A/N: Hi, dolls. Here's the latest! Enjoy. Thank you for reviewing. Thank you for reading.

The once quiet Multiplex was now alight with activity. People, of the nosey and concerned sort, crowded the parking lot shivering in their coats. With the area cordoned off, it was an ineffective barrier against those recording the grisly proceedings on their phones.

Grim, Sheriff Liz Forbes took statements from moviegoers who heard the littlest sound of an altercation. But again, no one had seen anything.

"This isn't looking good," Deputy Boston wagged his head, hands on his hips. "Two missing persons, a dead police officer, and now a dead civilian. Folks are going to want an arrest soon, Sheriff. Answers."

"I know that," Liz inadvertently snapped.

Boston kept going, "And they're not going to believe any more stories about gas leaks and viral infections."

"Boston, can you please," Liz sighed. "Have you interviewed everyone willing to come forward with information?"

"Yeah," he thumped his tiny memo pad against his palm. "Just the usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. You and I both know what's really going on here, Sheriff. We're down on V."

V code for vervain. Sheriff Forbes had been in contact with suppliers late former mayor Rudy Hopkins had solicited. Unfortunately what they offered didn't meet the quantity the town needed to fortify itself.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Liz was in for another long night.

Screams rent the air that caused an outbreak of fear. Spectators snatched their children and darted to their cars whereas those who thought nothing of getting to safety ran toward the commotion. Liz, at first, confused, ordered people to get out of the way, to clear the area as she and Boston went on pursuit.

A man who should have been running in the opposite direction was headed toward Liz.

"What's going on? What's happened?" she asked.

"Someone said they saw something going that way," a man in his mid-thirties pointed wildly to the southwest. "Someone was grabbed they said."

Who was the 'they' and what did the grabbing?

"Clear out of the area!" Liz ordered and ran in the general direction she was given.

More screams could be heard but it was hard to distinguish who exactly they were coming from. A possible victim or the petrified crowd? Liz urged her tired old muscles and joints to move faster. She was already falling behind Boston but managed not to lose him in the shuffle. They ran down several blocks and soon found themselves in a residential area, running through several backyards, dodging lawn furniture and swing sets, yet paused to assess where they should go next.

"There!" Boston drew this firearm and took off.

"Wait!" but Liz's edict went unheeded.

She and Boston were led on a zigzag of a trail that if she weren't so familiar with her hometown it would be easy to get lost. Everything was hurting: her lungs, her feet, legs, ass, lower back, her cold grip on her gun. Breath rushed out her open mouth as she tried to catch a drop of oxygen. It was too dark to see clearly and using her flashlight was pointless as it bobbed crazily with her movements.

Deputy and sheriff eased from a full sprint, to a jog, until finally they were creeping toward the cemetery.

"Did you hear that," Boston whispered.

"No, what?"

He put his index finger up to his mouth. Liz listened.

"Ackkkk," was the muffled sound.

Boston wordlessly motioned he was going to check it out. Liz nodded though it should have been the other way around. She gave the command; it was his job to follow.

Heart pounding she covered Boston's six as they drew closer to whatever made that gurgling sound. Unease swept through Liz because she had a pretty good idea of what they were going to find.

Boston trained his flashlight on the ground. He noticed something dark and wet on a couple of dry leaves. He aimed closer and, using the tip of his pinky, he drew it up to the light.

Blood.

"This is Mystic Falls PD! Come out with your hands raised!" Liz shouted.

"…please help me…"

Boston moved forward at the pitiable summons, and in the time it took the Sheriff to blink, her deputy was side swiped.

Gasping, Liz fumbled with her gun and flashlight, her years of training nearly going out the window, but she found her composure. Grew firm, got her wits about her though her heart was hammering in her ears like drums on top of a battering ram. She saw Boston slumped on the ground, neck soaked in blood.

Her throat closing up, Liz aimed her gun…frost snuck up behind her. She swung around…mercury eyes glared.

"Hungry?"

"I'm starving," Matt rubbed his flat stomach.

"The food should be here any minute." And right on cue the doorbell chimed. Bonnie retrieved her purse and cut across the living room and foyer to the door. "Thank you," she said after exchanging money for the food and wishing the delivery man a good night.

Matt helped her with the bags filled to the brim with steaming hot, delicious smelling cuisine. They searched the kitchen for plates, silverware, and glasses. Bonnie set the table. Matt threw open the various takeout boxes, inhaling the saliva inducing succulence of southern comfort delicacies. Twice they bumped into one another, sharing a quiet chuckle and a blush. Finally, once everything was in place, they took their seats and demolished the food.

Bonnie didn't know how hungry she was until that first forkful of red beans and rice hit her tongue. There was a lot she and Matt needed to get caught up on, nevertheless, it took a back seat to stuffing their stomachs. Once their bellies were full the old friends sighed in contentment.

She waited for him to talk about it. Knew it was coming and from the moment Matt showed up at her door, Bonnie waited for the bomb to drop, the bottom to fall out. He had bitten his tongue on a lot of things but rarely kept to his own counsel when it involved the doppelganger. She observed him as he used the last piece of his roll to clean his plate before popping it in his mouth.

"That was good," Matt curled a fist and held it up to his lips to buffer the sound of his belch. "Thanks, Bon."

"Consider it my way of saying thank you for finding someone who can fix my wall at a reasonable price."

"Don't mention it." He paused, cracked his knuckles, wondered if now was a good time to address the elephant in the room. "Last night was intense."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry Elena hurt you."

Bonnie pushed around the remnants on her plate feeling her chin twitch. "I'm not sorry for what I've done," she shot him a defiant look. "I hope you aren't about to try to talk me out of reversing my decision."

Matt put up his hands in surrender. "I wasn't going to. I can't plead her case on this. It was one thing for her to hurt you when her humanity was off," he was thinking about their senior prom and Elena attacking Bonnie then, "but she did this purely out of jealousy. She could have killed you. Too many times your life has been pitted against hers and every single time you've lost. Elena's rarely held accountable and she needs to be. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, Bon, no matter what."

Hearing that lifted a weight off Bonnie's shoulders. She knew how long Matt had loved Elena and how long it had taken him to get over their breakup. It was also no secret he kind of adopted Jeremy as his little brother and would be inclined to side with him on certain issues. Underneath his all-American façade Bonnie saw the residual anger within Matt because of what he had lost to vampires and the vengeance he could never inflict directly on the Salvatores in honor of his sister Vicky. It was easy to distrust and dislike them, but not so easy when it's a vampire you used to love who hurt one of your oldest friends.

"Thank you for saying that. But I don't want to rehash anything," Bonnie dropped her fork on her plate. "You know, we haven't talked much since I've been back. How was your summer?"

Matt thought about his police academy training on top of the hunters training he had been getting on the side. He thought about Trip Fell's van that was used to round up and transport vamps into Mystic Falls that guaranteed they had a slow, agonizing death.

He shrugged. "It was pretty uneventful. Round the clock police academy training, which isn't so bad I guess. Playing sports helped with the discipline aspect of it. I squeezed in a party when I could while trying to keep Jeremy sober. Other than that it was the usual summer in Mystic Falls."

"Do I want to know how many died?"

"No," Matt stated firmly. "You don't."

"I may have a brother," she blurted in a poor attempt to change the subject.

Both of Matt's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Who?"

"Do you remember the guy who showed up to the holiday party? Luc?"

"Honestly most of that night is a blur for me. Between the booze and Quinn's dealer showing up with the goods I don't remember much."

Bonnie relayed the story to Matt who listened attentively. "What should I do about this?"

Matt blew out a breath and scratched the tiny blunt hairs miring his jaw. "Family is one thing we don't have a lot of. I say get a DNA test, do what you need to do because if there's a chance he really is your brother…you need to know the truth either way, Bon. Does your mom know?"

"I tried to tell her. We were Skyping but our conversation was interrupted. I'll tell her eventually."

"Do you believe he is?"

"I don't know. I just know my track record with men showing interest in me never ends well."

The twosome jumped when Caroline suddenly appeared.

"Jesus," she heard Matt swear under his breath.

"Sorry about that. You left your door unlocked, Bonnie. You know how dangerous that is?"

"When the worst has already happened to you, everything else seems a lot less dangerous," Bonnie rose from the table reaching for Matt's plate where she stacked it on top of her own. "What's up?"

Caroline blinked. "Oh, right. Put on your sexiest dress. We're going out tonight."

Bonnie stared at her like she lost her mind. "Can I take a raincheck?"

"You will find that your checks are no good at the Bank of Caroline. I'm not going to let you sit here and feel lonely."

"I'm not lonely. Matt's here." He waved. "See, problem solved. Are you feeling lonely?"

"Maybe. My mom is working late as usual. The cabin is perfect for tomorrow's dinner. All my gifts are wrapped and tucked under the tree. I was literally going stir crazy with nothing to do. Anyways, I heard there's a party at Skull Bar, and drinks are free for ladies until eleven. Please," she begged.

Bonnie nibbled the inside of her cheek. It was inching toward eight and she hadn't heard from Damon. At this point she wasn't even sure he'd come home before midnight. She sighed. "Fine."

"Great!" Caroline smiled so hugely it turned her big blue eyes into half-moons. "I'll finish cleaning up while you go and get ready. Matt are you rolling?"

"Might as well. The nights still young."

"Exactly."

When Bonnie disappeared upstairs to shun her lounge gear for party attire, Matt sidled up to Caroline at the sink. "You honestly think partying is what Bonnie needs right now?"

The blonde ignored him as she rinsed off a glass. When it came to dealing with the real heavy shit she was quite aware of her deficiencies. Her solutions to things were: Your girl left you for your brother? Let's go exercise. Lost your parents—time to join a committee and organize an event. Your brother died on a mysterious island, and you burned down your house with his body inside? Rejoin the cheer squad.

Your best friend slit your throat and you imprison her in a safe and made her the anchor to the future other side? Let's do Jell-O shots off someone abs.

"Truthfully, Matt the only person who knows what Bonnie needs is Bonnie. I don't want her to be alone tonight and judging by Damon's absence, if neither one of us had shown up she would have been sitting here alone. This time of year is already hard for her. If I can take her mind off it for a couple of hours…why not?"

In a land not so far away, Damon Salvatore braced one hand against the vending machine, the other propped on his hip. He scoped the cafeteria of Whitmore Medical Center, snorting at the pathetic excuse for a tree displayed in a corner, and the futile attempt to livening it up with an ornament here and large multicolored lights there. It seemed to have been added as an afterthought than a real effort to inspire the holiday spirit.

He perked up once spotting the dark-haired physician. She balanced a tray in one hand and bit into a shiny red apple with the other, the action reminding him of Snow White. She swiped her card at the checkout kiosk, spun toward him but wasn't really paying that much attention. Until the last possible second. Jo stumbling to a stop and almost swallowed her bite of apple down her windpipe.

"Dr. Jo."

She squinted, "Damon, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"What are you doing here?"

"I have a pain in my ass that I'm hoping you can help me with."

She made a breathy sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "Umm, do you mean your literal ass or the figurative one?"

Damon cracked a tiny smile, "Look, I'm trying to figure out why no one wants to give me any straight answers. You see," he straightened his stance and leaned forward as if he had the greatest secret on earth to share, "I noticed at the Forbes' holiday party that when I mentioned the name Bathory Blackwell your heart sped up… like its doing right now."

Jo took a noticeable step back. "H-how can you hear my heart speed?"

"You know what I am."

"I don't so humor me."

"You want me to humor you? All right," Damon grabbed her hand and felt her flinch. "What are you feeling?"

Jo's mouth opened, closed, opened once more.

"You know what you're feeling and it's not the electric spark of attraction. That feeling is called death."

"Let go of me," Jo attempted to pull her hand away but winced when Damon tightened his grip and shuffled the both of them to a discreet corner. "I don't know what's wrong with you but I suggest you seek a psychiatrist."

"I don't think a psychiatrist can help me with this problem."

Jo watched the facial muscles beneath Damon's eyes begin to twitch—no—writhe. The tiny veins underneath his skin engorged until they protruded and wriggled like snakes. The more they wriggled they darkened in color becoming blood red. His lips parted. She gaped at his incisors lengthening into fangs, but that wasn't nearly as frightening as seeing his sclera transform from white to red to black. She almost dropped her tray.

Jo's breath hitched then raced, yet the longer she made herself hold Damon's fiendish gaze some of her suspicious began clicking into place. A lot of suspicions and not just about him but about the man she was sleeping with.

"So what am I, doctor?"

"Vampire," she mouthed inaudibly.

A minute later they were seated at a table where Damon waited for Jo to spill what she knew.

"Before I say anything, I need you to confirm something for me. Alaric…"

"He's probably going to kill me for this but whatever you think he is…he is. But he's not evil," Damon attempted to reassure the flummoxed doctor. "At least not anymore."

Her eyes bulged. Damon waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Tell me what you know."

Jo toyed with her paper coffee cup, feet tapping a nervous beat on the linoleum. She didn't want to be sitting across from Damon but figured he wouldn't leave her alone until he had answers. Best to get it over with. "Bathory Blackwell is not so much a person as it is a designation for the head of an underground sect that calls itself the Chthonic Institute," she explained. "Essentially they look for anomalies among the supernatural."

"Anomalies? What the hell did they want with me then?"

"I didn't make the connection before when we were introduced, but a few days later it hit me why your name rang a bell…You were part of the Augustine experiment. Weren't you?"

Damon eyed her cautiously, feeling his walls going up. "Maybe."

"If so, I'm assuming they tracked you down because of that."

"That experiment was a failure. They never managed to switch any vampire's diet from humans to vampires. But wait…how do you even know all this?"

"Call it being part of required reading from a long time ago," she evaded.

"Why?"

"You don't need to know that. It's not relevant."

"I should be the judge of that."

"I'm telling you, it's not relevant."

"You're a witch."

Jo's throat worked as she swallowed. She confirmed and denied nothing.

"Fine," Damon moved on knowing he wasn't going to get anything out of her she didn't feel like sharing. Her secrets and issues were none of his business, he mused, and most importantly he didn't care. "If what you're saying is true…why would they wait so long to try to bag and tag me?"

"You weren't a priority until recently, clearly. I can't answer that question."

Damon heard her heart palpitate again. "Bullshit. Something's not adding up. I wasn't captured by the Augustine group until 1950, but someone going by the name Bathory Blackwell contacted me in 1903, a whole forty-seven years before," he stabbed his index finger repeatedly into the table. "I wasn't an anomaly as you so assiduously put it."

Jo licked her lips and averted her gaze for a beat.

Damon eased closer, "So doctor why don't you start telling me the truth. Who the hell is Bathory Blackwell?"

"Like I said, it's a title and not a person. Maybe they wanted you in 1903 for another reason."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. What were you doing in 1903?"

"Taking selfies with Tesla and Thomas Edison."

Jo guffawed. "I don't know what else to tell you, Damon. You're going to have to remember what you were doing to attract their attention. That I can't help you with. Wait. Where exactly were you in 1903?"

"Where wasn't I? But to answer your question, I was in New York when I was contacted by Bathory." Damon could see her mind racing and hadn't a clue on where it was taking her. "What is it? What are you thinking?"

Jo muttered his last name softly. "Salvatore…You wouldn't happen to be related to Lillian Salvatore would you?"

He tried not to jump like he had been bitten. Hearing his mother's name threw Damon for such a loop he wasn't sure how to react at first. The hairs along his arms rose and his throat went a little dry. What did his mother have to do with anything? She was dead. "Why?" he croaked.

"She was the ripper of Central Europe."

"The WHAT?!"

"I think you were supposed to be bait to lure her out."

A glass of something brown and alcoholic was shoved into Damon's hand. The dark vampire had made himself more than comfortable in Stefan's dwelling. A swanky apartment not far from Whitmore's campus that was modern and bare. The house his brother rented out in Georgia already had new tenants.

Stefan dumped his hind parts in the chair across from his brother, lifted his glass in salute and rattled off something in Italian that made Damon's eyebrow quirk up.

The brothers sipped in unison.

"You believe that shit? Our mother…responsible for the deaths of close to three thousand people. What the fuck?" the elder wagged his head in dismay.

Stefan exhaled loudly, examining the glass before staring at Damon. "Have you met us? With our history it's hard not to believe anything."

"It's impossible, Stefan. Our mom alive and living as a fucking vampire."

"Ripper vampire," Stefan qualified. "There's some solace. I now can blame genetics for what I am."

"It can't be true," Damon paced back and forth seemingly ignoring his little brother's commentary. "She died in 1858 from consumption."

"Did she? I mean, neither one of us saw her body, but only one of us turned up for her funeral, and it had been a closed casket ceremony."

Damon stopped and shifted toward his brother as if realizing he'd been in the room this whole time. "We need to dig her up."

"Don't you think that's a little morbid?"

"Why are you so calm about this?!"

"What has freaking out ever solved?"

Damon growled irritably in the back of his throat and resumed pacing.

Stefan pushed to his feet. "The way I see things, Damon is we have two options. We can either believe Jo, press her to provide proof of her claims that our mother was turned into a vampire and then became a ripper, or we can carry on under the assumed belief she's been dead for the last hundred and fifty-five years."

"This is like Katherine all over again but worse," Damon scrubbed a hand through his hair. "If she's been alive all this time and knew what happened to us…had to because how would Bathory or who the fuck ever know to get in contact with me to use me as bait?"

"If this turns out to be true, then mom probably stayed away to protect us. You can understand that can't you?"

The vicious look on Damon's face was one Stefan hadn't seen in a while and forgot how chilling it could be when focused on you. He was taking this personal which didn't surprise Stefan. Damon had been the mama's boy between them though from what he could remember of his brother's and mom's relationship it hadn't all been sunshine and rainbows. Yet Lily, as she preferred to be called, had been less strict toward Damon. More indulging.

"I'm going to dig her up, Stefan. Dad took Emily's grimoire to his grave just like he promised. I want to see what secrets were buried with our mom."

"Damon, you have a girlfriend or whatever Bonnie's become to you, waiting for you to come home tonight. It's fucking Christmas Eve! Save the grave robbing for another day."

"I can't let it go."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm just saying, wait. Go home to Bonnie."

By the time Damon made it home all the lights were off and she was nowhere to be found. Lingering hints of her perfume, the kind she wore whenever she went out to party, hung in the air. Damon called her which went straight to voicemail. A text came seconds after he hung up. It was from Bonnie.

"'Hanging with Caroline. Be home soon.'" He read aloud.

Thumb moving as he typed out a reply, Damon went upstairs to shower. He'd wait up for her. Unfortunately, he fell asleep a minute after hitting the sheets.

Cold. So cold and despite the chilly air she was sweating. That's all Liz could concentrate on. That and well, the blood gushing out of her neck. She wished she could say her sight was going blurry, but no. Everything remained crystal clear. Swallowing hurt. The hard grass poking her through her uniform was like mini-ice picks. Her fingers were stiff with cold but she hadn't stop trying to reach for her firearm. Liz stopped moving, closed her eyes when she felt it hovering above her. She prayed for her heart to stop beating so loud. It was giving her away and assisting in killing her.

Please go, please go, please go, she repeated over and over in her head. Just go.

Her body stiffened as it drew closer. She could sense its mouth expanding, widening, could feel phantom drops of saliva landing on her cheek and neck, sliding into her hair. Repulsed she tried not to move.

You can't give up, Liz, you can't!

With every last shred of strength she possessed, Liz reached for her gun. It shrieked and then…the sound of wailing sirens rent the air.

She wasn't thinking clearly. She was (maybe) drunk or at least had more to drink than usual. She wasn't swaying on her feet and the world wasn't spinning around her, and she was positive she could put one foot in front of the other and walk in a straight line and recite her ABC's. On her tongue was the stale taste of vodka and champagne. Her clothes probably reeked of smoke and sweat and faint traces of her favorite perfume. Her hair was a tangled, partially damp mess she had shoved into a bun that was unraveling. Her makeup might be a little smeared or faded but she still felt sexy.

Tonight she had had the kind of fun she had witnessed everyone else having during the darkest periods of her life. Tonight she danced and accepted drinks left from right, laughed a little, immersed herself fully in the moment without worrying about what might happen next. She hadn't wanted the night to end, didn't want to say goodbye to this feeling. It felt good to feel when what you were feeling made you feel good, she thought with a girlish giggle. No, she didn't want morning to come and erase the night away.

She stood at the foot of the bed, watching. She watched his bare chest rise and fall so subtly you wouldn't think he was breathing at all. For a while she just stood there and memorized the way he looked, how the sheets were strewn about his still form. Bonnie dropped her shoes hoping the noise would wake him up. He slumbered on. Reaching behind her she unzipped her dress and let the material slide off her shoulders and pool around her feet. Goosebumps appeared, her nipples puckered into tight knots. He stirred then.

Her pulse jumped, galloped faster. She waited. Inside her head she was singing his name but her lips were pressed together. Tightly.

The buzz from the alcohol was wearing off. Happiness was sinking lower and lower and anger was awakening. Just because you were used to something didn't mean you liked it. She had gotten used to being ignored. Her father ignored her. Her friends, total strangers. Damon.

She wanted him to wake the fuck up right now. He initiated the game of distance between them, there in plain sight but emotionally on the other side of the planet. Why? What did she do? Oh, right. She pushed that aside, like a limb with too much nerve damage she cut it off.

Why was he sleeping? Wasn't he worried about her safety? There had been a guy at the bar. Two—actually, and she'd get to the first one later, but the second one…At first he merely stared then eventually worked up the nerve to ask her for a dance after she declined a drink. He'd had his hands all over her, wouldn't stop telling her how hot she was. She had asked him to stop, had put distance between them, but he kept coming on strong. So…she burned him. Literally. Singed his skin until everyone near could smell fatty tissue roasting. He had jerked his hands away then, tears in his eyes as he cried out. Bonnie had waited to feel bad. Use your powers on those who do evil, she's sure it was written. He wouldn't take no for an answer; he had to pay a price.

But Damon…part of her was saying throw him out. The other was saying climb aboard. She didn't need him but wanted him, she missed him but hated he made her feel like she was lacking. Never again. That was the promise she made and the time to implement it was now.

Bonnie climbed on the bed, crawled over Damon and plopped down on his torso.

He woke up.

At first he saw a happy pair of nipples saying hello through their lacy confinement. When he looked lower he caught sight of toned abs that tapered to flared hips. Fleshy thighs straddled him and yes, he felt a peculiar kind of heat on his belly that only a certain kind of lips could cause. The thong she was wearing concealed little. Automatically he groaned and felt his semi become a flagpole. His eyes shot upward at the noise of disapproval she made, and he saw his imminent death in a hundred shades of green.

Bonnie leaned over him, their chests touching, pulled his hair and he grimaced against the pain. But that pain evaporated when she slanted her mouth over his, pushed her tongue into his mouth. His arms went around her, gripping, hands alternating between freeing her hair from its bun to squeezing her thigh and rounded ass.

He could smell how many touched her and how many she touched. A red haze settled over him. He wasn't upset about it, maybe weirdly turned on, aroused. He wondered if she liked it, if feeling others touch her made her miss his touch. He had so much to make up for. So much to answer for. But he was perfectly content if this was the way and method in which Bonnie wanted to communicate.

In the back of his head Damon knew it wouldn't be enough. Everything was temporary.

He noticed absently that she wasn't moaning or mewling and that she wasn't grinding or stirring up any friction. She was kissing him and grabbing fistfuls of his hair. Bonnie was physically there but a piece of her was missing—no had grown hard and cold. This was formality, or a test, or an invitation. Damon quite simply had no idea what he should do.

Bonnie broke their kiss with a wet pop. The heat kicked on. The walls and floors groaned and all the while they stared at one another.

"Why didn't you wait up for me until I got home?"

That wasn't the question Damon had anticipated. He licked the salty taste of her off his lips. His voice was gruff with sleep. "I tried but…I was tired."

"I wouldn't have rested until I knew you were safe."

"You said you were with Caroline. I thought or assumed you'd be bunkered down at the cabin staying out of trouble."

"There's no such thing as staying out of trouble where we're concerned," Bonnie sat up. "It finds us. Anything could have happened to me. Don't you care?"

"You know I do. But I'm honestly tired, Bonnie."

"Tired," she repeated slowly as if the word meant something different from its usual definition. She dismounted him like a horse and got off the bed altogether. Bonnie found her robe and threw it on.

Damon propped himself up against the headboard, rubbed his eye. "I take it you didn't hang out with Caroline at the cabin."

"No. I did not."

"You went to a bar?" Her reply was a sigh. "What is it, Bon? What's wrong?"

"You want to know what's wrong?" she pivoted around toward him. "I met someone tonight." Damon's hand, the one Bonnie couldn't see, balled a corner of the sheets into a fist. "He was nice and charming and attractive and he was into me. Really into me. Not the let's hook up because it's late and it's the holiday, but the: I want to know everything about you kind of into you. It was…it made me feel dizzy and scared because…I wanted it too."

Damon's expression flattened, became emotionless. His mouth turned dry.

"He was human and personable. He's probably never laid a hand on anyone, or buried a dead body, or worried about someone trying to kill him. We talked for an hour or longer and in that hour I forgot that I had been dead, a ghost, the anchor, sequestered in a prison world for four months, ripped the heart out of a lunatic, forgot that my best friend slit my throat because I'm fucking her ex-boyfriend. There was no anger or shame. You don't know how much I miss feeling like everything's good. He asked for my number. I wanted him to ask for my number."

Too many veins in Damon's head were throbbing. But he didn't say anything. He sat there and listened though it was killing him to listen.

"I was just about to give it to him until I remembered…He's not the one I wanted to make me feel like that. He's not the one I look forward to spending time with, coming home to. He wasn't you, Damon and I feel like the dumbest bitch in the world because here was a nice guy that I could probably have a normal relationship with, but I can't walk away from someone I've gone through hell and back with, and yet I don't know where we stand."

Damon was out of bed and standing in front of Bonnie within a heartbeat. He reached for her but she ducked and dodged yet found herself captured. Damon cupped her cheeks and tilted her head up.

"Where do we stand, Damon?" she whispered.

He sighed, dropped his hands from her face, put space between them. He mulled over his words wanting to get them right, but his words never quite lined up with his intentions. He had a penchant for making things worse with his words. Pressure began to build and he resisted the singular urge to throw his hands up and say he couldn't do this. Not tonight. But he had already wasted too much time in limbo. It was time to move on.

Damon began tentatively. "You're my best friend and I can't lie to you. I know I've been distant since your attack…giving you space to process and…and heal after what you've been through. I'm good at distractions. King of distractions. I hate wallowing or seeing anyone I know wallow but…Too many times we brush shit under the rug, move on, and forget or pretend something didn't happen and it never works. It just festers and boils over and the next thing you know, someone's humanity is gone. I don't want that for you, Bonnie. I never want that for you. So I backed away."

"I understand you giving me space to heal but space is all I've been given, Damon. Any time in the last three years something went wrong in my life I was left alone to deal with it. I need to know and feel that you care about me, that you aren't just here out of obligation or default."

"No! No," Damon stated empathetically, brows mashed together in a scowl. "I'm not here because Elena isn't. Yes, a piece of me is in that safe with her and it always will be."

Though she had expected as much it still wasn't pleasant to hear. Bonnie held herself rigid waiting for the inevitable crushing blow.

"But the larger part of me is somewhere else and it has been for a while now. It's with you," he sounded decisive about that. Damon wet his lips, "The night we kissed I didn't feel like I had done something wrong. For the first time in a long time I felt I had done something the right way. I cared about a girl. I wasn't trying to take advantage of her or redo the past or get one over on my brother. She was special to me and I wanted her to know…I'd be there for her no matter what. And if that one kiss was all we ended up sharing then living as long as I have finally meant something."

Bonnie thought for sure she was going to pass out because the blood in her body rushed to her feet and then raced straight to her head. No one had ever said anything like what Damon said to her and for him to be one to say it, she felt…shit she was happy and yet filled with so much caution.

Damon dragged his knuckles along the contour of her jaw. "I'm not here because I can't be with Elena. I'm not here out of obligation because of everything you've done for me in the past. I'm here because you are home to me, Bonnie. You're my home. And I'll always come home."

Legs feeling a little weak, Bonnie trembled. She was trembling and didn't know how to make it stop. Tears pooled but didn't fall down her cheeks that burned.

"Do you want me to come home?"

Bonnie met his expectant stare with a quizzical one. Her brow furrowed then evened out. Her tongue felt too thick in her mouth but she said, "Yes."

"Will yes be your answer when I ask you this question?"

"What question?"

Damon headed to the closet. He dug something out of the coat pocket of his leather jacket and kept it concealed behind his back. Bonnie could hear herself breathing despite the humming furnace and the floorboards protesting under Damon's feet.

He came to a stop in front of her and just stood there looking down at Bonnie while she looked up at him.

Damon lowered to one knee…

A/N: 4/12/18: Hi, guys. This is an appeal for reviews. This chapter is being paid dust (by this fic's standards). I've struggled for months to get the ball rolling on this and other stories and its been especially hard to keep motivated now that the show is over and I'm sure a lot have thrown up the deuces when it comes to fanfic. This story is almost complete so it would mean a lot if you guys could review. I'm still working, still grinding it would be nice to know y'all are still into this. So please, even if its just a 'thanks for updating', help me keep my muse afloat. Thank you.