FROM THE SIDELINES
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Disclaimer: I own nothing other than a store of ideas and those characters you don't recognize.

Author's Note: This story is my first foray into The Vampire Diaries fandom, the product of nearly a year of drafting. It was sparked into being on account of plot-holes — Damon and Elena's happy ending despite their not actually managing to resolve the problems in their mutually acknowledged dysfunctional relationship; Caroline's carrying fetuses without her body being magically readied to support them first; the Gemini coven's both transferring the fetuses and completely cloaking them using one single spell that works for transfers (to a prison world) only — and fantastical elements that would fit better into TVD book-realm than the TV series — the Phoenix Stone, the post-mortem preservation of the Everlastings' bodies, Rayna Cruz's poisonous-to-witches blood, the Sirens, the Founder's Bell.
I have created a compendium of sorts to go with the tale, which can be found at fromthesidelines-dot-fandom-dot-com, and which will be updated along with the story.

I hope you enjoy what follows. The sharing of thoughts is very much welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 1

She woke up before the alarm went off. Outside, Claire knew, the world was still gray and cool. She lay in bed for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet and, after a while, the faint sounds of early dawn that were beginning to filter through the window shutters. As comfortable as she felt at the moment, though, she couldn't stay under the covers forever, so she got up, dressed and went downstairs into the kitchen.

Her notebooks and books were on the table where she had left them the night before. As she waited for her coffee to brew, Claire made breakfast and rolled up the blinds of the large window above the sink. She ate in silence, leafing through one of the books, and by the time she finished, the sky had grown lighter.

She looked out the kitchen window, up at the clear heavens, and opened the door to the small porch. It was a rather fine morning, she realized as she stepped outside, neither hot nor cold, one of those days when the temperature was just perfect. The red oak tree in the yard looked vibrant. The herb- and flower-beds were bathed in the soft glow from the rising sun.

Claire sat on the step, cradling her mug, and looked around the garden. She breathed in the scent of autumn and smiled. She'd walk to work, she decided. It wasn't far — a fifteen-minute walk or so — and in this weather, walking would be pleasant.

Finishing her coffee, she went back inside. She made sure everything she needed was in her backpack, found her phone and keys, and, with a last look in the mirror to tuck back a flyaway strand of dark hair, left the house.

The walk from Covington Street to Mystic Falls High was uneventful, with only the sound of her low heels on the sidewalk. Claire felt a kind of excitement bubble in her stomach. There was still something thrilling about the first day of school, even after two years of teaching.

The student parking lot was almost empty when she reached her destination. Inside the school building, she found William Tanner, Lisa Edwards — the Italian teacher — and Martin Cott — the biology teacher — in the teachers' lounge, poring over papers. She stayed there for a while, asking about their summer and their families. Lisa and Martin were happy to chat about their vacation, but the history teacher kept to himself. Claire left them some time later, making for her eight o'clock class.

She got to the art classroom with ten minutes to spare before the bell rang. Arranging her things on the desk, she glanced at the blackboard to make sure there was no lack of chalk, and looked around slowly, taking in the posters on the walls. The sunlight streaming into the room was bright and warm, and for a long moment Claire gazed outside the window at the school grounds. She traced the cover of the book in front of her. Her eyes found the clock above one of the cupboards. Then, with a private smile to herself, she made for the door briskly. Her trip to Principal Weber's office was short, but by the time she returned to her classroom, students had already taken their seats at the shared tables.

"Good morning." She returned the book that was on her own desk into her backpack and remained standing until everyone was in attendance. When the voices died down, she took a second to study the faces looking up at her. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. "Welcome back to art class." She paused for a beat. "It's a beautiful day today, and it's a shame to stay cooped up in here. So, get your things and let's go outside."

Absolute quiet followed her words. No-one moved. All eyes were on her, and every face wore an expression of disbelief. Claire felt a childish urge to laugh. The reactions should have been expected — her students weren't used to her being so spontaneous.

"I've spoken with Principal Weber," she began again. "Those who don't want to sit on the grass, grab a chair. Come on." She slung her bag on her shoulder and looked at her class.

A second later, the room was filled with the sound of chairs scraping back. Claire turned to the door, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl. She led them out to the grassy area near the football pitch and sat on the wooden table there. The class settled on the turf, facing her.

"What better way to start the new school year than talk about the Renaissance. It began in Italy in the fourteenth century and lasted until the seventeenth." She paused. "Renaissance. What's the first thing that comes to mind when you hear that word?"

"Art," a girl at the front laughed, just as a sandy-haired boy said, "Da Vinci."

Claire nodded and looked around.

"Florence," someone else said.

"The Uffizi Gallery." This came from a bespectacled brunette near the back, her voice slow and timid.

Claire gave her a bright smile. "The Uffizi Gallery," she concurred. "Have you ever been, Louise?"

"My parents have, when they went to Italy a few years back," the girl answered. "They took a lot of pictures."

"It's hard to resist," Claire agreed before turning her attention to everyone. "The Uffizi Gallery is a Renaissance-lover's paradise, and one of my favorite museums. And I'm not saying that because I went to college in Florence."

Grins followed the statement, but she went on without a beat. "The building of the Uffizi was commissioned by the second Duke of Florence, Cosimo I de Medici. It began in 1560 and was completed twenty-one years later. Uffizi in Italian means offices. Does anyone know why the museum is called that?"

There was a momentary silence. Then the brunette girl spoke: "It was meant to be offices, apparently, but—" She paused. "It's big."

Claire opened her mouth.

"It was built to accommodate the Florentine administration."

The art teacher turned abruptly to look behind her. The voice belonged to a dark-haired young man about her age, lounging against a tree. Blue eyes were fixed on the group, and a smug grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. He had handsome features. Claire didn't recognize him.

She blinked. "That's right," she said slowly, vaguely wondering how long he had been watching them. He held her gaze for an instant before she turned to address her class again, tearing their attention from the stranger.

"Cosimo commissioned offices for the Florentine magistrates, but the top floor of the Uffizi was turned into a gallery for the Medici. Over the years, more rooms were dedicated to exhibiting paintings and sculptures. The Medici, apart from being filthy rich" — at that, Claire's flow of speech was almost interrupted by scattered laughter — "something that becomes very obvious when you get to sight-seeing in Florence, were also great patrons of the arts. Their patronage contributed significantly to the development of the Renaissance."

•

By 3:30 p.m. Claire had left school and was heading home. Crossing the street across the Mystic Grill, a short, high-pitched cry caught her attention. She recognized the sound immediately and followed it down the flight of steps and into the alley below the restaurant. The kitten was crouched next to the wheel of a trash can, a small ball of black fur. It stopped crying once it felt Claire's presence, scooting back into the wall when she turned her footsteps toward its hiding place.

"Hey, little guy." Claire sat on her heels near it, reaching out slowly. The kitten hissed and tried to scramble away. A stray, not used to human contact, she concluded. Still, she picked up the small bundle by the scruff of the neck and held it close, stroking its soft fur. "It's OK, I won't hurt you," she began talking to the kitten in a gentle voice. "You're OK." The tiny animal had frozen in her arms. After some time of her caressing it quietly, Claire felt its head lean into her touch and the little throat begin to vibrate. She smiled. "There you go." She scratched the kitten under the chin.

She maneuvered the strap of her bag back onto her shoulder one-handed and got up carefully, taking a second to adjust her blouse. Walking to the main street again and looking toward the school, the events of the day's first class replayed in her mind. A slow, faint frown appeared above the bridge of her nose. The stranger had stayed, watching and listening, for quite a while. Claire hadn't turned her attention away from her high-schoolers, but by the way some would, at intervals, gaze behind her, she knew he was there. He hadn't spoken or disrupted the lesson in any way, but the students' looks and the feeling of being watched had been odd. She fumbled with her cell phone, attempting to dial as she continued to stroke the kitten that had sunk its claws into her light cardigan. Her sister picked up on the forth ring.

"Guess what happened today," Claire said by way of greeting. "Dark, handsome, blue eyes."

At the other end of the line, Diane's voice was clear and intrigued. "Details."

"Well," Claire began, her eyes glimmering as she paused for effect. Across the square she thought she caught a glimpse of blue eyes and the hint of a smirk as a young man turned down a side street. She blinked and readjusted her grip on the phone. "He's about one month old," she continued, "I found him in the alley below the Grill, and I'm taking him to the vet." The warmth in her chest returned.

Diane's reaction was exactly what she had expected. She heard her sigh dramatically and could imagine her shaking her head. "Crazy cat lady."

Claire shrugged her shoulders. "I fell in love."

"Did you name him yet?" Diane asked.

Claire looked down at the kitten nestled in the crook of her elbow and stroked him with her fingertips. "No, not yet." She studied the ball of fur for an instant before turning her attention to where she was going. "Anyway," she said, "I gotta go. I'm outside the vet's."

Dr. Weir's clinic wasn't far from the town square. Despite the unplanned visit, Claire didn't have to wait much, and half an hour later, the kitten had been checked, dewormed, deflead and booked in for a vaccination at the end of the week, should he show no signs of illness.

When she got home, she was carrying more than just her cat and backpack. She set the pair of plastic bowls in a corner in the kitchen, cleared a cupboard to store the dry food in, and placed the soft bed and covered litter box near the dresser in her bedroom. The kitten was exploring the kitchen when she returned downstairs. As soon as he saw the feathery toy Claire had began swishing just above the floor, he abandoned his scrutiny of the fridge corner and ran to her. She filled his water bowl and watched him crunch greedily on the kibbles, a smile on her face. Then, the name came to her. He looked like a Cicero.

•

Claire jolted awake. Everything around her was pitch black, her pulse was drumming loudly in her ears, and it was a good few moments before she got her bearings. She was sitting upright in her own bed, the sheets tangled about her waist, her heartbeat almost deafening. As her vision started to clear and adapt to the darkness in the room, she began making out the shapes of her nightstand, her dresser, the kitten's igloo bed. She calmed down.

The last fragments of the nightmare that had woken her came to the forefront of her mind. The woods at night, shadowy trees, a young woman whose features she couldn't see clearly straining as a sound caught her attention, fog descending around her, something moving in it with lightning speed. Claire couldn't remember if there had been more of that dream. She supposed there had been. The eerie feeling and the impression left by those final hazy bits were powerful.

She shook her head and reached for her phone. The numbers on the screen showed 5:28 a.m. The alarm wouldn't go off for another hour, but she knew she couldn't fall asleep again. Not after that dream. She got dressed, grabbed her phone and MP3 player and left the room silently.

The night was quiet when she got out of the house, the moon still bright. The street was deserted, but the lamps along it gave a comforting yellowish light. Claire put her earbuds in and turned up the volume. The song reverberated as she began jogging, all blaring electric guitar and keyboard. It had the intended effect — the lingering feeling of unease the nightmare had left her with was ebbing away. She concentrated on her breathing and the loud music. It had been some time since she'd jogged, but she welcomed the exercise now.

Rounding a corner a while later, Claire let herself slow down. Her gaze fell on the quaint brown-walled house with the blue door. She'd visit Sheila in the afternoon, she decided and turned back toward Covington Street.

•

The second day of school was uneventful, although at times a scene from the nightmare would pop up unbidden, unsettling her. When she returned home, Claire threw herself into playing with Cicero. When the kitten showed signs of tiredness, she left the house again.

"Are you alright?"

Sheila Bennett was able to gauge her mood moments after she had opened her front door. It seemed her expression hadn't been as neutral as it had felt, then.

"Bad dream," Claire answered, meeting the older woman's gaze briefly before taking a seat on the couch.

Sheila fixed her with a discerning eye but didn't speak. "Coffee?" she asked at last.

"Tea," Claire returned.

Once Sheila was back in the living room, sitting next to her, Claire fiddled with the handle of her cup. "I haven't had such a vivid dream since Grandmère died three years ago."

Sheila held her gaze, nodding once.

"This wasn't as clear," Claire continued, "but the feelings . . ." She shivered at the memory.

"What was it?" Sheila's voice was gentle.

"It was night, a girl walking in the woods, fog, something I couldn't see attacking her." Claire shook her head. "I guess that animal attack the other night got stuck in my subconscious." She looked at her host hopefully.

"Sometimes bad dreams are just that — the subconscious rearing up its head," Sheila offered soothingly. She took another sip of her tea.

Claire lowered her own cup long enough to agree, her voice soft, and brought the ceramic container back to her lips. "How's the teaching going this year?"

"Same as always," Sheila answered. "Most kids take the class because they think it's cool and fun. Believers are very few and far in between." She let out a sigh. "Even my own granddaughter doesn't believe."

"It's a lot to take in," Claire pointed out after a split second of silence.

Sheila hummed humorlessly. "Anyhow, what about you?"

"I had a good first day," Claire replied. "My first class was interesting." A fleeting half-grin brushed her lips. "We had an audience for most of it — a man I've never seen in town before, striking blue eyes."

Sheila's mouth curved upward at that. "Says the girl with blue eyes."

Claire gave a snort of amusement. "Truth be told, it felt a bit unsettling," she said, sobering. "And I found a kitten in the alley by the Grill." Her face brightened. "He's a gorgeous little thing."