A/N: Here's the proof that I have not fully abandoned this fic. It means that I've had to stop work on my other fanfic, but it's worth it to revisit Damon and Bonnie, especially in this story's incarnation. I hope you enjoy.
Sparks
Saturday
The night passed in a blur of alcohol, blood, lights, and flesh. The world spun and lurched and at some point Damon stumbled and didn't get up until the afternoon. He awoke without the hangover, but he still felt like shit on fire. Reddish gold strands obstructed his vision. He brushed the hair from his face and looked down. A naked girl covered him like a sheet. He felt for any broken skin on her neck and found it smooth. He eased her off and onto her back, eyes roaming over her body for any bites. He saw a bruise on her inner thigh. Two puncture marks close to her crotch.
Damon bit his finger and dabbed a few drops of blood on the wounds. A half empty bottle of Johnnie Walker lay at her feet. He finished the bottle before waking the girl. She smiled up at him and twined her legs around his waist. The moment she opened her pretty brown eyes, he compelled her to forget the night, forget the sex, forget him.
The girl fell back to sleep. He got dressed and stole a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches from her purse. Acrid smoke filled his lungs as he jogged down the tenement stairs and burst out into the bright glare of a New York afternoon. The sounds of the city called him to remain and lose another few days, but his feet turned towards Penn Station.
Damon ambled across town, smoking and gazing sightless behind sunglasses. A warm breeze ruffled his hair and clothes. He smelled the night on him, the perfume, the saliva from strangers. He tried to retain the picture of last night, but only the sense remained. Abandon, wantonness, stupor. The sun beat down on his head and neck. Its weight bent his eyes to the striated gray pavement.
He came to a busy intersection and stood with the rest of the pedestrians. They were all in various degrees of distraction, either on the phone or texting or talking to themselves or another person or deep in their brains. Damon heard a laugh, a familiar throaty chuckle and saw a flash of movement beyond the stream of cars. There it was again. Emerald green and gold. Brown skin glittering in the sunlight. Pink lips pulled into a grin. He nearly stepped off the curb. It wasn't her. But it was. For a second, it was her.
The signal lit for his section to cross. The crowd propelled him past the girl that was not her. He fought the urge to turn around and follow her, indulge some fantasy of romance. He thought of the step he almost took and ducked into the nearest bar. The bartender made him a drink he could barely taste but it rendered his thoughts fuzzy for a good five minutes. He sat at the black counter and stared at the shiny, oblivious, passing people. He turned back to the bartender for another drink but caught his reflection.
It wasn't the fact that he wanted to see her. He did. It was the fact that he would have walked into oncoming traffic and suffered horribly before exposing himself because he wanted to see her. The emotion practically made him unrecognizable. Who was this asshole wearing shades in a dark bar and covered in day old scruff? Who was this piece of shit that tucked his sunglasses into his shirt pocket and ran a hand over his face as if someone just whispered the sky had fallen?
Damon left a fifty for the bartender, lit another cigarette, and joined the parade of passing people. Every step he took, her name rang out in his head. He strolled through Central Park, preferring diversion to efficiency, and thought she might like this place, this carved out section of manicured nature crawling with every kind of person. She'd be so serious and then, maybe, a street performance would happen to entrance her and put that damn grin on her face. He emerged from the Park not thinking of her as she was, but as she could be with him, free from supernatural bondage. He blinked at Midtown, dizzying in its bustle.
It didn't take long to reach Penn Station. He booked a seat on the last train to Richmond. Ticket in hand, he sat in a restaurant and watched the time slip by while drinking coffee. Stefan talked his ear off about it being an appetite suppressor but hell if he didn't want some hot blood poured down his throat.
A woman with red, red lips and platinum blonde hair settled at the table across from him. They made eye contact and there was a jolt of sexual energy. She wore a red print dress that was too short. Every time she crossed her legs he saw a flash of pale skin and black lace. At one point, she left her legs apart for a full ten seconds. Damon drank the rest of his coffee and got up to go to the restroom. Her eyes stuck to his back. He glanced at her once. That was all it took. One glance.
He fucked her in one of the men's stalls. It was quick and hard and only felt good the minute before and after he fed on her. He came out of obligation, made a lot of grunting noises as he licked the bite clean. She was wobbly so he brought her a sandwich and kept her company until she had to go. She slipped him her card with a wink. He held the card until she disappeared. It went the way of the coffee and sandwich wrapper.
The interlude ate up enough time to cause him to sprint to catch his train. He slid into his seat and gazed out the window as the train pulled from the station. He saw himself in the glass, interlaced with the darkness of the tunnel and the amber glow of lights, and the last time he kissed someone and meant it came to mind. The memory paralyzed him for the rest of the journey home.
Damon walked through the door minutes to twelve. He had hoped to arrive before the storm but the rain and lashing wind caught him. He heard Stefan tinkering in his room and went into the great room to dry off. Stefan materialized a few minutes afterwards. They sat together before the fireplace.
"You're dripping on the rug," Stefan said.
The customary quip died on his tongue. He glanced at Stefan then at the fire.
"How many times can a compulsive romantic get rejected before he gives up?"
Stefan furrowed his brow in mock concentration. "Twice. Third time is the charm. Or so they say."
"I didn't think there was anything worse than losing Katherine. And to you no less. Then came Elena, and history repeats. And now…" Damon sighed. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Damon stared into the heart of the fire. Stefan would be the ideal person to purge upon save for one little truth—they were brothers who kept falling in love with the same girl. He didn't want to curse himself.
"No."
Damon stood up. "I'm going to bed."
"Wait," Stefan called. Damon turned back. "We don't have to talk about it. Or her. Or anything."
Damon smiled. "I appreciate the gesture, Stef. I really do, but I left my mani pedi kit in New York and we don't have enough froyo to make it through An Affair to Remember—"
"Goodnight asshole."
"Goodnight idiot."
Sunday
They rode their parents' old bikes around the neighborhood. Three girls on vintage roadsters of fire red, powder blue, and forest green, loose hair blowing back in the breeze. Their laughter and voices rustled but did not disturb the softness of Sunday in a small town. They stopped at the new yogurt bar and stood on the sidewalk eating and talking about regular things. They didn't even need to make a rule of it—the conversation never touched upon vampires or werewolves or witchcraft.
They circled round and round the gazebo on Main, then raced to Wickery Bridge. Caroline won, naturally. They parked the bikes against the old railing and leaned on the new steel barricade. The water was black and choppy. Elena put her back to the water. Caroline hopped back and forth like some small bird. Bonnie stared down at the river. The water rushed and she floated away from talk of weekend plans.
"And then Bonnie told me she had this absolutely filthy sex dream about Damon. I mean, Elena, it was practically the outline for some skin-a-max double feature. Apparently, Bonnie has a thing for swings."
Bonnie rolled her eyes. "You would know about getting filthy with Damon."
Elena laughed. Caroline tossed her hair. "I do know. And while he was and still is a massive douchebag, he was not bad. In fact, he ranks in my top five."
"God," Elena groaned, "and this was such a pleasant day."
"Speaking of rankings," Caroline slanted her eyes at Bonnie, "what's going on with you?"
"With me what?"
"Any prospects?"
"None."
Elena chimed in. "Not one?"
Bonnie threw her a quick glare. "Not one."
Caroline glanced at the two of them. "Hold the front door, what the hell was that? You two shared a look."
Bonnie and Elena looked at her. Caroline shook her head. "No, don't give me the crazy eyes. I saw a look. A look that said, 'I know something, we both know something and we're going to keep it from Caroline,' which is cruel and a little hurtful considering we are the three muskrats."
"Musketeers," they mumbled.
"You know what I mean," Caroline said. She glared at Elena, then at Bonnie. Bonnie sighed.
"Can't we leave boys out of it for at least six hours?"
"No."
Bonnie pushed back against the railing. "Fine, there's a guy…"
Caroline squealed. "I knew it! Okay, okay, give me the blind item first."
"Well, I didn't much care for him at first. But then he helped me out a few times without even needing to, and we got to talking and going out for dinner and walks. He's really, incredibly attractive too, so that's a nice bonus. And he has this sweet car—"
"Alright! If I were still alive the suspense would kill me. Who is this guy and why didn't I spot him first?"
Elena raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, who is this guy?"
Bonnie put on her best shy grin. "This is weird, but…I've been talking to Jeremy."
The silence was a bomb. Caroline dropped open her mouth and her eyes bulged and her hands were in a frozen state of exclamation. Elena frowned and worked her lips for a moment before clamping them shut.
"What!" Caroline screeched and launched herself at Bonnie. She winked at Elena over Caroline's shoulder. Elena shook her head as a rueful grin lightened her face.
"So I need details," Caroline said. Bonnie placed a hand on her arm.
"I don't know how to break this to you, but I was kidding. There is no guy in my life and I don't foresee one in the immediate future. And I am, by the way, clairvoyant."
Caroline was crestfallen for all of five seconds. "We'll remedy that come the middle of fall. All those dances, plus the events—I have a mission, and I will not be deterred."
"Do you hear that Bonnie? That means you'll have to drag yourself to five more dances in addition to the fifteen hundred we have to attend annually."
"Shut up Miss-I-Have-A-Boyfriend-And-He's-Cooler-Than-Edward."
"Who's Edward?"
"Bonnie! Will you please re-enter this century. Elena, you deal with this, I can't—I just—ugh."
The three girls retrieved their bikes and pedaled down the road to the intersection. They went their separate ways after making plans for dinner at Caroline's house. Bonnie waved them off and waited until they disappeared to journey over the Wickery Bridge, to Gram's.
Bonnie found Akiri in the garden. There were bunches of carrots, parsnips, herbs, shallots, and fingerling potatoes in her lap. She looked up as Bonnie laid her bike against the tool shed. Akiri beckoned her over to show her what needed gathering. Spinach, cassava, sweet potatoes, peanuts, cucumbers, strawberries, blackberries.
Bonnie took a basket and went to the strawberry patch. She knelt before the patch and picked a strawberry. It was bright red and fragrant. She popped it in her mouth. Sweetness exploded along her tongue. Summer days and easier times came to mind as she snacked on suddenly ripe strawberries.
"Thinking of better times?"
Akiri knelt beside her. Bonnie ate one last strawberry before placing the rest in the basket.
"I'm too young to reminisce, right?"
"No. You have seen and done much for one so young. When I was your age, my only worries were about marriage and love and how incompatible were the two concepts."
Akiri lifted her face into the sun. A grin smoothed the worries from her face. "I met Joshua at the end of a summer such as this. He was a tinker by trade, made odd little wind-up toys for the children of employers. He made one for me, a copper sun that grew and shrunk as it rotated."
Bonnie watched her face as Akiri sunk into memory. It would always be the same. A rapturous glow suffused her skin. It made her stunning. Then it would fade, the sudden grief sharpening her features until Bonnie recognized her again.
"I never want to love like that," Bonnie said.
Akiri brushed at her eyes before fixing them on Bonnie. "To love like what?"
"I don't know," Bonnie filled the rest of the basket, "to love beyond the limits of nature, beyond the limits of yourself."
Bonnie shifted back onto her heels. She thought of Damon and that night by the tomb.
"How likely is it that you'll succeed?"
Akiri lifted a shoulder. "I cannot say. It has never been done before. But that does not prevent me from attempting."
"It will take all of our power," Bonnie said. She glanced at Akiri.
"Yes," Akiri said, "mine."
"The witches will kill you the moment nature abandons you."
Akiri stopped turning the soil. Moist earth covered her hands. Bonnie frowned. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."
"The witches may kill me," Akiri said, "but their judgment would not last long unpunished. I have endured too much for too long to be deterred, Bonnie. And you too," she looked at Bonnie, "you too have been tested, made to bear much more than a young woman of your age should. Do not forget who has caused you pain. Do not muddle a brief instance of passion with your convictions."
Bonnie ducked her head. Heat radiated off her cheeks. Akiri exposed her without even a glance. She valued being unreadable, especially where Akiri and Damon were concerned, but her idiot feelings left her wide open. No, that was wrong. Akiri didn't know any more than what she wanted to or what Bonnie volunteered. It was Damon. He affected her in ways that made her as vulnerable as an open wound. Akiri only had to allude to him and Bonnie felt his nearness, felt that persistent torridity, remembered his kiss and his voice and all the actions he never had to commit but he did, for her.
But then the clouds rolled in. Damon came into town and brought vampirism. He brought ruin. His obsession turned Grams into a martyr. He had a nasty habit of making a mess and forcing others to clean up after him. He loved badly and with too much intensity. He was a liability she couldn't afford. Bonnie had learned only one way to deal with liabilities—eliminate them.
Bonnie left as dusk approached. She rode her bicycle over Wickery Bridge and down to the cemetery. A bouquet of wildflowers, lavender, and persimmon filled the bicycle basket. She parked her bike near the front gate and slipped through the wrought iron. The cut green grass whispered as she crossed the graveyard. Grams' headstone was simple black marble set in the ground. An oak tree provided constant shade. Bonnie knelt and spread the bouquet around the headstone. She stood there for a couple of minutes. Her mind went blank. She burned the lavender and left the smoking plant nestled on the black marble.
On her way to the entrance she spotted Damon. It was his back, but she knew it was him. He had a bottle in his hand. She stared at his back, slid her eyes up to the top his head down to the back of his heels. A hot wind blew into her face, fragranced with blood and alcohol and peppermint. She hesitated, stepped towards him, then turned. She hurried to her bike and pedaled fast towards Elena's house. The wind slicked her tears away.