"Wind has burned your skin
The lovely air so thin
The salty water's underneath your feet
No one's gone in vain
Here is where you'll stay
'Cause life has been insane but
Today has been OK
Today has been OK
Today has been OK
Today has been OK"

— Emilian Torrini, "Today Has Been OK"

There were about three leaks in the living room. Bonnie sat on the musty red sofa surrounded by three silver basins and listened to the steady plop-plop-plop of the rain droplets as they landed. It didn't take too long for the basins to fill but every time they did, Stefan sped in and out of the living room, emptying and replacing them so that it felt like they were always in the same three places. They were almost full now but Stefan was in the kitchen, doing something to make everything smell delectably spicy and sweet so Bonnie chose not to disturb him until the water was actually spilling onto the floor.

They were in Siena now in a small stucco apartment with Terra Cotta roofing and a tiny walk-out balcony. It came furnished with dusty paintings and tattered furniture. Rustic, Bonnie thought. I think they call this rustic. It was nothing like the European adventure she'd had with Damon and Alaric; that summer she'd stayed in four-star hotels, she'd visited museums in the morning and joined in on the pub-crawling at night. Her adventure with Stefan was considerably budgeted in comparison; coach seats and cramped apartments, trekking through hills and hunting leads. More times than not it was rough; consistent electricity or consistent wifi were luxuries on this excursion and yet Bonnie never felt uncomfortable. Irritation at the circumstances spiked her heart rate on mornings she couldn't even shower properly but it dissipated the instant she saw Stefan's face. He calmed her. Always and without fail. It was unsettling.

He seemed to sense when she was about to reach a breaking point because the minute she felt her insides twist up and coil around themselves at having to hide, having to run, having no magic, having to leave, he would suddenly be right next to her.

"It won't be like this forever, you know," he'd say.

At first Bonnie would resist him. "Stefan, I'm fine."

"I know. But in case you're not, in case you're having just a single doubt, I want you to know that you're going to be OK."

Bonnie found his confidence, his simple words full of conviction, comforting in a way she hadn't realized she'd been lacking. For once, someone was being strong so she could have a few moments of precious, unrestrained frustration; for once that frustration stayed at frustration and didn't spiral into hopelessness because someone else was there, actually there with her and not just around her.

It didn't take long for Bonnie to recognize Stefan's frustration; how he expressed it in introspection, in a heavy quiet that seemed to consume him. Bonnie would sit next to him then and stay just as silent as him and just breathe, allowing herself to just be. To just sit there. The first time she did this and felt his quiet ease and lighten, she turned to him.

"We are," she'd said.

"What?"

"We are going to be OK. We are OK."

"We're OK," said Stefan, nodding his head.

That had been three months ago. Now whenever one of them felt themselves building toward an explosive despair, the other one would say, "We are OK" and wait until it was repeated back. "We're OK."

The basins started to overflow and Bonnie was about to call out to Stefan but the minute she opened her mouth, his panicked voice erupted from the kitchen.

"Oh no. No, no, no!"

Before Bonnie could do more than shift her position on the couch, the lights went out and the apartment went black. Flashes of lightning illuminated sections of the apartment in a ghostly blue and white as the rain pounded on the roof. A gust of wind blew the windows open so that the rain splattered violently into the living room. Bonnie started to run toward the balcony but Stefan made it there before her, pushing the doors shut and locking it with the latch. He turned back around to her, his shirt rain-soaked and sighed heavily.

"I'm really sorry about this."

Bonnie smiled. Before they left Virginia, on their drive to the airport, Stefan asked her if she'd be OK with him using as little compulsion as possible, saving the trick for a last resort or for necessary measures. He wouldn't compel anyone to let them stay in a four-star hotel without paying, for instance, but the owner of this apartment was compelled to forget they ever stayed here the minute they left the premises. He'd also told her that he didn't have enough time to clear out all of the savings he had and he knew she didn't have time to do the same.

"It's going to be … rough. I'm not going to lie."

Bonnie had agreed immediately; it wasn't only that she'd found his request honourable, she'd found it endearing. She found him endearing.

Bonnie stared at him now, at the rain-slicked artwork that was his face, the earnestness that shone in his eyes, that burned through the darkness of the apartment, the concern that furrowed his brow, and she understood how none of them could help it. How Elena and then Caroline and then Katherine and Valerie, how Rebekah even, how they all loved him so easily, so passionately. She cleared her throat and looked down at the floor, slippery with rain.

"Yeah, I'll mop it after dinner," said Stefan, following her gaze with his own. "I know this is nothing like your last trip to Europe."

"No, it definitely is not," said Bonnie, laughing. "Damon pulled out all the stops on that one. Penthouses, room service."

"You must think I'm an idiot for not taking advantage," said Stefan.

Bonnie blinked. "It's funny, there was a time you would never think I think that."

Stefan shook his head. "I'm sorry, I just …"

"I'm not offended, Stefan. I'm not who I was when we first met," said Bonnie. "But I don't think you're an idiot. I think you're decent. Through and through."

They looked at each other for a few moments, the thunder the only noise between them and then Bonnie spoke. "So what is that amazing smell?" She raised her hands and looked around. "The cause of all this."

"Rigatoni alla Genovese," said Stefan. "Which is basically just pasta with … what, why are you laughing?"

Bonnie shook her head. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Do what?"

"Pronounce like that. Like you're Italian or something."

"Bonnie, my last name is Salvatore!"

"Yeah but that doesn't —"

"Salvatore," said Stefan.

"Oh!" said Bonnie, giggling. "That makes so much more sense."

Stefan laughed. "You're unbelievable."

"Can you speak Italian?"

"A little."

"What! How? How come I've never heard any? We've been in Italy for two weeks."

"I always send you away when I have to speak Italian. It's embarrassing and the locals make fun of me."

"Now I have to hear it."

"Nope."

"What, are you chicken or something?"

"Absolutely I'm chicken. You are the last person anyone would want to bear witness to them making a fool out of themselves."

"That sentence doesn't even make sense!"

"I'm not doing it."

"Oh come on, I cannot be that intimidating."

"Are you kidding me? You're the most intimidating person I know, that wit and confidence, that passion? You're…" Stefan trailed off and a flash of lightning blared outside the window. "Um…" He cleared his throat. "I should get dinner ready."

"I'll help," said Bonnie a little too quickly. She moved toward the kitchen but tripped over the leg of the coffee table. Stefan held her up before she even had a chance to fall, one hand firmly on her arm, the other on her back. She clenched his shirt. She would not look at him. Not this close.

"I should probably get the flashlight first," she said, stepping away from him.

"There are no more batteries. All of the stores are closed," said Stefan.

"If I just had my magic then I could make a fire and none of this would be an issue."

"Bonnie."

"I'm taking the pills, Stefan," said Bonnie, irritated. "I hate them. They make me feel … they're doing something to me but I'm taking them. I know The Armory will find me if I don't."

Stefan put his hand on her arm again and although Bonnie could barely see him she knew he lowered his head to stare directly at her. "We are OK, Bonnie."

Bonnie paused then exhaled. "I know," she said, staring back up at him. "We're OK."

"And we also have candles. They're in the bathroom. You can light them while I get dinner ready."

Bonnie headed toward the bathroom, cautious with her steps. "The kitchen is closer, I could prepare dinner."

"We are not repeating Amsterdam," said Stefan, as he walked back into the kitchen and searched around for plates.

Bonnie shouted back. "It was one time!"

"An entire pot of stamppot just gone!"

"Because I tripped over one of your journals. Who writes on the living room floor?"

"There was no desk and you were on the couch!"

Bonnie squinted her eyes, trying to find the lighter in the cabinet. "You could've picked it up!"

"And I would've but the toilet started to overflow and that needed my immediate attention!" Stefan paused. "That place had a lot of problems."

He heard Bonnie laugh in the living room. "Oh my God it did. The ceiling kept cracking, there was never any hot water, oh and remember Mickey?"

"I still can't believe you named a rat Mickey," said Stefan as he stepped into the small part of the living room that was the designated the dining area. He put a wine bottle on the table next to two glasses. Bonnie had already lit four candles.

"Yes, as in Mouse," she said. "Like Mickey Mouse. Oh shut up, it's clever."

"My name was better."

"John?" The incredulity in Bonnie's tone made Stefan smile as he put the cutlery on either placemat. "Who names a rat John? John the Rat. Is he an accountant?"

"If I was going to give him an accountant name, I would've named him Doug."

"That is just arbitrary!"

Stefan stepped out of the kitchen with two deep-dish plates in both hands. There were about a dozen candles lit now, giving the room a soft flicker, making shadows dance along the walls. He put the dishes on the table and started pouring wine in each glass. Almost against his better judgement, Stefan looked at Bonnie as she berated him about Amsterdam, as she lit more candles. He looked at the way her silhouette seemed to glow in the small pool of golden light; she was only in shorts and a long tank top but she made the simplest things look extraordinary. He listened with a keen sense of endearment at the mixture of reproachfulness and humour in her voice. It hadn't taken long for her to endear him. Or rather, for him to remember how much she did.

He sat down at the table as she walked over. "This looks amazing," she said, pulling up a chair. She sat down and pulled the plate closer to her. "I don't think I've eaten like this in … well ever actually."

"You haven't even tasted this yet."

"Stefan, you've been cooking our meals for three months now. I think it's safe to say you're a talented cook."

"Still. You have to try it first. This could be the dish you hate."

"We made a rule to stay optimistic remember?"

"This is just being practical."

Bonnie shot him a look from the side of her eye and it accentuated her eyelashes. Stefan hadn't realized how long they were. He tried not to smile as she picked up her fork. With Elena, whenever he cooked for her, he liked to taste his work with her, in unison, they would stare at each other as they chewed, savouring the expressions on one another's faces. Stefan hadn't had a real chance to cook for Caroline; the one time he did, he'd actually been cooking for Ivy and that dinner ended with Caroline calling him a dick. But with Bonnie … Stefan liked watching her take the first bite, gauge her reaction, the nuances of her smile, of her groan of delight; pleasing her pleased him.

Stefan swallowed hard at that thought. It didn't seem right. He and Bonnie were on the run, fighting for survival with Caroline left behind and Damon gone; he was supposed to be anxious to return not enjoying this time with Bonnie. This was not a vacation. He and Bonnie were not … he thought back to how she looked at him before they decided to get dinner ready, with observing and vulnerable eyes, parted lips … Stefan took a swig of wine.

"Damon cooked when you two were in the Prison World, right?"

Bonnie put a forkful of pasta in her mouth and closed her eyes, sighing. Damon's name was jarring in her ears, disruptive to this experience of sitting here eating dinner, eating dinner Stefan made. She latched onto it. "If you could call that cooking," she said. "What he made was barely edible. He would make these terrible blueberry pancakes. Turns out it was some form of self-punishment, I don't know."

Stefan stared at her, chewing slowly. "It's OK to miss him."

"I'm too angry at him to miss him."

"So you miss him," said Stefan, smiling. "I see you, Bonnie. I see what your anger means. You wouldn't care anymore if you didn't miss him."

Bonnie didn't say anything. She did. Miss Damon. But not as much as the thought that she would, not as desperately as she had the night he chose himself. Being with Stefan had not only made her feel less alone, but she didn't feel lonely with him. It was unbelievable how different two brothers could be. Now she'd been alone with both Salvatores for the same amount of time. Damon had driven her crazy in the nineties; she'd wanted to tear her hair out, bang her head against the wall. There were times she fantasized about setting him on fire. But there was affection behind the madness; an inexplicable bond that sprouted ties between them. Through the bluster and the bickering, she saw his redeeming qualities, his loyalty, his pain. Being in literal hell together bound her to him.

But Stefan was … His warmth enveloped her. Naturally. She felt safe. Period. No pretense, no fronts, she was all of herself with him and she couldn't help it, she couldn't help the vulnerabilities, the parts of herself she shut down and locked away that surfaced in his presence. She could breathe around him, she could laugh and banter, not quarrel, but tease, he was fresh air and it felt like betrayal. To Damon. To Jeremy. That type of intimacy was not meant for her and him.

"Well me missing Damon must be nothing in comparison to you missing Caroline," said Bonnie.

"Oh, well, yeah…"

"Did you get to speak to her last night? I only got two minutes with her last week, the wifi here is so shoddy."

"I didn't try last night," said Stefan. "The last time we spoke … she was just so busy with the girls and Alaric. She's trying to get a routine down. I don't want to mess with that."

"Must be hard for you."

Stefan smiled ruefully but said nothing. "We are OK."

Bonnie knew what she was supposed to say but couldn't bring herself to utter the words. Not yet. Stefan looked up from his plate and stared at her, their eyes locking. How could a gaze be so calming and so intense at the same time? Stefan clenched his jaw, realizing he was holding his breath.

"We're OK," said Bonnie finally. "So we should just be OK."

Stefan took another sip of wine. "You mean just …"

"I mean we should just be here. Eating dinner. We don't have to…"

"Remind ourselves," said Stefan, finishing her sentence. "We can just … be OK. We are OK."

"Yeah, we are. It's OK. We're OK."

"OK," said Stefan.

Bonnie nodded her head and put another forkful of pasta in her mouth. "So why," she said. "Why did you learn to cook? When did you learn to cook?"

"Well," said Stefan. "When you've been alive for as long as I have, you kind of try everything. I tried music for a bit, violin. Painting. Poetry."

Bonnie raised her eyebrows, smiling. "You wrote poetry?"

"I wrote poetry for a very long time. Even when I was human," said Stefan. "A lot of my journals are full of …" He shook his head, smiling. "Pretentious, overly descriptive, purple prose."

He and Bonnie started laughing. She took a sip of wine and then circled her finger around the rim, watching the candlelight flicker across his face.

"It wasn't until the fifties that I realized I sucked at it. And cooking … I don't know, it relaxes me. You have to precise and exact but also creative, inventive. Two worlds in one, you know?"

"Never thought of it that way," said Bonnie. "You look at things so differently…"

"And you?" said Stefan.

Bonnie laughed. "What about me?"

"What do you do?"

"What do you mean, what do I —?"

"I know you," said Stefan. "I've known you for seven years. I've been on the battlefront with you, saved Elena with you, you've even been the last person I've seen before I died. I know you. But I…" Stefan laughed. "I don't know you. The details. And I know you're a woman full of details. So what do you do, Bonnie? Besides save everyone around you."

Bonnie pressed her lips together, staring at her fingers circling the rim of the wine glass. Finally, she looked up at Stefan from beneath her eyelashes. "Dance," she said. "I dance."

Stefan smiled. "What kind? Ballet? Tap? Interpretative?"

"You know your dance," said Bonnie.

Stefan shrugged. "Like I said, I've been around for a while."

"Contemporary," said Bonnie. "I do contemporary dance."

"Would you perform something?"

Bonnie cocked her eyebrow. "Sure," she said, taking another sip of wine. "When I hear some Italian."

"You're mean," said Stefan, laughing

"I think it's a fair trade."

"You're never going to hear it."

"Then you'll never see it."

"It's too bad," said Stefan. "It must be something. Watching you dance."

Bonnie's lips parted and Stefan's eyes widened slightly. He looked back down at his plate.

"I don't usually talk like this," said Bonnie. "I don't know what it is. If it's just this … place. It brings something out in you, I guess."

"It's been said Italy does that," said Stefan. "Lucy Honeychurch and all."

"I don't…" Bonnie shook her head. "I don't follow."

Stefan tilted his head to the side. "Lucy Honeychurch? A Room With A View?"

"Never read it," said Bonnie.

"I mean it's only considered to be one of the greatest novels in English literature."

Bonnie shrugged. "I just never got around to it."

Stefan looked at her for a moment and then got up from the table. "Hold on a minute." He disappeared into the bedroom and what seemed like a second later, he appeared behind Bonnie's chair holding a battered book. He held it out to her. "Take a look."

"You brought it with you? You didn't have time to get all of your savings when you left Mystic Falls but you had enough time to pack this book?"

"I always keep at least nine or ten books in my getaway bag. Need to keep myself entertained."

"And this book is entertaining?"

"It's profound," said Stefan. "You look sceptical."

"It's my nature."

Stefan laughed. He paused for a minute and then headed over to the living room "Tell you what, I'll read the first chapter and if you're not intrigued by the end of it then you'll hear some Italian. If you are, you perform something."

Bonnie smiled. "Sounds fair."

She followed Stefan to the living room and they both sat on the couch, shifting their weight to get comfortable. Bonnie could see the creases in the book cover even in the candlelight. He read this book often. Stefan cleared his throat.

" 'The Signora had no business to do it,' said Miss. Bartlett. "No business'…" He started laughing. "What are you doing?"

Bonnie was stretching her neck to look at the book, digging into Stefan's side. "I want to read along with you."

"Oh, do you prefer me not to read because I can just give —"

"No, I like your voice, I could listen to you all day, I just need to read along," said Bonnie. "I need to see where I am."

"You don't trust easily."

Bonnie stared at him.

"OK. Come here." Stefan raised his arm so Bonnie could inch closer to him, her head resting on his shoulder so she had a full view of the book. She put her hand on his chest and Stefan put his arm around her. He leaned back against the couch, settling in, bringing the book closer to their faces. He started to read again.

"'The Signora had no business to do it,' said Miss Bartlett, "No business at all. She promised us south rooms with a view close together, instead of which here are north rooms, looking into a courtyard, and'…"

Bonnie followed the words on the page, Stefan's voice bringing a small smile to her face, melding with the rhythm of the rain; the warmth in his tone, in his nature eradicated the peculiarity of hearing no heart beat against his chest. Stefan continued to read, listening to the sound of Bonnie's steady breathing rather than his own voice, rather than Forster's words. And as they both sat curled on the couch, shrouded in darkness, illuminated with candlelight, secreted by pounding rain, they felt OK. They were OK.