Note: It's been awhile since I wrote a chapter for this story. I have had some difficulty approaching it. Since it takes off from the closing scene of the last chapter, I'd suggest you brush it over, if you can.
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Bonnie rushes inside, turning on heels to look at Damon coming in the doorway right behind her. He carelessly passes one hand through his inky black hair to shove off a few drops of rain. He's slightly paler than usual, and she silently reproaches herself for making him leave the house when just a couple of days ago she thought he was going to die of pneumonia. She was so anxious to escape Caroline and move on with the preparations for this wedding, which she wants so anxiously to leave behind, that she didn't consider his health, but Damon's mouth is curved into a grin, and his eyes are gentle, and he's looking at her like she's amazing and she cannot accept it.
"I'm going to get a towel. You need to dry yourself off before you catch your death." She sounds serious and bothered, and he doesn't see the reason for such fuss, but he likes it. He likes it that she worries, likes that he matters.
"That's not going to happen unless I make you really mad," he says, lowering his eyes to the black boots at his feet to make sure he's not smearing mud on the floor. He would have reminded Bonnie to take off her shoes, but in exchange of her care he could very well cut her some slack.
"And that's just a matter of time," Bonnie replies without missing a beat or stopping to listen to him. Walking through the living room she throws her bag on the sofa and goes to retrieve a towel, and maybe something warm. He wonders what she'll tell him when he starts suffering from rheumatism, if when the times comes he can manage making the mundane task of stripping off a thermal vest sexy – well, maybe with the right music.
Damon lets himself plop down on the soft cushions of the sofa, covered in red velvet, and he relaxes against the back. Outside the light drizzling is intensifying, promising a proper storm and he's pretty sure he's got some wood left in the chest. Now that he's human he likes to take advantage of every excuse to enjoy a fire. He's found out he like the warmth, the kind that can sustain a life rather than turn it to ashes. He likes the idea of being able to make that kind of warmth and share it, silently. Being a vampire was glamorous and he could rock it big time, but being human has its charms; this inconvenient habit that moments seem to have, to end, has different consequences for men. Feelings belong to you in ways a vampire can never get. They are short, and they die fast more times than not, but they are engraved inside you and belong to you until all you're good for is fertilizer, and then after still. A vampire is disconnected from life and death. It's a black hole that can never be filled and never has hope of retaining anything. Unchangeable and untouched, if they ever love they can never hope to hold the proof of their feelings.
Like, if he distractedly burned himself to prepare pancakes for Bonnie's breakfast now, he could get a scar and never be rid of it. In ten years, or twenty, when a stranger looks at his hand they'll see the marred skin and ask, "What did you do?" And he could tell them it was stupid, that he got distracted while preparing breakfast for Bonnie. And he could remember that moment and see it on his hand, like a mark, like a sigil, that he cared that much for another human being.
The muffled ringing of Bonnie's cellphone reaches him from her bag, carelessly thrown on the sofa.
"Hey, Bon!" He calls to her in the other room, taking the shoulder bag, automatically inspecting it to find water marks. She should be more careful with suede. It's pretty and soft but hellish to manage. He's not sure he has the right brush in the house, but he can do something with a dry towel. If they're lucky enough she'll bring him one that's good for the job – a fluffy fibrous one like terrycloth, not a flat microfiber one – then he can do something about it. It's a vintage purple Yves Saint Laurent with fringes that they managed to score at a fantastic price when they were browsing through a flea market in Amsterdam - called The IJ-Hallen Vlooienmarkt and typically held in the first week of the month – and it would be a shame to let it get ruined by a few drops of water.
Still, Bonnie doesn't come back into the room and her cellphone continues to ring, so he decides to pick up because the sound is becoming kind of irritating. She could have at least picked a nice ringtone.
"Hello, this is Miss Bennett's personal secretary and very special assistant speaking," he says, answering the call of the unknown number. The voice on the other side of the line doesn't seem to pay any mind to his humor nor understand it.
"Hello, this is L'escape Travel," the feminine voice says, "We're calling to confirm to Miss Bennett that we managed to find a seat on the flight she asked for."
The woman seems rather satisfied with herself. "What flight?" he asks, puzzled. They have arrangements to make, a wedding to celebrate and a partnership to launch, and Bonnie wouldn't just bail on him now.
"The flight for Madagascar, scheduled on the 4th of May."
Well, he was right. She wouldn't bail on him now; she will bail on him the day after the wedding.
"We would appreciate it if you would tell her," she says. Such naivety comes handy. "She should proceed with the check-in online." He's about to inform her that Miss Bennett was just about to call them and cancel her reservation, when she adds, "Of course we've already sent a confirmation through Miss Bennett's email with the ticket and the instructions."
"Of course," he mutters bitterly, as he hears the line go off. And then he hears Bonnie's step marching inside the room like she's the head of the platoon.
"Here," she says, stopping in front of him with a white towel she throws on his lap and a cup of hot tea she holds between her hands.
"I don't know how I can possibly get it into your head," she starts, full of maternal indulgence that makes him feel a little like her charity case of the week, "but perishable adults need to learn to take care of themselves."
"Especially when no one else is planning to do it for them," he adds, staring at her. Normally, he would milk her patience to get where he wants, but normally he would have an eternity in front of him, now he's got forty, maybe fifty years, pushing, so proceeding by manipulation seems rather time consuming.
Bonnie frowns in concentration. Her eyes study him for a moment. "It doesn't ring any bells," she admits, shaking her head. "What movie is that from?"
"It comes straight from the story of my life," he replies bitterly. "The travel agency just called to inform you that they granted your wish, and you can just leave for the other side of the world the day after my wedding."
She has the nerve to not look guilty nor sad at the prospect of leaving him behind like last season's trend. And it really doesn't matter that she's standing there looking beautiful and holding a cup of warm tea for him so he doesn't fall sick again, because him being on the verge of death is possibly one of the few things that could keep her from leaving. Maybe.
"I had no idea you were planning to leave again," he informs her, stark, doing his best impression of a disappointed parent after their child has broken curfew again.
"You never asked," she replies, pretending to believe that's an answer good enough for him to drop the ball. She can taste a petty satisfaction right on the tip of her tongue, where her words have rolled out. It makes her feel good to know that she still knows how to put up walls with him, and yet there is a voice in the back of her head wondering aloud if she's only put them up so that he can climb them and convince her he cares.
His nostrils flare and she can see the tension coiling over his shoulders, though he keeps some sort of composure. "You want to talk adults," he begins, trying to sound like the sensible one between them. "Well, let's talk adults. How are you even going to pay for more travelling on the other side of the planet? It's a twenty-one plus hours flight."
"I've traveled a lot so far, and managed to sell some pictures and a couple of freelancer articles for travel magazines," she explains, sounding proud of herself. She has every reason to, though she didn't make that much money, and he's starting to see only now the ways she's managed to put distance between them with small secrets. Like a few pictures, like the ghost of a dead boyfriend she won't let rest in peace.
Bonnie has been with him for days and never bothered to tell him any of the things he's learning now.
"Who knows, I might just try and make it a full-time job," she continues, toying with the possibility, and maybe with him. "And meanwhile, I could sell my family's house," she adds, for good measure.
She didn't mean to, never really considered that option, but suddenly as she finds a strange pleasure in proclaiming her independence and resourcefulness, she realizes that she could do this. It looks so damn easy: Get rid of the past and start anew. Stop being tied to a place that is full of nothing else but ghosts and memories of all the things she never had. Sever any tie and forget any reason to stay bound to this place, and never have to find out the amount of time it would take to stop feeling like she's a compass pointing north every time she hears Damon's name.
His blue eyes are wide and there is a certain simmering rage under his skin. She knows that look, has seen it if only a couple of times, back when she had decided to spend her summer vacations as a ghost. Now she was basically planning to abandon him on the steps of a church or something, like an unwanted child.
"And you came up with that brilliant plan all on your own?" he asks, itching to have someone to lash out at. But Caroline would have never kept that kind of secret because she would have been too busy trying to convince her otherwise. And Elena doesn't do much heart to heart these days.
"Did I need to consult the executive board about it?" she asks, words intentionally stinging him, "That's how it works when you're on your own, Damon. You make the rules and the choices." She replies, calmly holding the cup of tea she made for him.
"You're on your own because you chose to be." He feels angry, rejected. "Because it makes it easier not having to worry about losing someone else, and you're behaving like a coward." She's been running from him the moment she came back into town. Most of the time, she's made him beg for her to take part in the most mundane moments of his life, and he's more than ready to jump to that conclusion because Bonnie caring so much that she'd rather escape is still better than Bonnie having outgrown their relationship to the point that she can't wait to move to the other hemisphere.
"You don't even know what you're talking about," she retorts, because living as long as he did, didn't give him any insight on how life really works, at least not hers. "I've been fighting my whole life and I'm tired. So what if I want to start over?" She shrugs and almost spilling the tea on the carpet. "I think I deserve it. You're only reacting like this because everything's changed so much already, and you don't want one more thing to change. Well, too bad!" she cries out before realizing he's pushing her buttons, as usual, and making her lose control, as usual. "Matt has decided to go into politics," she explains, more quietly. "Caroline is opening a school for supernatural kids. You and Elena are getting married and probably planning a couple of off-spring," she guesses, feeling a slight pang at the bottom of her stomach. "You are all moving on with your lives, and I have to do the same."
And even if she's just spoken of new careers and new families, she sounds sad. Or maybe he only wishes her to be because it would make him feel less alone. Misery likes company, after all.
"You can do that. Here. With your friends. With us." With me, he wants to say, but he is a coward, too. Because what if she says that he's not enough? Damon is only one half-redeemed ex-vampire with a low resistance to alcohol and an even lower resistance to Bonnie.
She shakes her head. "I don't think I can—"
"Just think about it," he interrupts her, trying to rush her into a vision of a future life. "Selling your family's house would break your heart. You'd end up regretting it. You want to start new? They say renovating a house gives you a fresh perspective. I can help with that." He hopes she won't find it strange that he's there in every scenario. "I'm good with a hammer and nails, even when no victims are involved. And you could work with me. I was thinking… I could buy the Grill and make it a decent place to drink, you know. I'd need a business partner for that."
"You want to own a bar?" she asks, puzzled.
He was hoping for a more excited reaction. In his mind she was always ecstatic at his proposal, sometimes so much so that she'd jump into his arms, and he'd hold her for minutes and she'd tell him how happy she was that he'd want her with him on his project.
"Or I could buy a workshop," he suggests suddenly, trying to catch a change in her expression that would lead him to the right answer, to the proposal that would make her stay. "You would look hot all greasy and dressed in mechanic overalls. Or maybe you could teach in Caroline's school. If no one is around to control her, those kids are doomed to revolt and cross over to the dark side."
"I just think there are a lot of things you're good at, and though alcohol is definitely in the top five, maybe there are other things that would interest you more." She shrugs. "You know history, since you lived it. And you have a passion for literature. You once kept going for a whole hour about why Pamela was not a feminist novel. I still remember everything you said and I didn't even read the book," she says, sounding amazed. "You have stashes of first editions and paintings in warehouses around the country. You could easily get a name between antique dealers everywhere in the world." Given five more minutes she could find ten other careers that would suit him perfectly, but he doesn't look much interested in hearing what she has to say.
"But you chose to settle into a quiet life and haven't really explored any other path, because you found something more exciting," she decides, trying to smile at that. Trying to think that since he's her friend, his happiness is her own, so it's okay. "You found the love of your life, and she's going to be your partner in all that truly matters, even if she doesn't know how to make a decent drink," she says with a smile, putting the cup down on the table. "Don't let it get cold," she says, walking away.
She doesn't see his fists tightening at his sides.
Could you hold me without any talking?
We could try to go back where we started
I don't even have to stay
I don't even have to stay, but
"It's not the same," Damon confesses, turning around to see her up the stairs. She stops and turns her head, looking over her shoulder. Her fingers rest on the wooden handrail. "Nothing is the same for me if you're not there."
Bonnie holds her breath, happy that his human ears cannot catch the breaking sound it makes when it stops in her throat. She hates it when he does it, when he switches to his most vulnerable state to move her. The way he did when he told her he missed Stefan. The way he did when he asked her if they were okay. It makes her want to run to him and throw herself into his arms, the way people do in those stupid romantic movies.
There's a long whistle over her head, coming from the top of the stairs. Bonnie doesn't turn around to see Enzo for the glowy blue shade around her announced his presence before she could actually hear his voice. "I swear, this moment is giving me goosebumps," he declares, amused. "Or it would, if I could feel physical sensations."
"Shut up," she mutters, taking her eyes off Damon.
"Oh, did you call me here so I could provide the eye candy?" he asks, his British accent more prominent as he folds his arms over the handrail to lean against it and observe her from where he stands. "Or maybe because you want me to tell you he's not worth your love."
Bonnie jumps like he's just stabbed her, and Bonnie turns her head to look at him, eyes wide and scared.
"I would never—"
"Do that to me? Or to Elena? Because, my love, I'm dead and I do not request post-mortem fidelity. And Elena…well, let's not open that can of worms, shall we?" He pulls back and raises both hands in the air like he's trying to get away from something revolting.
"I don't love him," she says, her chin high and her bearing proud. "I love only you." She's as adamant as she was before, when Damon had come back from his beauty sleep and had taken offence at Bonnie dating Enzo. On occasion, she had to assure him of her feelings, of her commitment.
Enzo smiles at her. His eyes are soft as he slowly walks down the stairs to meet her halfway.
"It never gets old to hear that from you," he says, one finger of his right hand reaching out to brush against her chin. She can feel the coldness of him, but not the contours of his touch, and she shivers. "But still, it was never true. And I didn't care."
Bonnie panics, shaking her head no. "It was," she protests. "It is." But she lets him go. She lets him disappear because it is easier to convince herself of it if he's not there to look at her like he's always loved her more. So the blue bleaches into a natural light, and there's her, stubbornly alive.
She brushes her hand over her eyes. Damon's voice comes from behind her, at the bottom of the stairs, bitter, squashing her deafening silence. "But maybe for you it makes no difference." He wills her to contradict him. Even just to appease him. Even if it's not true.
If I woke up with you in the morning
I'd forget all the ways that we're broken
I don't care if you've changed
I don't even have to stay, huh
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She stopped knocking at the front door of the Salvatore's boarding house a long time ago, when Stefan shifted from teenager crush to a best friend she was completely in love with; but now, she hesitates with her hand on the knob because suddenly a very tiny part of her wonders if she'll end up intruding on some inappropriate moment between one of her best friends and her brother-in-law.
Caroline clears her throat, channeling on her can-do attitude and pushing down the nagging feeling that hints that something is wrong, and opens the door wide, stepping inside.
"Hey there," she calls, announcing her presence in the attempt to avoid happening on a scene she'd rather not see, almost stomping her feet on the floor as she walks towards the kitchen. Usually, when it's mealtime, she can hear the sound of kitchen utensils even before entering the room, or if they are already eating, the chatting about a crossword or some movie. Today, there's an unnatural silence that weighs down over her chest, so she tries to reassure herself as she approaches that nothing is different today, even if she can't hear a sound.
"Good morning!" she says brightly, stepping inside the room with a big smile and her tote bag dangling off her arm, carrying her agenda and catalogues and the scrapbook for Elena's wedding.
Her relief is immediate as she realizes that it's just a slow morning, and both Damon and Bonnie are quietly – very, very quietly – eating at the table, sitting one in front of the other without so much as a passing look. She mentally scolds herself for letting her imagination run wild since she's read Damon's vows, almost expecting to find the two tangled in each other's limb as they were having sex on the kitchen table.
Okay, she doesn't remember Elena talking in her sleep, and so what?
Bonnie smiles at her, though in a very unenthusiastic way, but she was never a morning person so Caroline can easily brush it off. "'Morning," Damon grumbles, before taking a sip of coffee. The morning paper is folded and resting between them.
Clearly - Caroline decides, sitting between them at the table - there's nothing suspicious between them.
"I have great news," she says, taking the agenda from her bag to see the accomplishments of her last fifteen hours and show the little red check next to the deed on the page. "I found the band. And the musical selection for both the ceremony and the reception is done," she reveals proudly. "Plus, I found a new photographer to replace the one who bailed out on us," she finishes, aggravated as she thinks back to the disagreeable phone call she had received.
"Great," Bonnie nods, trying to show her support while Damon limits himself to a noncommittal sound. The majority of grooms lack the proper energy in the planning of a wedding, so she doesn't bother getting offended at his lack of communication about it.
"What about you?" she asks instead, trying to be propositional and practical. Everything is going pretty smoothly, all considered, and she doesn't want to disrupt the positive flow. "Any news?" she asks, blonde curls bouncing with her newfound energy, clapping her hands together in a small applause.
"Bonnie is leaving," Damon says almost accusingly, raising his eyes to the girl sitting in front of him and leaving Caroline confused.
"What?" She turns to her friend. "Is it true?"
Bonnie rolls her eyes. "Of course not," she answers with a patient sigh. "At least not until the wedding."
"But I thought—" Caroline begins.
"We aren't exciting enough for her to stay," Damon scoffs at her, and Bonnie's eyes meet his for the first time since Caroline has arrived.
"You know damn well that's not it," she replies though her teeth.
"I don't know a thing, since suddenly you don't deem me worthy of knowing anything about you."
"You're being dramatic," she accuses.
"You're selling your house."
"What?" Caroline's voice is shrill and clearly surprised. Bonnie looks at her for a short moment before going back to the strange war of looks between her and Damon.
"I was thinking about selling my house. I didn't actually do it," she clarifies.
"Yet," Damon adds.
"If I did, and I'm not saying I will…" she starts, raising her pointer finger to stop Caroline – who's already taking an unnecessary breath - from interrupting her, "…but if I did, it wouldn't be anyone's business but my own. You didn't ask for my opinion about opening a school for supernatural beings…" And she looks from one to the other. "…or getting married. So, why should I need your permission to move?"
"You have a half-assed plan that will barely allow you to survive the first couple of weeks."
"And it is still none of your business!" she replies, indignant.
"I am your fucking best friend, and it is my damn business to worry about you!" he bites back, remembering suddenly he has another, very blonde, card up his sleeve. "We both are your best friends," he says, trying to not make a face at the horrid taste the admission leaves in his mouth, "and we're trying to stop you from doing something stupid." Caroline nods as she feels Damon's hand wrapping over her shoulder. "You don't need to go to the other side of the planet to find your calling or shit like that. You can do that here, with us, where you belong." Caroline nods some more, adding a "yes" as he continues, "I've done it before and even if it sounds good on paper, whatever experiences you have count for nothing if you don't have someone to share it with."
"I'm not planning to become a hermit," she says, annoyed. "I can make new friends." Her words make Caroline choke, horrified.
"Caro, I don't mean to say I want to replace you," Bonnie explains, softening her tone and reaching her hand out to hold her friend's. "You know I could never." It doesn't seem to make things any better.
"What am I supposed to do without you?" Caroline asks. "You've been away for months, and I missed you like crazy, but at least I knew you would be back."
"I can visit," Bonnie offers, trying to reassure her. "Often."
"You mean on Christmas and during summer break?" the blonde girl asks, hurt and resentful. Bonnie's soft expression morphs into irritation as her eyes go from Caroline's face to Damon's.
"You did this on purpose." Her voice is grave. She hadn't planned how to tell Caroline. Maybe, she realizes, she had never really thought about informing her in the first place. It was easier to just take off and disappear again, call her friend from one of her travels and leave the possibility of coming back to Mystic Falls up in the air, never giving her a date until at some point she gave up on the idea of seeing her back durably.
"You think I'm trying to manipulate you?" he asks, making a bad impression of being wounded at her insinuation.
"Definitely," she accuses him. Trying to strike him down with her eyes while calming Caroline down with her warm touch at the same time.
"I suppose it's possible that I subconsciously am," Damon admits with a shrug. "But you know me," he adds, hiding his smirk behind his cup of coffee, "I will always take anything I can get."
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Note: The song I used in this chapter is "Stay" by Gracie Abrams, which actually switched something in my brain and let this chapter out (finally).
If you can, and you want to, please consider buying me a ko-fi, you can find the link in my ffnet profile and over my tumblr at paintedwithwords, where you are welcome to send me prompts. If nothing else, please leave a review. I go back to your comments when I'm blocked and can't find a way to write, they are often so helpful in pushing me to try and write.