A/N: Okay so I couldn't resist. A big and deeply appreciative thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, added to your faves, alerted! Y'all spoil me. I'm tentatively continuing this. I don't plan for this to be long. Maybe 10 chapters or less, I'm just going to write until the muse grows wings and goes to pollinate another flower. This chapter features mostly flashbacks. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

Queens, NY

September 23rd 2013 5:45 a.m.

Fingers tickled the bottom of his chin and he swiped at them to stop their ministrations. They stopped for a few seconds before resuming their play once more. Groaning, he reached for a handful of sheets to pull them completely over his head and rolled away, presenting his back to the nuisance so he could get every single drop of beauty rest he could before the demands of his day harped in his ear.

His wish was denied but another one was soon being fulfilled as a warm body aligned with his, a perfect set of breasts teasingly pushed into his back, as a sinuous leg wrapped around his much hairier ones. The scent of her sweet arousal increased in potency and chased away the last clutches of sleep. Unconsciously he cupped himself through his thin pajama bottoms and massaged his lengthening erection.

Eyelids fluttered and popped open the second butterfly kisses were placed on the back of his neck and the shell of his ear.

"Good morning, love," another kiss was delivered to the corner of his jaw.

"That's supposed to be my line," he flipped over in bed and wrapped his arm around the cinched waist of his better half, the woman of his dreams. Aiming for her lips, he caught them between his. The heat became a supernova and he was hard as a brick.

She wiggled closer to better engulf herself in his warmth, purred in lust at the dizzying feeling of his engorged cock on her belly.

Marble sized verde eyes swam in a fathomless pit of black. She could hardly distinguish his pupil from his cornea. He had serious eyes but a Renaissance inspired face. No sharp lines or angles, strong, aristocratic features that bespoke of his Viking ancestry.

Bonnie's fingers trailed through his shoulder-length chestnut locks, curling a strand around her finger. She leaned in expecting to be kissed within an inch of her life and she was not disappointed.

Their bodies shifted on the California king bed; hers finding its new resting place underneath, his covering hers like a blanket. Mouths ravished one another in an endless procession of tongues rolling and teeth sinking into lips. Feverishly they worked at moving all barriers between them, hands grasping clothing and either pulling them down or up until they both lay naked, flesh to flesh.

Adjusting her hips, crossing her legs behind Henrik's back, Bonnie let out a relieved sigh the moment he sheathed his cock within her, expanding her band of muscles to where she fit him like a glove and vise versa.

"Good morning, love," Henrik smirked and began to slowly grind against his wife's pelvis setting a teasing pace that had her scraping her nails along his back and over his shoulders in impatience.

She was always ready for him. Wet. Dripping. Hot. He didn't know how he got so lucky.

Morning was his least favorite time of day but being with his wife no matter the hour made him thankful for being alive.

Henrik dipped his head to lave his tongue around her nipple. Bonnie hissed compliantly, gripped him by the back of the neck to drive more of her breast into his mouth. Bonnie was extraordinarily sensitive there and Henrik often brought her to completion off a few flicks alone. He increased the speed, intensity, and depth of his thrusts implanting himself all the way to her cervix if possible, and retreating to where only the tip of his mushroom head remained. Little was better than his man meat covered and glazed with his wife's juices.

He opened his eyes to find Bonnie staring up at him moving her hips in tandem just as determined to get hers as well as milk him dry. Her puckered mouth curve upward at the corner and he knew he was in trouble of losing total control. But he didn't mind surrendering.

Silently they communicated having picked up on cues and they switched positions, Bonnie now on her hands and knees. She whipped her hair over her shoulder to bear witness to her husband grabbing his glistening and vein-lined cock at the base and easing his way back inside. Her toes curled, her back arched, and before she knew it, Bonnie slapped her hand on the headboard for purchase.

Her breasts jiggled with the back and forward motion of their hips, and when Henrik aligned himself at another angle hitting her spot, Bonnie was done for.

"Are you coming, baby?" he crooned hotly in her ear and swirled his tongue around her shoulder, his middle and ring finger flicking her clit.

"Y-yes," Bonnie's breath hitched and she could barely talk.

"Then come."

The proof of her end ran down her inner thighs and soaked into the bed; her throat hoarse from her endless screaming.

Moments later Henrik followed suit, holding on to Bonnie's hips tightly, fingers burrowing into her skin sure to leave bruises. He groaned gutturally, almost inhumanly and it was the sexiest fucking sound to Bonnie.

"One of these days kvinna, you're going to kill me," Henrik pulled out and landed on his side on the mattress.

Bonnie rolled over to her back completely uninhibited and totally unself-conscious about her nudity. Henrik loved her body and made her feel beautiful like it was his occupation. Never passing up the opportunity to touch her, kiss her, say to her what looking at her did to him.

"Then wouldn't it be a good way to die?" she laughed and tucked herself into the fetal position.

"The best," he kissed her forehead. "My day is ruined. I have to go talk to an auditorium full of Information Systems students and all that's going to be on my mind is my wife's tight…"

Bonnie silenced him with another kiss knowing if he said that word it would start the frenzy all over again, and her toes were still tingling. "Sorry. I'll make up for it later. Now get up or we're both going to be late."

"Just stay," Henrik pulled Bonnie back into bed. "That's why we have the problems we have today. Always rushing off to do something, to stay busy. Let's just linger in bed and pretend we don't have a thousand things we have to get done before five o'clock. It's just us back on Fiji Island. Alone. Will you share that fantasy with me?"

Snuggling deeper into her husband's arms, Bonnie nodded. "Sure…but only for ten minutes."

Henrik laughed and kissed her ardently. "I love you, min hjärta."

"I love you, min soul."

Neither one of them could have anticipated he'd be dead before the day shifted into night.

New Orleans, Louisiana

September 29th 2013 7:19 p.m.

Like a crying child he waited until her sobs had subsided before he made one single move to get closer to her. She had been sitting on the couch, doubled over, closed fist pressed against her lips in a poor attempt to stifle the sound, but he heard her anyways. Seeing her like this made heat break out over his skin making his shirt and pants stick to him in uncomfortable places. Nothing disturbed him more than witnessing the tears of a woman, a woman with a broken heart, a woman who just laid her husband to rest.

There were many problems Elijah Mikaelson was equipped to handle, but handling his deceased brother's distraught wife was out of his area of expertise. Many came to him because he always had a word of advice to dispense, but now he found himself utterly speechless. His own grief and broken heart aside, he pulled on his strength and entered the study, shutting the door after him.

"Bonnie?" Elijah's tone was dulcet as not to startle her.

She jumped despite his best efforts and looked in his direction. Tears lined her eyes, nearly drowning out their brilliant green color. A green found in nature but the man couldn't find a word or adjective accurate enough that would do their description justice.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Elijah timidly dropped his weight on the cushion next to Bonnie. "I…" he stopped and swallowed the rock that formed in the back of his throat. He didn't know what to say to her and words wouldn't do a bit of good in relieving her pain or bringing his brother back to life. "I…"

"Elijah, please…just go."

"I don't want to leave you alone."

The two of them stared at one another as the weight of his words crushed or rather augmented the awkwardness and strain between them.

"I'm not good company right now," Bonnie informed and wiped her nose with a crumpled Kleenex.

Digging inside his breast pocket, Elijah removed a handkerchief and passed it over to Bonnie who accepted it and tried her best to mop her face and make herself look halfway decent. Of its own volition, Elijah's right hand, the hand closest to Bonnie, lifted as if to touch her back and rub it soothingly—froze in mid-air. He only ever shook her hand in the time they've known one another. They never made anymore physical contact than that.

He didn't think anything would be misconstrued but he decided it was best to err on the side of caution. Elijah placed his hand back on his knee.

"Then that makes you the exact company I should have," Elijah's penetrating brown eyes crinkled around the corners. "Henrik hated funerals, too. He would find every excuse in the book not to have to attend one. He went so far as to use our mother's lipstick to draw smallpox on his body so he wouldn't have to attend our grandfather's funeral."

Bonnie gave out a strangled sort of chuckle. "That sounds like him. He was the same way when it came to doing household chores. Said he was allergic to dust and therefore he had to abstain from cleaning it off the furniture."

Elijah snorted. Being the youngest, Henrik had been indulged more and given far less responsibility than the rest of his siblings. He was no slouch, surprisingly. He was sly like a fox in order to manipulate his way out of doing something he felt was beneath him. A skill he learned from watching Klaus, no doubt, in Elijah's opinion.

Elijah had been eleven years old when Henrik was born. His father had pulled him aside and said that it was his duty to lead by example, and not to slack off under any circumstances because there'd come a point where Henrik would stop looking to emulate his dad and would begin to emulate his brothers. Elijah did the best that he could. Tried to be there for Henrik when he needed him, but he sometimes put his own agenda before anything else, and as a consequence, what bond they shared began to thin until nothing was left outside of brotherly formality.

If Henrik needed relationship advice, he'd go to Finn. Whenever he wanted to learn a new sport or get his ass into trouble he turned to Kol and Klaus. Henrik only came to Elijah when he needed financial support.

So why did he see fit to ask him to watch over Bonnie? Elijah was still trying to figure out Henrik's motives on that one. Maybe it had something to do with his ability to see something out all the way to the end?

"You won't always feel like this, Bonnie. Your heart won't always be broken."

"You say that and I know that, I just don't feel that. But…I'm not the only one who lost him. You lost him, too. He was your brother longer than he was my husband."

"True," Elijah concurred. "That doesn't make my loss any greater than yours."

Bonnie said nothing but a look of understanding clouded her eyes and then she rose from the couch. Elijah felt a little bereft with her putting space between them, but he kept his gaze rapt on her as Bonnie wondered over to the fireplace mantle and picked up a framed photo of Henrik smiling widely for the camera posing with his brothers and sister.

"How old was he when this was taken?"

Elijah soon joined her at the mantle. "Maybe thirteen or fourteen."

"He doesn't look that much different. He only grew taller."

Now that she mentioned it, Bonnie was right. Henrik never really lost his prepubescent face. Perhaps that's why he chose to wear his hair longer than most so he'd look older, or his actual age instead of being confused with a teenager when he was a grown man.

"You should take that with you," Elijah said.

Bonnie stared up at him in confusion. "I can't. Esther would kill me. This is her house."

"I'm giving it to you," Elijah stressed. "Whatever belonged to Henrik belongs to you. Trust me, my mother has storage rooms filled with Henrik's childhood belongings. She won't miss this."

"I think she will. Never underestimate a mother's bond with her child. She'll know its missing. And I rather fly under her radar. I know she blames me for the accident."

"That wasn't your fault. You were hit by a car that ran a red light."

"Yeah, and we wouldn't have if Henrik hadn't picked me up from work. I should have been on the subway, Elijah. That had been the plan but…" her chin quivered and a fresh batch of tears began leaking from her eyes. "But he wanted to surprise me because he got off work early and I was so excited and…we were going to go out to dinner. He made reservations at our spot, and…"

"Shush," this time Elijah went with his urge and pulled Bonnie into his arms, resting the butt of his chin on the crown of her head. Citrus and honeysuckle permeated his nostrils as he unavoidably inhaled her scent. His eyes closed on reflex. "It's not your fault," he whispered reassuringly. "Henrik's death is not on your hands," he pushed Bonnie away until he held her at arm's length. "Do you hear me?"

Bonnie wiped her tears with the heel of her hand and nodded her head but instinctively Elijah knew she didn't believe him. Nor did she believe she wasn't the cause of her husband's death. Survivor's guilt, Elijah was no stranger to that.

He cupped her cheeks and brushed her tears away with the pad of his thumbs. The muscles in her brow contorted and relaxed. Elijah ignored his pounding heart. Ignored the bells and whistles going off in his head that he needed to remove his hands right now.

Thankfully the moment was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Immediately Elijah dropped his hold on Bonnie, and took a step away from her at the same time Rebekah entered the study.

"The food is ready if you're feeling up to eating."

"We'll be there in a minute, Rebekah," Elijah said and spared Bonnie another look. "It's not your fault," was the last thing he said to her that night.

When Bonnie made it back to her empty home in Queens, the first thing she unpacked was Henrik's picture, the one Elijah had been adamant she have. Entering her closet, a feeling of nostalgia came over her and she went digging through boxes stacked on the shelves.

One box fell to the ground, the contents going in every which direction. Sighing in aggravation, Bonnie fell down to her haunches and began gathering the items, tossing them back in the box.

She picked up a tassel from Brown University and frowned. The year was wrong. She graduated in 2007. The one in her hand read 2006 but for the life of her Bonnie couldn't remember why she had it. Disregarding it, she placed the tassel back in the box and continued her hunt for an old photo album.

New York, New York

September 30th 2013 9:55 p.m.

The sound of ice cubes knocking into the sides of a crystal glass was almost hypnotic to Damon Salvatore. The buzz of the crowd in the bar provided a shroud he needed because lately he had been feeling more off than usual, and as if a pair of beady brown eyes were following his every move. Paranoia, he wasn't a fan of but he had no other way to remove that particular boulder off his shoulders.

The constriction in his chest intensified for one breath stealing moment, and suddenly Damon couldn't move. Acid churned, he felt it rising like magma in a volcano. He snapped his eyes closed, counted slowly to ten in his head before releasing a ragged breath that only added to his light-headedness. A light sheen of sweat pebbled across his hairline and coated his upper lip and pooled in the center of his chest, back, and under his arms. His vision swam. Even his ears felt hot.

The pain was getting worse. He needed a heart before his present one gave out on him.

Seeing his brother making his way through the crowd with two drinks in his hand, Damon tried to stand to his full height, but gave up the pretense and rested his elbows on the table top. The sophisticated ambience that he once found soothing now seemed to magnify the pain lynching his body.

Stefan sat their drinks at the table and took one look at his brother. "You're not feeling well."

"I'm fine," Damon unintentionally snapped and went for his drink, but Stefan anticipated his move and got to it first. "Fork that over before you lose an eye."

"I don't know why I allowed you to talk me into allowing you to go out tonight. Your ass should be in bed. Not at a club and certainly not drinking."

"I already had one mother, Stefan. I don't need another."

"What you need is common sense and I have plenty of that for the both of us," Stefan sipped his drink and made sure to keep the other one way out of Damon's reach. "I'm willing to lease you some if you agree to dump your gold digging bitch of a wife."

Damon's smile was more grimace than smile, "I already have something in the works. I want a clean break, but I know Elena would rather see me dead than go through a messy divorce where she knows she won't walk away with half. Which is exactly what she thinks she's entitled to."

Stefan faux pouted. "You're going to sink her battleship."

"Like a motherfucker."

"I'll bring a life jacket and popcorn. In all seriousness I need to get you home. Come on, you invalid."

Though Stefan hated to make light of his brother's condition, he knew better than anyone that using sentiment against Damon earned you a first class ticket to his fist. He didn't like being babied despite acting like one when the mood struck.

When the full extent of Damon's heart disease had been revealed, Stefan experienced sympathy pain in his chest cavity which probably didn't even come close to what his brother probably went through daily. The two had been close since their boyhood days either getting each other into trouble or taking the fall so the other could be spared the rod. They had their ups and downs, often butting heads but mostly when it came to their family's company. Damon was a shareholder only, while Stefan acted as CEO of Sal-Innovation Consolidated, an investment firm with branch offices in five US cities and two international offices in London and Madrid.

Half carrying, half dragging Damon out of the establishment, Stefan shouldered their way through the crowd drawing speculative stares. Damon was lucid enough to keep his legs moving in spite of the urge to close his eyes and rest, perhaps for eternity. The pain in his chest hadn't budged and began to spread to encompass the immediate area. It hurt to breathe, to think.

The brothers made it two steps out of the club before Damon collapsed.

"Damon!" Stefan's knees took the brunt of his fall and he rolled his brother on his back, checked his airway and his pulse and noticed it was very weak. "Someone call 9-1-1!" he shouted at the spectators who began to diverge and circle them like vultures spotting road kill.

"Don't you fuckin' die on me!" Stefan ordered and reached in his pocket to pull out his cell phone to call an ambulance despite someone telling him one was on the way. "Just hold on. Help is coming. Whatever you do keep your heart beating, Damon. Just don't give up."

And Stefan made a vow never to give up on finding his brother a new heart. Even if he had to buy one off the black market he would make sure his brother lived.

Hoboken, New Jersey

October 1st 2013 3:26 p.m.

Elena hated coming here. Hated the fact her Manolo Blahnik's had to touch the greasy and dirty floor of her birth mom's row house. She didn't know how Isobel Flemming could live in such squalor and Elena was glad the lying hag had given her up for adoption and she had an okay life growing up in a rural area of Virginia with middle class parents. If Isobel had tried to raise her Elena imagined she would have gotten knocked up at fifteen, had her first child at sixteen, and would have been working on her second or third by eighteen.

The house was a mess. Clothes strewn everywhere, dishes piled in the sink emitting a rank odor. Even the house cat which was probably a stray Isobel picked up somewhere watched where it stepped since the threadbare carpet was littered with stains; and oh my God! Elena cringed there was a family of roaches congregated in a corner obviously watching one of its own giving birth.

Her gag reflex was working over time, but she refused to move from her spot next to the front door, nowhere near brave enough to take another step deep into this depressing as fuck outhouse.

She had been summoned by her mother who threatened to make a trip to her neck of the woods in Long Island. Elena knew what Isobel wanted and it wasn't to chat and catch up and gab like old girlfriends. No, she wanted money and she expected Elena to hand over her Benjamin Franklin's obediently.

Isobel came out of the back part of the house dressed in her "best" a pair of polyester trousers and a bedazzled top that hurt Elena's eyes. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her makeup was actually pretty good. Elena had to admit her mom reminded her of Priscilla Presley, she just didn't understand why she failed to use her beauty to her advantage to do better with her life.

"You going to stand over there like a British soldier and have a seat? Oh, right. My house isn't good enough for her highness."

"You called me here, Isobel to ask for money. So just go ahead and ask so I can say no and get back to healthier conditions," Elena grimaced.

Isobel smiled and reached for the remote to turn off the 52" inch high definition television. A gift or bribe depending on who was asking, from her daughter.

"For once I'm not interested in what lines your pockets, Elena."

"That's a surprise. So what do you want? You've made it clear you have no interest in us really getting to know each other."

"I just wanted to know how my son-in-law is doing."

"He's fine," Elena replied curtly.

That was actually pretty far from the truth. Damon had been admitted to Lenox Hill Hospital and was currently undergoing tests. She had every intention of going there to show her face and pretend she was interested in all the doctor's were doing to stabilize her husband.

"Is he now?" Isobel said sarcastically and crossed one leg over the other. "Funny because one of my friends, a nurse at Lenox Hill said he's been admitted. My friend also told me that Damon doesn't look so good and may even need a transplant to survive."

"Your point, Isobel?"

"My point is…if things turn bad for Damon and the unfortunate happens, you my, sweet girl will be coming into a lot of money, which means you're going to need help managing it."

"You mean spending it," she scoffed. "I have a financial planner, thank you."

Isobel smirked. "At any time things can change, Elena. If Damon were to ever find out about that night, I think he would be quick to start divorce proceedings."

Hearing that made the warm blood in Elena's body turn cold. She crossed the room in three strides and barely managed to repress the temptation to slap her mother's head from east to west.

"I don't know what you're talking about and if you even try to hint at something I will make you disappear. I know you're hiding from the feds, Isobel." The smugness vanished from her birth mother's face and Elena resumed control. "Insider trading…how many years is that behind bars when you're not Martha Stewart? I've let you use me like a piggy bank but not anymore. You say anything to Damon and I'll make sure the feds know exactly where to look. There's only one way to fall completely off the map, mom. Remember that."

Pivoting like the runway model she used to be, Elena strutted to the door, touched the handle resisting the urge to scowl, and left.

Lenox Hill Hospital—Intensive Care Unit

October 2, 2013 7:00 p.m.

This wasn't what he would classify as sleeping. Memories from his past kept infiltrating his dreams and events were being morphed and distorted in his mind. However, one memory kept rising to the surface and instead of fighting it Damon allowed it to play itself out. Start to finish. He never wanted anything to alter it.

Providence, Rhode Island

March 15th 2006

His roommates, the drunk asses Mason and Enzo dragged a reluctant Damon to the last basketball game of the season. No one paid much attention to Ivy League basketball teams because they pretty much sucked, in Damon's humble opinion, and he wasn't that great of an athletic enthusiast to begin with. He played lacrosse, rugby, and football from time to time and that was only if he had the time, and wasn't trying to recuperate from a hangover or trying to get the feeling back into his depleted ball sack. But since his other alternative was studying for his finals, Damon decided to be a team player and tag along.

Mason and Enzo raided the confession stand while Damon opted to get a beer and a small bag of popcorn. The trio found some seats after roughhousing along the way, sitting behind a group of girls who were too busy gossiping with each other than paying any kind of attention to the game.

Within minutes Damon's beer was gone and his bag of popcorn was empty. He was bored and wanted to go home and maybe waste even more time with his PS2. And just as he was about to let his comrades know he was bowing out, he caught sight of someone in his peripheral, someone falling, pushing him to act purely on instinct.

Her yelp was cut short, and her well-rounded derriere never made contact with the unforgiving concrete step just waiting to do hardcore damage to her spinal cord. Damon didn't even know he could move that fast, but he had and held a tiny girl under her arms, her upper back pressing into his waist.

Those who were sitting around had held their own breath since they saw the inevitable, a poor girl dressed in attire more befitting the club scene rather than a college basketball game, hitting every single step on her way down to the bottom.

"Ohmygod," the girl breathed and Damon heard the panic in her voice.

He righted her, pushing her gently to stand on her feet. She turned around to face him. It took a moment for Damon to say something because his ability to speak somehow malfunctioned.

All of a sudden he heard Leonardo DiCaprio in his head saying: For I have never seen true beauty until this night, and Damon wanted to roll his eyes at his own foolishness. He had bedded some of the prettiest girls Brown and surrounding universities had to offer, but this girl right here before him robbed him of breath, speech, and if he carried around cash and not plastic, he would have given her every single red cent he owned.

"Thank you for saving my ass," she laughed in a self-deprecating manner, but Damon could see her hands trembling.

"Y-your welcome," his voice went up an embarrassing octave and he cleared his throat. "You okay?"

"I am."

He didn't get to say much else before she was swarmed by her friends and some burly dude who nearly knocked Damon down the steps in order to reach her.

It would be his luck that the woman he saw in his head for one wild moment breast feeding his kids would be taken.

Damon never believed in love at first sight. He believed in lust at first sight, and that's what he tried to do with a dogged passion was write off his encounter with the clumsy, gorgeous girl as lust and nothing more.

Unfortunately like a dog with a bone, Damon couldn't stop seeking her out.

He did his best to scan the campus trying to find her in the hopes of striking up a conversation. Periodically he would catch a sighting of her entering a building, or walking with friends, but it had always been from a distance. He did manage to get her name from one of her friends and found it fitting. Bonnie Bennett, the one who bewitched him.

One of the things Damon disliked and tried to modify about himself was his restless nature. At some point he got distracted with a foreign exchange student, and forgot all about Bonnie Bennett, but the next time their paths crossed was a week before his graduation and he had to settle his account.

All this time Damon had no idea she worked in the Registrar's Office as part of the work-study program. He could have easily found some excuse to frequent the student union building, but he avoided that place like a man on the run from the law, and he could kick himself for it.

Damon remembered all his game and bravado bleeding out of him as he walked up to her counter. He just recalled staring at her like an idiot unable to say his name without stuttering.

"It's you," she beamed. "The guy who saved me from embarrassing myself at the game. You're graduating? That's awesome," she said all of that in one breath. "What's your name?"

"Ah…um…Damon…Damon Salvatore?" mentally he slapped himself in the head.

Bonnie stared at him trying to fight the smile that wanted to cross her face. "You sure?"

Feeling like an even bigger idiot, Damon simply nodded his head and handed over his student ID.

Bonnie briskly opened his account and told him he had several parking tickets he needed to pay before she could close out his account, and he also had three overdue library books.

"Until those dues are paid…you won't be able to walk," Bonnie told him sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

At that point Damon could care less because if it meant he got to come back and see her again, he'd stay in school for another year.

"Oh," was all he managed to say and was going to give himself a thorough talking to once he left. He was seriously not this lame. "Well, I'll go and take care of this and come back to see you. You'll be here, right?"

Bonnie nodded. "Yep. I'm here Monday through Thursday from three to five. Though I'm only supposed to say this to those with clear accounts, I'll make an exception for you," she winked. "Congratulations, Damon, I wish you success in your future endeavors. That sounds so corny. Next!"

He hadn't anticipated being disregarded so abruptly and had no choice but to bust a move. Damon told his feet to march forward, pay his parking tickets and for the library books because he had no idea where those shits were, and to make it back to the Registrar's Office before Bonnie's shift ended.

Nevertheless, he lamented over the fact he didn't even get to break out the big guns, his smoldering eyes. This had never happened to him before.

Naturally after hustling from one end of campus to the other shelling over a buttload of money, Damon made it back to the Registrar's Office only to discover Bonnie had left early.

Pouting, he concluded his final business and then that following Saturday walked across the stage as an educated man.

Fate had been kind to him as he ran into Bonnie at the conclusion of the ceremony. He noticed she was with the same guy who bumrushed him at the game. There were tears in her eyes, but he wasn't sure if they were tears of joy or sadness. He waited until the appropriate moment to go up to speak.

"Remember me, clumsy girl?" he grinned as he snuck up behind her.

Bonnie frowned but then smiled. "Never going to let me live that down are you?"

"Nope."

"Congratulations again."

"Thank you. So when do you graduate?"

"Next year," she beamed proudly. "Does it feel weird? Not being in college anymore?"

Damon shrugged. "Not really. Instead of getting up to go to class I now have to get up and go to work."

"Ah, and speaking of work what will you be doing? If you don't mind me asking."

She could ask whatever she liked so long as she didn't stop speaking to him, Damon mused. Her voice was melodious, not like bells, but like a blues or jazz singer about to warm up before belting out a haunting tune. Was there anything about her he didn't like?

"For now I plan to work at my family's company."

"Of course your family owns a company," Bonnie rolled her eyes playfully. "That's cool."

"Delivering inter-office mail does have its perks," he joked eliciting a laugh from the petite girl.

"Hey, Bonnie we're leaving!"

Damon kept his eyes on her as she turned to address the person who called out to her. The sundress she wore was modest in design, but couldn't hide her curves that well, and he was more than happy about that.

"All right," she turned to face him once more. "So I guess this is goodbye, Damon Salvatore. See, I didn't forget your name."

"I don't recall you giving me yours," he played along as if he were ignorant of that fact.

She stretched out her hand. "Bonnie Bennett."

Damon knew a little Italian and opted to show off what he knew. "Il piacere di fare la vostra conoscenza è che tutto mio, Bonnie Bennett," he kissed her knuckles and saw the caramel hue of her cheeks darken.

"Ti assicuro che il piacere è che tutto mio per rendere il vostro," Bonnie replied shocking Damon once again.

"You speak Italian?"

"A little. I spent some time there last summer."

It was official to Damon. He had met his match.

"Look, I know we don't know each other well…at all, but my friends and I are throwing a party tonight. Would you like to come?"

An apologetic look sprang into her eyes and Damon prepared himself for rejection even if he felt a barbed battering ram was about to go through him.

"I would but I'm on a plane tonight catching a red eye. I'm sorry. I would come if I could, you know."

"No, it's cool."

"Who knows," Bonnie tried for optimism. "Maybe we'll see each other again."

"I'm holding you to that," Damon pointed his finger at her.

"Bonnie!" her friends yelled once more.

"I'm coming!" she shouted back. "Well congratulations again," and surprising the both of them, Bonnie leaned forward and gave Damon an awkward hug. "See you around."

She may have walked ten feet away when Damon called her name. "Bonnie!"

She halted, turned, and waited.

Clearing the distance between them, Damon sauntered up to her and removed the tassel from his cap, picked up Bonnie's hand, and placed it in the palm of it. "Keep that because I plan to get it back from you one day."

Bonnie closed her fingers around it. "I'd like to see you try."

TBC

A/N: So, Damon has something that's deeply important to Bonnie and she has something of his. Isobel has dirt on Elena, and Elena has dirt on Isobel. The dots will be connected. If you want more, you knows what to do. Thank you, dolls for reading!