chapter rating: mature/explicit
warning(s): sexual content, gore (blood), mentions of suicide
word count: 11,773
summary: Three years ago, Bonnie Bennett died. After waking up in an unmarked grave, she returns to the land of the living with a whole lot of questions. Like how did she die? Who brought her back? Where is Damon? And how long until the cruel grip of Death comes for her again?
nine lives (and a tenth for good behavior)
-2/3-
The day Bonnie Bennett died, a part of Damon did, too. He was pretty sure he'd buried it with her in an unmarked hole in the ground. It wasn't his conscience, that was alive and kicking his ass. It also sounded suspiciously like her on days when it was being particularly loud. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what part of him died, just that he felt dull in a way he never had before. There was an absence, a greying, a hole carved into him that wouldn't quite mend. And it stayed that way. Festering. Mocking him and his inability to do something that seemed so simple.
"You do not look so well, my friend."
Sierra Warez was comfortably into her fifties, with streaks of silver through her wavy black hair and brown skin that had long grown familiar with the sun. Her wide hips spoke lovingly of three children, and the lines around her eyes told tale of laughter and happiness. Lead witch of a Mexican coven he had spent the last four months chasing down, she was what might some call his last hope. Of course, he'd come across a few of those in the three years he'd been looking for a magical fix-it, and eventually another would come along. At least, if this one didn't pan out.
Damon raised his shot glass in hello, downed it, and then gave his head a shake. "So? What's the consensus?"
"I have brought your story to my coven. Spoke kindly of Bonnie, just as you did to me. I made certain they knew that she was a good person, despite who she might align herself with." She offered a friendly smirk, and Damon took the small dig in stride. "We have spent some time discussing options for you. A gift in and of itself, as we do not associate with vampires. You know this."
"I remember the riot act you read me the first time I tracked you down in Matamoros." He half-grinned and shook his head. "I told you back then, I'm not your average vampire…"
"No, you are not. Evidenced by the fact that you have been very careful about who you eat here…" Her brow knit curiously. "I have not found any victims, so either you are very good at hiding bodies, or you have not left any."
Damon stared at the half-empty bottle of tequila in front of him. "If this was two years ago, the streets would be swimming in blood. But that was before I got my head straight."
"Oh?" She took a seat beside him, reached for the bottle, and poured herself a shot. "And what leveled your head?"
He took a deep breath. "A brush with death… I got on the wrong side of a few other vampires and they wanted my head for it." He shrugged. "I wasn't completely against the idea. I'd been juggling the idea of a nose dive off the closest bell tower for a while. But then I realized, if I'm dead, there's nobody left to man the crusade."
"To bring back Bonnie, you mean?"
He nodded, spinning his shot glass around absently. "They all gave up. Every one of them."
"And that disappoints you?"
"Are you shrinking me here?" He raised an eyebrow.
Sierra smiled. "Habit of my job. A witch has to pay her bills, you know."
He hummed, and cast his gaze back to the spilled tequila spotting the table in front of him. "I can't count on both hands how many times Bonnie stepped in and saved our asses. Collectively, individually, we were always screwing up. And she just swept in and pushed herself to the limits to keep us from kicking the bucket. But when she gets stuck in a prison world or bites the bullet a few times, where are they? Nowhere. They run off to DC to play doctor, or polish their shiny new Sheriff's badge, or play house with the Shining twins. Where's the loyalty, huh? Where's the reciprocity?"
"But you did not give up on her."
"No. No, I just spent three years chasing empty leads, letting her rot in the ground because I can't do the one thing that will bring her back." He swivelled on his stool to face her then. "Which is what you're going to say, right? That the only way to bring her back is to sacrifice someone else in her place."
Sierra stared at him, hazel eyes turning soft with pity. "Some things are written in stone; death is one of them. To lose a great love is nothing I would wish on anyone, but the balance must be kept. In order to give, we must first take. It is not always what we deserve, but it is the way of things."
"Yeah…" He blew out a heavy breath.
"If I may ask… You were willing to kill two years ago, you spoke of bloodshed then, so why not now?"
His face fell, haunted with the truth of things. "She'd never forgive me… She won't like hearing I hurt people, but if I killed them so she could live… She wouldn't want that."
"I see. She is a better person than most, I think."
"Yeah." He let out a scoffing, bitter laugh. "Even when it hurts her.
With a hum, Sierra reached out, placing a hand on Damon's shoulder in comfort. "I am sorry, truly. I know this is not what you came here to hear. But I must tell you, no one will find the answer you want. A loophole will only bring greater pain in the long run. In the end, you must either sacrifice another or let go of Bonnie. Eternal rest is no great agony, unless you are the one left behind."
"Story of my life," he muttered.
"You carry a tortured soul. Those grow heavier the longer you leave them unattended to." Sierra stood from her seat, took one last shot of his tequila, and then smiled at him. "I wish you well. Should you ever need an ear, I am sure you can find me."
He nodded. "Thanks. For trying."
She hesitated a moment, before sharing, "There have been too many who have leapt from bell towers. The fall has a way of showing us that there are ways to survive our pain."
"Trust me, I've spent three years trying to survive. It doesn't get easier."
"You said you would not kill to bring her back, that she would not forgive you for your transgressions… Ask yourself, how would she feel if you jumped?"
"She'd kick my ass. Definitely. But that's the catch, isn't it…? She's not here to stop me."
"Isn't she? It seems you carry her with you always. Otherwise you would not be here today."
"Dead weight gets heavy."
"You have been gifted with a great deal of time, Damon. With it, you will find your peace."
"Maybe." He turned on his stool and poured himself another shot. "But I really doubt it."
Sierra let out a quiet sigh, took the cue offered, and finally left.
Damon stared at the mirror across from him, behind the shelves of liquor bottles. Black stubble had overtaken the lower half of his face. His hair had grown long and lank, brushing the top of his collar. His eyes, once a vibrant blue, were dull and tired. Exhaustion, depression, and surrender swam all around him, drawing his shoulders down, and lining the hungry hollows of unfed cheeks. He needed blood and sleep and an answer to the question he kept asking that wouldn't leave him empty-handed once more. Two he could find easily enough, but the last grew more and more unlikely.
Wrapping a hand around the tequila bottle, he stood from the bar, and made his way to the door. The air outside was dry and hot. His skin felt paper thin and hunger gnawed at his nerves, demanding to be felt and sated. He stumbled off into the night in search of a victim and a dark alley.
Tomorrow, he would move on. Fall back into his ritual of chasing misery at the end of a bottle until the next whisper of a lead popped up, giving him just enough hope to roll out of his musty hotel bed, and go chasing miracles.
A woman crossed the street ahead of him. Brown hair, brown skin, and green eyes. His gut twisted up. He hurried to catch up to her, pasting on a smile somewhere between friendly and sinister. If anything, her familiarity to a certain witch just might save her life tonight, and him the guilt of failing Bonnie once more.
...
The bathtub was full of blood. It lapped at the edges, slipping over to puddle on the floor when he moved. Sometimes he regretted the fact that he couldn't drown enough to truly die. He laid at the bottom of the tub, eyes open. It was too thick to see ahead of him, so his vision was clouded in dark red. Eventually, much like Stefan at the bottom of the lake, his lungs would fill with blood, his body would seize, and he would die. Only to wake back up and follow the same procedure, over and over again. The, literal, blood bath fed him just as it killed him, creating a paradoxical loop that he might have appreciated more if it wouldn't just let him die in dramatic misery already.
Pushing up from the bottom of the tub, he laid his head back against the lip and let the blood drip down his face. Distantly, he could hear the monotonous ticking of a clock, mocking him. Three years. Soon it would be four and then five and so on and so forth. One day, he would look back and realize sixty years had gone by since she'd been there. Glaring up at him, demanding he try harder and be better and want more for himself. Sixty years that he was supposed to have with her, but instead would have to spend noticeably absent of her judgy little looks and voice and presence.
The bathroom door creaked open, and a man poked his head inside. A little pudgy around the middle, with thinning brown hair and bulbous blue eyes. "More blood?"
"No. This is fine."
"It's funny. You aren't the first person to ask me to fill a bath with blood to bathe in."
"I'm not bathing. I'm having an existential crisis. There's a difference."
"Right, right. Well, the other guy— I won't name names, confidentiality saves lives— anyway, he wanted his hot tub filled with blood. He said it was good for his skin, but I don't know. You learn not to ask questions though, right? Guy says he wants enough blood for a tub, you say 'as long as it isn't mine, carnal, I got no business judging you.'"
Damon ticked an eyebrow up. "You run blood for a lot of people?"
"People pay a lot of money for odd jobs. I take what I can get."
He hummed, and raised an arm out of the blood, watching it drip. It was beginning to thicken, which meant he'd have to wash it off soon, or it'd become more of a nuisance than anything. "You never worry you might be working for someone dangerous?"
The man shrugged. "You survive until you don't."
"Interesting philosophy."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"What's your mantra, you know? What's your code for living?"
"My code?" Damon shook his head, and stared up at the shower head above. "I don't know. Hope is the only thing keeping me going most days."
"Doesn't sound like much of a life."
"Yeah, well, nobody asked you."
Damon pushed himself up to stand, blood dragging down his body. He toed the drain open and reached down to turn the hot water knob, letting the water beat down on him and wash away his blood and sins alike.
...
Sometimes, Damon felt like he was floating through life. Days or weeks would pass in a blur, unrecognizable. And then, abruptly, he would open his eyes to find himself somewhere he couldn't remember going. Not the trip there, or the reason behind it. Other days felt like a slow drag through a desert, his feet uncooperative and his mind a bog of unmotivated nothingness.
He was still in Mexico. He knew because the sweltering heat wouldn't let up. More than once, he thought about tracking Sierra down and just giving in. Who cared if Bonnie would be upset that he sacrificed a whole damn village to bring her back? At least she would be alive! She could wrestle with her moral compass later. But then her voice would sink into his brain, needling at him, telling him to find another way. Alive or not, Bonnie had left a mark on him, and it demanded that he be a better, kinder, more sympathetic person. Sadly, that fought constantly with his natural aptitude for being a giant asshole.
She wouldn't give up on him. He knew that. Bonnie would chase every whisper of a lead, move heaven and hell, cross prison worlds and destroy Other Sides. She would never lay down arms. Because she was strong and loyal and unable to let go of those she cared about. At least they had that last bit in common.
Three months after Sierra, Damon's latest bender included a shitty bar, a shittier hotel room, and too much tequila.
He was half-asleep, head resting atop a near-empty bottle of the cheapest tequila they had in stock. He swatted absently at a fly that kept buzzing around his ear and blew out a pained sigh. His back hurt from the hunched position he was in, leaning sideways against the bar, head pillowed on one arm, his other hand clutching at his bottle.
The bar tender didn't speak English, but Damon could tell from his amused tone that he thought Damon's spectacle wasn't new, but still somewhat funny. He'd made a pretty penny off of Damon the evening before, and the three before that, since Damon had wandered into town and taken a stool for his own. Drunk people never tasted good, but he took what he could get, chowing down on a few locals behind the bar, just enough to take the edge off before he stumbled off to his motel room to sleep away another day.
If Damon had to pin point the exact day that his life took a nose-dive, well, actually there were a few times that happened. Life pre-vampirism hadn't exactly been great, with an abusive, alcoholic father there to constantly remind him of what a failure he was. Katherine's death/betrayal also didn't mark a highlight in his life, especially when the subsequent one hundred plus years were littered with miserable pining over a woman who probably hadn't given him a second thought. The back and forth with Elena, despite the pain it caused his brother, was yet another blight on his history. Not to mention 1994, when he'd taken a literal bite out of the family tree. Which brought him to the present and the aching absence of anything bright or full or lively. Bonnie Bennett, a witch who had defied logic and death far too many times, only to spend her ninth on an abysmally accurate heart attack. If it told him anything, it was that the heart was an unreliable organ out to destroy him. And it had more than done its job.
He'd eaten a therapist once that told him his desperate search for love and acceptance was because he never felt like his father cared about him. That he felt abandoned and ignored for so long that a part of him was looking for someone to finally see him and love him for exactly who he was. At the same time, however, he'd been abandoned enough times that he expected it of everyone he cared about, so he had a tendency to sabotage his relationships in an effort to spare himself in the long run. She was a talker, and not completely wrong. Sometimes he regretted killing her, if only because he never heard her idea of what he might need to do to get over that particular baggage.
The bartender was talking at him again. Not quite to him, since he clearly believed Damon didn't know a word of what he was saying. And not about him, since he was the only one in the fly-infested cesspool. But at him, waving his arms in a way that clearly said it was time for Damon to move on.
With a sigh, Damon pushed off his stool, dropped a wad of money on the man, and dragged his feet out into the searing bright light of the sun. He blinked under its laser focus and held up his tequila bottle like it was supposed to shield his sensitive eyes. It did exactly nothing. Turning on his heel, he made his way toward the motel room with its scratchy blanket and moth-ball smelling pillow covers. The air conditioner only worked about thirty percent of the time, but the curtains would keep the sun out while he got some much needed sleep. It wasn't that he didn't have the cash to pay for something better so much as he was punishing himself. Damon was particularly good at that it would seem. The last three years were testament enough to his skill at destroying any and all chances at hope or happiness.
When he returned to the motel, he slammed the door shut and locked it before stripping off his shirt and flopping down on the bed. It squealed and shook under his weight, whining until it steadied once more. He blew out a tired sigh and closed his dry, itchy eyes, pressing his face down against an over-starched pillow case.
There was a sliver of sunlight coming in through a part in the curtains, but he merely turned his head away to avoid it. The ring on his finger promised him protection as he slept, but the reminder only brought back a less than flattering memory of when he'd sincerely considered how much easier things would be if he just chucked the ring and ended it already. Damon was an emotional masochist; he'd known that all his life. With each terrible mile marker, he felt just a little more justified in how jaded he was.
Elena was gone, leaving him and his miserable guilt for a new start elsewhere. Stefan was playing house with Caroline and the girls. Donovan was keeping the town safe as their stoic and mysterious sheriff. Lockwood had fucked off to play pack leader in California. Little Gilbert was hunting in Santa Fe last he checked. Alaric was dead. Bonnie was dead. And Damon felt like he might as well be, too.
It wasn't like he hadn't had a good run. He was 180+ years old. He'd lived, loved, and lost; rinse and repeat. He'd been the enemy and the ally; the obstacle and the solution; the villain and the hero. He'd grown and devolved and grown again. He'd pushed and pulled, died and survived, saved and surrendered. And after all his years, all he'd gained and learned, what did he have to show for it? A brother he rarely called. An ex-girlfriend he resented for simply being. Two dead best friends. And an ache in his chest that was distinctly Bonnie shaped.
If he closed his eyes, he could hear her voice in his ears, her pain and her anger as she told him how hurt she was, knowing she would never see him again. And he'd been so convinced that what he was doing was right. That without him in her life, she would live a good, long, incredible existence. Three years he spent in that box and when he came out, he was angry and disappointed and desperate to have her back. To save her. To make sure it wasn't all futile in the end. And then what? A year with her, barely, and she died of a heart attack. The old ticker just up and kicked it. No rhyme or reason, no changing it, no witchy little trick to change it. She was just gone. And it wasn't enough. It wasn't the sixty years he was promised, or the fifty-seven he had left after he screwed up. It was never going to be enough.
He was just falling asleep, his mind slipping away from him, when he felt it. A pull. Like a hook, just under his ribs, tugging at him. Come this way. Come along. And the strangest part was just how familiar it felt. His eyes shot open and he rolled over onto his back, pressing a hand to his chest and willing it to happen again. He waited, holding his breath, taking in every single inch of his body for some sign. A tingling sensation would do. Just give him a sign—
There.
A pressure at his chest that felt like an invisible thread pulling at him, drawing him up and forward. A summons for him to be somewhere, and as soon as possible. Hope had long dimmed for him, even if it flared just a bit each time he got a line on some witch somewhere that might have enough sway to bring Bonnie back. But this… This was different. He knew Bonnie's magic. He'd felt it enough, more often in the form of debilitating aneurysms, to know exactly what it tasted like. But it was impossible, wasn't it? Wishful thinking at its finest.
That didn't stop him from grabbing up what little of what he owned, shoving his arms through the sleeves of his wrinkled shirt, and dragging his half-drunk ass out to his car. He peeled away from the motel and onto the road, all the while fumbling for his phone. He cursed when he found the battery was dead, and wrestled with it, one-armed, to get the charger hooked up and fed into his phone.
He was a long way from home, from her, but as that pressure settled into his chest again, he never felt closer.
Stefan was parked outside of a community centre, waiting on the girls, when his phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket and turned the screen over. Frowning at the unfamiliar number, he thumbed the Answer button. "Hello?"
"Do you know where I am right now?"
He blinked at Damon's muffled voice. "I have no idea. I know I am waiting to pick two seven year old's up from summer camp."
"Cute. What are the odds they made you cheap little friendship bracelets?"
"I've already got two." He smiled down at the beaded hemp bracelets circling his wrist. #1 COACH and #1 PAPA spelled out on each, respectively. "Where are you?"
"Mexico. Kind of. I'm nearly across the border."
"Oh? Where are you headed to next?"
"You tell me…" Damon paused. "I felt something."
"Something…?"
"A pull."
Stefan frowned, and settled back in his seat. "You wanna be more specific?"
"I know what Bonnie's magic feels like, Stefan. So, tell it to me straight… Is she there?"
He chewed on his lip and cast his gaze out the window. The girls were talking to one of the camp counselors, bouncing on the tips of their toes as they showed her something they'd made. Those girls were his life. Them and Caroline. Since Bonnie had come back, a part of Caroline had mended, sewn itself up, rejuvenated in a way it could never be without her best friend in her life. She missed Elena, and she talked to her as much as she could, but it wasn't the same. She knew Elena was alive and well. With Bonnie, she'd lost her. And now she had her back.
Stefan would be lying if he said he hadn't hoped, somehow, Bonnie might be able to piece Damon back together, too. But putting that burden on her shoulders was not something he wanted to do. She deserved to live a long and whole life, not be cleaning up their messes for the foreseeable future. Still, if Bonnie had sent for him, maybe it was her that wanted Damon back in her life.
"Stefan?"
"Yeah, sorry, I'm here."
Damon went quiet for a beat. And then, "Look, I won't lie. I've been a mess. I haven't been a good brother to you. I told you I'd be better and I wasn't. I left. I walked away when everyone was falling apart and I left you holding the bag. It was a shitty thing to do."
"You were grieving… It didn't help that Ric passed soon after."
"No, it didn't, but that's no excuse." He sighed. "I can't explain it. I can't… I don't know how to put it into words. I just… I felt like I couldn't function. Like some part of me was missing and I wasn't sure I'd ever find it again. Me and Bonnie, it… It wasn't supposed to end like that."
"Then how was it supposed to end?"
"I don't know. Maybe it wasn't…"
"Sixty years, Damon. That's how long we guessed before Bonnie was gone and Elena was back."
"Yeah, and she lasted four."
"The heart attack, it wasn't your fault…"
"Bullshit. It was all our faults. Every time we asked her to fix something, to push herself to her limits. We did that to her."
"Is that why you're still chasing pipe dreams? Still trying to bring her back?"
"She deserved better."
"Yeah. She did." Stefan licked his lips and stared down at his hand, settled atop the steering wheel. "What would you do different? If she was here, if she was alive again. What would you change?"
Damon didn't answer right away. All Stefan could hear was a buzzing through the phone. Enough that he thought maybe he'd lost him at some point. But then Damon cleared his throat. "I'd make it up to her."
"How?"
"What? You want a twelve-step plan to keeping Bonnie Bennett alive and well?"
"Do you have one?"
"So far I've got the first three."
"I'm listening."
"Step One: buy a remote island that nobody but a select few people can find or visit. Step Two: get her a bikini. I'm thinking cherry red, but she's always been partial to green… Step Three: quietly slip a little blood into everything she eats. Just to keep her in tip top shape, you know? Will she kill me? Probably. Will she be alive to kill me? That's really all that matters…"
Stefan half-smiled as he shook his head. "I'm surprised you don't have 'dress her in bubble wrap' on there."
"Too bulky. She'd never go for it."
He snorted, rolling his eyes. "She's accident prone, I'll give you that. But she's not fragile."
"All humans are fragile. She's just missing the stamp that warns people from being too rough with her."
"And you're the stamp?"
"I'm the consequence."
Stefan sighed. "When Bonnie died, you… You weren't you anymore. You were emptier. Darker. Lost."
"Is this gearing up for a lighthouse metaphor?"
"Should it?"
"Maybe."
Stefan huffed a laugh. "Look, all I'm saying is that Bonnie mattered to you in a way few people have. And I know you're scared that if you let that guard down again, if you care about someone like that again, you'll lose them, too. But you can't plan for everything. You can't know when or how someone's going to leave you. All you've got is the moment you're in, so you enjoy it as much as you possibly can."
"Fatherhood is making you sappy."
"She's alive, Damon. She dug herself up out of whatever makeshift grave you dug for her in the forest and she dragged herself back to the boarding house. She's been back for months now. She isn't… She's not the same. A little more guarded and sad, scared she's going to die again any second, but… She's alive. And by the sounds of it, she's wondering if you are, too."
A long, heavy pause followed before Damon said, "If this is just some fucked up way to get me home…"
"It's not. Bonnie's back. She's living in her old house. She watches the girls play soccer on Saturdays and helps Caroline with homework club on Sundays. She's here, Damon. So come home already."
"Yeah… Yeah. I'll be there soon. Just… Don't tell her I'm coming."
He frowned. "Why?"
"Just don't. I'll be back in two, maybe three days."
"All right. Drive safe. And Damon?"
"Yeah?"
"Think about what I said, all right?"
"I'll see what I can do, Brother. Say 'hi' to the nieces for me. I'll bring souvenirs… Kids like tequila, right? Seven's not that young…"
Stefan rolled his eyes and hung up on Damon's cheerful, teasing laughter.
The door to the SUV swung open then and the girls climbed into the back, voices clamouring over each other to be the first to tell him about their day.
Stefan grinned, waiting as they got settled in their seats. He hummed and nodded encouragingly as he pulled away from the community centre and headed for home. Relief had settled in his chest. His brother was coming home, and for the first time in a long time, that left him feeling excited instead of nervous.
...
Bonnie wasn't sure if it worked or not. The spell only required she do it once and wait for results. She decided to give him a week before she tried again. In the meantime, she tried to keep busy. She wasn't sleeping well. Nightmares about death and dirt kept her up; she would startle awake, damp with sweat and reeking of fear. Most nights, she curled up on her couch, watching infomercials and drinking tea, slipping in and out of naps here or there.
She kept her work schedule up, went shopping with Caroline, visited with the girls, and listened to Stefan talk soccer stats in a way that was purely 'adoring dad.' She never asked if he heard from Damon. She never so much as spoke his name. She'd put her magic to work and whatever result came from it she would live with.
It did bother her sometimes that she went looking for Damon instead of Enzo. Was Enzo still mourning her or had he moved on? Was he neck deep in a bottle somewhere, replaying all of their greatest hits? Or had he come to the same conclusions she had? It wouldn't be hard to find him. She could use the same spell she had on Damon to summon Enzo back to Mystic Falls. She had some of his things still; they'd been tucked away in storage with her own. But, for whatever reason, she didn't. She told herself she would later, after, when she was more settled. At the very least, just to give him peace of mind on the whole thing. He was a vampire, he'd live a few lifetimes longer than she ever would, and she didn't want to be yet another tragic story he carried with him. But for now, her focus was on Damon, on seeing him, and knowing for sure that he was okay.
It wasn't like Damon couldn't survive without her. He'd done it before and he would have to again. But she felt a little off kilter without him there. Sure, they'd still been finding their way when she died, still trying to get past that feeling of abandonment that had swamped her when he chose a sixty-year sleep over her. But they'd been rebuilding that trust and friendship and, while she hadn't thought it was possible, she thought maybe that new foundation would be even more solid than the last. It felt that way, at least. Until a heart attack took her out of the picture. Now she wasn't sure what to expect, and that left her feeling weird about the whole thing.
Was it the right thing to do? She wasn't sure. But it was necessary. She needed to put it all to rest. She had no idea how long she had on earth, but she did know that she wanted to see him at least one more time before she went. And maybe that said everything.
...
It took Damon a little over two days to get back to Mystic Falls. He looked and felt like shit, taking a bite out of a tourist here or there, sleeping in his car one night, and spending the other driving all the way through. He'd already been working on a pretty terrible beard that he hadn't shaved in too long, a lack of blood left him looking pale in a pasty way, and he'd been wearing the same clothes for who knew how long. Which was why he stopped at the boarding house first. The house was dark as he snuck his way upstairs to his former bedroom. After three years, most of his stuff was gone, tucked away in storage somewhere. But he had some clean clothes with him. All he really needed was a shower. He ducked into his bathroom to do just that and walked out feeling a hell of a lot better. He skipped shaving though, ready to just throw on his clothes and cross what little space was left between him and Bonnie Bennett.
He walked into his bedroom with his pants on and long-sleeved shirt clinging to damp skin while he rubbed a towel over his dripping hair.
A cleared throat had him dropping the towel and raising an eyebrow at Caroline, perched at the edge of his bed, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Think you might have the wrong room, Carebear… Does Stefan know you're in here?"
"Hilarious." She rolled her eyes. "I know why you're here."
"I needed a shower. Desperately. You might want to burn the clothes I left in the hamper. They smell like tequila and bad choices."
She stared up at him. "Do you know what you're doing?"
"Avoiding a conversation I don't want to have. Uh, yeah. I find I'm pretty good at it, actually. A lot of practice. You should know."
"Damon." She ticked an eyebrow up. "After Bonnie died, do you remember what you said?"
"I said a lot of things. You'll find a lot of it was just my own guilt leaking through. Why? Did I hurt your feelings?"
"You said that we were the reason Bonnie died. You blamed us for breaking her heart. That we asked too much of her, and that was why she had her heart attack. And if we'd only stayed away—"
"Don't." He gritted his teeth. "Don't put this back on me when you're out here, living your little fairy-tale ending. You don't get to tell me to leave when you get to see her whenever you want. Three years, Caroline. Three. Years. And I've spent every single day of it regretting my part in her death. Asking myself what I could've done differently. If I could've saved her. Wishing I hadn't wasted three years before that, sleeping in a pine box. So don't point your judgy little finger at me and tell me that I'm the only problem in this equation."
"You're not." She shook her head. "But are you a solution?"
He stared at her searchingly. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to admit what everybody else already knows…" She laughed humorlessly. "You're in love with her. I don't know when it happened, but you fell in love with her. And I'm sorry, Damon, but your track record with love is less than stellar."
He swallowed tightly and looked away from her. "Bonnie's different."
"Why?"
"I don't have to explain myself to you." Tossing his towel away, he walked to the end of the bed, where his bag lay open, and dug out a fresh pair of socks. "It's no secret that you and I have had our differences, and I'm not going to pretend like there's not a good reason for that. I know you don't understand why Bonnie even wastes her time on me. Trust me, you're not the first person to think it. But she does. No matter what happens, she's my best friend. You of all people should know how hard it is not to have her around."
"Of course I do. I'm still not convinced something won't go wrong and take her back. But the difference between me and you is that I'm not in love with her."
"So what if I am?" He threw his hands up and turned to stare at her head on. "Would that be so bad? I know my history with women falls a little more on the 'you will regret this' side of things, but I'm not the same guy I was when I got here. That version of me was a homicidal, humanity-less asshole. Now I'm a less violent asshole that is struggling under a bucket-load of emotional trauma."
He searched her eyes. "I love her. All right? Maybe it started in the prison world or maybe before or after, I don't know. What I do know is that I have searched the globe looking for a way to bring her back, and miracle of miracles, she brought herself back. I've begged every witch and warlock I've ever met for some kind of way to make this right. I've buried myself in more bourbon and tequila than any liver should ever have to see. I've bargained with God and the Devil and everyone in between. I've chased the ghost of a woman who has saved my ass, time and time again, and who I am desperately hoping will want me in her life, even it's just as a drinking buddy whenever she feels like squeezing me in. Because as much as I love her, I know that the chances of this actually ending with me getting the girl, who is miles better than I deserve, is slim to none. So instead of reminding me that I'm not worth the air that Bonnie breathes, can you please just let me see her one last time before I crawl back into a hole halfway across the world?"
Caroline stared at him a long, tense beat, and then she let out a sigh. "I swear to God, if you break her heart, I will bury you in the backyard and let Sprinkles pee on your grave."
"Who the hell is Sprinkles?"
"Our cat."
"Well, that's just rude…"
Rolling her eyes, Caroline pivoted on her heel and walked to the door. "For the record, you aren't worth the air she breathes. But…" She looked back. "That wasn't the worst speech. And if Bonnie decides to let you hang around, I'm sure Stefan would like to see you more, too."
A slow smirk crawled up Damon's face. "Why Caroline, is that an invitation to family dinner? Should I bring a salad?"
She glared at him. "Weren't you leaving?"
He grinned. "On my way now." He grabbed up his bag and whistled cheerfully as he passed her into the hallway. "Tell Little Brother I'll be by tomorrow to catch up. Maybe the kidlets can show me what they've learned in soccer practice."
"Uh-huh." She waved over her shoulder as she walked back to her room.
Feeling good, Damon made his way downstairs and out to his car. He loaded his bag in the backseat and climbed in, rubbing his hands together before he put his car in gear and took off for Bonnie's house. A nervous, but hopeful, feeling swelled in the pit of his stomach.
An infomercial for knives was playing on the TV screen when Bonnie startled awake at a noise just outside of her house. She rubbed her fists over her eyes and stretched her legs out as far as they would reach before pushing herself up to a seated position. She was contemplating refilling her cup of tea when she heard a rattling knock at the front door. A squint toward the clock on the mantle told her it was just after midnight, far too late for a visitor. Distantly, still half asleep, she wondered if maybe it was Caroline. She probably would have called ahead, but if something had happened… If the girls were hurt, or Stefan, or Matt, she might've just hurried ahead and skipped the phone call. That had Bonnie moving to the door much quicker, blinking and shaking her head as she tried to wake herself up a little more.
It wasn't until her hand was wrapped around the handle that she really took in the shape of the body on the other side of the door. She could see him through the frosted glass; while it made most of his features indistinguishable, she'd know that outline anywhere. Which was why, despite her efforts to get him there, she hesitated to turn the handle.
Damon sighed on the other side of the door, and a loud thump echoed as he dropped his forehead against it. "Bonnie…"
A shiver ran through her at the sound of his voice.
"Open the door… Please?"
Her eyes were already burning as she finally coiled her fingers around the handle and turned it. The door swung open, and there he stood. Tall and dark and just as exhausted as she felt. For as long as Bonnie had known Damon, he cut a particular, effortless figure. That wasn't what she was seeing now. He looked, well, haggard. He hadn't shaved, his hair was much longer than he ever kept it, his skin seemed strangely pale, and his whole body just looked slumped. Like the weight of life had finally fell upon him and wouldn't be moved.
He reached for her first, his hands cupping her face so gently that her breath caught. Fingertips running over her cheeks and her eyebrows and around the curve of her mouth. And then he was laughing, thick and astounded, as if it was really hitting him that this was real, she was real.
"Took your time, Bon-Bon. Was starting to think you'd never turn back up."
Her hands wrapped around his wrists, but she didn't pull them away, she just held on, pressing her face closer against fingers and palms. "I could say the same for you… I was expecting a welcome back party. Where's my streamers?"
He snorted a laugh and shook his head. "I'll make it up to you."
She stared up at him searchingly. "Where were you?"
"Nowhere. Everywhere. Take your pick."
"I'm not sure I like the beard." She reached up and scraped her fingers over the bristly, untamed whiskers he had growing. It wasn't quite a beard, but it was getting there.
"Shaving wasn't at the top of my list." He dropped his gaze to her hand, the tips of her fingers sliding higher up his cheek. "How long've you been back?"
She shrugged. "A few months."
He hummed and raised an eyebrow. "You only summoned me a couple days ago. Any reason why?"
"I don't know… I was readjusting, kind of. I figured you'd wander back here when you were ready. But I got impatient, so I thought I'd speed up the process."
He nodded faintly. "I knew it was you… Soon as I felt the pull, I knew that was your magic." He smiled, a little goofy, and Bonnie felt her own lips stretch in imitation.
"Three years is a long time to spend hunting down false leads…"
"Surprised I didn't give up?"
She shook her head. "Not really."
He stared down at her a long moment, looking serious once more. "Have you eaten?"
A laugh bubbled up in her throat. "Pancakes?"
"I'm starving…" He turned them, and looped an arm around her shoulders. "You got any whip cream?"
"Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."
"Rude."
Bonnie's face lightened. "I'm glad you came back."
"You kidding? I wouldn't be anywhere else."
Damon made them each a stack of pancakes, topped with whip cream faces. They stayed up until three in the morning, talking and eating. He shared stories of where he'd been, who he'd met or, more accurately, who he'd pissed off. Bonnie listened to each one, even when her eyes drooped and she started swaying tiredly in her seat.
Finally, he put their dishes in the sink and plucked her up off her chair, carrying her upstairs to her bedroom. He tucked her into her bed and flopped down next to her, legs outstretched and hands stacked on his stomach.
Bonnie hummed tiredly. "Can't sleep for long," she warned.
"Nightmares?"
She blinked up at him, and then tipped her chin down. "I'm back in that hole and I can't get out. I keep digging, but I run out of air. Sometimes I can't move. It's like I'm dead, but I know what's going on. I can feel how cold the dirt is, but I'm stuck there."
"There was a priestess in Pasadena. She said that if a witch dies, she should be buried in the earth without the pine box. That her magic will leech back into the ground. I don't know. I wasn't really thinking straight back then. I just… I thought you'd like that."
She stared at his profile a long moment. "Stefan said you didn't want to have a funeral."
He shrugged. "Figured it was easier to just tell people you were on vacation. That way, when I got you back, we wouldn't have to explain the whole resurrection angle."
"You were that sure?"
He turned to look down at her, his brows furrowed. "You'd do the same for me."
"Of course." She peered up at him. "But three years is a long time to hold out hope."
"For a vampire that's a drop in the bucket." He looked away. "Hey, I didn't know when or how, but I knew I'd get it done. What's Clyde without his Bonnie?"
"You tell me."
He paused, and frowned into the distance. "Lonely, mostly. And drunk, can't forget that." He reached for one of her hands and busied himself tracing her fingers. He could feel her body heat sinking into his side, hear her heartbeat strumming calmly. A little voice in his head was still worried it would stop. She'd grow cold and her heart would give and that would be it. There and gone again, just as soon as they let their guard down. "Made some questionable choices. Didn't have my Jiminy Cricket to talk me down."
"How many?" she wondered.
How many bodies did you leave in your wake?
"More than you'd be happy with."
He slipped. Nameless faces piled up, the rage and the loss doubling up on him until he couldn't function right. So he hurt people, he killed them, and when it was over, he didn't feel any better. In fact, he felt worse. He was supposed to be better than this. He'd been better than this.
"The first year was the hardest. I kept getting leads and they kept falling apart. Elena gave up first. Then Stefan. Caroline didn't want to, but when Donovan threw in the towel, she started to think it was pointless too. So I stopped calling, stopped telling them about who I found or what I'd read in some sixth century grimoire that needed three translators to understand. And they moved on, lived their lives, coped."
"But you didn't."
He laughed, dark and humorless. "The one thing that always keeps me company is regret. I didn't see it coming. I didn't plan for it. I couldn't fix it."
"It wasn't up to you to—"
"Yes. It was." He shook his head. "How many times did I come to you for a last minute plan? How many times did I tell you that you had to push yourself to your witchy limits just to get something I wanted?"
"I was a willing participant in a lot of that. Elena needed help and I—"
"You were the one we sacrificed to get that help."
"That isn't fair."
"Isn't it?" He stared down at her. "How many people have you lost? How many times have you died? Or lost your magic? We used you up until your heart just couldn't take it anymore, and I'm just as guilty, maybe even more guilty, than the rest."
"I'm my own person, Damon. I get to make those decisions, nobody else."
"But you shouldn't have to. We shouldn't have asked you to." He searched her face, stubborn and set. "You can be mad at me for saying it, but you need to hear me. Because if you don't, you'll go right back to doing the same old things, and you'll wind up right where you were. Six feet under. And I don't know if we're going to get another miracle to bring you back. Trust me when I say I exhausted every possible avenue and not one of them worked… I have no idea how you're here, but we can't ignore why you died in the first place."
Bonnie blew out a shaky sigh and turned herself over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. "I need to know why… Why I'm back and how long I have."
"So, what do we do?"
"I ask the witches. They have to know what happened, who sent me back, why it's happening…"
"You sure you're up for that?"
"I don't know. I've been resting, avoiding magic when I can. The only time I used it was to summon you."
"Okay. Then we wait, give it a few more days, let you recharge, and then we'll send for the old bats, ask them what they know."
She snorted. "Maybe I should do the talking."
He grinned. "Witches love me."
"Mmhmm…" She raised an unconvinced eyebrow.
Damon shuffled down the bed to lay down properly. "Get some sleep. I'll stay with you. Keep the nightmares at bay."
She eyed him a moment, but eventually nodded. Pulling the covers up close, she snuggled her head against her pillow and let her eyes fall closed. She could smell his cologne, faint as it was, and feel his arm pressed to her own. It was nice; comforting and familiar. She felt herself drifting off, slipping into that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness. And then she was gone.
Things went dark and cold, dirt crowding in all around her, so hard and unforgiving that every part of her was stiff and stuck. Her lungs seized up, no air to be found. Panic crawled through her body, burning her down to marrow. But just as she felt her heart struggling in her chest, it changed.
Bonnie's makeshift grave disappeared and instead, she found herself in the passenger seat of Damon's car. The top was back and the wind was blowing all around, kicking up her hair and racing across her skin.
He grinned at her from the driver's seat, and turned the volume of the radio up high, pressing down hard on the gas so they were speeding across the asphalt. And so she was free. Blue skies above and open road ahead. Just her and Damon and nothing else. She knew it was a dream in some distant part of her mind, but she let herself enjoy the moment anyway. She deserved it.
It was early afternoon before she woke up, more rested than she'd been in a while, and Damon was still right there beside her. He was flicking through the channels on the TV, brow furrowed.
"Did you know The Bodyguard isn't on Netflix? What kind of crap is that? It's a classic!"
She smiled slowly.
"…arguably, Costner's best work. Was Field of Dreams pretty good? Sure. But it was no Bodyguard." His mouth screwed up irritably.
Bonnie would later ask herself what, exactly, about that moment had made her do it. Maybe it was the lighting or the situation or just overwhelming appreciation for the dream that had kept her light and content the whole night through. Or maybe it was just one of those inevitable things, destined to happen no matter what stood in its way. In any case, she leaned up and over while Damon was still mid-sentence, and she kissed him.
Her hand slid gently across his chest, resting atop an unbeating heart, tapping out a beat that would never be heard there again. The tip of her nose brushed against his own, and her eyes locked with his. Blue, bright, and just a little wider than usual, sharp and surprised. He watched as she pressed her lips down against his, and she wondered if he was just as scared as her that she might drift away, like smoke caught on a breeze, wisps of Bonnie Bennett, there and gone, nothing but a memory caught in clenched fingers.
She closed her eyes against it, sinking into their kiss and pushing back all the tumbling thoughts that crawled up for attention. It was tentative at first, each movement of her lips. Probing and careful, like she was worried that if she pushed too hard, too fast, something or someone might break.
His mouth opened under hers, and a trembling breath left him. And then he was cradling her lower lip between his, a hand cupping the nape of her neck, his skin a little cooler than she expected. It should've unnerved her. The cold was a bitter reminder of time lost, but it felt different. Maybe because it was him. Because as much as Damon had in common with death, he still reminded her too much of life.
She'd wondered before what kissing Damon might be like. Heady and passionate, like Noah and Allie and their rain kiss. Hands that couldn't quite settle in one place, too eager to be everywhere, pulling and pushing at each other, wanting more and more and more. But this wasn't like that. This was light and hopeful and sweet. It was almost innocent at first, like she was fourteen again and fumbling over where to put her hands. But then it found its rhythm.
Her fingers bunched in the fabric of his shirt, her other hand skimming over the coarse shadow that covered his cheek. Damon leaned into her, sliding an arm around her back, hand splayed wide, meeting her chest to chest. Her knee slid up, curling around his hip, heel dug into the back of his thigh. Their kisses picked up pace, slanting and meeting until she could feel how swollen her mouth was from the pressure of his and the scrape of his teeth.
The remote for her TV fell off the bed and clacked against the floor, but it was just white noise, just background. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears, feel parts of her body that just never seemed to warm up finally feeling like they were there and hers and alive again.
They fell back against the bed with her flat on her back and him sliding between the bow of her hips. He pulled away from her mouth to press kisses down her cheek and to bury his face at the crook of her neck. She pulled at the bottom of his shirt, nearly tearing it as she dragged it up and over his head before she threw it away. He paused long enough to be rid of it and then ducked down to scrape his teeth over her collar bone.
Absently, she thought of Enzo and Elena. Of declarations of 'love' and 'forever' and expectations that were not this. But those damning thoughts were washed away by the overwhelming feeling of rightness. Of home. Of familiarity tinged with excitement.
Her clothes became barriers, shucked away quickly and efficiently, replaced with awed mouths and reverent hands. His palms stroked wide across her stomach, knuckles skimming over her ribs, before his fingers flared under the curve of her breasts, cupping them, thumbs circling her nipples. All the while, he mouthed kisses along her hipbones, tongue stroking the seam between hip and thigh. His skin was like marble, cool and smooth and flawless, bright against her own much darker, warmer body.
Dark hair tickled the insides of her thighs as he ducked down to lick a stripe up the seam of her pussy. She arched her hips up to feel it again, and he chuckled, his cheek pressed to her leg. He slid one hand down her body, fingertips dancing lightly on her skin. Stroking his palm up her leg, he readjusted it over his shoulder before sliding it back down to lay flat across her stomach, holding her still.
If there was an award for 'most impatient man alive,' Bonnie would gladly give it to Damon. And yet, there were some things he liked to take his time with. Eating her out was one of them.
Bonnie wasn't self conscious about her body. She had been, once. Compared to the likes of Caroline and Elena, who always seemed to steal the spotlight, even when they didn't mean to, she tended to feel like she was shoved into the shadows. There had only been three men to share her bed, and each of them had been people she'd loved and trusted in varying degrees. Years ago, she would have laughed at the absurdity of Damon ever being someone she did this with. He was too volatile, too hung up on Elena, too frustrating and violent and teetering toward evil. But that was before, in what seemed like a lifetime or three ago. Now, she wouldn't want anyone else there with her.
Damon took his time, licking and stroking, teasing her open and taking her right up to the edge. He sucked at her clit, dabbing it with his tongue, while he curved two fingers inside her, thrusting shallowly. Thighs wet and shaking, Bonnie gripped the sheets underneath her, a sheen of sweat making her skin damp. She lost track of time, her heart beating unsteadily, her toes curled tightly, every nerve ending attuned to where his mouth moved against her.
"Damon, please…" Her back arched up and her shoulders pressed down. Everything was wound up tightly, every muscle coiled, all in anticipation of—
"Fuck."
Fuck, fuck, fuck. She wasn't sure she got that out, biting down on her lip as he pushed her over the edge, not slowing down or pulling away this time.
She fell back to the bed, loose and floating, vaguely aware of the kisses he was pressing up the center of her body as he climbed to meet her. His hips slotted themselves between her wide-spread thighs. His stubble scraped against her neck and her chin before he settled over her mouth.
Bonnie stared up at him. His eyes weren't wide anymore, just heavy lidded with arousal and soft with contentment. She wound her arms around his waist and pulled him down, their fronts pressed together.
"I was scared."
His brow furrowed.
"That's why I didn't call you back sooner." She shook her head, staring up at him. "Sometimes I'm watching the girls play soccer or Caroline make dinner or I see Matt driving around in a car that says 'Sheriff' and I think… 'I'm dreaming.' Everything changed in three years. Everybody moved on. And if I close my eyes for too long, I'm back in the ground again, choking on dirt… I thought if you came back, you'd confirm it. That it was a dream or a nightmare or some kind of prison world. None of it's real. I'm not real."
"Hey…" He rubbed a hand over her hair, smoothing it back from her face. "You are."
She stared up at him from bright, tearful eyes. "I don't want to die," she choked out, an emotional whisper, a desperate plea.
"You won't." His expression darkened, stiff and certain. "We'll ask the witches; hunt down whatever magical options are other there. You're not going anywhere." His thumb slipped down to rub over her cheek. "You trust me?"
Bonnie nodded, blinking back her tears.
"Just putting it out there, but you could always turn."
She shook her head, her mouth flattening in a line. "Not when we don't know who or what brought me back. It could trigger something. Put Elena back to sleep or backfire on us somehow. I don't want to risk it."
"What if none of that happens? What if all the witches have to say is it was some kind of weird cosmic mix up and that your heart will probably give out on you again, when you least expect it?"
"Then maybe I just learn to accept fate as it is. I don't know."
"I do. You didn't go through all of this just to lay down and let it happen. You've got sixty years coming to you, at least. And I'm going to be there for every minute of it."
"Yeah?" Her brows hiked. "You're gonna drag my eighty-year-old ass to Mystic Grill for a drink?"
"Nah. I'll bring the bourbon to you." He grinned down at her, and Bonnie couldn't help but return it.
She reached a hand up to brush her fingers through his hair and tipped her chin up, bumping his with hers.
He leaned down to kiss her, soft and slow. And then her hand stroked down his back and her legs tightened at his waist. Damon grunted against her lips and shifted forward, sinking a hand between them. He stroked his fingers along her slit, rubbing her clit a few times, before he wound his hand around his cock. She sunk her nails into his skin as he pressed inside her. He moved slowly, giving her time to readjust, pressing sloppy kisses along her neck and shoulders.
Bonnie wouldn't call it fireworks. It felt more like a bonfire, heating her from the outside in, built to last, burning away the persistent cold that had clung to her bones from the moment she came back to life. Everywhere he touched, every kiss he left on her, it felt like life being breathed back into her. She felt warm and real and free. No longer tethered to the ground in a way that kept her from growing and being and shaking off the fear of being dragged back down.
It wasn't the sex. Not really. It was the realization that she truly believed that together, they could reroute whatever plan life or death might have for her. That having Damon there, knowing how stubborn he was, what a team they made, that she could really do this. She could survive anything.
That said, the sex wasn't disappointing. It was slow and heady and, at times, overwhelming. In a lot of ways, Bonnie was used to having Damon's full attention, but this felt different. This felt consuming. It blotted out the outside world. Her vision narrowed to the blue of his eyes and the stroke of his fingers, to the bite of his teeth sinking down against soft flesh. He never broke her skin, and she didn't worry he might. A long time ago, the idea of him tearing open a vein to drain it completely would have been at the top of her list. But even as veins rippled along his cheeks and his teeth lengthened in his mouth, there was no fear. She trusted his restraint. Something she imagined a lot of people wouldn't understand, considering Damon had a pretty long record of having very little, if any, restraint.
This was different.
This was built over time, through hardship and mistakes, regret and forgiveness. Theirs was an up and down battle of wills, of right and wrong and the thin line in between. There was hate and love and admiration tripping over each other to make a strange alliance turned friendship turned something else completely. He was her best friend, and he always would be. But it was more than that. And not just because sex had a tendency to mess up perfectly good friendships, but because they had always been some kind of inevitable.
It took a whole lot of coming together and falling apart before they figured it out, but there was no escaping it now.
With Damon flat on his back, Bonnie sat in his lap, knees dug into the bed beneath her. She planted one hand on his chest to keep herself steady, while his hands slid up her hips, pulling and pushing. One hand slid down, fingers digging into the top of her thigh, and Bonnie covered it with her own. She rocked herself against him, that coiled up feeling of pleasure twisting and tightening.
Damon sat up, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her from toppling back, and dragged his mouth up the column of her neck. Her head fell back and her hands settled on his shoulders, pulling at him. Their chests rubbed together, her breasts pressed flat. She wrapped an arm around his head, fingers buried in his hair. He sunk one hand down between them, searching out her clit, while his mouth slanted across hers. Bonnie lost her rhythm, focusing in on the feel of his mouth against hers. They panted against each other, lips swollen, and she stared down at him. A little delirious looking, starry eyed and smiling, happier than she could ever remember him looking. Except maybe that first time she came back, appearing in his kitchen, pancakes cooking on the grill.
'Bonnie?' 'One and only.'
This felt like that. A reunion of two souls that just couldn't keep apart from each other. Not for too long. It would seem three years was their max. Not that she planned on testing that in future. She was pretty content not to leave this moment for a good long while.
This angle was working for her a lot better, along with the steady stimulation of his fingers against her clit. It didn't take her long to reach a climax that left her vision spotty and her heart stumbling to catch up. Her lungs emptied out and she floated there in that white space, her whole body light and free and just particles of energy and pleasure. Until it all came back together and she crashed down to earth once more, forehead plastered to his, his fingers dug in against her back as he came, her name a whisper on his lips. A breath more than a sound.
They clutched at each other for a long minute before they fell back to the bed, unlocking to lay side by side for a beat. And then he rolled over, dropping his head down close to hers and settling a hand atop her fast-beating heart. "Good?"
She opened bleary eyes to look at him. "Good."
He kept his hand there, feeling, listening, and she wondered if maybe he too was scared that any second it wasn't just going to give up on her. She covered his hand with her own and stroked the length of his fingers absently, drifting in that calm space as her body slowly pulled itself back together after the frenzy of before.
In true Damon fashion, he had to interrupt their bliss to be, well, himself. "So, what are the odds you summoned me back here for a booty call?"
Bonnie snorted. "Non-existent."
"Just a happy surprise then?"
She raised an eyebrow and looked over at him. "What are you fishing for here, exactly?"
"A guy can't ask what your intentions are? I have a reputation to think of here. I can't just be sleeping around with every pretty witch that bats her eyes at me."
Rolling her eyes, she stretched an arm out over her head and sighed. "You want me to ask Stefan for your hand in marriage?"
"It's 2020, I think I can accept any and all marriage proposals on my own. But I expect a ring."
"Bigger than the one you already have?"
"What, this old thing?" He grinned.
"You're an idiot."
"No argument here." With a laugh, he slid his hand up, fingers stroking along the length of her neck. She wondered if it was just another way to search out her pulse. His face softened, the humor of before fading as something more real, something edged with insecurity, showed through. "I don't want this to be a one-off between friends that we never talk about and pretend didn't definitely make things a little too…"
Intimate? Strange? Real? He never said it, but she got the gist.
Bonnie turned herself onto her side to face him, and tipped her head forward so their noses bumped together. "I don't want to make any promises until I know what kind of future I have… I'm not saying that to hurt you, because that's the last thing I want to do. But until I know for sure that I'm not on a shortlist to heart failure, I don't want to get anybody's hopes up, yours or mine."
Damon hummed. He flicked his fingers up to trace along her jaw, and up behind her ear. "So we play telephone with the witches tomorrow, and then we talk. Deal?"
She nodded.
"For the record though… Doesn't matter what they say. I'm not letting you go."
"There are some things even we can't fight, Damon." She stared at him searchingly. "And if that happens, I need to know that you'll be okay."
"You want me to lie?"
"I want you to try. Really try. None of this chasing windmills stuff. No burying yourself at the bottom of a bottle."
"As afterglow talks go, this one sucks." He pushed himself away, laying flat and glaring up at the ceiling.
"I can't be another person on your list of regrets."
"So don't be."
"Damon…"
He sighed, and turned his head toward her. "Can we go back to the sexy stuff? With the cuddling and kissing and pretending there's no impending doom aspect to all of this?"
Her mouth hitched up at the corner. "Sure."
"Awesome." He reached for her hand and pulled her forward, until she was pressed close to him once more. "Because I'm not done with you… Not even close."
Bonnie laughed as he buried his face at her shoulder, teasing his teeth over her skin.
Tomorrow, they would face the inevitable fallout of mortality at its finest. Today, she was going to let herself be swept away by hope.
tbc
note: guess who had to borrow someone else's computer to post this. :/
i've been having issues with my computer for the last couple of months and it finally just gave up on me. thankfully, i have my stories saved on dropbox. i learned that the hard way, unfortunately. this does mean, however, that updates for stories might be a little farther and fewer between. the laptop i'm borrowing is my mom's, and she's mostly only lending it to me for when i have homework due. so until i have my own laptop again, things will be complicated. for any of you who might be able to help, please drop by my tumblr, there's a blue 'buy me a coffee' button linking to my ko-fi page, where you can donate. if you can't find it, just search my ko fi tag and it should pop up. donations are at your discretion, anything will help!
as for the last chapter, i should still have this computer until monday, so i'm hoping to post it then. possibly sunday. we'll see.
i hope you enjoyed this chapter. i had a lot of fun with it. the flow just really worked for me here. damon's such a dramatic guy, haha.
thanks so much for reading! please try to leave a review! :)
- Lee | Fina