His Crimson Rose

Disclaimer: I do not own Crimson Peak nor any of Guillermo del Toro's wonderful characters. However I do claim all the original ideas shared within this fic.

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Synopsis: Though lovely, every rose has its thorns. Alan and Edith return to America in hopes of a fresh start, while Allerdale Hall sits (mostly) vacant for the first time in decades with only the wind rushing through its ramshackle walls. Yet, even for ghosts, there is life-both bitter and sweet-after Crimson Peak.

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If a dead man's heart could stop a second time, Thomas Sharpe's would have, right where he hovered over the neighborhood street.

Edith and Alan had stopped close enough to him that, if he could have, Thomas would have been able to reach out and touch them.

Good Lord, Thomas thought his feelings mixed, as with Alan and Edith, they focused on her middle. Shielded with gorgeously sewn pale pink material, her stomach had not been very noticeable to the approaching late baronet.

Of course, now he understood! Certainly, Edith may not wear a corset though, given such a condition. However, based on this, it was hard for Thomas to tell how far along things were for his ex-wife just by looking at her. That she could feel the child stirring in her womb though, well…

Despite a certainty that he would stew with some complex feelings about it later on, jealousy being one of them, Thomas still felt an abrupt wave of relief wash through him. That Lucille's poison had not ruined her insides, denying Edith of such a life experience as this, filled him with gratitude to the Fates. Edith deserved every happiness, and Alan McMichael was a much finer man by leagues than Thomas had ever been. No doubt, this was the most desirable outcome anyone could have imagined; Thomas could only guess what it took his widowed wife to pick up from all the damage her entrée to his horrid family had caused.

As Edith still paused, perhaps feeling out the miracle of life within her for the first time, Thomas glanced at Alan. However, rather like Edith, the doctor - whose face sported a well-kept but light colored beard, making him look older than when Thomas last saw him - did not look especially happy.

Why? Thomas wondered, perplexed. Surviving a near death experience and then going on to find love and solace in the chance at starting all over with a new family, a new life. What was wrong?

When Edith closed her eyes and did not move, Alan spoke in a soft voice, but his words did not make anything clearer: "That's good, Edith. Dr. Mattheson said you should start feeling sensations around now, since you weren't already feeling them sooner. You don't have any pain, right?"

Alan and Thomas now both watched her carefully, when her lips quivered. Edith's voice wavered, "No, no it's fine - I'm fine," she answered, though she clearly was not.

Just as Thomas began to will that he could do anything to help her, Alan thankfully moved closer to her and did not hesitate to place a supportive arm around her waist. "Are you sure?" he asked gently, looking at her seriously. "You would say if you were in pain, right?"

"O-oh yes," she replied, getting tears on her netted gloves, as she tried to wipe the droplets away quickly. Her voice still broke, and Thomas felt something breaking inside of him along with the words that she forced out, the tone more dismissive and still not happy. "It's s-silly to be crying - it feels more like a t-tickle than anything."

Alan nodded. "It's been a long afternoon. The exercise from walking probably caused the baby to stir finally, but you must be tired," he replied, urging a gentle smile to his face. "Let's go back inside. Sarah can help you into more comfortable clothes, and you can decide where you would like to rest in the house until dinner."

Edith sniffed but did not speak again. Overcome, by the odd and somber atmosphere, Thomas felt as if his ghost was being wrenched. He glided straight through the door of the brownstone, as it swung shut on its hinges, and there he was back inside the Cushing family home.

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Thomas quickly found himself at loose ends. Edith's maid had led her away to the private rooms upstairs soon after she and Alan returned from their walk. Already on edge at the opportunity of even being able to be near Edith again, he found himself uneasy at being too close to her. If a touch from his creepy, incorporeal body could have ill effects on her, he could not stand the chance that his meddling could possibly hurt her again.

Instead, as if in a haze, he followed Alan who silently went to the study on the main floor of the house. The doctor sat at the desk, busying himself. Yet, after some time, Thomas began to wonder if he was not merely shuffling papers around his desktop for the mere sake of it, since his attention did not seem to stay on anything long.

A short time later, Alan started suddenly as a knock came at the study door. Excitement stirred behind his eyes for the moment before the guest entered, but his expression wilted noticeably when only his valet entered to help Alan out of his formal jacket and on with a softer, dark green, velvet smoking jacket. Before the older gentleman turned to leave, Alan asked, "Burton, would you let me know when my wife's maid has an idea whether she will come down stairs again to rest? If she does, I would like to be alerted so I can join her."

Burton nodded knowingly before he excused himself.

So clearly they married and kept Cushing House, Thomas mused. He wondered how long they had been living there. His sense of time had become severely lacking given his memory after death had a way of being so hauntingly selective. Alan seemed quite settled in the room though. Thomas spotted medical titles lining the shelves.

Thinking he was alone again, at least as far he could tell, Alan sighed heavily to himself. Thomas' attention returned to the large desk, as Alan let his head fall heavily into his hands.

The late Sir Sharpe may have been green with envy for the man in front of him, but he genuinely frowned, as he examined Alan's emotional state. Something had to be wrong between him and Edith. Thomas could not guess what though. What did the "Perfect Dr. Alan McMichael" not have going for him at this point? God only knew, Thomas himself had set the bar disgustingly low, and it hadn't even been necessary for Alan, who was innately such a good man.

Alan's head snapped up as a sharp knock came at the door once again, even scaring Thomas, who would have laughed at the thought of a ghost getting scared, if he'd been more aware. The doctor cleared his throat and straightened up, as if he had not been wearing the weight of the world on his shoulders where he sat behind his desk a moment before. "Come in," he grated out, and Thomas noticed how Alan flinched at the sound of his own voice.

His valet had reappeared at the door. "Sir, your wife's maid let me know she will remain in bed this afternoon. Your wife apparently asked that you go on with your plans and not mind her for the rest of today." Wordless, Alan nodded and randomly picked up a paper from his desk, pretending as if he had been reading it previously, as if this news about his wife was nothing to him.

However, if the ghost in the corner could see the disappointment on Alan McMichael's face so clearly, surely the man's valet could too. "Sir, pardon my asking, but are you alright?" the old man asked, still lingering at the door probably longer than was customary.

Alan looked up from the document he feigned such abrupt fascination over. "Yes, Burton, I am fine. Thank you for asking, but since Edith will be resting the rest of the day, I shouldn't need much else myself. You may have the night off early," Alan said, finding a small but genuine smile for his manservant.

Burton bowed his head with a word of thanks before shutting the office door again.

As Thomas had surmised, he watched, as Alan tossed the paper in his hand aside without another glance. Exhaling audibly, Alan rose from his desk before pulling a book from a shelf near Thomas.

For the moment he came near Thomas, out of some human habit, the ghost froze. However, Thomas did not fail to notice the shadows under Alan's eyes. Something definitely was not right, and it had not been right for some time, Thomas decided.

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After several days of hanging around in the shadows of the Cushing home, Thomas felt sure that it was probably not just his arrival that had brought a malaise down upon the house.

In spite of his ghostly state, Thomas felt sure that the days dragged on even for the house's living residents. Sunday came and went, and the weekdays followed. Alan set out for work about 7:00 am each morning, while Edith remained in bed.

Becoming slightly more bold, perhaps curiosity getting the better of him, after Alan went out in the morning, a while later on after the sun got a little higher in the sky, Thomas allowed himself into Edith's bedroom. There, he permitted himself to haunt the furthest corner of her room, until soon after her maid, Sarah, came in and served her a mild brunch in bed. Once Edith finished eating, Sarah would visit with her for a while, and the women would chat lightly, occasionally playing a game of cards or discussing neighborhood news that Sarah had heard from other servants out at the market or elsewhere.

Ever kind and sweet as Edith was, she would lean against pillows in her bed or walk around the room with Sarah, a light smile on her face, as she listened to the maid talk. Thomas felt himself falling in love with her all over again, as he came to notice more and more how although her health did not seem particularly good, she gave what energy she could in the company of her maid. Eventually, though she would grow tired and Sarah would help her pull up the covers for her midday rest. So Thomas would hover in the corner and watch her sleep and wonder about what exactly made this situation he was paying intimate witness to so dismal.

Around half past four o'clock, Alan would return home, and Burton would help him change into his smoking jacket and slippers, before the dutiful husband would go up to sit with his wife until she roused from her slumber. Until dinnertime, Alan would then regale Edith with stories of his patients or share stories from the newspaper with her, occasionally debating the more interesting matters. It was usually during this hour or two of the late afternoon with Alan, that Edith might finally laugh or really smile on occasion. Again, feeling that he would give anything to take Alan's place, Thomas could not help but feel relief that at least that blasted golden-haired, sunshine-boy of a doctor could make her seem happy again.

Then, Alan would go with Edith down the stairs to the dining table for their dinner, after which they occasionally talked a while longer until Sarah took Edith back upstairs again to bathe.

Although he was tempted many a time to follow Edith and her maid, Thomas commended himself - dead or not, he refused to lose all decency. As Edith was no longer his wife, and he had clearly squandered away all rights he might have had to look upon her in any carnal way, Thomas dutifully followed Alan to his study during this hour.

Thomas concluded that the man had a work ethic that was hard to rival, as he plowed through medical texts night after night, making notes in a book of ruled pages he kept open on his inkblot. On seemingly random nights though, Alan would pull a nicely crafted, earthenware pipe from his upper right-hand desk drawer, pack it with tobacco, light it, and smoke while staring off into the dark corners of his office, seeing what in his mind's eye, Thomas could only guess. It came as a surprise at first to Thomas, for the flaxen-haired doctor did not really strike him for a smoker, but perhaps this was Alan's one indulgence in the midst of a very staid, apparently almost stifling period of life.

Finally, Hattie the housekeeper would knock on the door and let Alan know that Edith had finished her bath and was abed - the signal that Alan would put down the lights in his office and join his wife upstairs. Unable to torture himself with the sight of Alan going to bed with Edith, Thomas would sequester overnight in the pitchblack of Alan's office, letting the silence of the night overtake him until the process started over again the next morning.

Thomas had definitely concluded that Edith's pregnancy was not a smooth one, and her health, not only physically but mentally, seemed to wear on Alan and the housestaff. Yet another day passed, and Thomas sighed soundlessly from his usual nook in the farthest corner of the bedroom from Edith's bed. Sarah had just woken Edith, having allowed her to sleep longer after a message from Alan specified he would come home a couple hours later from the office. Per the missive, Alan would be home soon for dinner. Edith thanked her maid for the message, and after the girl left, began to rouse herself from bed.

From his spot in the lengthening evening shadows, Thomas observed, as his widow ran her hands over her face and stretched her back against the bed. Her middle was quite swollen by now, and Thomas wondered that her back wasn't sore from all the bed rest. He worried about her, as he studied her slow efforts to get her legs over the edge of the bed and to sit up. In a rare moment alone, she sat looking down at her stomach, running her hand over the swell. What Thomas would give to know what was going through her mind at that moment.

The oddest thing he had noticed in all his time in Cushing House so far was that no one seemed to talk about the baby Edith was having. Did people not get excited for a baby on the way? He had asked himself time and again. He had found some work had been done on a nursery in the back wing of the house, but bedridden as she apparently was, Edith had not gone to see it since Thomas had arrived. Thomas had certainly realized that his experiences were horrendously bereft of normalcy; yet, even Lucille had shown more overt interest in the outcome of her ill-begotten pregnancy - he cringed, as he thought of his role in it - than he had witnessed of Edith.

So curious at this rare moment of tenderness, Thomas permitted himself out of his dark cranny in the corner of Edith's room. Startled suddenly, as she rose, he carefully froze himself in the middle of the room, well out of her anticipated path. It was odd for Edith not to be accompanied to dinner by Alan or a servant, but he felt a bit pleased seeing her take a bit of initiative on this particular day. The Edith Thomas had known was not someone who needed help at every turn, no.

However, exhilaration quickly turned to something else, as he hovered at a distance from her. Edith walked carefully to the bedroom door but soon paused to put hand to her forehead in a motion that Thomas did not like, as he witnessed it from where he watched from behind her. His stomach - that is if he still had one - soured, as her whole body wavered in front of him.

Oh no, the thought punctuated within the late Sir Thomas Sharpe's mind, as Edith tipped backward on her feet.

What can I do? What can I do? His mind called, as watched her fall practically in slow motion in front of him.

The room rushed around Thomas, as from the floor below, muffled voices and the sound of the front door closing drifted up through the bedroom floorboards. Thomas paid those sounds no mind though, as in his arms, miracle of all miracles, he held Edith up just inches away from colliding into the bedroom floor from her fall.

Thomas gasped. "I have you! I have you, Edith!" he breathed, forgetting himself, as he realized excitedly exactly what he had just done.

Lucille could keep her poltergeist tantrums. Thomas had managed to do something ten-fold better in that moment!

The late baronet was quickly yanked back to reality though. "Oh God," Edith moaned in his arms.

Biting his lip, suddenly demurred at having her, the love of his life right there in his arms, Thomas stared down into his former wife's, dainty half-lidded gaze. "Thomas, is that you?" she breathed.

Dear God, Thomas' mind raced, as it occurred to him - was she actually seeing his ghost in that moment?

No, no, no, no, he could not let that happen. He had to be the last person she would want to see at that moment, even if the shock of simply seeing the undead alone wasn't enough -

"No, Edith, no," he breathed, wondering if she could see him, could she hear him too? "It's Alan. It's Alan holding you, you had a fall, my love," he said, hoping his voice sounded soothing, even if he didn't sound at all like that of her current husband.

Thankfully, Edith sighed in his arms, as he cradled her slightly above the floor, and again her eyes were shut.

The stairs creaked, telltale of the approach of someone to the door. Thomas could only stare. The door opened, and Dr. Alan McMichael stared directly back at Thomas, cradling the man's wife in his ghostly arms.

"Edi-" The blonde haired man started before his face contorted in a mix of shock and anger that told Thomas that Alan saw his ghost clear as day: "What in God's name?!"

Thomas gasped. He may have been a ghost, just as well outside the harm of mortal hands, but the fear that shot through him felt entirely real, entirely palpable. In an instant, Thomas felt his form deserting him, and gentle as he could, he lowered Edith's head to the floor and did not fight it as he phased directly down through the floorboards.

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Note: I just wanted to give a shout out to artemisthestargazer. Thank you for giving the latest review on this fic in quite some time. Warmed the cockles of my little heart!

Sweet readers, you guys are the best! Origamikungfu.