Song/title: Mimicking Birds – "Remnants and Pictures"
"Hey." Elena reaches out to brush the tears off Bonnie's cheeks, talking through her own. "Bonnie Bennett. You have spent your entire life making sacrifices for me. Now it's my turn to do it for you. I just have one more favor to ask." She pauses. "Well, two, actually."
"Okay." Whatever it is, Bonnie will do it.
Elena clears her throat. "So, I'm gonna be gone a long time."
Bonnie sob-laughs. "I think that's been established, yeah."
"Well, I haven't had to have the conversation yet, because it'll be a doozy, but I plan to tell Damon to live his life as if I were dead. He's already spent so much of it waiting for someone who wasn't even worth waiting for. He deserves to find himself without me. And if, at the end of your very long and very happy life, a life you shouldn't be afraid to extend with that unfair witchy skincare magic, Damon still wants to be with me, it will be his decision."
"Okay," Bonnie says again, not really able to muster anything else.
Elena takes her hands this time, looks right into her eyes. "And, I want to tell you the same thing. Grieve me; don't wait for me. Live. Go after what you want."
"What are you saying?" Bonnie asks, though she has a pretty good idea... wait, does she know? Her heart beats faster, the avalanche of guilt and shame creeping toward the cliff edge.
"I think you know," Elena replies, smiling her warmest, most genuine smile, one that would easily convince Bonnie she meant what she said—in literally any case but this one. "And yes, I do know. And it's okay. You don't have to feel guilty anymore. Like I said, you have spent your entire life giving up so much so that I could be happy. This is not just how I show my gratitude. This is how I make peace with sleeping for the next hundred-odd years."
If Bonnie's heart beats any faster it'll burst through her ribcage like the fucking kool-aid man. "I... don't know what to say..."
"Don't say anything." Elena pulls her into a tight hug, one of those that for a moment feels like it could last forever. "Just know that I love you more than you'll ever know. And this, my second favor," she continues, pulling away, then grabbing one of the feather pillows at the top of the bed and holding it out to Bonnie.
"Can you do it one last time?"
"Well, isn't this quaint?" Damon says with an obnoxious smirk when Bonnie and Enzo finally get out of the car, gesturing to the cabin to the left behind him.
Enzo grabs their bags out of the trunk and slams it closed. "We'll be safe here for a few hours. I've kept this place off the grid for years."
He walks toward the cabin, Bonnie keeping pace, their guest trailing behind.
"Lonely, cramped... like a prison cell," Damon comments when they reach the porch. "I can see why you like it."
Phase one of the "plan" is simple: flirtatious hostility. When it comes to this subtle art, no one is better versed than Bonnie. She shoots Damon a look that's somehow both withering and smoldering before pointedly speaking only to Enzo. "You know what? He's welcome to go back to his musty old mansion, far away from here."
"And miss the chance to see this den of iniquity? No way." This isn't the first time one of his jabs has revealed a preoccupation with their relationship, something both of them realize as they share a secret smile.
Damon makes a show of looking around the single room as they step into the foyer. "Oh. Cozy. You know it's a big step, moving in with someone," he says to Bonnie.
She rolls her eyes and lets her tongue flick out over her lips as she does, so quickly one would miss it were one not looking closely enough, and the look in Damon's eyes reveals he very much was.
The raven-haired vampire shakes his head a little, as if to rid himself of some kind of fog, then starts kneading his hands greedily in a transparent attempt to appear goal-oriented. "All right, let's do this. Where are you hiding that pesky little huntress?"
"Storm cellar." Enzo cocks his head. "But she's asleep. And she told us that if she ever manages to doze off, if we wake her up she'll slaughter us all."
"I'll risk it," Damon drawls, winking as he turns to go.
"No, you won't," Enzo counters, having zipped over in front of Damon, their faces mere inches apart. Bonnie's heart skips (not from fear, as it turns out). "You may be willing to be cavalier with Bonnie's wellbeing, but I'm not."
Damon squints at him. "I'm waking her up to ask her to save Bonnie, you fuck. What happened to the Armory being one locator spell away from finding her?"
"That's only once the dose wears off," Bonnie cuts in. "We've got until at least tomorrow."
Both of them look at her with confusion. "When did you take them last?" Enzo asks slowly.
Bonnie sighs. "Right before we left the hospital."
Enzo closes his eyes. "Love, why... why would you do that?" He's with her now, his fingers tracing along her arms, one hand ending at her waist, the other at her chin. "Any you take might accelerate the— the process." He chokes on the words. This isn't part of their little game; this is what the game was a distraction from. "Promise me you won't take any more. Promise me."
She can't stop the tears; neither can he. "I'm sorry, but I can't. I'd rather die than give you up to Alex. Besides, who knows; maybe they work differently on heretics than normal witches. Whatever the case, I think it's best to stay under the radar."
"I think it's best for you to not actively poison yourself," Damon chimes in.
Enzo motions toward him with his head, eyes still locked with Bonnie's. "What he said." He brings both of his hands up beneath her ears and pulls her into a slow kiss, speaking whole sentences in silence. Bonnie can't help but look to Damon when their lips part and she opens her eyes; his face is unreadable, but his gaze is locked on them. And then he all but storms back out the front door.
Enzo raises an eyebrow and grins. "Looks like we're doing well." His expression sobers. "Look, I suggested this hoping it might bring you some happiness, but if that's not how you feel..."
"Enzo." She presses into him so that the fronts of their bodies are almost fully melded together, suddenly able to channel all the visceral emotions evoked by the looming prospect of death—real, permanent death—into something else: desire, ache, urgency, anticipation, need .
"I want him. And I want you. I want both of you, together." Bonnie melts even closer to his chest, feels him with her thigh. "And it sure seems like you do too," she purrs.
His eyes burn into hers, and they're both closing in for a much less tame kiss than the last one when they hear the strident stab of the Camaro's horn being sounded over and over. No way anyone could sleep through that. Especially not someone staving off hundreds of psychic transmissions.
Bonnie steps back a little. "Well, once again, he's sentenced us both to death. Any final words?"
Despite the imminent danger, Enzo smiles. "All of them."
It was almost in this exact spot, a year and a half ago, that they first talked about him.
It's two or three in the morning and Enzo feels Bonnie get out of bed and pad to the kitchen. He waits for a few minutes, not sure if she would want him to follow her, but when he hears the faint sound of a sniffle he doesn't hesitate.
She's not actively crying when he slowly walks up behind her, making sure she knows he's there before he puts his hands on her shoulders as she sits at the table, flipping through the massive high school photo album Caroline had made for her as an (honorary) college graduation present. As Enzo drops his head closer to Bonnie's he looks at the page she's on and freezes for a millisecond or two, his vision flitting over the five shots of Damon and Bonnie together—both glaring at the camera and clearly not wanting the picture to be taken at the 80s decade dance; Damon stealing Bonnie's s'more at the senior back-to-school bonfire; them just after Bonnie's return from the prison world, still clad in her grunge-y flannel and jeans; in front of the Eiffel Tower, the framing all out of whack because this was one of the few times during the trip that Ric was actually drunk; and then at Scull bar during the holiday season, Bonnie in her elf hat and Damon mid-swig of presumably booze-logged eggnog—before closing his eyes and softly kissing her neck. "You alright, love?"
Bonnie reaches back to grab his right hand with hers. "I miss him," she whispers, the tears starting to fall again.
Not letting go of her hand, Enzo slowly slides into the seat perpendicular to her. He takes a deep breath. "I miss him too. Every day. I get it."
She looks up at him. "No offense, Enzo, but I'm not sure you get it."
He sees the look in her eyes, and he knows. "You'd be surprised," he responds quietly.
She can see it in his eyes too, because hers widen in recognition. "Wait. Did you two—?"
"We kissed, once. He kissed me, to be precise. Mid–self-destruction buddy murder spiral, true, but a kiss is a kiss. Not to him, though. He was perfectly fine pretending it never happened."
Bonnie sinks back in her chair. "Okay. Maybe you do get it."
Enzo raises an eyebrow. "So what's your damage?"
She tells him the story she's never told anyone, never even spoken aloud. The words come with surprising ease. When she's done she waits for him to get angry, pity her, ruin this bizarrely beautiful moment somehow, but he doesn't. He just kisses her, long and slow, the kind of kiss that puts everything back where it belongs. Almost everything.
When they finally pull away Enzo is smiling, even as tears gather. "To tell the truth, I've loved him ever since we were cellmates. As mad as it sounds, he helped me own the darkest parts of myself, and I wouldn't be who I am now if I hadn't. Part of me will never forgive him for all the times he's left. But the other part always will."
Bonnie laughs despite herself. "Fuck. Alright. You definitely get it."
"I wouldn't lie about such things." Enzo stands up and once more extends his hand to her, this time in offer. "But right now, regardless of those who couldn't care less about either of us, I want you. What do you say... come back to bed with me?"
All she can manage is a small nod as she laces her fingers with his and rises from her own chair, letting him lead her back to his room, their room, not breaking eye contact in the near-darkness as he takes off her pajamas, his lips trailing kiss by kiss from her shoulder down her chest and abs, and just as she's about to lose herself in his mouth, Enzo looks up at her.
"You can think about him, you know. If you want."