"Shit," she said.

Kai needed a healthy gulp of gin and took it.

"He must be pissed," Bonnie said, still incredulous.

Kai smiled. The idea of Damon being eternally pissed, thanks to him, was great. He never liked the way Damon talked to Bonnie in 1994. Even when he lacked compassion, he could still recognize when someone was being a dick, and Damon was a constant dick. It had been entertaining at first, and then it just got sad.

Bonnie's lips came together and her face began twitching. Kai knew that face.

"What are we gonna do?" she asked, her voice cracking higher.

Please don't cry, please don't cry, please don't cry.

"What we do," Kai answered, taking another bite of pizza. Maybe if he ignored the emotion it would stop.

"I have to get back," she declared breathily. It looked like the wetness in her eyes was subsiding as she pushed them away and nodded to herself determinedly.

Kai rolled his eyes. "Supposing you do, what for? To kill yourself so she can wake up? So you can watch Elena stretch and yawn while you take your last breath?"

"I don't know."

Her altruism was infuriating. Kai could feel the rage in him tingling to life. He was going to do something bad. "To spend your life running from Damon? You already know where he stands. He will kill you," he said, deepening his tone, hoping to get the seriousness through her head. He'd rattle it in if he needed to.

"Or you can lift the spell."

Calm down. "Not possible. Because we aren't going back."

"How can you just give up so easily?"

"Simple," he snapped, taking up the bottle of gin and pouring himself a second glass. That's it. Good.

"There has to be something you miss," Bonnie urged.

He took a bite of pizza to mull that over while he chewed. He considered missing things, but they were pretty much all things. Everything he cared about was all here, already. Here, for Kai, felt better than the real world. Perhaps it was because he'd gotten so used to the quiet in 1994. When he finally did make it out, he was thrilled to have living, breathing flesh bags to maim and torture and wreak vengeance upon, but the joy was momentary. After all was said and done, he still hated people. A world with everything else but them was exactly what he preferred, and what he needed to stay on the track for redemption, temperance and mental rehabilitation. If that. He had done so much wrong that he wasn't sure if he even could be rehabilitated. He felt bad, now, for some of them, but it didn't change what happened. Even if he could go back in time, he couldn't change the way his family treated him and the atmosphere that inspired him to cause the damage he did, and it would still happen. Perhaps the one thing they did right was isolating him in a worldwide playground. It was better than hating himself, feeling the pressure to change himself, trying with no luck to fit the square he was into the circle he was expected to be.

"Sometimes I think I miss my sister," he finally said. "Say what you want, but she's my twin. That bond sticks. It's annoying. But oh, wait, killed her, so no, I don't miss anything."

"You're awful," Bonnie ejected. It was so easy for her to say these things to him. They waited on the tip of her tongue, they would not be swallowed in lieu of kinder words. He would never win.

"There you go, saying what you want," he said pleasantly. "Please continue. Just know that it's pointless. Nothing you can say will have the effect you're looking for because I've heard every old news insult there is for someone like me. My family made sure of it before you were even born." He took his last bite.

Following his request, Bonnie did continue. "Jackass," she stated with the upbeat kind of tone that was meant to display how much she didn't care whether he'd heard that one before or not. He continued chewing on his last bite, smiling on the outside while he watched her glare. The sadness was still in her eyes. Perhaps he'd let her soak up those tears waiting behind her eyelids with a little meanness. Acting out always helped him quell sadness, why would she be any different?

"Fucker," Bonnie said next.

He couldn't resist responding to that one. "Agreed, but not the kind I wanna be," he smirked. She slammed her fork down on the table and he knew he'd gotten to her. Still, he needed to add, "Not at the moment, anyway. I'm not a virgin or anything."

"You make me sick," she said.

"Heard it," he sighed.

"You're annoying."

"Heard that too, almost like a million times now."

"You're a terrible, horrible piece of shit. You're psychotic, and careless, and mean, and violent, and rude. I doubt you've ever had a real friend in your life because of how messed up you are. You, Malachai Parker, are a sick fuck."

"Uh, you already said 'sick' and 'fuck.' Also, 'terrible' and 'horrible' both mean and sound the same, and you said them right next to each other. You're not very good at this."

Bonnie swiped her plate from the island onto the floor. The violence was very sudden, but now she was quaking. Kai sat back in his chair.

"That plate was free," he said as if it had been very expensive, pretending to be appalled at her destruction. In response to his mockery, she placed two gentle fingers at the top of the gin bottle and poked it on its loud side. Kai watched gin slosh out of the bottle with each lip-ward wave until it rolled over the edge and crashed to the same fate as her dinner plate. High on damage, Bonnie didn't stop there. He followed her with his eyes as she stood up and shoved her chair onto its side.

"Oh no, not the chair," Kai teased. So she clopped around the island in her heels and raised her arm to smack him again. He caught her by the wrist and held on, making sure to show her the little fires dancing in his eyes before he siphoned just a bit. In her frustration and combined pain, she cried out and he stopped absorbing her magic, but didn't let go. She began twisting her arm in his grip, hissing and panting, and he could hear her blood rushing back and forth in her body, and her heart clamoring for release. He licked the tip of an emerging fang, willing himself to stay calm.

Bonnie, with her free hand, clawed at his plate and slid it to the ground as well. Her untouched butter knife then magnetized to her fingers, which she tightened around the handle and used to jam its tip into his neck. It wasn't the first time she'd jammed a foreign object into his neck. She seemed to like doing that. Her defiance was so charming.

Not yet ready to free her wrist, he stood up to see this episode through. He wanted to play, too. He didn't understand where all of her rage was coming from, but that was something he could relate to.

Kai slid the butter knife out from his flesh, admired the look of his own blood on the silver, then hurled it stridently aside and turned his glower down to her. Her and her animosity. God she was beautiful. A familiar flash of something graced her features, but she didn't give in to it. In another jerk of her arm, she thrust her face forward toward his, letting him know that she was not afraid of him. His gums burned with fangs crying for liberation, to clamp, to tear, to puncture the girl huffing in front of him, daring him. Her skin was so…

All of a sudden, he let go.

The pulse in her secured wrist had begun to still and it occurred to him that he was hurting her, whether or not she let it show. The guilt in him ran thicker and he felt…bad, or something. Instead of appreciating her freed arm, Bonnie used it against him. She further vented her wrath in a ruthless shove into his shoulders. He let it sway him a step back. She closed the new distance with haste to shove him again, and he found himself against the wall. With no more distance to push him, she began slapping at his chest, working herself up into a fit until she couldn't seem to breathe anymore. Her hands remained on his shoulders, wringing the cloth of his shirt in her fists while she bored into his eyes with fury until the same deadness he stared back rinsed through her. She couldn't make the heat stay; it would kill her. He afforded himself one glance down at her pouting bottom lip which, to her apparent disgust, did not go unnoticed. She tugged him by her little holds on his shirt, only to slam him back against the wall once more for good measure. He mirrored her catching of breath and she, in turn, mirrored his bottom lip glance. Bonnie Bennett looked at his lips. So he risked it and looked at hers again. How full and lovely they were. Just when he wondered if things were about to get good, they quivered.

The water that she'd kept so expertly dammed behind her eyelids burst forth in a season of sobs. Her violent hands released his shirt and fell weakly to his chest, shaking with the melancholy wracking her body. Such a fast flip in emotional theme startled and confused Kai. He looked at the droplets rolling down Bonnie's scrunched face and didn't have a clue how to respond. Back in the good old days, he would have laughed and left. The simplicity of that tempted him now, but it seemed wrong. When he imagined doing it, he couldn't then imagine Bonnie reacting in any way other than anger, and then more gloom. Which was maddening because, in those days, he wouldn't have even gotten so far as imagining or caring what her reaction would be. He would laugh, leave and then that would be that, because Kai was all that mattered. But he was feeling for two now, instead of none.

The fact that this girl was positively falling apart in front of him and he didn't know what to do was more upsetting than missing that void. And it was embarrassing. And there was pressure. He felt it mostly in his chest, like a rock fell down from his head and landed on his heart. Bonnie withdrew her hands from his chest and that thrill of physical contact with her magic left him. They were each more alone than they needed to be in that moment. Suddenly he couldn't feel anything at all more strongly than the need to regain that contact, to touch her, to reach out with his heavier than hell arm and grab her, or, not grab, hold her, not tight, gently. It was so hard. Comfort from her closeness faded as she took a step back, lifting her hands up to her spilling eyes, taking in harsh gasps and letting them back out too quickly in what sounded like painful laughter. He had only heard this kind of crying a few times in his life. It was a hopeless kind of crying.

"Bonnie," he said, feeling infected. Speaking was easier than moving.

Do something.

At last he settled on something he knew: taking her wrists. Extra careful to keep his touch soft, he slid his fingers over her pulsing veins, between her hands and her wet face. She twitched slightly at his skin on hers, always a problem. He peeled her hands away from her face, revealing the shiny mess that was humanity. Her makeup was beginning to scatter down her bottom eyelids like sand in the tide. He could feel her surprise in her stiff arms, but she wouldn't turn her eyes up at him. She let him take her hands, still unsure what he was doing with them. He decided to place them back on his chest. It felt nice.

Giving in, she stepped back into him and bowed her head despondently. She looked so sad and helpless, he wanted to cradle her. He had never wanted to cradle anything in his life. Except maybe pie. But pie deserved to get back some of the love it inspired.

Love.

Disgusting.

Kai removed his hands from Bonnie's and hovered them over her shoulders. He wanted her to come closer but again wasn't sure what he was doing, or how to behave. But he didn't need to come up with anything. A rough new wave of sobs tore through Bonnie and she shifted uncomfortably into him. It was intentional, but clear that she wasn't proud of it. He wondered if she finally understood that he was all she had. Her head dug into the bone on his chest, and something clicked in him. Hug. And he descended his arms upon her, around her back, flattening his cold hands against the white wool that covered her ribs, his fingers feeling very prominently each bone beneath and each beat of enlivening blood in her body. Bonnie. He could feel her.

In reaction to his arms around her, because she was starved for this, this kind of thing, this kind of touch, this compassion- she yanked her hands off his chest and wrapped them fervently around him. He felt her elbows clench at his sides and her fingers soak in the empathy on his back. He felt her chest against his, practically thrusting her heart at him, all in. Tears coming faster freely soaked through his shirt, making him cold and so, so warm. Shakily he slid his hands up her back, over neck and into her soft hair. He wanted to stroke her in a soothing way but figured it was too soon for that. He wasn't ready to be that sweet. Holding the back of her head to him was plenty.

They hugged this way for a while. Neither made a move for better or worse. Until the beat of her heart ebbed into his brain and resounded in his ears, making the continuation of this bizarre hug impossible. He wanted. He needed. Just thinking of how much he wished he could suppress the hunger made his fangs come right out.

"I'm about to ruin this," he whispered between the pesky teeth.

She sighed into him. Wiping her face on the front of his shirt, she lifted her head, sniffing back the remaining wetness in her face. She slipped her fingers underneath the neckhole of her sweater and tugged it down over her left shoulder, showing him a bare, bronze shoulder that begged to be bitten. Her cooperation relieved him. He traced an approving finger over her black bra strap before clawing it loose from her shoulder and dipping. After the atmospheric shift that happened because of a hug, he felt more welcome in the desire with which he pressed his lips to her thudding neck. To savor, this time, he nipped a bit of her flesh between his flat teeth and sucked on the skin. Letting his tongue circle slowly over this catch, he tasted the many salts of her tears, her cells, her lotion again. The pace and depth of her breath changed. He assigned blame to fear.

Her blood flowed hot and evenly into his mouth. As he sucked, it seemed to fill him just as desperately as he thirsted, as if her blood wanted to be in him and not her. Sweet relief calmed his nerves. He began feed-dreaming of an alternate universe in which he and Bonnie could both be vampire witches; the bloodsharing would be amazing. She squirmed in his arms and he snapped out of his fantasy to realize that his fingertips were dragging her sweater further down her frame, stretching it into quiet little rips as it went, and she was falling limp.

Damn it.

Kai released her neck and held her up against him. Her head lolled on his chest. He nipped his wrist, angled her head and smashed his gaping wound on her mouth. He smeared his blood over her lips, letting it drip between her teeth. Luckily it found her responsive. Curving her lips into a kiss, she attached her mouth to the wound. He felt her teeth budge his veins and her tongue solicit the flow of his blood. She was a cat and he was her bowl of milk.

It wasn't like the first time. The first time, she was closer to death and had no energy to respond with. This time, she knew perfectly well what was happening and what she was doing. He knew feeding from himself was rumored to feel good, but he wasn't prepared for this level of good. Feeling her suck at his essence the way he had at hers was…ecstasy. He found himself incapable of withholding the moan that slithered out of his bloodied lips. Immediately he hated himself, bracing for Bonnie to shove him away and leave that instant. But she didn't. On the contrary, she seemed to be enjoying his blood just as much as he enjoyed losing it.

To test the awesomeness, he brought his wrist closer to him. He wanted to see if he could reel her in with it, and he could. She remained latched, and rested her head on his chest for support. In amazement he watched the blue and red bites on either side of her neck close and reform to cloud-soft, unscathed skin. A small sound of relief vibrated into his wound, causing a sharp intake of breath on his part. It all felt too good. He wanted this to go on forever, except maybe without clothes. Thinking downward, he noticed that his lower half was already trying to get out. He remembered what she said. Don't touch me with it. He most certainly was going to touch her with it if she didn't stop licking him. Respectfully, but not without agitation, he took a step back from her and led her outward with his wrist. Her mouth left him and she licked her lips, lowering her eyes in sudden shame and wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater.

He saw her to the door. He didn't want her to go, but she clearly needed a minute and he wasn't about to embarrass himself with touchy-feely crap. Blood stained the front of her white sweater. He really liked the look of it.

"I should walk you home," he said, noting the pallid tinge to her face.

"To protect me from what, the big bad wolf?" she said.

"More like bad manners. Or potholes."

"I'll be fine."

He shrugged. "You're right. The big bad wolf never walked Little Red Riding Hood to her grandmother's house. He was already there waiting for her."

The last facial expression she offered him was the wide-eyed warning that he'd better not be on her porch when she arrived home. Against all impulses firing up everywhere inside him, he listened. Or he planned to, anyway.