Spoilers: For PL2 and 3.

Set: A PL Secret Santa for one-groovy-rose I forgot to upload here. Happy tragic Valentines Day! You can choose to see the PL2 portion of this fic as an AU… or is it?]]

Untie the Knot

"Grrr! Unnngh!"

"Claire?" Hershel tapped on the white panel door of their en-suite. "Is everything alright in there?"

"I'm fine…!" This was followed by crash and a curse, one Claire would deem inappropriate for a lady.

"Are you quite sure about that…?"

There was a pause– Hershel glanced at the watch Clark had picked out for him– before he received a grudging reply. "Okay."

"May I come in?"

He heard shuffling, a bang against the door and a grunt as the lock was undone. Slowly, he slid back the door. He was met with Claire's vexed expression.

On no account should a gentleman chuckle at a lady's expense. Not even if she had somehow gotten tangled in her bridesmaid dress.

The frilly yellow dresses Brenda had chosen came with a plethora of bows, ensnaring the upper arms and the waist. Poor Claire looked like she could hardly breathe; her stomach was sucked right in and her arms were pinned to her sides. Had she unlocked the door with her shoulder?

Claire ran a hand through her curls, beautiful even in their disarray. "Ready?" she wheezed, waddling out of the bathroom.

Hershel glanced down at his black suit (thank goodness Clark had selected it) and back up to her. "Of course, but are you–?"

"No time to fuss." She crossed their hotel room as if she was marching through custard. "The horse and carriage will be here soon."

"I'm sure the horses can wait." Clark could always reassure them. "Please, let me help you."

"You can try." She turned her back on him, giving him access to the bow around her waist and hiding her embarrassment. Hershel hummed. This was by the far the biggest bow— perhaps if they loosened it…

As he did so, Claire unleashed a sigh. "I can breathe again!"

"That's one part solved." She faced him and he untied the bows restricting her arms. Claire rolled her shoulders. He tried not to stare as the bodice slipped down her chest slightly.

"E-evidently, these four straps need to be tied into one bow across the back." Fumbling, he fixed the back of the dress.

She approached the mirror, moving easily now, and admired his handiwork. "Perfect– thank you, Hershel!"

The dress really was perfect on her. Now the bodice was higher, more modest. She would look lovely next to Brenda without taking the attention off her.

Claire giggled. "A true gentleman shouldn't stare, Hershel."

He glanced away, flushing. "R-right."

"I suppose I can forgive you, after you saved me." She came in for cuddle and probably would have kissed him if someone hadn't knocked on the door.

"The horse and carriage is outside," Dr. Schrader called, as if he were rounding up a class of distracted students. "Come along, you two."

"Coming!" they chorused.

"What?"

The dancers swirled around them, a blur of faces and colors and splendor.

Distantly, Hershel wondered if his memory was playing up again, or if his eyesight was going. Then a figure emerged from the crowd. Her gait was not hurried or awkward as she drifted towards him. She was wearing a familiar yellow dress– but it couldn't be the same one, could it?

"Professor... Is that...?"

"Claire?" he breathed. The air felt thick around him. It was making his eyes water.

She cocked her head in that curious way of hers. "Hershel? Is it really you?"

Every joint in his body was locked in place. He couldn't so much as nod.

As she came closer, he was mesmerized by the scent of her perfume. Gone was the smell of metal and singed hair from the last time he had seen her.

She reached out and took his hand. Her grip was firm.

This can't be real, some part of him protested.

"It is," she insisted, guiding his hand to her waist. She felt warm… alive. Was it really her or an impersonator?

"The resemblance is striking," he found himself saying. He had to test her. "How did you get here– in Anton's castle?"

"What are they doing together?" he heard Luke ask.

How could he forget Luke? Hershel looked around for Luke, but Claire put a hand on his cheek, turning his head back to her. She was smiling. The ballroom darkened around them, separating them from the other partners.

"I miss you," she whispered. She rested her head on his chest. "I never want to leave you again."

That's right– she had left him that day to go to the lab. She had never returned–

Claire's hold tightened. "I'm here, with you."

His eyes swam with tears, distorting her appearance. She was nothing more than an illusion–

"Believe me." She kissed him, but her lips were too forceful.

He tried to step back, letting go of her hands. "I- I want to believe it— more than anything. That's why I can't trust my own intuition." He wiped his eyes. "There's something very wrong with this castle… with this entire town."

His Claire would have offered a solution or rushed off to find one. The Claire before him sighed and seized his hands. "Really, Hershel. You're making a scene…"

At the very least, she was being honest about that.

The rest of the dancers had stopped to leer at them from the shadows. Hershel felt like they were closing in on him, Claire included.

"Fear not, my dear. They're just the main course for this evening..."

A golden-haired man (Anton?) was stalking towards him. Claire didn't seem concerned in the slightest. She kept smiling, sickly sweet, and squeezing his hands. He reeled away from her.

"And my, don't they look fresh."

"Where is Luke?" Hershel demanded.

"Luke—?"

"Clark and Brenda's son! Surely you remember him." Claire had only known young Luke for a short time, but she had loved him like her own.

Franticly, he searched the room. All he could see were shadowy strangers and searing red eyes.

Claire laughed along with them. Hershel glanced back at her and instantly regretted it. Her eyes were filled with fire. Her face was peeling away, like paper held to a flame.

She let out weak sob. "Help me, Hershel…"

"What-?"

That was Luke's voice!

"I'm sorry," Hershel choked out. He tore his gaze away from her. "I must find Luke."

"You won't forget me, will you?

It was a struggle to shut out her voice as he shuffled through the crowd. "Luke?" he shouted.

A masked man moved out of his path, cape billowing behind him. "He always forgets," the man hissed.

Not Luke, Hershel thought. Luke was real and he truly was alive –

Then Luke's scream shattered the nightmare and Hershel awoke in a cold sweat.

Anton Herzen, claiming to be vampire, had stolen them from their beds and tied them up in a storage room. Luke was unharmed, but scared out of his wits. Hershel reminded Luke, and himself, to take a deep breath. (That's what a gentleman does.)

He shifted his arms, demonstrating how flimsy the knots in their ropes. Why had Anton tied up them so feebly…?

The answer become clear later, when Katia revealed that Anton was her grandfather – a seventy-something elderly man. His strength had deteriorated with age, but Anton was unaware of this as he was suffering from the effects of hallucinogenic gas. After they had escaped from the castle and the illusion had lifted, Anton's true colors were brought to light. His young visage melted away, but he met was with the love of his granddaughter and he was able to let go of Sophia.

As they made their way into the derelict town, Anton apologized for accusing Hershel of stealing Sophia.

"No, 'steal' isn't the right word. I had no claim over Sophia's life or her choices. If she fell in love with another after she left, I can't blame her."

"I understand," Hershel told him, touching his hat. "I… Luke and I were only exposed to the gas for a short time, but the illusions we experienced felt dreadfully real." He shuddered at the memory of Claire's smile, her touch and her sobbing.

If he had remained in the castle for much longer, would he have decided to stay with her? After all these years, he would do anything to see her again… but not like that.

He couldn't wait to get on the train, reunite with Flora and return home. Hair-raising adventures rarely found him in London.