost made his knees buckle. The bouncer knew him from way back in the day and that trouble had a knack in finding him.

"Go home and sleep this off, Salvawhore."

Damon snickered at the insult. "I'll have you know I'm not a whore anymore. I'm spoken for," he spoke haughtily.

Verone didn't care. "Good for you," he muttered laconically. "You need to vanish before Ryker calls his crew."

"Let em!"

"Things have changed in the last ten years since you've been here. You're not one of the oldest anymore."

"But I'm still built Ford tough." Smiling then, Damon lifted his head high and inadvertently swallowed the blood that leaked from his nasal cavity. He tried not to grimace. "I was long overdue for a welcome back party. Wouldn't you say, Verone?"

Verone, a three hundred year old Samoan vampire who could easily be Dewayne Johnson's little brother, crossed his massive arms over his too tight T-shirt covered chest. He replied, "No, I would not say. This place has enough problems and we don't need yours. Go home. This shithouse is for losers with no hope."

"So why are you here?"

Verone cracked his knuckles at the dig. "I suggest you make tracks to that depressing as fuck town you call home."

Dark eyebrows boosted and Damon nodded. "Will do. Guess this is goodbye."

"For your sake," Verone walked over to Damon's rival who still wailed around on the ground and snatched him up, "I hope it's permanent."

Saluting Ruthven's Tavern, aptly named after the first vampire anti-hero in English literature with his middle finger, Damon hobbled along but stopped at seeing a too familiar face. He groaned inwardly.

"So this is what you've been doing? Getting into fights with vampires who are twice your age. Are you a masochist?"

Damon snorted and spat out a wad of blood. "Coming from the self-mutilator himself?"

Stefan scowled and cocked his head to the side. "Self-mutilator? I'm not the one who's bleeding from every orifice after just barely surviving being burned to death."

Dumping his weight on the trunk of Stefan's Porsche, Damon rotated his shoulder and grunted once it popped back into place. "Between the two of us, brother, I never once tried to fight our nature. Never denied myself the pleasure of drinking human blood. Starved."

"You know why I had to, Damon."

"Yeah, I know."

"So why are you doing this?"

Damon didn't reply.

They watched as the crowd dispersed, dwindled down to a few stragglers who clustered together to discuss mundane things. A trio of ladies sauntered past, two of them winking at Damon who glared in return. One laughed and blew him a kiss.

"Call this my cry for help, Stefan. I'm not all right."

"Yeah, Bonnie told me you've been struggling with your bloodlust."

Jaw clenched, Damon growled under his breath, "Meddling witches."

"And that's why I'm here," Stefan clapped his brother on the shoulder. "We got work to do. Let's get started."

There was no easy way to deprogram or reprogram a vampire. Applying pain worked for about a day until the vampire grew accustomed to it and could take it without complaint, even find some twisted way to enjoy it. Damon got back on a vervain regiment which did dull some of his stronger urges, and he replaced thoughts of sinking his fangs into pretty little necks by sinking them into furry, rotten egg tasting rodents. He and Stefan nearly came to blows when it came to the squirrel eating portion of his rehabilitation.

One squirrel and Damon had thrown in the towel. He declared himself sane enough to be around Bonnie and other humans without immediately wanting to go for the jugular. Stefan told him no.

The nights were the worse. Sweating profusely, shaking and shivering in bed. The ghosts of his past kills converged on him, pushing him into that hot box his father sentenced him to after going AWOL from the confederacy. Guilt and insanity had intertwined, driving Damon to stand over the toilet and dry heave for minutes.

Like with any sickness, Damon reached his breaking point. He forced himself to think of every last one of his victims starting from the first to the last. It was something he had never done before. There were a few exceptions. When Damon thought of Abby…what he did to her…how it affected Bonnie, he flinched and questioned why. Why did she love him and how could she love him?

He made her mother over in his image—loosely because he certainly had nothing to do with her vampire training—and even afterwards…Damon still treated Bonnie like the help.

His head swam at the things he said to her, the jabs and wisecracks. Prior to July, Damon wouldn't have cared if she died or not. Now the thought of Bonnie dying, of him being the one to end her life if he ever lost control…he'd stake himself before letting it happen.

Damon found himself standing in front of Sheila Bennett's grave. He stared at her headstone for a long time; so long the sky began to turn a faint blue.

He finally knew what he had to say.

"Your kind created my kind. My kind takes joy in destroying your kind. Your kind loves getting even in ways you feel for generations. And now I'm in love with my enemy. I don't know who thought that was a good idea, but I wouldn't change it. I just want you to know I'm…I'm sorry for the blood I've spilled. Not every drop because some was necessary. If you could pass that along to your other witchy friends, that'd be great. Damon Salvatore finally learned his lesson."

Rain fell and drenched him and driving home, Damon had the crazy idea of being purified. He snorted but secretly hoped the darker parts of his psyche had been cleansed.

He wouldn't hold his breath.

Stefan gave Damon one last piece of advice before he left to see Bonnie, "If you ever feel yourself about to lose control…think of the position you'll be putting Bonnie in if you do. She's a witch never forget that. Don't do that to her. For once don't be selfish."

Letting that sink in, Damon nodded and vanished. A reunion of sorts awaited him.

Act VIII Scene 5

Today…

The weight of Bonnie's head on his shoulder, and her little fingers tracing designs on his peck slowly roused Damon out of sleep.

"That tickles," he said, voice gruff.

Bonnie craned her neck to look at his profile. "No, it doesn't."

Snorting, Damon caught her marauding fingers and entwined his with hers. Sleep loosened her possessive grip and that's when it hit him. Standing in the sun. Without his ring. He had been dreaming the whole time. Disappointment slammed into Damon so hard his temple began to pound.

"You okay?" Bonnie asked. "You look mad."

"No, I was…it was just a stupid dream."

"Just a dream and not a nightmare?"

Damon kissed her forehead. "Just a dream," he insisted.

Bonnie tucked the covers around her as Damon rolled out of bed. She could see something was bothering him despite what he said. Bonnie grew a bit distracted seeing spots of blood on the sheets and she absently touched the area where Damon had bitten her, and her lips that drank from him. It came back to her that there was more than one way to turn. Going forward she knew they'd have to be careful when it came to sex, because she had a feeling that's when Damon's bloodlust was at its peak. He couldn't keep biting her and she couldn't keep drinking his blood without something funky happening.

Before she could even question what was bothering him, he was in front of the closed curtains and threw them open.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Bonnie squeaked and hurdled out of bed.

The sun warmed Damon's skin but it didn't become reddened, boil, flake, or fry for a period of five seconds. And then he felt it. The twinge of pain, the searing ache of a million needles piercing him at once. He was shoved backwards and the curtains were snapped closed. A furious little witch was screaming obscenities at him that honestly made Damon want to laugh, but next he found himself blocking and dodging her flinging arms.

"Bonnie, ow, stop! Quit!"

"I'll quit when you stop being a fucking idiot. What would possess you to stand in the sun without your ring?" Bonnie hit him again.

Having enough of this, Damon pinned her arms to her sides. The both of them were breathing roughly. "It was just an experiment. I'm sorry."

"An experiment?"

"Yes, and if I try it again I'll make sure you're not here," he teased.

Bonnie squirmed to get free. She was hauled off her feet and toted on Damon's shoulder to the bathroom. She enacted a silent treatment clause through their stint in Damon's luxurious tub, while they dressed and went downstairs to start on breakfast. She glowered as Damon whistled and read the paper, sipped his coffee and blood concoction.

Bonnie stabbed her eggs with her fork, "Why did you decide to stand in the sun, and don't tell me it was for experimental reasons? Last I checked you're not ultraviolet resistant."

Damon folded the newspaper, eyed Bonnie, and waited a beat before answering, "I dreamt that your blood somehow made me impervious to the sun."

"My blood can't do that."

"I'm sure with the right spell it could."

Bonnie didn't have a rebuttal. Anything was possible. Witch and vampire examined Damon's daylight ring.

"I need to get this repaired," he fingered his ring.

"Then let's do it today."

There was one jewelry shop in town that luckily did repairs. Damon waited in the shadiest corner he could find as the aged jeweler fixed the broken gilt around the lapis lazuli stone. The store was busy for a Thursday with no major holidays coming up. Bonnie perused the display cases. Damon hoped she wasn't getting any ideas in her head about him proposing.

A woman walked by him and her scent made his saliva glands swell. Damon balled his hands into fists because he was already calculating how he could get her alone. Where he'd do it. How he wouldn't let a drop go to waste. Suddenly the vampire felt hot and trapped because his hearing was zeroing in on the symphony of heartbeats mocking him. Enticing him. Inviting him to feed. He couldn't leave, not without his ring.

Bonnie happened to glance at him and saw Damon shaking a little before he went absolutely still. That was never a good thing. There was a blood bag in the glove compartment of his car stored for emergencies. Bonnie had an overwhelming feeling that if she left to go get it Damon would turn the jewelry store into a buffet.

She approached the lady behind the counter, "Hey, how much longer until my boyfriend's ring is ready?"

Slightly startled, the sales associate checked behind her although she couldn't see anything but the hallway that led to the back of the shop. She refaced Bonnie, "I'll go see. Hold on a sec." It took a full sixty seconds for the woman to reappear. "It'll be ready in another five to ten minutes."

"Can you ring us up?" Bonnie pressed.

"Sure."

Bonnie crossed the showroom to Damon and dug in his pocket for his wallet. "We'll almost be out of here. Okay."

Damon nodded stiffly. He was too afraid to move any more than that.

Covertly looking around, Bonnie mumbled a few phrases of Latin under her breath. The saleswoman gawked as the handful of customers stopped what they were doing and immediately began heading for the exit. She couldn't do anything about it because Bonnie was in front of the register sliding Damon's credit card across the counter.

Fifteen minutes later the old jeweler unearthed himself from the back with Damon's beautifully shiny talisman. Bonnie could see he was gearing up to talk about the process he used and maybe even relate it to some benign historical fact, but she imprudently snatched the ring, stabbed it on Damon's finger, told the people thank you, and dragged her hungry boyfriend toward the exit.

At the car, Damon ripped into the blood bag, his throat working angrily. Bonnie sat in the passenger seat watching him.

This would probably go against what she supposed a witch believed in. Maybe even make her heretical by the occult's definition, yet considering the things witches over the ages had been coerced or threatened to do—on the scale of things this would be small. She had to help Damon find balance. An idea popped into her head and wouldn't leave her alone.

Bloodlust was no different from battling the seductive and destructive strings of an addiction. Unequivocally a vampire could not not eat, otherwise desiccation would be right around the corner. Bonnie found Damon trying to drink exclusively from blood bags admirable, but history taught her what lied right around the corner when one of his kind suppressed their nature.

It was the same, on a duller scale, if she tried not to use magic. It could manifest in other ways.

"Damon?"

"Yeah."

"What if I said that tonight I don't want you to pretend to be human?"

Damon's left eyebrow arched to his hairline. He pulled the empty blood bag from his mouth. "Meaning?"

"Meaning. I want you to be a vampire."

"I'm always a vampire. Being a vampire is the root cause of the shit I constantly got myself into. Look at what could have happened in that store."

"Okay maybe I'm wording this wrong. You're still wrestling with control," Bonnie took a breath. "I want to help you hunt."

Damon was sure he wasn't hearing Bonnie correctly. "You want to help me hunt? Wait, you want me to hunt? Where the hell is my real girlfriend?"

"She's sitting right next to you. I know you're still struggling with not slaughtering everyone in sight. That's a part of you that's loud. It's a part of you that needs to be nurtured like everything else, and if we try to pretend it doesn't exist, I see it backfiring horrendously," Bonnie threaded her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. "A little at a time, right?"

The thought of the two of them huddled in a dark booth scoping out humans trying to find one worthy enough to be his dinner…made Damon's mouth water and his cock swell. However, this was Bonnie and she was nothing if not pragmatic. She wouldn't sanction him running wild without some well, sanctions.

"What's the catch?" he asked.

"The catch being I pick who it is. And you can't leave them for dead."

Damon poked out his bottom lip.

"Do we have a deal?"

The blue-eyed vampire showed all his thirty-twos. "We have a deal."

Act VIII Scene 6

Call her crazy but Bonnie saw herself going through a metamorphosis. Abuse of her magic led to a brain tumor curse that almost ended her. She survived, came out healed and whole but she was changed. More open-minded, her confidence shot up a few notches. What was left to explore was her hunger for reformation.

Bonnie wanted to know herself and Damon better. Sharing stories about their pasts was great; however, if she couldn't really comprehend what it meant to him to be undead and vice versa when it came to her being a witch, would they ever be equally yoked?

Admittedly she was scared about this. A hundred things could go wrong. But Bonnie wasn't afraid to try.

Decked in black to conceal blood splatter and designer labels to draw those looking for free top shelf drinks, Damon and Bonnie climbed into the Camaro.

"Be gentle with me. This is my first time," Damon fired up the engine.

Bonnie snorted a laugh. "I'll make sure you're nice and lubed," she rolled her eyes.

"You're sure you want to do this? Doesn't this break some kind of a witchy code to preserve human life?"

"If there's one thing I've learned, bloodsucker, rules can be made, followed, bent, and broken. I've broken plenty. What's one more?"

He couldn't help the Cheshire grin that stretched across his face. "Stefan would be scandalized by you."

"That's why I'm not with Stefan."

Damon reached for Bonnie and pulled her into a kiss although he was supposed to be concentrating on the road. "I love you."

The bar Damon had chosen didn't have the cavernous beauty of Elysium, or even the seediness of Will's bar in New York. He wouldn't even call it a happy medium of the two, but a standard structure built in the heart of Chesapeake, Virginia. They played the kind of shit music girls like Caroline would thrash their hair around to, but at least they carried his favorite brand of bourbon.

Within minutes after parking they were seated in a secluded booth and ordered drinks. It was then Bonnie finally noticed Damon wasn't wearing his daylight ring.

"Where's your ring?"

The vampire in question flexed the bare fingers of his left hand. "When I'm in real vampire mode I don't wear it at night. Don't worry. It's safe in the car."

For an hour no one disturbed them. Bonnie bobbed to the music while Damon volleyed between being her number one admirer and looking for a tasty treat. There were brunettes and blondes galore with the occasional redhead in varying body shapes and height. He had never been a real choosey vampire. Only when he wanted to fuck whoever it was he wished to drain did he apply some standards. Otherwise he didn't have a preference.

"I'll be right back," Bonnie's breath was cool against the shell of his ear. She wiggled out of the booth, pulled down her tight skirt, and sauntered into the dancing crowd.

It was time to get things started.

Bonnie figured Damon would want to drink from a woman. Someone gorgeous and smelled nice. However, she didn't want to make the choice too obvious. Where would be the fun in that?

All too soon doubt filled her. Was she enabling Damon? Bonnie acknowledged she should feel weird about this, looking at people as food and not people. Shouldn't she be preaching about the merits of preserving his humanity by drinking from blood bags? Yet as Bonnie continued to muse, how many blood bags had her vampire friends gone through total, and how many humans who needed that blood died? Wouldn't this be better? Tapping from the vein and helping those convalescing get the blood they needed to survive? Bonnie thought so.

She closed her eyes, whined her hips. It took no time at all for someone to join her and start grinding against her plump ass. Bonnie stiffened immediately and glanced over her shoulder. The guy was cute-ish and way too old for her (the irony), but he had a pleasant smile and kind eyes. She danced with him and tried to maintain some space. Unfortunately the guy didn't get the hint.

The song ended and Bonnie made an attempt to walk away. Guy with the kind eyes spun her around flattening her breasts against his chest.

"What's your name?"

"Do you care?" the young sorceress turned her head away from his alcohol breath. She peeped Damon who was watching and listening intently. Even from this distance with him sitting partly in shadow he was menacingly beautiful.

Others were taking notice. Women were beginning to populate around their booth doing the absolute most, but Damon not once looked away from Bonnie.

Her cheeks warmed.

Guy with the kind eyes flashed a wolfish smile. "Let me buy you a drink."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Come on, gorgeous. One drink."

"And what do you want in return for that free drink?"

His grin widened, "Whatever you want to give me. I'll take it."

She nearly pulled him closer to whisper in his ear if he wanted to meet her friend, but she saw Damon wag his head from side to side. He wasn't interested.

Bonnie pushed him aside. "I'm good. Thanks."

The man studied her for a moment before shrugging and moving on to a much easier conquest. Someone else quickly occupied his vacancy. Bonnie hinted with a jerk of her head if her new dance partner was stirring up any cravings. Again, Damon shook his head. He did so two more times and Bonnie felt her attitude rising. What was his deal?

This was becoming a far more interesting game to Damon. The more he turned down her prospects the more impatient she was growing. It was entertaining coupled with watching Bonnie dance, Damon wasn't thinking about feeding. Entranced as he was, he was oblivious to a warm, foreign thigh pressed to his, and the French tip manicured nails tracing the back of his hand. Being caught off guard was not a good look, but Damon gripped the exploring fingers in a vice.

The woman let out a startled yelp. The rhythm of her heart changed which made the scent of her blood sharper and more potent.

He saw desire mixed with fear in her ocher irises. The unknown woman licked lips that were bee stung and painted a metallic gray. She was talking but Damon couldn't hear beyond the wet thump of her heart, the rush of flood in her veins.

"That's not a part of the agreement."

Damon jerked at the sound of Bonnie's voice. She stood on the opposite side of the table, palms flat on its surface.

"I choose. You eat. That's how it goes."

"What the fuck is she talking about?" bee stung lips said.

Smirking, Damon compelled the woman to go away. Bonnie retook her spot next to her boyfriend, but had a change of heart and decided to straddle him. Slowly.

Damon laughed and gripped her juicy thigh. "What are you doing?"

"Why are you being so picky?"

"Because it's fun."

"Do you want to eat?"

"Of course."

Bonnie swept her long hair from one shoulder to the other.

Damon gulped and his eyes darkened. His gaze dipped to Bonnie's tiny neck and he licked his suddenly very parched lips. "You…offering yourself is defeating the purpose."

Bonnie cupped his face, her features serious, "Does anyone taste better than me?"

"No," Damon moaned as if he were in pain. He didn't know what this witch was doing to him. Scrambling his brains—one. Making his heart swoon—two. Egging on his insatiability—three.

She leaned her head back giving Damon better access. He pulled Bonnie closer, sniffed her fragrance that was an amalgam of vanilla, sandalwood, earth, and fire.

Tilting her neck, Damon kissed along her throat, savoring every little sigh Bonnie made. The spaces beneath his lower lashes heated, and that heat traveled up to his sclera turning them blood-red. His fangs lengthened and, licking where he was going to strike, Damon sunk his teeth into Bonnie.

She bucked, hands tightened on his shoulders, eyes pierced closed. Damon had bitten her last night right at the tail end of her orgasm and this bite felt no different. There was the usual trigger of pain, but a moment later she was squirming to get closer. The feel of him feeding was indescribable.

Those who were nearby couldn't quite look away. Was it sex or foreplay they were witnessing? It was too dark to tell but one thing was certain, it was hot as hell to see.

Damon carefully eased his fangs out of Bonnie. He had to order himself not to accidentally crush her. Fuck, he was seeing stars and planets; the creation of earth seemed to live in her succulent blood. It was almost too much feedback that he had to wag his head to clear it. Damon knew no matter who he hunted or how many, none of them, absolutely none of them would come close to tasting like Bonnie.

He broke the seal of his skin and offered his blood to the partially limp witch. They needed to leave. That urgency was communicated through a simple look as Bonnie sucked from his wrist.

The twosome was a blur of movement, and in less than an hour they were at their waterfall, naked and fucking until morning light.

Bonnie broke the tranquil silence. "When can we go back to Rome?"

"Whenever you want."

She took that under consideration. First, there was something she needed to do.

Act VIII Scene 7

Their trip was postponed as their presence had been summoned for the grand opening of the newly constructed Mystic Falls Historical Center. Stefan tagged along as well. The others would be meeting them there.

The center was semi-packed with the who's who of Mystic Falls. These were the people Bonnie had been cordial and polite to at face value, gave a wide berth.

With Damon beside her, his hand on her hip they drew stares and some did double takes seeing them together.

Carol Lockwood swept into the main atrium making a beeline for Damon.

"Carol," he greeted.

The mayor smiled but the strain around her eyes was obvious. Dressed to impress in Stella McCartney, Carol yearned for a shot of vodka, maybe two, maybe the whole damn bottle. She hated being rattled, thrown off her game, but poise was engrained in her DNA. No one would see her sweat.

"Hello, Damon…Bonnie…Stefan…" she made eye contact with each one. "I'm glad you all could make it."

Damon and Stefan heard her heart pounding.

"What's going on?" Damon wouldn't beat around any bushes.

Carol grew distracted for a second. "Nothing I can discuss at the moment. I'll try to find you later."

"No, tell me right now. Why are you so cagey?"

Carol stared at him for a long moment. "The reason…They call themselves The Strix. Its leaders…the guy in the gray suit, Tristian de Martel and the lady in the red, Aya Al-Rashid. They haven't made any demands specifically so this is more of a 'thanks for not ravaging my town' soiree."

Bonnie assessed them. "They're vampires. Old. Very old."

"How can you tell?" Carol blinked.

Bonnie smiled, "I wouldn't be much of a witch if I couldn't spot a vampire. We should stay away from them," she eyed Damon, hard. "You especially. I literally put your ass back together not that long ago."

Damon blew her a mocking kiss.

"Well," Carol clapped her hands together, "I need to make my rounds. Excuse me."

Taking Bonnie by the hand, Damon figured they should do the same.

Quietly they meandered through the center, admiring the photos on the walls, the pictorial montage of the town's history. The relics and artifacts with small summaries written beside them depicted Mystic Falls as a romantic cornucopia of equality with a few dark spots here and there. Bullshit. Bonnie was mildly shocked to see a few phots of herself. In some of them she was in her cheerleading uniform, or volunteering at this event or another. There was even a few of Grams, a younger Sheila Bennett holding a sit in at Bell's Diner that was demolished in the 80's, rebuilt and became Mystic Grill.

She and Damon rounded a corner and had come to the hall of queens. Miss Mystic Falls of years past lined the corridor. The change in fashion, makeup, and hairstyles was detailed in chronological order. The first Miss Mystic Falls had been crowned in 1951 two years after the school had been built. Each year after that, a daughter of one of the founding families had been crowned among a pool of founding family members. The exclusion was felt by anyone not bearing the name or skin color of: Lockwood, Gilbert, Fell, Forbes, Young, or Salvatore. Though the last stopped pumping out heirs at some point.

Bonnie came to a stop in front of the first and only black Miss Mystic Falls, Jennifer Church. She died tragically in a car accident her sophomore year in college ten years ago. Her family had set up a foundation and scholarship in her name that Bonnie thought about applying for, but high school became unimportant to the young witch.

Staring at Jennifer's portrait, her bright smile, her twinkling dark brown eyes, the glittering diadem on her head, Bonnie was hit with a profound sense of pride and missed opportunity. She could have carried on Jennifer's legacy, merged it with her own.

Bonnie made a decision right there. She would enroll for the spring semester, attend a four-year university, live the experience. Nothing could stop her.

Continuing on, the next time Bonnie stopped was in front of the court Caroline and Elena had been a part of. Caroline's portrait captured her spirit and essence perfectly. Anyone could clearly see she had been born to be Miss Mystic Falls. Elena…she smiled for the camera but there was no real happiness in her gaze. Bonnie would be kind and say it was arresting, had allure, but beyond that she saw a pretty girl trying not to be sad.

Damon came up behind her. Bonnie waited for him to make some remark. Waited for him to reminiscence about that day. The day he did jazz hands with Elena in front of everybody and couldn't quite contain the intensity of his stare. She couldn't stand his ass back then for good reason, but even Bonnie could admit to being a little affected because he revealed another side. A softer side. She hadn't been the cause of it though.

A flash of jealously lit up her nerve endings.

Damon had a pretty good idea what Bonnie was thinking or more to the matter, remembering. He wasn't that Salvatore brother pining for Katherine Lite. So he felt a demonstration of how much he had grown, changed, and wised the hell up was in order. To destroy the past and create the new. With Bonnie.

Lips touched her neck. Bonnie jerked out of her musings. Damon pressed impossibly close, nudging his shameless erection into her.

Heat flared in her thighs, traveling straight to her groin. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Damon discreetly slithered his hands beneath the layers of Bonnie's dress. His breath caught. A flimsy slip of nothing covered her mound.

"Seriously, we can't do this here, Damon."

"I'll make sure no one knows what we're doing."

"We're not going to be doing anything." Bonnie argued despite feeling her dissolve fizzle.

"Says the lady whose panties are wet. Did you forget who you're in a relationship with?" he nipped her shoulder.

"No," Bonnie clenched her thighs together but it was pretty much useless. Damon sunk a finger between her legs, fingered her.

This was wrong. They were in public and the place was teeming with people. Anyone could take one look at them and know what they were doing. Smell what they were doing. Especially the vampires.

Bonnie heard Damon's zipper going down. He pushed her panties aside.

"Arch your back a little."

"Damon…" Bonnie stared at him incredulously over her shoulder.

His cheeks were flushed, eyes had turned darker they flirted with being navy. When he looked like that, needy and desperate, it did things to her.

Bonnie squeaked the moment Damon sunk his middle finger deep in her saturated folds. And that squeak turned into a groan when he pulled it out. They were in a secluded corner but it offered not one skein of privacy.

Bonnie was too hot and bothered and close to the edge to really give a single damn. Exhibitionism wasn't her thing but Damon was two seconds from converting her into a believer.

And it would be at that time the doppelganger entered the hall, her gaze instantly arrowing toward Bonnie and Damon. Brown eyes widened once it became clear what was about to go down. The vampire stared at her head on and said low enough for her ears to pick up:

"You don't mind if we fuck next to your portrait, do you?"

A/N: Well, it's not exactly having sex on a particular coffin, but I'll say this comes close enough. How do we likely? Please let me know. I say it all the time but I really do love reading what you guys think; even things you might think aren't important. Thanks for reading! Oh and just a brief reminder that I again referenced one of the ways a person could transition according to LJ Smith, during that morning after scene where Bonnie was staring at the blood on Damon's sheets. K, bye.