His arms are linked under her armpits to hold her up.
Bonnie is healing well but she's still slightly unsteady, so it's for practical reasons that he won't let her take a step without him; this is what Damon tells himself.
She smells like honey and earth and him; his blood inside of her makes him feel like they are inevitably bound to each other. The concept bites at him with all the displeasure he cannot bring himself to feel.
"We have a problem," he says to his brother, and to himself, because with Alaric as his psycho vampire-sque version he should not be bothering with such trivial matters, but he is.
He leads Bonnie to sit in the kitchen while Stefan gives her a dishtowel to tampon her closing wound, all the while Damon feels like she has him cornered.
"What do you mean he turned? I thought you were standing guard!"
Stefan is irritated by the turn of the events, Damon is irritated because Bonnie almost died and made him worried sick, and made him cradle her, hold her bare ankles, stretch her legs, keep her at his side and take care of her like something that belongs to him. And it bothers the hell out of him because she's a magical pain in the ass and because he wants her alive - not in this order.
"Don't blame me," he says outraged, "blame Bonnie the blood bank, she fed him."
She sits there all tidy and composed, and even this gets on his nerves.
"I had no idea what was happening... okay? The witches lead me there, they wanted me to feed so he'd turn."
That much is true and he knows it, but he really needs a plausible reason to be angry at her, and this one fits the bill perfectly and he'll be damned if he passes up the chance.
He bent, leaning in just inches away from her face- in this battle of will they are so good at.
"If you're so upset with me why did you feed me your blood to save my life?" she asks, angrier then he is, and Damon feels the urge to diminish the moment, kick away the feeling of her head on his lap, her lips around his fingers, and dismiss the subject as soon as possible.
"Because I do stupid things, Bonnie!" he answers quickly, " I do things, like-" listening to your venting about your losses and my choices and let it lead my actions, he thinks, "let my friend die with dignity when I should have just killed him!" he says, turning his back on her, wishing he could just turn it on this entire, freaking mess.
In the end, it's her fault all the same, he decides.
And it only gets worse because Elena is not in the house and he wants to see her; wants to feel the pull of her attraction, wants to look into her eyes and feel like he'd do anything for her. But she always leaves him wanting; she always leaves him, period.
#
Klaus' attempt at making a play of the Three Little Pigs with them gives him a way to lash out a bit until the moment the smart little pig comes out with clean clothes and a plan. Leave it to Bonnie to manage to look like the intelligent one and have her hair fixed at the same time.
But despite how resourceful and intelligent she may be, when her mother is involved she is just a teenage girl, dealing with an abandon she never deserved. This is what he sees so very clearly while he sits on the red sofa with his legs stretched out on the coffee table, looking at her pacing in the room.
"Well, this is promising," he comments, turning his eyes from her, addressing the fear she won't let herself name; the fear that, once again, her mother let her down when she needed her the most.
"Relax, Abby will be here," she says, playing with the cellphone in her hands.
"I'm sorry," he pipes, "I forgot about her outstanding track record in the dependability department," he adds, rolling his eyes. Her trust is misplaced and this annoys him because she shouldn't be so blind about this; not everyone is as good as her, and she should put it into her head.
"Jamie said she was coming, okay?" 'And if Jerry-the-nobody says something, well, trust him I say!' he thinks, wearing the most bored expression he's got.
The doorbell gives her both relief and her I-told-you-so attitude back.
"Don't get your hopes up. Might be a girl scout!" he almost chants, feeling relived too, because they really need Abby's collaboration, and because he doesn't feel like watching the pitiful sight of Bonnie being disappointed once again.
Damon plays the gracious host part, but Abby is still offended over a trivial matter like getting her killed and turning her into a vampire. Mother like daughter, but she's not half as pretty as Bonnie, so her grudge towards him has less appeal. He turns to Bonnie with the blood her mother so rudely refused, and widens his eyes to signal how awkward the situation is.
Damon sits next to her like they are forming a united front against the evil, or the Beliebers; whatever. He drinks and watches her face her mother, her role into this freaking supernatural war, and her deepest fears.
Damon is quite proud of her- he must admit- to himself, at least.
"Gotta say I'm Team Bonnie on this one," he says, making her turn around to look at him. She probably doesn't really believe him, but he's serious. He picks on her because she can handle him- this says something- and he asks for her help because she can do her part.
And he saved her life because he gives a damn. It's not like he cares, that's too big of a word. No, he does not care, he just likes that she is alive, and that she doesn't take shit from anyone, and will have the possibility to redeem herself into the men department; because, let's be honest, if she died after offering her favor to Jeremy and Jerry-the-nobody, and never enjoyed the thrill of submitting to the rules of attraction, it would be a waste.
He playfully winks at her, "how hard can it be to parch a vampire?" he asks, adjusting his shot so this conversation won't seem too much of a heart to heart thing, and lets her go back to her discussion with the winner of Mother of Year contest.
Abby talks about balance and responsibilities and 'can you handle that?' she asks very dramatically,and he feels like he's watching a Spiderman remake.
"What?" he asks, grimacing, "what does that mean? Bonnie I don't speak witch."
"I have to stop a human heart."
Oh, well, he really didn't see that coming.
But even in this mess he can still rely on the certain things of his un-life: a good banter with his favorite witch, Jeremy being stubborn and unreasonable as his age requires, Elena getting kidnapped; just the usual stuff they do on week-ends.
#
Bonnie offers them her blood and Damon is the first one to drink it. It's been two years since the first time he had it, and he likes it even better now, he realizes, looking at the little bottle in his right hand. Somehow, he thinks her taste is growing on him.
Her essence slips into him just like his did into hers a few hours before, and his consciousness to her presence next to him bothers him infinitely, but he does not move away; united front and all.
"Shall we?" Stefan asks, leading the way and Damon follows him, wondering when he started to take into account witchy teenagers' opinion, thinking that he really hopes Bonnie knows what she's doing, because his stud persona depends on it.
"And what a ugly place the world would be without you," her voice touches his thoughts, sending a shiver along his spine.
Go figure. The blood bond opened every psychic channel and so now she has no need to improve her abilities - with him at least - because they share a free private line and if he talks to her inside his head, she'll get a notification; he rolls his eyes and keeps on walking after Stefan.
"I am glad to hear that you finally saw the light, Bon-Bon."
He doesn't look around, and he does not need to, to know that she is rolling her eyes.
###
Twenty-four hours later he does actually see her roll her eyes, making a big show of it, too, because they need to go on a road trip. Stuck together in the passenger compartment of his car with no way to avoid her honey scent, or the smell of his leather jacket, with a bond that is, if not as strong as hours before, is there, silent and unavoidable between them like some sort of third wheel.
She's not happy about the trip, but she doesn't protest because Stefan is the one to give her the news, and God forbid that she denies anything to his little brother.
Damon is quite sure she mind-spoke to him, because Stefan gives her a sly smile and there's something vaguely conspiratorial about them; again, he is cut out of their peculiar relationship and he should be used to the feeling by now because he's always the one left out. Elena made him practice that feeling very much and he is working on patience, but in this case, it just bothers him.
Bonnie is always angry with him or disturbed by his existence or embarrassed by his sexual remarks, but that is, for him, a fun way to have her attention. Now he's left out, ignored, and it bothers him like hell, even if he won't let her know.
She sits next to him; all composed, with the safety belt on, nicely pressed against her left breast, head resting against the seat while she looks outside the window. She does not make a noise, but for him, it's impossible all the same to forget her presence because her scent won't let him.
"Aren't we a great team, Robin?" he asks, breaking the silence.
"And you would be Batman?" she asks back, looking at him and raising one eyebrow.
It totally escapes him by the fact that she did not deny the fact that they are a team.
"Of course," he replies grimacing, like he is incredulous she is even asking, "I mean, I am a crow rather than a bat, but as far as the charm factor I am totally Batman."
"Incase you failed to notice, I am the one doing the dirty work here, so I shouldn't be the sidekick," she says, pointing her index finger on her chest, a few inches above her breast, "besides, you and Bruce Waine have nothing in common, and I have too much breast to be Robin."
"I agree on the latter, even if - in the name of accuracy - I should check for myself-"
"Pig."
"-but, you can't deny that there's something dark and heroic about me," he insists.
"Says who?" she asks, "I can and I will. If you really need to associate yourself to some kind of fictional character you should at least aim for your level. Like Hannibal King."
"What? First of all: I am not the supporting character," he says, insulted, "I look too good for that," he adds, to clarify, "and I surely don't go around drinking rabbit's blood. That would be my dear brother," he reminds her. "If anything, I should be someone wild and strong, like Wolverine. Or simply amazing, like Captain America."
"Captain America?" she asks, incredulous, he has the nerve to compare himself to him, "you mean ex-soldier, humble and good Captain America? That Captain America?" she asks, "you should consider yourself lucky that I didn't compare you to Wile E. Coyote. And by the way, Hannibal King is cocky enough."
"You're kidding me," he replies, "I'm not dignifying that Wile E. Coyote thing with a reply, because I am that generous, but I'll have you know that I was a soldier-"
"You forgot the humble and good part," she cuts in.
"-and Hannibal King wears vests, all the freaking time," he says, outraged by this low habit, "It's insulting. The man has no style."
She shakes her head, and he turns towards her to ask, "And how do you know so much about comic heroes, by the way? Is there a nerd under that witchy appearance?"
"My dad," she says flatly.
"He likes comic books?"
"He's a male," she answers simply, shrugging, because that simple fact is an answer enough, "he collects them. It's all he does with his free time, which is not much."
That is a chink on her feelings, a crack in her armor, and he's so tempted to slip in and peer around her soul into her deepest, most secretive place. Damon bets it's a beautiful place. But he is torn, because he wants to keep her near and wants to keep her at arm's length, and it seems like he can't have either.
The light signaling they need gas makes the decision for him. He stops the car at the gas station a few yards on their right and gives her money to fill up the fuel tank while he goes to buy something. Whatever, just to be away from her.
"My skin is too fair to come close to this stuff," he says, just to irritate her.
Bonnie looks at him askance, angry that he'll just duck whatever kind of dirty work there is to do.
"Jerk," she murmurs, under her breath, knowing he'll hear her all the same.
The station's radio is playing Trouble Blues by Lightin' Hopkins and there's a dense smell of motor oil.
She approaches the pump dispenser under the eyes of a blond guy with a pigtail that she doesn't notice until he speaks to her.
"Your boyfriend is a jerk," he says, taking off his biker gloves. His jeans are ripped and he slightly slurs.
"He is a jerk, but not my boyfriend," she clarifies.
"I see," he says, coming closer, "you need help with that?" he asks putting his hand above hers on the handle of pump. Bonnie pulls back, hinting a smile and refusing with a "No, thanks."
"You could just dump him and come with me. There's enough space for a pretty thing like you on my motorbike," he says with a smile, following her when she turns her back to go and fill up the car.
"That's a nice offer," she says gritting her teeth, bothered by his misogynist attitude, "but I'll have to refuse."
"Nonsense," he insists, "I want nothing more than to be very nice to you, and in return, you could be nice to me, too," he says. And just in case it's not clear enough how nice he wants her to be, he gropes her ass, earning her elbows in his ribs, which he dodges.
"Feisty," he says, sucking between his teeth in anticipation, pushing her against the car to trap her between the door and his body.
Bonnie tries to push him away but he locks her writs into his hands. His breath smells of pot and part of her is very tempted to make one of his vessel pop. The idea gives her a creepy pleasure, so much so that she feels herself shivering against his body. She has to battle with herself to not.
"Don't be scared," he says, mistaking her feeling with fear, "Bruce will take good care of you."
"Bruce, huh?" Damon's voice makes both of them turn, "well, Bruce, you just ruined my character," he says, grimacing, "now, before I add more damage to the one Mother Nature already did: Step. Away. From. Her," he spells, barely keeping his rage in check.
Bonnie would give him such a lecture if he now tore the idiot to shreds.
Bruce, the idiot, does step back, but only to smile with the warmth like a hyena to her, while he says to him, without turning, "Don't mess with me. I have a taste for blood."
Damon is tempted to laugh, but he doesn't like the way he's looking at Bonnie, and he doesn't like him throwing around lines like he's the main lead of the movie. That's his role.
"Then we have something in common, Bruce"
The blond turns to shot him a threatening look, but meeting black eyes and a dead, white-blue veined face, he stumbles back.
"W-What are you?"
"Damon, stop."
He ignores her scolding voice and gives the guy a creepy smile.
"The ghost of your future Christmas, which you won't see if you don't stop doing pot and bothering girls that are out of your league," he says, while the guys circles him, trying to go back to his motorbike that is at Damon's back.
Damon moves too, just to keep on looking at him, while he smells his terror growing more and more. Bruce turns and runs to the bike while the gas station owner holds a rifle in his hands.
The man is used to bikers making trouble and so when he saw Bruce bothering Bonnie he went to get his rifle, ready to scare the guy away, only to come face to face with an all vampired-up Damon.
The old man tries to aim at him with his rifle but his hands tremble and when Damon grips it and tears it away from his hands, the man takes a step back and presses a hand to his chest.
"There's no need to sweat," Damon says calmly while his eyes become blue again, reading the name on his tag, "Eddie."
But Eddie is sweating cold and his face twists in pain while he becomes paler and he falls to the ground.
"Oh, God," Bonnie rushes to his side, but can't do much while he gasps for air, please, calm down," she says while the man's heart stops and Damon gets down next to him, to his other side, "I'm the good guy here!"
"Was it really necessary to do the Dickens version of poster-boy against the drugs abuse?" she asks, feeling panic rising.
"I was defending you," he answers, "why didn't you use your juju on the idiot?"
"Because the idiot is human!"
"He hardly classifies as!"
Damon looks down, hearing a moan and then Eddie's heart stop.
"I think he's gone."
Bonnie starts pressing down on the man's chest to reactivate his heart and Damon tries to help her out but it doesn't work.
"I-" she doesn't know, "I need to do something," she says, to herself, raising her arms and keeping her open palm towards Eddie's body.
She starts chanting something Damon can't decipher and a light wind rises all around them, making her hair fly around her face. Her eyes roll back and he sees the white. Damon hears clearly Eddie's heart beat once and then again.
Bonnie feels the man's life touching her fingertips, like it's almost malleable under her hands. The feeling is thrilling. She can decide the rhythm of his heartbeat; with a whisper it starts to accelerate, and then another whisper and it slows down until it almost stops and she can play with him like a doll made of flesh.
It's just too exhilarating and she does not hear Damon's voice calling her.
"Bonnie!" he repeats, while Eddie trembles on the concrete like he's about to have an epileptic crisis. He tries too reach out to her with both his hands and his mind but her head is like an atomic power station on alert and he collides with an invisible barrier around her body that pushes him back. Their collision produces some sort of short-circuit and when he raises his head to look at her she's in his same position, laying on the concrete, propped up on her elbow.
Damon sees her swallow and look around her guilty, trying to not meet his eyes.
"You're alright?" he asks, but it seems like she doesn't even hear him, "Bonnie, are you alright?" he asks again, this time catching her attention.
"Y-yes," she says, almost stumbling upon her words, "yes, I'm fine."
But she is not, and he thinks it was a stupid question in the first place, so he stands up and offers her his hand to help her up.
"Well," he says, her hand still holding his, like she needs something familiar to reassure herself with, like he can ever make her feel safe, "That was hot."