#Emerson Barrett drable

[the-world-is-spinning-round]

Cold - Emerson Barrett fan fiction (Spooktober Writing Challenge)

It was unseasonably cold, even for October.

Even as a vampire, and therefore usually impervious to temperature, Emerson was feeling the chill in the air. He stayed inside the house as much as possible, and tried to keep himself either in his bedroom or the family parlour, where there was always a fire roaring in the fireplace.

Sebastian and Remington were much the same - Sebastian remaining in bed with his newly-turned wife, and Remington skulking around wrapped in at least one blanket on top of his usual clothes.

Truth be told, it was an idea Emerson was about to steal for his own use.

He didn’t care about how many strange looks Remington received from the staff, or how many strange looks he would receive if he were to take up the same practice. It was almost unbearably cold - and only getting worse.

At night, more snow blanketed the ground. Each morning, there was a thicker layer of frost on the windows. Every time Emerson emerged from his bed, the air felt even more frigid.

It was miserable, and Emerson hated it.

Because on top of everything else, it was getting harder and harder to feed. No-one wanted to come to a party in this weather, and there was only so much four vampires could feed on the same household, even with multiple members of staff on hand to drink from - especially when one of those vampires was newly-turned and only watched over by her adoring husband, who would never, ever want to upset his wife.

Emerson was happy for Sebastian and Larissa, he truly was, but if they killed another maid or scullery boy…Emerson was going to be pissed.

And at a loss for how to explain a third mysterious death.

Two was more than enough, and most of the staff were already on edge from an unfortunate combination of fear and the cold - it wouldn’t take much to turn them into an angry mob, and prompt them to come after Emerson, Remington, Sebastian, and Larissa.

Of course, the four of them would likely be fine; there wasn’t a lot two dozen humans could do to four healthy vampires, but Emerson didn’t want to turn on the staff.

Or, perhaps more accurately, Emerson didn’t want to turn on a specific member of the staff.

“Good morning, Miss Francis.”

Miss Francis, Cora, one of the new maids, turned to Emerson with a polite smile: “Good morning, Mr Kropp.”

Emerson smiled as Cora crossed the room to where he was sitting in front of the fireplace with a silver tea tray balanced carefully in her hands.

Like most of the other women in the house, she had taken to wearing as many layers as possible - her nightdress under her summer uniform under her winter uniform, but despite the amount of clothing she was wearing, he was still hit with the scent of lemon soap, clean cotton, and something that was indescribably her.

It had taken him a while to not be stunned by Cora whenever she came into a room - not just because of her scent, but because of her…everything. His brothers may laugh at her inarticulateness, but Emerson didn’t care; he was stunned by everything about May, and he didn’t care what anyone had to say about it.

Or he wouldn’t, if he was actually brave enough to ever speak to anyone about his infatuation.

He wasn’t, and was sure he wouldn’t ever be, especially not to Cora herself. Despite what people may think of him - the artist, the eccentric, the addict - Emerson was not stupid: he was very aware of the power imbalance between himself and Cora: he was her employer, and a creature from her nightmares, and she was a young human who admitted herself that she didn’t have much of a life outside of her work.

Emerson might be what many people called a monster, but would never want to abuse his position of power over Cora, or put her in a situation where she was uncomfortable. He was a vampire, not a bastard.

“Would you like me to pour you some tea, Mr. Kropp?” Cora asked, putting the tea tray on the low table in front of the sofa he was sitting on.

“Yes, thank you Miss Francis.” 

Cora smiled, and busied herself with pouring a cup of tea for Emerson.

Emerson pretended to be absorbed by the book in his hands, but the whole time he watched Cora, fascinated with her every action, just as he always was.

Normally it was because he was just fascinated with her in general, but today he couldn’t help but see the faint trembling of her hands, the frighteningly pale ends of her fingers compared to their usual warm tone.

A second more inspection, and he saw the shivering racking her whole body, even with all her clothes, and the drawn expression that she was trying to hide under her usual polite smile.

Emerson had been thinking of how cold he was, even as a vampire who was somewhat immune to temperatures, but he hadn’t thought for a second how the humans in the house had been handling the sudden drop in temperatures - especially when they had no choice but to be away from the warmth of fires and extra blankets.

Guilt and shame brought a lump to his throat - and before he could even think he had opened his mouth and started speaking: “Would you join me for a cup, Miss Ferguson?”

Cora looked up: stunned: “Excuse me, Mr Kropp?”

“I asked if you would like to join me for some tea,” Emerson repeated, deciding that as he’d already potentially crossed a line, he may as well be clear about it…and equally clear that it was completely her choice: “And only if you want to, of course. Or you could take some tea with you. I just noticed that you appeared to be cold and thought some tea may serve to warm you. I don’t mean to be untoward, please do not think you must tread lightly here, if you do not want to join me then - ”

“I’d be very happy to have tea with you, Mr Kropp.” Cora gently interrupted, smiling.

Emerson, deciding that he’d spoken quite enough and certainly made a fool of himself, silently shifted over on the sofa to create some room for Cora as she made up a second cup of tea.

She sat next to him when he gestured to the space he’d created, and even with the distance between them, Emerson was painfully aware of the shivers still coursing through Cora’s body. He wanted to ignore it, sure that it would ease after a few moments of the fire and some tea…but he couldn’t.

“Would you…” he swallowed his nerves and stared down into his tea cup, finding himself unable to look at Cora as she looked at him: “...would you like a blanket?”

Cora was silent for a few seconds.

Emerson didn’t blame her; he was being strange. He knew he was being strange, but he…he didn’t know how he could help her without behaving oddly. It wasn’t normal for someone in his position to try and help someone in Cora’s position - but he couldn’t not try to help her.

He might appear strange. But he’d rather she think him mad and be warm than stick to status quo and leave her cold.

Eventually, Cora did reply, her voice soft and uncertain: “I would, thank you.” 

Desperate to end this awkwardness, Emerson hurried to wrap a blanket over Cora’s shoulders…and found himself with his arm (and the blanket) wrapped around her.

He knew instantly he should move away…but he didn’t…and neither did Cora.

They looked at each other for a few long moments, before Cora nervously turned back to her tea…and leaned into Emerson’s side.

A stronger man would have subtly leaned away: politely rejecting Cora and remembering his desire to not put Cora in an awkward situation, no matter how much he himself may enjoy that situation.

But Emerson was not a strong man.

Emerson genuinely did not want to make Cora uncomfortable, not in any way, but he couldn’t bring himself to reject her. He didn’t care if this was just an attempt on her part to warm herself up, he would take any form of affection she had to offer him, for however long she was willing to offer it.

And he’d enjoy every second.