A/N: I just wanted to say I am so touched by the response to this story so far. Your reviews have made me crazy stupid happy. Thank you.
Elena's eyebrows rose in surprise. Bonnie and Damon traveled the world together? She flipped through the later pages of the diary before it was snatched out of her hand.
"Caroline!"
"We're on a schedule, Elena," the blonde reminded, pointing to the next journal in the stack: 2020. There was one single tab stuck out roughly in the middle.
"We're skipping a year and a half? They're back in Virginia?"
"No, they're still abroad here," Caroline casually corrected. Elena felt a bubble of discomfort rise in her stomach.
"That's a while," she said. "What did they do?"
"You know. Empanadas in Argentina, sky diving on the Australian coast... they rode elephants somewhere, too."
"Wow..." Elena trailed off. "So, here, Bonnie's... 28?"
"Yeah, that sounds right. Oh, actually, I think there's a couple pictures in the back," she said. Elena flipped to the back of the diary and spotted three glossy photos.
In the first, Bonnie and Damon sat in a big, green car wearing t-shirts and dark sunglasses. Two gorgeous lions laid in the grassy background. Bonnie made a dramatic growling face at the camera while Damon feigned biting her cheek with mock ferocity. Bonnie looked physically older, but she radiated a youthful, freer energy. She was free of getting her friends out of their many vampire messes. She was free to enjoy her life. Elena noted with an odd pit in her gut that she was enjoying it with Damon. She flipped the photo over and found Bonnie's neat script. Safari. Tanzania. August 2019.
Elena flipped to the second photo, in which they simply smiled in big winter coats in front of the Northern Lights. Somebody else took this one. They must have made friends along the way. The thought made Elena feel lonely. Damon had his arm snaked around Bonnie's waist, and she leaned into him slightly. He didn't wear his signature smirk, but a wide, toothy grin. His glee reached his eyes, and the sky created a bright green halo around them.
Elena moved to the last picture and found Damon lifting Bonnie up bridal style. She kicked her legs out straight, throwing her arms in the air dramatically. They stood in front of some large body of clear water, as Damon's pale feet were half-buried in white sand. Bonnie wore a yellow bikini that complemented her pastel nail polish and contrasted Damon's black trunks. He was in the middle of saying something to her, and Bonnie had her head thrown back laughing beneath a large sunhat.
"Where's this?" she asked quietly, showing Caroline the picture.
"Somewhere in the Canary Islands. Lanzarote, I think? Yeah, that's where he taught her how to drive stick shift," she confirmed.
"Good memory," Elena commented.
"No, I wasn't... well, I was still doing my own thing then. I just reread these recently to tab them for you."
Elena nodded, understanding. Eventually, she would have to hear about Caroline's own journey over the years and how she navigated her own grief of losing Stefan.
"There are photo albums at—uh, somewhere... we can dig them up if you want to see more," Caroline added. Elena stared down at the delighted amusement in Damon's expression.
"Maybe," she whispered, running her fingers over their smiles. She felt inexplicable apprehensive nerves in her stomach.
"You said Damon's out of town?" Elena asked.
"Uh, yeah," Caroline said, trying to keep her voice even.
"Does he not live at the Boarding House anymore?"
"No. No, somebody else lives there now." The blonde ran her hand through her hair uncomfortably.
"Who?" Elena asked. She knew her tone was demanding, but she was growing tired of being kept in the dark.
"She can explain it better than I can," Caroline said. They looked down at the diary in her hand. Elena held back an irritated sigh.
"Where are they here?" she asked, flipping open the journal to the tabbed note. She found herself wondering what the method was behind her friend's tabbing system. What made these memories important to read before she got to Damon?
"Portugal."
May 20th, 2020
Dear Elena,
Damon and I are being summoned back to Mystic Falls, and you'll never guess why…
"And Guest? Are you kidding me?" Damon glared, throwing the invitation back on the table.
"Gee, I wonder why he wouldn't like you. Let me think…" Bonnie said, picking it back up to put on their fridge. She hung it by two magnets she had bought in Tokyo and Prague. The invitation displayed a glossy picture of Matt grinning with his arms around a woman in his lap. Matthew Donovan and Stephanie Scott Would Like to Cordially Invite you…
"'Bonnie Bennett and Guest'. Ungrateful little shithead," Damon muttered.
"Maybe they wanted me to keep my options open and bring somebody who doesn't call my friends shitheads," she said, taking a seat opposite him at their small two-person dining table.
They'd rented a small Airbnb near Lisbon for the month. Sure, Damon could have compelled them the finest place in the city, but she wanted to maintain a semblance of a 20-something backpacking feel to their trip. They stayed in a small studio with a king bed low to the ground in the corner, a tiny bathroom with one sink, and a small kitchen they could only comfortably navigate one at a time. Damon bitched about it nonstop.
Damon ignored her suggestion. They both knew she wasn't going without him.
"Why are they even having a wedding? Donovan has two friends and half as many parents."
"Maybe she's got a big family or a ton of sorority sisters or something," Bonnie shrugged, absent-mindedly organizing their playing cards.
"Ooh, I could get behind that…" he trailed off suggestively. She resented the twinge of jealousy. It'd become impossible to ignore in seventeen months.
"I'm not bringing you if you're just gonna ogle the hypothetical sorority girls," she snapped.
"When I've got the hottest date there? Please," he said. She raised her eyebrow at him and smirked.
"And hey, maybe he'll shoot this one too, and we won't have to go," he added. Bonnie's face fell into disapproval.
"And that's why you're 'And Guest'."
The pair got ready for their evening out relatively quickly. Bonnie had been in the bathroom for only twenty minutes when she stepped out to find him buttoning up his white shirt.
Damon's eyes traveled up her body a little too slowly. Bonnie donned a white sundress. It was snug on her waist and flowed out around her hips, hugging her chest in a halter collar. She'd grown her hair out since Stefan's death, and Damon smiled slightly at the sight of her big curls framing her face. Her high cheekbones glowed under a light layer of bronzer.
"What?" she asked at his wide eyes. She walked up to him and finished buttoning his shirt for him.
"Nothing," he dismissed.
She gave him a wary, skeptical stare, but didn't push it. Damon blinked down at her. She smelled of her citrus lotion and argan oil. He knew he'd forever associate those scents with her rich warm laugh.
Damon put his hands on her shoulders and slid them down her soft arms. These touches happened frequently and felt near involuntary at times. He stopped when they met her wrists and dropped his arms back to his sides. He never let his fingers reach her hands.
"Ready?" he asked.
"I guess," she shrugged apathetically. He playfully shoved her shoulder, and she gave him a teasing smile.
They made their way out of their temporary home and onto the busy night streets of Lisbon's City Center. Bonnie came alive in Portugal. The warm air enveloped her as she heard the chatter in a language she didn't understand. Damon slung his arm over her shoulders, and she reached hers around his waist. They were constantly weighing these gestures internally. Hands were too intimate. Leaning her head on his shoulder would push it. This, though, felt okay. They walked a tightrope finding reasons to touch each other and never talking about it.
"For the wife?" a flower vendor asked, holding roses out to them.
"No thanks," Damon dismissed. They quit correcting people a while ago.
Bonnie pulled Damon along as they turned down a side street. They smelled street food nearby and heard the loud sounds of partying tourists.
"Where'd you hear about this bar anyway?" Damon asked.
"Some guy recommended it when I grabbed breakfast the other day," she answered. Damon rose his eyebrows.
"Some guy, huh?"
"Yes, Damon, on occasion, men talk to me," she said, rolling her eyes.
"I haven't seen it."
"That's because they think I'm 'the wife' when I'm with you," she said. She said "the wife" in the vendor's thick Portuguese accent. It was just absurd enough to keep the conversation light. Damon chuckled lightly at her.
"You are so shitty at accents," he said.
"I am not."
"Do Klaus."
She looked up at him and saw the corner of his mouth twitch with amusement. She put on the best British accent she could.
"Caroline, love, give me a chance. I've only killed two people today!" she mimicked.
"Oof," he remarked, biting back a louder laugh. They walked up to the entrance of the bar, and Damon glanced down at Bonnie. The red neon sign cast a brilliant glow over her, turning her dress into a soft pink beneath it. The glance turned into a gaze.
"You are familiar with doorknobs, right?" she teased. She pointed to the handle. "They look kind of like that."
Damon made a dramatic show of opening the door for her.
"Smartass," he murmured as they stepped through the threshold.
The bright energy between them was zapped completely as Damon's face fell at the sight in front of him. The bar was fairly empty but for a large group of men helping themselves to the liquor. He grabbed Bonnie's hand, lacing her fingers with his own firmly as he looked at the man in the center of the room. She looked up at him to find a stiff smirk on his face. Whatever warmth he was portraying didn't reach his eyes. She felt the familiar gush of wind hit her back as vampires sprinted to stand behind them, blocking off the entrance. They were surrounded.
"Rolf!" Damon yelled warmly, pretending not to notice the enclosure. He tugged Bonnie closer to him and stepped slightly in front of her. The gesture was just protective enough to keep her on her guard, but subtle enough to not be overt. She squeezed his hand to tell him she understood. They were in danger.
The man in front of them was handsome, blonde, and visibly older than them both. He raised his arms warmly, and Bonnie recognized him immediately. He was the random flirty patron who recommended the bar. She cursed her own naivety. They had gotten too comfortable feeling safe.
"Damon! We've been waiting!" he yelled. "Come on, have a drink with us."
Bonnie recognized Damon's disguised discomfort in the clench of his jaw. He led her closer to the group. His stiff arm held her close, not letting her stray from his side a step.
"It's been a long time, man. I'm sorry; we've got reservations in fifteen. If I'd known you were here..." Damon trailed off, embracing the man in a one-armed hug. Bonnie caught the lie about the reservations and subtly scanned the room. There had to be twenty men around them. They all stared at her and Damon shamelessly.
"Oh, of course, of course. I never could get you in one place too long," Rolf said. His voice was honey, rich with charm. "And who do we have here?" he looked down at Bonnie.
"Brianna Forbes," she lied smoothly.
Rolf looked away from her dismissively in a second.
"I forgot you always keep your blood closer than we do," he said, looking down at their entwined hands. He gestured toward a girl seated at the bar. "She's been pleasant company, though, I will admit."
Bonnie's eyes found the girl and bile rose in her throat. She couldn't have been older than twenty. Her dark skin was riddled with bites, old and new. Her eyes were lifeless and sunken. She recognized the vacant expression of somebody compelled to be quiet and wait for instructions. Rolf's words sunk in. You keep your blood closer than we do. Did Rolf think she was a compelled human blood bag like Caroline was when they first met? She turned her glance back to the vampire in front of her, keeping her face blank to hide her revulsion at the comment.
"I can't believe you're here!" Damon said with fake surprised delight. "I thought Kol was the source of your bloodline."
One of Rolf's followers brought them two glasses of bourbon. Damon accepted the glass with his free hand but didn't sip from it.
"Oh, no. He and my sire were friendly, but I'm a Rebekah baby, for lack of a better term. I heard about your doppelganger girlfriend taking Kol out, though. Impressive. You like them fiery, huh?" Rolf glanced down Bonnie again for a fleeting moment.
"Elena is quite the woman," Damon said, drawing his attention back from the witch beside him. She recognized the tactic but felt a dull throb of jealousy anyway.
"I liked them fiery once, too," Rolf said. Venom infiltrated his careful tone, and Bonnie felt Damon tense next to her. "Imagine my delight to hear you were right here in Portugal, not far at all."
"You aren't still on that old misunderstanding, are you?" Damon asked, trying and failing to keep it casual. He could feel more vampires encroach closer on him and Bonnie.
She mentally debated herself. She could probably take them all, but not without risking one of them pulling Damon's heart out on their way down. She ran through spells in her head when she felt a needle pushed into her neck from behind. Before Damon could register what had happened, she lost all functionality in her body. Rolf hit her hard in the face and she tumbled to the ground.
Damon threw himself at the man in a rage when his minions grabbed him from all sides, and he felt the familiar feeling of vervain darts in his back.
"Not at all," Rolf sneered. Everything went black.
Damon came back to consciousness slowly, expecting to be on the far edge of the bed he shared with Bonnie. Instead, he felt the flat, hard table beneath him. His shirt had been cut open and chains were wrapped tight around his wrists, ankles, and shoulders. The restrictions were overkill. He'd been pumped with so much vervain he couldn't bust out of yarn if he wanted to.
"It wakes," Rolf sneered down at him.
Damon's head fell to the side weakly, looking for Bonnie. She was stiff at the feet of Rolf's human. He listened carefully and found her quick heartbeat. Relief washed over him. He kept his face blank, looking back up at his captor. If he knew what Bonnie meant to him, he would hurt her more.
"Fast-acting paralytic. Don't worry. It won't last longer than a day."
Bonnie was completely frozen. She laid there, eyes closed, trapped in her own body as she heard the men talking. She willed herself to use magic, but she couldn't make it happen without her voice functioning. Damon experienced sleep paralysis sometimes. He rarely talked about it, but she felt a pang of sympathy for it now. She was in a nightmare.
"I see you're not over it," Damon coughed out.
"She was my wife. Would you be?"
"I didn't know it was her, man, I promise."
"I don't care."
One of Rolf's men walked over with a jar of vervain flowers, a pair of thin, black gloves, and a sharp knife. Rolf took them without thanks.
"For a long time, I asked myself, 'What kind of a man is Damon Salvatore to run off without even an apology?'" he said as he tugged the gloves onto his hands.
"I don't know why I left. You're being so reasonable," Damon said. Rolf ignored him.
"So, I thought I'd ask you myself." Rolf picked up a single vervain flower in his gloved hands.
"Ask me what?"
Rolf brushed the tip of the vervain flower along Damon's neck. He suppressed the yell that threatened to escape his lips. He let long, harsh breaths out of his nose. Rolf lifted the flower back off his neck.
"What kind of man are you, Damon?" he asked coolly. Damon clenched his jaw. His expression set into firm obstinacy.
"Handsome, athletic, good in the sack..." he began. Rolf shoved the vervain flower in his mouth, then placed his large hand over his face, plugging his nose and keeping his jaw closed tight. Damon felt the searing pain fill his mouth as blood pooled around his tongue. He choked on the vervain, feeling bits of the flower fall down his throat. His chest burned as his insides ripped apart. It was like breathing in broken chips of glass. He fought to spit the poisonous flower out, but Rolf held his mouth firmly. He looked down at Damon like he had inconvenienced him with his non-answer. After a moment longer, he let go of his face.
Damon sputtered out the flower in a pool of thick blood. He tried not to think about the small bits of his tongue he felt expel from his mouth with the purple petals. The bloody mess dripped down his chin, and he ferociously shook his head back and forth to get the poison off his face. He glared at his torturer and waited for him to gloat in the same way he'd taunted Mason and his other victims over the years. Instead, Rolf kept his voice unsettlingly steady and repeated the same question.
"What kind of man are you, Damon?"
Damon's voice was garbled from the damage in his mouth but remained defiant.
"Well... I'm a hell of a bowler," he replied. Rolf took the knife this time and dug it deep into his chest. Damon shouted out as the blade cut into his heart, ripping it apart inside him. He pulled hard against the chains, but they wouldn't budge.
Bonnie listened helplessly as the cycle went on for almost fourteen hours. At first, Damon's replies were taunting and amused.
"What kind of man are you, Damon?"
"Ask your wife."
Screaming.
"What kind of man are you, Damon?"
"I think I'm a Samantha, but Stefan makes a strong case for Carrie."
Screaming.
Around the seventh hour of torture, his quips grew tired and unoriginal.
"What kind of man are you, Damon?"
"Italian-American. Sound out my last name, dumbass."
Screaming.
"What kind of man are you, Damon?"
"Gemini. You?"
Screaming.
For a few hours after that, Damon refused to say anything. He just withstood the pain, falling in and out of consciousness. Soft tears escaped the corner of Bonnie's eyes as she heard the sounds of the blade digging into his body and his skin sizzle beneath the flowers. Rolf took no breaks. She could have fallen asleep, but she forced herself to stay awake. She couldn't leave him alone.
"What kind of man are you, Damon?" Rolf repeated for maybe the seventieth time.
"Please stop," he begged.
"What kind of man are you, Damon?"
"What do you want me to say?" he whispered. Rolf slowly dragged the blade down his cheek. This tactic was the worst. When he stabbed him, the pain was fast. When he dragged it out, the anticipation of when the long slices would end drove Damon crazy. Rolf lightly cut all the way down to his collarbone before he let up.
Damon had fallen deep into a dark place inside of himself. His own voice whispered in his ear the million answers he had to the question. He thought of the man who let his mother die with no forgiveness in his heart. He thought of the man who'd cowardly crawled into a coffin, leaving Bonnie for years. He thought of every life he'd ever taken.
"What kind of man are you, Damon?"
If Damon had any ounce of energy left in him, he would have been furious at the tears that stung his eyes. If he had any energy left in him, he would worry about Bonnie overhearing him. He didn't. All that was left was the hollow voice in his head that finally escaped his lips.
"I'm... nothing. Nothing. She's going to regret every second she's wasted on me," he choked out the confession.
Rolf relented for the first time, nodding slowly. He put the knife down and took off his gloves.
"Ah. You feel unworthy of the doppelganger," Rolf remarked. Damon laid there quietly for a long moment.
"Yeah. The doppelganger," he whispered.
Rolf waved his friend over, who handed him a new knife. It was black with an odd writing on the blade.
"I picked this up from a witch in Asia," Rolf said, admiring the knife in his hand. "She spelled it, so your vampirism won't heal the scar. Impressive magics. It was a shame to kill her, but hey, can't have her reversing it for you," he said.
Bonnie thought back to the moments Damon ridiculed Stefan and Klaus's decisions to mar their immortal bodies with tattoos. He took pride in his clean, untouched skin. She felt fury boil inside of her and daydreamed of the slow, painful death she could give this vampire.
Damon cried out as Rolf carved into his abdomen. He couldn't tell what the man was writing, but he felt the strokes of the knife cut large words across his stomach. He tried to retreat further into himself. He closed his eyes and thought about Stefan. He heard his brother's laugh in the back of his mind, faint, but warm. He thought of the time Bonnie fell asleep on his shoulder on the overnight train from Budapest to Prague. He thought about the drunken, victorious kiss she planted on his cheek when she won a blackjack tournament at a pub in Scotland. It was almost enough to dull the searing pain of the blade carving into him. Almost.
The feeling in Bonnie's hands slowly began to come back. After fourteen hours on the ground, she fought every instinct to squeeze them into fists just to move. There were eyes everywhere. She knew they'd dose her again. She cautiously wiggled her toes in her heels.
Rolf gave the knife back to his friend and stretched his arms wide. He was stiff and tired. He was a surgeon who'd come out of a fourteen-hour procedure.
"Pack it up. Let's go," he commanded to the others. They were hunched over in their chairs, bored and exhausted.
"You're n- not gonna kill me?" Damon choked out, quiet and broken.
"Why would I when you can live with this reminder?" the man replied. After one final look, he turned his back on Damon and gestured for the others to follow him out.
Bonnie slowly opened her eyes as the vampires headed toward the exit. She didn't know if she could walk. She didn't know if she could get out. What she did know was that she couldn't let him escape. She opened her shaky hand in his direction and whispered through half-frozen vocal cords.
"Incendia."
Rolf caught fire immediately and burned from the inside out. His echoing screams created a cold delight inside her. She waved her hand softly, so the fire spread through the vampires surrounding him. Some ran at her, piecing together what had happened, but they weren't fast enough. Bonnie muttered more spells under her breath and threw them through the air into the fast-spreading fire. She mustered her strength and rolled herself onto her hands, achingly pushing herself up off the ground. She swayed on her knees, but her adrenaline surged at the sight of Damon trembling and the flames creeping toward him.
Bonnie climbed to her feet and stumbled over to Damon, holding herself up on nearby tables and chairs to help her along. She saw the vampires fall to the ground one by one. Their skin turned lilac and veiny as the fire consumed their bodies and the walls surrounding them.
"Lacero," she said in a cracked, hoarse voice. The chains fell into tiny pieces around Damon and clattered on the ground. Bonnie couldn't hide the horror on her face as she looked down at his stomach.
"That bad, huh?" he whispered. She composed herself and grabbed him by the arm to help him to his feet.
"We need to get out of here," she said, watching the flames encroach on them.
"No. Wait," he groaned. Bonnie looked up at him incredulously when she found his eyes locked on the young woman Rolf had compelled. She'd forgotten about her. The girl had been silently sitting in that chair for over half a day since they arrived.
Damon grabbed the side of the bar and walked over to her, stumbling and weak. Bonnie followed him, trying and failing to help him along as her legs shook beneath her. When they approached the compelled girl, she stared up at them blankly.
"What's... what's your name?" Damon asked, spitting blood out onto the floor. She looked up at him with wary, wide eyes.
"Tayla," she replied in a voice was devoid of life.
"How long have you been here?" his tone was shockingly gentle beneath the pain.
"A few weeks, I think. Maybe a month." He looked at her skin marred by scars from bite marks. Rolf never bothered to heal her. Damon put a hand on her shoulder and looked deep into her eyes. He mustered up the miniscule amount of energy he had left to compel her.
"Tayla... you are going to go home. Portugal was beautiful. The beaches were pristine. You skinny dipped. You loved the food. You enjoyed every moment. You were attacked by an animal and hospitalized. It's okay, though. You don't remember the pain. In fact, it's given you a new lease on life. You are more grateful and optimistic for the future than you ever have been. You'll always remember the sand between your toes, the architecture, and the friends you made. You're going to have... a wonderful life," he promised in a raspy voice. A small smile spread over Tayla's face.
"It was beautiful, wasn't it?" she asked. Before he could answer, she walked over to the door. She stepped over Rolf's corpse as she left the burning building.
Damon slumped against the bar, ready to fall to the ground. Bonnie caught him, slung his arm around her shoulders, and let him rest some of his weight on her. They interlaced their fingers as she supported him. She was stiff and aching, but she could move again.
Bonnie looked up at him with big, teary eyes. He was in too much pain to return her glance. He was too focused on remaining conscious. She let herself indulge in staring up at him for a few seconds as they hobbled toward the exit.
In that moment, Bonnie Bennett fell in love with Damon Salvatore.
Her new realization kept creeping up on her as she parted the flames around them and helped the vampire hobble back to their little temporary home. I have to get him back. I love him. I think there's some O Positive in the fridge. I love him. He needs to shower, too. I love him. I wonder how long it'll take for him to heal from this. I love him.
He didn't speak until they reached their studio. They'd drawn the attention of locals and tourists alike in the harsh light of day, but they kept inching home, ignoring their shocked expressions. Their horrified eyes kept falling to his stomach under his open shirt.
Bonnie fumbled with the lock as Damon swayed on his feet.
"Can't believe you got to kill him," he growled.
"You can take my next revenge murder, then. We'll call it even," she replied. A weak smile danced on his face.
Bonnie held him up as they crossed their small apartment to the bathroom. She flicked the light switch, and pale, florescent light filled the room. Damon leaned back against the wall while Bonnie turned on the shower. He stared into the bathroom mirror at his mangled body. In a grossly neat script, large across his torso were three simple words.
Not worth it.
Bonnie grabbed his face in her hand and roughly turned it toward hers. The pads of her fingers pressed into his cheeks hard, though she was careful to avoid the gashes in his skin. She looked in his eyes wordlessly. Damon nodded weakly and turned his back toward the mirror.
She helped him into the shower, and they sat on the floor fully clothed as the hot water washed the blood from Damon's pale skin. He looked like he was going to pass out any second.
"Do you remember..." he faded a bit before catching himself. He blinked hard to stay awake. "Do you remember that night you found me and El- Elena dancing? At that frat party?"
Bonnie felt hot saliva in her mouth at the mention of her friend. He never talked about Elena anymore.
"Yeah," she whispered.
"That night, we were looking... for people she could feed on. Bad people, you know? Like Dexter. Thought it'd be easier for her if they sucked," he said. Bonnie nodded, unsure what to get from the story. He continued.
"We saw some frat guy drop a roofie in this girl's drink," he was whispering now. Bonnie leaned closer to hear him over the water pouring down on them.
"She fed on him, and we... drank and danced all night. But we—we never checked... do you think she got home?" he asked. Damon's eyes were half-closed by now, but she could see in his expression what he wanted. Absolve me. Forgive me.
Bonnie inched closer to him. She sat on her knees between his legs as the water soaked through their clothes. She brought her hand to his face and rubbed some blood out of his cheek with her thumb. Damon leaned into her touch.
"I hope so," she whispered.
He brought his hand up to meet hers on his cheek. It was intimate in a way they'd never been. The gesture was tender and infused with deep appreciation.
"You never lie to me," he observed.
"It's not really my way."
"No, it's not," he agreed. His eyes began to close, and Bonnie held his head up.
She looked back over her shoulder at the doorway. There was blood in the fridge, but she couldn't get herself to move. She wanted to show him how significant what he did tonight was. She wanted to show him that a man who took care of a stranger after fourteen hours of torture with no expectation of reward was a good man. That was the kind of man he was.
Bonnie inched closer to him and clumsily placed her legs on the outside of his until she was straddling him, sitting tall in his lap. She held his puzzled, weak eyes and tilted her head to the side so her neck was outstretched in front of him. His lips parted, surprised and confounded.
"I trust you," she said.
Damon cautiously closed the distance between them, waiting for her to withdraw the offer. When she didn't, he hesitated only one more second before he sank his teeth into her flesh.
It hurt, of course, but not too badly. It wasn't the first time he drank from her. Years ago, in a rage over Emily's deception, he bit her for only a moment before Stefan had stopped it. It was feral and angry then. This was different. Damon put his hands on either side of her waist for seemingly no reason at all. As he drank slowly and cautiously, Bonnie held onto his shoulder with one hand and placed the other on the cold, slick acrylic wall behind him.
Bonnie closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of his hands and his torso pressed against hers to ignore the pain where his teeth sunk into her neck. He released her from his mouth quickly, but they stayed in that position for a moment longer. Damon felt tempted to lick the bead of blood that trailed down to her collar bone, but he didn't. He brought one of his hands from her waist and swiped it away with his thumb.
Bonnie pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, but she found his expression looking her up and down. Her wet white dress clung to her skin, and she felt naked beneath his gaze. He was frantically searching for injuries. He noticed the bruising around her eye had already begun.
"I wish I could kill him," he growled. He wasn't blood thirsty on his own behalf, despite his own far worse wounds. He wanted to avenge the swelling on her face.
"We're okay," she assured him.
"I guess you regret inviting vampire public enemy number one along with you on your big world tour, huh?" he tried to keep his tone light, but she heard the insecurity in his voice.
"Not exactly," she whispered. He broke into a small smile as he remembered her saving him from the prison world.
"And Elena would never regret a second with you," she said, glancing at the words carved into his stomach.
Damon shook his head with a humorless laugh and pulled her into a tight hug. They cradled each other on the shower floor. Damon winced when she pressed against some of his worse injuries, but he didn't loosen his grip. They listened to each other breathe under the crashing water. It ran bloody down the drain.
"I wasn't talking about her," he whispered in her ear.
Bonnie's heart leapt before she was hit with wave of guilt. She pressed her face closer into Damon's neck. Long sobs tumbled out of her mouth as the night's events hit her. The water went lukewarm, but they didn't move.
They made it out.
They were okay.
They were in love.