prompt: "I had to see you again."
word count: 3,784

note: this is not a sequel to the previous oneshot. i hadn't realized quite how similar the two were since i haven't written for these two in quite a while, so oops!

i ran, you ran (we all ran away)

He appears without warning, draped in shadows, a pale figure with sharp features and sharper teeth. Her nerves spark and sing, alive in ways they haven't been in too long.

"Witches and vampires are natural enemies," Grams used to tell her.

He never felt like an enemy. Or, if this is what an enemy made her feel, then her nervous system had a virus. She's drawn to him more than she's repelled. She always has been. Shame wars with curiosity; she knows which will win. Her body betrays her every time, but she hides it as best she can. Maybe it's just instinct to be drawn to him. A ying-yang thing. In the end, her head needs to prevail.

"You shouldn't be here." Her voice is strong and level, even as she feels a tremble start in her fingers and end in her knees. "If Grams—"

"Do you want me here?"

Bonnie's gaze dives for the door, left open a crack. It would only take a noise, a shout, a call for help, and Grams would wake up. She'd put him down before he had a chance to voice his opposition. But Bonnie doesn't. Her throat tightens with a never-voiced call for help. This is between them, and it's a long time coming.

He's in front of her in a blink, a burst of cool air rushes past her face and across her bare skin— the scoop neck of her shirt seems so much lower than it had just minutes ago.

"It's been a while, Bon-Bon..." He circles her, the soft fabric of his sleeve brushing her arm. "You never write, never call. A lesser man might feel rejected... Deserted... Unwanted..."

"A better man might take the hint," she returns, but her voice has no fight. It's gone soft in a way that says too much.

He laughs, low and knowing. "You're not usually one for subtly." His breath fans over her neck as he stops behind her and leans in. His chin finds her shoulder and she swallows tightly. "Scared?"

"No."

It's not a lie. She isn't scared. She never has been. That's the problem. Bonnie wandered too close to the flame; a moth drawn in by a flickering light, deceptively bright.

"I thought we were past the regrets and shame part of this arrangement. Did I read that wrong?"

No, he didn't. There was a time when Bonnie had given up any pretense of hating him. When she'd given in to baser instinct and let herself be swept away by the dark allure he offered. But she'd been young and idealistic then, unsure what the difference was between attraction and love. He'd shown her exactly what it was when Elena Gilbert had turned his head and his heart. Bonnie had done her part saving the town and her friends and then she'd taken Grams' up on her offer for a trip to Europe and far, far away from the chaos of Mystic Falls and all of its romantic failings.

"You can read?" she snarks.

She can feel his smile, all teeth, lips brushing her neck. It was a surface dig, simple in its execution. They both knew he was well-read. That he had an extensive library in English and Italian, where his prized first editions were tucked away, touched with reverence and spoken of fondly. It was one of his favorite rooms, content to spend hours and days and weeks immersed in fictional worlds.

But it's easier to do this, be this, than to face the history they have between them. A history that should be long buried. She didn't expect him to come looking for her. She doesn't plan to be around long. The only person she told she was back in town, besides Grams, was Caroline. Pretty much the last person who would tell him anything. But then, Caroline's a gossip, so she could've told Elena or Stefan and it had simple made its way to him. She should've expected that. Maybe she did... Maybe some part of her had known he would find out and had hoped (deep, deep down) that he would do this. That he would come for her again.

But why?

Why put herself in this situation? Why play with fire when she's already been burned? A month in Europe became two and then three and finally, eight months had passed before she'd come home. Grams hadn't paid for all of it. She couldn't afford much past that first month. Bonnie had worked, bouncing from town to town and earning her way. It was an amazing experience. She'd found herself over there. Or some version of herself that hadn't yet been realized. But now that she was home, now that she was right back to where she'd started, with Damon Salvatore standing too close, invigorating and challenging her in ways few others ever had, she wondered if all her traveling was for not. Maybe she was doomed to repeat old mistakes. Maybe she was always going to end up right back here, too close for comfort with her neck hanging perilously close to death.

"I'm a little hurt I wasn't on your short list of people to send post cards to. Carebear has a pretty extensive collection on her walls. She likes to rub my nose in them when she gets a chance."

"I'm surprised you'd care." Bonnie turns her head, peers down at him, but all she sees is blue blue blue.

She used to spend her nights wondering how people could read intention and emotion in people's eyes. Books lied to her like that. She'd wondered for a time if she was just broken. If she was the one person incapable of seeing the truth that lay in Damon's eyes from the beginning. Sometimes she convinced herself there was a spark hidden in those depths, full of the same love she felt growing inside her heart like an invasive weed. That if she stared long enough, she would see it written in his irises. But there never was a clear idea of what was going on in his head, and the only thing that left his mouth were insulting jabs or desire soaked lies.

"Don't hurt my feelings now, Bon. I thought what we had was special."

Bonnie scoffs. "I didn't know you had those, either."

His brow furrows, but it's faint and quick and she wonders if it was ever there at all. Maybe it was a trick of the light. Or the lack thereof. Damon was a fan of the classics, like coming into her room when it was dripping in inky black, making it easier for him to melt out of the shadows with a flair of drama. She hated it, even if a part of her appreciated the affect.

He pulls away, stands a little taller and raises his chin. Taking a seat on the bed, he's the picture of relaxed, his arms stretched behind him, hands planted on the mattress. A shaft of moonlight crawls across the bed and one of his hands, making it seem even paler than usual. "So... How long is Saint Bonnie gracing us with her presence? Blondie's been tight-lipped on that front. A rare miracle."

Bonnie licks dry lips and shrugs. She folds her fingers into her palms and feels her nails cut crescent moons into her skin. She wants to seem as loose-limbed and at ease as he is, but she knows he'll sniff out that lie easily. She was never as good an actor as him. "Not long. Grams is retiring; she's having a barbecue tomorrow and she wanted me to be here."

Damon hums. "And then what?"

"Then… Nothing. I go back. I go home."

His gaze narrows. "And where is home?"

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Why are you doing this?"

He shrugs. "Doing what?"

"This. Coming here. Asking questions."

"I can't visit an old friend?"

She stared at him. "We both know we were never friends."

He closes his mouth and she can almost hear his teeth grind together. "I don't know, Bon-Bon. I thought we were making progress on that front. The way I remember it, the boarding house was becoming your second home." He stares at her, his gaze sharp. "There was a time when you would've said the same."

"Yeah, well, I was young then. And naïve."

He glances away. "Naïve…" he repeats. "I think scared is more like it."

"Scared?" She scoffs. "Of you?"

"Yeah. Of me. Of us."

Bonnie's heart squeezes— caught in a merciless vice. "There was no us."

He sits up then— blue fire in his eyes. "Bullshit."

Bonnie tilts her chin. "I'm not doing this."

"Doing what? Talking? Explaining? Telling me what the hell went wrong that you up and abandoned me out of nowhere? Like I was nothing. Like I never mattered to y—"

"Don't," she snarls. The bed shakes, a mini-earthquake that trembles the whole room around them. "You don't get to play the victim. You don't get to pretend like any of this—all of this—wasn't your fault."

"My fault?" He laughs and stands from the bed so quickly that she stumbles back a step. "You're the one that left. You're the one that let Grams' witchy war on vampires get in your head."

"This has nothing to do with her."

"Doesn't it?"

"No." She leans into him. "I made my own choices. I let myself be swept away in all your… Damon-ness. And I let myself think that it was more than it was. Because that's what I wanted. That's what I told myself it was. But it was a lie. From the very beginning." He shakes his head, ready to argue and fight and snarl, but she pokes a finger against his chest and doesn't let him. "You came looking for me because I was an easy target. Because innocent little Bonnie who was insecure and overlooked and still figuring herself out was the easiest link in the chain for you to manipulate. And it worked. Stupidly, I fell for it. I played right into your hands. I wanted so badly to feel like I came first, like I mattered, that I let myself believe you were someone you never were. Someone who cared about me even half as much as I cared about you." Her throat hollows out and burns, and her voice stretches and crackles with her pain and her anger at herself. "I let myself love you because I thought you loved me. But you didn't. You couldn't."

His faze fell to her finger and his expression went stone hard. When he looks up, his eyes are cold and for the first time, she thinks maybe she can read something there. "Big, bad, Bonnie Bennett runs for the hills as soon as her heart gets broken, is that it? I wasn't your perfect little boyfriend, so you walked away and never looked back."

Bonnie scoffs. "You weren't my boyfriend, Damon. You weren't even my friend. I was a tool and you—"

Her room blurs for a beat and then her back meets a wall, knocking the air and words right out of her. Her arms are braced against the wall, his hands around her wrists, but his grip is loose. They both know that if she wants to, she can put him down with an aneurysm. She's not afraid though. Not of what he can or will do. Even as his once handsome face turns vicious with dark veins and blood-black eyes. His chest heaves as he bares his teeth, lips curled in a gruesome snarl. "You know what they say about making assumptions."

Bonnie glares up at him. "I'm not assuming anything."

"No?" His nose wrinkles. "Where's your proof?"

Her chest is heaving, heart pounding, and her rage folds itself around two syllables— a name, an accusation, a truth never spoken. "Elena."

His fingers tighten at her wrists and then let go. He takes a step back, his brow furrowed and his mouth turned down at the corners. The veins once crawling like spider's feet under his eyes, smooth out and disappear, leaving creamy, unblemished skin behind. The devil hides behind a too-handsome face. "What about her?"

He says it with a scoff, a dismissal, and it only pours salt on a wound she's spent eight months healing. "Don't do that. Don't pretend—"

"Who's pretending?" He shakes his head. "You're the one making grand declarations about my feelings!"

"Someone has to!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Bonnie pushes off the wall and walks toward him. Unwilling to be cowed, he stays sure-footed where he stands, his chin dipping to keep her gaze, his eyes still rough and his mouth set in a perturbed frown. "You keep pretending like I was the one that ran away, but you were always the one keeping his distance. You played games and avoided labels and make it clear that whatever I wanted from you, I wasn't going to find."

His eyes narrow with accusation. "You found plenty."

"I found sex. And yeah, it was good and fun, but it was never what I wanted, and you knew that."

"What'd you want, Bonnie? Huh? You wanted a partner? Someone to laugh with? Someone to dance around the parlour with to Nina Simone? Someone who was going to be right there with you when you went head-first into whatever fight came calling? Because I did that." He stabbed a finger at his chest. "I'm the one that picked you up, broken wings and all. I'm the one that held you together when your dad died. When your mom came and went and started her new life without you. I'm the one that stuck around. Me. So maybe I didn't call you my girlfriend and show you off to the Scooby Gang that's done nothing but ridicule any and everything I've ever done. But I'm not the one that ran. You did that all on your own."

Bonnie clenches her teeth, her hands folded into fists at her sides. "Yeah, you were the perfect partner, Damon. Right up until you kissed Elena. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She marches toward him, and this time he does stumble, his eyes wide and his brows hiked. "I was firmly on your side. Convinced that Grams and Caroline and Stefan were all wrong about you. That whatever you they thought you were was just a caricature of who you really were. That I was special because you showed me who was really hiding under all that bravado and chaos. But then you proved them right. You showed me exactly who you were, and it was a coward in love with his brother's girlfriend. And I was the sucker that fell for it."

He stops, her desk chair against his back, and stares down at her from beneath long, inky eyelashes.

Bonnie takes a deep breath, her shoulders slumping, and her anger quick to flee, replaced with exhaustion. "Why did you come here?" She crosses her arms. "What was the point?"

He doesn't speak right away. His own mask melts away and, for a brief moment, he looks like the man she thought she knew. Without the cobwebs of time and baggage clinging to him. Without a lifetime of failed romances hinging on his upturned lips, bereft of happiness and full of empty boasting. Shreds of a person she'd thought was crawling out from the debris of his own making, ready to try for something real, to attempt something meaningful. His lips part and his words are quiet. "I had to see you again."

It's not what she expects. She's not entirely sure how to absorb it or what it means. Backing up, she takes a seat on the end of her bed and shrugs. "Well, you have." Her hands fall to her lap, fingers folding around each other.

He says nothing. Offers no explanations or excuses. Instead, he watches her. Not like he used to, when his gaze was heavy, lingering on wrists and neck like she has ichor in her veins and he just wants a taste. This is different. Weighty, but lacking in the heady desire translated in a glance and a grin. His hands, long piano fingers, are curled around the chair at his back. The divide between them is small, but it feels so much bigger. More than the ocean she'd put there eight months ago. And she can feel it, the end she never got before. The finality she'd avoided in running as far as she could get, telling herself she could move on and let go if she could just get away. She'd lied to herself then; a part of her held out hope for an explanation, a reason. She's not sure she wants one now. Not sure it matters. They were destined for an end before they began. Witches and vampires don't— can't— shouldn't mix.

Bonnie breaths in, gathers up her courage, and says, "You should go. It's late. Grams' barbecue is tomorrow and I… I have a late flight out."

He nods, but his gaze falls to the floor for a long beat, and he doesn't make any attempt to leave.

She waits for the tell-tale whoosh of air, leaving a shiver in its wake. The sign that he's gone faster than her eyes can keep up. And it comes, but it's not what she expects. He crosses the space between them, close enough that their knees are pressed together. She feels a finger trail up her neck and hook under her chin, raising it. Her eyes climb him, pausing at the open collar of his shirt, black fabric against pale skin. And then her gaze jumps up, meets his, and she lets her unspoken question hang between them.

She waits for the excuses— "I've always wanted what I can't have," and "We never made any promises to each other," and "It didn't mean anything."

What he says instead is, "You deserve better."

Bonnie swallows. She's not sure when tears had sprung to her eyes, but she can feel them now, burning and waiting. She blinks to stave them off, but all it does is make one escape— it stutters down her cheek. "Than what?"

And he smiles; humorless, artless. "Than me."

Bonnie shakes her head minutely. "You don't have to—"

His thumb swipes her bottom lip. It's not an attempt to silence her, but the suddenness of it ties her tongue anyway. "I did." He searches her eyes. "I loved you. But I wasn't ready. Whatever baggage I have, it's taken me a hundred and fifty years to even start dealing with. You shouldn't have to carry that with me. And you definitely shouldn't have to pay for my screw ups along the way." He sighs and shakes his head. "Elena was a means to an end— a way to get at Stefan. To hurt him or to get his attention, I don't know. I do stupid things that I know will cause the maximum pain and I don't think about the long-term. I never do. I'm impulsive and petty and…" He licks his lips. "And it cost me the one person who actually believed in me. Which tells me that the best thing I could do for you is walk away."

She wasn't expecting this and she's not sure what to do with it. Words crowd together beneath where her heart has lodged itself in her throat.

"Being with you… Knowing you… changed me. I'm not Stefan, and I'm never going to be. I don't have that in me. But you showed me what kind of person I can be, and I think that if we stuck this out, you'd help make me the best man that I could possibly be. And I'm absolutely terrified of what that means, of failing you in some way. Of holding you back when we both know you could do a hell of a lot better— than me, than this town, than all of it. And if I thought I could do the same for you, if I thought I could be what you need and deserve, then I would." He smiles faintly. "I would turn this whole world upside down to be that person. But, I would rather let you down once than let you down for the rest of your life."

Bonnie's mouth trembles and she bites the inside of her cheek, willing her eyes to stop burning and her heart to stop hurting.

Damon nods. "And I hope it's the happiest life. Because you, Bonnie Bennett, are an amazing woman. A lot better than I've ever deserved." He stares at her a beat and then leans down, dropping a soft and lingering kiss to her forehead.

Bonnie closes her eyes, feels the warm trail of a tear cutting down either of her cheeks. His lips are cool and gentle.

She never expected this. She thought the next time she saw Damon, there would be nothing but pain and anger and the cold edge of betrayal. And there was that, maybe too much of it, but she can feel it flowing away from her now. She's been carrying this around with her— blaming him and herself and questioning who she was and what they were to each other. Now, it feels like she can put it all to rest.

She reaches up, a hand folding around his wrist. "Thank you."

She can feel him smiling against her forehead. "That's my line."

He leans back from her, the only thing keeping him in place now is her hand.

Putting it all to rest is a mature choice, she knows. Maybe even the right choice. To walk away before he can hurt her again. Certain that his ability to screw up good things are a guarantee she doesn't deserve to suffer through. And a part of her knows that it won't be an easy road. That he is still growing and learning and so is she. That miscommunications like this will continue to happen unless they figure out how to be honest with each other not only when things have blown up, but along the way. So, she can let go. She can let him leave and accept what they've taught each other and learn from it going forward. Or she can hold on and they can build on a foundation that needs some mending, sure, but can also be what they both need and deserve if they put in the work.

Bonnie looks up and meets cool blue eyes, and she decides.

end