Like Gravity, Like Love
Things are different here now. Working with Lara is different when a part of me knows he could be around any corner. But he's different, too.
Ever since his recovery, Thomas has kept strange hours. Lara thinks he's trying to avoid her, and I suspect she is right. The way she looks at him, as if he's some useful pet that's returned home after running away, makes me afraid for him. I can't blame him for finding it even more distasteful. But that's not the only way he's different. There's a darkness hanging over him that wasn't there before; when he looks at me, the Thomas I know is there in those grey eyes, but there's something else there, the thing he calls his demon, his Hunger. It's stronger than it used to be.
Maybe Lara isn't the only one he's avoiding.
Even before Lara took over, there have been security cameras in every room in the house. They've just gotten better and more sophisticated since. Still, being Lara's personal assistant has given me access to nearly everything, and the general knowledge that the family couldn't even touch me had spread a healthy dose of fear among the other employees. It comes in handy sometimes.
I slip into the security offices and nod at those working. They know the drill; I reset the access passwords every day as a security measure and check on the previous day's flagged incidents. There aren't many of those, though. Lara's chief criterion for her employees was competence, and they took it upon themselves to rectify any anomaly before it got to me. While I review the security tapes in the office, I check the feed from Thomas' room and press a few buttons, using a small trick I picked up to loop the past five seconds indefinitely.
Leaving a couple of folders behind, I exit the office and head down the maze of corridors that make up Chateau Raith until I come to a familiar door. Nobody's bothered changing Thomas' locks and I still have a key. The hallway is clear; not many members of the staff come down this way, especially given Thomas' recent healing. Entering quietly, I can see the suite is devoid of activity, but I already knew that from the cameras. I reach into my purse and draw out a pair of opera gloves, pulling them on with the ease of long practice. I can hear the whimpering, the half-swallowed screams, and I drop my purse, moving to the bed in stocking-ed feet.
The familiarity of it isn't wasted on me; even now, it's hard to approach Thomas' bed without thinking of the night I almost died. The memory of that night, the love and fear I felt for Thomas, the mind-shattering pleasure that came as he took me, that intensity, all heightened by the knowledge that it would literally be the last thing I felt… it is seared into my mind. And yet, every time I see Thomas, the image that comes to mind is not of the beautiful inhuman predator, but of the man with dark grey eyes who pulled away from me when every instinct within him screamed for him to kill for his own survival.
Thomas is lying on the bed, trapped in the embrace of his dreams. The tangled state of his sheets testifies to the battle he fights in his mind, but as I approach, his breathing begins to steady. As I have done at least once a week since his return, I slide into the bed next to Thomas, careful to keep the sheets between us. I hold him as gently as I can, keeping what bare skin is exposed out of his reach. Even unconscious, Thomas knows me, and his arm snakes around my waist as I reach up with covered fingers to brush the hair back from his face.
When I look in the mirror, I can see that time has passed, that there are tiny lines and subtle changes in my face that good makeup can hide. When I look at Thomas, he doesn't have those lines, those subtle shifts in skin and flesh. But he has changed. There's a difference in the way he holds himself now than when we first met. He'd hate me for thinking it, but he holds himself more like a man with the world on his shoulders, like Harry. Lately, he's been colder; the weight is still there but there's something else, too. Something I can't put a name to, something that scares me. But it's times like this, when he's asleep, all of that falls away and I see Thomas the way he is. He's no unfeeling monster, no matter what the world tries to tell him. Every single death scars him, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. He's different from his sisters; I wish he would realize it.
I don't know how long I laid there, silk covered fingertips resting against his face. Eventually, the half-choked screams and painful whimpers turn to fitful murmuring, and some of the tension leeches out of Thomas' body. I run my hands through his hair, and try to bend as close to his ear as I can without touching his bare skin. "You can't… I won't take her…" His entire body shakes again and he gasps in agony from some phantom torture. It is all I can do to hold on to him.
Suddenly, my cheeks are wet, and I have to pull away lest my tears fall on Thomas' skin. Even asleep, he notices the sudden lack of contact and reaches for me. I wipe the tears away on my sleeve, leaving salty trails on the grey silk, and wrap my arms around him again, relishing the contact, this moment of closeness that we've never had since the night we saved each other.
Eventually, Thomas stills. The nightmares have faded and his breathing is deep and rhythmic, his body no longer twitches to dream-inflicted pain. Only then do I move his arm from around my waist and slide out of his bed. The urge to kiss him is overwhelming, to feel his skin beneath my lips, but I make do by kissing his clothed shoulder. It's all I can give him, all I can have, and it is nowhere near enough.
I pull his covers back up to his shoulders, covered fingers trailing over him as the tears I'd pushed away start welling in my eyes again. He knows I'm here. He sleeps in sweatpants and long-sleeved shirts now, when he used to sleep in nothing but boxers. He wears them for me, willing to have me see him at his most weary and broken in his dreams, but afraid to meet my eye whenever he is awake. I back away as the tears refuse to stop, afraid that I would make some noise to wake him, and gather my things, forcing myself to breathe deeply before I open the door again.
Thankfully, the hallway is empty, and I make it back to the security office without running into anyone. The employees on duty look up questioningly and I smile for them; life in this house has provided the best thespian training I could imagine. "Forgot my papers," I said, my voice steady with a touch of sheepish embarrassment. They smile back and relax, their attention returning to their jobs. Back in the security camera room, I switch the feed in Thomas' room back to real time and gather my papers. Another wave and bout of pleasantries, and I'm done for the evening.
Back in my rooms, I sit at my desk, the day's accountings, tomorrow's appointments, and all the accompanying research spread out before me. The cameras would see me bent over Lara's appointments, checking numbers and preparing briefings. What they won't catch is the sheet of paper tucked among Lara's things, the one I write on every so often.
"Dear Harry,
I know you are worried about Thomas. Every move he makes in this house is monitored, as are all the phone lines and letters into the house. I am sending this to Sergeant Karrin Murphy, with the hope that she will forward this to you. Thomas is physically well, but I am afraid for him…"