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“Breakfast is served Bon-bon!”
Bonnie groans as she rolls over in bed, awoken by Damon’s annoyingly chipper voice. Aren’t vampires supposed to hate mornings? There’s no reason for him to be this upbeat before nine in the morning.
As she wakes up further, she slowly realizes she feels awful. Her nose is completely blocked, forcing her to breathe through her mouth, and her head is aching as if she did a dozen jello shots last night. Not to mention the fact that she’s freezing, even though she’s buried under several heavy blankets.
Bonnie sighs, blinking up at the ceiling. Great. Not only is she stuck in this desolate prison world with Damon of all people, now she’s sick on top of it. How she even managed to catch a bug is beyond her. There’s literally no one here but her and a vampire.
Her lifetime of extraordinarily bad luck strikes yet again.
“Bon-bon?” Damon calls again, sounding closer this time. There’s a familiar knock on her bedroom door, followed by Damon peeking his head in. “Hope you’re decent, cause I’m totally looking anyway.”
Bonnie rolls away from him and groans again, pulling the covers over her head. “Go away,” she croaks, hoping that Damon will choose to listen to her for once in his unnaturally long life.
No such luck. She hears Damon’s footsteps getting closer, then the bed dipping as he sits down.
“Well good morning to you too,” Damon drawls, trying to pull the covers off of her, but Bonnie holds on to them tightly. “Did a certain witch wake up on the wrong side of the cauldron today?”
“I’m not in the mood, Damon,” Bonnie mutters, silently cursing how obviously sick she sounds. The last thing she needs is another reason for Damon to tease her. He’s already got enough annoying jokes to drive her crazy for the next century at least.
“Bon?” Damon’s voice is suddenly softer, the teasing tone he usually takes with her dropping away. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
It must be the fever currently boiling her brain that’s making Bonnie mistake Damon’s tone as concerned. Damon doesn’t do concerned – not with her, anyway. He’s just counting on her to regain her magic so that she can whisk them back to their timeline and he can be with Elena again. She knows this.
But her heart does a funny little lurch in her chest anyway, when he strokes her hair away from her face in an attempt to get a better look at her.
“I’m fine,” Bonnie tries to protest, and then immediately curls up when she’s hit with a shuddering sneeze. And then another.
“Yeah, you sound great,” Damon deadpans. He reaches for the blankets again, and this time he overpowers her easily when he uses his supernatural strength to pull them away from her face. She peers up at him, feeling herself flush a little. She knows she must look awful, but there’s not a whole lot she can do about it right now.
There’s a slight pinch between Damon’s dark eyebrows, and his usually icy blue eyes are softer than usual as he looks down at her.
“You’re sick?” Damon asks, although Bonnie knows the question is rhetorical. He lifts a hand to her forehead and presses the back of it against her skin. She sighs involuntarily at his cool touch against her burning skin, which feels amazing.
“How’d you even manage this?” Damon questions, dropping his hand. He reaches for the box of tissues on the nightstand when Bonnie sneezes again, passing them over. “There’s literally no one here for you to get sick from.”
Bonnie shrugs, taking a handful of tissues and blowing her nose. She knows it’s gross, but she’s too sick to care. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sick before,” Damon says, and there’s something in his tone Bonnie can’t quite place. He seems unusually thrown off, and she’s not sure why.
“One of the many perks of being human,” Bonnie grumbles. “Enjoy it while it lasts. Can I go back to sleep now?”
Damon is frowning harder at her now, staring at her so intently that Bonnie feels her cheeks heat again.
“What?” she asks, a little more sharply than she means to. “I know I look like hell, okay? You don’t have to rub it in.”
Damon rolls his eyes, some of his usual playfulness returning now. “Yeah, right. You manage to make this whole red-nosed, watery-eyed thing look cute somehow. It’s disgusting.”
Bonnie scrunches up her face in confusion. “Thanks… I think?”
“What are your symptoms?” Damon asks, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “Did this just come on this morning?”
“Why?” Bonnie croaks, then breaks into a small coughing fit. Surprisingly, Damon grabs a pillow and puts an arm around her shoulders to help her sit more upright. His touch is gentle, careful. Like she’s something delicate. It makes her chest do funny things again.
“It’s not like you care,” Bonnie says, once she manages to catch her breath. Damon hands her a glass of water and she takes a couple sips. “Leave me to die in peace, Damon.”
“Bonnie, I’m wounded!” Damon clutches his chest dramatically. “Would I make you vampire pancakes every morning with whipped cream if I didn’t care?”
“Yes, because you’re bored,” Bonnie drawls, flopping back against the pillows. “And I’m literally the only person here for you to annoy.”
“Well that’s where you’re wrong, sickie,” Damon says, winking at her. “I do care. I just bury it under countless layers of jokes and exceptionally good looks.”
Bonnie rolls her eyes, not bothering to respond.
Damon’s smirk fades a little, and his voice softens. “Seriously, Bon-bon. Tell me how you feel? Please.”
The word please gets Bonnie’s attention. Damon never says please. And he seems a lot more invested in her symptoms than she would have thought.
“Um,” Bonnie clears her throat, doing a mental once-over. “I mean, my head hurts? Can’t breathe through my nose and it kinda feels like I ran a marathon and then got hit by a bus. Repeatedly.”
Damon nods as though he’s cataloguing this information, which is definitely weird.
Bonnie squints up at him, cocking her head. “It’s a cold, Damon. I’ll live, promise. Just gotta sleep it off and drown myself in DayQuil… Oh God, please tell me they had DayQuil in 1994.”
“I’ll get you the good stuff,” Damon says, standing up. “I’ll do a grocery run. What flavor cough drops do you like? Nevermind, I’ll just get a bunch… And more tissues, bless you,” he adds, when she sneezes again.
“Um, thanks, I guess,” Bonnie mumbles into a tissue, still feeling weirded out by this strange new version of Damon who’s talking about things like cough drops and tissues. But she’s also too exhausted to really dwell on it, so she just pulls the covers back up over herself and curls up in bed, hearing the soft click of the door closing when Damon leaves.
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“Still alive?” Damon swaggers into the bedroom an hour later with two overstuffed grocery bags and a very annoying smirk on his face. Bonnie just groans and narrowly avoids flipping him off.
“Barely,” Bonnie croaks with a harsh cough.
Damon’s expression dims and that pinch forms between his eyebrows again. “You sound worse, if that’s even possible.”
“Thanks.” Bonnie groans and sinks into the pillows. She doesn’t feel embarrassed, not exactly, but she does feel a weird prickling itch under her skin at Damon seeing her like this. She doesn’t even have her magic to fall back on if she wants to give him a nice vampire-aneurism if his teasing gets out of hand. She’s just here, sick and pathetic, stuck in bed and feeling vulnerable in a way she definitely doesn’t like.
Damon sits down on the edge of the bed and tucks a strand of hand behind her ear. His touch is surprisingly gentle and sends sparks dancing across Bonnie’s skin despite his cool skin.
“You want to try some of my blood?” Damon offers. He raises an eyebrow, already lifting his wrist to mouth in preparation to bite it.
Bonnie shakes her head vigorously, which she immediately regrets. “Ow,” she winces, pressing a hand to her aching temple. She blinks, squinting up at Damon. “No, I’ve seen way too many people accidentally die with vampire blood in their system to make that mistake. I’m staying human, thanks.”
Damon rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t die.”
“You don’t know that,” Bonnie retorts, crossing her arms and glaring at him.
“Stubborn,” Damon snorts under his breath, but he’s already rifling through one of the bags he brought. “Guess we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way then, Bon-bon. Open up.” He holds out a thermometer expectantly.
Bonnie keeps her mouth shut, eyeing the brand-new thermometer. “Ew. Did you even clean that?”
Damon rolls his eyes again and fishes around in the bag for a package of alcohol wipes, which have already been opened. “Actually, I did, but since you clearly have trust issues, I’ll do it again.”
He makes a very exaggerated show of pulling out a wipe and cleaning it meticulously, before holding it out again. “Acceptable?”
Bonnie huffs but opens her mouth. “You’re annoying,” she mumbles, after Damon sticks the device under her tongue.
Damon taps her chin with two fingers. “Mouth closed, Bon-bon. And I know I’m annoying, it’s why you love me so much,” he winks.
Bonnie gives him a flat look, and Damon’s lips twitch slightly.
The thermometer confirms the obvious, which is that Bonnie does in fact have a fever. Damon makes her swallow a capful of some awful grape-flavored syrup that is definitely not DayQuil, but she’s too tired to really put up much of a fight about it. Then he arranges an array of items on the nightstand so that they’re within easy reach. A glass of water, some orange juice, a box of lotion-infused tissues, cough drops, and bottles of various medicines.
Bonnie cranes her neck to look over at the mini pharmacy he’s set up, then back at the vampire who seems to be glued to her side today.
“Um…thanks,” she says, because Damon’s being weirdly nice about this whole being-sick thing. “I’m probably just going to sleep and…” She’s interrupted by a sneeze. “Be gross, apparently. You can go do crosswords or whatever.”
Damon doesn’t move, and instead passes her a tissue. “What kind of soup do you like when you’re sick?” he asks, cocking his head and tapping his lips as he thinks. “Chicken noodle? No, too conventional for my Bon-bon, I bet. Tomato with a grilled cheese on the side? Or maybe a spicy Tom Yum to clear everything out? Lay it on me – your wish is my command.”
Bonnie squints at him, trying to make sense of the situation, but her head is too cotton-stuffed and hazy to work properly.
“You’re being weird,” Bonnie says, because it’s true.
Damon chuckles, looking unperturbed. “When was the last time someone took care of you when you were sick, Bon? Soup is a crucial part of the whole deal.”
Something suddenly feels tight in Bonnie’s chest. When was the last time she had someone look after like this? It’s definitely been a while. She spends so much time focused on Elena, Caroline, vampires, and all their problems that it’s been awhile since anyone paid a whole lot of attention to what she needs…herself included.
“My Grams used to make me minestrone when I was sick,” Bonnie says quietly, more to herself than anything. Her eyes prickle as she remembers how safe she felt, tucked up in a blanket with her Grams by her side. She can’t remember the last time she felt that kind of safety. That kind of love.
“I can definitely do a minestrone,” Damon says, drawing her back to the present. There’s something oddly soft in his eyes as he looks down at her. “Why don’t you get some shut-eye and I’ll get started on soup.”
Bonnie nods, turning her head so that he won’t see the sheen of tears in her eyes. She pulls the blankets tighter around herself, curling up into a ball.
Before he leaves, Damon lays a hand on her shoulder, not saying anything. But the warmth that blooms in Bonnie’s chest says more than words ever could.
The soup Damon brings her an hour later is – surprisingly – delicious. It’s not the same as her Gram’s, but it’s homemade and warm, chasing away the chill that had settled under her skin. Damon lays down on the bed next to her, stretching out his long legs and looking way too satisfied as she sips on the soup.
“Told you I could cook,” Damon says smugly, lacing his hands behind his head and leaning back against the pillows.
“I didn’t say anything,” Bonnie retorts, as she sips on another spoonful.
“Your face says it all,” Damon smirks, watching her. “You’re thinking what an amazing vampire caretaker I am, and how you’re swooning from my irresistible combination of jaw-dropping good looks mixed with culinary genius.”
Bonnie snorts, shaking her head. “Uh-huh. You got me, Damon.”
“I know.” Damon grins, winking. “You’re just lucky enough to get me all to yourself, Bon-bon.”
“Oh, joy,” Bonnie mutters. She swallows more soup, then clears her throat. “You, um…” she glances over at Damon, raising her eyebrows. “You gonna stay here all day? You really can leave, you know.”
“I know,” Damon says, not making any effort to move.
Bonnie holds his gaze for a moment, then shrugs and returns to her soup. If he wants to stay in bed next to her all day while she blows her nose a million times and coughs her lungs out, that’s on him. It’s not like she cares. Or…secretly wants him to stay.
“Movie?” Damon suggests, grabbing the TV remote and turning it on. “I might be persuaded to a rom-com on a limited time basis. Maybe.”
Bonnie sits up a little straighter at that. “Does that mean you’ll finally watch When Harry Met Sally with me?”
Damon makes a face, sighing deeply. “I…suppose.”
“I should get sick more often,” Bonnie muses, grinning a little.
“Please don’t,” Damon says, climbing out of bed and tucking the covers around her. “I’ll get the movie. You, eat your soup.”
Soon, Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan are on the screen. Damon takes the bowl from her when she manages about half the soup before getting too exhausted to have any more, setting it aside. She slumps down against the pillows, burrowing further under the blankets. She feels that awful combination of shivery and achy that comes with being sick, and exhaustion is weighing her down like a weighted blanket.
The movie would be comforting…if she could concentrate on it. First, she has a sneezing fit which leaves her nose painfully stuffed and her head aching. She’s just managed to recover from that when a tickle rises in her throat and she starts coughing, curling inward with the force of it.
She’s coughing so much that she only faintly notices Damon pausing the movie and pulling the blankets away from her face so he can see her. He somehow maneuvers her so that she’s sitting up against the headboard, and there’s suddenly a glass of water in her hands and Damon quietly urging her to take small sips in a low, concerned voice.
She drinks the water and the tickle relents a little, letting her finally catch her breath. Her cheeks are wet with tears and her throat feels scrubbed raw, which makes her wince when she takes another sip.
Damon is close, now. She realizes that he’s rubbing her back, one hand moving in long, soothing circles between her shoulders. His startlingly blue eyes are fixed on her, as if she’s the only thing that matters in the world right now.
“You okay?” Damon asks. There’s no teasing this time, no smirk. Just a furrow between his dark eyebrows and something full in his gaze.
“Yeah,” Bonnie croaks, drinking down more water. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Damon says, his frown deepening. Bonnie doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just leans back, letting her eyes fall closed. She’s so exhausted she sort of feels like she could fall asleep even sitting up like this.
“Hey,” Damon says, getting her attention. She cracks an eye open. “Don’t fall asleep like that. It’ll be hell on your neck.”
Bonnie waves a tired hand. “‘s easier to breathe this way,” she explains, closing her eyes again.
There’s no preamble before Damon suddenly picks her up, lifting her as if she’s light as a feather. He settles her between his outstretched legs, her back to his chest.
“You can lean against me,” Damon says, his voice quiet and warm in her ear. “You’ll sleep better like this.”
That prickle under Bonnie’s skin returns and her cheeks heat. She tries to squirm away, but Damon holds her still easily.
“Just rest, Bon,” he orders, wrapping his arms around her so that she’s cradled to his chest. “You’re exhausted.”
Bonnie’s muscles feel too much like boiled spaghetti for her to put up any more of a fight. She slumps back against Damon, who feels strong and solid behind her. Maybe even…safe.
“I’ll probably sneeze on you,” Bonnie warns, letting her head fall back against Damon’s shoulder. She can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath against her cheek. Somehow, she feels the tension easing out of her body, one inch at a time.
“I have vampire speed and tissues right here,” Damon says back. “I’m ready for whatever you can throw at me, sniffles.”
“You don’t have to stay.” Bonnie feels sleep tug at her, heavy and warm, and her eyes fall shut of her own accord. She lets out a huge yawn, coughing a little on the exhale. Damon tightens his arms around her.
“I know,” he says, quiet. “Just sleep, Bon-bon.”
For once, Bonnie doesn’t argue. Instead, held in Damon’s strong, steady arms, she curls up and falls asleep.
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