A/N: Thank you for the reviews, alerts, and favorites. They are much appreciated. On updates: every fifteen days. I'm trying to discipline myself so let's see if I can stick to this. On TVD canon: this fanfic is in an alternative universe, meaning some rules apply. On this update: read and enjoy.

Lyric from "Gypsy" by Fleetwood Mac.

ii.

Two distinct voices hovered around her. Warmth and softness blanketed her body. Light flickered through her eyelids. The voices grew quiet. A dry hand touched her cheek, and then brushed her neck.

"The marks have closed up, but it looks like she'll scar."

Bonnie opened her eyes to see Alaric staring down at her. The gray in his hair was more pronounced, as were the lines in his face. When he smiled, she saw faint crow feet.

"I thought for sure it would be Damon tracking blood onto the carpet," Alaric said. He helped Bonnie ease into a sitting position. She rubbed her neck. The muscles were sore and the skin tender. Her finger tips tingled. The effect of the magic had yet to wear off.

Damon snorted. He sat by the fireplace, drinking. "You owe me fifty bucks."

Alaric frowned. "How so?"

"She didn't once attempt to kill me. She even leapt in front of Lassie over here."

Bonnie glanced to where Damon gestured. A woman leaned against the mantle, drink in hand. She was older, possibly thirty. Thick, shoulder-length red hair was pulled back into a ponytail. What skin wasn't covered in black jeans and flannel was tan and smooth. The woman darted a look towards Damon then drank the rest of her scotch. Bonnie only saw half of her face, but it was enough.

"Lorel Rufus."

Lorel flinched. Bonnie tempered her voice. "Klaus didn't send me here. He has no idea Elena is gone, and has been for months."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"To find Elena. I have my own scores to settle."

Lorel glanced at her. "And if I help you?"

Bonnie shrugged. "As I see it, I could have killed you in the woods, not to mention told Klaus of your betrayal. Instead, we are where we are, our hearts still beating in our chests."

Lorel weighed Bonnie's words. She struggled to reach a decision. Bonnie smiled to herself. As if the woman had a decision.

"I accompanied Elena as far as Salem. From there, I haven't a clue where she is or what she's doing."

"But she must have said something," Bonnie said. Confusion burrowed Lorel's brow. "So you just decided, after years of dogging her heels, to help her?"

Lorel raised the glass to her lips only to remember it was dry. She fidgeted with it instead. Bonnie watched her dart another glance to Damon. She wasn't looking for permission, Bonnie realized. She checked her enemy's movements.

It all fell into place. Bonnie rose from the couch.

"I need a walk." She reached for her coat. Damon got up to hand it to her. They shared a brief look before she brushed by him. The conversation she interrupted by waking resumed as she exited the house.

Bonnie breathed in the cold air. Winter soon approached and she thought of how she'd spend it. Most likely alone, in some warm country like India or Thailand. Take a boat out to a sandy inlet; eat fruit and sticky sweet rice under a glorious sun. Go wading in warm aquamarine waters. No one but her and the boatman. But that was wishful thinking. He would be there, somewhere. On a boat a few yards out, or floating in the same waters, or standing behind her, not touching with his hands, but just near her, touching with his eyes.

A boot scraped the porch. Bonnie turned to see Damon shrugging on a coat and holding a bottle of liquor.

He extended the bottle. "Peace offering," he said.

Bonnie waved it away. "Still putting on the human act?"

"I might not feel the cold, but I know it's there." Damon stood across from her. He looked at her long before looking at the barren yard. The minutes slipped by and the temperature dropped. Damon sipped at the bottle.

"Nice save back there."

"Improvisation is the nature of survival," Bonnie said. She gave him a tight smile. Old times hung in the air like an axe about to fall. Her neck was strained from stretching it for the blade.

Damon nodded with a sigh. "I didn't think you would come back."

"No one did. But here I am." Bonnie rubbed the tension from her shoulder. "Where's Elena?"

Damon shook the bottle at her. "I don't trust you."

"You never have. That doesn't mean you won't do what's best."

"I am the only one of us who has ever done it, fuck how it looks."

"Oh please," Bonnie said. "Take your head out of your shit for a second and take stock, Damon. Elena is gone. Stefan is gone. Alaric's a fight away from dying and what are you? Still clinging on to some antiquated notion of love and loyalty. You're pathetic," she shook her head, "so damn pathetic and predictable. No wonder Elena slipped you so easily. You've gone soft."

Damon stared at her for a full minute. Then he slapped her. Blood rang in her ears and suffused her senses. She slumped against the porch column. He hedged her in, taking her by the coat and hoisting her up until they were level.

"Are you so blinded by her that you can't see it? How do you think she got out of here? What leverage could she have to elicit a hybrid's help?" Bonnie stared into his bloodshot eyes.

Damon slammed her head against the column. "You might be a witch, but you're still human. Don't fucking push me."

"Elena traded your life for a chance at Klaus. And she did it without blinking. Why else would a hybrid change willingly? Why else would she not contact you?" Bonnie spit out blood. "You're not supposed to be alive."

Her words had the same effect of a well-placed blow to the chest. He stumbled back, the vampire falling away to reveal a man dazed. Bonnie wiped her lip. Damon turned to the dark yard, his breath coming out in irregular white puffs.

"Lorel had two other hybrids with her. Her brother and a girl she grew up with. Where are they?"

Bonnie only had to see his sudden slackness to guess the answer. Pain from the slap radiated from her cheek to run along her jaw. She wanted to flay him, her fingers twitched with the want, but there were other ways to damage someone, to hurt them until they limped and flinched.

"And you're surprised she traded you for a chance at freedom? She's probably been planning this for years. Playing you all so she can get at Klaus."

Damon turned to her. "You're describing something Katherine would have done." Hope flared in his eyes.

"Katherine isn't this inventive. Besides, she's dead."

Bonnie grinned. She could push him with her pinky and he would crumble. It was…delightful.

He saw her satisfaction. Whatever bile was left came bubbling up, hot and fresh. His step towards her was full of violence. Bonnie only laughed.

"Are you going to hit me again? Do it." Bonnie angled her face. "But realize the last one was free. This one comes with a price."

The threat stopped him. He clenched and unclenched his fists. "It might not happen now, but it will happen, and I'll gladly die if it means I can strangle you."

Bonnie gave him an indulgent smile. "You can try. Maybe when all this is done. Try not to underestimate me next time, though. I don't want you looking the fool."

She stooped and picked up the bottle. She took a long drink, eyes on him. The days of when he dismissed her were done. She had cut him down, demolished his conceptions about the woman he loved, opened his eyes to the reality of the lengths Elena would go to accomplish her goal. And she did it without magic. He only sampled a fraction of her power.

She downed a quarter of the bottle before tossing it to him. He caught it midair.

"Pleasant dreams Damon," Bonnie said. She walked into the house and closed the door with a firm click.

Bonnie dreamt of running. The path was rocky, the grass stubby and brown. Gray mist swirled around her. The faint shapes of massive black hills appeared on either side of the path. Light flickered along the slopes. She ran towards the point where the lights converged. She weaved through gnarled black trees and clambered over sharp black boulders and forded churning brown creeks. She ran and her breath rattled in her head like bones in cup. She lost sight of the lights. She slowed and looked back. In the gray mist were the shapes of people, people she once knew, people she loved, people she killed. They were noiseless as they poured over the boulders and through the creeks. She saw that they followed a single track of bloody footprints—hers. She turned and started to run in earnest. The lights flickered ahead. She flew across the ground, sure that the lights would protect her from the shifting faces of the dead.

The gray mist dimmed to a tangible blackness. She fought against its cling. The flickering lights materialized into a lane of torches. Pages covered the ground, pages from grimoires. She ran on, leaving a bloody path for the phantoms to follow. At the end of the lane was a stone altar half ringed by torches of blue flame. A body lay on the stone slab. A low bass thrummed through the air with her every step. The torches behind her went out one by one, and one by one the faces of the dead glowed with firelight. The body on the slab terrified her, but the retinue called forth a fear too base to confront. She continued on. A shimmering gold veil covered the body. She reached with trembling fingers and pulled it off. First she saw the lustrous blonde hair and then the smooth, cream skin. She fell to her knees as she gazed upon the face, a face she knew like her own. The blue eyes were closed and the animated lips still and pale. The air thrummed and the heat from the dead warmed her neck but she stared at the body. Under folded milk white hands was a black stake. She reached out to take it but the thrumming exploded into an acute tinny noise. She grabbed her head and looked up. A figure appeared between the blue flame torches, coming closer. As it entered the light, the black melted to reveal Elena, awful in her beauty and her hatred.

"You will know the cost," Elena said.

The press of cold steel against her throat brought Bonnie out of the dream. One of the benefits of working with a paranoid psychotic was the situational combat training. She didn't react when hair tickled her cheek, or when warm air flushed her ear lobe. She didn't tense when a voice whispered, "You should have told Klaus."

She waited for the moment, that moment between uncertainty and absolute conviction. She waited until Lorel, for it was Lorel holding the knife, slipped into the surety of a kill. When the pressure of the blade changed, Bonnie struck. She grabbed the woman's wrist and used her nails to dig into the flesh. Lorel grunted and before she could bring up her other hand, Bonnie punched her in the temple. Lorel crashed into the side table and fell against the wall with a thud. The effect was momentary. Lorel slammed into Bonnie as she leapt from the bed. They struggled. Bonnie shoved her knee up against Lorel's pubic bone. She didn't wait. She cracked her across the face and when the woman was on the ground, she stomped on her side.

Bonnie took the lamp that fell from the side table, wrapped some of the cord around her fist, then pressed the cord against Lorel's throat. When Lorel began to thrash, Bonnie tightened the pull.

"I know," Lorel choked, "I fucking know!"

Bonnie didn't ease her grip. "What do you know?"

"I can't—can't breathe," Lorel said.

"You're talking."

"Elena," cough, "Yukon. Whitehorse." Lorel started to wheeze. Bonnie dropped the cord. Lorel fell forward, coughing and gasping.

"Who sent you?"

"You weren't supposed to be the one to come," Lorel said. Her voice broke. She coughed again. "But she said just in case, take care of it."

Time and circumstance had made Elena cunning. And lethal. The surprise was world used to be so complex when it teemed with people who mattered. Divested of that complexity, it was nothing more than kill or die.

Bonnie had to decide what to do now. What should have been a simple hunt and recover quickly showed itself to be the beginning of a war. Her alliance with Klaus had made her the enemy, and if Elena could fathom killing Damon, Bonnie was nowhere near safe.

Lorel moved to rest against the wall. Bonnie turned her attention to the matter at hand. Common sense said to kill her. She could take her heart, no mess, no fuss. But questions still abounded. How did she break the sire bond? Were there others? And what the hell was Elena doing in Salem?

"Where in Salem did you last see Elena?"

Lorel rubbed her throat. "Are you going to kill me?"

"You've lied to me and tried to kill me. Twice. It's not looking good for you."

Lorel became much more amenable when Bonnie asked her again.

"It was an old store, an apothecary. Elena had me watch the place for a day, and when I told her everything I could, she told me how to break the sire bond. And she told me where Damon hunted, the time, and his type."

Bonnie sat on the bed. The adrenaline started to taper off, and she was weary. The stuff about the sire bond had to wait. Elena in Salem perturbed her.

"What did you find out?"

"Not much. The store was owned by a woman, Marlisa Rose. She owned the building, sold herbs, plants, cure-alls, poultices, and occult stuff."

Bonnie went cold. Marlisa Rose was a name she came across in the grimoires of older witches. They respected her, and they left her alone. She translated this to mean they feared her. Powerful witches were common, but great witches were few. Marlisa Rose was a great witch with ties to magic so arcane, it defied categories of light and dark.

Elena found a weapon to use against her.

Bonnie paced the upstairs office. Alaric had come in to watch her for a few minutes, attempting to draw her out, but she just paced, mind closed to the external. Her mind and gut warred over what was next. There was no way she'd be able to contain this. Klaus would find out and hell paled in comparison to what would happen to them all. She could circumvent the entire problem and kill Elena, but that affected too many people. Not only was Elena a threat, but now there was a broken sire bond and a destroyed Damon. Who knows what sireless hybrids would do? Or an unloved Damon?

"Shit," Bonnie breathed. A tea cup rested on the desk. Bonnie took a tentative sip. The liquid had cooled. She drank it anyway, glad to do something other than think.

"I could hear you pacing from the basement."

Bonnie nearly dropped the cup. Damon stood in the doorway. He held two glasses and a decanter of brandy. "Let's try this again," he said.

"Try what?"

Damon came towards her. She had to lean against the desk in order for them not to touch. He set the glass on one side of the desk and the decanter on the other. He poured a glass full of brandy and gave it to her. Bonnie couldn't read his eyes, couldn't anticipate the usual explosion of violence. His face was calm, his mouth curled in a wry smile. He raised his glass.

"To you getting us out of this mess," he said.

The glasses clinked and Bonnie drank while looking at him over the rim. He finished first and reached for the decanter again. The back of his hand brushed her stomach. The room got smaller and the brandy burned all the way to her lower abdomen. His lips glistened from the alcohol. Judging by the way he watched her mouth, hers did as well.

Bonnie set down the glass. "Was it only two hours ago that you wanted to kill me?"

Damon raised an eyebrow. "Was it? Oh well. I'd rather do something else to you now that you've stopped galloping to and fro."

"I'll need at least three more glasses to even consider fucking you."

Damon grinned. The realness of it startled her. The attention of his eyes and the closeness of his body—it confused her. She didn't know how to manage an attractive Damon.

"You should see your face," he said. He started to chuckle.

"Don't you have a murder to commit or the town's peace to wreck?"

"Seeing you panic is more satisfying than doing the usual," Damon replied. He walked to the sofa and plopped back, stretching out his feet.

"Why is the great Hecate so worried?"

"Not worried," Bonnie rubbed her neck, "never worried."

"Yes, I forgot. You're the prudent half of the evil asshole equation. So it is about containment. Who needs containing? The hybrid?" Damon rested his head on the sofa arm. "The hybrid is a nonissue."

"Lorel severed her sire bond, helped Elena escape, attempted to kill us, and she's the one person separating Klaus from bleeding this town and stripping it to the bone. Where in there is the nonissue?"

"Damn, you're right. You've got one hell of a shitstorm coming at you." Damon drank. "And maybe me. But I can duck and cover."

Bonnie faced the window. It had started to rain. She had to get out of Mystic Falls. Tonight. Within the hour. Ditch this place, fly to Manhattan, and hand the entire thing over to Klaus. None of this concerned her. She had no reason to be the protector. Damon and Elena and the rest could go to hell, but Alaric—she owed him. Bonnie hung her head. He forgave her after the worst. It would be so much easier if he died that night.

"Now you're motionless. This is the most stressed I've ever seen you."

"It must be nice to never clean up after yourself."

Bonnie felt the air stir and then the prickly sensation of proximity. Damon swept the hair from her neck. Alaric was right—there were scars.

"Despite the inherent antipathy between us, we've always been able to understand each other." He ran a finger over the jagged lines of scar tissue. Her skin was warm and dry and soft. She was human, but she was much more.

Bonnie turned. "I understand how a cockroach lives, does that make us similar?"

Damon took her face in his hands. "Who do you turn to when there's no one else?" He gazed into her eyes.

"You're good," Bonnie said.

"I'm only good if it works," his head dipped lower until their lips were mere centimeters apart. "Is it working?"

He had the body, and the rawness, and the appetite. He looked at a woman a certain way and her panties evaporated, along with any sort of common sense. She thought about it. The rough kiss, the leg hooked around his, his hand at her zipper, the other massaging a breast. It wouldn't be gentle. It would be great. But she didn't want him between her thighs, gripping her waist, nibbling her neck. She didn't want him.

Damon read her face. He dropped his hands and sighed. "I'm beginning to think I've lost it."

"Love to break it to you, but I've always been immune to your sexual magnetism."

"Sure," Damon said. He stepped away, taking her glass and the brandy. He stopped at the door. "Call him. He's probably on his way here anyway, but he'd appreciate the feeling."

Damon winked at her before disappearing. Bonnie stood in the room, at a loss. She grabbed her cell phone from the side table and went downstairs. Alaric was asleep in the inner study. She listened to him snore before stepping outside.

It was cold, colder than she remembered fall ever being. The stars were covered and the wind howled like children imitating ghosts. She stood out on the last step, peering into the darkness. The woods were dark and still. She walked out onto the gravel drive. The pebbles crunched beneath her boots. She followed the circle, round and round, playing with the cell phone. Every so often she stopped and a puff of white air formed a brief cloud above her head.

"There's nothing you can do now," Bonnie said aloud, "but rest." Her grandmother's affirmation on how to handle difficult situations allowed her to focus on the immediate. She needed to think of herself.

Bonnie returned to the house. She retrieved her bags and stole a set of keys. The garage was out back, next to the garden shed. She went in through the side. There was the summer blue Camaro Damon drove, a classic Harley in blood red, and the red Porsche 356 Stefan had restored. She slipped the key into the Porsche's ignition. It rumbled to life. She put her bags on the seat next to her, wrapped a scarf around her head, pressed the garage door button, and rolled out into the night.

The drive to Richmond passed in a blur. When she blinked, The Jefferson was in the distance, and her hands cold and stiff. A valet was waiting to take the car. The night concierge ushered her inside, taking her bags and handing them to a bellman.

"We were told to expect you earlier."

Bonnie unwound the scarf and shook loose her hair. "I was delayed. Have I received any messages or visitors?"

"Yes," the concierge handed her an envelope. "The room key and the message are inside. Would you like us to send up tea, coffee, food?"

"Tea, Lady Grey, with honey, no cream. And if you have any of those oatmeal cookies leftover…"

The concierge smiled. "Of course Ms. Bennett."

"Goodnight Kevin." Bonnie led the bellman to the elevators. The doors closed and she leaned against the wall, trembling. The envelope slipped from her hands. She bent to retrieve it but the bellman stopped her. He took out the room key and then handed back the envelope. She gave him a grateful smile.

They arrived on her floor and she followed the bellman to the door. He held open for her to enter. The suite was the same as it always was, richly decorated and spacious. She paused before the writing desk in the front area, rummaging in through her purse for money.

The bellman was right behind her when she turned. "Oh," she said, "thank you for your help." She handed him a crisp fifty. He narrowed an eye at her.

"You don't recognize me."

She took in his features. Nothing stood out. Then she saw the gold rings of his irises. All thought of safety fled. Bonnie folded the fifty back into her purse.

"Recognizing you would defeat the purpose, I think."

The bellman shrugged. "I am supposed to alert Klaus of your movements. He likes to keep track of you."

"And have you been doing your job?"

The bellman sniffed the air. "You've been around one of us. And a vampire. Did you kill them?"

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "That's none of your business."

"It isn't?"

Bonnie stared at him a moment. Perhaps if she weren't so irritated already, she would be able to politely put him in place.

"I think we've got off on the wrong foot," Bonnie said. She brought up her hand. The fingers were curled as through she held a ball. She squeezed and the hybrid started choking. She continued until he was on his knees, eyes watering.

"Your lungs are being crushed. But since you regenerate so rapidly, the pain doubles, then triples, and quadruples and expands to a point where every fiber of your being is a note of excruciation. You are powerless to stop it." Bonnie bent to gaze into the bellman's contorted gray face. "Do you understand who I am now?"

The bellman nodded.

"No. I want you to say it."

Tears ran down his cheeks. He tried for several seconds but in the end screamed a silent, horrible scream. Bonnie took it as a yes.

Her hand relaxed and the bellman fell onto his hands, coughing and sucking in air. She pulled him to his feet.

"Tell Klaus I am here. And never question me again."

The bellman stumbled from the suite. Bonnie flicked a finger. The door shut with a click.

Room service arrived with tea and cookies the moment she was done showering. She read the message in the envelope while she ate. Lightning strikes / maybe once, maybe twice. Beneath the lyric was a phone number. She found her cell phone and started to dial the number, but stopped. Whatever he wanted could wait. She placed the cell on the bedside table along with the card and turned out the lights.