Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)
Fandom: The Gates
Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia
Pairings: Canon
Rating: Call it PG-13
Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.
Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.
Chapter Twenty-One: Leave of Absence
Claire's evening was a flurry of cooking. Pastas and casseroles, meat dishes and vegetable sides. Emily watched with inscrutable eyes from her seat at the island, only occasionally participating by retrieving an ingredient her mother had forgotten to pull out ahead of time. Claire tried to remember if she had ever watched her mother in such a way. As the digital timer ticked down on the oven, Claire gazed, unseeing, at her darkened reflection in the oven's glass door and sifted through equally dim memories of her childhood. No, she concluded. They had had a cook, though perhaps she had occasionally watched Mrs.… oh, what was her name? The timer dinged and Claire pulled the roast out and set it on the counter to cool. It would go in the refrigerator with the rest.
She put Emily to bed, whispering comforting words to her before she returned downstairs to wait for Dylan and rehearse what she would say.
She sat curled in one of the too-stiff chairs in the living room, too lost in thought to register how it made her back ache, when he arrived. He glanced once at her, icily, and turned toward the stairs.
So he knows, she thought, unsure if it made this harder or easier.
"Dylan," she called. "I need to talk to you." She peered around the chair's wing and saw that he had stopped, one foot on the lowest step and a hand on the balustrade. His eyes seemed to be focused on the toe of his shoe. When he neither spoke nor moved, she stood, wincing as her back muscles protested after so long curled up, and slid her feet into her shoes. She approached cautiously, unable to read his expression. She took a deep lavender-and-sage scented breath, which seemed to help renew her determination. "I met Christian the other night…" His face darkened and she took a step back, thinking he might start a boxing match. If he did, she would want some space to maneuver. She schooled her features into a contrite expression.
"I know perfectly well you met Christian, you—" he stopped, inhaled, scenting the herbs, and Claire saw the anger drain away.
"We hunted three times," she said softly. "He caught one the first time, the other two…" She shrugged and her husband nodded, understanding. Most hunts were unsuccessful. She thought Dylan would interrupt, but when he only stepped onto the tile of the foyer and watched her face, she crossed her arms and continued. "The last time, I stopped him. It was Barbara Jansen, and I…" She shook her head and made a huff of frustration at herself. "Well, I knew her, and – I knew her, that's all."
Dylan chuckled. She gaped up at him, ready to be angry, to start the fight again. He leaned back against the balustrade and looked at the ceiling, still laughing softly, and she realized he was laughing at himself as much as he was at her. He smiled and reached out to push a few errant strands of hair behind her ears, a friendly gesture.
"We're going crazy. That must be it."
Claire gaped at her husband and thought he might be right until she remembered Nick and smiled herself, having got the joke.
"You're not angry, then?" she asked.
He sobered and considered her question. Finally, he said, "We're secretive, lying, murdering bastards, Claire. I've never met a vampire who wasn't. But I've always tried to do right by you, and I still hoped you'd do the same for me."
Some people, some vampires included, thought vampires were incapable of guilt. This was not true. Vampires could and did feel guilt, but lived so in the moment that they rarely lingered on the emotion or reflected on its cause. Right now, under the pressure of Dylan's eyes and the hurt lurking behind them, Claire felt the emotion more keenly than she could remember having felt it in her life or death. She felt the false contrition melt from her face and looked away until she could gain some control over her expression. Dylan could always read her so well. She nodded.
"That's what I'm doing right now," she said, and with the scent of sage seeming to clear her mind the way the lilies had muddled it, she made a snap decision. "So here's a little more. Peg said something today that made me think."
"Peg!" Dylan winced and stood up straight. He would have paced if he had the room, but trapped as he was between Claire and the banister, he only rolled his eyes.
"She said we're playing by different rules now. We're actually living like them, not just pretending for the hunt."
Dylan shifted and Claire read annoyed disbelief in the set of his hips and shoulders.
"Dylan, I killed that man and Devon got into our lives. There is a connection there. Peg just pointed it out."
"Bad luck?"
"And why not?"
"Because you've been hunting and killing for more than fifty years and while I will grant you we've been run out of more than one town because of you, I would call that cause and effect, not luck."
"Peg's a witch. She knows things. And before you get on your high horse about my indiscretions, I've got two words for you. London, Ontario. It's a good thing Christian is such a frontiersman or we'd be three little piles of ash in the middle of the Canadian countryside."
"My point still stands. And how was I supposed to know she was the mayor's niece? They should wear nametags."
"Anyway," she held up a hand to forestall more argument. "She said something else about sitting on the fence, and I've been thinking. You think I can't control myself, but you're wrong. The trouble is that I'm not sure I want to control myself."
"We've talked about this. We agreed…"
"You talked. I agreed. And I've tried. I really have. But I don't seem to have the stamina for it that you do. Karen snipes, and I hate not being able to just snatch that stupid little smile off her face. You don't have to play nice, Dylan. You're an utter bastard to your subordinates at work, don't think I don't know it. But I've got to go to these… meetings." She imbued the word with all the loathing she felt for suburban life and paced away while she talked, feeling the pressure of those gatherings, suffocating and scrutinizing. "They're nasty to each other, they gossip and talk, and I don't understand it. I try to join in, but then I'm the nasty one, and they all turn on me. They have no idea how nasty I can be, but of course, I can't do anything about it, can I? You get to come home and hide from them all in here, and I don't blame you. So, yes. A perfect target presents itself, and I don't want to turn down a hunt."
"What about Vanessa?" he asked weakly.
"Vanessa?" Claire scoffed. "She's not family, Dylan. And moreover, she's… Well, I don't think she really understands the difficulty."
Dylan nodded and looked past her, his expression thoughtful. Of all the vampires living in the Gates, Vanessa was the most skilled at appearing human. She often took the game too far in the opinions of the others, marrying a human and seeming to enjoy being in the sun. Any difficulty Claire had keeping the mask in place would be lost on Vanessa. Dylan blinked when he realized what he had been staring so absently at. A small gray suitcase and a Styrofoam cooler sat waiting by the front door. He gave his wife a questioning look and noticed for the first time that she was not dressed for bed, but groomed for going out.
"Where are you going? Are you—You're going to him?" he choked out. He ran a hand through his hair and stepped forward.
"I'm not going to him. I've reserved a hotel in Franklin where I will be spending a few days away from—" she waved a hand around, taking in the house and the entirety of suburbia in the gesture, "—this. It's got nothing to do with Christian. How did you live with him for so long?"
"The sex was great," he deadpanned.
Claire twisted her lips, trying not to smile. It could be hard to tell sometimes when Dylan was joking, and she decided that it mattered very little if he was or not. She knew the answer to her own question, anyway. The bond between Dylan and Christian was the same as the one between husband and wife. It kept them together and made them family. She stepped forward again and schooled her features back to a more appropriate expression.
"Actually, Dylan, I won't have anything more to do with Christian. I know you and he share a bond, but he's… He said something today that worried me."
"Today? I thought you said you broke it off."
"I did, but he won't leave me alone. Now he says he's house hunting here, and he made vague threats about entering the house any time he likes. I don't want him anywhere near Emily. You know he never approved."
"Yes, well, if you hadn't been cozening up to him for the past weeks, he wouldn't have reason to take notice of her again."
"And who gave him our address and an open invitation? No." She held a hand out and lifted her chin, breathing in the soft scent of lavender and sage. "I will not fight with you tonight. The fact is, it wasn't even a choice between the two of you, so there's no need for jealousy on that count. I'd change my phone number if I thought he was worth the effort. I only mentioned it because I thought you should know. Because I didn't tell you before." She moved close, a hairsbreadth of space between them, and gripped his left arm just above the elbow. She ran her thumb over the place he had cut and had her drink from fifty years ago. His face softened at the touch.
"No need to worry about him," he assured her.
The corner of Claire's mouth tugged up. "What did you do?"
"I slit his throat. He'll not be bothering us for a while."
She laughed and went up on her toes to kiss him, effervescent with victory, however second-hand. Like subtle music played in the background, the tiny voice in her heart whispering that Dylan would never forgive her, would leave her for Christian, a much older friend than she, had gone almost unnoticed until it was silenced.
"You don't need to go," he said when they broke apart, minutes later.
"No. I do. I need time to myself."
"Then go in the morning."
"No. This is hard enough to do." She pulled away from him reluctantly and reached for the bag and the cooler. "If I stay 'til morning, I may never go." She paused, her hand on the suitcase's handle and gave him a pleading look. "I was running away from this when you met me. I've tried to be the perfect wife and the perfect mother, but lately I've been remembering my mother. Do you remember yours?"
"No. She died when I was young." He frowned, thinking back. "I think she died in childbirth. Or was it pneumonia?" He shook his head. "I don't remember."
"Well, I remember never wanting to be her. She gave up so much of herself to her husband and her children that by the time I finally left home, there was very little of her left. I think she thought that if she only sacrificed enough, was good enough, that it would all come back to her with interest, that she would be happy, but she never was." Claire ducked her head and caught Dylan's eyes. "I won't be my mother, Dylan. I am willing to sacrifice for us and for Emily, but there is a limit and I need to determine what that limit is. I know I hurt you, and I know I put us in danger, and I'm sorry for it. I hope that this will put an end to all that. I'll only be gone a few days." The bag's handle telescoped out and she tucked the cooler under her arm.
"Claire, this isn't easy for either of us, there's no need… We don't need to have the fight tonight. We can talk." He stepped forward, reaching one hand out to hover uncertainly in the air.
Over the last six years, he had threatened to throw her out of the house on several occasions. Each time they went through the same dance, how reckless she was, how he was to blame as much as she. Each time he allowed himself to be persuaded to give her One More Chance. Their marriage had become a carefully crafted truce punctuated with skirmishes, major or minor, each threatening to boil over into open war. By removing herself from the battlefield, Claire was breaking all the rules, and Dylan was at a loss.
Claire ignored his entreaty and said, "There are several meals in the refrigerator and Peg said Mia would walk Emily home from school and watch her 'til you get home. I'll call in the morning to wish Emily a good day at school."
Dylan looked at the cooler, guessing what was in it. "Will you be hunting?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"I wish you wouldn't."
"I know."
"What am I supposed to do if Emily won't do as I say?"
"What everyone else does. Threaten her with the other parent's vengeance. We both know I'm the mean one." She smiled up at him, and for a moment her resolve wavered. He still looked grim, his face tight, wincing pain lurking in his eyes. She had hurt him, and her leaving like this was salt in the wound. Suddenly she dropped the bag and the cooler and wrapped her arms around him once more, breathing in his scent and holding the breath so she could remember it all the better during her short absence from him. "A few days," she repeated, as much to herself as to her husband, as she gathered her things together again. "Just a few days." She turned away, hiding the tears that sprang into her eyes and opened the door. Dylan stood on the stoop and watched her go.
"We're going to have that fight," he called after her.
"I know," she said. "When I get back. We'll ship Emily off to Peg's and make a night of it."
The corner of his mouth ticked and he let out one soft breath of laughter as he nodded agreement and she climbed into her car.