Bad Bonnie

Bonnie walked home crying. She remembered the last time she'd cried, in her apartment her first night in New Orleans. After that she hadn't shed a single tear, and she'd taken a lot of pride in that. But not anymore. She told herself it was more frustration than anything else, anger that she couldn't make Tyler understand, anger that she wanted him to understand at all. In the elevator, she stared at her distorted reflection in the silver doors, wiping her face furiously and willing herself to just stop.

When the elevator stopped on her floor, she stepped out, fumbling with her keys. There were only three of them so there was no reason she should be having so much trouble. But she was. They slipped from her fingers to land on the floor with a loud jangle. Before she could reach down to pick them up, someone else was doing it for her in a blur of pale blond hair and pale pink fingernails. "Here you are, darling," Rebekah said, holding the keys up to eye level.

Bonnie snatched them from her so hard it hurt.

"Rough night?" Rebekah asked calmly, cocking her head to the side and fixing Bonnie with a wide-eyed, innocent stare.

"Get away from me," Bonnie said, trying the lock again.

"That's a 'yes' then."

"I am not kidding," Bonnie hissed, glaring at Rebekah and wondering if it would make her feel better to see her in a crumpled heap on the floor. She wondered if that would cause issues in her deal with Klaus. She wondered if she cared either way. "Get away from me

"Rebekah," Hayley said from their apartment door, arms folded around her stomach. Her wardrobe had improved since she'd moved in with Rebekah, and today she wore a dress that accentuated the roundness of her belly and also, her impressive cleavage. "Leave her alone."

Rebekah rolled her eyes and looked back to Bonnie who gave up on the key and her trembling fingers and magicked the door open. "You should know," Rebekah began but Bonnie was already inside and slamming the door shut. With it closed, she rested her forehead against it, inhaling deeply.

The wood felt smooth and cool beneath her head, and the apartment was dark and still. She extended a hand to the light switch, flicked it on. The tranquility of it, the complete silence used to be a comfort to her. The whiny hum of the refrigerator and the bluster of the air conditioning was a balm, but now it just felt wrong.

The bad guy. That was her, but she didn't know what else to be. The good guy thing hadn't helped her, and now she wasn't sure, despite what she'd told Tyler, if this was helping her either.

"Bonnie."

Dread pooled in her stomach when she heard Klaus' voice. Maybe that was what Rebekah thought she should know.

"Not tonight," Bonnie said, not moving from the door. She didn't want to see him, didn't want him there. Of all the nights for him to pay her a visit, why did it have to be this one?

She felt him behind her, coming slowly to stand at her back.

"What's the matter, love?" he asked, deceptively kind. She could smell his cologne, something expensive no doubt. "Did someone hurt you?"

She remembered him asking, as if it was years ago, "Do you ever think about how I am the closest thing you have to a friend here?"

Bonnie laughed, dark and sarcastic in her throat. She was a shiny little toy, one of Klaus' prized possessions. If anyone hurt her, he'd hurt them. His favorite witch. His only witch. He would fight for her. And if he ever got the slightest feeling she couldn't be trusted anymore, he'd kill her.

She turned back around to face him. He didn't comment on her red eyes and damp cheeks, though he certainly noticed them. And he'd certainly been listening as she'd come in. But he didn't ask. He looked at her, blinking.

"Just go," she said. "Unless you need something," she added, as an afterthought. She both hoped he did and prayed he didn't. It would do what it always did - it would distract her from less pleasing thoughts, thoughts of who she used to be and who she was now and how the two didn't know how to fit around one another.

"I don't," Klaus said. He reached out to touch her neck, where the necklace he'd given her hung. He adjusted it with a delicate twist of his fingers and even once it laid perfectly against her skin, his touch lingered.

Bonnie considered that. She was still unsure of what had happened with her and Tyler. They'd gone so quickly from their timidly genuine alliance to...this. It had happened so fast.

Klaus was the closest thing she had to a friend here, and it was pathetic. A voice in the back of her head asked if it had been any better back in Mystic Falls. Klaus at least checked up on her. Too much really but he did. And he would kill to keep her safe, even if it was only because he needed her alive and healthy to do his work. It was something, and it was more than she'd had.

A new tear rolled down her cheek. Before she could wipe it away and pretend it hadn't existed, Klaus did it for her, his fingers moving from her chest to her cheek in less than a blink.

Klaus could be everything. Maybe. Her sort-of friend, a lover if she wanted one, an employer, a jeweler. Whatever. Klaus-of-all-trades. If she was the bad guy, why not go all the way? Klaus didn't care that she killed Lydia. He'd loved every minute of it. It really scratched all his itches, his need for cruelty and murder and blood, to be stronger than everyone else. He understood. He didn't judge, didn't ask. It wouldn't be perfect. At times it would probably be terrible, but it would be something. It'd be more than she'd had back in Mystic Falls. More than she had right now, standing in the apartment she'd loved at first which now felt wrong and dirty and shallow.

Bonnie kissed him. She really threw herself into it, willed herself to enjoy it. Klaus wasn't a bad kisser. He didn't seem surprised to feel her lips on his. In fact he seemed to be glowing with an inner pride, a satisfaction that she'd finally given in, that she'd been the one to bridge the gap, to go there. It was all on her. It was what he'd wanted. It was no fun if he was doing all the pushing.

She twined her arms around his neck, leaned into him, told herself to relish in the feel of his fingers now pressed on either sides of her spine, holding her to him. It wasn't a bad feeling. It was just a feeling, just another sensation, neither good nor bad, just there. Objectively, Klaus' tongue sliding into her mouth, touching hers, wasn't bad. Nothing about it was bad, but nothing about it was good.

But she didn't mind it. She didn't mind the gentle pressure of Klaus's fingers on her back, moving lower and lower. And she didn't mind the quick nip he laid on her lower lip or when her back hit the wall, and Klaus pressed himself so close to her she couldn't have told where she ended and he began. A hum escaped his mouth, a gentle vibration against her lips, and she hummed back, just for the symmetry of it.

And it was fine until she heard Tyler's voice in her head and saw him walking away from her, saw Lydia in the bathroom at Turbulence with her bloody mouth and shut eyes. A wave of revulsion hit her, twisting her gut into a tight knot, and Bonnie pushed him off, his vampire body surprisingly easy to disturb. She wiped her mouth, wanting the sensation of the kiss to fade away faster, to disappear entirely.

"I see we're experiencing a crisis," Klaus commented dryly. He was annoyed.

Apparently so, Bonnie thought. She stepped away from the door, away from him, and she kept her back to him until she heard the door open and he stepped out. She didn't breathe until the door shut behind him, and she went to pour herself a glass of wine.

It was bitter, and she left it on the counter half empty to go shower.

Two Months Ago

Bonnie watched Lydia's body burn from the entrance of the crypt, leaning against the stone and wondering when she'd be free to go. Klaus and Elijah were talking in the corner. Strategizing, brainstorming, debating the meaning of life. She didn't know, but she didn't know why she still had to be here. She'd done her part.

Lydia hadn't been talkative despite Klaus' and Bonnie's best efforts, and her brain was locked down tight. Her screams had filled the crypt like water filled a balloon, brushing all the corners until they'd been replaced by silence as Bonnie removed her heart and left it lying next to her.

"Can I go?" Bonnie said impatiently. This dress was wasted on the dusty cemetery. She should be dancing underneath strobe lights, letting the dress catch the glow and spit off tiny molecules of light. She shouldn't be standing in a dim crypt where her shoes were getting dirty.

Klaus and Elijah looked over like they'd forgotten she was there. Bonnie planted her hands on her hips impatiently in response which earned her a smirk from Klaus who came to stand next to her. "Forgive me, love," he said. "But there's something else I require from you."

"What?" she said.

"You'll need to inform Marcel."

"What?"

"You'll need to inform Marcel," Klaus repeated, as if her hearing was the problem with this whole scenario.

"No," she said which made Klaus raise his eyebrows. Across the room Elijah cracked a smile.

"Bonnie," Klaus said gently, laying gentle fingers on her arm, "you work for me, remember?"

"And in giant, bold print in our spoken contract is the understanding that I won't be putting myself in harm's way for you," Bonnie snapped, moving her arm away. "That's our deal."

"I remember," he assured her, "and if I thought Marcel would hurt you, I wouldn't ask. He won't do anything to you. Just go."

"And if he does?"

"You're a Bennett witch," Klaus said. "You stitched yourself back together just fine earlier didn't you?" He reached out to brush her hair away from her neck at the place where Lydia's bite had been. Bonnie stepped away from his fingers. "Do whatever you need to. I won't be angry. Go to Marcel and inform him of Lydia's...passing."

"And what do I tell him?" Bonnie snapped, folding her arms across her chest and wanting more than anything to just give Klaus one hell of an aneurysm. "That we tortured and killed her because she was playing both sides in your little war?"

"Tell him the truth," Klaus said. "Minus a few extraneous details. She attacked you, and you defended yourself. Now she's dead." He looked back to Elijah for his agreement, and he got it in the form of a short nod of his head.

"Sounds fine to me," Elijah said.

"Then one of you can go explain it," Bonnie said. She'd already had one vampire bite her tonight. She didn't need another one making a play for her throat.

"Bonnie," Klaus said tiredly. "Go now."

She went.

Marcel wasn't alone when she arrived. He sat at the bar with Duke, Ronan and Sloane drinking and laughing. The three of them swiveled around on their bar stools when Bonnie entered, and Marcel dropped his glass on the countertop. "Good evening, Bonnie," he said flashing a smile. "What brings you here?"

She knew he was thinking it was sex. That she'd finally gotten over herself and given in to her base, carnal urges. She would have preferred that as a reason instead of this grim and dangerous notification Klaus had tasked her with. At the very least Bonnie could be certain Marcel wouldn't proposition her for another go anytime soon.

"Can we talk?" Bonnie asked. "Alone?"

Duke snickered as he, Ronan and Sloane slid off their stools to leave, going out the door. When the doors slid shut behind them, Marcel spoke. "So?" he said, glancing down to his watch. "Little late, isn't it? What can I do for you, Bonnie?"

Bonnie steeled herself for violence. She had Klaus' go-ahead to do whatever harm was necessary to escape Marcel, and she'd do it without a second thought. There was no point in drawing it out. "Lydia's dead."

Marcel's mouth gave an almost imperceptible twitch, and his gaze darkened. He turned on the stool, looking down at the bar. His shoulders rose and fell slowly for a few minutes as he gripped the glass in front of him. It seemed to take a lot to let it go then he turned back to her, and his face was like a mask. Cold, indifferent, with his smiles far, far away.

"Did you kill her?" he asked. He stared at her coolly, waiting patiently for her answer. But there was a tick of his jaw and his mouth was pressed into a straight line. Behind his lips she believed he was gritting his teeth.

Bonnie drew herself up, told herself not to look too guilty, told her heart not to pound. "Yes," she answered. "She attacked me, and I defended myself."

Marcel stared at her, and she felt more naked, more exposed than she'd been the night they'd slept together. She told herself not to look away. Vampires were predators. Marcel was one, too. If she showed weakness, he'd pounce.

"Why?" Marcel asked, in the monotonous tone of grief. Oh he didn't want her to know, but she knew because she wasn't stupid. And if she'd thought Marcel wouldn't feel anything about the woman he'd sired himself being dead, she wouldn't have argued with Klaus about coming.

"Why what?"

"Why did she attack you?"

"I don't know," Bonnie said, thinking of the Someone Lydia had escorted out of the club. She wondered who they were, what they would think when they found out Lydia was gone, "but she did."

"Where were you?"

"A club."

"Which one?"

"Turbulence."

"I don't know why she'd hurt you," Marcel said. It was a fishing expedition, waiting to see if Bonnie would break, if she'd let something slip about this thing neither he nor Klaus were ready to speak openly about. They were at war, and they both knew it, but neither wanted to be the first to declare it to the other.

Maybe this would change things.

"Well she did," Bonnie said. "I hurt her back."

"Couldn't have let it slide?" Marcel asked.

"I've let enough things slide in my life."

Marcel exhaled down into his nearly empty glass then he drank down the rest. "Goodnight, Bonnie," he said.

Bonnie left and as she stepped outside, she heard glass breaking.

Present Day

Bonnie laid on her bed in her robe, hair still wet from her shower, with no intention of drying it, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if it would have changed anything if she'd known Lydia was Tyler's friend. She couldn't decide. The Old Bonnie would say yes. Of course it would have changed things, but the Old Bonnie also reminded her newer model that she wouldn't have found herself torturing and killing a vampire on Klaus's behalf either.

But Bonnie 2.0 whispered in Bonnie's ear and told her not to feel bad for it. Lydia was grown-up, maybe a grown-up times. She understood the risks she was taking in going up against Klaus, trying to fool Klaus, attacking a Bennett witch. She knew, and Bonnie didn't have to apologize for it.

You're not bad, Bonnie 2.0 sighed breathily. Bonnie could picture her on the bed next to her, her head propped in her hand and wearing an identical robe to Bonnie's own. The only difference was she seemed to shine, dipped in gold and platinum, never touched by anything. If she'd been with Tyler tonight she would have shrugged her shoulders carelessly when he told her Lydia was his friend. She wouldn't have said she was sorry, and she wouldn't have almost cried right in front of him.

Bonnie 2.0 would have kissed Klaus a long time ago, when his attraction was first made apparent. Bonnie 2.0 would have gone to bed with him tonight. Bonnie remembered the vision she'd had of her, made up inside her head of a proud and happy reflection of herself with a twisted, dark smile after her night with Marcel. She would have been proud of Bonnie for sleeping with Klaus.

Bonnie 2.0 wouldn't have cared, and Bonnie wished for what felt like the millionth time that she was like her. Tyler thought she didn't care, but if she didn't she would have given him up the minute she saw him. She would have taken him to Klaus herself. If Klaus had asked her to kill him, she would have done it without thinking, without reservation and without guilt.

Bonnie 2.0 would have done it.

It would be easier if Bonnie didn't care.

Against her better judgment Bonnie went to the Garden District. She approached the front door of the grand house and knocked, prepared with a million justifications for why Tyler needed to get over himself and cut her some slack. It wasn't Tyler who opened the door but Marcel who looked at her with unbridled amusement, lips curved into a smile.

"And here I thought I'd have to go to you," he said. With a flourish of his arm, he stepped aside. "Please, come in."

"Where is he?" Bonnie asked, stepping into the house. As soon as she was inside she knew Tyler wasn't there, and she turned to Marcel awaiting an explanation.

"He's...away," Marcel said, pushing the door closed with the tips of his fingers. "Temporarily. He wanted a break from the city."

"And you gave him one?" Bonnie said.

Marcel shrugged and started walking. Bonnie followed him into the kitchen. "I did," he confirmed before spinning around to face Bonnie. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"No," Bonnie said. Everything she had to say to Tyler, now useless in his absence, was for his ears only. "You must have known they were friends. Tyler and Lydia. Right? Why didn't you tell him about her? About me?"

"Didn't see the point," Marcel said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"You should have told him," Bonnie said. "He shouldn't have had to find out that way."

"What way?" Marcel said, cocking his head to the side in a distinctly sarcastic gesture that made her want to punch him. "From you? Why not? That's how I found out."

Yeah, but I don't care about you, Bonnie almost said, but she didn't. She didn't know if she wanted to care about Tyler. It had been okay at first, she supposed once they got over their initial humps. Being Tyler's friend, him being hers. But now that was done, and she wasn't sure if she wanted it back or if she just wanted to make sure Tyler knew she didn't care what he thought.

"What do you want, Bonnie?" Marcel said, with a breathy sigh. "Trying to make amends?"

"No," Bonnie said, too quickly. "There's nothing I can do." Lydia was dead, and there was no bringing her back.

"There may be something," Marcel said, too casually for Bonnie not to be suspicious.

"No," she said. Bonnie's amends - amends she wasn't convinced she needed to be making, not to Marcel anyway - were not going to be part of his obsession with getting her on his team. Did she need to make a t-shirt with the words Team Klaus emblazoned on its front in giant letters for him to take the hint?

"Why not?" Marcel asked, unbothered by her staunch refusal. "You keep killing people I care about. Lydia, Campbell. Seems like I'm owed a favor or two."

"It doesn't seem that way at all actually," Bonnie said. "You think I'm interested in redemption arc, Marcel? I'm not, and you're not better than me."

He was worse, of that she was certain. Maybe he wasn't on Klaus' level (who was?), but he didn't get to stand here and tell her how good he was compared to her, not when he was the one with witches under lock-and-key, not when he was the one who fed on humans daily and wiped their memories away.

She turned on her heel and moved toward the door. Her hand was on the knob when Marcel crossed the room in a speedy blur, resting a hand gently against the door frame to keep it closed. "Do you ever wonder why Qetsiyah brought you back?" he asked, looking at her intently.

Bonnie's hand slipped from the door. "How do you know about that?" She certainly hadn't told him about Qetsiyah. She'd been vague about her resurrection and no one else knew. Not Klaus, not anyone.

Marcel ignored her question. "You died, and she went through the trouble of bringing you back. Why would she do that for you?"

"Did Tyler tell you?" Bonnie demanded. She'd told him. Stupidly she'd told him. He was angry with her, sure, but that didn't mean all her confidences had been tossed out the window. He had no right to tell Marcel about it. Maybe he'd done it to get back at her for killing Lydia.

"Tyler didn't tell me anything," Marcel said, sounding impatient with her lack of interest in answering his questions. "I'm the King of New Orleans," he reminded her. "I'm very well-versed in your story, Bonnie. And it's a complicated one." He took his hand from the door and put his back to it instead, and Bonnie stepped away, putting some space between them.

"You're supposed to do something great," Marcel said, arms folded casually across his chest. He looked her directly in the eye with the same look he'd fixed her with the night she'd come to make her grim notification, when she confessed to killing Lydia and lied and said it was self-defense. When he'd looked at her and knew she was lying but didn't have the means to call her on it.

"That great thing you're supposed to do," he said, "I don't think this is it."

What is this? she wanted to ask, but she knew. Working for Klaus - with Klaus. Being the bad guy.

But how did he know what Qetsiyah wanted her to do with her new lease on life? Qetsiyah supplied nothing but her magic and Bonnie's angry, disappointed double to lay out all of Bonnie's mistakes and missteps and bad judgments, whittle away her choices, crush her logic and send her fleeing the only home, and the only family, she'd ever had.

She'd done exactly what Qetsiyah wanted.

Marcel could go fuck himself.

Bonnie was annoyed that he thought he could keep her here, that he thought any opinion he had on her life was welcome. She came to see Tyler, not him. And Tyler wasn't here. Bonnie looked Marcel in the eye until she disappeared silently from the house and reappeared on the porch. She put her sunglasses on and walked away.

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