Atelier: A workshop or studio.

Damon learned long ago that it always paid to keep a close eye on witches, so he watches Bonnie Bennett as she tosses her hair and unlocks her car. She doesn't know he's there; she hasn't developed her powers enough to sense him. He can see that she's wearing the crystal and he privately admits that devious plans aren't truly his strong suit. He hadn't thought things out and now he is spending his time trying to charm, trick, or terrify two teenage girls into giving him a piece of jewelry. This would never have happened to Stefan, he thinks, surprising himself.

Bonnie throws her bag on to the passenger's seat and pauses to stretch before getting in herself. Damon keeps watching, not really seeing Elena Gilbert's best friend. It used to be that witches made him think of Emily. But more recently, he has been thinking of Bree.

~*~

He remembers her cluttered room, filled with trendy clothes, text books, and ingredients for spells; she did all of her school work, and all of her magic, in that room. It was also where she did him. He remembers her, sitting cross-legged on her bed, clad in nothing but one of his t-shirts, recording her latest spells in a large journal. He had referred to it as her "diary" and she had stuck out her tongue at him and told him that it was a grimoire, as he well knew, and that she recorded all of her spells in it.

"So really it's more of a cookbook?" He had asked, pushing her knee lightly with his foot.

She put the book down, grinning, and straddled him. "You nineteenth century boys," she had teased, "determined to reduce women to just feelings and recipes."

"Trust me," he said, his tone equally light, "my life would have been much simpler, and shorter, if that were true."

"Don't tell me that you're feeling confessional?" She had mocked, pulling the t-shirt off.

"Confessional is the last thing that I'm feeling right now," he had said, his voice lowering.

~*~

But he had "confessed" to her eventually. He had told her all about Katherine and Emily and the tomb. He told her that he hoped that she would be able to help. He hadn't told her that was the reason he had sought her out. Initially, any way.

He was afraid that she would be angry about him and Katherine. Or sad. Or uncooperative. Instead, she was intrigued by the magic and by the additional information about him.

She said she would research Emily's spell and find a way to reverse it. Then, over the next weeks, she had seemingly forgotten his existence as she lost herself in dusty manuscripts, following one lead after another. They were still having sex, of course, and she would occasionally press him for more details about Emily and her spells.

He thought that she would always be more in love with magic than she ever could be with another person. He envied her that.

~*~

"I don't think that this is going to work," she had said, late one night, gesturing down at their entwined bodies.

"I think that it just worked," he had said, running his hand lightly over her stomach. She laughed, grabbed his wrist, and he let her roll them so that he was on his back and she was leaning over him.

"I meant that I know better than to think that we're going to turn out well. I don't think that there will be a future with promises and shared bills or anything. I want to be sure that you know that I'm too sensible to think that."

"You worried I might feel bad?"

"No. I'm worried I might feel bad. I don't like feeling like you look at me and think that I'm the sort of person you can trick into doing things for you. You're not tricking me."

"I wasn't trying."

"Yes, you were. I don't mean just now…but, you were."

"Yes, I was," he agreed. "But then, I realized that you were too sensible. And I like you."

She smiled slightly, and he asked, "Are you in love with me?" before he could stop himself.

She looked warily down at him. "Do you want me to be?"

Yes, he thought. He wasn't in love with her. Never would be. But, somehow, he liked the idea of her loving him. He was never exactly sure why. He shrugged. They were both quiet for a minute, staring at each other. Then, she had let go of his wrist and lay down on her back beside him.

"I'm afraid that I will be," she said softly, sounding a little unlike her usual self. He had felt an inexplicable rush of warmth for her. He kissed her, rolling so that he was on top of her. He started to slide down her body and he felt her tense slightly as he kissed her neck.

"Bree?" he whispered against her throat. "Are you afraid enough to kick me out of your bed? To refuse to help me with the tomb?"

She hadn't answered right away and he had moved on to kissing her collar bone, her breasts, her stomach. As he moved lower, he felt her hand tangle in his hair and heard her whisper "No. I'm not that sensible."

~*~

Damon watches as Bonnie drives away and wishes that she were easier to charm; the little witch is not at all impressed with him. Sometimes, like now, he misses Bree, though she is less easy to charm these days and he is not at all sure that she is any more impressed with him than Bonnie. After all, Bree almost knows him.

Author's Note: Thank you again, reviewers! You folks are amazing.