Title: Alibi
Category: The Vampire Diaries
Genre: Romance / Angst
Rating: M
Pairing: Bonkai - with some Bamon, but let's face it. Kai is a villain I don't want to be redeemed and Bonnie can never have too many suitors in her harem.

Summary: Ever since she returned home, Bonnie's life has been surprisingly mundane. She has, however, picked up one nasty habit.

Author's Note: I confess. It's really difficult for me to write Bamon the way I write Bonkai, because I worry about making Bamon OOC if they do the horizontal tango. Bonkai is all about lust and power and control, which is surprisingly easier to write. So. Also, this is only a oneshot. Because I can't commit to multi-chaptered stories right now. But for those of you wonderful people who read From Eden, I'll have part ii of that up soon.

Alibi is by Banks.

If a disclaimer falls in the woods and no one's around to hear it, does it make a sound?

"It's not my blood, I promise."

From all the lips that phrase could have fallen, it falls from Bonnie Bennett's.

Damon finds her soaking in his bathtub, her right leg cocked in the air and foot flexed, shaving her legs. Torrents of red flow down her calf, strawberry lines mixing with the bubble bath, turning the water cotton candy pink.

In the time she's been back to the present day, Bonnie's taken to the Salvatore boarding house. In an eerie way that Damon can't quite fathom and Bonnie won't explain, she gains a comfort from the dusty mansion. How each room has a fireplace even though the house has been retrofitted with central heating and air. How she knows the kitchen and its contents, more or less, like the back of her hand. Hell, she could turn off all the lights, cover her eyes with her hands, and still find the library in the dark.

Yet she's gravitated to Damon's bathroom, and it gives him a perverse satisfaction knowing the little witch exists, even if for the briefest of moments, nude in space designated specifically for him.

He takes in the scene. Bonnie Bennett with her dark hair clipped up and away from her damp neck and face, tendrils curling from moisture. Bubbles obscure any part of her that could excite any male visitor, the owner of the tub not exempt. A purple razor in hand glides from ankle to knee, ankle to knee, ankle to knee until her calf and shin are sleek and smooth. Her clothes, a sheer tank and denim shorts, lay crumpled in the middle of the floor, iron and rust wafting in the warm air.

"Whose blood is it?"

"O'Keefe, Gregory. Seventh of March, nineteen sixty-five. Type O Negative. Sorry. I… slipped."

"Damn it, Bonnie! I was saving Greg for dessert."

Wandering the boarding house had become Bonnie's favorite pastime during her stay in the dark dimension. Exploring Stefan's room with no fear of disturbing anything. Categorizing the books in the library, first by genre then by author. Alphabetically, of course. But because Damon was like a child who couldn't be left alone for long, she rarely had time to herself. So now that she's alive, has her magic once again, and is under house arrest by a group of overbearing vampires lead by one particularly stern one, hellbent on keeping her out of a firefight, she wanders.

Today, she went down to the basement, where many a vampire have laid desiccating or daggered. There's a deep freezer that'd been left open outside a cell of a room. She went to close it but stopped upon seeing a name. Gregory O'Keefe. She didn't know whose blood sat on top of more blood bags than she'd seen at blood drives, but she picked it up anyway. Held it in her hand, lightly tossing it from palm to palm, weighing it. The cool sensation against her fingertips, the contents swishing inside the plastic. How this pint, even a mere drop of it had the power to bring each and everyone of her fanged friends to their knees. This was what made them both inhumanly strong and invariably weak.

Tyler Lockwood then walked in, startling her and unsettling her sleepy magic, and the blood bag exploded in her hands, splattering her face and dripping down her legs.

"What was Tyler doing in my basement? What was he doing in my house?"

"That's what I asked. He said he was looking for Stefan. Elena hadn't seen him and no one can get him on the phone. I'm assuming. I didn't try to call or anything. I was a little preoccupied with a face full of O Neg."

Damon's lips contort into a sly grin. "Stefan is... indisposed."

"If he's with Caroline, just say that. There are too many secrets going around and, truthfully, I couldn't keep up if I wanted to."

Damon sighs. "He's not futilely attempting to make vampire babies, if that's where your naughty thoughts are going. He's helping with arrangements for Liz… in case things go south. And not of the ordering boutonnières variety, I'll tell you that much. I guess some people just can't stand when the entire universe doesn't yield to their every whim and fancy."

"In my experience, that tends to be true… until the universe rises to meet them anyway. So, yeah, it does revolve around some people."

Bonnie smirks, knowing all too well who Damon refers to when he says some people. She's in the same boat with some people, but it's easier for her to take the passive approach. Avoidance and ignoring. She shakes her head at the possible outcomes were there to be a confrontation. She knows one is imminent, in more ways than one, but she's blissfully ignorant to deadlines these days.

"It's not that I don't love the possibility of one day walking in on you dripping wet and a towel nowhere to be seen, but there are easier ways to wash off blood. Like, by showering." He ticks his head to his left towards his shower stall, stainless steel and the best water pressure this side of the Mason-Dixon.

Bonnie's eyebrow arches up. "Your shower is see through. Bubble bath, not so much."

"You realize you, soaking in warm water and blood, is, like, vampire soup."

"Good thing you've mastered the art of self control."

"You have foolishly confused me with my little brother."

"We lived together for four months, Damon, and you never once tried to feed on me or spy on me naked."

"You're half right."

With a flick of her wrist, a wave of water whooshes over the edge of the tub, droplets spotting his dark jeans and grey shirt.

"Tried being the operative word. You might not have been a witch, but you do know how to board up a room door. Even still…" He grabs the white towel neatly folded on the counter and presses it between his arm and side. "You're going to have to get out of there sometime."

He strides for the open archway into his room, his tongue slick over his teeth. His wicked grin is wiped away by a strange horizontal gravity tugging at him. "Motis," Bonnie had muttered, a simple enough spell, wrapping an invisible string around Damon's waist, pulling him back in her direction. Stalling to a halt, he purses his lips and hangs the towel over the side of the tub.

"Why were you in my basement anyhow?"

"Boredom, mostly. I forgot where you guys keep the key for the cabinet with the TV, so I just walked around."

"For how long?"

"A couple hours, maybe. I do that. There's not really a lot to do here. I figured a long time ago that if this place didn't get fantastic cell reception, it'd essentially be a den of iniquity."

"Yeah…" Damon's eyes glance around the bathroom. Many a female have cleansed themselves in that shower, in that tub.

Bonnie washes the soap lather from her leg, feeling sufficiently content with her work, and moves to the other. See, she has another pastime, except it's more of a nasty habit she can't fucking shake. Ever since she got back, it's been an itch she just has to scratch or she'll lose her mind completely. And on the days she resists temptation, her pride is quickly eaten away by madness.

Madness that left her for dead.

She wears dresses on those days and rubber soled shoes. She keeps quiet, it doesn't take long, and she's back before anyone knows she's gone.

"What are you up to tonight?"

"Probably going for a walk."

"Mhm."

"Mhm? You wanna elaborate on that skepticism I'm hearing?"

"Nothing. You say you're going for a walk, which is fine. But you've got a dress laid out on my bed and it's dropped below freezing since sunset."

"I'll wear a coat."

Damon watches her. Empirically examining her face, her body language, her tells. He's suspicious, all right, but her heart beats evenly and that's the easiest marker of a lie. He's noticed a pattern of hers. Every few nights after a light dinner, she disappears. The boarding house is plenty spacious and one could easily get lost, but as long as he's lived here, he can pinpoint the thud of a bird's heart from any room of the house. And when the place gets too quiet for his liking, he finds Bonnie's heartbeat notably absent. Whenever he asks where she'd been, she tells him practicing cloaking spells upstairs.

"Then you won't mind if I tag along. On your walk."

She pauses, her razor stopped mid-calf.

"Don't you have plotting to do? Please tell me your plan consists of more than 'Kill Kai'. You should know better than anyone how shit we all are at killing our enemies. Collateral damage, inevitable. Body count, high. Yet the villains always seem to walk away. You, Katherine, Klaus."

"We killed Silas."

"Silas killed himself. Doesn't count."

"Maybe I'm taking the night off."

"In Mystic Falls? Unless there's some ball I've yet again not been invited to, no such thing."

He shrugs, sitting on the edge of the tub. Bonnie leans forward, her chest sinking deeper into the bubbles, below the surface of the water.

"I don't need a babysitter, Damon. I'm a big girl."

"How long have we known each other?"

"Too long."

"And you haven't realized how scary similar we are?"

"We're not—"

"We definitely are. We're both headstrong and fiercely loyal, but more importantly you and I are incredibly self-destructive."

"I am not—"

"You've died for people. You can dress it up by calling it sacrificial, but to-may-to, to-mah-to."

She rolls her jade eyes, swishes water back and forth, and bites her bottom lip. "And you?"

"I drink a lot and chase after unavailable women, emotionally and otherwise."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying what I said a long time ago. I want to protect you."

"I am surrounded by vampires every hour of the day. Theoretically, I'm the safest witch in town. I think I deserve some time to myself. Even prisoners in solitary get an hour out of the box once a day. Unless you want a witch with cabin fever on her hands. How many lit candles is against the fire code again?"

Her fingers clench around the white cloth, so Damon takes that as his cue to get out. He strides to his bedroom to give her privacy, his fingertips grazing her meticulously folded clothes lying at the foot of his bed.

"Well, I think we need to set some ground rules if you plan on squatting here indefinitely."

"Let me guess. No raiding your bourbon. No alcohol... unless I plan on sharing. Keep noise to a minimum. I know what a tie around the doorknob means. But most importantly, no raiding your bourbon."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a curfew."

She scoffs, a harsh, guttural sound grating against his ears. Her wet feet slap against the tiles as she enters his room, her towel wrapped tightly around her. "What am I, sixteen?"

"I'd feel better if you were home before midnight."

"Yeah, that's not happening, grandpa."

"I'm serious, Bonnie. I'll lock you in if I have to."

"And you think I won't burn this place down before I let you keep me prisoner?"

"Not a prisoner. Just safe."

She spins her finger in a circular motion and Damon obliges, turning away from her. With his back turned, she lays the towel on the bed and wiggles into her panties. She could worry about Damon sneaking a peek, but she does trust him to some extent. Even so, aneurysms were always her favorite parlor trick.

"When Elena burned her house down and moved in with you, did you give her a curfew?"

"…She wouldn't have listened or cared, considering she was without her humanity and all."

He's uncomfortable. She can tell by his stuttering, his shoulders squaring. He's prickled by her questioning. Good. She sticks her arms through her bra, a thin cotton thing with no kind of support, and situates herself.

"What about Jeremy? When I brought him back and you promised you'd look after him when big sissy went off to college?"

"Again, he was cheating and fighting in school, so he probably wouldn't have paid me any mind."

"But did you, either time?"

He shakes his head.

"Then why would you put one on me and what the fuck makes you think I'd obey?"

He does go to turn around, stunned by her abrasiveness, but he refrains. Every conversation since she's gotten back has been an inch closer to the edge. He doesn't want to be the one to push her off. "I...it's not like that."

"Not like what, Damon? Not like you think I'm some pushover, some doormat? Not like you think I'd be so overjoyed and grateful to you, because of our time together and how hard you worked to save me, that I'd be on my knees? Huh?"

"Bonnie..."

"Tell me how it really is. Tell me."

She drapes her dress around her and buttons it up from the bottom. It's a black sundress, one with daisies she brought back with her from 1994. All the time she's spending inside in front of fireplaces, she hasn't felt the need to get winter clothes. Denim shorts and cotton dresses work well enough.

Damon's at a loss for words and Bonnie huffs loudly. "You can face me. I'm decent."

"Indecent, more like it."

Her expression is not amused. It feels as if she's being guilt tripped, lectured, and, frankly, she's getting sick of being micromanaged. Damon opens his mouth, but a new thought crosses his mind and he runs with it.

"Question. Since you spent more time with him, you'd know better than I would. How exactly did Kai find us?"

"What?"

For a brief moment, Bonnie mistook "find us" to "find out about us", but Damon doesn't distinguish between her confusion of semantics.

"He'd been there, what, eighteen years before we showed up. And, if he was actually telling you the truth, he could fly and travel and live anywhere in the world. So how is it he found you and I in Mystic Falls?"

"A witch can sense other witches."

"He's from Portland. He could sense you from that far away?"

"Maybe. My Grams helped put him there. Maybe he'd been biding his time. Maybe he happened to be passing through."

"Those are long odds, Bon Bon."

"Well, you're asking me like I know. Like I didn't spend weeks killing him in every viable way I could just to get away from him, Damon."

"You had Thanksgiving dinner with him. Topic never came up over spaghetti?"

Bonnie arches her back, her chin tilting up, hands on her hips.

"Say it."

"What?"

"Whatever you're saying but not really. Say. It."

Damon's a little taken aback. He's reminded of her gumption when she called Kai on his bluff, daring him to drain her of all her magic. That Bonnie scared him because she didn't confer with him first, didn't pull him aside and ask him if she should push Kai to the limit. Didn't ask before putting a pickaxe in Kai's chest. That's a Bonnie who answers to no one and nothing, and he hates that he can't blame her. If anything, she's the one they all have to answer to.

"I'm not saying anything. I just think tonight's not a great night to go for a walk."

"Give me one good reason why not."

"It's freezing."

"I told you I'd wear a coat."

"It's dark."

"Then I'll keep to well lit streets."

"There's a murderous witch on the loose."

"He's staying at the Lockwood mansion until the merge and you very well know that. Tyler's been playing spy for weeks now. A real reason, Damon."

"I'm bored."

"Then go play with Elena."

That statement takes the air out of the room. In the same breath, Bonnie wishes she never said it, acknowledging the perpetual elephant in the corner, yet refuses to regret playing the "ex girlfriend" card. It's below the belt, but sometimes Damon only truly understands extremes.

She goes to march past him, the wind visibly knocked out of him, his jaw dropped. She's at the door when he snaps out of it. His arm reaches out of its own volition, out of habit of always being the one to reach, and his hand wraps around her bony wrist. Her body goes rigid, but she doesn't turn to face him.

"You mistake me for someone who finds it heroic and endearing when you ignore the word no."

Her voice is low and trembling, on the precipice of unadulterated, animalistic rage, a possible side-effect to having her magic back. Something in that tense moment, though, breaks through their unspoken barrier. Silent confirmation that Bonnie isn't going for only a stroll in the park. Confirmation Damon has given in to a different kind of emotion. Jealousy.

His hand drops to his side and he takes a step back. Instead of going out of the door and slamming it behind her for effect because that's her style, she throws a glance over her shoulder at him. Her fingers remain on the doorknob, her expression softer.

"I get the feeling you're expecting something from me, something I'm not sure I know how to give you. Not yet."

His cobalt eyes trace her face and he knows there's nothing he can say to get her to stay. "I don't want anything from you, Bonnie. You're alive. I just want it to keep it that way."

Bonnie's mouth drops as if she wants to respond to that, but she doesn't. She opens the door and walks out.

The Lockwood Mansion is dark when she enters. It does smell like a boys' locker room, but what could one expect with three, now four, guys living here with no real adult supervision? She's flush with the front door, making sure it closes without a creak. She spies someone passed out on the couch, dark hair swept across his forehead. Jeremy. She cuts her eyes away, her throat growing thick with emotion, and tiptoes to the staircase.

Kai's tucked in bed when she walks into the room. Shirtless with a hand behind his head, his eyes light up. He sits up at her entrance, a smile at his lips, but she's on a warpath, he can tell. They've had nights like that. Nights where she takes control, like fucking him is wrestling match. He didn't mind it, though. He's used to being a punching bag.

Tonight's one of those nights.

After kicking off her shoes, peeling off her winter coat, and slipping out of her panties at the door, she climbs on the bed, towards him, and is quick at his lips. No hello, no small talk or witty banter. No foreplay. Teeth biting at soft flesh, lips dragging, tongues battling. Her scent is sticky sweet, saccharine, and then he catches a real whiff.

"You smell like blood."

"I'm surrounded by vampires. What else am I supposed to smell like? You, however, do not smell like an old jock strap. Thank god."

"You should really be thanking Bath and Body Works. They have every soap imaginable. I could use a different body wash every day for a year and still not have used them all."

"You are truly a man out of time."

She flips the covers back. He's only got on boxers. She hooks her fingers around the waistband and pulls them down. He's getting harder by the second so he doesn't protest. There's no pausing or slowing down when she's like this. The last time he tried that, he had the imprints of her teeth in his shoulder for days. It might've also had something to do with him calling her Bon Bon.

She straddles him, sitting on her knees, her dress fluttering daintily around her. Her fingertips gingerly travel the taut skin of his chest, his abdomen, her hips making circles against his erection. She likes teasing him. Neglecting to wear a bra but keeping her top on. Grinding on him until his eyes roll back in his head. Digging her nails into his back, threatening to break skin. But she won't let him think this is anything but physical. That's a hard line in the sand. Besides, it's not technically fraternizing with the enemy if she doesn't fill him in on the plans to kill him, right?

At least that's what she tells herself.

She leans down and places a gentle kiss on his mouth before sitting up straight. Her hand dips between them and she helps guide him inside of her. Her jaw drops as she slowly takes him in, her breath hitching. His hands travel up her thighs, under her dress, and grip her waist. She closes her eyes and when she's ready, she works up to the tip, down the shaft, and back again, keeping a slow but steady rhythm.

While she tries to lose herself in her undulations, Kai never takes his eyes off of her. Her hair falls in blunt waves around her face, her skin creamy in the pale of the moonlight. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as he rises to meet her, thrusting into her all of himself.

"My guess is you won't be staying for pillow talk after you take your frustration out on my dick."

"Crass."

"Oh. I didn't realize you had such delicate sensibilities. What about Johnson? Baby arm? Man meat, third leg, spitting cobra – "

"Oh, my god, stop talking."

"As long as you remember whose Alabama black snake you're taming."

"You're from fucking Portland."

"And don't you forget it."

Kai sits up, wrapping one arm around her back to pull her to him, and cradles the nape of her neck with his other hand. She digs her nails into his shoulders for support, her gaze focused on him. This deviates from the norm. He knows when she's like this to let the storm pass, he knows to not fly a kite while it's lightning.

"I don't mind being a boy toy. Really. Witches gotta look out for one another, right? And since you're a Bennett, depending on the day, you're safer from me than most. But as long as we're not pretending that this is anything other than this – " He pumps into her, slow and controlled pulses, and she quivers, a shiver snaking down her spine to her hot and wet core. "Do me a solid and don't picture Bela Lugosi doing all this heavy lifting, will ya?"

"I'm not –"

"Not picturing a certain Salvatore giving you the hot beef injection?"

She glares, her eyes fully dilated in the dark room.

"I'm being honest, Bonnie. I'm guessing you don't get a lot of that around these parts. Why else would you be sneaking in my room in the middle of the night? If the people who claim to be your friends were really honest with you, you wouldn't be here, would you? Not in this bed, which I think belonged to the dead mayor and his wife, also dead. You'd certainly not be with me."

"You want to talk a little louder? I think the vampires in Louisiana didn't catch that."

To her chagrin, he lets out a throaty, exaggerated moan. She clamps her hand over his mouth, but, like the man child he is, he kisses her palm, sucking at the scarred skin, going to first base with her slender fingers. She pushes his face away and wipes her hand on his clenched biceps. A chuckle climbs up his throat and he places a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"Have you started going stir crazy yet? Talking to yourself out loud even when people are around? Getting that itch to scream just to hear your echo scream back when you're alone? Has it gotten harder to be around large groups of people? I know when I'm surrounded by more than three people, I turn into one of those deranged wolves, who'll eat his own foot to get out of a steel trap? Cabin fever's a bitch. Are you wondering what your flesh tastes like, Bonnie?"

"When I'm rich and living in a big city far away from here, most of my money will go to therapy sessions dedicated to ridding me of conversations like this."

"Better well-adaptive than well-adjusted, I always say. I said that once."

Her eyelids drift shut again and Kai's fingers are snapping at her ear.

"Wakey, wakey. You're not slipping back into those thoughts just yet."

"I'm not thinking about him. I'm thinking about… myself."

"Ooh, mental masturbation. Let's both do it."

Kai closes his eyes, mmm-ing and oh yeah-ing in intervals. Bonnie rolls her eyes, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. He growls, leering at her, and she kisses him because that's her way of shutting him up.

"I hate this."

"You want me to stop?"

Kai pauses, breathing heavily and resting his forehead against hers. She squirms, wriggling her hips, begging for the friction. He snarls and resumes, thrusting with add vigor.

"I hate…"

"Sneaking around?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Never being fucked like this by the half-wit downstairs?"

"I hate when you talk like a teenage boy behind the Sunday school building. And don't bring Jeremy into this."

"Fine. Then I won't tell you about the laxative I snuck in his protein shake this morning. The most entertaining thing I've seen since Silver Spoons."

Bonnie groans, her lips dropping apart. Kai takes the opportunity to bite at them, a dog with a new chew toy.

"I hate how much I, ah, need this. Like this is…"

"C'mon, Bonnie. Use your big girl words."

He clutches at her ballerina waist, halting their gyrating hips, and keeps her seated. She fidgets, pleading for solace in their movements, but he won't give it to her. He'll extract the truth from her one way of the other.

"Spit it out."

She shakes her head, shuts her eyes. If she can't see him in front of her, he's not really there. He's not really inside of her, not the hot breath at her ear, not the warm tongue licking the salt from her skin. If she can't see him, she can't see herself reflected in his crystal gaze. She hasn't looked in the mirror much lately, and she doesn't want to look at one now.

"Say. It."

He's echoing the words she spat out not hours ago, the aching in her belly morphing into fire, and she can't contain it anymore.

"I hate how alive this makes me feel."

She keeps her eyes closed, avoiding his probing stare, ignoring how the air has been knocked out of him. She suddenly feels small, her posture shrinking, her neck tilting down and away. Kai sucks air through his teeth, loosens his grip, drumming the tips of his fingers at her soft hips instead, and lays back on the bed. Her hands fall to his chest, her fingers resting over his ribcage. She peeks through her eyelashes in time to see the curl in his lip grow until his pearly whites show proudly.

"Sweet dreams are made of these, amirite?"

Bonnie lets out a deep sigh and, because it's her reward for her grudging honesty, she starts circling her hips. He doesn't fuss when her eyelids droop shut nor does he recite his mental list of phallic euphemisms. He keeps his rude humor to himself. And when she's nothing but gasping putty on top of him, he holds her, stroking her hair until the tremors pass. It unnerves her because it's strangely more intimate than them christening every inch of this master bedroom every other night, but she sinks into him still.

He grew up in a house full of screaming siblings, that's why a planet all to himself and only himself was the ultimate punishment, she reasons. The solitude drove him mad, but then she remembers the crime precedes the punishment and she doesn't want to rationalize anymore.

She closes her eyes and thinks if she squeezes tightly enough, she can imagine a different set of arms wrapped around her. Trade the sound of his heartbeat in her ear for the rustle of wind through trees, the scent of blood and jasmine bubble bath for smell of sea spray off the chilly beach…

Please, give me something to
Convince me that I am not a monster
Babe, give me one excuse
Give me one excuse