til eternity - t - bonnie/damon - chapter three [a]
title: you know I will adore you ('til eternity)
category: the vampire diaries
genre: friendship/romance/drama/humor
ship: damon/bonnie
chapter rating: teen/pg-13
overall rating: explicit/nc-17
faceclaim: C A S T
word count: 8,125
summary: "Run all you want, but it won't change anything, Bonnie. It doesn't matter what world we're in, you'll always be my wife." After being sucked up into what they assumed would be oblivion, Damon and Bonnie soon find themselves in an idyllic little town where they're free to find peace. Which is exactly what they have for fifteen years, until reality comes calling to bring them home.
previous: chapter one, chapter two,
you know I will adore you ('til eternity)
-novel-
III.
TWO YEARS
The house was dark; that was the first thing she noticed as she pulled up. The faint flicker of a fire going in the grate gave a soft glow through the kitchen window, but none of the lights were on. Bonnie hit the button on her keychain to lock her car as she crossed the lawn to the front door. It was one of the rare nights that Damon hadn't joined her at the shop after work, which, unfortunately, gave her the leeway to work much later than she usually would. Hence, she was getting home at nearly ten and was more than a little exhausted. Her feet and shoulders ached, her stomach was noticeably empty after forgetting lunch and putting dinner off for so long, and all she wanted was to take a nice, long, bubble bath.
Pushing the door open, she cast her eyes around curiously as she kicked her shoes off and hung up her jacket. The living room was lit up in a faint orange glow, but th fire was low enough that shadows clung to everything, shrouding the room. She didn't spot Damon anywhere; he must have gone to bed already. He never worried about the fire taking their house out; typical.
Shutting and locking the door behind her, she walked into the kitchen. There was a dish by the phone for her keys, so she dropped them inside and left her bag on th counter beside them. She was about to make her way to the fridge, wondering if Damon put away any leftovers for her, her mouth already watering, when she heard a clatter behind her, a bottle of bourbon banging down on the wood coffee table in front of him.
"Well, if it isn't my busy little kumquat, finally home from work…"
Jumping at the jarring noise, Bonnie whirled around to face Damon, who had apparently blended right into the shadows when she'd looked earlier. He was sitting slumped on the couch, hands stacked on his stomach, over a barely buttoned plaid shirt. He was disheveled from head to toe, hair messy and clothes askew. He offered up an empty smirk, looking far too much like a man she hadn't seen in years. The man he was when he first blew into town, empty and full of darkness.
Pushing her frown away, her hand found her hip as she snorted. "Kumquat? Really? I think that's in your top ten worst nicknames. And that includes last week's 'fruity dumpling' disaster."
He shrugged sloppily. "I don't know. It has a nice ring to it. Kumquat." He repeated it to himself a few more times, turning his gaze up toward the ceiling.
Bonnie stared at him, feeling oddly disappointed to see the mostly good mood of the last two years melt away overnight. Was this the moment where he gave up on being okay with their new life? She felt a twisting in her gut. Their life wasn't perfect. They didn't talk about everything and everyone they were missing, not often anyway, but those spaces were still very much present. Especially since her 'Caroline-spotting,' of which she was still adamant had been real. Damon hadn't believed her, and even got annoyed when she brought it up. He didn't want hope. He didn't want her to tell him he might be able to get back, not when he was so sure they never would. And her seeing Caroline might only end in breaking his heart. He was tired of that. Or, at least, that's how Bonnie saw it.
For the most part, Damon had adapted well to their 'afterlife,' or whatever it was that they had been sent to instead of oblivion. He'd made friends and actively searched to avoid anything that might bring his mood down. He might put up a token fight, but he liked it when they had barbecues or went out for drinks with friends or went to the movies every other weekend. Last summer, he'd voluntarily joined Danny on a fishing trip, spent at a cabin by the local lake. It was an all-guys' weekend, so they invited a few of their buddies to go along. Bonnie had been surprised by how enthusiastic he was about it, planning all week for it and even going out to buy brand new fishing supplies, along with a silly looking hat that he'd donned for two days leading up to the trip. It was weird, having the house to herself, she was even relieved when he came home, especially since he looked happier than usual, boasting about his weekend and cooking up a few fish he'd caught for dinner Sunday night.
Because he never talked about it, sometimes she let herself believe that he'd really and truly moved on. She didn't doubt that he missed his brother and Elena, but it was easier and easier to forget that he did when all she saw of him was happy-go-lucky, just go with it, Damon. Now she was realizing that it was probably just one of his many coping mechanisms. Much like alcohol and ready dismissal of any and all feelings had been when they were alive.
It was the two year marker today. Two years since they were ripped out of their lives and sucked into… whatever this place was. This time last year they were drunkenly singing karaoke, but it looked like things wouldn't be quite as easy this time around.
With a soft sigh, she circled the island and made her way into the living room. She took a seat on the coffee table, moving the bottle of bourbon aside. "You wanna talk about it?" she asked, her voice quiet, gentle.
He scoffed, keeping his eyes turned up. "What's to talk about? Huh?"
She stared at him, the tense lines of his body and the shadowed angles of his face. "You tell me."
He didn't say anything for a long moment, and then his jaw ticked. "So it's just on me? Huh? You don't have any more tears to cry? No more 'woe is Bonnie, lost without Jeremy,' is that it?"
She hugged her arms around her waist and refrained from rolling her eyes. "Is that what you want, Damon? For me to cry about Jeremy more?"
He snorted. "Right, 'cause having you bawl your eyes out is so much fun for me…" Before she could say anything, he leaned forward. "No. What I want is to see a little more regret. I want to hear you tell me that you miss them. That you wish they were here. That there's this gaping hole inside of you where they used to be and you can't fill it up. You try, but you can't. Because it's just… It's theirs. And nobody else is going to fit there. Not Danny or Chris or any of them. None of them are going to… fill that place." His voice waivered and he quickly cleared his throat, reaching up to press his fingers against his eyes, screwing up his forehead and giving an annoyed grunt.
Bonnie blinked back her own tears. "You're right, none of them will be Stefan for you. Or Alaric. And I don't think they're trying to be. Just like I don't think you're trying to make them fit. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve to have friends. People you like who like you too."
"They don't know me. They think I'm just some normal guy. They don't know what I've done, who I've been. They have no idea who I really am and that is… sad, and pathetic." He leaned forward, staring at her, his brow furrowed tightly. "I would've killed people like them. Innocent and naïve, trusting any old guy who came by. And Danny, with those awful puns. I would've killed him first." His lip curled in a sneer. "Him and Carla both. And then Tom next door, and his little dog too," he laughed.
Bonnie watched him calmly, his eyes filled with tears and his face straining with barely restrained emotion.
"I would've drained them all dry, left them laying in the street, and whistled happily as I walked away. But they… They invite me into their homes and out for drinks and look at me like I'm just one of their buddies. Normal, average Damon, who works a regular job and has a beautiful girlfriend. Some nine-to-fiver sap who'll die of old age with nothing significant to show for it. But I already died. Twice. And I did things! Awful things and amazing things and every once in a while, I even put on the hero hair and saved people's lives. But you know what? None of them know that! None of them know me! The good or the bad, the evil or the selfless. They have no fucking idea what kind of person I really am and the people that do, the people who liked me anyway, the people that actually got any of that… I am never going to see them again."
He laughed, high and hollow. "I'm never going to see my brother, Bonnie. Nobody here even knows I have a brother. He's just gone, no more Stefan. No more brooding, no more telling me what to do, no more sitting up high on his self-righteous horse, none of that. And I used to think that'd be a gift! I used to cheer for the day that I wouldn't have to put up with him anymore. But now, all I want is to hear him nagging me about how much I'm drinking or how he knows I can be a better person, blah blah blah." His breath caught in his throat and he leaned forward, running a hand through his hair roughly.
Bonnie blinked back her own tears, turning her eyes up to get them to drain back inside her. She reached for him, a hand landing gently on his shoulder. And when he didn't push her away, she let it slide up behind his neck, squeezing the nape lightly. "I know it hurts."
He let out a laugh, a short, gruff noise that rattled from his chest.
"I do. I know you miss them. Even if you spent a lot of it fighting, Stefan was your constant. I get that… I didn't have a hundred-plus years with them, but Caroline and Elena, they were everything to me. They were the only people I could rely on to always be there. Besides Grams, anyway. So I did everything I could to be there for them. I did everything I could to keep them alive and safe and happy. And I would do it again. I'd do it a thousand more times. Because I love them." She swiped the tears from her cheeks with a clenched fist. "Sometimes I forget that you're hurting too, because you're so good at this. You're so good at fitting in and looking like you've just… moved on. But I should've known better, because if there's anything you are, it's really good at pretending you don't care when you really care too much."
He looked up at her then, blue eyes full of broken sadness.
"I can't take it away, Damon. I can't make it better. I can't give them back to you even though I really, really want to. And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I didn't grab you sooner; that you aren't back there with them. I'm sorry you got sucked into this weird in-between world with me where you have to play at being Joe Average. I'm sorry." She let out a shuddering breath, staring at him searchingly. "And at the same time, I'm not. Because you're the only one that knows me and I'm lost and sad and I miss them too. So maybe nobody else knows you here, the real you, but I do. I know exactly who you are." She shook her head. "You're not alone. I might not be your first choice, but I'm here."
He stared at her, his brow furrowed, and then he reached for her, pulling her forward until she was in his lap. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, cradling her head against his shoulder, and he just held her. He didn't offer empty words of comfort, he didn't promise that one day they would go back or that everything would be okay. He just held her, his head bowed against hers, his hands making sweeping circles on her back. She could feel a few of his tears dripping off his cheek and falling onto her, but she didn't speak, she just let the storm ease away and the calm sweep over them.
It could've been minutes or hours, but eventually, with the fire little more than dying embers, he stood from the couch, lifting her up and carrying her as he went. Instead of walking to the bedroom like she expected, he carried her into the bathroom. He set her down on her feet before he moved to the tub and turned the taps on to fill it with hot water. He dumped, entirely too much, rose scented bubble bath into it and then stepped back.
"I didn't get around to making dinner earlier, but I can throw something together," he told her.
She stared at him, a faint smile pulling at her lips. "That sounds good."
He lingered for a long moment, nothing but the rushing noise of the water filling the bathtub between them. And then he stepped forward and he bent to press a kiss to her forehead. He didn't say thank you or make a joke to ease the tension. The gesture said enough. When she opened her eyes, and she couldn't quite remember when she'd closed them, he was gone.
Bonnie let out a shaky breath and walked to the tub, sitting on the edge and turning off the taps. She let her fingers dip into the water to test it before she stood again, closing the door and stripping off her clothes before she stepped into the tub and let the water and bubbles surround her. She leaned her had back, neck resting on a rolled up towel, hair tied up and out of the way, and she thought about him, about how rare it was for him to shred the mask and lay himself wide open. He had a set-back. He had a moment where he needed comfort and he needed to break down and she understood that. It wouldn't all be rainbows and sunshine; it couldn't be. But they would get through it. Together.
…
Chris was good people. Of everyone that worked at Bonnie's shop, Damon's favorite was probably Naomi, but one of the stock boys, Brandon, was a nice guy, and his boyfriend Chris was a particularly good pool player. Which helped, because Danny was shit at the game and that meant Damon never felt as good when he kicked his ass. Tonight was no different. Sadie's Pub wasn't packed, but it had a pretty regular crew for a Wednesday night.
"I'm telling you, my game is darts, not pool," Danny insisted.
"Yeah, you wanna explain last week then?" Damon snorted. "You almost took that waitress's eye out."
Chris chuckled from his seat at the table they were sharing, tipping his beer back for a drag.
"She was a looker too. I'm tempted to tell Carla you did it to get her attention."
Danny rolled his eyes. "I was drunk. My aim was off!"
"I don't know. I think we should put it to a vote. Who all thinks Danny's a liability at every game and should probably retire?" Damon raised his hand and Chris followed suit. "See? Two to one. We win."
"Whatever," Danny dismissed. "You two keep this up and I'll forget games and go back to puns."
Chris grimaced. "At least with darts, it's somebody else suffering."
Damon chuckled, his head falling back in amusement.
"Yeah, laugh it up. But she's working again tonight and I'm pretty sure she's still pissed about it." Danny nodded his chin to where a few waitresses were standing together; one in particular, a pretty red-head, cast a glare toward their table.
Chris let out a long whistle. "Good thing we didn't order food."
"You think she'd spit in it?" Danny wondered.
"She's angry enough… She probably has a voodoo doll with your face on it." Damon's mouth turned up in a dark smirk. "Poetic, if you think about it. You tried to hit her with a dart, she sticks you with pins sometimes…"
Danny shifted in his seat. "You know, I've been kind of achy lately, maybe she really does…"
Chris glanced at Damon and then raised a brow at Danny. "Hey, don't worry so much. She doesn't look like the voodoo type to me."
"No?"
"No, she's definitely the shank you in the parking lot type…" Chris winked. "We should probably walk you to your car later, just to be sure."
Danny rolled his eyes. "All right, ha ha, really funny guys. We're just talking about a wronged woman who could fatally wound me here."
Damon shook his head and clapped Danny's shoulder. "Just apologize to her, and mean it."
"That's it?"
"Well, that and maybe promise you'll never go anywhere near the darts again."
Danny snorted, but nodded as he stood from the table. He raised his head up and was just about to leave the table before he paused and looked back at them. "Before I go… A hooker, a rabbi, and a plumber walk into a bar…"
Damon and Chris groaned loudly, but Danny merely grinned as he continued with his joke.
Despite himself, Damon found himself laughing. It was still rough, trying to drown out that voice in his head that reminded him that he wasn't as normal as these guys were, that he had a screwed up history that would've sent them all running for the hills, that neither of them were Stefan or Alaric. But they weren't bad people and, all things considered, the afterlife could be a lot worse.
…
"I'm not painting your toes."
Bonnie pouted at him. She stuck out her bottom lip and tipped her head, looking up at him with her big green eyes and Damon didn't know when, he could not pin point the exact moment it happened, but he was absolutely under Bonnie Bennett's thumb.
When he sighed, his shoulders slumping, she lit up, her shoulders raised, and she grinned at him. "Yay," she said, reaching for a few different bottles. "Okay, so I couldn't pick which one I liked best, so you have to help me choose first."
Damon raised an eyebrow at her. "A hundred and seventy-five years, Bonnie. I've killed more people than you've met in your life, and this is what you have me doing."
"Yes, I know, your badass reputation is well intact." She rolled her eyes. "I'll be sure not to mention to any evil-doers that you had a moment of weakness."
"A moment of weakness is not picking between bubble gum pink and powder blue nail polish. This is like having me castrated. Why would do this to me, Bonnie? What has my masculinity ever done to you?"
Bonnie pursed her lips and then reached over and plucked up a dark burgundy bottle. "You're right, those two are a little too young for me. This one's better." She waved it at him. "Kind of looks like blood, right? That should make you feel better."
He snapped his fingers and held his hand out for the bottle.
Happily, she handed it over to him.
He gave it a shake and said, "One coat or two?"
Bonnie hummed thoughtfully. "Two."
"The things I do for you…" he sighed.
"It's much appreciated." Stretching her legs out, she placed her feet in his lap. "So? Tell me about your day…"
"I tell you Danny almost lost a finger?"
"No! What happened?"
"Well…"
Somewhere, someone was laughing at him for how easily he succumbed to domesticity. And he would gladly kill them should he ever meet them… right after he finished painting Bonnie's toes.
…
"Bonnie… I'm dying," he whined, from where he was sprawled out on the couch, a blanket tucked in around him. "Come take my temperature again, I think my skin's melting off."
"You are such a baby, you know that?" she wondered, rolling her eyes as she finished rinsing off a soup bowl and put it in the dish rack. "It's a flu, Damon. You don't have the plague."
He glared at her, but it was half-hearted at best. "You know, when I was alive, getting sick wasn't so far off from getting dead."
"I told you to get your flu shot…"
"In case it's escaped your attention, we're dead, this shouldn't even be possible!What was a flushot supposed to do?"
"Well, you're currently laid up on the couch, so you tell me." Bonnie dried her hands off with a dish towel and dropped it on the island counter before she walked over to him, taking a seat on the coffee table in front of him. "You're still flushed." She pressed the back of her hand to one of his cheeks and frowned. "And you're hot."
His mouth twitched slightly. "We already knew that."
She shook her head. "You can't be too sick if you're still this corny."
"Hey, my lines are gold," he defended. "In fact, I-" He cut himself off as he was suddenly wracked with a coughing fit. Turning himself over onto his side, his whole body tensed up, fist pressed up close to his mouth as he barely refrained from choking up a lung. Bonnie's hand soothingly ran over his shoulder and back.
When he'd calmed down, she handed him his half-empty bottle of water and a held up a pack of throat lozenges. He knocked back the rest of the room temp water and wrinkled his nose at the cough drops. Still, when she unwrapped one and held it up expectantly, he opened his mouth, half-smiling when she obliged and popped it into his mouth for him. He rolled it around on his tongue a few times before pushing up onto his elbow and patting the seat where he'd been laying.
"I have inventory…" she said.
"Just a few minutes," he asked.
Bonnie bit her lip, sighed, and then stood. She shifted over so she was sitting on the couch and waited as he dropped his head down onto her lap. Somewhat amused by his need for physical affection when he wasn't feeling good, she dragged her fingers through his hair, surreptitiously checking his forehead again. He was pretty warm, but she'd checked his temperature a few times. He had a fever, yes, but he was still low enough not to need to medical intervention.
Snuggling his cheek down against her legs, Damon half-closed his eyes and let out a content breath. "You make that soup yourself?" he wondered.
"Mm-hmm. Grams' recipe."
"Sheila knew what she was doing," he complimented. "First thing I've kept down."
Absently, she knocked her knuckles against the wood table beside them; Damon's mouth tipped up when he noticed.
"She used to make it for me whenever I got sick. I asked her to teach me how to make it when I was twelve and dad was down with a nasty flu."
He raised an eyebrow and turned his head to look up at her. "So what you're telling me if that you've been letting me do all the cooking while you're holding out on some classic Sheila Bennett recipes?"
Bonnie smiled. "Maybe if you're lucky, I'll teach you a few."
"I'll hold you to that," he said before turning his head back down. His eyes fluttered a few times before she felt him start to drift off, gradually relaxing against her.
She'd planned to move out from under him and lay his head down on a pillow while she got back to her work, but a minute and then five passed with her lightly stroking his hair as he slept. Maybe just a few more minutes; he seemed to sleep better when she was close by. That was what she told herself anyway. Resting her head on the back of the couch, she let her fingers continue to comb through his soft hair and closed her own eyes. It wasn't so bad. Sure, he was a baby about feeling sick, but it was kind of endearing to see 'bad ass' Damon fall prey to a common flu. She could probably do without the whining, but the cuddling wasn't so bad… Not that she would evertell him that. She also wouldn't tell him about the picture she took of him when he was napping, cheeks flushed and looking all the more innocent for it. She would totally be adding that to the scrapbook later.
[continue.]