Note: Possibly a new fanfiction for me. Set a couple of months after the finale. Let me know what you think, and if it's worth continuing. The title means Something blue.

#

Bonnie raises her eyes to a wall of wooden masks towering over her outside Kermel Market in Dakar, a little further south on the Plateau near Novotel and Aveny Hassan II.

Empty eyes stare down at her making her feel a chill under the African sun as her guide tells her the history behind the Market itself.

"Kermel Market was built in 1860 in the Victorian style. Sadly, the building burned down in 1994," Nadine explains, squinting her eyes under her bucket hat. Bonnie can hear voices of pushy sellers fussing over clients, but she can't stop looking at those eyes, "but was later restored and was completed in 1997 in all its glory."

Bonnie follows her inside, throwing back her head to look up at the cupola above. The market is in a beautiful circular building that offers a sense of discretion and snugness. The fish traders have their place in the center, the smell of it is almost impossible to avoid but she doesn't mind it. Then come the butchers in the next circle, vegetable and fruit dealers outside, there together with florists.

Bonnie takes off her aviator glasses, fixes the scarf around her head before putting them into her shoulder bag and walks around the place with no rush. People seem nice and welcoming, smiling every time they meet her eyes.

She stops in front of a stall covered in colorful fabrics, the girl working there has large eyes and kind features. Behind her there are wax prints, basins of all qualities, a rainbow of brodè fabrics, lightweight Khartoum cloth, lingerie and belly beads, buttons beads, zippers and ribbons. She hands her a vibrant cloth, the color of a sunset on the dunes. She's seen one now, and she can tell.

It took Bonnie barely two days to realize that the shorts and shirt were impractical, nevermind inappropriate. She was in Mali, then, and she changed her wardrobe joyfully, like she was playing dress up, thinking Caroline would have loved it. Dressing in fitting cotton clothes, covering herself up to the neck. It made it a lot easier to adjust to the temperature, and she's learned to appreciate the pleasure of strolling around in flowy dress, looking dignified and beautiful.

The fabric is soft to the touch and the sound of the girl's many bracelets as she moves add a dreamy quality to the place until someone snatches her hand away.

The old woman has her face down as she holds her hand between hers, speaking tiredly with a whiny voice. Bonnie's first instinct is to pull away, but the old woman looks so fragile she's almost scared to break her should she use too much force. The girl behind the stall rushes to take her by the shoulders and pull her away gently, calling "Grand-mere, s'il vous plait, calmez-vous," and bends her head repeatedly towards Bonnie as an apology, but she's too concentrated on watching the white, empty pupils of the blind woman stepping back, compliant and tired, to do more than nod back.

"I don't understand. Something's wrong? What did she say?" Bonnie asks, turning to Nadine. She's learned a bit of French while she's been in the country, and whatever the woman said it didn't sound like it at all. The lingua franca in Dakar is Wolof, she's been told, but so many Senegalese languages have the status of national language that she has no way to know one from the other unless she asks.

"That was wolof," Nadine explains, confused herself about what she heard, "I think she said, 'Death does not give love, death gives death'."

"The granny is not so blind, after all," Enzo's irreverent voice says, while he stands at Bonnie's side.

#

The day passes easily, and Nadine is nice company, if only too accommodating, reminding Bonnie of the fact that she's basically her employee. She's used to witty remarks and ironic comments, and this is almost too easy on her.

Out of instinct, Bonnie grabs the hand the old woman held, tries to spark some warmth into it like it's freezing cold. The shiver of fear has left a strange chill behind.

They pay a visit to the Soumbedioune night market. As the sun sets over Dakar, the crowds flock to the market to pursue endless stalls of freshly caught fish and seafood. Soumbedioune is as much a social experience as it is a culinary one, a point where locals, tourists, and fishermen come together in the pursuit of delicious dinner in a festive atmosphere. Bonnie can't help but smile and bask in the welcoming, jubilant meeting of different tastes and smells.

The tieboudienne has a reddish color and is placed on their table in a very large plate they must share, but it's no hassle for her. It feels warm, actually, to share food, making the moment much more comfortable and familiar. Their meal is the national dish of Senegal, consisting of flavorful fish that has been marinated with parsley, lemon, garlic, onions and other herbs, cooked with tomato paste and a variety of vegetables, and adding rice later.

She can look up and see the sky, feel the power of the earth tickle her senses, and it's almost like being at a crossroad, not knowing which direction to take. She can still feel the ghost of coldness on her hand.

"What are you looking for?" Nadine asks, making her look at her, one lock of her curly, ashy blond hair all on her forehead "Everyone that comes here is looking for something. The spirituality that escapes them whenever they cannot decide what to wear to do yoga, an adventure to talk about for the next ten years to be the envy of their friends until someone else goes to a more exciting place… maybe to buy a carved statue and feel like they've contributed to the development of the Third World and their conscience is immaculate now," she says, recalling the people she guided through Dakar, "But you're different. I never met someone like you, before," she adds, sounding almost in awe, "And I've met many people."

"How can you tell?" Bonnie asks with a shrug, "It's been only two weeks since we met." Before coming to Senegal she'd spent almost a whole month in Mauritania, traveling across the coast of the Pacific Ocean, and entering Senegal. It wasn't an easy journey, though surely the most fascinating, for she arrived in the middle of wet season, but the climate has become more tolerant and allowed her to visit more.

"All it took me to know was a couple of hours," she says with a smile, before reaching for the rice. In Senegal cutlery are not commonly used, if at all, unless it's an expensive restaurant that takes prides in its European style. Nadine simply grabs the rice with her hand, presses it into a ball closing her fist around it and brings it to her mouth. There are no hygienic concerns because tablemates just stick to their own side of the gigantic plate.

Bonnie presses her lips into a thin line and grabs her rice.

"Even when you don't know the language, you look at people and you seem to understand them, deeply," Nadine says gently, "You have such old eyes."

A corner of Bonnie's lips goes up as she says, "Sometimes all of me feels old," before taking a bite. She can't talk to her about what she's looking for, mostly because she doesn't know herself. Once Mystic Falls was safe, everyone seemed to know what to do, who to be with, what to make of the rest of their lives, but she didn't. She just had an immense power, and an immense solitude, and she needed to find a balance, so she bought a ticket for Africa, looking for the source of her power, for something to tell her why her and why this. The very earth she walks upon in this continent seems to speak to her blood, a body she forgets about most of the time. Her mind here can expand in ways it never could, and her spirit gets deeper and deeper, but for her body she can't find any need.

It's a peaceful sensation, but one that makes her feel less and less human, every day. Because now her mind can draw her to Enzo in every moment, fit his presence in the real world for her to talk to, but touching him is cold.

The general commotion distracts her and Nadine turns her head over her shoulder to look in the direction of the voices.

"There's a griot passing," she says, smiling openly at her.

"A what?"

"It's a storyteller… much like a medieval minstrel," she explains. "They travel though Africa singing and playing the kora or other instruments. Tonight, he'll sing for everyone, you'll have to see..." She doesn't need to insist for Bonnie to accept the invitation. Griots give voice to generations of West African society and she needs them, because Africa is making her control grow, as much as the empty space inside.

#

Meditation is so easy for her now. She barely needs to close her eyes for her mind to take over. The music coming from the street cannot scratch her concentration. She's so powerful sometimes she feels like it's pointless.

The tailor working in the tiny room in front of her building always listens to the same old cassette every night. His favorite singer is Viviane Chidid – she saw her name on a poster precariously attached on the wall at his back one day.

"So, what are you looking for, love?" Enzo asks, sitting under the open window in her simple room. His smile is melancholic, or maybe it's just the softness of the candle's light that make him appear so.

She smiles at him, "Hi, there." Enzo chose her with all the stubbornness he was capable of, and she's been waiting for so long for someone to choose her that she can't let this go. She falls onto her side on the pavement, her cheek pressed into one hand and he cocks his head to the side.

"Did you have fun today?" he asks.

"Lots. You would have known if you stayed around," she replies with no resentment.

"I love you," he says, his eyes smiling, "Can you feel it?"

"Yes," she lies. "Of course," she adds. "Do you think I wouldn't just get with the next handsome dead boyfriend if I didn't?"

She knows he loves her. She knows he will always love her, because his heart stopped when it was full of her, and it will be full of her forevermore. But her own is empty. She consumes her own love like a last resort to survive, and sometimes it seems to eat her up. But she cannot let this go.

"Traveling opened my mind, helped me control my powers," she says, recognizing the good effect of this change of scenery. "I live day by day, doing what I want, going wherever I want. And the world doesn't need me to save it. It's a good feeling."

"Indeed," he nods. In a way she's healed, because now she won't let herself be torn apart by any stranger's pain, because now her mind rules her life with clocklike precision. But she needs.

"So you're here looking for your centre?" Enzo asks with a grin.

"Maybe," she shrugs, "Or maybe my centre will find me," she adds, and his grin becomes a smile. While in the silence, she can hear the ring of her phone calling her from the bottom of her shoulder bag, abandoned on the bed. Wet season made the connection so weak, most of the days, that she forgot she had a phone with her. She tried to keep it charged, but half the time she didn't bother to, and it's been more than a month since she heard from anyone in Mystic Falls.

Bonnie crawls to the foot of the bed.

"Maybe your centre did," he mutters under his breath while she picks the phone and reads the name Damon on her fluorescent screen.

"H–" she can't even say a word before he speaks.

"About freaking time!" he says, releasing his breath almost violently, "I'm hoping, for your sake, that you have a kick-ass excuse for this radio silence. Because I get keeping the suspense and giving people space so they can miss you, but you've really taken this up a notch, Judgy. Your phone was constantly disconnected… and you didn't even have the decency to call your best friend."

His stream of words is something she's not used to anymore. She's been on her own for days and days, only listening carefully to her guide and her well-chosen words. And the way he calls himself her best friend is a sudden reminder of a connection, though she's lived the last months like a dry leaf carried away on the wind, just resting wherever. All this familiarity is off-putting and her own reaction is bizarre, because there's a part of her that reacts with a slight panic, like she just remembered she left the house without turning off the gas.

"That's not true," she says, trying to fall back into their routine, "I did call Caroline."

"I'm not dignifying that with an answer," he mumbles, and she can easily picture him pouting. For a moment it tugs something inside, and it didn't happen in such a long time that she has to sit and bring her knees to her chest.

"Whatever," he continues, "I hope you're happy with your Out of Africa thing because you have to come back."

Bonnie can just picture it, the next big bad at the town's border, the next ghost from Christmas past and their Army of Darkness, but it's something that someone else will have to worry about because she's not in the business of putting out everyone else's fire anymore.

"I don't," she says, her voice distant. It's so easy now to close herself off. She's been mastering the art and the shake of Damon's voice can't ruin it all. She won't let it. "Whatever trouble you guys are in, I'm sure you can manage."

"Not really."

She looks away for a moment, asks against every instinct because that's the right thing to do, but she thinks that she has no tears left to cry anymore. Even if he tells her that he's the only one alive on that side of the planet she'll barely feel tired. "Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone is alive and kicking, Bon-Bon," he reassures her, "But I… I'm getting married."

"Oh," she's always expected this, that they'd tie the knot and live happily ever after. Or the closest thing Damon and Elena can manage to be to happily ever after, considering that when they were together they couldn't last a single week without an almost violent break-up and an equally violent reconciliation, but in a way it still feels like a surprise.

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming," he says flatly.

"Sorry," she rushes to say, though he doesn't sound that ecstatic either. "I'm happy for you. Really. Did you pick a date?"

"Yeah, a bit less then a month."

"You're really not wasting any time," she comments, "And I'll try and come back for the wedding." A day of joy, though not strictly hers, would do her good, she supposes, but the more the idea sinks in, the more she wants to lose the ticket for the flight home, miss the plane and never go back.

"You'll have to do better then try. I need you here, like, now." Damon says, adamant, "I need your help with picking the suit, writing my vows, and all that jazz." He explains, "Oh, and you have to throw a badassical bachelor party for me. Something that will put to shame every bachelor party ever done before. I'm thinking something along the lines of the rescue scene in The Wolf of Wall Street, maybe?"

"Luckily for you, I keep an Italian military helicopter in my backyard," she plays along before realizing what he said, "But that's still the best man's job," she replies, grimacing.

"Exactly," he agrees, readily, "I see you're keeping up. So I need you to be here, by yesterday."

"I don't think the time zone works like that," she objects, "And maybe you didn't notice before, but I'm a woman."

"Don't worry," he replies, "Your thoughtful habit of going around without a bra under your shirt while we were on the other side made sure I noticed."

She rolls her eyes, feels the slight warm rising up to her cheeks but tries to ignore it.

"Damon, what I meant to say is that a Best Man is usually, you know, a man," she explains patiently.

"Bonnie, what I meant to say is that I really, you know, don't give a fuck about that," he replies in the same tone, "You are my best friend and there is no way that I'm doing this without you. You need to be on the altar with me when I say I do."

There's an awkward moment of silence before he speaks again, "I think that possibly came out wrong…"

"Yeah…" she agrees with a nod. That's an understatement.