"You want to do what?" Catherine asked, frankly stunned. "Vincent, it's completely dark and you want to go swimming in the lake? It'll be freezing."

"It won't," Vincent replied. His finger tapped out a message in her palm: Vincent to Catherine-Lake-I'll keep you warm.

Catherine grinned. "Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse? Let me go upstairs and get some towels and..." A thought stopped her. "Vincent, exactly what do you swim in?"

"My fur," he replied, smiling. "What else? We don't have swimming clothing below."

Catherine felt her face grow warm at the image of Vincent rising out of the water, the water clinging to his long legs and.... "Sure. Right. Let me go upstairs and get the towels." She ran upstairs to the bathroom and pulled out two of the largest towels, then ran back downstairs. "So, who taught you to swim?" Catherine asked as they walked down to the lake.

"Father insisted we all learn," Vincent replied. "But he couldn't teach us himself; this was just after he became injured, you understand. So the boys were taught by Winslow's father, Simon. He was a good teacher, and after he was certain we knew how to swim safely, he tried to teach us how to dive. Devin and I were the only ones who liked the heights; we used to dare each other over who could dive the farthest." Vincent chuckled. "We were never sure if Father knew or not, and to this day, I've never asked."

"But you still dive there?"

Vincent nodded. "Oh, yes."

Enjoying that image, Catherine smiled. "Will you teach me?"

"Yes," he replied. "There's so much in my world I have yet to show you. Of course I'll teach you."

"I'd like that." When they reached the lake, the moon was full and silver overhead, sparkling through the trees and reflecting in the calm lake water. Vincent stopped and undressed, completely unselfconscious and unknowing of his own beauty. In the moonlight, he seemed carved of the silver light, something mythic and ancient.

She watched as he waded out into the lake until it was hip-deep. "Come on in, Catherine," he rumbled quietly. "It's not that cold."

Catherine undressed quickly and joined him in the water. He was right; the water was pleasantly cool on her shoulders and breasts as she waded out to where he stood. "Are you uncomfortable?" he asked.

"No, not really...it's warmer than I'd thought it would be." She wrapped her arms around him and chuckled.

"What makes you laugh, my Catherine?" Vincent asked, nuzzling the part in her hair.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. "I'm just imagining what Father would say about now."

He gave a short breathy laugh that lifted the fine hair on her forehead. "I must confess, Catherine, that Father's reactions are...not precisely the ones I'm concerned with."

"Mmmm, no, I'd imagine not," Catherine murmured against his chest. She ran her hands up through the soft, thick hair on his chest and shoulders and was delighted to see him shiver. "I'm sorry, are you cold?" Catherine asked innocently.

His breath was heated against her neck. "I've never been warmer in my life."

"That's good," she said as her hands drifted lower, to the warmth of him under the water. "I wouldn't want you to get sick."

The feel of a slightly raspy tongue against her neck caused her legs to wobble. "Catherine, are you well?" Vincent asked, smiling against her chest.

Catherine laughed. "If I'm not, that's the best method of taking vital signs I've ever seen."

His hands, warm and calloused, pulled her closer and she relaxed against him, feeling she might melt despite the late autumn temperatures. She had just begun to kiss his neck when she felt him stiffen. His hand clasped hers as his finger tapped out a fast message. Move behind me and stand absolutely still.

Catherine did as he asked; through their clasped hands, she tapped back. Why? What do you see?

Vincent tapped back a quick message. We are being watched.

***

Vincent rose to his full height, shielding Catherine with his body. The presence that he'd sensed off and on for the previous couple of days was back in full force and it watched them uneasily. He closed his eyes, shutting out all other impressions except his link to Catherine and the impressions from the watcher. Catherine waited, outwardly calm, but inwardly she was frightened; Vincent could hardly blame her.

The presence, though...that was something else. He reached out mentally and felt a blizzard of impressions, some born of instinct, some born of alien impulses and feelings that he couldn't fathom; he simply had no reference for them. Opening his eyes. Vincent signaled another message to Catherine. I am going to the water's edge. Do not move; do not flee. Stand perfectly still.

Catherine was bemused. How will you do that?

Vincent hadn't been proud of it at the time. He'd felt his ability was just one more unwelcome reminder of how much closer he was to being an animal, and he hadn't wanted to discuss the incident with Catherine when she brought it up. But now...Remember the dogs at the junkyard?

When we helped Tony? Vincent, this is an animal?

Vincent sighed. The memory of Spirko's hunt for him was still too recent for the horror and the pain of it to have faded. I have no other option. We're standing here naked in the middle of a lake, after all.

He felt Catherine's smothered laugh against his back. Good point. Just be careful.

Always, he tapped back and slowly moved to the water's edge.

***

Prey?

Not prey.

Danger?

Run fast? Wait?

Wait.

Smells wrong. Smells not-human, not prey, not hunter.

Hunts. But not hunter.

Not prey. Not right.

Wait.

***

Vincent left the water and walked onto the lake bed. He halted what he hoped was a non-threatening distance away and spread his hands slowly. No harm he thought to the animal, which sat on its haunches and watched him warily.

The moon had gone beyond the clouds and the gold eyes glowed much as he knew his own did in such limited light. Cousin, Vincent thought to the animal, this is no place for you. Father would have disputed it, would have argued that his son was no animal, but Vincent recognized that a variant of this cat's face looked back at him from every reflective surface. Whatever else he might be or might one day become, there was no denying what was literally in front of him.

No harm Vincent thought back. The cougar was winter-thin and likely had come out of the woods seeking prey only to be confused by the presence of something...other. And had been watching, trying to figure out what to make of something that was neither feline nor human, but both.

Place. Here? That drift of thought was sent with a barrage of protective instinct; Vincent thought the cougar was referring to territory, to a home range, but couldn't be sure.

Here and elsewhere Vincent responded, sending an image of the tunnel entrance.

Vincent closed his eyes briefly. He knew that feeling of being out of place only too well. He had no answers for the cougar. Place is...not here. Not for you.

The cougar's eyes narrowed. Place was here. Was all place.

Vincent tried to imagine that; a world where this cougar and others of her species had roamed freely. She was a phantom now, a being almost literally more myth than fact, a tall tale told around a campfire. Go now, Cousin. Take the others. You cannot stay here. The hunters will come when the snows leave.

The cougar's ears flicked back. Vincent took that as some sign of assent, though he couldn't have said how he knew. With one disdainful flick of her tail, the cougar bounded off into the night.

In a bare instant, Catherine was by his side, handing him his towel and clothes. "Vincent, are you all right?"

The breeze had picked up and the wind blowing off the lake was icy cold. "Yes, I’m … fine," he said with a sudden shiver.

"Let's go inside," Catherine replied, touching his arm with concern and love. Shaking off the lingering feelings of aloneness, Vincent followed her into the house.

***

"You sound a bit dazed," Catherine said as they sat in the kitchen and nursed their hot cocoa. She touched his hand, noticing that it was returning to his normal temperature. "I don't remember you being this affected after you....contacted the dogs at the junkyard."

Vincent shook his head. "I was, though at the time, I wouldn't have wanted you or anyone to notice. It's...difficult."

Catherine looked at him closely. He'd regained most of his coloring and but the haunted look was what disturbed her the most. "Do you want to talk about it now?" she asked.

"I'm not sure I can explain it," Vincent replied, curving his hands around the warmth of the ceramic mug.

"You didn't want to talk about it at all before."

"No, I didn't." Vincent took a sip of the cocoa. "I've had this ability over some animals as long as I can remember. Each time, it's a mirror. And sometimes, not a very flattering one."

Catherine remembered the snarling dogs at the junkyard. "You're not like that," she replied. "You must know, surely, that you're no more an animal than anyone else."

Vincent placed his hand over her own. "Catherine, I know this. But I'd be lying if I said the experience wasn't disturbing." He folded his hands. "The first time I knowingly used it, I was nine. I'd followed Devin and Mitch and some of the other boys."

The thought of Mitch made Catherine's mouth twist involuntarily. "Above?" she breathed.

"Above," Vincent said. "I think, looking back, it was a trap that Mitch had set to get back at Devin for some slight. Mitch said he'd found this new junkyard that was full of scrap metal we could use." His fists clenched. "The junkyard was full of scrap metal, true. But it was also guarded by four of the largest dogs I've ever seen; later, Devin called them 'hellhounds,' which is probably as good a description as any." He breathed out. "The dogs came; Mitch was safely on the other side of the fence, laughing. They were going to tear Devin and the others apart, and he just stood there, laughing."

"Oh, Vincent," Catherine murmured, picturing it clearly. Officials in two other jurisdictions were trying to link Mitch to some of their unsolved homicides and if they succeeded, they planned to bring him to trial if he ever became competent. There wasn't too much she would have put past him, then or now.

"I'd been hiding when the dogs rushed out. And I used my ability in front of them all to make them go away. We got back into the tunnels by bare seconds. If we had been seen, if any of us had been caught..."

"Father must have been furious," Catherine said.

"He never knew," Vincent said. "We had the good fortune to run into Winslow when we came back into the tunnels; he covered for us. I had to use my ability then to save us. But I also heard what was said afterwards, that maybe the reason I could talk to the animals was because I was one myself." He took one last swallow of the cocoa and clasped her hand. "I'll never know what I am, truly, and I've come to believe that it doesn't really matter. But at the same time, it's impossible for me to connect with that cougar and not see myself."

The lines around his eyes were tight and strained. "Headache?" she asked gently, remembering the endless days of Vincent's recuperation from the Silks. Father had been afraid to give him any pain medication at all, fearing Vincent's unique biochemistry.

Vincent nodded slowly. "Another side-effect, sometimes."

She tugged at his hand. "Come upstairs, love. I'll read to you."

He smiled up at her as they walked up the stairs. "Great Expectations?"

The echo of her long-ago words made her smile in return. What a long way they had come from that day. "Yes, it'll help."

Vincent was still sleeping the next morning when Catherine awoke. His headache had faded somewhere around midnight, but his sleep was restless. She pulled the quilt up over his bare shoulders and padded from the room.

It was beginning to get warm in the kitchen. Indian summer, Catherine thought. She poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the oak table. A vague sense of unease prickled. Closing her eyes, she could see the morning chaos of her office, hear the chattering of co-workers as they staggered in from the weekend, see the files on their desk, smell the burned coffee and Joe's chocolate cheese nuggets. This was the world that awaited her when they returned, as they must. Cath, her inner Jenny chided. You're doing it again.

Overanalyzing. Be honest. What are you really worried about? And it's not your work. You know as soon as Joe hears from you that he'll understand. So, be honest with yourself. What is it?

She opened her eyes, watched as a couple of winter-hungry crows fought over an incautious earthworm. I worry that when we get back, all of this will have been a pleasant dream...but nothing will really have changed. Catherine snorted into her coffee. I'm being foolish.

Perhaps, her inner Jenny piped up. But what do you think will happen? That Vincent, of all people, will want to go back to how things were between you?

Catherine sighed. Her conversations with her inner Jenny were turning out to be just as provoking as her conversations with the real Jenny often were. All right. Father's been telling him for years that our dreams are impossible. When we go back to our separate worlds, what then?

That's not the real question, Cath. The real question is: what do you want to happen?

"That's an excellent idea," Vincent's voice, rougher with sleep, murmured. He walked into the kitchen and sat beside her.

The sight of him, dressed in a pair of old, worn sweatpants and with his hair sticking up in all directions, brought a smile to her face. "I don't think I'll ever get used to you doing that," Catherine said.

In the sunlight, his mane seemed haloed with fire. "Doing what?" he asked, gathering her close.

Catherine leaned up against his solid warmth. "Hearing my thoughts so clearly. Could you do that...before?"

His voice vibrated against her chest as he spoke. "Before my illness? No. But our bond is changing." He tilted his head to look at her, that azure gaze that had calmed so many, many storms in her soul. "What worries you so?"

"What's going to happen to us when we leave here, Vincent?" Catherine's gesture took in the kitchen, the house, and the forest beyond. "As lovely as this is, as happy as we've been here, this isn't the real world. The real world is files that get lost and witnesses who disappear and hearings that get continued for the millionth time and pantyhose that run just as I'm leaving for work---"

"And pipes that rupture and classes that have to be taught and bridges to repair and chambers to carve out and children who need soothing," Vincent finished. Gently, he turned her to face him. "Catherine, those are parts of our real life, yes. But do you think I could forget this, forget us?"

"It's one thing I'm afraid of, yes," Catherine said, not wanting to hurt him but knowing the words had to be said. "Vincent, I don't want to go back to the way things were. But it would be the easier path. This journey we're on....I don't know how we're going to go forward." She ran her hands through his dense, wavy hair, something she knew he found soothing. "But what I'm most afraid of is not seeing you every day. I'm tired of the few stolen moments we do get, because they're not long enough."

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. "And are you sure you see no way around this?"

Surely he couldn't be...could he? Their bond was dancing thread of joy, but she couldn't make out anything else. "Vincent, what are you trying to say?"

"You wish me to make things clearer? Very well." He took her face between his hands and she stared up into the shimmering blue of his eyes, unable to look away. "I want to wake with you in the morning and welcome you home to our chamber at night. I am tired of days and nights spent without you. I don't want the easier path. I want you. Catherine, I love you. I want to marry you."

The hug she gave him nearly knocked them both off the narrow seat. And when she tilted her head up to kiss him, she found that they were both crying.

***

Breakfast turned out to be a chaotic and messy affair; Vincent spilled his coffee and Catherine dropped her toast, startled. Vincent's hands, his whole body, shook with a wild, tremulous joy and Catherine smiled as she helped him clean up the coffee and picked up her toast and put it in the trash can. "Sit down, love, before you fall down." She led him outside into the bright welcoming sunlight of an Indian summer. "So," she said, "nervous, are you?"

He shook his head. How to explain the joy coursing through him, the joy of possibilities finally realized. "I never thought to know such happiness, Catherine," he said softly.

She took his trembling hands in her own. "It was always right in front of you, love."

Vincent kissed her then. She tasted of hope and all the dreams he'd once thought would never be his. The sunlight was warm on his bare shoulders as she settled next to him. "So, Vincent," Catherine said, playing with his chest hair, "are there couples who...commute in the tunnels?"

"You mean, where someone works above and then comes below? Yes, there have been a few. It's not common, but it's been done."

"Who?" Catherine asked.

"Well, Marisol---one of our weavers---is part of one such couple. Have you met her?"

Catherine shook her head. "I don't think so. Wait, was she the one who was helping Samantha on the loom the other day?"​

"Yes, that was Marisol. She came to the tunnels a few years ago; her husband Miguel is a bus driver up top. He comes below after his shift is over. Miguel's a good man and a good helper."

"And the other couple?"

"Well, there was Pascal and Janelle."

Catherine pulled back to look at him in shock. "I didn't know Pascal was married."

Vincent nodded. "She died of cancer the winter before I met you. Janelle was born in the tunnels, but she went above and became a musician. She commuted while they were married."

"Her loss must have been horrible for him," Catherine murmured.

"Yes, it was. I sometimes think that's why he stays in the pipe chamber all the time. Janelle couldn't stand the constant noise so their chambers were located elsewhere. After she died, I don't think he's slept in their chamber more than a couple of nights, if that." He paused. "Do you know what Pascal said to me before we left?"

"No. What did he say?" Catherine asked.

"'Don't think there will always be time enough to say what you want to say.'"

Catherine smiled. "Pascal's a wise man."

"He is," Vincent agreed. "Do you wish to commute between our worlds after we're married?"

"I think so, yes," Catherine said. "I'm not ready to move below full-time, Vincent. I love you and I love your world, but what would I do there? You don't need a lawyer much, do you?"

He gave a short chuff of amusement. "No, but there are many council meetings where we could use a referee, to say nothing of a penalty box." Vincent looked into her eyes, serious once again. "Catherine, you do so much good in the world above. If you wish to commute as Miguel and Janelle did, I can't think that anyone would object."

She nestled further under his chin. "You make it sound so simple."

"Perhaps because it is, Catherine. You have no wish to live below full-time and I have no wish to make you. We will simply make a place for us to live below. How is that complicated?"

Catherine laughed, her delight stirring the longer hairs on his chest. "It isn't. Makes me wonder why we didn't think of this earlier."

"Perhaps," Vincent replied, "because we weren't ready to see the possibilities yet."

"Perhaps," she murmured. "But at least we got there in the end." Catherine kissed him and a heat that was warmer than the sun began to spread through him. He pulled her into his lap, needing to feel her weight, the reality of her, in his arms.

"What is it?" Catherine asked, brushing one small hand along the short fur of his cheekbones.

"I never thought I would ever make plans for a wedding, for a future," Vincent replied. "I find myself astonished. And blessed."

She leaned her forehead against his, close enough to ruffle the jagged edges of his bangs. "I'm glad to hear it. I never want you to doubt that you have a right to a happy life too."

Her lips touched his and before the last need for words fled, Vincent murmured against her mouth, "Do you want to discuss the wedding?"

He felt her smile. "I'd rather practice for the wedding night, wouldn't you?"