Dawn Reclaimed

"Come," Thomas said. Trying to fill the void in a conversation that hadn't even truly begun, he motioned to a dining room chair. " Sit." He turned his attention to dinner while Claire settled in and sipped her hot chocolate. Wearing a pair of faded, red, lobster claw oven mitts, he pulled the lasagna out of the oven and set it on the stove to cool. "I'm really glad you stopped by," he said hoping for casual friendliness.

He cut the layers of melted cheese and other goodies with a knife and dished out two heaping servings along with a slice of garlic bread on the side of the plate. Claire had brought hot chocolate and while he didn't care for it and the cheap bottle of red wine would go better with their meal, he didn't want to appear rude or ungrateful. Before setting Claire's plate in front of her, he quickly stashed the bottle of wine behind the breadbox, hoping she wouldn't notice.

"Thanks," Claire mumbled as Thomas set the plate in front of her. The food looked as good as it smelled. Melted cheese and sauce oozed between the wide layers of lasagna noodles. She really wasn't nearly hungry enough to half polish off the serving Thomas had dished out for her. But, for the sake of politeness she dug in, cutting through the cheese with her fork. "I wish I'd found out sooner. Thomas, I'm so sorry." Claire covered her mouth with a paper napkin and chewed her food. "There must be something I can do. Maybe, I could help you around the house or something."

"No, I'm fine." Thomas swallowed the bite of food he'd been chewing and reached across the table. Sliding a finger beneath Claire's chin, he forced her face up to meet his eyes. She abused Anna's lasagna with the tines of her fork, picking at the noodles and scooping up bits of sauce and cheese out of the middle. Pretending to eat but not really eating. He'd served her the best piece right from the middle of the pan. A bit overcooked, his outside corner was crispy and a little burnt on the edges. But, the food was still passable. And it had faired somewhat better than the too hard, too long in the freezer, and then into the oven garlic bread he'd thrown on their plates.

Claire's eyes met his and then flicked down to her plate. She didn't believe him. Well, he was fine, sort of. "Really, Claire," he said going for what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He hated that he couldn't have a simple conversation with someone without telling one whopper of a white lie. He despised the grief and sympathy she lavished on him. He didn't deserve it. And he sure as hell didn't have any room in the freezer for another condolence casserole. He sat back down in his chair and dropped his hand from her chin, spearing a noodle with his fork and stuffing it into his mouth before he said something really stupid. Like telling her the truth.

Claire had an impeccable bullshit meter. Came with the territory of being a nurse, he supposed. He ate with the enthusiasm of a lumberjack to keep his mouth busy. If anyone deserved to know his mom was still on this side of the grave, it was Claire. The lasagna settled into a lump in his belly. He could tell her the truth. It wasn't like she'd believe it. She'd probably think he was delusional with grief. He chewed and forced another bite down.

No, he couldn't burden Claire with the truth. How much worse would it be for her than it was for him? Claire thrived on honesty. He'd been lying about the biggest secret of them all for most of his adult life. Vampires did exist. He even covered for the brothers. Telling a series of convenient yet plausible fictions, when the occasion called for it. Just like it did tonight.

"I am planning to give the house a makeover once things settle down a little. But, I wouldn't want you to waste a day off by forcing you into hard labor," he joked. "I've got a few friends coming over to help out, big guys. We'll have this place looking good in no time. New carpet, paint, I don't know. Something to make it seem more like mine and less like my mom's. You live down the block, Claire. And you'll be the first person I invite over when its finished."

Claire blushed when Thomas mentioned that he had friends. Big guys coming over to help him out, it made for a good cover story. When she hadn't known any better, she never would have guessed. But, now that she knew, the truth was plain to see. And she was a bit offended that he insisted on pretending. Why couldn't he admit the obvious? Didn't he trust her to keep his secret? He didn't have to lie to her about what he was. His sexuality didn't matter to her in the least. She could use all the friends she could get. People who could help to fill the empty space in her heart left behind by Grant.

Outside of work Thomas was an entirely different person. Relaxed, congenial, almost charming, attentive, and he had a truly great smile. He was attractive and would still be the heartthrob of the hospital. The nurses on her unit had a running bet going on which one of them was going to land a date with Doctor Thomas Sterling. And she was definitely going to pull her money out of the betting pool. The girls were always baking him cookies, inviting him to pitch ins, flirting with him, and staring after him with lustful sighs. Maybe, that was the reason behind his mercurial mood swings and why sometimes, he was such a shit at work. It had to be hell, living a lie. "Sure."

Thomas groaned inwardly. Could the woman not take a hint? He was hoping she'd have a more encouraging reply than just 'sure'. He dropped his fork in his plate as Claire's face fell. Her cautious smile drooped into a frown and her eyes clouded with sadness. He'd tried to keep the conversation light and away from any mention of his mom. But, surrounded by these pale blue walls and the lingering essence of sickness and her perfume in the air. How could her name not come up in an otherwise routine conversation? He hadn't meant to upset Claire and he wasn't quite sure what he'd said to cause such a sudden change in her mood. "Hey, are you ok?" he asked gently.

Thomas had his hands full with his own worries and she would not burden him with hers. Besides, what did she have to be upset about? Grant hadn't promised anything. He owed her nothing. And that was exactly what she was going to get, nothing. Eventually, her hope would crumble and the pain would fade. He wasn't calling. He wasn't going to stop by. She was never going to see him again. And rather than pout or bawl, it was time she got over it. Claire took a sip of the hot chocolate. The sweet sugary slurry rolled down her throat easing the lump. "Sorry, just thinking. I'm fine."

Thomas pushed aside his half eaten plate of lasagna. Likewise, Claire had barely touched a bite of her food. But, it was obvious that she wasn't going to eat either. Raising a brow as she followed suit and smiled apologetically at him, he cleared away the dishes. Anna's lasagna was too good to waste and he packaged up Claire's leftovers for her to take home for later. Picking up his cooling hot chocolate he took a deep gulp and quickly ushered her to the sofa. "So, what did you do on your vacation? Something fun I hope," Thomas floundered.

Trying to keep the conversation going wasn't easy. Whatever he'd said had left Claire with a deep frown on her face and sadness in her eyes. To keep the small talk from returning to his mother, the less he talked about her the better, he'd turned the topic to something safer. Decreased the odds that he'd slip up and say something he shouldn't. That was the problem with lies. The web of deceit was fragile and easily broken.

Claire's cheeks burned fiery red. "Oh, I didn't do much. Went out to dad's cabin and read." She grimaced at how lame her answer sounded. "I guess I'm not that exciting of a person." What was she going to say? That she'd been kidnapped, fallen in love, and had a night of mind blowing sex with her captor? Not hardly. The abridged version that she recited to Thomas sounded more plausible than the truth.

"So you like to read?"

Claire was lost in her thoughts. The magical night played over and over again in her mind. She could almost feel the sensation of his touch against her skin and taste the lingering essence of him on the tip of her tongue. "Yes," she answered absently. Her finger traced the plastic lid of her cup as she wandered in her thoughts. "Fantasy is so much better than reality. Sometimes, a moment of escape seems so real."

Doubts flooded her mind. Maybe, Grant had played her. Maybe, he didn't care at all and she'd dreamed the whole love thing up. Maybe, he banked on her feelings and used her. The sex, what she thought was making love, nothing more than a manipulation, a play to keep her quiet and out of the police station.

Thomas was dying. No matter what he said or how hard he tried to stick to the safe subjects. The frown on Claire's face and the sadness in her eyes just got worse. She was depressed. And although he didn't know the cause, the 'fixer' in him wanted to help. Claire was a sunshine girl of smiles and summer days. The wintry melancholy of her current mood didn't suit her. "Claire," Thomas said. He scooted closer to her on the sofa and smoothed a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. "I'm here for you. If you need to talk, nothing you say will leave this room. I promise."

He meant to be reassuring. But, the feel of her skin, soft and warm, slightly golden with the start of a summer tan, sent shockwaves up his fingertips. Why hadn't he looked at her as anything other than a coworker before now? The way the dim lamplight fell across the planes of her face only amplified how pretty she truly was. He'd never taken the time or the chance to see her as a woman beyond the efficient nurse Claire he knew from work. But, he saw her clearly, now.

"I appreciate that, but we're supposed to be talking about you." Claire shifted and broke the contact, blushing in shame for allowing her self-pity and doubt to take away from Thomas and his needs. She forced a smile and lifted her eyes to meet his. Hoping her ruse worked before he whipped out a prescription pad and forced a healthy dose of chemical happiness on her. She didn't need pills. She needed Grant.

Thomas rested his hand on his thigh. Pressing his fingers into the rough denim of his jeans, he rubbed the sweat off his palm. That one simple touch had wet his appetite for more. So far, the attraction was fragile, just a spark beginning to kindle. But, now was not the time to explore it. "Not much to talk about here," he said, casually leaning back against the arm of the sofa. Another lie. Pretty soon he was going to have to start keeping a journal of what lie he'd told to whom so that he could keep his stories straight.

"Here either," Claire shrugged. Her lips curled into an embarrassed little smile. Thomas was too nice. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was interested in her. Something about the way he looked at her tripped her radar. He was a moderately attractive man and his touch had sent a few unwanted tingles down her spine. There was still the issue that he batted for the wrong team. And even if he did play ball occasionally for the other side, she so was not going there. More uncertain about herself than ever, confused by the mild tingle of attraction, and embarrassed because of it, she stood and gathered up her jacket, purse, and car keys. "I should go."

Thomas sighed and stood, following on Claire's heels as he walked her to the front door. "Thanks for stopping by, Claire. Hopefully, you'll make a habit of it and keep me on track with the remodeling. I promise, next time, I won't burn supper," he said. They stood in the doorway awkwardly and he was uncertain of how to end the evening. Was there any harm in a hug? Hugs were friendly. Casual. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders, pulling her close for the hug. She was warm, curvy, and felt nice in his arms.

Claire awkwardly returned the gesture. Gently and loosely squeezing Thomas around the waist before she stepped closer and squeezed him harder. She hadn't realized how badly she needed a hug. Not one of those light, timid girly hugs Ginger and her mother gave her. But, a genuine, sort of squeeze the life out of you, hug only a guy could give. And Thomas was a very good hugger. "I'd like that."

Thomas and she had lived down the street from one another for years, since she'd bought the house and he'd moved in to take care of Barbara. They were casual acquaintances at work. But, he'd never invited her over before and he'd certainly never hugged her. She smiled at the comfort of the easy friendship beginning between them. Releasing the hug, she turned and ran smack into a wall of denim, black leather, and muscle. "Oh, sorry. I didn't hear anyone behind me," she stammered in utter humiliation.

"Hey guys. I forgot you were stopping by tonight," Thomas said uncomfortably. "My helpers," he explained to Claire. He cast an unappreciative glare at John Mark and Dane. They had to know he had company and he resented the interruption. Vampires. Pushy bastards. He'd forgotten his mom was sending them over to collect the bits and pieces of random crap crammed into boxes in the basement. She called it vintage. He called it junk. But, either way it was getting donated to the annual Ladies Auxiliary charity auction. "John Mark, Dane, this is Claire."

"Hi," Dane said. He didn't bother extending his hand for a handshake. Claire stared up at him with her mouth hanging open, nodding like a bobble head. Ah, the effect he had on women. Maybe, the paramilitary haircut or the black on black monochrome of his clothing did make him appear too intimidating. It was meant to. Or perhaps, it was just his overwhelming personality that had her heart slamming against her ribs. He tried for friendly. But, the harder he tried the closer she inched towards Thomas.

"Claire," John Mark said as he extended his hand. The blonde's eyes were wide as saucers, staring up at him, wide with disbelief. Or maybe, she was just overwhelmed with his sheer awesomeness. He did after all, have a way with the ladies. He heard her heart pickup the pace and beat frantically in her chest. Sometimes, people knew. They really didn't know. But, like prey, people were instinctively fearful of predators and things that went bump in the night. And Claire was.

Claire took the man's big paw in her hand and gave it a timid shake. Something about the men set her heart pounding in her chest. Perhaps it was their sheer mountainous size, the black clothing, or their raven hair and dark eyes. Whatever. These guys gave her the jitters. "Nice to meet you," she stuttered shakily. "I'll catch you later, Thomas." She made tracks, as quickly as she could without breaking into an outright run. Her heart was still pounding like a jackrabbit's as she started the car and buckled her seatbelt.

She was loosing it. She cast a worried glance towards Thomas's house. Staring in through the sheer drapes covering big picture window overlooking the street. The trio stood talking. The big guys towered over Thomas, listening and nodding as he spoke. She gunned the engine and pulled away from the curb, shaking her head at the absurdity of it. Her heartbeat slowed into a normal rhythm as the distance between her and the men increased.

Thomas didn't seem to be in as bad of shape as she'd originally thought. Sure, his mother's death had left him shaken. But, men mourned differently than women. And he certainly had no shortage of companions to see him through it. But, as accepting as she was of his lifestyle, she didn't want to think about what went on when the drapes were closed. "Get a grip," she whispered to herself. The guys certainly didn't look the type. But, then again, neither did Thomas. She was afraid to leave him with his buddies. They were scary. Not the kind of men you'd want to bump into in a dark alley or anywhere else for that matter. Thomas didn't look like he was in any danger though. If anything, with the company he kept, huge, hunky, damn fine specimens of manhood, he was probably the safest guy in town.

He wasn't afraid. So why was she? Slowing the car and pulling into her drive, she exhaled a drawn out, almost wistful breath. The men had been huge and frightening. But, she'd always been attracted to the bad boy type. And damn, were they good looking. Right up her alley, if it hadn't been for the black leather and the hint of the gun holster she'd seen tucked beneath Dane's jacket, that and the fact that there was just something off about the two of them. But, why was it all the good looking guys were gay?

Thomas scowled at the amused looks on Dane and John Mark's faces in displeasure. If they hadn't shown up maybe he could have stolen a kiss. But no... now he'd be lucky if he ever got Claire to pop by again. The expression on her face when she turned and saw John Mark and Dane, eyes as big as dinner plates and wide with fear. It was obvious they'd scared her off. "Thanks guys," he muttered sarcastically. Actually, it was more his fault than theirs. If anything, vampires were punctual. And if he'd remembered, he wouldn't have asked Claire over.

He knew the vampires, not these ones, anyway, weren't dangerous. But, he didn't like the thought of Claire being around them. Exposed to them. They wouldn't physically harm her. However, trouble had an uncanny knack for finding the brotherhood wherever they went.

"She's pretty," John Mark said, teasing Thomas. He couldn't help it. Thomas was flustered and flushed. His neck and cheeks splotched with red. Thomas stomped down the basement stairs. Making a once over through the boxes in the basement as he pretended to ignore him. "Too bad I'm spoken for."

Thomas cleared his throat and lifted a box. "Yes, too bad," he said, shoving a box of his mom's castoffs into John Mark's arms. He turned his back, taking his time about selecting a box to add to the heap. John Mark could hold the box he'd barely been able to lift all night and not break a sweat. Realistically, he knew John Mark and Dane were jerking his chain. But, the teasing rubbed him the wrong way. Claire was nothing to joke about. And he wanted his private life, private.

"She yours?" John Mark prodded. He was having a good time screwing with Thomas. Getting under his skin was just too easy. The box in his arms was destined for the donation bin down at the Ladies Auxiliary. He didn't ask what was in it. And he didn't mind taking time out of his patrol to lend a hand.

He'd already delivered at least five million of Anna's cakes and pies and twice as many of her cookies. Janine had robbed every closet and dresser drawer in the compound, pilfering clothing, last season's styles and colors, for the cause. And Leigh had done herself proud with another prize afghan. He stood grinning as Thomas riffled through another box and groaned, struggling to heft the load off the floor.

Thomas hefted another box on top of John Mark's load and glared at him over the folded cardboard top. "Yes...I mean no. Not yet."

"Well, good luck with that buddy," John Mark said.

Thomas blinked. One minute John Mark was standing with his arms loaded and the next, he wasn't. Not so much as a breeze stirred in his wake. At this rate the basement would be empty of all the excess crap he didn't want or need in less than ten minutes. And as for what he'd do without all the extra stuff filling every inch of available space, he didn't know. Maybe, buy a pool table or add a big screen TV and a couple of recliners.

Dane stood in the doorway that separated the tiny laundry area from the rest of the basement. His head tipped to the side curiously. Trying to be inconspicuous as he took a whiff of the air. The scent he interpreted made him wonder exactly how close Thomas and Claire were. He pressed his lips together. Determined to keep them zipped. Soon enough, Thomas would figure it out for himself. He was curious as to why the sudden urge to rid the basement of all this excess stuff had become top priority. Sure, the auction funded the Spring Harvest Festival. But, Dane wondered if Thomas's sudden urge to clean had less to do with that and more to do with something else. What he'd caught in Claire's scent. And he guessed, maybe Thomas already knew. Dane wondered why, if Thomas knew, his mom did not. And thought it the better part of valor, not to ask.