.

Chapter 11

a journey of a thousand miles

I am not concerned that you have fallen,
I am concerned that you arise.
—Abraham Lincoln

For a moment, Bonnie felt resistance, her back foot being sucked into the mud beneath the water, but with one jerk her foot was free, and the water gone. She stood in the middle of a sidewalk, and the hard pavement underneath the soles of her boots was still warm from the setting sun. Her boots squelched, still full of quarry water, and the bottoms of her skirts were clumped and muddy. Bonnie ducked into the shadow of a nearby building, hoping to avoid any stares at her outfit.

She quickly realized there was no real need to worry about her dress. The street was bustling, and well-lit compared to Mystic Falls, but her clothing wouldn't make her stand out, even with her damp skirts. A man bustled down the sidewalk lighting the lamps with a long taper, horses drew carriages along the street, and all the women in sight wore bonnets and bustles. Unless her actions had kept hoop skirts in fashion until the twenty-first century, and somehow prevented the invention of some seriously essential technology, she wasn't home.

It didn't seem as if too much time had passed, or any at all, considering the clothing, but she had no idea where she was. There were more people on this street than in all of Mystic Falls, even in 2010. The spell wasn't supposed to allow geographic travel at all. What had she botched this time?

Bonnie looked down at the energy bar in her hand. Its colorful wrapper stood out in the dim light. What had Mr. Salvatore made of the others tucked away in her bag, along with her jeans and cell phone? Casting aside worries of the space time continuum being wrecked by her leaving behind a few modern snacks and a cheap flip phone, Bonnie tore open the packet, swallowing the bar in two huge bites. She hadn't eaten since the last dinner at the Salvatores' table, where she'd sat next to Katherine and across from the two brothers, joking about the previous night's party and their plans for next week.

For her that had been hours ago. Since then, Bonnie had performed more magic than she'd ever done at one time before and traveled an unknown distance in space and time. She was exhausted, and hungry, and didn't even want to think about what her next steps now were, without Emily or Damon to lean on.

"Finally, I've been waiting for you for ages! And what are you wearing? Couldn't you find clean petticoats? At least the dress looks alright, though you could've worn a newer cut." Bonnie whirled around, crumpling the wrapper in her fist, and holding it behind her back. The shadows she'd shrunk into, to avoid suspicious eyes on the street, had led her into an alleyway. A tall, angular woman now stood in the open doorway closest to the witch and was gesturing for Bonnie to come closer. Unsure how to respond, Bonnie remained silent for the moment, assessing her options. The woman took that as at least half an assent.

"At least you're quiet, come on then. I'll show you where you're sitting."

Bonnie glanced behind her at the busy street. She knew no one, had no idea where she was, and had no place to go. Plus, sitting down sounded amazing. She passed under the woman's arm, into the warmth of the lit door.

Inside it was loud and cramped. People were everywhere, in various states of undress, carrying random items and lengths of rope to and fro. One woman was crying, another singing, and the entire hallway was clouded with smoke. Bonnie coughed, not used to tobacco smoke filling up such limited spaces. She squinted, trying to see a way through the dense throng.

"This way girl, you're up in a box tonight. I think it'd be better to leave it open, an easy advertisement that it's available, but the managers insist that no seat be empty tonight. Though I don't know how a single negro girl is going to project an image of luxury to anyone looking up, but who listens to me around here, no one!" The woman spoke without pausing for any answer or even a nod of understanding from Bonnie.

They reached the top of the stairs and after a series of rapid turns went through another door. Bonnie spilled into the new room after her guide, not prepared for its luxury after the dim chaos of the warren she had just emerged from. Abruptly, it became clear that she'd come through the servants' entrance, and this was the main event. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, matching sconces dotted the walls, dark wood paneling met intricately detailed wallpaper, and thick, plush carpet, cushioned the floor under her feet.

The woman led her to a wall of heavy red curtains and pulled one open with a deft hand. Bonnie hadn't even seen the break in fabric. On the other side was a small balcony, featuring four chairs and a ridiculous fancy spittoon, that overlooked a stage and rows of seats. A theatre box. Bonnie was in a theatre. The cast of eccentric characters she'd just waded through suddenly made a lot more sense.

"Here we are. You are to stay here throughout the show, even in intermission. You are not to talk to any guests. If someone comes in asking for directions, direct them to an usher. If someone asks about the pricing of the box, direct them downstairs to me." The woman paused, giving Bonnie a shrewd look. "You're not a whore are you?"

"What? Excuse me? No!" Bonnie sputtered in shock.

"Good. We can't have anyone doing business out of here. Ford's Theatre is a respectable establishment. Am I understood?"

Bonnie was more confused than ever, but those chairs looked so inviting.

"Yes, I understand. Stay here. No talking to anyone."

"Good, you're not dumb or stupid. Now neaten yourself up, you never know who is watching from the other side of the theatre." Bonnie looked across open space, to the box directly opposite to the one in which they stood. There was no one there. The only other movement in the cavernous space came from the people running back and forth on the stage, testing curtains, and painting last minute additions on to haphazardly placed set pieces.

"We'll start letting guests into the theatre in half an hour. I do not want to hear a word from you. At the end of the night, come to the box office to collect your pay. If you have done your job, we may use you more nights this week." Without another word, she dropped the curtain, leaving Bonnie alone. The witch dropped into a chair, made a cursory attempt to straighten her hair, and decided she could rest her eyes for just a minute. The show didn't start for half an hour; she had time. Two blinks and a yawn later, Bonnie was slumped over in her seat fast asleep.

She woke with a shout. Not her own, but one from the stage below. Whatever line the actor had delivered with such volume had driven the audience into a burst of laughter, and Bonnie from her sleep. The room was full of people, and a miasma of smoke lingered above the crowd seated below her. Across the room, she could just make out a pale figure in the opposite box. Her skin crawled, and she felt like they were looking at her. But that hardly made sense. The play had to be more interesting than her nap. Bonnie shivered, but set aside the feeling. She was still starving, though a little less tired, and desperately needed to pee. She didn't care what directions she'd been given; she needed the bathroom.

Ducking out of her box, Bonnie noted the man standing on the other side. Did he work for the theatre? Maybe one of the ushers her cranky employer had mentioned? His buttons certainly looked shiny enough for it. She froze, half in the box, and half out of it, waiting for him to scold her for disobeying her job description. He eyed her for a moment, and then smiled. Bonnie smiled back. Okay, he wasn't there to watch her then.

She hurried away, down the hall. No one was there, as the play was still on stage, and she found the empty bathroom with relative ease. Even more luckily, it had something resembling a modern toilet. Bonnie thanked all the higher powers she knew, did her business, washed her hands, and left. Maybe she was farther away from 1864 than she'd feared. The Salvatores certainly hadn't had plumbing, a fact Bonnie had cursed morning and night during her stay. But she'd never studied fashion history, or the history of toilets, and had no idea how she could pinpoint her exact date based on what little she knew.

She could ask someone the date and year, which would make her look like a crazy person, or hunt down a newspaper. The latter was on her to do list as soon as she got out of here, with the former acting as a solid back up plan. After the play was over though. Bonnie planned on collecting her paycheck, because she didn't have any money, ancient or modern, and she needed to buy some food. That energy bar was not living up to its satisfy-your-worst-cravings promises.

As she strode back down the hallway and up the short flight of stairs, she heard a noise down the hall. She hoped her temporary boss hadn't noticed that Bonnie wasn't in her seat. She was really hungry. Bonnie sped up, making her way back to the smiling man with the shiny buttons. Once she reached him she drew up short, facing a wall of impenetrable curtains. Had he stood to the left of her box, or to the right? Where should she try and find the break in the fabric?

"Do you wish to go in Miss?" Bonnie looked at him, he had subtly shifted his body, angling it towards the curtains to the right. He was definitely a well-trained usher.

"Yes, I do, thank you." He nodded and pulled open the curtain for her, murmuring something about her circumstances that Bonnie didn't understand, and she ducked in. She immediately realized that this was not the box she'd come from. For one, it was bigger. Secondly, it was full of people. Bonnie extended her hand behind her, trying to quickly leave before she was noticed, but her hand only hit uninterrupted heavy fabric. Should she just crawl under them?

"What are you doing here?" The woman's voice was sharp yet remained soft, as if she wished she could yell but didn't wish to raise her voice and disturb the other guests.

"I-I'm just—"

"I'm tired of this. We've had more than enough visitors for the night. Henry, remove her." The woman turned away and Bonnie saw a different man with shiny buttons move from his post. He'd unsheathed the sword at his belt and was pointing it at her chest. They were definitely not ushers.

For all of her time in 1864, for all of Stefan's suspicions, and the vampires and the unexpected werewolves, this was never a danger Bonnie thought she'd face. Someone was pointing an actual sword at her. The witch felt faint. She desperately reached behind her, where was the end of the curtain?

Another man stood, unfolding from his chair into a height that towered over the woman who had asked for her removal. He towered over the man with the sword, and Bonnie too. More than his height, it was his words that filled up the space. Spoken with authority, and to Bonnie's relief, in her favor.

"Sheath your sword Henry, the poor woman is scared to death."

Bonnie's relieved sigh nearly choked her, as her throat seized halfway through the motion. The man had turned his face full towards her, and one of the few lit wall sconces had illuminated his it. Bonnie knew his face, not from Mystic Falls past or future, but from her history textbooks. It was Abraham Lincoln.

"Oh my God." It was the only thing Bonnie's mouth could form the words to say. More shocking that human Salvatores, or a vampire with Elena's exact face by far. The supernatural Bonnie could handle. This was Abraham fucking Lincoln.

"Not quite, I am only the president of one country." His wife scoffed at his words while the man, Henry, finally sheathed his sword. Bonnie remained frozen, jaw slack with shock.

"I'm sorry…I didn't…thought…I thought this was my box…um…sorry again. And thank you. Thank you so much. For everything." She stuttered through her flimsy explanation and gushed out her thanks.

"You are most welcome." He smiled kindly at Bonnie and she shifted, nervous, and felt the palpable awkwardness of the situation.

"You can go now." The sharp words originated from the short woman from before. Bonnie assumed she must be Mrs. Lincoln. The stress lines on her face seemed to match his, though she seemed to wear hers more unhappily.

"Now now Mary, no need to be rude to her, the war is over, you should be in a better mood. Look down there, the funniest part is coming up; she'll never be able to get back to her seat with the theater in this state. Come sit, the show is almost over anyhow." Bonnie nodded and sat in the indicated chair, deciding not to mention that her seat was exactly three feet away in the next box. The empty box that she was supposed to be filling, instead of sitting with the President of the United States. She ignored her clenching stomach. Her lost paycheck, and lost meal, was well worth this.

Another man pushed through the curtain, and Bonnie glanced back. He was handsome, in an old-fashioned sort of way. He wore his hair the same as Damon in 1864 but, Bonnie thought with some shame, the Salvatore wore it better. No one else paid him any mind, and he seemed content to wait for his audience with the President. Or maybe Bonnie had taken his seat? She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks in embarrassment, but it would be worse to stand now. She ignored him and turned back to face the stage.

"Don't know the manners of good society, eh?"

Bonnie heard the words but didn't absorb them. Her brain was working hard on a problem that she didn't even know was in front of her.

Ford's Theatre. The war is over. President Abraham Lincoln.

"Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal — you sockdologizing old man-trap..." The laughter was deafening. Bonnie didn't understand why, didn't get the joke, but considering she'd slept through the first half of the play, she could hardly blame the writing.

Abraham Lincoln. The war is over. Ford's Theater. The laughter. Abraham Lincoln was assassinated in Ford's Theater just six days after the Civil War ended. He was killed at what many considered the funniest part of the play so that the laughter would help muffle the gun shot. Bonnie's eyes went wide.

"No!" Bonnie turned to the President, but it was already too late. At her shout, the handsome man had fired his gun, and blood was everywhere. Mrs. Lincoln screamed, not even words, but an inarticulate scream of despair. Tears already streamed down her face, as she cradled her husband's head in her lap.

Henry had drawn his sword again, but the man, John Wilkes Booth Bonnie now realized, parried the attack with the length of his pistol. Booth grinned, high on his success.

Bonnie could no longer just watch in horror. One spell from her would set this man alight.

"You're no hero, Booth, and you won't get away with this!" Bonnie lunged for him. She must have looked scarier than her height and gender would warrant for this time, or maybe her words were filled with the conviction of his future legacy, or maybe the magic pumping through her veins was apparent on her face, because the confidence drained from the assassin's expression. Instead of facing her, he jumped from the box and onto the stage.

Bonnie watched as one of his legs crumpled beneath him, broken. The actors on stage leapt back, unsure how to take the unexpected addition to their tableau.

The audience cheered. They loved a spectacle and had no idea what he had done.

"Be quiet! He killed the President! He shot him! Stop cheering!" Bonnie leaned over the box's railing, shouting down to the crowd. No one paid her any attention. Mrs. Lincoln's wails were beginning to include words. Bonnie had just heard the first "Murder!" when she felt an arm wrap around her waist from behind, pulling her away from the ledge.

"Come on, you have to get out of here. You are drawing too much attention to yourself." Bonnie thought the exact opposite, she needed to draw more attention, but her body unwillingly relaxed into the familiar grip. This was not the response she wanted to have to a vampire, but her unconscious knew and trusted him. And he would be a familiar face in a sea of unknowns.

She turned, allowing Damon to tug her past President Lincoln. His eyes were still moving. He was still alive, despite taking a bullet to the head. Bonnie knew he would not remain that way for long.

Damon stopped pulling her along when they were a few streets away from the theatre. Bonnie could still hear shouts; the news was already spreading. Damon stopped and turned around. He held her face between his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Yes, yes I'm fine." She assured him shakily. Damon released her face, but kept her close, skimming his hands down her shoulders and sides. Like he didn't trust her words, and wanted to ascertain that none of the blood belonged to her himself. His hands stopped at the swell of her skirt, and he stroked the fabric once, face now calm, before withdrawing.

"So, it seems Stefan was right all along."

"About what?"

"Why your purposes in Mystic Falls of course. Or were you not reporting your gathered secrets to the Great Enemy? Before his untimely death of course." His eyes widened in an underscore of his mocking tone. And Bonnie let out a wobbly laugh. It sounded to high pitched, at the edge of hysteria. She had to get a hold of herself. If she was going to run with, or against, vampires, a gunshot couldn't break her. She wiped away the tears she hadn't even felt falling.

"Not a very good spy, if I didn't see the assassination coming." Her weak attempt at humor lifted the lingering gloom from his face, and he gifted her with a wide close-lipped smile, and a waggling finger.

"Ah, but that's why you were in a supremely unimportant small town in Virginia, and not in Atlanta or Richmond, little human."

His epithet threw Bonnie back into reality. He looked like the same Damon she knew, from 1864. He must be different now; Bonnie knew that after she had left he had drank human blood and completed the transition. But, without the telltale extended fangs and dark veins, he seemed no different from her friend.

Damon, with his heightened senses, heard her heart stutter.

"Oh relax, I'm still not going to eat you. I don't eat my friends." He rolled his eyes, brushing her away her concerns. "Unless you're interested that is? I could be persuaded. You know, you do smell very nice." He shifted closer, but even a frightened Bonnie could recognize when he was being facetious.

"Oh, shut up."

Damon laughed and took a full step back.

"Hey, had to let you know the offer was on the table."

"It is not on the table. Ugh, gross." Bonnie mimed gagging to drive the point home.

"What, you never let Katherine take a sip? Or Pearl?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"No! The only vampire that's ever bit me was—" Bonnie stopped herself just in time. The only vampire that had ever bit her was the one standing in front of her. It was not a fond memory. "The only time a vampire drank from me, he was attacking me. I didn't even understand why, it was in revenge for something I didn't even do, Emily had crossed him, but…it wasn't…well I don't want to experience that ever again." Bonnie hoped the subject would be dropped, but Damon's face was no longer calm.

"Well I hope Emily lit the bastard up. Or did you stake him? You strike me as an extremely vengeful woman yourself." Oh, the irony.

"No, neither. He's alive and well."

"Not for long, do you know where he is? He must be older than me, but I'm a wily one, I can take him down for you." What could Bonnie say? Actually he's not older than you, he's exactly your age because he is you.

"You definitely don't want to do that." Bonnie said instead of anything she'd been thinking.

"Yeah, I do. I can't have this random vampire giving us all a bad rep and ruining our friendship."

"What are you talking about?"

"I reminded you that I was a vampire just now, when I called you a human. You're uncomfortable. I can see all of your tells now, and I remember you were the same with Katherine. Even though you were friends the fact that she was a vampire scared you. And if it takes gutting this one bloodsucker to get you over this, I'm willing to be the one to do it."

"So you think ripping out someone else's organs will make me more comfortable with you?" She asked, eyebrow raised.

Damon paused, visibly thinking.

"Okay, I can see how that might be a problem. But—"

"Damon, I was attacked by a vampire, but I was saved by another. There's things that I'm uncomfortable with, like the murder and violence," she gave him a significant look at this, "it's not about just someone being a vampire, not anymore." Hating someone just for what they are no longer made sense, especially if she'd long come around to forgiving her vampire attacker.

"Understood, no murder with you on the watch." He said. Bonnie guessed that was the best she could ask for, for now at least. She could practically see the mock salute he was restraining himself from giving as it was.

Her stomach rumbled loudly, effectively ending any further conversation about his own dietary requirements, in favor of hers. Damon grinned, like human bodily needs were a lark long forgotten but still appreciated.

"My little human has to eat! I know just the place." Before she could protest, at his use of the possessive, or the nickname, he'd tucked her arm into his again and was pulling her out into and then down the street. No longer in a sheltered alcove, Bonnie didn't feel comfortable speaking as freely, about the supernatural or her feelings.

Before Bonnie knew it, they were seated at a small table and a steaming bowl of pasta was being placed in front of her. Damon only had a glass of wine. The witch gratefully dug in, nearly moaning at the taste. She'd been hungry for hours, and this, flavorful and carb-heavy, tasted a thousand times better than her slightly-smushed energy bar.

"So, are we going to talk about it?" He asked. Damon eyed the liquid in his full glass, tilting it back and forth and not meeting her eyes. Bonnie really hoped that was wine, and he hadn't brought her to some weird vintage blood bar that served Italian food.

"Talk about what?" She managed to say, after swallowing the impressive amount of pasta she'd crammed into her mouth just before he spoke.

"Your dress Bonnie. It's the same one you left in. I can smell the quarry water just drying on your petticoats. It's been a year, but you're wearing that, and you look exactly the same since you left."

"You look the same too." She pointed out.

"Do I?" Damon's head quirked to the side, and a curl fell slightly further down his forehead, framing his face artfully. That had to have been on purpose.

Bonnie had expected to see him again once she arrived in 2010, there would be no avoiding it. But despite acknowledging their similarities and shared personalities, she had separated them in her mind. A past Damon, and the future Damon. A human and a vampire. Now, to be faced with kindly-meant jokes and real concern, Bonnie didn't know how to feel. It settled uncomfortably in her chest, reminding her of the moment where he'd thanked her at the Founder's Parade. He'd been so genuinely sincere that it made her feel like the bad person between them. He was both, a vampire and a person. Plus, also someone she now cared about and who, apparently, cared about her.

"You know you do."

"But, Bonnie, as you pointed out so deliberately the night you left, you're a human, a mortal. You don't have quite the same excuse I do. You don't have any extra laugh lines, haven't lost even a single strand of hair. So unless you also took a sip off Katherine and managed to die that night, you have some explaining to do. And before you use that as an excuse, let me remind you that I can smell your very-human blood pumping through your heart." He stopped and stared at her, eyes pinning her to her seat.

"I don't know—" Bonnie started, but he didn't let her finish the sentence.

"I looked for you, did you know that? You disappeared right in front of me. I couldn't tell where you'd gone even with my senses heightened by the transition. I thought maybe…well, the quarry is so deep, and the drop off so sudden, you wouldn't be the first person to get dragged down to its bottom." Bonnie gasped; her pasta forgotten. She hadn't thought about how her disappearance must have looked to him, she'd been so focused on planning an explanation in the future. Here she was only a year later, and none of her planned words seemed to fit.

"I dove for hours. And after I'd given up, exhausted and angry because I'd managed to lose the two people in one night that I—" He broke off, angry. "Well, let's just say I realized I'd be spending more than a century, maybe the rest of my life, truly alone if I drank. I'd just about decided not to, that it wasn't worth it. But Stefan brought a girl, and I couldn't resist an open wound. And do you know what happened next?"

Bonnie nodded. He'd drank, and vowed revenge on his brother for all eternity, before Emily doubly confirmed that Katherine was safe and snug in the tomb.

"I don't think you do, because you don't look very guilty, Bonnie. I spent days at the quarry. Stopped by the house to grab Emily's kids, and made them camp right next to the edge, while I dove day after day. It's a hundred meters deep, and I'd known after the first few minutes you couldn't be in there alive. But I wanted a body. I wouldn't be getting a proper burial, and neither would any of the vampires in that church. But you, I thought, I could at least provide this one dignity for you."

Bonnie bit her lip, unsure of what she could say. She reached one hand across the table, her fingers lightly brushing over his own.

"Damon, I had no idea. I—" Her fingers had just come in contact with the cold metal and stone of his ring, when he jerked his hand back.

"Of course not, because you were already here. Weren't you?"

Bonnie sighed, part exasperation, part defeat.

"Yes, because I was already here."

"That's a neat trick, just jump in time whenever you find yourself in a sticky spot. No need to leave word about it with anyone who might be worried. How exactly does that work exactly? Can you go both ways? Did Emily make you something?" He paused, a puzzle piece finally fitting into its place. "Or was I right that night, are you really a witch as well?"

"I'm sorry that I left without any explanation. I'm not exactly sure how it works, at all. I didn't mean to leave you that night, and I definitely didn't want to end up here. I don't even know when here is!"

"April 15, 1865." Damon interjected. Bonnie floundered.

"That's less than a year!" Bonnie said. He just nodded. Right, more explanation needed. "Apparently, it's random. I don't have control over it." He didn't say a word, waiting expectantly for more. Bonnie still had no idea how the spell worked, so she gave him the only surety she had.

"Yes, I'm a witch."

Her revelation was met with a grin and a fist punched into the air in victory. Bonnie blinked at the change in his countenance.

"I knew it. I knew you weren't just some human. Stefan thinking you were a spy, pff, as if. There was always something about you and—"

"Damon, about what you did…" Bonnie started, but Damon pressed a finger to her lips to stop her.

"You said it wasn't on purpose. And what's a few days for an immortal?"

Bonnie didn't think it was that simple. The hurt in his eyes had been raw and real, and shutting it away so quickly couldn't be healthy, even for a vampire. Plus, it wasn't like he had been at the immortal thing long enough for it to factor into his perception of time.

"So what? Is it a curse? Or just the way you are? How long…you…knew…what…then Katherine…a feeling…people…of course…and you…" His words started fading you, and Bonnie squinted her eyes to try and focus the suddenly swimming room. She felt hot. No, just her chest felt hot.

"Damon ? Damon!" Bonnie reached forward, groping along the table. She couldn't feel his hand; he wouldn't pull back from her now, would he? But she couldn't feel the table either. She couldn't even feel her own hand.

"Damon, it's happening!" Bonnie said, like he couldn't see her rapidly disappearing extremities. "Damon, I'm scared. And I'm sorry." Bonnie wasn't sure she actually managed to get the words out before the chair disappeared out from under her and she found herself somewhere else entirely.