They're both sprawled on the living room sofa, watching TV, of all things. Damon has a drink in his hand, Bonnie, a plate full of cookies.

From time to time, he or she steals a look at each other, but it's very brief and if you blink, you've missed it.

'Cookies?' she asks after a while.

He stares at the plate and shrugs his shoulders.

'Eh, why not?'

He grabs one and contemplates eating it. Then, right before her eyes, he dips it in his whiskey glass.

And then he takes a bite.

'Wow, delicious combo. Who knew.'

Now he looks at her carefully to see if she's frowning disapprovingly. She'll probably jump straight ahead in a rant about how alcohol is bad and what he did isn't cute.

'Huh, let me see,' she says instead, yanking the glass out of his hand and dipping her own cookie in it.

She takes a bite.

'Hmm. Decent I suppose, but it's obvious you're an amateur,' she says, handing him back the glass.

He has to prevent the laugh trying to escape his throat.

There are many times when he forgets she's not Elena. And he feels close to happy every time she proves she's not.

She's just...

'Hey, I think one's enough. Wouldn't want you to get drunk,' she says, slapping his hand when he tries to reach for another cookie.

...Bonnie.